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foxkairi-posting · 10 months ago

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@magn0lia-blossoms thanks a lot for this, I read it yesterday!

I also have a "happy ending" AU, and a lot of things are similar to what you wrote, I can definitely see "my" Hollow and Grimm in your story. I'm glad other people have a similar idea of how the story could go on after the game.

Thanks for the effort, I'm really glad that I read it!

For What Difference It Makes

From: @magn0lia-blossoms

To: @foxkairi

Written works below readmore

It was cold outside. During the stasis of Hallownest, the seasons refused to change, refused to decide which one of them would rule. Constantly temperate, never too hot or too cold. They had only learned this after they were freed, though. Within their containment, it was always too hot, too hot, too much. They were not within their containment, now.

It was cold.

They ached.

They didn't have the bones or muscles to do so, but it was happening all the same. Their joints hurt, their scars hurt. This cacophony of pain was attempting to swallow them whole.

They would endure. They always had. Though now they kept on for a different reason than blind devotion. Never again would they follow blindly. Now, they endured for those who cared. Their sister, their siblings.

Everything was still. Quiet. The small village of Dirtmouth was quaint. Nothing too exciting, nothing too much. Their sister had procured a house for them. It was one of the larger ones, for their stature demanded it, though they rarely spent time inside. They preferred to be outside, where there was no chance of confinement. No unwanted visitors bothered them, and their sister visited them every so often. She mostly kept to herself, as well. Rather, she was busy with those below. Not as much time for them. They didn't mind, if she'd given them her full attention they might've grown complacent, they might have begun craving it.

Just like they had with him. Their father.

Though they denied it for so long, he was their father. They craved his affection like any grub would. But they had grown, now. They didn’t need to become dependent. He was gone now, anyway. None of that mattered. It was time for them to have a new life, independent of anyone’s will but their own. Because they had a will. They always knew it. Denial had always been their specialty.

Not now, not now. They would not deny that they had thoughts and emotions and a will. Never again.

Currently, they were sitting on the roof of their house. It was colder up here than on the ground. They hurt worse up here than they would if they were inside. It was warm inside. Not hot, not too much. But… they liked it up here. A preference. The breeze on their shell felt nice, even though their joints and scars protested it.

Cold, cold, cold. How were they cold? They were made of a substance as cold as the vast reaches of the sky.

A star had burned within them. She had shown them true heat. Was that why they could feel the cold now? Whatever the reason, it was affecting them. They really should go inside. They didn’t move.

Though they didn’t need to sleep, they thought that they just might be able to, up here, in the cold. She was dead and gone, now, after all. They could sleep without fear. They wanted to.

A sharp pain in the stump where their arm used to be reminded them why they weren’t.

Clutching their shoulder, they brought their knees up to their chin. She had done damage irreversible. The stump was pitted as though by acid, and they had scars all over themself to match. The time they’d spent in confinement had allowed them to atrophy. They didn’t care for the way their scars and joints ached. It was preventing their sleep, their rest. The way the scars looked was also not preferable. They did not have much of an eye for aesthetics, but on a base level, the pits in their chitin were unnatural and an eyesore. There was not much to be done about it. There was no use worrying.

Their sister had gifted them several cloaks in the months after they were freed. Often those cloaks were used to hide the scars. Hide, hide, hide away. They did not enjoy bugs looking at them, enjoyed it even less when those bugs recognized them. When they were by themself, like now, they did not wear the cloaks. This was not out of a lack of gratitude. It was merely that they enjoyed feeling the air on their chitin, after so long in a place so stagnant. Stuffy. Suffocating. They did wear the cloaks when around others, if only to put out some semblance of public decency. They looked unnatural without a cloak. They were not a natural being. The clothing hides that, somewhat. The way bugs looked at them had made them uncomfortable ever since they emerged. Especially the bugs who knew what they were, what they were supposed to be.

It was increasingly obvious to those bugs that they were not what they were supposed to be. They had expected most to resent them for it, but the overwhelming emotion they got was that of pity.

They didn’t want to be pitied. Pity was for the weak. They were not weak, they had just been placed against an impossible task.

Well, they might be weak now. They were not as strong as all those years ago. Before the atrophy, before the scars. When they had first emerged, they had barely been able to walk. Now they could climb onto the roof of their house consistently.

Climb into the cold.

They ached.

It was a pulsating thing, the pain. Like waves. One wave would subside only for another to crash into them. Some were more severe than others. Some were almost manageable. It didn’t really matter. The pain would pass.

