[ Fall Of Metropolis ] - The Artificer / Verse - Main - Tumblr Posts

😴 and/or 😨 - for Artificer and Atrues :3c

send me 😴/😨 to see how your muse appears in mine’s dreams / nightmares

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😨 - Pleasant dreams are few and far in between. She's gotten used to that, to nightmares replaying the worst moments of her life night after night after night. It doesn't make it hurt any less to see their lifeless corpses stare emptily, accusingly at her—

(why didn't you come back? why didn't you save us?)

—but at least she knows what to expect when she goes to sleep now.

Or at least, that's what she thought.

It's a blur of combat. Blood and flesh and gore splatter everywhere. Yet, no matter how many she tore asunder, the scavengers keep coming like a flood. She feels the ache of using her explosions eating away at her.

But she has to press on.

Leap. Tear. Explode. Stab. Sparks fly off her fur as she launches from target to target until her jaws snap around the throat of a pale-colored scavenger. Its spearpoint pokes her chest, right over her heart. No matter, though—it'd be dead first.

But that would be too simple, wouldn't it? The scav melts into a very similar-colored slugcat, not quite grown and her teeth still very much in his throat. Glassy eyes stare up at her in something she can only understand as betrayal and disgust. In his dying breath, Atreus hisses, blood gurgling.

How could you. How could you.

The spear, though the force behind it is weak, breaks her skin. Her breast feels stickily warm.

She ignores the prickling in her eye and sinks her teeth deeper.

---

The Artificer jolts wakes. The fur near her muzzle is damp. She can hear the rain still pouring outside; the nightmare must've rattled her more than she'd like to admit. But Atreus is still there, unharmed and soundly sleeping.

After a moment of groggy hesitation, she crawls closer to the smaller slugcat and curls around him, letting the gentle rise and fall of another's breathing lull her back to sleep.

---

😴 - But sometimes—sometimes—there's better nights, when all she dreams of are from the days her little family simply roamed the world. What little sunlight that manages to peek through the clouds warms her fur. The little ones squeak as they tussle—her sun, sky, and sea.

A part of her recognizes she had only ever had the two pups, but that doesn't alarm her at all. The curious young one wormed his way into her heart; she would do so much to try and keep him safe, just as she would have her own.

As if he knew she was thinking about him, the golden pup looks up from his play with a tilt of his head.

She merely closes her eyes and trills.

She knows he's suffering. She knows he's but a shell of his former self. But she has hope—she has hope—that maybe she could dig up something to alleviate this fate.

Yet they want to strip even that from her.

The Artificer swings her head to keep the little green threat in her sight, eye flashing with an almost crazed fury. Each ragged, too-quick breath's cloud blends with the last in the cold.

Lies! she snarls, hunkering down to shield Pebbles from the Saint as much as from the cold. She hates how little he stirs, but as long as he remains alive, she will do her best to protect him. Were the green one any more grown, she would tear them apart herself.

But what stays her bared fangs and claws is how they're hardly more than a pup. Do they even understand what they're doing? Do they know that what they're suggesting isn't help so much as murder?

Her fur bristles, making her look even larger than she already was as she practically screams.

LEAVE.

starter for @hymns-across-the-stars

why ? why was she so angry at them ?

the saint had never wanted to hurt the little robot . but he was in pain . he was dying . why wouldn't she let them help ? nothing more than a low squeak left the creature , as they tried to shuffle to the side to even get a look at him , but her larger frame blocked the way . did she not care for him ? did not she not love him like she seemed to? this fate felt cruel for him . much too awful . they could help , though , they could save him . if only she'd let them .

the little one bent forwards slightly in the snow , keeping one paw close to them , holding a lantern tight to their chest , while they used their other to gesture to pebbles , his state almost completely unresponsive , even with the commotion so close to him . they couldn't understand why the red one didn't want them to help . they gestured to him once more before looking to the other , ears ticking downwards .

' please . ' they tried to communicate . ' i just want to help . '

arti is absolutely a wonderfully cute , adorable little gal

Call my muse cute to see their reaction!

---

The slugcat's ears prick as she makes a small but startled mrrrrrp noise. She knows most those words individually, yes—and though Arti is a new one, it's clearly just some sort of shortening of her title—but she's certainly never heard them in that order before.

As if to make sure she hasn't unknowingly unsinged and regrew parts of her pelt, the Artificer gives herself a quick look-over before snorting.

