#the only emotions he has left are rage and the empty abyss of Nothing

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

sin of emptiness akechi goro my beloved

[industria-adastra]

[Vampire Knight] If I'm to be reborn, I'll find you (again, again, again) - CHAPTER ONE: my clematis (hope died in the abyss) - [2/4]

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Summary: And in his hands, his flower wilts, and fades away.

There is not even a body left.

Note: Does anyone actually write VK fic in 2023. Is the VK fandom alive lmao

Would Kaname be like this if Yuuki died? Perhaps. He's a character deeply shaped by loss and hinges a lot of his desire to live or die on Yuuki. He also probably considered her 95% minimum as his own emotional support system. Kaname is very messed up lmao. Honestly, I feel like this was a better potential ending for Yuuki dying before his original plans were complete. (Sorry Kaname I'm sad about killing off my personal best girl too) At least I didn't make him go apeshit. (That would be more in line with my WIP Shizuka Hiou character study fic).

Like last time, I recommend playing Miyashita Yuu's cover of "Condolences, and Then Life Goes On". Ah, and the ao3 link.

Pairings featured: Yuuki/Kaname, Yuuki/Zero (mentioned)

------

Yuuki (beautiful, wondrous, dying) is like ice in his arms, as if crystallising within the seconds before she shatters in his arms. The words she’d said (I love you), echo in his mind alongside the ringing in his ears. 

Kaname stares down at his palms and finds them empty. Empty, empty, empty. 

Yuuki is dead.

(And there was not even a body left)

There is a building scream in his head, and he’s all too sure his expression is more akin to a monster than a man. The ground quakes beneath his feet, rumbling a warning to nearby unfortunate fellows. And then, for a scant few seconds, it stops.

Kaname could practically taste the relief from the ants close by, thanking their lucky stars for the Kuran heir’s iron-clad control. But all iron rusts, and Kuran Kaname has been dealt a terrible, irrevocably horrible blow. It is only the calm before the storm. He crushes the maelstrom of fury building in his chest into a ball but doesn’t swallow it whole.

Silence… And then, unceremoniously, suddenly—cracks appear in the earth, a storm builds, and the trees groan. Kaname allows the hatred and rage to explode forth whilst still, he stares, blankly, at the space where Yuuki’s small body had once been. Stares, no longer feeling the lingering residue of her warmth. His legs feel numb.

(He is sure that the filthy rats who surrounded them the moment blood hit the water will not come out alive today. Kaname will most surely make it so it will become a reality.)

Suddenly, there is no more light at the end of the road. Suddenly, Kaname is nothing but a blinded man stumbling in the cold unforgiving darkness, grasping for a warm light that will never come. The sun is gone, and already he can feel the frost settling in. Feels it deep in his bones, feels it in his heart as if it might turn to ice at any moment.

With Yuuki gone, what was there to live for? His power builds, destroying everything around him with a frightening ease as he ponders this question. All his plans, all his work—ultimately, it had all begun for Yuuki’s sake. To create a world where she would be forever safe, forever happy (within the sunlight she had so adored, that he had taken away in a moment of selfishness). He had loved her to the point where he would’ve died for her (and he had planned to). 

Yet now… She was no more. She was gone, gone, gone. And now he feels directionless, a boat lost at sea without a lighthouse to guide his way home.

(And with her had gone the warmth within his heart)

A storm rages violently around him.

Kaname stares at his empty hands, and makes a decision.

Everything comes to a standstill.

-

Kuran Kaname has always been a creature of patience, of control. But at this point in time, even he struggles to bite down and continue living—if only for a now nebulous goal that he brings to the altar of worship to someone beyond the land of the living.

He’ll create the world he had so desired for her. He’ll do so in her name, for the sake of preserving that world of light she had loved. Now, there was no need to temper his cruelty with gentility. Not when there was no one else to be gentle for. No one to shed the skin of a monster for.

(And perhaps if he does so, he’ll have an afterlife in her arms)

As always, the blood is bitter, nearly flavourless on his tongue, already flaking away into dust alongside the other bodies. As always, he has brought about a swift, violent end to his obstacles. The days continue to pass, and the skeletons continue to pile. He builds a kingdom of peace, brick by brick with offerings of flesh, bone and blood.

As always, he is alone, alone, alone.

(Goals were good. Goals stopped him from thinking too deeply, from remembering. From losing his way and sinking into the comforting dirt.

Soon, he’ll be done.

Soon, he’ll see her again.

Even if it’s only the never-ending dream of the dead.)

-

They say the king of monsters resides in a house of the dead, a house of memories.

-

As strong as he is, even Kaname can fall prey to sudden weaknesses. 

Sometimes, when the desire swells to an unbearable degree, he crawls into the sheets of her bed—content to bask in her fading presence. For a moment or three, he can delude himself, can pretend that all is right in the world, as right as it always is in his dreams. Yet he dares not stay for too long, too afraid that one day her scent will only be covered by his own. That one day he will have nothing to remember her by but the gaping hole in his heart and soul. If he could, he would tie down those precious memories of her with chains; lock them down and throw away the key.

He hoards her items like a greedy dragon does with treasure, unwilling to part with a single one of them. Kaname has always been only so kind to a certain extent, and has only been the most kind to his most precious person. Years upon years passing by will slowly destroy gentility within anyone.

Again, he inhales the smell of her, feeling the exhaustion heavy in his bones. 

His throat always seizes when it does so; it is always dry and he is forevermore wanting, forevermore hungry for the blood of someone no longer in this world.

(He wonders if this was how Rido felt after Juri's death. Never satisfied, always craving. Wanting, wanting, wanting.)

The bed is always cold when he lies on it.

-

They say the king lives in a house that’s withering away with time, still never changing in accordance with a rapidly developing world.

-

Every decade or so, he journeys out around the world. Seeing the sights, taking photos, and buying souvenirs for someone who never got the chance to see the full beauty of the world. One by one, these hollow memories fill his own bedroom, a reminder of what could have been.

-

In the world of beasts, society is ruled by power and fear.

On a throne above the rest, he is an ever-vigilant, watching eye—daring anyone to step a toe out of line. No one ever does but the most foolish, most beastly of them all. Even then, the punishment is enough for obedience to take root.

Kaname has always been good at being alone.

(He knows that they still follow him, but it is a loyalty and trust stained by fear, chipped away by the ever-growing walls around his heart. Grief makes monsters of men.)

-

The world of men is not quite so different from that of beasts.

It is in the boundary between the two worlds that he meets Kiryuu Zero again.

As creatures of the night, physically, they look the same as that fateful year in the academy—young, everlasting. But like recognises like, and Kaname spies similarity in the pallor of their skin, the cold steel of his half-mad eyes, and the apathy deep within every action. His clothes, if it were even possible, look messier than Kaname remembers.

Looking at him now is like looking at a mirror. He gazes into dull lavender eyes and cannot muster up to feel anything at all. What point is there, after all?

(They have both loved and lost)

“How have you been, Kiryuu-kun?” At this point, there is no use for false airs and pleasantries, but Kaname does so anyway, going through the motions of a long-remembered script. Kiryuu is the leader of the Hunter’s Association now, and it does no good to try and shatter the newfound peace between all on a petty whim.

The coldness of his gaze does not change, and neither does his stoic face. “Fine,” is all Kiryuu offers in response. A beat of silence, and then he states, “You’ve been busy.” 

“No more than you have been.” 

Paper slowly shuffles in Kiryuu’s hands, being sorted out one by one. Their stilted conversation is bland, no better than the time they had pretended to be friendly to each other in Cross Kaien’s school office. “There are always many things to attend to, even as there’s less vermin to exterminate.” Even the acid Kiryuu tries to fling does nothing more but fizzle and pop.

“Speaking of vermin. I am quite sure that you will soon find time for a vacation.” At that, Kaname turns to gaze out of the window, eyes fixed on a brown-haired pair down below.

The papers stop shuffling. “I see. Then I should start preparing for that time.” And with that, there is only silence between the two of them.

There is no lost love between the both of them, but at the very least, they can share a moment of understanding. (Of finality)

-

Perhaps Kaname feels kind today, revisiting the past. Or perhaps he is simply tired. Maybe that is why he leaves behind Artemis, lying on a faded prefect’s armband.

(She had loved him too, even at the very end)

-

And one day, when it is all said and done—the foundations laid, the kingdom strong—Kuran Kaname allows himself to unravel, wither, and fade away.

He wonders if she’ll meet him with a smile from her heart.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Angst in coming. Diluc Zhongli and your pick being haunted by the SO they couldnt save.

Lingering Regret

Warning -> Only Angst (there isn’t a happy ending here, the reader is dead, all interactions are memories*, mentions of Kaeya (D), illness non-specific (Zh)) 

( i made myself cry ) 

Character X GN Reader | Anthology 

Includes: Dainsleif, Diluc, Zhongli 

The ghosts of the past cling to our shadows and seep into our memories when we least expect them to. For some they can move on, they can be healed by the passing of time, but for others, it becomes a festering wound that will never seal. 

Dainsleif

He was no stranger to regret, absolutely everything in his life was a torturous experience. From the day he became the Bough Keeper to the night he failed them all, it was a memory burned in his mind for all eternity and as if he bore the weight of all of Teyvats karma he wove it into the fabric of his being 

There was nothing he thought could break him more, could lower himself further into the sinking sandpit that was his life - that was until the day he met you

Just how many years ago was it now. With the curse of immortality like a chain to a world he was obligated to avenge, it was growing harder and harder to remember you - but there were moments when he could see and those were the ones he longed to hold onto 

“Dainsleif, are you ready?” Your voice called down to him, his eyes flooded by the bright light that surrounded you as you patiently waited for him to climb the dark stairs. You followed him everywhere, much to his disagreement, but he had grown warm to your company. “The day won’t wait for us, you know.” 

The light was so bright, why was it hiding your face? Wait -- let me see your face, I can’t remember. Don’t … don’t leave. 

He blamed himself for your death - there was no one else who could have stopped it but him and, on the day you left this world to a place he had no way of reaching, was the day he stopped caring 

There were rumors of a man who took little to no payment for almost any job - 300 mora and he’d handle your issue. They called him “The soulless vessel” for he was void of any and all emotions 

How could he hold onto something that he didn’t understand anymore, how was he capable of experiencing a sensation that had no more purpose - he was nothing but a shell without you 

“Psst, Daini. Hey sleepy, wake up.” The sound of your laughter, let me hear it again.

“Silly, we can’t sleep forever, wake up.” The touch of your hands, oh I remember them now … were they always this small. 

“I guess we can rest a bit longer, you know I won’t mind.” Your lips, how could I have forgotten their warmth; I’ll let you remind me. 

“Dainsleif, I love you.” 

The birds pulled him from his dream, their chirping calls to each other a playful and carefree tune. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face, how it cast its glow across his lips but as the memory of his dream began to fade away he covered his eyes with his hand to hide the tears that disappeared into his hair.

“Forgive me …” 

 Diluc

Lingering ghosts loved to slip into the darkness that was Diluc Ragnvindr - when they fit so perfectly there, why wouldn’t they make him their home 

He had countless people close to him perish and each one was a direct result of his actions - his father, a slash of a blade, his brother, a clash of opposing elements, his values, a single dismiss of a hand, his friends, the darkness of the abyss and the hands of the Fatui -- there was nothing he let get close anymore because it was only a matter of time before he brought it crumbling to the pit of his existence 

How could he have been so naive - what was hope but a debilitating disease and yet you purged all of that from his mind every time you entered his space, every time you pushed your way past the walls he so expertly crafted -- you were the last thing he clung to, the last light he vowed to protect 

“You know, you don’t have to worry about me all the time, I’m more capable than you think.” You crossed your arms and gave him a cocky smirk, the bag of supplies resting at your feet as they waited for you to pick them back up again. It was only because of his hesitancy that they were there in the first place. 

“I have seen your capabilities many times, yes.” 

“So, what, you don’t trust me.” 

“That is far from the truth.” He looked at you for a moment before sighing in defeat. His hand reached for the bag and lifted it to your hands. “Do be careful, is all that I ask.” 

“You know I will.” With a bright smile, you took the pack and slung it over your shoulder. In your excitement, you turned toward the door before pausing as if you forgot something and when you hurled yourself back to him only to place a kiss on his lips, he felt the heat from his pounding heart rise into his cheeks. “See you soon, handsome.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

The distant and closed-off winery owner turned into a being of rage the day of your death. No matter how hard those closest to him tried to quell the wildfire that was his fury, they could only stand back and deal with the aftermath - The flame of Diluc’s devastation was so great that it left a permanent scar in Mondstadt and to this day the earth has yet to heal 

It was on him to protect you and he couldn’t, he wasn’t even there to try and he wasn’t sure what was worse - but one was for sure, the anguish he felt knowing you called out for him but he never came to save you ate him up inside. He wasn’t Diluc Ragnvindr anymore, he was no-one 

“Diluc! Come back!” Kaeya shouted but he couldn’t hear over the sound of the violent crashing and eerie nothingness in front of him. 

“Kaeya, don’t!” Another voice joined the noise but Diluc didn’t turn around. In front of him was the only answer to his shattered and empty heart. 

“Diluc please, they wouldn’t want this!” Kaeya reached for Diluc’s arm but the pressure and wind from the opening were so great it felt like a thousand anchors were strapped to his body. “Diluc!” 

Suddenly, there was silence. No noise, no sound but the world continued to whip around like a violent storm. Kaeya’s fingers touched the fabric of his brother's coat and, as Diluc turned his head to look back, tears were streaming down his face. It was strange to see Diluc’s lips moving as if he were saying something but there was nothing, an unbearable amount of nothing.

Riddled with fear, Kaeya extended his hand toward the rip in space and as soon as he felt the pulse of his vision escape his fingers, his others curled around Diluc’s jacket and flung him backward. In the settling explosion, the sound of the world slipped back in and as those who cared deeply for the man who no longer knew his name drew closer, the first thing they saw was his hunched-over body guarded by blue and the sound of his painful cries. 

Zhongli

To know suffering, to know loss was nothing new to the Geo Archon. For six thousand years he watched those close to him rise in greatness and fall in agony - for some they were thrust into death by a number of means and for others, well, his hands have never been clean 

Still, even if he had known what it was like to lose someone he loved, it was never easy and while he always knew the day would come when you left this world to walk a path he’d never know, it wasn’t something he expected so soon 

There were endless memories he couldn’t wait to make with you - the engraving your life into the notches of his soul, to be reminded of your face by simply turning around, to recall your wit with banter of his own, to be inspired by you every single day he stepped out the door -- why didn’t you stay 

“Welcome home, Zhongli.” You were already preparing the table with the teacups by the time he entered your home. It was elegant incarnate to watch you move around the room, to place everything so perfectly and properly that he wondered if you hadn’t been a spirit in another life. 

“I am home.” He reached for your waist and pulled you close, his smile setting yours off, and as the kettle began to sound he first greeted you with a heartwarming kiss. 

There are many things he can circumvent - his capabilities are endless but he found that no matter how strong a person is, there is one thing strength cannot beat 

To watch you slowly suffer was a torturous thing. Every day you grew weaker and weaker, your skin changed but the kindness of your smile outweighed it all until the day finally came ... 

A ceremony to send someone off is a beautiful thing, a celebration of their life while they kept it their own, a remembrance and blessing to hold strong every impact they made - but to Zhongli that day was laced with bitterness 

He made the arduous steps up the hillside. His legs carried him on even when nothing else of him felt the desire to do so. When he finally reached the peak, he prepared everything so skillfully as if he’d practiced this a thousand times, and it's possible he did for there was no end to his life even if he wished for it. 

“My dear, the flowers are blooming splendidly.” He set the burning incense by the weathered tombstone. It had faded and eroded over the years, but as he brushed the engraving with his fingers, he could still make out its marks. 

The chimes in the tree rang out as he poured a glass of tea before setting it against the small offering before you. “Ah, I can only hope you are able to see them from beyond the veil.” As he gazed out over the vast field, the sun illuminated the thousands of flowers that surrounded your grave, and, as he took a sip of his tea, he sighed contentedly before continuing, “Never worry, I shall cultivate more until you do. I know how fond you were of flowers.”

--

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[blzzrdstryr]

Dainsleif - general yandere hcs

[Mondstadt edition]

[Liyue edition]

Starring: Dainsleif

CW:Yandere themes

Dainsleif never thought that he would get attached to anyone, not after the tragedy he had to endure. The fall of Khaenri’ah hollowed him out, left a shell of a person he used to be, with nothing but hatred for Celestia and one-sided fight against Abyss order. That’s why he gets speechless once he sees you for the first time, a long forgotten and almost unfamiliar sensation washing over him.

He is far from being a spiritual person, abhorring the very idea of divine and celestial, yet in that moment he feels some sort of religious reverence, one that devoted worshippers experience upon gazing at their god, and finds himself lost.

It’s easy to forget how to casually interact with others when one spends five centuries in self-inflicted solitude and so Dainsleif doesn’t, preferring to observe you from afar hiding in shadows and among other people. You and your company won’t notice anything, five hundred years of experience lending a nice advantage to Bough Keeper as he continues to stalk you.

Dainsleif rarely thinks about the wrongness and immorality of his own actions - khaenri’ahn has seen, done and lived through so much his mind rarely picks out these things as corrupt or depraved. Moreover, he doesn’t do anything to you directly, he just watches.

He would be content with simply observing you, soaking up all the expressions you make and words you say, but he starts to worry. Dainsleif’s anxiety regarding you is inevitable and unavoidable - man just lost so many things and people who were dear to him, he imagines threats and dark omens everywhere you go. Once said anxiety reaches a certain level, he will decide to take very harsh and desperate measures.

He will kidnap you.

Your fear, rage and hatred won’t be punished as Dainsleif pretty much sympathizes with you, knowing how scary it must be to be yanked out of your ordinary life by some stranger. He doesn’t hold any delusion or spins false narratives in that regard, understanding that he abducted you not out of ultimately good intentions and high, noble goals, but to soothe his own restlessness and fears.

You can try to exploit this, because as much as Dainsleif is obsessed with you he also feels guilty, because he knows what it means to lose everything in one swift moment. You should be careful though, as Bough Keeper may not be the most sociable person to exist, he has his fair share of experience under his belt, and he can usually tell when someone is lying or not. This misdeed won’t be punished too, but he will be disappointed at you for deceiving him and at himself for falling for your lies, and he will also act somewhat colder the next two weeks.

You will be forced to travel along him - while Dainsleif deeply cherishes you, his affections are still not enough to divert him from his own goals. He will force you to be tied up during the journey if you are defiant, and only once you're broken enough he will lift his restrictions. Travelling with him will be a highly unsatisfying experience - Dainsleif was never the one to care a lot about comfort, and while he wants to provide only the best of you, he kind of forgets what is comfortable and uncomfortable in an ordinary person’s eyes, too used to surviving in harsh environments. Prepare to spend a lot of nights sleeping under the sky and get used to the tasteless and bland travelling food.

You can complain and whine about your discomfort, but Dainsleif won’t do anything about it, resorting to empty promises and reassurances that, no, you won’t have to spend the next week sleeping on the ground.

If your relationship will somehow progress into a more “consensual” phase, then you will find Bough Keeper looming over you almost all the time he can. Dainsleif is a very touch starved person, he hadn’t had any close contact since the destruction of his nation, and while he wants to caress and handle you he can’t, not without your permission anyway. There's also a deal of him being tainted by Abyss, dark lines streaking all over his skin, and he doesn't want any of your part being "contaminated" by both him and Abyss. You will have to push him for any physical contact, and even then, once you've given him permission, you will still have to reassure him that it's fine. Dainsleif might not show it, but he thinks of himself as less than a human, but abyssal abomination left after the fall of Khaenri’ah.

Dainsleif will be content with any kind of Darling, but he will fall extra hard for someone with an expressive or bubbly personality. Five hundred years of solitude almost made him forget what it is to feel something besides grief or rage, and he's very hungry for any kind of positive emotions. He likes that his Darling is so expressive, so open, allowing him to bask in their light, his personal ball of sunshine.

