#sometimes I feel like a husk an empty shell of what I used to be

[raeathnos]

.

[bmodiwrites]

51 Steddie? 🥺

Hi pal! I love this request and thank you so very much for sending it. I thought long and hard about whether I wanted to be angsty or light, so I hope you like where I ended up @corrodedbisexual! Happy reading :)

51. “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”

There's a lot of tension in the room. Eddie feels the weight of it as he walks in to find Steve and Robin facing each other. Unlike most days, the two of them seem upset and completely off beat. Despite not always appreciating the near telepathic link that exists between the two friends, Eddie dislikes this even more.

He's a second away from saying something, attempting to break up the weirdness with a corny joke or unsolicited D&D antidote when Robin eventually barrels through the silence as she walks out the door.

"This isn't over, Steve. Tell him, or I will."

The words are sharp and delivered with a tone Eddie has never heard Robin use before. Robin is full of life and sarcastic to boot - her insults are usually cleverly disguised, wrapped nicely in a joke or witty antidote. That inherent niceness isn't present in the threatening phrase that lingers.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks, turning to an eerily quiet Steve. What he sees standing there isn't the gorgeous boy Eddie's been slowly falling in love with. Steve is a shell, a husk of someone who's rung out to dry and completely done in.

Unable to stop himself, Eddie starts in Steve's direction. His steps, however, must kickstart Steve into gear. He comes back online with a choked out gasp that quickly turns into a resolute sigh. Though Robin is gone, Eddie still feels the heaviness in the air around him. It makes him stop in his tracks despite wanting to bring Steve comfort.

"Robin's right," Steve eventually says, running an errant hand through his hair. For the last few minutes, his eyes were on the floor - now, they're looking in Eddie's direction unblinkingly.

"Do you ever feel like something inside of you is too big?" The question is barely out of Steve's mouth before he continues. "There's like - this part of me, Eddie. This piece that I've been struggling with for ages. I think it's finally grown to a size and capacity that I can't handle anymore and I don't know what to do. I'm - "

Eddie can't take the sadness of Steve's voice, it's too much. He cuts in with a loud "yes" that seems to echo around the room. Though it's an awkward thing to do, Eddie is rewarded with Steve's silence. That, at least, is better than heartache.

"I know exactly what you mean. It's feelings for me. I never know what to do with them or how to get them out. They take me over sometimes, like they're controlling me, or something." Eddie wants to add more but he can only share so much without giving himself away. "What is it, Steve? What's wrong?"

For a second, the question hangs in the air. Steve is quiet and Eddie waits, counting each of their perfectly timed breaths. Though, when Steve eventually speaks, Eddie suddenly loses count.

"I see the way you look at me when you think I'm not looking." Steve with each word spoken, doesn't stutter or fumble. There's no mistaking the meaning, either - Steve's accusation is very clear.

Yet, it's almost a relief, to finally have the huge elephant in the room out in the open. He's glad for just a moment before Eddie realizes that heated conversation he walked into was about him. Whatever Steve needs to say, good or bad... is to him.

That feeling of a light and empty chest is quickly washed away then. After gauging the chilly temperature in the room a few minutes ago, Eddie is certain nothing good is going to come out of Steve's mouth. If his crush were reciprocated, why would the two very best of friends be mad at each other over it?

Before his thoughts can spiral any further, Eddie is brought out of the cyclone of worry by a soft touch against his shoulder.

"I don't hate it, Eddie. Quite the opposite, actually. Robin's been trying to get me to tell you how I feel for ages. They eat me up, too. My feelings, I mean." Steve is smiling now, his somber attitude dissipating as fast as it set in. "Kind of seems like they don't have to anymore, though. Why were you looking at me like that, Eddie?"

It's so easy to blurt out the answer then, to finally speak his truth. "Because I love you. Fuck, I've been in love with you since eighth grade. A vision of you, at least. These last few months, learning the real you, understanding who you are - my feelings have only grown. I can't help but stare, Steve. You're all I can think about."

Steve's eyes soften seconds before there is no space between them any longer. There seems to be some moisture collecting at the edges of those hazel orbs but Eddie can't take in that tiny detail - Steve is kissing him, taking his attention and holding onto it with every forward press of lip against lip.

One day, when they're both feeling vulnerable, Eddie thinks he'll revisit the topic.

Until then, he's plenty happy to lean into Steve's embrace and dream about forever.

These prompts are so fun! Want to send me more?

[disruptivevoib]

mx voib how on earth do you go about designing your hmsw variants, i'm so jealous

Oh I feel fancy now!

Anyhow, I don't have any distinct go-to process but generally having a good idea for the au or the concept I want to design them based on and stemming from there.

Many of my more baseline Aus are close to my canonical designs. With the re-designs of Eleutheromania having a half/half Heart to match the Mind design and make him more distinct.

Then there are the more abstract things like the "Death Thirds" Which is an au I've not really spoken on, and I don't recall if I've posted them here. Though I know I have on Twitter. (I recall CJ liking the Soul design)

Those are meant to be more ethereal, uncanny and inhuman designs. They are VERY self indulgent and more an experiment than anything. Though I knew I wanted to use the Mind design off the album cover for CCCC as baseline inspo for Mind. Soul happened kind of accidentally tbh. I was doodling and he came about.

Theres a set I'm drawing right now which have been far more in-depth. But thats because they stem from an existing media. But that's all I'll say on that one!

As for the smaller guys... I wanted to draw an HMS which was closer to 'canon' in some ways or just different from my typical used for the Song Pieces! They actually well exemplify some thematics in terms of square mind, circle heart, triangle (with rounded edges) soul. Which is a motif I've had since even my VERRRRY very very first concept ideas for my HMS designs!! Shape language is very important to me, and its something I highly suggest learning about or messing with.

I also like to take their canonical clothing; Mind's leather jacket or black vest, Heart's hoodie, Soul's jacket and apply or manipulate it to fit a design. The stripes in my Soul jacket I believe aren't how the real jacket CJ owns is but more so ripped from Kai @/calamarispiderart ?

But yeah! Overall. Themes, motifs, things like that are key in my designs.

Pluto is also a good show of that. I wanted to make sure he looked as faded and washed out as he felt. So his hair is white and his colors, even his Heart and Mind's colors are desaturated and a little off. Lacuna Mind leans into navy and teal while Lacuna Heart is nearly pink!

The Swap designs are also a good example. Viscera is a Whole with nothing in him, and while now I see Soul as more exemplifying that- Whole needs to exist in this au more physically. So— Viscera takes that place. He's a husk and a shell. The half mask with an empty void on the otherside showcases just as much. And for as uncanny and blank as he seems, he is soft. His face is always very soft and maybe a little bit sad. Ennui, Swap!Mind maintains the half/half motif of my Mind designs if only to keep him recognizable. But, his source is a jagged and sharp edged heart and the strings run in a simplistic but sharp form of a heartbeat. Electricity forced to be another way. His features are also softer still from the typical Mind design! Even in what he wears! Judge I have fewer notes on other than his blindfold is not present and in its place is his brain source, obscuring both his eyes if he technically has them at all. Astray, Soul, is faceless. For what is Soul supposed to even be without the mask? Especially when he doesn't know much of anything at all.

Sooo yeah! Just. A big ramble that boils down to the answer of... I try most often to make sure the designs convey the personality or story of the character in some way. Themes and motifs or ideas from or for the au also play that same part.

Course I cannot tell you why the au where they are in eternal snow, Mind has white hair. That is far more a "felt like it" moment than anything else.

Sorry if this is too broad or non specific. I can probably go more into depth on particular designs but yeah! And sometimes a design is one and done. Other times they need many thumbnails or concepts to cycle through. My own designs for the canon HMS have changed a lot in little ways since I began drawing em!

[theprissythumbelina]

Okay, well I can't find the darn thing after looking for days and as far as I can tell it has vanished from tumblr altogether, so I'm posting this first chapter of Mortal Sparks once again. Hopefully this one sticks around and doesn't get swallowed by the void.

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Chapter 1

Alyss

Maius 5th, 4593 AP

People are bad at describing things. My aunt fought in the first war, and she told me it was like being an ant on a running track. Sometimes you wander around doing ant things, and sometimes a trampling horde of foreign creatures run atop and leave you untrampled by chance as your fellows are smashed.

I fought in the second war, and it wasn't much like anything. It was like nothing. It was war and war is only like itself. It's surviving, and then at some point, you realize to survive you’ve ended someone’s life and you don’t even feel bad about it. And you feel bad for not feeling bad. And then everyone tells you you’re acting strange, but they’re the ones that took normal people and exploded things in their face and made them kill people whose faces they never see and they tell you you’re acting strange. 

They called it combat fatigue like I drank too much disgusting coffee and didn’t sleep right at 9:30 that night and acted grumpy the next day. I don’t have a better word. I like my aunt's word better. Shell shock. Not professional enough for the military, but it's better for me. 

My CO recommended me for leave after the incident. That’s what they call it in the military, an incident. You can’t describe it. I told my aunt that and she told me you can, if you give it time. They gave me a few months. A few months to see if I was dangerous or useful and when I was neither they threw me away. I can describe how I feel. I feel like gum. Old gum. The war was a mouth that chewed and chewed and chewed until all my flavor leeched away, then it spat me on the sidewalk. I’m on the sidewalk to this day. I’m a spot on the sidewalk.

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Here, at the end of summer, roses and wildflowers bloomed one last time before autumn’s cold. Nicolette crouched among them on the side of the road, rooting for the husks of cicadas that had already mated and died. She had fiured out long ago that clients didn’t appreciate knowing the true origins of their patience tea, though that didn’t stop housewives and schoolteachers from buying it in cans that they pretended to their husbands were coffee. 

Her apron pockets full, she stood and began to make her way back through town, past the over-decorated municipal hall, through Main Street with faded advertisements for meats, butter, and milk. At 7:40 on a Sunday, the whole town was empty, the entire populace segregated away in one of the two churches. 

Most respectable citizens sat in the Imperial Cesarian Church, a stately building of thick walls and plaster statues. They called the congregation of the newer Alastrian Church ‘rabble’ and ‘uncultured’, while the Alastrians called the Cesarians ‘esoteric’ and ‘unwelcoming’. The Cesarians were quite sure the Alastrians didn’t even know what esoteric meant, but it was a moot point trying to teach those who did not want to learn. 

Nicolette was fairly sure she did know what esoteric meant, and that the Alastrians were using it correctly, but as neither group took any notice of her beyond buying her charms and teas, she kept her thoughts to herself, and simply nodded when members of either church attempted to impart their wisdom in her earshot. No one cared what she had to say anyway. 

The last two story building marked the edge of town proper, with the pavement petering to a stop a few feet further. Still, the chipper, clean one story homes continued. Nicolette, as was her habit, paused here, her toes right at the end of black pavement. Daisy’s home sat clean and peach-colored three houses down. Her father should have returned from his business trip last night, smelling like bus and cigarette smoke. Maybe he hugged her with his briefcase in his hand. Maybe he went right to bed. Maybe Daisy had stayed up for him later than usual, worrying with a cup of tea in her hand. It wouldn’t have been Nicolette’s tea, Daisy always said it made her sleepy. It would have been raspberry, maybe, or chamomile. 

But Nicolette wasn’t welcome there anymore, father or no father, and so she turned to the right and made her way through the alley between the last store building and the first house. This road wasn’t even gravel, but dirt. A small crevsse made by spring rainwater meandered its way from one side of the road to the other, forcing Nicolette to hop across it twice before it escaped into the house’s fenced yard. She walked past the houses on the other side as well, slightly more dilapidated than the first, and through an empty lot of gravel to the backside of her own house. Houses on this row, those that were inhabited, tended toward small and grey-brown. Most didn’t have a large padlock around the low front gate. Nicolette didn’t bother unlocking it, but stepped up over a cinderblock and slid down the other side, holding her skirt taught. The yard grass had turned brown months ago. The only living thing in the yard besides Nicolette herself was half of a heritage rosebush. It had been her mother’s, and Nicolette did her best to keep it alive. 

Her door was locked as well, this one a shiny, new lock. Nicolette lifted the key from around her neck and twisted it into the hole. Her mother had never had to lock the door. People knew better than to come over uninvited. But this lock was to keep the inside from coming out. 

Inside, Nicolette faced the wall, listening to the thump, drag, thump. 

“Hi, Mama.” She said softly. She turned, and faced her mother’s clouded eyes. 

End

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As an explanation for the way the chapters are set up, each chapter opens with an excerpt from Alyss' diaries in the past, followed by Nicolette's narrative in the present day. At some future point these will converge for the climax.

Tagging those who've shown interest, let me know if you want to be removed or added

@owlsandwich @thetruearchmagos (I know you must have already seen this but I didn't want to leave you out) @amaiguri @supersumc @teacupsandstarlight

@shepardsherd @tabswrites @winterandwords

[thecluelessdoctor]

sometimes i forget I'm even alive. Sometimes I have these strange, out of body experiences like.. why am I me? Am I truly in control of myself? Or is someone controlling my every move, like a puppet, or a video game protagonist?

Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't see me. I see.. a husk of what I used to be. A empty shell. I don't feel alive.

[stained-glass-wing]

Hm. I suppose I'll write a bit about us Rues, as an excuse to focus on something for a bit.

Echo

An outer shell Rue, black and shadowy in appearance. She rarely appears fully human (her closest approximation has grey skin with dark extremities) and more often than not she appears to be a somewhat translucent silhouetted form. She tends to float above the ground, preferring not to physically touch anything unless absolutely necessary, or on special occasions.

She's frequently tired and in physical pain, which can make her irritable and blunt. Much of her energy is taken up by what she calls the "maelstrom", or a dark cloud of echoing voices she can hear from others, mostly Rues but not always. She often acts as their voice, but it's taxing for her to translate their cacophony of fragmented thoughts.

Jynx tolerates her the most of any Rue; sometimes they're able to converse almost amicably, and Jynx will sometimes influence her to assist him. Echo insists that she often can't tell whether he's actively influencing her, or if she's just so used to enforcing his rules that she does it automatically. Regardless, she is bitterly dutiful, both as the voice of the maelstrom and the hands of our warden.

Lilium

Nicknamed "Lily" by our beloved fairy, and also an outer Rue, she is a curious blend of impish mischief and cold precision. She embraces our "creepy child" aspect and dresses herself like a gothic doll, amused by her own theatrics.

Although she can put on a somewhat aloof and dismissively sarcastic front, the gears in her mind never stop turning, clicking pieces of puzzles together and inspecting things from new angles. Once she has something in her mind's teeth, there it stays until she's satisfied.

She has a preoccupation with death and dying, often citing it as a "comfortingly constant solution" if she ever runs out of answers. Rarely actively suicidal, but more likely to land there than others. She also tends to fantasize about gratuitous violence, particularly ripping out throats with her teeth.

Butterfly

The middle Rue, eldest by appearance but likely youngest in age. She sits firmly between the outer shell and inner shards, something oddly warm and tender amid all the jagged pieces.

She split off entirely due to interactions with Hail--as Rues, we were unprepared for his firmly consistent kindness and affection. We quite simply didn't have anyone able to handle it, much less return it. Over time, Butterfly took shape and became quite comfortable and secure in his arms, feeling only softness for our fairy.

As a result, the rest of us are able to enjoy his affection as well, though sometimes with situational hurdles to cross first. Sometimes we feel her nudging us toward him, promising that he's safe, showing up as a butterfly dancing over his shoulder.

Ash

An inner Rue, of a sort. She doesn't seem to exist on her own, and is instead the defeated husk that appears when a separate Rue has been broken down. Visually, she appears like her namesake: powdery ashen grey, constantly shedding tiny pieces of herself into the wind.

She is obedient to a fault, seemingly with no regard for her own wishes or wellbeing. Though she may cry, she often feels completely numb and empty. She believes that the best thing she can possibly be is "Nothing," and that her only purpose is to obey.

Broken Shards

Undefined and often unformed fragments, stuck on one or two repetitive thoughts or ideas. Visually they appear to be "standard" Rues (a thin pale black-haired girl) with shattered glass- or gem-like defects. They find it difficult to speak in full coherent thoughts, instead pushing forward a few words in an attempt to get an idea across. Their voices likely make up the majority of the maelstrom that Echo hears.

Sin

The youngest known and most inner Rue. Difficult for us to perceive to write about; to us she is somewhere very hidden and dark, kneeling on the ground and bent over double, hugging herself while her skin continually splits open and repairs itself. There are small "white" wings on her back, tattered and bloodstained, the edges of her feathers spreading black decay. She will compulsively rip out her feathers or entire wings. Her face is hidden, but we have the sense that she is almost always silently crying.

All she seems to know is pain, fear, and tearstained hope. She has known brief peace in Hail's arms, but it's never long before she disappears back into wherever she's hiding.

[beabikkit]

The Shivering Boy

The house stood on ground meant for much more, Paddocks that were wanting for cattle; Fields left neglected, their potential untapped; Farmlands bought and owned by city folks. The patriarch played the role of handyman. To be fair, much about him fit the mould: Stubborn, immovable, expecting respect.

But at least there was truth and merit there, Compared to the performative matriarch; This was all an illusion, with conceited motives. For better or worse, everything was done for her, The very first day, and every day that followed. When faced with reality, she made a choice, To make distance, for her and those bound to her.

The winter nights were always dreadful. Frostbitten winds barely kept at bay By flimsy gyprock and windows that never sealed. Two duvets were somehow not enough To keep a little boy's little feet from being cold. Even this place of supposed rest… Defined by its inescapable discomfort.

The boy learned quickly his place in the world; Or rather, a place was imposed on him. Lonely and incompatible, the only way forward Was to be disconnected from it all. If nothing felt right, and all felt wrong, It was better to keep his spirit buried deep; Forgotten, buried deep within the cold shell.

This husk soon left those lonely lands behind, Having grand ideas of how to fill the void, To construct himself into something that made sense. But none of it worked, the void followed him, A trail of painful mistakes in his wake. Hindsight reveals his simple error: Who you really are, is always within you.

Regrettably, the past can never be changed, But the past is what moulds us all. None of us are above its touch; Time is what makes and unmakes us. Perhaps if it were different, if it were better, It could have been a happy youth, With a child who knew themselves sooner.

But that boy did exist, did suffer that pain, And brought the wounds into his adult life. But all those mistakes, all that floundering… At least it kept him going. Because that boy could well have given up. But if he chose to let go of the suffering, That buried spirit would have been gone too.

Now, while the story hasn't ended, The suffering boy did find his release. After all this time, after all the pain, He can know that it was worth his troubles. It wasn't for him he was persisting; It was for that long-buried spirit. It was for me - the woman inside.

I look back on his struggles with gratitude; I know just how much he went through. Even though I speak of him like this, In truth he is, and always will be, A part of me. Our past moulds us, his life moulds mine, But I mould our future - my future.

So now when I lay in my bed at night, Comfortable and warm, safe and sound, I've started to think about all these things, The life that I endured in my boyhood. I didn't understand what was happening back then, But now that I know who I am, I understand it now. And that boy deserved so much better.

I deserved so much better. And now, I will fight for my comfort. These scars of his, they hurt and burden me And I know that I will still feel cold and empty sometimes. But the fact is, that's the price of admission; These things are relics of his battles, And now I'll take his place on that front.

-230304

[shywhumpauthor]

YOU!! Can u do a whumper-to-whumpee prompt where they’re rlly vulnerable? Pls and tank ya.

ME!! I can!!

Just a heads up, this is a lot darker than what I usually write. Playing with my comfort zone a bit, testing the waters of my squicks and stuff.

For the sake of keeping things from being confusing, I’ll state this beforehand. “Whumper” is ex Whumper turned Whumpee. “Whumpee” is ex Whumpee turned Whumper. The names are the same for the roles BEFORE the dynamic shift

Cw: gore, hand whump, mentioned murder, dark themes, refusal to eat, starvation, thoughts about death/wanting to die (not really in a suicidal way, more so a “put out of misery” way, amputation, gore, blood, torture, restraints, sadistic whumper, mentioned eye/mouth whump, a little bit of pet whump towards the end, rough wound care, abuse

Everything in Whumper’s body hurt.

