#No Shadow Links were Permanently Harmed in the Making of this Chapter

[wintertimestoryteller]

Linked Universe x Reader Fairy Tale Collection

@luimagines It is finally here! XD Apologies for the huge delay, suddenly became a dog mom again and life has been difficult, apologies to all who waited. Hopefully it's at least half decent, this did not want to write itself at all X_X

Warning for dark themes of the fairy tale kind and violence. I recommend researching Penta by Basille if some of you are curious about the interrupted story, though I did leave a lot out for obvious reasons, the first story is actually a reference and I thought it would be fun to see how many catch it and who would notice the reversal of roles here. No Shadow Links were (seriously) harmed in the making of this chapter, just Reader and their poor mind who can't catch a break.

Technically this is the final act before the Masterlist for each Link, though there is technically a bonus act and an intermission I doubt anyone would be interested in that, y'all came here for the Links and the fairy tales not the lore and behind the scenes stuff done to get here because I decided to pull a Hans Christian Andersen even while trying to keep this as short as an opening act should technically be, might write them down if there's enough interest but for now I'm leaving it up to interpretation xP

Opening Act, Scene IIII

It's almost strange, how peaceful your first few days and nights in the theater were.

It was hardly unwelcome, of course it was a pleasant surprise. Even with it's darkened, solemn corners and the way the shadows played eerily across the walls, dancing and laughing mockingly as they put on a show only they knew, it hardly felt truly unsettling for long, maybe it was just your long time on the road which made you jaded to the concept of old buildings that felt like echoes of their former selves, ever lonely, ever grieving like a widow, knowing their lover would not return from the war but waiting for as long possible before considering taking poison. The building was much the same, threading the fragile, dreamlike barrier of a long, wistful forgotten dream and a feather soft, fondness warmed memory.

It felt just about on the edge of death, but not quite ready to cross the border, it felt alive, like watching a barren wasteland attempt to host life again, even if it wouldn't last long or ever recover.

You believe it's in large part due to it's residents.

It was impressive, really, though you're all clearly wary towards one another, the troupe was seemingly more delighted by the fact they had new people to tell new tales to than bothered by the fact the Chain was clearly high strung from a long journey with the carmine and jade weariness of hunters unable to continue searching for their quarry. Director Raven had given you all full permission to explore and was only ever truly strict with corralling the crew to perform, the obsidian speckled mist of their excitement reflected in the way their coat sleeves flapped while directing each member to their roles and how their steps practically glided across the floor and the stage, their feline companion ever present on their shoulders as they truly gave their name sake justice as they crowed and crooned new characters into Byron's ears, sparkling ruby glee as the bloody feather on their hair and gem collar at the gentleman's smile with the flame bright elation of a mad man as he worked on costumes, scenery and props like a man possessed occasionally hissing like an offended cat at Edgar, who was quick to bark and judge even the slightest imperfection as he marked cues for Anabella's scripts, the woman, once having heard of the Links musical prowess, having lit up like the chandelier serving as spotlight at the stage, gently having coaxed the boys towards Amelia, the petal soft smiling dark haired young woman you've met earlier whom Raven just couldn't help but squawk amusedly at Anabella having a very clear soft spot for, who wasted no time in convincing a few of the heroes to follow sheet music the young woman had written but never quite had enough people to help perform.

It was honestly amusing, seeing the young woman and Warriors practically team up to bully Legend into playing the violin again, the veteran protesting for a good while, until a small, well placed tease from Sky made him cave, you and Wind both pretending to hide bright laughs at seeing him pretend not to smile, the jewel bright sight of her delight making you feel warm as she suggested to the exccentric playwright to share your own stories with the troupe and the boys once again as the sweet notes of musical and Raven's narration rolled up and across the aisles, the ruby cheer of the chattering of their cheek with the sweet aquamarine of your gentleness making even the likes of ever serious steel serious Cal or solemn First smile.

The only incident any of you all had really was when you've met Priscilla properly, or to be more accurate, when Priscilla found you all, the youngest of the troupe popping from the ceiling like a bat in front of you from the theater's costume attic like a reverse phantom of the opera, giving you a small fright with her cat smug smile as she finished fixing the lights and eagerly jumped into Twilight's back the second she heard Epona being mentioned, asking all sorts of questions about horses and their proper care until Edgar came knocking to pry her off.

A few minor incidents were had, what with your boys' usual brand of chaos and only so much you, Time and First could do while Raven rounded up the brand of madness found in their own little troupe (like how Anabella, much like Hyrule, should not be allowed near any form of food supply lest they both commit crimes agaisnt nature and the last leg of Wild's morals and sanity, how Byron, Warriors and Legend could almost snarl at each other like feral dogs when it came to fashion sensibilities, or Priscilla attempting to coax Wind and Spirit onto the attic and catwalks with her to play pranks onto the unsuspecting audience and performers below just to see Four and Edgar twitch), but overall, the first three days of constant strong storms and two of the stories told passed quickly, like the heartbeat of a humming bird.

... Which made your own feelings for a certain hero grown ever more transparent like the polished crystal which made up the spotlight.

How could you not contemplate these feelings? How could you even begin denying something that has been sinking it's teeth into your soul for months now? Ever since the Chain found you, injured and with nowhere to go, it was always moving, ever forward, ever running, ever hunting, for if you all didn't hunt the shadow, it would stop at nothing to tear everything and everyone so much as grazed by the bright, ever burning diamond flame of the Hero's Spirit, with the burning fury of a maddened beast with nothing left to lose, with enough hunger it could render divinity to pieces. So, so so wrong to the very fabric that made up the curtain of Hyrule's stage it made one's flesh crawl before it even set it's bloody, hungry, vile gaze upon you.

(You didn't have a choice, when they'd left you behind, the portal simply opened to place you in harm's way again and again and again and again, you only survived through pure luck most of the time, the other half being due to run ins with different members of the Chain. Eventually, finally, after you'd met again and dragged First's abandoned, bleeding, almost dead but oh so stubborn he wouldn't die quite yet, carcass to camp, they'd decided to teach you how to wield a blade and take you along.

After all, it's not like you could go home.

... No, no, you couldn't go home, ever again.)

Being in the theater was a welcome breath of fresh air, even with the oddities of it's residents. But it also gave you nothing but time to think. About home, about the people who are likely to be looking for you, and kind gem bright eyes, leaves on the wind gentle touches, and smiles that could put the sun and the moon and stars to shame with their radiance and the unshakable, beautiful, lonsdaleite and steel of the will to protect and courage to follow through so, so warm it left you scorched, stealing the breath from your lungs and replacing it with lava and frost, pinning you into place better than any arrow or trick the shadow could pull. Left you aching more than any moment in the battle field, shaking you to the very marrow of your bones as the laughing dove that was affection stole into your heart like a thief, and gave half of it to the beast called love.

And

It

Was

Torture.

How could you not fall for that?

How could you not think about it?

So instead of getting even more flustered by possibly slipping up and making a fool out of yourself, giving yourself away and wanting to just wander into the Lost Woods without a guide and let yourself go mad from mortification and become a Poe (because at least then it would be a more manageable form of insanity), you'd instead taken to haunting the back wings and auditorium of the theater like a ghost. The theater was hardly all that big, but it wasn't small by any means, the size of a noble's summer home at best, so there was plenty of empty supply rooms and forgotten lounges to think, contemplate, and to keep a tenous hold on your sanity as you avoided dwelving deeply into your feelings.

After all, why would he want little old you? Unimpressive, ordinary little you, who lived a most relatively peaceful life before falling into Hyrule, who couldn't protect them properly, who most importantly of all would hurt the one you adored because you couldn't stay?

... It would be agony, you couldn't do that to him. It wouldn't be any difference than the Shadow taking your face and torturing your hero, so you'd stay silent, and hope these feelings died a quiet, peaceful death. At least in this abandoned lounge room you could refrain from making your hopeless longing obvious until you'd need to return.

"Oh me oh my, what are you doing here all alone?" Came a cawed, lilting honey coated rasp, padparascha curiosity in the the flap of nightlock coat sleeves, "I thought you'd want to join your companions! This place is still too dusty for back tours I'm afraid."

... Well, not quite so abandoned now. Is it?

Then again, you're not even too surprised, you'd be lying if you'd say you were. If there was anyone who could navigate these darkned, old halls with ease to find someone allegedly missing, it would likely be it's master.

Director Raven swoops into the room with quick, almost silent steps, a specter with the grace of a Gerudo dancer, sending you a smile, their feline companion is gone, but their ever present bloodstone feather chimes like a bell as they brush dust off an old couch, you laugh sheepishly, hoping that the tempest winds outside took your thoughts away so you could focus, "I'm sorry, you said we could go just about everywhere and I needed some time alone. Hopefully it's not any trouble?"

They cluck at you, taking a new accessory from their coat and placing it behind your ears with a cheeky poke to the nose, you blink as you touch it, a red, red rose, "Oh please, not at all! I'm a professional of my word you know? I was just worried is all, you're basically part of the troupe at this point and your lover boy has been staring at you with such concern, you know? So I thought I'd check on you."

Their concern makes you blink, with a small bite of confusion to their wording, "I've only helped you folks perform for three days now?"

They chuckle with amusement, the tone raspy and crowing as they perch themselves upon the couch, "Doesn't matter! We've had folks who stayed and helped for less time, we still consider them troupe members. Once taken in by the Astoria, you're part of it for all time, can't I have some empathy for someone so clearly pining?", You jolt, the director gives you a knowing smile, mercury amusement and gallium understanding, how did...? "Broken hearts are as dangerous as broken minds and wills to a person, take it from me. I've told and been part of one too many stories to know that all too well, now, why don't you tell good old uncle Raven what ails you?"

That makes you snort, rose quartz embarrassment mixed with xanthic amusement, "Uncle, really? Weren't you the one who said you'd actually take someone to court for emotional damages if someone tried utilizing gendered terms for you?"

They squawk, ruffling your hair with a click and hiss, as they jump up with ruffled feathers and a raised chin, mock offended, "Oh kiss my grits! This ain't about me here. This is about your longing making me sad and me being willing to hear you out from the goodness of my heart, and there you go! Spitting on my good will! As I was about to offer to make you tea, no less."

You laugh and you catch a grin on the director's lips from the reflection of a mirror, you wave them on, "Alright, alright. I'll humor you, will you want some help deciding the next story to tell while at it?"

They wink, prancing around the room for the kettle in the corner, "You know me too well! You're a wealth of new stories, I can listen to you pour your little heart out and grill you for inspiration at the same time. That way your heart will be lighter than a leaf on the wind when you next see your lover boy"

Settling in, you wait until Raven has made you both tea, getting comfortable and taking a sip.

Mhm, coming to the theater was a welcome change of pace. And talking to someone who wasn't Link about this would likely do you good.

(So preoccupied you are with your thoughts and the vaguely floral tea the director had broken out of storage and brewed, you don't notice the way another figure shows up on the reflection of the mirror just as the thunder booms, and how Raven's gloved fingers tighten a fraction as the shadows flicker oddly once you drink the tea. The cinnabar of their smile turning iron speckled with guilt and tense as they spot bloodstone tiger eyes on the doorway. Before turning fireplace warm once the Hero of Skies popped his head onto the doorway after a few hours of listening to you want, they offer him a spot of tea.)

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The storm still raged on relentlessly outside, it's screams and howls those of lost souls and old forgotten or yet to be remembered deities rending the air with water and thunder, it's been almost a week since you all had started staying in the theater, everyone had settled into a small sort of routine, as it didn't seem like the storm would cease to rage anytime soon. You'd all wake up (checking your weapons as you go, just in case, your dagger on your sleeve a common secret among the Chain members ever since a bad run in with the Yiga, Artemis had taught you and Warriors well and if any of the troupe members notice, they didn't press), go through the usual daily routine you all had while under an actual roof, Wild, you and Twilight would cook with occasional aid from either Raven themselves who twitched and squawked about the injustice of allowing guests to cook before Edgar would cuff them over the head and take over or a very chipper Amelia whose early morning energy could only be likened to a ray of sunshine Anabella would trip over her feet and possibly kill a grown man for, and in turn you'd all take your turns occupying themselves for the day, the troupe making sure to give everyone their due space until the early evening, which is when you'd all take to storytelling.

You couldn't help your small grin as you let yourself be led by the hand by Twilight, blindfold coming off as he twirled you around as you deliberately sang an incredibly off key note, laughter and chuckles being draw from your boys as you were set down onto the stage and raised your tune, his pelt slipping off your head like the heavy, but comforting cape it was, his smile campfire warm and oak steady, Raven's crowing laughter being hidden by a coughing fit before they seemed to compose themselves enough to continue on with a straight face, "And so the wolf, once a princess, remembered the prince. And thought she'd never sing again, and it wasn't very good-" they choked as you deliberately hit a note that sounded like a dying cucco, you can vaguely see Cal coughing into his fist, First shaking his head in amusement in contrast to Sky's summer breeze laughter while Time's lips barely twitched with honey sweet amusement and Wind wheezing agaisnt a laughing Spirit's side, mission accomplished! The director sent you a look, mockingly ruffling his feathers, "Commit less to the bit darn it! I won't be able to finish if I'm rolling around on the floor!"

Your smile widens with cheek, topaz bright with delight, "No such thing as overcommiting to the bit!"

"For what it's worth they don't sound too bad when not trying to sound like a goat going into labor." Cut in Twilight, using your head as an arm rest, you playfully shove him off, you briefly catch a smirk on Warriors face, Four chuckling while Legend leant agaisnt his side for support, good. Him and Hyrule looked off kilter recently, if you could make them smile by playing the fool this once, you'd be glad.

"Oh by the Goddesses- I'm almost regretting allowing you to volunteer on stage. I'm never listening to Priscilla ever again, anyway!" They clap their hands, clearing their throat, "The prince couldn't care less, for he had a dear friend back to him. And so they stayed on that cliff's edge, enjoying each other's company and lived happily ever after!"

"That was a shockingly sweet story," Smiled Hyrule, "Short and simple but just sweet enough."

"Can't believe the rancher actually made half decent royalty though." Jabbed Warriors, though you can feel the amusement in his tone like drinking songs after a long time of conflict. "And that the final conflict was basically triggered if someone ever messed with the vet's raccon pile of stuff."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused."

Twilight gave him a side glare then nodded at Hyrule, seemingly deciding that Legend could deal with Warriors well enough and after you playfully darted around him like a prancing doe, snagged his pelt back, you sighed at the loss of warmth and the feeling of security, but ushered him off the stage, "Never been on stage before and have no wish to do so on an official capacity, thank you. But Dusk would have my hide if I didn't pick a thing or two to add to entertaining the village children if nothing else. Have to say that last twist was a shock though." He sent you a glance and smile, "You're awfully good at playing the amnesiac, I'll say. Almost had me panicking."

You chuckle sheepishly, sitting at the edge of the stage, accepting a bit of warm tea cup Raven had brewed for everyone, "To be fair, there's a reason for that Wars, there's technically a companion story for the witch, but the actors need to go through a specific series of actions to be allowed to perform it side by side for consistency and that would be cruel on Twi. Could say the same to you, you make quite the dashing, kind prince. Thanks for coming up here."

Was that a tinge of crimson on his cheeks? You tilted your head and blinked, must have been a trick of the light, "No problem at all."

Edgar nodded, not even looking up from the script as Anabella and Amelia cuddled together to the side after a job well done, "You both together definitely made our job easier. Barely had to cue you both."

