#8 graves

[makingmy-waydowntown]

Love and hate, hope and faith, some things were made just to take to the grave.

[rotten-whispers]

Begging to Bleed

[jesperwolf]

These nights are getting darker My claws are getting sharper I'm strong enough to enter the fray (x)

[fortuneshyspirit]

Do We Fear the Spider or the Web?

(Song: Begging to Bleed by 8 Graves)

This is an unpolished almost writing practice thing I wrote recently. It doesn't add much to These Inhibitors' Flaws plot-wise but there are some interesting details that I decided I wanted to share. There's not really any massively new information but some allusions to some upcoming stuff. But, uh, serious spoilers for These Inhibitors' Flaws ahead, so... if you haven't read that, don't read this.

And don't expect this to be good. That's kinda why it's here and not on AO3 to begin with. I just didn't think there was any point posting it there. At least, not for now. Might make a story filled with Tumblr writing sometime, if I get enough of it. We'll see. And sorry for the long post. I write, might just have to deal with stuff like this occasionally, oop:

Let me see the teeth you’ve been lying through, I’m dying to.

Fleetway spewed nothing but lies all the time. Sonic couldn’t bring himself to believe a single word that slid past his cracked and bloodied lips. He didn’t want to believe them. Because if he did, that just proved the psychotic bastard right. And if there was a grain of truth in there every once and a while, then it was obscured by all the poisonous tripe around it. Not worth paying attention to. It was just too dangerous.

Tell me all your dreams, they’ll be dying soon, in spite of you.

Letting him go free wasn’t an option.

He’d tried speaking to Fleetway once. Tried to understand him. But there was no understanding a person like that. No reasoning with a monster like Fleetway. He’d had no real answers to give for all Sonic’s questions. Not that their conversation had been anywhere close to civil, of course. Like most things other than destruction, civil conversations were not possible with the corrupted form. Weakened as he was at the time, nothing of value could be gained from speaking with him. Sonic knew Super had tried himself. Many times. Sonic hated to tell him there was no point though. Fleetway would not change.

Super wanted to foster a connection with his other half. But that would never happen. Fleetway did not care about him. The bright, positive form had once claimed all of them, including Sonic, his brothers. Fleetway was practically his twin in his eyes. But that bastard would sooner rip out Super’s quills than spend time with him.

Hooks from which we hang.

Do we blame the venom or the fang?

Whose fault was Fleetway? Whose fault was it really that he was the way he was? Hyper tried to tell him that Fleetway was his own messed up being. That his existence was uniquely him, despite being fundamentally a part of Sonic. That they were all separate entities, existing within him.

But didn’t Sonic create Fleet?

Intentional or not, Fleetway came from him. He would not exist if it was not for Sonic’s actions. Actions he would regret for the rest of his life. So where exactly did his mindset stem from? Somewhere inside of Sonic, surely; like they all did. But that could not be right. Sonic would not accept it. Because he didn’t have thoughts like Fleetway. He did not think about blood and death or how easy it would be to squeeze the life out from someone’s body with his own hands. He didn’t. Because Sonic was not like Fleetway.

Maybe Hyper was right. Fleetway was Fleetway and nothing more. He was messed up because of his energy. That’s all there was to it.

Still, Sonic couldn’t help but feel responsible for Fleetway’s actions. He’d be haunted by them forever.

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Fleetway knew what Sonic didn’t want to acknowledge. He knew he was borne from thoughts the blue hedgehog didn’t even know he had. But he did have them. However small, those doubts, that anger, was there. Frustration mounted into a desperate rage over time. Festering away in the recesses of his mind.

And those violent ideas became Fleetway.

Build me a prison, swallow the key.

It didn’t matter that he’d been sealed away. Fleetway just knew that was Sonic’s way of dealing with what he knew to be true. It was pathetic really. But also incredibly funny.

Prowling away in the macabre shack he called his home, Fleetway took solace in the idea that Sonic was scared. He was here because his host was scared. Scared of what he had created, what he himself was capable of. And that fear was divine. Fleetway was practically subsisting off the lingering taste of that wonderful terror. He clung to it, knowing if he could break free, he could force more of it from the stupid hero.

I can be your new disease.

Soon enough, he’d have his time to strike anyway. It wouldn’t be long with the strongest form on his side.

It had been a surprise to learn the prick was sealed away too. But Fleetway decided not to hold a grudge against him. For now, at least. Dark would get his comeuppance one day down the line. Fleetway would work on that once the negative form had unwittingly helped free him. And he’d do as he said, like an obedient little mutt, because Dark was hopelessly depressed. Hilarious really. It brought Fleetway much joy to hear the deep agony the jackass had sunk into. He leant him a shoulder, let him vent. Because the black-furred hedgehog needed someone to listen to him, to talk to. And that made it easier to coax him into Fleetway’s plans.