Their ribs seemed to crack with each breath, bruised sides screaming with every shallow inhale, lungs burning as they carefully exhaled. Their sternum was on fire, a cold flame crackling in the pit of their chest, searing anything and everything within proximity. Their stomach cramped with the pain of hunger, which at first they had found to be the most unbearable of it all, but as the days in captivity stretched to weeks, with only a few scattered, intermittent meals to sustain them, they had grown used to that ache. Any food Whumpee seemed to spare them was never enough, not to even begin to tame the hunger. Each bite only ever left them feeling more empty than before, to the point where it had once driven them to stop eating entirely. It wasn’t like they could manage to keep much down anyways. Whumpee had put a quick end to that, however, if Whumper wasn’t going to eat by themself, they’d have to settle for having the food shoved down their throat.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily,” was what they had said, their voice more a snarl than words. “You try anything like that again, I swear to hell and back I won’t be as kind as now.”

At one point, Whumper would have scoffed. They would have come up with some snarky response about how their little bitch had grown to be so rude and demanding, which certainly would have earned them another slap but they would just laugh. Make some comment on how weak Whumpee was, even after all that time. Still pathetic, just as always. They would have delighted at how red Whumpee’s face got, how mad those few little words made them. That even though Whumper was now the one in chains, it was clear who still had control.

That Whumper had died a thousand times. They had been tortured, torn apart piece by piece until nothing remained but a broken, shivering shell of what they once were.

Whumper had long since given up on the hope of death. That was one mercy Whumper had always extended, whether it be intentional or not. The concept of life had always been so easy to slip from their grasp, out of their control. It was inevitable, in most cases. Sometimes they would try to delay it, drag it out until they found themself content and finally allowed their subject to release into the glassy-eyes void. A look Whumper had grown to adore, the way their lips would slowly turn blue, the way the colors faded from their features until they were nothing but cold, dead husks. They would also grant life, if their toy would so wish. If by the time they were finished, they were still managing to drag in ragged breath after breath. Once Whumper released them, they were free. If they could make it to civilization, to the nearest town from the cabin Whumper spent their life within, they would no longer be pursued. It was pathetic, and yet, every time. The way their eyes would flicker with the first sparks of hope they had seen in months—at least for those still left with eyes. The way they would stumble, or in most cases crawl across the porch Whumper dumped them on, dragging themselves with a sudden energy.

It never lasted long. As far as Whumper knew, none of them had ever made it further than a mile.

Whumpee wasn’t like that, though. Oh god, if Whumper had known, they would have killed them that first night in the alley. They did not give that kind of pity. No. From the very first day, Whumpee had made it clear. Death would not be an escape, and Whumpee would guarantee that.

The torture was agonizing and slow, drawn out across days, weeks. Whumpee would always be sure to clean the wounds afterwards, whether that mean hosing Whumper down with the frigid water in the back yard, or dripping some alcohol directly into the gashes. Even the smallest wounds for bandaged, but Whumpee never seemed to spare the expense for traditional gauze or wraps. Duct tape wrapped over the lacerations, which would only rip open the scabs when Whumpee deemed it was time for the dressings to be changed. Whenever Whumper began to think that maybe, just maybe, they were lightening up, Whumpee would walk in the next day with some horrible new tool, worse than anything Whumper had ever used.

Whumper shuddered from where they lay, every part of their body aching worst than the last. Their entire body went rigid as they heard the terrible click, the one they had grown to absolutely dread.

They couldn’t bring themself to do anything more than crack open their eyes, well, at least one of them. The other was nearly swollen shut, nearly the entire half of their face swallowed with an ugly bruise. They could only watch as the heavy pair of boots descended down the steps to the basement.

“Rise and shine, buttercup!” Whumpee’s voice was light and bubbly, in the poor filtered light that streamed through the grimy windows, Whumper could just see the smile on their face. They held something in their hands, but from the height which they stood. Whumper couldn’t make out quite what it was. “I’ve got a surprise for you, come on, sit up.”

Whumper let out a shaky breath, their gaze falling to the concrete ground just inches away, eyes beginning to burn as tears quickly welled. Usually they were good with not crying—they knew it only made Whumpee mad. They didn’t deserve to cry, not after everything they’ve done.

But god, they were just so tired. Yesterday had been brutal in a thousand different ways, they were sure they wouldn’t have been able to sit up if they tried. The shackles wound tightly around their wrists, only a few inches of chain between the loop drilled into the floor didn’t allow for much room to move, either.

“Did you not hear me?” Whumpee’s boots stopped less than a foot from their face. So close Whumper could see the old splatters of blood that covered the dark leather. They could practically feel it slamming against their face, like it had countless times before. Crushing their nose and loosening a few teeth as the sole caught them square in the jaw, knocking them so hard they would see stars. “I said sit up.”

Whumper let their eyes slip closed as a rough cough seized their chest, pain like a thousand searing knives tearing through all the abused muscles in their sides. Something hot and sticky dripped from the corner of their mouth, painting their lips with a coppery taste.

From above them, Whumpee sighed, just barely audible as Whumper finally slumped back, cheek pressing to the cold ground.

Whumpee crouched down, setting what they held down next to them. A strong scent invaded Whumper’s senses, for a moment all they could comprehend was the overwhelming presence of food. Not the oatmeal rice mush they were used to having shoved down their throat, but actual food. Chicken and cut potatoes and some vegetable that Whumper couldn’t quite make out through their distorted sight. For a moment, they felt like they were going to be sick at just the sight, the tug of hunger in their gut nearly making them gag. They slowly raised their gaze to Whumpee’s face, searching for the signs of a trick. They were taunting them, of course. This was a cruel game, a joke. Putting food just in front of them, but never allowing them to eat it. It wasn’t the first time Whumpee had done something like that.

“Caretaker says I ought’a go easier on you,” Whumpee muttered, rocking back on their heels as they pulled something small from their back pocket. “They’re worried you’re gonna keel over if I don’t start takin’ better care of you, said if I didn’t start doin’ nothing, they would. And we can’t have that now, nope. Believe me, I don’t like it either.”

Caretaker. The name rung faintly in Whumper’s mind, but there was nothing that came up besides a distant feel of familiarity. A terrible cold jolted up their arms as Whumpee twisted the metal between their fingers, picking up Whumper’s wrists and fitting the small rusted key into the lock. A moment later, the shackles fell with a small clatter to the ground, and Whumpee let go of Whumper’s wrist, letting it drop to the ground. They didn’t make any effort to move, but their breath hitched slightly, letting Whumpee know they were at least a little aware of what was happening.

“Shit, you stink,” Whumpee moved back slightly, their face scrunching as they wrinkled their nose. “Guess you’re due for a bath. Whatever, now just eat.”

A moment later Whumpee straightened up, looking down at their past abuser with an expression somewhere between a scowl and disgusted pity. They bit the inside of their cheek, watching as Whumper’s fingers twitched, the remaining ones. Their left hand with only three, the right with four. The marred areas still fresh and pink.

A pinprick of emotion splintered through Whumpee’s mind as they looked down at their own hands. A few scars, a few burns, all long healed, but nothing like Whumper’s.

“I’m not done with you,” They muttered, shoving their hands into their jacket’s pocket. They weren’t sure if Whumper could comprehend what they were saying. “So don’t go thinking that, alright? This’s just for a little bit.”

Whumpee stepped back, twisting the key between their fingers as they made their way over to the stairs.

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have a pet, ‘specially after everything you’ve taught me. We’ll see how much I can really break you then.”

[trope-appreciation-tuesdays]

This was just supposed to be a simple dialogue prompt but somehow turned into this🤦‍♀️. I'm so sorry😂:

"[A], please just try. For me."

"I can't. I just can't, okay?"

"[A]... "

"I'm tired."

"Yeah... well so am I. And I'm trying so hard, [A]. I'm trying so hard to stay calm and not get frustrated. But it's been months, [A]. Months! And nothing's changed. All I want is for you to get better. All I'm asking is that we take that first step. Today. The two of us. Together. You and me against the world. Like we always said. That's all I'm asking. Please, [A]... You can't just stay hiding in here forever."

"It's my life. Nobody gets to tell me how I get to live it."

"And what kind of a life is this really?"

"I suppose you'd rather that I was dead? Less of a burden for you to have to carry."

It was the most words [A] had spoken to them since he'd returned home all of those months ago. Or at least, [B] would often think, since his vessel had. They were certain his soul was still out there somewhere drifting lost among the smouldering trees and blood-drenched fields.

They knew that [A] hadn't meant the things he'd said. At least not the part about [B] wishing him dead.

[B] was aware that [A] made up one half of them; perhaps even more. Likely owned their entire heart. And during the time that [A] was gone, they'd felt their absence like a missing organ. [B] wasn't sure how missing half of you made you feel heavier. But it did. By God, it did.

Of all the things that [A] had said to them since his half-kept promise before getting on that plane, of coming back to them in one piece, they knew that it was never really [A] saying them. It was this different version of him with the gaunt face and the dead eyes, that cried and screamed and thrashed around in his rare moments of sleep and never laughed or smiled or said I love you back.

[B] also knew that it wasn't true. Yes, a life without [A] would be a lot simpler, quieter, easier. A life where they weren't spending every second of every day trying to fend off the bad thoughts. Trying their best not to let themselves become entirely consumed by fear, one so strong it would often present itself as a sickness. That something would happen to [A]. That one day they would get back home and [A] wouldn't be there. That [A] was already too far gone, a lost cause. That this was all just a matter of time and this life they were once so certain was their's to have, that they were still so desperately fighting to keep hold of, clinging onto it like a crumbling cliff edge was just a losing battle. That the life they both wanted, had both vowed to have no matter what it cost them, would never be theirs. That [A], their [A], the one they once knew and loved with every bone and muscle and cell of their body was lost to them.

Because the truth was [B] was becoming so far worn down that sometimes it was so tempting to just sit themselves beside [A] on his usual spot in bed and never get back up.

But just as [A] had reverted into himself, a shell of his former self, a brittle, fragile husk of a man that they were sure would shatter completely if you weren't to handle things with enough care, so too were they aware that at some point the shift in which their sole purpose had once been to fight fiercely and unashamedly for the life they knew deserved to be theirs, had become about worrying about [A] and driving themselves sick with it.

Now it was them who was at war and they were fighting a different battle entirely. One within themselves. They were fighting to keep [A] anchored to this earth. That's how [B] liked to think of it. They daren't allow themselves to think too long about what this really meant: they were simply fighting to keep [A] alive.

Forever trying to coax those last few sips of tea and water, crumbs of bread and spoonfuls of soup down him. Forever trying to encourage him to get some sleep, or to at least try to. Forever trying to get him to at least sit up in bed. To keep him away from the alcohol beneath the kitchen sink. The pills in the bathroom cabinet. The gun that he had given them as means of protection the night before he'd left that now lay locked away and unspoken of, burried deep in the dark recesses of their attic.

And so without [A], what were they really?

That's how they knew without a shadow of doubt in their mind that without [A] there'd very much still be a burden. A great one in fact. A missing half or three quarters of themselves. It would just no longer be one for them to have to carry around on their shoulders but rather a bottomless pain, a longing, a pining, an ever expanding emptiness, a depth deeper than the ocean, carried around in their heart forever.

Knowledge of a life always dreamt of, always just within their grasp but never quite reached.

[clevermonkey93]

underneath the power of the light (shot at the night)

also on ao3

Turns out when a witcher is in a relationship and has constant access to the love and cuddles someone like Jaskier gives, he becomes an utter hornwolf.

Basically what if Geralt responded really well to hugs and kisses? Like really well.

;)

Jaskier loves travelling the path with Geralt, getting to experience first hand (well almost) the real endless fight and existence Geralt has to carve out for himself. But sleeping out on the road sure gets old sometimes, even if over the last few months he’s snuggled his way first closer to and then into Geralt’s bed roll.

But it’s still a thousand times better when he gets to wake up in an actual bed, beneath a mostly whole roof, in the firm protective arms of his lover.

Especially when he can feel Geralt nosing at his neck, grazing his hands along his ribcage and nudging his hips forward into Jaskier’s bum.

“Darling, the sun isn’t even up,” Jaskier whines softly, yawning but practically writhing as Geralt almost purrs back at him.

“Want me to stop?”

Geralt sounds so sexy when his already deep and rough voice is timbered with sleep. And a hunger.

“Never.” Jaskier arches against Geralt, pressing his bum harder against Geralt’s firming cock.

Geralt kisses his neck, peppering licks and nips against skin blushing rosy in response. His hands flutter up Jaskier’s chest, stroking and petting through the plush hair to find his perked nipples. Jaskier moans, pressing his chest into the pinches and the way Geralt's fingers just know how to play him.

Geralt’s dick is near insistent, working between Jaskier’s bare cheeks and teasing him with what’s to come.

“What if you wore me out last night, dear heart?” Jaskier husks prettily, biting his lips.

“Did I? Are you satisfied?” Geralt pinches both Jaskier's nipples at once, nibbling at his neck again when Jaskier moans loudly.

“Of course not,” Jaskier manages to giggle back. “Oh, just keep touching me.”

Geralt hums, pleased, and brings a hand down to drag his palm to Jaskier’s stiffening cock. He works him to full hardness slowly, listening to the tuneful gasps and moans and songful cries Jaskier explodes with. Geralt drags his other hand back towards Jaskier's sweet bum, parting his cheeks with purposeful fingers.

“Make me come first,” Jaskier interrupts. Geralt raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t argue.

“Hmm, before..?”

“Yessss.”

Jaskier's feeling bratty this morning, demanding attention and Geralt to do what he says. He also just loves it when he asks Geralt for something, and he just gives it to him.

“Alright, whatever you say.”

Geralt rolls Jaskier onto his back, pressing him into the sheets. He leans down to kiss his pouty mouth, hushing his cries momentarily until he pulls away, out of breath. Geralt drags his way down Jaskier's body, licking, kissing and biting his skin just to make him sing. Jaskier is writhing beneath him as he takes his time teasing his nipples again, tweaking and nibbling longer than he might normally because Jaskier is making the sweetest sounds.

When he gets between Jaskier’s desperate legs, he's practically shoving his cock up to him. Geralt gives him a cursory lick, gets his tip between his lips and carefully presses his teeth just below the head, just to hear Jaskier gasp and choke, lose his breath.

Jaskier’s clasping hands are in his hair when Geralt ducks down, abandoning his dick to lift his hips and nose his way between his cheeks. Jaskier moans through arpeggios when he feels Geralt's tongue at his hole, flat and firm until he softens and then focussed as he enters him. His legs wind around Geralt's shoulders as he tries to ride his tongue harder, deeper. He’s shaking when Geralt’s hand comes back to rub at his cock again.

He’s so close and Geralt doesn't relent at all, his tongue licking him open and getting him wet while he presses his thumb right against the tip of his cock.

Jaskier cries out a desperate, famished moan of Geralt's name as he comes, riding it out and weakly thrusting up into Geralt's sticky hand.

“Ohhh,” he sighs sweetly as he tugs Geralt back up to him. His legs immediately trap Geralt's hips, pulling him closer. “So good, so good, darling, you’re so good to me.”

Geralt's cock rests against Jaskier’s twitching hole, hot and slick and empty for him.

“Oh go on, go on, love, you’ve been so patient,” Jaskier breathes into Geralt’s ear, tugging him down to catch his lips and kiss him as Geralt pushes inside. He feels Geralt groan into his mouth, panting against his tongue when he’s fully seated. And oh the stretch is so wonderful. He’s twitchy from coming so recently, and spit is never quite as good as oil for slicking the way but the burn is just right. And feeling Geralt begin to shake with how good it feels is perfect.

“That’s it, gods, you feel wonderful,” Jaskier pants out, kissing Geralt again and rolling his hips. “Go on, dear heart, go on. Have me.”

Sometimes, it’s about the permission.

Geralt is still getting used to the constant love and unconditional embrace Jaskier gives him every day, and it makes him want him more and more each second. Each time Jaskier lets him in, brings him closer, gives him the permission to cherish and need someone, Geralt falls in love a little more, wants this man so much more. He’s never felt desire like this so constantly, but existing in his lover's presence has it near bubbling at the surface at all hours. He’d worry that he was asking too much of Jaskier if he wasn’t so honest in his pleasure.

Jaskier is shaking a little as Geralt thoroughly fucks him. He can tell how hungry Geralt is for him, gripping at his ribcage and thrusting firmly as Jaskier keeps trying to kiss him through it. Geralt’s breathing hard and starting to gasp with every roll of his hips. There’s a painful pinch to his fingers at Jaskier’s sides that has Jaskier’s palms dragging down Geralt's back to hold onto his lovely bum.

“That’s it, darling, that's it.” Jaskier pulls his mouth away to kiss up to Geralt’s ear. He nips at the shell, tugs at the lobe a little. “That’s it, you’ve been so good to me, so good for me. Ohhh, love, you’re so good, that's it, go on. Go on. Have me, darling.”

Geralt's groaning and biting at Jaskier’s neck as he comes, burying himself as deep as he can and digging in. Jaskier feels him shake through it for whole minutes and he grabs fistfuls of Geralt's bum to tug him just a little closer.

Geralt lets himself collapse onto Jaskier’s chest, still breathing hard as Jaskier starts to pet his hair and kiss the top of his head.

“You’re very lovely like this,” Jaskier whispers, so Geralt tilts up to kiss him again.

The sun is just starting to rise but he lets Jaskier’s arms keep him settled into soft skin, listening to Jaskier’s heart gradually calm to it’s regular gentle rabitting.

He’s in no rush to leave Jaskier’s hold, the warmth he’s found in this bed and in these arms.

Besides, Jaskier is doubtful that they’re done with the bed yet.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Court Rebuilt

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Tamlin, Rhysand, Feyre

Rating: PG/K+ 

Original Idea: I have no idea where this one came from. I just thought, “What if Rhys’ sister actually survived?” and made a few detail alterations and wrote this.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Don’t really have anything else to say here besides: again, I have not read ACOSF and dunno if I’m going to, but there were loose ends I wanted to tie up. Enjoy!

^^^^^

I’d intended to winnow to the edge of the wards surrounding the manor and then walk to the front doors on foot.

I was quite surprised when I just landed on the front porch. There was no trace of the wards. No protections around the manor house. None that I could detect anyway. The front door was slightly open.

I dismissed my wings before I left home, but I felt the phantom feeling of them shuddering as I pushed the door open a little more.

Inside, the grand entrance was dusty. Dark.

Empty.

I reached out with my magic, searching for the presence of the High Lord of the manor. Please don’t be dead, I thought.

There he was. In the back. The kitchen, if I remembered correctly. It had been centuries since I’d been here, and even then I’d been very young, for a High Fae. His presence was powerful, incredible, but nowhere near the scale and scope of Rhysand’s.

I stayed on alert as I made my way through the manor, heading toward the kitchen. But there were no sounds. No servants bustling around. No sentries patrolling the garden or the halls. The manor was little more than an empty shell. An unkempt, hollow husk of its former glory and beauty.

I made it to the kitchen. The door was wide open.

Instead of going in, I leaned against the doorframe.

Tamlin’s back was to me. He looked… wan. The kitchen was barely in better shape than the rest of the house.

He stiffened as he realized he wasn’t alone, but didn’t whirl around, claws out, to defend himself. Didn’t even turn to see me. I wondered if he knew it was me without looking. He didn’t seem to indicate so.

“Good morning,” I said.

That was when he whirled. His eyes—once the vibrant green of budding trees, now dull—widened as he took me in. “You’re supposed to be dead. Centuries ago,” he said.

“Well, technically, I have you to thank for the fact that I’m not,” I replied. “Do you remember?”

“Get out,” Tamlin snarled. There was no beastly bite to the words. No fangs in his mouth. I didn’t move. Just folded my arms. “Does your perfect brother know you’re here?”

“No. I’d like to keep it that way. I didn’t come to fight, Tamlin. I came to thank you, actually. For delaying your father and brothers long enough that I managed to survive. Yes, my head was bleeding profusely as I drifted downstream. Yes, I nearly drowned and my wings were mostly torn off. Yes, I’m still gloriously furious about it. But when Rhys found me alive and got me home to heal, I was still thankful you stopped your father from finishing me off long enough for me to survive.”

