#also the troll whovyx kills was zarleu's ex-matesprite who was an abusive asshole to him

[eldritchocs]

time doesnt heal all wounds

ok for that one anon that made the mistake of asking for the bad end of whovyx’s life thinking they were going to get a small drabble. im so sorry but i dont want this fic to go to waste, so: 

he’s been afraid, since the beginning, that, despite the odds, they would die before him.

when two trolls showed up to whovyx’s door in the middle of the night, both bruised and bloody, carrying each other with their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, pleading please, we need help, pleading, please, we need somewhere to hide, he lets them in and bandages their wounds without much of a second thought. it’s what any good troll would do.

so, perhaps, that’s why he was so surprised when they stuck around. he’s not sure why, but they do. it’s nice to have friends, and it’s nice to have them as friends, as odd as they are. one is a mutant blueblood, unlike any shade he’s seen before, all fire and fight— the other is a jadeblood, sweet and serene, and they balance eachother out perfectly. whovyx is enamored by it. perhaps it’s because he’s never properly seen trolls this close before— he was always a little bit sheltered, he finds out— but he finds himself fascinated by their dynamic, the push-pull of their energy.

it’s only when he starts to realize who they are is when he becomes afraid of losing his friends.

they both have jobs to match their personalities— reliix, a soldier and commander in his own war, standing on the street with a clenched fist and a burning flag demanding change. one of the first new-era rebels. dyinox, he finds out, is a nurse, patching up every new scar reliix finds himself with, following him into the midst of the fight, unafraid and determined.

but despite that, it’s so easy for them to lull him into what he thinks is a false sense of security. it doesn’t take much. dyinox’s smile, reliix’s easy tactility that he doesn’t just give to anyone, the way the two of them hold him and kiss his shaking hands without asking— but he needs them to stop, he needs them to stop or he’s going to fall headlong into something he can’t recover from, and what they don’t seem to understand is that he tries on purpose to stay isolated so that he won’t get shattered by the inevitable later. 

( because it is, it’s inevitable, he’s knows how this works, he knows they can’t love him forever, he doesn’t fit, he’s a puzzle piece that’s been cut wrong or warped or lost entirely. he doesn’t have a permanent place here. )

so whovyx’s goal, at first, is to work with reliix and dyinox, to keep them safe on this planet that wants to eat them alive, and he’s going to die for them one day. he’s going to kill for them, he’s going to die for them one day and he’s happy about it.

but, god, he’s only a troll.

and so he lets them drag him to fancy dinners and he lets them put him to bed when he’s been awake for three straight days and he lets them file down all his rough edges and he lets himself get used to it, soothed by it, and he feels like a skittish, wounded animal, but he wants this, he wants this so bad.

and it would be so easy to love them. it would be the easiest thing. like falling. like gravity.

( he’s pretty sure if he lets himself, it’ll be irreversible, unable to be unlearned, impossible not to need them. )

( but he’s pretty sure it’s too late already. )

( he lets them put a ring on his finger and a red string around his horn. )

—

eventually, he stops feeling as scared. they always re-assure him.

reliix, his soldier, his firecracker, comes home battered and beat all the time. he makes it home by the skin of his teeth. but by morning reliix is always back down by his side, running his fingers through his hair, saying i’m not going anywhere, okay?

sometimes, in a rare moment of fear and anger, whovyx pushes away again, because how can you promise that? you can’t. you can’t promise anything.

but reliix just pulls him in and hugs him hard, hugs him like a reminder, like a pact, and says, i’m not going anywhere, not without you. not without you, okay? not ever.

and it’s morbid, maybe, but whovyx clings to that, the idea that they’d only go down together and lets himself believe that, fists his hands in the back of reliix’s shirt and they sway there, to the pace of the quiet ticks of clockwork below the hive, counting the time down until they leave together.

