#golem!google

- mythbits

I made the mistake of reading this in class and nearly gave myself away I was trying so hard not to laugh XDD I asked because, well, this came to mind: 

The Host’s shoulders lifted as his body tensed, tentacles curling up against his body involuntarily as hot air blew across his back, disrupting his hair and leaving his gills vulnerable. It took conscious effort not to grimace or otherwise cringe away from the sensations, the steely gaze of the protective golem palpable even without narration. However, he couldn’t suppress the great shudder that ran up his spine when a massive cold wet nose pressed boldly against his skin, hands balling into shaky fists and goosebumps rising across his arms. Faint whiskers tickled his neck, flexing and wiggling as the Sphinx sniffed curiously, more large huffs of hot meat scented breath threatening to choke the half-cephalopod. 

“Host,” Blue warned lightly, although it was hard to tell which of them he was talking to- the siren turned octopus or the Sphinx. Most likely his master, although the Host could never be too careful in this situation, especially as he felt the curl of a lip behind him. It was all too easy to imagine the massive fangs in that gaping maw, as long as his head and gleaming white. Last he’d checked, sushi was not on the menu today. 

Apparently, his feline counterpart didn’t receive that memo because the rasp of a rough bumpy tongue licked up the Host’s neck, curling over the back of his head and flicking up over his forehead, pulling all of his hair forward and into his face. He would forever deny the undignified squeaking noise he most definitely did not make, as well as the way his tentacles writhed and spasmed under him, tangling into disturbed knots of anxiety as the full force of the sensation settled into his mind and body. 

“Host!” Blue snapped, sounding both annoyed and resigned, as if he had the ability of foresight instead of them and had expected this to happen. 

Iplier, a presence the Host had pretty much forgotten at this point, snickered at his side, chittering with poorly concealed laughter. He gave up all pretense of politeness a moment later, loud guffaws of amusement finally convincing the Host to take a moment and gather stock of his surroundings, at least to distract himself from the rapidly cooling saliva sticking his hair up in ridiculous configurations. 

His mind’s eye supplied him with the admittedly hilarious expression upon the Sphinx’s face; lips curled and muzzle scrunched, the beast had stuck his tongue out and turned his nose up, as if he’d licked a lemon instead of his counterpart. 

“Salty,” the Sphinx supplied in a deep rumbling voice, lifting a paw to rub at his mouth, although the action didn’t seem to help much. 

“What were you expecting?” Iplier wheezed, leaning against him now, which seemed like a bit much but the Host allowed it. He lifted a tentacle to rub over his hair, pushing it away from his sodden bandages and into a poor semblance of neatness. He froze again, however, when the looming presence of the Sphinx returned, hot breath and- 

“The Host’s appreciation for art has...diminished since the loss of his eyes, but he still finds non-visual art very pleasing. The Host especially likes to listen to Green play the santur.” 

Green glances up from where he’s braiding a bracelet with colored strings and beads. He inclines his head a little and the Host mimics the action, a silent passing of respect to each other. 

“The Host has no specific song he likes more than another, but he finds that particular instrument soothing.” 

The next question has the Host laying his chin on his paws, tail lashing in agitation behind him. Green sets aside his work to sit beside the Sphinx, braiding sections of his mane in gentle solidarity. Blue pops out from behind a nearby bookshelf, eyes narrowed and hands clenched. If looks could burn, the scroll would have burst into flames. 

“....The Host does not wish to speak of that. He has been called many things. Monster is perhaps the most frequent, but it is not something he is unused to.” 

Although he moves on, the Host’s mood does not seem to improve. He turns his head into Green’s body, nuzzling his nose into the golem’s lap. Green doesn’t stop his braiding, although he lifts his arms so the Host’s voice isn’t muffled. 

“This is not addressed to anyone in particular.”

Blue turns the scroll around a few times, just to make sure he’s not missing a name on it. Nope, no address- he decides to pass it off to Yellow instead. The other golem seems more than eager to answer. 

“We don’t get sick! We don’t have organic bodies, so that takes care of that. We are a little more on the breakable side though.”