“Are you done?”

“Not yet.” I held my hand out. A small sheaf of papers appeared on my palm. I set it on the kitchen table. “I’ve spent the last week brainstorming ways to rebuild your court. Feyre isn’t sorry for the devastation she left behind; and frankly I don’t think she should be. I certainly am not, given how you treated her after what happened Under the Mountain. But the fact remains that the Spring Court borders the mortal lands, and a strong border is necessary to keep any faeries with bad intentions out of there, and any mortals who have a death wish away from here. Tarquin is fine leaving some of his sentries on the border for as long as necessary, but eventually it would be most beneficial for the Spring Court to monitor its own lands.”

Tamlin growled. A deep, low, guttural sound that made braver faeries than me shudder. As it was, I grew up with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. Tamlin didn’t scare me. “Get out,” he snapped again.

“Those papers have a few different detailed plans for building your court up again. You can use any one you like. Or you can use none of them. That’s your choice. This isn’t the Night Court sticking its nose in the affairs of your court. Like I said, my brother doesn’t even know I’m here. This is just one person who owes you their life trying to get yours back on track. I didn’t spend the past week drafting those plans out of the goodness of my heart. I did it to make us even. I’ve spent centuries being dead to the outside world. Everywhere except home. And, if anyone asks you who came up with this, they won’t believe you if you say I gave them to you. It would be in your best interest, anyway, to say you came up with it yourself. Show you’re still strong.

“But right now, someone needed to kick you in the pants in the right direction. And since I owed you and you didn’t even know it, I figured it could be me.” I shrugged.

Tamlin’s lip curled. “You sound like your self-righteous brother.”

Don’t pick a fight, don’t pick a fight, don’t pick a fight, I reminded myself. Rhys wasn’t self-righteous. He could be cold and calculating sometimes, but his instincts were usually right. I had to remind myself that Tamlin was bitter and broken after everything. He’d been kicked after he was already down, and lashing out.

I wanted to put on the cold, amused, wicked mask Rhys used to wear as the High Lord of the terrifying Night Court; but that mask had never belonged to me, and I would never find it comfortable. “After our parents died, he was the one who finished raising me, so I suppose that would make sense,” I said levelly instead. “I’m trying to help you, Tamlin. For your sake as well as well as the sake of Prythian as a whole. Use my ideas or don’t—I owe you nothing now.”

He snarled again. I summoned my wings and flared them.

“Get some rest, Tamlin. You look tired,” I said.

As he snapped his teeth, I winnowed out of the manor. Back home.

—

The antechamber of the townhouse between the front door and the frosted glass door greeted me. I stepped through the frosted glass door.

My brother was waiting for me in the sitting room, lounging on the sofa. “Where have you been?” His tone was casual, but I sensed there was some irritation behind it.

“Out,” I replied.

“I guessed as much,” he said.

“Didn’t realize I had to report all of my comings and goings to you.” My words held more bite than I intended, but I managed not to flinch at them.

Rhys picked up a crystal glass with a knuckle length of liquid in it from the side table and eyed me over the top of it as he took a sip. “You don’t,” he finally said. “But I would appreciate being told you’re going out and when you think you’ll be back so I don’t worry about you when I wake up and find you gone.”

“He turned the whole house upside down looking for you!” Feyre called from the kitchen.

I instantly felt guilty. “Did you not see my note?” I asked.

“What note?” Rhys demanded.

I felt where it was in the house and then summoned it to me. “I left this on my bed. I was gonna put it in your bedside but I figured you’d check my room first if you got worried.” I handed him the paper. He unfolded it. The note was short—all it said was: Running an errand. Be back in an hour, max. -Me—but it took him a long time to read it.

His eyes turned up to me. His pupils had narrowed to tiny points. “Why do you smell of the Spring Court?” The words were strained.

I heard something clank in the kitchen. Feyre dropped something at my brother’s words.

Rhys put my note on the side table beside his drink and stood up, wings extending just a bit. He towered over me—I was only an inch shorter than Feyre but Rhys had always been so big. His eyes bored into me. I felt his talons scratching at my mental shield. Not a request for entry. An order.

“You promised never to break into my head,” I said sharply.

“I will if it means keeping these people safe. Our people. What were you doing in the Spring Court? Going for a leisurely walk through the woods?”

I flared my wings out a little too. Both of us animals trying to appear bigger than we were to be more intimidating. “I’m allowed to have a private life, Rhysand. I didn’t jeopardize the Night Court at all.”

Feyre appeared in the sitting room. I wondered if she’d considered getting in between us. I wanted to warn her off. I could deal with Rhys myself. Had been doing so long before she was born. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her help—I just wanted to handle this conversation with my brother alone.

“You revealed to Tamlin you’re alive, didn’t you?” Rhys demanded. His talons scraped harder against my mental shield. I reinforced it.

“Yes,” I said.

My brother swore as his mate gasped quietly. “Why would you do that? Do you know how dangerous—”

“Of course I do. But the fact remains that if it weren’t for him, I’d be dead. The fact remains that I owed him my life. The fact also remains that the Spring Court borders the mortal lands and is absolutely barren of faeries. With good reason. Feyre did the right thing in revealing to the court what kind of male he is, but that border still needs to be monitored. I know Tarquin is fine stationing sentries on the border but those sentries will eventually get tired of it, even if he swaps them out. It would be best for the Spring Court to have, at most, the ability to protect its own borders.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I spent the past week brainstorming plans for rebuilding the Spring Court. I merely delivered them, told Tamlin my debt to him was paid, and left. My life, for getting his back on track. He deserves everything that happened to him, but we need the Spring Court’s borders to be secure. Are you going to keep berating me or can I go upstairs and wash off the smell of that place?”

Rhys looked like he wasn’t going to stop glaring at me for the next decade.

I summoned one of the copies I’d made of my plans from my pocket realm and shoved them into his chest. “Go ahead. Read them. Or don’t. I don’t care. I’m going to go take a bath.”

I stomped over to the stairs and stomped up them. From behind, I heard Feyre say softly, “You’re being a little hard on her.”

Before I heard my brother’s reply, I slammed the door shut to my room.

—

When I emerged, freshly cleansed of all the floral scents of the Spring Court clinging to my skin, my brother was in the hallway outside my room.

“I read your plans,” he said flatly, almost begrudgingly. “The one about turning the Spring Court into a haven for faeries displaced from their homes in other courts during this past war was particularly impressive.”

I made a mental note to thank Feyre later. I assumed she had convinced him to at least be civil, even though I could tell he was still furious with me for being reckless with the secret that I was still alive. No one outside of Velaris had known that I’d been rescued and recovered from my injuries. I’d spent centuries staying solely in the city, being safe. A foray into the Spring Court was a welcome change.

I finished tying off my braid. “And?” I prompted. I wanted to see what else was on his mind.

Rhys didn’t reply immediately. Just stared at me with a sharp hone to his gaze. “And,” he repeated, “I think you made a good decision. Even if I don’t particularly relish the thought of Tamlin knowing you’re alive.”

“Thanks.”

“Also, I find it hilarious that on every single plan, you’ve written multiple times to have him claim all the ideas as his own. Though you definitely deserve the credit for it.”

“Be that as it may, it’ll look stronger coming from him. What did Feyre think?”

“Feyre hasn’t read them yet. I don’t think she wants to.”

“That’s fine. I know she’s angry at him. She has every right to be. I’m angry at him too, actually, for how he treated her. He deserves the ruin she brought upon him. He deserved being outed as the beast that he is. But, unfortunately, we need his court strong enough to protect its borders.”

“I agree. Maybe next time, though, if you have incredibly savvy political plans for another court, let me deliver them?”

“Tamlin wouldn’t have listened to you. He didn’t even want to listen to me. Not even after I told him you had no idea I was there.” I shrugged. “Next time I have savvy political plans for another court, I’ll just winnow the pages to the High Lord’s assistant’s desk under the guise of a citizen submitting them. This one was just a delivery I needed to make in person—so that he’d know I owe him nothing anymore.”

Rhys gathered me into a hug. “You’re a really annoying little sister, you know that?”

I smiled. “That’s my job.”

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen 4: Breakfast in Bed

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/69731439

It’s been many months, I know, but I hope you all like this chapter! 

Remus knew he should get out of bed. 

Out of bed, down the stairs. 

Down the stairs and into the kitchen.

He owed Janus rabbit, and he wanted to talk to Logan.

Logan…

It had been a few days since they’d gathered ingredients, and they’d talked almost every single day since. They met in the kitchen. Talked at night. Sought one another out. But it would never last. Logan would say something about the light sides and then scurry away, or get all quiet if he thought he heard footsteps. It never felt like it did when they were alone, truly alone. 

He rolled over in bed, curled in on himself. 

Come on. Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen, make something with rabbit, then find another reason to talk to Logan. Maybe they could find a good paella recipe. And that would get Logan to come into the kitchen and talk to him. He could talk to Janus, too, and cook as he did so.

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen.

Remus stared at the wall. 

Up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It was 7:30 am. Janus would be in the kitchen soon. And if he wasn’t in the kitchen before he left, he’d get that look from Janus, one of those looks that said ‘are you okay?’ And made him feel all queasy and miserable.

The long and short of his situation was that the bed was nice and soft, and he didn’t see a point in getting out of bed. Even though there was food to be made and conversations to be had. Remus sat up, but didn’t get out from under the covers.

He got like this sometimes. When was the last time? Remus looked down at his hands. Maybe he could paint his nails. In bed. Then he’d get up, out of bed, down the stairs, into the kitchen. What had he been—

—yes, when was that last time he couldn’t— right after Thomas decided to skip the fucking callback. He’d spent most of the wedding laying in bed, marinating in a horrid, heavy feeling that he couldn’t quite identify. It was like trying to pin a still flapping butterfly to a board. Remus flopped back onto bed.

Now it was 9:00 am. Where did that time go? He must’ve fallen back asleep, or zoned out. He sighed. At least he had a reason to feel heavy then. Now he was just being stupid.

“No, you feel heavy because he abandoned you,” a deep voice echoed, “like all the others.”

“Shut the fuck up, Orange,” Remus grumbled, “I’m tryna fucking sleep.”

“No you’re not.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Orange laid his hand on Remus’ head. It was freezing cold against his skin. He gently ran his fingers through the brown strands. They stayed like that for a few minutes, in a cold, uncomfortable silence.

“Green, you know they’ll never apologize to you,” Orange whispered, “they’ll never accept you. They’ll never stay by you. It’s a fact of life, it’s alright-”

The words drifted away as Remus shut his eyes, mind wandering far, far away. It left the room entirely- bed, stairs, kitchen, Logan- and found itself back at that night on the dock, Logan’s pale skin under bright moonlight. He’d offered him a castle, a cottage. He gave him a pearl. Had he kept that pearl? Or did he throw it away? 

Orange chuckled darkly, hand still in his hair. He pet him slowly, as if consoling a dying animal.

“You poor little creature.”

“I’ll kill you,” Remus growled.

“You can’t even get out of bed.”

“I’ll still kill you.”

It had been several days— four, maybe— since Logan and him dove into the cool black of the ocean. He returned to the dock just yesterday. Slow waves lapped against the shore, illuminating the night in a bright blue bioluminescence. If Logan had asked, he would’ve made him a cottage on the beach. He would’ve turned the black sand to glass. He would’ve destroyed it all. 

“You’ve let yourself change too much. Remember, Green,” Orange mumbled, playing with Remus’ hair, “you are nothing but one part to a whole, a scrap, a husk. You’re empty and hated, hated by Red, by Purple, by Indigo—“

Remus moved without thinking, hands wrapping fast around Orange’s throat, squeezing with whatever might he had. Orange toppled off of the bed, and Remus went with him, slamming his knees into Orange’s chest as his back hit the floor, hands clasped around his throat like a prayer.

“Don’t you fucking dare say anything about him you goddamn piece of shit,” Remus snarled,  "He is nothing like them— nothing like me! And that’s… that’s none of your business! That’s what it is! Do you hear me?”

Orange just grinned, his unreadable face flickering. Remus throttled him back and forth, slamming his head into the dirty floor of his room. Orange’s face never shifted. Still cold, unreadable. Remus dug his nails into his throat. His breath came in shallow puffs.

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Someone knocked on the door quietly. Janus, probably. Remus held fast to Orange’s neck.

“Do you hear me, motherfucker? He doesn’t hate me! HE DOESN’T HATE ME!” Remus screeched. All Orange did, the absolute bastard, was raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Look at that, I got you out of bed. You should thank me, Green.”

Remus punched him in the nose as hard as he could, a loud crack echoing through the room. Orange’s blood dyed his knuckles a shifting cascade of color. 

The door quietly creaked open.

“I heard something fall, and then yelling,” Logan began carefully. "I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Remus looked up from where he knelt on the floor, hands clasping at nothing but air. Cowardly bastard had up and vanished without a trace. Even the blood had vanished from his knuckles. Logan was still looking at him, tray in his hands, angelically haloed in the light of the hallway. Remus coughed, attempting (and probably failing) to not look like he had just tried to brutally murder someone.

“Hi, Logan, what’cha got there?”

“Janus said he didn’t see you at breakfast, so I, um. Grabbed some pancakes Virgil made, and made you a little plate. Are you alright?”

Remus stood, brushing dust off of his dirty pajama pants. He hadn’t washed them in… had he ever washed them? He sat back on the edge of the bed. 

“I’m perfectly peachy, Logan.”

Logan frowned. “It’s 9… 9 something. I didn’t check the time before I came up. But I thought you’d be hungry.”

Remus tilted his head, sloshed the sludge of his brain around trying to find coherent thought. The urge to scream at Logan welled up within him, a thick feeling in his throat as if he was about to puke up a torrent of slugs. He wanted to ask him for so many things- stay with him, hold him, tell him he doesn’t hate him. He gingerly pat his bed. 

Logan stepped inside of his room, closing the door behind him. Remus turned on the lights with a clap of his hands. Logan sat (on the bed,) facing him, and set the tray between them. There was a plate of pancakes— probably banana nut, knowing Virgil— as well as two glasses of water with lemon on the rim, and an orange. Two glasses of water.

“Were you planning on eating with me?” Remus asked quietly. Logan picked up one of the glasses.

“If you wouldn’t be averse to that,” he muttered. Remus snorted.

“You know I love spending time with you.”

Logan sipped his water, the slice of lemon bumping his glasses a little. Remus couldn’t help but stare. He wanted. He wanted. He didn’t know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted. 

“How have you been?” Remus asked. Logan swallowed a mouthful of cold water. 

“Well. And you?”

Remus picked up the fork and knife on the tray, gingerly cutting into the stack of pancakes. He poked one with a fork, and lifted it to his mouth. Banana nut, just as he’d expected. He hated the taste of banana nut, but Logan didn’t know that. 

“Good, I’ve been doing good. I couldn’t get out of bed this morning, but besides that, I’m all good. I haven’t washed my sheets in close to twenty years and I’m so glad I’m not a human or else they’d smell absolutely horrible and be covered in dead skin.”

Logan looked down at the blanket. Remus chewed slowly.

“That’s okay,” Logan mumbled.

Remus chewed, then swallowed.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” He asked.

Logan sipped his water. Remus’ heart started to pound.

“Do you still have that pearl I gave you?” Remus repeated. Logan lowered the glass from his lips, then nodded.

“Of course I do. It’s beautiful, Remus.”

“Just beautiful? No little scientific quip about pearls?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat.

“Cleopatra, according to legend, dissolved crushed pearls in vinegar to drink them. The pearls would dissolve in the vinegar, since pearls are 85-90% calcium carbonate, which is also the main component of snail shells, and eggs. Calcium carbonate is also suspected to be found on Mars.”

“Space oysters!” Remus said between bites of pancake, “speaking of Cleopatra, how has Roman been doing? Get it, since Cleopatra fucked Caesar and Caesar was Roman, though I doubt Roman is getting any. Did you know Cleopatra made a vibrator by sticking a bunch of bees in a dildo?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched up.

“That is quite an interesting fact.” “So how is he? Roman, I mean.

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, he’s been hanging out with Virgil a good deal. They were working together. I… don’t know if Roman is feeling any better, though. The two of them, surprisingly enough, seem to bring out the best and worst in one another. Roman makes Virgil brave, in an odd way.”

Remus nodded.

“I regret teaching him to cook.” 

“Who, Virgil?”

“Yes,” Remus said, “cooking’s my thing and I hate him so much and I hate Roman too, they left me, they hate me, and I hate them.”

Logan went silent.

“...Virgil made those pancakes. Do you want to move downstairs? We could make pancakes, and they wouldn’t be his.”

Remus nodded. 

“That sounds great! Are you sure the others won’t be there?”

“The kitchen has been mostly empty since Roman and Virgil’s little… escapade. It would be just the two of us.”

Remus stood, leaving the tray of food on the bed.

“Alright then! Race you to the kitchen!”

He lept off of his bed and burst through the door of his room, almost slamming into the wall before turning and running down the stairs on all fours. He toppled over his arms, and slid down the rest of the stairs on his back. His feet touched the floor, and he sprinted into the kitchen, only to find Logan already standing there.

“How the fuck?”

“I teleported,” Logan said, a small smirk lighting up his features. He still held the glass of water with a lemon slice on it, “we’re not real, remember?”

“You little shit,” Remus said with a smile. Logan raised his glass in a mock toast. Remus walked over to the cupboards, keeping his eyes on Logan the whole time. He wanted.

“The griddle is still out at least,” Remus observed, “Virgil never was one to clean up his own goddamn messes. Now sit down, unless you have an award winning pancake recipe!”

Logan sat, and said “your pancake recipe has won an award?”

Remus snorted.

“No, but Janus once told me it deserved an award.”

He knew the steps. Get the flour. Scoop some into a bowl, then baking powder, eggs, sugar… it felt like too much. He’d made it so many times. Now it felt like too much.

Logan stared at him.

“...do you wish for me to help you make them?”

“Yes, please,” Remus said, absolutely relieved, “get the flour.”

Logan stood from the table, and went over to the cabinet. He reached up, and Remus couldn’t help but stare at his arms as he got the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

“You should wear less clothes,” Remus said, “you have nothing to be ashamed of, really, you’re just as handsome as everyone else here.”

“Nobody else is here except you.”

“Are you saying I’m not handsome?” Remus teased, conjuring a bowl.

“I certainly am not.”

Logan pulled the flour down, as well as the baking powder. 

���Is there anything else we need from the cabinet?” He asked. Remus grabbed the milk, eggs and butter from the fridge.

“Salt and sugar, and the rest is moist ingredients!”

Remus used his fingers to squeeze 3 tablespoons of butter from the stick, watching Logan get all the ingredients lined up on the counter.

“How much of each ingredient do you need?”

“One point five cups flour, like, four teaspoons powder, tablespoon of sugar. You seem much more alive today, is that because the others aren’t around?”

Logan sighed.

“I constantly remind you that I have to keep up appearances in front of the others—“

“And I constantly tell you that you don’t have to listen to them. You can make them listen, too.”

Logan took out the measuring cups, starting to measure the ingredients. Remus melted the butter into the bowl with a snap of his fingers, then cracked the egg into the bowl.

“How would you suggest I go about making them listen?”

Remus giggled quietly.

“Patton’s afraid of death, right? Just threaten him. Say you’ll tear his throat out. Or stomp on his neck until he dies. And then when he comes back up you explain everything to him! Or you just scare him! Make your face all scary and spook him!”

Logan frowned.

“I don’t think that would do much for the situation, especially considering that Patton doesn’t listen to you because you scare him.”

“Have you tried asking Patton and the others to listen to you?” Remus asked, stirring the butter and eggs together. He wasn’t really focused on the recipe, just on Logan. That odd heaviness still lingered, but he tried to push past it.

“No, I don’t think so. If I did, it didn’t work.”

Remus sighed.

“My offer still stands, you know. A cottage, a castle, anything you want.”

Logan looked up at Remus, then back down at the measuring cups.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. With how much Thomas’ emotional state has been spiraling, I can’t leave him or the others unsupervised. Relations between the sides can move from arguing to breakdown inducing levels of tension.”