Dainsleif hugs like a drowning person - bone crushing and desperate, and you don’t know what to do - it’s the fifth month after your initial “meeting” and you see him so emotional for the first time. The man still wears that stone mask of the face, yet the way he moves and speaks is different - open and vulnerable. It’s a rare sight to see.

“There, there”, you awkwardly pat his back, feeling out of place with each passing second. He doesn’t reply to you, deciding to kiss the crook of your neck instead, hot breath burning your skin. And then you sense it - the weight of five centuries, the dead nation and far too many corpses to grieve and bury.

Dainsleif doesn’t cry, you don’t think he has any tears left to shed, so you do it for him, fat droplets blurring your vision. It takes you by surprise, how much pity and love you can feel for someone who has ruined your life.

[saphirered]

I Don’t Hate You (Vagrant pt3.)

The lady at the front desk gives you a dirty look as you come straggling in, leaving a wet trail behind you, boots sopping with an equally disgruntled expression on your face. You toss her a coin, if only to be done with it all and go back up the stairs. There you see, Fjord is no longer sitting in the hallway and probably either has gotten himself a room of his own or Molly’s taken mercy upon the half-orc and let him sleep peacefully and undisturbed in their shared room. A sense of dread still lingers as you approach your door and you take a sip from the opened bottle in your hand, hoping to find some courage to push you over the edge and just get it over with. You can see the hint of orange light bleeding through the small gap. 

When the door opens Caleb looks up from his book, or well, your book. You look like an absolute mess and he knows you know you do. It’s an unspoken agreement to not comment on this fact made in that brief moment of eye contact, for both of your sakes. 

“Do not question my terrible life’s choices, Widogast.” You grumble as you let yourself fall backwards on your bed. You don’t even have the energy to magic away the remainders of the rain that kept you company from your soaked person. Well, that or the fact that the droplets rolling down your skin hid the tears from the panic attack and brief existential crisis you had on that rooftop before you came down. 

Caleb puts down the book, gets up from the bed and slowly and carefully inches over to your side of the room. He hesitantly sits down on the edge. You have half the mind to kick him off just because but can’t find the energy to do so. Despite your distaste for magic users like him, being alone after your mental breakdown you just experienced, really sucks. Caleb pats your knee awkwardly in an attempt to comfort but not wanting to cross any boundaries. It’s pathetic, he knows because one can hardly fix a stab wound by slapping on a bandaid. His own past experiences have left him a tad bit at a loss when it comes to comforting a person in pain, especially one so stubborn and crass as you have been towards him. 

Still, Caleb has figured out your hatred isn’t directed at him personally. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s people with abilities like him that have played a part in your past causing you pain and suffering and the wound is still very fresh, hence your trauma being reflected onto him, despite his complete lack of involvement in your before the moment you met. It may not have helped that your hostility towards him hasn’t exactly encouraged him to try and build a proper relationship with you. He hardly even knows you yet still he feels as if he knows your tells, the things you go through and why you act like you do. He may not know the details of your life but he feels safe to say he knows you better than any of the others. 

It’s not his lack of knowledge and insight into your life beyond what’s surface and what he can read off you that holds him back. It’s the fear of what he might find within you that will tear open wounds of his own he’s worked so hard to cover up. It’s the fear you might be one step ahead of him in a similar story and there is no hope for people like you and him after all. It’s the fear those you run from are the same people he has tried so hard to escape. It’s the fear of you, that you might be each others’ salvation, or undoing because he knows what he has the capability to become, what you could become. 

But here you lie, upon your bed curled up, traces of tears long since fallen, possibly even ran out, tightness in your throat, indents of your nails in your palms from clenching too much, frustration and anger in your eyes is still overwhelmed by pain and hopelessness and a wish the void would just come and claim you, where you no longer fear the consequences of running and will be able to obliterate those who caused you so much hurt, or die trying in the process. Caleb is reminded of himself in that cell of his own, for years, a broken mind piecing itself together from the shambles it was left in, barely a shell of what it used to be. 

When he promised himself he would do anything and everything in his power to take down these tormentors and their accomplices so no one would ever have to suffer like he had, still is suffering, Caleb didn’t expect to find you. He still remembers himself begging, praying, screaming just to not be alone, to have someone tell him there is still hope and not all is lost. There’s still good in this wretched world and if the world turns bleak, it’s up to you to be that good despite everything. Those were the pretty words and empty promises of a dreamer but does that make them a lie? 

“Don’t patronise me. I’m not some fragile broken child in need of mothering.” Caleb retreats his hand, clasping them together in his lap as he studies your face. Your eyes are cold, your expression matching. A mask, he knows. A way to protect yourself. 

“Good. Because I have no intention of doing so. I want you to be blunt and truthful and I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to humour me and answer some questions.” You raise an eyebrow expecting there to be something behind Caleb’s request but his stare is unreadable, like a practiced mask of his own. 

“You want me to be blunt and give you a peace of my mind?” You humour. You’ll tell the asshole okay. You’ll bicker and fight and quarrel if that’s what he wants no problem. Maybe a battle of wits and words will get you back into your groove. 

Little do you know that is in fact not what Caleb is looking for. Not exactly. He isn’t looking for a fight. He’s looking for answers, how to help you despite your differences because no one deserves to go through this, especially not alone. So because of that, he will not humour you in turn with his usual reply to your attempts to push him. He doesn’t intend this to end in another futile empty argument. Not now. So he’ll drop the game and go straight for the jugular. 

“Why do you hate me?” You freeze at the abrupt and sudden question. Caleb knows you don’t really hate him personally but coddling you won’t work and some things you’ll have to realise by yourself first. Finding the strength to lean up on your elbows you tilt your head at him as a half smirk creeps upon your lips.

“Because you’re an egotistical self-serving bastard who cares for nothing but himself and the people useful to him, until they outlive their usefulness.” The words are meant to cut like knives and usually you’d get a rise out of Caleb by such a statement but when you don’t see any response to your words, nothing but those blue eyes staring into yours so… unbothered, it feels as if those knives are turned onto you instead. You’re not quick enough to get rid of that tiny hint of guilt slithering across your features. 

“Why do you hate me?” Caleb asks again, voice still calm like it’s the most unremarkable question ever. He could have asked you about the weather with that tone. 

“Because you’re an asshole.” 

“Why do you hate me?” 

“Seriously? I already gave you an answer. Was I not clear the first time?” That guilt in your stomach starts growing, festering. There’s something in your mind pushing through but you try to fight it off, not liking the thought of being faced with those emotions. You’ve worked too hard to push them away. 

“Just answer the question. Why do you hate me?” Caleb sees you struggle. Your first answers where in the blink of an eye, a defence mechanism slipping into place. That works, for a while, until it doesn’t, until you start questioning it and give yourself a moment to think.

“Because…” Because you’re a coward. Because you run from your problems. Because you leave other people to swipe up the mess for you. Because you’re a monster to blame for the pain of others. Because you’re to blame for your own pain. Because you couldn’t save them. Because. Because. Because. Those are not reasons you hate Caleb. You take in a sharp breath, clenching your jaw in anger, nose scrunching holding at bay the curses from passing your lips and the threat of all your emotions from spilling out like a breaking dam. 

“Why do you hate me?” The words now, do not sound void of emotion, but instead are filled with a warmth and pity. Damn him! Damn him to the hells and abyss! When you don’t answer he repeats it again. Caleb gives you amicable time to answer, leaving a long silence to give your mind the time and space to think for itself, analyse and process and you hate every second of it because you can’t stop it. The cracks in the walls you’ve tried to hard to build become more apparent by the second. He asks again. 

“I don’t bloody hate you!” You shout, pretty sure you may just have woken up the entire floor. The silence after the words leave your lips is deafening. 

“Then what do you hate about me that causes you to act the way you do?” Your hands clench back into fists, your nails pressing down again in the still tender skin from but minutes ago. You don’t want to say it. You really don’t but that pain raging through your body wants to get out and you feel the floodgates opening inch by inch despite your efforts to fight it. Then there’s that voice in the back of your mind; maybe speaking the unspoken will give you some peace. 

“I don’t hate you! I just hate what your remind me of. It’s like you’re here to personally torture me so please just leave me alone to suffer, get over it and move on.” You don’t want to remember the last time you pleaded for something, and had hoped to never plead for anything again yet here you are. 

“I am going to give you a choice and I’ll only offer it once, so listen very carefully.” You’ve never seen Caleb look so intense, so genuine, and so determined. You can’t do anything but listen so you nod, signalling him to continue and that you’re paying attention to his every word and not to twist them for your own amusement for once. Whatever previous relation, or rather lack thereof you’ve had is gone now. There’s only you two, in a place of vulnerability and without judgement. 

“You’ve got two options. One; you tell me to piss off, like you usually do. I’ll go back to bed, back to sleep and leave you alone. We will never speak of this again, never mention this and go our separate ways. We will remain cordial when interacting and won’t let our own grievances get in the way of the others.” You take in the words, nodding to confirm you understand. 

“Or two; you and I are going to talk. You are going to tell me what you wish, and can tell me provided it’s the truth and I will listen. If you wish to tell me your life story I will listen. If you wish to tell me all your troubles I will listen. If you wish to share your pain, I will listen. And know that I will help you if you’ll allow me to. Because if you keep doing this on your own, let the guilt and grief and pain swallow you whole, I know exactly where it will lead. Do not allow it to be your undoing, or turn you into a person beyond your recognition.” Midway through his offer your eyes have closed and your brow furrows. You bit your lip and that combined with the movement of your eyes behind your eyelids are the only indication to Caleb you’re still listening to him. 

Caleb gives you time. He doesn’t expect an answer right away. That’s not how this works but he does study you, attempting to get an inkling of what’s going through your mind. He feels warmth wrap around his wrist, glancing down to notice your fingers have wrapped around it and hold on tightly. You’re holding onto a lifeline and he knows it. 

“Why?” Your, words a pained choke, you don’t dare open your eyes, don’t trust the look in Caleb’s eyes to tear down what last defences you had up and turning you into even more of a broken mess. 

“Because despite what people might have you believe, there is still good in this world.” You’re unable to stifle a sob, feeling a tear slide down your cheek. 

“I’ve not known much kindness in my life but I feel confident in saying this is the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me. It’s why my pervious actions and words towards you make me feel like an absolute ass even more. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me.” You release Caleb’s wrist, feeling grounded once more despite the buzzing in your head and twiddle with your fingers awaiting a response, the tense air slowly lifting as you sit in peace and silence. 

You nod, wiping at the corners of your eyes before you open them, a bit more red and puffy than they were before you entered the room. You finally look at the wizard and take in a deep breath before nodding again. If it were anyone else, any other moment you might have said no. You’d even have laughed at whoever tried this emotional shit on you. But it’s time. You’re not getting any better nor can you repress everything forever. It’s time to face some of these troubles head on. Luckily you won’t have to do it on your own. It will take time and effort and it’s going to hurt like hell but it has to be done. You have to move on and learn how to live. You owe it to yourself, if not the people you’ve left behind. 

“Now this doesn’t mean we’re going to be best friends from now on. You’re still an asshole and so am I so don’t think I’ll let you off easy for your comments and the trouble you cause.” The corner of Caleb’s lips turns up slightly as he speaks and you mimic his expression.

“I don’t think anyone else could handle it, so I’m sorry to disappoint but you’re definitely stuck with me, Widogast.” You muster a smile, exhausted. It’s mutually understood the conversation as per your agreement won’t happen right here, right now but instead when you’re both ready. For now, at least you won’t pretend to hate each other anymore and start over. 

“Hey, Caleb?” You ask.

“Yes?” He answers but before he knows it your arms wrap around him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb’s form goes rigid shocked by not only the gesture but by the physical touch itself. After a good few moments he finds himself ease just a little, enough to return the embrace lightly.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

[chipper-smol]

*cracks my writing knuckles bc my artistic patience isn’t enough to fill the ambiance and tone properly*

2K WORDS. JUST FOR YOU GUYS

Was their ire and spiteful nature exclusively directed at the Pale King? Some retainers of the palace would say yes. Others would object and say it extended to the Five Great Knights as well since Ogrim had yet to hold onto his charm for longer than a day and Hegemol continued to wield a pole instead of a mighty hammer.

Well if you asked the source, they would simply stare at you silently, but you might get the impression that they had strong opinions (a wild thing for a vessel to have) on a few individuals other than the King.

Which is why the Feral Vessel is currently running for their life with the Great Nailmaster Sly hot on their back.

“Give it back you impetuous brat!” Sly roars behind them as he bounces off the walls at unfathomable speeds. Ghost, now going by Feral, is only surviving thanks to their knowledge of Sly’s moves from the Godseeker’s Pantheons. Sly’s jumps are still wildly unpredictable to them, but their now longer legs help them meet the speed needed to dodge the flea’s grabs.

Why are they doing this in the first place?

Well because when a rule is made that the Feral Vessel isn’t allowed a nail in the palace, or in any location in Hollownest, the only reasonable way to follow that rule, if you are said Feral Vessel, is to obtain nails of increasing ridiculous sizes. They first took their sibling’s old nail after the Pure Vessel grew out of it, and then they continued from there. They thought of borrowing Sheo’s nail for a day, but they quickly realized after finding the three Nailmasters that they were still the three Nailstudents. They were adorable but small and didn’t have their nails.

So Sly was there and Feral had some lingering rage left over from the Pantheons and well, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Two aspids with one stone. Now they were finding out that conceptualizing that plan and executing that plan were completely different things.

How do they get him off their back!? They already tried losing him through the maze that is the White Palace but they could not build any distance between them and Sly to make the endless corners and hallways useful. They need something- anything-

A-HA! One of Hornet’s web traps! (ingenious sticky things that clung ruthlessly to the clothing of the royals that walked this palace.)

Feral musters up their soul to push themself into one last burst of speed. They dash over the top of the trap just as they hear Sly zooming right at their back. With a twist of their leg and a firm grip on the oversized nail they spin at the last moment and swat the flea with his own nail into the poorly hidden nest of sticky silk.

The indignant yell of rage made that whole marathon worth it.

Not wanting to squander their momentary freedom from Sly’s wrath, they quickly turn and hightail it out of there.

Left. Straight. Left. Right. Straight. Straight. Up. Up. Right. Left-

That should be enough, right? Feral slows down and leans against a wall to catch their breath. Great Pale Beings they have not felt that much adrenaline since the first time they danced with Grimm. They were safe, for now. Feral straightens up, adjusts the greatnail onto their back and looks around.

...

They glance back from where they came.

Where... is this? They know the palace like the back of their hand, even without the buzzsaws. This corridor isn’t familiar. There is only one open doorway with a shining pale light gently leaking into the tiled hallway. Curious yet cautious they approach. They had a sharp greatnail after all.

They step into the light and freeze as they see the towering form of the Queen leaning like a drifting tree over a lush bush. Her back was turned to them, maybe they could-

“Vessel,” her voice, even though a whisper is loud enough to seem like she’s speaking at normal volume. Feral had noticed that with all of the higher and pale beings they’ve known. They all whisper.

Still, they had conflicting feelings toward their mother that they hadn’t yet put into words. They were avoiding her. They still want to avoid her.

“Come, garden with me,” she says, not lifting her head an inch from her work. Feral itches to disobey, but the urge feels wrong. It doesn’t carry the same gleeful note that comes with directly ignoring the King’s orders. They don’t have a solid reason to dislike their mother and it doesn’t feel right to force one either.

It’s not often they feel hesitant, but the Queen has a fae-like air about her. She could hide cruel remarks in what seem to be compliments. They had seen her pick apart arguments to the letter until her opponent had nothing else to say. She wields her words like she would a nail, and a battlefield of diction is an area Feral is massively lacking in. Hopefully she doesn’t want much. Hopefully she wants them to retrieve some confusing herb or something.

Carefully, they enter the room— a green house— and slowly make their way over to the White Lady’s side. They peer over at what she’s tending to. It looks like a bundle of dozens of little blue buds. Her hands glow underneath and the flowers respond by drifting up gradually and opening their delicate petals.

Feral watches quietly.

“They are not what they make themself appear to be,” she says after a long pause. Feral tenses. She reaches to her side where a basket of tools hangs from a kingsmould that Feral didn’t realize was there and picks up a humorously small pair of scissors compared to her massive hands. She carefully begins to snip the bases of those small flowers, collecting them in one hand as they fall, “My senses may be fading as things do with time, but I am not yet so blind to see that they know things that they should not.”

Feral never tried to hide their emotions and personality when they emerged from the Abyss, but they found themself smothering their nervousness before it could leak out of them.

“… they are nervous?” The Queen finally turns to look at Feral with her slightly glassy blue eyes, “I did not intend my words to be a threat, but their reaction proves my thoughts correct.”

Feral maintains as much eye contact as they can before turning their gaze to the floor. The full force of a pale being’s attention wasn’t a thing most bugs could endure. She watches them. Silent. Considering.

“It is odd. I have wanted children of my own for so long, yet what I have received from this world is curious,” she turns back to the blue flowers and snips two more into her hand, “one offspring that is meant to be empty, yet wishes to be a child, and one offspring that acts like a child, yet has experienced more than a child should have.”

Feral feels an odd twisting in their gut. They want to leave, yet they now also want to stay. The Queen is perceptive, that was never a doubt and perhaps another reason why they avoided her. The fear of being known. Yet… now they are known and it’s more of a relief than anything. They slowly look back to her as she places the scissors back in the basket.

“I have wondered why, but I cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies me,” she places three flowers in her spare hand and begins to braid the stems, adding flowers as the braids start becoming short.

“Why do they hold their branch as if it were the familiar handle of a nail? Even though they are forbidden from holding their own?” More flowers are added into the craft she is making. It’s beginning to look circular. Feral watches quietly.

“How do they know to get charms and spells on their own?” She glances over at them, but doesn’t meet their eyes. They sense her gaze on their horns. She looks back down at the flowers and makes some sort of adjustment.

"Why do they stare at things that are not there?” Feral’s throat tightens with that question- or observation?

The Queen finally finishes whatever is in her hands and takes a step over to the Feral Vessel and leans down with an alien-like grace. Feral blinks as she threads the circle of flowers over their horns to then rest right at the base of their horns. They do not know why she is doing this, but they would not dare fight it. They have no desire to.

Her hands drift down from their horns to their face to gently cup and hold. Their eyes gently flutter. The warmth from her root palms seep into their mask as if they were sitting in a hot spring. With the warmth comes a feeling of peace. Understanding. Their eyes close and before they can catch themself they lean into her touch. They miss how her eyes soften as she rubs one of her thumbs against their temple.

“I thought I had been mistaken before, but I have noticed that their pranks on my beloved Wyrm have grown half hearted,” Feral’s chest sags in a mock-sigh and, not knowing why, they nod.

“Has the novelty of his frustrated yells gone stale?” They shake their head, shoulders lightly quivering as if laughing. They crack their eyes open to catch the end of a smile from their mother.

“Why is it then? Why have they lost their fire?”

Feral stays silent as that was all they can do, but the tightening of their brow and the way they pull away from the warm comfort of their mother’s hands speaks hundreds of unspoken words. They glance at their hands, clenching and unclenching them.

When they re-awoke at the bottom of the Abyss surrounded by the thousands of masks of their dead siblings they thought they had dream nailed the black egg at the bottom of the Abyss again, though they did not know how. Soon they realized after getting to the top alongside their sibling that it was not a dream, but reality. To their delight, they could act on their spans of anger and spite they had toward the Pale King.

They thought that once they had their fun they would go and defeat the Radiance by finding the Godseeker in the trash pit. They would scale the pantheons and destroy the infection before the Pure Vessel was sentenced to waste away in the Temple of the Black Egg. It was simple so they didn’t think hard about it.

Until they realized they didn’t have the dream nail. They stressed for a bit, but then thought they could go find the seer and ask for it again! When they made their way to the Resting Grounds however, her little burrow was nowhere to be seen. They truly panicked then, scouring Hollownest for any moths they could find, but the few ones they found were not the Seer. When they held up their, admittedly, crude drawings of the dream nail they were met with confused stares.

They felt scared, frustrated, anger, desperation and then numbness.

They had been trying to run away from these thoughts, but now they were back and plainly showing on their face for the Queen to read like a tablet. There is a long silence between them before her melody-like voice whispers once more.