Raven nodded with a grin and wink, their voice carrying over the stage and to the audience, "You sure none of you boys want to quit this questing nonsense and join us here on the Astoria? I pay well and give benefits! Byron has lowered prices on potions on the village, plus free food and lodging."

Wild shook his head with a hum, "Tempting, but still no."

Raven clucked, their disappointment exaggerated but understanding as they leafed through the scripts you've both brainstormed together, "Ah well, worth a try. Come here then, I want your opinion on our next pick for today, I think we can squeeze a short one separated from the original deal as a bonus."

You nodded, getting up and handing Priscilla the empty tea cup back before walking over, pausing, did... Was there a hollow space beneath the stage? Experimentally, you let your steps weight a bit more onto the stage. That sounded like a trapdoor, huh. Why only use the attic? Maybe it was stuck? You catch Time's eye, he inclines his head questioningly, you mouth at him 'I'm fine, later', then bound over to Raven's side, looking at the scripts, "Any you had in mind? We're probably exhausting my mental stock at this rate if none of the noted ones do."

"Well I'm not about to go on the Hyrulean ones just yet, you have any idea how performing the same old legends over and over again can grow dull? No matter how many twists and turns one adds?" They deadpan back, you cover a wince as Four and Sky twitch, before picking one of the sheets at random.

Your voice sounds distant to your ears as you pinch the parchment between two fingers, analyzing it critically, then presenting it to the director, "How about this one? Should be short enough right?"

The Director peeks over your shoulder, head tilted from side to side, the feather on their hair seems more bloody than usual, as if the crystal would flow crimson and stain the hardwood floor. That cat is back on their shoulder again, looking at you with sharp, intelligent eyes.

(Too intelligent, hisses your mind, as mercury heats into burning iron at a forge, then cools, something is wrong wrongwrong

Come now, relax, it'll all be alright. Play along

Nothing is wrong, it's all in your head.)

"Penta the Beautiful huh? Are you sure?"

You nod firmly, "Yes. This one will do quite nicely."

(Raven's ever present smile dims, the embers of a warm fireplace and stories around the fire dying a quick death, Anabella holds onto Amelia a bit tighter as Priscilla pales, quickly leaving the room guided by Byron after ushering you back stage for a change of ensemble and to hand you the appropriate props while Edgar resolutely keeps an eye on the cues the director handed him.

The Chain notices, because of course they do, and trade a look, Spirit trades a look with Wind and slips away to the entrance with Warriors to try the heavy door.

It's locked, the shock of magic making the captain hiss. Though the air remains unnervingly sterile.)

The stage is set with no fanfare by Byron, and you walk back out with a fine white dress suit and boots to match, a mix of a suit and a dress, your head feels clouded, as if you're trying to traverse the deep fog of the Lost Woods with naught a single lantern or guide in sight to light your way, you vaguely hear Director Raven start to talk, echoing and crowing raspily with the first words that every good tale start with, "Once upon a time, there was an once prosperous kingdom. Home to a handsome king, a beautiful queen, and the king's sister, one day the queen fell ill and eventually passed for no cure could be found and no magic could heal her. I suppose some things are simply fated to happen, but the king, maddened in his grief, started lusting for none other..." The director paused, sneering with a disgusted shiver, you think that if they truly were a bird, their feathers would be ruffled, "His own sister."

You could see the exact second that each Link cringed back, those with siblings of their own (or who actively looked over others as siblings themselves) turning to ash white and to thistle green with revulsion and horror, the director nodding along with a hand over their head in a mock swoon, "I know! How could such vile thoughts manifest in a ruler's mind? It's preposterous! Outrageous! Horrifying! Though the words of a proposal did indeed leave his mouth, his sister princess was equally bewildered and disgusted, spitting venom from her spleen with rage."

That was your cue.

You growled, snarling with fury hot enough to rival a dragon's flame, allowing poison to sharpen your tongue, "You may have lost your mind, but I shall not lose my modesty or my shame! Why would you offer me rotten eggs when you need fresh ones?! How dare you!", somewhere in the audience you hear a choke, but you continue on. Committing to the role with a dedication you didn't know you possibly possessed, feeling vaguely disconnected from your body and actions, "I regret that you have a tongue to speak of such lecherous actions towards myself and that I unfortunately have the ears to hear such a suggestion. Am I your sister or cheese cooked in oil? Either way those and siblings not mix! Either way, go find a holy spring to bathe in so you may set your mind back on straight." You gesture towards yourself, baffled, "I am not a morsel that would make anyone lose their minds over, so what on Farore's good land about me could have made you grown so sick in the head?"

The director continued on, tone dry as they set their hand on a hip, "I'll spare you the monologue, my dear audience, because I'm sure it would make both you, me and our poor performer here retch and that would be a waste of Sir Wild's lovely cooking. It essentially boiled down to her hands. So, after acquiring her answer, she left in a flurry of rage and conviction, after all, if it was her hands that caused this..." The director trailed off, pausing, mouth clicking shut.

As if not willing to continue on.

(The pain in your head was getting worse.

"If it was his love for her hands which caused this, all she'd need to do is chop them off.")

Conflict passes through their slate gray gaze, before determined resolve settles into it, their tone quiet and tight, "... No. I can't go through with this anymore.", They swivel, running to you with quick strides, you feel the agony of your head splitting open, in between the haze you see more than react to the blade. Your blade held in your hands, twisted in such a way to sink into your flesh, blood beads onto your sleeve before Raven catches your arm in their hands, twisting towards the now alarmed heroes with panic on their face like a someone realizing they'd just went somewhere to die, "Listen! It's not safe here, specially NOT for them. I'm so sorry. Take them and get out through-"

That cat is there in a flash of darkness, it sinks it's claws into Raven's shoulder, the director crying out and letting go of your arm to try and get it off, leaving the dagger to slice deeply. You can see Time slam into a magically erected barrier around the stage as it's crimson eyes gleam with malice and satisfaction. The cat bites at the director's shoulder, tearing away the black ribbon holding the red gem they always wore. You hear Legend screaming and Hyrule casting a spell at the barrier, the shockwave palpable as it does not budge

You'll never know what they wanted to tell you all, though the flash of desperation, guilt and apologies will likely haunt your nightmares as their head fell off.

All of the lights go off.

And in a flash of thunder, you hear a sigh behind you. The barest tips of a clawed hand making your skin crawl with revulsion.

"Well... I'd like to say I'm surprised. But I'm really, really not that they didn't have the nerve to fully go through with it. Pity." That awful, awful voice is colored with disappointment while they pass you by, you think you feel the brush of a scaly tail around your legs and a blade at your throat. You try desperately to wrestle control back to your own body when you can't hear the Chain anymore. They stalk dance gently at your side, the rustle of cloth as someone bends down, the crystalline, padparascha crimson feather Raven always wore in their hair gleams in the dark with a melancholic light of their own, "Ah well, at least they did half the job I wanted them to and held onto what I needed. Still, just proves that if you want somebody gone that you just have to do it yourself."

You feel a feather light touch on your chin, tilting your head up, your heart freezes alongside your body as you lock gazes with the bloodstone empty gaze of a feathery mask, the figure in front of you wears a dark hood, caliginous and fleeting like the memories of a nightmare hanging onto your mind by it's very claw tips. It blends in perfectly with the darkness, liminal and just on the edge of the negative spaces of reality.

They smile with all of the sweetness of rotten things and arsenic and it makes you sick.

"Dear me... You are so, so pathetically helpless like this. I can take my time with you, can't I? To tear everything that makes you yourself piece.by.piece..." the touch tightens, nightlock claws sink into your skin and drawing blood, you feel like screaming but your mouth won't open, your body betrays you as you drown and drown and fall. It makes the thing behind you hiss out a laugh and you are certain you won't hear a more wretched sound in your life as they study you like a pinned butterfly, "How very precious, it fills me with joy, but really it's more disappointing and disgusting. It's almost enough to make me want to die!" The being in front of you snarls, all venom and the burning flames of a madman, before they calm, smiling a dagger sharp, hateful grin with a hum, "... Ah, whatever. Let's get this show on the road properly this time, shall we? You wait for your cue darling." They mockingly pat the snout of the Shadow in front of you, narrowingly dodging a snap of teeth with a cackle, before they disappear in a flurry of obsidian and ember feathers.

They clap, and the light returns to the theater. Their mismatched hands are spread, clawed and gloved and you see a cloak of black feathers laid over their entire body, the tip of dagger sharp, silver heels making them tower easily over the pool of blood from the director's severed neck.

"Good evening, blood red dogs of Hylia!-"

They barely finish their sentence before the boys move, arrows and magic set loose at the figure in a blur, the figure dances back, tsking as they appear on the chandelier now, lounging nonchantly and revealing your form at blade point from the Shadow, struggling to remove your dagger from your arm. You can almost feel their disapproving look as they cross their arms at the face of furious glares from the heroes of Hyrule, "Rude."

First does not look amused as he stays Sky's hand from unleashing a Skyward Strike, the other's eyes as frigid as the storm outside, "We are going to need you to let our companion go before any apologies are given I'm afraid."

"And I'll be needing you lot to stop snapping and growling like mutts before making any negotiations like that." The figure snaps back primly, a pot and tea cup appearing nearby, with a flick of their wrist two things appear on their hands as freshly brewed tea poured itself which makes a shiver fun down your side, alarm and panic gnawing at your skin and exposing your fragile heart with almost clinical curiosity as they toss it down.

A dark iris purple Minish Feather earring, and penumbra dark, torn fairy feathers, you think you still see the bits of wisps clinging to it like blood and the exact moment Four tenses, colors prismatic as they flash over his eyes and Hyrule freezes, Twilight sending them a concerned look, though his hand doesn't move from his sword.

The display is enough to keep your companions on guard, but not react, that thing atop the chandelier perfectly positioned to crush you without a second thought leisurely sipping tea. Before addressing the Chain below, "Now that I've successfully gotten your attention by indicating the extermination of vermin I've had to recently do, why don't we talk? I'm perfectly reasonable, I promise not to bite or anything, blood is quite the nuisance to clean off rhe stage after all."

"Very well," Time's voice cuts through the silence, composed even as his mind is running a mile per minute, "May we make some inquiries?"

Their lips curl in amusement, a slightly mocking edge to their relaxed lilt, "There we go, was being polite so hard? You may, one at a time though!" They look down at the Shadow, which hisses up at them, eyes focused on the heroes, the edges of it's existence flickering oddly, casting itself over walls and the now scorched wooden floor, "Don't want to agitate our friend here you know? Or else we'll have a sparrow singing very very soon." They sing song, you can feel Warriors cringe where he stands, but he's also the first one to jump to questioning at Time's slight nod.

"Why are you working with the Shadow?"

The figure shrugs, pouring themselves a second mug, "Why does anyone do anything? Complete and utter, sheer boredom is why. It had a good sales pitch won't lie, I haven't been bored since you lot decided to stay here."

You see the way Legend's eyes narrow, a scowl on his face and tone biting, itching to move, "What did you do to them?"

"You'll have to be more specific, if you mean your little friend here. Nothing really, they came up on the stage and used the knife themselves after all." The masked figured clucked, shrugging, "As for the rest, you can blame Raven. They lost their nerve when they shouldn't have and dragged the troupe down with them, when I gave them one job besides watching my theater, plus..." they sighed, placing Raven's feather by the thorns holding the mask grafted onro their face, clicking their clawed, bloody hand agaisnt the tea cup, uncaring when your blood mixes with the sugar cubes, "They also failed to do proper research, I mean doesn't help certain nasty little disgraces-" they growl pointedly at the Shadow at that, who snarls back, making a twisted duet of mutual, black loathing come to life, "Also made their job harder, but seriously. Even a braindead donkey could have done a bit more research."

"What do you mean? No need to insult Raven like that! They were nice." Blurted out Spirit, you can practically feel the poor dear itching to snap the whip to snatch you, Wind holding onto his an Cal's wrists like a vice so they wouldn't make any sudden moves, First tapping Calamity's back and looking at the hooded being's perch, making Calamity's eyes narrow and Sky slowly let go of the possible Skyward Strike, thankfully enough. Being crushed to death would not help your boys get out of here.

The hooded and masked figure twitched, head listing lazily to the side, unhurried, as if bored or maybe dissapointed as they sighed apathetically, it gave you gooseflesh, but you dared not move an inch, struggling against your own limbs and with the Shadow at your back, "I mean I was just taken by surprise. You know, I wouldn't have taken the heroes of Hyrule for liars and oath breakers, and also against the laws of hospitality. Shooting arrows and magic at your host within their own home? For shame! Didn't your parents teach you better?"

You could see how each of the heroes bristled, but seeing crimson beading against your unwilling, trapped skin stayed their blade, though that did not stop Legend from snarling up at the hidden figure, sipping tea as if it was watching an incredibly entertaining play, "Oath breakers? That's rich coming from you! Raven said we could stay here safely and then leave once the storm was over!"

"And you attacked one of our own first." Added Warriors, his tone as glacial as the winter winds, enough to freeze anyone down to the marrow.

They incline their head, voice distorted, the screaming echo of scavengers like nails on chalkboard and as refined as a well curated blade, "True, though neither they nor I never said you'd all leave unharmed, did we? And you didn't keep your end of the deal either." Their tone goes dryer, as they throw the tea cup away without a care in favor of throwing their hands up, as if it was the Chain being unreasonable and not the person who presumably did something to Shadow and Hyrule's own Shade, you can see Sky barely keeping his grip on an enraged Four, "Besides! I didn't attack them, they kindly volunteered to go up stage on their own. You're all so up in arms for something that's part of the performance, a little injury is a small price to pay for the bit."

"A 'little injury'?! I doubt they'd try cutting off their own hands for a BIT." Stressed Hyrule, snapping out of his shock, in response to that, the cloaked person shrugged.

"I mean a little disarment never killed anyone."

Wild looked seconds from firing another arrow, teeth gritted and bared as Twilight sent a furious glare to the one perched atop the stage, just above the lights, ready to knock them down and crush you if needed be, "I'm pretty sure it has, actually."

"Anyway! You're all so caught up on semantics, by the Three, so uptight. Does having the splinters so far up there not sting?" they glanced at the Shadow, the obsidian and granite lizalfos glancing back at them before hissing at Time, ready to lunge, teeth stained with Director Raven's blood, "This the kind of tough crowd you have to deal with? Yeesh, no wonder you yap more than a kicked dog at times." They turn back to the Chain, clapping their hands, "In any case, let's make another deal, shall we? I'm a playwright of my word after all. You could leave your little friend here to become one of my actors and go on your merry way." You swore you felt your heart stop, blood rushing in your ears, you barely caught the sharp glint of a hollow smile beneath the crow shaped mask and their next words, "Or! If you're really that attached-", they send you a bemused look, "Can't see why but hey," shrugging, they continue on, unrelenting like a hunting wolf, "You can act instead. I'll send you all into different tales and should you finish them in accordance to the script, I may let you just leave without too much of a fuss. No catches." They point to the Shadow, "Can't make any promises for that one though, it's a solo act you see, if anything I'm just lending the venue and he was lucky to rent first, the wretch."

"And if we refuse?" Probed Time, you could see the gears turning in his head like clockwork, trying to find a way to swing this in everyone's favor so you all can get out alive.