Blind thing, she half-growls, but there's no malice behind it. Neither small nor cute.

"You're cute." (Discord @ the Artificer)

Call my muse cute to see their reaction!

---

Another! Though this time from a much stranger source.

Her lip reflexively curls into a snarl and fur bristles, but she looks more confused than aggressive considering the two-hit combo of not quite understanding what she's looking at and being complimented.

Cute still seems such an absurd thing to call her, too; determining cuteness might not be her forte, but the word evokes the idea of something small and innocent—something like a pup with fur ruffled from a recent grooming. She's about as far as she can be from that idea. She is large (for what she is, anyway), her pelt is disheveled, and she's more often than not coated in blood. How could that be perceived as cute?

But, after some contemplation and clearly no harm falling upon her, some of her fur starts to lie back down—though she does squint up at the draconequus.

About as cute as corpse, strange thing. Words better spent elsewhere.

artificer's love has been long gone

Make a assumption about my muse

---

What a cruel thing to say.

And how could they? Of course she loves—of course she does. Grief and mourning must stem from somewhere; she would have never forsaken what she did for anything else, either. Why else would she tear apart all memory of that time and sink her teeth into the throats of once-allies? Do they think it is just the thrill of the hunt that keeps her going now, that she kills only for the simple sake of killing?

But that's not it—even if maybe she has to remind herself of that fact. It never has, and it never will. She is justified. She has no doubt she is. Her claws dig into the ground and her fur prickles in blood-caked clumps. This one deserves a similar fate to the scavengers—to die for slandering her, implying that this bloody crusade is not still for her children.

Her heart quickens.

Oh, and she looks every bit the snarling, rabid, loveless monster they seem to make her out to be right now. As her haunches tense and her fur sparks, that fact dawns on her, too—and it makes her pause.

After a moment, it is all she can do to force her fur to lie flat and growl out the words between grit fangs, fighting off that awful, sinking sense of something like disappointment settling in her stomach.

No. Always mother... always love.

Equal exchange: 😴 and/or 😨 for Atreus, about Arti? :3

The warmth of another was something Atreus didn't really have the luxury of experiencing often, once his mother had passed. He didn't get as sick as often as he used to as he grew older, so there was seldom need for sharing body heat. Still, even in his sleep, that feeling of being swaddled and safe causes him to nose his way into Artificer's fur and drift into deeper, sweeter dreams.

--

It comes to him in flashes; bits and pieces of moments that, in the realm of sleep, seem to last for an eternity. In each fragment of time, Artificer was always there with him. Sometimes others were there as well, like Father or Mimir or Freya, and sometimes there was nobody else but him and the slugcat.

They come and go, like fond memories; sometimes they're on the Lake of Nine, paddling across the calm and unfrozen waters. Sometimes they're exploring the wilds of one of the realms beyond Midgard, perhaps Alfheim or Vanaheim. The places, people, and things would vary, but out of them all only one stood out in particular.

She's there, watching from the sidelines, and Atreus is a slugcat this time. He's tussling with something, like how he'd play with Speki and Svanna - it takes him a moment to realize they're pups. One with fur as deep and green as the lake waters, and one with fur as bright and blue as the summer sky. He's not sure why, but something about them both reminded him strongly of Artificer.

They play like they'd always been siblings, roughhousing among the summer grass and flowers of the forest surrounding his home. Sun and sea and sky, under the watchful eye of mother fire. It's a moment that Atreus wouldn't mind being lost in for an eternity.

--

But sometimes, the dreams give way to nightmares.

He's not home anymore. He's in what he could only describe as a claustrophobic hell; cramped and dim hallways, lit only by the warm light of lanterns. Packed to the brim and swarming with Scavengers. He was one too, with bright blue eyes and golden fur, but the others looked as him as though he were a demon with their burning, hateful gazes.

Atreus couldn't run, so the only thing he did was fight. Spears flew and clashed against one another; many nicked and pierced him, but for every drop of god-blood they spilled, he killed just as many of their kin. But there were so many, and they wouldn't stop coming, and his arms were getting so tired, and all of his wounds won't stop bleeding and it just hurts--

There.

He hears it first before he sees it; the crackling snap of an explosion, followed by a familiar blur of red leaving smoking bodies in its wake. He tries to call out for her but in his Scavenger throat it comes out wrong, a high-pitched squeal of distress akin to a terrified pup. Among the chaos, she sees her head snap over in his direction and her gaze lock on him. Relief floods his heart when she launches herself over to his side of the crowd, and he starts fighting his way through the Scavenger tide to try and close the distance.