Bring on the plague,

make me believe

When it became obvious that Dark was no longer the one fucking with him, Sonic felt ill. And it wasn’t just his upset stomach that gave him that feeling. It was the sickness in his chest, that persistent, stutter-y panic that had gripped his heart. It exasperated the achy heaviness that had been hanging about since he’d been made to wear the inhibitors, even if it took him a while to figure out that’s what it was. Like, somehow, Fleetway being free had made the effect of the red rings worse.

It was probably in his head. The anxiety.

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

Holding Tails in his arms as he grew cold was surreal. But it was real enough, detailed enough, to seriously break him. The char on his fur was in Sonic lungs; even after he woke, the smoke seemed to linger. But it was the feeling of his limp, deadweight body that he couldn’t seem to shake. When he’d realised it was a dream, he had still refused to breathe until he saw his brother with his own eyes. And then, with the fox in his arms, living, breathing, hugging him back, Sonic could not override that awful limpness. He’d thought if he held the fox close enough that he could rid himself of the memory.

But it kept coming back.

And though he was sure Dark had been the one to orchestrate that nightmare, he was sure it had been another ploy from Fleet’s twisted mind. Though the black-furred hedgehog had not shown himself that time, as he usually did. Nor had he spoken to him after the fact. It had been Fleetway then too. Because that had been the spark for Fleetway’s growing freedom.

Want you to hurt me,

I’m down on my knees.

Sonic still wasn’t sure why he’d begged Fleetway for mercy.

Fleetway did not know the meaning of the word. So what was the point? No words would ever deter him. Sonic had learnt that words could only infuriate him more. He was thoroughly convinced that unless it was screaming, Fleetway did not like his victims or enemies to speak. Like he was averse to sound – but only of a certain kind.

And Sonic had to wonder if that partially came from him.

It wasn’t that Sonic did not like talking or noise in general, but he did not like loud sounds. Never had. He’d learnt to deal with explosions, gunshots, crumpling metal. But these sounds still sometimes got to him. Not that he’d show it much; grit teeth behind a smirk or a subtle wince here and there, things that were easy to cover up. Maybe it stemmed from when he was a kid or something. What ever the reason, Sonic thought Fleetway might have a warped version of that disquieting feeling.

So the silence that he was met with, while hunched over the toilet in Rouge’s apartment, might have been Fleetway’s own way of blocking him out. He hadn’t considered it at first. His begging had probably just been grating.

He should never have done it to begin with. His fur still spiked with shame when he thought too hard on it.

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

The dream on the mountainside, the one where Fleetway had set everything up perfectly to snap the bone in his leg. That one had tormented him in a different way. Realised a fear that Sonic had had for years. Ever since he could walk, ever since he’d first found out that bones could be broken, Sonic had been mortified of losing the function of his beloved legs. It wasn’t the pain that had bothered him. That was only there to tell him there was a problem. It was the knowledge that his leg had been useless that had awoken the deep-seated fear.

So much so that Sonic hadn’t wanted Shadow too close when he first woke from that dream. Like he still felt vulnerable, even when it was clear there was nothing wrong with his leg. And that vulnerability had somehow been humiliating to have around his rival.

I’m begging to bleed.

When Fleetway had hurt Super in front of him, Sonic had that same helpless feeling he’d had with the Tails nightmare. The idea of losing Super, of knowing this was more real, had paralysed him. Despite Sonic not being sure if it was even possible for one of his forms to die, he’d been terrified.

Because Super really was like a brother to him. And so was Hyper. So was Dark. To a certain extent, so was Fleetway. The dirty yellow form was like that brother you wished you didn’t have. That family member you wished you could distance yourself from but couldn’t. And Sonic could never be rid of Fleetway because he was a part of him. No matter how much he didn’t want to believe it, Fleetway was within his mind like the others. There was nothing that would ever change that fact.

Let me wear the mask that you hide behind – nevermind.

Sitting with Dark, even when the other was ignoring him, just made Sonic want to know what was going on in his head. Was he ok? What was he feeling? That blankness was maddening. What had once been a familiar face felt foreign to him now. Had it simply been that long? Or had Dark really changed? It was like Sonic could read him less than he used to be able to. And he hated that. Because they used to be immensely close. And then they’d drifted apart. Drifted so far that Sonic wasn’t sure they’d ever reconnect. But he sort of… wanted that. He wanted to reconnect with Dark. The only question was…

Did Dark even want to rekindle their old bond?

I won’t even ask if you’re bleeding; I’ll be colourblind.

I’ll ignore the red.

Sonic’s eyes had drifted down to the mark the black-furred form had been trying – and failing – to hide. Dark was like him, which meant he would not take kindly to Sonic pointing it out. To them, acknowledging the injury was like admitting defeat. And Sonic would not do that to Dark.