It would continue as long as they stayed up here, in the cold. Staying outside in general was a bad idea right now. The ache would only get worse. They wondered how long they’d been on the roof. When they’d climbed up, it had been early in the sleep cycle.

Time was an odd thing for them. Never having been sure when they were awake or not, time in confinement had stretched on and on. Even now, they lost track of time easily. A habit from days long gone. It was of no concern to them how long they spent up here, not really. It might be a concern for their sister. She had been urging them, recently, to rest. She had said that the cold often makes those with injuries, past or present, experience pain. They had dismissed her at the time due to the fact that they were not like other bugs. They should not have. The ache present throughout their body was proof of that.

Pain was something they used to be very, very familiar with. Months had passed, now, without that searing, burning, rotting pain. Had they grown too used to the comfort? Was that such a bad thing? There was no blinding light. There was no threat that they needed to concern themself with anymore. The only threat to them was this cold and the pain. They were still curled in on themself. It didn’t help shield them from the chill. They didn’t generate heat, so this was just as effective as sitting normally. There was no movement, regardless.

No movement. They didn’t need to move, so why would they? When they had been first released, they had been desperate to move. Somewhere, anywhere. It didn’t matter where. However, in those first weeks, their movement was limited. Their sister had installed rails around the house she had given them, to help them. They had not been able to communicate with her at that time, both because they

couldn’t write well and because whenever they had attempted to write, they had felt too much grief, too much shame, too much, too much.

Now, they could write fairly well. It still triggered a habitual jolt of shame whenever they needed to communicate, but it was more manageable now. Their handwriting was much neater. Their sister had spent many hours teaching them how to write.

So much has changed. They have changed, have learned, have grown. Everything was so much better.

The pain was getting worse.

But they didn’t want to move. They enjoyed thinking, enjoyed not having anything in their mind but themself. If they moved, they’d probably go inside. And they wanted to feel the breeze for a little while longer.

“Are you having fun?”

They nearly jumped out of their shell, reflexively reaching for a nail that was not there. With a breif panic, their head shot up to look at the bug who had disturbed them.

Oh, it was the being of Nightmare. Grimm. They hadn't seen him climb up. He laughed, a raspy sound, and sat next to them.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you, Hollow.”

Right, Hollow, the name that their sister had bestowed upon them that was derived from their incorrect title. The name that they couldn’t bring themself to change. The name that they introduced themself with and everyone knew them as, now. Hollow.

They nodded at Grimm. He was forgiven.

A vague warmth was emanating from him.

They ached.

It was now that they realized just how stiff they really were. They felt the ache in their arm especially, where it had moved so suddenly to grab a weapon that sat inside, by the door. The joints of their arm hurt, as did their hips and knees when they straightened them. It was as if the joints were scraping against the sockets with no cushion. Movement. Cold.

Warmth?

They looked at Grimm. He was looking out over the town, just like they had been. They should probably be more cautious around him, since he was a god of

Flame and Nightmares, both things that they didn't particularly enjoy. But he'd been in Dirtmouth for the entirety of the time they'd been here, and before. He had been kind to them, regarded them with no expectations of what they were supposed to be. He didn't harm them, and didn't seem to want to. Their sibling had summoned him, yet they left his Ritual unfinished. He had said that he wasn't upset with their sibling, but that the Heart would continue burning his body from the inside.

That was something they could relate to.

Burning, burning, too hot, too much. They knew the feeling well. The months freed did not make them forget the searing pain. Nothing would. They wondered how bad it was for Grimm. He didn't show outward signs of pain or scarring. He seemed to be enjoying the cold. Their sister had given them cold compresses when they had first emerged. It had felt nice at the time, cool packs of ice were a relief on their still-cooling self. Was it similar for Grimm? The cold was certainly not doing them any favors, but it might be good for him.

Had he wanted their company? Did he seek them out for that purpose? They weren’t making conversation, but neither was he. The two of them were just sitting on the roof of the house their sister had given them. Was that normal? He hadn’t done it before. Most of the time, they sought him out in his tent after receiving a letter of invitation from him. He did not summon them often, but when he did it was nothing important. Just to talk over tea that they couldn’t drink. They couldn’t talk, either, but he always had paper for them to write. He didn’t mind their silence, and they didn’t mind his talking. It was pleasant, comfortable.

They were not comfortable. The pain in their joints and scars was not going away. They really should go inside. But Grimm was enjoying the cold, and they couldn't just leave him here by himself.

The rational part of their mind said that he'd either follow them inside or just leave. He wouldn't be offended. He knew them well enough to know that they meant no harm. But… they enjoyed his company. His silence was thoughtful. It was only their body that was uncomfortable. They didn’t want to leave him.