—

dyinox gets sick often.

whovyx wonders why the became a nurse in the first place, if her immune system is too weak to keep her up most of the time. she always smiles a pointed grin at him and says somebody’s gotta do it, and, i wouldn’t let my body take me down that easily.

he forces himself not to worry too much about her, learns quickly for all her sweetness inside a fire burns, just as bright and loud as reliix’s, and it’s not going out anytime soon.

he lies in bed with her often, just the two of them, when reliix isn’t around. she’s too sick and, well— whovyx has never really been one to fight, in the first place— so they spend their alone time together, exchanging stories.

whovyx asks, one night, what will happen if you get too sick? out of nowhere, thanks to the ever-panicked state of his mind, pounding him with the “what-if’s” of every scenario he could possibly imagine. what happens when you can’t take care of yourself anymore?

i trust you, she tells him, with such certainty he has no choice but to believe it. you’ll take care of me. i know you’ll do what’s right, in the end.

whovyx tries to close his eyes and to not think about it much more, because he trusts her. she hums an unknown tune to the beat of the factory below, a steady tic-toc, tic-toc.

—

and so he’s comfortable. he’s safe. it’s not a feeling he ever thought he’d achieve, but he stops fearing for them, eventually, because he knows if they die, he’ll be with them. he fits in. it doesn’t matter if his puzzle piece was jagged, they found a way to squish him in there, to make him know that he belonged. he allows himself to get comfortable.

every morning they bump hips in the kitchen, bustling around each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world while they make breakfast. although they all are busy throughout the day, somebody’s always stopping by and interrupting the other’s work with a kiss to the cheek as they pass, and it’s never an issue. at night they all tumble into bed together, carefully arranged in place, both of them bundled into his neck, exchanging tales of whatever they got up to, that day. banter with no weight to it, chatting without the fear of the world coming down on them.

—

he falls in love again.

he doesn’t mean too. he’s gotten comfortable, perhaps a little bit too much. reliix and dyinox have never had an issue with the concept of more, and so he lets himself fall, this time.

this one is a proper blueblood. showed up interested in his talents. although the other two enjoyed his work, it wasn’t like zarleu— another mechanical mind who could appreciate the delicacies of each of his inventions, meaningless or not. the praise isn’t always the most direct, or said in the best way, but he doesn’t really mind. he knows highblood are raised differently, knows this one can probably still learn.

he lets himself fall, easy as ever, but this time it’s different. this time, nobody catches him, and he only realizes it too late.

zarleu already has whovyx crawling to him on a weekly basis for more, with commanding hands and talk so sweet whovyx has to stop himself from drooling over it. he’s happy with his other two, of course, but zarleu gives him things he didn’t know he needed or wanted, but—

it’s not good, and he only starts to realize when it’s past the point of return. he realizes that with all the effort he’s put into trying to fix himself into zarleu’s life, zarleu hasn’t done the same, but continues to tell him to do so. zarleu tells him it’s not a personal thing, but then makes it a personal thing, and whovyx can’t help but to start to feel a little bit lost.

he can’t quite remember the first time being in love being this confusing. just like the first two times, he knows he’d die for zarleu, if needed. he knows he’d kill for zarleu, if he asked— but he doesn’t think zarleu would do the same.

it all comes to it’s head when whovyx tells him, i love you, and please tell me you love me back. because if you don’t, i need to leave.

to which zarleu’s response is wrapped simply up into then leave. he doesn’t seem too broken up about it, if at all.

it’s only when their talk is interrupted by someone he knows hurt zarleu. the same thoughts ring in his mind. i’d die for you. i’d kill for you. and zarleu knows, because zarleu isn’t stupid. anybody with a clear head would know.

so, kill him for me.

whovyx knows the guy is protected by the law. whovyx knows he’s supposed to be off everybody’s target lists and outcasted. whovyx knows that.

but then zarleu tells him what he wants to hear.

zarleu tells him what he wants to hear, and whovyx doesn’t think about the law, how the public will outcry with his death. he doesn’t think much at all.

what he does do is break his jaw open, cut out his tongue, and split his stomach open. he makes it slow and painful.