“Do they know how to write?” She asks.

They shake their head. No. They barely knew how to read and that was from noticing patterns in the tablets and signs they stumbled across in Hollownest. The Queen stands up and with her Feral’s eyes follow.

“I will teach you my child. Come, and perhaps while you learn you may give me your name. Feral is such a harsh word to be called by.”

Feral watches the White Lady as she walks deeper into the greenhouse. Did she just… say she was going to teach them how to write? They would never have a voice to speak on their own with, but to have the power of script in their grasp…

Excitement sparks their step as they quickly run back to her side, looking up at her with such strong wonder that she can’t believe she ever doubted her offspring weren’t hollow. The crown of flowers bounce on their head with each eager step.

“Now it will take some time for us to get the right writing utensils, but perhaps the first thing you could tell me when you can write is how you got that massive nail on your back.”

[viridisgoblin-a]

    Hey, who wants emotions? Just, it’s sad, so be warned.

     “I’m sorry, the only thing you can do is make the most of the time you have left.” The words spoken before he lost her.      A cry of despair echoes through the empty hallways, the first noise heard in weeks from the isolation. How could one cope with such loss, the emptiness of despair and having nothing left? The money, the numerous rooms all devoid of love and life leave only a small filling within the abyss. It means nothing.      “He died a couple years after you did. He died in my arms, but he died protecting New York.” And the words given when he lost him.      All of it, all that he loved. Gone. What is the use of redemption without those to celebrate it? What is a new chance at life without spending it with family. What is the point of life without them?      Another cry, this one followed by the shattering of glass, the tearing of cloth. His fingers bleed from the shards tearing through flesh. It is a hollow pain compared to the agony of loss. The rage merely hides the anguish, the hollowness that is left for him. In this new chance, this life to start again there is just loneliness, something he had desired for so many years that now seems so daunting.      His wife long dead, buried beneath the ground for decades now resting beside her son. Everything he loves is dead, buried six feet beneath dirt, rotting underground.      He falls to his knees, the physical pain barely there. Who cares for the crimson stains dripping from his skin, soaking into the soft fabric of his robe or the tears ruining his dress shirt beneath? Hollow possessions for a man with nothing but glittering gold and an empty heart. He would trade it all to have them back. Even if the mansion is once again his, it means so little. Even if the company is under his hands again, it will be a hollow victory.      Nothing matters with a shattered heart.      It takes effort to lift his head, the quickened footsteps barely registering in his mind. If somebody wanted to break in, then let them.      “Dr. Osborn?!” The footsteps move into a run, a figure sitting down near him—another to ignore the shattered glass mixing with cloth and wooden splinters. Hands grab his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. His name spoken over and over again, an attempt to snap him out of it, “Norman!”      Finally, tired blue eyes look up, tears leaving their streaks down his face. This is the first time he has had any reaction, any sort of emotional response since they had returned. The emptiness feels like a wish he wants back, to feel nothing again instead of the pain.      “Dr. Osborn, are you okay? Did somebody break in?” Peter. . . Poor concerned Peter. How could he be concerned about a man who nearly killed him on multiple occasions? Peter waits a moment before glancing back to somebody behind them, “Call an ambulance.”      “I’m fine. . .” Norman’s voice is hoarse, rough from the lack of use for weeks. The power behind his voice, the commanding tone laced in is missing. Hollow just like the man who uses it, “I’m. . . fine.” He is far from fine but being around other people did not sound appealing. The great Norman Osborn can barely stand to be around himself, let alone others.      Peter frowns, gently taking one of the bloody and cut up hands to look at it. The wounds are not done by a struggle with another person, but an inner struggle—he has seen those marks before, the disaster left behind, the rage released against inanimate objects. He sighs, “Alright, no ambulance, but at least let us help clean you and this up,” he gives a gesture towards the destruction laying around the scientist.      It takes careful steps to help Norman up, Peter being there to stop him from falling over the moment he is coaxed into standing. It is equally as difficult to guide him out of the bedroom and towards the nearby kitchen—the best place to start mending the wounds and get him away from the destruction. Once in the kitchen, Peter leads Norman to one of the stools positioned at the counter, heading to a cabinet to retrieve the hidden medical supplies.      “Norman?” Peter sets the supplies down on the surface, leaning down a bit to look the older man in the face. It hurts him to see how far the man has fallen, the pride washing away into a deep despair he has never seen before. Not that it is unjustified. Despite how callous and cold Norman Osborn could be, Peter always saw the ways he loved his son, the may-be misguided attempts to push Harry forward, but the love was there, “I need to see your hand.” He reaches forward, gently taking one of the hands, “I need to get the glass out, so it doesn’t get infected.” At least there is no resistance, Peter quickly getting to work to remove each little shard of glass from the hand.      Silence lingers between them, not even a flinch as each piece is removed from flesh.      Until Norman breaks the silence, “I’m sorry. . .”      It quickly gets the hero to perk up, “You don’t have to apologize at all, Norman,” it still feels odd to call him ‘Norman’ instead of ‘Dr. Osborn’. Considering what the change in the timeline did, Peter himself is almost as old as Norman Osborn, “Not for this or what happened in the past. Even the smartest of people, even the most collected person, can fall when there is a threat to everything they know. Nobody blames you for what happened.”      They should. It was his weakness, his decision to go through with the test without thinking it through. It was his choice to create the monster.      “It’s going to take time to realize that,” Peter continues, pulling out some gauze and medical tape to begin wrapping the hand, “But one day you’ll be able to forgive yourself, just like I have. Like Harry did.”      The name brings a spark of life into the dull eyes, finally lifting his head to meet Peter’s gaze. Harry. . . his son forgave him even after how terrible he was?      “Can. . .” Norman swallows to try to wet his dry throat, his voice getting caught, “Can you take me. . . to see him?”      Peter takes a moment before nodding, “Yeah, I can. Let me first finish up cleaning your other hand first. And—” he quickly stands, heading over to the cabinets near the sink. He fishes out a glass to fill with water, “—here.” He returns over, placing the glass in front of Norman. If the man was struggling to keep care of himself, Peter would be there to at least jumpstart the recovery. It had only been a week since Norman had been released from the hospital, his own request to be left alone in his home—but something that was rightfully concerning to Peter. This is the exact reason why it was concerning—at least not the other concerning part has been made into reality.

     The cool winter air of New York drifts, nipping at any skin it could come in contact with. Peter and MJ walk on either side of Norman, there just in case he would lose his footing with the gathering snow against the grass. Peter himself has been to this graveyard often, the same one where his parents along with his aunt and uncle are buried. Very few people are out while it snows, giving them plenty of time to move unnoticed and unapproached.      “Here,” Peter guides the three of them to the left, stopping just at an area that is a bit further away from the others.  The place is far too familiar for Norman, having to take a moment to compose himself. This is the place he spent the morning of the first of every month. Emily’s grave.      Now, there is a new gravestone—another that had been there before, now gone as if it never existed--the gravestone of Norman Osborn. He can barely bring himself to get close to the one that is a lighter white, the marble nearly matching the fresh snow on the ground. Yet, Norman stumbles forward, falling to his knees between the two gravestones.      Emily Osborn.      Harry Osborn.      His family reduced to names upon a slab of marble, a memory.      A shaky hand reaches out, touching the name of his son, “H. . . Harry. . .” His only child. They always said it was a parent’s worst nightmare to outlive their child, yet Norman never thought about it, never fathomed the possibility.      How cruel life could be.      There is no stoic exterior or the strength of a businessman to hold back the tears, the loss fresh for him even if years have passed since Harry’s death. No chance to see how his son grew up, no moment to tell him how proud he is.      Peter and MJ take a step back, giving Norman his space to grieve.      So many years lost all because of his weakness; because he could not stand the thought of losing his company. Parts of him wish he had not allowed his fate to change, to beg the other Spider-Man to end him. But he is alive now, living with the consequences of his actions, for his negligence. It was his ghost that drove his son down the same path, to his demise. At least his son was strong enough to resist the darkness, to become something better than his father.      “I’m so sorry Harry,” he whispers through the sobs threatening to slip out with each tear, “I should have been there for you, I should have been a better father. You were everything I had left and I ignored you so often. . . I never said how proud I was of you.” His hands shake, uncaring about the cold biting into the still fresh cuts beneath the bandages, “You were a bigger man than I could ever be. I could never be prouder of the man you had become despite how cruel I could be to you. . .”      It becomes more and more difficult to keep his head up, unable to look at the name without the overwhelming sorrow taking over, “I’m so sorry, son. . . I’m so sorry. . .” His words fade into mumbles, repeating the three words over until he is sobbing uncontrollably into the snow.

[abyssnessmage]

Broken Promises

ZhongChi/ChiLi angst one-shot (zhongli’s banner)

word count: 1.6K

Watching from a distance, the starry night hat of the astrologist flickered warily as she stared at the falling stars shining in front of her. Her eyes subconsciously counted the passing stones: 22, 25, 40, 53 and so on. As the numbers increased, the more anxious she felt.

Turning to the figure that sat a few feet from her, she pursed her lip and sighed, "They're calling for you, you know?" 

The broad shoulders of the figure moved slightly, but no response was heard. Heaving a louder sigh from her chest, she stepped closer to him. 

"Zhongli-Laoshi, the wishes have reached 70," she tried emphasizing the number in hopes to stir up alarm in the geo archon, but he was still as stone. 

"It's not my time," he responded softly, neither turning to look at the astronomer or lifting his head in the direction of the falling stars 

"Not your time?" She scoffed in disbelief, "If you haven't noticed, your time is running out and access to the mortal world will become even more strained." 

"Since you seem very unsettled about this, Mona, perhaps you should answer their calls before they continue to waste their resources," he whispered sternly. 

Taken back, Mona made her way to stand in front of the geo archon, heels clicking impatiently as she walked. Anger boiled in her veins, "If I go down there, do you expect them to forgive you for this? Do you expect him to forgive you?" 

Hearing "him" being mentioned, Zhongli lifted his eyes until it met hers and she was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt. Without another word, she sighed and nodded. 

"I don't expect their forgiveness," he said solemnly, "I brought this misfortune on myself and I intend to bear the consequences of my actions in exile." 

Mona nodded again in full understanding. If there was one thing she learned from the geo archon, it was that he never let's a broken promise go unpunished. His contracts made up who he is as an archon. 

Feeling defeated, Mona made her way to the open sky that led to the mortal world. Turning her head to look at the Laoshi one last time, she caught a ride on an incoming star. Her presence transformed the blue shade into an illuminated golden hue and she made her way down to earth. 

*Lumine's POV*

"There! Look! Lumine, it's a gold wish!" 

The excited, child-like shout came from her recent team member, Tartaglia "Childe," and she watched him jump from a nearby rock he sat at. Beidou and Kaeya jumped to their feet as well as they watched the golden star make its way down. 

Without hesitation, Childe began running in the direction where the star would hit, his other team members trailing behind him in excitement. With a bright burst, a figure stepped out of the illuminated star and slowly made their way to meet the group. 

Just as Lumine caught up to Childe, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the newcomer. Confused, Lumine turned her attention to the person. It was not Zhongli that had come down, but Mona, the famous and powerful astrologist.

"Who the hell are you?" 

Lumine flinched at the anger that laced the 11th Harbinger's voice. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and gasped. His dull blue eyes were filled with rage and the curve of his lip twitched slightly. Heavy breathing was heard and Childe's gloved hands were balled into fists, almost ready to strike the newcomer in the face. 

"I'm not who you wished for," Mona replied, her eyes mirrored the same sympathy Lumine felt and she could see the regret painted on her face. Lumine could see how much she wanted to go back. To not be there and to have someone in her place. Someone that everyone was hoping to see. 

"This is a mistake," Childe snarled, "Do you have any idea how long we called for you? How long we waited?" 

Lumine realized he was no longer talking to Mona, but his gaze was fixed at the blue sky. 

"Is this a compensation? A sorry gift for your selfish choice?!" The tone in his voice began to increase and water started to pool around his feet. Electricity followed and Lumine could see his inner power beginning his Harbinger transformation. 

"Calm down," Mona firmly stated, "You out of all people should understand-" 

"Don't you dare finish that," he sneered, "He promised me he'll come back. He made me promise-!" 

"And who do you think had to pay for the broken promise?!" Mona shouted over the waves of fury beginning to swirl around them, "Or are you not aware of how contracts work?" 

"You take that back!" 

Suddenly, Lumine surged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him back from doing something he would regret. 

"Let go of me!" He wrestled in her grasp, causing Kaeya and Beidou to reached for his hands to hold him down, "Let me go!" 

Lumine shook her head, holding as tight as she could. Pressing her chest on his back and gripping the cloth of his jacket, she whispered calmly to him to stop fighting. 

"This is for the best and you know it," Mona replied sternly, "There's nothing you can do." 

"Bullshit!" A wave of force surged from his palms, pushing the three team members off of his body. Lumine cried out in pain, but immediately went back to grabbing his waist to which Childe responded with more force to push her back.

"Childe, please. Stop. You're hurting yourself," Lumine cried, smelling the metallic scent of blood coming from his hands. She tried to use her anemo to blow the liquid away, but more kept pouring. 

"I've been hurting," he whispered and the sound of his voice shattered Lumine's heart. She never heard him this broken before. She never heard this much pain. 

Gripping tightly to his clothes, Lumine continued to withstand the sudden bursts of water no matter how painful it was. In the corner of her eye, Mona stood watching his unstable figure, shouting and crying to the sky. She tilted her hat downwards, covering her glassy eyes and turned away. 

After a few moments of constant power bursts, the force subsided and Lumine was left hugging a huddled figure in her arms. Childe's figure shook in grief as he clawed the demolished grass beneath them. Tears sprinkled the back of his hands and Lumine could hear the exhaustion echoing through his labored breathing. 

"Why?" He whispered, slowly lifting his head once more to the sky. The now thundering and rain filled abyss, "Is this what you want?" 

Lips quivering and eyes blurring with tears, he brushed his orange bangs out of his face. Never before in his life has he felt so abandoned. So left behind. 

Lumine lightly rested her head on his shoulder, "He'll come back. I promise." 

His chest heaved and released what sounded like a coughing fit, but was actually an empty laugh from a broken soul. 

"He'll come back," he echoed, "but I won't promise I'll be here waiting." 

Lumine's eyes widened and she was gently pushed aside by the tall man. Watching him walk away, she could see droplets of blood leave his torn, gloved hands as he made his way back to Liyue. 

Extra:

Hearing the anguished sounds of shouting and cursing echo from below, Zhongli squeezed his eyes shut, begging for it to stop. The sound of Childe's broken voice rang through his mind and his chest ached to quiet the painful sounds of his beloved. With a heavy heart, he stiffly moved as far away from the source of the noise as possible. Anything that will distance himself from hearing his name constantly being cried out. 

But, no matter how far he walked, the voice kept returning, more painful and rage driven than the last. He wanted to hide. To shut himself away and never have the ability to hear again. 

Though he also wanted to scream back. To shout in response and tell him that he was there. That he will return. That he didn't abandon him. The desire and desperation to follow a star down to the mortal world was overwhelming to the point he wishes he could chain himself back. 

But the promise they made echoed in his mind and held him back from doing anything more. The broken promise that separated them and the consequences he must face alone. The consequences that Childe was spared so that he won't have to suffer. The only one who will, would be him.  

Deep down, however, they were both equally suffering. The distance was too much to bear already and with the added years to his sentence, he wished death would knock on his door. 

But he was immortal. He couldn't die and which was why he chose to bear the consequences himself and take responsibility so Childe wouldn't have to. 

This was for the best. He kept telling himself over and over. Desperately trying to drown out the continuous screams he heard from Childe. Desperately trying to break free from his force and desperately trying to forget. 

But he knew he couldn't. Hands reached to his face and he screamed in helpless rage. hearing more cries pour into his ears. Hearing his name being shouted over and over again and hearing the break in his voice when no one responded. 

In all the 6,000 years he's been alive, Zhongli never felt pain like this before. These emotions of anguish and utter devastation consumed his whole heart and he let the tears fall from his eyes, welcoming the coldness of grief and embracing it. 

"My beloved and dearest, Ajax," he whispered into the tear stained palm of his hands, "I will see you again." 

[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.

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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..

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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

[jubilantwriter]

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 7: I hope to see you soon one day.

(AO3)  (First)  (Previous)  (Last)

Word Count:  7059

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She despises the loops.  The memories never seem to be wiped clean anymore, and her awareness only grows stronger as they continue to tear the cycles apart.  So of course the world would start lashing out violently.  Mono comes to rescue her from the Tower as he always does - bag missing and tinier than she remembers.  But he also seems… more different than usual.  Twisted and broken as she is, even her monstrous form can see the obvious signs of harm.

A severe limp.  Hand clutched to one side.  And blood.  Blood on the corner of his mouth, an ever growing haze clouding his eyes as he struggles to stay upright and conscious.  Brows furrowed in pain as the last of his adrenaline drains away.  He staggers forward and collapses against her form, almost comically sliding down her raincoat as she cries out in her broken voice.  

The music box is her treasure, her one comfort in this room- but no, no that's not true.  She pushes it aside for the moment and carefully cups the boy in her hand.  He's hurting, he needs help, he can barely move.  Thoughts and thoughts push through the haze of her mind, her moment of escapism fading away as she stares down at his broken body (a girl in yellow is falling falling falling into the ocean never to be seen again until a boy in olive is falling falling falling as he’s dropped into the abyss by her hand just as a man in blue is falling falling falling until he's broken into pieces, broken and mangled and bent in all the wrong ways and she screams screams screams-).  

Reality is always a harsh wake-up call, but it's the wake-up call she chases.  Safety means nothing if the little boy with the paper bag isn't safe with her.  The music box continues to play, but she pushes herself forward.  It plays and plays and plays and coaxes her to stay, won't she stay?  Please, please stay, it's so nice and safe here with no monsters in sight (except for her), and she’ll never have to worry ever again.  She’ll have everything she needs and more!

It's tempting.  So very tempting.  But the little boy gives a harsh wheeze, and her mind turns to Mono Mono Mono Mono he's hurting he's dying why why why why-

She breaks down the door with ease and shuffles her way out into hallways and doorways and more hallways with brightly colored lights, and she's lost, so very lost and Mono is dying, she has to get him out of here-

"Th-there."  He points feebly towards a door, and she follows his directions without a second thought.  The Tower shakes around her, annoyed by her attempts as they try to escape.  Each exit morphs the Tower around them as the walls turn to Flesh with eyes bulging out to watch their every move.  More hallways lead to more Flesh Walls protruding through the cracks.  Mono gives a wet cough as the Tower shakes around them until the walls become nothing more but Walls.

Her shuffling grows frantic as the Tower collapses around her, intending to trap them in this prison covered in ever-watching eyes (eyes, always eyes, always always always eyes watching, mocking them, and she hates them, she wishes they’d leave them alone, leave them ALONE-).  There's a bright light ahead of her and- the exit!  So close!  She forces her bent limbs to move faster, holds Mono closer, and she can feel the Walls closing in on her, grabbing at her and trying to pull her back even as she crawls ever closer to the exit-

But reality is harsh.  Just as she's about to make it through, the Walls collapse around her, pulling and dragging at her limbs as she screams and thrashes against it as Mono yells and feebly struggles and-

-disgusting, slick and fleshy, audible wet blinks that stare and convey a smugness she wants to destroy, the Walls pulse and slide and separate him from her grasp and she screams and fights as that tiny warmth-

No!

No!

Give him back!

She's spat out, gangly and monstrous and twisted with empty hands into an apartment too small for her size.  A music box follows after her like a taunt.

Play with this instead of the boy.

It's not the boy.

It's not Mono.

It’s nothing but a beautiful lie.

She screams as she smashes the music box with her bare hands, metal splintering with a wretched laugh, and it hurts, it hurts so much, like she’s being smashed into pieces, but it doesn’t hurt as much as having him ripped from her hands so easily, so she slams her fists down over and over and over again and she screams give him back, give him back-

Metal cuts into her hands as she screams.  The contraption is bigger than her now, her anger and rage cutting her out of the fantasy completely as she stands before the remnants of that saccharine dream.  And what does she have to show for it?  Only cold hands and broken sobs.

