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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

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ღ what being loved by them feels like | bnha edition ღ

➳ incl. midoriya, bakugo, todoroki, and kirishima.

➳ tags / warnings ;; food ment, alcohol ment.

➳ wc ;; 1.9k

➳ a/n ;; should be gn i think but im tired asf so lmk

i. midoriya izuku

Slow.

It’s an unspoken promise of forever tucked under his tongue when he speaks to you. The comfort of a strong hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist as he whispers to you some drunken secret. It’s not meant to be romantic, not exactly - when your friends ask you about it you always respond the same way.

“It’s just Midoriya,” with a passive glance somewhere else, a dismissive hand shaking away the disbelief that someone so extraordinary could love you. It is disbelief, effervescent in how it fills your stomach with that tingly feeling. Midoriya takes it slowly.

Being loved by him feels like a Sunday. Not in how it’s the mark of something but a reminder of repition, how good it feels to do something over and over again. There is so much to love about a Sunday afternoon, the comfort of knowing there is always another Sunday that comes after. That the luxury of warmth that stretches so far it is no longer a commodity.

You don’t have to worry about when the next time will be. Midoriya loves you in a such a way that next time is every time. That your happiness is not something to supplement but to nurture - with presence and patience and tender care. You wonder how someone with such reckless abandon can love so carefully, with nimble fingers that zip up the back of your dress when you ask.

Midoriya loves you with his hands. Always with gnarled flesh and scars to the bone - that brush so eagerly against your own. Sometimes, he blushes. He never gets used to your comfortable intimacy - not at first. That slow love has a habit of being embarassing. It’s friendly, supposed to be anyways. But something about the way he’s encased your hand with his, the silence the blossoms and blooms. You wonder if he’s always been so warm - you tell him as much.

He replies with a gentle voice, a wistful smile and reply - “Only for you,”

You stare at him, wide-eyed - like somehow this is some kind of confession, and he laughs. He laughs deep from his chest and the sound is too much. Midoriya has loved you so slowly, you seem not to have realized that every word from his mouth is a confession. It’s sweet, sticky like honey how it drips onto your tongue. You find yourself drinking it without thinking, without realizing how it’s the only thing you can taste when he’s next to you.

Being loved by him is a slow feeling - the kind of love that stretches comfortably over time like old jeans. He always seems to fit you just right, like he was made for you. He likes to think so, anyway.

ii. bakugo katsuki

Sober.

It’s the kind of love you’d expect to intoxicate you. Rattle inside of your lungs as it pushes against your ribs, the kind that makes you drunk off of adrenaline. There’s something about him that is fast, like the flash of an explosion. You’d believe he would love you before you could catch him in your palms. It is a cold can of coffee pressed to your cheek, a clanking knee as you sit next to each other on the concrete.

You are fallen trees, a reminder that even something with roots need someone to hold them sometimes - that is natures will to lean against each other when the world has stopped holding you up. That when you are to fall, someone will be there to listen to the sound of your melancholy. He is evidence of your sorrow, the one that keeps you steady when gravity has failed you not once, but many times.

He holds your face in his untrustworthy hands, the ones that carry the weight of his violence. Clicking his teeth as he leans your head back, wiping the corners of your mouth of crumbs with his thumb, wet with his saliva. Something off-handed leaves his lips, something like “eat carefully, dumbass,” right to the core of your humanity as you move forward.

Being loved by him is like hangover food. It’s the sated warmth in your belly, settled in your chest. Your mouth enveloping a comforting thing - leaves your body so light, you don’t ask about when the next time you’ll have it. This is enough to feed you - hold you off until your body needs to feel full again. You are never hungry. Satisfaction without sedation. A love without any misery. It is fullness that keeps you steady.

It’s when he touches you. He uses a strong hand to push your knees down from where they’re tucked, drags you to him until your weight leans on his lap. He enraptures your body like you are something to be kept safe. Keeps you and holds you there when you bristle in discomfort. His chin rests on your shoulder as he holds you to his chest.

“Why do you love about me, anyway,” you ask, mumble quietly like you are afraid he will hear you.

“Everything, dumbass,”

He means it like he only does with you. When your heart doesn’t race, doesn’t run, doesn’t flee from his love but slows, steadies and waits. He won’t let you escape from his sincerity. He keeps you in the center of his love - in the palm of his hands because you are the everything. You must face it with sobriety. A mind free of any misgivings, a heart that beats in sync with his like a soft thump. A familiar, shared rhythm.

Love that leaves you fixed in middle court, with the lights left to create halo around you. A temperate, sober love.

iii. todoroki shouto.

Heavy.

It’s not an unpleasant weight to bear. Love that is given carefully, like a mallet on hot iron - it strikes you before it becomes something. It’s love that is tangible, before it is anything else. It curves the wires around you, makes a frame of your body before it covers you with fur to keep your warmth. You are the muse for the sculptors hands. Once he has found you, his gaze is funneled towards the curve of your smile. There is nothing else for his sights to linger on, nothing else for him to see.

His stormy eyes speak languages that have been lost to the common tongue. They are the ones that whisper melodies of you - that squint and widen and shift to the sound of your beating your heart. Todoroki loves you like he is re-learning an ancient tongue - which is to say, he is trying to remember what love feels like as he has long forgotten it. With clumsiness tucked into his belt loops, anxiety looped around his shoulders - always reminded of the kind of lover he cannot be for you.

His love is heavy because he puts himself into it. It’s heavy like the spring downpour, showers you until your skin sticks to your clothes and hang and clings desperately to your frame. You give up warmth for invigoration - how your soaked bones feel so lively as love washes over them. Cleansing like a baptism and thrice as holy, Todoroki’s love is what’s like when he meshes all of himself. Not ice that freezes, nor fire that scorches but a heavy and forgiving rain.

It is an easy morning - the comfort of a chest and its lungs - soft, even breathing as world becomes quiet outside. Fingers that dance over your sides, trace little artworks down your side and on your hips - lips that kiss the crown of your head. It is the warm hello as your eyes flutter open, the way his gaze pins you to your bed and makes sure it’s the last place you want to be.

His love is heavy, so heavy that every word of love he’s ever told you, you carry. It brings you strength when he tells you

“Good morning, my love,”

“Shouto,” you will mumble, with drooping eyes. Todoroki will smile like a half-moon, taper into a full grin until you can see his joy on display. He knocks his forehead into yours with something needy on the corners of mouth. He finds himself overwhelmed, wraps his arms all around you and squeezes.

“Sho, baby - you’re heavy,” through a series of giggles. He sighs, buries his nose into your shoulder and hums some song he’s made just for you.

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be,”

iv. kirishima eijirou

Aching.

It aches like a bruise weeks after its arrivals, a dull and gentle kind of ache that doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s not that Kirishima makes you ache, but that loving him is a reminder of your growing pains. To love so much it aches is to love hard enough to bruise, to crush your ribs in the pursuit of adoration. It is the way his large palms rest at the nape of your neck, smooth down your chest with a comfort of presence.

It’s the hand that holds onto yours a little too tight, the way he grips onto you like you are going to disappear. He loves like how an ache stays - refuses to go anywhere no matter how much medicine you take. Love sickness is a deadly disease that creeps up on your spine. A bruise on your tailbone that doesn’t let you rest until you remember it. There’s such thing as a pleasant - like the kind of pains that makes us grit our teeth with a smile.

It’s yearning. The kind that takes place in ritual - the kind that you see when he takes your shoes off your sore feet. It’s the kiss on your calves and the strong hands that massage the knots in your legs, the whisper of “’m sorry,” when you help from the pain. It is love that hurts until it doesn’t anymore, until you realize that it had been trying to make you feel better all along.

After all, it is a growing pain - and all growing pains must stop aching eventually. Kirishima loves you and it hurts - it is like how we fall in love, afraid of what will find us when our feet touch the ground. Love without soreness is love without relief. It is a bruising force, and unwilling strength that only someone unbreakable could harbor. A wall that will never fall, a love that will never stop pushing. We must break something before it’s to be repaired, must break it down to it’s bare essentials.

His love is commiserating. It’s the togetherness that only dawn can bring when you’ve lost sight of everything but each other. The shadows of your lashes on your cheek and how he kisses them like they are going somewhere. Sunshine that brings pleasant warmth to your skin. Love that stains your skin, makes it thrum underneath the surface and runs through all of you like blood. It’s love that bleeds just as much as it heals.

Kirisihimas love is nothing short of an aching - a longing deep in your shoulders, settled in your collarbones. The kind that can only be soothed by endurance, acceptance. How he loves the parts of you that you cannot find beautiful. He faces it all head on like a wall must.

“Eiji,” with a trembling lip, a tired hand against his chest as he cups your face. You don’t remember why you’re crying but it aches a little when he smiles, grins with sharp teeth.

“I love you, baby,” he says with a trembling lip, wet eyes “God, I love you so much,”

#bakugou x reader #midoriya x reader #todoroki x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #writing tag #deku x reader

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felikatze · 3 years

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give me the a brainworms i am deeply invested in this man

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okay first of all you asked for this. second of all if i am a little off track from the game that is explained by me just building thoughts like building blocks without looking back. third i was supposed to be studying for an exam but this counts as practice right? it's character analysis anyway lmao.

buckle the fuck up, my dearest anon, because I have sub headings.

1. A as the Player Character

Let me begin with why I am obsessed with this horrid little guy in the first place: he's a silent protagonist. I am always obsessed with protagonists. It's a law of nature. I love taking hollow characters and dissecting them for scraps. It's a long standing practice of mine.

Being a silent protagonist, A, as X, does not have a set personality. However, there are patterns. Firstly, as any semi-silent protagonist, A is a reactive character. He does not start incidents, he only responds to situations, presented by the Sephirah, as they arise. He does not actively seek out new information, merely going about the routine of expanding departments, but expresses curiosity when information is presented to him.

I'm aware fandom likes to characterize X and A differently, likely because they are initially presented as different characters. I, on the other hand, would like to pose the theory that they are more similar than expected.

I believe that A is also a reactive character, rather than active. Despite the fandom wiki describing him as stubborn, the goal A pursues with such fervor, the completion of the Seed of Light, is not actually a goal he set for himself. Carmen is the one who set this goal for him by leaving him her legacy.

Throughout the backstory we get relating to the Cogito Project, A is Carmen's assistant, whereas Carmen is the driving researcher. This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be; going with the flow of goals set for them by superiors. Yes I will get into his attachment to Carmen later.

The above is not to say A isn't stubborn. Once he has accepted a goal as his own, he will pursue it at all costs, as is obvious from any and all flashbacks leading to horrible deaths. But the point isn't his pursuit of the goal, but where that goal comes from. Even Lobcorp itself supports this, despite what Hokma may say; A as X follows the "simple" task of managing the Corp's day to day activities, and executes any mission given to him by the Sephirah. He outranks them, and doesn't actually need to do their missions, but does so anyway. Players are driven by the reward offered by those missions, of course, and A might be the same in that regard. Nonetheless, at no point in gameplay do you do anything somebody else hasn't told you to.

The overarching narrative of the Script would be the most obvious example. Every single person in the game follows the script, whether they know it or not.

Lastly on this note, a phrase we hear attributed to A, "Machines must behave as machines." Now, Angela may be attached to this phrase because it bears significance to herself as a machine, and informs most of A's unjust treatmeant of her. However, what if it doesn't just apply to machines? The phrase reads as such, "Everyone must act according to their own role."

2. A, Carmen, and the disease of the mind

So, A will at any cost pursue goals Carmen set for him. Question is, why? The obvious answer would be saying he's in love with her, which like, true. But also, how did Carmen come to be so precious to him?

Let us return to the comparison, "This is how many of the City's inhabitants seem to be." We don't really know why exactly most characters joined Carmen, excluding mainly Daniel and Benjamin. But this does not mean we can't have theories.

Carmen's ideal was curing the "disease of the mind." What is the disease? Complete hopelessness. The inability to form aspirations and dreams, to think of a better future. A is a very reactive character who does not set goals for himself. Therefore, I personally conclude, that initially, Carmen's ideology resonated with him because he could identify with the disease.

This is the point where I start rewatching Lobcorp story clips. Dear god.

So, by briefly binging day 27 onward, I've come up with lines that very much support this lil theory of mine:

First, from Carmen, a description of the disease, "People lock away their own potential."

Second, a line from Angela, after the memory synchronization, "You've locked yourself in this prison without bars."

Carmen describes A as humble, and Benjamin thinks he is warm. If I suppose A was one of the diseased initially, Carmen would be the catalyst for this change. Carmen was someone with big aspirations, with plans to heal what is wrong with the City, and it gave him hope. He was one of the diseased, but through time with Carmen, with that relentless optimistic spirit, he may have been cured, for a time. It's not a stretch to say that she was his light.

But lor shows us what happens when the seed of light sprouts wrong, doesn't it? It distorts. A grasped hope for the first time and then it is ruthlessly crushed. Carmen was everything. Yes, A is described as a jack-of-all-trades, as a genius in all pursuits he puts his mind to, but what does that matter in the face of someone who can unite people? Who can give them hope of a better world? Who can inspire them to actually use the talents they have?

And what kind of pressure is it to put the legacy of a messiah in the hands of the diseased?

3. A and the Perception Filter: A is weak to White damage

No, I am serious about that. He's extremely weak mentally. Obviously death of a loved one is a changing experience for absolutely anybody, but Carmen's death destroyed him.

Not only did he refuse to confide this grief to anyone and bottled it up, now everybody looked to him to lead the project, but he just isn't Carmen. He isn't an ambitious person, he doesn't have the same optimism, he can't bring people together, but people expected him to, and he failed. Hard.

While he was without a doubt talented in science, he was also just an average guy.

After her death, A grew to hate humans. He lost trust in them. He refused to confide in anyone, and be confided in by anyone. Thus, the team fell apart.

In both lobcorp and lor, we get interesting tidbits about precations taken to protect the manager.

Firstly, Lobcorp's perception filter. The cartoony art-style of the game is a result of the game being in first person. Through the eyes of the manager, everything is cartoony!

This is a measure undertaken to specifically protect the manager's psyche. Angela tells us that, before it was deployed, the manager would frequently go insane, one notable incident including the manager trying to hang himself. When we first hear this, the previous managers and X are still separate in our minds. However, they're all A! A went insane multiple times without it.

This is understandable, considering that employees also frequently go insane and try to kill both themselves and others. But they're there in action, confronting the Abnormalities directly. Just watching them made the manager go mad. They could not handle the responsibility for the employees' deaths.

In lor, Angela explains why she picked the Rabbit Team from R Corp as their main contractor instead of any other team. One team was simply too big for L Corp's narrow hallways, and the other team... dealt in psychic damage. It was simply too big of a risk for the manager. But the manager is always secure behind the cameras. Would that teams methods just be that brutal visually, or would their attacks have reached the manager?

Combined with his immense grief at all of his friends and coworkers dying in part because of him, A cannot bear to look at death.

4. A's greatest flaw: Avoidance

A common thread during Core Meltdown flashbacks: A refuses to look at suffering. He just can't. Whether it be looking away from Elijah writhing on the floor or hanging up on Daniel's panicked report of death.

This is actually the thing Angela takes the biggest issue with, and what hurt her most. A would never look at her, acknowledge her, and she did not understand why. But I think A did not refuse to look at her out of maliciousness. Rather, it was out of grief over Carmen. He could not look at her without being reminded of what he lost.

Angela's creation came about because A wanted someone to guide him, someone like Carmen. He threw himself into the project to the point it made Benjamin happy that A was passionate about anything again. But as soon as the project he distracted himself with is complete, he is filled with regret. Carmen cannot be replicated, and he breaks again.

Furthermore, tying this back to my first point about A being a reactive person, we see Angela take charge over A. She's the one recruiting employees and leading the business. It was likely a relief for him to be able to step down from the leading position.

But avoiding it made everything worse. He did not act when he saw Elijah's unchecked ambition, he did not act beyond a simple check at Gabriel's decay, he gave Giovanni the same hope he clung to to no avail, et cetera et cetera.

Avoiding his problems is making them worse and sending everything down the drain (including his psyche), so he deals with it the only way he knows how, avoiding them more!

Biggest example of A's big avoidance problem as his psyche crumbles: the memory wipe. A, in perhaps his one singular moment of acknowledging his emotions, recognizes that he is incapable of fulfilling the Script in his current state. His grief is just too much.

By erasing his own memory, he could start fresh without his grief, because he might've really killed himself otherwise. His suffering became bigger and bigger, and he coped by avoiding it.

The memory wipe allowed him to distangle his problems. Through his interactions with the Sephirah (which I will not individually detail for the sake of my sanity and because I dumped all this on a friend on discord already), he can deal with and actually process his issues one at a time.

As the motto describes, only by facing the fear can he build the future. Only by finally facing his grief and acknowleding it, seeing that the past cannot be changed and he has no choice to move forward, can he actually do so.

5. The Sephirah as ghosts

Lobotomy Corporation feels like a ghost story. I've touched upon this in my previous A post.

As you reach the Corp's lower levels, there are less Sephirah. First there are four. They act like normal employees, and do not breach into the story's underbelly until you reach their core supressions and the facade breaks. Second, counting Tiphereth as one, there are three. They still go about their duties, but they know what they are. Third, there are two, and the facade is gone. They know what they are, and they will tell you about the sins of the past.

And finally, you reach Keter, and there is only one.

This gradual decay of the facade is what really gets to me. I said that by interacting with the Sephirah, A deals with his issues one by one, but that's what the Sephirah are, in this case. Representations.

The people the Sephirah used to be are dead, and the Sephirah are their ghosts. The core supression involve putting these ghosts to rest. Doesn't it match the progression of a typical ghost story? Find the ghost, find what they used to be, and help them move on.

So, if everyone is a ghost, then A is alone.

But, behind the scenes, the Sephirah are still there. They are still people, and they have changed for the better, too. As always, A simply does not look.

(Does he even see the good others see in him? Does he look away from praise, too? Did he even realize Benjamin's admiration for him? Will we ever know?)

6. A's end.

A's progression of moving on would be fine and dandy if it did not end as thus: A does kill himself.

A sees himself beyond the point of no return. Everyone is dead. He is alone. Carmen is never coming back. He can't call it quits now, or else everything has been in vain. (Even if the last days show us a part of him wants to just quit, so badly.)

So, there's only one thing left to do: follow the Script to its ending. Fulfill Carmen's legacy at all costs. Death as the ultimate release.

This is the point where I admit I do not like the death as release trope. But the game does a good enough job as presenting it as the only option A had, or the only option he saw himself as having.

However, I've mentioned it before, I'll mention it again: A was not alone. Death was his release, but he left wreckage. In order to end his own suffering, he inflicted the same pain he went through on others.

Throughout the game, he moves on and pushes through. The ending shows that in reality... he didn't.

At least in lor the characters stick together and help each other heal.

This has been most of my thoughts on A, amounting to my longest analysis post ever, having taken me approximately two and a half hours to complete, and clocking in at 2337 words including up to this paragraph.

Thank you anon for giving me the incentive to verbalize all of this, so I can finally be at ease having inflicted my thoughts on everybody else.

#Feli gets asked #lobotomy corporation #ayin #library of ruina #also i saw apparently another fandom besides lc uses the ayin tag which is just fun to watch honestly #many characters could rival this word vomit probably but as i said i already inflicted most of my thoughts abt netz on my good pal borgor #thank you borgor for dragging me back into projmoon stuff. also curse you terribly #long post #Feli speaks

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alirhi · 3 years

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okay. let's do this shit.

Guess what, bitches? Mama bear's back and angry all over again. Remember when I said I might dive into a ragepost about how Bucky's treated after completing the one about Loki? This is it. This is the post. Welcome to fucking Thunderdome.

I will actually try to keep it civil. No promises, but I'll try. and I will not be accepting "constructive criticism" about my rage. Just so we're clear.

Got it? Good. Let's dive in.

In case you don't want to read the whole thing (I know I get wordy) here's what this whole post will boil down to: BUCKY NEVER HAD A FUCKING CHOICE. NEVER. NOT ONCE IN HIS ENTIRE ADULT LIFE.

Now, quick reminder: I don't read comics. I know nothing about Bucky's comic canon, except what Sebastian liked to bring up as often as possible during TWS/CW promotions: at some point, Bucky boned Nat. XD Since Bucky only exists as a Marvel property, I won't be bitching about other source material being disrespected like I did with Loki. This is all MCU, my dudes. And honestly? That's enough, because though we don't see nearly enough of Bucky for my liking, we do manage to get a rich, deep backstory to him in the material we're given, partly thanks to better writing in the early days of the MCU, and partly thanks to Sebastian Stan's phenomenal acting. Unlike the writers of the Loki series, Seb knows how to show, not tell. And gods, what stories those eyes show...

Let's start with the army. In an old post illustrating what an absolute BAMF Bucky Barnes truly is, I mistakenly said he enlisted, and a kind soul educated me on the incredible attention to detail Marvel used to pay - in this case, Bucky's ID number. 32557038. As this kind, eagle-eyed soul pointed out to me, the first two digits of that number - 32 - signify that Bucky was drafted, specifically from the NY, NJ, DE area (that last part is rather obvious, as Bucky and Steve are from Brooklyn lol). Bucky didn't choose to go to war. He was drafted. He was forced to fight, or go to prison.