for a while, whovyx can’t pull his eyes away from the body.

normally, reliix is the one who does all the heavy lifting, the visceral shit. whovyx doesn’t know how. he stares at the body, covered in his blood up to his hands, on his shirt, on his lips. it’s too close, too personal, and whovyx feels his world start to spin, his hands start to shake. zarleu grounds him, kissing the blood off his lips and washing it from his hands, telling him, good, that’s good. you’re so good for me. i love you, whovyx.

whovyx’s fallen, but it’s no longer a good feeling. he wants nothing more than the floor to open up and consume him. he comes home the next day, clean of blood but not— he knows it’s not there anymore, but he can still feel it, dripping off his fingertips and down his face, over his lips and into his mouth, he can still taste the the bitterness. whovyx doesn’t tell them what happened. lets them hold his shaking, soiled hands and lets them believe they’re still pure. they’re still deserving of touching them. lies awake with his two loves between them, sick with guilt, listening to the gears count down time to their end. 

he doesn’t know what that end may be anymore. he prays it’s not his own hands.

—

somebody comes and picks him off the ground.

he doesn’t feel deserving of it. for the first time in forever, he’s afraid. moreso of himself than anything else, but still afraid.

he doesn’t want to fall in love again, but— they tell him he can trust this one. he blocks out the thoughts of teal blood on his hands and gentle, commanding kisses of silent praise from zarleu, and tries to focus on the newcomer.

his name is renkii. an oliveblood, standing well over whovyx’s height and he honestly looks like he could snap whovyx in half with his thumb and forefinger, if he really wanted to, but—

he’s gentle. he fits in so well with them. maybe that’s because he’s known reliix and dyinox longer, but— it feels natural.

and, okay, reliix is explosive, reliix is fire and reliix is all cards on the table, wears everything on his sleeve, easily becomes blind and lost to his emotions, sure. reliix is four thousand pounds per square inch of destruction when he has something to fight for.

and— renkii seems to be one of those things, and despite the fact reliix will shout his fool head off at renkii, he always seems to have a smile on his face while he does it. renkii seems to steady him— not in a way that smothers him— just enough. the perfect amount. he steadies all of them. he becomes their rock.

whovyx tries to close himself off, out of fear, but he can’t. he can’t, he finds himself falling again, because that’s what renkii does to people. and renkii doesn’t push him an inch further than he wants to be. and renkii knows, somehow, just where that line is. renkii tastes like gunpowder and fire but also long nights and early mornings, and certainty. renkii feels like home. it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

and whovyx looks at all three of them, and doesn’t know how to not smile, feels younger than he’s ever felt, watches them bounce off eachother and him so easily, lets himself settle in again.

and for a while, it’s perfect. everything returns to normal. the guilt stops haunting him, the fear stops keeping him up at night. the tic-toc, tic-toc of the gears is no longer deafening with them all cuddled around him at night, and he can sleep easy.

—

nothing good ever lasts, though. death is not fair or kind. 

dyinox is the one to go first.

her body just decided to give up on her, one day. he doesn’t know when. it’s such a long and terrible process. it’s started like normal, like any other sickness, until she had just collapsed on them, unable to control her body, gasping for air as it shook.

after that, they start to worry. whovyx starts looking into it, desperately. she assures him she’ll be okay, in the end. that he’ll take care of her.

her body starts to decay in on itself.

she seems to lose her voice, after the first month lying in bed. she tries to tell them things, but there’s no sound her throat can utter anymore. she just lies there in a cold sweat. they’re powerless to do anything.

you’ll take care of me.

whovyx stops working, and dyinox stops functioning. she doesn’t respond to their voices, doesn’t blink at a light in her eyes, doesn’t flinch to a pinch to her hand. they take turns caring for her, occasionally, changing her clothes and feeding her. whovyx stays up late at night to read to her, afraid if he looks away she’ll be gone. he knows inside she must be trapped. he can still feel her heartbeat, although slow, matching the pace of the gears.

tic-toc, tic-toc. thump-thump. thump-thump.

her heart stops almost a full year after it started. they spend almost the entire day by her bedside, grieving. he thinks she just got tired. she’s promised, before, that she would never let her body take her down, but— he can only imagine how long you could go unable to speak, unable to move, before you just give up. before the fire burns out.

you’ll take care of me.

he has a plan.