As she hugs herself, her Shadow appears before her, morose and quiet and a reminder that she has to keep going.  Her stomach growls, and her Shadow looks down at a poster by its feet before nodding to her.

Move forward and satisfy the Hunger.  It disappears without a word as Six approaches the poster with heavy, mechanical steps.

The girl travels and becomes a woman.  She becomes the Lady with her right hand man, the Caretaker.  He stands besides her, watching anxiously as she presses her palm uselessly against the glass.

Memories upon memories upon memories never prepared her for this.  The Tower did something to her Thin Man.  Did something that turned him more into a monster than he'd-

("...they took control of my prior iteration and turned him into more of a monster than he was ever meant to be.  Or perhaps, what he was always supposed to be, but could never fully realize.")

"...Caretaker."

"Yes?"

"How close are you to working things out with the Ferryman?"

"Well," he flips through his notebook quickly, fingers twitching nervously as he scans the pages, "it looks like he's confirmed the island is habitable, but he's unsure how safe it'll be and for how long-"

"It'll have to do."  Her voice trembles with an unrestrained emotion as her fingers curl on the screen.  She misses him terribly, so how dare they, how dare they.  "I will do what I can to bring back our dear friend."

"...Odd that he's our friend when I didn't get to meet him this time around."

“Yes," she says through gritted teeth, "a true shame."

"...Six?"

"Yes?"

He rests a hand on her shoulder, eyes glinting from under his bangs.  "Don't let them win."

Quietly, she removes her mask just enough.  Just so he can clearly see the fangs in her smile as she feels a familiar hunger for vengeance dig its claws into her being.

"I don't intend to."

The cycles end as they are to continue.  Mono is viciously, horribly, violently taken from her each and every time, and the Thin Man is no longer a familiar silhouette in the television screen who offers companionable conversation and eager hope for a change to come.  The Tower laughs at her efforts, laughs at how she tries to save the boy that had her imprisoned over and over again, laughs at her efforts of trying to take him back over and over again.

It laughs when she claws at the Flesh with broken nails, struggling and tearing at disgusting meat with bulging eyes as she tries to protect her friend, only to have him ripped away again and again and again.

It laughs when she pounds at the television screen with monstrous fists, distorted screaming shattering windows and destroying the device to pieces before she turns her rage onto the object that was supposed to calm her.

It laughs when she lashes out with her powers, too far away to harm the Tower itself, but still trying to somehow warp the television in her quarters and forcing it to work for her like how her friend once willed it to work, glass shattering and smoke curling into the air as she howls with anguished frustration.

The laughter is agonizing, echoing and repeating as she feels the lingering leers from the Eye, judgmental and chastising as if to accuse her, claiming it to be her fault.  If only she’d stay in her role, continued these torturous cycles without trying to escape like frantic rats trapped aboard a sailing ship.  If she were a lesser woman, she would have succumbed to the jeers aimed at her.

But she’s not.  She has no room for misplaced guilt when revenge quickly fills in the gaps that her anger and grief cannot.  A new goal arises besides their goal to escape, and she’s determined to see it through.

(They made a promise, and promises aren't made to be broken like this.)

When brute strength fails to work, when her hands are covered in too many scars to justify her failures, she turns to the plethora of books in her bookcase.  Pages and pages are turned at terrifying speeds as she searches for answers that the various grimoires may hide.  The Caretaker comes in with meals and reminds her to eat, to calm her Hunger lest it overtakes her, but she refuses in the midst of her research.  There is her cursed Hunger, but there is also her hunger that takes precedence over most everything else.  She will eat once she sees his face again, his silhouette, his familiar words rolling across the screen.  Her hunger motivates her to keep searching, keep looking, keep hunting.  

The only time she pauses is to make time for her Caretaker, pausing to speak with him and his discoveries, drinking in his presence before she loses him too.  They both make progress, inch by little inch, cycle by cycle.  Even with all the time in the world, she finds herself growing more frantic as the cycles continue and she sees less of the Thin Man that whispers from her broken memories.  Books are tossed about, left scattered on her floors as volume after volume fails to present her with the solutions she needs, the steps she could possibly take to free the Thin Man.  Piles mark the passage of each cycle, books left to gather dust as she abandons one shelf for another.  Her library is mostly scoured and it leaves her frantic with ever growing anxiety as the books continue to pile uselessly around her.  What was the use of collecting knowledge if it couldn’t aid her in her time of need?

Hope nearly escapes her as she grabs an old, worn out book too thin to be considered part of her usual collection of tomes.  She’s about to discard it, denounce it as useless as her eyes quickly skim the pages.  And then.  

A picture catches her eye - a description that’s so unlike what she’s used to reading fills her with a rare sense of hope.

A little breakthrough.  It’s an excitement she hasn’t felt since she was a child and had (found that little hat for Mono, the dingy sailor cap that looked like it had seen so many more better days before her little fingers plucked it out from under a desk and thought ah, perhaps Mono would like this little gift of hers) explored apartments with Mono looking for edible treasures left forgotten by the previous residents.  She glides gracefully to the Caretaker’s room, looking around once before kicking open his door rudely.  The man inside yelps in surprise, notebook dropping from his hands as she barges in and slams the door shut behind her.

“SIX!”  He’s already scolding her before she even gets a word out.  “I thought you grew out of doing that!  Don’t you remember the last time you did that you broke my door?!”

“Yes, and who replaced it?”

“I did!”

“Doesn’t matter.”  She brushes off his offended squawk and slams down a book on his desk.  Papers go flying everywhere as he yelps and runs about catching what he can.  Ah, just like the good old days of pestering one another endlessly.  

“Six!”  His offended yelling does nothing to stop her.  “For fuck’s sake-”

“Cursing already?  I haven’t even shown you my antics yet.”

“Your an-”  He sputters and looks at her wide-eyed from under his bangs.  “What have you done now?”

“To be more precise, what will I do soon?”  She quickly opens the book and flips to a bookmarked page.  Tapping on a picture brings the Caretaker closer as he leans in to see it better.

“...A charm?”  He leans back out and frowns.  “Since when were you into charms?”

“It’s not any charm, you ignoramus.”

“That’s a big word coming from a small person.”

“Shut.  It.”  She ignores his giggling in favor of looking over the charm.  It’s quite simple in design - a small pouch is tied up with a drawstring with patterns sewn into the fabric, the pouch holding something inside.  The book claims that it holds sacred inscriptions on paper in it but… 

“Hm, how old is this book?”  The Caretaker takes it from her and flips to the front, only to frown in disappointment.  “No year.”

“Does it really matter?”  She takes it back and opens it to the selected page.

“No, but also yes.”  He taps on the picture of the charm.  “The description says it holds sacred inscriptions, which typically means holy.”  The Caretaker glances at the shadows that curl around her feet as he continues.  “I don’t think there’s anything like that in this world anymore.”

“Then we’ll just have to make our own.”

“Six.”  He turns to her fully and braces his hands on her shoulders.  A knowing but sympathetic gaze keeps her from brushing his hold off.  “Your powers aren’t exactly like that.”

“I know that.”  Still.  Her eyes linger on the charm’s description, reminding her of that feeling of gentle, kind protectiveness that she’s ever been so blessed to feel not once, not twice, but thrice now.  It’s a well-meaning, warm feeling that she’s terrible at creating herself.  The dark arts are denoted dark for a reason, and everything about this charm is completely unlike her very essence.

Still.

("You're the spiteful spitfire who will last the longest out of all of us.  And we're depending on you to bare your teeth and fight when we can't."

"Who else would be strong enough to strongarm a change like this?"

If there’s anyone who could force the impossible to happen, a small voice says within her, it’s you.)

She takes hold of the Caretaker’s sleeve and tugs in that childish way she hasn’t done in years.  Begs for his attention in the smallest of actions even when she already has all of it.

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.”  The sound of mirrors shattering echo in her memories of loops upon loops upon loops of fighting.  “Maybe all I have to do is make my fire the stronger one.”

He squeezes her shoulders with a nod.  "Alright, but don't burn yourself in the process."

"I will do what it takes to take him back."  Still, she reaches up to give his hands a reassuring squeeze.  "But I promise not to destroy myself in the process."

"Good."  He smiles and pulls his hands off her shoulders.  "Whatever it is you figure out, please don't test it out on me."

"No promises."  Ignoring his aggrieved sigh, she picks up her book just as he pulls his notebook out and flips through the pages.  Come to think of it, how much farther has he gotten with his discoveries?  She teleports behind him in a single blink and tiptoes to see over his shoulder.  The notebook is opened to a page filled with scribbles that look... more like entries than the usual diagrams and notes she's used to seeing.  The phrase "Thin Man" catches her eye as it repeats over the page, and-

The Caretaker snaps the notebook shut with a barely restrained shriek and glowers at her over his shoulder.  "Don't.  Do that!"

"What are you reading?"

"None of your business."

Hm.

"You mentioned the Thin Man a lot in your entries."  She tilts her head to the side.  "Were those past ones?  You haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet-"

"Yes I was rereading old entries for very important, specific reasons related to- you know, to our freedom, so stop being a bother and get out!"  He points to his door as she giggles behind him.  "You have your... tasks to do that I’m sure are just as important!"

"You're blushing."  A guffaw nearly escapes her as she pokes his cheek.  "Please tell me, why are you blushing?"

"Hhhggh- out.  Now!"  He grabs her by the back of her kimono as she squawks in protest - he's wrinkling the fabric! - and practically tosses her out of his room.  "Shoo!"  The door slams in her face as she straightens up with a prim "hmph", the book safely tucked under her arm as she makes her way back to the quarters.  Whatever secrets he keeps in his notebook, she'll be sure to suss out later when she has the time.

For now though.

For now, she needs to go through her collection of old kimonos and fabrics in hopes of finding something suitable for her charms.  There's no telling how many she'll need to make before she gets it right, but she's willing to dedicate as many loops as possible to make her plan work.  

Time has never been one to run out on them.  This she knows from experience.  But as each day drags on, as each moment passes with no change, the anxious feeling builds and crawls under her skin.  The buzz of static that should be familiar no longer sounds in her quarters.  Instead, the snip-snip-snip of scissors takes up the empty space as she carefully sews and stitches and creates these little pouches meant to hold blessings.  It's a shame they cannot do what they're meant to do.

It would have made her life easier if she truly could make a ward to fend off evil spirits and energies, or even to just cast a protective spell.  But the nightmarish world they live in fails to allow such liberties to exist.  She takes up a brush and tries still to make some sort of protective inscription.  She takes up the needle and tries to sew a pouch to hold such hopes and well wishes.  She takes up an art that was never meant for her, still trying and persevering.

Despite all her hard work, despite replicating the pouch and its design to near perfection, the charm refuses to work as intended.  No matter her intentions, no matter how hard she tries to dampen the darkness inside her, dark magic will always be dark magic.  Her power taints the paper and instead houses a destructive force that would rather harm the holder than protect it.  But still she tries and tries and tries.  Against all odds, she fights to work with cards dealt to her.

Dark magic cannot be used to protect - it works better to destroy, to manipulate, to change.  But such things have workarounds.  For instance: those nomes that shamble about her ship.  True, they never will resemble the little children they used to be and are doomed to a life where communication is near impossible, forced to labor away until a paradise is found for their hopeless little lives.  But there’s a little twist to their story -  they will never be hunted by adults ever again.  Otherwise ignored by the forces that would have killed them at a single sighting, these little creatures can live an otherwise safe life, so long as they stay out of the way.

A twist.  It's all she can depend on as she imbues the small sheet of paper with her power.  The power to drain the lifeforce of anything around it.  This tiny sheet is dangerous - it could drain the holder's lifeforce if she's not careful.  Her little Guests are proof of that as she watches them writhe uselessly at her feet, charm clutched in their disgusting, meaty hands as she tests it out on them.  With each fallen Guest, she adjusts the potency of her little “charm” and tries to make it focus on a specific type of energy.

The Signal Tower works on frequencies that are otherwise untouched by her.  But the insides are just as fleshy, just as meaty as any other living creature.  It is both alive but not - a paradox she can exploit, much like how the loops have constantly exploited herself and the Thin Man.  One little charm won't be enough to kill an entire building, but it may be enough to weaken the surrounding area enough to prevent whatever brainwashing or mental torture it could inflict on her Thin Man.  The next problem she has to fix is the duration - it has to last for as long as possible.  Past the midlife of a loop, until the end of their lives.  A quick drain, one she's accustomed to, won't work.

It needs to be a slow, gradual drain.  And it needs to be focused on one particular entity to keep it from harming the children.  There's no way of knowing if it will work unless she tosses one of her Guests into the Signal Tower's domain, or if she somehow manages to attach it to one of the Viewers in the Pale City just before they are sucked in.  But it feels like she's running out of time - each minute passes by her like a haunting whisper, a silent taunt that she may never save her dear friend from his fate, and that they will forever be stuck in the loops as a result.

Her final product is nothing short of simple - made from the brown fabric of her kimono, the golden thread she manages to find is used to very carefully stitch in the characters that she's seen in her books.  "Safety" is what she hopes it denotes.  The back of the pouch has her mask embroidered in.  Whether it can heighten the power of her charm, or simply to show the Tower just whose power is slowly draining it from the inside, she doesn't care.  All that matters is that the little boy is protected to an extent.  Perhaps the life force or energy taken by the Tower will be directed to him; perhaps it will help in keeping him lucid enough to fight off the Tower's influence.  Or perhaps it will help in building some form of resistance against the Tower if he has some of her power within him.  No matter what, all that matters to her is that the boy grows into a man who can keep his wits about him.

Of course, the charm is big for a child, but she accounts for this and makes the little drawstrings into straps of sorts so that he could choose to wear it on his back (under his coat, if he has the sense to do that), keeping it like an extra layer of protection.  The little charm sits innocently on her palm.  

Perhaps this will do it.

The last thing she needs to do is find a way to actually get the charm to the boy.  Pocketing the tiny thing, she finds herself once again barging into the Caretaker's room without a care.  He startles with a yelp, notebook juggled in his hands before he catches it with a relieved sigh.  The old thing is tattered around the edges, but the leather bounding looks carefully maintained, almost lovingly so.  If she could count all the tallies he's made, would she be able to figure out how long they've been at this impossible task already?

"Six?"  Irritation drops from his posture as he looks over her form.  "Is something wrong?"

"I'm at an impasse."  She presents him with the charm and wonders if she needs to give him context.  How many loops have passed?  Just a few?  More than that?  Less than?  Keeping track was never really her thing.  "I don't know how I'll get this in the hands of the boy."

"Hm."  The Caretaker steps forward and takes the charm from her hand.  "A charm?  Ah."  He keeps it looped on a finger as he quickly flips through and scans his notebook.  With a nod, he closes it and puts it away.  "It wouldn't be easy for us to simply go on land and hand it to him."

"If only."

"But."  He smiles as he hands it back to her.  "We can certainly try mailing it out."

"To the boy?"

"No.  To Roger."

"Why him?"

"My notebook tells me that the Thin Man once told me a story of how he, as a child, handed a package to a resident in the Pale City.  It was one of the few times a resident didn't try to kill him.  Likewise, when I am working with Roger, he's ah, said to me, so to speak, how he got here.  A little messenger gave him a package from the Maw that told of his accepted employment."

"Oh I do recall sending a package out to him long ago."  Replacing employees she killed as a child was always quite the surreal feeling.  "Even with you around, we still need a Janitor.  Or maybe I should mean, especially with you around."  She gestures to his disorganized room with a poorly hidden chuckle.

"Uh huh."  He rolls his eyes at that before turning back to his desk.  "I suggest we keep the charm with the package and leave a note for Roger.  Tell him to hand the charm to the little messenger as a tip for his services."

"Do you think it'll work?"  She wanders over to the Caretaker's side as he sits down to write the note. 

"I don't see any other option."  He takes out his brush and quickly writes it out.  After the ink dries, he folds the letter up and puts it in an envelope.  She places the charm into his waiting hand and watches as he drops it in with the letter.  "Only thing we can do now is hope it works.  And if it doesn't, we try again."

She takes the letter from him and holds it against her chest.  All bets were on Roger now, and if the monster was anything, he was at least... reliable, to put it simply.  The Caretaker quickly scribbles something down in his notebook before waving her away.  

"I suggest getting that package made ahead of time before our time's up."  He looks up from his writing and smiles.  "Methinks the clock's already begun to tick on my end."

As his words sink in, her heart sinks as well.  Her glide forward has her embracing him close, mask buried in his hair as she sighs.

"How can you be so calm about your death?"

"How can you be?"  Always like him to deflect.  Still.  She hugs him closer and refuses to let go for as long as she can.

A few days later, after she has the package ready with a note to her future self to mail it, she sees a familiar blue blur fall past her with a chilling scream.  A glimpse over the railing has her finding his broken form splayed out in a growing puddle of blood.  She'd think that after experiencing loops of the same tragedy, she'd have run out of tears to shed.

But things always manage to surprise her as her hands reach shakily under her mask to feel the moisture that gathers underneath it.  Soon enough, her loop ends without a whisper from her Thin Man as she closes her eyes in tears. 

The loops continue as they are wont to do.  Very little changes as they go on.  Mono still gets beaten and bruised beyond what his little body can cope with.  The Thin Man still remains silent and unreachable beyond the screen of her quarters.  But Six notices the differences.  

Or at least, her Shadow does.  The little thing whispers in the Lady's head as she continues about her business, fashioning a new charm as per the notebook in the Caretaker's hands, as well as the Shadow's little guidance.

Bits and pieces of memories help guide her hands through the motions, her sewing fervent and desperate as she bites her lip.  Each attempt is aided with a little change the Shadow had noticed - he walked without a limp, he could drag the hammer, he could manage a single sentence.

Small victories, but not enough to make it end.  Still, the Shadow continues to list each accomplishment. 

"He managed to walk by himself to the bridge this time," the Shadow whispers, filled with childish hope and confidence.  

The memory of a boy holding her monstrous hand as his staggers fill her mind, and nothing of the scene fills her with that same amount of hope and confidence.  Instead, it fills her with a heartbroken pain as she recalls how his hand slipped from hers, how he tried to push and save the monster that she was with a pained smile before the Walls claimed him again.  The Flesh had crashed down on him, stealing him from her yet again even as she cried and screamed for him, hands desperately clawing at the Flesh before she was tossed out unceremoniously.  He hadn’t even tried to reach out for her, didn’t even ask for help.  As always, Mono’s main goal was to protect her and never himself.  How the Shadow cries with excitement at such a scene leaves her wondering how much it has seen to find this cause for celebration.  

"It's working!"

"But not enough," she mumbles to herself, mask removed so that she can bite the thread off.  The pouch is put aside as she reaches for the paper and ink.  As soon as the writings are inscribed, she focuses all her energy and power and spite into the sheet, teeth bared and gritted in anger as she channels all that rage into the sheet.  Take her friend away from her, and she'll take more from the Tower.  More and more and more until the boy can grow into a Man, a Thin Man who can fight back against whatever torture the Tower puts him through.  Shadows dance and swarm around the page as she forces the essence into the paper.  More and more and more.  She puts more and more into it until she can practically feel the cursed energy that drips from the paper.  Quickly, she folds it up and slides it into the pouch.  As she's about to tie it off into its signature straps, she grips it tightly in her fist and imbues it more with her dark magic.

Just in case.

Another sheet of paper is grabbed as she quickly scribbles out the familiar note for Roger, setting up the letter and package necessary for the Janitor's employ.  It's gotten to a point where the motions of setting up the package are as familiar to her as going through the motions of killing the Hunter, or being caught at the school, or burning the Doctor alive - now it's preparing the package for the Janitor she will later kill as a child.  A weary sigh escapes her as she slumps undignified in her seat.