But a squeezing concern crushed his chest all the same. Sonic was not aware that Dark could be hurt that bad. He’d seen his forms bleed before, had seen them injured, but never like that. And it wasn’t just the worry that bubbled up from seeing the damage in full later on. It was anger. A hateful, seething anger. An anger that was risky. It coiled around him like briars in his skin, prickly and sharp and bordering on acidic. Oddly cold yet burning hot, a mix of feelings that Sonic didn’t know how to deal with. The distinct pull of two opposing forces coming from the same emotion.

All he knew was that he didn’t like seeing that blood caked in Dark’s fur.

Do we fear the spider or the web?

Fleetway had been the mastermind, as bizarre as that had been to realise. Dark had merely been the trap for Sonic to fall into. The quiet form had been played for a fool. And Sonic knew now that he had not been happy about everything he’d done. Because Dark had been dissociating in order to get through it. It was obvious now. Obvious how different Dark had been acting at the start of all of this. All that he’d done had been heavily influenced by Fleetway, and Dark had admitted that himself.

So who should he really be mad at?

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Having Sonic near was difficult. Out of all the forms, Dark was the most like Sonic. Maybe not outwardly anymore, but certainly on the inside. And yet, they were so different too. Different in a way that made them clash a lot. Or perhaps it was the stubbornness in them both that caused that, the similarities. Dark didn’t think it mattered all that much. All he knew was that he couldn’t stand Sonic trying to pretend like they could ever move past what he’d done. Not just with Fleetway but everything. Dark had to own up to his own shitty mistakes. Even though it was so painful to do so. And Sonic had to accept that that meant things would never be normal again.

Build me a prison, swallow the key.

It was incredibly hard to just forget that he’d been abandoned. Left alone with only the company of his own domain, his own thoughts. And eventually Fleetway. It was hard to put behind him all that time spent in isolation. With the conniving form that only craved anarchy. It was hard to ignore his impending re-sealing that would follow Fleetway’s too.  It was going to be difficult to go back to that when the time came. But he’d made a promise to Super and he intended to keep his word.

He would not fight it.

What was the point trying to talk to Sonic when his host would just shove him back into a corner at the end of it all anyway? Sonic was hard to understand sometimes. Dark had known him since… well forever. But the hedgehog didn’t always make sense to him. He was contradictory and spontaneous and his actions just confused Dark. He had hurt Sonic, betrayed his trust, essentially tortured him. How could the blue hedgehog possibly want to speak to him after that? But Sonic kept trying. He kept trying to make that effort, even when it was clear it was hard for him too. Why? Why did he bother? Trying to analyse Sonic was like trying to predict the way the wax will drip on a burning candle. You’d drive yourself mad sooner than you’d guess correctly.

I can be your new disease.

All he’d wanted, from the moment he knew of his own existence, was to help Sonic. Protect him. Keep him safe. Be there when Sonic needed someone to talk to. No matter how big or small the moment, every second was crucial. Those moments had shaped Sonic and Dark had been a part of it, a part of them all.

But Sonic had others for that now. Hyper was his intellectual support. Super was his emotional support. And Dark was obsolete now. He was no longer needed. And so he’d be buried like a time capsule that no one would care to dig back up. Had Sonic even thought about him when he’d been sealed away? Or had Dark faded into the corners of his mind, lost, as though he’d never even existed? Had all their time meant nothing? Should Dark even be surprised that it hadn’t? Why pick him over the inherently more pleasant Super or level-headed Hyper? Really, he should have expected this from the beginning. And maybe he had. Maybe that was why he had acted that way all those years ago.

Some things just weren’t fair. But, Dark supposed, that was just life.

Bring on the plague,

make me believe

Should Sonic give Dark that chance to show him he could change? Should he allow him the opportunity to prove that he hadn’t?

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

Like the inciting incident at Eggman’s base. The catalyst for the inhibitors, for Fleetway. Just Dark’s most recent foray into taking control without Sonic’s consent. And certainly not the first. He’d made a nasty habit of that over the years. A habit that was apparently here to stay, after all this time. And that troubled Sonic just as much as it had when it first started happening.

Want you to hurt me,

I’m down on my knees.

Dark wasn’t always physical but his recent attacks had been direct.

That night when he plunged his hand into his heart really messed Sonic up. At the time, Sonic hadn’t realised just how not Dark that action had been. But now, he looked back on that awful nightmare and saw it for what it was; Dark exaggerating a menacing air that had never been him. That was why it had been so… so… wrong. But with everything happening with the inhibitors at the time, the new feelings coursing though him, Sonic had not been able to recognise Fleetway bleeding though every step Dark took.