He was looking at them. They realized that they were staring, and looked away. Grimm laughed.

“I don’t mind the staring. What were you thinking about?” He pulled a few papers and a pencil out from under his cape. He had come prepared. When was he

going to give them the ability to speak? Whenever it suited him? The tought irked them a bit, but neither had attempted to converse before this. They supposed it didn’t really matter. Taking the pencil and paper from him, they held the paper down with their knee as they wrote their answer to his question. It is cold.

“It certainly is. Winter is setting in. I’ve always enjoyed the sight of snow, though I doubt we’ll get any here in these caverns. Snow is an amazing thing, it dampens the sound where it falls, leading to silence unlike any other.” He gazed upwards. “It truly is beautiful. It sparkles when exposed to light, before melting away. I’ve always preferred winter. Fire isn’t much needed in the summer, after all.”

Warmth. He was flame, he was warm. He was burning. They were freezing. There was an obvious solution.

They lifted their arm, placing their hand on his shoulder. Grimm jolted. Afraid they’d startled him, they lifted their hand, only for his own to gently grab their wrist and guide it back to his shoulder.

“Do not worry, Hollow. You were just… colder than I expected.” And he was warmer than they expected. They could feel the heat through his cape. They wondered how much pain he must be in. Though he was a god, the body he inhabited was still mortal. They assumed that this was why he was dying. They were taller than Grimm by a head, and their hand was bigger than his shoulder. Surely there was a better place for their hand to be. They lifted it from his shoulder, and while he lightly tugged to get it put back, they continued pulling it away. Grimm reluctantly let go. They then placed their hand on his back, and it nearly covered the entirety of his torso. He sighed, leaning into it. He was in more pain than they realized.

Gently rubbing his back, they realized that their hand was not going to stay cold enough to provide relief for long. He was too warm. As a Vessel, they knew that they held the chill of the Void. Their extremities would not be able to generate the cold needed to cool Grimm down, but their torso might.

They removed their hand from Grimm’s back after it had warmed thoroughly enough to not provide relief. Grimm still protested. They were sure that it wasn’t from the sudden absence of cold, since their hand was warm enough now to match a normal bug’s. Was it from the loss of contact? They picked up the pencil that they’d set down and wrote their next message.

Would you like to sit in my lap?

His mouth parted the slightest bit, perhaps in surprise. Was it really that surprising? They held the solution to his problem, and he held the solution to theirs. Though their hand was warm, the rest of them was still incredibly cold and stiff.

“Would… that be alright? I wouldn’t want to overheat you.”

You would not. I need warmth now, anyway.

“Are you hurting as well? I know that scars often ache when the weather changes, especially when it’s cold…” They nodded. “We should get you inside, then. I knew you had been colder than usual. I could help you start a fire. Do you have blankets? I could retrieve some from–” He stopped when they shook their head. They enjoyed the breeze. They would not move when they could have both warmth and the breeze at the same time. Grimm sighed. “You’re stubborn.” You are free to refuse.

“No, no, you were kind enough to offer.” He leaned forward to begin climbing into their lap. Or, rather, climbing to sit between their legs. Their legs were long and lanky, so there wasn't much of a lap to sit on. This did not stop Grimm from reclining into them, sighing in relief. Now that he was against them, they could feel more acutely just how warm he was. Far too warm.

They crossed their arm over his chest, holding him, and sat their head between his horns. Grimm startled a little, but relaxed soon after. The two sat like that for a little while, the temperature between them beginning to reach something close to normal. Well, normal for a regular bug. It was warmer than they were used to, but pointedly not hot. It was comfortable.

“You know, this isn’t the first time a Ritual has failed.” Grimm started, and stopped just as abruptly, causing them to nudge his head with their chin to get him to continue. “You see, most bugs either complete our Ritual through defeating the Nightmare King or through Banishment. If the summoner agrees with what we stand for, they often complete the Ritual traditionally. If not, they choose to Banish us. There is always a member or two who is discontent with their life in the Troupe. Banishment is their way to escape peacefully. Though, Banishment is slightly more painful, because I am not asleep when I die. It also forces the Grimmchild to be raised within the Troupe, but it is a smoother transition when the summoner purposefully rejects us than when they simply… do nothing.

"Banishment is far less painful than this. When a summoner goes this route, it leaves the Child with the summoner, stuck in his third molt, unable to grow until the summoner gives him back to the Troupe or until I die. My death is slow, when the Ritual fails. The Nightmare Heart becomes too much for this body, as I have already given part of myself to the Child, and I burn. I appreciate what you have done for me tonight, but the pain will return. I do not have long left.”