—

it takes months to finish, but it does. he shifts the last gear into place and closes the hatch, unable to feel his fingertips. renkii and reliix are worried about him. he can’t remember the last time he’s slept, or the last time he’s ate, or the last time he’s seen the sun. reliix begs him to stop doing whatever you’re doing down there. please, let us help you. we’re all grieving. but in his state, the words barely process. 

it’s a slow spiral down, but he’s so close. he’s so close now. the wires lift her up from her stand and hold her up while he pulls a knife and slits his wrist open, allowing his blood to pool in the bowl beneath him. his stomach churns and his vision fades, sweat pouring down his back and he refuses to listen to his body screaming at him to stop, to rest, and draws intricate symbols into the floor beneath her in his blood. he knows the chant by heart, muttering it without a second thought. he could recite it in his sleep.

the gears start to crank in her mechanical body on their own and her eyes shoot open, filled with a light behind them. whovyx barely has time to celebrate before exhaustion claims him.

when he wakes up he’s lying in bed. around him are three shapes, a sight he so badly missed. he can hear muttering voices, a silent argument, and gears and wheels turning.

when he’s finally awake, he sits up and smiles, not noticing the dread on their faces before too late. i did it. she’s back. are you guys proud? she’s back. we don’t need to cry anymore.

but reliix’s face is stained with tears, and— well, renkii’s looking at him with a mixed combination of rage and horror, and the reality of the situation sets in.

it’s a long week, after that.

whovyx, you can’t— you can’t bring the dead back. that’s not how this works. she wouldn’t want this.

you need to let her go.

we’re all grieving, whovyx. you can’t hide away and— it’s selfish, whovyx. we’re all equally upset. you can’t do this.

you can’t bring back the dead. life is not supposed to be toyed with like that. 

he thought they’d be happy.

he’s left alone. they look at him like he’s a monster, and his brain can’t keep up with what’s happening. he hears heavy metal footsteps behind him and a smooth, cold hand slides into his.

a speaker crackles. i forgive you, she says. i know your intentions were good.

why don’t you want to come back? he asks, not daring to look at the metal shell holding dyinox’s soul.

i’m not meant to. but i’m glad i got to say goodbye like this. you do know what you have to do next, right?

whovyx closes his eyes, and tries not to let the tears escape them. swallows back the lump in his stomach and nods.

i know you’ll do the right thing, in the end.

dyinox leaves for the second time.

—

renkii is the next to go. 

the empire must have known. they must have noticed the strain in the rebellion when they lost dyinox. it was only fair to strip their leader of everybody else he loved.

whovyx, secretly, hoped it would be him. it felt like a fitting punishment.

but death isn’t fair.

whovyx never even got to properly apologize. renkii still never looked at him the same before he was gone. whovyx never got to tell him how thankful he was.

renkii went out for a mission, and never came back. not for a while, atleast. when he does, he’s not the same.

renkii was tortured before. but not like this. never like this. when he returned he was dropped on the doorstep of the rebellion camp, new scars lining almost every inch of his body, mind drugged beyond help. he had been tortured and kept alive for so long that something broke. there was nothing there, not anymore. although his fresher wounds healed, his mind did not. he laid there in reliix’s bed for weeks. he couldn’t speak, could barely move without help. there was no recognition in his eyes.

reliix couldn’t stand to look at him like that for very long. i had no choice, reliix says when whovyx finds him on his knees, hands stained with olive blood, tears dripping onto the floor. i had to put him out of his misery.

whovyx didn’t dare to tell him. held the file behind his back— the one a friend of a friend who was a friend of an enemy had supplied him with— the file that contained the new code word that vaiska had assigned renkii, the one that would have woken him up.

he was minutes too late.