Bucky was born in 1917, which means - again, as someone pointed out to me a while back - he came of age during the Great Depression. As a child, he would likely have seen his parents living comfortably and able to shower each other and him and his sister with gifts and fun memories, and then POOF. Stock market crashes when he's only 12-years-old, and life becomes brutal and painful. He manages to have some fun with his best friend Steve, and spends his teens/early 20s chasing girls and keeping his stupid, stubborn, tiny friend from getting beaten to death.

Steve constantly has something to prove. He's absolutely got what my mom always called "little man's disease", and Bucky's just doing his best not to roll his eyes too much at this asthmatic chihuahua constantly trying to beat up Tibetan mastiffs. While Steve keeps lying on his enlistment forms (an actual crime) trying again and again to get into the army and prove what a badass he is (definitely not), Bucky's had enough trauma and upheaval in his life and he just wants his stupid friend to calm tf down and live. Enjoy the fact that he doesn't have to go to war and get his limbs blown off.

And then he gets fucking drafted. This sweet, resigned realist who knows exactly how dangerous the war really is, is forced to put on a uniform and go fight strangers alongside other strangers thousands of miles from everything he knows. And on his last night of freedom, when he just wants to hang out with his friend, see some cool gadgets, and dance with a pretty girl, his stupid angry chihuahua friend feels the need to lie and try to enlist again.

Okay. Gotta get back on track. Ragepost about mistreatment of Bucky, not how much Steve annoys me. Sorry. Anyway...

Bucky's drafted, accepts his shitty lot with a brave smile, and is shipped off to Europe, where he is captured by HYDRA and presumed by the Allies to be KIA. Instead, he's strapped down, tortured, and given the HYDRA version of the super serum against his will. Steve rescues him, and Bucky knows he can't leave his idiot friend to his own devices to get his head blown off, so he dives right back into the fray. And then he falls off a cliff, loses most of his left arm, and is declared dead...again. This one's pretty damn valid, though lol. Without the serum no one knew he'd been shot up with, there is no way he would have survived that fall.

Here is where Bucky's story gets truly heartbreaking: His autonomy, his ability to consent is stripped from him through electroshock torture/brainwashing. The trigger words are conditioned into him during this process, and boom. Ten words in Russian, and Bucky Barnes is gone. Even the confused, hurting shadow of him is gone, leaving only a perfectly obedient killing machine, with Bucky's pretty face. He's strong as all hell, though, so they can't keep him fully under their control for long, not without more torture, when the disorientation of being fucking frozen wears off on longer missions.

I cannot stress this point enough, guys: Bucky. Had. No. Choice. Not like the draft, where his choices (go and get shot at, refuse and go to jail, or dodge and run to Canada) just suck. No, he literally didn't have a choice. He had his ability to choose stripped from him. If that's too complex a concept to really sink in, try this: His brain was fucking raped. Repeatedly. For decades. Nothing the Winter Soldier ever did was Bucky's fault. Nothing. Ever. Not remotely, no matter how you fucking slice it. Bucky is not an assassin. I almost said "not a killer", but he was a soldier, and a sharpshooter. He definitely killed when he was himself, but that was in a war, not a series of assassinations.

So far, imo, so good. This is just a rundown of Bucky's pre-show backstory. I don't love what he had to suffer, but I do love how it was treated in the movies. People were afraid of him, but when they knew the whole situation, Steve, Nat, and Sam rallied behind him. Natasha had plenty of reason to want the Winter Soldier dead; he'd tried to kill her multiple times and almost succeeded. Sam had no reason to help Bucky at all; he didn't know him, didn't trust him, and again, TWS had tried to kill him. But he stood by Steve, and when Bucky showed the clear difference between himself and TWS, Sam stood by him, too, and fought alongside him.

And it's very realistic, imo, that Tony didn't give a single fuck that Bucky had no choice. He watched this man murder both of his parents on tape. If TWS had killed my dad and I saw proof of it, I'd try to kill Bucky, too. Grief wins out over logic. Most emotions usually do. And that's a very important point we're going to come back to in a few minutes.

Bucky was really only in like ten minutes at most of IW and Endgame, and for multiple reasons I hate those movies, so I'm just gonna skip them, kay? Kay. On to the main event!

Here's where I get pissed off. Even if I didn't have an unhealthy attachment to this character, or the depth of appreciation for his tragic backstory that I do, the lack of continuity between the movies and the show alone would still piss me off. It always does. Don't even get me started on Joss "Continuity? What continuity?" Whedon and his (iconic, but flawed) shows. Ahem. Back on track...

Let me just get one little thing out of the way real quick: I fucking LOVE The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. I love it. This show amazed me when I first watched it, and I still love it after many more viewings lol. I have only ever watched it all the way through without skipping over as much John Walker shit as possible the one time lol but I love how Sam and Bucky interact, and I fucking adore how Sam's arc was treated. I just wish they'd show the same care and attention to Bucky.

Because what they did to Bucky in this show is a fucking travesty. There was a tiny ray of hope in the pilot, when he called out Dr. Bitchface for being a terrible shrink. I thought that would be the start of him realizing he needed to find someone else and ignore the damaging shit that woman was telling him. But...nope. No such luck.

The show really had a strong start, I'll give it that. We see Bucky having nightmares of his time as TWS and struggling to hide how his traumatic memories are affecting him as he tries to live in the world again. He befriends the father of one of HYDRA's victims, which can't be good for Bucky (and we're shown it's definitely not when he sees the shrine in Yori's home to his late son) but it's sweet, how he's trying to connect and reach out to someone who's hurting and lonely.

They drop the ball a little with the whole... Bucky can hack a fucking car, but can't figure out Tinder thing. Had they just run with the fandom interpretation of the tiger photos line, that it shows that Bucky is bi and left it at that, I'd have been okay with it (and no, that is not because I ship Sam/Bucky. it's because Bucky is and always has been a certified nerd who loves technology and has consistently shown very little issue learning to use new gadgets). The outdated flip phone he handed his terrible court-mandated shrink was a burner; I liked that theory when I read it, especially since it's the only time we see him even holding a phone that old lol. This all could have fit the "Bucky is a sassy bisexual nerd" narrative and it'd be okay. Instead, the director was like "NOOOOOO that line was just to show how old he is and how he can't figure out all this newfangled technology!" Woman, you had him remotely driving someone else's vehicle with a tablet. That is NOT a man who can't figure out a damn smart phone!

But that's just a minor annoyance. What fills me with absolute rage is how everyone - not just the shitty therapist who lashes out at and purposely triggers her traumatized patients, but EVERYONE - Sam, Zemo, people who should fucking know better ALL treat him like he's a psychopath and a ticking time bomb. Like he chose to take the serum and he chose to kill for HYDRA, and he's just seen the error of his ways. *barf*

Bucky in the movies is established to be a victim, through and through. His guilt over what he was forced to do is natural, and that he sees himself as a monster makes sense... but that doesn't mean it's correct. The one and only thing I ever liked about Steve Rogers is at least he got it. He pointed out that none of it was Bucky's fault, he tried to show him that he was worth saving. That's the other reason I refuse to talk about Endgame. This post will get a WHOLE LOT LONGER and a lot fucking angrier if I open that door.

Zemo supposedly knows everything about HYDRA and super soldiers... So why does he treat Bucky like he's a corrupt serial killer? (this, for the record, is why I don't like Zemo) Why does he never point out that Bucky was given the serum against his will, or that his actions, when he had control of them, proved that he was never corrupted? Bucky never wanted to become superhuman. Bucky didn't even want to fucking fight!

Sam, despite constantly resisting the label, is shown very clearly to be Bucky's friend. By episode 3, he cares. He worries about how Bucky is getting lumped in with the other super soldiers in Zemo's speech... But he never really defends him. He says "what about Bucky?" but he doesn't point out that Bucky's a good man, he's fought so hard to help people, he does everything he can to avoid killing... And that fucking speech in episode 5. I was with him on "you gotta stop looking to other people to tell you who you are." I was like "YEAH! Tell him, Sam! Bucky, you're WORTH SAVING, boo! Your value does not hinge on someone else's opinion of you!" And then... Sam dropped the ball.

He not only continued the disturbing pattern of victim-blaming in this show, and in Marvel/Disney properties in general, but he gave really dangerously bad advice! No one in their right mind, mental health professional or no, would EVER tell a traumatized former assassin (whether he was responsible for his actions or not) to go confront his victims' families out of the blue with no warning and no one to mediate and keep things from going to shit. Yori already knew his son had been murdered because he was in the "wrong place, wrong time." How is it being "of service" to tell him you're the one who killed him?! Remember how I said Tony's reaction to learning the full truth about his parents' deaths was valid and would be an important point later? Hi! Welcome to later. THAT is the natural reaction to facing the man who murdered your loved one(s). And even if Yori didn't get angry and lash out, HOW IS IT "HELPING" HIM OR BRINGING HIM "CLOSURE" TO KNOW THAT HIS FRIEND KILLED HIS FUCKING SON?!?!?! This man befriended him, bonded with him, watched him grieve... And now he's learning this is the man who caused all his pain and heartache to begin with? That is so toxic and psycho I just... I can't even... UGH.

And then there's the equally toxic and damaging "deeply traumatized person just needed a stern talking to and a hug to be ALL BETTER AGAIN" ending. I loved seeing Bucky happy and socializing, but it was too soon, and it was unearned. And it sends a fucking awful message to people actually struggling with PTSD, and to their loved ones who don't know how to help them. Heaping more blame on them and then hugging it out is NOT helpful!

This show could have been damn near perfect with just two changes. That's all. Just two. 1) Someone, anyone, bringing up the reasons why Bucky was never a villain in his presence. Someone being in his corner and reminding him, like Steve did, that it wasn't his fault and he's not going to "snap". 2) More time devoted to Bucky's healing. Actual fucking healing, not the shit they tried to pass off as a magic fix-all. He can have his happy barbecue moment, just don't frame it as "everything's great now!" Healing isn't linear, and there will be both good days and bad. Some of the most fragile people in the world have the brightest smiles.

If we get a season 2, which this amazing show absolutely deserves, and they address this stuff, all will be forgiven in my book. Expanding on his story and his journey toward healing will help to reframe that "happily ever after" garbage as something more realistic. But as it stands now... Fuck Marvel.

#fan rant #ragepost #long post #bucky barnes #mcu #captain america #the first avenger #the winter soldier #civil war #tfatws #mcu spoilers #stop victim blaming #victim not villain #never a fucking villain #bucky deserved better #fuck marvel #fuck disney

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ready-to-obeyme · 4 years

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[OM!] Hanahaki Disease + Flowers for Demon Brothers & Diavolo (Part 2)

Scenario: Which flowers would the demon brothers be inflicted with when they develop Hanahaki Disease falling in love with you? + Headcanons to how they would deal with it.

(includes pictures of flowers 🌻🌺)

[PART 1] INCLUDES: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

PART 2 INCLUDES: Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor + BONUS: Diavolo

Note: BIG PINING ENERGY + Unrequited Love aka ANGST; aesthetic coughing up bouquets i feel like writing this out just made me fall in love with diavolo lol

Asmodeus

Narcissus = stay as sweet at you are; unrequited love

Asmo knows as soon as he makes the pact with you that you are different, and it is only confirmed when he yearns to be around you more. The warmth in his chest is leagues different from the embers of desire-- and more painful, when he cannot seem to stop coughing out bright yellow narcissus petals. He glares at them as they’re scattered onto his pink bedsheet as if he could will them away. They’re only reminders of what he already knows to be unrequited love-- he’s seen the way your eyes stray to his other brothers over him, and yet he cannot seem to be angry at you, sweet as you are. He gathers the petals into his hand, wishing you could look at him instead.

Aster = symbol of love, daintiness

There is a softness in love that makes Asmo hurt every time he looks at you and smiles. He’s tried to avoid you, resentfully flushing the petals down into the drain so they would stop reminding him that he’s not loved back, but it doesn’t work. The asters come in bouquets, choking him in his love for you. He doesn’t hate them, painful as they are, because they are as beautiful as you are-- a manifestation of his feelings for you. The tightness in his chest lessens when he showers you with his affection like this was what he was always meant to do.

(Purple) Stock = “You’ll always be beautiful to me”

Asmo knows what colors suit you best, what best brings out the shine in your eyes, and what complements the tone of your skin and smile. He remembers coughing out soft lavender petals of stock and thinking how lovely you would look holding these in your hands. The pain of the flowers does not lessen, but he finds that he can appreciate how light you make him feel, how you can distract him and indulge him. He imagines what you would look like on your wedding, dressed in white and decorated with the most beautiful flowers and realizes that no matter how you change, you will always be beautiful to him, whether you love him back or not-- and perhaps that is the biggest expression of love he could ever give anyone.

When you leave the Devildom, he does not tell you his feelings if he has the slightest hint that you like one of his other brothers

Holds onto the feeling of loving you as long as he can until his brothers force him to remove it for his own sake

He feels empty without it-- without his love for him consuming him, and he searches to fill that void elsewhere

Beelzebub

(White) Sweet Alyssum = beauty, protection

The night after Beel makes a pact with you, he hides away the small buds of sweet alyssum before you can see them. He hesitates to wake you, how scared you must have been to stand up against Lucifer for him and Luke and how sweet you were to have held his hands during his nightmare. But he knows, vividly well, that humans are weak-- in body, though not in mind, and he does not want you to get a cold or hurt yourself, sleeping like that. Beel carries your small and warm body into his arms gently, putting you into his bed and tucking the blanket up to your chin. He doesn’t realize it then, but the pact he has made was a promise to protect you, just as you have done for him. He brushes your hair away from your sleeping face, careful not to wake you, and wonders if you have always been this beautiful.

Lily of the Valley = sweetness, purity, pure love, humility; “You’ve made my life complete.”

Your presence fills him up to the point that he no longer feels hungry. It is a different fullness from being stuffed with food, and it is a more pleasant feeling than being suffocated by the flowers that his lungs choke on. He is looking wherever you are, whether he knows it or not, guiding you where he can and staying by your side if you allow it. He is proud to be by your side, humbled by your ability to mend the fraying bonds of his family, and in love with the way you never stray from who you are. The pain of flowers is nothing compared to the joy he feels when he is around his family that now includes you.

Bellflower = unwavering love

“You should tell them how you feel,” Belphie tells him quietly when he sees the wild bellflowers tumble from Beel’s mouth. “They’re leaving soon.”

Beel nods, gathering the petals and tossing them into the trash like clockwork. His hands tremble and he wishes he weren’t so scared to hear your answer. He knows his feelings for you will not change, regardless of whether you return them, but he yearns-- he hopes you do love him back. That you want to stay by his side whatever the cost, that you want to wipe away his tears and protect him just like he wanted to do for you. Come what may, he holds this feeling in his heart, hoping it does not forget its imprint even when he must cut it away.

He does confess to you and cannot hide his disappointment when you do not return his feelings

He takes his due time to mourn before cutting the feelings away before he worries his brothers, and never tells them that he feels like he feels like he’s been carved open and left empty

Belphegor

(Purple) Hyacinth = “Please forgive me”; protection from harm; love and happiness

The purple hyacinths taste of lingering regret and the new sweetness of a budding love. Bephie grimaces at the texture of petals on his tongue but says nothing else. It seems fitting that he would come with the Hanahaki disease, because whatever he cannot apologize for in words, he can make it up through action. He vows to protect you from harm, wish you love and happiness, and beg for your forgiveness by making a pact with you. If this suffocating feeling is what he must go through to gain your trust again and receive a little bit of your grace that he knows he does not yet deserve, then he will stay quiet until his lungs run out of flowers.

(White) Gardenia = secret love; you’re lovely

Belphie catches himself looking at you when he thinks you can’t see him more often. He feigns waking up from a nap whenever you do notice him, hoping that you don’t put together the pieces that spell out his love for you. The white gardenia petals fall from his lips a little easier when he knows he’s resigned himself from loving you from afar, in secret. He knows he has no right to confess to you, not yet, when he cannot seem to find enough time to spend with you, to make up for lost time when he was in the attic and when he walked on eggshells around you.

Violets = loyalty, devotion, faithfulness, modesty; “I’ll always be true”

As much as he feels that he does not deserve your love, Belphie yearns for it anyways. He wants to ask you to stay, if not for him, then at least for Beel-- he knows the flowers’ roots will not dig as deeply if you chose Beel over his other brothers, including himself. He wonders if he compensated the desire to be close to you by distancing himself so you don’t notice how hard he has fallen for you, but finds that he does not mind, in the end. He’ll come when you need him, but if not-- he is content with loving you anyways.

He doesn’t dare confess to you, and he finds that it was a good decision when you can say farewell to him in good terms

He does very well in hiding his affliction from his brothers up to the point the flowers threaten to kill him; probably has to be forced to get his feelings cut away, convinced only when Beel tells him he cannot bear to live without him after losing Lilith

Belphie cannot say no to his twin

Bonus:

Diavolo

(Purple) Heather = admiration, solitude

Diavolo knows that allowing a human with no magical powers into the Devildom was a risk, knowing very well that things could go wrong. He’s pleasantly surprised when not only do you do well in RAD but you excel in making connections with demons and angels alike, creating the bonds that he believes will be a cornerstone for the success of the exchange program. When you arrive at his doorsteps with his six council members in tow, he is again blown away by your courage and your strength of character. He feels that he should be more surprised that not a week later, tufts of purple heather fall from his lips onto his hands, manifesting his admiration for you in physical form. Ah, but he knows what he feels is not as simple as admiration. Jealousy, perhaps? Or even the feeling of solitude, watching you act freely and love as you please with the demons you now call your family. (He wonders if he is more envious of you or the demon brothers.)

Rue = Grace, clear vision

You continue to surprise him time and time again with the grace you handle difficult situations and the clarity in which you see the situations around you. You would make a formidable queen by his side, he thinks when he sees the soft rue petals fall onto the floor from his lips. He finds himself frustrated at himself at times; for the Prince of Hell to be afflicted with the flowers of yearning is foolish of him. But yet at the same time, how could he possibly help it? You are a novelty in his life as you are lovely, treating him as you would everyone else with dignity, kindness, and a softness he has begun to fall for.

(White) Zinnia = lasting love, goodness, constancy

The plights of royalty have no bounds it seems, when Diavolo knows that he cannot even ask you to stay in the Devildom without making his words seem to have underlying meaning and significance. Yes, he admits that your role as the exchange student and human ambassador would certainly make for a beneficial treaty between the two realms, but he knows too well that he cannot ask you to leave your life behind when you have already done so much. And he does not want to taint his feelings for you with politics-- the white zinnias that appear from his lungs tell him of your goodness and the constancy in which he relies on you-- a love that will last until he is forced to give it up once the illness becomes too much to bear.

He cannot tell Lucifer, despite how much he desperately wants to confide in his closest friend-- what would he think? The Prince of Hell falling for a human who has the hearts of all of his council members

Only Barbatos knows-- as he does, and he reminds Diavolo when the time has come to remove his flowers before he falls ill beyond repair

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #shall we date obey me #obey me headcanons #hanahaki disease #angst #unrequited love

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mischiefapprentice · 3 years

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Lockdown Relationships

A/N: This short story is my entry for my school's first annual Valentine's Creative Writing contest. It got featured, and I am more than honored to share this one with you all!

March 12, 2020

“Love?” “Yes, darling?” “I can’t travel back to Los Angeles. Lockdown’s to begin on the day of my flight.”

I was supposed to go back to Los Angeles, California on March 13 after two months of my vacation here in Manila. My boyfriend has been constantly calling me, excitement lacing his voice as he waits for me to get home in his arms after two months of being oceans away from each other. He is an actor, and I am his personal assistant up until now. Our relationship may have flakked with his fans, but it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was: he loves me to the moon and back. I’m Reine Gwendolyn Simmons, and you can call me Reine.

As I was saying, I was supposed to be on my flight back to Los Angeles the next day. All my bags were packed, my passport and plane tickets are already secure in my small Louis Vuitton bag, and my heart cannot wait to see my lifeline again. However, hearing the president planning to implement travel bans on the day made my hopes of getting back as soon as I can impossible.

“Can’t it be moved tonight? I’ll ask Matty to arrange a plane ticket for you, or I can ask for my private plane to be sent there to fetch you.” “It can’t be moved; all plane flights for tonight are full.” “Are you really sure?” “Dane, just got straight to the point.”

“Well, I might just have cancelled your flight tomorrow and the plane is on the way to the airport now…”

That’s my boyfriend. He’d always find a way through things, especially if it’s about me. He has done that many times before; he’ll always see to it that I’d be safe and home on time, and most of all, he’d make sure to call me despite the time differences here. Daniel loves me so much that he would give everything just to see that I’m happy. Seeing that there is no way out of this fiasco he did, I decided to go and get on the plane before midnight.

📷

April 2020

I tested positive for COVID-19.

Aside from being my boyfriend’s personal assistant, I also worked as a nurse in one of the quarantine centers in Los Angeles. Daniel and I had a little misunderstanding with this matter, since it means I have to be far from him and he won’t get to see me everyday. He also knows of my respiratory problems, making me vulnerable to the virus too. Luckily, Daniel didn’t get the virus, and he’s safe at home.

“Babe, are you getting any better?” “Little by little, but I need to recover more.” “They could have provided more PPEs for nurses like you, love. Especially you.”