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

And then there was the sea of blood. The first nightmare with the most obvious Fleetway influence. Blood was Fleetway’s signature. And that was when Dark had practically admitted to working with the murderous form. That had confused Sonic to the point of a nasty headache. Though, it was probably not helped by the itchy terror that evoked either. Dark and Fleet did not get along – though that was hardly surprising, considering Dark got along with no one and Fleetway’s whole being was not conducive to alliances. But the idea of them working together or anything was downright petrifying. And Sonic had to wonder if that was his fault.

He could still vividly remember the feeling of his gore-slicked fur against his skin. He could remember the slight warmth of it, Dark’s horrible accuracy to freshly spilled blood. He was very good at that, moulding the Voidspace into truthful depictions of reality, even if the main focus was wildly implausible. There was an art to it, one that Dark had perfected. For him. Whether it was good or bad, it was always for him. That used to make Sonic feel special. Now it made him feel foul.

And the taste of it. The way it invaded his lungs like a miasma. And Dark’s hands against his shoulders, keeping him in place below the torrent. That would probably stick with him forever.

I’m begging to bleed.

The way Dark had kept calling him by his old name really got under his skin too. At some point, he’d cut it out. But his fur itched every time he heard it. Which was funny because he remembered Dark calling him that more than anyone else; people did not really speak to him when he was younger. None of his other forms had ever used the name either. It physically hurt Sonic to hear it, even think it. It had never truly felt like his name.

So when Dark insisted on bringing it up, it made something inside him wither.

And he knew it. Dark knew how much that name made him squirm. It was why no one else knew it, why no one would ever know it. Not his friends. Not his brother. Not even Eggman. Sonic would go to his grave with his old name. And, honestly, he never thought he’d hear it again. That had been purely Dark, no influence from Fleetway with that one. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why it had hurt the most.

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Make me believe,

make me believe…

Sonic had a hard time understanding what had happened between him and Dark. They’d been close when he was a kid. Was it time that had made everything worse or had Dark held on to that frustration for longer than he let on? Was it possible that Sonic had always irritated him?

Tell me that you’re sick like me,

Make me believe,

make me believe…

And Fleetway. Why was he so… different? Unlike the others, Sonic couldn’t find any of his own traits within him. Every form was unique, had their own varying personalities. But at their core, they were essentially like caricatures of him, exaggerated parts of Sonic that still managed to be so very distinct. But Fleetway was something else. Fleetway was unhinged. Fleetway was psychotic. And Sonic had no idea where that had come from. Certainly not from him.

Sonic just wanted to know why. But he knew he’d probably never get the answer for as long as he lived.

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

I’m begging to bleed.

Super was bright, enthusiastic and bubbly. A little naïve, even frightful on occasion. He reminded Sonic of himself when he was younger mixed with the – sometimes forced – optimism of his older self. Innocent was a good way to describe him. Super was optimistic to a fault. He hated when the others argued so much, overly sensitive and sweet. Only he seemed to share Sonic’s selective mutism. He was the easiest to talk to for sure.

Dark had his quiet moments, not being overly talkative in the first place, but he consciously chose when not to speak, so it was different. Still probably stemmed from the same sort of feeling though.

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Make me believe,

make me believe.

Hyper was primarily logical but he was more emotional than he tried to pretend. He was usually calm and reserved with fleeting fits of passion. Sonic had a feeling the white-furred form purposefully supressed him own emotions in order to come across more put together though. And the only reason he suspected that was because that’s exactly what Sonic did. It took him a long time to notice it. Seeing it in Hyper made him realise just how much he did it himself. An issue he was unable to address. Hyper always tried to be the composed one and, in most cases, he was. There was a reason Hyper used to be his go to when he was dealing with something difficult.

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Make me believe,

make me believe.

Sometimes, Sonic wondered why they existed at all. He was grateful for them, loved them all dearly – aside from Fleetway’s homicidal tendencies. He couldn’t imagine life without them. But…

Why were they there?

Tell me that you’re sick like me.

Make me believe,

make me believe…

Was Sonic alone in his experience? Did Shadow’s Super exist within him or was there something… wrong with Sonic? He knew them to be real and not just figments of his imagination. They had to be. But Shadow had never pulled him aside to talk about it and… and Sonic was terrified that Shadow would think he was crazy if he brought it up himself.

Was Sonic just crazy? What was it that made him so special? The negative energy. The positive energy. Hell, even Fleetway’s broken energy. Why was all that so exclusive to him? Sonic would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him sometimes. Maybe he didn’t want to be unique.

[twonerdygirlsinthecloset]

Was someone pulling the strings???

[trulyunwaveringphase]

Hey! Has anyone done an edit of the beasts to the song Beast by 8 Graves yet? If not, can someone do it?

[kveldulf-nightwolf]

8 Graves - Teeth

[gingeart]

i can feel teeth tear into me

rip me to pieces, rock me to sleep