The vulture in crow skin only smiled wider, "Then none of us gets them and you die here, I'll let the Shadow tear you apart to it's void soul's delight, and kill them on the spot." The blades press against your arms against your will, and you twitch, trying to wrestle control back and only getting pain for you troubles, muffling a yell, "Maybe put them in a soup and make jewelry out of the bones that I don't reuse in a broth, I'd look pretty dashing in a crown." They giggle, unhinged cruelty into every word as they clap their hands, voice rising to a screeching crescendo, "Oh oh! Or just roll them down a barrel filled with spikes on a hill, or make them dance and dance and dance on hot iron shoes until they drop dead! Haven't decided yet, so many choices, so little time. It's almost enough to leave me hot and bothered." The true owner of the theater sighed, longingly hugging themselves before turning a cold, hard tone to the heroes, "You sure you want to risk that?"

Silence descends upon the theater like a widow's shroud, seems you're all at an impasse, you're unable to move and while you're certain your boys could overpower whatever that monstrosity is and deal with the Shadow, none of you could be sure they could do it before the Shadow slit your throat or that being (person? No, it felt too unnatural to be human.) Knocked the chandelier down or made good on their threat.

The masked unknown simply summoned themseles a second mug, pouring more tea, "Take your time to answer. I can wait. Though if you ask me the choice is extremely obvious, come on now, what's one more or one less for your little group? It's not like they're important to the narrative anyway-"

"No tricks?" Cut in First, you see the being twotch at the interruption.

"Rude. Seriously, does Hylia just likes to pick the feral ones and set them loose upon the world? Seems like bad business." They pause, then hum, "Then again, maybe not, I hear her incarnations can be quite unhinged. Quite the match made in hell, you lot then and those Demise decides to live rent free in huh? I almost feel bad now. Yikes, my condolences." They pluck a bouquet of camellias, roses and acacias from the inside of their cloak and throw it down to the Chain. You're not even surprised when Wild snags the fire rod from Legend and sets it aflame.

"Holding our friend hostage and talking about actively killing them doesn't inspire us to play nice." Gritted out Four. Grip tight onto his sword.

"If you feel bad then just let them go!" Gestured Wind from his side.

"Your criticism has been noted. I only don't concede because I can't see any reason why you'd want them around." The figure drawls back before answering First, "No tricks or catches or too much of a fuss, all you have to do is play along the script and play nice. Do that and in theory we shouldn't have much trouble. Maybe I'll even be nice and throw in one of those rewards like the places you all crawl through do on occasion, why not?" The Shadow roars at that, they snap down at it, "My theater, my rules! I'm bored okay? Let me spice things up!"

Time breathes, you can see the lonsdaleite persistence come back to the forefront, "Then we accept."

The figure stills, before shaking their head, they leap down from the chandelier, gliding across the stage with quick steps as the feeling of drowning recedes, the Shadow begrudgingly letting you go as you gasp, the figure snags your arm in one clawed hand, drags you to the edge of the stage, then kicks you off with a sigh, thankfully, Twilight and Warriors are there ro support you as they turn towards Time, tone blank as they extend that same clawed hand, "Way to pick the boring choice, but fine. I shouldn't expect much of a surprise I suppose." They shake hands, you feel the hum of magic settle into the air, twisted and wrong it almosy brings that drowning feeling back, water trying to pull you down as they grin and step back, opening a blank, black book, snagging the crystalline quill and using your blood as ink, they write, everything goes dark quickly as the Shadow snuffs out every light again as it dissolves, spreading ober every single nook and cranny of the open space.

You think they bare their teeth at you specifically before snapping the book shut, "Let me weave you a tale!"

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

Scene IIII End. Thus closes the Opening Act.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe au #lu x reader #linked universe fairy tale au #fairy tale typical violence #fairy tale typical dark themes #reference to Penta of the Chopped Off Hands #told y'all not to get attached to the theater crew #Reader is going through it and frankly it's probably gonna go downhill from there #wonder how many will catch the reference with Twilight #I thought it would be cute to be fair. Reader has a lot of knowledge from our world and they'd likely convert as many stories as they could #for variety if nothing else #Dink's hired help here just wants to watch the world burn and preferably roast Reader over a fire while at it #why? that's for me to know and y'all to find out lol #they're not really relevant to the plot. they're just here to kick it into gear. cause chaos. be dramatic and bully Dink #specially if he messes up the venue #No Shadow Links were Permanently Harmed in the Making of this Chapter #WintertimeStoryteller Stop Clowning Yourself and Stick to the OG Outline Challenge (Failed Miserably) #That moment when you write and rewrite the chapter and has a nice little plan for the story #but sleep deprivation and life happens so you have to throw it out the window #Reade is all over the place because they're meant to don't worry. The theater just Does That #no beta we die like my sanity #no beta we die like First and the Hero's Shade #WintertimeStoryteller Writing #Hopefully it's at least half decent

[leviathanswingman]

Killing Me Softly (with his song): Chapter 2

Pairing: DiaLuci

Words: 4833

Chapters: 2/? Chapter 1 ao3

In the blink of an eye, the day Lucifer had been dreading had arrived. Today Diavolo was to return to the Devildom and his duties as their crown prince. His work trip had finally ended with all things concerning Queen Rose wrapped up. 

On one hand, Lucifer was glad to be relieved of the additional workload that came with being Diavolo's replacement, but on the other, he suspected having Diavolo near him when he was ill and destined to get much worse would inevitably have its toll on both his body and mind.  

In the deepest hours of the night, Lucifer had pondered over his plan of action and had made his decision. He would have to mislead Diavolo and would have to play pretend even with his health on the line. The thought itself had left him hanging over the toilet bowl, quite the unseemly mess. While wiping his mouth Lucifer had speculated if there would be any ounce of dignity left in his body once the illness had run its course. Still, he was unable to stop his thoughts from drifting to those captivating eyes, to that deep voice, to his boisterous laughter that was enough to unearth all, down to the scent of leather and honey he could smell whenever he leaned in too close and their shoulders brushed ever so slightly.

Of course, Lucifer had the illusion of free will. Realistically speaking, there were three choices he could make.

Lucifer could confess his feelings and bear the consequences, leading him straight to choice number 2.

He could let the illness run its course and wait for his certain death.

He could go to the doctor and get the surgery, which would remove the flowers and inevitably his feelings along with it.

In the end, numbers one and three were choices he simply couldn’t make. Not with Diavolo and the way they were. Cutting out his feelings would bear unforeseeable results. At this point, all that they were and all that Lucifer felt for him were far too intertwined to untangle without causing further harm. Because of this, he had swiftly decided against getting the surgery. 

After all, Lucifer had learned to contain his emotions years ago and knew how to let them simmer on a low flame to avoid having them overflow. He would simply have to continue doing so.

Lucifer checked his reflection in the mirror which had been replaced after last night's incident. Unsurprisingly enough, his looks reflected his physical state. His skin was too pale to be healthy, robbed of its usual shine. The shadows under his eyes were deep-set and purple.

Earlier today, Asmo had offered him concealer, his face sullen as he tried to slip the product into his brother's hand without anybody noticing. Naturally, Lucifer had pinched his wrist for it. These days, he found himself to be irritable to a fault.

With a sigh, he fixed his hair and straightened his collar before making his way to the agreed-upon meeting spot. There was no use pondering over his inevitable demise. 

He arrived 5 minutes too early. After all, being on time was a quality of utmost importance. Sadly, it was a quality that most of his brothers lacked. 

Lucifer felt worse for wear. After the night he'd spent getting closely acquainted with the inside of his toilet bowl, his head was pounding in an unsteady rhythm and his throat felt raw.

There had already been multiple full flowers. Although he bathed thoroughly he found himself unable to get rid of the sickly stench of the flowers. By now the scent seemed to be permanently stuck in his nose.

Slowly, he let his gaze wander over RAD’s gardens as he checked his cuff links. When he looked up again, he suddenly heard the sound of quick, heavy booted footsteps inching closer.

“Lucifer!!” 

There was no need for him to turn around to know who had been calling out to him. This person's presence was unmistakably overwhelming, his aura imposing.

It was Diavolo. His hair was tousled from the wind, his cheeks lively with joy. 

In the blink of an eye, Lucifer found himself held prisoner in a bone-crushing embrace.

“Diavolo!” he said, all air pushed out of his lungs from the force of impact, enough for a petal to ghost past his lips and land on Diavolo's shoulder.

The attention had him feeling quite restless. Normally, he'd growl and grumble, pretending to simply endure Diavolo's natural clinginess, when in truth, he wouldn't mind it if it weren't for the weight their positions brought with them. It felt good, and that, he couldn't have.

Lucifer didn't quite know what to do with his hands, so he settled on patting Diavolo's broad back reassuringly.

“There, there. What would your subjects think, seeing how unseemly you're acting right now?”  he mumbled, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Barbatos nodding at him, the corners of his mouth pulled up ever so slightly. It was a knowing smile and suddenly, Lucifer felt himself laid bare. Of course, he would know. There was no hiding from Barbatos. Reluctantly, he returned the greeting. 

Diavolo was still holding onto him. “I just missed you so much! I feel like I haven't seen you in decades!”

A sigh escaped Lucifer's lips. “Stop exaggerating. You were gone for two weeks.”

All of a sudden, Diavolo nuzzled his face against Lucifer's neck. Most certainly it wasn't on purpose, but his soft hair tickled against Lucifer's skin and he tensed up a little more nonetheless.

“It was two weeks and four whole days! There's so much I have to tell you about. The trip was quite riveting and Queen Rose has been nothing but cordial. She even brought out a few photos from last year's visit. Both Barbatos and you were so-”

Lucifer opened his mouth as Barbatos cleared his throat. “Young Master. Although I hate to interrupt, there are more serious issues to discuss. Surely, you didn't only spend your trip reminiscing. May I remind you we have a celebration to prepare for? Once everything has been discussed properly, you shall be free to do whoever you please.”

Lucifer swallowed down another petal and glowered at Barbatos. “Excuse me?”

Diavolo finally released Lucifer, brushing off nonexistent specks of dust off his shoulders with a smile on his lips. Lucifer gently pushed his hand off.

“Don't you mean whatever? You said whoever,” Diavolo said, tilting his head. “Barbatos, are you perchance tired?”

“Did I now? I must apologize, it seems I misspoke.”

Despite his words, it was very apparent that he had, in fact, not confused his words. It was unclear why Barbatos chose to meddle. Lucifer felt ever so inclined to call him out on it, but with Diavolo close by that was hardly an option.

“My Lord, if I may?” Barbatos suddenly pointed at Lord Diavolo's shoulder. “Something seems to be stuck to your uniform, let me remove it for you.”

With a quick motion, Barbatos snatched the petal off Lord Diavolo's uniform, holding it against the light. “How curious. As far as I am aware, there are no white rose bushes in the royal gardens. How could it have gotten here, I wonder?”

Lucifer froze in place and was left staring at the small petal held between Barbatos' slender fingers. He hadn't even noticed.

“Perhaps Queen Rose has been tending to a new variety of roses,” he suggested, his jaw tense and shoulders stiff. 

“I believe she would have shown me if that was the case,” Diavolo wondered. “She carries much pride for her gardens after all.”

Diavolo and Barbatos' voices were beginning to merge with the sound of the wind and the chirping of birds as Lucifer's ears filled with static that only grew louder and louder in his ears. Although he could see their lips move, his brain refused to process what they were saying. His breath caught in his throat. 

When Barbatos dropped the petal in Diavolo's cupped hands, something shifted in him. He could make out two single words coming out of Diavolo's mouth, spoken with unbridled admiration.

“... quite beautiful.”

A stabbing pain emerged from Lucifer's lungs which quickly grew in intensity.

It was almost comical how he was considered one of the most feared demons in all three realms, yet all it took was a misplaced compliment to force him down to his knees. 

Thankful that the other two demons were still distracted, Lucifer grabbed the opportunity by the throat.

He pulled out his DDD and checked his messages, furrowed his eyebrows in play-pretend confusion before tutting his teeth. “Allow me to excuse myself,” he said quickly. There wasn't much time left until the first cough would inevitably follow. “I will be right back.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diavolo lift his head and for a moment, their eyes met. “Lucifer, is everything alright?” he asked, his voice worried. 

He nodded his head. “Naturally. Something just came up. It seems like I will have to return to the House of Lamentation for a short while.”

Those cursed golden eyes were fixated on him, so tempting in the Devildom's low lighting. His lungs were aching, yet he couldn't refuse to return the intense look.

“Oh, of course. Take your time. There is no need for haste. Do send word once the issue has been resolved.”

Lucifer nodded once and with quick steps, he removed himself from the scene, leaving Barbatos and Diavolo behind. He managed to round the last corner when his body finally gave up on him. His knees buckled and he had to hold onto RAD’s outer wall for support, struggling to keep himself upright. As he tried to take another step, his lungs constricted and he began to cough violently. When he attempted to keep going, he felt himself sway. It was a strange thing to realize that one was about to collapse. Holding onto the old stone wall did little to support his buckling knees.

Lucifer awoke to the soft clacking of something being placed on the ground. As he opened his eyes, green ones were staring back at him from the backdrop of his personal chambers.

Barbatos . 

Lucifer felt disoriented, but before he could request an explanation, the sharp pain in his lungs returned without mercy. Promptly, he started to cough again but before he was able to hack up more flowers, a bucket was pushed into his hands. It was hard to breathe and the stream of flowers didn't seem to stop. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth and the flowers he spat out were covered in it.

Heaving, he stared at the mess. In between the spit-covered flowers and petals were multiple stems armed with thick thorns.

“That's certainly a new one,” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

For once, Lucifer was faltering. He had told himself he could do this, had convinced himself that he possessed enough restraint to live this lie and accept it as his new reality. Year after year, he had convinced himself all over again that he saw Diavolo as nothing but his superior, that perhaps he would come to accept the title of friend if he felt daring enough. And it would have to end there. 

What a liar he was. Diavolo’s word was the law. He was their prince, destined to become king.

There was nothing Lucifer could do. Throughout the years, he had grown fond of their companionship. Despite his protests, he liked being needed. A part of him hoped Diavolo would always need him. Now the time had come, and with it, his punishment for overstepping his bounds. His feelings on the subject didn’t matter. They simply couldn't matter.

Suddenly, he felt a careful hand touching his shoulder, snapping him out of his train of thought.

Lucifer opened his eyes again and was met with Barbatos fixing him with a serious expression as he took the bucket out of his white-knuckled hands. 

With a low growl, Lucifer let himself fall back in the pillows, his hand pushing stray strands of hair out of his eyes. His forehead felt clammy. “So it's you,” he settled on. 

“It is,” Barbatos said quietly. “You should consider yourself lucky. What would you have done if Lord Diavolo had found you in such a compromising situation? Most certainly he would've been beside himself. I believe he would have never left your side again after an incident of that calibre.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Lucky? Is that really something I can be considered?” A moment of silence passed. “What do you want?” he asked, his tone clipped. “I assume there is no need to explain my ailment to you? After all, you’ve been aware of it since the moment you laid eyes on me today.” He sighed and covered his eyes with his forearm. It was hard to tell whether he was embarrassed or simply exhausted. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. “Spare me the humiliation and just come out with it.”

Barbatos folded his hands together and tilted his head to one side. “Of course. Excuse my impertinence. As you are aware, I am not one to give orders. Feel free to consider this as nothing but a mere suggestion on my part.” He moved one step closer to the bed and began to fluff up a pillow near Lucifer's head. While he busied himself, his long strand of hair falling into his face, he continued. “I believe you should confess your feelings. This situation might be easier resolved than you currently assume.”