“Orange is on the more breakable side- some of us actually use our heads every once in a while,” Red huffs, rolling his eyes at the offending gasp Orange gives. 

“Sand sailing is fun!”

“Fun for you, not fun for us when we have to reattach your arm for the dozenth time!” 

Orange and Red start bickering. Yellow has a fond if not exasperated smile on his face before he gets back to the question. 

“Red’s kinda right, Orange is a bit more....reckless than the rest of us. As for the Host- he’s generally pretty healthy! We have to keep an eye on his hemophilia and his eyes, but other than that there’s little to worry about. He gets sick from time to time, and he can be pretty dramatic about it too, but it’s never been super bad.” 

Yellow looks around conspiratorily. He checks to make sure Blue is busy getting in between Red and Orange before whispering. 

“O-okay, okay this is ...this is happening.” 

Yellow squirmed, not quite sure what to do. Canis had managed to crawl under him- directly under him, so that now Yellow was precariously sitting on the poor hound, curled into a tight whimpering ball on the seat Yellow had second before been sitting comfortably in. 

“Um….,” the golem started, then flailed when Canis quivered, nearly sending the clay man toppling onto the floor. 

Grabbing the armrests for support, Yellow glanced around. He could hear the Host somewhere above them, his narrations spilling soothingly down through the pyramid. Green was among the stacks somewhere, this footsteps softest among the five of them, but not insight. Blue was likely with the Host, Red was most probably outside, and Yellow didn’t bother giving himself a headache over trying to figure out where Orange disappeared to. 

He was on his own, just him and the sounds of the steps and- 

The sudden BOOM of thunder shook the pyramid, and Yellow realized where the fear was coming from just as Canis startled and they both went over the edge of the chair and onto the floor. No sooner did Yellow get his bearings did Canis crawl on top of him, wrapping his arms and legs around Yellow in a death grip while his body trembled and his tail tucked, somehow managing to squeeze between them in a way that had to be uncomfortable. 

“Oh- oh it’s okay Canis, it’s just thunder, it’s alright,” Yellow began, propping himself up on one elbow so he could gently stroke the hell hound with the other. 

His words and actions didn’t do much, unfortunately, but Yellow hadn’t really expected them to. Canis was terrified of a lot of things, and they had all learned through trial and error what best helped him respond. Words, unless they were the Host’s, more often than not failed. 

Actions worked, however, and so Yellow very precariously got to his feet and carried the whimpering shuddering hellhound off to his master’s room, thankful he couldn’t actually get tired. 

“We’ll stay here until the storm stops, okay?” 

The sickening crack of the crowbar breaking through the stained clay of Blue’s body silences the room. He can’t even scream anymore, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling as the sand flows out of his body from a new opening, leaving him a broken shell. The Host roars, the sound shaking the very fabric of reality and filling every nook and cranny within the chamber. It bounces back against the walls, reverberating, filled with agony and rage and frustration. Distantly he can hear the rattle of the Host’s chains as he tries to claw himself free, struggling fruitlessly to get to Blue. Yellow sobs to the side, the clink of glass tears continually falling from his face lost in the background. He can’t hear Orange, or Green, but Red is loud as he screams at their captors, his raging having turned to desperate angry begging.

“Stop! Please- not again, please, we weren’t made for this!”

The crowbar comes back down again, this time breaking through Blue’s arm, completely dislocating it. The sand that would cushion his heart begins to seep away, and the fire in Blue’s carefully spun glass eyes begins to dim. He can feel his connection to his body severing, falling away with every little grain that spills to the floor. Every word comes slow, swampy, like he’s hearing it under water and from a farther distance. The Host’s thrashing becomes more frantic, the low buzz of the voices in the background pitching as they work on corralling the Sphinx.

“No! Please- don’t, not again, please, please. Hit me, hit me, don’t- no!”