How long must they keep this up without him?  The thought of leaving him behind in pursuit of their freedom disgusts her and feels too unlike the guilt that still lingers in the back of her mind.  Even without asking the Caretaker, she knows he’ll refuse the concept as well despite having never met him in loops.  But how long can they keep this up?  What if they run out of time before the Eyes try to disrupt them more aggressively?  What if they have more to contend with than the Maw jostling itself violently, or the Tower destroying and manipulating a boy into a monster?  Whispered memories from repeated conversations with children whose names she will never know remind her of the other monsters that still linger out there in the world.  What if they come to ruin everything they’ve struggled to prepare so far?  What if, in the name of survival, in the name of their sought after freedom, they have to-

A loud bang startles her out of her reverie however as the Caretaker howls with excitement.  She quickly covers her face with her mask as the Caretaker closes the door behind him.

"Six!"  He practically barrels into her as he grabs her by the shoulders, pulling her out of her slump and onto her feet.  "Six, I think I will die today!"

"Could you not be so enthusiastic about your death?!"

"I think I'm allowed to, given the news I have for you!"  He pulls her away from her desk and drags her towards her bed.  Once he sees her seated reluctantly, he pulls out his notebook and plops down next to her.  With a wild speed, he flips through pages before settling on a rough sketch of an island.  Bushes and trees that look to be laden with fruits grab her attention, but more so is the sketch of the monster- man, who continues to take her younger self to the Maw.  The same man that the Caretaker has taken detailed correspondence with.  The Caretaker jabs at the sketch enthusiastically.  "We found it."

She straightens up as the soft voice in her mind coos with excitement.  "The safe haven?"

"More or less."  He shrugs as though it can't be determined, but the hopeful gleam in his eyes says otherwise.  "The Ferryman finally found the island.  A place for children that is safer than whatever it is the Maw has to offer."

No adults.  No monsters.  Food for as long the little ones may need.  

"Home," the little voice breathes out like a saving grace, "a real home."

"What about shelter?"  She hates to rain on his parade, but she knows that even with food and the lack of adults, the children can only manage so much on their own.  "It's a bare island with only so much."  

"I'm going to try and smuggle items down to the drop-off."  He turns to another page where a list is compiled among the tallies.  Blankets, pillows, tarps, buckets, even spare basins-  "Children are clever.  I'm sure they'll be able to figure something out with these."

"It can last for only so long," she murmurs, and she recalls the books in her library that are otherwise untouched.  "Perhaps, a few of the books may have something about survival in the wilderness."

"I've checked."  The Caretaker shakes his head but lacks any disappointment despite his declaration.  "Nothing in your library except the dark arts and manuals for running the Maw, books of old traditions long since gone-"  He pulls torn out pages from the back of the notebook and reveals diagrams of baskets and techniques for weaving.  Her eyes quickly glance over the pages, her excitement still bubbling despite the words of doubt that pour from her mouth.

"But there's no guarantee that the children will have bamboo-"

"They can improvise.  See what they have and do what they can."  He stows the papers and the notebook to take her hands, squeezing them tight.  "Everything is set.  All I have left to do is try and sneak as much as I can off the Maw before I die.  And while I do that, you focus on the Thin Man."  His eyes soften at the mention of a man he's never gotten to meet in… so many loops.  "You always talk so highly of him, and my notebook has pages and pages of entries that make me wish I could remember those conversations I once shared with him.  He sounds kind, funny.”  A sad smile crosses his features as he fails to grasp the kind of nostalgia the Lady carries.  It’s unfair, truly.  The two men must have gotten along before in the past - apparently when she wasn’t around to witness it much to her chagrin - but having to read about it and never really know what it’s like to be graced by a presence they both yearn for…  “I'd really like to meet him again one day."

She squeezes back, her mind set and determined as she meets his gaze.  "I'll ensure it.  I just need to keep trying.  We're so close, I can feel it."

"Good."  He pulls her into a hug and digs his fingers into her kimono.  "I want to finally be free of all these tragedies." 

She buries her face into his shoulder and clings just as tight to him.  "We'll make it.  I want to know what it's like to live."

A sigh escapes him as they remain like that.  Precious minutes tick away, and she takes the moment to reeducate herself of his warmth, his scent, the way he huffs when he doesn't want to let go, a habit he's never grown out of since they were children.  Hugging always seemed to soothe him, and letting go was always something he loathed to do.

No wonder the children took so quickly to his comforting presence.

Ever so reluctantly, they pull apart, and he reaches over to readjust the pin in her hair carefully.  "There," he says with a huff, "now you look as regal and elegant as you should be."

"Try not to let the Maw kill you off so soon."  She takes his sleeves and tugs on them lightly.  A soft chuckle escapes him as he pulls her into another embrace, tucking her head against his neck with a sigh.

"I'll try not to."  He rocks them back and forth on the bed, humming lightly as they take in each other's warmth.  How did she manage to survive these loops without the Caretaker's comfort nearby?  There is no doubt in her mind that being so close to him has made her softer, but.

Perhaps this softness is what changed her from wanting to stick with that sorry excuse of "survival", and made her crave for something more.

Something just as soft as the Caretaker's smiles and warmth.  Something that could be shared with another person.

She closes her eyes and hums with him.  Whatever time she has with him, she'll take.  

The clock ticks on, and the loop continues.

He falls, as he always does.

But not before she notices that the nomes have diminished in number.

A little girl in yellow stands above her, anger radiating from her as she screams and roars at the Lady in tears as blood drips from her mouth.  The Lady smirks, and hopes that the anger festers in the little girl as a boy in blue drags her away, a power newly inherited within her soul.

The loop ends as it begins, and the new Lady of the Maw comes across a package so drenched in dark magic that she nearly drops it from the sting.  Still, at the behest of that small voice in her mind, she sends it out and continues her task of growing stronger, more powerful, pieces of memories falling together quickly as she recognizes the picture for what it is.

More and more and more.  That's what she does until her fingers bleed from how often she still manages to prick herself on the needles.  Scraps of fabric litter her room, kimonos snipped to pieces as mannequins lie bare in another room.  The stench of ink permeates the air as her brush continues to write character after character, stroke after stroke.  Her motions move with a remembered fluidity, nothing like the mechanical actions she took to arrive at the Maw.  There’s an importance to what she does, a quiet desperation that pours into her work as she puts her hopes and prayers into this tiny little thing she creates over and over again.  Her fingers sting, little drops of blood mingling with ink as she carefully makes the straps for a charm that is yet to be sent out.  Dark magic flows into it, flows until it overflows, flows until she grits her teeth and growls, flows because she won’t stop, can’t stop, not until he’s safe again, not until he’s safe with them, and she pushes and pushes and pushes until-

Suddenly.

In the corner of her quarters, where a television is left almost forgotten for decades and decades and decades.

It turns on.  And an unfamiliar but familiar hum of static greets her.  The charm falls from her grasp.  It barely makes a sound as it hits the floor, the Lady rising up slowly from her work area with shaking breath.  A wordless cry escapes her as she rushes over and presses her hand against it as familiar habits resurface.

Wait.  Wait and watch as the signal tunes itself.  The static turns and straightens out into an image.  She holds her breath as the screen twitches and stutters, as if threatening to end this little moment before it can begin.  But of course, her old friend is oh so very stubborn.  The screen refuses to shut off, continuing to persevere as the image fights to straighten itself out.  With a low, tuning whine, the screen makes a soft pop as finally the television does as it is supposed to and.   

And there.  In the middle of the screen.

There sits the familiar silhouette of a familiar man.

A sob escapes her as she presses her masked forehead against the glass.  Fingers curl in a half attempt of grasping a hand she's only felt in her childhood.  No hand presses back against the screen, but warmth still radiates from the screen as the figure straightens with awareness.  Alert.  Present.

Words pop up beneath the figure, and she nearly collapses from pure rapture as she shrieks her ecstatic sobs.

"Hello, Six."  

Warmth.  So much warmth.

"Mono...!"

She has her beloved Thin Man back.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Fic Back Friday

I’ve been tagged by @noire-pandora! Thank you! It’s a bit late but I’m still doing the thing!

Take an older fic (or art for our artist friends) from about a year ago or older even and talk about it, show it off and hype it up. 

So uh. I have way more fics written from a few years ago than I do within just the last year. I’ve really become more productive and public with my writing just within the last oh I dunno six months? Most of what I have on Ao3 is a collection of what was left of the last eight years? I think. It was hard to pick what to post. But I decided to go with the first thing I ever put up here on Tumblr. Which ... for some reason, it isn’t pulling up the actual link. It’s just pulling a reblog I had. Guess.... I’ll just... post the whole thing? 

Just A Dream

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: So this is some of the first writing I ever did for Aeva. It’s about a dream she had after Trespasser.

A Walk Through the Forrest

The land is green. The trees are not wanting. They reach to the sky. Their branches show blossoms. Their trunks are wide. She wanders among them. Her hands are stretched across. She has never witnessed such greenery. Flower petals touch her fingertips. Stems graze her palms. The sunlight skims her wrists. The songs of birds and the chatter of fennecs echo through the trees.

Everything Falls Silent

But then all falls still. Her footsteps cease. The air grows thin. The temperature falls. There is a sudden breeze. It brings grey clouds and a stench she is familiar with. The word leaves her and she cannot remember precisely the thought she seeks. Trying to grasp it, she ventures forward, hoping the smell will trigger a memory. It does. And the image becomes clearer. An image of tooth and claw. An image of blood. An image of thick fur and a haunting voice.

The Wolves are Stray

The Wolves. She will not fall back. Not now. They know she is present and they will turn on her. Their fur is not black like the ones back home. They are white. They are white and stained with blood. One lifts his giant head and his yellow eyes pierce straight through hers. The wolf licks his lips before lowering his head. She cannot look any longer. The pool of blood rippling beneath them made her stomach churn. The sound of their teeth gnashing against the innards made her head ache. A sudden crunch sounded as a wolf shook his head and a leg detached from the body. A gasp escaped her lips. And the wolves all lifted their gaze.

Feeding on the Innocent

She saw beneath them was once a creature of light grey fur. It would have been unrecognizable if it were not for the horns. The wolves were feeding on a halla. Terror took over as her body turned cold. The hair on her skin rose, but her wits became about her. And she remembered where she was. The wolves would not venture into the forest for a halla. They remain in the plain where the larger heards are known to graze. For a pack of this number to take down a large, stronger member of a heard would mean the wolves would have to be cunning. They would have to be...

Their Leader Rises

Their leader steps forward. But their leader is no animal. The alpha rises on two legs. And his face is familiar. Breathing becomes more difficult as she watched his shoulders flex. Her fists clench tightly, digging into the palms of her hands. He is dressed in white clothing, embroidered in gold. His brow is stern, just as before. But his eyes are cold. And his lips...

A Mouth Full of Blood

His lips are covered in blood. The pack proceeds to ignore her, resuming their meal without the lack of crunching as they enjoyed their fast. But he... he gazes at her. He watches for her reaction. Though there was none, she still felt him pry. He lifts his hand to his jaw and guides down the line until he reaches his mouth. He uses his hand to wipe blood. But he only smears it.

A Smile Filled with Pride

And then he smiles. He smiles so wickedly, so perversely, she let's out a horrifying. Not of fear, but of anger. Only the beginnings of it make it out of her mouth. She feels she can hear it. But the only thing she truly feels is the darkness surrounding her as she falls through the earth. And the only she sees is hid red smile with an echo of a howl in the distance.

She is Bathed in Regret

Falling back into a tangent place, she finds herself in a bath. Without truly knowing what has awakened her from her dream state, she grasps the edge to pull herself free. But she cannot. The water she was soaked in felt thick. It felt warm. It felt wrong. An awareness enlightens her senses, and as he vision clears, she can see that blood surrounds her. Recalling the scene from before, she swallows the start of a scream.

Surrounded by Emptiness

Then they appeared. Men and women of the Inquisition come drifting from the shadows to her side. They are all dressed in uniform, or else she would not even know who they were. Some she knows by name... but these followers... have no face. She cries out, but like before, only the first bit escapes. They reach to their sides and bring up a wooden buckets with a jingle inside. The buckets are emptied into her tub. And golden coins fall onto her body.  

The Weight of Gold

The blood rocks back and forth, spilling onto the floor. She can taste it in her mouth. Feel it burning her eyes. The weight is crushing. She can feel her spine pressing into the bottom of the porcelain tub. She scratches at the side, but to no avail. The treasury will drown her. And her comrades will watch. Thrashing about, she hopes to shake loose. But the relief of pressure does not come from above. It comes below.

A Sound of Resolution

The tub cracks, pulling her through to wherever she must go next. The gold disappears and for a moment, her body is weightless. And then it is cold. So terribly cold. The darkness brightens, but the light is so bright. Her eyes sting from the sudden burst and her body falls almost numb. She gathers her courage to rise from the broken tub. There is no blood but once again, there is the color of white. The color of snow.

An Answer on the Horizon

As her eyes adjust, she can make out something in the distance. It is grey, only slightly darker than the landscape. She moves towards it, the only thing she has to fixate her eyes upon. The only destination. As she draws closer, she knows the shape. The shape of a wolf. But this is a sight she has already seen. Tears fill her eyes. Should she be frightened? Because this is not what she felt. Only sadness. Only anger. Only the realization. Fen'Harel was watching.

The Shrine of Fen'Harel

Ruins suddenly began to appear around her. She does not recognize them. Or this feeling they gave. Emotions suddenly faded as she held her breath. They were replaced a desire. A need. She did not worry that the Betrayer would take her. No... she begged. She prayed silently because she could not speak. She prayed as she reached out with her bare hand. She prayed as she felt her fingertips graze across the wolf's mouth.

The Dread Wolf Howls

Hearing her lament, his eyes burst open. Not only the two, but several more across his twisted face, all burning with red flame. They all turned down to her, witnessing the elf for what she truly was. They judged her. Knew her crimes. Knew her to the very core. She fell to her knees, her body tensing with guilt and rage. This was her fault.

She Feels His Hands of Mercy

There is a sudden warmth across her chest. Two hands creep up to the tops of her shoulders. They pull her hard, into something solid. Something warm. It took away the fear. The cold. The hatred. It brought the comfort. Forgiveness. And she could smell something that she knew very well. It was sweet, but strange. Like an incense in a shop she had browsed in long ago. It was ancient. But it was new, like a parchment unrolled for the first time. It was Solas.

Of Love and Comfort

The statue disappeared, leaving a black abyss surrounding them. She pushed back, shoving him away. He did not belong. He was no help to her. She wanted to tell him, to shout. But there was nothing that would come from her lips. The look on his face told her that he was aware of how she felt. But it wasn't enough. She screamed. And though she couldn't hear it, she could feel the depths of her soul flaming in her belly as she let out a silent roar.

Ma Vhenan ...

But his words were clear. They were so sharp in her ear that she swore she heard them on the edge of the bed. She shot up, the sensation of his breath on her earlobe bringing her heart to an alarming rate. There was no one there. There was only the light of the stars and the moon. The sound of the breeze nestling up to the slightly cracked window in the far end of the room. But there was taste of blood in her mouth from where she bit her lip in her sleep. She wondered who exactly had visited her that night...

[lov3nerdstuff]

Someone to you

*Loki x reader*

Part: Oneshot

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: little language, some gloomy thoughts

Summary: Loki knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. What Loki felt indeed, was hope. A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you.

A story written in Loki's perspective about how he learned that even he deserves kindness and love. Your love.

Original Request: Hi! Do you make song based requests? If you do I'd love a oneshot of Loki x Reader based on the song Someone to you by Banners. Thank you if you can ♡ -> by @hunter-with-a-tardis

A.N.: Okay folks, this has gotten a little dark, but I promise it has a fluffy ending indeed! It doesn't really fit the song based on the melody, but I focused on the lyrics! 💚✨ Enjoy!

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For the longest time, Loki had felt lost in this world. In every world. Lost and alone, broken, abused and shattered in so many ways that he'd given up any attempt to hold grudges against individuals, and at one point simply started to feel hate for everyone and everything. Yet he knew very well that hate wasn't the right word for what he felt, but it was easier to title it hate and delve into that feeling than admit, even to himself, what it really was indeed that was keeping him up at night and made him burst with a raging, dark energy at daytime.

To Loki, self-awareness was his ultimate doom, his one true mean to selfdestruction. He knew what he felt, he knew what had caused it and what it meant and yet… he couldn't change a single thing about it. Sometimes he wished he was as oblivious in his emotions as the midgardians he spent his time with, but that just wasn't how his mind worked. No, his mind picked up every pebble and inspected it to the depth of a single atom, twice.

And he'd lived in this illusion of universal hate for so long that it had become his reality, a shallow one, but it was still enough to dictate his behavior and sometimes, if he wasn't careful, also his thoughts. He felt himself slipping into living within yet another lie, one brilliant enough, carefully enough woven to suffice. It was his own, after all. As long as no one would be able to see through his facade, there was nothing, no one, worth dropping it for in return.

So Loki found himself living among his brother's friends, the people who despised him without ever having bothered to get to know him. But really… him trying to take over their planet all those years ago, to them, must've seemed like a good enough getting-to-know each other.

Loki didn't really bother to tell them the truth, for things were easy enough while they hated him and believed he hated them in return. And honestly, by now, he kind of did sincerely hate them. He hadn't in the beginning, but their coldness and constant rejection had forced Loki to withdraw further and further into his own mind. A very dangerous place to dwell in indeed and yet the only place he felt truly safe (at times).

The days passed away like leaves in autumn, withering and tumbling down into the abyss of indifference. And autumn it was indeed when something happened that made Loki's carefully constructed reality come crashing down on him like a building's collapse. It was the day he met you.

Honestly, it had been a day exactly like every other. He'd picked a book from the library, then sat down in the floor length window in the living room and ignored everyone and everything around him as he escaped into the world between the pages, right into the rough paper resting against his fingertips.

That was until Stark, that tin of a fool, came sauntering into the room and inevitably drew everyone's attention towards himself. Why exactly Loki chose this one instance to actually listen to the man of iron was beyond him, but he put his book down in his lap and looked over to the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

"Alright everyone, this is Y/n." Tony announced loudly, clapping you on the shoulder. Loki's eyes met yours and you… smiled.

He frowned immediately, deeply irritated, and looked back to the book in his lap. His ears however didn't once leave the announcement of your presence.

"She is… well, why don't you explain it yourself?" Stark asked and took a step to the side, giving you room to introduce yourself.

"Well, hi everyone. I'm Y/n, like Tony said already…" Your voice was soft, like liquid silk that ran straight from Loki's ears to his mind, wrapping around his senses in a way he couldn't really prevent. "Before anyone starts guessing, I'm not an Avenger, or even remotely trained in combat or the sorts. I'm…"

"...going to live here, for a while." Tony finished the sentence before you could, making Loki frown to himself once again. "She's going to be living with us. So please treat her nicely, and look out for her a little. No funny business. I'm looking at you, Reindeer Games…"

Loki ignored the comment, just like he always did, but he felt your eyes on himself like a scorching heat burning his entire left side.

"Alright, I gotta go, but everyone please introduce yourselves now and the sorts… And Cap, will you show her to her room later? The guest bedroom on the third floor will do." Tony ordered quickly, then addressed you once more. "Y/n, dear… I know for a fact that you'll be fine with those guys here, but you better stay away from the odd one over there."

Loki just knew immediately that Stark had meant him, causing him to roll his eyes to himself. Obviously he wouldn't at least this once be given the chance to start off on the right foot with someone. No, they were all rushed into prejudice before he even got any chance to make things right. At least this once.

And oddly enough, Loki wanted to make things right with you. Maybe only because you were new indeed, a blank piece of paper for him, but then again… you had smiled at him. Just for a very short moment, and without any intention to mock him. Just a sincere, innocent smile. Maybe you simply didn't know who he was and what he'd done? And yet… he couldn't forget about that one smile, even if he tried.

For the next minutes Loki quietly observed how everyone currently present introduced themselves to you, his eyes following you through the room as you moved from Natasha to Thor to Wanda… Smiling at everyone and exchanging meaningless smalltalk. Gosh, how Loki hated smalltalk, or anything that was meaningless really. They asked you about all the most ridiculous things, while Loki himself would have wasted no time to ask the really important things. For example, why Stark had interrupted you in your attempt to explain who you are or where you are from. What had brought you here despite being of no obvious use to the stupid little team? Questions upon questions that he could've asked, but he didn't, for the solemn reason that this was not the right place nor time. He looked back at his book, trying to read the words that threatened to escape his mind the second they entered it. Hell, why wouldn't his damn mind just leave you and the stupid idea that at least one person in this freaking building might actually grow not to hate him alone for good? He couldn't focus, and his ears picked up every word of your conversations with the others. It really wasn't even interesting, but something within him seemed to cling onto you so desperately that he grew more and more angry with himself by the minute.