What he doesn't expect is for her to slam into him, and for her jaws to sink deep into his throat.

He can't scream, he can't gasp, leaving only his eyes to go wide as plates at the sudden betrayal. Only now does his magic let him meld back into the familiar slugcat form, yet she does not relent. He reaches up to her face, blood and air seeping through his mouth and throat alike, and manages to rasp;

Why me? Why me?

His spear had sunk into the skin over her heart, yet he couldn't bring himself to drive it any deeper. He sees how her ears pin even further back, how her only good eye seemed to well up, and yet she bites down ever harder.

--

He wakes with a start, a hand pressed to his intact throat as his eyes flutter open to the dark interior of the shelter. Outside, he can hear the distant roar of the rain, but aside from the sound of his and Artificer's breathing, all is quiet. It reminds him of when he'd wake in the dead of bad winter nights, between the safety and warmth of his parents.

He hesitated for a moment, then snuggled back into Artificer's fur, letting its scent and her breathing lull him back to sleep.

🫂 - from scugtreus for artificer :3c

Send 🫂 to just hug my muse.

---

It's not little arms clinging to her fur; Atreus is much too large for her to delude herself that way. But gentle touches had still been incredibly rare in recent memory, at least until she had taken to guiding him—and even so, most of it had been limited to curling up together in the shelters.

Yet he's hugging her now all the same, out in the open where a predator could—in theory—just swoop down and pluck either of them away, or a scavenger pop its head out of a pipe and spear them. Not that she was worried about that; both of them have been good on the whole surviving thing. But it is a little foolish to make oneself more vulnerable than necessary.

...the hug is, however, still appreciated. She wraps an arm around him in an awkward reciprocation before bending her neck to lick the fur between his ears.

Pebbles has made it abundantly clear he doesn't care for distractions, but here he is, distracted by something. She can't tell if it's his work or thoughts that's bothering him; the only reason she's sure it's not her is that he seems rather accepting of this current arrangement.

Then he asks—and where is her anger, indeed! It would be wrong to say it's gone; the way her muzzle wrinkles with a silent snarl at the mere mention of the scavenger king makes that clear enough. The hate is there. The bitter, bitter rage is there. But in this moment, she is not especially angry—at least, not at him. Even whatever other negative feeling she might have is ultimately drowned in something else, another emotion that runs just as hot. It feels strange, yes, but ultimately she has no problem with it.

No need here, she half-growls, slowly blinking her eye. In this moment, she is not struggling, she is comfortable, she is fine—and there's just no need to be angry when it only the two of them, even with how much of an annoying bug he can be. She does still give the closer of his antennae a halfhearted swat to make a point, though.

And apparently he knows not of grooming behaviors, either. She supposes he is different—a social creature of some sort, but not the way she is. Or maybe—again—he just wasn't shown such simple, basic needs. She grumbles a little more before licking her own fur a few times, then giving him a very pointed look as she repeats the same action for him .

pebbles ignores the quiet growl , rough as it is . it's a common little racket from the beast , and he's used to it now . it's the main noise he hears nowadays , aside from the whirring of his own machinery and the dripping , foreboding sounds of the rot crawling about his structure . he'd flush it out . one way or another .

he allows her to watch as he taps at the holographic screen , nothing too interesting , just setting up a manual flush of his structure pathways . it utilizes a large quantity of water , that he knows he'd use anyways . moon has stopped trying to contact him ( or perhaps she's simply unable . he wants to ignore that thought . ) so he's stopped holding back . his overseers no longer visit her structure , though hers still remain dutiful . it's eerie . and it angers and scares him at the same time .

pebbles escapes the thoughts by reminding himself to stay focused . one little slip up can cost him so much as he already knows . so he ignores the feelings and thoughts about the others and rather keeps focused on the beast's strange behaviors . he's observed her for a while now , and if she could speak , he doesn't think gentle would be in her vocabulary . but right now , that's what she is . gruff , but not enraged . despite his sarcasm prior , he can't help but feel a small sense of endearment .

he's still not used to touch . he knows he's above it , but pebbles can't quite find the motivation to send his visitor away .