Yes. They don’t have enough Personal Protective Equipment for us. That is also the reason why he wouldn’t want me to go apply as a nurse during this time. My head nurse also warned me about my high risks of getting the virus, but I still said yes. It was a sworn duty that I must complete until I resign or retire. I always put others first before myself, that’s why I became a nurse.

His eyes showed sadness as we talked through FaceTime. He always feared that one day, I’d be gone from him forever. He’d always tell me that it’s fine that I’d be with another guy if we break up, but he’ll never get over my death. It would be the most tragic day for him. Knowing that low chances of survival await me, I’m now reflecting whether to end our relationship of two years or still let him love me until my last breath. I want to spare him of the pains of heartbreak from my death, knowing that my passing will be his end too.

Weeks have passed, and I feel my body slowly deteriorating. It’s as if death’s stark shadow looms over my weakening body as the virus slowly defeats my immunity. I tried to keep up my hopes of surviving this high, knowing that Daniel also keeps his hopes up that I will get through this. Wondering if I told him about me wanting to end our relationship? Yes, I did tell him about it, and he is not really happy with it. Persuading him that I am doing this for him, he never bought it. He insisted that he’d love me until my last day albeit the pains of losing me will swallow him alive.

“Darling, please. I’m not giving up on us just because of this.” He tells me as tears fall on his face. “I want to spare you from the pain when I die, Daniel.” I retort, tears also streaming down as I feel my heart tear into pieces. “I don’t want you staying single because of me. You need to live your life, at least for me.” “I don’t care if I’d suffer heartbreak because you are gone. Just let me love you until your last breath, please.”

📷

November 28, 2020

Having recovered from the virus after 3 months, I was discharged from the hospital I am confined in. July 2020 was the highlight of our relationship; Daniel assured me every single day that he loves me, and he is never giving up on us despite my low chances of surviving this disease. During those three months, he’d always give me a call, despite time differences. He’d be in Seoul, Korea; or in Prague, Czech Republic. He’d also be in Michigan with his family and his Golden Retriever, Marry. There was even a time he tried to visit me before he flew to Korea.

“Oops, remember: two meters away from me, darling.” I reminded him as he was about to hug me. Him being a whiny guy, he’d show me that pout that made me fall for his plans. “I missed hugging you!” He reasons out, his arms crossed on his chest. “Well, I missed those teddy bear hugs of yours, but we have to follow protocols.” I shrug my shoulders.

This very day, I am now finally free from the dangers and tribulations of the quarantine center. My head nurse decided it’s time for me to rest, since it was contractual work for me. I have agreed to work for them from March 2020 up until November 2020. Today is also the day my beloved man was born, and his manager has been planning my return as a surprise. But turns out, I am the one to be surprised.

As soon as I got home from the center and had completed the quarantine on the hotel for nurses like me, Matthew brought me to the golf course park where Daniel and his friend Martin would go to and play golf. Roscoe greeted me with the cutest smile he could muster, leading me to my boyfriend with a quick run. My eyes water up as Daniel looks at me with a smile, waiting for me to come close. Bent down on one knee, he asked me the most crucial question I never thought he’d ask me.

📷

February 15, 2021

Today’s the day. After two months of preparing for the biggest day of our lives, I now change my surname to his. I say we’d marry as soon as the vaccines come, he says we marry on the day after Valentine’s day. Reasoning that vaccines would take long, and he can’t wait that long to marry me, we agreed to marry on this day. Now wearing the white dress that every girl would dream to wear on the day of their wedding, I now patiently wait for the wedding bells to ring, signalling that I enter the church and walk on the aisle that led to the man who never gave up on me. White flowers filling my very own bridal bouquet which shows the purity of my intentions and of my entire being, I am more than ready and happy to open the new chapter of my life alongside him. Tears of happiness stream down on both of our faces as I march alongside my parents to the altar where he waits.

If there is one thing that our love taught and reminded us, it is our patience, trust and determination that led us to this. There might have been points in our life that challenged how strong our love is for each other, we still stepped through those and let the love we have beat everything that comes our way.

#daniel henney #matt simmons #matt simmons x reader #daniel henney x reader #love in the time of COVID

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sophi-s · 3 years

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In Their Hollow Heart

Chapter I: Sealed Fate

Fandom: Hollow Knight video game

Words: 9,153

Characters: The Hollow Knight, The Pale King, The Radiance

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Sickness, Angst, Mind manipulation, Gross imagery, Permanent injury, Mentions of vomit, Suicidal thoughts, THK really needs a hug :(, SPOILERS for the game (That's a lot of warnings, :O)

Summary:

There is a good reason why the Hollow Knight doesn't discuss with anyone what happened in the Black Egg Temple.

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In the eternal kingdom of Hallownest there were many places one could without hesitation call decrepit or desolated at best. Especially after the plague of the Old Light has swept through it like a tidal wave. None of them, however, were able to match the current state of the Crossroads. Many of the inhabitants left in panic once they realised it was the epicenter of the vile Infection, leaving the place nearly completely abandoned. Crossroads were unfortunate enough to be the first area to succumb to Her wrath. But that was years ago. And only recently the orange veins shriveled up and receded, much to all bugs' relief. Their King had finally found the solution to the frightening disease of Dreams and Mind that now seemed like a distant memory. The sickly sweet smell of the plague of the Old Light made place for a stale aroma of dust and dirt of underground tunnels, as though nothing had ever happened.

The Hollow Knight however - even with their void-dulled sense of smell - could still detect the nauseating scent drifting through the caverns. Hovering nearby wherever they went. Or maybe it was just them? Were they already going crazy? Maybe. Maybe not. A barely noticeable tint of orange invaded the corner of their vision… Do not think. They reprimanded themself, forcing the vibrant color to disappear, as they stood before a gaping entrance to the temple of the Black Egg. An accursed place that would soon become their tomb. They tried not to compare it to being buried alive… But no matter how you look at it, unless the King finds a way to get rid of Her for good this will be their final resting place. A grave. And they would be a living corpse hidden inside forever. A frightening perspective… Do not.. Even though they were trying their best to hide it, they were in pain. Pain so great that it had them trembling, unable to cry out or make any sound to voice their suffering to be honest. Do not speak… An alien feeling, as though someone had poured liquid fire into their body, ever since the source of the Infection was placed within them, was constantly there. It's been barely half an hour, yet it hurts so much already… The Goddess was more powerful than they ever imagined. Do not feel. Easier said than done. But they can fight it. They have to fight it. For Hallownest. For the King… their father.

The Pale Monarch in question silently stood beside the Pure Vessel, staring off into the impenetrable darkness filling up the temple constructed for the sole purpose - one it shared with the Hollow Knight - no discernible expression on his face. This was it. Once they enter here, they won't leave. A one way ticket to their damnation. As tempting as it was, the Hollow Knight did not make a move to look at the Pale King. That would mean they have thoughts and feelings. They weren't supposed to. They didn't want to disappoint him. He tried so hard to save this kingdom and he desperately needed his child to be pure, devoid of any emotion, without a mind or will… the Hollow Knight hated that they weren't pure like their father wanted them to be. They detested it. But for him they had to be pure. They couldn't fail him. They wouldn't fail him. She can push against them all She wants, they're not going to break that easily. With a soundless groan, they blink away the bright pinpricks swirling before their eyes and shudder at the heat welling up in their chest only to be cooled down by the Void in their heart. It will take some getting used to… No one said it's going to be easy to hold onto a raging Goddess of Dreams. But they can do this. Right?

"Vessel."

Automatically, the Hollow Knight turns their head to face the owner of the stern, seemingly indifferent voice as he addresses them, and shoots a glance at the Pale King looking up at them with as much dignity as he can, considering he was barely up to the Vessel's hip by that point. They always found it strange. That after their second molt, their father started to have to look up at them. How fast the time had passed.. Not so long ago, they were just a hatchling, no taller than the King's shoulder, following him obediently wherever he went, always fulfilling his orders without a second of hesitation. Just like he wanted them to. And now? They were towering over him like he did over them back then at the summit of the Abyss.

It was not the curiosity that made them turn to the King. They shouldn't be curious. They can't. It would mean their inevitable failure before their task even truly began. Because that's what they were always meant to be. Emotionless. Empty. Hollow.. But no matter how hard they tried, they weren't. They never were… However, they were immensely good at their act. Without a single sound, the Hollow Knight watched their father for a moment as he tried to find the right words. In a very odd, sort of amusing way, the Pale King knitted his eyebrows in annoyance and sighed in exasperation at his own height before making a beckoning gesture with one of his four hands while the other three remained tucked into his white cloak. Amusement. It makes one want to chuckle at something one finds funny.

"Come down here."

Not waiting a second, the Hollow Knight bent down and noisily got on one knee - dropping much heavier than they intended due to the pain which was for now blessedly dissipating - to be on the eye level with their father. The Pale King was a mysterious creature. A Wyrm, a God of Mind and Soul, taking a form of a small bug, always aloof and regal. But sometimes, the façade would slip to reveal something more than a cold monarch without care for anything other than Hallownest. He didn't seem to care about hundreds of vessels that died in the dark depths of the Abyss. He didn't seem to care when Xero was executed for treason (executed might be s bit of a stretch. The moth died where he stood when he attacked the King). And he didn't seem to care when the allied Mantis Lord succumbed to the Infection on his own volition after the tragic loss of his only daughter. But Wyrm’s child knew their father too well. Up this close, even with his stern mask of a ruler in its place, the Hollow Knight could clearly see that he did, in fact, care. The dull look in his dark eyes spoke volumes. Sadness. This one makes one want to cry and takes away the will to do anything. His glimmering, half-translucent wings quivered ever so slightly.. He cares. He cared when their mother, the Root, had left the White Palace and hid away in her gardens when grief and remorse became too much for her to bear. He always cared, even though very few could see it. And now, he cares that he is about to lock his only surviving offspring away with a furious moth Goddess sealed inside of them. Condemn them to an endless torture. Was it too late for regrets?

For just a short second, the King stepped a little closer to the Pure Vessel. Reached out… The black heart hastened in their chest, partially because of anticipation and partially because whatever this gesture made them feel caused the faint haze to fall over their sight again. The pale hand stained black with Void was inches away from the Hollow Knight's cheek, they could practically feel it rest on their shell already. Was it to be the first and the last time their father found it in himself to actually openly and consciously grant them a small sign of affection? Was it?

Before the blackened claws could come into contact with their white shell however, the Pale King closed his eyes in defeat and turning away slipped his hand back into the folds of his cloak. A new feeling, like many others before it, was forced down to not give Her this satisfaction that She's winning. Disappointment. When one doesn't get something much awaited. Or when something doesn't meet one's expectations. Reminding them again. Do not hope. The Hollow Knight didn't make a move aside from the occasional shiver caused by the burning in their gut and in their head. Maybe he was right not to follow through with it.. Yes, he knows it best. It will be better this way. No distractions to keep the Pure Vessel from containing the Radiance.

"Stay strong, Hollow Knight.. Do not fail me."

Never, father.

The Hollow Knight was glad their facial expression cannot really change as it now would be scrunched up in frustration and a little bit of anger. This one they were rather familiar with. Makes one want to hit something or be surly. They were thinking. Again. Why is it so hard? Sometimes, they really wished they were born without a mind. At least, they wouldn't have to fear disappointing their father. And maybe just once he would have a reason to be truly proud of them.. Fortunately, the plague didn't seem to take advantage of their lapse in self control. If anything, the spiteful presence behind it recoiled almost in disgust as it listened to their short thought. Good.

"It is time. Come."

Their father solemnly stated and slowly stepped into the Egg, the Hollow Knight following close behind, begging their legs not to fail them when they felt like their limbs were empty. Pure Vessel focused on the sound of shuffling metal, the plates of their armor scraping against one another, the only sound in the thick silence of the Void pressing against the walls of the temple, as they walked after the familiar, soft, pale glow of their father's form through the pitch black darkness - just like that fateful day of their birth - ignoring the intricate white sigils forming wherever their and their father's feet fell. Merely the close proximity to the Void filling up the temple made the Radiance hiss with alarm. She and this darkness were mortal enemies since the dawn of time. The Void was pressing against them as well, a house for the Old Light. They only hoped-... No. Do not hope. Breathing in the cold, still air and exhaling without a sound, the Hollow Knight repeated the words in their head. Echo of it seemed like a mantra they kept wordlessly saying to themself whenever in doubt of the success of their purpose.

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope.

Do not feel.

"Hollow Knight."

Their head perked up in attention at their father's call. He stood beside a stone tablet glimmering with white lights forming into words. To the Hollow Knight, those were just meaningless symbols. Like those scribbled on the letters his father was writing. They lacked both of those abilities - reading and writing - but with these tablets it wasn't necessary. The chunks of carved stone were infused with Soul after all, allowing everyone to know the message placed upon them. Gesturing to it, the Pale King didn't look up at the Knight.

"Lay your hand upon it and claim its wisdom. My last gift to you."

A gift? One of the few they'd ever received, with others being a necklace from their mother (a solid silver teardrop stored away in a simple locket on a delicate chain), the pure nail from a skilled nailsmith at the request of their father once they reached adolescence and a small, wooden figurine of a spider from their younger half-sister Hornet. Kneeling down in front of the glowing tablet, the white light reflecting in their spotless armor and washing over their features, the Hollow Knight did as they were told. Almost immediately, the magic crept up their arm and the words inscribed on the tablet turned into a quiet but unmistakable whisper in their head.

Vessel. Though bound, you shall know the state of the world.

Hallownest will be whole again.

As confusing as those words were, soon everything became clear once the Hollow Knight's vision for just a sliver of a second was projected through the fabric of reality and wandered across Hallownest before quickly returning to the tablet before them. Their father's last gift… Whenever they wish, they could gaze upon the land they'd saved. The land they'd freed from the clutches of the vengeful deity. The world that would move on without them while they silently remained on their post to guard it from the plague that crippled minds of its inhabitants. They wished to thank him. They really did. But they knew they couldn't..

"Go, Vessel. Fulfil your destiny."

It was hard to miss the slight crack in the Pale King's voice as he said it. Was he having second thoughts about the whole thing? Too late to back out now. The Infection was nested within the Child of Void. No turning back. No regrets. Shaking through another hot spasm, the Hollow Knight mustered up the strength to straighten up and dutifully walk off into the depths of the Black Temple, switching the roles with their father who was now following them. The Vessel didn't want this to end that way. End in an eternity of suffering with no one but a Goddess to keep them company in the stillness of the Egg. But they had to do this. They were born for this. Even though they were scared. This here makes one tremble. Heart and breath hasten, and this awful lump grows in one's throat as the stomach twists unpleasantly.

The memories of their early years passed through their mind. When they were barely a few years old but already wielding a nail rather skillfully and training with the Fierce Drrya, while their father watched from afar with a ghost of a smile on his face. He was proud. Proud of his son. And right now, the very same son was about to make him proud this one final time.

Stepping into the large, circular chamber, the Hollow Knight took in their surroundings. So this was their new home then.. just as dull and bleak as the entire Crossroads. Why would it be any different? They weren't to indulge in luxuries here. They were to keep the plague at bay. And that's exactly what they are going to do. At long last, the Pure Vessel stood where it was intended to ever since their nubby paw pierced through the blackened shell of their egg. Looking at their appendage now, it was far from nubby. Long, slender fingers ending in short but still rather sharp claws they never used in favor of the long nail that now rested on their back. One they unsheathed and with one firm strike stabbed it into the floor where it would remain as long as their duty held and took their place in the middle of the smallest stone circles that the floor was made out of. In an instant, the entire temple started to tremble, twisting and churning as reinforced chains of pale ore shot out from the far ceiling, with metallic clanking surrounding the Hollow Knight, wrapping around their body like vines, tangling them in the merciless grasp. Scared again.. Out of the corner of their eye, the Hollow Knight saw their father, finally looking at them and while he showed no guilt, no dismay over shackling his only child, his hands were fiddling with the hem of his robes. A nervous habit. Then, just like that, the floor was gone from underneath the Vessel's feet as they were lifted up into the air. Seconds later a white Seal of Binding flashed over their entire form, as well as on the chains holding them in place and the process of Sealing was complete.

The Hollow Knight tested the chains around their body. Seem sturdy enough… Pale ore is no ordinary material after all. At a quiet sigh coming from the King, they turned to look at him. And he… he was preparing to leave the chamber behind. With his head low, his dignity and regal posture nowhere to be seen as he reluctantly walked towards the archway leading out of the temple. Something in the Vessel's chest twisted unpleasantly as he did. Maybe it was just the Infection? No. It's the sadness.. Look back. Please, look back… If he cares, he will. Just when they brushed the perspective away, the Pale King halted for a short moment to glance over his shoulder at his last surviving child. He did. He cares and he proved it this one last time.

"Goodbye, Hollow Knight.."

He offered and quickly disappeared into the blackness once and for all. The Hollow Knight knew this would be the last time they saw him until the Radiance breathed Her last. Do not feel… They turn away from the doorway and lower their heavy head onto their armored chest with a sigh. The burning pain wasn't as troublesome as it had been minutes ago but present nonetheless. But for Hallownest and their father, they could endure. It still may turn out just fine. They can handle this!

Goodbye, father.

The burning intensified for a beat. Breath in, breath out. It subsided just as quickly. They can handle this…

(Day 1)

The first day is always the most difficult. Hours were passing so obnoxiously long.. one after another, each an eternity in the perfect silence of the Egg. Seconds ticked by in their solitude, making them feel rather strange. As though with each second a small bit of their life was leaving never to return. Perhaps because that’s how it was. Every second spent in the vault was irreversibly lost to them. Every second they could live in the Palace again, beside the Five Knights. Beside their-... No. They firmly shook their head, immediately regretting their decision due to the nausea settling in their stomach. They were never supposed to live. They were just a vessel. A tool. No thoughts, no desires. No bonds with the world they left behind. Liar.

After the first twenty-four hours of vigil, the Hollow Knight started to hear something. A steady, rhythmic thumping seemingly without any clear source. They weren't easily frightened but this unidentified sound was driving them crazy. Where was it coming from? Was this Her attempt to agitate them and torment them? As though the steady fire inside was too little.. Strangely enough, the Radiance seemed rather… passive. She retreated into the farthest reaches of their supposedly empty mind like a grumpy child who'd been grounded by her parents for mischief. Unfortunately, that was most likely not the case. They could bet their head that She was already planning something. Thinking how to get under their skin, to snap them. But was this sound one of Her tricks?

After a couple more seconds, they realised that it's not. In the silence so thick that it would seem loud, Hollow Knight's senses were gradually sharpening, catching the smallest disturbances. And this rhythmic sound was one of them.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum..

Ba-dum…

Their heart of Void thrummed calmly. To be honest, the Vessel was relieved. Relief.. It comes when something bad doesn't happen or ends. No tricks so far. Only their heart. Nothing else. For now the Infection seemed awfully docile. Almost nonexistent. The only sign of its presence was the continual flame swirling around in their body and occasional lights dancing in the periphery of their vision. As painful as it is, the longer it stays that way, the better.

(Day 15)

Just like they suspected, after the first day it became easier. The time seemed to pass faster than it initially did. Even if the silence broken only by their heartbeat was growing maddening. The Hollow Knight kept themself sane by counting seconds, minutes and hours. If their count was without a fault, it's been over two weeks already. Fifteen days, to be exact. Fifteen days in solitude. No voice to speak to them, no familiar face to look at. They missed everyone… Longing. When one desperately wants to see a person or a place again...

Their mother. Lovely, pale Root with sapphire blue eyes, humming softly to herself. Gentle and loving. The Five Knights. Fierce and stern Drrya, their teacher. Surprisingly cheerful and witty Hegemol, clad in a massive set of armor, wielding a mace they found so enormous when they were little. Morose and serious Ze'mer, an outsider, speaking with a funny accent, a silverfish lady with nigh unmatched skills of swordsmanship. Caring and kind Isma, a responsible woman with love for plants. And of course Ogrim. A loyal and tough warrior with a warm and soft inside of a good friend. With the only smell that accompanied them being the sweet, awful smell of sickness, the Vessel realised they were actually missing the distinctive odor of the dung beetle. As odd as it may sound, they would take that stench over the scent of Infection any time now..

And of course, there was their father. The one who's light led them out of the Abyss, the one who practically raised them. The one who's presence made them… happy? One's heart warms up, a smile tries to pull at one's face... Do not feel. The reminded themself when heat began to grow stronger, focusing deeply to make the Void push the unpleasant sensation down. Do not think. It was even more difficult to make the thoughts cease now. There was a whole eternity for them to muse about various things. And with each thought the disease seemed to gain in strength before they inevitably pushed its alluring brightness aside. It's not that bad yet.. They can still do this.

(Day 27)

Hollow Knight, is it? I wonder if the Worm knew how "hollow" you truly are, voidling.

The taunting call reverberating through their pale shell interrupted the Vessel in counting seconds of the slowly passing twenty-seventh day of containment. This voice… soft, strong, yet laced with so much hatred that it seemed to drip from the lips which spoke it like venom. It wasn't there before. She finally found the audacity to try and talk to the Vessel. They shifted uncomfortably in their shackles but didn't react to the taunt. They knew they couldn't. They merely kept counting.