He didn't even know you, for heaven's sake, then why did it feel like your appearance was the single ray of light breaking through the cold sky, filled with heavy clouds of dark? A single ray of light, keeping him from fading, from disappearing from reality altogether. A ray of light drawing him in like a moth to the flame. Like Icarus and the sun.

To be honest, Loki knew why. He knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. It was exactly this feeling that he'd tried to drown out with the cold hate all along. Why he'd tried to push reality as far away as possible, for he knew what would become of him. He couldn't help it, couldn't extinct the tiny flame that had so suddenly flickered to life upon your one damn smile. What Loki felt indeed, was hope.

A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you. But he didn't want this hope, for hope was a one way road to disappointment and pain.

And until this very day, Loki had done a great job to extinguish every bit of hope from his very being and drown it in hatred and mockery.

"Hey…" Your voice, very close suddenly, made him snap out of his mind and back to reality, only to find you standing right next to him, towering above his sitting form. He didn't dare looking up from his book.

"Since everyone else seems to avoid you as good as possible, I just wanted to say hi, at least."

"Didn't anyone tell you to stay as far away from me as possible?" Loki asked defensively and without his eyes parting from the page he'd tried reading for the last thirty minutes.

"Oh, they most certainly did. All of them, actually." You replied calmly, not at all bothered by his admittedly hostile attitude. Geez, Loki didn't know for himself why he was behaving so hostile towards you when all he really wanted was to make you like him. Maybe it's just who he was now, the cruel empty shell of a broken man.

"And why didn't you listen to them?" He asked, inhaling a little more audibly than he would've liked.

"Because the things they said didn't make sense… that you're dangerous, insane, cruel… not worth my time and effort." You mused, shrugging, and there was a tone to your voice that made Loki's heart pick up speed.

"You are not making sense, mortal." He snapped, cringing inwardly at his own behavior as his mind begged him to stop this ridiculous hostility.

"I'm…" You stopped for a moment and Loki almost believed he had finally broken you, finally made you see how horrible of a person he really was. Yet, you continued in a tone as calm as ever. "Would you be so kind and show me to my new bedroom?"

"Why would I? So that your new friends can mock me and have a decent excuse to end me for coming too close to their newest plaything?" He snorted sarcastically, closing his book with a loud pang and rising to his feet in his usual graceful manner, finally towering over you as he knew he was standing too close to you for his own good. But if being mean didn't work to scare you away, maybe intimidation would.

"Why would I do such a thing indeed, mortal?" He asked again, his voice dropping down to a dangerous and quiet low that spoke of nothing but disgust. It couldn't have been further from the truth, he felt drawn to you beyond measure.

"Because I would like you to know where you can find me when you need a break from torturing yourself like this." You replied calmly, yet so quietly that only Loki could hear, looking right into his eyes and he felt his blood freeze over for a moment. He stared right back at you in a maddening mixture of shock and awe, unsure if his physical presence continued to exist once his mind swallowed him into the depth of abysmal nothing.

"Loki!" Thor's thundering voice however ripped Loki from those depths, as he was forced a few steps away from you. Loki let Thor pull him away without a shred of resistance, eyes still irreversibly fixed on yours as he only heard the echo of his own heartbeat hollowly drumming in his ears.

How could this creature that was you have such an enormous effect on him? Mess with his mind even, trick the trickster indeed.

"Y/n, did he… hurt you, or try to?" Steve asked then, and his words reached Loki's ears, but not his mind.

"Why would he?" You replied calmly, turning to the soldier with a friendly smile. "We were just talking."

"Looked more like he wanted to murder you in the most gruesome ways…" Bruce commented carefully, giving Loki a suspicious look.

"Maybe, who knows…" You shrugged at them, smiling, as you turned back to Loki. The look on your face told him that you knew indeed. You knew that he wouldn't ever hurt you, nor anyone else if it could be prevented.

When Loki forcefully jerked his arm out of Thor's grip and made for the door with quick and long steps, all he was really asking himself was just WHY you knew.

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For the next few days Loki stayed out of your way. Whenever you would enter the room, he would turn to leave in return and thereby cause his heart to clench in the most painful ways. And every single time he asked himself why exactly he was doing all that… all the pretense, all the hostility and all the false hatred. You'd not once given him any reason to dislike you, you always said hi to him (being the only one who even acknowledged his presence most of the time) and tried to talk to him a few times even. But there had always been someone in the room with you, someone's watchful eyes on him as you spoke and that always had resulted in him pulling back from you, more and more until he didn't talk to you at all anymore.

And for once, he experienced what real hatred felt like, in the hatred he found for himself and his behavior towards you. It wasn't your fault after all that he fought a war within himself that he was very close to losing on either end. Fighting off the darkness was routine, really, and he'd grown used to that constant fight long ago. Yet, now that he was fighting off the hope on the other end, he was at risk of losing on both sides. If he only could stop this nonsensical behavior at once, and maybe give you a tiny shard of his real self, maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn anymore. He wanted to be closer to you, to get to know you… who you are, why you were here, why you seemed to be able to see right through him and still didn't try to save him from his misery. Because, if he was honest with himself, he was desperately hoping that you would save him indeed. That you would lead him through his own darkness and guide him to a better place. And he was hoping that he could be someone better for you, since he failed to be better just for himself. And that, exactly that was what scared him. He didn't want to use you as a path to the light, he wanted you to be the light, for him.

This war within him continued on for weeks, but he had let go of the hostility immediately after one evening's events. He'd been somewhat sarcastic and mean as usual, ignored everyone at dinner really, until one thing he had said in particular had made your face fall and for the first time, Loki had seen sincere sadness and hurt in your eyes. He'd gotten up and left immediately, silently promising to make sure that he would NEVER be the cause of those emotions again. After that day, things had been different for him. He'd still stay away from you, but he never once had said a single hostile word to you again. He had been just the same old to everyone else of course, but with you… he'd become reluctant, almost. The hope within his mind had grown into a flame almost painful in its fury, urging him to give in. Ironically, the one thing that worked best against the hope was reality for now. He'd spent a few weeks locked up in his room to sort through his own messed up emotions, then spent a few more being mean to you, then a few more being basically a mere shadow on the wall. Always there, always listening but never noticed until someone needed something to be scared of.

He couldn't sleep at night. His mind would torture him with countless possibilities for how things could become even worse from where he was, while his logic would try to draw up a plan on how to make things right. He absolutely hated that with the hope, also the deeply rooted desire to be loved had resurfaced and clung onto the hope in return, making him ache for your attention and your approval. Such a horrendous desire, really… he'd spent centuries getting rid of it. And now it was suddenly back, hitting him like a hulk smash.

Unable to even remotely find rest, he got out of bed and left his room to head to the living room where he'd left his current read in the afternoon. It was three am in the morning, he didn't even bother to change into something other than his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt for he was certain that he wouldn't run into anyone anyway. The sound of his naked feet on the cold stone floor reminded him just how much of a prison this place really was. An big and empty one, but a prison nonetheless.

When he walked around one final corner before entering the living room, he immediately spotted your small frame, dark contrasting against the giant window. Maybe you'd heard him approaching, but he didn't know for sure and he wanted to leave it at that. So he kept standing on the other side of the room, observing you as you observed the millions of bright stars in the night sky. That maybe was the only good thing about the avengers base being out here… one could see a million of stars every night, if only the clouds allowed it.

For the longest time Loki observed you in silence, his heart beating strongly against his ribcage in an almost painful manner. Until finally he gave in, unable to resist the raging hope any longer. With a second of careful thought and a few rays of soft green light, he recreated the entire night sky in the living room, surrounding you in a bright bunch of a million stars. The small gasp that escaped your lips brought a smile to his face, a moment before he turned to leave, not without granting himself two seconds of admiring your beautifully overwhelmed expression.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you when he returned to his room with quick steps, his book long forgotten. No, he would've loved to talk to you, but he simply did not know what to say after all this time of severely screwing things up with you.

You'd been nothing but nice to him from the very first moment and he'd been nothing but poison to your lovely being. A fool, scared and lashing out in fear of getting hurt. Ironic, really, considering that he'd been well aware of this the entire time, yet again unable to change his own behavior. And now that he'd finally gotten over himself, he was more than sure that he'd already managed to drive you so far away from himself that it was past any point of return.

So he just lay on his bed, on top of the neatly folded green covers, and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Until a few minutes later there was a faint knock on his door.

He knew that it must be you, nobody else would ever knock on his door and nobody else would be awake at this time, but him. He had the door swing open gently without as much as moving a finger.

"May I come in?" You asked quietly, standing in the door frame as your eyes inspected his room quickly, yet intently. He almost smiled at your curiosity, the urge to study your surroundings… it's something he found himself inclined to do as well.

This was his last chance, and he was done pretending, done trying to keep you at a distance.

"Yes." Was all he could really say, in as much calm as he could manage. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling as he heard your soft footsteps approaching him slowly. Would you hear his frantic heartbeat in the insufferable silence of the room?

Then he felt the bed dip ever so slightly as you moved to lay down next to him, at a safe distance, but he could feel the heat of your body on his side nonetheless. It felt nice.

"Would you do it again? For me?" You asked calmly, yet again in a quiet voice as you stared up at the ceiling as well. With the smallest of smiles Loki brought the stars back from the sky into his room, filling the entire space with a soft light in form of a million little sprinkles. You let out a soft sigh, and Loki's smile widened. Maybe you didn't completely hate him after all.

"This is really beautiful, you know…" You said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Have you seen the entire universe?"

"Not only this one… there's more, so much more." Loki replied easily, and he felt more at ease than he had in as long he cared to remember.

"Amazing... I can't imagine what it must be like to see all those incredible places!" You sighed.

"Would you like to see some of it?" He asked before he could stop himself, his voice laced with the hope he didn't care to repress anymore.

Now, finally, he felt confident enough to turn his head to look at you, finding you looking at him already with a soft smile. And just like the first day you had met, Loki felt your eyes forcing their way into his soul, touching it with a gentle caress and leaving imprints wherever they went. What surprised him most however was that he let you in, without timidity.

"I'd love to. See some of it, I mean…" You smiled at him with that heart-warming, all-consuming smile of yours and Loki couldn't help but stare. Here you were, merely two feet away, lying on his bed and smiling at him as if he wasn't… this. Wasn't himself. He wanted to ask you about your reasons, but he didn't know how. For once in his life, his eloquence was lost on him. And thus he did what he knew he could do best, turning his head back towards the ceiling and moving the stars around the two of you, going from planet to planet while both showing and explaining to you which secrets each place held in its depth and uniqueness.

You listened intently to him, nodding, giving soft noises of approval or occasionally asking questions about the things he said. Loki found himself relaxing in the conversation, smiling more frequently and looking at you from time to time, observing your beautiful features while you admired the imagines of distant places he conjured up just for you. And sooner than he would've liked, Loki found himself wishing that he could show you the universe for real.

Time flew by like the stars you passed on your magical journey, and soon night turned into dawn. By morning, Loki had spent more time looking at you than looking at the stars, really, and he found the urge to be close to you growing into the insufferable, while you seemed completely enamored with his tales of distant places and times. He would've talked on forever if only to make you happy, to bring this light to your eyes and dwell in the comfort of your presence. But after the sun started to rise, you decided that you would have to leave to get at least some more rest. Obviously Loki didn't make an attempted to stop you, but wished you a good night (even if it was morning indeed).

During the following days, Loki was back to his usual self (with everyone but you, of course), placing some carefully worded threats and intricate insults into the conversations he was systematically excluded from. Only when nighttime rolled around, he would be in his room, waiting, until you would come to hear more stories, or to chat about all the most meaningful things, but not once about anything personal. He enjoyed this new ritual immensely, allowing himself to be raw, honest, true… during the day he may belong to his demons, but during the nighttime he belonged to you. And even though he would've loved to be more than just a storyteller, a means to passing time to you, he was still content to be something to you, at least. But with every night you spent lying next to him on his bed, listening and looking at him like he himself was the single most fascinating thing in the entirety of the universe, Loki found himself wishing for more.

You were truly lovely, the kindest and smartest person he'd ever met and he constantly asked himself why by the gods you were spending your precious time with him. Eventually, he figured, he would run out of stories to tell and you would stop your nightly visits, his own personal time spent in the light.

But he wouldn't let that happen, or rather he simply couldn't. If this one last time he allowed himself to hope, to try to be somebody to someone, turned out to leave him hurt again, he knew he would lose his fight against the darkness, and thus lose his final threat anchoring him to reality.

That is why tonight Loki decided that he would visit you for once, in your room. He'd never been there before, you had always come to see him in his own space. It was still a little while until you usually would be coming over when he made his way through the dark hallway, up the staircase and towards your door.

Just when he lifted his hand to knock, the door was opened in an instant and you almost ran into him as you moved out of the room. Loki's eyes widened as he looked down at you in surprise, but a moment later he couldn't resist peaking into the room behind you (he was, after all, of an impeccably curious nature).

"Hey Loki..." You looked up at him in that adorably flustered expression. "I was just going to come see you, actually."

"Hello Y/n…" He replied calmly, giving you a small smile. "I… I wanted to visit YOU, for once."

"Oh…" You smiled to yourself, looking down to your bare feet for a second. "Well, do come in then!"

You moved out of the way, backing into your room and Loki followed with careful steps behind you, looking around himself. Your room way probably double the size of his own, with an open window front and the lovelies furniture. And it was only a guest bedroom, after all.

"What made you come here tonight?" You asked, studying his face intently as you leaned your head slightly to the side.

Loki took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, fighting off his pride. Why was it so hard to just tell you how he felt?! Maybe because all he'd really done for the past few decades was keeping his feelings to himself, if he admitted to having them in the first place. He just wasn't any good at being honest in a nice way anymore. Is that something one could unlearn?

"I'm here because… because you told me to find you here when I needed a break from torturing myself." He finally said in a faintly shaky voice, jaw clenching as he looked at you with everything he didn't know how to say.

"Sit down." You ordered gently and Loki did as he was told, eyes not once leaving yours as he sat down on the edge of your bed in silence. He would do absolutely anything you asked of him and he didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed of it.

"May I try something that might make you feel better?" You asked quietly and with the slightest hint of insecurity, and Loki only managed a nod in return. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

His eyes widened ever so slightly when you moved towards him, closer and closer, and he could feel his body tensing involuntarily. The closest he had gotten to people in a long while was the distance it took to stab them.

So when you very carefully sat down in his lap and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you in the most innocent hug, Loki was lost. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, before a second later he wrapped his arms around you very gently at first, then tighter and tighter until you were pressed against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, dwelling in the overwhelming sensation of being so very close to you. Of you allowing him to be so close.

"Why?" He finally managed to ask, not once letting go of you. He might quite possibly never let go of you again, if it that would've been for him to decide.

"Because I like you, Loki." You smiled, playing with the tips of his hair on his back, making him let out an unintentional sigh. "I have from the very first day."

"Why?" He asked again, almost pleading in his tone as he desperately tried to understand.

"Why not? You are absolutely amazing… intelligent, funny, kind…"

"Don't mock me, Y/n…" He breathed, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt. "Even if you might not have known who I was when we met, I'm sure I have given you enough reason by now to believe that I am not a kind person."

"I knew exactly who you are when we met." You replied calmly, resting your head against the crook of his neck, which made Loki's heart flutter almost painfully.

"Then why did you smile at me? If you knew what I was all along… Why did you have to do that to me?"

"Because you deserve kindness, Loki, maybe more than anyone else." You whispered, tightening your grip on him.

"I don't." He replied in the same quiet voice, relishing the feeling of your arms around him, your warmth a comforting blanket and your scent as addicting as anything could be.

"You do. And you are kind indeed, despite your suffering."

"I don't suffer…" He gave back in a tone that didn't even convince himself of his statement.

"I see it in your eyes, you know… in your behavior. In the way you carry yourself. You have suffered more in your lifetime than anyone should even dare to think of." Your voice was so calming that Loki found himself relaxing more and more, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall in unison with yours.

"You deserve better than this, Y/n… I wanted to be someone to you so badly all along, and what did I do? I pushed you away for weeks and proved with every word that I am more monster than man by now." The words came freely from his mind to his lips at last, lifting some of the weight off his heart as he spoke.

"A monster doesn't hope, Loki… A monster doesn't try to be better for someone. A monster doesn't spend nights lying next to me, making the starlight circle the room while explain the mysteries of the universe to me." You lifted your head and pulled back only far enough to be able to look at him in the eye. "I see you, Loki... All of you. The past, the present and the future and I will have all of it."

"You can't possibly see the past, nor the future…" He breathed, staring at you in awe as it slowly dawned on him.

"I can see a great deal of things." You smiled kindly, moving your hands from his shoulders to his neck. "Time is but a mere comma in the story of eternity, really."

"Who are you?" His eyes were fixed on yours, inches away only as he realized that quite possibly the greatest mystery of the entire universe was sitting right in his lap.

"Yours, if you will have me." You replied with an almost flustered smile. "I want to be someone to you too."

"You are. And you were, all along." He returned the smile, honest and hopeful and adoring, watching your expression for a while before he dared to speak up again, in the new found courage of acceptance, maybe even love, that he had been missing over a thousand years. "Y/n… may I be yours?"

"You are. And you were all along."

Without wasting any more commas in the story of eternity, you leaned down, closing the final inches between Loki's lips and your own.

"I may be my rawest self for you to see, but I'm still going to be a nuisance for absolutely everyone else." Loki finally smiled against the soft skin of your neck, placing feathery kisses along your jawline a good while later.

"I expected absolutely nothing less." You replied with the very same smirk. "And I'm very much looking forward to all the mischief yet to come."

_____________________________

Tag List:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @thidls12333 @tomstoobeautiful @dreary-skies-stuff @averyhill4445 @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @myworddump

If anyone would like to be added to my general tag list, feel free to tell me in the comments 😊💚💚✨✨ I hope you guys enjoyed this story and I tried really hard to do Loki justice, his perspective is really intriguing yet difficult to write ☺️ tell me what you think!

[yilingradishfairy]

Dying Leaf

Link to AO3 (1770 words)

Written for Day 17 of Untamed Fall Fest 2020 - Falling.

Summary: Wei Wuxian had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind. His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Content warnings: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Whump, Emotional Whump, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Body Horror, Cannibalism, but like, Canon Compliant, Still, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Canonical Character Death

I have some feelings™ about that little ghost boy, so I covered the supervisory office scene in some detail. I actually pared it down quite a bit, and I don't think it's much more gruesome than EXR's translation. Still, please make sure you read the content warnings. We’re all responsible for what we consume on the internet.

He stands at the top of a mountain. He's almost surprised that he can stand at all. Wen Qing and Wen Ning left long ago, though Wen Ning wanted to wait with him. Wei Wuxian insisted that they had done enough.

It was enough.

He looks over to where his brother, his shidi, his sect leader lies. He kneels down to hover an unsteady hand over Jiang Cheng's lower dantian, reassuring himself for the twentieth time that it worked. The sacrifice was worth it. It was enough.

He stands again and notes the position of the sun in the sky. Jiang Cheng’s sedative will be wearing off soon. He stubbornly ignores the chill in the air, the one he would never have noticed a week ago, and sets off down the mountain. It feels like he left a part of himself behind.

He did.

Maybe this is for the best, he tells himself as he taunts the Wen soldiers. This way, Jiang Cheng will never find out. He forces himself to laugh in their faces. He dares them to kill him. And maybe I will come back to enact revenge. One vengeful spirit taking down this entire regiment. He spits onto their robes. What a perfect plan.

He's almost convinced them to do it. Instead, they haul him up, up, up into the sky. Higher even than the mountain he had just descended.

Then they drop him into the abyss. Into the mountain of forgotten corpses. Into the dreaded Burial Mounds.

