#char: etheria

[call-me-double-trouble]

And here we have a request from @jidblogger for a Cruella De Vil DT and Dalmatian puppy Charlatan (my OC, DT’s adopted kid). I based DT’s dress on a few of the Cruella outfits, as well as the original outfit from the animated film, as well as incorporating things from DT’s own outfit (high neck and mesh). The rest is based on the original Cruella De Vil’s outfit, including that glamorous fur coat.

Char shapeshifted his tail to be black and white instead of black and orange like it normally is, and he’s quite proud of himself. Shapeshifting doesn’t come as easily to him as it does to DT, so he’ll take any victory he can get.

The background is a screenshot from SPOP of the Whispering Woods--perhaps the princesses put together a haunted woods trick-or-treat event for their kids? And yes, that IS a She-Ra trick-or-treat bag. If Etheria had a Halloween, I’m sure such a thing would exist. Adora is flattered that Char owns it, and DT is amused by the fact that it looks like Char is dragging She-Ra’s decapitated head around. 

#double trouble #she ra double trouble #spop double trouble #spop halloween #spop next gen #charlatan #double trouble fan kid #double trouble's halloween costumes #art request #digital art #my art #mine

[sometipsygnostalgic]

char bingo: adora adhd grayskull

I feel like the way which I relate to Adora, and the way which 90% of fans relate to Adora, is very different. Because the areas where I click with Adora overlap heavily with those places where I click with Entrapta - Adora is also a feral child, but she was raised in a kind of system.

Adora hated the Horde but enjoyed working in a system she could understand, and when she leaves, she's thrown into a confusing world that is much softer and yet more unstable than the one she is used to. She has a hard time adjusting, and especially early on Adora feels like she can never fit into the normal world. She even finds comfort in things that remind her of her old life, while recognising that the Horde is not a place where anybody belongs.

She's therefore very anxious and insecure of her position in the Rebellion over the whole show, even after Glimmer and Bow try to help her, and matters really aren't helped when Glimmer turns on her in season 4 and even that security is lost.

All of this as you can imagine I find very relatable, I was a neurodivergent kid from a neglected household and there was SO much I had to learn when I went to cadets, or moved with a different parent, and I felt like it was a different world that I couldn't fit into. I actually really liked school learning, though the actual people in the school sucked.

They sort of downplay these traits and Adora's neurodivergence at phases of the show, probably because they didn't realise people were reading her that way. It sucks because it makes her more likable. I do love that it comes back in full swing at the end of season 4 and the start of season 5 (specifically during that era where she is the least focused on her role as Etheria's protector, also when she's around Bow and Entrapta a lot and the girls cause chaos for Bow, and I realise now Adora's neurodivergence is way more obvious in comedy moments which is why it seems to fade out for most of season 4 but comes back hard when Entrapta’s around).

I think Adora is a lot stronger than people give her credit for, and while there's the twist that her martyr complex had stuck onto her for the whole show, I think Mara was correct when she told Adora "you're so close" - Adora HAD been learning through everything, she'd rejected her destiny and unlocked this new She-ra form that embodies her true self.

I think where the show fails Adora is it makes it look like she's learnt nothing at all. And it isolates her from her other friends, so that Catra can pull her from the brink. Sure it leads to a nice bookend to the series, but it discredits all the character development Adora went through up to that point, and frankly I don't enjoy the sense of regression she goes through at the end of season 5, just for Catra to save her from herself. It's a great and heavy story, but once again, I love She-ra for its ENTIRE ENSEMBLE, not just one or two relationships, and I felt like in many ways it didn't fit the direction Adora had gone.

Where it REALLY fails her is her connection with Glimmer. Adora's relationship to Glimmer is better at the start and middle of the show than it is at the end, and that is insane. You watch them go all the way downhill in season 4, and you hope that they can climb back up together in season 5, but all that happens is Glimmer does a quick apology and Adora does a quick acceptance and suddenly their dynamic is gone for the rest of the show barring a few comedic best friend moments. Then to make things worse Glimmer and Bow are not there for Adora at her lowest moment. They TRY to be, they really do, but Adora pushes them out. She only lets Catra in.

I think this is interesting in terms of not everything always works out as it should and people always have more room to grow, but considering the amount of focus on Adora and Glimmer's fallout I was hoping for a bit more.

Finally, fans - I feel like fans write Adora far too neurotypical 75% of the time, and also, what is particularly egregious is some of the ways they separate her from Catra in fanworks. Like Adora will leave Catra in the most dickish way possible. Such as leaving her to die in an alternate more violent Horde without asking her to go with her, or in one fanfic she ghosted Catra for 8 YEARS after going to sports school and promising she'd visit on thanksgiving, and was Surprised Pikachu Face when Catra didn't want her around anymore.

The fundamentally important part of their separation is Adora WANTED Catra to leave with her, she didn't think that she would BE separated from Catra long term, and then when Catra refused, because Catra's horrified that Adora separating from her or asking Catra to leave would even be on the table, Adora's heartbroken that she has to go on without her best friend in the world.

So yeah, sorry fanfic writers, Adora would NEVER just leave Catra out of the blue, she'd never willingly walk into a life without Catra without fighting to bring her along, what she actually did was push her away by making choices that could separate them and what Catra did was take things incredibly personally because of course she did, Adora is the most important person in her life but she doesn't feel like she's always Adora's priority and that hurts her.

So yeah I love Adora and here is my. uhh. study on her i guess

#she ra #spop #catra #adora #catradora #glimmer

[mananabuffins]

Who is this QUEEN OF TRANSFORMATION, OUR PRINCESS OF CHANGE, MASTER OF SHIFTING, SIR OF MYSTERY? TELL ME MORE OF THIS CHANGELING WE STAN

#She-ra #sheera #i'm pretty sure this is the character ive heard about who is cannonically nb but we dont have good honorifics for nb people of that status #and she-ra uses princess so im trying to stay in universe of princess as imo gender neutral status of having etheria access #and they shift anyway i hope im within the bounds of this char they seem gr8 #also flowery language good fun right? #legit i dont know their name #lil drunk #lil high #the lil is a lie

[catracorner962]

Beautiful Children Ch 1

It's been five years since Horde Prime was defeated. Two years since Catra and Adora got married. Magic has been brought to Etheria, but all is not well. On a mission to destroy the last of The Brotherhood of Prime Catra finds an orphan magicat among the ruin. Now she and Adora must decide if they are ready for another adventure all together. Adora is ecstatic, Catra...less so. Through their decision, both must revisit childhood memories, some more pleasant than others.

*Warning: Violence, childbirth, themes of childhood abuse and trauma.*

She came into the world a flaming comment, blazing with shining light in an otherwise darkened world. A world becoming undone.

“Good! Good mistress! Just a little longer, I can see her head. Push now! Push!”  The room shook violently, bed shaking, debris falling from the ceiling. The woman heaved for breath, pushing, her face pinched with pain.

“Aaaahhh can’t! W...e...we have to….g...go!”

She pushed harder, straining. Fists gripping at blue sheets.

“Almost there darling, you just have to…watch out!” The man all but threw himself across his partner, grunting as debris hit his back.

“Honey?!”

“I...I’m fine!” He smiled grimly, touching, squeezing her arm, “just keep pushing. They’ll be here soon. So soon. You’re doing great!”  The woman starred at him, eyes filled with dread, another seismic shake from the earth beneath them sent the room into a spinning tumble. Windows clattered with the terrifying wind, outside muffled screams were lost to the tempest.

“I...I c...can’t!”

“You can mistress, just one more push...that’s it!” The midwife assured her, gripping the bed posts for balance. Blood and viscera leaked from the woman, but so too did a smattering of golden hair.

“Go love, that’s it! That’s…” A crack, metal from the roof above them bent and broke, falling around the small bedchamber. He screamed; shards of splitting iron cascading down. He bent close to his partner, shielding her head.

“What’s happening?! We...we’re not going to make it! I c...can...aaahh!” The woman’s body buckled, arching with a final desperate push., whole form tensed.

“Waaah! Hwaaah, hwaah!”

The man turned, squinting over his shoulder towards the sound, heart hammering. His vision tumbled, another series of tremors. Glass shattered, bursting out into the storm around them. The wicked gusts tugging at the sheets of the bed.

“I...is it….?”

“S...she’s alright!” The nursemaid clutched the baby close to her chest, it’s little cries deaf to the destruction around it.  “She’s healthy...a..and w...well!”

The laboring woman’s face collapsed with relief. Sighing and smiling, despite it all.

“You did it! You did it my love she’s here! Did you hear that?! We have a daughter! We have,” he kissed her, lips slicked with tears and sweat and all. Even as reality fell down among them. Trees outside screeched, bark splitting and tearing. Rocks and boulders spun through the air.

“She...sh...aaaaarggg!”

The room trembled once more, bed rocking.

“Th...there’s another!” The nurse maid cried, falling forward against the exhausted woman, threatening to collapse on top of her. She caught herself with one arm, the swaddled baby held fast in the other.

“A...Another?” The man breathed, face tightening. His eyes scanned the destruction surrounding them. The walls shook, tearing apart.

“I….c...can’t!” The woman sobbed, her blonde hair falling from it’s ponytail. He swiped a lock of hair backward.

“I..it’s okay, it’ll be alright, we...we can,” the ground undulated, pitching the bed to the left violently. The pair, their nursemaid and the infant screaming as they fell to the floor.

A red light piercing through the dark clouds. Sounds of cannon fire.

The blonde woman rolled, groaning, hauling herself upward to squat among the wreck of their home, the walls now crumbling.

“Here, take her,” the nursemaid thrust the tiny babe to her father. He took her, into his shaking, bloody arms. Her little from squirming, gummy mouth still emoting pitiful cries.

“There, there, it’s alright,” he soothed, kissing her little head. The red light blasted around them, people screaming, crying, begging for mercy. The little baby only gurgled, oblivious to the destruction around it.

“Love, you alright?”

He turned towards his partner, who screamed, enough to rival the gales.