They stared at the top of his head. He had, in the time that they’ve been free, been kind to them. He had been one of the few to not pity them. They enjoyed his company. Yet… all things came to an end eventually. That was the philosophy of the Troupe, and its Master was no exception. They knew that their sibling had not intentionally abandoned Grimm. Their sibling had ascended. They weren't sure if their sibling could complete the Ritual, in their state.

"Please don't think I resent them for their choice. They managed to save what was left of this kingdom, that's a feat that I couldn't have accomplished. Because of their actions, so many bugs will get a chance to live.” He stared at the roof below them. “Some may think me opposed to letting bugs live. I am not. More bugs alive, more kingdoms rise, more kingdoms fall. Everything will surrender to the flame eventually, and then that flame itself will go out as well. That’s when it’s your sibling’s turn. And yours, should you choose to surrender yourself to the Void. Though, this world would be losing such a beautiful mind.”

The statement caught them off-guard. Their mind. The mind they were not supposed to have, the mind that decided their defeat before they had even begun fighting, the mind that had others pitying them for their failure. He called such a mind beautiful. They huffed incredulously, then shifted their arm to hold him tighter. Grimm was not a bug that they wanted to let go.

They would have to, soon.

“You do not have to mourn my passing. I’d prefer it if you delighted in the time we got to spend together. Remember me, and let those memories stay in your mind for as long as you allow them to. I will not ask you to remember me forever.” They knew they would anyway.

“In a way, I’m glad that your sibling didn’t complete the Ritual. It allowed me to meet you, and though it wasn’t for long, you helped keep the pain at bay.” They got the impression that he wasn’t only talking about tonight, that all of the time they spent with him was somehow a relief. They reluctantly released their

hold on Grimm to pick up the paper and the pencil. Moving their hand in front of the both of them, they sat down the paper. Grimm held it in place so they could write.

You, as well.

“Me? Are you saying that I have eased your pain also?” They had thought that that was obvious, but they nodded into his horn. He stared at the paper, at their side of the conversation so far. “I am glad. I seem to have grown quite fond of you, Hollow.”

They pointed at their last message with their pencil. Grimm laughed softly. “I see. It’s a shame that such a thing has to end so soon. Feelings such as these are rare, something to be treasured.”

They struggled to put into words their exact feelings towards Grimm. He was kind, and thoughtful, and he had treated them like he would any other bug. They appreciated the days where his flame burned like a bonfire, bright and dramatic and full of energy, but they also enjoyed times like these, where his flame was more like a candle, soft and soothing. They wanted to have known him longer, but they knew that no amount of time would be nearly long enough. Their sister had once called him their friend. That word felt both fitting and so far from all they felt. He was their friend. But so was their sister, and that archivist, and the elderly bug in the square. He felt different, somehow.

Feelings were never something they excelled at. They didn’t need to put a name to it. Trying to do so was meaningless when Grimm was in their arm, burning ever so slowly. They very much treasured their feelings towards him. They treasured this moment, sitting on the roof, the air chilled but both of them warm. He moved, and they lifted their chin and loosened their grip to allow it. He turned himself so that he was facing them.

His eyes were dim. Not so much as to stop glowing, but they weren’t as bright as usual, hadn’t been since he arrived. He looked up at them. He was smiling. They ducked their head down to nudge his cheek, and he nudged back. They pulled him against them and leaned back, laying down. Grimm chuckled, scooting up to rest his chin on their upper chest. They rubbed his back. His hands found their face, and he stroked the shell under their eyes with his thumbs.

“You truly are remarkable.”

They leaned into one of his hands. So was he.

It was an easy silence. The two stayed there for the rest of the sleep cycle. At one point, Grimm had fallen asleep. They had felt it as his breaths evened, as he drifted off. They wanted to protect him. He didn’t need protecting. He was dying. There was nothing they could do to stop that. And yet, they didn’t feel helpless. They knew that he was fine with this outcome. He wasn’t resigned to his fate, he welcomed it with open arms.

They decided that they would not mourn him. They would do as he suggested. They would remember him fondly. They would delight in the time spent together. They would let these feelings remain, to remind them that such things existed. Perhaps they would find another that they could treasure their feelings for. They hoped that they would. Perhaps Grimm would be happy to hear that. They knew that he wouldn’t want them lingering on him for long. He would want them to continue living. They wanted to continue living.

They thought back to their first message of the night.

It is cold.

They were warm.

#stagbells #stagbells 2023 #hollow knight #written works #hollow #grimm #troupe master grimm #grimm x hollow #grollow #fan fiction #fluff #AU

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