—

reliix dies almost exactly like whovyx imagined him to: in a blaze of glory.

it’s not the same, though. whovyx can see it. the whole rebellion can see it. it’s not the same flame of revolution and hope. they broke something in him, and now that flame was replaced with a burning blaze for revenge. reliix forgot about the world around him.

he fights his way into the empress’s palace, all on his own, whovyx hears. a one-man charge. with every killing blow to a highblood he screamed his fury and grief. but no amount of grief was enough. it was said he reached the empress, but— just collapsed there in his knees, crying, and let them take him. 

when they drag him to the stocks there’s silence. the world is gathered around to watch, expecting some heroic escape, or at the very least, a speech. there is none.

he lets them drag him and chain him into place without a fight, head hung low and tear marks still staining his face. the world watches on in horror. the clock ticks down until their beloved hero dies. tic-toc, tic-toc. 

reliix’s eyes meet whovyx’s as the executioner raises her axe. he mouths an i love you just a fraction of a second before the axe slams down. a gasp overcomes the crowd.

somehow, that was worse than nothing.

—

they find him in his hive. they said he had lost his mind, after that.

he spent his time with them. after each death he had built them bodies. he didn’t bring them back, but he kept the shells. he holds onto their cold metal hands and twirls them across the room to a non-existent ballroom dance, feet moving with the beat ever-ticking gears of his hive. tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc.

he doesn’t remember when it happened, but eventually, somebody showed up. he thinks maybe it’s someone he might have known from the rebellion. the voices talking to him meant nothing, and he just continued dancing along. tic-toc, tic-toc. 

it’s only when the shells are ripped from his grip and he’s restrained, does he snap back into reality, or whatever the closest thing to reality he could find. he struggles and screams until he no longer has a voice, watching his loves taken away from him for the last time. only when he thinks maybe they’re going to let me join them, does he stop struggling.

they don’t.

—

people visit him, sometimes.

he can’t remember their names. he can barely remember their faces. they peer in his cell and talk in hushed, gentle voices. a few times they’re allowed to enter with him.

he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but at one point he notices his horns have gotten large enough that they’ve started to scrape the edges of his cell. enough time that people come in and have to change the white jacket holding his arms tight to his body. enough that the clock above his head is starting to mock him.

a blueblood visits him one day.

he doesn’t remember his name. thinks he remembers the face, thinks maybe he loved him at some point. but if he did, he would be gone already, wouldn’t he?

whovyx, he says, pressing against the cell a little bit, hands grasping the bars. hey, buddy. are you there?

he doesn’t know the answer. he just stares, head slightly tilted, studying the blueblood’s face. he thinks he looks sad, and something tells him that if he’s sad, then something must be really be wrong. he looks regretful, almost.

vitani keeps asking about you, he says. peirez, too. she misses those little clockwork fireflies you always made.

i miss you too, sometimes. never thought i’d say it. you’re all i have left, now. emalla left me. you’re all i have. are you there?

whovyx’s mind tries to reach for something, tries to reach for any bit of memory, blindly. nothing lands. the blueblood lingers for a while longer before sighing and walking away.

—

people stop visiting, after a while.

he doesn’t know how long it’s been, still. it feels like an eternity. all that’s left is the clock above his head, mocking him continuously. it’s started to get on his nerves.

it won’t shut up. he tries to reason with it, sometimes. 

shut up! shut up, please! 

tic-toc, tic-toc.

the clock is cruel. the clock isn’t fair. 

please, he screams, rocking back and forth in his restrains, trying to struggle free. he wants it to shut up. he wants it to stop.

tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc.

how much longer will it take? he pleads. the doctors no longer are concerned when he screams. please, just let me go. just let me go.

tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc.

it doesn’t stop. 

please, you took them so early! when will you be done? let me go. please, just let me go. just let me go. let me go. let me go. let me—

the clock doesn’t stop ticking.