“Th...that’s it!” The nursemaid crouched before her, hands outstretched ready to catch the second babe.

With a final cry, the woman broke down in a sob with the second series of little wails.

“A boy! Also h...healthy.”  

The man tried to step forward, towards the two women. He coughed, smoke filling the wreck of the room, of their home. He pulled shaking arms around them, another cracking beam fell through, crashing around them. Both babes wailed.

“Sh….sh...it’s alright. You did it,” he cried, tears streaming down his face as he looked at the little ones.

“Adam,”  his partner sighed beside him, holding the boy in her arms. She kissed his forehead, determined to make a moment of love and peace amid destruction.

“And the girl?” The father asked.

“What about…”

“Aaaahhh!”

The nursemaid screamed, then crumpled to the ground, limp. A bot stormed through the harrowing storm. It’s cold lights blinking, lazer revving up.

“What have we here?”

The man and woman starred in horror, at their nursemaid’s body holding the infants tight against them. The wind tugged at the figures cape. His pale form illuminated by fire, red eyes gleaming with satisfaction.  

“H….Horde Prime…” the man whispered, pulling his arms tighter around both his partner and newborn. The pale figure only smiled, revealing pointed fangs.

“No, fool. I am not Horde Prime. You are not worthy to behold him. I am but his brother.” He stepped forward, metal claws poised.

“You have something I desire. Now give it here.”

“No!” The woman screamed, she seized a shard of plated metal and rose to her feet shaking. Adam tucked tight against her.

“Love! No!”

She strode forward, fast as her condition would allow. Determined, she raised the shard to strike at the Hordesman’s neck. Claws warped tightly around her wrist, snapping it.

“Aaah! N...no!” He grinned cruelly, eyes flicking to the baby in her arms.

“Let them go!” The father shouted, trembling.

“Fools. You are as arrogant as all your kind. First Ones, ha! You will be nothing but a shadow. A memory. Your people are arrogant, selfish, wretches. A plague upon the galaxies.”

The Hordesman smirked, the bot beside him turned towards the woman and her child.

“No! Don’t!”

BAM!

The woman screamed, laser fire blasting through her chest in one fell blow. She too collapsed to the shattered earth. Body charred, and smoking,  Tiny Adam wailing in her arms.

“N...no….no!” The father whimpered, his legs frozen. In his arms the tiny girl squalled, Little arms reaching out from her thin blanket The Hordesman stalked forward, bending down to the dead woman. He reached for the bundle in her arms, lifting it and huffed.

“D...don’t hurt h….him...p….please!”

“He’s not the one I want.”  

The villain stalked forward, the bot turning towards the father. It’s laser cannon glowed ready for another blast. He gulped, mouth dry. Sweat beading on his temples. The small life in his arms cried.  Red eyes bore into him.

“Hand it over,” the Hordesman reached for the girl in his arms.

“No!” He turned away, twisting to keep his child as far as he could from the reach of the Horde. The bot’s laser shot a beam, just past his head. He screamed, folding to the ground over the child at the Hordesman’s feet. The last of the bedroom wall now blasted to a smoldering pile. All around them the wind whipped, burnt flesh and charring metal filled his lungs, eyes streaming with tears sorrow and discomfort in equal measure.

“I will not ask again,” the imposing Hordesman hissed. “Give it to me.”

“Not a chance!” He snarled, hunkering down over the baby.

“Very well, you have chosen your fate.”

The father let out a small whimper, the Hordesman’s metal claws clamping around his neck. He clutched the baby closer still. Even as his feet levitated off the ground, kicking feebly. The baby continued to wail, Her blue eyes creased with confusion and fright. Too little, she was too little to know such emotions. To comprehend such chaos. She should not have to, not at only a few moments old. Already experiencing the horror of the world.

“Give it to me,” the Hordesman commanded. The father’s arms held her tight even as the creature grabbed for the infant, wrenching her away with an impossible strength.

“A...Adora! No! P...p...please!”

The Hordesman tucked the screaming baby into the crook of his other arm.

“Adora,” he mused. The baby’s blue grey eyes squinted, little tears ebbing at the edges of her eyes. He turned back to the father, his grip tightening.

“This child will be instrumental to Horde Prime’s victory. She will be an asset to our conquest. You may take comfort in that, before you die.”

Adora’s father clawed at the Hordesman’s arm, mouth sucking for air, his eyes wild and wide.  Lipless, the Hordesman smiled, fingers tightening against the pulsing viens, the soft flesh. His smile only grew, the man’s windpipe crushed with ease. His body flailed and twitched, falling to the floor with a dull thud.

He smirked, turning from the wreckage. The baby had quieted, large eyes only blinking and confused.

“Adora,” he whispered, one claw caressing her little cheek.

“You will be of great use to us.”

The Hordesman, known as Hordak tucked the child against him, through the swirling dark portal. Leaving the wreckage of Eternia lost to the anals of history.

---

“Adora! Look out!”

Glimmer shouted, flinging one hand out to send a beam of magic forward, it flew past Adora’s shoulder, directly behind her. She turned, only to see one of Prime’s clones fall to the ground.

“Thanks your magest...ugh!” She swung out with the sword, catching yet another clone with the broadside of the blade, shoving him backward and wrestling him to the ground. He swung out lamely, fists beating against her armor.  She bit back a grin, squaring him straight in the face.

“Shera, on your right!” Bow shouted, an arrow swinging by, hitting another clone in the shoulder.

“Got it!” Adora, as Shera ran forward ducking another three other clones. She spun, dashing and slashed them across the back of the neck. Their chips sparking with electric shocks. They groaned, crashing to the ground.

“BOOM!”

She turned, heart sinking at another explosion, this one in the village center. Debris shot through the air, crashing down into the narrow streets.

“All the people...they...they made it out right?!”

“We got everyone we could!” Netossa answered, shortly. She swung another volley of nets capturing the clone closest to Spinnerella.

That’s not reassuring...where’s…?

“Aaaaarrrggghh!” Adora turned towards the sound on instinct but smiled, she knew that sound.

Catra, but not her cry of pain or distress. It was a giddy cry of satisfaction. She took another swipe at an oncoming clone, hitting him with the butt of her sword before flinging him over her back, smashing him to the  ground and looking up at where Catra leapt from a nearby tree branch. She all but glided through the air, leaping at two clones, her claws tearing through their makeshift robes with ease. She vaulted off them as they feel, landing, as always, on her feet.

“What is it princess? See something you like?” the end of her tail flicked back and forth in a tease.

“I….”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The sky over Tellinville flashed with orange red light, buildings crumbled, the ground shook. Catra’s ears flicked back in irritation.

“There really better not be any left,” Adora whispered, heart clenching. The heat of the fires stinging her face.

“How many more of them are there?!” Spinnerella took out four more clones with a strong gust.

“According to Perfuma and Frosta not many!” Netossa kicked at a clone who had pinned her to the ground. A net clamped over it, throwing it aside.

“You alright?” Bow gasped, Netossa nodded, gaining her footing and rushed forward once more.

“We will be victorious brothers! In the name of Horde Prime we will….”

“Shut it!” Catra snarled, jumping onto it’s back and dragging her claws across it’s thin throat. Green blood spurted from it’s neck before it coughed and fell forward, still.

Adora fought the blush rising in her cheeks.

“Will,” Glimmer shot another beam of magic towards an oncoming clone, “you,” she ducked, kicking out nailing another in it’s hip, “two” it recovered but not before she darted forward, jabbing at a pressure point in its neck, “get a,” it fell incapacitated and Glimmer saw her opening, swinging her staff to take it out with a bash to the head, “room!” She finished, glaring at the pair of them.

“Sorry Glimmer!” Adora shouted, punching yet another clone in the stomach. She cut through it easily like paper. All that training paid off.

“Awe what’s the matter Sparkles, jealous?” Catra cocked a hip out in her stance. “Argh!”  She turned, whip out instantly, cracking over the face of a clone.

“I...I think that’s the last of them!” Bow panted, slinging his bow to his back. He spared a moment to kiss Glimmer on the cheek as she wiped a sweaty hand across her brow. Adora sheathed her sword.

“The Brotherhood of Prime  really managed to occupy this town for awhile huh?” Netossa looked towards the decimated village.

I failed….no...we failed...no... Adora stopped herself. Even as Shera, the thoughts swarmed through her mind. The tempestuous anxiety filling her gut. Remember Perfuma’s lessons. You aren’t a failure. It’s not your fault. We only just found out about the Brotherhood of Prime.

A warm hand on her arm coaxed Adora from her thoughts. Catra offered her a tiny smile, fingers squeezing.  Her eyes met Adora’s briefly as Glimmer went over further strategy. It was a small glance, seemingly nothing really. But Adora recognized it well. After all, she and Catra had spoken with silent looks for most of their lives. A glance here and here in training exercises. A mischievous squint during drills. A sympathetic eye after one of them emerged from Shadow Weaver’s chambers. It was a secret language they knew well.

Are you alright?

Yeah.

“Sound good?” Glimmer finished. Bow nodded, taking off with Spinnerella,  “Oh will you two pay attention for five damn minutes?!” The queen of Brightmoon all but screeched.

“What? Sorry!” Adora wrung her hands, unsure what to do with them now that they weren’t holding a weapon.

“We’re scouting Tellinville for survivors. Think you the Horde Scum can keep your hands off each other long enough to do that?”

“Depends,” Catra quipped, wrapping her arms around Adora’s thick bicep, “how many dark corners and little alleys does Tellinville have?”  Glimmer only rolled her eyes.

“Fine! We’ll look for survivors! Not that there can be many after Prime’s remaining brother’s destroyed everything.”

“We’ll meet back here. If you find anyone, signal for me.”  Adora nodded, making her way towards the village with Catra in tow.

---

Buildings lay in smoldering rubble. Smashed dishes, an overturned bed.

“Do you hear anything? See anyone?”

Catra shook her head, sniffing for any sign of life. Only melted metal, the residue of that viscous green liquid.

Come into the light little sister, yes….yes...let your pain melt away.

No!