" where's your anger , beast ? i have a hard time believing it's been diluted by the slaughter of the scavenger chief . " the iterator asks , antennae shifting with a quiet buzz .

he doesn't look at her as he works , pulling up another program just as she curls around his body . odd , but he has no audible qualms with it . he almost doesn't notice as she licks at his metal skin , but when he does , a quiet , startled noise comes out from his voice box , staticky and electric .

" ruffian , you know i am not edible . " he says , somewhat stern , but he doesn't push her away . he knows she doesn't want to eat him , but he isn't quite sure what she is doing . " what is your angle here , little beast ? "

Crackly, soot-and-blood-coated fur briefly crunches against his touch as the beast glares up at him with her one eye, then whips her head around to sink her teeth into his flesh.

The Artificer falls to ground with an unceremonious thump, claws clicking as she scrabbles away with a hiss. She could do so much worse to him if she wanted, but that is unfair in its own right. He did not ask for her; he simply received. And while violence is certainly needed to get out of that wretched position—and to be a warning, that she is not to be trifled with—he feels too soft and weak to be a real threat.

A shame, for him, that she is not the same; it is cruel that she was presented like a little mouse to this thing, both to her pride and this one's well-being.

Retaliation does still remain a concern, of course. Her fur bristles and she bares teeth stained with his blood in further warning. But that snarl soon wavers as he speaks up, and a little light flickers over her head.

What did he say? Surely she misheard; it makes no sense that he—

Then he says it again: an apology, now paired with the question if she's alright. Her gaze darts to the limb she bit, to the blood starting to drip-drip-drip onto the floor, and her ears pin back.

How strange. How wrong. Even the worst creatures have some sense to protect themselves. Is this thing is soft and stupid, then, with no instinct for self-preservation? And why does he speak to her kindly? Even that metal god-pup speaks to her with condescension, little care for what she is or what she does even if she is his "citizen". This one doesn't even have such a connection.

After another moment of confused agitation, her fur flattens a little and the Artificer rises to her haunches. Crkcrkcrkcrk is then the noise that comes out, somewhere between a chitter and the strike of a flint-and-steel but nonetheless some sort of nonhostile response as she walks over to cautiously sniff VEGA.

Hands VEGA a very disgruntled scruffy cat-thing (Artificer) for pets. Clearly he needs to experience a Wide Variety of Things while he can, which may or may not involve Biting.

Outstretched arms move to accept the red cat-like creature into his hold. All he is allotted is a curious tilt of his head before it hits him - pain.

He hadn't meant to drop them in the flash of.. whatever happened. His senses feel horribly slow and inaccurate, and he hates it. VEGA is quick to mutter out a quiet apology - akin to a pet owner trying to soothe the animal they'd accidentally stepped on.

❮ I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen- ❯

It's such a foreign sensation to feel one's blood dripping down their skin - or at least it is to VEGA. Not even that ever-present feeling of deja-vu has arrived with this new sensation. Whatever he might have been in the past - or programmed into him - never experienced this.

He blinks a few times, forcing his gaze away from the torn open skin of his arm. It's something he should probably be taking care of right now. Cleaning and dressing the wound now would reduce the odds of infection, and encourage a speedy recovery. The needed supplies would be easy to get just about anywhere.

❮ ..Are you alright? I apologize for frightening you. ❯ Even though his programming isn't present - he could easily defy his core orders - he still prioritizes everyone but himself.

The Artificer recoils a little as he offers his arm, seemingly not familiar or comfortable with the motion. It's actually more the idea he'd put his unharmed limb into biting range without hesitation that makes her balk; unfortunately, who's to know except herself?

She does side-eye VEGA as he talks to her more, though, cautiously watching as he gives her some sort of compliment. Recognition and respect of her hunting prowess does make her rather pleased. Comparing her to something small that looks soft and cuddly, though, does make her snort and sneeze on his hand. Her—large for her kind, covered in burns and singed fur—looking small, soft, and cuddly? Maybe once, as a pup, but those are days long gone.

This one is small for a possible predator, though, and decidedly soft—even if she can't imagine him being something pleasant to curl against. She cocks her head a moment before making a grumble, standing tall on her hind legs and putting one paw-hand on his face in a rough pat.

It's not the creature's fault for reacting the way they did, nor can VEGA blame them for it. He imagines that, if most people were in their circumstance, they all might react the same - do whatever they can to get space from the larger, controlling beings around them.

And while, yes, he should really leave and tend to his injury, he'd still like to ensure that everything is alright with them first. Even if only to keep them from being plucked into another's hold again, since they clearly hated it.