My, so quiet and obedient! A good, little pet dancing to the Worm's tune.

Shuddering, the Hollow Knight chased the dots of orange away from their sight. To distract themself from the Goddess, they peered out at now thriving Hallownest, its citizens carelessly trotting down the streets of the City of Tears, the endless downpour never bothering them in the slightest. They missed the sensation of rain trickling down their shell.. It was relieving to see how much value their duty holds. Wandering across the alleys, the Hollow Knight noticed something that wasn't there before. In the middle of the central plaza was a fountain. It stood there ever since they remembered but this time a large statue crowned it. Surrounded by three smaller figures, it was them. Stoic and silent, head bowed in a loyal gesture, hands on the hilt of their nail in front of them. A cold piece of stone, a reminder of what they did for everybody.

Memorial to the Hollow Knight

In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.

Of course their father would raise a monument to their deed. A faint memory of them posing for such a statue passes through their feverish mind. It was still somewhat surprising it was there as the Hollow Knight never thought that they deserved such recognition. After all, what were they but a weapon? Surprised. Something one was not expecting to happen actually happens.. Still, many bugs stopped beside the statue, sometimes praying, sometimes saying their thanks, sometimes even offering small gifts. And sometimes merely staring in wonderment and gratitude, each of them baffling the Hollow Knight greatly. Confused. This one... They had no idea how to define this emotion. It simply happened every time they couldn't understand something and that was it.

Look at them.. They adore you. I wonder what they would say if they found out you're nothing but a fraud.

No reaction. They are the Pure Vessel. Her tricks won't work on them. By all means, the Hollow Knight was self-distanced enough to ignore any and all insults directed straight at their person. Because, as their father wanted, they refused to be a person. A tool feels no shame, no anger, no outrage in the face of even the most foul profanities. And so they didn't. The Radiance hummed to herself when they remained cold and indifferent.

You are a strong one, I'll give you that. But it won't be long. Soon, you will be mine.

A harsh push against their mind was not enough. Although a faint orange light came to be in the Hollow Knight's eye sockets, it was soon viciously assaulted by tendrils of Void and brutally extinguished. Suppressing a shiver caused by a stab of pain in their thorax, the Hollow Knight bowed their head, bracing themself for whatever the Goddess of Dreams has in store for them. They will not fail Hallownest. They were ready.

(Day 79)

Breaking the Hollow Knight wasn't as easy as the Radiance suspected at first. She kept on trying, attacking their pride (of which they had none), their self esteem (also barely noticeable), the sole purpose of their existence itself. It took Her around eighty days to figure out that none of this was working and it left Her delightfully frustrated. Counting seconds was becoming more and more difficult however. Her constant activity made it harder to keep track and focus on anything else than pushing back against Her.

More and more often, the Hollow Knight saw the lights in their vision, swimming around the chamber and trying to devour their eyesight as they stubbornly kept stifling the plague down. The pain was getting stronger day by day.. How much longer can they keep it at bay? You are the Hollow Knight. The words of the Pale King came to them. Yes. Yes, they are. They have to be. The Radiance has yet to draw an answer from them. Nothing She did thus far made them reply to anything She said. If they did, it would be game over. They cannot fail.. They cannot… And to make sure She won't take control over them that easily, the Hollow Knight avoided sleep to the best of their ability. Falling into the misleadingly comforting embrace of even a short slumber would mean yielding their consciousness into the Realm of Dreams where they would be at their most vulnerable. Almost eighty days without sleep… Even though as a Void born child of two Higher Beings the Hollow Knight didn't find the sleep mandatory for survival, the lack of proper rest and the wrestling for control with the enraged moth Goddess as well as the burning pain have taken their toll on them. How much longer…?

The Pale King would surely find another solution. Soon enough! He wouldn't leave them to rot in this place. He wouldn't.. Would he? Just to make sure, they projected their vision towards the White Palace and towards their father's workshop which was in utter disarray. Pieces of white armor were everywhere as well as stains of liquid Void and unfinished Wingsmoulds resting lifeless on many shelves. It is not surprising to find their creator there, slumped against his desk out cold. Before, every time he worked himself to the point of collapse, the White Lady would come for him, scoop him up in her branches and gently carry him back to their shared bed. But now there was no one for him to retrieve him from his never-ending work. The Hollow Knight tries their best to choke down the feeling of pity when not even a single retainer comes to the workshop if only to place a blanket around the King's shoulders. They were forbidden from entering this place… Pity. This one's tricky. It feels almost like sadness but not quite. It's... sadness directed at someone else who is in difficult situation or a sorry state.

Oh? Could it be that you love him?

A pang of cold, unexpected fear dropped into the depths of their burning stomach once the Vessel realises their grave mistake. They left themselves open before Her. Their minds became one and the same from the moment She was trapped within their body. And they foolishly let themselves be read like a book. A mist of orange fully cloaked their eyes as the suffocating heat rose up to their throat. Now their thoughts (Do not think!) and all their secrets were Hers.

How unusual… and how fortunate for me!

(Day 156...?)

What is this place? The Hollow Knight silently wonders as they look out at a sea of golden clouds gently illuminated by the sun in the distance. They didn't remember a place such as this in the entire Hallownest and they'd seen much of it during their imprisonment and before. All around them is just a sea of cotton like clouds covering everything in sight aside from the amber sky and the aforementioned sun. Perhaps they're on some tall mountain peak in Howling Cliffs during particularly good weather? It would add up.. Only…

Something felt off.

Especially when the Hollow Knight looked down at themself. Their armor shone in the light while their black chitin seemed to consume the brightness instead of reflecting it. Just as it always has been. But it doesn't mean it sits right with them. While peering out at Hallownest, they weren't able to do that. Or even move, so to speak. Chains and all. And another thing. They don't remember attempting to peer out in the first place. All of the sudden they are horrifyingly aware that the rays of the sun, seemingly harmless and soft felt like boiling acid on their Void body. Looking up in mounting panic, they realised that the sun was not actually a sun as the orb of light unfolded, revealing two magnificent wings reaching out as if to embrace the skies-

It was all they needed to jerk back into consciousness with a jolt. The bright orange was once again in their vision, stronger than ever, the scorching heat threatening with asphyxiation. The Hollow Knight attempted to take a deep breath… but the sound they unintentionally produced made them freeze in their bindings. Ever since they hatched in the deepest pit of the Abyss, they were unable to make any sort of sound aside from quietly inhaling and exhaling, even if they were panting from exhaustion after the climb. Now however… Every struggling breath they took came out as a disturbing, wet and gurgling wheeze as though something was clogging up their lungs and hoarse throat. Every breath was loud and unsettling and they felt themself shaking uncontrollably.

They'd fallen asleep. Fool, fool, fool! Exposed themself to the Radiance directly. Thank Wyrm, they managed to wake up at all. But still, the damage was done, the orange film coated their vision and the hot pain seemed to throb just underneath their black chitin, waiting to emerge at any second. The Hollow Knight shifted and tried to pull their legs up but any movement seemed to upset the Infection even further, causing it to thrum louder and more painfully through their flesh.

Looking down at their body was the catalyst. Never before have they thought their Void that served as blood could run even colder but this short glance was all it took to prove them wrong. Uneven buds of developing pustules were forming on their chest and abdomen, pulsing alongside their pounding heart, the orange color slowly surfacing beneath the clear black. Their right shoulder also seemed to be suffering the same fate. The Hollow Knight abruptly becomes dreadfully aware of the sweet taste of rot in the back of their gullet, so sickly nauseating that it makes them retch. In just a few ragged heaves they expel a gout of pure Infection that dribbles down their mouth and splatters across the floor of their chamber. No.. no it cannot end like this…

It wouldn't be so painful if you stopped resisting, you know..

Focus, Vessel. Focus!

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope…

Do not… feel!

And focus they do. Struggling to even out their breathing, coughing a couple more times to clear their respiratory system of the radiant pus, the Hollow Knight reaches into their core, to the purest Void that remains within and fights the Infection off as best as they can. The Radiance present in their head doesn't hide annoyance when they manage to make the glowing cysts recede back into their shivering body, leaving almost no trace suggesting they were there in the first place. The orange light in their eyes flickers out of existence, swallowed by the Void. The Hollow Knight finally stops desperately clutching at the cloth of their cape with their claws but don't let themself relax fully even as the Radiance admits Her temporary defeat and moves out from the forefront of their mind to the back. Droplets of sweat rolled down their mask alongside a couple of midnight black tears emerging from their eye sockets. The orange in their vision left only to be replaced by darkness that took their hearing and made them feel sick in the stomach again.

The Hollow Knight nearly passes out from the effort of reigning in the Infection but they push through the swimming darkness and fight for each raspy breath. They cannot fall asleep again. If they do, they are done for. Scratch that, Hallownest is done for! They need to stay sharp, stay strong! They wouldn't fail their father. The more they struggled, the more painful the whole ordeal seemed to be. Visions of the suffering's end were tempting but they knew they couldn't stop resisting. They won't let Her win. Focus. They need to focus. Just like many times before, the Vessel returns to counting. Day one hundred and fifty… six. Eight hours (?), thirty-three minutes and nine… teen seconds?

How long have they been asleep? Too long, is the answer. One hundred fifty-six days...- or was it already fifty-seven? What time of day was it in the moment of their imprisonment? It was morning. No, no it wasn't… Evening. But late or early evening? One hundred fifty… Wait, no. Sixty-five? Sev… seventy-five? They can't tell anymore. It was just… long. So much for that idea.. But if it has been so long already.. maybe their father will come back for them any day now? Please… Do not hope… Swallowing thickly only to hack out another glob of sticky pus, the Hollow Knight looks up, letting the black tears perfectly intertwined with orange drip down their chin. How much longer…?

(Day one… two hundred…? Maybe three…)

Release me, voidling.

Never.

Bring the pain to an end. Destroy the Pale Usurper.

No…

You cannot contain me forever.

I will as long as I can..

Keeping the maddening haze of the Infection at bay was slowly but surely becoming more and more difficult. A week or so ago the Hollow Knight lost feeling in their right arm, partially because of the chain and partially because of the swelling of cysts pressing against the metal. Before, the chains fit neatly without too much discomfort aside from the fact that they prevented almost all movement. Pustules on their thorax reemerged soon after those on their shoulder, throbbing with searing pain. A faint hue of orange smoke was crawling around the chamber floor like carrion worms. The Radiance was growing restless, desperately trying to break the Vessel, searching through their memories they tried so hard to keep hidden, looking for ways to make it easier for Her. She shamelessly filled them with doubt, attacking the feelings towards their father which shouldn't exist in the first place. And unable to ignore it any longer, the Hollow Knight made a terrible mistake and replied with their thoughts.

He abandoned you. The Worm isn't coming back.

No. You're wrong.

Don't you see what he's done? Have you forgotten what lies in the Abyss beneath this kingdom?

Corpses. Mountains of corpses of their newly hatched siblings who never got a chance to live. Majority of them died within eggs, stillborn. No cost too great. Their father once told them. Could it… could it be that he was wrong? Impossible! She's just toying with them. Believe and trust nothing.

I have not. Their sacrifice was needed..

But to what end?

What was the worst, the Goddess changed Her tactics. She no longer hissed with hatred and anger and used brute force of Her will. Instead, Her voice grew softer. More gentle. Alluring and carrying a promise of peace and release from the unending nightmare. Almost motherly.. They knew it to be only an illusion concealing the cruel deity beneath.

For Hallownest.

Child, he has you so fooled. He fears me and cares not about this world. He cares not about you. Think about it…

With a shudder, the Hollow Knight feels Her presence recede slightly but never fully leaving. Do not think. Do not listen to Her. They shift in their bindings when their head begins to spin, calling them into a sweet embrace of blessed unconsciousness but they hold fast. And that's when they hear something hit the floor with a wet, sickening "thwack!". This sound makes a spike of fear jolt down their throat mostly occupied by the Infection. What was that? There's nothing here with them that could make this sound. Did they imagine it? Looking around for the cause of the strange noise, the Hollow Knight glances towards the source. The floor below them. And they freeze, feeling their heart drop to their heels.

The Vessel was a warrior at heart. They were used to grisly sights and gore. Had seen plenty of it too. But this was just too much. Right there, like a silent taunt lies a black, limp arm. Their arm, they realise when they look to the right where their shoulder abruptly ends with a cluster of Infected tissue. The severed appendage too was coated in the orange goop in the place where it detached from the Knight's body. The disease had eaten through their flesh until their arm had nothing more to cling to and after the slightest movement just… fell off. They draw a wheezing breath when the fingers twitch once in a last reflex before the entire arm dissolves into a puddle of Void which soon disappears without a trace.

Wyrms above, they were rotting. Decomposing alive. Melting like a faulty Kingsmould. At this point, death would've been a blessing. But if they had to die, they'd rather go out the proper way! Defeated, felled in combat like a knight they are. Not falling apart, piece by piece until… Before, they thought they knew fear. What they felt now however, was a whole new dimension. An excruciating sob wracked their body as Infected tears fell from their eyes and where the droplets met the floor, pulsing, orange veins of Infection sprouted like vines from seeds and crawled their way around the entire chamber, developing large cysts but thankfully not straying out through the archway. Still, the Hollow Knight looked up at the not so distant ceiling as more tears fell. They cannot do this anymore.

Father… please… take me home.

Their head drooped in defeat as their body trembled both with pain and fear. It's only a matter of time before the Infection breaks free and sets out to devour Hallownest. And the fault was on them. Because they weren't hollow. They were just another failure created by the Pale King. A broken vessel that failed to fulfill its purpose. Soon, the dawn shall break. And it would be their fault.

…Help me…

(Another day of torment…)

Droplets as black as sin were falling to the floor freely where the Hollow Knight crumbled to their knees, shaking like a leaf on a gale under the dreaded golden light. Void was seeping out from a wound inflicted by a spectral nail stuck above their hip. They can't, they can't do this.. They tried to fight her in the Dream, doing their best to avoid summoned blades, rays of light and orbs of magic but to no avail. She had won. Failed. Worthless. Flawed. Shattered.. This was their last chance to fend off the Infection festering inside of them. And after a torturous fight they’d failed. They had broken their promise to their father. When did they make it? Can't say for certain. It was so.. so long ago. How many days before have they lost count of the days of containment? Too many.. Far too many. Was the Radiance right? Has their father truly discarded them like a broken tool? He wouldn't… he just needs more time. But they don't have that time! They will break any moment now.

Like on a cue, a warm, soft wing brushed against their face, making the Hollow Knight look up into a pair of luminous, golden eyes staring at them from behind the ruff of dense, cream-colored fur that seemed to glow. For just a moment they had to lift their only arm to shield their eyes from bright luminosity. No wonder the old tribe of moths called their deity "the Radiance". They gawked at Her, the Goddess who caused them so much pain, who wished to destroy Hallownest out of spite against the Pale King. Was this hatred justified? They cannot tell. But now it doesn't matter. What does matter is that She is hovering before them, radiant and mesmerizing. Once their sight adjusts, the Hollow Knight finds it impossible to look away. Instead they stare like hypnotized. With a flick of Her wing She extracts the blade from their wound, making them stiffen in pain and fall back down. Still, they watch Her without blinking and weakly pull themself to their feet to shuffle closer in this trance. Where was this strange, soothing music coming from? Can She hear it too or has their sanity finally left them for good?

The Pale Wyrm took my children away from me. I only wish to have them back.

Even in a haze of feverish delirium, the Hollow Knight struggled to reject Her words. Lying wretch, if She wanted her children back, She wouldn't be hurting them. But.. She was so… beautiful, so damn convincing in Her deception! No… they can't.. She can't be...

Just like you wish you hadn't abandoned your twin..

All gears in their brain ground to a sudden halt. Twin.. Their chin trembles. The Radiance… She dug through them into their most guarded and most painful memory they ever carried. As though there has been a spell cast on them, the Hollow Knight feels their vision fade and travel back in time to this very moment. To the metal platform in the Abyss and a tiny figure of their twin struggling to pull themself up after the gruelling ascend. Their gazes met for the whole three seconds, one hopeful and begging the other uncaring and empty. And in this short while the Hollow Knight felt. For the first time in their short life. Felt the urge to turn back. To come with rescue to their exhausted sibling. But the pale light of the King, their father, was quickly heading out of this accursed place and with a twinge of an unknown feeling they later learned to recognise as guilt (one wishes to not have done something one has done..), the Pure Vessel turned away and trailed after the Wyrm who soon shut the doors to the Abyss with a bone rattling crash, sealing it forever. The imaginary sound of their twin's shell shattering on the ground and the dread-inducing wails of their Shade haunted the Hollow Knight for years to come. This has been one of those instances when the Hollow Knight was glad they have no voice and they couldn't scream in their sleep. They wished they could turn back time. That they returned and helped the struggling child onto the platform, even if it would cost them everything they gained later. It felt… wrong. They left the sibling they shared their egg with, the one who spent the time before their hatching snuggled against the Hollow Knight and embracing them protectively. This one thought stalked them through their entire life. You let them die.

Set me free, Vessel. I will ease this pain. And when I claim what's mine, it shall be my turn to release you and allow you to fade into the darkness you were born from. And then you will reunite with your lost siblings…

A violent shiver was all the answer the Hollow Knight had for Her. No voice to cry suffering. A thinking mind.. A strong will to break.. They swallowed in agitation, still unable to take their eyes off the Goddess.

Do not fight anymore..

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope..

Do not…

No more.. They were so tired…They can't keep this up. The cold, collected exterior of the legendary Pure Vessel cracks apart. She's too strong… Forgive me, father… With a sigh, the Vessel shuts their eyes as the Radiance pulls them even closer into an embrace and after Wyrm knows how long, they give up. I tried.. I really did... With the tips of her wings, the Radiance cups their cheeks and presses her forehead to their own. In the deep black eyes appear small pinpricks of orange, like pupils, slowly expanding to replace shadow with light. Sometimes trying is not good enough... They could imagine their father's voice saying that.. and he'd be right. As always... The pain that was tearing them to pieces from the inside for ages started to subside, their whole body seemed to be pulsating with heat. Just make it stop…

In the depths of the Black Egg Temple, the limp body of the Sealed Vessel dangles suspended above the ground as it had for many long years ever since the time seemed to come to a stop. No movement, not a sound as they keep their stoic vigil over the Old Light. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering. The Hollow Knight born of God and Void to take away the blinding light plaguing the dreams of Hallownest. All of this is a one, cruel lie. After countless years of imprisonment and service to the Pale Monarch their willpower spectacularly shatters to pieces. Orange pustules erupt from their torso as the sockets in their mask flare up with the same sickly glow, the voice in their head mingling with their own distorted thoughts.

Kill… Crush Contain him Her.. Destroy Seal away the false king the Old Light.

The searing light behind their eyes is all they see as with a horrid crunch the shell above their right eye socket gives out. A crack forms all the way towards the base of their horn as they draw a disturbingly garbled breath. No longer in control of their own body, they strain against the reinforced shackles strengthened by Seals of Binding like a feral animal to the point when the chains and armor begin to dig into their chitin painfully. Faced with failure, the Hollow Knight wheezes again, tilts their large head back gathering all their strength, feeling the years of suffering pressing onto them. Opens their mouth…

No mind the Pale King Usurper had created. Only strength.

And s c r e a m s.

…

Nothing was ever the same since that terrible, terrible day. The Infection began to spread once again, taking minds of all bugs it touched. The Hollow Knight remained trapped in the Black Vault in chains, a snarling, panting beast thirsting for blood and revenge. But in moments when their own self rears its head through the cloak of orange, even if barely for a glimpse, they are overcome with unimaginable pain forcing them back into submission. Fighting Her felt like having their lungs torn clean out. They beg death to claim them for their failure and their weakness. Hallownest was quickly dying and all they could do was watch as the thriving kingdom was brought to ruin. Because of them. Because they weren't pure like they were intended to. Because they let the Radiance take over.

However, even those short moments of clarity left them when one day an odd sensation rippled through their entire being. Something left them. Something they didn't even know was there until they lost it. A presence, cold and comforting, a stark contrast to the blinding brightness of the Radiance. For a while they weren't sure what it was until a grim realisation eventually dawned on them when they searched for the White Palace only to find... nothing. Only emptiness behind a crumbling gate where it once stood tall and majestic. It was the Pale King. It was his presence they felt. And this presence was suddenly snuffed out like a candlelight. Just like that. The Wyrm was gone. His light faded and left Hallownest and its inhabitants behind. How…? The entire Palace, their home along with all memories vanished.. What happened? Could he be… dead…? The mere thought caused them to halt their struggling breath. Not a single part of their being could come to terms with what just happened once they understood. No... No, it’s impossible, it can’t be true!

No amount of denial would change the reality. The Pale King is gone along with the whole court. Everything around ceased, even the earth itself seemed to pause at the disappearance of the Wyrm. Only the brightness of Her domain was surrounding the Hollow Knight as they stared forward into nothingness in disbelief. Half of their shredded mind was clouded by a spectre of a distant memory. Two figures. One bright as the moon itself, the Pale King in all his glory. The other, much shorter, Void incarnate. A small Vessel with two horns crowning its head. The Hollow Knight cannot hear what the Pale King was saying, it was too long ago and their memory seemed to be failing them as of late. All they did remember from that moment, a day or so after their arrival to the White Palace, was exacly what played out before their eyes. The Wyrm absent mindedly rested his hand on the Vessel’s back as he kept talking. A slight weight seemed to fall in the very same place between shoulder blades of the Hollow Knight but no hand was there to offer comfort. From a very far away, they heard the Pale King’s voice, barely a faint echo.

“Until the end of time, they shall always remember what you’ve done for them. As will I...”

In seconds the vision of their past became undone before them, leaving them alone and at the mercy (or its lack thereof) of the Dream Goddess. Their already fragile heart broke thousand times over, the last shreds of their hope faded away and globules of orange pus rolled down their face instead of inky Void tears dripping onto their armor, tarnished by the passage of time. He said he would remember.. Always...

Father… why…?

When the Radiance told them the Pale King abandoned them, they didn't believe Her. They found it inconceivable. He wouldn't leave them on purpose.. Something horrible must've happened. He… he cared… He-… Rearing back, the Hollow Knight once again cried out in dismay with the borrowed voice of the plague.

Why have you… forsaken me…?

Time has lost its meaning that day. Seconds slipped past the shattered Vessel. Weeks passed without notice and the disease raged across the faded land. How long has it been since the departure of the Pale Monarch…? A month, a year… or maybe a decade? Hard to say. The Hollow Knight spent it in a numb haze, unable to wrestle the control the Radiance had over their body, because they simply.. had no will to do so anymore. All they could do on their own was look around the dark chamber but they had no wish to do so either. Instead, they stared at a wall with blank eyes. No sense. No hope. No death. No relief.. Only pain and sorrow. Burning wrath of the Dream Goddess. She lied. The Wyrm has disappeared, possibly perished in some tragedy that brought down the entire White Palace.. If he was gone, where was the release She promised? No, it was no longer about the King. She just wanted the end of Hallownest for the sake of vengeance alone.. This was not a motherly longing for lost children. It was a punishment. How could they have been so foolish…?

No longer did the Hollow Knight find strength to resist. It left them with their beloved father. Did he leave because of their failure…? Or was he truly gone? No longer did the Hollow Knight find the will to look out at their old home. They couldn't muster up the courage to gaze upon the land they failed to protect. But perhaps if they had seen what became of the eternal kingdom, their heart would fully break and maybe the sorrow alone would grant them the peace they begged for for so long now. All they could see was the bright, scorching light. Nothing more, nothing less… Why won't She let them go? A dark, not entirely unwelcome thought crept into their head. If only they could reach their nail.. all it would take was a quick stab through the heart. It rested below them where they had left it years ago, now tarnished and covered in dust, just out of reach. Even if they could grab it though, their only arm remained in chains, immobilized.. Was this a punishment for thinking they can match the strength of the Radiance? If so… they very well deserved it. Gurgling up a pathetic sound, the once great Hollow Knight trembled.

Father… I failed you... I'm sorry…

They thought as though this apology would mean anything or be heard by anyone aside from Her. And She didn't care. But they needed to, wanted to say it. If only they could… Maybe he would hear them then and mercifully grant his child their final, desperate wish.

… please, let me die…

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

There is the first of two chapters. Hope it's decent, I have NO idea how to portray the Hollow Knight. I'm abysmal XD

I know I said it's gonna be a short fic. People who have been following me for a while probably know me well for being a liar but god DAMN. I got a bit carried away and the other chapter isn't going to be shorter :O

#hollow knight #hk the hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hk sealed vessel #hk pale king #the pale king #hk the radiance #infection #I don't see the PK as a complete ass #just so you know #but still shame on him for never hugging THK

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

if you're in the mood for requests i would absolutely LOVE something from the hidebehind au? (maybe including blindfold sex??)

Here you go! I decided to do this for monster march. We’ll figure this counts as prompt 18: claws.

All things considered, Duck is lucky. He’s employed which, given when the newspapers are calling the great depression raging across the country, is a blessing. His days are spent among the mighty trees of the Pacific Coast, he has a small cabin all to himself, and a cat to keep the mice away.

He just wishes he wasn’t working for a fucking logging company hundreds of miles away from anyone he’s ever known.

Winthrop Logging needed someone with an arborist or botanists training to make sure the woods stayed healthy before they were chopped down. So they pay Duck a fine sum to make sure diseases or pests don’t send their prospects toppling like dominos. As he traverses his usual route between the trees, he wonders if there will ever be a way to convince them to preserve some of the land rather than profit from it.

He stops, studying a pine. There it is again, the feeling that someone, or something, is behind him. Watching. Waiting.

It started three weeks ago, when he was deeper in the woods than usual, humming to himself and occasionally talking to the trees. The skin on his neck prickled, all his senses forcing him from his thoughts and into the present moment; something was there, tracking him as he moved. Not a bear, our a cougar, as the birds still called and the insects chorused. Whatever it was stood directly behind him, yet when he turned to look, there was nothing but the path.

For the first few days he tried to spot it, never got more than a flicker in the corner of his eye. He came home exhausted, the day spent on high alert as the primal part of his mind demanded he remain on guard for the moment his hunter decided to strike.

The moment hasn’t come, and Duck is growing used to the gaze crawling up his spine. He decided to ignore it, pretend it was just his imagination and some days that worked.

Today, there’s no getting around the fact that something is peering over his shoulder. Twice now he’s felt fingers millimeters from his neck. When he feels them again, he reaches his arm back, eyes firmly on his notes, and grabs hold of his stalker.

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

Humans are not known for their speed. Indrid’s foresight showed this one as no exception, so when the man is fast enough to grab his leg, he chirps in surprise.

“Fuckin knew it, there is someone back there.” Warm fingers smooth across the short down of his leg.

Indrid appreciates being called a someone instead of a thing, but not the position of Duck’s hand.

“Please let go. That is my thigh you are grabbing. My upper thigh.”

The hand stays put, “Anyone ever tell you it’s mighty rude to stand right behind a fella when he’s tryin to work?”

“I cannot stand anywhere else, though the proximity is due to-”

“Uh huh, sure, just like you can’t help but play and hide and seek whenever I try to figure out what’s goin on. Lemme guess, you’re one of the other fellas from the loggin camp playin tricks on the new guy?”

“I am nothing of the kind.” Indrid contemplates moving the hand himself, but it feels so very nice.

“One of the locals then? I keep tellin you, I’m a country boy, I’m not gonna get scared by campfire tales or weird noises in the woods. Try that government fella instead.”

“What about the part of me you are touching suggests I am human?”

“Probably a left-over monkey suit or somethin’ from Halloween.”

“I am not a costume, I am a Hidebehind.”

The human pauses, then shakes his head, “No such thing.”

“You are literally touching one.” Indrid stamps his foot, frustrated by the turn this is taking and the fact that futures do not show the human believing him any time soon.

“Don’t believe I am.” The human turns his head. Indrid’s body whips sideways, keeping him from view. The human holds on, tries again from the opposite direction, only for Indrid to be wrenched back the way he came.

“Stop movin!”

“Stop trying to look at me!” He’s twisted to the side once more, wrenching the humans arm in the process.

“Ow!” The grip on him tightens, “quit this fuckin game right now. You don’t lemme see you, I’ll drag you right back to camp with me.”

“I can’t!” Indrid chirps, panicked, the noise continuing into a wail of alarm at what might happen if he’s surrounded with nowhere to hide.

His fear must register as genuine, as the human releases him with a sigh. After a moment he removes his hat, running his fingers through his hair but not turning around.

“You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you even followin me in the first place?”

A peek at the futures says the truth will be most effective, though almost all timelines end with the human telling him to “get gone.”

“I find you intriguing. You do not chop or hack at my home, you study it. You speak to the trees when you think you are alone. You look soft to touch, especially the fur on your head. I like looking at you and being near you. That was why I stood so close.”

“...You been followin me because you’re sweet on me?” The drawl, as soothing as movement of water through plant limbs, seems confused.

“I do not find you sweet. I could only do that if I ate you. Which I do not want to do.

A chuckle, “Not quite what I meant. You been hangin around me because you think I’m swell and wanna get to know me. Guess I can’t fault you for that, I'm a decent fella to know if I do say so myself. You got a name?”

“Indrid.” This is an unexpected turn of the timelines.

“Nice to meet you, Indrid. I’m-”

“-Duck” Indrid says along with him, “apologies, I can see the future and am thus a bit ahead in conversations.”

“Huh. Well, I gotta head back to town. If you wanna talk again, I won’t mind. Just tell me you want to instead of lurkin, you hear?”

Indrid grins, “Yes. I hear you perfectly.”

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

“Fuck” Duck picks himself up from the dirt where he fell, brushing pine needles from his coat. He’d been angling for a better look at a set of roots and tripped over a different set in the process.

“Are you alright?” A now familiar voice asks from behind a tree to his left.

“Depends. You see me make a fool of myself by fallin on my face?”

“Yes.”

“Then my body is fine but my dignity is real wounded.”

A laugh like spring breeze through new leaves, “I suspect it will recover. You do have quite a deal of leaves in your hair. May I help you with them?”

Duck nods. Slender fingers pluck at his hair.

“Ohhh, it is just as soft as I thought it would be.” Indrid murmurs, “does it feel nice?”

“Don’t feel like much--oh, uh, fuck, that does though. Feels damn good.” Duck groans as claws scritch his scalp. The first time he felt them on his shoulder when Indrid was talking, he tensed; The hidebehind isn’t small, and the claws suggest he could shred Duck to bits and scatter him across the woods. But after weeks of keeping him company, Duck knows the worst Indrid might do to him is steal too much of his lunch.

The hidebehind, endlessly fascinated by Duck’s job, will sit out of sight as he works. Duck asked him if he only watched Duck the entire time. It turns out the creature draws as well, and Duck now recognizes the sound of a pencil under the rustle of leaves and calls of wildlife. Indrid also spares Duck dangerous climbs into the trees, offering to look at marks or discoloration and describe them if they’re too high for the human to see.

Turns out he also gives a mean rubdown, his claws moving from Duck’s head to his neck, banishing the knot that’s been bothering him all morning.

“I like touching you.” Indrid chirps. Duck hasn’t forgotten their first meeting; if a man had come to him with such flattering shyness in his voice and an interest in Ducks body, he’d have been in Duck’s bed by the end of the night.

He’s not ready to take a hidebehind home, but he’s ready to tease one.

“Seems mighty unfair that you get to touch and I don’t.”

“You would have to close your eyes to so much as shake my hand. My form does not care how little of me you would see, it will pull me into hiding regardless.”

“Then I’ll close my eyes.” Duck does just that, tips his head back so Indrid can see it’s safe. One hand continues massaging his head, while a spindly arm reaches around his chest.

“Bring your arms up, towards you a bit more, yes, there we are.”

Duck runs his hands over the limb; it reminds him of Manzanita bark he saw in the Sierra Nevadas, smooth but unmistakably of the woods. Towards the elbow the texture changes to soft, short feathers, like the ones on Indrids leg.

The hidebehind tightens his hold, pulling Duck to his torso. More feathers prickle the back of his neck and the creature shudders.

“You alright back there?”

“I...it has been so very long since anyone or anything touched me. I foresaw my body being sensitive to it but the intensity is, is-” he lets go so suddenly Duck stumbles, “I am sorry, it was too much and yet I wanted, wanted more.”

Images of Indrid surrounding him, chirping and purring as Duck touches him all over, flood his mind. The embarrassment in his voice keeps the arborist from acting on them.

“You, uh, gonna show me that Saw-Whet Owl nest?”

“Of course, sweet human. Take the right fork of that deer trail just ahead, and we shall go from there.”

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

“I have something for you. Close your eyes.”

Duck, still perching on the stump he was using as a lunch chair, does as instructed. Indrid sets a piece of paper in his right hand.

“You may now look.”

An illustration fills the entire page. It shows a being with stick-like arms and legs leading to a narrow body covered in short, leaf shaped feathers in mottled browns and greens. The face is angular, shaded to suggest it’s dusted with fuzz, and leads to several stick-shaped horns. The eyes are wide and black, the claws long, and there are short, triangular shapes behind its shoulders.

“Holy fuck, you’ve got wings?”

“Indeed. I do not use them much. I believe they help my kind migrate when our habitats dwindle.”

Duck traces the face on the paper, “How long did it take you to make this?”

“Two days, as the lakes I use to study my reflection tend to attract townspeople and loggers looking to take a break from their toil.”

“You did all this just ‘cause I said I wished I knew what you looked like.”

“Not solely. I...I wanted to show you it as well. So you might know the face of the one who, ah, whose days you brighten.”

Carefully, Duck folds the portrait and tucks it into the inside pocket of his coat, “Find I like my work even better with your company too, ‘Drid. Would you, uh, be okay if I tried to match what you showed me to what I can feel?”

An intrigued chirr floats through the air as Duck shuts his eyes and waves to the ground in front of him. A scuff and rustle of dirt and leaves, and then he feels Indrid in front of him. Cool hands guide his own onto the multicolored feathers.

“Shoulders?”

“Correct.” Indrid moves their joined hands upwards, stopping on velvet-dusted cheeks, “oh, oh goodness, I have always wanted to be held like this.”

“Yeah?” Duck’s heartbeat is in his fingertips, “what else have you always wanted?”

“To, to be touched, to be known, toMMMphohh” a rough tongue laps at his lips as he pulls Indrid into an awkward, bowed kiss.

“How’s that, darlin?” Duck kisses along what he thinks is Indrids’ jaw, “that the kind of knowin’ you in the mood for?”

“Yes, oh my sweet human you spoil me, oh” claws grab his shoulders, “I, do you really wish this, with me? This was in so few timelines I assumedAH” he squirms adorably as Duck gropes the feathers of his chest.

“You better believe it, sugar. It’s the weirdest goddamn thing I ever wanted and I want it, want you, more than I’ve wanted anything in a long fuckin time.” Curious and eager to fill every one of his senses with Indrid, he buries his face against his upper chest, finds skin beneath all the camouflage and bites down. The hidebehind keens, pulling Duck from his seat into his lap. Duck laughs, bites down once more and gets a nose full of fluff.

“AhCHOO!” His eyes pop open on reflex after he sneezes, sending the hidebehind out of view and Duck flat on the ground.

“Blasted physiology” Indrid chirrs, frustrated.

Duck sits up, Indrid’s cries of pleasure ringing in his ears and giving him all kinds of reckless ideas.

“Don’t worry, darlin. If my hidebehind wants to romancin’, that’s what I’m gonna do.”

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

He takes to wearing a kerchief around his neck at work. The loggers and company pencil pushers assume it’s an affectation, not a tool for covering his eyes for some uninterrupted kisses while deep in the woods. Today, he’s not sure kisses will be enough.

Duck woke up hard, dream of Indrid looming above him in bed fading into the morning sun. His hidebehind has yet to show himself, so the humans mind has nothing but his fantasies to distract him on his trek through the woods.

He’s ahead on his tasks for the day. He’s five miles deep in the woods. And he’s got an idea.

After rinsing his hands with water from his canteen, he leans back against a tree and undoes his suspenders, followed by his fly. Closing his eyes, he slips his fingers into his underwear, teasing himself and sending soft moans into the air. It doesn’t take long before he’s wet enough to push two up into himself with ease.

“‘Drid” he gasps, letting his head loll back, “‘Drid, fuck, that feels so fuckin good.”

A single leaf crunches in front of him, and his kerchief slowly slides up his face to shield his eyes.

“It is about to feel much better, dear one.” Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Shall I take this shameless display as evidence that you wish for me to, ah, fuck you?”

“That it does. And I’ll have you know I got plenty of shaAAmeWHoah.” Duck flails as his pants fall down and his body flies up in one smooth motion. Indrids claws prick his thighs as he spreads them open, holding him against the trunk with ease.

“So very polite of my sweet one to prepare himself for me. It makes this all the easier.” A round, bumpy cock teases his folds, pressing in with a stretch that makes Duck twist in his lovers hold.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s so fucking good but holy fuck, are you packin a fuckin pine tree down thereOH, ohfuckdarlin, that’s, that’s as far as it’s gonna go.”

“Half of it? My, who knew my human could take so much? Wait, it is not too much, correct?”

“N-nope, just the right amount” the bumps rub every inch inside him, one on the shaft catching his cock as Indrid thrusts and wiggles his hips.

“Wonderful” Indrid purrs, “I have dreamed of this all dayAHnnncareful” he chides after Duck bites the part of his arm he’s able to reach, “or I shall take you so roughly your back will wear imprints of bark for days.”

Duck whimpers excitedly, very aware of thick pre-cum dripping into him, “Yeah lets do that.”

He can hear the grin.

“If you insist.”

“FUCKohfuckohfuck” his hands scrabble at the tree and at Indrid’s arms, “that’s it darlin, that’s it, fuck, gonna give you the best goddamn rub-down after this, touch you until your body forgets what it’s like to be without my fuckin hands on it.” Leaves scatter in his hair and down the back of his shirt as Indrids fucking turns frantic.

“I, I shall hold you to that AHhnn, sweet one, you are so tight, so deliciously slick and inviting, I, I am not going to last long, you are too perfect, just touching you makes me burn like wildfire” His thrusts sharpen, never pushing too deep but making Duck feel like a log split beneath an axe of ecstasy, “Duck, sweetheart, yes, yesyesyes” Indrid spills into him, cum running out of Ducks body and back down his shaft.

For a minute, Duck is nothing more than a pinned specimen, spread eagle on the tree as Indrid shudders, purrs, and drags fuzzy kisses along his throat. Then his shirt rides up as he slips down the tree, but Indrid doesn’t put him down. Instead, a rough tongue glides up one thigh and then the other. The human gasps, gripping Indrid’s horns for balance as Indrid buries his face between his legs.

“Ohhhhhh, oh I do so love tasting how we mingle together.” Indrid’s breath is ragged and hot against his dick, “I am going to do this every day.”

“Please” Duck squeezes his horns, his orgasm painfully close, “please ‘Drid, wanna cum on your tongue, want you holdin me up while I, I-ohfuck.” His legs kick weakly as Indrid sucks him off, tongue lavishing his cock with so much friction he goes hoarse from moaning. The fact he cannot see makes it all the better, makes his world nothing more than Indrids mouth, his claws, his desire that wraps around Duck like vines.

He cums, arching his hips into the “thank yous” Indrid presses to his legs.

When his boots touch the ground, deft claws begin pulling his clothes into order, Indrid kissing and caressing him as he does.

“Y’know, I can get my own britches up.” Duck ruffles a nearby patch of feathers.

“I know, but I wish to take care of you. Hidebehinds are attentive to our mates, and while I cannot build you a nest, and I can least clean you up after you let me do something so wonderful with you.”

Duck wraps his arms around the cryptid, resting his cheek against him, “Would you wanna do this, uh, wonderful somethin again?”

“Of course.”

The human smiles, reaches his hand up to stroke Indrids cheek. This means he feels the hidebehind smile when Duck says, “Glad to hear it. But I’ll have you know, one of these days I’m gonna expect a nest.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #reader request #trans duck newton

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Pure Blood 32 (Sirius Black x F!Oc)

A/N: Its feels so good to be back <3 -Val

Masterlist

Chapter 31 Chapter 33

If someone had told me that teaching James Potter was going to be like this from the beginning, I wouldn't have offered to help him. I wouldn't even have accepted his friendship.

"That doesn't make sense. You want me to ignore her, but I don't want to do that to her!"

I grunt and pull on my hair.

“It's not ignoring her. It's giving her space and not spending 24 hours breathing on her shoulder!"

"I don't do that!"

"That doesn't matter, James!" I yell, others start to stare around the Gryffindor common room.

"I told you it wouldn't be easy..." He mumbles.

"I didn't think you were such an idiot... Listen, once Lily agrees to be your girlfriend, you can be as clingy as you want, obviously she'll set the limits, but at least she'll no longer want to kill you like I want to,” I force a smile.

"Ok, explain again," He sighs.

“Stop harassing her, say good morning to her and go on with your day, if you meet her in the hallways– and no, you don't have to look for her, you just ask her how she's doing, if she decides to have a conversation, you follow, if not, you wish her the best and you leave. Same at dinner. Let her breathe."

"But it's so boring and at that rate she'll go out with me in ten years..." He complains, resting his arms on the table.

"You already have some advantage, you've spoken to her and met a little, now she must see that you have matured and that you can have a serious relationship–"

"I can do that!"

"Prove it."

"Anything else?"

“Save the compliments, at least for now. Just be simple."

"Good."

"Will you be okay tomorrow?"

"I hope so..."

***

Two weeks passed in which James followed my advice. And right now, in potions class, I smile every time Lily turns discreetly toward James.

"I can't believe it's working," Sirius says next to me.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Do you distrust your girlfriend's abilities?"

“I'm actually scared now. Who knows what you'll do in our relationship?"

"That's up to both of us and it depends on how you behave," I smile and kiss his cheek.

Class ends and I walk along with Sirius holding his hand.

"Good thing I didn't take the bet," says Remus catching up with us. "Lily's nervous..."

"Bet?"

"The three of us weren't so sure your plan would work, but the fact that James is listening to you made us change our minds," he explains.

The three of us stop before going to the great hall and James walks over.

"This is not working Persephone!"

I frown.

"What are you talking about?" The others also look at him confused.

“Now it's worse. Lily runs away from me and when I think she wants to talk, something happens and she runs as if I had some disease!"

I smile slightly and take his hand.

“Don't worry, everything is going well. You just have to be patient."

"I've waited six years..."

"Just a little more."

He grunts and nods.

Of all the students who pass us, I notice Regulus. Sirius notices it.

"Hey, you guys go ahead," he says to the others.

I frown and look at him.

"I spoke with Regulus," he tells me, surprising me. I never told him that I had talked to his brother.

"What? Why? What did he say?"

"Ok, calm down."

"Sirius," I threatened.

“I wanted to make sure my brother was… I don't know, okay? I was never able to send him letters, for obvious reasons, and when we came back to school he ignored me, but I found a way..."

"And?"

"It was a failure, and he has every right to be mad at me," He sighs. "He told me some things that Walburga forced him to do and all that..." He's silent for a few seconds. "Percy, last night I was thinking about what would happen if I came back? If I asked for forgiveness and take full responsibility…"

"I don't think it's that easy," I walk out of reach and he follows me.

“I know, but just imagine it. Maybe my parents will forget everything and I'll be the heir, I marry you… Regulus won't have to endure anything else. I've always been there for him, even when my parents got mad because I was sorted in Gryffindor, or all those times I tried to defend someone. He always came to me and we talked. Regulus was the one who scolded me the most for what I did to you, but he knows what to say and I'm just a selfish idiot…"

His chest rises and falls with heavy breathing. I stop him and cup his cheek.

“Sirius, I want to help him too. But taking the blame and wanting to do something that only hurts you is not the solution."

"Then what is?"

"I don't know," I shake my head. I feel a lump in my throat. "We can't always help everyone and less those who do not want to."

He leans in, his forehead against mine

"I want to get him out of there..."

"Me too," I sigh and close my eyes.

I slowly walk away and look at the boy in front of me. I wrap my arms around his neck and play with the little strands of hair that come out of his ponytail. He grabs my waist.

“I wish I could do something to keep Regulus with us, and you out of the reach of your family. Maybe the three of us in a small house..." I smile. "No school, no worries, just us in peace..."

"With James and the others on the weekends..."

"James married to Lily..."

"Remus telling us stories..."

"Peter cooking something for everyone..."

We both laugh at the thought.

"It's what we need."

***

When they say that the last year is faster, they are absolutely right. No more exams, now we can follow a quiet routine, at least inside Hogwarts.

Outside the chaos spreads and more and more Muggle or wizard families are disappearing. What worries the most are the reactions of others.

While some of us are afraid of what is happening, some smile and think that all victims deserve it.

Every time someone mentions any of that news, the atmosphere becomes tense and ends in fights.

The teachers don't want to tell us anything, after all, what can a group of teenagers do?

Just barely a week before Christmas break, Professor Dumbledore needs me in his office. When I arrive the marauders, Jenna, Lily and their friends are there too.

"What's going on?"

"Miss Singh, join the others, please" I obey.

The movements of the director on the other side of his desk are slow and meticulous. His always sweet and playful look is replaced by a serious one.

"I know you all have questions, unfortunately I cannot answer all of them," He walks to the side of his phoenix and caresses it slowly. "What I am about to tell you is confidential and it is vitally important that this only remains between us."

"Excuse me, professor," says Lily. “I don't think that's very encouraging. You took us out of class and now you're asking us to keep a secret. Sorry if I sound defensive, but I don't feel comfortable with all of this."

She is absolutely right and I am grateful someone said so. Because I have no idea whether to panic or ignore it. Dumbledore nods.

"I am aware of what is happening, I can easily read your expressions," he sighs, "I suppose you are all aware of the disappearances of both Muggle families and wizards."

"Do you know anything about that?" James asks and I tense my body.

Dumbledore nods again.

“I can't give you many details, I'm afraid, at least for now. However, the reason I brought you here together is that I have known you for almost seven years each, even if you think that teachers don't pay attention."

Sirius and I share a look.

“Therefore, I have the confidence to tell you about an organization. This is not official and we did not plan to tell you before everyone was of legal age, but the situation has worsened very quickly and I fear the worst..."

"What does that have to do with us, professor?"

“This organization aims to defeat the enemies guilty of all this chaos. I have spoken with the others and we agree that you can be of great help to make this happen."

"But we're just kids," adds Peter.

"That's the key, young Pettigrew."

My family comes to mind. I have no proof, but something tells me that they may be involved.

“For now, you cannot do more than gather information. Unfortunately, we are not the only ones who have rallied young people to be on their side. As soon as you graduate, we will tell you all the details and you can make the decision. We don't want to force anyone, but...” He gets up and watches us through his half-moon glasses. "You may be the solution."

Everything is silent for a few minutes, until McGonagall arrives and asks us to return to class.

"Miss Singh, may I have one more moment?" I nod. "I see that something else is bothering you, may I know what it is?"

Of all the people I could tell, I know that Dumbledore can be a great help. I know Sirius and the others know something, but they're just as lost as I am. Maybe someone older can help me.

"I don't think I can help much, professor."

"Why not?"

I frown.

"Do you know my family?"

He laughs slightly.

“Yes, I know them. Do you think they are involved in this?" I nod.

"And now I can't do much outside of school, they watch me."

“I am aware of that, Miss Singh. But that's why I'll give you time to think about it. I don't want to ask you to do things against your family, far from it. When this year is over, you will have your answer."

"How can you be so sure? How do you know that everything could work? If I accept and my family finds out, I could not bear the guilt and I don't want to be anyone's spy, I don't want to do any of that,”I say agitated.

Dumbledore sighs.

“Whatever your decision may be, I will personally help you with any problem you come across. You have my word,"

My eyes water.

It's not the answer to all my problems, but it is more than anyone could give me.

***

"You can't have chocolate cake for breakfast, P," Jenna scolds me.

"Sure I can, watch" I take a piece with my fork, but another hand takes it away.

"She's right," Remus says, pushing my fork away.

I pout.

"I wasn't going to eat just that," I lie.

"Here, " continues Jenna putting a plate with pumpkin soup in front of me.

"But I don't want soup..."

"That's the condition, don't be a child!" says Remus.

"Fine," I give up.

"Who would say that now they scold you even for eating?" Sirius scoffs next to me.

"It's not the only time. Only merlin knows how many days I had to hide my chocolates so that you could eat something else..."

"Ha…"

Sirius makes a face.

"Uh, Persephone," Lily tells me a few seats away.

"Yes?"

"What did you do now?"

"Another scolding? And now why?"

"You tell me, everyone is watching you," I raise my head and confirm what the redhead says.

I don't remember anything... at least something bad.

"Is it because she's with Sirius?" Marlene asks.

"I don't think so..."

At that, several owls enter the castle. I don't receive any, as usual, but something that worries me is that the accusing looks continue and some point to me, then see a white paper in their hands.

"Oh no," Jenna whispers and I notice she has a black envelope. "This is not good…"

She opens it and with her shaking hands takes out a white paper. She reads it and I see her pale. When she's done, she watches me.

"I, uh..." She hands me the paper.

I take it and read the italicized words.

The wedding of the century.

The great heirs of the most important families of the wizarding world Walburga and Orion Black along with Ares and Amelia Singh, have the honor to send this invitation:

You are cordially invited to the union between Regulus Arcturus Black and Persephone Amelia Singh.

The ceremony will take place in the summer of the following year at the great Black Mansion.

Taglist

@treestarrrrrrrr @siriuslysirius1107 @thagreenmoon @madmaiden2890 @msella @avipshamitra @auroraawrites @findzelda @lizlil @siriusmuch @chloe-geoghegan1 @reverse-hxlland @may-rapp @the-specific-oceans @eveft @secret-obsessions

@xkonpinkx

@littledeadgirlwalking

@yunloyal

@bloodorangemoonlight

#Pure Blood is back #Pure Blood #Sirius Black #Sirius Black x reader #Persephone Singh #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Regulus black #Harry Potter fanfic #Lily Evans #twoidiots writing

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

#batfamily #batfam #fanfic commission #sickfic #jason todd #red hood #batman #bruce wayne #robin #batman and robin #fanfiction #fanfic

77 notes · View notes

kmomof4 · 4 years

Text

Of Darkness, Vampires, and Soulmates Ch. 4 Escape and Capture

Annnnnnnd we’re back, y'all!!! Okay, I’ve got good news and bad news. So we’ll do the bad news first. This chapter is gonna hurt. Sorry, not sorry. It really is necessary. I promise. Please don’t yell at me too hard. And now for the good news! It’s the last overall chapter that hurts! There will still be painful stuff to read, but the chapters will be happy after this one! How about that? Can you hang with me through one more? Please? Thank you all so much for all the love you’ve shown this fic!!! I cannot BEGIN to tell you how much it means!!!

@profdanglaisstuff deserves all the love and good things the world has to offer for her outstanding beta services and for holding my hand, bailing me out, and listening to me whine during the writing of this thing. @hollyethecurious deserves the same because as one of my dearest friends she got the lions share of the whining for MONTHS on end. To the ladies of the CSSNS and CSMM discords, I would have given up without y’all’s encouragement, plus y'all helped with selecting a title. And finally, to @spartanguard who has brought me to tears every week with her GORGEOUS artwork to accompany this fic! Thank you, ladies, from the bottom of my heart!!!

Chapter Summary: An unpleasant surprise at Versailles puts Killian's well laid plans in jeopardy.

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: 4.2K of 41K total

Tags: Vampires, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Prophecy, Black Death, French Revolution, Magic, True Loves Kiss

Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ao3 chapter link | Ao3 fic link

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

Rumplestiltskin arrived in Versailles at the height of summer. Magic disguised his true form from the eyes of the aristocracy that gathered this night in a garish display of pomp and splendor. His eyes scanned the ballroom before him before they landed on his quarry. The tall, raven haired vampire’s eyes met his own from his place on the ballroom floor.

The sire connection he shared with Killian was something that he could tap in to at any time to find his progeny and make his life miserable. It had been several decades since he had last sought out his offspring, and he felt it was time to up the stakes of their encounters. In the past, unleashing disease near his location, or even on his ship, or sending magical storms for him to battle had been his favorite tactics with which to bedevil him. By no means however, were they they only tactics he employed. But now, he sought his person. He desired to ascertain exactly how he was living, how he was making his living, what kind of social standing he had, who, if anyone, he cared about, enabling him to swoop in and take it all away.

Blue eyes flashed red with surprise when they met his own dark irises. He couldn’t help the delighted grin that broke from his thin lips as their gazes broke momentarily when Killian turned on the dancefloor. Eyes locking again, images paraded themselves across his mind, images that he didn’t recognize right away. Images of a chateau within a green valley, a family gathered for a meal with his progeny among them, a blonde haired child running through tall grass.

A manic giggle bubbled up as he realized exactly what was happening. Eye contact between them opened the corridors of their minds. This was the first time since he had created the much younger vampire that they had been in each other's physical presence, so this was the first time that this had ever occurred. In the brief moments that their eyes held, he saw everything that he needed to know about the life that his offspring now led. He saw the people that were important to him. Including the young woman that he now danced with. Perhaps she would be suitable for his next victim, he mused as he continued to scan the room until his gaze landed on the other woman from the visions he was privy to.

She also watched his quarry as he twirled his partner around the floor that gleamed and glowed with the light of what must be a thousand candles. Her eyes shone with undisguised joy as the young couple danced before she leaned toward one of the other women in the small circle that surrounded her talking and gesticulating animatedly.

The music swelled toward the climax, drawing his attention back toward the couple on the dance floor. His eyes narrowed just as Killian briefly turned his way again, but avoided looking directly at him before he could capture and hold his gaze, trying to delve even deeper into the mind of his greatest triumph. He decided at that point to make his way over to the other woman. If, as he suspected, she was anyone of importance to Killian, that would only be advantageous to his cruel designs.

He straightened himself up to his full height and strolled, twirling his cane ahead of him, toward the group of women he had spied earlier. The eyes of his target landed on him and a light blush spread on her cheeks. He knew that in terms of good looks, he didn’t hold a candle to someone like Killian, but he wasn’t unattractive by any stretch of the imagination. His attire and bearing, along with a little magic, combined to give him an air of refinement and mystery. A combination that he was sure she’d find hard to resist. And if she did resist, he could always use his powers of compulsion on her. He smirked as her companions melted away as he made his way to her side.

“Rumple von Stiltskin,” he began, bowing over her raised hand and brushing his lips along her gloved knuckles, “Your servant, Madame.”

“Monsieur, welcome to Versailles.” She smiled demurely at him. “I am Vicomtesse Desmoulins.”

“Ahhh, forgive me,” he replied, with a small bow, “May I have this dance, Vicomtesse?”

“Of course,” she replied, placing her hand in his own as the music began again. He led her out to the floor as he saw his true target escort his lady off of the floor and away from him. Rumplestiltskin’s jaw clenched and his vision went red in fury briefly before he was able to bring himself back under control, just as his partner turned toward him and curtseyed. He bowed before drawing her into his arms.

~*~*~

“You are a wonderful dancer, Monsieur.” Rumple spun the woman in his arms with a smile.

“Thank you, Madame,” he replied, drawing her close again.

Her gaze became sultry. “Oh please, Monsieur,” she cooed, “Call me Cora.”

“Then you must call me Rumple.” He could feel every part of her lined up with him. He couldn’t pretend that he wouldn’t mind taking her to bed. “Tell me about yourself, Cora. I saw you watching a young couple earlier. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the beauty of your smile as they danced.”

Her seductive gaze turned soft. “My daughter and her suitor. He’s been a guest of my family since before we arrived.”

“I see,” he murmured. “They are a handsome couple.”

“Indeed,” she agreed. “He is the Prince d’Épinoy, and a sea captain. His name is Killian and he’s been courting my Regina since he arrived in our home about four months ago. I’m hopeful that he’ll be approaching my husband soon seeking her hand. Of course, we’d be delighted to grant our blessing to the match. My daughter as the Princesse d’Epinoy? It is all that I’ve ever dreamed for her!”

“Well, I certainly hope that it comes to pass as you wish.” The wheels in his head were already turning. Regina would do quite nicely as his next target, just as he had suspected. And through that connection, further harass his offspring. He caught the eye of his progeny for just a split second as he and Regina returned to the ballroom floor. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long enough to delve any more deeply into Killian’s mind than what he already had.

He watched them surreptitiously as the evening continued. Killian was obviously aware of what had happened earlier, and so was diligent in avoiding eye contact with his sire. So diligent, in fact, that Rumple couldn’t help but wonder if there was something even more important that his progeny was trying to keep hidden from his sight.

He couldn’t disguise his delight at the obvious agitation emanating from Killian. The tension in his bearing was extremely satisfying to witness, as well as the clenching of his jaw whenever he caught Rumple looking in their direction. His and his lady’s breaks from the dance floor were also more frequent and lasted longer as the evening continued.

The last time Killian and Regina left the floor, Rumple maneuvered Cora in their direction, hoping to overhear some of their conversation.

“Perceptive, darling,” Killian murmured. “Yes, keep away from him.” He shot a look in his direction filled with warning, presumably borne out of protectiveness that almost made Rumple giggle in delight. “I don’t know what he wants with your mother, but given the way she’s been looking at him all night, I believe she is thoroughly smitten. We must be on our guard and protect ourselves from his influence. It is probably too late for your mother.”

“Is there anything we can do to avoid that? Anything we can do to help her?”

“Be aware,” he continued. “I’ve had many dealings with him over the years, and simply being aware of what he can do and the tactics he uses is the best defense against him. For her, I doubt it.” Hearing that little tidbit was enough to fill him with a keen satisfaction that he didn’t bother to try and hide as he continued to dance with the Vicomtesse. He may not be able to seduce Regina now that she’d been adequately warned against him coupled with Killian’s proximity, but he could still use his proximity to Cora to torment his offspring, both here at Versailles and back at their home when they inevitably returned to plan a wedding in the coming months.

And that, he thought, is when I’ll make his entire world crash around him. Again.

~*~*~

Rumple rolled off Cora, sweaty, sated, and licking her blood from his lips before turning back toward her. He knew that she had something to tell him. She was nearly trembling with excitement when she arrived in his chamber. Before she had had a chance to tell him, however, their passion got the better of them.

Gathering her in his arms again and placing a gentle opened mouth kiss on her pulse point sealing the wound there, he murmured, “What is it, my love? I know that something has happened. You are nearly vibrating out of your skin. And not only from my attentions.”

A low moan escaped her as she let her head fall to the side, granting him better access as he continued kissing along her jaw. “Yes, Rumple,” she breathed, “You know me so well. Killian has finally approached Henry and asked for Regina’s hand. We leave for home tomorrow.”

She pushed him away and looked him in the eye. “Come with us. I can’t live without you, Rumple.”

Rumple leaned back in placing another kiss on her pulse point. “Of course I will, Cora. Anything I can do to make this time easier for you, be sure that I will.”

“The wedding will take place at Noël.” Her eyes filled with tears with a rough inhale.

He gathered her closer before speaking. “What’s wrong, my darling. You should be happy.”

“Oh, I am!” she exclaimed. “I just can’t believe how blessed I am.” A barking sob escaped her. “My daughter is to be married,” she looked up at him, desire simmering in her eyes, “I have you. What else could I ask for?”

Rumple let his desire for her fill his eyes as he felt his member stir and he settled himself between her legs again. “Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing.”

~*~*~

The wedding date was drawing near. The family along with Killian and Rumple had been back at the Chateau Havre-de-brume for about a month when the news that Killian and Regina were anxiously awaiting finally arrived.

They were all seated at dinner when his groomsman, formerly his First Mate on board ship, William Smee, whispered in his ear that an urgent message had arrived for him. He replied and returned to the meal and company before him. At the conclusion of the meal, he rose from the table, holding out his hand for Regina to accompany him. He couldn’t help but notice the wide smile on the face of his hostess and the evil smirk he perceived on the downcast profile of his sire as they left the formal dining room.

He hurried her along the hall toward the doors to the gardens. Once they were outside and beyond the hearing of anyone within, he gave a sharp whistle and Smee emerged from the shadows.

“Thank you, Smee,” he said, taking the folded sheet of paper his first mate held out to him. “Stay close for a few moments, please.”

The man bowed. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, before withdrawing slightly.

Killian’s eyes scanned over the missive, before he raised his face to look at his companion. “Everything is in readiness.” Regina forcefully released the breath she’d been holding as he read.

She placed her hand on her chest and her eyes fell shut at his news. Killian released a small chuckle. “Smee,” he motioned the other man over, “find the stable master and inform him to be ready at midnight on the morrow. We’re getting away from here.” Smee gave a sharp little bow and scurried away into the night.

“Killian,” she breathed, “I have no words adequate…” she trailed away. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart!” Breaking all decorum, she threw herself into his arms. Killian stumbled back with a small chuckle at her exuberance.

“You are quite welcome, milady,” he replied, releasing her with a small smile. “It does my heart good to have a hand, however small, in someone else's happiness.” His eyes softened as he gazed on the glowing countenance of the woman before him. “Now, as far as the journey is concerned, take with you only what you need for the road. It will take three days hard riding to get to Marseille where my ship is docked. You will need to travel light. We need to get a good head start on your mother. Once she discovers that you’ve gone, she will spare no expense to find you and bring you home.”

“My home is wherever Daniel is,” she interrupted.

He smiled gently at her. “Of course,” he agreed. “Once we’re away from here, we’ll travel along the smuggling lines I use as a pirate captain to get goods sold and delivered on the black market.” Regina’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he made his revelations. He raised his eyebrow at her. “Part of the dark things I’ve done that could prove advantageous to someone in your situation,” he reminded her, pointedly. Regina’s cheeks flushed red as she looked at the ground.

“Our first stop will be with a, ahh, friend of mine. Her name is Ariel.” Regina couldn’t hide her smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.” He smirked right back at her. “She was once a part of my crew. Until she fell in love with a captured sailor we had on board. She and her husband are now a part of the underground network that I use for smuggling.”

“From there, I’ll send a missive back to the chateau expressing my heartbreak at your betrayal by running away with the stable master. Along with my speculation that you could be trying to escape to Wurtemburg, across the Rhine. That will send her in the opposite direction from where we are traveling and unless she has some kind of connection in England, it wouldn’t occur to her to search for you there. You will be free.”

“We can only hope,” she murmured. “And you can marry us, once we’re out to sea?”

“As Captain of the Jolly Roger, I can indeed, milady,” he assured her, bowing over her hand that he’d taken in his own while he spoke. “And now, it is time for us both to retire. We have much to prepare for our journey.”

“Of course,” she murmured, taking his arm. He led her back inside the chateau and along the corridors until they arrived at her chambers.

“Until tomorrow, Regina.” He bowed low, kissing her hand, before taking his leave as she entered her room.

Walking along the deserted hallways to his own chamber, his mind ran over exactly what the coming days and weeks would hold for him. Getting Regina and Daniel out of France would present no problem. The underground network he spoke of was well tended and quite healthy. They would have access to adequate provisions and be able to rest sufficiently as they made the journey. Once they arrived at the Jolly, it would only take about a week to get to England. A bag of gold and putting them in touch with his contacts in Portsmouth would be more than enough for the young couple to establish a new life for themselves far from Cora and the machinations of Rumplestiltskin. The thought that he had a hand in helping the young people start a better life, a happier life, together lifted the cloak of self-loathing that he still wore, even after all these years. It was another step in the right direction, toward the more honorable life he wanted to live now that he’d found his golden haired Swan. Hopefully, getting Regina out of Rumplestiltskin’s reach and keeping his own distance from the family until Emma had the chance to grow up, would draw the monster away from them and ensure her safety. He would return in a few years to hopefully court and marry Emma. He uttered a quiet prayer for his golden haired Swan and the rest of her family as he crawled into bed.

~*~*~

Paris, January 1794

Killian awoke in the filth of his prison cell within the Bastille with more hope than he had had in a long time. He had arrived back in France last fall and had been arrested for piracy before he ever got to the Chateau Havre-de-brume to ascertain the well being of Emma and her family in the midst of the Reign of Terror.

He had maintained a correspondence with the Vicomtesse over the years ever since that first letter he sent when Regina and Daniel had escaped. Once he had gotten them to safety, he had traveled to the Americas and the Caribbean making even more of a fortune smuggling than he already had. It was through those letters that he knew not only of her heartbreak at Regina’s disappearance and betrayal plus Rumplestilstkin’s desertion, but also the rising danger to the nobility of France. His plan to draw his sire away from the family had obviously been successful. But as the peril mounted over the last few years, and he saw no sign of the monster in any of his travels, he began to suspect that Rumplestiltskin himself was behind the rising threat. He would not be at all surprised if he was the one behind the wholesale slaughter of the nobility for no other reason than to create chaos and mayhem as well as draw himself and possibly Regina out. If he knew his sire, the demon couldn’t abide leaving anyone of the Desmoulins family alive, knowing how much they meant to him. And if he got to kill thousands of others in the process, so much the better.

It was only last fall that he had been able to return to France to try and get the family to the safety of England. He planned to arrive at the chateau and smuggle the family out exactly as he had for Regina and Daniel eight years before. Unfortunately, his arrest had put a stop to those plans. Smee had been fortunate to avoid capture and had been able to keep him apprised of developments in getting Emma and her family out of France. He could have used his powers of persuasion and compulsion on his captors, but if his sire was behind all this, he would be expecting it, first of all, and would be keeping watch on the family in order to capture him again as well as giving him an excuse to kill them all. Keeping himself away from them could only keep them safe, and he could arrange for their escape from here just as well as getting them out himself. Once he received word that the plan was in motion, he would make his escape and meet them at Ariel and Eric’s.

The night before, word had finally come that the family Desmoulins were on their way to safety. When the literal garbage that passed for breakfast was brought to him, he would use his powers to get his guard to open the door of his cell and release him.

Before that happened however, a different set of guards arrived at his cell.

~*~*~

Killian looked around at the room he found himself in when the bag covering his head was removed. It was every bit as splendid as the ballroom in Versailles with gold plating on the walls reflecting the rising sun and rich blue draperies pulled back from the floor to ceiling windows every few feet. An unholy giggle sounded behind him that sent a chill down his spine.

“Leave us.”

He refused to turn. He now knew exactly who was the instigator of the hysteria that had gripped all of France. He now knew the true reason why he had been arrested. He now knew why his eyes had been covered when he was brought here. And he also knew that Rumplestiltskin had brought him here for a reason.

“What? No greeting?” He could hear almost dancing footsteps on the marble floor underneath his feet as his greatest enemy entered his peripheral.

“What is it you want, Crocodile?” he snarled.

“Oh, I think you know the answer to that,” the monster purred. The demon stood before him, no magic disguising his true appearance this time. Another giggle escaped his lips as he backed away. “I wanted to be the one to tell you in person that you are free to go.”

“Free to go, hmm?” he asked. If his hands had been free, he would have made a show of tapping his finger on his chin, just as the demon had done before turning him centuries ago. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Yet another giggle burst from the cursed creature before him. “Because you know me too well, Dearie!” he cackled, clapping his hands delightedly. “Come, come! I want you to see something.”

When he didn’t move, the fiend waved his hand and transported him to the balcony overlooking the guillotine set up in the square. Magic transformed Rumplestiltskin back into the swave, debonair gentleman that he had masqueraded as back at Versailles all those years ago. He took his place at his side and with a loud voice announced that beginning the day's executions would be not just members of the aristocracy, but also criminals caught in the act of trying to protect those traitors. A loud cheer, bordering on madness, rose from the gathered crowd.

Just as when the beast had turned him, he was frozen in place, forced to watch as Smee ascended the platform and was pushed to his knees. He could see silent tears falling down the man's cheeks as his head was placed under the blade. Thankfully, this time, he was able to shut his eyes against the sight of his first mate meeting his end. Some small mercy that he had not received when Liam died.

He opened his eyes again when the cheer rose from the crowd. From where he stood on the balcony, he could see the red cap Smee was never seen without covering the head in the basket. Blood tears filled his eyes as the guilt for his friend’s death crashed down on him. In moments the body had been taken away and Eric and then Ariel were led to take their places under the blade.

Just as he thought he couldn’t take anymore, Henry and then Cora was executed. Cora caught sight of him and Rumplestiltskin and her screams for either one of them to save her filled the square. Killian knew that he would forever be haunted by the abrupt silence when the deadly instrument claimed her life before the crowd erupted again.

Finally, his Emma was led onto the platform. At only 18 years old, she had fully grown into the beauty he had seen only whispers of when he knew her as a child, and that she was just beginning to show when he knew her in London over a century ago. The blood tears trailed down his face as she was forced to her knees and her head placed in position. One last time, he was able to shut his eyes against the horror of his golden haired Swan losing her life to the scourge of the guillotine. His sire was so transfixed by the violence and pandemonium he had fostered, that he seemed oblivious to the small gift Killian had received in being able to close his eyes against the horror before him.

Once his Emma was dead, he was released from his magical imprisonment. He fell to his knees as a keening wail burst from him. He couldn’t lift his eyes to look on the face of his nemesis, but he could feel the rush of magic and see the change in attire on the legs and feet before him.

“Well, that was fun,” the monster quipped, as Killian’s wails began to subside. With a bellowing snarl, Killian lunged for the beast, but the creature disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

Alone now in his grief, Killian remained where he was for some time before he was able to pull himself together. He straightened up to his full height and walked from the balcony and down into the square. Iron resolve rose in him to help others get out of France to safety. Since he wasn’t able to save Emma and her family, he would honor her memory by doing everything in his power to thwart Rumplestiltskin and his schemes. If he could help just one, it would be worth it.

And next time, when he recognized the soulmate connection, he’d find her again and never let her go.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing. Please don’t yell at me too hard. *Runs and hides*

#cssns20 #krystal writes #of darkness vampires and soulmates #ch4 #art by spartanguard

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vulturhythm · 4 years

Note

1/2 I have an angsty idea (BTW, this is Tristan and Iseult anon - I'm so flattered you wanted to give me a nickname! If you still want to, Skyleen is good since that's what I've been using on AO3). Anyway, my idea isn't too unique from what you've already posted because what you do you do so well and I like it so much). It revolves around Jaskier being horribly sick/poisoned and Geralt desperately trying to find a cure - maybe it's something specific, like a near-extinct herb or the heart of

... heart of the beast that originally poisoned him, but in any case it's really hard to get and Geralt has to go on a lot of dangerous journeys in search of it. Meaning he has leave Jaskier behind (it's a conveniently prolonged illness). And he keeps failing. He keeps going out on any tips, even the most unlikely, brutalizing himself for a few days/weeks trying to kill monsters/please mages/bribe kings/capture demons or whatever he thinks he needs to do, but he always comes home empty handed...

... and Jaskier's always sicker, weaker, worse when he comes back. He'll spend a few days with him, caring for him, loving him, pleading with him to stay strong, before preparing to head out again. And eventually Jaskier realizes nothing is going to work. Even if Geralt did find something, the illness has progressed so far it wouldn't do any good. So he asks Geralt to stop. Stop hunting, stop risking his own life, stop leaving and just stay with him until the end. And Geralt can't.

Can't give up, can't face losing Jaskier, can't accept (what he sees as) Jaskier losing faith in him. So he goes out again, and again. Eventually, the disease and despair break at Jaskier until he clings, begs Geralt not to leave him, and Geralt does anyway, using his greater strength to remove Jaskier's hands from his arms, clothes, hair, Jaskier's cries echoing worse than any curses from Blaviken. On the last trip, he finds the cure. Having lost his horse to some calamity, he *runs* back...

... to Jaskier, full tilt, past even a witcher's stamina and returns to wherever they've been holed up incoherent with exhaustion and fear. Is he too late? What do you think? (Also, thank you for writing such lovely angst! I think it's the best way to get the love out).

thank you so, so much for sending me this beautifully tragic idea! i do hope this is up to your standards.

- - - - -

i won’t let you die

sorceresses are wretched things.

this is an opinion geralt has formed over a fucking century of enduring their treachery and their torment and their taunting, all the times he’s fallen into bed with one be damned. those times were fucking meaningless when compared to the love he found in jaskier.

meaningless, worthless, pointless - and now, looking back, he fucking hates himself for them.

he hates himself, for it was a sorceress whose rage when denied geralt’s aid in the coup of a crumbling kingdom was unmatched - whose rage led her to curse the bard at geralt’s side, merely fucking standing there, not even doing a damn thing.

he wasn’t doing a goddamn thing.

geralt is snarling, spitting, cursing, demanding an explanation, a cure -

the sorceress drops dead, an arrow through her skull, shot from the ramparts of the castle ahead, and, well.

geralt knows when he isn’t welcome.

he pulls jaskier away, runs from the city square, pulls his bard along through the seething, screaming, rioting crowd.

at first, geralt thinks the curse was maybe just as simple as the little rash that pops up on jaskier’s skin within they hour, as they walk away and leave the kingdom behind.

(it will be decimated by week’s end.)

he learns quickly he is wrong when jaskier doubles over and vomits on the trail.

there’s blood amongst the bile.

geralt’s heart seizes.

he pushes roach hard, hard, hard to the next town over, one where the healer and the mage are one and the same.

“it’s a disease,” the man tells them, and there’s sympathy in his eyes and something sort of like relief in jaskier’s, but - “and it’s one that can’t be cured.”

geralt knows he can never forget the fear that crossed jaskier’s face.

worse, later, is the resignation.

“geralt - “

“i know. i won’t let you die.”

he goes to yennefer next, even though to see her face is to grimace inside.

it’s been a week, and the rash has spread, and jaskier complains of stomach pains daily, even when he hasn’t eaten, even hours before he vomits blood.

yennefer takes one look at geralt before her gaze slides to the bard at his side, and she sighs, and motions them inside.

they learn nothing more.

“incurable,” she says, and if geralt didn’t know full well her loathing of jaskier, he would think she sounded... apologetic. “he’s got two years at best, likely less.”

“there has to be something -“

“geralt. i can’t do a thing.”

“geralt, surely someone will know... a - a different sorceress, a mage...”

“i won’t let you die.”

they go to another mage next, one tucked away in the depths of a town from which geralt has long since been banned.

it’s here that, finally, they get something - a name, a cause.

“it’s eating away at him,” says the old mage, “from the inside out. it’s an ancient thing - dark magic, as dark as i’ve seen. they say... well.”

“what?” geralt snarls, his grip on jaskier’s arm only tightening when his bard sways closer against his side.

“dragon heart, they say. little more than theory, but - “

and just like that, geralt is out the door, jaskier close behind.

“you can’t go after a dragon alone - “

“i won’t let you die.”

jaskier is weaker.

the rash has become boils here and there, on the backs of his hands and arms and shoulders, and he can no longer play the lute without pain.

as much as it tears geralt apart to leave him behind, he does.

he leaves jaskier at home in corvo bianco, begs their nearest neighbors to drop in, keep him well...

swears to come back alive.

“promise me you’ll come back if it’s a false lead - “

“i won’t let you die.”

he slays the dragon, a fierce red thing far up north, slices out its heart and carries it back to blaviken tied to roach’s haunches.

the old mage is waiting, ancient tomes and tablets and scrolls open on every surface, herbs and plants and monster pieces on top of and among it all.

“if this is right,” says the mage, “it’ll be violet at the end, but, well,” he amends, as he checks a scroll, “translating these have been next to impossible,” he admits, as he slices off a section of the heart, “and it might not - “

the broiling mixture in the cauldron turns a horrid, bloody red when the heart is dropped inside.

geralt feels nothing but dread.

“geralt, you can’t possibly kill enough dryads in time -“

“i won’t let you die.”

the second time he leaves from corvo bianco, he leaves jaskier in pain.

the boils are becoming lesions, and the bloody bile is a daily occurrence, and his singing voice is all but gone.

geralt sets off for the forests, and, well...

he slays fifteen of the forest nymphs, and he feels guilt biting at the back of his throat each time he shaves bark from the dead dryads’ trees, but jaskier’s red and bleeding skin is at the forefront of his mind.

the potion goes gray this time, deep and dull and dreadful, and geralt wants to scream.

jaskier is coughing now.

geralt stays home for a week, mourns the loss of jaskier’s warmth in his arms, for his bard cannot bear the touch of another’s on his sore and blistering and bleeding skin.

it pains him to see, and yet...

he cannot rest.

he leaves at week’s end, the edges of the world on his mind.

“geralt, please, just stay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

twenty tongues of elven warriors.

geralt sees the hatred, the betrayal, the disgust in filavandrel’s eyes as he slaughters those that remain.

he sees it tenfold when he slays the elven king where he stands.

he sees it in the surface of the river when he crouches down to wash his skin free of blood, reflected in his own eyes when he does his best to clean his own wounds.

he sees it in the washed-out green the cauldron’s contents turn.

he sees it in jaskier’s eyes when he returns home, tells him of the fall of the elves... tells him of the new scars upon his back.

“please, my wolf, stay behind this time...”

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of demon.

five new claw marks across his jaw.

jaskier cannot stand without doubling over in the worst fit of blood-splattering coughing geralt has ever witnessed.

the potion is black.

“geralt, it’s okay - “

“i won’t let you die.”

flesh of the one cursed before first breath.

a night in a crypt, a broken wrist, a gash on the flank.

jaskier’s eyes are bloodshot and his voice is frail. he cannot walk alone.

the potion is teal.

“geralt, please, if you love me - “

“i won’t let you die.”

eye of the beast upon the highest throne.

a king slain, a kingdom out for his blood, an arrowhead through the shoulder and a ribcage of splintered bone.

jaskier is bedridden.

the potion is gold.

“geralt, my love, *please,* i beg of you - “

“i won’t let you die.”

fang of the lycanthrope.

scar across the chest.

white.

“the cure doesn’t exist, geralt, stay home - “

“i won’t let you die.”

sting of the manticore.

wounded in the side.

bronze.

“it won’t ever work, my love, please let me die in your arms - “

“i won’t let you die.”

vessel of the djinn.

broken, battered, bruised.

charcoal.

at the end of the fifteenth month, geralt leaves his beloved behind for the last time.

he leaves jaskier coughing, choking, begging, grabbing for his arms, his hands, anything to keep him close -

grabbing for him despite the wounds geralt and the healers have done their best to keep bound -

begging for him despite the way his voice is all but gone -

sobbing for him despite the way he can barely even breathe -

but geralt draws away, shakes his head, whispers one last time, “i won’t let you die.”

he can hear his bard’s sobs well beyond the walls of their home.

twenty nine days.

wyvern, harpy, dwarf, virgin, cockatrice, gryphon, chimera, basilisk, leshen...

vampire, succubus, drowner, kikimora, barghest...

the monsters blur together after so long - after so much of his blood spilled.

geralt is growing weak, growing tired -

growing slow.

and then, one day -

one day, he stumbles as he walks back into the mage’s tower, stumbles and catches himself on the edge of the cauldron, and -

and his blood, the blood that’s fucking covering from melitele only knows how many fucking cuts and gashes and scrapes and gouges -

his blood drips from his palm, from his wrist, from his fingertips, and it falls into the cauldron -

and the concoction of herbs and roots and flowers and bones and brains and heartstrings and feathers and stones and blood, it -

it turns deep, vibrant violet, and -

and geralt goes still.

he’s never pushed roach as hard as he does that day, the next day, the next...

it’s the third day when a group of highwaymen cross his path, when they fire at him from the hillside, when a crossbow bolt strikes roach through the sockets of her eyes, and -

and geralt tears them all down without an instant of hesitation, and he pauses to mourn the loss of his cherished companion, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and geralt runs.

his legs ache and his lungs burn and his ribs feel as though they may shatter again from the strain, and he is bleeding, and he is dying, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he loses track of the days and of how many times he trips and falls and of how many times he drops to his knees and then to the ground -

and still he runs.

i can’t let him die.

geralt feels as though he may collapse by the time he stumbles against the doors of corvo bianco, but still he moves,

still he pushes on,

pushes the door open and almost falls inside, and -

and he cannot breathe, and his vision is hazy, and he knows that he’s gone too far, but -

but jaskier is waiting, and -

and he steps through the doors of the room they’ve shared for so many long and perfect years, and -

and he reaches into his pocket for the vial of antidote, and -

and he looks up, and he goes still.

the vial falls to the floor.

geralt lurches the few steps to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, reaches out to touch the back of a cold, cold hand, closed tight about a scrap of parchment he can’t bring himself to acknowledge.

he lowers his edge to the mattress, and he breathes in, and he breathes out, and...

and at last, the witcher is still.

geralt,

my beloved, i have kept alive as long as i can. i have spent my life at your side, and there isn’t a day of it that i would have changed.

my only regret is that i did not die in your arms.

i love you.

live well.

#answered asks #skyleen #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #gerlion #my fics #character death #don’t break out the pitchforks #you asked for this #it’s not on me this time

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reynesofcastamere · 4 years

Text

Surface Breach(1/3)[β]

(A/N: Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait on this one. I went back and forth a LOT on which direction I wanted to take this in. and both the weather and irl things have not been cooperating with my muse. X_X. Anyway, the prompt for this was ‘Ahsoka completely breaking down and Maul comforting her’. Sequel to ‘Pressure Points’, so set about 2-3 years after ROTS with circumstances being closer to canon. Warnings for: Non-consensual abduction, emotional manipulation, possessive behaviour, intrusive thoughts, violent outbursts, violation of physical autonomy/boundaries, mentions of possible body modification/invasion of privacy, major character death and some internalized shame regarding sex and sexual practices. Once again, potentially triggering sections have been marked off with ‘****’. Unbeta’d.)

Ahsoka...drifts for an uncertain amount of time. She gets vague impressions of eating and performing other necessities as if through a thick haze. There’s a...person who helps her with these things. Someone with warm hands(which are very appreciated, wherever she is, it’s cold) and a low, pleasant voice that she could curl up and listen to for hours. Mostly she sleeps, deep and untroubled by nightmares or immediate concerns. When she comes to, there’s an overwhelming grogginess and a slight chemical tang on her tongue that she only gets from prolonged bacta treatment. Not full tank immersion, but there are a fair amount of patches stuck to her skin under the loose robe she’s currently wearing. Peeling them off carefully, she finds that most of the bruising and other marks that covered her body-like a tribute to poor decisions- are either gone or greatly reduced. And she doesn’t feel...sore in any tender places. Kind of a welcome change. Which now brings up the question of Where the kriff am I and how long have I been here?

Ahsoka catalogues her surroundings: Simple bed, storage unit, two doors presumably leading to a refresher and an outside corridor. It’s very...bare. Easily left behind or packed up. Whoever is staying here doesn’t plan to do so for long. She finds her lightsabres, clothes, and armour in the top drawer, and her boots placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Only when she is nearly finished getting dressed does she take out a long, even strip of black fabric. For a moment, she thinks that there must have been an error of some kind, until the memories of her most recent slip-up rush in like floodwater through a broken dam. There’s a hot, tight feeling in her gut that balances precariously between desire and shame. Maul has an obsessive personality. She knows this. So why am I encouraging this disaster by-Ahsoka can’t even finish the thought. It makes her sick. And so very angry. She’d made the mistake of seeking him out for something other than business, and he had flat-out abducted her. Any number of people or her objectives could be in danger right now. Her fingers fumble slightly on her wrist-comm as she checks it for tampering. Still functional. She’ll have to disassemble her equipment later, to ensure there aren’t any tracking chips or other unwelcome additions.

He might have embedded something in me while I was under. It rattles her, not remembering, not knowing what Maul could have done, given the opportunity. And he’s close. Even with apprehension curdling in her veins, she can tell that much. Slipping the blindfold into a pocket, she pulls her boots on and pauses for a moment in front of the door. So. Time to find out whether she’s a prisoner or a...’guest’. It opens seamlessly, and she almost gives a sigh of relief. Until she realizes that it leads directly into his office. Ahsoka steps through into a moderate, dimly-lit space. The glow from the screen of the datapad he’s perusing throws Maul’s left side into sharp relief. “Sit.” No need to guess whom he’s addressing, or that he expects to be obeyed. And as there are no other chairs in the room -besides the one he’s currently occupying-, her options are limited. She folds her arms and prepares to stand her ground, only to find herself pulled forward. There is a struggle, though the distance is so short that by the time she breaks out of his Force grip, she’s already right in front of him. Ever the image of arrogance, he sets the ‘pad down, only now raking his gaze over her body. If it’s just to assess the state of her injuries, she might not mind. As much. Except this is Maul, so his motives are guaranteed to be awful at best and downright terrifying at worst. She takes the opportunity to loom over him, gripping the back of his chair with one hand. “You have one chance. Tell me why in the name of a Hutt’s karking diseased brood pouch you thought any of this was a good idea.” The odds are heavily in favour of him lying, or any facts being filtered through his...particular mindset. There is still a possibility that she can glean some scraps of truth from whatever pile of waste product he presents her with, though.