He’s not here, you're safe. It’s been five years. You’re alright.

Catra scratched at the back of her neck, stepping over a fallen pillar.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Adora walked ahead, eyes endlessly shifting for any sign of life. “I’ll go around the outskirts of the perimeter in case Bow and Spinnerella missed anything. Perfuma and Frosta are covering the town center. If you can cover the south side that’ll help. Netossa and Glimmer have the rest.

“A’right, call if you need anything princess,” Catra answered, trying to hide the lack of enthusiasm.

Adora leaned forward pecking a kiss to her temple. As Shera her lips radiated warmth and magic of their own that sent a thrumming through Catra. She suppressed a purr before Adora gave her a final salute and strode off, through the heaps of wood and stone, green liquid sloshing under her boots.

“Hello? Hellooo? Anyone! Anyone there? Hello? Answer me dammit!”  Catra called, her ears flicking this was and that.  Ducking through alleys and under a collapsed entry way to what had been a home.

“Helllloooo?”

Catra sniffed,

Smoke...iron...blood...urine...more blood...tears….burning fur...smoldering flesh…

Burning fur…?

She sniffed once more, dropping to all fours,

There’s something here…

Catra picked among the broken shards of glass, tracing the scent from the demolished home. Going brick by brick.

“Ehh, ehh, aah!”

She sniffed again, tail high. Going through the wreck, she dug through the rock. It used to be a ceiling or a wall no doubt, destroyed by one of the bombs that the Brotherhood of Prime set off when they saw the princesses coming.

“Hello? Say something! We’re here to help you!”

“Ehhh, ehh ehh!”

Sounds like a child….

Catra flung through the bricks and dust frantically, white dust clouding and puffing up. She coughed through the hazy cloud, squinting to make out any sign of….

An eye, shut against the white dust that covered half a face. She dug faster, hacking through the plumes of soot. Catra lifted another brick with one hand, bracing the others so they didn’t come tumbling down with the other.

“There...there it’s...it’s okay,” she muttered and stopped. The ear of the little thing flopped, triangular, black and velvet.

What….?

“AAAhh! Ahhh!”

It cried, white specs falling into its mouth. It coughed feebly. Catra reached forward, sliding her hands under its small body. She held her breath, lifting the little thing from its entrapment, gathering it in her arms.

Sh licked her hand, wiping at it’s face.

Two floppy little ears, and the stubbiest of tails curled around it’s bottom. Catra gingerly shook out its hair, white powder sloughing off to reveal thin wisps of blonde hair. She adjusted her grip on the little thing, carefully giving it’s mouth a swipe with her finger to clear any remaining dust.

“Mrrp, grrl,” it squeaked, opening its mouth to cry once more.

Fangs?

It’s whole body shook, it’s belly, still retaining a thin velvet coating of birth hair, huffed in and out in an attempt to take in more air.

Catra starred, heart hammering.

The arms around the infant grew heavy, riddled with goose bumps. Every hair on her body stood on end.

A...magicat kitten….

---

She came into the world the treasure of a dying people. A relic, a hope.  But it was not to be.

“I can do this, just...just…” the magicat held out his hand, crouched between the humongous roots of an old one tree.

His husband grabbed his hand tightly. Keeping his worry to himself. The kitten was coming too late, it had been due to arrive moons ago. A birth this far past it’s time could only end one of two ways. A death, or severe complications leading to death not long after.  

“You can, you can do this,” even as he said it, he looked around, ears on alert for any sign of movement, any sound of bots or First One’s bugs  Either were equally possible in this part of Etheria. Neither the Fright Zone, or the Whispering Woods, or any of  the princess’s kingdoms.

“AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!!” he cried, body tensing. “Aaaarrgghhh.”

“That’s it, that’s it,” The other soothed, going around to crouch before his husband. “And...try not to...be so loud? We only just lost the bots. I’d hate to have you running in your condition.”

“Not be so loud?! I’m delivering your child!”

“Right, sorry. You’re doing great.”

Still anxiety ate at him. Bots could linger anywhere, Horde soldiers, it was a miracle they survived this long, with one of them pregnant no less.

“Okay, okay almost there….almost….” a rush of liquid, a little mewling cry. The magicat took the tiny thing into his arms, cutting the cord with one claw.

“Is….is it…”

“A girl,” he whispered, smoothing over her sticky mat of dark hair. She cried until he put her to his husbands chest. Tears and quick breaths of relief all around.

“She’s so small…” the other magicat reached up, cradling the kitten to his breast with one hand splaying across her entire back. Her stub of a tail barely switched. Her little eyes remained shut, but her ears were perfect velvet and her nose sniffed.

“She’s perfect.”

Silence, and for one brief moment the three of them were safe. Safe and together, a sanctuary between the trees. The magicat stroked her face lovelingly.

“I’m sorry love, I’m so sorry...I wish I could feed you properly,” his heart cracked, seeing her little mouth trying to suckle. Nothing would come. He was too thin, too starving. Barely well enough to carry her himself.

“Don’t feel bad my darling,” his husband kissed the little kitten between her velvet black ears. “It’s not your fault.”

“We...we can’t keep her,” he choked out, wiping his tears with a free hand. His husband nodded.

“They’ll catch us eventually. Even if she doesn’t starve.”

They held their child close, clutching her close against the breeze of the wood.

“What do we do?” He looked up at his husband, holding their child tight. She mewled for any food, her tiny body fragile.

“I have an idea, but...you won’t like it. I don’t like it either but it’s better… better than anything we can give her.”

It took four moons to get to the outskirts of the Fright Zone. Lightening cracked over the dark sky, they huddled close, keeping the kitten under a bundle of clothing scraps.

“...We...we can’t leave her,” the magicat pleaded, looking down at the flimsy box he held in his shaking hands.

“If she stays with us...she’ll die. We’ve been over this my darling we...we can’t. Better to give her a future, any future then sentence her to a slow death. That chance, a chance for a life is the only thing we can give her now.”

He looked down at the kitten in his arms, her yellow and blue eyes blinked up at them, curious. Her tiny claws poked through the folds of the clothing.

“I...I’m so sorry my love,” her father whispered through tears, pressing his nose to the crown of her head. Breathing her in, her scent, still fresh and clean. The kitten only whimpered, her tiny stomach gurgling.  Her father kissed her between the brows for one desperate longing moment. She reached out, little hands padding against his damp cheeks.

“Come here,” he handed the little kitten off to her father who held her to his chest, kissing her, running his hands through her matted hair and caressing the tiny velvet ears.

“We love you kitten, so, so much,” shaking, he placed her down in the box, making sure to double check her blankets.

He placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder, squeezing it.

“I...i just want to hold her...just a little longer…” he reached down, scooping her up once more against his frail frame. The other magicat spoke into the small recording device they had scavenged.

“Please...please take care of her,” he begged. “Tell her we love her. When she’s old enough, show her this, so she knows how much we cherished her.”

He reached forward,

“It’s time my darling.”

“No,” the other magicat cried, shielding the kitten from the torrent of rain and flash of lightning.

“No….no...no...no...stars please no!”  The little kitten, oblivious, drifted in and out of sleep in her father’s arms. One fist wrapped around her tail. Even through her birth fur, her ribs stuck outward.

He relented only when his husband pried her from his grasp gently, leaning down to put her in the box once more.

“She’ll have a bed, and food, and somewhere to live.”

“Is living with the Horde much of a life?”

“Darling….”

“I know,” he cried, ‘I know...I just….” he looked down at the sleeping kitten. “We never got to name her.”

His husband nodded, reaching down and giving the kitten a final kiss on the nose. He looked at her with adoration and misery. He could only ndd, despondent. They made the mistake of naming their first kitten. One that died shortly after being born. A heartbreak almost as bad as this one.

“We love you kitten, we love you with all our hearts.”  

---

“Shera! Shera you saved us!”

Adora let out a nervous giggle, giving the woman a pat on the back.

“Well it was a team effort,” she admitted, escorting the woman to join the other survivors. Glimmer and Bow helped the last few stragglers into the spaceship.

Perfuma and Frosta handed out blankets as people got comfortable.

“Is that all of them?” Adora asked, gazing up the ramp of the ship. Glimmer nodded,

“According to Netossa and Spinnerella yes. They’re doing a final sweep just to be sure.”  

Adora nodded,

Where’s Catra? She should be back by now?

Adora, calm down. It’s fine she’s probably doing a final check.

“I’ll do one last check,” she turned towards the village again.

“Adora, wait you don’t have to…”

She strode off before Glimmer could finish.

I have to do this. There are seventy five people in that ship who could’ve been killed. We...we weren’t able to get everyone out before the bombs….

Her heart sank, wandering through the quiet streets, looking for any sign of life.

Where is Catra….Catra?

“Adora?”

She turned instantly,

Now that was a cry of concern.

“Catra?! Don’t touch her! I…”

She stopped short as Catra came into view, wide eyed but in one piece, and holding something. She scurried up to Adora, something small in her arms.

“Catra your alright! We got the rest of the survivors on the….”

Adora looked down at the bundle Catra held. It was small, curled on its side into the crook of Catra’s arm.

“What….what is it?”  She spluttered, dumbfounded. Catra looked  from her to the thing in her arms, its little ears pressed against its head, tail curled against itself.

“It’s...it’s a baby,” Catra spoke as if realizing for the first time. She placed an instinctive protective hand atop its head.  “I found a baby.”

Adora blinked throat suddenly dry. She took in the little creature by degrees. It’s tufts of hair, its scrunched face, the way Catra held it to her so tenderly. The way it seemed to sniff her out and curl closer to her. Something swelled in her chest, making her heart flutter.

“Where….where is its parents?”