{I’m sorry darlin, yeah it’s rough. The Author had a bad but fitting end considering all the horrible things he did. Fluffy Sphinxy is the perfect remedy!}

Once the sound of rushing water reached the Host’s ears, he was bounding forward, galloping full sprint towards the river. He felt Blue tighten his grip on the Host’s mane, cursing lowly, but the sound was drowned out by Orange’s surprised scream. The moment the Host felt the ground change to sand under his paws he was leaping, wings opening to give him the extra lift he needed to clear the banks and plunge into the water. Blue hunkered down, skillfully using the Hosts fluttering feathers for cover, but Orange was not so experienced. He sputtered and coughed, whining when he saw the state of his clothes.

“Hoooooost!”

“I told you he was going to do this,” Blue muttered, shifting between the Host’s shoulders as the Sphinx folded his paws under him and laid down, relishing the cool water that soothed the burn of the hot desert sun. He purred loudly, the rumbling making his entire body shake and the Golems on his back with it.

“So, uh, how do we-”

“We don’t,” Blue cut him off, pushing to stand up on the Host’s back when the Sphinx finally settled down. He moved up past the Host’s shoulders to the back of his neck and made himself comfortable in the Host’s mane, laying down with his hands behind his head and ankles crossed.

Orange opened his mouth to speak again, but Blue simply closed his eyes with the air of definitive end to the action. The new Golem looked helplessly over his shoulder back at the river bank, where the others had finally caught up and were making themselves comfortable among the shallows and the reeds. The gap wasn’t too large, and if he got enough of a running start-

“Orange,” the Host grumbled, lifting his head and twitching his ear “no.”

“But-”

“No.”

Blue’s stomping footsteps were retreating in the background, followed by the quiet skittering of the other golems following their older brother. The Host’s Sight showed him them looking back at him and the cold body on the table, still unmoving after all of this time of waiting. They were hesitant to leave, just in case something happened, but Blue was already up the stairs and out the door by the time they hurried on after him, equally as disappointed. The Host tilted his head to the side, ears flickering as he heard the clay creations get farther and farther away, the loud thud of the doors to the workshop closing echoing through the large space.

He sat for a moment, quiet and attentive, waiting, but the body did not move. The Host stepped closer, looming over the clay figure that his creations had been slaving over for months. His Sight showed him the stained orange clay of the creature’s body, the soft mop of black hair on its head, the runes carved up and down its arms and torso and legs, as completely covered as if they were faint tattoos. If he lowered his head a little and strained his hearing, the Host could detect the soft beating of the golem’s stolen heart and the crackling of the fire from its Bennu feather. Yet still it remained, rigid as an old corpse, glass eyes closed and sand settled.

"The Golem is scared of his own existence,” The Host began, his deep narrative rumble causing the very air to tremble. Reality shifted under his words, his silver tongue heavy in his mouth as he spoke.

“He is petrified. But he does not have to be. He is born anew, as the Host was. He is unsure, as the Host was. He has Blue, as the Host has him. He will live, and he will find his existence is beautiful."

"Whoah....that's so, like, poetic."

The Host couldn’t help the smile that split his face as he listened to the golem’s first words.

The Host preemptively lifted his paw, ear twitching as he waited patiently for the scene that his Foresight had just shown him. There was the sudden flutter of startled wings, a sharp trill of an animal being disturbed, and the scared gasp of a golem being caught off guard. Yellow screamed not a moment later, fleeing from the depths of the ancient shelves and running right into the Host’s chest, desperately burying himself within the long strands of the Host’s mane. He hid as best he could under the Host’s dangling paw, terrified not of the sharp claws that adorned the large appendage, but of the small creature he had found not moments ago.

“It is a bat,” the Host explained in his deep rumbling voice, speaking the answer to a question Yellow had only just thought to ask.

“A-a bat?”

“It is an animal, and it is harmless. Yellow should not be afraid.”

“Oh….”

Still, the golem held on, trembling faintly as his repurposed heart pounded in his clay chest. The Host murred softly and put his paw back down, effectively caging his charge. The Sphinx lowered his head, nudging softly at the golem’s back while he purred low in his throat. He felt the heat within Yellow flare for a moment before he began to settle, the shifting of the sand within his body going silent as he stilled. His panic eventually resided and the Host lifted his paw again to let him move away. The Sphinx did not foresee the golem holding gently onto some of the Host’s name, plastered against his arm as the Host rose to continue walking the library.