He remains silent while they contemplate the situation, noting how their fur eventually flattens some before approaching him.

❮ ..You remind me of a cat. ❯ The former-AI speaks as he kneels down slightly, enough to extend out his uninjured arm for them to sniff. ❮ An excellent predator that desires space and respect, but stuck in a small form that is often mistaken as something soft and cuddly. ❯

VEGA isn't sure if his dialogue will be understood or not - but he's certain his feelings carry across. That he feels apologetic for making the same mistake that so many others have undoubtedly made.

His arm still burns with pain, and he wonders if there's an ill side effects to their slash. It might make the remaining hours of his day like this uncomfortable, but it still brings attention to a key component in being human. So, in a very strange way, he's almost thankful for getting to experience the sensation - however painful it might feel.

[ OUT ] for Arti and Atreus... but consider, reversed.

The Rain was coming.

Atreus had been totally unfamiliar with it before they had traveled down from Five Pebble's shell a few cycles ago, but he had been very quick to learn just how much of a threat it was. Nothing that lived below the clouds, from the lowly bat-fly to the mighty Vulture, was safe from the danger once it started, as the torrential rains were so powerful and deadly that anything caught in the downpour for too long was crushed to death. Caverns and structural interiors offered no safety, either; anywhere else the rainfall couldn't reach, the rising floodwaters would quickly drown. The only thing that could protect a creature from such destruction was a shelter.

And he had no idea where that was.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem; Artificer knew the lay of the land far better than he did, and usually she was the one to point the way whenever they had to retire for the cycle. But she was in no condition for that now.

They'd been ruthlessly hunted by Scavenger kill-squads, and while she was perfectly capable of dispatching them, their numbers were so numerous and frequent that she had utterly exhausted herself, sparks and smoke still clinging to her fur. Walking, let alone running, was completely out of the question - he could already tell she was struggling to just stay awake. He could probably carry her on his back in his current form, but considering that he wasn't fully grown, he wasn't sure if he could make it in time with her weight on top of him.

So he did the only thing he could think of in the moment; he shifted back into human form, scooped her up into his arms, and ran for his life.

The earth trembled beneath his feet. The very heavens almost seemed to roar as the rainfall grew stronger, battering against his skin and clothes like hail. The world was ending all around him, and still he kept running - putting his own body between what sounded like Ragnarok all over again and Artificer. She'd done so much for him, he had no doubt that she'd do the same favor for him, but it was about time he return the sentiment for once.

For some ungodly reason, some Scavengers still stick around even despite the torrential downpour threatening to crush anything still stupid enough to linger on the surface. Whether they just couldn't run away in time or were foolish enough to take a shot at slaying them both, he didn't know, but he didn't stop. Not for them, not for the spears that found themselves lodged into his flesh, not even for the rain that battered and bruised him with the strength of stones.

He sees what he's looking for; a box-shaped symbol over a pipe entrance, just barely big enough for him to squeeze into. He has to stop to rip the spears out of his flesh, body hunched over both from the sheer strength of the ever-worsening rainfall and the effort he took to protect Artificer from it. He knew that if he'd been in his previous form, they both would be dead at this point. Still, he manages to crawl inside just before the rain worsens to the point where it would've crushed even him flat.

The shelter is large by a slugcat's standards, but in reality it's still rather small for a young human like himself - at the very least, it had enough space to accommodate them both. Atreus wheezes a bit as he settles into a comfortable position, with Artificer's exhausted form resting in his lap; the wounds ache, and he knows his skin is going to be a painted canvas of bruises just from the rain, but he at least has the luxury of being able to heal from them.

Outside, the roar of the rain is but a distant, comforting din - he can't help but think of summer Midgard rains, and he allows the noise to lull his tired body into a deep sleep.

The Artificer's halfway into a pipe when he starts to speak, only poking her head back out to look at him at first. But the more Atreus speaks of the mural, the more she pulls herself out and back to his side, tilting her head up to inspect the thing as well.

Yes. Did not know meaning of this one. Did know as one of silly symbols for the nature of living, she says after a long pause. Natural urges, the god-pup calls. Chains. But survival is no chain; only a will to live.

And what point is there to life if you do not hold that will? She had never understood Five Pebbles's disdain for them, nor the way he acts as if she is shackled by her own actions. It was her choice, her drive, her reason to live; if that is something his kin thought was worth being ashamed of, she does not care for their opinion.