#my writing #catra #adora #shera #spop #finn #catradora family #catradora kid #catradora parenting #glimmer #bow #shadow weaver #shadow weaver a+ parenting #spop season 5 #she-ra princess of power #SheRa and the Princesses of Power

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clone presence in WatchPoint Bay Q6 detected.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a hopeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that would just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. ‘Small talk’ wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes of life left... any last words?” Modulok asked shimmying on his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber, below a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which framed a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the outer metal casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to save that world, even if it was without him in it. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fidget with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through countless wars. We hauled-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our Brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” That was true, after the Horde Hordak knew no clone would have an easy time on that planet. Those people hated him, his face. He chose to believe that the common people of the world were as good as the Princesses that protected them. That all his fellow clone brethren could find a safe and fruitful life among the native Etherians.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think they’re all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t theirs to sacrifice.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. They would add some life to the ghost town, so that she wouldn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah well, whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right arm around. No wonder either, it was bent backward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a funny way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses? Totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet our brothers are all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pastel losers yapped about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm very soon. Even though there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he had said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bring the universe to bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speeches, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the known universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe without a second thought. The note said everything it had to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Des was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the war trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of hers, about how she hurt people close to her. About how she was sorry. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak wasn’t there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be. Perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always ‘she’ deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of them. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side, the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the ‘splicing initiative’. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal galactic sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the stolen dropship, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it was cut up with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he was nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. They were truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Yes. All a lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Holy Peak? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there... or down there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Through pure chance the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s defection was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compared to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Des’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the frontlines of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day when Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all that baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response was more of a cryptid puzzle than an actual answer

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

It was clear that Hordak, was on a long journey, one he had to trek himself. Search and find the meaning of it all on his own, in his mind. He needed to find his own meaning and purpose. And what that meant to him.

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just shrugged in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Des combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Des admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, ‘mere shadows of his greatness’. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he in turn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could we have done something, could we have ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could we have been good? Would it have made any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good...

But that would’ve been nice...”

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #spop

[shera-dnd]

The Hunter - Like Everyone Else

I FORGOT TO UPDATE THIS FIC! I’M A DUMBASS!

So yeah this one is a bit rushed, but it’s still good...I hope

Also I hold no shame over all the references I made in this

Lonnie had been surprisingly chatty the next morning. As they chased after their mark once more, she retold some stories of her time in the wastes and even some odd rumors she heard whispered about herself.

“You know how I only started doing this once the portal opened?” Lonnie asked, not really wanting or waiting for a confirmation “Because of that a lot of people think I’m some sort of alien bounty hunter who came to Etheria in search for more exotic and dangerous prey” She put on a gruffer voice as she spoke those last words, getting a loud laugh out of Catra. Lonnie couldn’t help but smile at that sound.

“How do people even come up with that shit?” Catra asked once she managed to contain her laughter.

“Right? And you haven’t even heard the worse ones” Lonnie answered, with that same bright smile from last night “Like there is one where I lost both my parents to bandits and then I spent my whole life training with assassins so I could someday take revenge on-”

Catra raised her hand and they both halted. She took her binoculars and looked towards the horizon. Among the mountains and canyons in the distance there was one pass that seemed to have crumbled onto itself, the same pass their target was currently riding towards.

“Looks like we found where that ship landed” Catra commented. She turned to see what Lonnie planned on doing now, but the woman was busy looking through the scope of her rifle.

“There seems to be a small settlement at the entrance of the pass” She informed Catra “Probably not their main camp. I suggest we go up and around and rappel onto the ship from above”

“How good is that scope?” Catra asked, dumbfounded by how far that thing could see.

Lonnie took a shot and their mark dropped unconscious onto the floor. “Good enough” She answered with a smug smile.

“Show off” Catra complained. This was a challenge and she would absolutely take her up on it.

~~~

The climb around the pass was surprisingly easy. Catra had always been the best at those climbing exercises back in the Fright Zone and Lonnie was perfectly equipped for this kind of terrain. Now from their vantage point they could see the clear trail of destruction the massive warship left as it crash landed.

Beneath them the pass seemed closed off by a terrible landslide, but knowing what to look for it was easy to find bits and pieces of the ship poking out from the rubble. Yet there were no signs of life down there.

“You think they’re hidden inside the ship?” Lonnie offered.

“It would be the most defensible position” Catra agreed “Good thing one of us knows their way through Prime warships” 

“And how did you get that information again? Right, you got captured” Lonnie taunted playfully. Catra played along, sticking her tongue out at Lonnie and getting a chuckle out of her “Okay, I’ll take us down and you guide us through the ship” She secured a grappling hook to a rock and extended one hand to Catra “Hold on”

Catra took her hand and was pulled close. Held safely against Lonnie’s chest as she began rappelling down the pass and towards the ship. Those stray thoughts about Lonnie’s defined muscles returned with full force. Catra refused to look up as to avoid seeing the undoubtedly smug and overconfident look on Lonnie’s face.

She wondered if Lonnie could do all this without the powered exoskeleton, probably not with the same ease, but she had seen what Lonnie could do last night and she wouldn’t be surprised if she could. The more she thought about it the more tempted she was to look up and see how Lonnie looked doing this.

Before she had the chance, her feet hit the ground and she pushed herself free of Lonnie’s embrace, trying to focus on more professional thoughts. When she turned around to look at her companion she looked almost hurt. It was the second time she looked at Catra like that in less than 24 hours. Catra mentally kicked herself for that.

Lonnie sighed and put her helmet back. She too had to be professional now and, liking it or not, the helmet was useful. It would just be a weird for Catra to get used to the helmet again after nearly a whole day of normal Lonnie.

“I’ll set up a breaching charge” Lonnie declared in her distorted voice “You lead the way once we’re there”

“Where the fuck did you get a breaching charge?” Catra asked. Lonnie gave her a look that, even with the helmet, Catra understood meant ‘don’t ask’ “Fine. Ready when you are” She sighed.

With military precision Lonnie placed and detonated the charge, leaving a whole with the perfect size for the both of them to enter. They jumped in to find an old, dusty, and poorly lit corridor. It looked exactly the same to either side of it, but Catra already had a good idea of where they were.

“This is the way” Catra declared and began marching down the corridor. Lonnie following behind.

“And what way is that exactly?” Lonnie asked.

“We gotta hit engineering first to see what parts of the ship are still standing so we can have a better idea of where to go” Catra explained, taking a turn as she spoke.

After a few more turns and a considerable amount of walking they found themselves in a large open room, covered wall to wall with complex machinery, several layers of scaffoldings traversed the room and at its centered sat a computer console. Catra completely ignored the proper path leading there and simply jumped through the machinery and climbed onto the platform with the computer, leaving Lonnie to take the long way around. 

“When did you learn how to operate alien computers?” Lonnie asked as she calmly walked down the path to meet her.

“I had to learn a few tricks before my daring escape” Catra answered, half jokingly. Lonnie shook her head and continued walking, but as she went further into the room she couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was someone else in there with them.

Quickly wiping around, Lonnie drew her rifle and aimed towards a figure in the shadows between the machines. The figure darted through the shadows and Lonnie followed in pursuit until it was cornered.

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to escape, I swear!” The shape pleaded as it threw itself on the ground before Lonnie, revealing itself to be a scraggly old man in torn clothes “I got lost is all. I’ll get back to my post immediately” the man scampered to his feet and began running for the exit

“Hey, wait!” Lonnie called, causing the man to halt in the spot “We’re not here to harm you” The man turned around with a confused look on his face, that was soon replaced by one of admiration.

“The Hunter” He whispered and Lonnie had to contain a sigh at the title “We are saved!”

“Saved from what?” Catra asked as she landed behind Lonnie “Who is the old guy?” The man took a trembling step back at the sight of Catra’s whip.

“She is a friend of mine” Lonnie explained, surprising both the man and Catra “We are here to deal with the gang”

“Then you’ll free us?” He asked. Catra shot him a confused look and he explained “They raided our village and when they found out we knew how to work this machinery they forced us to build weapons for them. Please, you must be here to save us”

“You built those weapons?” Catra asked “So you know how to break them?”

“Yes, of course” The man agreed “We can teach you how to destroy what we created”

Lonnie and Catra looked at each other. They had a new plan.

~~~

An entire village hidden inside the hangar bay of a massive spaceship. That was not something Catra ever expected to see, but here she was now, crawling through a vent and watching the poor villagers be dragged from place to place to work on the machinery of the ship. In the farthest corner a massive tent hid what Catra could only presume was the super weapon, but dealing with that was Lonnie’s job.

Catra dropped from the vent, silently landing behind one of the thugs roaming the village and swiftly taking them out. One down, several dozen more to go. Time to prove she was still the best at her job.

One by one the thugs dropped. Not all of them, for that would be a waste of her time, just enough for the captives to have an opening, but not enough for the other thugs to notice. Stealth came naturally to her, like martial arts came to Lonnie and Rogelio and like most things came to Adora.

“Take the back door” Catra whispered to a few villagers as she opened one of their tents “The way is safe, but keep quiet” They moved as fast as they could, whispering ‘thank you’s as they passed Catra. A wave of satisfaction washed over her. She never expected to enjoy helping people as much as she did.

Catra started making her way to the next tent when the ground shook beneath her. She looked towards the large distant tent just in time to see it being torn apart by a terrifying explosion and from the green flames walked a colossal spider bot. Dozens of weapons adorned its sides and on its back stood what Catra knew was the ship’s main cannon.

“Change of plans!” A way too familiar voice commands from the ship’s speakers “We march today and tomorrow the Fright Zone falls and I’ll have my revenge!”  

Several question flashed through Catra’s mind at that moment. How was Tung Lashor still alive? How did he manage to command this whole operation at all? But the most important of all those questions was, is Lonnie okay? Catra ignored the bandits as they ran to keep up with their leader’s war machine. She dashed for the wall of green flames, hoping that Lonnie was still alive somehow. 

She couldn’t lose Lonnie now, when she had just found her again. She lost her when she pushed her away, she lost her when she fled to the Wastes, she refused to lose her a third time. Even if she had to burn in her place, Catra would not let Lonnie die here.

A dark shape emerged from the flames. Her armor was charred, the outer plates melted, the visor cracked, her weapons were completely destroyed, but she was still alive and she wasn’t stopping. She limped past Catra and began following the escaping bandits.

