sum-of-memories

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They can’t help you Desmond, you’re a broken man. Your mind, it’s broken…

Broken? I feel fine.

So did I! 

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Day 16: Animus

Welcome to animus island

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“For I’m a strange new kind of inbetween thing aren’t I, not at home with the dead nor with the living.”

— Sophocles, from Antigonick (tr. Anne Carson)

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“Memories, shards in my chest. I remember. I remember. I remember.”

—

Excerpt from Modern Romantics // L.H.Z

(via

lhzthepoet

)

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World’s End Dance Hall by ~tatsuri

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Kaveh Akbar, from "Heritage", Calling a Wolf a Wolf

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Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

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Fernando Pessoa // Michel Foucault

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Yeah this scene from the Lost Archives got me <:,))

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Jeez this took me forever bc of art block but I have a lil mock-ref for myself for drawing Clay!!

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I can’t do it. Can I do it? Will it set me free from this endless ring of time? I feel the guillotine cut my throat, the bullet hit my chest, the water fill my lungs. The blood spills out thick and red. It’s time to get out.

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“Thank you. For making sense.”

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PROTOTYPE WEEK DAY 4: SHIP (CANON OR CROSSOVER)

more for @proto-hive‘s prototype week! “but sketch what about days 2 and 3″ i will get there. eventually. 

hi there random prototype fans, would you like to hear about crossclay, my preferred protocreed ship that lives in my brain rent free? i will tell you so much about crossclay

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💝- A memory that made them feel loved

[pulling a sappy moment from an unspecified crossclay timeline for this one lmao]

He was not a man of big, over the top declarations; neither of them were. At least, not in ways that others might readily recognize. To one another, it seemed like not a moment went by when they weren't declaring their love for each other— every gentle touch was a love poem, every kiss a sonnet, every passing glance and smile might as well have been shouting to the heavens just how much all of this meant. When did he feel loved with Cross? When didn't he?

But to pick just one, it was that first night sleeping together. They were exhausted, both more than a little battered and bloody, and the scenery of a darkened safehouse was hardly romantic. But seeing Cross's broad shoulders in the darkness, rising and falling in slow rhythm...it had been more than just a shared bed. It was a shared sleep. He'd only seen the man catch catnaps in his desk chair, never in a bed, never so at ease as in that moment. It wasn't just exhaustion, but the quiet understanding that, with Clay nearby, he felt safe. It would be a little longer before either one was brave enough (or stupid enough) to admit how far the feelings went, but looking back with the clarity of hindsight...of course that was the moment he knew Cross loved him.