voidtreckermods | Memory Shares

Memory Shares

An archive of the memories used in the Healing Waters Event.

Please note the content warnings at the top of each set of memories!

Threaded | Flat

Warnings: undead, blood, death, poisoning
Themes: music, family, mentoring, sacrifice

Memory One You are playing a flute. As you play you watch as a man, Jin GuangYao, collapses beside Lan XiChen. Whether because the bleeding and the pain intensified at his arm and stomach or from some other reason, the glisten of tears can be seen in his eyes. But before he has a chance to catch his breath or lick his wounds, Nie MingJue turned around after he pulled his fist back and stared hungrily in his direction.

The harsh, stern expression on his rigid face holds a sense of judgement that was no different from before he died. Even his tears had been scared away as Jin GuangYao turned to Lan XiChen for help, his voice trembling, “Brother…”

Lan XiChen turned the direction in which his blade pointed You and Lan WangJi speed up their melodies as well. But the effects of the whistle has already been overcome. It will be much harder than before for it to take effect again.

At this point, somebody at your side suddenly calls, “Wei WuXian!”

You answer immediately, “What?”

Only after you answer do you realise that the one who called you is Jiang Cheng, your brother. You feel surprised. Jiang Cheng doesn’t respond directly. Instead, he takes something out from his sleeve and tosses it towards you. You catch it by instinct and look, only to find a black, gleaming flute along with a crimson tassel.

It is the ghoul flute, Chen Qing!

It is a flute you are much more familiar with, you don't even have the spare time to feel surprised. Without hesitation, you lift it to your lips and call, “Lan Zhan!”

Lan WangJi nods. No more words have to be exchanged as the notes of the guqin and the flute sound in unison. The former was like a frozen river and the latter like flying birds; one suppressed while the other lured. Under the duet, Nie MingJue’s body wavers before it is finally half-forced to move its steps away from Jin GuangYao.

One stride at a time, controlled by the guqin and the flute, he walks towards an empty coffin, limbs stiff. You and Lan WangJi follow, step by step. The moment he falls into the coffin, you both kick the coffin lid, which lies on the ground, at the same time. The heavy lid flies up before it falls. You flip nimbly on top of the coffin and stick the flute, Chenqing, back at your waist with your left hand and quickly bite into a finger of your right, smoothly painting an entire string of wild, bloody incantations without a moment of pause from top to bottom!

Only then do the beast-like howls from within the coffin die off gradually. Lan WangJi puts his hand over the seven vibrating strings and halts the guqin’s sounds. You let out a light breath. You wait for a while, cautiously. Only after you are finally able to determine that energy no longer comes from below the coffin lid do you stand up, “What a bad temper, right?”

You are much taller standing on the coffin. Lan WangJi put his guqin away and looks up at you with a pair of light eyes. You look down and can't help but touch the fair face with your right hand, adding a few blood-red marks, by accident or on purpose.

Lan WangJi doesn't seem to worry too much about it, “Come down.”

You hop down with a grin before you are caught inside those arms.

Memory Two

“Congratulations. You’re under corpse poisoning.” You announce cheerfully to the group of boys in front of you. They are all teenagers, most of them wearing white robes but with a few other colours dotted amongst them.

One of them speaks up. “How is this something to congratulate someone for?!”

“It’s another life experience.” You explain, “It’d be a conversation starter when you grow older.”

One of the boys, Lan SiZhui spoke, his voice worried. “Young Master Mo, will anything happen to them?”

“Nothing at the moment. When it goes in the bloodstream and travels all around the body and enters the heart, then nothing could help anymore.”

“Wh-what will happen?”

“Whatever happens to corpses will happen to you. If you’re lucky, you’re just going to rot away. If you’re not, you might become a long-haired zombie and you’ll only be able to hop around for the rest of your life.”

All of the poisoned disciples gasp.

“So you want to cure it?” You ask.

Everyone nodded. “If you want to cure it, then listen up. From now on, all of you have to behave and listen to whatever I say. Every one of you.”

Many of the boys aren’t familiar with you but considering that you can intimately call HanGuang-Jun by his birth name as if you were from the same generation, that you were all stood in the middle of a ominously foggy haunted city, and that they were both poisoned and feverish, they felt particularly anxious, instinctively wanting to depend on someone. And, since anything that came out of your mouth somehow has a tone of confidence that eliminated all worries, they can’t help but listen to your words, answering in unison, “Yes!”

Of course you push it further, “You have to do whatever I tell you to. Be obedient. Understood?”

“Yes!”

You clap your hands, “Stand up. Those who aren’t poisoned can carry those who are, preferably over the shoulder. If you can only lift them on your front, remember to position the head and the heart higher than the rest of the body.”

Lan JingYi speaks, “But I can walk. Why do we need to be carried?”

“Brother, if you jump around, your blood is going to circulate quickly, and it will enter your heart sooner. So you shouldn’t move too much. It’s best if you don’t move at all.”

The boys immediately stand as still as boards, allowing their peers to lift them up. Carried on the shoulder of another disciple from his sect, one boy mumbles, “The corpse that sprinkled the poisonous powder really did breathe.”

The boy who carried him complained as he panted on, “I already told you. If it knew how to breathe, then it’d be a living person.”

Lan SiZhui, “Young Master Mo, all of them have been carried. Where will we go?”

Lan SiZhui is the nicest, most obedient, and least worrisome one. You answer him, “At the moment, we definitely won’t be able to leave the city. Let’s knock a few doors.”

“Knock the doors of what?” That is Jin Ling, he is not nice, obedient or un-worrisome.

You take a moment to think. “Is there anything else that has doors except for houses?”

Jin Ling again “You want us to enter these houses? It’s already this dangerous outside. Who knows what things are hidden in these rooms, watching and waiting for us.”

The boys shudder in fear. “True. It’s hard to say whether outside the houses or inside the houses is more dangerous. But, since it’s already like this on the outside, the inside can’t be any worse. Let’s go. There’s no time to lose. We still need to cure the poisoning.”

You instruct them all to hold the sword sheath of the person in front of them, so that they didn’t wander off amid the dense fog. From house to house, you knock on the doors. Jin Ling pounds for awhile, and doesn’t hear any response from within the house, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone inside this one. Let’s go in.”

“Who told you to enter if there wasn’t anyone inside? Continue knocking. We need to go into a house that does have someone inside of it.” You instruct.

Jin Ling, “You want to find one with someone inside?”

“Yes. Knock nicely. Your knocks were too strong. It’s quite rude.”

Eventually you find a house and sweet talk yourself and your young charges inside. The woman who let you in has a hunched back, seemingly elderly though on second glance she can’t be more than middle aged.

You keep your foot in the door so she can’t close it, perfectly prepared to kick the door down if you need to. To get these boys inside.

The room is pitch-black again and you look at the woman. “Manager, why do you not open the lights?”

The old woman shakes her head. “The light is on the table. Light it yourselves.”

Lan SiZhui is closest to a table. He fishes out a fire talisman and lit it up. You regret asking for light.

Within the shop’s central chamber, a roomful of people are crammed inside, shoulders to shoulders and heels to heels. Each and every single one of them had their eyes wide open, staring at you without a single blink!

The boy loosens his hand but you save the oil lamp just as it was about to hit the ground. Calmly brushing it against the burning fire talisman on the other hand, you light it up and set it onto the table,

“Did you make these yourself, Manager? They’re quite well-made.” Because they aren’t people in this room, they are mannequins. Very realistic, but just made of paper.

“Would it be possible for us to borrow your kitchen?”

The old woman almost glowers at the lamp, as if she disliked the presence of any light, “The kitchen is in the back. Use it as you please.” She ducks into another room and slams the door loudly.

Jin Ling exclaims, “There’s definitely something wrong with the hag! You…”

You cut him off. “Okay. Hush. I need somebody to help me. Any volunteers?”

Lan SiZhui hurries, “I can come.”

Lan JingYi is still standing as straight as a stick, “Then what do I do?”

“Remain standing. Don’t move if I don’t tell you to.”

Lan SiZhui follows you to the kitchen in the back. It smells terrible and Lan SiZhui visibly struggles to remain in the room. Jin Ling has followed as well, but he leaps outside again immediately, fanning the air as fast as he can, “What in the world is this?!! What are you doing here instead of thinking up cures?!”

You just smile at him. “Hmm? Perfect timing. How did you know that I was going to call you over? Lend me a hand.”

Jin Ling grumbles, “I’m not here to help! Urgh! Did somebody kill someone but forget to bury them?!”

“Young Mistress Jin, are you coming or not? If you’re coming, then come in and help; if you’re not coming, then go back and tell someone else to come over.”

Jin Ling rages, “Who are you calling Young Mistress Jin? Be careful what you say!” He pinches his nose for a while, as if debating what to do and finally humphs, “Well I want to see what on Earth you’re trying to do.” With this, he storms inside. And on cue you open a chest, filled with old, bad, meat. The source of the stench.

Jin Ling flees the room. You pas him the chest, “Throw it away. Anywhere works, as long as we don’t smell it.”

While he is gone you and your obedient helper draw water and begin cleaning the kitchen.

Jin Ling demands as he returns, “What are you doing?”

Lan SiZhui answers for you. “As you can see, we are cleaning the kitchen hearth.”

“What’s the use of cleaning the hearth? We’re not making food or anything.”

You look at him. “Who told you so? We are making food. You can sweep the dust. Get rid of all the cobwebs up there.”

The boy obeys and you open another chest, making him dart out again. This one is safe though, no smell. The three of you work quickly. The house finally seems a bit more lively, no longer haunted and long-abandoned. In a corner, there is some already-chopped firewood. You pile it into the hearth and set it alight using a fire talisman. You rest a newly washed pot on the hearth and begin to boil water. You pour some glutinous rice out of the second chest, wash all of it, and pour it into the pot.

Jin Ling speaks up, “You’re making congee?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jin Ling hurls the cleaning rag onto the ground. You look at him again, “You see how you get mad after working for just a bit? Look at SiZhui. He worked the hardest and didn’t even say anything yet. What’s wrong with congee?”

Jin Ling, “What’s not wrong with congee? It’s so watery and tasteless! Wait… I’m not mad because there’s something wrong with congee!”

You shrug. “It’s not for you anyways.”

Jin Ling is even more angered, “What did you say? I worked for so long, and I don’t even get any?!”

Lan SiZhui finally speaks up, “Young Master Mo, is it that congee can cure corpse poisoning?”

You smile at him, “Yes, but it’s not the congee that can cure corpse poisoning—it’s the rice. This is folk medicine. Normally, you apply the glutinous rice to the scratched or bitten wound. In the future, if you ever find yourselves in such a situation again, you can try this. Although it’ll hurt a lot, it definitely works efficiently. But, since they swallowed corpse poisoning powder instead of being scratched or bitten, we can only make some rice congee for them to eat up.”

Lan SiZhui seems to realise something, “So that was why you intended to enter a house with someone inside. Only a house with someone living inside could have a kitchen. Only a kitchen could have glutinous rice.”

Jin Ling argues though, “Who knows how long the rice has been here for? Can you still eat it? This kitchen hasn’t been used in at least a year. There’s dust everywhere and the meat’s even rotten. Don’t tell me that the hag hasn’t eaten for an entire year. It’s impossible that she has practiced inedia. How did she survive?”

You don’t have clear answers “It’s either that nobody has been living here and that she really isn’t the shopkeeper at all, or that she simply doesn’t need to eat.”

Lan SiZhui lowers his voice, “If she does not need to eat, then she would be dead. But the old woman clearly breathes.”

Using a spatula, you nonchalantly stir the pot of congee, mixing in ingredients from various bottles and jars, “Right. You haven’t finished explaining. Why did you come to Yi City together? It wasn’t just by chance that you ran into each other and then us, was it?”

Edited 2020-08-11 17:59 (UTC)

Warnings: kissing/making out, lions, battle, death, child in war situation
Themes: Animals, lovers, family, loss of family, war

Memory One It's hot out, which is pretty standard for summer on earth. The lion cage is, at least, mucked out already. Someone else had done that while the cats were in the tent practising their tricks.

You have a heavy duty brush in a bucket in one hand, and a bucket of raw meat in the other. You hold the buckets together in one hand so you can unlock the door to the cage with the other and slip inside. As soon as you're inside, you can barely get the door locked again before two lions, Boscoe and Barbara are both trying to jump on you and great you.

You laugh and get the lock in place, struggling to to give them each a piece of meat before starting to brush their coats.

Memory Two You are in a trailer, with a blonde haired man, Quatre. You both lie in your bed, kissing each other. The rest of the world doesn't matter at all, all that you care about is the warm body in your arms and the sounds falling from your lover's lips. The pleasure is greater than anything you've felt, you've never had the time or the courage to go so far before.

At least Quatre is enjoying it as much as you are, so much that he forgets how to say things in anything but Italian for a moment or three.

Memory Three It's horrible and awful and he doesn't know how to react, war is no place for a child's tears, especially not during combat. The mercenaries are being slaughtered, they've been ambushed. Leos are exploding around him and he's out of ammo.

On the comms, Midi's voice is calm. Too calm. She's telling him about her family, how the Alliance has them hostage. How the game on her lanyard she wears around her neck is a communication device. She's trying to lure him away from the battlefield, trying to spare him because he's just a kid like her. But that's everyone he knows being killed in front of him. He has no name, and now he has no comrades. He's never had a family that he can remember. He's nothing again.

Edited 2020-08-18 18:12 (UTC)

Warnings: blood, werewolves, attacks, guns, death
Themes: Friendship, survival, dealing with aftermath of attack

Memory One All of the daydreaming you've done about what it would be like to meet another werewolf hasn't prepared you for the reality. The reality was brutal, and you jump back at the last second to avoid getting your chest sliced open. The moon hangs full in the night sky, unobscured by clouds, and it illuminates the forest with a silvery glow. Your wolf's instincts run strong, coursing through your veins, and you are completely transformed, hulking, furred, and as ready for trouble as you can be. And yet you are conflicted.

The other werewolf is a little smaller than you, fur a lighter color. Of course, even smaller than you, the werewolf is still around six feet tall, bipedal with digitigrade legs and long arms. Their fingers sported long sharp claws. Their fluffy wolf tail swished back and forth as they eye you, and their face is entirely wolfen, no human features. If you had to take a guess, they were completely lost to their instincts. You know how difficult it could be at the start to fight off the wolf and retain your sense of self, and you can only assume this is a new werewolf, inexperienced.

Growling at you, the other werewolf bares its teeth, crouching low before leaping at you, leaves scattering under foot. You dive to the side, turning as you straighten back up. The other werewolf is on you before you have a chance to turn, claws and teeth descending, aiming for your neck and shoulders.

Just before they could make contact, a gunshot rang out, and the side of your face is splattered with wet, the scent of blood fills your nostrils. The werewolf hits you like dead weight, crumpling to the ground, and you stagger a step or two before regaining your balance, your ears ringing.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Taos's voice, with his Romanian accent, seems to come through a fog at first as the man approached, a pistol in one hand. He is tall, red haired, handsome; your best friend.

Those questions require two different answers though, and you can't speak. Stepping away from the corpse of the other werewolf, you shrugged your large shoulders, resisting the urge to reach up and touch the blood seeping into the fur on your face. You are okay. You'd be okay, eventually.

Memory Two You are drunk, and so is Taos. Snow crunches under your boots, and fresh snow is falling from the night sky, landing in your hair. The only light comes through the windows of the manor. Even with your gloves on, your hands are freezing, and your nose is frigid. You should have put on a heavier coat, but drinking has made you overly confident that you'd be warm enough outside.

Leaning down, you scoop up a handful of snow, packing it into a messy snowball, and turn, preparing to hurl it in Taos's direction, but the other man beats you to it. A snowball nails you in the face, sending you reeling backwards even as you start laughing. It is ridiculously cold, and there is snow on your eyelashes now despite your best efforts to brush it all away.

Retaliating, you fling your snowball--and miss by a mile, because you are laughing too much. Your next snowball catches Taos in the chest, and the man yelps, shaking his shirt out.

"Time out," Taos says, brushing snow off his shirt.

You ignore him, instead tackling him to the snowy ground. For a split second, lying there on top of Taos, you worry you've taken things too far. But then Taos starts laughing, and so do you, rolling over to the side to lie next to him, breath visible in the cold air.

Memory Three The bathroom was dark, but he was afraid to turn on the light. He was sticky with blood, his shirt was ripped and torn, but the pain from his wounds had already faded. He didn't know what had attacked him, he'd barely gotten a look at it beyond fur and fangs and claws, but the blur of it was burned into his brain.

Sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, he slowly looked down at his shaking hands. Even in the dark he could see the blood on them. His own blood. Swallowing, he took a deep breath, and then another, forcing himself to get up and reach for the light switch. Pressing it, he blinked a few times to let his eyes get used to the sudden brightness.

Finally looking in the mirror, he took in his reflection. His shirt was ripped and bloodied along the right shoulder and there was more blood smeared across his neck and splattered up the side of his face. Hesitantly, expecting the worst, he reached up to move the collar of his shirt out of the way. The recently inflicted wounds had already healed over, leaving raw pink skin beneath the blood instead.

He didn't understand. He'd definitely been attacked by something, he had the blood and ripped clothes to prove it, and yet... Here, he'd thought he was dying, but he was...somehow alright? The wounds being healed didn't comfort him any. He still felt like he was going to throw up.

Sitting back down on the floor, he left the light on and pulled his knees to his chest again. Leaning his forehead on his knees, he started crying quietly, tears stinging his eyes.

Edited 2020-08-10 05:44 (UTC)

Warnings: bullying, violence
Themes: friendship

Memory One The academic year is over, it's the brief spring break. You are at a cafe catching up with your friends.

Chad has time off from training for the day and picked the place, so it's a pretty cute maid cafe. Not quite full on Sanrio themed, but pretty damn close. Ishida is sitting next to you, looking just as wrung out from finals as you still feel days later. Orihime and Tatsuki walk in, both smiling brightly. Tatsuki's got two fingers taped to each other, she must have broken one of them again. But that's what happens when she's a black belt training to be considered for the Olympic team.

Memory Two There's a kid down the hill by the water getting bullied. By the look of him, he's mixed race, and pretty damn tall. He's wearing the same school uniform, and you are pretty sure you've seen the guy in the halls.

The bullies are from a different school, you know this because they've fucked with him before. But the kid from your school isn't fighting back. Even though the bullies just ripped off the necklace he always sees the kid wearing. So you shout and get the attention of the bullies, before calling for enough ambulances for all of them.

They think you are crazy, and you can feel himself grinning like you are. But by god you are gonna get that necklace back. And maybe flick the kid in the ear for not standing up for himself.

The bullies aren't as tough as they seem, they can't throw decent punches worth a damn, and clearly have never been taught how to recover from being thrown. But they got a few shots in before you knock them all down. Some of them are unconscious, some are just whimpering in pain. And the kid you fought for is standing over you, looking down at him in gratitude. Says he promised his grandfather not to fight for his own sake anymore, to use his strength to protect people.

So you make him a deal, you'll fight the kid's battles, and the kid can fight yours. You'll have each others backs, starting right now.

Memory Three It burns, a deep feeling in the pit of his gut that feels like shame and acid at the back of his throat. Orihime, Ishida, and Chad are still making excuses to get out of class, and he knows why.

He can tell every time the three of them go tense. And it's worse than that. They won't talk to him about it. Won't dare breathe a word, just slap on smiles and pretend that everything is fine. That they aren't risking their lives to kill hollows that he can't even fucking see. He gave up everything and it still wasn't enough.

He's powerless, can't even see the harmless spirits, the ghosts who just need a little help to pass on. He doesn't even know if anyone is helping them to do so, keeping them from being hollow food. They barely even talk to him anymore, and it's worse, so much worse than his injuries during the war. Hell, he can understand Ishida not wanting to look at him, he was able to remember some of what he did when his hollow was in control. He'd be fine with that.

But the pity in Ishida's eyes makes him feel like he's swallowing ground up glass with a battery acid chaser.

Edited 2020-08-10 05:51 (UTC)

Warnings: violence, riots, talk of execution, limb loss
Themes: Magic, fighting the powerful

Memory One You peek out the curtained window of your hideout at the city skyline. It is familiar and alien at the same time. Just down the street, you can see the bakery that made those garlic and artichoke stuffed pastries you love so much, and it looked fine, but across the street from it was a park that looked like a hurricane had blown through it. The site of a clash between your wizards and some particularly nasty inquisitors. Columns of smoke are rising here and there from the fighting and rioting. All this violence was supposed to be something that happened in OTHER places. Not here. Not home.

Deep down, you still feel like all of this chaos is your fault. If you had just shut up at ANY point in the last two months, everything might still be normal. Would that be better? You'd still be short an arm, and Eberhart would never have had to face the consequences of his actions, but hundreds of people would still be alive and your home wouldn't be on fire.

You let the curtain close and step away, back towards Valrissa. No sense in wasting time on might-have-beens. The past was the past, and couldn't be changed. The present, however, had some interesting things going on. "They seriously want to...?"

The little elf rolls her eyes at having to repeat herself. "They want to talk. The inquisitors want to talk terms."

You look down and bite your lip thoughtfully. "It's probably a trap."

Faust stands up in his seat and slams his hands on the table. "It's definitely a trap! You're not seriously considering this, are you!? They'll wait until you're separated from everyone else, then tie you to a stake and break out the torches and oil!"

"Maybe." Definitely. But... "But they're on the ropes. If we're ever going get the church to acknowledge us, we have to talk to them eventually."

The elven thief looks at you doubtfully. The burned sorcerers both look at you incredulously. You hold your hands up defensively. "Don't worry, I'm not going in there without a PLAN..."

Memory Two You wake up from an unexpected nap on your desk. Your head is pounding from spending all day peering at long lists of formulas and calculations. You wipe the drool off your face and look around in confusion through the dark room before realizing it is night now. You stumble around the room until you find a lamp (which you almost knock over. The mechanical arm works, but it took some getting used to. You keep on over shooting things because it was slightly longer than your other arm.

Light. Better. You stare at the pile of notes on your desk. You've failed a dozen times today already. You will try this one more time, then give it up as a bad job until tomorrow and go to bed.

You look over the diagram one last time, then close your eyes and take a moment to ready yourself. The flow of magic is there all the time, even if you can't see it. It reacted to living things, like a river reacted if you waded through it but MORE. You couldn't talk to a river, or tie the current in knots. You could with magic, though.

In theory. You haven't actually managed it yet.

You open your eyes, and imagine the flow around you. Your hands dart like they are working an invisible loom while you mutter a rapid fire barrage of nonsense syllables. She can't tell if it is working, but....

When you get to the end of the ritual, there is a FLASH of light as a wall of shimmering blue energy appears in front of you, dividing the room in half.

It only lasts a few second, but that doesn't matter. You have DONE it! You aren't a sorcerer but you just used magic! You burst out of the room, causing the little elf girl on the couch to go straight from sleeping to flailing in the air like a startled cat, and shout "IT WORKS!"

It isn't USEFUL yet, but you've proven it is POSSIBLE. And if you can do it, anyone can! Everything else is just refinement. In a cluttered room in your cheap apartment, You have just changed the world, forever.

Memory Three People laughed and shouted and danced at the Loaded Stoat, a slightly disreputable tavern not too far from the university that students went to when they wanted to get pissed. Samata, proud owner of a degree in Natural Philosophy so new the ink had not yet dried, lifted her glass of wine in a toast, and all her friends followed suit. "To all the professors we hated! May they all get hemorrhoids!"

There was some laughter but everyone drank to her toast. The world looked manageable, through a slightly rosy alcoholic glow. She was smart, she was capable, and she was beautiful. She could handle anything life had to throw at her!

Samata started to lift her glass again, and then felt a slight sting on her shoulder, like a paper cut or a bee sting, as some kind of light blurred right past her head. She said "Ow."

She turned around to see what that was, and felt a kind of weird sloughing sensation. A weight fell from her shoulder, and everything felt lighter, though her clothes suddenly felt wet. She looked down to see if she had just spilled her drink on herself and everything was red and someone was screaming and she was screaming and that was her ARM but it was lying on the FLOOR and what was happening!? She felt light headed, but was vaguely aware of someone bundling something against her shoulder. She could still FEEL her shoulder, so that must have been someone else's arm. Everyone was making a big deal over nothing!

Everyone was making so much noise, but she was starting to feel tired. Maybe she could just...close her eyes. Just for a minute...

Edited 2020-08-11 04:43 (UTC)

Warnings: parental death, loss
Themes: hope, ending cycles, family, parents, dreams

Memory One Memory One You walk out onto a stage, made from the ruined remains of Zanarkand's stadium. Debris floating in the atmosphere, an inky black with no end, no start, suffocating to gaze upon. Audience seats float fragmented in place, curved in reminder of how they once sat; a city dead for a thousand years stretching out in the vast abyss far beneath your feet.

You see him there, tanned back and scars worn and ragged. A back so familiar to you that no matter the years apart, your heart lodges itself inside your throat. Your father stands at the end of the platform, the final remains of yourr profession, your life drifting in a nothingness. No longer did your world where the cheering fans filled your ears deeper than the water of a blitzball game exist. No longer would your home, Zanarkand, exist. This is a copy of that place, a memory; the symbol of your team threatening to crumble with the rest of this dream. Your father's dream.

No. Your father's ten year long nightmare.

"You're late, Auron." Jecht speaks

Auron answers. "I know."

Jecht turns from Auron--the man who'd watch over him in those ten years--to you.

"Hey."

You answer. "Hi."

"Hah! You got tall, but you're all bones! You eating right, boy? ...You've really grown."

"Yeah, but you're still bigger."

"Well, I am Sin, you know."

"That's not funny."

Apparently Jecht thinks it is because you hear the hoarse laugh of your father as he continues to speak, but you refuse to look up, unable to. This is what you came for, to find him. This had to happen. This is how it had to be. This is how it has to end.

It is always hard to look at your old man, the hurt that soaked deep into your history: the shame, the anger. A dad you want to be proud of you, the shadow of a man that always haunted you. Even once he was gone, never to come back. In the way people looked at you, at what they expected out of you--the man Jecht once was, the man he'd always be to everyone else.

You thought you'd never see him again, even if he was never far from your mind. But now, he was really going to be gone for good. Soon, you won't see your dad again.

Everything you always wanted to say to him, the thousand things, the conversation between a mother and son.

( "If he dies, you'll never be able to tell him how much you hate him." )

Jecht speaks "Well, then... I mean...you know. Let's end this."

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate you."

Your old man is silent before laughing softly again, that damn annoying laugh; more a chuckle awkward on the lips.

Jecht answers, "I know, I know. You know what you have to do."

"Yeah."

There's no other way. There's nothing else you can do. This is what your old man wants...

Your dad speaks again, "I can't hear the Hymn so well anymore. Pretty soon, I'm gonna be Sin. Completely. I'm glad you're here now. One thing, though...

When it starts, I won't be myself anymore. I won't be able to hold myself back...

I'm sorry."

You can't stand this anymore. You can't stand here and listen to it--

You can't... "That's enough! Let's finish this, okay?"

The man agrees. "You're right. Well, then... Let's go!"

Jecht crosses his arms before his chest. Power converses at its centre in a white light, and slowly he staggers back; heading for the edge of the platform, to the end--heading for the finish they're here to bring. An end to Sin, an end to Spira's suffering; it's all going to end, it's all going to be gone, this is the last time--

You speak. "No!"

--You're going to lose your dad again.

You sprint forward and reache out, willing for your hand to catch him before it can happen, to stop him. To get him, grab him, be dragged down if you have to, but you are not going to lose your father again. No, you can't, no, you don't want to, no no no no--

But you don't stop him, and he falls out of sight. A silence in everywhere but between your own ears, the shaking of your breath and your heart raw in its beating.

And then the environment rumbles, shakes, a giant claw of a hand coming up and grasping at the stadium platform, sending you jumping back.

Your father re-emerges as Braska's Final Aeon. Looming over you, their weapons drawn. There is no turning back. You can't.

You speak. "I promise this'll be quick! Hit me with all you got, Dad!"

It is time to finish this.

Memory Two A woman--Yunalesca--kneels at the centre of a glowing ring of magic, defeated, her aim to wipe you out turned around . You all gather as pyreflies swarm from her body, flying off into the endless black sky above, a darkness that seems limitless. She's lived as an Unsent for over a thousand years, but now...

She speaks. "If I die, so does the Final Aeon. And with it, Spira's only hope."

You answer. "Then we'll find Spira a new hope!"

Yunalesca: "Fool. There is no other way. Even if there was... Even if you did destroy Sin... Yu Yevon the immortal would only create Sin anew."

"Yu Yevon!?" You ask.

"Ah... Zaon... Forgive me... Spira has been robbed of the light of hope... All that remains is sorrow."

The pyreflies turn numerous, distorted cries whispering away with them. Yunalesca drops lower, curling in on herself as her body wavers, and then disperses with the glowing lights, nothing to remain. Leaving you-and taking the Final Aeon with her. The false hope that led countless summoners and guardians to their death. That continued the cycle of Sin, that brought suffering anew to everyone and everything, over and over.

Yuna speaks at your side, "I cannot believe what we just did."

You answer her. "Let's do something more unbelievable."

And that is just the start.

It is Rikku's turn to ask. "What?"

You explain. "Destroy Sin. So it won't come back, and without the Final Aeon. I don't know how just yet. But I'll find out."

No more suffering. No more pointless sacrifices.

You'd find a way--

You all would!

Memory Three Silence meets his ears. A cool surface under his cheek and limbs, darkness behind Tidus's eyelids. It draws him to clamber onto his knees, shift his gloved hands along the scratchy texture beneath them, makes him look to whatever's there--to wherever he is. Wood greets him, wooden planks, and the hushed rocking of calm water lower below. He's on a pier, a pier he knows: The last he'd docked into in Zanarkand, the night the same as even then. Before the big game, before he ended up in Spira. Even over there, a short walk away, was...

Tidus: "Eh?"

Tidus picks himself onto his feet and sees at the farther reaches a city he thought he wouldn't again, water arched high over buildings that sat atop water pooled and flowing at once. But before him was a boat--his boat, his family's boathouse, still in the already quiet night. He walks over, confused--he was just with Yuna and the others. Why was he here? Was this really Zanarkand...?

But inside, it looks just as it should. The lights on, the stat screens up and running; the to-go food packaging left as a mess on the main table, maybe even the dishes he'd left in the sink if he looked. But Tidus searches around him first, turning, torn between confusion and a yearning, when in the corner--

Fayth: "Welcome home."

A boy sits crouched.

Tidus: "You..."

Fayth: "Remember me? We met in Bevelle."

Tidus: "Yeah."

Fayth: "But that wasn't the first time we met. I've known about you for a long time. A long, long time."

Tidus: "I...I feel like I know you, too. Where are we?"

Fayth: "Silly, don't recognise your own home?"

Wakka: 'What's gotten into you? Hey!'

Rikku: 'Wake up! Wake up!'

Wakka's figure appears faint in the room, and then Rikku's, disappearing before Tidus turns back to the Fayth who now stands.

Tidus: "Wait...this is a dream."

Fayth: "Precisely."

Tidus: "A dream? Are you crazy? I don't have time to be dreaming now!"

Fayth: "You're wrong. It's not that you're dreaming. You are a dream."

Tidus: "Huh? Wait a sec."

The Fayth runs for the door leading out, disappear in their already hazy visage. Tidus follows them out, the world outside the same as it was as he went in. He finds the young-looking Fayth on top of the deck, looking out at the city.

Fayth: "Long ago, there was a war."

He goes up to him, then sits down crossed legged.

Tidus: "Yeah, with machina, right?"

Fayth: "Yes. A war between Zanarkand and Bevelle. Bevelle's machina assured their victory from the start. Spira had never seen such power.

The summoners of Zanarkand didn't stand a chance. Zanarkand was doomed to oblivion.

That's why we tried to save it -- if only in a memory."

Tidus: "What did you do?"

Fayth: "The remaining summoners and the townspeople that survived the war...

They all became fayth -- fayth for the summoning."

Tidus: "The summoning... You mean Sin?"

Fayth: "No. I mean this place. A Zanarkand that never sleeps."

Tidus: "What?"

What...?

Fayth: "The dreams of the fayth summoned the memories of the city. They summoned all the buildings, all the people who lived there."

Tidus: "The people... What, they're all dreams?"

He stands up, looking down at the Fayth.

Tidus: "Me, too?"

Fayth: "Yes, you're a dream of the fayth. You, your father, your mother, everyone. All dreams. And if the fayth stop dreaming..."

They look out towards Zanarkand, the pier and the sea, the stars that littered the sky numerous and plenty. And in a flash, the city far beyond is gone, an endless emptiness stretching out,low and high. The dock is twisted, distorted, the lights non-functioning, a darkness eating away at the platform, the boathouse that they stand on deformed under their feet. His home, his Zanarkand. Everything he's known, loved-- if they stop dreaming-- if they ever stop--

Tidus: "No! So what if I'm a dream! I...I like being here."

Fayth: "We've been dreaming so long...we're tired. Would you and your father... Would you let us rest? Both you and your father have been touched by Sin. Sin, the one whom all Spira -- the spiral -- revolves."

Tidus: "What are you saying?"

Fayth: "You two are more than just dreams now."

Yuna: 'Wake up! Wake up, please!'

Fayth: "Just a little more, and maybe...

Maybe you are the dream that will end our dreaming at last."

Edited 2020-08-15 22:31 (UTC)

Warnings: terrible parenting
Themes: friendship, longing for more out of life

Memory One You are anxious as you tug on your hair, pulling the chair which had an unconscious stranger tied to it with hair closer to the only form of light that was about coming from the ceiling.
You have no idea who this person was or how they managed to find you, but all you knew is that he had gotten into the tower and you managed to knock him out.

Pascal, your best friend is with the stranger on the chair. You watch as your little chameleon starts to try and wake them up. First by slapping him with his little feet, backing up to change to the blue of the jacket of the other. When that doesn't work he tries slapping him with his tail before ultimately a tongue in the ear seems to jolt the young gentleman awake.

The young man is awake now and looks around while you move to a higher-up place, hidden from view in the darkness. Once you can tell he is looking up you grip your frying pan and finally speak.

"Struggling... Struggling is pointless." You call from the darkness, moving to the ground swiftly yet still hidden, but you find enough confidence to speak again, still staying in the pitch black. "I know why you're here and I'm not afraid of you."

All the mysterious stranger before you can say is simply "What?"

Slowly your bare feet take a step closer, slowly edging her way toward the light from the window above. Your hands gripping firmly on the frying pan. You need to know who this is and why they are here. As soon as you step out you speak once more "Who are you and how did you find me?"

It was something you need to know and you are hoping to find the answers. He didn't seem to answer your question instead simply stating wow, which you don't quite understand why. You figure this time to ask the same question, raising your frying pan a little as a way to try and get him to answer, ready to hit him at a moments notice.

This time you get some type of answer: "I know not who you are nor how I came to find you. but may I just say... hi" At the end, his expression changed. A weird...smile of some kind plastered on his face and an eyebrow was raised.

You don't get it at all and are rather confused. But at this confusion, he carries on, the whole time that face stays put. "How you doin, the names Flynn Rider."

This whole thing is very confusing but your hands are on the frying pan and raised still, unsure as to what he might do next. Even as you look on in confusion he is still be carrying on. "How's your day going, huh?" A rather stupid question and your confusion turns into slight anger as you raise the frying pan a little higher.

You want answers and you honestly want them now. After all, Mother Gothel had told you that you needed to know who it was that was after her.

"Who else knows my location, Flynn Rider." As you speak you moved your frying pan so that it is pointed toward the man in front of you, your eyes are narrowed slightly and your left foot is forward.

"Alright, Blondie." He spoke and you arebquick to reply.

"Rapunzel." You don't know why he picked that name of all things, but at the same time, you had never stated otherwise. He starts explain something before suddenly realizing something else. You watch as he suddenly looks around for the bag you had hidden earlier. You feel confident that you could at least negotiate something.

With a confident look on your face, you cross your arms over your chest, frying pan still firmly within one hand. "I've hidden it. Somewhere you'll never find it." In your mind, it is a pretty good hiding spot, but it seemed to only take the other a few seconds to ask if it was in the pot, and with that it was lights out for the man again so you could find a much better spot.

Memory Two A little green baby Chameleon had somehow managed to climb up a rather big tower. It seemed like it was safe, but soon a white snake with eyes the color of red and yellow wrapped around the poor thing, biting into it with a fang.

You stop humming to yourself and look over, seeing the event unfold. You grab a frying pan and are quick to use it as a weapon, hitting the snake on top of its head, causing a tooth to fall out. The snake doesn''t seem happy and you hide behind your frying pan for a moment before peaking out.

The snake sees you as it's next target but you are quick to swing the frying pan and send it flying out of the tower and saving the both of you. However, that was not to last as you see the little chameleon pass out. You know it is hurt and worry about it, the snake had bit it after all and that meant the poison was taking effect.

What else could you do? You move closer to them and gently wrap your hair around it. Once you are sure that it is okay you begin to sing a little song:

"Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine. Heal what had been hurt, change the fates' design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine. What once was mine." As your voice rings through the tower walls your hair starts to glow from the top of your head towards the tips where the one you are healing is currently wrapped. When the song was over your hair reverts back to its not glowing blonde state.

The chameleon seems a little baffled, shaking itself out of your hair as you move so you are level with him. "Don't be afraid mister frog, you're safe now." You are confident about that.

You stand up once again and figured it was best to simply get them to trust you, so removing a purple button from your nightgown you hold it up for him. "Here's it's yours." The little friend goes to hide behind the window sill, so you carry on "It's a gift." This seems to get the frog-like creature to come out a bit curious as you move to put the button down on his head and within that moment the chameleon changed to the color of the button, causing you to giggle.

You extend your hand for the other to take, lifting him up and the smile is soon gone, replaced with something else as a connection was being made. "All alone, huh?" That is something you can understand. "So am I..." A frown on your face, you look to the side and run a free hand through your hair. "Most of the time." Mother would usually leave you alone after all.

But after a moment an idea comes to you. Something you are sure would be a good idea. "If you want you can stay with me, then neither of us will be alone ever." It seems your new friend is in agreement and the start of a beautiful friendship is born.

Memory Three "Rapunzel, let down your hair~" A voice called from outside the tower. Rapunzel happily made her way over, opening the shutters to the only window in the tower. "One moment, mother." she had replied, going to wrap her hair around a hook before throwing it down for the other to climb onto so she could pull her up.

"I have a big surprise." The woman in red called as she climbed on, but Rapunzel herself started to pull her up, seemingly used to doing such a thing so often. As she did her eyes looked back slightly as if she was looking toward an object, a closet type thing to be exact. "I do too," she said as she continued to pull the hair up, moving to go a bit further into the tower. The mother with a wide smile and a cheery sounding tone simply replied "I bet mine is bigger."

Rapunzel kept going, knowing she was now near the top, but her eyes were still looking elsewhere and in a volume that was close to a mutter stated "I seriously doubt it."

Gothel had soon managed to reach the top and sat on the edge so moved to get inside "I brought back parsnips, I'm going to make hazelnut soup for dinner, your favorite." With a swift turn and arms spread wide as if she was doing a performance. "Surprise~!"

As the other had been speaking, Rapunzel had sorted out hair so that it was no longer on the hook and slowly made sure that none of it was out of the tower anymore. Once she was sure the other had finished she seemed rather excited about something of her own, not the same thing as the mother seemed to be. "Well mother, there's something I want to tell you."

"Oh, Rapunzel you know I hate leaving you after a fight, esepcially when I have done absolutely nothing wrong." With each word, she removed her black cloak and hung it up before moving toward a table to put the basket with the said parsnips down.

"Okay, but I've been thinking a lot about what you said earlier." With each word, she kept looking off to the side. Towards the wardrobe whatever was in, there was something she might want to share with the other, but the mother was quick to reply before she was even finished "I hope you're not still talking about the stars." her face was clear, she was not happy about this subject even if Rapunzel had something to say about it.

"Floating lights." She correctly her as she started to move towards the wardrobe which just so happened to have a chair right in front of it as she continued "and yes I'm leading up to that..." And once again she seemed to be interrupted right back "Because I really thought we dropped the issue sweetheart." All said while she was getting out the parsnips.

"No mother I'm just saying you think I'm not strong enough to handle myself out there." With each word was a step clo0se to the chair and almost close enough to touch it and reveal why it was there in the first place, but mother had to speak, turning herself with a hint of confidence in what she was saying as if she knew full well what she was stating was a fact. "Oh darling, I know your not strong enough to handle yourself out there."

"If you just..." She edges that much closer. "Rapunzel we're done talking about this." And to the mother they were, but to Rapunzel, she needed to show that she was capable, and maybe then she can be let out for ponce in her life. "Trust me..." That was something she wanted, for her mother to trust her, but instead, it seems they were talking over one another as it went on with each Rapunzel Mother Gothel seemed to only get more annoyed with Rapunzel saying or starting to say that she knows what she is doing, but had been interrupted with Gothel having enough and yelling.

"Enough with the lights Rapunzel!" She seemed rather angry, determined to at least remind her supposed daughter that no she wasn't going anywhere "You are not leaving this tower... Ever!"

And that was that Rapunzel paused, her hand lightly on the chair she had been about to move, shocked and deep down a little sad. She really wasn't going to let her go. That was that. Even if it had been something she had wanted. As she removed her hand from the chair Gothel had gone to sit in a chair rather dramatically, to say the least

"Oh, great. Now I'm the bad guy."

Edited 2020-08-10 11:39 (UTC)

Warnings: Implied murder, mercy killing, child assassin
Themes: assassination, pets, family, freedom

Memory One "Tyson Williams eliminated." The voice is female and over a radio. You run out of a pair of glass doors. "Excellent work, 47." You flip over the rail of the balcony you've found yourself on and edge along it as voices sound from above you.

"Um... Mister Williams isn't looking too great."

"You think it's serious."

"What like malaria or something?"

"We all got shots before coming here."

You continue around the balcony. The voices continue, talking about how the man probably just has a fever, made worse with the heat. You flip over the ledge and run past.

The skies are dark, the wind is picking up. Waves crash against the shore as you run down wooden steps onto the sand below. You run across the sand to a plane, half landed in the water.

You climb in and fly off into the clouded skies.

Memory Two You are filled with a feeling of dread, but it's quickly fading already. The day is nearing its end and you, a boy with no name other than a double-digit number, are going back to your room.

Whatever awful thing that had you filled with fear and awe is dismissed as he reach up to a cage where something white and fluffy sat. You take out the rabbit and hold it close to your chest, the small creature bringing comfort with its warmth and softness. You sit down on a bed--plain, uniform, and hard despite the thin mattress--and simply run your fingers through the rabbit's fur for a long moment of time. You make yourself relax. The rabbit is one of the few things in your life that doesn't make you think of death. It is full of life and you are allowed to keep it that way. But it isn't free. You are resolved to fix that and a sigh of relief leaves you as he determine to set it free the next time you leave for a mission. The thought is a pleasant one. At least one of you could be free from this place.

Memory Three "Are you still with us, 81?"

"S-sadly, y-yes."

"No more sadness. We're beyond all that. Free."

"Y-you're the onl-ly one wh-who was fr-fr-freed. Th-the r-r-rest of us..."

"You're freer than I've ever been."

47 reached down towards his ill brother, lying prone in bed, too weak to move, and covered the other man's nose and mouth with his hand.

"Goodbye, brother."

It took little effort to suffocate Subject 81. He was too weak to fight back, and didn't have the will anymore to really try in the first place.

"I'm done now."

He had no more brothers left to kill. 81 was the last one remaining. He was the last "brother" that 47 was determined to set free. He had finished what he'd started so many years back. He didn't even remember why he had to do it anymore, just that he couldn't stop since he'd started. (The serum revealed that to him, gave him back that falsified memory, and he knew now--but back then, during the time the memory took place, he didn't remember the reason why he needed to set them all free, to finish what he'd started. Just that it was like another mission to him, that he had to do it.) He placed the body in a black body-bag and carried it down into the pit of the basement facility. He watched it burn in the incinerator--and he felt nothing but a sense of completion, as if it were just another mission accomplished. And even that was stunted.

Edited 2020-08-11 19:12 (UTC)

Warnings:
Themes: family, motherhood, loss, memory

Memory One The studio is vast, quiet, filled with statues that are so real that a many might be mistaken for people. You stand in the center, hair back in a working braid, hands white with stone dust that speckles across your apron.

"Earwen! Does the King send his wife on errands, now?"

The Queen is slender where you are sturdy, silver hair like foam on the waves to your own russet.

"Nerdanel!" She laughs. "Can I not simply visit my law-sister to talk?"

"No one comes just to talk." You sniff, but you bend, smiling. You are the wives of the sons of Finwe, and yours is a bond few understand, even if only Earwen got to keep her husband. "Come and sit, and tell me what Arafinwe desires."

"Always working." Earwen says, affecionate but worried. "Can you not rest a while?"

"You know me." You pour tea for both of you from a jug, sweeping aside a bench so you can sit. "If I do not work... Earwen, I think. There are thoughts it is better I do not entertain."

Amongst the statues, are eight that have been smashed, and rebuilt. Feanor, and their seven sons.

Memory Two The light is strange, not quite sunlight, a rich, almost living gold, brighter, warmer, older. It slants in through high windows to a room mostly dominated by a large bed on which you lie. The sheets are freshly changed and the midwife is cleaning, and Feanor kneels beside you. His hands are warm, and those long clever fingers shake, as they have never done in all the time you have been together, not even at your wedding.

"Hold him, silly!" Your voice is tired, but full of brimming joy, your eyes bright and your cheeks still flushed with exertion, hair springing from it's hasty braid to lie sticky on your forehead.

"Say hello to your son!"

The babe is warm, and heavy, and already has a tuft of red hair, and he yawns, blinking clear eyes up at the familiar strangers around him, and Feanor's eyes dart between his son and you, with fevered anxiety mixed with joy.

"I'm alright, Feanaro." You say gently. "I promise. Hold him. I am only a little tired."

Memory Three It's dark - nothing in the sky but distant stars, but there's something almost suffocating about this dark. It feels heavy, choking. The only lights are torches,which sputter fitfully, and odd, blue lanterns, which burn with a cold flame and reflect off the raised blades, which seem to gleam ominously. Feanaro is clearly visible, the echo of his voice, and the voices of his sons, who ring him, still echoes hollowly off the stones, somehow not drowned by the roar of the crowd, but amplified, like some great portend of Doom.

Nerdanel stands in the shadows, watching, hand over her mouth in horrified understanding.

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean
Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
Dread nor danger, not Doom itself
Shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s kin,
Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
Finding keepeth or afar casteth
A Silmaril. This swear we all…
Death we will deal him ere Day’s ending,
Woe unto world’s end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember,
Manwë and Varda!

The memory jumps, judders.

"At least let Ambarussa stay! Feanaro you cannot take all my sons from me! You only go to death!"

When he turns on her there is nothing of the worried father, the loving husband. His eyes blaze, and he is fey, his words cruel. "They are my sons, woman! They choose as they wilt, and I will not have them made craven by you!"

Edited 2020-08-18 17:00 (UTC)

Warnings: trapped by rubble, death, explosions, killing a mother in front of their child
Themes: family, motherhood

Memory One You are running towards a door way, a figure there bursts fire into the air, the ground begins to shake and the ceiling gives way. Pain as you are struck, rubble building up around you, burying you.

"General?" The voice is worried over the comms, but broken up, something interfering. "General? You can't do more that manage a small sound of frustration and pain in return.

You hear horrible sounds as the soldiers you led here die around you under the rubble. Your face is unburried, the only reason you are still alive.

"General can you hear me?" Footsteps, a scrambling of hands on rock. "General? Mom?"

"I'm here Cass." You manage.

"Hang tight, we'll get you guys out."

You close your eyes, "They're gone, Cass." You cough, pressure on your chest. "And I'm not going to make it."

"What?" The voice is incredulous. "I'm not leaving you behind!"

"Get your team home. That's an order. Your duty. Mine's to finish the mission..."

You've managed to get hold of the detonator, brought it up to where you can see it.

"Mom, no! We can save you!"

You smile, it's pained. "I love you Cass." You cough again, painful. "Give your dad a kiss from me." You eye the detenator.

"No, mom don't!"

You close your eyes, and press the button.

Memory Two You stare down at the child in your arms. Your child. Yours, fussy, small, premature, clean now, cleaned up by the doctors who have stepped back for now, giving you time with your daughter.

You are exhausted, sore but this child here, too early to the world and yet strong all the same. You smile up at the man next to the bed, he reaches over to take her from your arms. His face doesn't conceal his love for your new daughter and a tear slips from your eye before you can stop it.

Memory Three The fighting is fast and thick, Sonya and her team are fighting, mostly hand to hand though there are gun shots fired. "Come in Shaun. Where the fuck is my hello?" She is talking through a radio, frowning at the answer.

"Kenshi," She calls to a man currently fighting four enemies, "Our rises heading south."

"Copy that." They fight their way towards the rendezvous point.

"There's our bird, I'll cover us."

She spots a woman, aiming at the hellicopter. "RPG at six o'clock." Sonya calls out.

"Can you neutralise?"

"Got her in my sights." She lines up the shot, pauses.

Because it's not just a woman. Next to her is a little girl. No older than ten, watching the scene with frightened eyes.

"Sonya take the shot."

"I..." She takes the shot, tears run down her face.

Edited 2020-08-18 17:15 (UTC)

Warnings: blood, bodies, mass killing
Themes: Friendship, thrill, doing the job

Memory One You are driving along a long bumpy road, on the way to Edge. Your partner Rude is in the passenger seat.

You get into town, hang out with Rude doing random odd jobs before heading back. You discuss plans with Rufus and the other Turks.

You talk of clean-up operations. Helping people recover, offering jobs to those who had been sick to get them back onto their feet. Looking into what happened to the Remnants, making sure they don't return. Recovering lost Materia, what to do with it when you do, checking to make sure Jenova is fully destroyed this time for good.

A long to do list indeed but no solid plans are made tonight. You head to bed.

Memory Two You are sat on a set of stairs facing a room full of bodies lying on the floor. Your Electro-Mag Rod sits at your feet, bloody and hot from use. The air smells of ozone and blood, and fresh death. Beside you is your partner, comfortable and close, the man's gloves as bloody as your baton.

The scene is grim. The darkness of the room can't hide the bloody mess left in the wake of your intense battle. You Turks had caught them by surprise but they had still tried to fight back. They hadn't been quick enough or strong enough for their counter attack to save any of them though. All of them lay dead in this room, even the one smart guy who had tried to escape didn't make it very far.

None of that matters to you now. Your fight is finished. Your partner has already contacted your chief and told them the good news of yourr victory. Now you sit back and relax before clean-up comes to wipe the evidence from the scene.

You are happy. You feel flush from the thrill, the heat of battle wearing off slowly now that you are settling back down into calm, but you relish that feeling of victory and triumph for all that it is worth. You are smiling and laughing as you tell your partner a dirty joke. And your partner smiles back and shakes his head, but you know the other man is happy, too. This is what you shared the same love of: a thrill, the excitement, the rush of adrenaline. When you come out of it alive that is all that matters.

It makes you giddy. Your eyes sweep over the bloody scene and you feel a satisfying sense of accomplishment and superiority. You turn back to your partner and continue chatting amiably at him. The night is still young and you are still alive. There is no better feeling than this combination in your eyes.

Memory Three The button was pressed. "Mission accomplished."

He was smirking at the Avalanche members that were staring at him in horror and hatred, taunting them with his expression, daring them to make a move. He heard the girl plead with her fellows to stop it. Like they could disarm the bomb if they even tried. Still, he couldn't give them the chance to try. He had time to waste anyway.

"I can't have you do that," he told them with a jeer. "No one gets in the way of Reno and the Turks."

Now their blood was boiling. He could see it in their eyes. It was only a matter of seconds before--

--they attacked, but Reno was skilled. He kept them at bay for three of the five minutes left before the final explosion that would completely separate the plate from the pillar. It was a long battle. They were tougher than he expected and he suffered for it, though he didn't let that show. No way was he going to let these idiots know they'd actually gotten a few good hits in.

Inwardly though he was upset. He couldn't believe they'd countered his attacks for this long. He was ready to get out of here. He needed to get far away from this shithole before it was obliterated.

"It's time," he muttered as he made a show of glancing at his watch. He looked back up at his opponents and smirked one last time in their faces. It made him feel a little better but there wasn't any time for that. He dashed past them and vaulted over the side of the railing.

It wasn't a long fall, thankfully, as he'd calculated the timing just right. He caught hold of the helicopter and hauled himself inside. His cheeky attitude dropped now that he was out of sight and he winced as his ribs complained about his efforts to continue to stay upright. He confirmed the job was done and there wasn't much time left to his chief and then plopped down into the copilot's seat and nursed his wounded ribs--and tried to ignore his wounded pride on top of that.

The thrill began to wear off as he listened to Tseng taunt the Avalanche members below. Stuck on the pillar, they were doomed. Reno didn't blame Tseng for rubbing it in their faces one last time--it's what he would have done if his ribs didn't ache so much--but he winced as he heard the slap even over the helicopter's noise. He glanced over at his partner in the pilot's seat but Rude looked away in shame and Reno turned away, too.

"Time to go!" he shouted into the comms.

He heard Tseng wrap up their little conversation and then Rude pulled the copter away from the pillar. Less than a minute. Cutting it kind of close. The pillar was already straining from the initial detonations that were designed to throw off the struts. The last large explosion would hold enough force to basically shrug the whole sector plate off the pillar and send the structure falling to its doom.

Reno tried not to think about it as he watched where the helicopter was going. But the large blast was impossible to ignore and they all glanced back as the force of the explosion rocked the helicopter. Rude had to return his attention to the controls almost immediately to make sure they didn't crash but Reno didn't bother to turn back and help. His blue eyes stayed locked onto the destruction. The destruction that he caused with a simple press of a button. He watched until there was nothing left to watch and they crested over the top of the plate on their way back to headquarters.

The rest of the night was spent half in a daze. The medics had a field day with him and he complained loudly and unabashedly at them for every little thing they did. It didn't help. It wasn't enough of a distraction to keep his mind from drifting back.

Cheap play. He had complained before it all began but there was nothing they could do about it. The Turks had been given an order and they would follow through. That was simply what they did. Got the job done no matter what it took.

He would have preferred another way. One that didn't involve the destruction of so much property and loss of life. They could have taken out that small group of terrorists with their own numbers and left the plate intact. They were right there and he couldn't--

Would they have stopped the final explosion if he had been able to take out those members of Avalanche on top of the pillar? Or would Shinra still have let the plate fall as a show for their manipulation of the story?

Reno couldn't help but wonder about it as he sat in the office later, covered in bandages and bruises alike. His expression was solemn and even he couldn't keep the remorse off his face. It led to a small conversation between the chief and him and his partner. Tseng's attempts to placate his nagging conscience didn't help and he agreed to take some time off to recuperate from his battle. He didn't want to really--it made him feel lame, like a loser, and incompetent--but he couldn't get his head on straight and his ribs really hurt. Maybe some painkillers and booze would make him feel better. At the least, it'd make him feel less and that's really what he wanted right now.

Edited 2020-08-11 04:59 (UTC)

Warnings: war mentions, bomb mentions
Themes: friendship, relearning normality, eve of war

Memory One It's the subtle things that tip you off. A little more light in the hallway, the odd look from another tenant in the building, a change in the way the air flowed down the stairs. You know something was wrong, was off before you even reach your floor, let along the doorway to your apartment, hanging open.

You don't bother trying to hide, but you do move silently, standing in the doorway to watch the massive man in your apartment, poking through your meager belongings. Candy bars, a notebook full of memories. Just seeing those broad shoulders again has your stomach tying itself up in knots. Last time you'd seen this big, blonde idiot, you'd dragged the moron out of a river and left him on the muddy banks. He looks better now, healthy again. When your eyes meet, a wave of nausea hits you.

He was here in uniform. That damn uniform always meant trouble. You don't exactly run away from it these days, but the kind of trouble your best friend usually brought was on a bit of a bigger scale than what you've been dealing with lately. He turns, and your eyes meet. It takes every ounce of self control not to bolt down the stairs, but you know you need more information before you can start running -- and you will be running.

Memory Two Decades. It had literally been decades since you've had fresh fruit. You have to decide carefully where to start, what will your body be willing to tolerate? And what the fuck is a dragonfruit? Your gaze wanders the massive collection of fruit spilling out of the front of this bodega. Much of it is familiar: apples, oranges, bananas, melons. But there are things you don't recognize, too; Mango, dragonfruit, starfruit. Something that looks like someone had tried to cross a lemon with a squid. There are peaches, pairs, and plums. The dark fruit catches your attention, and you reach out to pluck one up, feeling it carefully through your glove. Soft, but not mushy. Dark but still shiny. Perfect.

You carry your single, solitairy plum to the checkout, exchange some money for it, and step back out onto the street. You find yourself an alley, tucked yourself around the corner, and bite the fruit in half. Juice oozes down your chin and the flavor! You make a noise that could only be described as embarrassing. It is even better than you remembered. You take your time with the rest of it, sticking to almost dainty bites to draw out the experience. Of all the things yoi hadn't known you'd been missing, fresh fruit was probably right up at the top of that list.

Memory Three The restaurant was loud with just-rescued soldiers celebrating their freedom with rounds of beer and loud, raucus singing in the piano room. He was seated at a bar that was separated from the rest of the restaurant with a wall, sipping at something strong and dark, but not feeling even a smidge of the buzz, gazing instead down at his drink.

By all rights, he should be going home. He'd been captured, tortured, and experimented on by a literal mad scientist. All he had to do to get his discharge papers was just ask. But then his best friend had slid up alongside him at the bar, asked him to go back out there and keep fighting the good fight. It was true, he was somehow, miraculously, uninjured. He should've been on the verge of death, but he felt as strong and as healthy as the day he'd been drafted.

How was he supposed to let his best friend go running into enemy fire alone? So of course he'd agreed. And now he was wallowing, pouting even, into his drink. Wondering if any of them were really going to make it out the other side of ths thing, or if the war would go on forever. Maybe the scientists would come through with their wonder-bombs, but he didn't put much stock in that idea. All he knew was that he'd follow his best friend to the end of the line, no matter what that meant.

And no matter how much he didn't want to. He threw back the rest of his drink, forced a smile on his face, and went to join the festivities in the restaurant proper.

Edited 2020-08-10 15:22 (UTC)

Warnings:
Themes: family

Memory One You run your hand down along the lower leg of the stalion you’ve been working with. The horse huffs deeply and you reached up to pat his side. "I know, I know. Just step down and let me see how the shoe is sitting now." You don’t expect a response for the horse, just guid the leg down gently with your hands.

Poor Chaser had managed to get three small pebbles stuck under his horseshoe. You aren’t a Blacksmith, but you know enough that you can aid the stallion so that the horse does not have to suffer until the smith opens for business in the morning, and you don’t have to rouse the poor man from his bed. Being a new father himself,

You understand the pure bliss of an unbroken night of sleep, and if somehow your old friend is actually getting some sleep, you are loathe to interrupt it for anything short of an emergency. You aren’t a Healer yourself, much less an animal Healer, but you know enough basic healing craft for small issues, and enough about horses and horse shoes to supplement. You watch the horse's foot set gently on the ground without any apparent new pain. You breathe out a sigh of relief, then inhale again just for the pleasure of the scents of horses.

"Lord Kharadeen, attend," a female voice behind you, sounding formal.

Jaenelle hates formal. If she is using Protocol either something iss wrong or she is pissed. You stand and turn, drawing a shield around yourself and the house... And one around her. You sense how much that last annoys her, which makes him grin in relief. If she can be annoyed with you, whatever has happened can’t be that bad.

You look at her, quickly assessing the situation. The air isn't any colder or hotter than it had been. Her eyes are closer to Summer Sky than to the dark Sapphire windows to the abyss she shows when she is speaking as Queen. Or rather, as Witch. Her lips are fighting a hint of a smile, and her arms are crossed.

You sense annoyance and irritation, but no temper. Which doesn’t mean you couldn't spark some if sparking some was called for. She is your Queen, your friend, sister and cousin of you heart. She is Jaenelle. And despite her use of Protocol, he can tell your are dealing with your friend, not your Queen.

You grin as you approach, stopping at the exact distance from her required by protocol. You bow. The prefect precise bow owed her. The hardest part is not laughing, but she had started with the Protocol, that means you could use it to be a pain.

"Lady Angelline," Her eyes flash and she is no longer fighting a smile, though she is still fighting to keep her dignity. "What is the Queen's pleasure?" you ask.

She begins sputtering. She is annoyed but not truly angry. You can’t fight the laugh that bubbles up any more. You don’t try. She is so much fun to rile, she really is.

"Khary!" she finally manages to get out, exasperated. She looks like she wants to smack your face into the wall a few times.

You flash an insolent smile. "You started it," you say, leaning back against nothing but the air that supports you, a trick she taught you. You drop the formality, standing at ease now.

"Because I had been calling you for five minutes and you didn't notice," she says tartly. "Sometimes it is the only way to actually get your attention!"

You wince slightly. But at least you have an excuse on hand, or rather on hoof. And it has the benefit of being true.

"Chase hurt his foot, I was tending to him." She is a healer, she would understand being focussed on another’s pain.

"I know," she says, her eyes a bit darker now, showing hints of the abyss, hints of Witch. "That healing salve you used is losing potency, I'll make you a new one. I healed him before I even started trying to get your attention. Which you'd have known if you were paying any," she adds.

You grin. "Then I guess I wasn't needed at all, was I?" he asked. That she had done the healing from a distance, without you noticing meant that she had more power still than you had realized. Something to mention to Aaron and Chaosti.

"Nonsense, I couldn't have reset the shoe," she tells you.

"Or fetched your own?" You know better than to say that. You do. Really. But you can’t resist tweaking her nose at least a little.

Her eyes flash again and she seemed almost to swell to twice her size, a cat drawing up, ready to pounce.

"You wanted my attention," you remind her before she can start sputtering.

Her sapphire eyes narrow at you. "Well maybe I won't tell you now," she snaps.

"Alright then," you say casually. It is a game. It always has been. The give and take between the Coven and the boyos as the older members of the First Circle often called the younger members.

She huffs a bit, and you know that he have won. She had let you, but that hardly matters. "Well?" You ask.

Her eyes shift back to a lighter blue. "Lady Moonshadow extended an invitation to Sceval, and I thought that you would like to come with me."

Your heart leaps. You love Sceval, though your memory of the place would always be marred by the memory of the slaughter they had found there at the start of the war, of those long endless hours that felt like months of helping find wounded unicorns, helping to support the healers, to re-earn the trust of Kindred who days before had been friends and allies. However as much as you would love to return, this invitation worries you.

"As escort?" you ask, the closest to cautious you had been since you had first judged her mood.

She huffs out an exasperated sigh, which is answer enough. She speaks anyway. "Daemon is meeting us at the landing web," she said. You wait, knowing there is more. "Kaelas and Ladvarian are already there. As is Daffodil. And Nighthawk."

You blink a few times. "Is something wrong in Sceval?" you ask. That... Is a lot of male strength all answering the Queen's summons. A lot of Male strength... And Witch.

She smiles slightly, and shook her head, tone rueful as she fiddles with her blond hair, still shaggy and growing out from when it had been cut too short while she was healing from the war. She is still too thin, but that battle belongs to her husband, her father, and her brother. And you wish them the best of it.

"No more than has been in a while," you can tell she appreciates your concern.

What had been a problem for the Unicorns recen... Oh. "Mistral?" You ask.

"Got it in one," she sighs, shaking her head. "He's trying to talk Moonshadow into closing the Territory again." She pushed her hair back from her face and used Craft to keep it there. "He was doing better for a while, but he's always been... Difficult."

That is the understatement of the century.

"I know why Daffodil and Nighthawk are there then," the Kindred horses might be listened to where humans are not. "And I can guess about Ladvarian and Kaelas." Ladvarian is a Sceltie - a small dog native to Scelt. Some of the Scelties are Kindred, and of all the Scelties that were... Ladvarian understood humans best, and was the Kindred best able to explain humans to other Kindred, and other Kindred to humans. As for Kaelas, well even a Unicorn stallion would think twice about challenging a red Jeweled Warlord Prince who could, by some odd quirk, slip past any shields, and also happened to be a ton of Arcinain cat. Even with his claws in, a smack from Kaelas could break bones. You don’t mention Daemon. It was clear why Daemon Sadi was going to be there. Jaenelle was going to be there and wouldn’t send him away. "Why me?" you ask. Not that you want to get out if it, you ust nee to know what you are walking into.

"Because I thought you could use the break," Jaenelle says, shifting to sit on a stool made of air. She looks at you, clearly not liking the look in your eyes. "I am not tired or worn out or weak, I just wanted to sit."

"Did I look like I was about to fuss?" you ask, a little too innocently to actually be innocent.

"Yes," she snarls. "Are you coming or not?"

"I'll come," you say once you are done laughing. "Can I have ten minutes to wash up?" When she nods, you glance at the sky. "You're going to wait out here?"

Her eyes narrow. "Don't," she growls.

"Don't what?" you ask, innocently again. "Save you from an argument with every single other male we'll be with in Sceval by getting you to put on a hat now before they see you?"

"It's cloudy in Sceval right now! I don't need a hat!"

"It's not cloudy here," you point out.

"Didn't you need to go get ready?" she growls.

"Yep," you say, not moving.

"So go…"

"I will."

She snarls at you. You grin back at her.

"Stubborn snarly male," she grumbles.

You smirk. "If you didn't want me to pick up Warlord Prince traits, you shouldn't have introduced me to so many of them, my lady."

She gave you a dark look as a hat appeared. She plunks it on her head. "Satisfied?" she snarls.

"Quite. See you in ten."

"You're down to eight," she growls.

Laughing you turn and jogged towards the house.

"KHARY!" she yells after him.

Laughing you drop the shield you had snapped up around her, and the one around Case for good measure. You see a Sceltie head peer out of the stables then withdraw. When you get to the front door of your rather large house the door opens. You smile at your butler in gratitude as you run past the man, tearing up the stairs towards your room. When you get inside, a fresh change of clothes is laid out on your bed, and the maid is just leaving the bathing chamber, informing you a bath is ready. You thank her, then sent a mental thought, spear to distaff, to your wife. When was the last time we gave the staff a raise? you ask as you quickly changed out of soiled clothes, wondering if you even havr time for a super fast bath.

Edited 2020-08-12 19:03 (UTC)

Warnings: war, captivity
Themes: aftermath of War, love, friendship, enemies, finding purpose

Memory One Your lips are still tingling when you step up the hill, your body aching from healed wounds and Scorpia's crushing hug. You're exhausted, your throat is raw and your eyes itch in the aftermath of shed tears, and you have never before felt such an overwhelming sense of peace and -- hope.

The new grass is soft under your feet, the new sky is so radiant and warm, and standing there looking over all the good she's done is Adora. Adora. Alive, and safe, and whole.

"Adora," you call softly; and Adora turns to you, and your stomach does its familiar flutter and your heart beats with a tender ache when Adora's hand grasps your own. Adora pulls you the final few steps, and you let her. Minutes ago, you had been sure you would both die. And now you're here, standing not at the end of the world but at the beginning of it: your hands joined together, your foreheads bumping, and contentment filling every inch of your body until it rumbles through your chest in a quiet purr.

"It's over," Adora breathes; so close you can feel the brush of her words against your lips, twitching them into a smile. "He's gone."

"Good riddance," you murmur in return. It's an underwhelming statement, but you're too worn out for anything more. You wants to stay in this moment forever, wrapped in the comfort and love of Adora's arms, each of you doing nothing more than breathing the other in -- but it's not to be.

Their giggles give them away, and your ears twitch up at the sound. You barely make it a step away from Adora's embrace before you're tackled; Bow and Glimmer launching themselves bodily at you both. You let yourself fall with an indignant yell that quickly gives way to a laugh as you topple over, Adora's arm securing around yoir waist and tugging you close before you've even hit the ground.

This moment is good too, your heart and chest fill to the brim and spill over with joy. You've done it, you've really done it. For once, you've won. For once, you're allowed to be happy. Adora's stayed, Adora loves yoi, and there's nothing left in the universe that can break you apart.

"So, what're we gonna do now?" Bow asks, sitting up on an elbow.

Shower, is your first reasonable thought. The stink of your extended space trip, camping, and fighting sticks heavy on each of you, and you've forgotten what it feels like for your fur to be free from grime.

But you already knew you were the only pragmatic one, and a feeling of such incredible fondness sweeps through you as Adora huffs a few excited breaths next to her.

"We could bring magic back to the universe," she says; breathless with the possibility, her eyes shining in wonder. And you don't have to hide it -- couldn't hide it at this point anyway, the love that overwhelms you and softens your gaze when Adora's brow draws taut with the cocky confidence that you've missed. "What do you guys say to one more Best Friends Squad road-trip?"

It's Adora who links your fingers together this time, silent and firm and wanting you there, and yoi weren't planning on ever saying no to her again but that seals it. The other two give their assent, laughing as the four of you rise together; but your words are quieter, softer. Warmer.

"Of course I'm going with you, dummy." Because you are done with running away from Adora. You're finished with hiding from the things that hurt her, you're tired of being alone. And here, in this group hug, you can really believe the promise you make. You'll do this - and you'll do it together.

Memory Two The inside of the ship is dark, but you have never had an issue with that. You can see the gleam of your own eyes reflected on the strange metal as you slip silently through the bridge, your sensitive ears twitching as you listen in on Adora and her friends.

It's so perfect. Of course Adora's here, right in the place where you've been sent to die. She always did have to show you up, in everything from spars to tests to whether or not she wanted to even be in a stinking hot wasteland, so where else would she be?!

Well. Too bad for Adora, strength is what rules in the Crimson Waste. And you are the strongest.

The hologram they're watching says something about a portal and death and destruction and Despondos, and you listen with half an ear. Your lackeys take out Adora's friends easily, and you could laugh at the stunned look on your former best friend's face.

"You two joined Tung Lashor?" The burly one, the one who used to head a tiny fraction of what is now your crew, asks in disbelief. And you feel the smirk slide onto your lips, deeply satisfied and thrilled with the acknowledgment.

"They haven't joined him," you drawl, your voice low and silky. Just to watch the way Adora's eyes widen, and then narrow; your heart pounding faster with the victory. "They joined me."

You know the very second you step into enough light for Adora's pathetic weak eyes to see you , because they lock on you instantly. You meet them, a clawed hand resting on the back of the hologram's chair and the other on your hip: letting her see you, letting her look. You were sent here to die, and instead you have risen up. Free of anyone else's petty rules or stupid constraints, you've seized control of a small battalion's worth of derelicts and vagabonds. In one single afternoon, you've made the Crimson Wastes yours.

"Hey, Adora," you sneer, the words dripping with false friendship. You expect a response and scowl when Adora clamps her mouth shut in refusal - and your hand lifts from the chair, your fingers snapping together with a sharp and commanding click.

Your new underlings fire their darts immediately, and you relishes in their obedience. The burly one protects Adora, keeps her from getting hit; but it's no matter. You are faster than Adora. You have your newly-acquired whip in your hand before Adora can finish scrabbling across the deck to her sword, and with a swing of your arm it cracks out; wrapping around the sword, yanking it from Adora's grasp easily.

"This might be the quickest I've ever won a fight," You comment; viciously pleased. You should've gotten a whip ages ago. "Always so dramatic with you, isn't it, Adora?"

The burly one rises, and Adora yells at her to get her other two friends out - and you aren't concerned, just watching, until she actually does it.

The situation almost slips out of your control. For a burning moment of panic, you think it might all just go sideways: that you might lose this, that it might be taken away from you, just like everything else you've ever won in your life.

But it doesn't. Scorpia has the foresight to stun Adora, who slumps in her pincers with a groan, and what does it matter if the burly one gets away with Adora's new friends? You've got Adora, and you've got the Sword - the key to the whole planet, if Adora's crazy hologram is to be believed. You are going to bring them both back to the Horde, prove your worth - and be back on top, where you belong.

You tie Adora away somewhere in the ship, and the bandits have what they call a 'party' in your honor. They chant your name as they swig foul-smelling drinks, cheer for your words as they strip the ship of its parts, and it's intoxicating. This is what it feels like to be recognized, to be appreciated. This is what it feels like for the world to know you are strong.

It's the happiest you have been in a long, long time. There's laughter free in your throat and a giddiness in your stomach, bubbling in each of your veins. You've always been told you were useless, that you were nothing; but here you are, having won it all. Vindication sits sweet and victorious on the back of your tongue, and you decide right here, right now, that yoi like parties. And when you're in charge - which you will be, quite shortly, just as soon as you drop Adora's stupid Sword at Hordak's dumb feet - you are going to have a lot more of them.

Memory Three Here

Edited 2020-08-10 19:26 (UTC)

Warnings: apocalyptic scenes, talk of using people as energy sources, talk of child death
Themes: family, last stand, horrid truths

Memory One The sky overhead is dark, practically black. It's not quite night, though - instead it's as if something is making the sky look that way, blocking out all sunlight. All normalcy.

Because the city is no longer normal. As you run through the streets, rushing towards your goal, it's hard to even call it much of a city anymore at all. Buildings are ruined all around. There's wreckage everywhere, and debris is freely floating around in the air, as if the laws of gravity don't apply anymore. There is not a single person out here on the street, as if it's a ghost town. A town that's going through the apocalypse, but hasn't quite come out on the other side yet.

There's the constant sound of eerie inhuman laughter, and in the corners of you eyes you notice odd figures slipping behind the buildings right as you want to take a good look at them. But much more prominent and attention grabbing than those figures is the much larger figure hanging over the city. It's impossibly big, and it's hard to even discern what it is. It's like a figure hanging upside down, but lacking a face and much too big to be an actual human. And more than anything, it feels incredibly dangerous. It's like its presence is pressing down upon the city, making everything feel so much more terrifying as you run through the streets.

But you keep running all the same, dodging debris along the way as best as you can. You're scared - of course you're scared - but you are also determined to keep going, no matter what, until you reache the spot where that figure, the witch, Walpurgisnight, is hovering. Because you know you are the only one who can do something about this. And if you don't...

A huge chunk of a building slams down right behind you, and you let out a shriek before running even faster, frowning in concentration.

Memory Two It is a regular evening at home. Which means your whole family is present at the dinner table. Your father still putting dishes down on the table, your mother rapidly chatting away about something at work or another, and your baby brother sitting in his high chair, prattling inconsistently while banging his plastic cutlery against the still empty plate in front of him.

You look out of the window. It's late spring, which means the sky still hasn't darkened yet outside by dinnertime. The sky is blue outside, and on the TV that's still on in the distance in the living room the weatherman predicts clear skies and soft temperatures for the rest of the week. Some birds built a nest in the tree right outside the window, and the mother bird is still sitting on the eggs, though your dad has reassured you that they could hatch anytime now.

Once food is served, you patiently wait to take your food until the others have, earning you a laugh and a headpat from your mother. "Madoka, you've grown to be such a good kid! You really need to eat more though, so come on, come on!" Before you can even do as much as protest, your mother is already piling more food onto your plate - probably more than you will be able to finish, you figure.

Once everyone has gotten their share of food, you all - or, well, aside from Madoka's baby brother, who is currently busy trying to turn the vegetables on his plate into some kind of smashed up mush - put your hands together and thank for the food.

As you start eating, there's nothing but smiles and happy chatter all around.

Memory Three Madoka is sitting on her bed. Even her room doesn't feel like a safe place anymore though as she's staring at the white creature on her bed that looks almost like a cat, yet not quite - something about the two sets of ears might throw anyone off the cat idea, at least. She has a pillow firmly clutched to her chest, almost as if to keep it as a barrier between her and the creature as she speaks up to it.

"You made contracts with everyone.. so that you could turn them all into witches?"

"Please don't get the wrong idea. It's not like we hold a grudge against you humans or anything. Everything is done in order to extend the universe's lifespan. Our civilization developed the technology to convert the emotions of intelligent life forms into energy. Unfortunately we don't have any of those so-called emotions. We examined various species throughout the universe, and found you humans. Your souls can generate enough energy to counteract entropy."

Even though it's hard for Madoka to follow, the girl still listens, though she's shrinking in on herself more with each word. She really doesn't like where this is going.

"Girls in their second growing period who transition between hope and despair are the most effective sources of energy. When your soul burns out, magical girls turn into a witch and your Soul Gem becomes a Grief Seed, releasing a tremendous amount of energy. The collection of that energy is the job of us Incubators."

When Madoka speaks up, it's like her voice is oddly choked. Like it's hard for her to even speak in the face of hearing something being said so incredibly callously by the creature. "Are we just.. disposable goods to you? Are you telling us to die for you..?" Her voice is soft, almost more a squeak.

"Eventually you humans will leave this planet and join us. In the long run, this should also benefit you," the creature explains, its tone so even. Completely devoid of any emotion.

"Stop.. Stop saying such stupid things!" Madoka's voice suddenly grows louder, obviously more desperate. There are tears in her eyes, but there's some anger in her voice. "Are you saying Mami-san and Sayaka-chan died for that ridiculous of a reason?! That's just.. just too cruel! You tricked us all..!"

The creature just slightly tilts its head sideways. "We have a hard time understanding the value standards of humans. Your population is currently 6,8 billion, and it is increasing by 100 every four seconds, so why do you get upset over whether a single one of you lives or dies?"

Madoka doesn't reply - only a choked sob manages to leave her as she buries her face into the pillow she's clutching.

The creature just turns at that, jumping up onto the windowsill behind the girl.

"I came here to explain everything to you, but I guess it's useless." The creature almost seems to sigh, but just as it's about to leave, it turns back around. ".. Madoka. You will one day become the most powerful magical girl, as well as the most evil witch. At that time, we will be able to obtain an amount of energy greate than we ever have before."

Madoka drops sideways onto the bed, still holding onto the pillow - but making sure to not look in the creature's direction as it speaks up again.

"So.. if you ever feel like dying for the sake of the universe, just let me know! I'll be waiting."

With that the creature jumps out of the window, leaving behind Madoka as she sobs into her bed.

Edited 2020-08-11 05:39 (UTC)

Warnings: battle, aftermath of battle, blood, undead
Themes: family, repressed emotions, dealing with war

Memory One With the sun setting at the horizon at the end of a long day, you are wandering away from what seems like the obvious scene of a battlefield, judging by the scorchmarks left behind in the grass by magic and broken weapons lying discarded in the field. You are walking with some slight difficulty, the tiniest hint of a limp, as you rub your leg and mumble, "Ow! This one's pretty bad. I can't go back to camp like this..."

A man approaches you- not too much older than you, but it's clear that you're related. The man puts a hand on your shoulder. "Something wrong, Inigo? Everyone else has already headed back."

Your jaw drops, momentarily overtaken by surprise, before you quickly try to smile. "F-Father?! Er, I just... thought I saw a cute milkmaid at the edge of the battlefield!"

"... You're a worse liar than your mother. It's obvious your leg is wounded." The man frowns, reaching out to touch the leg you are rubbing.

You shriek in pain. "It's fine, it's—GYAAAH! Ow! Ow, ow ow! No, don't touch it! Don't touch it!"

The frown on the man's face lingers, though his gaze shifts up from your leg to your face. "This is a serious injury, Inigo! Why didn't you say something?"

"What, and ruin my reputation?" You bite your tongue, trying to shove the pain down far enough to be able to smile. "The ladies want Inigo the Invincible."

Suddenly the man pulls his hands away, taking a step back, the frown growing even more intense.

"Gods, ENOUGH, Inigo!"

"... Father?" The smile instantly fades off your face. There's something like a lost child about you facial expression - which is very much what you feel like right now in the face of the volume of your father's voice rising.

"You can barely walk, and you're still thinking about girls?! Be serious for once! Really, why did you travel back from the future? Lucina fights so hard, but you... Honestly, I'm disappointed. You have no idea what it means to be at war."

For a moment you can't say anything. You just feel the light breeze drifting through your hair and the stinging pain of the wound on your leg as an awkward silence lingers. It would be so easy to just dismiss all this, play it off, make a joke, but before you can do any of that, different words flow out of your mouth: "You don't know a damned thing! You're the one who's clueless, Father!"

Now it's the other man looking speechless in the face of the outburst.

"Do you think I'd be out here if I were ONLY after girls? Out here fighting every day, wondering if this is the time I don't make it home?!"

Your father says something, but in yoir memory it's unintelligible, fading into the background compared to the feeling creeping under your skin, making you continue.

"You may think me a dandy and a fool, but a lot of people depended on me in the future. Every day, I was out there fighting Risen and risking my life. With everyone looking to me to be strong, I had no choice. I HAD to be invincible. I couldn't complain or show any weakness. Not with everyone else struggling in that damn war-torn wasteland... Even with you and Mother gone, I had to pretend I was fine. That I wasn't hurting. I had to fight every day of my sorry life and wear a smile while I did it!" You stop for a moment, choking up, but then you continue.

"You said I looked like I didn't have a care in the world? Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but that's not the case at all. I smile and joke around because I don't want to show the world any weakness... If that disappoints you... then I guess you just have to be disappointed."

Your father opens his mouth, but you shake your head. You don't want to hear it. Even though you said your father would just have to be disappointed in you, and surely he is.. You still don't want to hear it even more and further break your heart.

So you turn away before anything else. "That said, I do appreciate the concern.. I'll get the leg looked at." Before the other can get a word in, you are already walking away. You don't want to hear it. You know you won't be able to stop yourself from crying if you hear even further how much of a disappointment you are.

Memory Two You are running through a field of flowers, giant flowers in a giant field, because you can't be much older than four years old. From your height you don't quite look down on the flowers as much as most adults would - instead you stand among them, almost as one of them with your deep dark blue hair.

Or, well, there's not much standing about it. You run back and forth, jogging yet another slight distance as you spot a particularly interesting or pretty flower in the distance. In the background you can spot the palace where you live, but you have absolutely no interest in it. You are much too distracted by the rainbow of colours and all the interesting scents you're surrounded by.

A voice calls out to you, soft but bright, enough to make the your head turn. You looks to see the source of the noise - a woman with long, pink hair like cotton candy, and a wonderfully sweet smile on her face.

Your face lights up.

"Mommy!" Instantly you forget all the flowers. Instead you start running directly in the woman's direction - though right before you reache her, you manage to trip over your own feet, landing face-first in the flowers and the dirt. You let out a surprised yelp as you fall, but once you are lying on the ground, there's only a soft "ow."

The woman takes a few quick worried steps towards you, dropping herself to a squatting position and gently lifting you back up on both feet. Your eyes are watery, the first hint of tears, though they don't quite spill as the woman smiles at you.

"Sweetie, did you hurt yourself? Are you okay?"

You stare for a moment, a slight pout on your face. Thinking, but then you slowly nods. "Uh-huh. But.. I'll be okay.."

There's something slightly reluctant about the tone, but the woman just smiles and ruffles your hair slightly.

"You're such a big boy already, Inigo. Even though you're too cute for this world." She leans back on her heels. "Now, why don't we do something to cheer you up? Would you like to dance?"

The mention of that makes the your eyes light up instantly. You nod eagerly, and it makes the woman giggle as she stands up. Even though there's no music, she starts dancing on the spot between the flowers. It's as if her movements don't even need music - they just happen naturally, gracefully. Her long pink hair trails behind her as she moves her legs and arms.

And though you are still so young and clearly haven't developed a fine sense of motoric skills yet, you move right along, trying to copy her every move as the two of you dance among the flowers with smiles on their faces.

Memory Three Inigo's heels dig deeper into the dirt as another body falls to the ground after a swing from his sword. The sky overhead is dark, but cloudy - not a single star in sight. How long has he already been fighting today? At some point the day had changed into night without him doing as much as noticing it. There's no time for it. Not when their enemies just keep coming and coming, over and over, infinite waves of them. Every single time it feels like he's cut down the last few, more pop up.

His body aches. He's tired, but he keeps moving, almost automatically. Because he knows there's no choice. It's either force himself to keep going or die. Or worse - let his friends die. He can hear them fighting just as much as him, swords and lances and axes clashing, arrows flying across the battlefield, the telltale sounds of magic being flung around.

Inigo swings his sword. Left, right, two more bodies fall to the ground. Despite the fact that his enemies look human, they don't say a thing. They just mindlessly and quietly attack, at best letting out nothing more than a wordless roar. Their skin is already unnaturally pale, the look in their eyes empty. Like there's no soul left in there.

After what feels like an eternity the waves finally start slowing down. Less and less of the Risen show up, though the ground is now littered with bodies everywhere, making Inigo have to make sure to watch out where he's moving as he fights so he won't trip over them.

The last remaining Risen stands in front of him, a man only slightly older than him holding an axe. Inigo pulls back his sword and plunges it straight through his heart.

But he doesn't go down like the others. Not instantly. The look in the eyes of the Risen - the man - changes, some actual emotion slipping in, some soul, as the man smiles and faintly manages to mumble "Thank you" before collapsing to the ground.

Inigo freezes. The night air suddenly feels so much colder. Don't think about it, he tells himself. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.

He pulls his sword out of the corpse with a sickening sound and turns to walk. Someone calls out to him, one of his friends, looking as tired as Inigo feels his very bones are right now, asking him if he needs some healing from Brady. Inigo forces a smile on his face and shakes his head, saying he's fine, even though he can feel an open wound stinging at the back of his shoulders. Inigo tells him to check up on Nah first, he's pretty sure she got hurt pretty bad this time around-- and while the guy's back is turned, he quietly slips away, over to the nearby river.

He dips his sword into the water, attempting to rinse off all of the blood. Then he tugs off his shirt - the wound underneath stinging only more now it's exposed to the air - and holds it into the river. It's so red that its original colour only starts to appear as some of the blood washes out, though there are a few spots that he just can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much he tries to rub them out.

He thinks of the man whose eyes returned back to normal, who thanked him, and starts rubbing even more furiously. Tears appear in his eyes. Why won't the blood come out? Why won't it--

Without realising it, he's leaned forwards enough to catch a glimpse of himself in the water. Dirt and blood are smeared in streaks on his face, his hair so matted in blood that the usual dark blue has started to turn purple. Reflexively, as if burned by the sight, Inigo raises his hands up to his hair, trying to wipe out the blood. But considering his hands are covered in blood as well, it only makes worse of a mess. His arms feel so tired and heavy, but he keeps pushing himself, moving them more-- he has to get it out.

It won't come out.

Edited 2020-08-18 18:02 (UTC)

Warnings: murder, talk of child slavery, insanity, threats of execution, implied threat of sexual assault, asylums, bad medical practices, restraints, derogative language around mental health.
Themes: reality, fantasy, sanity, revenge

Memory One Everything in London has always been like this - dark, dirty, left to waste away - but as you head down the trains of the train station, it somehow feels like things are extra dirty down there. Even your own outfit is covered in grime, and these dusty steps sure aren't doing much to make your shoes look any better, but you don't care. You're heading down the steps with purpose, and anger makes your blood boil as you see the person standing there once you descend the stairs.

It's a somewhat older man. Definitely an adult, at least, and the way he's dressed up to the nines is a stark contrast with everything else in the train station.

He turns as he hears the sound of someone coming down the stairs, but you hardly wait until he's done turning to already start talking. "You oozing sore of depravity... children wearing their names around their necks, as if they're breeding livestock!"

The man seems completely unbothered by your anger, no matter how obvious it is on display here. Instead he just laughs. "A declaration of their pedigree. You could use one, they're proud to display their provenance."

"You brute! They can't remember who they are or where they're from. How many minds have you twisted into forgetfulness?"

"Not enough. Yours would have been a triumph. Still, you're an insane wreck. The damage is done. The old Alice and her Wonderland retreat are demolished. You can't even recognize what's happened, and you're powerless to change it or move against me. I've made certain of that."

You can't even bear to listen. His words are like poison, crawling under your skin, and as you speak up, yoi stomps your foot onto the ground in frustration at how useless this all feels. Because he's right. In this society, where he is seen as an important doctor and you are little more than a loonie, you are powerless.

But you can't give up.

"I'll see you charged. In prison, some half-wit bruiser will make you his sweetheart... and then you'll hang!"

The man turns his head slightly, his gaze half-amused, half-curious. "Indeed? A hysterical woman, former lunatic, roaring outrageous accusations against a respectable social architect and scientist. My god, Alice, who would believe you? I scarcely believe it myself."

You bristle. "You monstrous creature! Such evil will be punished!"

"By whom? By what? Psychotic, silly bitch. Your madness will be punished. Now leave. I'm expecting your replacement."

He turns away from you, obviously done with this conversation.

But you don't turn. She don't leave. Instead you slowly take a step towards him, and then another, and then another, each step growing more certain. In the distance there's the recognizable sound of a train growing closer and closer.

You reache out and shoves the man onto the tracks, right as the train passes the station. The sound of the train almost drowns out the loud crack.

Memory Two Here you are a young girl, is sitting on the shore. It doesn't quite seem to be a normal shore though - something is off about it. The fish that jump out from the waves every now and then sure don't look like any fish anyone has seen in any world, and the sky is an incredibly odd shade of green and pink mixed together.

Your company looks just as odd. As you sit in the cool sand there is a creature next to you- a gryphon - with the bottom half of a lion and the top half of an eagle - and the creature standing in front of the both of you is even more odd, looking like a turtle but with the head, hooves and tail of a cow.

You aren't startled by any of it in the slightest though. Instead you stare between the two creatures with a mix of curiosity and eagerness as the sea breeze moves your hair.

The Mock Turtle, the half-cow, half-turtle-like creature, has tears running down its face as it speaks. "You may not have lived much under the sea—" ("I haven’t," you say) —"and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster—" (You begin to say "I once tasted—" but check yourself hastily, and say "No, never") "—so you can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster Quadrille is!"

"No, indeed," you say. "What sort of a dance is it?"

"Why," the Gryphon says, "you first form into a line along the sea-shore—"

"Two lines!" cries the Mock Turtle. "Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on; then, when you’ve cleared all the jelly-fish out of the way—"

"That generally takes some time," interrupts the Gryphon.

"—you advance twice—"

"Each with a lobster as a partner!" cries the Gryphon.

"Of course," the Mock Turtle says: "advance twice, set to partners—"

"—change lobsters, and retire in same order," continues the Gryphon.

"Then, you know," the Mock Turtle goes on, "you throw the—"

"The lobsters!" shouts the Gryphon, with a bound into the air.

"—as far out to sea as you can—"

"Swim after them!" screams the Gryphon.

"Turn a somersault in the sea!" cries the Mock Turtle, capering wildly about.

"Change lobsters again!" yells the Gryphon at the top of its voice.

"Back to land again, and that’s all the first figure," said the Mock Turtle, suddenly dropping his voice; and the two creatures, who had been jumping about like mad things all this time, sat down again and look at you.

But you just laugh. Not in a mean or mocking way, no - you are genuinely delighted by the way these two strange, strange animals were jumping around and talking about nonsensical things. The wind picks up your laughter, carrying it out over the sea.

Memory Three Alice is lying in a room on a bed. The room isn't exactly inviting - it's cold, clinical. The door has a small window with bars in front of it and a heavy lock. The floor is dirty, and the walls perhaps even moreso, to not even start about the putrid smell that hangs in the air.

And yet, even as Alice is lying there in a bed with sheets that looks like they haven't seen a proper wash in weeks, she doesn't try to get up. She doesn't sit or move. She just lies there, silently, her only company a plush rabbit tucked away under her arm.

For a moment, that is, until two men - or boys, it's hard to tell - enter the room. One is small, the other is tall, but they're both wide and big, almost grotesquely so. Their facial expressions are set in cruel grins as they stare at Alice while she lies there.

"Well, look who we have here! The doctor's favourite lunatic!"

The big one reaches out to grab the plush rabbit from Alice's side. The smaller one holds a pan of-- something, most likely some sort of porridge judging by the consistency, even though the colour is awful. He reaches into it with a spoon, pretending to "feed" it to the rabbit by smudging the porridge all over the plush animal's fur as both of the men laugh, happily chattering away to each other.

"Why, if she can't feed the rabbit herself, we ought to, huh?"

"The doctor says she hasn't been up in years. Won't even move. A complete lost cause!"

"Maybe they ought to try some more of what they've done before! Some more shock therapy, or-- oh, oh, maybe some more leeches! I'll do it! I can make them hurt!"

And while Alice may not move from her position on the bed, she notices. She's well aware of everything happening around her. And as the men proceed to dirty the rabbit further and further, Alice suddenly springs up from the bed with a feral shriek. She grabs the spoon from one of the men's hands, starting to chase him around the room with it as he tries to get away from her. She swings it like it's a knife, driving the spoon into his cheek, starting to draw blood as a gash forms on his skin--

But it doesn't last. The next moment Alice can feel hands seizing her wrists, her waist, her legs. Multiple people storm into the room, shouting too many things for her to grasp any of them, dragging her back to the bed. Alice struggles, knowing she can't have this happen, she's got to get her rabbit back-- but as she opens her mouth, no sound comes out. She couldn't even plead for it if she wanted to.

Instead she just tries to resist to the last moment, but the force is too overwhelming. She's brought back to the bed and strapped in tight this time, unable to escape from it.

Everyone leaves until the room is entirely empty this time.

Aside from the poor, dirty plush rabbit sitting on the floor.

Edited 2020-08-11 11:37 (UTC)

Warnings: debt, captivity
Themes: money, home, parting with friends, loss of identity

Memory One A sighed passes your lips as you look at the piece of paper in front of you. You are looking at the current amount of debt that you still have to pay off thanks to some goat. This month for this particular debt you need to pay off 500 red bills. Which considering you make at least 4000 is perfectly okay, but as you look at the next piece of paper and start to calculate you sigh.

"Only 250 red bills to last the whole month if I pay off the amounts they are expecting." Which you know full well won't last all that long. But this isn't anything new to you, so it is okay to budget.

You set about counting the money you currently have and set them aside in piles each sitting on top of the bills so you can easily keep track. Once the last bill had been placed down you smile and sighe with relief. Once you send these off then you will be okay until next month.

"Maybe I should get something to eat. After all that I'm starving. What do you think Timcampy?" You ask looking over at a little golden golem who just flew excitedly around your head, you smile.

"Just to the supermarket and back, that's all." Moving to stand up you check how much you have left and start to gather the bills and put them in envelopes before putting them in a bag and heading on out.

Memory Two With everything that was going on, you know he don't have much of a choice but to leave. If you stay then who knows what will happen? Apart from maybe still being locked away or worse considering you escaped and all. But that only that you have to worry about that guy. That one that looked like a priest.
It is better if you leave. Closing your eyes you decide to use the Ark for one last time. That way no one could track you and if needs be the Order could still use it.

With the Ark slowly appearing you can hear the sound of someone approaching, but given they are screaming out your name you can already tell who it was: Lenalee. Of course, it would be her of all people, her boots are fast enough to find you quickly. Even though you know out of all of them she could have find you, you still are somewhat surprised, but that turns into a smile as you fully turn around to face her. The young woman looks concerned as well as a little bit out of breath.

"Where are you going? They'll get mad at you if you use the gate without permission."

"Yeah, I know." You reply a smile was on your lips, you know and understand that they would, to be fair they might even consider you a traitor. After all, you have escaped and are planning on leaving, you wouldn't put it past them.

You are confident in your choice, it is something you have to do, but your friend of course doesn't know that. You smile and the other just seems a mixture of confused and upset as she simply asks "Why?"

Her confusion soon melts away as the upset takes over with a hint of anger. She yells at you, reminding you that if you were to leave you would have to fight one another which causes you to smile even more and even joke a little, giving her permission to kick you as hard as she can. It doesn't make the young woman any happier.

You move closer and wrap your right arm around her, leaving you left down by your side as it seemed to be acting up. You figure you should at least say something to comfort her even if, no matter what, you are going to leave.

"Whatever happens, I'm an exorcist. Even though the paths we follow are different. That will never change." The other is quiet as they sink to the floor and tears start to fill her eyes. Your arm remains wrapped around her comfortingly.

The ark is ready and you finally let go, moving to take a step back, your smile still placed firmly on your face. "I love the order where Lenalee and everyone is in. My home." Even if some of them yoi aren't exactly fond of, but you are talking about those you had become close to. Those that you cherish.

Slowly you turn around, the smile never leaving as you walk toward the ark. Yes, this parting is a sad one and you know that, but honestly... You are at least happy that you can be honest and admit that there are those you cherish and that the Order where all of them live is your home and in a way they are your family.

And with that you walk through the ark.

Memory Three "You're the human implanted with the fourteenth's memories. The host for his revival into this mortal world." These were not words he had really wanted to hear. The shadow that he was starting to see, the reason that he could play the piano even though he had never learned. All of that because of this.

He was a host for another and it was said by his own Master who was clearly aware of this. In terms of movement and reaction, Allen didn't do much. His hands were bound after all by binds from those in the robes watching this whole thing. So for the moment the young man kept quiet, somewhat in a state of surprise or some other emotion, but he was quiet enough for his master to at least continue with whatever he was saying.

"You know the player's song and played it even though you'd never touched a piano before. Those things aren't Allen" he seemed to emphasize his own name to make it more obvious that those things couldn't have been easily done by the other, which was in a way a true statement. How could he have done that having never learned before?

"It's all the memories of the fourteenth." Even as his master spoke, Allen just kept silent as if his head wasn't even the room, that it was elsewhere, thinking perhaps, attempting to let it sink in. But either way it was easy to tell that they weren't seemingly going to say anything anytime soon.

But it seemed like Cross had a question he wanted to ask Allen, even if he seemed out of it. There was something that he needed to know. "When you were in that room, you saw something didn't you?" An easy enough question. If what Cross was saying was true then perhaps this question had meaning and it did. Could it be a sign that this was true. But Allen wasn't or didn't want to answer and was instead still quiet, seemingly pout of it and his eyes looking somewhat at the ground.

Cross seemed to try and get the others attention and when nothing came of it, he got annoyed. Walking over to him he raised his hand and slapped the boy across the face to simply snap him out of whatever was going on and it seemed to do the trick. and had been hard enough to cause some swelling and bleeding which came from the mouth. It had also been ard enough that Allen had ended up on the floor and causing the young man to seem pissed.

But Cross himself was annoyed too, standing over the other with a look that could kill if he wanted it to. "Don't just stand around like that we still have some talking to do."

That Allen knew was true they did, he needed answers as did those that might be listening in such as the guys in robes and Bookman, so as he shifted himself as best as he could while bound letting the blood that flowed from his mouth roll down his chin and his eyes keeping to the floor. He just had one thing he wanted to know: "When you say implanted..." he went quiet for a moment trying his best to word it. "When did he...?" It was clear what the question was going to be 'When did he implant them?' But Cross seemed confused and was quick with an answer that he didn't want "Sorry, no clue about that."

So knowing the when was out it seemed, but it still annoyed Allen. Cross seemed to know some things, but not something like that. This was enough to cause some yelling between the two of them with Cross trying to take a guess but still completely unknown and Allen simply yelling back about him not knowing.

But thankfully the argument is soon stopped with Cross simply stating "Anyway, I didn't know whether to believe the guy either. until you showed up that is." That was at least something to get the white-haired boy back on track before the other continued speaking, talking about how bad it was for the fourteenth after he tried to kill the early and that simply when he saw a chance he took it and it just so happened to be him.

Allen had listened to the whole thing and while still in a tiny bit of shock all he could say was "So he really picked me...?" Which was clearly obvious at this point. "Some bad luck for you wasn't it." There was a brief moment with Allen simply starting at his Cross expecting to hear more and it was something that one really wished they couldn't hear or that wasn't going to happen.

"The implanted memory will erode away at the host little by little and eventually turn you into the fourteenth." That really was not something he wanted to hear honestly. Still sitting on the floor the young man continued to stay quiet albeit surprised. Cross looked down at Allen as he sat there knowing full well that this had to be said "You've already seen the signs haven't you."

Allen looked down at the ground seemingly giving off a smile, but one that was more fake than anything. He just wanted to laugh. So that had been what he was seeing. "So that's why... it's not fair."

It wasn't, but it brought upon a lot of questions in his mind about Mana. "When Mana said I love you was he telling me or... Which was it?" Did Mana generally care about him? Or when he said he loved him was that aimed at the fourteenth, the one would take him over someday? Looking at his hands, one bandaged up and the other not as he soon glanced at the binds once again the fake smile from before gone and replace with a contemplating look.

What was the answer going to be, would he like it or not? he didn't know how he would feel with either answer really. But as he kept his eyes down waiting for the answer Cross moved to lower himself closer to the level of the other on the floor with some kind of answer about Mana losing his mind the day the fourteenth died and that he didn't know if Mana remembered the past or not. but within that moment something unexpected happened: Cross wrapped one hand behind the other's head and pulled him in.

"Should've picked some poor bastard nobody would miss for his host... Not too kind of him was it." Allen didn't know what to do. This was very different than what he actually used to with Cross. But at that moment the smoke that Cross had in his hand was eaten by Timcampy, the golden golem before they flew away again for the moment. While in the moment he hadn't heard Cross speak again, but soon he heard something that he honestly didn't expect, and deep down in his mind was not something he wanted.

"If I told you that when you turned into the fourteenth, you'll have to kill the people who are important to you then what would you do?" That was enough to cause the other's eyes to widen. What did he mean by that? But whatever it meant really, really was not a good thing.

Edited 2020-08-11 15:42 (UTC)

Warnings: animal cruelty, attempted cat killing, murder
Themes: loneliness, companionship, purpose, autonomy

Memory One You are sleeping, resting after your fight with Tsubaki, your wayward brother who tried to wage war against yourself and your siblings. After having used your Lion form and been injured, sleep is very much a thing you need. Mahiru is very attentive to you during this time, tending to you, giving you a lovely, comfortable pillow to sleep upon. It is the nicest that Mahiru had ever treated you, and you are content with his actions. You had done your best, you had defended his brother, Lawless. You had protected Mahiru. Tsubaki might have gotten away but you feel assured that the Servamp of Melancholy would not be bothering anyone ever again.

Memory Two You find yourself wandering the streets one night. You've spent so long alone, sometimes you just needed to feel like you were part of the world again.

And you've run out of snacks.

It is as you are walking back home, snacks in hand, that yoi came across a group of boys doing something beside a river. Not caring and not paying much attention, you on your way.

Until you hear a meow. Until he heard a splash and laughter.

The snacks are dropped. You don't even think as you move towards the river, pushing the boys out of the way and dive in after the sack containing the writhing cat that the boys had tossed carelessly into the cold waters.

By the time you return to the shore, the boys have ran. Dripping wet, you open the sack to free the cat. An old man, it seems. Advanced in years, but with the meow and purr of a cat several years younger.

"You can go now. You're free." You tell the cat, nudging it to leave. But the cat, soaked through and purring, wraps itself around you. You look around, then back to the cat. And then you sigh.

Picking the cat up, you return to your snacks, pick them up also, and return home.

After drying both yourself and the cat, you give it food and settle down for the night.

It is when that old man of a cat joins him on your bed and curls up at your side, that you smile. It feels like years since you've smiled like that. You reach down to pet the cats soft fur and find joy in the sound of it's purr. When you sleep that night, happy that you had been able to do something in your life to save another, you are happy. You sleep better than he had in a long, long time.

Memory Three Why had he done it? Because he'd had no choice. He and his siblings had sat around a table and discussed their options. When it came time to vote, three voted in favour, three voted against, leaving Sleepy Ash as the deciding vote. And what choice did he really have? Their order was to kill the one who had created them. He was still continuing with his research, somehow, after all these years. How could he allow him to continue to live if he was going to create more monsters? Monsters like him? Monsters that should never have been allowed to live in the first place?

Not only did Sleepy Ash vote to kill their creator, but he took it upon himself to do the deed, choosing not to subject his siblings to that. He was the oldest, after all. It was his responsibility.

He went to him.

He was greeted so warmly.

Sleepy Ash wavered... Doubts welled up. But he knew he couldn't back down. He knew he had to do this... He knew

With tears in his eyes, Sleepy Ash flew at his creator and murdered him in cold blood.

Sleepy Ash took to his Lion Form and laid waste to the home of his creator. The tiny village ran, terrified screams rang out, but his focus was only on the one man. That small home, and destroying everything. His creator. His research. Everything and anything that could be used in the future to make more of his kind. It stopped here and now. It stopped with him. In his rage more homes were destroyed.

It would be the last choice Sleepy Ash was to make of his own.

After he left the devastation, Sleepy Ash went into hiding. Tormented by regret, he vowed to never, ever make another choice of his own. To only allow others to choose for him. Taking that decision from him. How could he have regrets, if he only acted on others orders?

Edited 2020-08-11 15:54 (UTC)

Warnings: battle, war, parental death
Themes: family, parents, kingship, leadership

Memory One The throne room of Eblan is sparse, the castle showing signs of damage slowly being repaired, but that doesn't diminish the energy and enthusiasm of those present -- especially not the Seneschal, who for all his advanced age still has fire in his voice and spark in his eyes.

"Your Majesty, please stop thinking about girls for one minute and attend to these documents!"

You are standing quite motionless on the steps that led up to the throne proper and you wave a hand without looking back towards the man. "You know perfectly well I'll agree to whatever you sign off on."

"Your Majesty really ought to be more involved in this!"

"You know I've got no head for the boring details!" You move for the door, cape streaming behind you as you paced. "Besides, I've got to see about this morning's training. Eblan needs a new generation of capable ninjas more than it needs my signature on more decrees!"

King you might be, but you are head of the Eblan ninja clan as well, till such time as you pass that title onto a child or heir -- most likely a chosen one of the latter, since the one woman you've ever truly wished to be with had gone home to a land where she'd grow old in the space of months. But if one fist clenches at your side... who could tell that was anything but determination?

Besides, you have business to take care of.

Memory Two The Cave of Eblan. The last bastion of your people, the ones that were left after the monsters from the Tower had smashed into the castle and its environs. Ninjas on guard, civilians making do as best they could, tending to the wounded and surviving in hopes of the day where they could go back home.

When you step in, you draw notice but not attention. You are often among them, doing what you can to keep their spirits and health up. But this time, you raise your hands to draw their attention, and with moments a crowd had gathered, hope in their eyes as they look to you, their ruler.

You wait until total silence falls, then drop your hands and lift your head just a little. If you look just behind the people, you look like you're talking to everyone directly -- that was a trick your mother had taught you, and one that has served you well.

"Our enemies are defeated," you say, loud and clear. "We can go home."

You are a distant king, nor possessed of much dignity -- so when the people cheer, and some of them surg forward to hug you or clap you on the back, you allow it, even welcom it. The important thing is that your people are happy, and that happiness lifts a weight off your shoulders. They had gotten through this. Eblan would survive, and thrive again.

Memory Three Edge stands in front of a castle, in front of two figures dressed splendidly with crowns on their heads.

"Father! Mother!"

His mother smiles at him, "Thank goodness, you're alright!"

"And you?" He asks, but gets no direct answer.

"Come with us." Instead they tell him and he questions them.

"With you? Where?"

"To hell!"

A man calls out. "Edge! Watch out!"

His friends rush to help as they twist, turning into two creatures, one a purple brute with wings, the other a snake creature.

"You want to die?" The winged creature speaks, still in the tone of Edge's father. "Then allow me to speed you on your way."

The fight is hard, magic, swords, ninjutsu. The terrible scene of Edge fighting those who were once his parents. Through it all Edge calls out, "Mother? Father? What happened to you?"

The fight continues. "It's me, Edge! Your son!"

Yet the battle rages on until one blow... One blow brings lucidity to the kings eyes.

"Edge... Hear me while I can speak... We are no longer human. What we are. Has no right to live."

The queen speaks. "Forgive us, Edge."

Edge is speechless.

The king speaks again. "We must depart now. Before the madness takes us again. Serve Eblan well my son."

"No!" Edge shakes his head, "Don't go!" The monster who was once his father disappears.

"Farewell Edge." The queen speaks.

"Mother! Wait! Don't go!" She fades as well.

Edge wails in despair and falls to his knees.

"Such cruelty... It's inhuman." One of the girls speaks softly.

Edge remains on his knees, a portal spins and opens, revealing a cloaked man.

"Rubicante!" Edge got to his feet, anger overriding the despair. "For this... For this you will pay!"

The figure speaks. "It was Lugae who made chimerae of your parents. I shared no hand in his peversities. They shame me as they grieve you."

"Don't speak of shame!" Edge flicked his cloak.

"I respect men like you. Men with courage. But you are a slave to your emotions and so will never know true strength. Such is the curse of men.

Edge glared at him. "You think our rage... a weakness?" He crossed his blades, magic spiralling around him. "Then let me show you how wrong you are!" Power reigns down upon the scene.

Edited 2020-08-18 15:46 (UTC)

Warnings: explosions, war
Themes: friendship, belonging, mecha, war, fighting friends

Memory One You find yourself inside an active construction site with so many people hustling around, working efficiently.

You are clearly in charge, standing there with a clipboard with all of the notes that were needed for the building in progress. Supervising the work being done.

"Master Quatre."

You turn around, your hardhat sliding down over your eyes. You push it back up to look at the very tall, Middle Eastern man with a beard, offering him a mug of tea.

Memory Two Two rather familiar people join you in this memory, Duo and Trowa, as the three of you stand outside looking out over three large mech standing in an open field.

“Goodbye, buddy,” Duo says before pushing the plunger of a device.

At that, all three mech began to glow red before finally exploding into nothing.

Trowa, his arms crossed, speaks first, "I've once again become nameless."

You turn to look at him. "Trowa sounds fine to me. Why not keep it, Trowa?"

Duo smiles. "Names are things other people give you. There's no point in wasting time worrying. What's important is that we have a place we can call home." He looked over at Trowa. "Right?"

A faint smile crosses Trowa's face. "Yeah, you're right, Duo."

Memory Three The memory takes place entirely inside a mech cockpit, slightly distorted by the shield of a helmet. Only visible on the screen seems to be space, a large vessel of some sort, and a red mech suit.

"Heero," Quatre said, his voice sounding off like he wasn't feeling himself. "Why are we fighting each other? The colonies have teamed up with OZ. They're my enemies now. Trowa, Heero, the colonies are your enemies now too. Outer space has lost all reason. That's why I'm going to destroy everything. That's natural, isn't it?"

Red mech suit charged forward and the suit Quatre was in fired back at it, repelling it back.

"You'll die, Heero. I don't want to defeat people who are my allies. Please, Heero, get away from here. Hey! Are you listening to me!?"

The reply came through the communication system. "Quatre, I'm not leaving. There's a colony that needs to be defended."

And the red mech stood its ground. Quatre's mech fired again, the beam this time propelling the red mech backward and into the vessel... the colony.

"Heero."

The target sight of the suit locked on the place where the red mech had disappeared and fired again. This time, another mech came between the beam and the other mech, taking the hit.

Now it was Trowa's voice through the communication system. "Quatre, why don't you understand what a big mistake you are making? Quatre!"

The reply from Quatre was more alarmed now, "Trowa! This battle is unnecessary."

The mech that had intervened was badly damaged, sparking with electricity. The red mech reappeared, moving to the aid of the other mech. It pulled a panel off the back and fired at Quatre's mech, which was dodged.

Heero spoke, "Trowa, the Vayeate's about to explode. Get out now!"

"You're right," Trowa said. "This is the end of the line for me."

And now the badly damaged mech took off away from the colony.

Quatre cried out, "Trowa!" before a sensor alerted him to the red mech, which rammed into his own mech, pushing it back. "No, Heero! Save Trowa!"

Quatre's mech attempted to fly up, but it was off-balance, spiraling and flying into an open docking bay on the colony before crashing into a wall and skidded across the floor.

"Trowa!"

Trowa spoke. "Quatre, it doesn't matter how it happened, but the colonies have teamed up with OZ and we have to keep in mind that it does mark the end of a war. At the same time, it does mean our missions have come to an end. From our point of view, it is disappointing that the colonies we have been fighting for have changed their perspectives. That's what happens in wars. We've got no choice but to accept it. The only question left is what happens with the remaining soldiers. What happens within our hearts. With us Gundam pilots we were completely trained to be soldiers before we even realized it. When you put everything into a battle, you start to think you can change the times all by yourself, don't you?"

Quatre, after a moment, removed the helmet he had been wearing.

Trowa continued. "But Quatre, you're not the only one who feels that way. We all do. But the kinder you are, the bigger the toll it takes on you. We have to fight with ourselves in our hearts and we have to do it harshly in order to come to the right conclusions. Even if it means our battles to date are meaningless. We have to acknowledge the facts. The five of us have become nothing more than redundant soldiers, Quatre. So now... let's accept it. Turn back into the nice guy I once knew. I just hope something triggers your mind and calms you down. Something.”

And that was when the suit, still propelling off into space, exploded.

Edited 2020-08-10 05:04 (UTC)

Warnings: Implied/planned mercy killing, actual mercy killing (of a horse), imprisonment, death, war, animal injury
Themes: Family, taking on duty, hope, reuniting

Memory One "Three hundred and fifty years. Three hundred and fifty-"

"-six, technically," Your younger brother corrects you, "if we're going by the count of Sun-years." Beneath his shining, still unbattered armor (the delight at seeing your brother again does not quite dull your frustration at the sight) Turgon looks a little sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Findekano; I never thought that Fa- that you would be alone. But Ulmo called me to follow him to a hidden place, and I couldn't disobey. Not with my people on the line. I thought I could save more people this way."

It is still frustrating, just as Turgon's unused armor and new-forged sword are, just as the presumption that the people of Wherever-He-Ended-Up might be less easily sacrificed than your own valiant fallen of Hithlum, but it has been so many years since you've seen your brother that you might forgive him anything at the moment.

"You're here now, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes. Yes it does," Turgon has looked serious since the day he slipped from the womb, but now his face is grimmer than usual. "And... there's someone I'd like you to meet, actually." He turns, calling outside the tent. "Lomion!"

One of his captains slips in, a bemused frown on his face. This one's young, not part of the half-remembered gaggle that had once followed your brother-

But the boy's eyes are familiar.

"Findekano," Turgon coughs, "I would like you to meet Lomion Irission. Our nephew."

Memory Two “Kill me,” the elf far above you begs, and in this dread moment it is hard to believe that the skeleton hanging over you could be Nelyafinwe Maitimo, the fairest of King Finwe’s grandsons, who had shone bright as a diamond among the pomp of the Noldor in days far better than this one.

But you believe it. The elf imprisoned above you knows the songs of the Blessed Realm, has hair of copper lit with flame still visible under decades of accumulated dirt. Besides, you used to count those ribs in happier days, when you met with your cousin in woods and river banks and far too many closets for a grown elf to admit to frequenting.

They’re far hollower than they were- far too hollow to still live without the work of the Enemy to blame for it- but air still passes through them for now. But it’s been hours upon hours since you found your captured kinsman, and you have cut your hands to bleeding on volcanic rock trying, but you still have no idea how to bring Maitimo down alive from the rock upon which he’s imprisoned.

All right, you tell yourself. That’s fine. So long as you free Maitimo, the rest doesn’t matter- there is safety in the arms of the Doomsman and his Halls of the Dead, after all, and you will follow soon enough. There are enough orcs in these mountains to see to that.

But first, you need to see to things with the bow you have brought. And you have a message to deliver to the divine lord the Noldor left behind, one you want Manwe to hear if you must seal the delivery in beloved blood.

“Oh King to whom all birds are dear,” you pray, nocking your arrow with hands shakier than any you remember since you were a small boy. Look upon us now, Lord of the Airs, look as I murder this one I love, and think as to whether this is what you want, “Speed now this feathered shaft, and recall some pity for the Noldor in their need.”

You exhale, watch that barely breathing torso, and loose your arrow.

A shadow passes over you, and you look up to see the shaft caught in talons larger than you are, and the dark eyes of the King of the Eagles watching you in answer.

“You called for us, Prince of the Noldor?”

Memory Three His father's advisors are nervous to let him ride out, even with thirty of the best soldiers Hithlum has to offer behind him. But Fingon is the High Prince, and the highest authority with his father missing, and most of the Noldor still quaver when they sense a prince on the verge of losing his temper.

They take the fastest horses remaining, hoping to trace their king's steps. But Fingolfin the King had a two-day head start on the journey north, and the road to the mountain-fortress of the Enemy is shorter than most realize.

Fingon presses on anyway. It is more than his king who is missing; it is his father. He will not lose him without a fight.

The ride is long and hard, and Fingon does not dare break for rest; but as they come to the burnt-out borders of Hithlum they hear a distant scream that sounds like that of a horse.

"Follow that noise," he snaps, and his men turn in answer. Another fifteen minutes, and they spot the source- a pale grey covered in blood, lying on its side with it's legs splayed out at unnatural angles.

Fingon's heart plummets. He knows that horse. "Rochallor," he murmurs, the name of his father's favorite steed. The one he had been on when he rode out, the last time he was seen. "Come!"

It's a gallop to the horse's side, but if anything, the sight gets worse as he draws closer. "Shh, my darling," he says, vaulting off his own Alasse to go to the steed's side, "all is well, we have you now... but please, tell me where your lord is-"

Rochallor screams again, full of pain and despair. His usually pale coat is rust-red, and Fingon can't- Fingon won't-

One of his men- Andunon, he notices distantly, one of Father's longest-serving bodyguards- kneels beside him. "You can't help him," he says, voice soft and sympathetic. "There's only one mercy you can give to him, aranya. Give him that now."

Fingon had known that already, deep in the marrow of his bones. He just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

"Rochallor, best of steeds, valiant companion to the most valiant of kings..." he sings, half to himself and half to the horse, "run West, dear one, to where the Sun and Moon rest-"

The knife in his hands is swift and sure. Part of him thinks the poor beast might be grateful at the end.

"Divert two of your fastest riders," he says absently to Andunon when Rochallor goes still, "This horse has served us well, and will be buried with all honor. We must find my father, of course, but-"

"Your father?" Andunon looks at him. "Aranya, we will not find him, not if he had been parted from Rochallor. Not alive."

Aranya, his father's man had called him, Fingon finally realizes. My king.

Suddenly, Fingon feels very cold.

Edited 2020-08-18 16:30 (UTC)

Warnings: implied/talking around sexual assault, violence, death
Themes: gods, nature, finding your own way

Memory One You turn away from Apollo, holding the dishes from breakfast in your hands. He keeps going on, painfully earnest, eager. You tighten your grip on the dishes, setting them down in the sink firmly, trying to hide your frustration and dismay. You weren't supposed to be stuck here alone with him after breakfast. And he keeps going on now. Fear whispers at the back of your mind. What he might do if you're alone, what can you possibly do to defend yourself. He doesn't get the hint as you silently start the dishes. He goes on and on, insulting you like he's praising you.

"Now I know you might be a little bit intimidated since I'm already a Olympian. But don't worry, I don't consider it a downgrade. You're B grade at the moment. But your pedigree is still very respectable. A daughter of one of the 6 Traitors. Heiress to the Barley Mother future. I mean, nobody really knows who you are...and you haven't really done anything note worthy yet. Your powers aren't very strong.But you're beautiful. I can work with that--"

At last, you snap and slam your hands on the counter, asking him in a low voice: "When's my birthday?"

"What?"

"I said..."

Memory Two You sit across from Hades in large wing-backed chairs, a chess game in progress. The room is large, reminiscent of a executive lounge with a wall of windows showing a dark city, full of glimmering lights in the rain. Hades gives you a look as he contemplates his next move.

"Tell me, why does the heiress to the Barley Mother fortune want a job from the King of the Underworld? Surely you have money?"

You make a little face as you toy with a bishop. Honestly, it's a little embarrassing.

"My mother has money, that doesn't mean I do. We are immortal, what good is being an heiress?" You rest you hand on your cheek, a little discouraged by the talk but not sad. It's a fact of life that your position is in title only. Then your eyes narrow as you watch him make his move and it's pretty impossible to feel both smug and amused.

"Are you sure you wanna move your rook there?" You can't help but make a comment. He yanks his hand back from the piece, a hint of suspicion to his gaze, but he leaves it. You pull back up the wide eyes naivete, hands up as if surprised, as if there isn't a thought in your head. It's amazing how people can fall for this so easily. "I mean, what a cute little castle that is!!!"

Quickly, you move on, not giving him time to think too hard about it. As you speak, you place the bishop.

"My mother says it's better if I learn how to make my own way. And I don't disagree. Don't get me wrong, I love her very much and living away from her is terrifying. But I'm also excited to be my own person." You earnestness shines through, your desire to be taken seriously, to be your own being, to do what you can.

"I don't want to be known as Demeter's daughter." Your hands rise up, your gaze turns upwards, then your arms fall back with your gaze as you look back at him, "I want to be Persephone."

And then you lean forward, a quiet confident delight in your smile.

"That's checkmate."

He leans back in shock, staring at the board for a few moments, calculating out the possibilities and then looking up at you, sweat trickling down his face as he accuses you, "You-you hustled me!"

"Serves you right for underestimating me!!!" You jump up, delighted and oh so pleased with yourself. There's even a tiny victory dance. You poke him right in the chest, still bouncing in place, "You were sloppy. You're probably used to people letting you win!"

"Sure I can't tempt you with cash!?" He looks away, huffing. Maybe embarrassed, maybe kind of impressed? You kind of hope for both.

Grabbing his lapels and rocking back on your heels, you quote him back to himself: "'You have to accept the outcome!'"

He just lets out a defeated sigh. You beam a brilliant smile at his defeat and then glance over to the window. Letting go of him for the moment, you hear him speak behind you as you make your way over to the wide view of the city. "A deal's a deal. I guess I better think of a role for you."

You're no longer really listening to him, warm and pleased with your victory as you are. There's something falling from the sky, like little white petals--it's snowing. It's one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.

Memory Three The air smells of flowers, green life, all verdant and splendid around her. The sky is a beautiful blue above her. It's a glorious paradise of rolling hills and beautiful lush foliage as far as the eye can see. And Persephone is angry. A sullen deep (very teenage) resentment mixed with the feeling of being denied freedom, of being trapped in a cage, of being treated like a child that will never grow up, of having things dangle in front of her only to be snatched away. As she stalks through paradise, one hand held up to direct the fizz of her magic to the hedges around her, other curled into a fist at her side, she seethes. Her footsteps are suddenly dogged by two more sets, soft on the grass. Of course--her nymphs. With pink skin, dusted in blue, and long ears, they follow her in their chitons for half a row, working up their courage to speak.