“What are you doing?” Catra asked. She would have held Lonnie back, but the heat from her armor kept her away.

“Chasing them” Lonnie coughed out. Clearly struggling to breath.

“There is no way you can go after them like this” Catra said as she jumped in front of Lonnie.

“We can’t let them reach the Fright Zone” Lonnie declared, trying to make her way around Catra, but she wouldn’t let her.

“And we won’t, but if you don’t get help right now you will die” Catra pleaded.

“I’m fine!” She insisted “Now get out of my way”

“Lonnie, I’m not-”

“Get out!” She shouted.

For a moment their roles were swapped. A young Lonnie tried to comfort a very tired Catra. ‘Go! Leave like everyone else!’ Catra screamed and Lonnie scampered away. They froze in place as the memory hit them both. Lonnie stepped back, looking anywhere but at Catra.

“I-” Lonnie started, before collapsing on the floor.

#catra #lonnie #catralonnie #fic #spop #shera

[glimoon-a]

CHAR DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS!    /    always accepting!    @mysteryprone​ ASKED:    does glim have a diary, or was her letter to angella in ep 1 a one time thing?

     SHORT ANSWER: YES,        glimmer  does  have  a  diary,   and  it  was  a  sweet  sixteen  birthday  gift  from  her  aunt  castaspella  who  figured  she  probably   NEEDED   a  place  to  vent,   living  with  angella  and  all.       she  really  didn’t  start  writing  in  it  until  she  was  a  year  or  two  older,   as  she  thought  it  was  a  stupid  idea  at  first.      but  after  her  and  angella  began  to  clash  even  further  when  glimmer  was  made  commander,   she  started  scribbling  down  angry  rants.     most  of  the  stuff  inside  the  diary  is   NOT  COHERENT  AT  ALL.       it’s  for  emotional  ramblings,   sloppy  handwriting,  and  large  print.        some  pages  are  skipped,   some  are  ripped  out  and  thrown  in  the  trash,   and  some  are  totally  full  of  words  written  in  capital  letters.      

      it  should  be  noted  that  glimmer  stops  writing  in  her  diary  soon  after  her  and  bow  meet  adora  as,   during  season  1,   she’s  real  occupied  by  all  the  goings  on  in  etheria  with  she - ra’s  arrival.      there  are  a  few  occasional  notes   (  see:  princess  prom,   stuff  with  frosta,   ramblings  about  angella  and  bow   )     in  between  season 1  and  season  3,   but  glimmer  ends  up  writing  a  nice  long  note  after  her  mother  dies  and  then  seals  the  diary  away.      once  she  is  crowned  queen,   she  ignores  the  diary  completely,   only  to  read  it  one  night  before  bed  when  her  friendship  with  bow  and  adora  has  taken  a  lethal  hit    (  re:  boy’s  night  out.  ).        she  doesn’t  write  more,   and  disposes  of  the  diary  entirely    (  along  with  the  notes  left  by  bow.  )   out  of  grief  before  she  sets  off  to  find  light  hope  at  the  crystal  castle.

#mysteryprone #IM RAHHHHHHHHH. this got sad #╱ ❛ ANSWER. ❫ — that’s not the kind of queen i am. #╱ ❛ HC. ❫ — crippling self doubt and overwhelming hubris.

[vegalocity]

Here’s a gift to @thestarfan18 that’s not really a gift bc i’m also posting it for Selfish reasons.

Some of my best fics and ideas are made from plot bunnies that are more along the lines of ‘intrusive thoughts but with themes’ so this has been playing out in my head for the past few days and I thought ‘eh, might as well write it’ so it would leave me alone.

So happy Unbirthday Valentina! May your beard grow ever longer and your story grow ever more complex! (also sorry if the plot implications are super dumb, I have no idea if James even HAS a master plan beyond ‘1:kill halley 2:take throne 3:??? 4:profit)

The ground was cracked beneath Philharmonic Butterfly. His shoes were in near tatters, his chest and arms littered with cuts and bruises. His left eye was starting to swell, his cloud blue hair was singed at the tips. The cut on the back of his right hand—his bow hand if he couldn't hold a bow anymore how could he continue his lessons?—was deep enough he could see the sickly yellow-white of bone peaking out if he cared enough to look. And frankly the white hot pain that almost made him want to lop his whole hand off didn't make him want to look at all.

The flames that he had summoned without thought—inevitably stopping the eldritch entities his brother and great-aunt had summoned because nobody had known he could do it. Even him—had died down, the rocks that had been cracked both by his flames and Halley's magic had been charred to smoldering coals.

His hand was almost ripped open entirely, but his legs felt relatively okay, so he shakily got to his feet, ripping half the left sleeve off his shirt in the process for an impromptu bandage. His hand felt like it had the time he'd tried to fire lightning from the wand—well, the beautiful violin that was the wand when he held it—and it had bounced back on him. He used his teeth to tear the offending sleeve in half again, this time lengthwise. He hastily began to bind his hand, a little more strenuous than he had hoped granted he wasn't left-handed. But he was able to make sure the tendons were in the right places and wrapped his hand to ensure no further blood would make its way out, nor bone breaking. Phil considered himself rather enduring at that. A lesser man would have passed out under such pain.

And he only dropped to his knees to throw up from the pain after he was done so he considered that a success!

But that was the worst of his injuries, and now that he could actually gather himself enough to take in the rest of the world, he staggered back to his feet again to try and see out of the crater he'd fallen in.

If he'd seen correctly before everything went to hell, Great-Aunt Etheria had been swallowed with the portal, If he was in less pain he'd be a little more sympathetic to the idea of a family member being devoured by monstrosities not meant to be seen by mortal eyes; but he was in a lot of pain so he spat to the ground at the thought—a trace of blood in the spit from his bitten tongue—and thought bitterly to himself that the old hag deserved what she got.

Scanning around he was finally able to spot his sister. Her peach colored hair frizzy at the ends from the overload of magic that she'd let out with him to close the gateway. He couldn't see much more of her from his spot, other than the tip of one of her horns might have been cracked. Her wings had slid back to their smaller size no doubt, hidden by her hair, and the rest of her he couldn't quite make out from his spot.

Climbing from a crater with a hand that was maybe one cut away from massive muscular damage, heavy bruising up and down his body, and slowly loosing all sight in his left eye... well it was a little taxing. He nearly threw up from pain again when a block of cobblestone fell from it's tenuous spot and rammed heavily against his right hand on its way down. But all the same he didn't stop and wait to be helped out.

Halley was hurt more than he was, no one was coming for him if he waited at the bottom of this damned crater. And more importantly really, His sister was hurt and she needed him. Phil grit his teeth and finally—finally—he forced his left forearm to the top of the crater, pulling his upper body up with him.

He remembered how Halley went down, he'd just fallen into the crater the both of them had made when they’d closed the gateway, he'd been able to see the gateway closing almost perfectly. The hit to his head made him too dizzy to stand, let alone fight, but he watched their Great-Aunt be ensnared by something that looked like one of the aliens of Uncle Marco's Earth Movies. One of the alien creatures wasn't going back in without a fight and started shooting out its weird black appendages, trying to grab one of them. Phil had been just far enough away to avoid getting snapped up as well, but his brother had been less than lucky. James had gone full Butterfly, but his sword had been shaken from his hands so he had been relying on his magic alone.

And if what Phil and Halley had proven before, no single magic user was enough to make a match against these things. But then again, when had James ever thought himself as anything but better than the both of them at everything?

Halley had come to his rescue, she'd helped free him.

And when the creature spewed out some foul looking liquid, Halley—for some ungodly reason—pushed James out of the way, taking the hit to her side. Her scream was so loud the creature cringing inward from the noise had been enough to shut the portal entirely. Halley fell. He knew she wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead. But he needed to be there for her all the same.

His feet caught onto a stone that gave him enough momentum to push himself the rest of the way out of the crater (he really needed to do more pushups, his upper body strength was pathetic compared to his siblings) and began to shamble his way to his sister.

Halley was crumpled on the ground, she hadn't moved since she fell, and his gut dropped, but also for the fact that James hadn't left the two of them for dead.

His brother was hunched over his Sister and the light tingle on his cheeks as his marks turned to a pair of sharps was completely eclipsed by the hot rage that began to boil in his chest. He wasn't sure if he could run, but he could at least try.

“Get away from her!”

Well, it was more galloping, his left leg was a little stiffer than he'd hoped it would be. So he took a moment to stoop down and pick up a rock. James looked up at him and Phil took aim. His right hand throbbed as he gripped the stone harder, the pain spiked as he flung it forward, releasing the rock. But despite the pain his aim was true. The rock soared through the air and some how, for some reason, James' reflexes didn't kick in to catch or block it. He flinched away as the rock grazed his cheek, a small bead of blood cutting into his relatively unharmed flesh.

Phil was able to close the gap in that time thankfully, and gave a hard push to his older brother to get him away and crouch infront of Halley.

The left side of her face glowed with a sickly yellow magic, spreading like poison through the veins across her face. Her left cheek flower had turned a sickly greenish yellow and while she was breathing, it was a strained, shallow thing. Her chest rattling every so often in pain.

He shifted Halley a bit, wriggling his arm under her shoulders to pull her up a bit. Her head lolled back, mouth opening a bit at the weight shift but otherwise unchanged.

“Halley!” she didn't respond to him, he knew she probably wouldn't until he got her to their mother. Mom would fix this. He knew mom would fix this.

“Hold on Halley, You'll be okay.” He promised her quietly, he saw some movement out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced up, expecting to see Halley and himself alone in the wreckage, James fleeing the scene with the Wand in tow, But somehow, he wasn't.

James was actually getting closer to the two of them, the Wand—turned into the sword form he favored—still clutched in his hand from when he no doubt stole it from Halley's prone form, but he didn't look the least like he was about to leave. Or even that he was about to shove Phil away to finish the job.

No...he was looking at Halley as though she'd been replaced with a someone he didn't actively despise, dark brows raised high and face slack in shock.

“Is she.. dying?” he finally said, voice just barely over a whisper. “I couldn't... I didn't know what to check...” Phil clenched his jaw and held out his free hand.

“She'll be fine. Give me the wand, I need to get her home.” James' other hand went up to the grip of the sword and Phil looked him dead in the eye then. He felt a stringing in the corners of his eyes, and he hoped beyond all hope just a spark of Dad's rage face shone through onto him.

“James.” he stated calmly, but firmly. “Call me paranoid, but granted you just opened a gateway to hungry elder abominations, I feel like I can't trust you with the Family Magic Wand at the moment.” he made a grabby motion with his fingers and finally James relented, placing the sword in Phil's waiting hand. With a small shower of blue sparks it became the ornate violin that marked it as his.

He looked down at the violin, then at Halley. He needed two hands to play it, and his bow hand was injured. But Halley sure as heck couldn't prop herself up under her own power. He pinched his lips into a fine line and with a flourish the violin condensed into a small conductor's baton, the only hint at its magical properties being the family crystal, a deep blue gem affixed to the pommel. He slid the baton into his belt loop and then used his now free hand to prop Halley up from under her knees.

His muscles screamed in protest as he began to lift, the bruises up his torso throbbed and the cuts along his arms and chest threatened to open again, but no pain was worse than the one in his hand. Halley's head lolled and the infected side of her body pressed against him, but the weight and the grip sent sparks of agony up his whole arm. He'd probably have some kind of nerve damage in that hand after all this, wouldn't he?

James made a half-aborted motion towards them, as if he was about to try and help Phil carry their sister. He snorted to himself at the thought. Halley hung limply in his arms and just taking the first few steps his arms trembled and threatened to give in.

James stayed where he stood. Eyes on Halley and incomprehensible expression on his face. No doubt he was wondering how easy it would be to knock him out and kill Halley while he still had the chance.

Well Phil wasn't about to let that happen.

He shifted Halley in his arms, she looked so fragile, her skin starting to pale, the large bruise on the side of her face that wasn't infected with... whatever this was... was purple and bordering on a welt. His heart dropped at her stillness, his vision blurred for a second before clearing up.

“You know...” He found himself saying “All I ever wanted was for you two to stop fighting. I just wanted us to be happy. I never wanted to take sides in your stupid fights because I hated them in the first place.” he gripped Halley a little tighter as he began to walk. He couldn't hear the rubble disturbing behind him, James wasn't following them.“But the truth is she's always been too good to even compare to you.”

Some how, there was some motion beneath him at that. Halley groaned lightly and began to crack her eyes open. Well, not all of her eyes. Her right and center eyes looked no more than a little clouded from concussion, but her left eye, the one closest to the green infection, remained closed.

“Phil...?” She croaked out. “What's goin'....?”

“You're alright Halley.” He responded. “We're going home, we won.” She tilted her head in response, as though trying to look around him.

“Is... James..” she paused to take a rattling breath. “Is he okay?”

Phil grit his teeth. “He's just fine. We're all just fine.”

“Oh... okay.” Halley smiled weakly. “That's good.”

His cheek marks didn't change back, even as he smiled and kissed his sister's forehead, just above her center eye. 

He was furious

And he planned to stay that way.

James didn't understand. He couldn't understand. He'd done everything right! He'd made his alliances, they'd set up their plan, they'd EXECUTED their plan, and his stupid sister had been right there for eldritch chowtime.

Phil had come too, but he could be avoided easily, after all James had no qualms with his brother beyond Phil being a little too spineless at times.

But the stupid little demon had been able to stop the portal. And killed their Great-Aunt in the process! Forget calling him Heirslayer, Halley was a Kinslayer! Wasn't that enough to get her off the throne?

He hadn't needed her help. He might not have had the wand on him, but he was still the most powerful of the three of them, he could have gotten the tendril monster to let him go without her. He didn't need her help, and he told her so repeatedly when she kept insisting on scratching and blasting at the thing holding on to him.

But then...

Then she said the thing he didn't understand.

“You may not value my life, but I still value yours!”

He thought she was happy to be heir, that she loved that she'd snatched the throne right out from under him. Every argument that had to him always just sounded like the little demon being childish and wanting to rub her victory in his face... he thought she was as excited about becoming queen as he was determined to not let a freak on the throne.

She hadn't even hesitated to push him out of the way when the creature spat out that disgusting liquid.

She lay crumpled beneath him and he could have easily put his hands around her neck and squeezed until she stopped that raspy attempt at breathing. It could have been over, he could have won before Philharmonic got in the way like an absolute tool.

So why didn't he? He'd just been leaning over her indecisively for what must have been minutes. And then he let Phil's stupid little rock hit him. The small little spike of pain that pricked his cheek had barely even processed in comparison to the sheer fury on his little brother's face. He'd never seen Phil so angry.

He looked a lot like dad when he was angry.

“You may not value my life, but I still value yours!”

Those words were... more difficult to parse out than he expected. It went against everything he knew about Halley... or maybe thought he knew.

Maybe he didn't know anything about her at all.

Phil walked off, Halley, probably dying a little bit, waking up only briefly before passing back out, James took a seat in the rubble and rested his chin on folded arms.

He needed to think.

#tomstar children #halley butterfly #Phil Butterfly #James Butterfly #thestarfan18 #vega writes stories too #vega draws #Star Vs Next Gen #i love me some political intrigue #which is why i love Valentina's triplets #there 90% political intrigue

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door ‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clones present in WatchPoint Bay Q6.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a lifeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that it’d just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking, with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. Small talk wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes left of life... any last words?” Modulok asked shimming his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber above a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which frames a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the metal outer casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to make it, even if it was without him in it. He decided to do something his brother could never. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fugit with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through war. We hold-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” The statement made a wicked smile form on Hordak’s face. He enjoyed being in charge, being the one with the carrot on the stick. Having something of his own, something to his own name. They will always remember his name. Never forget. No one will ever forget.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think their all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t there own.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells and wouldn’t have enough to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. Add some life to the ghost town, so she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah, well whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right around. No wonder either, it was bent forward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a fun way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses, totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet they’re all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pansies moaned about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again. Never forget.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm. Even thought there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speechs, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe. The note said everything it made to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Dess was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of her’s, about how she hurt people close to her, about how the Princesses were “full of it” as she put it. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak was there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be, perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always “this” deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost all near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of us. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the splicing initiative. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see  him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the dropship they stole, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it filled with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he’s nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. Truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Hold Peck? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Threw pure change the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compaired to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Dess’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But what Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the fronts of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day where Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all the baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response stayed with the medic ‘til the end of his life.

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just struggled in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Dess combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Dess admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, mere shadows of his greatness. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving. The scale balanced out.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he inturn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could’ve we done something, could’ve we ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could’ve we been good? Would it have make any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good?...

But it was nice...”

What ever this was. What it meant. What it was worth.

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

Ding-dong! The witches are dead.

#hordak #entrapta #entrapdak #spop

[prince-toffee]

Five Minutes

A sacrifice fic just to prepare for the inevitable.

(Sorry if there’s any grammar errors, I don’t care, I’m tired, ok I do care, consider this a first draft, I’ll fix it if something’s up.)

The doors locked. They did it. They won. The door ‘s access panel changed it’s green light to a red. The display on the panel read ‘Warning, temperature rising to dangerous levels. Clones present in WatchPoint Bay Q6.’ “Yeah, no shit.” Modulok grumbled to himself, and partially to the panel, as he sat down on the walkway next to his brothers.

“Sooooo, what- what’s happenin’? Is it working?” Vultak asked swallowing fear down his throat as he stuttered on the ‘what’. It did work, the Princesses managed to destabilise the core of the capital warship, The Velvet Glove. The She-Ra, Princess of Power, ploughed her mystical sword into the power core, which resulted in the station’s propulsion systems going offline and set the warship on a collision course with Etheria’s most populated centre, BrightMoon.

“Yeah, it worked alright.” Modulok scratched his two heads with his two left hands, “I just... I calculate that we’ve got about five minutes before either the ship burns up ooooor the all-mighty, all-powerful relic sword explodes and tears our atoms apart and flings them across the ten dimensions... maybe both, probably both.” Modulok shrugged his shoulders with a lifeless chuckle, which didn’t really comfort the perched Vultak on the walkway railing. Then again, what would possibly lighten the mood in that moment.

Hordak and Princess Entrapta managed to angle the station in a manner that it’d just nearly miss the planet, burn up in the atmosphere and use the momentum of the gravity to sling shot it into a surrounding moon. The space station was mentally linked to Horde Prime, everything was operated and controlled with his consciousness. With Prime dead, it put them into a difficult circumstance. Someone had to stay behind to make sure the ship stayed on course, someone mentally compatible with the Horde systems. Hordak was the logical choice, actually he was the only choice. He was the only High General present, meaning only he comprehended and was familiar with the warship systems. Hordak thought it was funny, She-Ra did finally kill him. A destiny fulfilled.

“Five minutes to live. That’s not a lot...” Mosquitor spoke up, giving off a an exhausted sigh. All six clones present in the room fell into tense and anxious silence. Fear and sadness blocked their throats, they weren’t used to talking, with their vocal cords, it was forbidden. Clones were only allowed to communicate telepathically and only communicate about their duties and objectives. Small talk wasn’t in the Horde dictionary. Ironically the only places where clones were able to talk and showcase their individualism was on the frontlines.

“Okay, so five minutes left of life... any last words?” Modulok asked shimming his rear to find a comfortable position to sit on the hard, cold walkway. A grated panelled pathway suspended at the centre of a deep chamber above a transparent force shield at the bottom. Which frames a view of heat and fire outside, melting and charring the metal outer casings of the ship.

“What’s there to talk about?” Despara quirked her brow at her brother’s question.

“Well, we’re clones, we don’t get this lucky. We’ve got five minutes to make up for all the decades of silence.” Modulok articulated.

To guide the warship most effectively Hordak had to observe the trajectory from a vantage point, that was where their paths diverged. Princess Entrapta protested, she held his hands in her own, massaged his knuckles with her thumbs. She raised herself up on her hair to face him eye to eye. She even gave him her signature smile, the one that melted his heart in a second. She had that look of possibility in her glistening crimson eyes, a spark of wonder and wanting that looked into multiple futures, hundreds of possibilities, a look that showed Hordak what he had to fight for, a world where that smile, those eyes and that laugh and that brilliant mind exist. A perfect world. He chose to make it, even if it was without him in it. He decided to do something his brother could never. A final gift to Entrapta, for all the trouble and confusion he caused her.

He gave her a kiss on her gloved hand, befitting for royalty, he gave her the best smile he could, and for the last time, he left her. Princess Entrapta would go on to cry for many days to come, but it was for the best. The greater good.

“Alright. I’m just gonna say it, food, not a fan. Too mushy. Has to go through your entire digestive system, which I didn’t even know existed until a few cycles back, and it has to come out th-” Modulok was cut off by Hordak, who previously was completely silent.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” He didn’t even look at them as he spoke, face down, staring at a small purple crystal in his hand, which he used to fugit with to ease his nerves.

“What are you talking about? We stay together. We’re defects.” Despara states to Hordak almost offended, all of them were through a lot, she felt offended that Hordak thought they’d abandon him now.

“We fought through war. We hold-ass across the universe. And we killed our god! Together!... Well, technically the blonde Valkyrie lady killed Prime, but still it’s the thought that counts.” Vultak shrugged, attempting to lighten the mood. Hordak rubbed circles on the purple crystal, looking down on it, his face reflected in it’s cracked surface. L-U-V-D. That’s what was etched on it. A fact. A reminder of her compassion. A wake up call. And he did wake up, from a dream world he believed all his life. A life of lies. From a hazy of toxic green to a reality of flaming red.

“I am your general. I stood at our brother’s side, you were mere soldiers, pawns. I deserve this pain, not you. You could’ve- you should have had normal lives.”

Mosquitor chuckled to himself, “Normal isn’t exactly in our dictionary.” The towering brute countered as he cradled the young hybrid in his arms, keeping Zed near his chest. As if it would make any difference when the fire broke through. “Also we’re not the kind of people the Etherians seem to want to deal with.” The statement made a wicked smile form on Hordak’s face. He enjoyed being in charge, being the one with the carrot on the stick. Having something of his own, something to his own name. They will always remember his name. Never forget. No one will ever forget.

“Then what do you think happens to our brothers? You think the Princesses kept their side of the bargain? You think their all off the ship, that they evacuated them?” Despara asked most likely imagining the worst, a possibility that there were some other poor clones still on board. That they were sacrificing lives that weren’t there own.

To quiet their minds, Hordak tiredly claimed, “No. They kept the promise. They’re honest people.” Hordak added that they had to, they were just like that, it was in their nature. Hordak knew their brothers were fine. BrightMoon had no court to try them, no holding cells and wouldn’t have enough to hold all of them for decades to come. And hopefully if Entrapta didn’t decide to hate him, she’d help them all and embrace them in her warmth. Dryl hadn’t had citizens for a decade or two, he was sure the clones wouldn’t be much of a downgrade. Add some life to the ghost town, so she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

“Yeah, well whatever they’re up to, it can’t be as bad as the predicament we’re in, heh.” Vultak flapped his winged arm around, a sharp gasp of pain escaped him as he moved his right around. No wonder either, it was bent forward, from the fight with Prime, literal minutes ago. It felt so victorious for just a moment, but life has a fun way of turning tables around.

“Plus, the Princesses, totally lame, right?” Modulok rolled his eyes as he attempted to stand up to get over to V and help his brother’s arm. But Vultak raised his left hand in protest, there was no need. It was going to be over soon. Modulok sat back down in defeat, amusement draining from his two faces. What good was a medic that couldn’t fix his fellow soldiers.

It was Mosquitor’s turn to brighten the situation, “Hah, yeah I bet they’re all clawing their ears out by now. Hehe, remember what those colour coded pansies moaned about all the time? Friendship? And rainbows? What a mucha losers, eh? Hehe... heh.”

“I remember.” Hordak stated. Never again. Never forget.

“Yea, losers.” Despara nodded.

“Losers.” Modulok and Vultak said at the same time.

“...Hmmmhehehahah- HA!” Modulok covered his face to hide his ugly laughter, forgetting about the other one expressing the same emotion.

“Mode, what the hell now?” Vultak asked, a smirk creeping up on him.

“Hehehehahahahhhh, ahhhhh man, w-heh-which one was the one that tried to hug Zed, heheheh and- and got burned. Oh lord. Oh Great Darkness. That face was priceless. HhhhhhhhHAHAHA!” The infectious mirth managed to wriggle out a small spasm out of Zed. His shoulders moving up and down, his nasal cavity wrinkling up in that cute way. Of course the young Zed contributed no sound of amusement as he was mute.

Despara shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. They all look the same to me.” The room shook violently, the pipes above rattled and metal panels fell off the walls and fell down through the force field below. Hordak’s realisation dawned on him, that he would be departing the mortal realm. Even thought there was an inferno forming beneath him, just outside that thin force field, even though he was surrounded by his clone brethren, his mind couldn’t help but wonder off to the thought of a certain Scientist Princess. His mind run wild with quite corny and laughable poetry, everything he wished he said to Entrapta. But didn’t.

He didn’t need her to devote her entire life to him. No. That’d be caging her. She deserved to be free, free to bend the universe to her will and bow before her beautiful intellect. He didn’t need her to lay her lips on him, she didn’t need to touch him. All he needed was just to see her smile, at him. Just for her to be with him, because that smile just for a moment saves him, just for a moment she makes him forget the endless pain he endured every day of his life. And every smile felt like an eternity of bliss. And so with just a look that woman could transport him into a perfect world, where he could live an eternity-long life.

But he didn’t say any of that to her. Hordak knew Entrapta wasn’t interested in long speechs, she had a short attention span, she was a woman of actions not words. That’s why before all this all Hordak gave Catra was a short note to give to Entrapta. He had her promise that she’d apologise to Entrapta, for all that she had done. Unfortunately, he made her apologise for the two of them. The note read ‘I’m sorry, and thank you. - Your ever loyal knight, Hordikins. Farewell My Queen.’ He could have gone on how there were no words in any dialect across the universe that could express how she made him feel, or that if she only asked he would have gifted her the universe. The note said everything it made to.

“Kinda sucks, all this. I only came on sentient a few hours ago.” Despara stated playing with her hair. The statement of dry humour pulled Hordak back from his day dream. “But I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet all of you. And... and be myself, even if it was short lived.” Despara finished. The words brought smiles to her fellow brothers, the past few Horde cycles were the craziest experiences of their lives, because they were experiencing life itself for the first time. They decided where their paths led. Especially Despara. She wasn’t always... herself. What was going to become Despara was clone DSP-772,411, whom was the detention guard overseeing Catra’s cell. ‘411 had never met an other lifeform other than clones. Dess was a servant clone. Never stepped outside the perimeter of The Velvet Glove. Her insight on the lay out of the ship came in useful to the defects in their infiltration to kill Prime. ‘411 always felt like they weren’t serving their cause properly, along side their dying brothers on the frontlines. Though not on the battlefield she risked her life every day. Prime had a tendency for violent mood swings. A dinner party for Prime’s guests could be more traumatising and devastative to a clones health than the trenches. Many clone have begged to be sent to the frontlines to escape the unspeakable horrors which occurred within the walls of the warship.

‘411 was immediately drawn to the captive Magicat. Catra spilled her heart, cried and whimpered, talked about an old flame of her’s, about how she hurt people close to her, about how the Princesses were “full of it” as she put it. And ‘411 listened to all of it. And at the end, when Catra’s tears dried up and she quieted down, all ‘411 could ask was, what a ‘she’ was. It must’ve shocked Catra, eyes wide in confusion and mouth drooping low in surprise. Hordak was there when she did, but he could’ve imagined the cat’s reaction, mostly because his first Force-Captains had the same reaction when he first asked that same question in his first years on Etheria. Captain Octavia had quite an interesting evening that day. He made her swear an oath of silence, to never speak of that embarrassing encounter.

Clones had no concept of sex or gender, things just were the way they were. As Prime intended them to be, perfect. The bodies and missions given to them by Prime were unquestionable. And it never was questioned, because none knew what other possibilities were out there. The alien armies of the Horde encountered were all different and unique, but there was no time or reason to study them. It wasn’t an objective. Prime did not care. Her brothers may have not fully understood, what Despara meant when she said she was always “this” deep down, but none argued, none protested against their new sister. She was a clone, a defect, one of them. She was a new experience. One of a kind. And as Vultak put it ever so elegantly, “Cool. I never had a sister before.”

It was ultimately her who let Catra out and helped her escape back to the Alliance. Hopefully she got that kiss she so desperately needed. Hordak met ‘411 only once before being sent off back to the frontlines, his return and the assault on the Velvet Glove, and briefly at that, on his way with a breakfast tray to Queen Glimmer’s guest room.

“Hey, hey, stop with that sappy stuff.” Mosquitor waved his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes. Moe, as his brothers called him, much like most clones including Hordak, wished to at all times seem tough. Poor MSQ-999,332 had it worse than most. He hide his defection for much longer than Hordak. The illness became so bad that eventually he could no longer use his own legs, his waist and legs lost all near all muscle mass. And so ‘332 became paralysed. He was just slowing down his platoon down, so his lower body was amputated. Of course the brother that rescued and brought Moe on board was executed for the crime of ‘Conferring with Inappropriate Machinery’. And Prime personally threw Moe out the airlock back down to the battlefield. ‘332 spent most of his days afterwards, crawling across mudded trenches. Luckily, Moe met on that some battlefield, MUD-111,117, or Modulok.