“When has that ever happened?”

Logan frowned. All of the ingredients sat neay measured in front of him, sat on the counter.

“Besides the memorable incidents concerning the wedding, Janus was the one who encouraged you to become more present in Thomas’ day to day life, was he not?”

Remus shrugged. He walked over to Logan, grabbing all the measuring cups and dumping them into the bowl, one by one, haphazardly mixing them together with a summoned spoon.

“I’ve always been in Thomas’ life, and I always will be. I just decided to become more present in his life, to piss off Patton and Virgil. So I’d wait until he was about to sleep, and scream my ideas into the imagination, which certainly terrified Patton and Virgil.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“You did all that because Janus told you too?”

Remus stared at Logan blankly.

“He’s the only person that’s always been there for me.”

An awkward silence fell between them. He mixed the contents of the bowl until all of the chunks of flour and baking powder were mixed in, making a liquid smooth batter. He considered adding blueberries or chocolate, but Logan liked simple things. Water with lemon, saffron crocuses. Remus looked over to Logan. 

“A cottage, would that be nice for you? Or would you want a more modern house with lots of bells and whistles? A smart house like that one Ray Bradbury short story, you know the ones with the lions and the kids and the lions ate the parents? I could make it in the crocus field you helped me make and you’ll have infinite saffron— you’re frowning, is that not nice? It sounds pretty nice to me.”

Logan shook his head.

“I’ve told you many, many times, I can’t.”

“Because of how your little light sides would feel?” Remus snapped, “What about how I would feel?”

“And how do you feel?” Logan asked sharply.

“I want to eat your heart,” Remus blurted. He felt his face burn. Logan blinked, staring right at him. 

“I don’t have a heart, Remus,” Logan whispered.

“What if you had a heart, if you were human? Would you let me eat it then?”

Logan looked away from him, staring down at his hands.

“If you wanted to,” Logan mumbled.

“I do,” Remus exclaimed, “with saffron and sea salt!”

Logan’s face burned bright red. His hands pressed flat against the counter, and he turned to Remus.

“It’s a damn shame I’m not human then,” Logan spoke, “because I would love every second of that.”

Without thinking, Remus dropped the bowl and the spoon, letting batter splatter all over himself and the stove. He turned, pressing himself close to Logan, placing one hand on his chest where his heart would be. It covered his shirt in batter, but Logan didn’t seem to mind.

“Then let’s pretend we are human.”

Logan turned to face him, eyes wide, and face flushed.

“Are you going to kiss me?”

Remus smirked. He leaned in, just enough to smell the coffee on Logan’s nervous breaths.

“Do you want me to?” He asked. Logan swallowed. He looked over Remus’ shoulder, then grabbed his wrist. 

“What about the others?” Logan whispered. Remus’ face fell. He set his hand on Logan’s cheek.

“If this makes you happy, the others won’t care who kisses you,” he promised. Logan smiled softly. 

“Then I want you to, Remus. Kiss me,” Logan said breathily. Remus leaned just a little closer, foot happily tapping against the ground.

Remus leaned in closer, closing the distance between them, and gently pressed his lips against Logan’s. He tasted like coffee, warm and inviting, and something very familiar. Probably spit. But it was good, because it was him, it was Logan, Logan kissing him and moving his hand from his wrist to the small of his back. Wonderful, so wonderful. Remus pulled back, just for a breath he didn’t even need, and pressed his lips to Logan’s cheeks, then his nose, his brow bone.

“Is that necessary?” Logan mumbled. Remus laughed quietly, pressing a small kiss to Logan’s eyelid. They fluttered open. Remus stared into his eyes, and cupped Logan’s cheek in his hand.

“A cabin,” Remus muttered, “a cabin where we can be alone and I can kiss you all the time, and you never have to be scared again.”

Logan sighed, leaning closer to Remus. They bumped their foreheads together, Remus wrapping his arms around Logan possessively. 

“I can’t leave. But we can still kiss,” Logan whispered.

“I’m so glad I got out of bed.”

“What the fuck is going on?!?”

Remus turned his head quicker than he ever thought he had before. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, Virgil glared at them.

“Oh, hi Virgil, don’t you look cheerful as ever,” Remus crowed. He looked back, Logan’s face as pale as a pearl. 

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil ordered. Remus tilted his head.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll fucking kill you.”

Remsus’ brows shot up. 

“Over what, you perpetually pissed purple pussy? Just because Logan wanted me to--” “I doubt he wanted anything from you,” Virgil growled, “what could he possibly fucking want? Get away from him. Now.”

“Why don’t you just ask--” “Get. Away.”

Remus glanced back at Logan. Any trace of emotion had vanished, replaced with that cold, stony stoicism. Remus wanted to grab him. Grab him and scream at him to say something, scream until something got through to him, scream until Logan realized that even if he did piss the light sides off, he wouldn’t be alone, they’d always have the ocean and the kitchen and one another--

“You are a really, really shitty person, Virgil. And the worst part is that I don’t even think you see it. I mean, what gives you the goddamn right to come wandering in here and tell me what to do, and assume what Logan wants?”

Virgil took a step forward. “I know that he wants nothing to do with a shitbag skunk-cunt like you.”

“Oh, what an original insult!” Remus exclaimed. He laughed, then the smile suddenly dropped from his face. ”Actually, it isn’t. That was the same thing I called you when you left me, left me behind to rot, you and fucking Roman, and you know, I know what you want with him. You want everything about him, you want to leech off the love he gets from the others since none of them fucking love you, and you know that deep down, don’t you? That nobody likes you!”

Remus reached behind him. He grabbed Logan’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Logan’s hand was limp in his grasp. Virgil glared at him. “Wow, I’d sure be hurt if you weren’t such a fucking hippocrite. At least I’m wanted. I may have my moments, sure, I can be paranoid and snappy, but that’s not my constant state of being. You’re just a rabid dog. Sure, Janus may tolerate you, but once he really figures out how useless you are, he’ll leave. I’m sure that’s why he suddenly decided to play nice with the light sides, he realized that you couldn’t do anything for him anymore-- you certainly can’t scare me or Patton-- and you’re useless to him, time to throw you away like the shitsack you are. You’re useless to everyone, you know? If you just locked yourself in your room for the rest of Thomas’ life, nothing would change. You’re Roman’s lesser half, his fucking shadow-- are you crying?”

Remus touched his face. It was wet. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor. 

“What,” Virgil mocked, a shaky smile on his face, “Can’t handle the heat? Then get the FUCK out of the kitchen!”

Remus raised his arm to throw a punch. Logan’s grip tightened on his hand.

“That is enough, both of you,” Logan said calmly. He stepped in front of Remus, letting go of his hand.

“Virgil, thank you for being vigilant, but I assure you it’s fine.” Virgil stared at Logan’s chest. His usually neat dress shirt had a messy stain in the shape of a hand, right over his heart. “Did he hurt you?” Virgil asked.

“He didn’t hurt me, I’m okay. We were having a simple conversation, nothing more.”

Remus stared at him sadly. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. They weren’t just talking, they had something. They kissed, for gods sake, they kissed--

Remus grabbed Logan’s shoulders and spun him around. He slammed Logan against the table, and kissed him deep and hard, desperate. Logan’s hand pushed against his chest. Remus could feel Virgil’s hands grab his shirt and yank, the collar choking him, but he didn’t need air or water or food, he didn’t need anything but Logan, his Logan--

Logan shoved him away with both hands, staring at him sadly. As if he was nothing but a hurt animal. 

“I--” 

“Virgil, let go,” Logan said. Virgil let go of his shirt with a quiet grumble.

Remus stared at Logan. He backed away, until he could feel the stove against his back, the heat of the griddle.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Virgil shouted. Remus stared at the floor. If Virgil said anything else, it was lost in the dark tidal wave of emotion that hit Remus. He didn’t even know what it was. He was drowning, and the water was devoid of any life. Dark, too dark, too cold. He shook. A sudden heat jolted up his arm-- when had he set his hand on the griddle? He could smell his skin cooking. Bubbling. He watched Logan. He said he wanted to kiss him, he said he wanted him to, and they kissed and it was so wonderful. Virgil left. Logan walked out behind him. His palm burned on the griddle.

“What’s cooking?” 

Remus looked up. Orange sat in front of him at the kitchen table, straddling a chair. Remus stared at him, trying to see past whatever Orange did to make himself imperceptible, but his form kept on shifting in dizzying spirals of color, like oil on water. Remus slowly raised his hand from the griddle. If he was human, the skin would be white and blistered, maybe even peeling in a few places. But just like Logan, he wasn’t human. His hand was fine.

“A heart,” Remus mumbled, “and I’m eating it with saffron and sea salt.”

Orange tilted his head.

“There’s no need to repeat yourself, Remus. I heard everything. And I’m here to say that I told you Indigo would leave.”

Remus moved without thinking. He rushed at Orange. Instead, he collided with a chair, sending it clattering to the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Remus screamed. 

“No you won’t, because you know I’m right. I’ve always been right.” This time, Orange sat atop the counter. Remus summoned his morningstar with a flick of his wrist.

“No you’re not, you’re not right,” Remus growled. He swung at Orange. Orange vanished into thin air before it could even come close to hitting, the heavy iron ball instead slamming into the counter. It cracked the counter, and sent flour flying.

“I’ve always been right, Remus!” Orange said from in front of the fridge. He leaned against it oh so casually, “I’ve been right that you’re only playing house because you think they’ll all leave. Well, look at you now. Making pancakes, right? How sweet.” Remus swung again. The morning star collided with the fridge. It dented the door, and made a horrible screech of metal on metal. He pulled back, ready to strike again.

“You believe that Indigo deserves to be listened to no matter what, correct?” Orange asked. He laid on the table. Remus swung. The morning star collided with wood, splintering the wood.

“I take that as a yes,” Orange said. He was back on the table. Remus swung again. It hit the table in the same place as last time.

“Fucking stay still!” Remus screamed.

“You think he should be listened to no matter what he says or does. No matter who he truly is. And yet, you hold yourself back.” For the third time, the morningstar slammed into the table. This time, it broke through, splitting the table in two. Splintered wood flew in every direction.

“You cook because that makes you palatable,” Orange repeated. He sat on the stove. Swing. The griddle broke under the force of the morning star.

“But you aren’t.”

Swing. Miss. Break.

“You are a monster, that’s how you were made, that is who you are.”

Swing. Miss. Break. 

“You’re really good at swinging that thing around. Did you know that Lucifer was called the Morning Star? And he got punted out of heaven for defying God. His brother was an angel, I believe.”

Remus stilled, panting. Orange stood on the countertop, back pressed against the cabinets, 

“You’re nothing like them. You are the parts of humans that they hate, the beast in the brain, a reminder that humans evolved from animals. They hate you, Remus. They all do. Because they don’t understand you.”

Remus’ hands tightened around the morning star. Orange tilted his head.

“If Indigo loved you, wouldn’t he have said it by now?”

He hefted up the morningstar, and swung recklessly at Orange. The wood of the cabinet splintered and cracked. Glass shattered with a massive crash, like a wave hitting the shore, and millions of glinting shards flew at him, some sticking in his skin and others harmlessly bouncing on the tiles. 

“You are so much more than what they think you are,” Orange said, breath tickling the back of Remus’ neck, “so why try to make them like you? Do you really care that much about them? They’ve done nothing but abandon you, Remus. Over and over again. Nothing has or will change that.”

Remus whipped around, morningstar in hand, but Orange was gone. Remus dropped the morningstar. It clattered to the ground with a thud. He opened his mouth to scream, but no words came out. Nothing came out. He shakily walked to the destroyed table, and sat down on a chair. He looked around. Broken glass littered the floor. The stove had a massive dent in it, and the griddle had been snapped in two. The fridge had a dent, the counters had a dent and harsh scratches from his mace’s spikes, and the realization that he did that just because Orange made him angry made bile rush up his throat.

He didn’t scream or cry or vomit. Just stared at the mess he’d made.

Really, he’d made a mess. Maybe Logan didn’t want to kiss him. Maybe it was an experiment to him, like that stupid fucking schedule that had started this all, made Logan come to the kitchen, see him cooking…

Remus closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he sat on the edge of his dock, watching the glowing waves crash against the shore without end. The place he’d shared with Logan, offered him everything he wanted. Their skin was pale under the moonlight. Remus pulled his knees up to his chest.

He still owed Janus rabbit. He’d make it, then that would be the end, and he’d never set foot in that fucking kitchen again.

He watched the waves.

Tag list: @alexalexisalexej @breezy-skribblz @the-real-comically-insane @gravestone-monarch @heartwitchhouse @appleflavoredkitkats

[sophi-s]

In Their Hollow Heart

Chapter II: Absolution

Fandom: Hollow Knight video game

Words: 9,832

Characters: Hollow Knight, Hornet, Ghost (the Knight), the Radiance, Tiso (he’s alive, screw the cannon XD), the Pale King

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Sickness, Mind manipulation, Suicidal thoughts, Vomit, Gross imagery, Self harm TW, Permanent injury, Angst, SPOILERS for the game.

Summary:

The tormented Hollow Knight unexpectedly stands face to face with one they thought dead throughout their whole life. And to their astonishment, the very same bug does the impossible and relieves them of their duty.

--------------------------------------------------

Another day passes in utter silence in the Black Egg Temple. Nothing disturbs the stillness of this place aside from a steady sound similar to a heartbeat which comes from the pulsing veins of Infection. And at the centre of the dark chamber illuminated weakly by the said Infection hangs a large, slender figure in armor and a cape. The passage of long years hasn’t done much justice to the once silver-white attire. Cloaked in shadow and held firmly by enchanted chains, the figure makes no move. Only indicators of the spark of life still flickering weakly in them is a loud, disturbingly raspy breath and the furious light in their eyes glinting with madness. Deemed worthy and strong enough to contain the Goddess of Dreams, the failed Vessel holds as still as a statue, sometimes squirming in futile attempts to break free from the chains. The disease keeps spreading without control, only halted by the Void in the ruined body of its host. Such is the fate of the Hollow Knight.

Since the Radiance had torn their willpower to pieces, the Hollow Knight found their true self slipping away into darkness way too often, hopelessly seeking relief in dreams but unsurprisingly finding none in the domain of their tormentor. If anything, all that waited for them there was more pain. Everything they wanted was to be finally free from this cursed existence, this… mockery of life. But it seems even that was too much to ask for, desoite the fact that they’d been promised an end long ago now. The Pure Vessel was never supposed to think, have feelings or desires. For its mind should be empty. They shouldn't want anything. And their fate was brutally reminding them of that.

Day by day, their body was burning up from the disease that held them tight in its grasp, making them wish for the end all the more. Memories began to fade as they fought to keep them from escaping. Without them… they would become just another husk animated by Her light. And it scared them.. Fear, alongside dejection, seemed to be an emotion that accompanied them constantly these days... They just needed one strong person to open this blasted Vault. Just one skilled knight to shatter the chains and put them out of their misery. But then the Radiance would be fully free. Nothing would be stopping Her from wiping the Hallownest off the pages of history. If only one of the lost siblings survived… empty like their father wanted. The true Hollow Knight. Just one, to successfully relieve them of their duty… Cruel. Something scolded the Vessel at these thoughts. They deserved what they'd gotten for their lies and had the audacity to wish for the same fate on someone else? Selfish. Cruel. Cruel! In despair (much stronger than sadness they knew already...), the Hollow Knight let themself slip away again, unable to argue with the laughter of the Goddess.

Like father, like son!

They had no wish to face the Radiance again so soon but their weariness took the better of them. Maybe this time She will have mercy on them and fulfill Her end of the bargain? Who knows? Soon they found out it unsurprisingly was not going ot be the case. However… when they left their infested shell behind to drift through the Realm of Dreams something has changed. Everything around was shaped differently. In this dream, they stood tall and proud, they were free and the scorching heat of the disease no longer troubled them. Memories returned in full with the moment they opened their black eyes. The pure nail rested in their hands - yes, hands! - its sharp tip on the ground at their feet as they started forward at nothing in particular. Like they had many times in the White Palace. What an odd dream… everything was dark and grey, chains swung from the sky around but never touched them and the inky smoke of Void drifted around. Just to make sure, they flex the fingers of their right hand. It responds as it should but it's.. numb. They have no feeling in the offending appendage. As though - bitter laughter bubbles up in their chest but never comes to be - it wasn't truly there. Was this another form of torture? Was the Radiance tormenting them again by showing them what they could've been but will never be? Their armor was beautiful and silver, glinting in the pale light of white sigils surrounding the strange arena they found themself in. As enchanting as the dream was, it caused them only further misery. Now they began to understand those who considered the Nightmare King the good-aligned deity and not the Radiance. Dreams cause disappointment with the reality - because it could be just like in this dream - while nightmares allow one find comfort and appreciate the world as it is.. A soft pitter patter of small feet behind them was all they needed to snap. Had She conjured an illusion of their baby sister running around them and bouncing in place, pleading to be picked up, as well?

Enough!

The Hollow Knight jammed their nail further into the ground in frighteningly unfamiliar fury - anger but... stronger, more violent somehow - as their armor started to give out underneath the pressure of seething Void before shattering into tiny pieces, leaving them only in their plain light-grey cloak. If She wanted them to cast off their hollow mask then congratulations, because She just managed to royally piss them off. Even that day when they saw three ethereal nails protruding from their father's chest as he fought for life bleeding out on the ground after Xero attacked him in disease-induced insanity they weren't this mad at the Goddess. And before they never thought it even possible. Whipping around angrily, ready to face the doppelganger of tiny Hornet, they intended to end this foul dream. I won't have the strength to cut her down. A small voice whispered. Illusion or not, they wouldn't have it in them to harm their little sister. Still, they were ready to face down whatever the Radiance wanted to throw at them. But what they saw instead made them freeze for a moment in shock and horror. Nothing could've prepared them for what waited behind them. As unmoving as always, their face didn't show the fear that paralyzed them. Fear just like any other but much more intense. Crippling. Petrifying. Horror.

Before them, standing no taller than their kneecap, stood… not Hornet. Worse still, someone they never thought they'd be seeing again as long as they still draw breath. Small, lithe and dressed in a ragged cloak.. A memory flashed before their eyes, a pale face gawking at them and silently crying for help.. None other than their lost twin. Just like the day they left the poor child to die in the Abyss, staring up at them with their large, empty eyes from the white shell with slim horns sporting tiny notches at their ends. And in those hollow eyes, there was no hatred, no accusation, no sadness, nothing.. aside from a small spark of something resembling surprised fondness. As though they were.. happy to see the older twin. Through the link of the Void, the Hollow Knight heard a small voice reach out to them. No, not a voice. more like.. a thought or an emotion shaped into a single word that struck them like a nail to the gut.

Sibling!

No, this can't be.. this isn't true! Their twin is dead! Resting on the bottom of the Abyss with all the shattered shells of other siblings. Does Her depravity know no bounds? They will not let the Radiance toy with them like that! Throwing their head back, the Hollow Knight wished to scream out their hatred into the darkened skies but… no sound leaves their throat. No voice...  As it was meant to be. No matter. It changes nothing. They barely paid any mind to a mysterious figure in a brass mask watching them from a gilded throne with curiosity and reverence as they lunged at the ghost of their sibling with cold rage and fiery determination. And to their surprise, they felt.. strong. Just like they used to before their imprisonment and absorbing the Old Light. And what was even odder, the fake twin easily avoided their attack by dissolving into a shadowy form that passed through their body without any resistance like icy cold air. Its cool brush unexpectedly turned into a sharp bite and to Hollow Knight’s surprise, once they looked down on themself they discovered that a shallow cut suddenly appeared on their side, dripping small amount of Void. Strange..

Unimportant. This was but a scratch, barely visible. Still, rather strange... Not letting it throw them off, the Pure Vessel immediately leaped into the air only to descend onto the twin's head and slam their nail into the ground, focusing to summon Soul Pillars and impale the little one. With no luck. The child unfolded six, glowing wings - just like the ones father had on his back, they noticed glumly - just in time to move out of the way of the pale blades. They followed up the narrow dodge by swinging their tiny, pure nail - a rare, fine weapon - at the older sibling's face. The blade cracked loudly against their shell, knocking stars into their vision for a moment. The Hollow Knight recoiled, both in pain from the strike and in shock from how… real it felt.

The Radiance is a master of weaving Dreams but something was not right. Even the most realistic dreams cannot feel so true. Vision should be more blurry, their senses duller.. but they weren't. Besides, a strike this hard definitely should've slapped them awake without issue. Yet, here they still were. But it's not like they had time to ponder over it. They were in the middle of a duel, for Wyrm's sake. Gathering their bearings, the Pure Vessel let their battle instincts take over. Writhing shadows consumed them and reformed their body on the other end of what they with all certainty could call an arena and extended their numb hand to shoot out a barrage of Soul Daggers at their opponent.

The fight went one like this for quite some time, the ghost managing to get hits on their sibling between their fast-paced, merciless attacks and spells. Small size worked on advantage for Hollow Knight's adversary who always somehow found a way to worm their way to their target without getting hit (minus that one time they failed to dodge one of the daggers and it slashed across their shoulder). At least until the Vessel has had enough of this little game. Intending to surprise the illusion of their twin, the Hollow Knight arched their back and released a pair of thrashing Void Tendrils from their own chest and finally knocked the little vessel down, leaving them stunned for a moment. Giving them no room to breathe, they followed up with a triple slash of their long nail and whacked the unfortunate child to the side before pouncing on them and pinning them down with their free hand.

No more trickery. This ends here and now. But… even though they were eager to shatter the cruel illusion, the Vessel had to admit that this fight made them feel… alive. For the first time in forever since the time stopped flowing for them. It was kind of sad to end this already. Why would the Radiance entertain me with a battle? But something in the back of their head was compelling them to carry on. Fully prepared to stab the nail down into the tiny body squirming in their hold, the Hollow Knight raised their weapon when suddenly… they heard clapping. Blinking down befuddled, they realised it was the child clapping their small, nubby hands, oblivious to the fact that Void was now seeping through a crack in their mask and from a slash across their chest, and that they were about to die. Congratulating them?

Sibling won! Sibling is still so strong!

Words sent through the Void said. If the Hollow Knight didn't know any better, they'd think the miniature twin seemed.. impressed. Were they actually impressed? What is going on? Focusing on the weak bond between the two of them, the Hollow Knight squinted. There was something… familiar about the presence of the tiny vessel and by no means was it the sense of closure they shared long ago. No, it was something else. Beating within their heart, familiar, yet foreign at the same time. It almost felt like the presence of the Pale King but.. darker. It felt like... home. Is that…? Slowly, the Hollow Knight let a small glimmer of hope rekindle in their broken heart. Believing that this might not be an illusion. But… what was it in that case? What does this mean? Their twin lives? How…?

Will come back! Help sibling! Just a little longer...

They chirped happily through the connection between their minds before some unseen power forced the Hollow Knight's hand down and brought the pure nail straight through their small heart, silencing it in an instant. Dream particles erupted from their shattered body and the Hollow Knight suddenly found themself back in the Egg. In chains, rotten through and absolutely flabbergasted. Severe confusion fused into one emotion with surprise. Whatever happened, it snapped them back to reality. To cold, rough bonds, to the burning Infection tearing its ruthless claws into their insides.. And for just a short moment, they felt their head clear out. Only one question remained. What was that supposed to mean? Whatever that was.. Their questions were aggressively halted by a jolt of pain and a mist clouding their senses.

Ever since this strange dream, the Radiance started to force Her will onto the Hollow Knight much more brutally, trying to keep them Her pawn - though they initially weren’t sure why - causing them so much pain it more than once made them pass out. But even still, the Vessel and the Radiance were one. They felt something in Her they hadn't before. And it was nothing different than straight out fear in its purest form. She was afraid. A Goddess. What could She possibly be afraid of? The little sibling. Something told them when the memory of the darkness pulsing within the small vessel's chest came to mind. Slowly, they began to understand. She was attempting to keep them as far away from that dream as possible as this one seemed to be out of Her direct control.. And soon, the Hollow Knight was about to realise they'd never been more right in their life before.

In spite of Her efforts, they returned to the arena again. Greeted by the sight of their twin just like the first time. And an unexplainable force made them fight the child. It ended as expected when the ghost fell yet again after a stray Soul Dagger cracked their shell apart. And again, impaled on a Soul Pillar. And again, caught in the area of an exploding Focus spell, after that. But they never gave up. And each time this dream repeated, the more apparent Radiance's apprehension was becoming. As broken and tortured as they were, the Hollow Knight found some small semblance of hope rising from the depths of their despair again. Resurrected by the supposedly dead twin sibling. Killing them over and over again brought the Vessel no joy but whatever this dream was, whatever the tiny voidling was attempting to do, it scared the life out of the Goddess of Dreams Herself, filling the Hollow Knight with wicked satisfaction. A pleasant feeling one feels after accomplishing some great feat or watching something... well, satisfying happen. Oh, how they wished to live to see Her get what's coming to her.. For the first time in what felt like forever, the Hollow Knight felt the urge to smile (metaphorically, as their face cannot really express much), even through the pain She was inflicting on them. Soon, they found themself looking forward to battling their twin again.

With each time the ghost challenged the Pure Vessel to a fight, they were getting stronger, faster, more cunning. And when a decisive strike of a small nail finally brought them down to their knees the Hollow Knight couldn't help the alien feeling of gentle warmth welling up in their chest, the overwhelming… joy. Was this what their father felt when they took on all of the Five Knights at the same time and won? Was this.. pride? Even leaking Void from every possible body part and in pain (different from the disease, more familiar and somewhat comforting), they wished to mentally smile at their tiny counterpart but never had a chance as ray of blinding light - dreadfully familiar bright light - descended on the twin siblings and a cry of outrage echoed through the air, making both of them look up. A brutal yank brought the Hollow Knight back into their plagued body but… something was different. No force was ripping their sentience out from their grasp. The Radiance, while present in their head, paid them no mind as Her overwhelming fury filled every fiber of their being, sending ripples through the Infection clinging to them. What is happening?

It continued for a couple more minutes before an excruciating pain shot through the Hollow Knight without a single warning as a soul rending screech of the Dream Goddess made their head feel like it was about to explode. They seized and trembled when the horrid sensation did not cease. Their heart began to hammer in their chest quickly and unevenly, sometimes skipping a beat until they twisted in their bindings and released a cry of agony. But it wasn't their voice. They lacked one of their own after all. It was the Radiance. All their entrails felt as though they were set on fire or something was tearing them apart from the inside. In fear and confusion, the Vessel trashed about, Infection pouring freely from their opened mouth and eyes but they could sense some feelings that weren't theirs. Rage. Denial. Terror. Through the burning light filling up the entirety of their vision they saw Her figure writhing amidst a foreign darkness invading Her domain. Just there, at the peak of this darkness - as if the steadied, yet still ravenous Abyssal Sea rose up to challenge its nemesis - stood the familiar presence of the Hollow Knight's twin. And She was undoubtedly completely and absolutely terrified.

But the satisfaction coming from this fear did not ease in pain or the gurgling coughs ejecting the pus from their throat. The Hollow Knight felt as though their head was being split in two as the Infection was aggressively beating against the walls of their weak body, violently peeling itself off their organs and simultaneously desperately trying to keep itself rooted inside. A strained wheeze that escaped them sounded like a death rattle of an asthmatic Wyrm. Fitting, considering their origins.. It was much less funny when taking into account the fact that they couldn't breathe. They screamed alongside the Radiance, desperately gulping down every, even the smallest gasp of air they could. Another shriek tore through them and the bulging tumors on their chest abruptly ruptured, as did the ones on the stump of their right arm, spilling the disgusting, rotten fluids every which way. Infection was sizzling and thrashing about with a mind of its own until it started to evaporate in the clouds of sticky, rapidly fading smoke.

It takes a lot to bring a seasoned warrior to the point of crying out of pain but this was more than enough. Before, the Infection existed mostly in "agreement" with its host but now the Vessel felt as though they had ingested a bucket of potent acid. Tears - their normal, Void tears - started to flow uncontrollably as they shivered in spasms. The Hollow Knight didn't know how long this ordeal lasted so far but even half dazed by the pain they knew one thing. They were dying without a doubt. And the Infection inside was dying with them. Despite the dark thoughts inhabiting their broken mind as of late, ones whispering of sweet, cold claws of death, they were scared. Their twin, one whom they presumed dead for so long came back in a desperate attempt to help them, even in a dream. They couldn't let their efforts be for naught and die just like that! Praying to all Gods of Hallownest for strength, the Vessel drew another struggling breath that lined their lungs with miniscule needles and pins.

Help... Someone... anyone...

And then suddenly… the screaming stopped. The next thing the Hollow Knight knew was that the light was gone from their sight, replaced by blackness. Seconds later, or maybe longer, they couldn't say for certain, a heavy impact brought the scraps of consciousness back to them. At first, they were sure they'd been struck but in truth it was their form limply hitting the floor when they crumpled in a heap like a puppet when one cuts the strings. The stone tiles were underneath their cheek, the hold of chains absent. Burning pain remained but it was… different somehow. It wasn't the searing of the Old Light but the injuries it left behind. Even with their mind swirling like a carousel, the Hollow Knight realised it felt.. clear. Clearer than it has in ages. No alien presence lingers in the depths of their psyche. Still, the splitting headache wasn't making the thoughts easier to formulate. Do not think. It will be easier this way.

Although the possibility of receiving an answer sacares them, the Hollow Knight has to make sure. They hesitantly search through their own mind and quietly call.

Old Light?

Nothing. Silence.

Are you still there..?

No response. Dead quiet. Darkness. No internal fire, no force pressing against the remnants of their resolve and forcing its will upon them. No wisps dancing around in their vision, only dots of black and sparks of white caused by the pain. In their heaving chest, their black heart skips a beat. Could it be? Hesitantly, the Hollow Knight tries to move, to lift their arm. The appendage raises according to their will, trembling violently and falling to the floor not even a second later but there's nothing aside from their exhaustion holding them back or setting their entire system ablaze. It has to be. The Infection left. As hard to believe as it is… the Radiance.. She's gone. They can't feel Her anymore. The Darkness took over. Her light has been extinguished, at long last. In their mind they can feel a large hole, an empty space where She used to reside but this emptiness feels... good.

Happy. No, that's not the right word to call the emotion that assaults them, making them want to scream and weep, and laugh out loud all at the same time while being able to do only the second part. Struggling to form a forbidden thought, fighting the still present fever, they search for the right name for this one. Ecstatic? Yeah, that feels more like it.. However, the Hollow Knight doesn't spare time to rejoice. If they do they soon too will be gone.

Clenching their jaws, the mangled Vessel attempts to lift themself on their remaining arm but the weakened appendage gives out underneath their meager weight as though it was made of jelly. Unfortunately, their armor wasn't making the whole thing easier. The fall leaves them disoriented and stunned for a moment until they feel something wet pooling beneath their face. Forcing their head, which seems to weigh far too much, as though it was made out of lead, to turn, they see black. Void. Void spilling from their wounds and their right eye where their shell had cracked. Not the pus but pure Void. As black as it could ever be. It was… both comforting in color and disconcerting in amount. Losing that much life essence would kill a normal bug at least six times over. They needed to try something different before their Shade slips free from its confines to rejoin the Abyssal Sea. Focusing on a Healing spell was out of question with how drained of energy they were. Attempts to pull themself back to their knees also yield no results aside from agonizing stabs through the torn chitin on their chest where the cysts once were and left deep, bleeding holes after they'd bursted. Not all tumors were gone just yet. Some were still there, throbbing and scorching them with the now apparently caustic fluids.

Enough with this cursed plague! Without care for their own wellbeing, only wanting the Infection finally OUT, the Hollow Knight makes their conscious decision, rolls slightly to the side to have a more or less clear view and focuses their anger on the remaining cysts.. Their shivering hand wanders over to the last cluster of Infection still anchored to their body and hovers there for a single beat.. It's better to get this done with before they change their mind. In one swift motion, sharp tips of their claws sink into their own flesh. One drag is enough to tear deep gashes in the mutated membrane. The pustules split open with a sensation not dissimilar to being ran through with a white hot iron bar. The Hollow Knight gasps in pain, with a pang of worry realising that their breathing remained loud, ragged and unsettling. No wonder. After all this, most of their organs were likely severely damaged if not ceased to function at all. Orange liquid quickly drains from the self-inflicted wounds before being replaced by Void. It wasn't one of their finest moments, it hurt like hell but they didn't want this blasted stuff inside of them for a single second longer. Now, they were left still stuck splayed out on the floor and bleeding out at an alarming rate. They don't have much time left. Looking around, noting the lack of Infected veins and bubbles, they let their eyes linger on their old, trusty nail. If that doesn't work, then nothing will.

Scraping their head through the dust that accumulated on the floor throughout years, the Hollow Knight crawls to their discarded weapon, leaving a trail of quickly dissipating Void in their wake, and heaves themself up to get a hold of the hilt. Any second, they feared the chains would shoot out to trap them again but no such thing happened. Only two fo the longer sections remained attached to their shoulder pads and were dragging behind them. The Infection was eradicated. The purpose of the Temple fulfilled. As was theirs. Their hand trembles but otherwise holds fast as they pull up onto their knees, still wheezing dreadfully. For so long, the Hollow Knight ceaselessly begged all Higher Beings for the blessing of death, wishing their nail was in their reach so that they could end their own misery. Now… here it was in their grasp. Waiting, taunting. All it takes is one stab. Just one little push… You failed. Disappointment. Pick it up, turn the tip towards their already open chest and drive the blade through their heart. No one would miss a failure like you. The Vessel's hand tightens around the nail. It would be so easy… Just a second and it will be over. You're already as good as dead. Their task had come to an end. There's nothing more for them here. Do it!

Slowly, the Hollow Knight forces themself to stand on their weak and shaky legs, using their unkempt weapon as a crutch instead. Too late for that now. If they have to die, they'd rather do so out in the open. Everywhere but in this grave. All limbs hurt. The pain is insufferable… Do not feel.. They breathe raggedly, letting the sharp throbbing subside. Can they even make it to the outside world? What if the Dreamer Seals linger still? Do not think… No thoughts. Pick a destination. The entrance to the Egg. Don't ponder over it. Endure.

First steps come with difficulty - they hadn't walked in years and their legs feel as though the Infection has hollowed them out - they stumble and fall to their knees more than once but never give up. They refused to give up ever again. Eventually, each next step becomes easier as they drag their husk of a crippled body towards the doorway - the chains singing their grim song against the floor behind them - where their father disappeared all those years ago. Even now, after all the suffering they'd endured, the Hollow Knight hoped the Pale King is still out there somewhere. If so then the chances are once he realises the Radiance is no more, he will return to reclaim his Kingdom without the threat of the Infection hanging grimly over his head. And when that day comes, they will meet again. And after that, they will find mother too. And apologise for their defeat. Maybe they will even grant the Hollow Knight the forgiveness they don't deserve? Yes, that sounds good… If they live up to this moment, that is.. If not, then maybe their parents will at least lay their body to rest? Still, the thought of their father being dead and gone forever nearly makes them give in and fall again, unwilling to keep pushing forward. No. The Pale King is a God. It's not a trivial task to kill a Higher Being. They know it. He has to be alive. Doesn't he? Clinging to this tiny ray of hope, the Hollow Knight staggers through the dark corridor of the Temple, heading towards the light at the end where the (thank Wyrm!) opened door awaits.

A wave of stale air smelling of dirt crashes over them at the entrance and almost makes them cry with relief. No more sweet stench of Her plague. This is really happening.. Begging their weak body to hold on just a wee bit longer, they push towards their freedom. Though, no matter how hard they tried, their armor was slowing them down and making moving around difficult. In an attempt to spare the rapidly diminishing reserves of their strength, the Hollow Knight uses their claws to slash through the straps holding their shoulder pads in place they clumsily fight to unclip their ruined breastplate. With how it was bent out torn open and completely eaten through by the acidic Infection, it comes off without much difficulty and soon each armor piece hits the floor with a series of metallic clangs.

To be honest, the Vessel had no delusions they would survive this. Only one look at the ruptured chitin on their chest told them everything. After tearing the last pustules open they could've sworn for a moment they'd seen their heart trembling inside but it might as well have been a hallucination. In any case, they were too severely injured to pull through without aid and considering the sorry state of Hallownest, that is not happening. Even if they could call for help, they doubt anyone would heed their desperate pleas. Disoriented by the disappearance of the Infection and scared, any survivors, who aren't in equally as sorry state as them, are likely to head in the opposite direction. Besides, they couldn't imagine anyone would dare to touch the disgusting mess of a broken being they are now. At least… they will die happy, out in the open, gazing out at their homeland. Knowing it is safe and that they have their twin to thank for it. And that the ghost of their mistakes doesn't hold a grudge for the wrong they'd done.

A glimpse of red. A moving figure, just outside. Some strange sense of familiarity lights up a spark in the Hollow Knight's mind. Just a few more steps… After what felt like an eternity, the hero of Hallownest emerges from the Black Egg that was their and Her prison for so long and comes face to face with the shadow of their past. The Weaver clad in red dress took on a defensive stance and drew a needle once they leaned heavily against their nail, trying to steady their breathing. Red dress.. needle… strands of silk angrily lashing behind.. mask as pale as the King's.. Far more adult than they remember but still familiar. It cannot be.

It cannot be that for once since this madness had begun, the Hollow Knight has a stroke of good luck. Their tired eyes land on the one they remember as a small, temperamental girl. The spiderling princess of Deepnest. Even though the passage of time changed her, there can be no mistake. It was her. Their sister. Hornet… No longer a girl, but a young adult. How long has it truly been? And there was utter shock painted across her face once she realised that she's looking at her long lost, stoic sibling who was taken from her when she was a child. No aggressive glow in their eyes. Only soothing black, silently asking for help. What little strength they had left finally abandons them as they fall over face first again, smiling to themself inwardly. What a happy coincidence. Not only will death claim them free and at peace but in the presence of their beloved baby sister. Despite what they'd been expecting, they don't hit the floor. Instead, their body collapsed straight into Hornet's arms. How she didn't keel over underneath the weight of their much larger form was a mystery.

A firm grip on their shoulders, a pair of strong hands hardened by years of combat cautiously lower them to the kneeling position as a concerned Hornet fills their entire vision. How similar to their father she is… The same hands cup their face, just like Her wings had before (don't think about it, don't panic, it's just Hornet! They reprimanded themself when they begin to tremble), to make them look ta her. Clearly, she's saying something to them in a very frantic non-Hornet-like fashion but they can no longer hear. Her fingers gently caress the Hollow Knight's forehead, deliberately avoiding the crack in their shell and the spilling Void that could potentially kill her as the other hand rests on the underside of their mask. Such a gentle, loving gesture.. unfamiliar yet so… comforting… Each touch sends a delighted tremor through Hollow Knight's succumbing body. They didn't know one could be missing something that was never received in the first place. Yet, here they are. Yes.. yes, now they are ready. They are ready to go.. Were it not for Hornet, they wouldn't have managed to keep their head up. When they cough and wheeze, she starts speaking again. And this time bits and pieces do get through to the Hollow Knight.

"...-be alright-... -...ust hold on…!"

Weakly, the Vessel nuzzles their face into her touch as they heave in attempts to take another breath. Maybe the Hollow Knight was ready to face death but it doesn't mean they weren't afraid of it. They truly want to reassure Hornet that all will indeed be alright. But they can't. It's terribly cold out here… Flashes of images, glimpses of faces pass through their mind. Every bug they'd known well and those they met only once as well. As colorless and empty as their life had been, it was.. good. They lived a good life...

Then, suddenly, it's not Hornet they're looking at anymore. A luminous form of a small bug with multiple sleek horns shaping into a crown on the top of his head. The Pale King stands there with an aghast expression and holds their heavy head in his blackened hands making his child stare in bewilderment. He looked so real! But it cannot be him.. The feverish mind of he Vessel doesn't seem to care though. Am I dead already...? Black eyes in the pale face of their father watch the dying Hollow Knight with anguish gleaming in them. He’d never looked at them like this.. To hell with their Pure Vessel facade, they’re dying anyway... What does it matter at this point? An uncontrollable shiver makes them seize in pain rippling through their whole body as they swallow the black liquid filling their mouth and they lift their shaking hand to surprisingly firmly grasp the front of Pale King’s robes to keep him here just a little longer. The fabric seems.. strange to the touch...

Father, don't leave..

They want to call what they wished to years ago when they didn't have the courage to but.. No voice to cry suffering. The darkness is upon them and there's nothing in sight that could stop it. It was a miracle they lived long enough to crawl out of the Temple. If they were a normal bug so heavily Infected, they wouldn't have gotten up from where they'd fallen at all. Their last regret was that after all this, they will leave their twin behind. Again. And do so without so much as a single "thank you" for everything they'd done. But Gods... they were so tired.. Leaning forward the Hollow Knight rests their head on their father’s shoulder, possibly ruining the robe in the process with the Void leaking from their shell. Even if it was just the figment of their imagination, they didn’t care. To die peacefully, whether it be in the arms of Hornet or his father, was more than they could ask for or ever deserve. They breathe out with relief and for the first time in an eternity slip away into the embrace of sleep without fear in their heart, never expecting to wake up again.

Please, forgive me... All of you...

To their utter astonishment… they do. First thing they register is warmth. Not the burning fire of the disease tearing at their every nerve. A soft, comforting warmth filling up their entire being. Air around is hot and humid. Without opening their eyes, the Hollow Knight draws a loud breath that sounds kind of like a suffocating Vengefly. Strangely enough, the dense air does not hurt their damaged lungs. Quite the opposite. It spreads around their respiratory system like a balm, easing the burning left by Her plague. So long… so long since they felt any sort of something pleasant.. They could stay like this in the warmth forever and everything else can shove off with the odd, stinging pressure in their belly taking the lead. If only they could breathe easier… It takes barely a split of a second after their sudden wheeze for a pair of hands to rest on the sides of their head to steady it.

"No, no, don't you dare! Hornet's gonna tear my face off if you die!"

No memory of a name comes to mind with this male voice that sounds as though it was coming from behind a glass wall. As much as they want to remain inert, the Hollow Knight forces their eyes to pry open, wincing inwardly at the bright white glow of Soul surrounding everything, emanating from the… water they're in? A hot spring? Absent-mindedly noting they cannot see with their right eye as something was draped over it, the Hollow Knight looks up at… exactly, who? Looming over them upside down and still holding their head, was a hooded warrior with big white eyes. An ant most likely, judging by features. The unfamiliarity of the face made Hollow Knight tense in agitation but their limbs were unresponsive and aching, refusing to move. The stranger firmly held their head still even as they began to stir.

"Easy there. Not gonna hurt you. I'm a friend."

A friend? The no-longer-Sealed Vessel isn't sure what this means but they assume it's a good thing. The Pale King more than once called either one of the Five, or the future Dreamers (except for Herrah as she was the mother of his daughter) a "friend" with fondness in his voice when in good mood. Besides, if this ant really knows Hornet.. If they were being honest, the Hollow Knight was much too spent to feel threatened or try to analyse the situation to determine whether the ant does pose any threat or not. They ceased their struggling to continue wheezing heavily, fighting for air. Seems like it's not going away anytime soon.. With their every breath, the warrior's frown was deepening.

"No clue what battered you like that but I don't wanna meet it."

And you won't… The Hollow Knight thinks to themself with a sense of relief washing over them. She really is gone. They weren't sure what their twin did and how but they'd done it. No more Infection. No more pain. No more struggle.. A silent hope that they might have gotten a second chance makes them slump in the warm water working on their injuries. This warmth causes them to grow awfully sleepy, maybe they really did lose too much "blood" and were actually dying, but the stranger above them was determined to keep them in the waking world.

"For the love of- No! Stay with me! Hornet will kill me if you don't!"

Hornet.. The sound of her name somewhat keeps them from passing out. She must've been the one to bring them here. Then... it can’t have been their father they were seeing earlier... Just like they thought, their imagination was merely playing tricks on them, reshaping Hornet’s already similar features into those of the Pale Wyrm, and all this time it was her. Where did she go? Hornet wouldn't leave without a good reason… Speaking of which-..

TISO! Back the fuck off!"

Familiar, yet far more mature voice of Hollow Knight's younger sister almost brings small rocks raining down from the ceiling, making the ant in question jump away from them. As unexpected as her arrival is, it brings the Vessel peace and a sense of security.

"Okay, WOW! First you literally drag me down here by my antennae and now you yell at me for actually helping? Rude."

"May I remind you you owe me a favor? Now shut up and move."

"Geez, calm down princess! Your buddy was just breathing very loudly, I legitimately thought they're choking or something."

"I still don't trust you."

"Then why the FUCK-...?!"

As if to prove Tiso's point, the Hollow Knight descended into a fit of rattling coughs when they tried to move to see their sister, unintentionally making the strain in their stomach worse, proceeding to wheeze horribly afterwards. The Infection took a lot out of them… The arguing duo ceased in an instant (though the Hollow Knight could've sworn they felt the energy of "didn't I tell you" radiating off of the smug ant). Hornet didn't wait before walking into the hot spring and helping her older sibling sit up. Everything protests at the movement, especially their chest - now, like the stump of their arm, bound in bandages made of Weaver silk - but they don't stop her. They close their eyes as she does, breathing deeply until the painful wheezes slowly turn into nearly soundless huffs. Still, they feel and hear their breath eerily whistling in their lungs.

"That's it, keep breathing. It'll be alright. Here. This should help."

Out of a hidden pocket in her red dress she brandishes a bottle filled with gently glowing blue liquid. Lifeblood. So that's what she'd gone for.. The Hollow Knight blinks at the vial she holds, waiting for permission out of habit. They aren't quite sure if there is a point to keep the play up, especially before Hornet but… old habits die hard. Doing things without being prompted still felt... weird and uncomfortable. It causes a moment of awkward silence before Hornet frowns, seemingly catching a wind of what's going on, and brings the bottle closer to them.

"Take it. Drink."

In a beat the Hollow Knight seems to spring back to life and follows her instructions without any signs of hesitation. They down the blue concoction, bitter and by no means savory but they don't mind it. One, they aren't used to showing discomfort, two, they'd take the bitter over sweet and rotten any day. In comparison to the Infection, the Lifeblood was the best thing they'd tasted in a while. And true enough, the blue liquid works its magic quite quickly. The sharp throbbing of their wounds that the spring's power reduced to a bearable ache seemed to ease even more and some part of their strength returned to them. Honestly, they never understood why their father was so skeptical and untrusting towards the Lifeblood… On the other hand though, the Hollow Knight hangs their head low and grasps at their chest when they suddenly begin to feel awfully sick again.

"Hollow, are you-...?"

She starts but they silence her by lifting up their remaining hand when the familiar, sweetness dangerously quickly wells up in their throat. Oh no.. On an instinct, the Hollow Knight twists around and lurches forward, heaving out the contents of their stomach onto the cave floor. An unbelievably large amount of vibrant orange fluid mixed with freshly consumed Lifeblood and a little bit of Void makes its way out of the inside of their body, drawing disgusted groans from both witnesses. Well... so much for the Lifeblood treatment...

"EUGH! How the hell did all that stuff even fit inside this guy?!"

Mildly horrified Tiso asked the question into the air as Hornet, equally disturbed, didn't seem too eager to answer. The Hollow Knight was, thankfully, done in seconds and breathed out with relief once the tension left their stomach as the - hopefully - last traces of the Infection were expelled from their system. That feels so much better… As gross as the sticky substance was, the Hollow Knight found strange joy in watching the color fade into dull brown and eventually black before evaporating once and for all. Another proof. Though, the unpleasant aftertaste still lingered..

Sh-shit, I'm about to throw up too..."

With his hand over his mouth, Tiso quickly runs out of the cavern after the display and the smell left his own stomach very upset. The Hollow Knight isn't all that surprised. No one's going to try and convince the poor ant that what has just transpired wasn't thoroughly disgusting. Hornet merely rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her weakened sibling.

"How do you feel? Are you okay now?"

Never mind all the wounds which will surely leave awful scars. Never mind the dizziness that will eventually pass. Never mind the no longer existing right arm. The Hollow Knight looked Hornet straight in the eye but remained stone still, without a clue how to say it without words. Despite all the pain and the memories of suffering still fresh in their mind, they have never felt like this before. No more waking nightmares. No more Infection. No more Her. No more chains and bindings. Freedom. Peace. Safety. They are going to live to see another day and if the luck wishes to be on their side again, they will reunite with their father, mother and their sibling. Here they are, no threat in sight, beside their baby sister… "Okay" fails to describe one third of it.

"Hollow?"

Again, she called them this, trying to coax a response from the stiff voidling. And to be honest, it felt… nice. It was no longer the title mocking their existence but a sense of familiarity in it was putting the Vessel at ease. There's no need to pretend in front of Hornet. Who were they kidding, she certainly knew from the very beginning. And now she spoke this word as though it was a name like any other. The Hollow Knight never had a name. Though, they remember the Pale King accidentally calling them like this for short a couple times. Another fond memory. Yes. Yes, they like it that way.. They like that very much.

At Hornet's impatient and concerned prodding, Hollow bowed their much larger head until theirs and their sister's horns connected with an empty clunk. She seemed rather… shocked to say the least, judging by the look on her face. But fortunately the message was clear.

"You're ah... welcome, I guess.."

In response they only stared at her until she finally took a seat on the edge of the pool of healing water with her legs submerged. Hollow never had many interactions with people aside from following commands and watching their affairs from the side lines. Yet, there were moments, like after a particularly bad training session, when they received a gentle touch, most often from their mother. Root had a natural affinity to heal and she couldn't help but give into her motherly instincts when she saw her child hurting. Unfortunately, only until the young Pure Vessel managed to hone their skills to Focus Soul into healing injuries. And not so long ago Hornet was lightly stroking their head as they were knocking on death's door in her arms. Is this alright to ask her to do it again?

Uncertain, Hollow rested their heavy head beside where she sat, watching her out of the corner of their uncovered eye, the other wrapped up in Void-stained silk. Their memories of Hornet seemed so distant… The little girl with definitely too large amounts of energy stored within her tiny body was all over the Palace whenever she visited and she always found ways to sneak away to bother them. Not that they minded it. When Hollow found out the spiderling is their half sister from another mother, they took it as a point of honor to watch over her whenever they could, glad every time their father told them to do so. As cold and distant as he was, Hollow knew they loved their father, they just didn't know how to name this emotion yet. To feel safe and happy, to feel one would do anything for the person subjected to it.. With Hornet it felt… different. While they - metaphorically, of course - looked up to the Pale King, respected him and never doubted his words, every time Hornet was in sight they felt the same joyous warmth that came from the presence of either of their parents but laced with a protective instinct. They would follow the princess of Deepnest to hell and back if she asked them to and make sure she returns unscathed. Turns out, it is her who has to keep watch over them. How the tides have turned…

A small, lively child she always was, Hornet feared nothing and never backed out from any challenge. She even had a phase for a couple of months in the past when she declared she will kill the Infection for her dad on her own and it left the poor King utterly stressed out and terrified, ready to launch himself behind his cocky daughter at any moment so that Herrah doesn't gut him for being a "sorry excuse of a parent who can't even do his job properly". Memories like this bring the invisible smile to their face... Hollow couldn't imagine she would change much as she grew up. But it seems they still don't know their sister all that well.. With barely any noticeable hesitation she surprised her older sibling by lifting their head to her lap.

"I never thought I'd see you again. Let alone alive.."

She said more to herself than to anyone else as she rested her hand between their horns like they used to do to her when she was little. Uninfected. This word never left her mouth, as though saying it out loud would break the spell, but Hollow somehow knew that's what she meant. Nuzzled into the soft, albeit a bit worn dress and warmed by the magical waters of the hot spring, Hollow found a wave of unimaginable exhaustion, coming from years of being locked away with the Goddess of Dreams tormenting them, finally crashing over their broken body. After everything they've been through, they wanted and deserved to finally sleep in peace. But while before they were sure they were falling asleep never to return to the land of the living again and were okay with it, now some small, seemingly insignificant vestiges of fear lingered in the back of their psyche. They were plainly afraid of falling asleep. Hollow never wanted to have to stand before the Radiance ever again. However, this fear melted away with gentle strokes of Hornet's hand on their shell and the other one rubbing circles into their back to put them at ease the moment she noticed them fighting with their weariness.

"Hey, it's okay. She will never hurt you again."

Hollow knew this. They'd felt the Radiance at her strongest fall, even though they never thought it possible. Seems like the word "impossible" does not exist in their twin's dictionary.. But still, the fear was always there. What if I was wrong? What if this is just another hallucination? Those what ifs scared them all the same no matter what they'd seen and lived through. They knew that it's finally over. But they had to hear someone else say it with certainty. To make them believe. And Hornet's stern but sympathetic voice along with her comforting touch did just that. Finding new strength in their sore limbs, Hollow clambered up a little further onto the shore but not out of the warm water to lay more comfortably with their head still resting on Hornet's lap, and awkwardly reached around her waist with their left arm to snuggle up even closer like a desperate child they never had a chance to be. They weren't sure if they're doing the "hug-thing" right but it worked nonetheless. It took the fear away, soothed the ache of their shattered soul. With utmost certainty, they knew this was an emotion they liked feeling now that no one is here to judge them. Maybe they were wrong. Perhaps there's still a reason to keep going? Hornet never ceased caressing them and soon, Hollow found themself calmly falling asleep on her thighs with the last words they heard before slipping into the blessedly dreamless sleep ringing in their ears like a lullaby, the long forgotten tune of a small music box that the White Lady was so fond of...

…You are safe…

Out from the winding tunnels of Crossroads and into a cavern housing the healing waters of the hot spring, a pitch black shadow slithers across the ground like a serpent towards two sleeping figures slumped against one another. The temperature dips noticeably as it creeps closer to the Protector of Hallownest and the Hollow Knight resting at the shore oblivious to any form of danger while the hooded ant - saved from certain death by Hornet herself under the insistence of the Pale Wanderer - slumbers beneath an opposite wall with his arms crossed not to intrude on this peaceful moment. The shadow's attention is focused on the pair of pale siblings however. It raises and collapses in on itself like a liquid given life as it silently crawls up to the sleeping duo.

Reaching their side, the shadow begins to rise up from the ground and rapidly swell in size. The shapeless substance forms into a massive body with four, clawed arms, a large head adorned with multiple ghostly horns and dark tendrils swaying lightly from the creature's back. It stands tall on two animalistic legs half obscured by an ethereal robe melding perfectly with its torso and looms over the siblings, casting no shadow. If anything, its body is so dark that the light seems to bend around it. Eight, brilliant white eyes open in a faceless head and blink slowly, one pair after another. The Abyssal horror, blacker than anything existing in this world, composed of Void in its purest form and shape, barely fits in this cave but doesn't seem to care. It watches both the Void born creature and the half-spider for a couple seconds before its numerous eyes crinkle in something resembling a smile.

. . . S a f e . . .

The Void rumbles satisfied. Carefully, the giant lays something beside them - a small, pale mask split in two - and begins to focus. In barely half a minute, the dark menace shrinks and loses its intimidating shape once more in favor of sliding into the cracked shell, reforming a tiny body in a dark grey cloak tattered from long travels. As though it was the most natural thing in the world, the Ghost of Hallownest picks up the other half of their mask and as the last bits of their true form compress within their broken head they lift the missing piece and without any effort mend the crack that used to run through the middle of their face, leaving but a faint scar behind. This form was way too small, they could feel the Void pressing against it from the inside uncomfortably but for now it will have to do. Though, they liked this body and were very used to it. Maybe they could just make it grow properly in the near future?

With that transformation done, the warmth returns to the cavern. Casually, Ghost shuffles closer to their last remaining siblings and - mindful of numerous recently healed wounds Hollow bears - cuddles against Hornet's side next to Hollow's arm, careful not to wake up either of their siblings in the process. Especially Hollow. They need their rest the most. Actually, it's new to see Hornet of all people peacefully sleeping with the Hollow Knight's head on her lap. All of the sudden she seemed far less scary than the little vessel found her during their first meeting in Greenpath, though that may have something to do with their newfound Godhood. With a quiet sigh, Ghost lets their eyes slip closed but doesn't fall asleep. Their Ascension, although it brought unthinkable power that let them tear apart the Goddess of Dreams, left them utterly spent. Rooting out the Infection was not an evening stroll... But they have no desire to sleep. Not yet. For now, they're content with listening to breaths and heartbeats of their siblings. After cutting their way through the entire Pantheon of Hallownest in order to save this land, to save their lost twin, they feel like they've earned this moment of respite. Woe be upon any who thinks otherwise.. Eventually however, even the God of Gods gives into their exhaustion and falls into a deep slumber beside their siblings, knowing both of them are safe. Hallownest is safe. They all are..

--------------------------------------------------

First try at drawing a proper background! Woo! Before you ask, I didn't give Ghost a shadow on purpose, I'm not that oblivious XD

[theprissythumbelina]

Mortal Sparks

Maius 5th, 4593 AP: Diary of Alyss Enberdale

People are bad at describing things. My aunt fought in the first war, and she told me it was like being an ant on a running track. Sometimes you wander around doing ant things, and sometimes a trampling horde of foreign creatures run atop and leave you untrampled by chance as your fellows are smashed.

I fought in the second war, and it wasn't much like anything. It was like nothing. It was war and war is only like itself. It's surviving, and then at some point, you realize to survive you’ve ended someone’s life and you don’t even feel bad about it. And you feel bad for not feeling bad. And then everyone tells you you’re acting strange, but they’re the ones that took normal people and exploded things in their face and made them kill people whose faces they never see and they tell you you’re acting strange. 

They called it combat fatigue like I drank too much disgusting coffee and didn’t sleep right at 9:30 that night and acted grumpy the next day. I don’t have a better word. I like my aunt's word better. Shell shock. Not professional enough for the military, but it's better for me. 

My CO recommended me for leave after the incident. That’s what they call it in the military, an incident. You can’t describe it. I told my aunt that and she told me you can, if you give it time. They gave me a few months. A few months to see if I was dangerous or useful and when I was neither they threw me away. I can describe how I feel. I feel like gum. Old gum. The war was a mouth that chewed and chewed and chewed until all my flavor leeched away, then it spat me on the sidewalk. I’m on the sidewalk to this day. I’m a spot on the sidewalk.

_____________________________________________________________

Chapter One

Here, at the end of summer, roses and wildflowers bloomed one last time before autumn’s cold. Nicolette crouched among them on the side of the road, rooting for the husks of cicadas that had already mated and died. She had figured out long ago that clients didn’t appreciate knowing the true origins of their patience tea, though that didn’t stop housewives and schoolteachers from buying it in cans that they pretended to their husbands were coffee. 

Her apron pockets full, she stood and began to make her way back through town, past the over-decorated municipal hall, through Main Street with faded advertisements for meats, butter, and milk. At 7:40 on a Sunday, the whole town was empty, the entire populace segregated away in one of the two churches. 

Most respectable citizens sat in the Imperial Cesarian Church, a stately building of thick walls and plaster statues. They called the congregation of the newer Alastrian Church ‘rabble’ and ‘uncultured’, while the Alastrians called the Cesarians ‘esoteric’ and ‘unwelcoming’. The Cesarians were quite sure the Alastrians didn’t even know what esoteric meant, but it was a moot point trying to teach those who did not want to learn. 

Nicolette was fairly sure she did know what esoteric meant, and that the Alastrians were using it correctly, but as neither group took any notice of her beyond buying her charms and teas, she kept her thoughts to herself, and simply nodded when members of either church attempted to impart their wisdom in her earshot. No one cared what she had to say anyway. 

The last two story building marked the edge of town proper, with the pavement petering to a stop a few feet further. Still, the chipper, clean one story homes continued. Nicolette, as was her habit, paused here, her toes right at the end of black pavement. Daisy’s home sat clean and peach-colored three houses down. Her father should have returned from his business trip last night, smelling like bus and cigarette smoke. Maybe he hugged her with his briefcase in his hand. Maybe he went right to bed. Maybe Daisy had stayed up for him later than usual, worrying with a cup of tea in her hand. It wouldn’t have been Nicolette’s tea, Daisy always said it made her sleepy. It would have been raspberry, maybe, or chamomile. 

But Nicolette wasn’t welcome there anymore, father or no father, and so she turned to the right and made her way through the alley between the last store building and the first house. This road wasn’t even gravel, but dirt. A small crevasse made by spring rainwater meandered its way from one side of the road to the other, forcing Nicolette to hop across it twice before it escaped into the house’s fenced yard. She walked past the houses on the other side as well, slightly more dilapidated than the first, and through an empty lot of gravel to the backside of her own house. Houses on this row, those that were inhabited, tended toward small and grey-brown. Most didn’t have a large padlock around the low front gate. Nicolette didn’t bother unlocking it, but stepped up over a cinderblock and slid down the other side, holding her skirt taught. The yard grass had turned brown months ago. The only living thing in the yard besides Nicolette herself was half of a heritage rosebush. It had been her mother’s, and Nicolette did her best to keep it alive. 

Her door was locked as well, this one a shiny, new lock. Nicolette lifted the key from around her neck and twisted it into the hole. Her mother had never had to lock the door. People knew better than to come over uninvited. But this lock was to keep the inside from coming out. 

Inside, Nicolette faced the wall, listening to the thump, drag, thump. 

“Hi, Mama.” She said softly. She turned, and faced her mother’s clouded eyes. 

End snippet

______________________________________________________________

This is the first snippet I've posted in a long while, and I would especially appreciate feedback! The chapter heading section is a part of one of the MC's diary, written in first person, and the actual chapter is third person from the other MC's perspective. This is meant to introduce both at the same time, and as the book continues, the reader will get insight into Alyss' past while the plot continues in the main chapter with Nicolette in the present. Thoughts, likes, dislikes and others appreciated!

Tagging for eyes, I don't do this often so please excuse the intrusion! @thetruearchmagos @sam-glade (thank you for your advice by the way) @thewriteflame @autumnalwalker (I'm counting this as a WIP extract) @pheita @chauceryfairytales @dyrewrites @thewriteflame @teacupsandstarlight @theathenverse @sergeantnarwhalwrites @winterandwords @hessdalen-globe @writeblrsupport @jacqueswriteblrlibrary

[sweetchup]

The Hard Path

Type: Oc Story request

Word Count: 4K words

Warnings: Past abuse and PTSD

Author Note: I know I’ve been gone for a while. Not really any excuse except school has been beating me up. I hope @lelewright1234 likes her OC request.

“Oh, Great Gods from above. The ones that protect us and our families every day…”

Leah kicks the man to her right and attempts to escape. Though it was proven to be futile as she was preceded to be thrown back into the harsh muddy ground.

“Please accept this child as a worthy sacrifice…”

“No, let me go! Stop!” She shouts as the men forcibly drag her up the wet stone staircase to the altar, “Please anyone! Help me!”

Leah’s pleas and cries fall on deaf ears. She couldn’t tell if it was the sound of the downpouring rain drowning her out or if the citizens chose to ignore her. Though, she soon believed it was the later as the citizens from her village began chanting in unison with the great priest.

“Wang-go, Monster of destruction and creation. Please accept this child as your sacrifice and new holder.”

The great priest holds up a ruby dagger he took from his pocket. As he showed it off to the crowd, they roared with excitement. Though as soon as he lifts up his palm they fall into a deadly silence. Taking one last look at Leah, he swings the dagger above his head before plunging it into—

“Leah!”

Leah is startled awake and pants heavily. She realized she wasn’t there. She wasn’t back at her village.

“G-Gon.” The curly haired girl chokes out. Gon gives her a concerned look as he proceeds to sit down next to her. Leah tries to say something else in response but stops short of answering when a cold feeling hits her clammy forehead. Very startled, she looks up to see Killua on the other side of her pressing a cold water bottle to her forehead.

“What are you doing startling us like that, idiot?” Killua says jokingly. Though his face didn’t reflect that as he looked at her serious and slightly concerned.

“Startled you?” Leah slowly repeats mumbling. Using a napkin from the dinner they had a while ago, she attempts to wipe some of the cold clammy sweat from her forehead. Ever so slowly she seemed to be coming back to reality. She wasn’t back in her wicked village. No, she was on a blimp with Killua and Gon going to York New City. She wasn’t some sort of kid anymore, she was a hunter learning Nen.

“Yeah, you kind of started to fight in your sleep while mumbling something and all of a sudden a gigantic storm started to form.” Gon explains sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh. I’m sorry about that.” Leah apologies, though  it comes out almost robotically. Unconsciously, she traces her chest over where her heart was, the whole reason she got chosen for her “gift”. Killua and Gon look at each other concerned before Killua lets out a soft sigh. Leah feels Killua ruffle her puffy hair making her look at him.

“Don’t apologize idiot. It’s not your fault you have some ancient disaster god or whatever in you.”

“I know you are right Killua. But still—“

“If you’re thinking of saying something about how you should have been able to control your powers better, don’t. Remember Gon and I are Hunters. Leah, we aren’t going to go down that easily.”

“Yeah!” Gon shouts, finally back in an enthusiastic mood. “Plus you’re our friend Leah. I don’t think you would ever hurt us.”

Killua and Leah blink together before Leah breaks let’s out a small giggle and Killua lets out a sigh.

“W-what? What did I say?”

“I swear you’re an idiot sometimes.”

“Hey! No I’m not!”

“Yes you are! After you went and fought Hisoka, you might actually be counted as a mega idiot.”

“I—“

“Killua. Gon.” Leah interrupts, grabbing the two’s attention. Giving them both  a warm smile, she ever so gently says. “Thank you. Thank you very much”

Both burst out into a bright red blush with Gon letting out a cheeky laugh and Killua mumbling something unheard under his breath.

The cute moment is disturbed however, as all of a sudden a crackling sound comes over the intercom and the pilot's voice is heard throughout the blimp.

“Thank you for joining Blimps-RS for this trip. In about 15 minutes we will be landing in York New City. Please remain seated and remember to fly safe with Blim—“

“Hey guys look at this!” Leah looks over to Gon’s loud call and her eyes widen. Her and Killua scramble over to the window. Looking down the three wowed at the great lights of the city. Leah had never ever seen a city so gorgeous before. She had only heard in books at how magical cities were but she had never imagined, nor dreamed such a sight as this one.

Ever so slightly Leah smiles to herself. Maybe this trip wouldn’t be that bad.

“Ok so you remember what to do right?” Killua says for what felt like the 108th time in a row. Leah lets out an exaggerated sigh as she repeats what she had been saying for the last 20 minutes.

“I have to disappear for 2 hours around town while you guys help Kurapika with the phantom troupe. If I get into any trouble make sure to call Leorio. I also will make sure I don’t converse with any strange people because they will only have bad intentions for me.” Leah repeats, sassily imitating Killua’s voice at the end.

“Killua. I think Leah gets it. Let’s go.” Kurapika says, dragging Killua out of the restaurant.

“You better stay out of trouble, you hear me!” Killua shouts one more time before he disappears out of sight. Leah sticks her tongue out towards him in response before shaking her head. Here she was thinking this trip to get some video games would be fun but all she has been doing is being forced to hide from these “phantom troupe” people while the others go on a manhunt to try and kill them. She didn’t even have a moment to spare to check if there were any special books up for auction.

As she was grumbling to herself in misery about her bad luck, she feels a hand on her shoulder. Looking up she sees that Leorio hasn’t left with the others yet. Watching closely, she sees him reach into his pocket and take out some cash.

“Hey Leah. I know things haven’t been great for you, having to hide for most of the time on this trip. Why don’t you go buy something nice on this trip? Maybe a souvenir or something?”

Leah hesitantly grabs the money from him, “Are you sure? You don’t have to give this to me. I have a hunter license just like you and can use some of that money.”

“True but think of this cash as my thank you for being the only sane person on this trip.” Leorio says, slightly grumbling in self misery at the end.

“Okay then. But don’t think of asking for anything back later. I’m not giving you a single cent~” Leah teases out to the tall man. Leorio only shakes his head before leaving the restaurant to catch up with the others.

“Bye leorio. Stay safe!” Leah shouts out before quickly turning back to the cash in her hand. Counting it, she realizes she has more than enough to get a new needed book. Now just the question was where could she find one. Letting the thought sink in, she leaves the restaurant and begins to walk around the streets of York New.

She knew any new book would solve her thirst of knowledge, but it would be much more convenient if she found one about her powers. The books explaining her village gods and the chosen ones to hold them are few and far to find. Especially hers,.... Wang-go.

Wang-go, The god of destruction and Creation. Originally locked away by his brothers and sisters who feared him. He was locked up for centuries on end until eventually the chains that kept him trapped down began to slowly snap and break. Fearing for the worse, the people of her village offered the gods a vessel to lock him in. A woman with a type of heart defect, a husk empty heart. Now, per tradition, anyone who is born with a husk heart bears the burden of having Wang-go sealed away in them.

Herself was the most recent holder with the last being almost 6 generations ago. This makes the information Leah seeks few and far between. However,...

Sneakily smiling to herself. Leah searches through the auction menu. In no ways is she giving up. She will be able to master her powers and not just a little bit, no, she will figure out a way to perfect them.

“There you are..” Leah eyes a specific item on the auction menu. Zaviers’ ancient artifacts and wonders. On the menu, the store had just auctioned off a scroll yesterday that was only just 30 kilometers away from her village. So there is a high enough chance that the store had a book or artifact about her village gods.

Now all she need is to get there and search those shelves.

“Damn it…” Leah sighs, slightly frustrated. An hour had gone by being in this store and there was still nothing about her gods. “All I need is one book about Wang-go, just one book.”

“Wang-go huh~?”

Leah freezes up as someone blows on the shell of her ear. The next thing Leah knows, she is half away across the room and feeling slightly nauseous. She thanked her stars for practicing her teleportation power recently.

“Oh~ how exciting. You never do fail to amaze me, don’t you, Lele?”

“Hisoka…” Leah mumbles angrily under her breath. This wasn’t good, she remembered Gon and Killua mentioning to her that they found out he’s part of the troupe. Plus after seeing him fighting in the arena against Gon, she doubts she can stand a chance against his Bungee gum. Shifting her feet slightly, she gets into a readied stance, ready to bolt out of there when she has a chance.

“Now, now, I’m not looking to fight you. I’m actually here to ask for your help.”

“Help? Not a chance. Give me one good reason I should help someone like you.”

Hisoka let’s out a chuckle as he pulls a clear bag out from behind his back. He twirled them around with his bungee gum as he waits for Leah’s response.

“Wait a minute…T-those are…”

“Wang-go scrolls? Why yes they are, Lele.”

“How in the world did you get your grubby han—“

“Now, now~ I’m on a tight schedule. How about we chit chat more about this…” Hisoka takes the bag back into his hand before waving it around. Making it disappear in a cloud of smoke like magic, “... later~.”

Leah pauses for a moment, taking in her options before sighing. “Fine. But, I swear to god if any of this plan has to do with hurting any of my friends I’m out, you hear me?”

“Crystal~”

“Okay… so I know I agreed to help. But, why the heck is Illumi here as well?” Leah groans, scooching more into the corner of the backseat of the car. Hisoka lets out a small chuckle from the passenger seat but he chooses not to respond and continues to toy with his cards.

“Chrollo paid me some money for a Job and I need to pick up the rest in person.” Illumi says, his bug like eyes trained on the road ahead. Does this man just not blink?

Leah just decided the best option would be to ignore Illumi’s presence for now. Looking out the car window, she decides to somehow entertain herself by watching the little water droplets racing down the transparent surface. It was strange, the rain in New York. Mostly due to the fact that the city bordered a Desert.

Letting out a sigh, Leah thinks of the possible scenarios as to why Hisoka would need her. Well, she actually didn’t exactly need to guess why, she knew that he needed her for her powers. It was actually more for what. She just— Suddenly she feels her phone go off in her pocket.

Hesitantly, she sneaks a glance at the two men sitting in the front and sees them occupied in a conversation. Leah, determining it was safe enough, unlocks her phone. She bites her lip as she opens the missed messages from Killua.

From: Killua Hey where are you? The plan fell through.

From: Killua Get back here as soon as possible.

Leah blinks and knits her brows in confusion. What is Killua talking about? They planned to track the base to tail a specific member. How did that fall through?

Sent: Leah

What do you mean it fell through?

Leah’s blood ran cold as she read the next message.

From: Killua

The troope has already left York New. Kurapika also got a message from Hisoka saying that their partnership is over with.

Sent: Leah

Killua. Hisoka hasn’t left, I’m with him right now.

Before Leah could see what Killua could send back, a card splits the screen in half. Flinching she drops the phone on the car floor, watching it glitch and fizz out.

“Now. Now, Lele~. Let's pay attention to the situation at hand shall we.” Hisoka tells the young girl with a smile. Leah lets out a shaky breath and decides the best option would be to not test her luck for now. Fighting Hisoka right now would be a bad option especially with Illumi here as well to back him up if need be. Watching carefully, she observes as they drive through the maze-like outskirts of the city. After a couple of turns, they come to a stop in front of a train station.

Looking around confused, Leah mutters out “Why are we here?”

Illumi and Hisoka both ignore her again as they get out of the car. Hisoka comes around to the back doors to let her out.

“Hisoka! I’m serious. Tell me why we are here?”

Hisoka stares at Leah as she glares back at him. Somehow seeming to contemplate his answer, he finally says. “You're a gift.”

“Excuse me?” Leah stutters out as Hisoka grabs onto her wrist, pulling her out of the car. Hisoka begins to explain as he forces her to walk with them into the station.

“You’re a smart girl aren’t you? I’m sure you can understand this quite well. The boss has found out that I’ve had some connection with the chain user. So I’ve lost some… trust… with him per say.”

Illumi signals to Hisoka to go through a specific doorway, causing the three of you to enter an empty hallway with hardly any people. Even with the lack of people, Hisoka doesn’t relax his grip against Leah’s wrist as they continue to walk.

“I thought I was at a loss you see. I had lost the boss’ trust and lost a chance in getting so close to fighting him. But then I remember, your cute little face—“

“Don’t call me cute you narsistik clown.” Leah snaps back as the three of them return to a crowded area. Though after a quick look around, Leah realizes they are back outside yet this time on steel platforms with many trains coming to and from.

“Some just don’t know how to take a compliment.” Hisoka laughs unbothered by the girl’s offhand insult. He just continued on with his task of yanking Leah onto one of the train cars. “It’s just I remembered the Boss being so disappointed when he couldn’t find the chosen ones from the tribal areas of Aruni. Thankfully, I realized quickly that since I knew you are one of those chosen ones, the boss will surely find you interesting and in return, hopefully forgive me.”

Catching Leah off guard, Hisoka suddenly harshly pushes her into one of the private train cars before closing the door.

“Hey Hisoka!” Leah yells, stumbling up rather quickly from being thrown on the ground and tugs at the door handle. Though she curses under her breath as soon as she finds out it is locked shut, “Open this up righ—“

“A Child?”

A shiver goes up Leah’s spine as she hears a male’s voice from behind her. In a flash, maybe due to her instincts or maybe her training, she leaps to the other end of the cabin. With a hammering heartbeat, she observes the black haired male in the same room as her. The train car was not that large, so it gave her a rather good glimpse at him. Some being the cross-like tattoo on his forehead or the crystal blue earrings poking out from the tufts of his hair.

“Oh my. How interesting.” The man seemed to marvel at something and take a step closer. “What sort of power is going on with your hands?”

Quickly, Leah takes a short glance around and gasps as she sees her hands glowing and sparkling. She wanted to practically bang her head on the wall for making a stupid mistake as to activate her powers.

“Oh I see.” Leah takes a step back from the man as he continues to approach, “That’s not a Nen ability is it? I guess Hisoka wasn’t bluffing this time around.”

Ever so suddenly, the man pauses his approaching movements and instead takes a seat at one of the booth chairs. Gesturing to the seat across from him, he unnervingly smiles and says “Please, take a seat.”

Leah breath and heart stutters in unison. There was nothing friendly about that man's smile. It was like staring at the teeth of a poisonous viper, ready to sink its teeth in and go for the kill. Taking a gulp to hopefully moisten her dry throat, she knows she has to force herself to move. That man was not asking her to take a seat, it was an order. Cautiously she makes her way and sits down from across the man.

A thick silence enters the room as the man pours himself and Leah some tea. He takes a light sip of his tea but Leah doesn’t copy his movements. She can only stare at the hot dark black water in front of her. Even with her throat as dry as sand, she doesn’t attempt to drink it.

The man opens his mouth to speak but a loud whistle cuts him off. The main lights of the cabin suddenly shut off and the train begins to slow chug forward, now leaving the station. Leah turns to look frantic out the window.

“I need to go.” She breathes out, her heart beating faster the further they get away from the train station.

“Pardon?”

“My friends. They are still in York New City. I can’t—“

The man lets out a chuckle causing Leah to pause. Crap, what was she thinking. She can’t let her emotions get carried away. This isn’t some normal person she is conversing with, it’s the leader of the phantom troupe. A person with a class A bounty on his head.

The man takes another sip of his tea, finishing it off, before looking back at Leah. “I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer them if you can.”

Leah slowly nods her head. She knew she didn’t have a choice in the matter.

“First, What’s your name?”

“Leah.” Her voice cracks a little as she speaks causing an uncomfortable feeling in her throat. In order to sort the discomfort, she grabs her cup of tea and takes a sip. Surprisingly, the man waits patiently before asking another question.

“What’s your god?”

Hesitant, she decides to answer it simply and vaguely. “Wang-go”

“Ah, The God of destruction and creation. Though most considered him to be a Monster due to him being predicted to look as a ugly mix of boar, man and crane.”

“How do you know that?” Leah speaks out. Such information was only known by city elders and holders such as herself. The man ponders for a little, taking a quick glance at the desert scenery that has come to view now that they have left the city, before getting up and grabbing something. Coming back, he places the bag down and takes out a scroll.

“Though I can’t read your native language, I had a native translate bits and pieces of it to me a long time ago.” He seemed to skip over the obvious part of slaughter some to get the scrolls, but Leah decided to not press into that topic.

“Do you know what’s in these scrolls, Leah?” Leah shivers. The way her name rolled off his tongue like they were old time friends was extremely disturbing to her.

“I’d have to read them. I was never allowed to look through them.”

“I see. Then, who taught you your powers? I heard they had to be trained and practiced over many years to use on command.”

“Well, I do have a book that I got a while ago…” Leah pauses for a second. She was in a tough spot. If she revealed that she hasn’t mastered her powers, she could be considered useless and killed. Though, she could also be let go instead. Was it a good idea to take that risk though…

“I see, so you're not well versed in your abilities yet.” Leah freezes. This was going horribly for her right now. She in no way was stupid or trying to make it obvious in her hesitation, it was just this man always seemed to somehow be one step ahead of her.

Being extremely on guard, Leah watches as the man leans his hand over to her. He strangely extends his pinky out to her. She gives him a confused look as a sudden lightning strike flashes on both of them.

“How about we make a deal, Leah.”

“A deal…?”

“I will allow you to use all of the scrolls and books I have to help you gain your powers.” The man pauses for a second and a serious look comes onto his face, “However, in exchange you will become the troope’s temporarily new number 11 and I will personally be in charge of observing your progress.”

Knowing she has no choice, Leah reaches over to agree but stops short when he speaks up again.

“I want your honest commitment. Not to force this on you.”

“Why? Won’t you just kill me if I don’t agree?”

The man hums in agreement, “Usually I would but in this case it would be such a waste to kill you. As well as the fact that it would be an honest nuisance if you agreed and tried to escape every chance you got. So it would be beneficial if you agreed willingly.”

Leah thinks for a moment. She knew the right choice was to go back with Gon and Killua as well as the rest. It was so obvious, they were her friends. Yet,... why couldn’t she just do so.

“Leah! Stay here! Killua and I can take care of this.”

“Idiot. You have to be careful, you aren’t as strong as us yet.”

“Don’t worry Leah. I’ll make sure to retrieve those idiots, just stay here and read a book.”

“Trust me, Leah. I don’t want you to come. You aren’t fast enough yet to go against the troope. You’ll just end up being an easy target.”

Oh… she knew why. She was just tired of being left behind again and again. She wanted to prove she was just as strong as her friends. She wanted to join them on their adventures as well.

Gon…. Killua….Leorio. And Kurapika. I’m sorry but… I can't continue to be left behind anymore.

“I-I. I accept.” Leah says, hesitatingly connecting her pinky with his. She shivers at his strangly cold hands touching hers. Even more strangely, like out of a movie or book, thunder and lightning crashes throughout the sky in that moment

“Excellent. I realized I haven’t formally introduced myself. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer but you can just call me boss.”

Standing up from his seat, he gestures for Leah to get up as well which she does as well. Lightly, Chrollo places a hand on her shoulder and begins to lead her out of the private train car. “I say we go introduce you to the other members.”

“Of course…

...Boss.”

[cavalierious-whim]

Nothing makes Sylvain hotter than Felix fencing.

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Part Three of 'Something Something, Fate' Universe, which includes Love, Mistunderstood and Instinctual. Those aren't necessary to enjoy the porny food. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

#

There’s an issue, and it’s Felix Fraldarius standing right before him, tightly clad in his fencing gear.

It shouldn’t be so enthralling. Probably isn’t to most. It isn’t very sexy to be covered from toe to neck in the world’s thickest cotton. Unless you’re Sylvain because then it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. The kind of shit that haunts his worst dreams.

Or best, depending on how tired he is and how much he wants to jerk off.

It isn’t the uniform. Not really. It’s Felix and the way he wears it so commandingly. How he steps back and forth, striking out with his sabre, landing point after point. The way that it frames his perfect ass when he performs a lunge.

Mouthwatering shit, truly.

Felix wins the practice match, as expected. When he pulls his helmet off, he’s sweaty and flushed pink. Sylvain wants to devour him. He just might.

“Hey, how much time before the tournament actually starts?”

“About an hour--”

“Perfect,” says Sylvain. “I only need ten minutes.” Then he pauses, looking Felix up and down. “Maybe five.”

Felix’s gaze narrows, immediately suspicious. “Sylvain,” he starts to warn, but he stops when Sylvain grabs him by the wrist and tugs him towards the emergency stairwell at the corner of the gym.

The door’s locked, much to his aggravation. So, Sylvain thinks. It’s a college gym, nothing fancy. Outfitted for the day’s fencing tournament. It isn’t empty; quite a few people are milling about, prepping for the match and getting their things in order.

Then Sylvain settles on something that just might work and he smiles widely. Felix is going to hate it.

“What are you--”

“This way,” says Sylvain, pulling him along. Felix follows without complaint. And then he sees the bleachers and does nothing but.

“Sylvain!”

“Oh, come on,” says Sylvain. “Live a little.”

“Live a little? I’m supposed to be preparing for a fencing tournament!”

“Which is why you need to relax.” Sylvain reaches out to brush his bangs back from his forehead. “You certainly haven’t lately, between practice and finals.”

“We’re students,” says Felix. “You can’t expect to fuck me all the time.”

“No, but I can dream.” Felix rolls his eyes and moves to pull away, but Sylvain stops him. “Did your stretching help?”

Felix looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “What?”

“What about your warm-up? Do you feel all loosey-goosey and ready to win? Are your limbs like noodles and your mind clear and focused?”

Felix takes way too long to respond. Doesn’t resist any further when Sylvain pulls him underneath the bleachers when no one’s looking. It’s dark and musty, but there’s enough light to see exactly what he’s doing.

“See, I know you like the back of my hand,” says Sylvain, pulling him close. A hand finds Felix’s face, tipping his mouth upwards. “I can tell when you’re frustrated.”

“I think that your definition of frustrated is different than mine,” says Felix obstinately.

“No, I don’t think so.” Sylvain swoops down for a kiss and Felix responds eagerly despite his earlier protestation. Felix is the one whose mouth opens first, tongue slipping out and seeking Sylvain’s. Their teeth clack together, hurried because they know they don’t have much time before someone comes looking for Felix.

“You fuck me a few times and now you think you know all my tells,” says Felix, clearly teasing. He fingers at Sylvain’s collar, undoing the first two buttons. Slips his fingers in to splay across the skin there, scratching through his chest hair.

“That’s because I do,” says Sylvain, moving to press a kiss into Felix’s neck. Nipping at him just barely with his teeth.

Felix steps back and leans against the wall, pulling Sylvain along by his shirt. “You said ten minutes,” he says, and Sylvain’s eyes light up like he’s a kid in a candy shop.

“I think it’d be enough.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Oh. Oh, that’s what kind of mood Felix is in, competitive to a fault. They’ve made love a few times by now, just enough that Sylvain’s gotten an itch for it that he can never fully scratch. But nothing quite like this. Felix is issuing a challenge that he knows Sylvain will answer to. Down and dirty, and frankly-- surprisingly public.

This is more in Sylvain’s wheelhouse. Felix has surprised him.

“Yes,” says Sylvain, licking across the shell of Felix’s ear. “Question is, what do I get if I win?”

“My eternal praise,” says Felix. Not entirely deadpan as usual. There’s a slight hitch to his voice as he thinks about all the terrible, corruptible things that Sylvain can and will do to him.

Sylvain sinks to his knees and grips at Felix’s thighs. “How lucky we are that fencing suits are two pieces,” he says, already pulling at where Felix’s jacket is fastened between his legs.

“You’re absurdly quick at that,” murmurs Felix when Sylvain pulls the buckle apart.

“Desperation,” says Sylvain. “The best motivator.”

Felix snorts, and then hisses lightly when Sylvain leans forward and bites at his hip through the thick cotton, teasing. “Ten minutes then,” says Felix, reaching down to cradle Sylvain’s face between his hands. “That’s how long I’ll give you to prove yourself.”

“Otherwise what?” asks Sylvain. “You’ll head back out there completely hard?”

“Yes.” Sylvain looks up at him and Felix looks back down, smirking haughtily. He would, thinks Sylvain. The bastard. It wouldn’t be comfortable while wearing a cup but Felix sometimes gets off on weird shit.

Sylvain’s nimble fingers undo Felix’s trousers and slides them down in record time. Then he reaches to cup Felix’s backside through the tight polyester of his underthings. “I wasn’t expecting such tight briefs--”

“They’re compression shorts.”

Sylvain peels those off too, sliding them halfway down Felix’s legs. Then he pauses, mouth quirking into a smirk as he looks back up. “What’s this?”

Felix huffs, looking away. “Fencing is a contact sport. Did you expect me to not wear a cup?”

Sylvain can’t help but tease him about it. “Who’s the jockstrap now?” he asks, thinking about the fond insult that Felix used to peg him with.

“Two minutes,” says Felix irately. Sylvain must look confused because he continues with, “By gawking at me you’ve already wasted nearly two minutes.”

“Felix, you aren’t seriously timing me, are you?”

Felix is watching him seriously, though, his face flushed and his eyes half-lidded in lust as he regards him. Sylvain swallows thickly before turning back to Felix’s crotch, fingers sliding underneath the protective layer of the cup.

He probably isn’t, truth be told. Timing him, that is. Still, there’s a thrill to it, the kind of thing that adds a little spice to their romps. It fuels Sylvain, makes pleasure settle in the pit of his stomach. The idea of undoing Felix underneath the stands where anyone could find him.

Felix isn’t usually quiet in moments in moments of pleasure. It’ll prove to be interesting.

Sylvain pulls the jockstrap down, revealing Felix’s cock. He’s already half-hard and twitches slightly under Sylvain’s hawk-eyed gaze. Sylvain’s dreamt about this before, the absolute sordid debauchery of this kind of thing.

Never thought Felix would agree to it, but it has been a frustrating couple of weeks in regards to spending time together. Specifically this kind of thing, in a variety of ways. Sylvain misses being wrung dry, Felix leaving behind nothing by a dry husk. And the quiet morning afters where Felix is unusually soft and brings Sylvain coffee in bed.

Felix’s dick, as always, looks perfect. Entirely delectable. Smells like sweat and Felix which isn’t a deal-breaker. Sylvain wants to swallow it down without further ado, so he does. Wraps his mouth around it, fingers curled around the base as his tongue slides along the underside as he coaxes it to full hardness.

“Fuck,” hisses Felix. One hand still cradles Sylvain’s jaw, but the other moves to grab at his hair in a tight grip, fingers curling into the auburn tresses.

Sylvain wishes they could fuck properly but it’s a terrible time for that, right before a match. Later, he thinks. After the tournament he’ll whisk Felix away, won’t take no for an answer. He’ll treat him right as he opens him up, stretching him on his fingers, then he’ll pound Felix into the mattress like he’s forgotten what it feels like.

He moans around Felix’s cock at the thought, relishing the feel of his length thick in his mouth. Puts all the work that he can into bobbing his head along Felix’s dick, his hand making quick work of the part that his mouth doesn’t cover.

“What’re you thinking about?” asks Felix quietly. The hand on Sylvain’s chin moves so he can drag his thumb across Sylvain’s lips, watching intently where Sylvain’s mouth is wrapped tightly around his cock.

Sylvain pulls off, licking up the side of his dick again, jerking the rest of it with his hand. “Fucking you into the mattress,” he says with no amount of embarrassment. His tongue licks over the tip of Felix’s cock, pressing against the slit there. “Later tonight, of course.”

Felix moans softly, barely catches it by covering his mouth. His other hand still grips Sylvain by the hair, yanking tight enough that it’s just this side of painful. Sylvain loves it, loves him, adores him-- and he says so. Presses the words against the warm skin of Felix’s cock, licking his affection right across his length.

“What if I fuck your mouth instead?” asks Felix quietly. His hands have moved again, grasping Sylvain by the cheeks.

“Yes,” says Sylvain, brain short-circuiting at the idea of Felix losing himself in the feeling of his mouth. “Goddess, Felix. Yes.”

Felix hums at that, looking down at Sylvain dangerously as he hooks a thumb into his lips, tugging them open. “Open up.” It’s a small command but it packs power that rakes across Sylvain, tingling down his spine.

And Sylvain does, of course. Nips at Felix’s thumb then spreads his mouth wide. Sylvain’s hands grip Felix by the thighs. Felix guides Sylvain’s face back to his cock and Sylvain welcomes it.

It’s utterly intoxicating. The way that Felix presses into his mouth, the way that the muscles of his thighs are tightly coiled, and how they contract underneath Sylvain’s hands. Sylvain’s grip shifts slightly, one hand reaching around to palm at Felix’s ass, his fingers digging into the meaty muscle.

When Felix slides in deep, the tip of his cock nestled into the back of Sylvain’s throat, he moans. Looks up to watch Felix as he does so, to see how he responds to the soft vibrations of Sylvain’s sounds. Felix’s expression is flushed and slightly pinched, entirely at odds with the gentle way that he brushes back Sylvain’s bangs.

“Perfect,” says Felix, pulling his hips back before pressing into Sylvain’s mouth again. “You always do what I ask, don’t you?”

Always. Sylvain’s an absolute whore for Felix’s whims; how he shows up at his door on late nights and demands for Sylvain to fuck him, or even here, underneath the bleachers, demanding that he fuck Sylvain’s mouth instead.

Even if pulling Felix back here was Sylvain’s idea in the first place.

Sylvain does his best to accept his thrusts, sliding his tongue across the underside of Felix’s cock. Felix’s movements stutter and then stop, and Sylvain knows that he’s already so close. Ten minutes had been a generous bet because Sylvain originally said he could probably make do with five.

He’s right on track.

Sylvain makes his next move, settling onto Felix’s cock the furthest that he can. Swallowing him entirely down. Felix is relatively average, but even average cocks aren’t easy to take like this, and Sylvain’s eyes water slightly once his nose presses into the coarse hair at the base of Felix’s dick.

“Fuck,” says Felix in a hiss that’s way too loud for semi-public sex. Thankfully, the arena is full of noise; other fencers and newscasters, and people wandering about as they prep for the tournament. Sylvain can’t help but peer up at Felix through his lashes, moaning around his cock.

“Look at you,” croons Felix, scratching his fingers through Sylvain’s hair, pulling lightly at the curls. Trying his best to not buck into the heat of Sylvain’s mouth. “Taking me so well. All the way down, like you were made for this.”

Sylvain never thought he was made for anything until the first time he’d slept with Felix. He’d known then that this was where belonged-- at the behest of Felix and his whims, be that fucking him within an inch of his life, or dropped to his knees and swallowing Felix down like a man starved.

He moans around Felix in response, at the way Felix’s words make his spine tingle. Trust him to talk dirty like this, somewhere so public, where they’re practically on display. Felix’s words are hushed whispers, likely unable to be heard over the sounds of tournament prep around them, but it’s still enough to set Sylvain’s nerves on fire. Just the idea of getting caught, of someone finding him, prostrated before Felix, Sylvain’s mouth stuffed full with his cock, his face ruddy and red with pleasure.

Sylvain’s cock is hard in his jeans and he palms over it desperately. And Felix sees him, watches him through a half-lidded gaze that drops straight to where Sylvain’s hand is.

“Hands off,” says Felix. Sylvain whines around his dick, a pitiful sounding noise, he knows. Felix caresses his jaw gently as he grinds against his mouth, and Sylvain pulls off, sputtering with coughs.

“Felix,” he begs wantonly, squeezing Felix’s ass tightly with one hand while the other hangs above his own crotch, hesitant.

“No,” says Felix in return, “I like you this way too much. So desperate to please me. So close to the edge but never quite there. What was it you said earlier? Something about later tonight?” Felix thumbs at Sylvain’s mouth, and Sylvain sucks the digit in, lapping his tongue around it.

“It’s a nice thought,” continues Felix before guiding Sylvain’s mouth back to his cock. “You fucking me into the mattress, just like I’m about to fuck your mouth.”

“Goddess, the shit that you say,” says Sylvain, pressing his forehead against Felix’s thigh, eyes slipping closed as he just imagines it.

“Only a few minutes left,” says Felix, reminding him of their ridiculous game. “Now, do your worst.”

Sylvain does. He pulls Felix back into his mouth with renewed vigor, head bobbing along his length as he does his best to please. Felix is sinful in the way that he sounds, soft little pants, the occasional moan that he has to cut off with his hand. The way that he bites at his lip, watching as his cock disappears right into Sylvain’s mouth.

It’s nearly enough, thinks Sylvain. He can probably come just like this, entirely untouched as Felix thrusts shallowly into his mouth. A little bit forgiving despite his heavy and lust-ridden words earlier. Sylvain’s hands find Felix’s ass again, fingers digging into his cheeks, pulling at them.

Spreading them just slightly, fingers slipping between his crack. Sylvain doesn’t press into him, of course. He isn’t stupid. Felix has bouts to fence and a tournament to win, and he’d never forgive Sylvain if his horniness lost him a title.

But Sylvain isn’t a saint either; sometimes he can play his own cruel little games. Sylvain sucks Felix’s cock deep into his throat again, and a finger finds his hole. Circles it gently, prods as a small little reminder of what can happen later that night.

Felix’s thighs go taut, the muscles straining underneath Sylvain’s grip. “Shit,” he murmurs, fucking into Sylvain’s mouth with a little more force than intended. Sylvain relishes it though, intoxicated entirely by the heavy weight of Felix’s cock deep in his throat, and the taste of him.

And, you know, the whole being in public thing.

Felix tries to warn him. Does his best, blurting too-quiet words and then what sounds like his name. Sylvain never relents in his touch, never stopped sucking at him or teasing his hole. Keeps eye contact the entire time as he watches from underneath his eyelashes.

This could be the end of him, he thinks, watching Felix as he comes like this, his dick nestled as deep as he can be in Sylvain’s mouth. The low tenor of his voice as he moans, unable to choke it back or cover it up entirely. Though not as practiced as he’d like, Sylvain swallows Felix’s come with little more than a few coughs.

Sylvain’s unbearably hard in his pants, cock aching so bad he feels like it’s going to combust. But he’ll be good for Felix, he won’t touch himself.

Felix is still holding his face softly, thumbing over Sylvain’s cheekbones as he sighs contently. His legs shake with strain as he tries to stand straight on loose limbs. “I swear to the Goddess,” he finally says, brushing Sylvain’s bangs back. “You are the worst influence.”

It’s said with fondness though, and Sylvain gleams back, smiling wide before opening his mouth to show Felix that he’s swallowed all of his spend.

“Filthy,” says Felix. “But entirely expected, when it comes to you.”

Sylvain stands and Felix grabs him by the shirt, pulling him closer. Kisses him sweetly this time, not caring that he just spilled himself into Sylvain’s mouth. The kiss lingers, Sylvain reaching up to comb through Felix’s hair.

When they part, Felix laughs. “You look like you’ve been up to no good.”

There isn’t a doubt that he looks fucked out with swollen hips and his hair a mess. “We’ve been up to no good,” says Sylvain cheekily.

Felix hums at that. “You played dirty, you know.”

“Still took less than ten minutes. What’s my prize?”

Felix doesn’t immediately answer. He only looks at Sylvain, his gaze taking on a strangely loving tone to it. His hands move to right Sylvain’s collar, doing the buttons up before pressing the collar flat.

“I have a tournament to win,” he finally says, stepping back. He begins to dress, pulling up his garments as he tries to compose himself. Doing his best to look like he wasn’t just blown to hell and back.

It’s entertaining to Sylvain, the lengths that Felix will go to seem like he’s infallible to others.

“Felix,” he says, reaching out to grasp at his wrist. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

Felix presses close, pulling Sylvain down so he can whisper into his ear. “Oh, I’m not,” he says, reaching out to cup Sylvain’s raging boner. He’s still hard and aching, still wholly unsatisfied in that regard. Felix gives him a promising squeeze, fingers ghosting along the tented edge of his cock. “We’ll finish this later, I promise.”

Sylvain huffs at the comment, dropping his head to Felix’s shoulder, whining softly at the touch. “Felix, I can’t sit through your matches like this.”

“You will,” says Felix. And he’s right, of course. Sylvain will do anything that Felix asks, especially if it means watching him compete. There’s little more beautiful than Felix doing what he does best, and that’s fencing.

“Goddess, I love you,” says Sylvain, unable to help himself at the moment.

Felix doesn’t say it back, just kisses him again, but it’s enough. It’s all that Sylvain needs.

Well, that and a moment to calm down the raging storm that’s brewing in his pants.

Felix’s name is called over the loudspeaker. They both pause and Sylvain laughs. Felix sighs, combing a hand through his hair. “Do I look presentable?”

“No, but you rarely do,” says Sylvain. Mostly because Felix doesn’t give a shit about his appearance.

Felix double checks his uniform and with one last appraising look to Sylvain’s crotch, he says, “Don’t forget-- Not until tonight.”

“Right-o,” says Sylvain. “Hands off the meat--”

“Sylvain.”

To his credit, Sylvain does fantastic. Waits a few minutes for his erection to go away. Manages to sit through the entire tournament without popping another one-- which in itself is a masterful feat.

When Felix finds him after winning yet another title, he’s sweaty and flushed, eyes smoldering. He’s riding the high of his victory so hard that he actually kisses Sylvain in the middle of the arena. In front of everyone, who gawk at them before politely turning away.

Felix usually avoids all PDA beyond the occasional hand-holding.

“Sylvain,” says Felix, his voice hoarse.

“Alright,” says Sylvain right back. His cock’s already hard and waiting. “Yes, yes, alright. Let’s get you home.”

It’s a hurried affair, one that takes a little too long. They’re barely into Felix’s dorm before Sylvain’s shoved against the wall. Felix returns his earlier favor, incredibly thorough in what he does. Sylvain keens into his mouth, toes curling as Felix does his absolute best to pull him apart.

And Sylvain, as so dutifully promised, fucks Felix into the mattress until he nearly forgets his name.