"My Lady, I was wondering if you wanted to take a break?" One calls, soft and hesitant, looking back at the other behind her as if nervous.

"WHAT I WANT IS FOR YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE!" She swings around, perhaps adolescent in her yelling but real in her desire to just--have a minute! To be alone for five seconds to deal with it. Just a minute, just a little time to herself!

The resentment, the whole set of feelings vanishes, as quick as a cloud passing over the sun. Her hands tremble as she stares at the nymph, her friend, one of closest beings she'll have to sisters in the world.

"CROKE" Is all the nymph can say, as her face and then body disintegrate before Persephone's eyes. It falls into ash like burnt petals, into nothing, melting away, reaching for Persephone, begging for help with her eyes. Behind her, the other nymph claws at the air as her body, too, falls to pieces. Persephone screams, reaching for them with hands that can do nothing, letting the ash, the petals, the remains of her dearest friends, her only friends in the world fall into her hands.

There's a sound, herself, she can't stop screaming, holding them close to her. The scream chokes in her throat and falls to sobbing and weeping, as her helpless to stop this takes over. She buries her face in her hands, tears spilling between her fingers. Then, a soft building fury that takes her over, slowly, surely, and completely.

Edited 2020-08-18 16:42 (UTC)

Warnings: blood, non fatal impalement, parental death
Themes: friendship, battle, war, loss

Memory One You appear to be in a small, festively decorated village, a holiday village if you recognise such things. It looks like it should be lively and active, but it's mostly devoid of anything resembling life. It's surrounded as far as one can see by snow and it keeps falling, slowly adding to the drifts and piles around the houses. In the distance stands a large ice castle like a guard over the village; it's equally abandoned but someone might have lived there eventually.

You are playing in the snow near one of the houses, all of which appear to be made out of gingerbread. You are small, about ten and are dressed in sort of mismatched clothing--both the jacket and the pants halves are very colorful, but neither half has designs that mesh particularly well with one another, and the snowman-themed sunglasses don't go with any of it. You don't really care since they're warmer than the shirt and shorts you'd been wearing when you arrived. You're focused on making a pile of snowballs, though the reason isn't entirely clear since there's no one immediately around.

For a minute or two, anyway. Then another kid, one with a round shield nearly the size of him, wanders by nearby, and suddenly he's the target of one of the snowballs from the pile.

"Did you wanna start a fight?"

"Uh yeah? That's why I threw the snowball."

You don't have a shield, though, and are a bit put out by your opponent having one. There's not long to dwell on that, though, because the boy with the shield retaliates with his own snowball, much faster than a kid his age should be able to throw.

The scene ends

Memory Two You hear Prompto stifle a scream as he, you, and Iris duck behind a small pile of rubble avoiding a tail swipe from a Deathclaw that is inhabiting the subway street. You hear a shot, Iris' shot as she shoots towards her target.

You can't see anything, but this isn't unusual. Instead you hear a fierce cry turning as the deathclaw turns back towards the outcropping of fallen stones where you are hiding. Iris’s breath hitches as she flattens herself against your hiding place.

“Think I pissed it off,” Her voice is low, you can hear the deathclaw thrashing around, though it seems to not be sure where the threat is coming from.

Prompto pulls his hand away from your shoulder to draw his own weapon. A few feet away a Red Giant let loose another bellowing roar the sound of a sword, the sound of Gladio avoiding a blow.

You had expected to meet resistance before arriving at the relative safety of the subway tunnels, but being flanked by two massive daemons wasn’t a scenario you had considered.

The current group make up isn’t ideal either. With all your ranged fighters stuck to one side of the street and your melee on the other things were falling apart.

You pull at Prompto’s arm. “Just let me set it on fire again. It worked last time.”

You face the direction of his voice with a look of pure frustration plastered on your face trying to tempt him to indulge your crazy scheme, as reckless as it is.

“We don’t know what kind of gas li--.” Prompto’s rebuttal is cut off when the daemon finds its targets. A large claw comes down breaking apart rubble sending you all flying back.

Gladio calls out Iris’s name in fear. The momentary distraction is all the Red Giant they were facing needed for a moment later there is a crash as Gladio is flung away.

Iris coughs as she tried to draw the air back into her lungs, scrambling to her feet. There's a scuffle as Ignis jumps to help Gladio, Iris calls out towards them.

"Come on let’s get back to--.” Her voice cuts off a moment later.

Prompto's is in front of you, he had jumped in front of you when the attack had thrown you back. His one hand is still clasped protectively on your shoulder. But you can feel his other hand shaking, something is terribly wrong. A pipe, a pipe is embedded in Prompto's arm.

Iris hurries over her hands. Prompto’s breath came in short, panicked, pants. He turns his head away the best he could not wanting to see the damage, as blood begins pooling around the two of you. Prompto's blood.

You ease yourself out of Prompto’s grip turning around and pressing your weight against your friend holding him in place.

Prompto let out a surprised yelp at the action his eyes starting to water. “Noct, what are you--?”

“Holding you down,” You answer turning attention to Iris. “You think you can pull it out?”

Iris pauses for a moment before answering you. “I-I think so?” She offers.

You turn your head at the sound of Prompto’s hyperventilating and give him a light tap on the cheek. “Come on no passing out.”

He gives a shaky nod and digs his feet in against the pavement. The sound of your other friends fighting off two massive daemons renews your sense of urgency and Prompto squeezed his eyes shut. “Just get it over with.”

Iris puts something on the ground nearby, an elixir. “You got him Noct?” She asks unable to hide the shakiness in her voice. There is no painless way to do this.

Her fingers grasp around the pole, and she secures her footing against a sturdy piece of concrete. She strains pulling against the object as it begins to slide from Prompto’s shoulder. Meeting with resistance as Prompto attempts to jerk his body away only to be stopped by your arms.

Prompto’s agonized scream echoes through the air as the pole clatters to the ground. He collapses on the injured shoulder hacking and gasping at Iris scoots in closer trying to administer the elixir. “You’ve got to hold still,” She murmurs pushing aside the hair that is plastered to his forehead by sweat.

You kneel beside him rubbing his arm trying to soothe the panicked gasps that rack through Prompto’s body.

Iris pours a bit of the curative on his injured shoulder, letting the wounds close.

“Noct!” Ignis’s startled cry wrenches your attention away from Prompto and in the direction of the heavy thudding steps coming your way.

Having heard Prompto’s screams, the Red Giant has broken away from its battle with Ignis’s group and is heading towards you, with speed. With Iris’s help, Prompto is making his way to his feet but is still leaning heavily on the smaller girl.

You stand firmly planted between the oncoming daemon and the two companions behind you. Each footfall resonating in your ears. An overwhelming sense of familiarity washes over you as your blade appears in your hands with a crystalline flash.

You've faced enemies like these so many times that you had bragged about being able to do it with your eyes closed. Perhaps now it is time to put up or shut up.

The blade leaves your hand sailing straight for the Red Giant, and you follow seconds later.

The warp strike sends the daemon staggering back a few paces.

You perform a second warp strike rolling onto the ground with less grace than you like. You push yourself back to your feet unsure of which direction you are now facing. You know that one attack won't be enough to take down the daemon, but it will be enough to keep its attention off Iris and Prompto.

Thundering footsteps draw your attention back to the battle and alert you to the Red Giant’s location. You smirk, you already know you are going to hear it from everyone for that reckless warp strike, so you might as well go all out now.

The Royal Arms spin around you, and you hold your breath waiting for the right moment to launch your assault. Each step the daemon takes reverberates through the ground around you the sensation pricking at your nerves.

You hold your breath, only faintly aware that someone is shouting your name.

The Red Giant lifts its massive sword prepared to bring it down on you.
You feel the rush of air coming from the offending weapon. You take your chance and jump landing unsteadily on the flat edge of the daemon’s blade. You waver a moment as you regain your balance when the blade slams down crushing the pavement where you had just stood.

The daemon jerks the blade back in frustration, and you make quick use of the momentum caused by launching yourself into the air letting loose an attack with your full royal arsenal. Each weapon that strikes the giant has it staggering back bellowing, but you are moving too quick for it to get a hit on.

Your movements are purely from memory, and as the Armiger runs out, the Red Giant drops to the ground fading away in defeat. You hit the ground shortly after attempting to catch yourself and make the action appear more purposeful than it is.

Ignis rushes to your side pulling you back to your feet. Caught between a mixture of anger and complete awe of your actions.

“Prompto and Iris?” You ask holding on to Ignis for support as you steady yourself.

“We’re fine!” Iris blurts out as if she can’t contain her excitement over what she's just witnessed. “Noct! That was amazing!” A pause as she takes in the continuing battle... “I think you just gave me an idea.”

Prompto speaks, he sounds a bit better at least. “Noct, seriously that was--.”

“Reckless.” Ignis cuts Prompto off with a huff.

“Oh come on!” You grumble. “You don’t like it when I use the ring, you don’t like it when I try to use my weapons,” You gesture wildly in Prompto’s general direction. “Prompto said no fire magic--.”

“As he should we don’t know what kind of gas leaks may have occurred from these abandoned properties. You could blow up the whole street.”

“My point,” You draw out your words for emphasis. “You aren’t leaving me with a whole lot of fighting options. And I was fine! It was like I could see in my head exactly what I was doing because I’ve done it some many times before.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“So?”

“Noct can’t beat Ardyn if we don’t let him do any fighting,” Prompto says softly fidgeting as the attention was turned to him. “We just gotta trust that he knows his limitations.”

You manage a small smile at Prompto’s validation. “I said that I would see this thing through,” You pause taking a measured breath. “Till the end, so I’m not going to do anything stupid. I promise.”

Memory Three Noctis is running through a field towards a lake, on the other side of the lake there pillars rising through a haze. He stands as his companions; Ignis, Prompto and Gladio, stand around him. They all look shocked.

"As to ceasefire discussions between the two nations, all provisional terms have been suspended in light of recent developments." Prompto has his phone, playing the news. Moreover, in the wake of the news of King Regnis' death we've now received word that Crown Prince Noctis and the Oracle Lunafreya have also been pronounced dead."

Noctis is scowling, they all are and Prompto goes to turn off the news. "Keep it on!" Gladio snaps, Prompto fumbles the phone, it falls to the ground and he scrambles after it.

"Don't bother." Noctis shouts, shaking with rage.

Ignis crouches next to Prompto, a hand on his knee. Noctis takes out a phone and dials a number, putting it to his ear.

There's a mechanical sound as large air craft fly overhead, over the lake. Towards the city.

"Hello?" Noctis has gotten through, his voice breaking. "Cor?"

"So you made it."

"The hells going on?" Noctis demands.

"Where are you?"

"Outside the city with no way back in." He begins to pace.

"Makes sense." The voice over the phone sounds too calm.

"Makes sense? Are you serious? What about any of this makes sense?" He clenched his fist, shaking with rage and grief. "The news just told me I'm dead, along with my father and Luna."

"Listen, I'm heading out to Hammerhead."

Noctis makes a sound of frustration.

The voice continues. "About the king... It's true."

Noctis' eyes widen and he spins around to look at the city once more.

"If you're looking for the whole truth. You knew where to find me. Get moving."

The boys all look shellshocked, Noctis just stares at the city as he speaks softly down the phone. "Right." The hand holding the phone drops slowly to his side.

Edited 2020-08-12 03:58 (UTC)

Warnings: fire, explosions, mentions of/presumed death
Themes: taunting fate, love, friendship

Memory One You are stood on a beach looking out into the ocean, or rather you are stood looking at an island-sized monster that fills the shallows before you.

You are a little nervous, but your voice is confident as you speak. "We are using the 'royal you', right?"

I KNOW WHO IS AT FAULT HERE.
DO YOU?

"I have theories. Or well, I was told some things...we are talking about the same thing, though, right? The-end-that-wasn't? The fact that my charming celebratory dinner was interrupted to pull me into this business, just like the others?"

THE END THAT WASN'T.
YES.
THOSE WRETCHED YOUNG GODS WHO THOUGHT THEY COULD SAVE THE WORLD.

"Some worlds are worth saving." You speak from experience here. But... "Can't speak to this one."

NO. THEY AREN'T. The monsters tone is frank.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I AM?

You hazard a guess. "...Angry?"

I AM BEYOND MERE ANGER.
I AM NOT A THING THAT MORTAL LIFE IS MEANT TO COMPREHEND.

Despite that, a note of anger has entered their voice.

I AM THE WORLD'S HISTORY.
I AM THE WAY THINGS ARE AND HAVE BEEN AND WILL BE.
I AM "STORI."
I AM THE HISTORIAN.

"That's a flex, don't you think? I am not a mortal life. I've existed before history was a concept. How's that for a pissing match?"

AND WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM?
I AM THE ELDEST OF MY PANTHEON.
I HAVE LIVED LONGER THAN ANY GOD IN THIS REALM.

"So then let's not jump to conclusions, hm?" You are probably not de-escalating this situation.

IF YOU'RE HERE TO WASTE MY TIME, I ADVISE YOU TO CHOOSE ANOTHER PATH.
YOUR TIME IS FINITE.
THIS WORLD'S TIME IS FINITE.

"Do you have the power to end it, then?"

I HAVE THE MEANS.
THOUGH I SUPPOSE I MUST DEAL WITH ALL OF YOU FIRST.

You pull a face. "Oh. promise? Can you send us back to where we were pulled from?"

THAT IS MY INTENTION.
YOUR HISTORIES ARE OF NO CONCERN OF MINE.
BUT WHILE YOU ARE HERE, YOU DIVERT THE COURSE OF THIS WORLD'S HISTORY.
THIS CANNOT CONTINUE.

"Lovely. How about I pencil you in for Tuesday? That should be plenty of time, yes?" Said like you sass island sized gods on the regular.

ONCE I HAVE UNMADE THIS WORLD, YOU WILL RETURN TO FROM WHICH YOU CAME.
DO NOT INTERVENE IF YOU DESIRE THIS OUTCOME.

"No take-backsies." This is the outcome you desire, yes.

THERE IS NO REVERSING THE UNMAKING OF A WORLD ONCE IT IS DONE.

"Yeah, but you still have to do it, first." You remind them.

I INTEND TO.
BUT THERE WILL BE OPPOSITION.

"If you're as ancient and powerful as you say, I don't forsee that being an issue."

THAT DOES NOT HELP.
IF ALL YOU'VE TO SAY ARE THINGS I ALREADY KNOW, FIND SOMEONE ELSE'S TIME TO WASTE.

"Right. Well, you've been a delight. Ciao."

The memory fades.

Memory Two You are sat in a fancy dining hall. A very fancy restaurant with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

You don't have food yet but you do have champagne and you look at your companion, through the sunglasses you are still wearing inside.

The person next to you has white blonde hair and is wearing a beige suit. Aziraphale. He looks relieved. You feel relief, the most relief you have felt in a very long time.

You chink glasses, "To the world." You toast.

Memory Three Crowley is driving his Bentley though Soho (London), trying to get Aziraphale on the phone when he sees the smoke. His heart sinks when he sees it, but it isn't until he's closer that what he feared has come true. Aziraphale's bookshop is wildly on fire, flames licking out of the windows on all sides. His car screeches to a stop and he's already halfway out the door when he throws it into park, firemen just arriving on the scene.

"Are you the owner of this establishment?!" A man in a uniform yells at Crowley through the rain, Crowley sneers back, walking directly toward the flames, "Do I look like I run a book shop?"

With a snap of his fingers, the doors open for him, another snap, and they're closed behind him, flames engulfing them.

"Aziraphale?!" he shouts, running deep into the building, "Aziraphale, where the heaven are you, you idiot?! I can't find you--- Aziraphale, for God's--for Satan--- AUGH! For somebody's sake, where are you?!"

A harsh burst of water from the fire fighter's hose shoots through a window and hits Crowley right in the chest, drenching him and knocking him to the floor. He sits up, pulling his glasses off and staring around him, his voice wavering, "You've gone--" he mutters, his eyes blown-out and more snake-like than ever. "Somebody killed my best friend!" he sobs.

"BASTARDS! ALL OF YOU!" he screams from the floor, and panting looks to his side, a book sitting there with it's edges charred. 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter' it reads, and Crowley picks it up and holds it in his lap, gazing angrily up at the flames.

When he finally manages to get up again, the doors are snapped open, and Crowley walks out into the street, the book still in his hand. He pinches his glasses by their end, all melted and broken, and mutters to himself, "I shouldn't litter, should I? I mean, I probably should litter, I'm a demon after all, but no one's really keeping score anymore..."

He drops them to the ground, gets back in his car, and somberly drives away as more flames explode from the window of the shop.

Edited 2020-08-18 17:23 (UTC)

Threaded | Flat

Page 2 of 4

Memory Shares

Wei Wuxian | Perky

memory three

Trowa | Roswolf

Colden Rollins | Nic

Ichigo Kurosaki | Roswolf

Samata Mahto | Eric

Tidus | Ree

Rapunzel | Lisa

47 | Aisu

Nerdanel | Tea

Sonya Blade | Robin

Reno | Aisu

Bucky | Chag

Khardeen | Chicklet

memory one, part 2

memory two

memory two part 2

memory three

memory three part 2

Catra | Elle

Madoka | Jelle

Inigo | Jelle

Alice Liddell | Jelle

Allen Walker | Lisa

Sleep Ash | Theo

Edge | Dragon

Quatre | Q

Fingon | Mary

Persephone | Terra

Noctis (AU) | Daimon

Crowley | Duke