Nothing, but hatred and vengeance flew through his veins, it did for all of us. Mode managed to construct a life support system, for Moe, a walking hospital bed. Many parallels could’ve been made between it and Hordak’s own First Ones suit, created by Entrapta. Moe’s unit was twice the size of Hordak, it made him tower over even Prime, but the biggest difference was, Hordak’s suit was near indestructible, Moe on the other hand even if he had intimidation on his side the armour was more for life support than anything. Mosquitor faired better from a distance, ‘332 was an amazing snipper. The room shook more, sparks fling from wiring in the wall, the walkway holding them vibrated and shuttered. Moe took hold of Zed in his large arms, readying for the end.

The sight made Hordak thankful that Entrapta took Imp and got him to safety. The Lord of the Horde didn’t think he could’ve handled having to be forced to watch he’s own creation die... his little spy. He was safe, back on Etheria, in a loving home with a loving overseer. He only hoped that she’d teach Imp her ways, and hoped that one day Imp would grow into an intelligent man worthy enough to continue her legacy of brilliance.

Zed was the youngest of all the clones, although technically the creature wasn’t even a clone, but rather a hybrid. A prototype of the splicing initiative. A combination of Prime’s DNA and an unknown gene pool. The kid was an attempt at a creation of super soldiers, but failed. Poor kid always wanted to meet that other half of him. That other person that aided in bringing him into the world. This awful, awful world. Sadly, he never will, but he was the first to follow Hordak into the chamber. The boy did say back on the frontlines, that he’d jump into fire after him. And it was true. And to be more accurate, he didn’t say, he signed. All the defects learned the universal sign language. Zed might’ve been silent, but his voice wasn’t unheard.

He’s fate should have been a better one. He didn’t deserve this, he had a full life in front of him. Hordak never knew what drew Zed to him, why he asked so many questions, why he snuck out at night to see  him in the trenches. When Prime sent Hordak back to the frontlines, after his torturous reconditioning, he lost hope, but when he stepped out, or rather more accurately, when he was thrown out the troop dropship. Face first in a muddy trench dozens of defects thrown down with him. When he looked up from the dirt and filth, a slither of hope ignited in his belly, as a hand extended to him. Wonder in the boy’s eyes. He overheard Hordak’s mention of being trapped on other worlds.

”Hey, V you’re staring into the ceiling buddy. Talk to us.” Modulok snapped his fingers at his winged brother. Vultak didn’t turn to face him, mesmerised by the ceiling falling apart. V’s facial expression showcased a hypnotised look. As a combat aerial unit he always did look into the skies. But it probably had to do something with the impending doom below. ‘Don’t look down.’ Hordak remembered was the advise Vultak gave him when they leaped out onto the Velvet Glove from the dropship they stole, which exploded seconds later in the void of space as it filled with laser fire. VLT-441,441 was a paratrooper in the Horde military, until of course his defect began to show. He was always used to jumping into certain death, fearless in any mission. Vultak didn’t fear anything physical, nothing in the universe made him back down. But now, at the end he looked frightened, he couldn’t look down, do no more leaps of faith, for faith, he lost.

It’s true V feared nothing physical, because he had faith. He was a man of god. A believer. But what happens to a man when your god turns his back on you? Horde Prime knew defection was inevitable for many clones. No machine was perfect, especially no war machine. So Horde Prime infused prophecies and implanted messages into all clone subconscious, so that when defection occurs, all clones are compelled to return to him. Easier than hunting them down, easier to cover up the disgrace of his failures. Easier to hide his mistakes, he couldn’t afford to let those space fairing races above him mapping his progress to know about things like that. Couldn’t afford to let those higher than him know he was capable of mistakes. Perfection was expected of him. Those others above him, he tried to impress them, to have them take him in, show him enlightenment. He, all he wanted to do, was show he was worth their celestial time, he was worth something.

And now he’s nothing. He is now dead. Hordak found that he began to enjoy poetry and it’s irony more and more, in a twisted sort of way. Truly clones.

“Do you... Do you think there’s something out there for us? Up there, where ever?” The questions were deafening, everyone hoped Vultak wouldn’t have gone existential on them. But Vultak was the biggest patriot of them all, even surpassing Hordak’s obsession with their brother. And in turn he was the one most hurt by Prime’s betrayal. He was no god, no grand being, just a liar. Hundreds of thousands murdered... for him, because they believed their big brother. Hundreds of thousands, they murdered, for a lie.

“Do you think any of it was true? Do you think he believed any of it? Or was it ALL a lie?” Hordak answered V’s question in his mind, since never before was it a private place: Lie. “The Perfect World. The Grey Mound? The Hold Peck? The Great Darkness?” V grit his teeth, another wave of pain from his broken arm.

“Worried about being sent to the bad place, V?” Modulok asked, weak smile wearing.

“I’m just wondering. What’s waiting in the beyond for a guy like me. It can’t be anything good... if there even is anything up there.” Modulok decided to stand up and close the distance between him and his distraught brother. He leaned against the railing on which Vultak perched himself.

Mode gently touched V’s shoulder, it made sure V looked at him when he spoke. “I promise you, where ever you wake up on the other side, I’ll be there with you. And I’ll always fix you up after you jump into certain doom. Brother, you have my word.” It was true, the two were inseparable. Threw pure change the two met on the frontlines. While V had his head in the clouds, Mode grounded him, pulled him down to his level. Mode was a realist. He was bad at his bed side manner, he never lied to himself or his patients. He was a field medic, he saw things no one should, endured horrors unimaginable to the innocent. Modulok was the oldest to them, he was through a lot, fighting from world to world longer than any of them in Prime’s name. Over the many decades the spark of pride dulled, Mode found himself lost, fighting across the stars for a cause he no longer believed in.

Mode’s was haunting, even to other defects, whom experienced hardships and injustice. Modulok’s defection was the most dire Hordak ever seen, MUD-111,117 developed a second head, and two left arms. His genome could have been compaired to a computer glitch, untreated it just got worse. It was a miracle that Mode managed to make it to such an old age. Many species across the universe considered age to be a weakness, a disadvantage, but ‘117 always argued that with age came experience, and with experience came knowledge, which in turn led to wisdom. It was Mode who constructed Moe’s suit, led Dess’s surgery, gave V his wings and taught Zed sign language. A true veteran. He had been through it all.

But what Mode never helped Hordak with anything, ‘ 117 was a medic, he was compelled to fix others. But when Hordak first arrived at the fronts of Primus Minor, he isolated himself from everyone else, kept to himself. Hordak treated his own wounds, he worked on his armour alone. When he took the suit off, he was forced to walk on his own, no armour support system. And so he locked himself in an unused compartment of the trenches and over the course of six months, he learned how to walk. Baby steps to an adult man, who never had a childhood. Mode gathered from all of that, that Hordak was a loner. A solo act. Didn’t do well with people.

There came a day where Mode pulled Hordak off to the side and asked him why he worked through all the baggage alone? Why didn’t he ask for aid? Why did he ignore them? Hordak apologised that it seemed like he was avoiding them. And what Hordak said back in response stayed with the medic ‘til the end of his life.

“Mode... If there is good and evil.

And good is better than evil.

God has to be good... Right?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, are we good? Are we... like him?”

“What do you think?”

“I think there’s no such thing as good or evil.

But it’d be nice... to be good.”

“So, anybody got any idea how much time we’ve got left?” Despara asked looking at Modulok. Who just struggled in return, he didn’t exactly have a timer, he simply estimated the time remaining. “So that’s a no? We don’t kno- We can just blow up at any second?... Cool.” Dess combed her hair with her fingers to calm her nerves.

“You really think a timer would settle your nerves?” Moe asked unconvinced.

“I suppose not.” Dess admitted.

“I could’ve been with her.” Hordak spoke up suddenly in the middle of the conversation, honestly he was so quiet Despara forgot he was there, even though he was seated right next to her.

“What’d ya mean?”

“I could’ve saved myself... the First Ones crystal, it’s a server. To help me sync up with her new armour, Entrapta recorded my brain waves on the crystal. My memories, my thoughts, my personality, all of it... I could have given it to her when I last saw her.

But I didn’t.

I lied.

I left her.”

All five siblings turned their heads side to side take turns looking at each other and then back at Hordak. His face unmoved. Looking at the purple crystal. Zed stood up and broke free of Moe’s embrace. The young one stepped up to him. Hordak’s blood red eyes drifted up to the boy’s hands. He signed.

‘Why?’

“...Because it wouldn’t be me. Not me. A clone of me.”

The clones fell silent. Head bowing down. No more needed to be said. Every aspect of their lives had been thrown into question, into uncertainty. When the assault on The Velvet Glove happened, Hordak was leading the charge. Prime captured him and tortured him, he hurt him in front of Entrapta. He fell to his knees and crawled back to Prime, like he always did. But this time it was different, he stood up, he walked to him. Like a man, not a dog. Prime insulted and demeaned him. Prime claimed that Hordak wasn’t wasn’t a person. Clones were nothing, mere shadows of his greatness. The clones were him, just dirtier, unclean. A lesser version of what he was.

This was their stance against that. Showing that their lives meant something. That they were worth something. They were worth the world, for that was what they were saving. The scale balanced out.

The force field beneath them gave off a thunderous sound, a final warning. The bay shook one more time, the artificial gravity became disabled and the room began to tilt and shift. The metal walls crumbled like paper. The walkway began to swing and crack. Mode took V’s unbroken hand into his own. Moe embraced Zed in his arms one last time. Dess wrapped her arm around Hordak’s shoulder, and he inturn pressed his head against hers.

Modulok gave his last words in the form of a question, “...Do... Do you think... Could’ve we done something, could’ve we ended up with a happy ending, all of us? Could’ve we been good? Would it have make any difference?”

Hordak spent his last moments thinking, he didn’t realise he was thinking out loud, “Good? I think there’s no such thing as good?...

But it was nice...”

What ever this was. What it meant. What it was worth.

The force field imploded, gave in. The fire broke through. The Velvet Glove burned up in the atmosphere. And the clones were no more. And on that day all of Etheria cheered, and celebrated. For the evil was vanquished.

Ding-dong! The witches are dead.

#just reposted this cause I had nothin for hordak day #didn't know we were having one #hordak #entrapta #entrapdak