But Atreus is curious. There isn't an inherent problem with that, even if maybe the way his eyes shine reminds her of a pup gazing up at pearls and sends a shiver down her spine. He could probably figure it out without her aid, too, reading the symbols they pass by as they head down toward the access shaft. He could even try to ask Pebbles about them himself if he still had questions. She doesn't need to say anything more on the matter.

Yet, as she looks up at the symbol that she recognizes well enough—not as a light at a karma gate or one on its own, but a part of the one painted on the mask she left in Metropolis—she feels... something. The other part of the chieftain's mark she knew for a long time, the status they indicated together as well. But now knowing what this half meant, the basic meaning of that mark must've meant...

The Artificer squeezes her eye shut, huffing a small cloud of smoke from her nose before turning back toward the pipe.

More on the way down, she half-growls, the noise sticking in her throat like a too-large chunk of meat. Know one of the others.

Then she slips into the pipe, leading the boy toward the access shaft. For the one immediately after, she has nothing to say: it means gluttony, but she only knows that via Pebbles, so that hardly counts. The Artificer is content to listen to whatever more Atreus might say, but ultimately, she continues downward.

It's the one after that, where she falls to the floor with an unusual delicateness from noticeably lowered gravity, that makes her jerk her head to the mural. This one had always stung to pass by before; it is no easier to look at now.

This one. Means companionship. Exchange. Sign of allies. All of them true, from what she learned long ago. All easy to break or betray over petty things.

The sight of the city in the far distance made Atreus pause for a moment to take in the sight; great towering masses of steel rising into the sky, so high up that he could see the twinkling stars and the moon in the deep blue of the heavens above. It was beautiful, even with the drab grey-brown of miles of ancient metal spanning in every direction he could see. If he had the time, he would've sketched a picture for later; instead, he followed along after Artificer and listened intently as she spoke.

Atreus was no stranger to gods, but the ones he was familiar with were a stark contrast to the Metal God that she spoke of. He had first-hand experience with facing those who let power go to their heads, Heimdall and Odin being particular examples; the former had the power to hear the true thoughts of people around him, though he had no means of blocking them out - ultimately turning him into a petty and vindictive man who sneered at and belittled any he saw as beneath him. Which was almost everyone that wasn't Odin. And as for the All-Father... well, he could simply be summed up as the result of someone who took the pursuit of knowledge to the extreme. A charismatic monster who wasn't afraid of hurting anyone to get what he wanted.

He didn't really have much reason to think so considering that he hadn't even met them yet, but he hoped the Metal God wouldn't be like either of them.

After he scaled the crumbling ladder after Artificer, the sight of the mural naturally draws pause from Atreus once again. Everything about it caught his eye, from the elaborate patterning of the background to the figure depicted. Human, and yet so utterly alien in comparison - were these the ones long-departed that she had mentioned?

Another thing to come back to later. The symbol, however, was of particular interest to him - because the meaning suddenly clicked in place within his mind's eye. Another blessing of his demigod blood.

"The symbols on these murals - I think they have meanings," he'd start. He didn't know whether the other slugcat actually knew that (or if she even had a interest in such things in the first place), but he continued nonetheless as he pointed up to the one painted over where the figure's face likely would've been. "The one up here means survival, though I'm not really sure if it's supposed to have another meaning."

(to Artificer >:3c) Your children would be scared of you if they saw what you have become. Maybe they'd even hate you.

Insult my muse!

---

This—! This terrible thing again, come to haunt her with words meant to pierce her like a spear to the heart. She opens her mouth in a snarl, to threaten them as they spew their venom—

...

No sound comes out.

But it is far from silent, even after the gray-thing had said their piece. Her heart thunders in her ears. Each breath reverberates inside her own head as she recoils, pawing at her face as if maybe she could claw those words out of her brain.

No! Never—

Her pups, her pups, her poor little babies who only gazed up at her with loving eyes—why would they ever fear her? She is still their mother, the one who curled around them and purred the nightmares away. She is still their mother, the one who only ever wanted to keep them safe. She had failed them then, yes—and oh, how it haunts her night after night after blood-soaked night—but she tried. She tried so hard.

They would have understood, wouldn't they? That this vengeance is repentance, too, for failing to protect them when they needed her most? Surely, if they saw her now, even with the burns and scars... surely they wouldn't have feared her. They wouldn't have hated her. They were such bright little pups; they would have had to understand.

Why can't she make herself accept that? Why must these words dig so deep into her heart?

Why can't she imagine anything besides those little scraps of blue and green fur shivering in front of her, shrinking away as if she is a predator—a danger? As if they can't recognize their mother under the blood and ash she shed in their name?

The Artificer hunches over the ground, claws digging into her ears as a guttural half-sob, half-shriek wrenches out of her throat.

LEAVE. LEAVE.

Soft swish of fur as she sweeps her tail over the earth.

"Didn't say it was weak. Just that there's no place left for it for me.

The Artificer trails a claw along the ground, carving a little groove in the dirt as she scoffs.

"And I have only been giving back the compassion they spared me. It just happened to be none."

book quote one liner for @hymns-across-the-stars

" there's nothing weak about being compassionate , you know . "

hyacinth purple (from artificer's blue pup)

Send my muse some flowers

[ Hyacinth Purple– I Am Sorry, Please Forgive Me, Sorrow ]

---

It is a dream. It must be one. Her sea and sky have long ago become nothing but stormy grays, never to see the colors of life again.

But here is one of her pups, holding out a flower. She doesn't know what the flower means; she has never has had a reason to learn. But she can see the grief in their expression, how they hold out their offering like an apology.

She does not need to know what this flower means to understand what this gift is meant to be.

The Artificer gingerly takes the bloom into her claws, turning it over and over in her grasp as if to admire the gift. Then, slowly, gently, she shuffles closer and pulls the pup into her embrace.

Shh. Nothing to apologize for.

She presses her face against the pup's side, closing her eye and breathing in their scent. There is no hint of blood on them.

Was never your fault.

She freezes in place, claws digging a little deeper into the dirt. Her head slowly turns to look at the Gourmand.

"I have never tried to kill it. The damage done to my senses of compassion and mercy—" She spits the words out like they were poison in her mouth. "—was all done by them."

Oh, liar. Oh, hypocrite. She knows that's not true. Not entirely. But admitting that feels like a confession, of saying that her action was wrong. She does not want to do that. So, regardless of his soft kindness, she leans closer to him, eye narrowed.

"And rest is for those who have found their closure. Rest is for those who have won their war. But you cannot begin to understand—"

The Artificer stops. When did she get so close to the Gourmand that her teeth were but a little jerk away from sinking into his flesh? Her chest heaves. A thin wisp of smoke curls from her maw as she backs off, lip still curled into a half-snarl as she averts her gaze.

"...and you'd do well not to say otherwise."

a deep rumble leaves his form , a hearty chuckle that shakes his form . his snout wrinkles and he sits beside her , content to observe how she disturbs the earth .

" there is . you have plenty of it . you're just awful at letting it show . " the gourmand notes , matter-of-factly . " everyone has some good in them . yours hasn't died out . no matter how much you try and try to kill it . "

his expression grows soft at her rancorous grumbles . he knows he doesn't quite understand . he's never lost quite in the way she has . but he knows . and he cares .

" i'd say .. you're returning it tenfold . you've hit a wall and yet you're still blasting your way up . you need to let them rest . you need to rest . "

He is right that the scavengers weren't all at fault, at least directly. But the idea that she hadn't thought about that fact makes her blood boil. How could she have not thought about that? This was no easy decision. But justice was necessary. Eye for an eye, blood for blood.

"...I hunted the ones that had, first. I would have left it at that. But they sent others. They all tried to kill me. So they are all complicit in the deaths of my children. My contentedness isn't part of that question."

And maybe she isn't content. So what? There was a time she was, but it's impossible to go back now—and how could she be happy without those pieces now far beyond her reach? What point was there to even try? She has her purpose. She doesn't need any more. She doesn't need to be content. After all...

"It was the end to the ones who mattered. And for that, I cannot rest before scavengers know to fear even looking at a pup."

But she hates the way he looks at her. No fear, no anger... just pity. She is not a pitiful thing; she is doing what is needed. Why doesn't he understand that?

Why can't he understand? The Artificer's teeth click against each other as she tries to think of something to say, something that this soft fool of a slugcat would maybe be able to agree with.

"You are a parent, too, aren't you? Don't you want your children to be safe? I am making it safe for them, for every little pup who could not have known better. And if you want to help me rest..."

To get better. To heal. What a funny thought; her heart is splintered, shards scattered all about. There is no repairing such a broken thing.

"...you would have to understand that."

he can feel her anger . it's suffocating , gourmand notes , rolling off of her in waves . he was sure if there were any kind of gods out there , they too would feel her wrath . his laughter is gone now , though he's still relaxed ; this is not the time for jest and laughter .

" all of them couldn't have been at fault for that , you know . " he knows it makes her angrier , but gourmand has never tried to be anything short of honest . not that it did him any favors here . " did you really never think about that ? i have a hard time believing you're perfectly content with the life you've chosen . "

the colony leader can hear her rage building with each passing breath , but doesn't remove any of the pressure . he doesn't know if it will help , but what kind of friend would he be if he refused to try ( though he knew there was no was she thought of him as a friend . a round nuisance , maybe ) ? gourmand knew that , sitting unmoving even once she grew closer .

" you have to make the choice to rest , it doesn't come naturally . you're not gonna win your war . there's no light at the end of the tunnel for you . you know better than anyone that not even death is the end here . "

he stared back at her , flicking his ears momentarily . she could kill him . she was more than capable . so was he . if she killed him , so be it , he'd wake right back up again . and if she didn't , lucky him .

" you don't have to want to hear me . i don't get it . i want help you get better , though . " his voice is warm , not yet touched by regret or anger that holds her so strongly . he never wants to be so bitter . " i'd like to help you win your real war , if you'd let me . i'd like to help you rest . "

Artificer. I don't give a shit how sorry you feel for yourself. This will never bring back the countless innocents you slaughtered or restore the civilization you destroyed. I pray that the rest of your cycles are full of misery and that you will never find a semblance of peace.

Her wounded leg scrapes roughly against the floor as she limps toward the prone form of the Scavenger King. Blood drips freely from countless cuts and scrapes. But no matter how much it burns, how much smoke she coughs up, how long it takes, victory is hers. He can't even pick himself back up; all he can do is glare at her as she slowly approaches. That could never be enough dissuade her. Not even hearing her title gives her pause.

But she barks a laugh. Scavengers? Innocent?

Killed only the ones responsible, first. Was that so wrong?

They were almost like kin to her once, after all. Cycles upon cycles of trade and hibernation and hunts alongside each other does not break so easy. But she was angry—she is still angry—and a price had to be paid when she woke up the next cycle without her children.

Then, when more rushed to the aid of pup-killers... came to kill me... was defense wrong?

She stumbles, but the snarl never falters from her face as she steps up to where he lay.

Saw all were complicit.

The king tries to move away from her. She steps on his chest to keep him from moving.

Was too much? Too far? Her lip curls with contempt. What about killing little ones for just being curious? If a pearl and my pups' lives equal to you, theirs is worth all yours to me.

She leans in, muzzle brushing against the King's ear as she hisses.

So pray for my suffering. Pray harder. But may your kin never again know of full bellies and peaceful slumber, either.

The Artificer's ear flicks as she pulls back and finally drives the spear into the Scavenger King's chest.

A choice for you, Artificer:

Five Pebbles' condition improves. He is healthy again, and will live for far longer than he would ever have any chance to currently. You will finally have one "pup" who you do not have to watch suffer and die.

or

You get to see your pups again. Hold them, speak to them. They will not come back to life, and your time together will be limited. But you'll get to be with them again, one last time.

Make Me Choose Between...

---

A choice between those still in this world and those who have long since left it shouldn't be much of a choice at all. And it's just a game of hypotheticals, where nothing comes out of this but renewed heartache. And she does care for Pebbles. She's brought him trinkets and food and curled around him when things seemed to weigh too heavy on his mind.

But at the end of the cycle... she is a selfish beast. As much as she would like to see him better, she will still see him for many more cycles to come. Her journey was not for him, either. Every drop of blood spilled, every scar obtained, every death—they were not for him. She would still protect him, too, if the need arose; of course she would. But he is still alive now, even if sickly—and with life comes hope for better days.

The dead do not have that luxury. Even this hypothetical wouldn't offer much to them. But to feel them, to hold them, to breathe in their milky-sweet pup-scent and tell them she loved them one last time...

To let them know she's avenged their deaths...

Pups. Always pups. For god-pup... have other ways.

But the answer feels bitter in her mouth. But she needs the closure—she needs it. He would understand, if he knew.

It does little to assuage the guilt.

Must have other ways.

" hey girl , plagued by terrifying visions ? "

-inv , to arti

With a flick of her ear, the Artificer stands and starts to circle the other slugcat (if one could call it that). Her one eye narrows.

Yes. You.