He falls down, down, down.

Then resentful energy reaches up like a black fog, enveloping him completely, slowing his fall. The haze clogs the air so thickly, Wei Wuxian can hardly breathe. He chokes and gags on the thick hatred blanketing the entire area. It rushes into his lungs, crawls along his skin, and batters against his body. He reaches for his own spiritual energy to counteract it. To protect him. To keep it out. But there is nothing inside him but an empty hole.

The resentful energy rushes to fill it.

It's crawling into his nose, through his veins like liquid fire. It's oozing black hate into every pore. He hears whispers, feels hands, breathes smoke. The voices rise in volume until he can hear that it is his name. They continue to rise until they are shouts.

“What do you want?” he asks hoarsely.

The voices coalesce into one. “You.”

And he falls, even further.

Even once he lands on the ground, his descent doesn't stop. Piece by piece, every part of him falls away. Sloughs off like an old skin. He steeps himself in the thick, heavy miasma of the Burial Mounds.

All the souls left to rot here, all the stories with no conclusion, clamoring for a person to pour into. The general of that infamous war that led to the formation of the burial mounds. The countless soldiers slaughtered here. The untold multitudes carelessly dumped here in years since by the self-important Wens.

Wei Wuxian learns so many stories that he can hardly remember his own. The spirits feed him, protect him, gift him a dizi, promise him power. In return for being their instrument. Destroy the Wens, they whisper. Make them pay, they demand.

He travels up to the highest peak in the Burial Mounds. He shrouds himself in resentful energy, like armor. Then he marches down to the living world to begin his task.

He comes back to enact revenge, as he promised the Wens. But instead of one, he is many vengeful spirits, hunting down the regiment, one by one. The fierce corpses, though under his command, retain their individuality. Each Wen soldier is killed however their slayer deems fit. They fight over the ones that wronged them the most and mindlessly annihilate the rest.

Wei Wuxian brings a few select corpses with him to face Wen Chao.

The woman he had scorned and the little boy he had drowned.

"He starved you, boy?" Wei Wuxian asks. The boy nods his head jerkily, eyes fixed hungrily on Wen Chao's whimpering form. "We'll fix that," Wei Wuxian assures him with a pat on his ghostly shoulder.

Wei Wuxian lifts his dizi to his lips, but keeps his eyes open. He won't miss one second of his deserved revenge. He allows the woman and boy to do as they will, watches them hack Wen Chao into slices.

The boy tries to choke down the raw flesh but cannot. He chomps bitterly, stubbornly, until finally spitting it out in frustration. He beats his frustration on Wen Chao’s mauled, bloody leg, and the man’s mouth opens in an anguished scream. The boy freezes, and he looks up, into that gaping maw. He scrambles to tear off more of Wen Chao’s leg, and he shoves the meat into his open mouth. Wen Chao gags through it, but the boy claws his mouth open and forces more in.

Wei Wuxian thinks that he should feel disgusted. Or that he should feel victorious. Instead, he feels nothing. But it worked. The victory was worth it. It was enough.

Afterwards, he formally joins the Sunshot Campaign. It is strange to dine with the living. To converse with his brother and sister. To remember that he has not always been this empty husk, filled with the wishes of a thousand others and one shared goal. He had been Wei Wuxian. He had a place with these people who called him brother.

They try to draw him back in. To recreate the family they had been. But they cannot. He has been cut off from them too long, shriveling like a stale leaf, dead on the branch. The cultivation that they’re so worried about has been the only thing that kept him alive. This is what brought him back to them, though warped and deformed. It was his salvation on the Burial Mounds, and it will be their salvation from the Wens. He knows they don’t understand. He makes sure they won’t, that they will never understand the choices he made and the circumstances he endured. He knows that it was worth it. It was enough.

He has accepted that it will never be just the three of them, ever again. For he is no longer one, but many. And he keeps losing the thread of his identity. Wielding all those energies and stories and hate has a cost. He can’t sleep anymore. He lies down, but he doesn’t dream. Instead, he closes his eyes, and all he sees is them. He lives their stories every night. He feels their pain, their anguish, their rage. All of this borrowed energy swirling inside of him, clamoring for their vengeful conclusion.

So he stops lying down to sleep. Instead, Wei Wuxian steals off into the night, searching for Wen burial grounds. He marches down into countless graveyards, digging down and down to raise up a new horde.

He listens to every single corpse’s accounts. He internalizes all of their stories and uses them to his advantage. "They wronged you," he whispered. "You want to fight on our side." Some of them are persuaded. Some are so resentful, they don't care who they kill. Some rebel, and he simply drains their resentful energy into himself and leaves the husk of the corpse behind.

Before every battle, he amasses a great army with a single purpose. Annihilate the Wen. And annihilate they do.

He had thought he would have hit rock bottom by now. How much further can he fall? He has long since fallen from the high branch he had flourished on before. But he cannot seem to touch the ground yet, floundering desperately in the wind.

His deeds during the war are like the final spectacular colors on dead leaves: impressive, yet they are only the vibrant marks of dying. His soul has surely withered away by now. He is tethered here by only a spare few. Though he cannot be the brother they want, he will watch over them as the protector they need. He will keep going until his body collapses.

Though stated as a hyperbole, Wei Wuxian now knows his claim to be true. Falling to the ground in the midst of battle is far too dangerous to do more than twice, however. He wonders if there was a way to channel his resentful energy through a receptive object, to lessen the strain on his weakened body. He experiments for a few weeks before finding the answer.

The answer is yes.

But now he wishes he hadn’t asked the question.

He tells himself that it worked. The experiment was worth it. It was enough.

At least, the war is now over, and their vengeful goal is achieved. He releases his hold on the satisfied souls, now accompanied only by the stalwart. He continues to masquerade as himself, but he knows it won’t last long. He cannot stay. The living fear him too much now. He hopes that he can pass as Wei Wuxian long enough to see Jiang Cheng well established, and then maybe he can ascend to find peace.

It is not to be. 

He must again cut himself off from the people he loves most. He is grateful to have had them as long as he has. But he has a new cause to champion. One that no one else is both able and willing to take up. He now wields his corpse army, not to destroy Wens, but to protect Wens. A branch of the Wen Sect guilty of nothing more than their name. He leads them up to the Burial Mounds, the only place he can protect them. He brings his corpse army home.

And he clings to that dead branch for two years. A dying leaf balancing on a condemned branch, bracing for the inevitable. He weaves winding tracks into the slumbering Burial Mounds, laying protections, buying supplies, and selling food. But he doesn’t realize. He is just one brutal mistake away from falling again. From falling and taking the whole tree down with him.

He stands there, at the end. He has already destroyed one half of his accursed seal; let them have the other. He backs up to the edge of the cliff. The bottomless pit yawns wide beneath him, beckoning darkly. The esteemed Hanguang-jun tries to save him, another bond he has severed. It’s not enough. Wei Wuxian has been falling and falling for so many years now. He wrenches his hand away, he loosens his grip on the branch, and he falls again. Finally, finally, he hits the bottom.

I love magic systems, and MDZS and CQL leave lots of space for headcanons. I've been trying to develop my own sense of how Wei Wuxian's demonic cultivation might work ever since I started working on a continuation of my You Ignite Me fic. I’m enchanted by the idea of a semi-sentient Burial Mounds. The tortured souls festering within, waiting for their chance for vengeance. Staking it all on one broken cultivator, keeping him alive, grooming him to be their instrument of revenge. 

Credits to @words-writ-in-starlight (link) and @hunxi-guilai (link, link 2, and link 3) for the Burial Mounds feels and headcanon inspiration.

I hope you enjoyed this! Please let me know what you thought! Come yell with me about angsty necromancers ^_^

[tainted-wine]

All Consuming

Fumikage Tokoyami x Reader, Dark Shadow x Reader (NSFW)

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Noncon, Dark Shadow being an aggressive monster

(I’m very mixed on this. This was a weird one that feels less smutty and more just plain horror, and I wasn’t sure how to approach the perspectives. Either way, writing this was an experience)

Dark Shadow was a simple creature that craved two things: strong emotions and darkness.

It remembers Master’s first and only tantrum. Anger was a suffocating heat that licked at Dark Shadow like a flame, but instead of burning, it was pumped with newfound energy. It launched from Master’s body, lashing out and ready to tear apart the two humans responsible. But Master held it back with tears in his eyes, begging it not to hurt “Mommy” and “Daddy”, even though they made him angry. Dark Shadow could have fought back, and it probably would have overpowered the child, but it was not interested in damaging Master’s trust.

So it retreated back into the abyss.

It remembers the first time the lights went out. The surrounding pitch blackness became one with the abyss. It coated the beast, layer by layer, morphing it into a power-drunk monster that felt free. It laid waste to Master’s room in a joyful rampage. Alas, Master stopped it once again, asking it to please stay put when he slept. It warned Master that darkness is always a delicious temptation, but it will try its best.

So it retreated back into the abyss.

As the years passed, Master strengthened his control on both his emotions and his hold on Dark Shadow. The moments he lost his grip on either were becoming so rare. Dark Shadow floated in the abyss with conflicted feelings. It cared for Master’s wellbeing, but it also cherished his gravest mistakes. Every powerful sensation that broke through the carefully built barrier within Master’s mind surged through his quirk like an addictive injection. He has called Dark Shadow a greedy beast many times throughout their life; the beast does not disagree. The human mind offered the best flavors when it was loud and untamed.

That’s why Dark Shadow believed you were a godsend.

A fellow Pro Hero that has teamed up with Master on several occasions. You two were surprisingly compatible, inside and outside of work.You have his back during villain attacks. You were there to comfort him after brushes with death, or when he couldn’t save every civilian. You pet Dark Shadow after a job well done like he was a lowly pet. The sentient quirk would shrink back into Master’s body after refusing to accept your praise (it felt good). It was clear that your relationship was becoming something more than a professional one.

The abyss was changing. Dark Shadow felt a shift in temperature, a more comforting heat instead of the usual eerie frigidness. The vast emptiness suddenly felt…soft. No emotion has ever pulsed within Master’s body so strongly and for so long, to the point where it changed Dark Shadow’s void of a home. The creature of darkness much preferred the sensation of more hostile emotions, but this admittedly wasn’t so bad.

But sometimes the feeling did change into something more aggressive, if only for a moment. During those times when you showered Master’s beak with kisses that he couldn’t properly reciprocate (he’s expressed his frustrations about this many times, but you insist that it isn’t an issue) while his hands roam your body, the abyss’s dreamy atmosphere became something more passionate. He would stop you before things got too heated, but Dark Shadow still felt that brief spike of hunger, a hunger that it has never felt before.

One night, Master pleasured himself for the first time. It was an urge he never wanted to act on during his adolescent years out of fear of losing his grasp on his quirk. But his cravings, his desire to have you was becoming shamefully strong. Despite the dangers of introducing the demon within him to such a powerfully new sensation, he took his own girth in his hands.

Dark Shadow observed from inside. It watched Master stroke himself, it listened to his increasingly heavy breaths, it noticed his feathered head becoming damp and disheveled as sweat dripped from his pores. All the while the abyss grew hotter. It wasn’t the angry kind of heat, the kind that pricked the shadow with energy and agitated it until it violently snapped. No, this heat gathered around it, forming bundles of pleasure that slowly grew in size. As Master jerked himself and drew closer to…something, the pleasure swelled more and more until it was nearly suffocating Dark Shadow, and yet the confused but excited creature didn’t want it to stop.

The moment it was sure that the hot pressure was going to crush it, the entire abyss burst and for just a minute, Dark Shadow felt afraid. Orgasmic bliss engulfed its entire being, nearly paralyzing it as the last of hot pleasure exploded around it in bright flashes. Beyond the void, Dark Shadow could hear Master heaving and groaning. Both of them were stunned by what they just experienced.

Love was a sweet and cozy feeling, but lust was absolutely breathtaking.

‘Again!’ Dark Shadow begged from within. ‘Do it again.’

The voice snapped Master out of cloud nine. “Quiet, beast.” he huffed while regaining his composure. “I’m not foolish enough to spoil you with this.”

‘You loved it too.’ it countered.

“I have made many sacrifices to keep the darkness at bay. This will be no different.”

‘Damn you.’

Master resisted touching himself after the first night. Dark Shadow knew the itch was there (you can’t hide your wants from me, Master), it noticed every time a wave of feverish heat swept through the abyss, but the human continued to be stubborn.

“You will get greedy and lose control, like you always do.” the human said.

The anger and frustration distorted the shadow’s voice into a monstrous growl. ‘Why won’t you grant me just one freedom?’

Master wasn’t intimidated. “The day I do will be the day you doom us both.”

Dark Shadow roared and sank into the deepest depths of the abyss. It can’t remember the last time it felt so deprived. How long will this torture last?

Thankfully, not for much longer.

On a rare day when both you and Master were free, you spent the evening at his place, killing most of the time with horror movies and cuddles. After the last film, the cuddles quickly escalated into steamy kisses and groping.

The abyss was tingling, but Dark Shadow felt the hesitation. Do it, Master. Finally, we can feel the real thing.

Master grunted as your hand drifted down until you reached the growing bulge in his pants. There was no more resistance. He needed this; he needed you.

You were in his bed in a flash, cradling his soft head as you both ground your clothed groins against each other.

Dark Shadow could faintly feel your touches, your fingers brushing between Master’s feathers, your mouth kissing his chest as you pulled down his boxers…it was probably nothing compared to what Master himself felt, but it was no less exhilarating. The heat that was so dearly missed was returning with a vengeance, consuming the entire abyss. Every single stimulation was bringing back the bubbling pleasure. The hand on your breast gently massaged the soft flesh, while the other pushed its fingers inside your feminine warmth. The sight of you completely submitting yourself had Dark Shadow licking its jet black beak. I want a taste.

It wasn’t ready when Master finally entered you, making the entire abyss quake. Everything around Dark Shadow was pulsing so strongly that it could barely pay attention to the sex. It heard the unified cries of you and Master, heard the slap of skin and creak of the bed with each thrust, but the expanding pleasure was wreaking havoc on its focus. The beast wasn’t afraid this time. It welcomed the approaching explosion with welcome arms.

The blast was even more powerful than before, burning the whimpering shadow in the best way possible. The cumming lovers outside of the abyss could be faintly heard, your entire body spasms as you cried out Master’s name. Each spurt into your core released another sensual shock wave that left Dark Shadow trembling.

The orgasm felt never ending, yet it somehow ended too soon. The darkness slowly stabilized once again; Dark Shadow felt drunk. The beast felt crippled, yet it wanted more immediately. It could tell that Master was spent, lying on his side and cradling you. ‘NO, do it again. I want to feel it again. This is tastier than fear. More addicting than rage. DO IT AGA—

“Enough.”

Master’s voice is still firm even through his heavy breaths.

“Eh?” You were on the verge of sleep until that single word startled you.

Master shook his head and cradled you closer. “Dark Shadow hungers. I was afraid of this.”

“Is that dangerous? Do you want me to leave?” You knew that Dark Shadow was a legitimate threat when it became overwhelmed by Master’s emotions. You only know from the past stories that Master has shared with you, but it was more than enough for you to take his warnings to heart. Dark Shadow hissed in annoyance. Master always tells people to keep their distance whenever he believed it was becoming hostile. Now he was going to tell you to leave the room, probably too afraid to ever engage in this wonderful act ever again…

“No. Stay.” Master held you tightly to ensure you weren’t going anywhere.

Ah, of course. ‘Love makes you stupid,’ right?

Dark Shadow didn’t make a sound, but it was still shaking with want, the faintest smile curving its beak. I will have more.

It hadn’t calmed down by the time the lights were off and the couple was sound asleep, your back pressed against Master’s bare chest. The abyss has since switched back to its regular empty and cold environment, but Dark Shadow was still restless. It watched your sleeping form. Your curves, your soft flesh, even enveloped in darkness your body looked ravishing.

Master didn’t react as a black tendril emerged from his abdomen and slithered across your side. The limb soon took the shape of a hand, making sure to avoid the bulky arms wrapped around your stomach as it drifted closer to your chest.

Just a touch. I want to feel her for myself.

The hand reaches your breast, giving it the softest of squeezes. The touch was so much stronger than feeling it through Master’s hands. Oh, I really missed out.

You were even warmer and softer than it imagined. Its fingers prodded your nipple, watching in fascination as it hardened under the touch. It froze instantly when a soft whimper slipped past your lips, but it continued when you didn’t react any further.

The abyss wasn’t heating, but Dark Shadow was.

It tried to form the rest of its body as well as it could while trapped between the two lovers. Its face nuzzled your hair, one hand continuing to fondle your breast, while the other moved down to your thigh.

A low growl vibrated through the shadow beast. It wasn’t used to taking action on its own. Freedom. Free to touch you however I want. The rush from the lust, darkness, and independence was taking Dark Shadow to new heights.

It lifted your thigh just enough to expose your hot core. There it is. That is where he will find bliss once again. It wasn’t going to wait. For all it knew, Master may not be brave enough to take you ever again. It can’t take that risk.

Then I’ll be the one to take you.

A black phallus took shape and rubbed against your folds. The contact was enough to wake you from your slumber. Dark Shadow panicked. No no no no so close. It was already pressed against your wet lips, why back out now?

“Fumi…?” You groaned when you noticed something poking at you. There wasn’t time to think of much else when it suddenly pushed into you.

Dark Shadow muffled your cry with a hand clamped over your mouth. Fuck, you felt amazing. Master didn’t know just how lucky he was, enjoying this pussy while his quirk was forced to stay put. Feeling such pleasure directly was forcing the shadow to shift into something more monstrous.

It barely registered Master’s shouts, ordering it to stop this instant. Shut UP. Shadows seeped out of Master’s body and wrapped around him, pushing him back down onto the bed and pinning him like prey trapped in webbing. You know you can’t beat me in the darkness. Don’t even try.

You were rolled onto your back, the foreign dick now pumping into you deeper and faster. Dark Shadow could see the look of frightened confusion in your eyes, eyes that were trying to comprehend the horrifying form that was claiming her in the dark.

This is wrong, Master won’t forgive me.

It hit a sensitive spot inside you, forcing a moan out of you as your wetness clenched around it.

I don’t care. It’s too good.

The bed rocked loudly as you were pounded into the mattress. With your screams of combined fear and pleasure, Master’s desperate pleas for it all stop, and Dark Shadow’s ravenous snarls, the room conveyed pure and unadultered terror. The grotesque demon that was Dark Shadow was feeling a familiar tension, the kind when the abyss was on the verge of exploding with hot pleasure, except this time the feeling was inside of it.

Closer. Take me closer.

Shadows glided across your body as if you were slowly being devoured while being violently fucked. Dark Shadow didn’t care; it’s only concern was reaching that release.

Almost there.

One of your hands managed to break free from the tangled blackness and was blindly feeling across the desk drawer next to you.

Hold still, dammit.

You whimpered and trembled at the merciless pounding but didn’t stop searching for…something. It didn’t matter; Dark Shadow was so close, that tight pressure was ready to give away and burst.

YES! LET ME HAVE IT! LET ME FEEL IT THE WAY MASTER DID!

Instead of a sensual explosion, Dark Shadow was hit with a blast of light directly in its face. A shriek of pure agony tore from its throat as its massive form writhed before scrambling back into Master’s body and the safety of the abyss.

Dark Shadow’s face burned. So close. Why must everything always stop me?

It watched through the pain as you turned off the shockingly bright flashlight feature on your phone, your body furiously shaking. Finally free to move, Master reached out to you…

Only for you to jump back and onto the floor. Tears fell from your face as you quickly gathered your clothes while frantically apologizing about how you couldn’t stay here. You were out of the room before Master could even stand and say anything more.

The air in the abyss became suffocating as the darkness began to boil. Dark Shadow hasn’t tasted the burning pangs of fury in years. It should be savoring such a rare opportunity.

But this isn’t what it wanted. It didn’t want to feel anything but the euphoric bang that was unjustly torn away from it at the last minute.

Master’s rage pierced Dark Shadow like a scorching needle.

“How could you do this?! How could you do that to her, you goddamned fiend!” Master grips his head hard enough to tug out several feathers.