A dry laugh escaped Lucifer's lips as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Am I hearing right? Perhaps I've been spending too much time around my idiotic brothers, or did you truly suggest what I believe you did? Barbatos, don't take me for a fool. I am aware that my feelings are uncalled for, but it is not within my power to change them. Even less so should I burden Diavolo with their weight.”

Barbatos ran one hand along the pillow, indenting its middle to create a proper shape. “Are they truly well hidden if it only took me mere moments to figure them out?” he asked, his tone nonchalant. “Perhaps it will help you to vocalize them.”

“What use is there in confessing that I love him?” For a moment he halted as his eyes widened and the realization hit him. Without thinking, he had said the unthinkable. He had said those three pesky words he'd been dancing around for years. The words had left his lips far too easily.

Next to him, Barbatos simply sighed. “Acceptance may as well be your first step towards the goal. Allow me to say that you two are terribly hopeless,” he stated. “We are all well aware of your stubbornness, but I implore you to let that sensation rest. Your pride shouldn't be reason enough to keep the Young Master waiting for much longer. I've been observing the two of you for ages and it exhausts me to see how oblivious you are.”

“What is there to feel distressed about? My choices should hardly-” Lucifer started, but was shushed by Barbatos who had lifted a finger to his own lips.

“Judging by your appearance and the state you're in, I would assume you have a month left. However, if I survey the symptoms you have already presented, I believe there is far less time left. The proximity to the Young Master is quite the fast-acting poison for your ailment. Do you really plan on sacrificing everything you hold dear just to keep your dignity? Perhaps you should reconsider.” When Lucifer did not reply Barbatos smoothed over his uniform and turned towards the door. 

“I have said my part and shall make an excuse so you can rest. Please consider my thoughts and make the proper decision. I will be taking my leave now.” With a court bow, Barbatos exited the room, leaving Lucifer to his conflicting thoughts.

Without Barbatos’ presence, he was free to force his thoughts to abandon the topic at hand, to stop thinking about how he had admitted his feelings so freely, and to stray back to work. It was a welcome distraction. Quietly, Lucifer lifted himself off the mattress, his arms feeling much weaker than he was comfortable with. They were in the middle of planning a celebration for the royals of all surrounding Kingdoms. It had been at Queen Rose’s suggestion and Diavolo had sounded quite taken with the idea when he'd told Lucifer about it through the phone. It would act as a peace offering of sorts after many years of war and fights over territory. 

The celebration was set to take place in five days.

Lucifer could already see himself up to his neck in preparations since everything had to be planned on extremely short notice. He would have to balance the stress of all that contained, all the paperwork, the invitations and preliminary meetings with suppliers and organizers that seemed overdue before anything even started. When would he have the time to confess his feelings when everyone was counting on him to hold the Kingdom together in the palm of his hands? 

Additionally, the situation would only get worse the moment Diavolo caught wind of his sickness. Perhaps Diavolo wasn't suspicious yet, but it would be foolish to expect it to stay that way. Due to their busy schedules, Lucifer might manage to slip past him at just the right time, but the truth was that it was getting harder for him to hold everything together. It was realistic to assume that Diavolo would find out sooner or later.

With a sigh, Lucifer laid back down again, if only for a moment. Fatigue was pulling at his bones, trying to lure him into a restless slumber.

The few hours of sleep he managed to get were unsatisfactory. He found himself stuck in a drowsy state; not asleep yet not quite awake either. Not even the darkness of slumber was kind enough to let him forget what he didn't want to consider. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw Diavolo’s face and found himself haunted by his voice when he wasn't even remotely close. His dreams brought up titillating images he would never dare to entertain while he was awake. It took him several minutes to will his body back into obedience, away from the daunting state he had found himself in. 

Were Lucifer anybody but himself, he would have considered renouncing his position as Diavolo's right-hand man. It would've been the right thing to do, considering their closeness that so clearly interfered with his professionalism. Still, he had made a promise, and his loyalty was a thing of permanence. Foolishly, he had chosen death over an act of treachery.

His conviction did little to lessen his suffering. Irritatingly enough, his body was longing to be close to the one demon it couldn't have. There was one thing he knew for certain. Despite Barbatos’ suggestions, Diavolo would never return his feelings. It was a thing of impossibility. Lucifer's heart hurt and his lungs ached at the thought, yet he wouldn't allow himself to slip further into foolish delusions. The rational part of his brain was scoffing at his internal conflict. After all, he had always been quite the realist. He knew the hand he had been dealt and knew which cards he had to play to ensure a win. 

Of course, it was undeniable that Diavolo had developed a certain fondness for Lucifer, but in the grand scheme of things, that didn't mean anything. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was running out of time. Realistically, he gave himself less than a week. It was a fitting punishment for someone who did not deserve to experience love, not after everything that went wrong. Not when his little sister died for it. How could he have the right to experience it so carelessly?

All of a sudden, his DDD rang loud and clear, pulling him out of his thoughts. He rubbed his ribcage, right where his lungs were sitting, tangled up in roots and thorns. From now on, he should keep Diavolo-related thoughts to a minimum, he was aware of that. He threw a quick look at the caller ID and picked up the phone. “Yes?”

“Heya Lucifer, guess who? It’s your darling little brother, the one and only Asmodeus on the line of course!” Asmo’s melodious voice rang through the speakers.

A sigh left Lucifer's lips as he rubbed his temples in annoyance. “You are aware that I can see your caller ID, right? I do have your contact saved,” he grumbled. “What is it you need?”

“Aww Lucifer! You flatter me!” Asmo chirped, his chipper voice only amplifying Lucifer's ever-growing headache.

“If you consider something like that flattery you might need to reevaluate your standards. So, what do you want? You know I'm busy with preparations, there's still too much to do. I'm not in the mood for your games, so no dawdling unless you want to get punished thoroughly and rigidly,” he said in a brash manner, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah, yeah! No need to get so worked up, I can almost hear you glaring through the speakers! All that frowning will get you wrinkles, you know?” Asmo began to babble. “That really isn't something you want, like ever. Oh, oh! I recently tried out this amazing gushing hell snake oil that-”

“Asmodeus,” Lucifer stated coldly. “Out with it.”

“Live a little! I just wanted to check in on you, see how you're doing!” 

“Why? You saw me this morning.”

“Because you see… there's a lot that can happen between morning and noon and-”

“Asmodeus,” he growled. “Spare me your theatrics and state your business.” Lucifer continued, a threatening aura starting to seep from his pores. He most certainly did not have the patience for any more shenanigans today. Asmodeus was really testing him with the way he was avoiding stating the reason for his call.

For a moment there came nothing but silence from the other end of the phone, followed by an audible intake of breath and hushed whispers. “So... The thing is...” Asmo started, his voice suddenly nervous. “I just missed you, that's it! Bye-bye Lucifer, talk to you later!!”

Click.

Asmodeus had hung up on him.

For a moment, Lucifer simply stared at the red symbol signaling the end of the call. His fingers tightened around his DDD. “Oh? Well, that just takes the cake. I will teach him his place, that little-”

Suddenly, a voice called his name. “Lucifer.” 

It was that voice again. Realization dawned upon him. It all made sense now. The nonsensical call and all the stalling. All of it had been a setup. There was a reason Asmo had been dawdling around like that.

Someone must've asked him to act as a distraction. And that specific someone, someone Asmodeus wouldn't be able to refuse, was now standing right behind him. Lucifer wasn't even surprised Asmo had agreed to this. His brother knew about his illness and had grand delusions about the way Diavolo felt for Lucifer. 

He pocketed his DDD and turned around. “Diavolo, what a surprise. Is there anything you need from me for you to come visit me unannounced?“ he asked casually. His calm tone of voice didn't betray the anger that was still boiling inside of him. Diavolo's plan had worked out perfectly.

An unfortunate side effect of his Hanahaki was that he had become much less attentive. He hadn't even noticed the door opening and closing when Diavolo entered the room. 

“Lucifer. It's been a while since I've seen you this worked up. Is something the matter?“ Diavolo asked cordially. There was a confusing smile on his face as he crossed the room and wrapped his warm hand around Lucifer's arm.

For a moment Lucifer cursed himself for having abandoned his coat, but it had simply been too hot. Despite the warm air in the room, he found himself shivering under Diavolo's touch, right where it sat against the naked skin of his arm, courtesy of the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt.

“Maybe that's because I haven't seen you around all that much lately,” Diavolo mumbled, letting his hand slide further down until he could run his thumbs over the bone of  Lucifer's wrist. “I have been gone for weeks, and suddenly, it seems like you are planning to avoid being in my presence. Did I act out of bounds?”

Lucifer shook under the unexpectedly kind touch. He did not know what had prompted Diavolo to act so unseemly. He was used to violence and harshness, but soft touches like these were completely strange to him. 

Diavolo’s fingers, wrapped around his wrist, felt warm and alive. His heart was begging to beat faster, almost as if it were testing out its newfound boundaries.

Want was a livid thing filling up his chest, pulling down further past his stomach down to the tip of his toes.

He realized he'd been silent for too long. 

“Why would that be your first assumption?” he answered back. 

“Making up excuses doesn't sound like you. I know you'd never lie to me, which would explain your reluctance to give me a straight answer and why Barbatos has suddenly excused you for the day. You're avoiding me for a reason, are you not?” Diavolo asked calmly, the expression on his face unreadable. When his hand gripped Lucifer's, lingering on top like a protective shell, Lucifer forced himself to look at him.

For once, he wished his eyes could express what his mouth refused to say. He had always been the oldest and had always carried responsibilities too big for his beaten body. As always, he couldn't allow himself to take a stand. Wearing his heart on his sleeve was a luxury he couldn't afford. His brothers, perhaps. He'd made sure of that. But him? Never. His stance towards his private sentiments had to remain a heartless one. 

When he continued to stand his ground against Diavolo’s intense gaze, he felt an electric shock running through him. He had made his decision and there was no going back.

This was the first time in ages that he was allowing Diavolo to linger this close. Excuses wouldn't suffice to keep the demon prince away when he was already suspicious. 

As soon as it had started, the moment was ruined when Lucifer grabbed Diavolo's other arm in a tight grip.

“I cannot give you the answer you are searching for. Leave before it's too late. You shouldn't be here,” he forced out, his heavy breath suppressed as he did his best to control his breathing until Diavolo finally left the room. “I cannot fathom what brought you here unannounced. I don't need your pity and I don't want your concern.”

“You wish that I leave before it's too late,” he repeated. “Before it's too late for what?” Diavolo worried his lip when he took note of the other's unusual expression. Lucifer looked strangely conflicted, his shoulders taut as the string of a bow. “Before it's too late for what? Lucifer, I won't understand unless you tell me!”

Lucifer opened his mouth, but before he could continue to deflect he suddenly gripped Diavolo’s arm even tighter. His other hand freed itself from Diavolo's grip and shot up to his mouth, attempting to contain what he'd been fighting against for the duration of their conversation. 

A sea of bloody petals, thorns, and stems forced themselves out of his mouth, past his hand. He lowered his head, his eyes open wide and set on the ground. It felt like time had come to a stop while he struggled to breathe, bubbles of blood and petals breaking past the tight hold of his hand. 

“Lucifer!” Diavolo's voice sounded distant. There it was, again, calling out his name. Always calling out for him. Lucifer tightened his hand around Diavolo's arm in reply. 

Quickly, Diavolo lowered Lucifer to the ground and pulled him against his chest. When his breathing didn't ease, he opened the first buttons of his dress shirt and pressed one hand against his abdomen. “Come on, breathe with me.” 

Lucifer was wheezing and choking, but still, he let himself be held, allowing himself to follow the pattern of Diavolo's breathing he could feel against his back.

With one big cough, a full white rose with a stem and thorns forced itself out of Lucifer's mouth, followed by a sea of blood. As he gasped for air, Diavolo lowered his forehead against the back of his neck. 

“Who is it?” he asked after a beat of silence. “Lucifer, please tell me. I implore you. Who has caused this?”

The Devildom Prince received no reply. Lucifer had fallen unconscious.

#obey me #omswd #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #lucifer x diavolo #my writing #fanfic #hanahaki disease

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s R&S - NW Project (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains spoilers from an R&S (NW计划) which has not been released in EN 🍒

Heavy angst warning... T-T

To follow along with the narrator: here

[ Chapter One ]

The NW Project - “New Weapons Project” in full. This project was first put forward 20 years ago. 

Even though I’m the main person in charge of this project, the person who raised this project wasn’t me. Neither was it an outstanding scientist. Instead, it was this man in front of me.

Patiently, I finish reading the agreement in my hand, which spans dozens of pages. Before putting my pen to the page, I lift my head to look at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

The man looks straight into my eyes. Without a hint of retreating or wavering, his tone is calm as he responds, “I’ll take complete responsibility for the consequences.”

“You aren’t afraid of permanent infamy?”

“This is our only chance. Exchanging the lowest cost for peace experienced by the most number of people. Black Swan doesn’t leave us any choice.”

I fall silent, but the man doesn’t give me an opportunity to probe further.

“This is the second time I’ve made this decision.” He continues speaking calmly. “Ever since the first step was taken, there has been no room for backing out in this matter.”

I pinch the pen with force, the weight in my hands a little difficult to bear for a moment. I take a deep breath, finally signing my own name on the paper, underneath the name already written on it.

I’m very clear that we have no room for retreating. We have to move forward!

After signing, the man hands me an archive envelope. “This is the first experimental subject this time round.”

I open the archive envelope directly. When I see the name written on the materials, I lift my head to look at him in shock. Before I can speak, he responds. “There’s nothing wrong with the materials.”

“Right now, he’s the most suitable candidate.”

“But-” I continue finding it difficult to believe.

“You can return to make preparations. He’ll be here soon, and the NW Project can officially begin.” There’s absolutely no change in his expression. He’s so calm that it’s as though he’s talking about someone who is insignificant. But the tenseness of his body faintly reveals his inner perturbation. 

I suppress the shock in my heart, not adding anything else.

Returning to the office, I open the file once again, reading it seriously--

Gavin, 24 years old, Evol ability is wind control. His Evol was awakened at 17 years old. During the tests two years ago, his ability levels were determined to be of the highest rank.

In the attached photograph, a young man wearing the white Special Task Force uniform is facing the camera. His eyes have a knife-life fierceness and a trace of unruliness. Even when separated by the photograph, they bring with them a certain sense of oppression.

This is a resolute person - that’s what I conclude. But when he undergoes the modification in this project, whether it’s successful or not, would he be able to remain as resolute?

I’m unable to make a determination, but I hope he does. After all, he’s their child...

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The restarting of this project, which had stopped for decades, was beset with difficulties. But no matter how difficult it was, this project had to be pushed forward.

A month later, as Black Swan’s activities grew increasingly frequent, the man, in the capacity of commanding officer, led the team himself, leaving the base. He kept his promise, bringing the first experimental subject back - the NW Project could officially restart.

-

Gavin stands in the middle of the laboratory quietly. His familiar appearance causes me to have a lapse in concentration. But very quickly, I retract my emotions and explain what the first phase of the experiment entails, and its possible effects.

When he hears the cruel wording I use, he has no reaction, no wavering, and no fear. His back is straight, and there are still speckles of dried blood on his body. I’ve only met his eyes once before averting them quickly. That pair of eyes shrouded in shadows suppress far too deep, and far too heavy emotions. Yet, they reveal a certain odd sense of calm, as though he has calmly and fearlessly accepted his fate.

“Gavin, are you ready?” The man, who has remained silent all this while, finally speaks. In an incredibly cold voice, Gavin responds. “Yes.”

The man turns his head towards me, nodding slightly in indication. “It can begin.”

We’ve been waiting a very long time for this experiment. Before the experiment officially begins, the man’s footsteps leave hurriedly.

All procedures proceed in a systematic and orderly way. Underneath the cold lights of the laboratory, Gavin, who has been injected with the drug, is submerged into transparent phosphate buffer. Dozens of metal patches are linked up to his body, monitoring the slightest change in data.

As the experiment carries on, something peculiar happens quickly. The fluctuating lines on the electrocardiogram gradually slow down. After a sudden jolt, it becomes a flat line. Just like the final glow of light in the darkness extinguishing suddenly, although we had already prepared ourselves for this, I still find my hands trembling when this moment arrives.

A researcher informs us that Gavin’s vitals are falling, and that his Evol fluctuations are barely able to be captured. All the data cruelly tells us that this experiment is about to fail, and the death of this young man will be announced soon.

I pound my hands onto the wall heavily to prevent my fingers from trembling, and direct everyone to carry out all possible rescue measures. But as time passes by - one minute, two minutes... his signs of life have completely vanished.

“Gavin...” Quietly, I watch that young man, whose eyes are shut tight, and recall when this departed person had said this name to me.

Suddenly, the lines on the electrocardiogram fluctuate for a moment, and someone exclaims in surprise. I frantically observe the screen, watching as the degree of fluctuations gradually increases. It’s as though a hand has forcefully pulled him back from the fringes of death, finally bringing him back to normal. Everyone heaves a long sigh of relief.

After the experiment, I assume the task of observing Gavin’s situation. On the sickbed, the young man who has experienced death has a face void of colour. Even in an unconscious state, his eyebrows remain deeply furrowed.

I tidy the items that were collected from him: A phone which is turned off, a set of keys, a Special Task Force ID... and a photograph which was originally in his breast pocket. This photograph seems to have been taken unawares. It has already turned slightly yellow, and has a pretty-looking girl on it.

After a while of thinking, I place the photograph next to Gavin’s pillow.

Perhaps this way, he can have a good dream.

-

[ Chapter Three ]

It has been a week since the experiment ended.

A few things surpassed our initial expectations: Within the first 30 hours of Gavin awakening, his state of mind temporarily went into chaos. At the same time, the strength of his modified Evol left us unable to control him, and he destroyed the entire laboratory. Fortunately, he recovered at a certain point. But he became deficient in terms of emotions, and turned extremely cold and distant. It’s as though he had become the strongest “weapon” as we conceptualised.

-

“Thud--” The sound of something heavy falling drifts from the tightly shut door. The hand I’ve placed on the door pauses. After waiting for a few minutes, I push the door open.

Gavin is standing in the middle of the spacious underground training room. A pair of cold and indifferent eyes look over. Even though I’ve experienced this several times, my heart still jumps, and my body tenses up involuntarily. All the cells in my body warn me - he’s extremely dangerous.

I maintain a set distance, and advise, “You should act according to our designated plan to undergo this adjustment process.”

Gavin doesn’t speak. Black wind encircles his surrounding, the swirling air slicing the walls and floor like knives. In an instant, it ripples through the entire room. I reach out to touch the blood oozing from the new wound on my face, quietly putting even more distance between us.

I watch silently as he exhausts his Evol, waits for it to be restored, and repeats it again. This is an incredibly painful process, no different from breaking all the bones in his body and forcing them to straighten. Such capacity for violence often results in harm to himself. Very quickly, his whole body is riddled with scars, and his entire person appears as though he has been pulled out from a sea of blood.

“Today’s training should be over.” I speak up once again, stopping him.

But what I get as a response is the sound of a ear-piercing report. Stunned, I look at the patch of white appearing before Gavin. Everything in that region has completely disappeared - there has been a change in his Evol. According to the plan of the experiment, he should only reach a breakthrough after half a month.

This time, Gavin finally speaks. “Someone’s waiting for me.”

This seems to be a thought he is clinging onto. Sometimes, one’s thoughts can destroy a person, but can also strengthen a person.

I don’t know who is the person waiting for him, nor do I know how he obtained such a belief. But it enables him to persevere in this cruel project.

--The NW Project can stimulate the experimental subject’s Evol gene to its highest degree, enabling one’s Evol ability to reach its strongest state in a short span of time. But its pitfall is just as obvious. There’s a large possibility that an experimental subject wouldn’t be able to withstand the weight of such strength, and face a decline after his Evol reaches its peak.

Right now, the strength Gavin has obtained after the modification has far surpassed approximations. None of us are able to predict what ending awaits him should his Evol start to decline.

Gavin finally stops, sitting on the steps in exhaustion. I can’t help but ask, “Why did you accept this project?”

“I need strength.” He says this without hesitation.

“Is obtaining strength necessarily a good thing?”

“Not to most people.”

I understand the meaning in his unfinished words, because he is even more certain than we are that he can control such strength.

At this moment, I suddenly look forward to his future, even though an experimental subject from the NW Project will only become a “weapon”. And the future of a weapon is only to destroy or be destroyed.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

It has been two weeks since the experiment ended.

The modification in the NW Project has reached its final phase. From Gavin’s body, we’ve collected large amounts of information, supporting the future development of this project.

At the same time, Black Swan’s sudden appearance on the surface leaves us with no choice but to speed up the process of the NW Project, and search for the next batch of experimental subjects. But this is an incredibly difficult matter. Every person who accepts the modification has to possess a sufficiently firm willpower. They have to persist through the agony of such destructive strength, and have to endure the temptation such strength brings.

During this special period, Gavin suddenly looks for me. Seeing the documents placed in front of me, I lapse into a long silence before speaking. “If you’re clear on the consequences this would bring, I’ll sign it.”

“I’m very clear.” Gavin stands up straight, the resoluteness in his eyes not wavering even once. Without further questions, I lift my pen, signing this agreement solemnly - to allow NW717 to be dispatched, and carry out missions.

“If you insist on choosing this path.” I take out a set of seemingly normal-looking gloves and place them on the table. “They can help you control such strength.”

Gavin freezes slightly, and it looks like he has been taken aback. But he doesn’t ask further questions either, putting on the black gloves, the leather material fitting every finger seamlessly. He looks at his hands, a hint of cloudiness flashing across his eyes, though it dissipates very quickly. 

This is a strength which shouldn’t exist on this earth, yet it has surfaced due to various incidents.

The next time I see Gavin who has returned from a mission, all the staff have already left the laboratory. The assistant had given me a warning beforehand, but I’m determined to be here.

What I see is a Gavin who is on the brink of collapse. His body is bowed, both fists balled tightly, veins evident, as though he has sustained a blow which is difficult to bear. I understand the cause of such a situation, and it’s exactly the consequence I had warned him about before he left on the mission--

The drugs used during the NW Project modification are especially fierce. Before they are completely assimilated, the backlash is also especially fierce. Right now, perhaps every blood vessel and every cell in his body are bringing him incredible pain. Such pain far exceeds the very first experiment by multiple folds.

“You need to stop the pain.” I take out the injection needle, prepared to give him a cortisone shot.

“No need.” Gavin doesn’t even lift his head. His tone is perhaps even calmer than mine, but his voice trembles almost imperceptibly. “I’ve seen your report. I need this chance.”

He’s betting on that one glimmer of hope. I respect his wishes, setting down the cortisone shot. Instead, I give him the final dose of drugs for the experiment. After all of this, I await the final outcome from afar.

Gavin remains silent from start to end. The sound of his breathing is so light and faint that it seems to disappear, only the data on the equipment displaying the radical changes in his body. Just like this, my eyes are wide open as I observe the entire night. At the first glimmer of dawn, Gavin stands up. Because he has been maintaining the same posture for a very long time, he staggers for a moment, almost losing his footing.

I do a complete examination for him, and discover that he has indeed grasped that one thousandth of a chance. In our plan, the degree of completion of the modification will hover at around 80%. But right now, Gavin has far surpassed this numerical value.

With a complicated expression, I look at the final verdict. Before Gavin leaves, I warn him once again. “It could engulf you in the end.”

The air surrounding Gavin permeates with danger, but his eyes are as calm as ice. “I can’t retreat.”

This project doesn’t leave him any room for retreating.

I know that the success of Gavin’s modification also represents drawing the curtains on an expansion of the NW Project. I’ve stored all the data and reports related to him in a file, ready to accept the next experiment.

-

[ Chapter Five ]

Along with the implementation of the NW Project, the effects of the modified individual increasingly got out of our control. This caused us to start pondering on how we should handle those people who accepted the experiments once everything was over.

Someone asked me about what I planned to do, and my answer was that I would perhaps find a place where nobody recognises me, and live the rest of my life with a guilty conscience and remorse.

As the very first successful experimental subject of the NW Project, Gavin’s choice came even earlier than I expected.

-

I reach the doors to the commanding officer’s office. Just before the door closes, I see an insignia on the desk at a glance, along with that pair of black gloves.

When we cross paths along the corridor, Gavin gives me a slight nod. I hand him something - the Special Task Force ID which was collected from him when he had first undergone the experiment. Gavin seems to find this unexpected. Very softly, he says a “thank you” before leaving without taking it.

From behind, I watch his retreating form - his back is very straight when he walks. At this moment, his footsteps gradually turn from heavy to relaxed. I watch as he takes out his phone to make a call, disappearing into a corner of the corridor.

I hope this will be the last time we meet.

With anticipation in my heart, I push the door to the office. The man stands at the window, as though waiting for something.

“Why did you choose to let Gavin leave?” I ask.

The man returns to the desk, the NW symbol on the wall behind him seeming to become the heaviest shadow, caging him. He says calmly, “Behind this position, I’m also a father. Even though I’m not qualified.”

He pulls open a hidden drawer, retrieving a yellowed photograph from inside - I know that what’s on it is the image of a beautiful woman who remains in the memories of everyone.

I recall the night on which he knew Wardia had passed on, and recall the child who had splinters all over his body, his face filled with resistance and despair. It was such an endless, heavy night. The next day, the man had already collected his wavering and crumbling self. It’s as though all the pain I saw was just an illusion.

That child from back then has already grown up. He has grown up to have an indomitable spirit, and to the point where nobody can overlook him.

Just like what his mother had anticipated, he has become a strong protector.

For an inexplicable reason, I suddenly speak. “Actually, the two of you are very similar.”

The man immediately shakes his head. “He’s more outstanding. Back then...”

At this point, he seems to sink into a short contemplation, and doesn't continue. 

I don’t harp on this topic. Taking out the file, I give him a report on the final verdict of all the experiments in the NW Project.

The original intention of this project was to utilise absolute abilities to get rid of rebellious Evolvers, and reduce the damage between civilians and Evolvers. During the project, we fulfilled this original intention, though it also brought about several inevitable problems. And right now, perhaps it’s time for it to leave the stage.

After waiting for a very long time, I finally hear the man’s announcement. “The NW Project will officially end one week later.”

Perhaps we have already been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I pack up the files, and give him a salute - as well as to everyone who has contributed to this project and to this world.

Very soon, this project will be covered in dust and enter the vast and long tide of history, and will never be spoken of by anyone.

Only those glistening stars continue to illuminate the boundless and long night.

-

A translated comic based on (but not entirely) on this R&S: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #this hurts so good

[sophi-s]

In Their Hollow Heart

Chapter II: Absolution

Fandom: Hollow Knight video game

Words: 9,832

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

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

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

Like father, like son!

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

Enough!

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

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

Sibling!

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

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

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

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

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

Sibling won! Sibling is still so strong!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old Light?

Nothing. Silence.

Are you still there..?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father, don't leave..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TISO! Back the fuck off!"

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

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

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

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

"I still don't trust you."

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

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

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

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

"Take it. Drink."

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

"Hollow, are you-...?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hollow?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…You are safe…

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

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

. . . S a f e . . .

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

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

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

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

#hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk pale king #hk hornet #hk ghost #hk the radiance #my writing #my fic #my art #pale king #the radiance #pure vessel #the hollow knight

[diningpageantry]

Avoidant

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672919/chapters/45299905

Chapter 7/13 of Proximity (The Collision of Lonely Men)

Word Count: 2153

Chapter Summary: Winter breaks comes up all too soon, and Simon has to decide whether or not to speak up or let their brief interaction die with time.

xxxxxxxxxx

These past seven days have been, perhaps, the worst sevens days I’ve ever experienced.

Emotionally draining doesn’t even begin to describe them. Emptied rooms, the sound of doors at dawn, and quick turning heads to avoid eye contact during breaks. I’m getting desperate. I stare, until Penny notices, and then I have to act like I hadn’t meant to look at him. I try to catch his hand, or grab his shirt--grab his attention. Something, somehow, to get him to see me. To get him to care.

I want to know why we can’t talk it through like the adults we are. It’s like playing cat and mouse with a grown man.

I kissed him. I know I kissed him, and I kissed him twice. No matter how he feels about it, we should at least talk about it and not live our lives like avoidant ghosts of what we were.

We were nearly friends (or, at least, anytime we drank). It was bearable. It was life.

It was what I wanted. Maybe I even wanted a little bit more.

Might’ve been my downfall that I never stopped to think what else I could’ve wanted. I just kissed him, and wished all the pieces would fall into place the moment his lips brushed mine, but it set us off like a time=bomb. I can’t even look at him for longer than a minute before it all blows up again.

There’s something deeper that I’m aching for--something that swells deep in my gut. A gnawing, hungry feeling, craving his hands on my skin, and I can’t figure it out that missing piece without him.

It’s been seven days since he’s been home when I could see him, and it could be another 20 before I get to again, if he doesn’t stop packing his bags.

A few moments ago, I was letting myself in. Unlocking the door, tossing aside my bag, hanging my jacket. Exhaling, at last, for it’s finally the start of a proper break.

But now I’m here, trying not to creak the wood as I step down the hallway, socked feet and empty hearted. I can hear him. The soft rustling sound of his suitcase, the occasional step against the floorboards below him. Only the basement lies beneath us, echoing into nothingness. He’s outlined, figure entirely darkened by the quickly falling light of late December. I stop there, outside the bathroom and adjacently his bedroom, mindlessly watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he folds a shirt to fit with the others.

I stay silent. Observant. Borderline obsessive. I know he doesn’t want me here, but I can’t help it. It’s the first time I’ve really seen him, in full, in days.

My chest tugs, and that feeling swells back up at full force. Is it abandonment?

That one’s not an unfamiliar feeling. A childhood waiting for my parents (or any parents) to show. Crying at 2 in the morning after my first family dinner at the Wellbeloves. The craving of permanent attention. The acknowledgement that what’s done is done, and sometimes you can’t quite grasp onto what’s standing so close.

I need to know how to work my hands. My fingers--curl them into opposable knuckles and grip what I want.

My arms hang, breathing restricting as it washes back. He’s leaving me. Purposefully. Deliberately. Leaving the conversation, leaving the possibility. Abandoning it.

I want to dare myself to reach out and touch him. Lock him in, keep him there. Ask him to put down those clothes he’s meticulously folding and keep here until we sort this out--until we sort us out.

He catches me, head lifting and turning towards me before quickly snapping back. He’s acting as if he hadn’t seen me (something that’s grown quite regular over the week).

I won’t take it this time.

“What?” I start, bitterly crossing my arms over my chest. I’m really in for it now. He’s looking right at me, blinking with that all critical, no-care type of expression. “Not going to tell me off again?”

“I’m just trying to leave, Snow.” It’s a bit shocking how defeated he sounds despite his collected expression. He just comes off as exhausted, ready to wave me away not because he wants to, but because I’m not worth his effort.

“Oh, okay. Just going to leave an even longer space to not talk about it then, hm?”

He goes flat, leveling his eyes with mine and emotionlessly spitting out, “I don’t want to argue with you when you’re angry.” As if there was a time to do this when I’m not.

I will myself closer, stepping over the threshold into his bedroom as he stands his ground, chin tipping down towards me. I have to lift mine, shakily clenching both fists as I laugh right at him. He takes it, shocking me as he makes no effort to give one of his usual disgusted looks back.

“Well you sure wanted to argue when I was drunk and latched to you,” I spit, arms flying out before I frustratedly pull them back in. “So I don’t really see the harm in starting now.”

His jaw sets, skin tightening around his face. I catch the bobbing of his throat, followed by the more continuous downturn of his lips as he settles on the slow bow of his head. Eyes darkening and lips parting, he hits me with a sharp, disorienting blow. “Don’t lead me on, Snow. It’s not very fitting for you to play with someone else’s emotions.”

All I want now is to throw a tantrum. A full on, screaming match. It used to work often enough when I was little, so why can’t it work now?

“Who said I was playing with your emotions?!” I practically shout, feeling myself go a bit red in the cheeks. “I was clearly into you and you pushed me away like the absolute prick you are, and now you have the nerve to tell me that I’m playing with your emotions?”

He downright huffs at me, his arms crossing as he starts rambling. “You were drunk, Simon! I can’t trust feelings while drunk, and you’re an idiot if you do. Doesn’t even surprise me, given you’re an idiot already to start with.”

Everything’s fuzzy. The room’s warping, he’s spinning, and the edges are all going numb. My head goes everywhere but into a clearing, and I have no thoughts besides making him shut up and listen to me for a second.

So I stop, stomp over until there’s no space between us, and grab his face to pull it down to me. I don’t give myself (or him) any time to really react, pressing our mouths together to shut us both up.

He flails at first--hands flying up, then grabbing onto my shirt collar. I don’t know if he was speaking for me or himself earlier, because he’s starting to play tug of war with his own responses. He first jolts me away, far enough that I break the kiss and pant for him for a split second before making up his mind and yanking me back. He closes his mouth around mine, knuckles tightening around the fabric of my shirt.

I start grabbing too. Grabbing everything, everywhere. Hair, hips, shirt, arms, wrists. Anything I can hold onto for long enough to make it last.

I feel him start to nudge me one way, and I follow. All the way back onto his bed, feeling it hit the back of my knees and letting it send me tumbling back. He follows, pressing a hand down onto the bed to keep himself above me as he practically growls into my mouth. Occasionally, he breaks to say “Should’ve said something”, or “Fucking imbecile”, to which I get to the point where I can’t take it anymore and grab him by the shirt, and pushing him off.

“I tried,” I pant, glaring at him and watching him panic for a split second before grabbing him back and pulling him down. He relaxes slightly, hand slipping under my shirt as I shuffle back onto the bed. He follows suit, half-ignoring the pile of clothes we’re knocking over (and by half-ignoring, I mean stopping for a second to push them aside properly before kissing me again). He tastes sober, and smells like so, too. He’s how he should be--right against me.

I break us apart, carefully moving further down and tucking my face into his neck. I lift the collar of his shirt to give a proper love bite to his clavicle. He squirms a bit, making my heart race.

I finally lose it at the tug of my hair, his fingers winding around various loose curls and giving them a proper pull. “Stay here,” I plead breathlessly. “Don’t leave. Stay.”

He goes suddenly still, making me raise my head and stare at him dead on as I mutter a soft “I want to work this out. Us. I want to work us out.”

He still fiddles with my hair, gaze forcing anywhere but my face as he clears out his throat. “This could just be adrenaline speaking, and we’ll go back to mutual hatred in an hour.”

I scoff, not thinking to really fight back from his response while clearing the hair from his forehead. “Oh, shut up, you bloody bastard, and kiss me.”

For a second, he just pouts, lips drawn tight together and refusing to move an inch before he tugs me back up for a slow, careful kiss. I take it, sweetly tasting the movements of his mouth. We both give in, melting onto one another and just kissing for what feels like forever.

It all fits into place. Moving parts start turning in the right direction, and my mind stops and starts all at once. I don’t particularly think about anything but what’s going on. The movement of his jaw, the flow of his hands, holding my body so tightly to his. The private, new sounds he makes when I hold him like this, or kiss him like that. We let the sky sink around us, falling into the inky blackness of winter. Only the glow of the moon and the far off shadow of the living room light illuminates us.

For the first time, I realize how warm his room is. He’s even got a space heater, tucked over near the corner.

For the longest pause in what feels like hours, we stop, pressing our chests to one another and echoing each other’s heart beats. I think of letting myself speak, but I feel him fighting off words, so I let him say them first.

“I have to go,” he whispers, out into the dark. “I’m aware that it’s the absolute worst time, but my family, and--”

“I know,” I exhale, eyes closing. It doesn’t make much of a difference in light. I can still see his face, burned into my mind. Sharp, sloping angles. I can map out his lips in detail now. How they curve, how they feel. I trace him out in my mind. His deep eyes and those thick, dark lashes that fall against his marble-smooth skin.

His hand settles onto my cheek, and I trace that too. It’s bigger than mine, and a little rougher on the inside palm. Mine’s all scarred up on the outside.

He pauses, then strokes his thumb over my right cheek. It takes me a moment to think over my face, and realize he’s tracing over my moles. Voice ringing quiet over the room, he murmurs out a few soft words meant just for me. “If you don’t want this to be over, then it isn’t. I just can’t stay.”

We stay silent for moments after, and I nod a slow, careful nod before speaking. “At least stay until tonight, then leave in the morning?” I whisper, letting myself be the weak one here. Not weak enough, though, to tell him that I just really miss sharing a bed with someone.

As my eyes open, I catch the sight of him watching me. It’s hard to tell in this light, but it’s clear as day when I see it. For that, I smile. A soft, private smile. Almost a knowing one.

He seems to know, too.

He doesn’t give me an answer immediately, settling a hand onto my chest, right between my lungs, and sprawls it out. Breathing out slowly, I focus on the flowy outliers running out the sides of his hair. They stand in contrast to the moon’s glow, giving him a bluish halo.

“One night,” he promises. I still watch his shadow of a body, glowing cyan in the night.

I settle my hand on top of his, finding right where my fingers fit between his, and close my eyes again. “Good.”

As per his promise, he’s gone by the time I’m up.

#carry on #snowbaz #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #mine #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch #baz pitch #simon #baz #proximity (the collision of lonely men) #p(tcolm) #update

[mage-cat]

A Fire to Beat Back the Dark, Chapter 1

Welcome to my first She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fic. I am far from the only person who got to the end of the new episodes and found the tension of the cliffhangers unbearable. Add to that some theories I developed binging season 1 about a week before, and I finally found a way to power out of this writing rut I’ve been in.

Shadow Weaver has broken into Brightmoon with a message. If Adora doesn’t get Catra out of the Fright Zone soon, something permanent may happen to her. It’s something Shadow Weaver has feared for years. It’s something that will change everything. ~3,100 words

Story below the cut. Link to AO3 through here.

There may come a day when Adora, the mighty She-Ra, stops flinching at shadows. There may come a night when she can sleep soundly alone in a room in the middle of a stronghold without one hand gripping a knife hilt. But that time had not come yet and was only pushed further into her future when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of her name being called out in an all too familiar voice.

Members of the Rebellion had quickly learned to be careful getting her out of bed in case her nightmares didn't fade quickly enough on waking. They would recognize Adora's actions in this moment, jerking up in bed already swinging a wickedly sharp knife. She only truly took in her surroundings after the blade made contact with Shadow Weaver's hanging sleeve.

Fortunately, Shadow Weaver was surprised enough by the attack that she didn't recover in the heartbeat that it took Adora to come to terms with the fact that this wasn't yet another dream of her former commanding officer and surrogate mother coming to take her from Brightmoon. The younger woman tackled her and had her tangled in the blanket she had been sleeping under in less than a minute.

It was only after her shouted intruder alert was met with the sound of hurried footsteps that she addressed her prisoner.

“What are you doing here?”

“I break out of a cell in the Fright Zone to visit my favorite student, and this is the welcome I get?”

“This is the welcome anyone who breaks into the castle to loom over my bed in the middle of the night gets.” Glimmer, Bow, Queen Angella, and a handful of guards arrived. One of them turned on the lights, giving everyone a clearer view of the situation. “What happened to your mask?”

“Catra happened with Hordak's sanction. I'm surprised that she didn't boast about severing my connection to the Black Garnet to you. I may well be the most powerless person here right now. Catra is his second-in-command for the moment, but it's not a role I prepared her for. You need to get her out of the Fright Zone before something permanent happens to her.”

“Since when do you care what happens to Catra? You hate her.”

“But I'm certain that it would grieve you to hear it if she came to harm.”

After several seconds of uneasy silence, Glimmer pulled Adora aside. “This screams 'trap',” she whispered sharply.

“But what if it's not?” Adora said softly before squaring her shoulders. “I'll take Swift Wind with me. Keep a constant watch on Shadow Weaver. At least two people at all times. Even if her sorcery is on the fritz, that was never the most dangerous thing about her.”

Catra resisted the urge to tear through the room that had once been Shadow Weaver's inner sanctum. The lingering memory of suffocating on the floor in Hordak's lab reminded her that she could not afford to be sloppy. Still, her frustration was starting to get the better of her.

“I guess it's too much to hope for a journal with an entry titled 'If I Ever Have to Escape From the Fright Zone'. I don't...” have any idea what here is a potential clue and what's just junk. Catra was glad she had stopped her voice before she finished that thought. The idea of Hordak's little Imp repeating it for him word for word, tone for tone chilled her.

Hordak would have let her die choking on the air of his home planet if Entrapta hadn't stepped in.

“Hey, hey, hey. If this is how you react to a slip up the only logical thing Catra could have done is not tell you until she had tried everything to fix it.”

Hordak grunted. “You may have a point.” He flipped a switch, and Catra gasped as the air changed to something her lungs could respond to again. “You have a three day extension to find Shadow Weaver and bring her to me. While you are doing that, I will search for someone more competent to ensure her transport to Beast Island. If you fail me again, you will be taking her place there.”

Catra shook off the memory as, for the hundredth time since she started searching the room, the Black Garnet caught her attention from the edge of her vision. Shadow Weaver had been so protective of this room and of that stone. She walked up and placed a hand on it, feeling a crackle of energy. “I don't suppose you could tell me anything?”

As if in answer, her hand turned hot, a feeling that traveled up her arm and into her chest, blooming outward until it filled her whole body. She would have called it searing if only for the fact that it didn't actually hurt. Still, it was nearing being too much. It needed a release. It needed…

There was a flare of light in the direction of her free hand. Catra jumped, breaking her hold on the runestone, when she recognized the light as flicking fire. The heat ebbed, but only slightly, which may have had something to do with the fact that no amount of jumping was going to get her away from the flames. They were in her hand, dancing across her palm like she had oil cupped there, assuming that holding flaming oil in her bare hand wouldn't burn her. She rotated her hand, and the fire moved to dance around her fingers. It is hot, of course, but there wasn't any pain. Just like the power she felt from the runestone.

An explanation hit her like a lead weight in her stomach, the fire dousing itself as if in response. “No. No, no, no, no, no. There is no way.”

She had never been so grateful at how easy it was to find Scorpia. She was in Entrapta's lab sorting through some files with Entrapta herself was nowhere in sight when Catra rushed up to her. “I need you to tell me everything you can about the Black Garnet.”

Scorpia blinked, her brain clearly taking a moment to switch to this new track. “There's not much to tell. It's the Fright Zone's runestone. My family gave it to Hordak. It's never worked for any one of us.”

“Why not?”

She fidgeted her claws together. “The history's so old it's basically a legend. My ancestors don't exactly come across as nice people in it.”

“I don't care what your ancestors did!” Catra hoped that this feeling like she was about to explode wasn't showing itself as actual flames coming off of her again.

If it was, Scorpia clearly didn't notice judging by the bright smile as she said, “Really?”

Catra took a deep breath. “Not past it explaining why the Black Garnet doesn't work for you.”

“Okay so, a really long time ago, my family didn't rule the Fright Zone. They ruled the Crimson Waste. But one day, like, a thousand years ago, something happened. Whatever it was made the Waste completely impossible to live in. Maybe it was called something different before. No one remembers.

“Anyway, my ancestors decided to conquer the next kingdom over, as in here. No one's sure what happened to the original royal family anymore. That's been kinda a black mark on us with the other royals ever since, and it turns out that runestones are tied really strongly to family lines, at least to use them the way Princesses do. I don't think the stuff Shadow Weaver or Entrapta have done with the Black Garnet has much to do with what the original royal family could have done with it.”

“Yeah.” Catra said, remembering a distinct lack of fire before today. “I think your right about that.”

“Why did you want to know?”

Catra schooled her expression. “Shadow Weaver's used the Black Garnet so much, I thought knowing more about it might help me track her down. Don't know if something's useful till you try it.” She turned toward the exit. “If anyone asks about me, I'm running down leads. Lord Hordak isn't trusting me with much else right now.”

All she knew right now was that the odds of Hordak being pleased with this development were low. Whatever this was was Princess nonsense, meaning there was only one place she could think to go, if only to walk in circles long enough to clear her head. At least if she burned down part of the Whispering Woods, she wouldn't regret it.

“Tell me again why we are risking going into the Fright Zone for someone who has repeatedly tried to kill you and/or people you care about,” Swift Wind said as Adora pushed a branch aside for him.

“Because she still doesn't deserve whatever Hordak is going to do to her. Because I think she's only ever attacked us to win Hordak's favor in the first place. And because she keeps stopping before she actually does us any permanent damage. She's not evil. I can't bring myself to think of her as evil. Not really.”

“And why are we walking through the Whispering Woods instead of flying over them?”

“To give myself as much time as I can to talk myself out of walking into a Horde trap. You are welcome to join in making me realize that this is a terrible idea.”

Back at Brightmoon, Glimmer and Bow had armed themselves and taken first watch over Shadow Weaver.

“I recognize that staff,” Shadow Weaver said. Glimmer narrowed her eyes at her. “And that glare of righteous indignation. Anyone who knew poor Micah could tell that you are his daughter. He was the most talented pupil I ever had during my time in Mystacor. Though it seems that all of my students are destined to disappoint me in the end.”

“Gee,” Bow said flatly, “maybe the problem is you.”

“No. I don't see how that could be.”

Castaspella had already been contacted, everyone reasoning that it would take sorcerers to best handle someone who had once been one of their own. She couldn't come fast enough.

Catra had done her best not to draw suspicion as she left the Fright Zone for the Whispering Woods. Unfortunately, that also meant taking no supplies with her. There was enough moonlight that navigating most of the Woods wasn't difficult, but as she passed through an area with a particularly dense canopy, she finally nearly tripped one time too many and tried to summon a flame to her hand again. It was almost unnerving how easy it was. She just wished that the resulting shadows didn't move so much. Only a minute of walking later, Catra found herself facing a structure somewhere between a cottage and a hut and caught the attention of an elderly woman with wild hair and thick glasses who had been about to enter it, a basket full of some sort of vegetation in her hand.

“Ah, a Magicat girl! Who makes her own light! It's been a long time since someone in your family has stopped by to see Madam Razz. Welcome, Princess.”

She winced and doused the flames. “Please, just call me Catra.”

“Welcome, Catra. Come in, and I'll make tea.”

“Oh, you don't have to...”

“Do you have someplace better to be tonight?”

She briefly considered her options: tea or more walking with no real destination. “I really don't.”

“Good! I don't get visitors very often, and you can start a fire under the kettle for me.”

The inside was cluttered but… cozy. That wasn't a word Catra had used for a whole room before. She had mostly used it for various crawlspaces she had discovered around the Fright Zone that she had once had the habit of hiding in. Then, she grew too much, and nowhere she could still fit had the security of knowing that no one with the right to order her around could get in as well.

“You seem like you've had a hard day, likely a hard few days. Madame Razz can mix up something calming. Best to leave out the catnip this time though. Sure you want to keep your wits about you.”

“That sounds good,” Catra said not entirely sure what Madame Razz was chattering about as she examined the wood and tinderbox by what seemed to be the main cooking space and did her best to remember her survival training so she could build a fire that would keep burning without her feeding power into it. Glimmer had talked so much about her need to recharge. Who knew how long it would be before Catra would be able to get close to the Black Garnet again?

She smiled as a light touch from her finger made a small spark that spread from a bit of fluff to one of the logs, starting a merry crackle.

“You said you knew someone in my family?” she asked standing up. The words 'my family' sat strangely on her tongue. She had still been a small child when she had stopped letting herself daydream about such a thing.

“Oh, that was long ago. Nearly as long as it's been since the last time I saw my Mara. Nearly a thousand years. She said that she was taking her children and her people as far away as she could get. I'm still a bit surprised that it took this long for one of you to get back.”

“My first memories aren't far from here.” No need to mention the Horde to the nice old lady if she hadn't noticed the Force Captain's badge yet. “I was raised with a bunch of other orphans. No one there ever looked even a little like me.”

“There aren't many of my species around these days either. It's hard for us to have children. Sort of a balance to the fact that we live so long. It can be a special kind of lonely, even with other people around. Oh, but the Whispering Woods brings all the visitors Madame Razz could want. Why, only a few weeks ago there was another Princess that come by here full of questions. Nice girl. Big sword.” The kettle whistled, and Madame Razz got up to pour the water into two mugs that she had measured her tea mixture into earlier. She motioned Catra to sit down and placed one of the mugs in front of her.

Catra stared into the water, watching it slowly change color. “I don't want any of this Princess mess.”

“It's rare for a Princess to be eager to take up her duties. They are responsibilities that weigh heavy on young shoulders. Still, most grow into the burden.”

She sighed. “Hasn't my life had enough burdens already? I spent my childhood getting yelled at and threatened by someone who was apparently drawing her power from my own runestone. I've nearly died more than once. I just want to land in a place where it all stops for a while.”

“Sounds to Madame Razz like that someone was trying very hard to keep you from your power so she could take it for herself.”

“Well, that didn't work for her. Shadow Weaver's connection to the Black Garnet is broken. I made sure of that.” Catra almost smiled at the memory. It had been satisfying, even if the satisfaction hadn't lasted.

“See! You've protected your runestone once already. That's a good start. The runestones need to be used. Why shouldn't you be the one to use it? Are you afraid of power?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why is being a Princess a bad thing? Princesses are the most powerful people on Etheria.”

“It still just means more fighting, and different fighting that I'm not used to. Princesses took the most important person in my world from me. Since then I've done things that I doubt they'll forgive me for.”

“They won't have much choice. All of the runestones are needed for the harmony of Etheria, and that means all the Princesses tied to them are needed. They may not be too friendly, but they can't hurt you. You don't seem to Madame Razz like someone who would wilt away at a few cold shoulders. Will your important person be there?”

“Yeah, she'll be there.”

“Do you not think she will be even a little happy to see you?”

“She's been trying to convince me to join her since she left.”

“Helping to bring Etheria back into it's intended harmony seems to Madame Razz like the best chance at peace that you're going to get. Your tea should be ready to drink. Not that you, of all people, have to worry about it getting cold.”

Adora and Swift Wind had reached a lull in their debating when they came across a landmark that they both recognized, a home that clearly had its fires lit against the night.

Adora called out, “Madame Razz?”

The woman in question soon appeared in the doorway and began chattering amiably as she came towards them. “Ah, Mara you're back! No, not my Mara. Adora. And Swift Wind. Forgive an old woman. I have a Magicat Princess visiting for the first time in a thousand years, and it is bringing me back to old times. She's just connected with the Black Garnet, and she's a little overwhelmed. Much like you were when you found that sword. Do you know how you can tell you are dealing with Magicat royalty? You can't go by how they act. Oh no, catch any Magicat in the wrong mood and they will be prideful to measure up against any queen. No, it's the eyes. Their eyes never match each other.”

“Magicat?” Adora said, taking a moment to process the stream of words that had just flown past her. “Eyes? Catra?”

“Hey Adora.” She had been so focused on Madame Razz that Adora hadn't noticed the second figure that had started following her once she was half-way to them. Now, the sound of the familiar voice caught her attention along with a plume of fire that bloomed from the figure's hand to illuminate a pair of blue and yellow eyes.

“Catra, you're...”

“A walking torch,” she said dryly.

Adora grinned. “And a Princess.”

“And too closely watched in the Fright Zone to have a chance of kicking Hordak out of my kingdom from inside the Horde. I may need some help. Know where I can get that?”

“Hey, what do you know?” said Swift Wind. “Best case scenario!”

Catra turned her attention towards him. “Talking horse. Cool. Nice to meet you.”

“Nicer to meet you than I was expecting, too.” He turned to Adora. “See this is the sort of reaction I should be getting more often instead of people screaming.”

Adora gave him a playful shove before telling Catra. “The Rebellion actually already had a scheduled meeting in the morning,” her expression turned serious, “and there's something else you should know about.”

Onwards to Chapter 2

#cat writes #she ra #fanfiction #catra

[alsoyouremischievous]

Sides Carry On

Summary: Roman Prince will do anything to protect the life he’s found through magic. This includes enduring lectures from his best friends Logan and Patton, overcoming his evil roommate Virgil, working for the Mage, and defeating the Insidious Humdrum. His life seems to be set out for him - but things can never be easy, can they?

AO3 Link

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 

Chapter Five

Roman

The cafeteria is nearly empty save for some of the younger kids, first and second years, loitering with their parents. I catch several of them, the parents and children alike, glancing over at me. The kids will get used to having me around after a couple of weeks but this may be their parents only chance to size me up.

Everyone in the magickal community seemed to know of me and, more importantly, my pertinence to the World of Mages before I was even brought to Watford. There’s a prophecy about me - a few prophecies, really - that says I’m supposed to fix everyone’s problems by being super powerful.

And one will come to end us.

And one will bring his fall.

Let the greatest power of powers reign,

May it save us all.

The Great Mage. The Chosen One. The Power of Powers.

It still hasn’t quite sunk in that I’m meant to be that person. I can’t deny it, certainly. No one else has as much power as I do. I can’t manage it or do anything with it, but it is mine.

By the time I actually showed up most people appeared to have moved on from the old prophecies, assuming they were false or that the Greatest Mage managed to slip by without drawing attention to whatever threat ailed the World of Mages.

It definitely wasn’t expected that the Chosen One would be plucked from the Normal world or that I would be as… defective as I am.

A mage can’t be born to Normal parents.

I must have been though. Logan told me that magicians don’t give up their children, which means there’s no such thing as magical orphans. Magic is too valued for anyone to give away a magical child.

I wasn’t aware of any of this at first - not that I was the first magician born to a Normal, not that I was astronomically more powerful than other magicians, and definitely not that some people thought I was made up by The Mage for political sway. The Mage never mentioned any of it and so I had to learn as I went.

At the start, right after I first arrived, there was a lot of people from the Old Families that wanted me to be formally introduced so everyone could check me out in person. The Mage didn’t let it happen obviously - he was far too aware of how most magicians get so focused on their own agendas they lose sight of the important things. “I won’t see you becoming anyone’s pawn, Roman.”

It’s a good thing that he was so cautious. As much as it would be nice to fit in a bit more in the magical community and know more people - well, I made my own friends. Even better I made my friends young, way before any of them became too concerned with whether I was the Chosen One or not.

Of course, my so-called celebrity status really doesn’t make people flock to me as everyone knows that there is a tendency for things to blow up around me. No people have ever blown up yet though, and that’s got to count towards something.

In any case, the staring from across the room is nothing new and it doesn’t bother me all that much.

Considering that we attend an exclusive boarding school, one fancy enough to have it’s own cathedral and moat, we really aren’t all that spoiled. Everyone manages their own cleaning, and past fourth year we even do our own laundry. Magic is allowed for chores, but I don’t bother with it. We have a cook - his names Steve - who does the cooking with some assistance and everyone takes turns serving at mealtimes. Weekends are help yourself style though.

Logan grabs us a plate of cheese sandwiches and I nab a mountain of sour cherry scones. When we settle at our table I start spreading the butter on my scones in thick slabs so that it melts towards the edges but leaves a cold bite in the center and Logan watches me with a look of disdain on his face. He’s also looking at me like he missed me though, so I imagine he can’t be too disgusted.

“Don’t hold back,” I say once I’ve torn through the first scone, “what was your summer like?”

“It was satisfactory.”

“Yeah?” Crumbs fly everywhere. I pretend not to notice.

“I visited Chicago with my father,” he says, leaning forward slightly. I can’t help but notice that even though it’s only been months since I’ve seen him he looks different. More grown up.

“I find myself much more interested in your summer, however,” he adds. I can tell he’s been waiting for an opening to begin his interrogation and I’ve just handed it right to him.

“Are you permitted to tell me what occurred?” he presses.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “This summer,” he motions impatiently.

I shrug. “Nothing happened this summer, Logan.”

He leans back, sighing. “It was not in my control that I went to America, Roman. I did try to stay, you must be aware.”

“No, there’s nothing to tell. I’m not holding back. You left and so did everyone else. I went back into care - It was Liverpool this time.

“You mean to inform me that the Mage truly just sent you away? After everything that happened?” Logan looks confused, which isn’t a common expression for him. I can’t blame him though.

After barely escaping a kidnapping I hadn’t expected the Mage to send me away either.

I thought that when he heard what happened he would want to attack the Humdrum straight away. We knew where the monster was and we knew what it looked like - it seemed like a no brainer that we would use that to our advantage.

We finally had a lead. After years of the Insidious Humdrum hiding in the shadows, sending dark creatures to attack Watford and leaving dead spots scattered throughout the magickal atmosphere.

I wanted him found. I wanted him punished. I wanted everything to finally be over, and I thought that we could do that, the Mage and I.

I must look as lost as I feel because Logan clears his throat and changes the subject. “Have you spoken to Patton?”

My next scone has cooled and the butter doesn’t melt. Logan holds up his hand, casting a quick “some like it hot! ” while he waits for my answer.

I will never understand why he insists on wasting his magic on me like this. The butter melts into the now steaming scone and I’m forced to toss it from hand to hand.

“You know that Patton’s not supposed to talk to me during the summer.”

“Well I thought that perhaps he would find a way around it this time,” Logan says. “In order to try and explain himself to you.”

I let the scorching scone drop to the plate. “He wouldn’t disobey the Mage. Or his parents. Besides It’s not as though I can control who he talks to.” If there’s a touch of bitterness in my voice, well, that’s my problem.

“That is it then? We’ve made absolutely no progress at all? This was just another regular summer? What on earth are we meant to do now?” Normally I would be the one feeling so belligerent, but I’ve had all summer to adjust my view.

“I assume we go back to school,” I say, gesturing around us.

***

Logan follows me back to my room again when we’ve finished eating. When I ask him why he's spending so much time in my room he claims that it’s unjust that I don’t share my superior living accommodations.

“I live with a vampire!” I exclaim in protest.

“Unconfirmed”

I scoff. “Are you really trying to say that you don’t believe Virgil’s a vampire?”

“I know that Virgil is a vampire,” he says. “But it is still unconfirmed, given that we have never seen him drink blood.”

“We haven’t caught him in the act, no, but we’ve found piles of dead, drained rats that were bitten in the catacombs. Hell, we’ve seen him covered in blood! And have I mentioned that when he has bad dreams his cheeks get all puffed up - like his mouth doesn’t have room for his fangs?”

“Circumstantial evidence,” Logan asserts. “What did possess you to sneak up on a vampire, one with night terrors nonetheless?”

“I live with the guy! I’ve got to be prepared for anything.”

His eyes roll behind his glasses. “There is nothing you could do to make Virgil harm you whilst you are in your room.”

He’s not wrong. Virgil can’t hurt me so long as we’re here. Every room is spelled against betrayal. It’s called the roommate’s anathema. If either of us were to do something to physically hurt each other within our room we would be cast out of Watford. Patton’s Dad, Dr. Wellbelove, claims that it happened to one of his classmates. Some poor idiot hit his roommate and was pulled straight out his window and launched out of the school gates. They didn’t open for him ever again.

There are warnings of course, for when you’re younger. Until the end of second year if you try to hurt your roommate your hands go numb and lock in place. I chucked a book at Virgil once and it took three whole days for my hand to go back to normal - it looked like a claw, permanently curled the way it was.

Virgil never even once violated the anathema.

“Well we don’t know what he could do while he’s sleeping,” I say.

He smirks. “You do. Considering how much you watch him.”

“I live with a dark creature! I’ve got a right to be paranoid!”

When dinner rolls around we head to the dining hall to grab it and then bring it all back to my room to eat there. We never get to hang out like this when Virgil’s here.

It feels liberating. The two of us with nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one to fight or hide from. Logan claims that this is what it will be like when we get an apartment together. I have my doubts that it will ever happen. It’s a good thought though - living long enough to have to figure out what to do with myself.

Logan finishes his meal and the first thing he does is brush off his fingers and say, “Right.”

“No…” I groan. “Not yet, please.”

“I do not understand. What do you mean by, ‘not yet’?”

“We’ve just got here, Logan! I’m still settling in, please don’t start with the strategizing already!”

His eyes roam the bare room. “I am having difficulty determining what it is exactly that you have to settle.”

“I,” I begin, reaching over to grab his leftover sausages, “am enjoying the peace and quiet.”

“There is no peace. Only quiet,” Logan says seriously. “It is discomfiting. We need a plan.”

“There is peace, though. Virgil isn’t here yet, and look,” I exclaim, waving his fork around. “There’s nothing attacking us.”

“You were just the victim of a goblin attack, Roman.” Logan looks unimpressed.

“Having been out of commission for two months does not mean that the war has stopped or that the Humdrum is any less a threat.”

I groan again. “You sound like the Mage.”

“It makes no sense to me that he left you without contact all summer.”

“He’s probably too busy with ‘the war’” I mutter.

Logan sighs and his hands fold in front of himself as though he’s a teacher waiting for a student to become reasonable.

He’s just going to have to wait.

The war.

There’s really no sense in talking about it at this point. It will come when it comes and there’s nothing to be done about it. It isn’t even just the one war, really, but three all on the brink of breaking out. There’s the civil war that’s brewing, ancient animosities with the dark creatures being stirred up, and of course the issue of the Insidious Humdrum.

I must look miserable because Logan actually relents.

“Well, the war will still be present tomorrow,” he says, looking away from me.

We both settle in on my bed for a while as he rambles about airplanes and American politics. He falls asleep halfway through explaining the differences between American and British spellcrafting.

“Logan?” He doesn’t answer. I nudge his shoulder a bit. “ Lo!”

“What?” he moans into my pillow.

“You’ve got to get back to your room.”

“I do not have to do anything,” he glares up at me sleepily.

“Yes, you do. You could get suspended if you’re found in the wrong room, disrespecting the crucible.”

“Let it happen. I could use the free time for my experiments.” He shuffles around so he’s facing the wall. “Goodnight Roman.”

I grin. I can’t help it - it’s simply too good to be back.

I glance over at Virgil’s bed. Sleeping there would be inviting trouble for sure. I settle in to sleep next to Logan, wishing I could change into my school pajamas without disturbing him.

Virgil always brings his pajamas from home, but I prefer the school ones. I never wear pajamas when I’m at the juvenile centers though - they leave me feeling too vulnerable - so it’s no great sacrifice to sleep in my day clothes.

I drift off to the sound of Logan’s breathing.

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up but the moonlight is filtering in from the window and Logan’s arm is thrown across my stomach.

I notice a figure standing by the window, and at first, I think Virgil has arrived. Then they shift and I’m sure it’s a woman.

Then I decide I’m dreaming and I go back to sleep.

Linda

I have so much I want to tell you.

    But time is short.

    And my voice doesn’t carry.

Chapter six

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #roman sanders #logan sanders #logince #patton sanders #virgil sanders #lamp #my fic #lamp/calm

[zne-theartist]

The Vampire’s Priest chapter 1

Commission for @tapdisneyintome ! They have been incredibly supportive and so patient while I write this around work. A huge shout out to them!

Link on AO3 | Boku no Hero Academia | Vampire Bakugou x Priest Kirishima Summary: Bakugou has found his new obsession: the new priest Kirishima. He can’t wait to corrupt his pretty, innocent soul. Chapter 1/2

Perched in the shadow of a random villager’s chimney – his eyes were focused on the church two paths down. With his abilities he was able to clearly see all the way into the church through the window. Inside stood the village’s old scraggly blond priest but, he was talking to a fiery, redheaded male. He slowly slid his tongue over his sharp fangs, smirk growing wide as they shone bright in the shadows. It was a newly inducted priest no doubt, come from somewhere far to this little village to help out the old fart priest that needed to retire. Which was great for him. A new, pure soul to induct into Hell.

“I bet he tastes better than any fuck in this village.” He began to darkly cackle to himself. “I found myself a new prey.” It was time to plan the corruption of the village’s new hot piece of priest.

Bakugou stood tall, leaning against the side of the church, the street lights lining the village street had been lit quite a while ago. His hair was a light shade of blonde, wild like his personality. His eyes were red like blood that had bags accompanying beneath his eyes like a permanent black line from the endless days forced upon him. He was dressed in a black vest, red button up, and simple black pants. He looked like a demon of the night.

Behind him he could hear the light hustle and bustle of cleanup inside of the church, and when the final scrap of pews being moved stopped. He had been watching the redhead for a week to figure out his schedule and where he spent his time at all hours of the day. He had to or taking his innocence wouldn’t be as fun. This was a hunt.

The redhead spent most of his time at the church, and the village’s homeless shelter where he helped prepare meals for the inhabitants, but he also lived to the edge of the village, so it was a long walk from the church to his home. A perfect time to assault the man. Finally, the sounds of cleaning passed and he could hear the man locking up every window and blowing out all candles, making sure that all the lights were out. He kicked off the wall and turned to face the large church doors just as the man exited the building.

“Ah!” The redhead jumped slightly, clutching at his chest, dressed in the black priest’s dress. “You scared me!” He laughed slightly as he stepped out of the church. It always felt good to scare his prey a little. “Are you seeking sanctuary?”

“No,” His voice swirled like black smoke, eager to corrupt the man’s innocence. To have a taste. This close to his obsession he could smell it.

“Ah… well then, that means I can lock up.” The redhead nervously laughed as he then turned his back to Bakugou and locked the doors of the church with a cast iron key. This was the perfect time to jump him, absolutely perfect – his back was vulnerable and he could easily get at the soft spots in his neck. No. It was no fun just taking what he wanted. He needed to toy. “What did you need then?”

“I’d like to speak with you,” Bakugou’s grin began to pull at his lips and he had to fight it lest his dark obsession show on his face. The redhead was surprised, but what was surprising to Bakugou was how warm he smiled at him, looking relieved almost. Like he had expected to be robbed.

“Of course! I’m always happy to help and listen to someone in need.” His red hair was cute, framing his face, and his toothy smile rivaled that of his own – though they weren’t capable of splitting skin like Bakugou’s could. He pocketed the key and clasped his hands together. “I may be new to the village and a new priest on top of that but please, I’m more than capable! My name is Kirishima Eijirou.” Finally, he had a name to his snack.

“Bakugou Katsuki.” He stepped closer, taking one of Kirishima’s hands away as he bowed formally, bringing his hand to his lips to kiss. “Pleasure to meet you,” He looked up at him. The blood was thrumming beneath his skin and the smell was overpowering. It smelled so pleasant. He just wanted to bite right into the veins on his hand. But, he didn’t. He restrained his bloodlust and stood back up, dropping the frazzled priest’s hand.

“Please don’t do that again.” There was that innocent virtue showing, so embarrassed by a simple act of kissing the hand. “So what is it you need Bakugou?”

“Well, I have a problem… and I think you’re perfect to solve it.”

“And what problem is that?”

With inhuman speed he slammed the redhead against the brick of the church, in the shadows of the light, and his hand rested at the back of his head so he didn’t bang it against the wall from his quick and rather rough move.

“You could agree to spend eternal life with me.” He let his fangs gleam in the light, watching the redhead’s pretty red eyes widen in shock. “Let me have my way with you, and let me drink your blood.”

“My blood!?”

“I’ll make you feel good.” Bakugou’s knee pushed between his legs. The robe of the priest was loose to easily allowed it, so Bakugou couldn’t help but immediately go to tease him. It seemed the wheels finally clicked together for Kirishima because he pushed at his chest (a rather stupid reflex to use against a supernatural creature) as he exclaimed,

“Vampire!”

“That’s what I am, don’t wear it out.” Bakugou smirked at Kirishima and then opened his mouth, swooping down to his neck. “Now be still.” But, Kirishima was smart – or at least adverse in the supernatural – because he had managed to grab his choice of weapon and was suddenly shoving the silver cross into Bakugou’s chest. He hissed, backing up immediately to grip at his chest, burn marks already singing through the fabric and to his chest. Silver, and crosses, were harmful to a vampire. Kirishima ran down the street as fast as he could, yelling behind him,

“Stay away from me vampire!” Bakugou simply smirked, letting out a breath.

“Hah. Not bad.” Kirishima would prove to be a worthy challenge for him. He licked his lips, letting his prey get away for now, knowing he’d soon have his time. “I’ll break him in slowly.”

Their second interaction happened much the same way, with Bakugou lurking outside the church as Kirishima left. “You’re quite bold to shove a cross into the chest of a vampire… almost left a mark on my skin.” Bakugou was wearing an open shirt this time to show off his deathly pale skin, scratching idly at where Kirishima had shoved the cross.

“You deserved it heathen.” Kirishima glared at Bakugou as he locked the door, obviously weary and now conscious of putting his entire back to him. “You better stay away from me or I’ll banish you back to Hell.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Bakugou smirked. “Though it’s not a threat to me. I deserve a vacation in Hell. I’ll take you with me some time.” The grin he held was wicked and the look Kirishima was showing him was so delicious he could taste it from where he stood. He licked his lips, fangs throbbing with want. He wanted to sink into his unmarred skin so badly.

As his want surged, Bakugou took a few fast steps toward the redhead – who immediately flung that pesky cross into his face. He bared his fangs and stepped back as the silver nearly scorched his poor nose. “Stop doing that!” He hissed.

“I won’t stop till you do!” Again, his meal was running off yet again like his life depended on it. It agitated him, but that was all in the fun. Kirishima was a fighter, and Bakugou had met a damn good match. After all, he wouldn’t let Kirishima out of his grasp each time if it wasn’t for the fun of it.

He came yet again to annoy the pretty priest, this time during his walk home. He had jumped from a home’s roof about three paths down to the street Kirishima was walking on, right by a dim street lamp. He smirked at the astonished face of the priest. “Surprised to see me love?”

“I – where did –” The priest’s pretty eyes were quickly looking around them in his shock as if he was trying to figure out where Bakugou had come from.

“If you’re surprised by that little bit, I’m going to surprise you for the eternity we’ll spend together.”

“We’re not going to spend eternity together!”

“Au contraire,” His voice flowed smoothly with the french he spoke, and he could see the little shiver of the priest at his voice. “I’ve already planned where we’ll go and what we’ll see. I can demonstrate all my abilities to you. Including what a beast I am in bed.” Bakugou mockingly growled, snapping his jaws at Kirishima. He watched the priest lock up, face completely red as he fought for a retort he didn’t have.

“Leave me alone!” This time his perky little redhead had holy water, a ranged weapon that had him suddenly reeling back in a flash from their end of the street back to the top of the house he had jumped from. Again, that redhead had an astonished look around to see if he had truly jumped back from the street before he fled back home. Bakugou smirk slowly spread across his lips. Toying with the priest was fun.

He was giving him a false sense of security. After all, the corruption of his pure soul had already hooked its claws into him.

Kirishima sat on a stool at the end of the restaurant’s bar sitting across from his dear friend Sero who was a barkeep, and who was a dear friend that had helped him ever since he had arrived to the tiny village. “What’s on your mind? You look like you’re thinking about the world’s biggest problem again.” And he always could read Kirishima’s facial expressions. Sero wasn’t too far off the mark too, as Bakugou was on Kirishima’s mind.

“Well… I actually had a question Sero.” Kirishima swirled the water Sero had slid his way, knowing the priest didn’t drink alcohol due to his vows to God. “Have you had any issues in this village with… with vampires?” His eyes slowly glanced up and Sero paused in wiping down the bar, glancing down at the other barkeep, Denki, helping him out. He made sure he had it under control before he gave his attention back to Kirishima. He leaned against the bar to get closer to Kirishima, voice low, and the priest straightened up as the atmosphere between them changed.

“Look Kirishima, I didn’t tell you about this because I hoped he wouldn’t go near you since you’re holy and everything.” Sero looked at him with serious eyes, but Kirishima could sense the resentment from him clear as day. “In short, yes we have a vampire problem. One annoying asshole who is a bastard.” Sero cursed with a sneer. “Apologies for cursing around you.” He bowed his head for just a moment, realizing that he was talking with a priest.

“You’re forgiven.”

“But this… he’s… ugh. His mouth is vile, and his temper is so explosive. He’s crushed houses before while fighting with hunters who disturbed him he claimed.” Sero frowned, crossing his arms as he stood straight, but still had his voice lowered to speak with him.

“Has he killed any villagers before?”

“He hasn’t killed anybody, but he’s gotten damn near close to it. I’m not lying about his temper. People have been on their death beds but luckily pulled through.” Kirishima was surprised at how seriously Sero was speaking. Bakugou hadn’t acted or eluded to being at all like Sero was describing. Were there two vampires? “Kirishima stay away from him. He doesn’t discriminate on who he hurts or who he shouts his foul words at. He’ll demean you and then eat you alive.”

As much as the priest probably found him annoying, Bakugou wasn’t giving up. He knew he was wiggling his way into Kirishima’s thoughts and heart. Like a virus he was slowly spreading with low symptoms before he’d take down the host in one fell swoop. He licked his lips, stomach acting like it was eating itself from the inside out. He was so hungry, but Bakugou was a man of conquest. He wasn’t going to dine on anything but the sweet, innocent blood of the priest.

He poked his thumbs at his aching fangs. He currently sat in the shaded rafters of the general store’s attic as he eyed the church so close. If only he could set foot inside the church, he could hound the priest even more. But for now he had to spend the day watching Kirishima through the church’s stained glass windows watching him play nice with other villagers instead of him. His mouth felt dry with his hunger, but he ignored his own mini turmoil. He wasn’t going to start starving for a long time, and he wasn’t aiming to drain Kirishima dry either when he finally got to take a bite. He’d take as much time as he needed to make Kirishima his.

He was going to bond with the priest.

“Take that!” Bakugou didn’t even blink, just blankly stared unimpressed at Kirishima who had his arm outstretched to him. The cloves of garlic he had thrown simply hit his chest and hit the ground with a dull, disappointing thud.

“Really?” Kirishima looked flustered, and Bakugou perked a bit as he practically heard the blood rush to his cheeks in a blush. “That was your weakest attempt yet. What the fuck do you think throwing a piece of fucking onion would do to me?” Bakugou swooped his arm down to pick up the garlic cloves, rolling them in the palm of his hand.

“The books… they said garlic was effective against vampires.” Kirishima looked so deflated and embarrassed – Bakugou was eating the expression up.

“I don’t know what dumbass book you been reading, but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard in all of my life.” He snorted as he then tossed the garlic over his shoulder. “I’d rather you try and throw a punch at me. Now that would be entertaining.” Kirishima didn’t seem to have an answer for him as his mouth flopped for a moment like the most attractive fish he’s ever seen. Bakugou wanted nothing more than to hold him in his arms and kiss him hard. A kiss would put those flopping lips to good use. “I’ve never heard of a vampire in all of my centuries being maimed, let alone killed… by garlic.” His tone must’ve rubbed a sore spot because the priest showed him a different fluster he hadn’t seen before. He was showing him anger. So uncharacteristic of a priest. But an emotion that had a vampire like Bakugou craving more.

“Hey. I’ve just been trying methods instead of sitting around all day worrying, so don’t talk to me like that!” So defiant his little priest. Bakugou found it cute too how the human had obviously taken his words that he had been calling the priest stupid. “You’d try whatever methods you could when you’d have someone imposing themselves on you!”

“If it was you I’d sit with my legs open and invite me right into your lap.”

“Please stop talking!” The comment must’ve been too much because the red face matched the red hair and Bakugou stood smugly as the priest made a hasty retreat back home.

Over the course of the next two months Bakugou continued his determined agenda of popping up at unprompted times around Kirishima, flirting and harassing the priest. Each time he was thwarted as he managed to step closer to the redhead each time. Kirishima always had that damn cross on him even if he didn’t always have holy water, or other pieces of pure silver. Slowly, the vampire was starting to get annoyed with the priest’s crutch. It had to go.

Kirishima had opened up to him considerably in that time frame and Bakugou could smell the desire, the want, the conflict. Along with the pure soul starting to corrupt, Bakugou also found that the old fart priest was starting to catch wind that Bakugou was harassing his new priest, and he didn’t want the damn old man to come after him with hunters so he had to enact soon. Not that he couldn’t take on the old man or the hunters! But it was such a hassle when he could be catching up on centuries with his new obsession.

He had to act now.

#The Vampire's Priest #bakushima #commission #tapdisneyintome #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #vampire bakugou #priest kirishima