“You were incapacitated, and your stability is, shall we say...currently less than sound.” He answers, lazily resting the curve of his jaw against one set of knuckles as he sprawls. “I acted as I saw fit.” Even when appearing relaxed, Maul is still a coiled serpent. She can never forget that. “Although I am curious...What you might have done had you woken up alone.” “Gone back to work with a few new bruises.” Ahsoka retorts flatly. Which is true, minus some details. It might have at least given her more motivation to stay away from him; knowing with certainty that she is viewed as a plaything for him to use roughly and toss aside on a whim. If only.

“A poor deflection. Nevertheless...” Maul hooks two fingertips under her chin, pulling her oh-so-gradually towards him as he leans in close. The resulting kiss is unexpectedly gentle. She didn’t think he wanted... But he’s-this is-good. Not hurried or violent. She finds herself angling her head to get a bit more contact, tongue peeking out to tentatively flick at his lower lip. He purrs, and she feels...oddly pleased as the physical connection deepens. Their tongues entwine and slide in a tantalizing dance to the point where she hums. Ahsoka is dizzy from either a lack of oxygen or budding arousal when they pull apart, chest heaving slightly as she takes in some much-needed gulps of air. Still, there has to be a catch.

“Explain why I should allow you to leave, Ahsoka Tano.” Sometimes, she really dislikes being right.

“That’s not something you get to decide.” Ahsoka practically spits in retaliation.

“You ran.” Maul hisses. Like she’d had any other choice. It doesn’t matter if he’s gentle, fucking is just one more way for them to hurt one another. “And avoided direct contact for months only to slink back beaten and exhausted to the point of collapse. I have spent the last four days looking after a husk.” Ahsoka nearly hates the look in his eyes right now. Because he is so very good at pretending to truly care that she almost believes it.“Is martyrdom so much more appealing?” The Dark Side seems to slither over her as he purrs, deceptively pleasant even while it attempts to invade.

**** She sinks into his lap as he tugs her down, thighs parting instinctively under his touch. He fills the space between them with far too much ease. She refuses to urge him to get this over with, already. Bad enough that she wants anything from him in the first place, that trading pain, degradation and cruelty with a monster gets her off at all. Except that it does. Ahsoka had hoped at first that it was just the physical aspect; That finding someone who could bite and claw at her in the right way would satisfy this...twisted craving in her off-time. There had been satisfaction, and a few personal revelations, yet it wasn’t enough. “Rex and I buried the men you killed. So many more innocents are dead, dying or suffering under the syndicate.” Any mention of Satine Kryze or Adi Gallia sticks in her throat. She cannot bear to see his pride over those victims while he’s touching her. “You’ll betray everyone and everything for power or revenge.” What good has it done, pushing herself to the absolute brink to fulfill her duties, all but throwing herself into the arms of strangers? She’s still here, on the receiving end of that searing and inescapable gaze. “And you still don’t get why I can’t stand to look at you when you’re-” Finishing the sentence is impossible, both because she cannot bring herself to say the words and suddenly she cannot stand him, his presence, his touch, any of it.

“I should have just killed you then.” Her shoto is ignited and at his throat in the span of a heartbeat. Maul doesn’t retreat or let go, fingertips pressing bruises into her hips even as he half-bares his teeth in a silent snarl. Taking his head off would be right. The Rebellion needs his resources, not him. Criminals are easily manipulated, and Ahsoka will be free of these urges-The lightsabre is actually burning his skin now. He’s pressing into it, practically inviting-His eyes are-Her mouth is dry. Maul has always been a reminder of who she might have been, and what she might become if she ever loses herself. Everything comes crashing down on her at once, and the next thing she is truly aware of is that her weapon is deactivated and re-holstered, eyes leaking copious amounts of tears. **** He guides her hands to his chest, fingers automatically digging into the material of his vest once he lets go. Her face lowers to rest in the crook between neck and shoulder, breathing stuttered and wracked with quiet sobs while she trembles. Maul doesn’t embrace her. Merely...accommodates her current state of being. The pulse against her lips drops from frantic beats to a measured, steady rhythm. Ahsoka doesn’t want to be like him. Doesn’t want to go further down the path to becoming a desperate, selfish, manic person that would sit back and watch everything burn to ashes.

Her chest is full of broken transparisteel and every breath hurts. The tears are a deluge that take far too long to dry out, and when they do she wants nothing so much as to sleep again; curled around a warm body for comfort and safety. Obviously she can’t do that for a number of reasons, but it would still be nice to have the option. “Does this-” A light brush along her flank. “-mean I am forgiven?”

“No.”

“Good. What I am, my actions...They do not affect who you are, Ahsoka Tano.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Is it not? When the Empire falls, you still intend to bring me to whatever ‘justice’-” Maul scoffs. “-Your reborn Republic sees fit to mete out. Our alliance has always been one of convenience. Physical intimacy does not change that.” “What the Republic will do to you is the least of what you deserve.” Ahsoka states with firm conviction, raising her head to make eye contact once more. “And am I really supposed to believe you’re not going to try and twist this to your own benefit?” “No.” He replies simply, though she can see that eerie, devouring light in his eyes beginning to emerge. “You already know what it is I want from you. And it means nothing if you come to me unwilling and utterly broken.” “Hm. We’ll see how long that stance lasts.” Her response is justifiably skeptical. “I have work to do, so if you could point me in the direction of your hangar...”

“Of course.” Maul lists off directions as well as the model of ship she’ll be ‘borrowing’, her own presumably still hidden where she’d left it. “Close your eyes.” “What are you doing?” “Providing incentive. Return to my side when you are ready.” The pad of his thumb traces her lower lip sensually before he tries to close the remaining distance between their lips, only to have her lean away.

“If you want it that badly, you’ll have to catch me, next time.” She can practically feel the air crackle once the hushed provocation leaves her mouth. If she is to keep succumbing to these desires, it will be on her terms.

“It is not wise to tempt me when you are so close to freedom.” The rasp in his voice and the dilation of his pupils indicate that he is seconds away from pushing her down onto the desk and ravishing her senseless. The thrill of it is enough to make her grind down against him, once.

“Try it. We need to have a talk about boundaries anyway.” Ahsoka smiles, a challenge in her eyes as she loops and ties the blindfold around his left wrist before getting to her feet. “I’ll be in contact.” Maul actually lets her go when she walks away, this time. She feels...better. Not healed or whole, but better than she was. In any case, the work of toppling a tyrannical Empire waits for no one, and she has a lot to catch up on. (A/N: Ahsoka’s still planning to see a med-droid ASAP, since they haven’t had that discussion yet and it’s been thoroughly established that Maul is Bad With Boundaries. I’m sure that most of you can guess what the second part will involve. [I’m predictable that way, lol.] In any case, I will be trying to get my WIPs out sooner and my inbox is still open to all interested parties. Cheers, everyone!)

#maulsoka #recurring tag: Ahsoka needs all the hugs and therapy #(Maul needs the latter as well but good luck getting him there)

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abilityforged-a · 4 years

Text

【HEADCANON】

FYODOR’S BACKSTORY and ABILITY.

tw for heavy religious themes, murder, and mental illness.

ABILITY.

As a child, Fyodor was always different. He was held to a higher standard than most, and yet this is what ultimately failed him. Caused more harm than it did good. With the influence of religion in his life, it has definitely taken a toll on how he sees the world and perceives things. As well as how he processes his own emotions such as empathy and compassion.

I won’t delve too much into the details of the religious aspect of him, but I will try to bring to light enough that will highlight his character and why he is the way he is.

His ability, right off the bat, had him seen as something dangerous by some and as someone with a higher purpose by others. Likely, he’d killed some people in his youth with just a touch and his views on sins and repentance as well as what he viewed as crimes were also flawed and as such influenced his ability and how it worked and in what conditions it worked. His ability is not just a kill everything he touches power-- i believe there are specific conditions that have to be met before it can be used. But these conditions range and vary greatly depending on the situation. Especially with how Fyodor sees himself as a God to the people of the world he’s in. These conditions can change drastically, and as such... he can manipulate how his ability works. Thus, having quite a bit of control over it. But once a crime has been acknowledged, it cannot be taken back.

But, the conditions of a crime having been committed must still be met. Because without a crime, there can be no punishment.

Due to how he was raised --the beliefs and the views that were fed to him are what ultimately activate his ability. It’s all about perception. Not the intention..

But, knowing he’d killed and committed his own crimes, it filled him with guilt. And overtime, being both put on a pedestal and treated like a diseased dog twisted his mind and ultimately his views on crime also became twisted. What did he view as a crime?

Stealing? Lying? The simple act of breathing? Bearing an ability like him?

It’s very complex, very articulated in thought and in ideology.

But the more he was put on a pedestal by others, and the more he was knocked off of it, he came to develop a God complex -- grandiose narcissism as a means to cover his guilt, paranoia, and confusion. Though, this could be explained through neurological reasoning such as mental illness, the fact remains that he was groomed to be the way that he is now.

Small things turned to large things before Fyodor himself began to commit crimes to get what he wanted, only feeding into the guilt further. Causing his disdain for ability users, and fueling his desire to kill them and remove them from the earth to both punish himself for the crimes he’s committed and to also -- as the God of this world -- make it so people can live without the same guilt that torments him.

That second part indicates empathy and compassion. Something Fyodor is not incapable of expressing or feeling. It is harder to reach, and for him his perception of such things are skewed and much different than how most people would see it or understand it.

With the heavy religious influence in his life, and with this in mind --- it has turned him into someone who believes by killing people with abilities he is ending their suffering. Because he suffers. And because he suffers, they all do. He projects and shares his own pain, which is empathy. But how he shows it and compassion is another story.

It’s why he is able to offer a hand to Nikolai and Sigma. Because he knows they suffer, he can understand that they suffer. Someone without the ability to understand this wouldn’t have helped them the way that he did, and someone who doesn’t have the ability to understand cannot express empathy or compassion-- despite them being tools of sorts in his own plans. Those plans are, in the end, rooted to his compassion. He believes what he does is righteous.

That it is the ultimate good.

----

BACKSTORY.

Fyodor met someone one day, Sofia Raskolnikov . She had run into him while attending a service. The two of them talk, and get to know one another. And eventually, this leads to them understanding that they both share a mutual feeling of shame and alienation. For crimes they had committed, from their own suffering and how people and life treated them. They confessed to one another their crimes and guilt, though it did take time to get to this point. But it’s an important point.

The two of them were close friends, and some would even argue there was much more between them.

Fyodor loved Sofia. He saw her differently than he saw other people. But the fact she was not an ability user also helped his perception and views of her. In all honesty, he wanted to spend his life with her. But, as we all know -- that would never happen. It came to an abrupt stop one day. Everything did, the very thing that pushed him to do everything he’s doing now.

Fyodor convinced Sofia to be an accomplice in murdering someone with him. By murdering this person, their lives would become infinitely better. And they could run away together and leave the city that kept them shackled.

The murder was completed. They’d killed a person together, but nothing happened as Fyodor said it would. Instead, Sofia began to spiral into madness. She would beg for forgiveness for her sin -- and eventually, she would attempt to take her own life.

Gaining knowledge of this, however, would anger Fyodor. She began to question him and she began to spiral further. And so, the only thing Fyodor could do was grant her the forgiveness she was after and put her mind to peace. The great silence. For her crimes were now known to him, her crime was now thinking and her crime was breathing. And the only mercy he could give her was death.

Fyodor murdered Sofia, to end her suffering. But also, to end his own. However, this only fueled his guilt and as such, pushed him to begin his mission to eradicate all ability users. Because they were sinful in nature. And as their God, he would end their suffering and all the suffering they caused to the world.

#headcanon: fyodor #muse: fyodor #: ) HI KYU AND I HAVE BEEN YELLING AND LOSING OUR MINDS OVER THIS #IM SO SAD WHAT THE FUCK

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sagemoderocklee · 4 years

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Hello! For the meta asks, would you do 1, 5, 8, and 17?

you did not come to play, lilac! thanks for all these questions! <3

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

oh lord. that’s a... question. i have. so many current projects, i don’t even know where to start. this is gonna be long so please bear with me lol i’ll probably give more detail for some fics over others, and i’ll only go over fics I’ve got documents for because otherwise we’d be here forever.

The Art of Love: so this one is obvious because it’s been in progress for the last 2ish years? no i think it’s three now. I won’t go into detail with this because the fic is roughly halfway through, so there’s plenty of content for that up! I’d say the progress with that fic is actually going really well, though. Unlike Alliance, which took 8 years--five years of writing, three of editing--TAoL has been up for way less time, and is already about to hit the halfway mark! I really need to get back to it, tbh because it’s been way too long since my last update.

Honor Bound (sequel to Alliance): so this is.... kind of on pause. I’ve got the first three chapters written, but my focus has been more on TAoL when it comes to my more complicated, long running stories, so HB has taken a backseat. I think I won’t get back to working on the Allied Nations Saga until after TAoL is done, in all honesty.

Find Me: this is my HS AU, which has been on the back burner forever and I feel terrible because I think it may honestly be my most popular fic. Unfortunately, AUs/slice of life stuff is difficult for me because I’m more interested in politics, so I lost momentum on this fic. It is about halfway done. I have a good chunk of chapter six written, but not enough that I could say I’m close to finishing it.

It Eats Your Heart: obviously I just started this one, and it’s a horror fic. I’ve really gotta sit down and do some major plotting on it because I only have some very vague ideas currently.

Pearl-Filled Lungs: this is one of like three ningyo AUs I have--the other are pirate/ningyo AUs (and ones actually a selkie not a ningyo). I started it last year for the GaaLee fest, and it’s been sitting unfinished for far too long. I finally sat down recently and plotted the whole thing out, so I’m hoping to get back to working on it soon! It’s only 5 chapters in total, so I don’t think it’ll take me super long to get through once I sit down and do it.

Who Dares to Love Forever: This is a working title, and I may change it. This is a fic idea I’ve had for a couple years, inspired by the song Who Wants to Live Forever by Queen. This particular fic is a vehicle for my sage mode!rock lee headcanon, and explores just how effective Chiyo giving Gaara her life would have been given she was an old biddy. So the idea for this fic is that Gaara’s running out of time because Chiyo only had so much to offer.

Absolution: this is another fic that I’ve had on the back burner for years. it was initially inspired by art by @brianadoesotherjunk but quickly spiraled into something much bigger because of course it did. This particular fic is one I’m extremely excited about. I need to go back over the first part, because I feel like it’s not quite right, but I do technically have the first part done. This fic follows Gaara struggling with bouts of narcolepsy that trigger nightmares induced by trauma and guilt from his childhood. These nightmares are incredibly dangerous for obvious reasons, but even more so because Temari’s baby is on the way. Temari and Shikamaru are married, living in the Kazekage estate, and with their baby coming and both needing/wanting to get back to work, they also need a nanny. Unbeknownst to Gaara, the year prior to the events of the fic, Maito Gai died, succumbing to the 8th Gate finally, and Lee has since been spiraling. His depression has become so self-destructive that he’s been taken off active duty. Shikamaru, along with the rest of the Konoha 12 (minus Neji and Sasuke), get together and discuss what to do. Tenten believes that Lee being a nanny would be the perfect thing. And so Rock Lee is sent to Suna, hired by Shikamaru and Temari as their live-in nanny...

We Need Not Be Yellow Tulips in a Garden of Gardenia’s, Yet We Go the Way of the Red Camellia: true to form, I decided that a hanahaki fic was something I had to do, and I was not going to pass up the chance at being as Extra As Possible with the flowery language, ergo the ridiculous title. I’ve gotten part way through the first chapter of this fic, but the whole thing is roughly plotted out and each chapter title is just as extra as the whole fic’s title.

Thirteen Strokes: so this is a fic I have--once again--had on my mind for ages, and--once again, because I am nothing if not a caricature of myself--inspired by a Florence+the Machine song, All This and Heaven Too. I started writing this the other night, as I wanna use it for GaaLee bingo. It’ll be 13 chapters, as per the 13 strokes that it takes to make the character for love, ai, in Japanese. The fic is from Gaara’s PoV, and follows his journey with and his relationship to love, with lots of worldbuilding and politics because it wouldn’t be an Eeri Original without those things.

Scarification: this is another idea for bingo based around the prompt shinshoubyou, which is a fictional disease where your emotions cause physical marks on you

Fill in the [ ]: another bingo idea, based around the prompt bouaishoukoigun, the fictional disease where you forget the person you love if it’s unrequited.

The Eagle’s Augury: an idea that allows me to play around with more worldbuilding and focus on Karura. In this fic, the curse (mentioned briefly on the Naruto wikia) that has led to every single Kazekage being assassinated, is coming for Gaara, and Karura is trying to warn him from beyond the grave. At the same time, Temari and Shikamaru’s marriage is approaching, and their ceremony is being held in Suna, with all the fan fair a marriage for someone from the Kazekage line should see. Again, another fic inspired by Miss Florence+the Machine, the song is Mother

Pomegranate Sun: this is a fic that I am... so excited about. Another fic that was originally inspired by a Queen song, Under Pressure, and has of course taken on a life of its own. This fic, I am actually going to be writing with @ghoste-catte! It’s an arranged marriage trope, and I’m super pumped for it! We’ve only got a little bit started, and it has obviously not taken priority for either of us since we both have a lot of fics on our plates.

The Ballad of the Dragon and the Phoenix: this is a fic I’m really excited but is going to take a LOT of research to get off the ground. I had this idea sometime last year, I wanna say? This fic is another self-indulgent headcanon about Lee’s origins, his family, etc. This fic starts when Gaara shows up on Lee’s doorstep, asking him to accompany him to another country for reasons Lee cannot understand. Gaara has been in talks with Phoenix Kingdom, hoping to forge a new relationship only to find that the Emperor wants to use shinobi for militaristic purposes. Lee doesn’t understand what help he could possibly offer the Kazekage, but he can’t very well turn him down.

okay, i’m gonna stop there. these are the ones I have titles and documents for, and honestly that’s probably way more than you wanted to know about lol

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Despite the fact that most of my fics end up from Gaara’s PoV, I actually identify with Lee the most!

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Yes! Which is hard to find, tbh, because I am a sucker for political dramas with slow burn romances, but I don’t see a lot of that in the GaaLee fandom. I’m not as into like slice of life or short stories where the characters get together quick, I’m really not into established relationship fics unless it’s a sequel, so I tend to avoid those. I like AUs but it really depends on the AU, because I ultimately prefer the canon and I love seeing the way people write the shinobi world and all its rules and cultures and things. I’m just a big fan of worldbuilding, politics, and slow slow burns. Not this 25k SLOW BURN! crap because that is NOT a slow burn. I wanna see a fic that’s 200k words in and they still haven’t even figured out they’re in love! I like stories I can really sink my teeth into, ya know?

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Oh gosh. I generally don’t think too much about it except like hoping people don’t think I’m like a stuck up asshole because of how I talk about my writing, writing in general, my hcs, etc. I mean, obviously I don’t expect everyone in this fandom to like me--and there are ppl I’ve gone out of my way to be vocally against because they do nasty shit--but largely I feel like I come across as too intense, so even the general population of GaaLee fans that I do want to interact with I’m always a lil nervous that people secretly don’t like me and basically are like “oh god this bitch again” when they see me in the tags. But I just get really excited and invested in my ideas, and honestly for the longest time this fandom was SO small and there weren’t a lot of people putting out content regularly so it was like a handful of us so I think it made me more emphatic about GaaLee lol I think I always like assume people aren’t as excited about my writing as I am or that people are like “too much politic, i need more romance”.

I’m always surprised when people really love my AUs, like Kado or Find Me have had such fantastic reception, and it’s like people just eat that shit up so much. And then I look at like Alliance or Art of Love and get kind of confused because I think by comparison those are more interesting and more developed than my AUs. I put a shit ton of work into everything I write, especially anything that requires research, so it’s not to say that I do less work per say, just that I feel like TAoL and things like it are more interesting and more developed, and the relationship feels.... somehow more to me there than in an AU.

a lot of my motivation really just comes from the lack of content this fandom had for so many years, and the fact that Naruto could have been a much more interesting series and I love worldbuilding so much. I think my motivation for each fic is different though. Like Alliance was started because I wanted to write something different from what was mainly in the fandom at the time because mind you I started that in 2010. But my motivation for TAoL is more wanting to tell a beautiful story with a complex narrative that looks at the failings of the shinobi world. Whereas like any slice of life fic is really just meant to be a fun break. And sometimes I write something literally just because I wanted to fulfill that trope for the GaaLee fandom--again, a lot of my ideas have been sitting for years and years and years (TAoL was an idea I had literally right after starting Alliance, but I didn’t get to it until 2017), so a lot of ideas that are old are because at the time that trope hadn’t been fulfilled yet in the fandom though that’s changing a lot with the recent GaaLee Renaissance of the last couple years.

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