Dark Shadow feels it all. Shame. Regret. Sorrow. Hatred. All of them bit and tore at the shadow like mad dogs. Master will never forgive or forget such a deplorable act. You may never approach him again, and even if you did, he would think it’s best that you stay away because his cursed quirk can never be trusted. He clutched at his chest, hot tears running down his face.

The relationship between the man and his quirk has been destroyed. The quirk couldn’t bring itself to care.

I WAS SO CLOSE….NEVER AGAIN….

[diamondcamefromhell]

Heart belongs to us

Jaskier x fem!reader

A/N: SOOOOOOOOOO, this is a different thing i decided to try - writing in third person. i know some people hate it, others love it, so please, let me know what your opinion is and if i should do them once in awhile or burn this one with fire! as well as, the whole story is a bit… different, i think. or it felt different to me, so please, again, lemme know what you think

Summary: Jaskier, Geralt and Y/N have known each other, Y/N has in fact had a relationship with Jask, until a tragic accident, where Y/N has persihed, or so they thought. their paths cross again, but Y/N has forgotten all about them

Warnings: none, that i can think off

Word count: 2,209

There was something in her eyes, as if part of her soul was missing. Which, knowing her circumstances, wasn’t far from the truth. It was only that she wasn’t aware of it. She carried out her duties in the tavern as usual, cleaning guests rooms and keeping her head down. It never dawned on her, that she has forgotten something.

Until that something walked in.

She had just finished her shift and was enjoying some wine. Sipping it, staring at the crowd who were listening to their local bard. In her humble opinion the bard wasnt the best, but she could never admit it. John was far too sensitive for it.

Her eyes glazed over the two new-comers, and they didn’t see her either. The witcher took a seat in the corner, brooding already. Geralt unbuckled his swords from his back, scanning the crowd. In the end, he decided to keep his weapons close.

His friend flopped down at the other side, carefully placing his lute on the table. The companions sat quietly, looking around, as Jaskier furrowed his brows at the bard. He usually didn’t like competition, but John was lacking something. He didn’t stir any fire in Jask, who sighed, sadly looking down to his lute.

Someone in the crowd must’ve noticed him, however, as a couple of young women rushed to them. They stopped, glancing at the witcher and his massive swords – he wasn’t paying any attention to them. He has seen her, but Geralt was sure his eyes were just playing tricks. First, he was sure the girl was supposed to be dead, secondly, once their eyes met, she averted her gaze as if he was nothing. Witcher got a weird feeling in his stomach, and his medallion seemed to agree, as it vibrated so slightly, only he could feel it. Just as the witcher opened his mouth, Jaskier sprung to his feet, lute in hand.

Y/N eyes glazed over the corner, until she saw that there was a different musician at the scene. For a split second, she felt something. A tinge in her chest, urging her to get closer to this bard. She could almost roll his name off her tongue, but as fast as it came, the feeling left. Empty place took it’s place, but she didn’t notice. She couldn’t.

Once he sprung his lute, she opened her mouth, mouthing the words before he did. It took Y/N a moment to understand that she hummed a song she has never heard before, and just like before, her eyes cleared of all clouds as she started at Jaskier. Before she could catch this feeling, it ran away again. However this time she felt the empty space, her hand hoovering over her chest, grasping at something.

She wasn’t yet aware at two yellow eyes piercing through her. Geralt now had no doubt it was her. The way her face changed so quickly pained the witcher, as he realized the girl must have forgotten them, but her heart was desperate to remember. He watched her slowly rise off her chair, approaching the crowd.

Her steps were short and uneasy. Something ushered her to hurry, but she was weary. Vaguely Y/N remembered someone mentioning a curse, and her gut told her this was it. This bard, yet to see her, was somehow related to it. She knew the dangers, yet persisted to keep moving.

Jaskier finished his song, not aware of a shadow from a past staring him down. He bowed down to some women, as he heard a husky voice call for him.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice silenced the crowd. The girl saw the bard react and her heart sunk.

She recognized the name. She almost remembered the taste of it rolling down her tongue. The way she would sometimes pronounce letter J like it was said in joker. And how much it annoyed the man in front of her.

She saw his face so clearly, she could paint it. She almost felt his touch on her arm, as he would push her away. Always gentle though, this bard could never be harsh to his lady.

Only then Y/N looked at the witcher. Their eyes meet, and her gaze still cloudly sent storms his way. She didn’t intend to, but this man has clicked something inside of her. A fire raged from her chest as she felt anger like never before. The fire reigned strong, but short, as a sudden wave of sadness drowned her. She was so close to something important, she was sure of it.

She peeled her eyes off the yellow-eyed-man, meeting Jaskier’s. He has recognized her, and a mix of emotions was washing over him. A mix of pain, sadness and confusion painted most of his face, as a smile was the only indication of the sheer joy his soul felt. His heart has risen to it’s feet again, staring at the beauty in front.

This clear recognition sent a chill down Y/N spine. The witcher rose, leaving his swords behind, approaching the pair.

“Geralt.” Bards voice was quiet and full of sorrow. “Do you see her too?”

“Yes. I do.” The girl started at the men in front of her, fighting the clouding coming over her head again. She fought it so hard, she got a headache.

“My head hurts.” She muttered, somehow knowing Geralt would hear her.

“She’s cursed.“ Witcher explained to the bard, who was painfully trying to keep himself from lunging at the woman. Jaskier was desperate to feel her again. “She has forgotten us. But her heart remembers. It’s tearing her apart.”

“I mustn’t forget.” She agreed. She only caught parts of that, as the white noise rang her ears. Y/N was sure she’s about to fall, but Jaskier steadied her.

At the touch, she felt sparks fly. Her heart, that had seemed to be asleep for who knows how long, woke. With a start, too. It was hungry and it recognized the touched. There was no way it would have not.

Love is the strongest curse of all.

“Jask!” The girl yelped, her other hand flying to the man, gripping his jacket. She clung to him like was her last bit of fresh air. The men looked at each other, as Geralt landed his hand on her shoulder, sending more sparks to her heart.

“I know how to help you.” Witcher spoke, though there was this unmistakable doubt in his voice. Geralt knew how, but he wasn’t sure where to start. There was one thing nobody doubted, it was clear that he would march to the end of the wolrd to help this girl. Love is the biggest curse.

“Please.” Y/N pleaded, shattering their hearts. Her eyes were clear as day now, mind flowing with memories about her best friend and a man she was sure she’d marry. “I can’t- I won’t survive forgetting you again.”

“But you died.” Jaskier couldn’t stop his voice from breaking, ignoring the warning shots from Geralt; his friend clearly wanted him to shut it.

“Druids.” Y/N said, hazily. Her brows furrowed the top lip started to shake. “Saved, but at a cost.”

“Memories.” Geralt stated, as the woman nodded, clinging to her love harder.

“They took that, Geralt.” She gritted her teeth, looking around. “They took my mind, but my heart is… ours.”

A pained expression covered her face, but Jaskier wrapped his hands around Y/N. He was thanking his lucky stars that he was able to hold her again, with a hopeful glance at Geralt, Jaskier spoke. “It is ours. We will get your mind back, right Geralt?”

“Give me the names and I will get it back.” A wicked smile painted across the girls face as she has recognized this. She was protected. She was safe. Loved. Alive.

She gave up the names, that had seemed to be burned in her mind. Jaskier and Y/N watched as Geralt grabbed his swords, leaving the tavern before he could even buckle them back on.

In the moment of pure joy, she stepped back, to do a celebratory spin, sliding out of Jaskier arms. That proved to be a mistake, as her mind skitted to the black abyss, and her gaze clouded again. Her heart ripped at her chest, as she shook her head.

The man reached out for her again, but this time his touch didn’t wake anything. It only felt cold, as if ice has wrapped around her. She shook it off, glazing over the bard.

It wasnt that she forgotten him, now she simply didn’t see him. The taverners weren’t bothered by it either, as Y/N looked around, nobody looked at her. She also realized all the windows were closed, so whatever cold creeped up on her…

She couldn’t focus. Jaskier was staring at her, doe eyed. Watching her slip away from him, yet again, was too painful for him to even think about. He wondered how long Geralt would take, and how much could he handle.

“Hello!” Y/N waved her hands around, but to no avail. No taverners even glanced her direction; the only person who saw was the one she couldn’t see.

“Y/N, please.” Jaskier reached out again, sending a cold spike up her arm as she jumped away.

“Stop.” She demanded and Jaskier almost hoped she saw him, but her eyes weren’t looking at him.

Bard didnt realize he had placed his lute down. It was resting on the ground and Y/N eyes were glued to it. A painful expression clouded her face, as a headache struck her head.

She stumbled to the ground, placing one shaky hand on the instrument. There it was, that feeling again. She was inching something important. It was right there, but yet so far away. With some hesitation, the girl still picked up the lute.

As her hand struck the chords, Jaskier recognized the song. They wrote it together, for each other. A promise, to never forget the love they felt that evening. They swore by it.

And there she was, singing it. Alone. Where she felt anything but remembered.

The bard joined, and she could hear him. Though like he was far away, and a wind barely carried his echo to her. But Y/N didn’t need anything else. Now she knew that he was there, somewhere. Waiting for her, or looking for her.

They all learnt another thing a curse can not affect. Hope.

And she hoped with all her soul, that she was correct. That whoever was singing, was going to save her. And Jaskier knew he will.

Her heart kept beating, reminding her of all those fuzzy images. It tried to show her something, but no matter how much Y/N looked - she was looking through a mist.

Until a loud pop happened. For a moment Jaskier and her both thought she broke the lute. They exchanged worried looks, and then it hit them. They saw each other.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out, looking at the sky as if his friend was some sort of God. “You did it.”

“Did you doubt me?” Witcher entered the tavern, grinning at his friends.

Only later he would tell them that the druids that cursed Y/N were always staying close. And they stank. They had her mind fully in their hands, hearing and seeing what she saw. Witcher was surprised they didn’t know he was coming to kill them, but he didnt question it.

The words of Y/N rang in his ears for years to follow though. He knew their heart was always their own.

The reunion, it was sweet. And heartbreaking. It had been three years since her passing, and a lot has happened. A lot of tears were shed over her empty grave.

The lovers embraced each other, but it wasnt a passionate one. They simply craved to feel one another, listen to their beating hearts as they set a rhythm together. It was like they were never separated. Maybe they actually never were, Jaskier thought.

Geralt was watching from afar, until his friends turned to him, forcing him into the hug. Witcher was too big to properly fit, and he didnt really want to; but that’s the thing about family. It didn’t matter.

People would stay away from Geralt. These two never did. They loved him, despite his evil looks and murder sprees. And in return, Geralt loved them too.

The tears finally came to the humans, as Y/N wept into Jaskier’s chest. She felt the sudden weight of what it truly meant and how much she had lost, during these three years.

Jaskier wept of how much he gained back just now.

Geralt couldn’t cry, or so he told himself. But holding their two shaking bodies, his soul felt moved from the deepest corners.

“Good to have you back.” He managed, and his voice broke at the end. The girl pulled back, wiping her tears away.

That tiny break in Geralts voice didnt go unnoticed. She started at his yellow eyes, understanding how much they grieved her.

She forced a smile. No. A smile came to her, as she now knew their pain is behind them. They were together. Again.

“Okay, big guy.” Geralt smirked at the nickname, as Jaskier sniffled, smiling. “Someone has to catch me up.”

[your-worst-knightmare]

Broken Speech

Memory was a fleeting thing, nowadays. Whatever rose in that murky abyss drifted away just as quickly. It may have been a small mercy. Jay didn’t know. All he knew was now. And now was being shut up in the same elaborate room when the Mistress had no use for him. 

The Mistress talked to him, sometimes. Sometimes it was idle conversation. Other times it was commands. Most times it was “Talk.”

He could, he knew that. But every time he tried, his mouth would be dry and his mind blank and the words never came. 

The Mistress tried to help him. She really did. She gave him teachers. They died too easily. So the Mistress gave him books. They were left unread. Not because of lack of want, but he simply couldn’t. He knew how, but his body refused to listen to him once again. 

As so he was stuck with the fleeting library of his own memory. Not that there was much he could recall, anyway. 

Today, the Mistress came to visit him. “You will watch my son, Jay.” A command. She was in no rush to speak, and the words flowed like sweet honey. Jay envied her words. He so wanted them, but they refused to let him hold onto them. “He will be your brother. Treat him as such.”

From the corner of his eye, Jay watched a small child stride into the room sourly. 

“Be good, Damian,” the Mistress called as she left. 

The boy tutted. “I do not require a caretaker,” he scoffed, mostly to himself. He turned to Jay. “And you are not my brother.”

Jay kept staring ahead blankly. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Why had the Mistress left her son with him? He kept staring. 

“Well say something, you incompetent fool!” The boy leapt at him, all intentions turned towards attack. He was slammed to the floor the next moment. It was all reflex to Jay. He hadn’t meant to flip the boy, but his mind and body seemed to be twain nowadays. 

The boy growled, but didn’t attack again. Instead, he flopped down onto a cushion near Jay. Close enough to observe him if necessary. He grabbed a book that he had brought with him and began to read. 

Jay watched, not having moved a muscle since putting the boy in his place. The stared at the cover of the book, in some vain effort to absorb its knowledge. He yearned for it, but like many things, it didn’t seem to enter his mind. 

An hour passed. The boy continued reading. Jay remained frozen. The boy looked up suddenly. “Mother mentioned you were from America. I am currently studying American literature. It may be a clumsy language, but there’s hope yet. Would you like to hear a poem?” Despite the boy’s friendly words, his tone was frosty. The Mistress likely told the child to speak to him. He would have remained silent otherwise. 

But– at the chance to hear something that would feed his mind, Jay fought to speak. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes. Please. No words came. His face remained blank. The boy looked at him, huffed, and began reading anyway. 

“Do not go gentle into that good night.” The words were music to Jay’s mind. He savoured each syllable slowly, picking it apart and inspecting it. “Old age should burn and rage at close of day.” Jay found himself reading along in his mind. He knew them! The words! From the before– before memory. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” 

Jay’s vision became blurry. Those weren’t tears, were they? But he was grateful so grateful that the boy had read. That he had reminded Jay of the before. Of the warmth in a vast library. Of kind voices speaking to him as his fingers brushed aging paper. And that was something he would have a hard time repaying. 

___________

Damian al-Ghul did not require a caregiver. He was six years old. He could take care of himself. He had thought that Mother would understand that by now. But it seemed she didn’t, even after his previous caretakers had vanished under mysterious circumstances. 

It wasn’t just this new caretaker that irked him. Mother and insisted that he was his brother. Ridiculous! If Damian had a brother, he would have known. When he first met Jay, he almost laughed. Jay couldn’t even be considered qualified to watch a chicken. The boy’s expression remained blank he entire time he was spoken to. Damian expected some sort of reaction, at least, but Jay gave none.

That is, until Damian attacked him. Jay was proficient in combat, Damian gave him that. Not that the boy could do much else. Perhaps that was why Mother had chosen him. 

Damian resigned himself to reading under Jay’s watch. At remembering Mother’s request to talk to Jay, he figured he should read aloud. That technically counted as speech. Then Damian would not have to be distracted from his studies by idle, one-sided conversations. 

Jay seemed... happier after Damian read. Which was odd, because he had not previously shown any hint of emotion. Damian decided to disregard it. 

Much to his annoyance, he was required to stay with Jay the next day as well. And the next week. By the time the end of the month rolled around, Damian had consistently spent most afternoons in Jay’s lonely chamber. 

It was a late Friday afternoon when Damian returned to Jay’s room, carrying two steaming cups of tea. They smelled sweet and floral, reminding Damian of Mother’s perfume. He set one cup in front of Jay, knowing the boy would drink when he wanted to. 

“I shall resume our reading of Hamlet,” Damian informed him. “I suggest you drink your tea whilst I read, lest it go cold again, Jay.” 

Had Damian not spent the past month with him, he would have missed the slight smile that tugged on the boy’s lips. Satisfied that Jay was listening, Damian began reading. His words were clear and each character seemed to speak through him when he read. “To die, to sleep –/ To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub,/ For in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”

Jay, who had been nursing his cup of tea, stopped suddenly at the line. Damian had learned to take his subtle clues at communication rather seriously, so he closed the book. 

“What is it Jay?”

The boy’s eyes snapped around the room wildly, as if he did not recognize the place. It was vastly different from his usual blank, placid expression. He opened his mouth to speak. “Br’ce?” His words were garbled and his voice was raspy from disuse, but it was speech all the same. 

Damian sucked in a breath. Jay was talking. Talking. Mother would be ecstatic. “No Jay, I am–”

“Day’m’n.” Jay’s answer has surprised him. But Jay knew his name. He knew Damian! Mother would be ecstatic. 

“Yes, J- akhi,” Damian beamed. Jay, Damian supposed, was his brother. Mother had been right. he wouldn’t have been particularly concerned about Jay otherwise. 

He ceased his reading for the day and in favour of encouraging Jay to speak again. Another word, for Mother, he pleaded. 

By the time the last of the sun’s rays were starting to  disappear from the horizon did Mother arrive, as she always did. Damian did not need to be coddled, but he appreciated when she came to see him. Damian had made no progress with Jay, but he was still excited to share the news. 

“Mother, i have most excellent–” he stopped upon seeing Mother’s grave expression. “What is it Mother?” 

Mother opened a bag, filled with servant’s garments. “Help me dress Jay, child. You shall remain  here, until I come to collect you afterward.” 

Damian obeyed quickly. He was never one to question his Mother’s orders. However, something felt off. “ Jay spoke to me today,” he finally said. 

Mother raised an eyebrow. “Did he now, dearest?”

“Yes. It was not much, but I believe he said both mine and Father’s names.” 

She smiled sadly. “I am glad Jay was able to talk to you.But your brother has been able to say your Father’s name ever since he came to stay with us. However, you name is progress, i am sure.” She bent down to kiss Damian’s forehead before leading Jay out the door. “Sleep well, my pride.” With that, Mother left Damian alone with a sneaking suspicion that something wasn’t quite right.

Damian slipped out of his room and followed Jay’s lumbering figure in the poorly-lit hall. He lagged several feet behind Mother, which worked to Damian’s advantage. 

The sinking feeling in Damian’s stomach worsened as Mother led Jay farther and farther down into the compound. There was only one place they could be going. The Lazarus Pit.

Grandfather had acquainted Damian with its waters when Damian was three. Needless to say, it was not his most pleasant memory. And Damian suspected for someone in Jay’s condition, the experience would be even worse.

Damian did not want to watch his brother go stumbling into that green crater, but he found himself unable to tear his eyes away. Mother had not even led Jay down half of the final staircase when she pushed him.  Jay always fought back at a menacing touch, but never when it was Mother. The boy teetered at the edge of the platform before sinking into that ancient lake. 

Damian’s breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. How could he? How could he when his brother had been thrown into a pit that was the very mother of insanity? 

Time seemed to pass sluggishly. It was forever that Jay rested at the bottom of the pit. Then, hands started to claw their way to the surface. Their body and voice soon followed. Damian thought he was prepared. He wasn’t. 

It was almost absurd. The silence that embroidered Jay’s fall could have been broken by a mere pin-drop. Upon his emergence, however– Damian pressed his hands to his ears. It was all he could do to block out Jay’s heart-wrenching cries. 

It was worlds away from the raspy, stuttering voice those same lips had uttered hours before. Even from a distance, Damian could see the toxic green eyes the pit had cursed Jay with. He knew the rage the pit brought all too well. 

Dusk had fully disappeared when Damian returned to Jay’s empty quarters. There was nothing Damian could do for him at the moment but the moment but wait. 

He thought back to their first meeting. What was the poem he had read to Jay? Its words taunted him, but he could not seem to get the nagging thought out of his mind. Damian found the book and opened it, his eyes flitting to the final line. The irony was not lost on him. It could be all that was left of Jay now, if they weren’t lucky. 

Yet Damian had a strange urge to read the line aloud. His fingers brushed over the words, reminiscing all those afternoons he spent with Jay. Afternoons he may not get again. “Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” 

The poem in this story is “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas