#but maybe. maybe only if i'm better. if i'm not this hollow husk of my usual self? fuck i know i'm too harsh on myself. unnecessary pressur

[noxtivagus]

evening has come again huh

#🌙.vent #i'm really sorry for the vents lately but i need a way to let it out. & this. this is as far as i can go with that #i need to do better again i know i can i have to :') people waiting for me. others n me.... #last night i downloaded a game for my friend. for her. & then another friend i told her i'll reply before the day ends :< 'take your time' #she said but sob she opened up abt smth n i wna help i really do & fuck it just hurts too bcs i know the ppl around me are. struggling too #i try not to put others b4 myself if i'm struggling like rn but :< i hate the helplessness. wish i cld do smth more for you #i wish i could at least be enough to help them. for you for you whoever you are i would always be willing to make these sacrifices #i'm gna cry it's been so overwhelming lately bcs i'm filled with so much hope and despair simultaneously #what do i do? which do i choose? how do i decide? how am i supposed to do. enough. find a balance #n then other friends i haven't gotten to replying yet today bcs oh i'm too worn down right now n i hate it so much i'm sorry #& other than all the stuff i want to do for myself and for others there's also things like school n #it hurts you know? i'm very much aware i've been worrying my family lately. i can't. sleep properly. i can't bring myself to finish eating #:< n then it also gets overwhelming when i. look to better things. bcs it gen makes me v happy when. idk i feel inspired or creative or wtv #but it hurts when it's also simultaneously so overwhelming bcs it's so hard to do something with it #& thinking of good memories. how fleeting those moments were. how times have changed. but also of. of how more may come #but maybe. maybe only if i'm better. if i'm not this hollow husk of my usual self? fuck i know i'm too harsh on myself. unnecessary pressur #i'm more than it i know. but at times it's just so hard to feel better when i'm. 🥹 i really really don't want to be a disappointment. #for others n. for myself.... bcs i know as always in the future. wtf the fuck happens then. i do know that parts of me will never change. #wnvr i look into my past i'll always know that i deserved being more kind to myself. bcs i'm human too. #this empty feeling of being stuck somewhere being hope n my despair hurts v much bcs it's so contradicting & overwhelming #n i wish in these moments i cld be enough for my future self. n for those around me #i wish i was better at communicating! tell everyone i know how much i appreciate them! how much i wish they'd stay in my life #i wish i cld really just say but i'm afraid that my honesty might scare you away. so instead i hide. you probably don't feel the same nyway #crying it hurts i think past experiences have made me too used to people leaving. but i can't be vulnerable enough to be #soft enough to the extent of being so honest. i've been hurt before when i was kind n younger n naive sure but oh so innocent #struggling sad n it was so bad then that i. oh i remember how it hurt.... i refuse to let myself go through that extent of loneliness again #i wish though that. i could. revive my mind. my motivation my inspo my creativity hasn't exactly dulled but it's become more passive #am i afraid that if i really be myself then i'll be alone again? if i'm weird if i'm too honest n soft n. i don't know. #it hurts feeling like i'm stuck with being too little n too much at the same time. how do i. just be. enough. for you. for me. #it hurts i'm crying i'm sorry i'm so sorry fuck i'm so overwhelmed n lost i don't want to think right now it feels so empty n i'm tired

[freesidexjunkie]

"If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours... have I misjudged them?"

This isn't blind flattery towards the Inquisitor. It's not "I'm questioning my whole plan of world ending because I have a crush" (if you romanced him.) "Have I misjudged them?"

He woke up and saw a hollow, empty, husk of a world with husks of people walking around, bickering and fighting over everything and nothing. He didn't expect to find beauty here. He didn't expect to find friends to care about (and he does genuinely care about them, in his party banter and dialogue). He didn't expect to find someone to love. Has he misjudged the Dalish, in his haste to write them off as a pale imitation? Has he misjudged the worth of this world?

The implications of that are staggering though. Imagine you have a house with your family. The house is rotten through and through; mildewed and molded, rotten floorboards, leaking ceilings. Doors and windows don't close, holes in the walls, termite-riddled supports. But there is no other house to live in. What do you do? Do you let your family keep living in that house, cold and wet and sick? Do you try to fix it? Where do you start? How much work will these renovations take? When do you start to consider that you could just tear the house down, and build a new one? You don't want to leave your loved ones with nowhere to live, but look at this house. It won't last like this. They deserve better.

So you do it. You start to tear down the house, even though it's a big risk. The biggest you've ever taken. But now, in this transitional period, where you're finally free to build a better house with sturdy walls and strong supports and a watertight roof and windows that shut - you lose your whole family. They can't live without a house.

You can't live without one, either. But imagine you come back, decades later, to find the house even more run down and destroyed. And there are people living in it. People who don't seem to care that the house is in such a sorry state - it's the only way they've ever known the house. And even though it's so ruined and rotten, it's far better than no house. They can't live without a house, either. But these squatters, these primitive, unrefined, barely grasping at how to live people. They are still in the house. The house you tried to tear down to build a better one. And maybe if you can just build a new house, a really good house, your family can come back. Or at least you can start to reclaim what you lost. And this miserable, dilapidated, sorry excuse for a shack is nothing but a sore on your memory now. The people inside are nothing compared to your family.

So you knock a giant fucking hole in the side of the wall. Didn't help, but you didn't get caught, and the people inside welcome you with open arms. You say you can help them, you know a lot about the house. Your nature isn't cruel and callous; you took these big risks in the first place because you can't help but care about people. So why does it surprise you so much when you start to care about these people? They're little more than children rooting around in the dirt, struggling to understand the house. They don't even know how bad the house is.

The house can't be left standing the way it is. That's very clear. But tearing it down, to make way for the house you dreamt of building... wouldn't that doom these people too? But can you let them keep living like this, in this filth and muck? You hate this house, this house that's taken everything from you. You want to destroy it and build a better home for all of you. Maybe even your family; if not them, you can build something new and reclaim what you lost trying to fix this house. But the house isn't a blight to the people here now; it's home, as horrid as it is. It's where they've loved and lived and wept.

Do you still try to repair what you can, piece by piece? Hoping your hands can replace the rot faster than it spread? Do you leave the house the way it is, pretend it's better to have this than nothing, even knowing how soon it could be nothing? The people here are sick, cold, dirty - just like your family. They're suffering, even if it is home. How do you handle this?

There are no easy or right answers. If you ignore the rot, it will spread; the effort it will take to fix the house might be more than building a new one, and people will fight you every step of the way to preserve their image of the house's wonky beauty. If you do tear it down, the people here now might die of exposure. If you told them you wanted to tear it down, they'd fight you tooth and nail; if you didn't, they'd still be inside when it came tumbling down. You'd lose more people. How much do you care about these people? Can you even reclaim your family, even if you do build the new house?

There don't feel like any right answers. The only wrong answer feels like inaction. But what action can you possibly take?

#solas #da solas #solas dragon age #solas dread wolf #solas dai #dread wolf #dragon age #da:i #da: inquisition #dragon age inquisition #solas apologist and I will die on this hill

[rosenfey]

With timezone differences you may be playing BG3 now so I don't want to interrupt, but whose the OC you're going through this first full release playthrough with?

Hi there, thank you for asking! I'm actually waiting for the game to download still, so no worries ♥

My main pt will be that of Faerene, she is my multiverse oc and in bg3 she is is a fey circle of spores druid who is trying to restore a withered part of her forest in order to find out what happened to her mother. I have a little something about her backstory ready to go (more under the cut).

She was born in a forest or maybe born of it. Hard to say with fey after all. Nevertheless, her court was nowhere to be seen, their mysterious disappearance offering no clues except the rotting, gaping wound festering in the heart of the forest. A nobleman from the nearby estate found the newborn baby one day during his walk and decided to take her under his wing, striving to provide a good and comfortable life for her. Faerene, “one of the fae”, might not have been a very original name, but then again, originality was never his strong suit. His wife would know what to call the little girl, but her bones were already cold and one with the forest now.

As a surprise to no one, Faerene found herself more driven towards the forest than her diplomatic studies. She could never quite find common ground with people, mostly due to the fact she lacked the confidence or the drive to truly speak to them instead of merely talking at them. But the plants and the woodland creatures were a completely different thing. Partly due to her fey origin, partly due to the druidic teachings her father’s ancestors followed, she found a strong bond with the nature world.

But everyone has secrets and Faerene was no different. The mystery of her court’s disappearance kept weighing on her soul, and the woods and the earth were calling to her. The heart of the forest was left to fester for too long, the clearing Faerene was discovered in now cursed with rot and decay. But the worst of it all were the remains of a tall, strong tree, wider than four grown men standing side by side and taller than the highest tower in her estate. It was a corpse, for there was no better word for it, a hollowed-out husk with gnarled roots, leafless branches grasping for sunlight. The bark was the color of the night, almost as if charred and burned, and it bore strange shapes, not unlike those resembling a figure as if someone was swallowed by the wood. Faerene knew it was the key to her mother’s disappearance and that she would do anything in her power to restore the grove to its previous strength.

Awakening the tree directly was out of option, for it didn’t react to sunlight or restoration magic, or any other spell known to her. Its roots were several feet long and spanned almost the whole length of the clearing, connected with the hollowed-out trees and withered grass. After consulting her teachings, Faerene knew that to restore the tree, she needed to restore the entire grove.

She had to get her hands dirty. The center of the forest was full of death after all, and it wasn’t just the plant life that was stricken with the curse. Rotting bodies of animal life and stray travelers were hidden in the thicket, waiting to be rejoined with the soil. For the earth was parched and the roots were thirsty, and there was only one way to satisfy their hunger. Faerene had blood on her hands, albeit never by her doing, yet it was gruesome work. She would use the bodies to return their souls to the earth, and she was successful, in a way. After a long and straining work, she managed to make a single sprout emerge from the earth; a weak sapling, shivering in the air. It was a delicate little thing. And it wasn’t enough.

The soil would need much more blood, way more than the forest provided in the already deceased carcasses. And Faerene would never harm a living thing. Ready to give up, she took a walk through the cursed grounds, deep in her thoughts. It wasn’t until she came upon a hollowed-out skeleton of a deer, now overgrown with fungi, that the idea struck her.

Of course it would be mushrooms. They were always a fascinating subject of her alchemical studies, and she often valued them for their purpose in the circle of life and death, and how they often blurred the edges, finding life in places long abandoned, blossoming from decay like flowers springing to life in a sunlit meadow.

She made the carcass walk. She gave it life, strengthening the fungi with her magic, one single organism finding a new purpose, of its own mind. Not a slave, a companion. And it was beautiful.

From that day onward, she became one with the spores, seeding them across the grove, helping them to strengthen the plant life and provide it with nourishment. And she managed to make the grove wake up from its slumber, little by little, day by day. Soon, colorful mushrooms sprung around the grass and trees, not parasites, but helpful friends providing the plants with support. A new life from decay. The giant tree, now adorned with mushrooms, responded to her care with gentle moves of its branches, as if stretching after a long slumber. It wouldn’t take long, she told herself; she would get answers soon.

And she truly would, were it not for the nautiloid crushing into the city streets and cruelly plucking her from the only life she ever knew. Aside from trying to get rid of the tadpole now festering behind her eye, Faerene is ever so driven to get back home as soon as possible, no matter what it takes. There are answers waiting for her, just beyond her reach. What doesn’t help are the gentle, soft whispers of the tadpole in her mind, nudging her ever so slightly to fully unlock the powers that seem to be slumbering within her. After all, who knows what she might be capable of when she returns home?

#ask #florallychaotic #faerie writes #oc: faerene rosenhall #im beyond excited to play as her and to explore her story more

[nompunhere]

Consider: A crossover. Vi stumbles across the hive from hollow knight, likely when it's almost barren. The Hive Knight, last denizen of the hive, recognizes her as a bee, but not as a foreigner. You can probably see where this is going.

hmm, I doubt I'd be able to come up with a whole fic for this, but it's interesting enough (and I love the bees enough) to maybe write a little somethin

(it's probably gonna count the names in the ask itself towards searches, but heck it, I'm still putting this under a cut)

actually hang on, this is turning into a whole heckin ficlet, lemme just-

update, after spending all my free time today writing this: you crazy sonuva binch, you actually did it. you inspired me to write a whole oneshot on the spot, without even a proper outline. me and my darn soft spot for bees... oh wait shoot, I guess I should name this, huh?

An Unfamiliar Hive (H/ollow K/night & B/ug F/ables Vore Fic)

Characters: V/i (B/ug F/ables), H/ive K/night (H/ollow K/night), whole bunch of H/ivelings (background), and K/abbu and L/eif (mentioned) Word Count: 2,217 Warnings: Infected Bees(...? Idk, but V/i is disturbed), Manipulation of Emotion, Accidental Fearplay, and Safe, Soft Vore (Quarter-Size, maybee?) Other Notes: The Hive is pretty dead, but not all the way dead. Takes place after Ghost went through there, but beefore the end of the Infection. H/ive K/night got messed up by the encounter, but he’s alive, and doing.. relatively okay. Also, more importantly, in the dialogue, [brackets] signify Hivespeak, whereas unbracketed dialogue is in the common language. The Hivespeak is intentionally difficult to read, but there should be enough context to get the gist of what’s beeing said, at least

This really just.. kept going and going, huh. That’s what happens when I write without plotting out the whole story first, I guess. Then again, I’ve written longer. Then again again, this was meant to be a snippet. Now it’s time to post this at 1 am because I’m a FOOL-

Fic under the cut

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

Vi flitted through the strange Hive uneasily. The place was massive, much larger than the one in Bugaria, even without taking into consideration the fact that everything in this forgotten kingdom was oddly... upscaled. It was also gorgeous, she’d give it that, but it was just so empty for how big it was. It didn’t sit right with her.

She shuddered as a couple bees flew past. Each of them was about half her size, and they were only the smallest kind she'd seen so far. Based on the shape of their bodies, and the tasks she'd seen them perform, she could infer that they weren't quite as sapient as all the bees from home. Still, their movements were deadened, impersonal, mechanical in a way that indicated that no mind went into their work whatsoever. She caught sight of an orange tint in some of their eyes—something she'd noticed in all the husks that still roamed long after they should've died.

Vi really, really wished she hadn't decided to explore this place on her own. She could use the comfort of her teammates right about now. But noooo, she had to get bored while they were resting and go off on her own. She mentally kicked herself for thinking that was ever a good idea in this plague-ridden place. At least here, nothing was attacking her, but it was still too disturbing for one bug to handle alone. She wasn't even going to think about the Hive husks that meandered about on the floor below. If she did, she might throw up. She had a feeling those things would be just as revolting even without the Infection.

As she flew deeper inside, it didn’t get much better. There were more of those obscenely large guardians buzzing around, along with some soldiers. She thanked her lucky stars that they didn’t perceive her as a threat. She clutched her Beemerang closer to her chest as she whizzed past them. This far in, the little honeybee thought she could spot some Hivelings whose movements were a bit clearer, more thought out, less instinct-driven, but they darted away almost as soon as she pulled into view. That was interesting. Maybe there were some that had escaped the Infection, for the time being? They were far outnumbered by the Infected ones, though. And their actions weren’t all that different from what their compatriots were doing, even if they did have a bit more presence of mind.

Eventually, Vi’s wings tired out. She came to land at the entrance of a long corridor and started walking down it, taking note of the remnants of odd, poorly constructed walls that looked to have been knocked down. She kicked at the rubble, choosing a piece to take with her and follow for a bit as it clattered down the hall with each kick. She should probably leave—return to where the team had set up camp before her friends started to worry. But she had already come this far. Something compelled her to see this little excursion through to the end.

At the end of the unusually long tunnel was a room. She kicked the piece of wax and hardened honey to the center of the space and jogged after it before looking up.

Oh. That was... a big bee. A very big, very dead bee, hanging motionless in the center of a tall, rounded chamber, off to the side where a fourth wall should’ve been. This must have been their queen. Part of her wondered at how the Hive was still running with the queen dead. The other part was struck dumb, frozen staring numbly upward at the gargantuan corpse. She didn’t even notice the quiet ‘thump’ of something landing softly behind her.

“[Wh-t.. ... ..doi-g h-re.. l-ttl- -ne?]”

Vi jumped at the sudden buzzing voice over her shoulder. She whipped around to face the tall, imposing bee standing nearby. They stepped forward and knelt to be closer to her level, giving her a kind and concerned look.

Unlike the rest of the workers and protectors of the Hive, this one was bipedal, with metal pauldrons for armor and a long, waxy needle, held like a staff or spear of some sort. Most notably, they were present enough to communicate with her, albeit in Hivespeak. Vi’s Hivespeak was rusty, as Bugaria’s own version of the language had started to be phased out in favor of the common tongue ever since she was a kid. Plus, the Hallownest version seemed to have extra flourishes, and a bit of an accent. Not only that, but this particular bee was stumbling over their words, stopping and starting in odd places. Now that she looked closer, Vi could see that they had a slight tremor, with mostly-healed scrapes and slashes all over their body. She thought she caught a glimpse of orange, somewhere deep in their eyes, but it could’ve just been the amber lighting. It could just be paranoia.

“Bzz? [-re you... alr--ht? D- you ..-ot hav- .. task..? O- -re you h-re to zz-ee Qu--n... V-zz-pa?]”

Some of the words were a bit clearer, now that she could see the body language attached, but it was still hard to decipher. “Uhhhh...” She blinked, at a loss for what to say. “Who the heck are you?” is what she blurted, after barely a moment of thought.

“Zzz... Hallowtongue?” the other bee mumbled. Okay, she could understand the word they (he?) said there, but she didn’t know what it meant. Was that what they called the common language in this place? Weird.

The larger bee shook his head and looked puzzled. “[I -m zz-e... Hive Kn---t,] er... Hi-ive Knnnight,” he stammered, struggling with Common, “[M- n-m- i-zz H--de-. -re you h-re ...fo- V-zz-pa?]” He repeated the last part of his previous question.

Vi still didn’t quite know what he wanted from her, but at least she had a title for him now. “Um. N-no? I don’t.. I dunno.” She looked away, shuffling her feet, only to flinch when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“[I-zz ok-y littl- one, zz-e Qu--n ... be ba-k zz-oon. Zz-e i-zz.. j-zzt re-zzt-ing.]”

She squinted, trying to process what he said, then glanced over at the giant corpse in the room. ...Yeah, she doubted the knight’s queen was “just resting.” Even if he wasn’t Infected, his mind clearly wasn’t all there.

“Okay, yeah, uh. Look, I just- I’m gonna leave, I just wanna go home. This place is, erm, scary, and I should- I should go. Sorry.”

The Hive Knight tilted his head at her, releasing a slightly distressed buzz. “[You... -re home? Hive i-zz ..home. I-zz zz-afe h-re, zz-afe wi--.. me.]” He seemed to think for a moment, then leaned forward, running a hand through the little honeybee’s fluff. She shivered and took a nervous step back. “[Zz--ared -f..] Innnfec..tion? [-h-re’s n-ne -n h-re. You ... zzt-ay zz-afe fr-m] Innfec-tion [r--ht ...h-re. I --ll prot-ct you.]”

Oh, great, he thought Vi was one of the bees who lived here, and he was trying to stop her from leaving. Fan-freaking-tastic. He carefully took her by the arm, and it was then that she started to really panic, pushing at his hand and trying to smack it away with the Beemerang so she could make a run for it. This upset him, but the knight wasn’t deterred. He quickly grabbed her in both hands and hugged the smaller bee to his chest, making soft, low buzzes and stroking the back of her head in an attempt to soothe her. What made it worse was the fact that it was working. Against her will, her struggles died down a little, smothered in some of the softest bee fuzz she’d ever felt.

"[I'vve ..g-t you, i-zz ok-y, I --ll k--p you... zz-afe. --n't bee zz--ared.] Zzzrrrrzzzzzzzz..." he hummed. Vi pushed weakly at the Hive Knight's chest, trying to resist nuzzling into the almost silky fur against her face. Through her antennae, she could feel the wall of fluff part somewhere just above her head. She muzzily blinked and looked up, only to squeak in fear.

The struggling kicked back up a notch as the Bugarian bee was pushed headfirst into a warm, damp cave. The knight continued buzzing around her, the sound resonating through her form as it filled his mouth. Her thrashing ceased entirely. The deep vibration and gentle pressure calmed her more than she'd ever felt before. She couldn't think past the sound, past the soothing numbness that washed over her.

The honeybee went limp, her Beemerang falling from her grasp and being delicately plucked out from the larger bee's jaws. A tunnel opened before her, and her head was pressed into it as large hands guided her legs the rest of the way into the maw. She went without protest as the Hive Knight gulped a few times, pulling her easily down into the embrace of his pinkish-yellow flesh.

The next few seconds were a blur as Vi sank through waves of blissful pressure. The buzzing began to quiet as she dropped into a soft, squishy pouch in the knight's upper abdomen. She landed in a pile of fuzzy round things, which buzzed in sleepy confusion and adjusted themselves to cuddle up to the foreign bee's sides.

Careful not to crush any Hivelings beneath her, Vi sat up and sluggishly looked around, blinking into the darkness. "Whuh.. where..?" She focused intently on what she could remember of the past minute, gasping when she pieced the fragments into a semi-complete picture. She got swallowed. Her breathing sped up as she began to paw at the walls.

"H-hey! What was that for?! Lemme out!"

Something pressed in from the outside, rubbing slowly up and down. The smaller bees nosed at her curiously, nudging her back into the middle to be buried in their collective fluff. They seemed confused as to why she would be upset, as though she were the weird one for not wanting to be eaten by a STRANGER-

A particularly small Hiveling crawled onto her chest and pushed its way into her arms. "Wh- why are you..?" They headbutted her chin with a sharp 'zzt!' that left no room for argument. She tentatively lifted a hand to scratch at their head. All the Hivelings were very calm about this, only concerned by the fact that there was a distressed bee in their midst, interrupting their nap. “Oh. Okay. Huh.”

Now that she thought about it, when she touched the walls, they didn't feel like the walls of a stomach. They weren't rippled, or overly slimy. Rather, they were smooth, and almost.. velvety? (Don't ask her how she knew what the inside of a stomach should feel like, she'd never tell.) This must've been some sort of storage pouch, or something. Of course, she didn't really think the Hive Knight would eat-eat her, let alone all these actual Hive residents, but it was a relief to be certain.

Okay, so Vi was safe, that was good, but she still needed to get back to her team. It must've been at least a few hours since she left—Kabbu was probably worrying his horn off. And Leif- well, Leif was likely fine, but they'd be sad if she were gone.

The honeybee was left with one problem. She didn't know how to get out. She could ask, but she'd been put here in the first place because she was freaking out, so she'd have to be calm when she did it. And she didn’t quite expect these other bees to believe she’d calmed down so quickly. So she’d probably have to wait a while.

It really wasn’t so bad in here, to be honest. It was incredibly cozy, and hardly as humid as she’d expect for the inside of another bug. Plus, there was a soft heartbeat somewhere behind her, and steady breathing to follow along to, and the adorable little snores of the smaller bees as they settled back to sleep... Maybe she could join them in their nap. There was something she should probably do first, though.

“Hey, um, Hive Knight?” Vi began. The knight in question buzzed an acknowledgement. “Yeah, uh, if a green beetle and blue moth come in, can you make sure they don’t get hurt? They don’t mean any harm, I promise. I know them, they don’t wanna hurt anybody. They’re friends.” After hearing out her request, the larger bee hummed in confusion, thought about it for a minute, and hesitantly agreed.

“[--ll.. giv- th-m .. -h-nce.]”

She didn’t catch most of that, but it sounded positive enough. “Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around the Hiveling still on her chest and rolling onto her side to snuggle them like a plushie. The other Hivelings continued resting against and around her on all sides, enveloping her in warmth and casual acceptance.

They may not have been related, but they still took her in as easily as one of their own. Here, she didn’t have to worry about her sisters judging her for her life decisions. Here, everything was so simple. Of course, a dead kingdom full of threats at every turn could never outmatch home, but she could perhaps see a certain appeal to it.

Maybe she’d visit again some day, after she got out.

***************************************

hgjsngfdmjnsgnf bees,,,,,,, just bees. this ended up beeing both so much longer and shorter than I expected.

hnnnggggg I guess I’ll go back and proofread.. bee-r-bee (okay I only had to make like 3 edits, this is fine)

oh yeah and Vi’s gonna be so mad about the hypnosis thing later. Leif would tease the heck out of her for it if they found out. they’re lucky it doesn’t have nearly as much of an effect on non-bees. I came up with this headcanon just for this oneshot; dunno if I’ll use it again, but it was fun to play around with.

and anon? thanks. ..for bees

Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated, and criticism is welcome, so long as it’s constructive/respectful. Asks are open.

—————

DNI NSFW blogs, blogs that post exclusively hard and/or fatal vore, weight gain blogs, proshippers, TERFs, ace exclusionists, etc.

#ask #soft vore #safe vore #g/t vore #extreme cuddling #fearplay #hk vore #fandom vore #vore fic #my writing #tw bugs #hk spoilers #bf vore

[sloan-baux]

Okay, so this project "Codename: Malice" is a WIP I've had on the shelf for about three years now 😅 One day I'm sure I might finish it, but here's a little excerpt. Maybe not so little. OC is this girl Valerija (she/her 22), living in this alternate-earth city where ruthless companies rule the place. In this chapter, I wanted to express some things I hate about being a working-class citizen in a busy capital. 😑🌆 Oh and there's a supernatural component!! 🐙 But not in this excerpt, this one is very mundane, just a taste of the work really. 🤗

>

Today is the day when I see someone being murdered for the first time. It happens early in the morning, on the waking streets of Sandorgrad. I am on tram number forty-seven, as always at this hour, rattling to downtown. Having no seats left I've got to stand. From the leaden sky, a thick autumn fog descends, choking the city, banishing all colors but grey and white. I see only look-alike building blocks passing by beyond the dusty windows. There is no heating in the ancient carriage. My nails turn purple in the rigorous cold, as I hold the handrail. I exhale evanescent twirls of mist. Enveloped by eerie lights of the foggy morning, my companions seem insentient, as if they were only snoring, coughing husks. I have been using this tram for fifteen years, and I see the same faces every morning. Some of them I’ve known since childhood. Wretched inhabitants of the slugs all of them, I included. Deep down I loathe them, but I’ve learned to accept their company. It’s either them, or the drunk teasers and rapists of the subways, picking quarrels and provoking trouble all day. I prefer the undead tram. My attention’s drawn to a group of factory workers murmuring. One of them notices me peering, as he grins at me I notice he’s missing a tooth. I cut my eyes away. I remember him from when we were both kids and he was good-looking. He actually attended a school more expensive than mine. Now he's just another junkie, who’s taking his morning pills with an energy drink and shot of vodka. The tram suddenly stops, squeaking and hissing, startling the gloomy passengers. A deluge made of lumps of hollow flesh presses itself into the craft. Reluctantly, people cramp together to give space for the boarding horde. A girl gets on with them, bitter scent of cigarette smoke wafts through the air as she passes me. I know her name is Greta but once I heard someone call her “Naomi” on the tram. It must be her stage name or so. I have vague memories of us playing and chatting when we were kids, but during high school, we stopped talking. She got popular and pretty, and I stayed a weirdo nerd. Then in the last few years, I watched her slow transformation, turning a little more tired and used with every day. She walks to a seat and hops down, hugging her ragged black leather bag, still shimmering from the outside breeze. Her make-up-smeared eyes look sunken and hollow. She never looks at me. Doors shut close, and the tram jolts forward with its lifeless cargo, slowly passing the grey tombs of the suburbs. We are none of us better here. I’m not less miserable either. I don’t stand out. It was all different when I was younger before the city strangled me. As a girl, I felt as if every unknown alley and shop was inviting me to discover it. I never got bored of the neon-written business signs and crowd-flooded streets. Now I look out, and nothing holds my interest. At the next stop, a beggar gets on, round-backed, greasy grey-bearded, carrying two large dingy bags of whatever weather-beaten belongings he has left. Legs shaking he limps to a seat, the crowd opens up for him. The air stiffens with grunts of anger and disgust. Some step aside, some turn away, but whatever they do none can escape his aura of blight. I’m far enough, but occasionally if the draft moves in such a way, it reaches even me. Just a faint whiff of pestilence. There was a time a few months ago when I didn’t have to bear all this. Victor picked me up at my place with his old sports coupe. He drove us all the way south, making a detour just so I could see the river. Sometimes we got held up by a red light next to the railway, and I could watch the tram pass by, taking all the damned with it...

Would you read more of it? 🙃

#writeblr #writing #writing community #fanfiction #creative writing #writing wip #wip excerpt

[featherlouise]

Idk if you ever mentioned it before, but in Radi fucking dies speedrun edition, how is Hollow's relationship with their mother like? What does she think of her husband's overprotectivness over them?

I think I’ve briefly mentioned it?? I’m ngl I’ve kinda been neglecting WL in like. All my AUs. I need to step up lmao she doesn’t deserve that shit

So!! I’ll try to make this quick lmfao

WL and Hollow’s relationship isn’t strained persay, unlike PK, WL hasn't allowed herself to care for them. She's kinda locked the motherly side of herself away for her own sake, to the point where she didn't even cry at the funeral, all she felt was a distant, detached kind of sadness.

It wasn't until they show up in her gardens a couple weeks after waking up, being dragged by Hornet bc "you PROMISED you'd play with me when u got better and now you're better so PLAY WITH ME!!"

And as she watches them dote on their baby sister, it really hits her that they're alive. They're not the cold husk of what was supposed to be her Child, they are her child. They have been her child for the past 15 years, and what has she done but ignore them every chance she had.

Suddenly a ton of small moments in their childhood were completely recontextualised. When Hornet was a toddler and they'd just stare as WL held her. The way that, when they were really small, when she still thought she could be a mother to the Pure Vessel, even if only in small ways, they'd lean into her touch, just slightly. And then when she stopped trying to touch them, they'd sometimes twitch towards her, in such a small movement that she thought she'd imagined it, as if they were seeking out her touch, her affection.

How is she supposed to make up for years of neglect?? Their childhood is over, they don't need a mother anymore. Surely she missed her chance to forge a meaningful relationship with them.

So. She does nothing.

For 6 months.

During which time, Hollow has begun to crawl out of their shell, show more of their personality. They're no longer afraid to express opinions, and have forged real friendships with the Knights. It's not an uncommon sight to see them running around after their baby sister, no longer bothering with the pretence that "I was told to watch her, so that's what I'm doing."

There is one slight problem though.

There's an infamous story in the palace, of a time when more than a dozen guards came stampeding in to the queen's garden in the palace, trampling over all her flower beds. In the end, the walls of the corridor leading to the gardens had a few more uh. Decorations. Than it had previously.

It took 3 days to free everyone.

Long story short!! No guards are allowed into the Queen's gardens unless they have express permission.

So!! After receiving many complaints via letters, Herrah suggests maybe taking a picnic down to the gardens the next time she and Hornet visit. It's a day free from their guards AND perhaps a way to force their mother to FINALLY fucking talk to them.

It's awkward at first, neither of them know each other particularly well, so Herrah and Hornet carry the conversation. But!! At some point, Herrah mentions Hollow's desire to learn how to garden (something they've offhandedly mentioned a couple of times) and WL practically jumps at the chance to offer to teach them.

Thus begins their weekly lessons. Hollow gets a day free of their constant guards, and they both get to bond over a common interest.

There is, however, the underlining concern that despite how many times they've complained to her about their entourage, she refuses to do anything about it. Surely she could at least try to talk to their father, but the few times they've suggested it, she just brushes them off or changes the subject.

Honestly, to an extent she's glad that her husband is so protective. She's missed so much of their life that now she actually has a relationship with them?? She's terrified of their time being cut short. And there's also a small part of her that's afraid that if they no longer need to take solace in her gardens, the visits and lessons will stop entirely. She can't take that chance.

Regardless, they do have a pretty good relationship by the time the confrontation happens.

"I'lL tRy To MaKe ThIs ShOrT" get fucked past me

#asks #rfds bad end

[savofid]

I feel empty, yet that which is empty is inevitable filled with something else. Sometimes it's a fight to keep something inside, sometimes it's a wish to not be alone in here.

My heart is broken, yet continues to beat and keep me alive. Does it do this because it's what I want, or is it acting in its own, selfish interests?

They say that one cannot have light without darkness, yet I stand as a testament that the reverse is true. Is it fair to call it joy when it's a ruse; a deliberate act by another to inflict more pain in the end? No joy without sadness, they say. No light without the dark. Why is joy, then, the last thing I want when experiencing sadness?

I don't seek refuge during this storm. I weather it completely and on my own. Others say they're there for me, that they understand. One says to find God. One says that I should just let it all go. One says that I should just give in, following it up with a attempt to hit me when I'm down.

How worthless one must be to be replaced with pain as a better alternative. The effort it must take to not want to right that wrong, to prove to all of existence that you have meaning. Yet, in doing so, in destroying the source of this pain, you make yourself into something worse.

I bore my all, cut out my bleeding heart, laid bare my insecurities. Is this what you feed upon? The twisting, pulsing muscles, the gaping wound, the fibrous scars in the gnashing of your teeth. I'm crushed and broken as you pass me along without a second thought. I hope, then, at least I was satisfying in the moments we shared.

This mind, trapped within my skull, screaming to get out. It has no mouth, yet it must scream. I have a mouth, yet cannot scream. The option may be there, but the choice was made already. The world expects me to shut up and take it. Just man up and move on.

If I was such a man, I would've defended "what's mine," I would've put him down. What sort of man must I be that I didn't swiftly resort to violence? I must not be one at all, maybe a featherless biped at best.

The weakness within drags me down below the ground. I sink further and further down. Is down so bad? Everyone's saying you need to go up and never down. Up is good, down is bad, but who says so? The people who wanna do up? Do I wanna do down?

Light fades into fleeting moments, flashes and sparks. The weight upon me embraces closer and closer, a closeness I have never known nor will again. There is no loneliness here. I'm only ever alone in my mind, yet it is already so full.

I know I'll never be loved. Everyone that can see shall cast their gaze upon me and know this. A weak, broken, and hollow husk that was once human but has long forgotten how it felt to be whole. I hear the call to give up coming from within.

I won't cry, merely hang my head in sorrow and move on to whatever terrible things lay yet ahead. I've shed my tears for you already. Any more would be a waste for me; an insult to you. Let us both resign ourselves to our inevitable mediocrity and know that nothing is in the cards. To bet on these stakes, to hold out for hope, is only asking for disappointment.

[reality-maybe]

hey loved your little kisses imagine!! maybe you could do one about being in a depression slump and getting helped out of it by your f/o…. lack of motivation, chores piling up, dissociation, headaches and general mental anguish. combatted by sensitivity, cuddles, and love 🥺 thank you if you end up using this! 💕

Hello hello kind anon!! Congrats for being my first request! my god i am SO sorry for the wait on this one, my schedule changed a lot with school, i felt this ask HARD cause of it. Depression is so hard to deal with, and it hits at the worst times, but we have each other and our f/o's to help us with it! Keep your chin up! aw thank you so much for liking my imagine! actually had no idea how much i needed this prompt for me too, oh to have Knuckle help me through my slumps lol. So thank you even more for sending in this request! I'm settling now and have a tamer schedule and can take more requests! i hope you like it! :]

❗️Depression TW/CW❗️

Depression is a hard hitter, an energy sucking mind bending parasite that tends to leave you as hollow husk of yourself. You hated it. You hated how it made you feel, hated how it made even the most menial tasks seem like you were dragging a mountain through mud, and you hated the clarity of self reflection. you knew you that if you just got up and did something maybe that would take a bit of the pain away. It all seemed so damn simple when you looked at it, and that's what bothered you so much.

you were staring at the ceiling, laying in bed for what was hours after you'd woken up at this point, trudging through the thick murk of your thoughts, trying to make something of it, but getting nothing but static in return.

you refuse to look at the corner of your room, knowing you were only going to be met with the leer of a shameful sagging ever growing pile of clothes. You thought a shower may help you wash your stresses but you couldn't bare to inspect the state of your bathroom, knowing your products were strewn around the area. You didn’t even need to get up out of bed to do the lingering paperwork from days ago on your phone, but even your hands felt as if bricks were tied to them, too cumbersome and heavy to move. It seemed that no matter where you looked the reminders of what you could not accomplish followed relentlessly, and so your eyes sought refuge in the one place where there was the comfort of nothing to look at, the ceiling.

You were broken out of your thoughts by the sharp trill of your phone’s ringtone, and had you not have identify the caller by the custom tone, you would have let it echo until it faded to voicemail

you muster up as much effort as you could and made your best attempt to pipe up a hello. It had been a week since you called your f/o, energy too sapped to even maintain a phone call. Though you opted to text when you were on your low days, you could not help but shake the twinge of bubbling guilt, feeling as if you somehow abandoned them in a way. But your f/o knew you were better than that.

"Hey y/n, it's been a few days since I've heard you. Have you been alright? I know you told me you were having a tough time, but I want to see you, I miss your voice, let me come over?"

you hear them on the other end, and you could swear that the mere sound of their voice was a song of healing, a panacea that was able to help boost your energy and take on the obstacles of life. and yet somehow, it also made you feel worse for not calling them earlier. Your heart palpitated in a flash panic at the thought of your f/o seeing you and your surroundings in your current state, and without thinking you haphazardly blurted out an excuse, but as usual, your f/o knew you were better than that.

"Hey, come on. It's okay, you don't need to hide from me. If you have a lot going on I want you to know that you don't have to shoulder it alone. I'm here and I'm yours, let me help you. we can get though it together."

The gentle coax of their heartfelt and earnest tone cut though your remorse enough to let a tiny sliver of their warm light shine though to you. You did miss them, and though you didn't want to admit it, you would benefit from their support. You were tired of being tired. You felt your lips quirk into a smile after what seemed like ages, and with a gentle sigh you agree to let them come over

The knock at your door came quicker than you expected. You chuckle with a fond exasperation, you could only assume that they called you while they were already on their way to your place. Typical f/o. You call out to say the door's unlocked, taking the extra time to brace yourself against their reaction to your situation.

The judgement never came, you expected the sting of mockery and pity, but nearly gasped as all you felt was the snug embrace of your f/o, your senses suddenly enveloped by them. The winding warmth of their arms around you, the scent of them as they pull you into their chest, the joy you heard when they called out your name, the sight of their bright smile, the taste of them when they drew you in for a soft kiss. For a moment, you felt your depression disintegrate, the piles of clothes gone, feelings enrapt by only a few seconds of them being in the room.

"I missed you, sweet thing."

their loving purr rumbled through their chest into yours, vibrations sending warmth though your body. They left a sweet peck on your nose as they pulled away, and proceeded to make small talk and catch up with you, more taken by your mere company than the state of your room. It had been a while since you truly conversed with them, and the more you heard them talk, the easier it was to open up about your current battles. The ceaseless intensity of your slumps, how the claustrophobic accumulation of dissociative thoughts, paired with the lacking energy and accrescent pile of chores brewed a perfect storm that clouded your mental state and left you lost and seeking shelter.

"Oh darling, you must be so tired. It's okay, I'm here to help you in any way I can. If you need me to get you anything, help you with chores, hold you as long as you need to, I can do it. just ask me, yeah?"

you hide your face into their chest and nod, coming to realization with how much about your depression and mental state you spilled to them in such a short amount of time. Part of you felt lighter, the fogginess of your burdens ever so slowly beginning to melt.

your f/o was quiet for a few moments after, though their grip never around you never loosened. They were staring at you with a thoughtful look, hand brought up to their face. it was like you could almost see the cogs and mental machinery of their brain churning, but to power what idea, you did not know. They leaned in close to whisper to you,

"Is it okay if we get started? we can take as many breaks as you want to. and even if we do just one task, that's worth more than enough cuddle time. Or hey, we can make it a game. For every one thing that you put away, I put away two. Then when we reach a certain number, it's cuddle time!"

Honestly, the idea was not too bad, dare you say it seemed kind of amusing. You always had fun with f/o regardless of given situations, they always tried to make the best out of whatever you both found yourselves in. Their enthusiasm could not help but make you giggle, and you quickly noted how it had been a while since you last laughed, grateful that you remembered how to. you had your f/o to thank for that, really. You had a lot to thank f/o for.

You agreed and went through with their little task game, your first item of choice being a simple but well loved hoodie that was shared between the both of you at times, though you bought it for your f/o's birthday. As soon as it was back in its place, your felt your f/o wrap their arms around you, pull you back against their chest, and lean their head against yours. you couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but amongst the tender kisses and nuzzles to you neck and the loving murmur of their voice, you clearly caught a phrase

"Good job. I'm so proud of you."

Between the bursts of help, the laughs and banter, and the ever so often cuddle and chill out break, you both managed to knock out some chores and clean a good portion of your room. There was still more work to be done, and you invited them to stay over for the night, to which they eagerly obliged.

you spent the next few days bonding with them as they continued to help you through your slump, always eager and willing to give you new perspectives and assist with tasks. Soon enough, your living space was clean again, you were just shy of caught up with your work, and most important to them, you were smiling a bit more. They left your place with the slightly vague bid that they'll reward you when you would do something that was good for you, and kissed you goodbye, leaving you dumbfounded at the entrance

it wasn't until a few days later that you knew what they meant

laundry had piled up again. you had not done it since f/o was over. It wasn't quite as bad as before, but there was once again a substantial pile on the floor. Though you were feeling the impending cloudiness of your slump looming over the horizon of your brain, your thoughts went back to the good times you had with your f/o that day, and how you chased the longing want to feel like that again. you knew what you needed to do. With a huff, you begrudgingly shamble out of bed and gather as many clothes as you can into your arms. You hobble to where you get your supplies for your laundry, and instead of being greeted with a box of soap, your eyes widened in surprise as you were met with a small bag of your favorite candy. you stare at it for a few seconds, wondering if it was even real for a second. you see that attached to the bag was a small blue note, and you let the clothes in your arms fall to the ground with a woosh as you unfold the note. You nearly gasp.

"See? I told you I'd do something for you if YOU did something for you! You're doing so great, love, keep at it. I'm always rooting for you ♡

~ f/o

As you read the sweet note you swear you could feel a wave of glowing warmth spread through you, the soft buzzing tingle a far cry from the gullies of emptiness you saw yourself in before. You were feeling again. You wanted to be better again. you knew it was okay to trip, you had an incredible support to be there to catch you, even when they weren't with you.

you open the bag with a small crinkle, reach for a piece of candy, and pop it in your mouth, savoring the rewarding taste. It was more than enough to satisfy and make your day, the sweetness reminiscent you of your f/o and their best wishes for you, a reminder to keep your head up.

You continued throughout your day, and you would notice in days that followed, in almost every area in your place where you were to finish the last step of a task, was a small goody and a note, all from your f/o. most of the time it was your favorite candy or snack, but all of them came with a small cute note from your f/o, and you thoroughly enjoyed finding them. You would always be reminded about how much they cared for you, and how much they truly believed in you though just a simple act, and you found it fun and accomplishing.

The next time they were over, you brought it up in conversation laying in bed, asking how they did it and thanking them. they simply pulled you against them and kissed you on the forehead, though you swore you could see a twinkle in their eye.

"I'm not gonna tell you. Think of me as...a depression tooth fairy. I just want you to see how much you can do. Look at you go! I'm only just here for a little pick me up y'know. and YOU did it, and I am so proud of you”

you grumble haphazardly and roll your eyes at their comment, but return your face to the comfort of neck, ever so wonderfully overwhelmed at the praise they showered you with. They chuckled and kissed your forehead once more, happy to hold you until you drifted to sleep. Unbeknownst to you, after you slept your f/o would wiggle their way out of bed, praying they wont disturb you, and quickly pad over to their bag, where they pulled out various goodies and notes. Time to get to work

They left the next day as if nothing transpired in the midnight calm, and they kissed you farewell as normal. You sighed, adjusting as a the sudden hush settled over your place. your thoughts lingered on your f/o and their kind gesture, and in honor of them, and at the realization that the bin just on the cusp of overflowing, you decide to do your laundry.

You grunt and you hoist the bin up in your arms making your way to your laundry area with staggered steps, and setting the bin down with a solid thump once you're in front of the machine. you reach for the soap, but are met with the soft crinkling of a small bag. a warm smile spreads it's way onto your face without even thinking, and you tenderly pull out the small package out from it's hiding place. There, in your hand, was a small bag of your favorite candy, and attached to that bag this time, was a small pink note.

#im so sorry this took so long #i hope you enjoy it #this was so much fun to write ngl i love writing stuff like this #asks #f/o imagines #f/o self ship #selfshipping #self ship #self insert #self shipping community #romantic f/o #f/o prompts #f/o x s/i #f/o #fictional other #fictophilia #ficto positivity #s/i #f/o x oc #f/o x y/n #rECH #himbo king #depression tw #depression cw #ask prompt #anon ask

[mrslittletall]

saw your whump post, honestly the "I'm fine" screams Hornet to me, so it'd be cool to see that! - dooblebugs

Title: The Idol Fandom: Hollow Knight Characters: Hornet & Little Ghost Word Count: 2.825 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30941981

Summary: After the Hollow Knight is freed from the temple, Hornet does her best to take care of the ones that are still left in Hallownest. Everything should be fine... until it isn't.

(Author's note:  @dooblebugs

I thought about using canon verse with “Almost everyone lives AU” or your Mer AU. But ultimately, canon verse won, because I still miss some context for the Mer AU. I hope you enjoy.)

Hornet opened her eyes and jumped on her feet right away. Her day would always start with hunting and gathering food, preferably before Hollow woke up and tried to move, and it was a whole other problem trying to haul a bug their size back into bed, especially when they rigorously ignored their wounds.

While Hornet trusted Quirrel and Cloth enough to leave Hollow in their care for a while, she always felt better if she could look over them personally. However, the longer she hesitated with leaving, the longer she would need to come back, so Hornet left the house in Dirtmouth they had inhabited for Hollow's recovery and went towards the crossroads.

The little pitter-patter of tiny feet next to her prompted Hornet to look down. Ghost had decided to accompany her again. They always would. She could tell them a hundred times to stay behind, they would never listen. For a vessel meant to be void of mind, Ghost was one of the bugs with the strongest will that Hornet ever had seen.

“You will still come with me, even if I say no, right, little Ghost?”, Hornet said, shouldering her needle. Ghost didn't nod or sign at her, they simply stared, with their unblinking, never changing expression. It was enough for Hornet to know that they wouldn't leave.

“Alright, but don't get into my way.”, Hornet said. At this, Ghost swung their nail and jumped in front of Hornet in a pose that depicted a challenge, then their nail went down on the ground in a strike, the swing of it breaking through the calmness of the morning.

“I know! I know! You've beaten me twice, but... I have gone easy on you.”, Hornet half hissed. It was a blatant lie and she knew it. The first time she had simply underestimated them (or she simply had become tired of fighting) and the second time... she had given it her all and they still had remained victorious. In a sense, Ghost was the new king of Hallownest, but they didn't seem to put any mind on the title. They didn't even seem to be wanting to be celebrated for being the saviour of Hallownest. They simply joined Hornet every morning for hunting and went off on their own afterwards, always coming back to play with their friends in Dirtmouth.

As the both of them jumped down the well, Hornet couldn't help but think about that there wasn't much to rule anymore. This kingdom was in shambles. It had been two weeks and the dried off infection still crusted the crossroads, too little bugs alive to care much about cleaning the place up. It was becoming more and more difficult to get food, because so many of the infected had simply been reanimated husks, without any meat left in them.

They surely would have to wander to Greenpath again, hopefully finding a few vengeflies and mosscreeps to bring home.

Hornet was used being alone. She had been alone for a very long time. She had managed. She never was lonely... well, maybe a little lonely and now there was a bunch of strangers up in Dirtmouth who relied on her. Hornet never wanted for anyone to rely on her. She had seen what happened when bugs relied on someone and... there wasn't a solution.

She looked down on Ghost again, they had their nail on the ready and stared vigilantly in front of them. They must have crossed this crossroads a dozen times on their journey, still expecting to be attacked by the infected every given minute. Hornet could understand that it was hard for them to let go of old habits.

She was the same. She never let go of her needle as well. Even with the infection never being able to come back, she had to remain vigilant. She would protect her siblings, no matter what. She wouldn't, no she couldn't, let anyone down.

“We are nearing Greenpath.”, she said, only to cut through the silence between them. She knew it wasn't Ghost's fault that they didn't have a voice, but after years of not being able to talk to anyone, Hornet barely could stand the silence, when there was someone she could talk to. “Remember, when we hunt the mosscreeps, take their leaves as well, for the herbivores.”

While Hornet was able to eat plant matter as well, it never had been satisfying to her. She was the daughter of a spider and a wyrm, both predators, and therefore she usually would hunt for food. She was unsure about what kind of diet Ghost and Hollow needed, but they seemed to be content with the prey she brought back, so she wouldn't change anything about it.

“And remember, we can't hunt too much. The population needs a chance to recover.”, she said as well. The infection had done a number on the whole of Hallownest... it wasn't a surprise that there was such a food shortage. In fact, Hornet had cut her own food intake in favour of her siblings and anyone who couldn't hunt or still needed to recover. That bug, Tiso, came to mind. Had a far too big stomach for having been utterly destroyed by the colloseum of fools. Why Ghost had dragged him back to Dirthmouth, she would never understand.

Ghost showed that they understood with a little nod of their head and the both of them entered Greenpath. It was a MUCH nicer place without the infection, but they still had to pay attention, the fool eater plants were easy to overlook (not that Hornet had ever overlooked them, but Ghost tended to forget...) and there were some predators still around, though they were no match for her needle. The problem was to avoid them to not hunt too much. Like she had said to Ghost, they needed to give the population time to recover, if they wouldn't want all to starve beforehand.

“We get only enough for everyone back in Dirtmouth.”, Hornet said again. “Then we leave again. Let's search for some mosscreeps first.”

The both of them jumped and slashed their way through the vegetation of Greenpath. While Hornet preferred to use her needle, Ghost had found a lot of new ways to move around since the first time they fought and they dashed (literally leaving their shell behind and somehow phasing through time and space) and jumped with wings that reminded Hornet of her father... and she got a bad feeling in her guts every time she saw them.

After a bit of time, they had managed to hunt two vengeflies to bring back, Hornet keeping them cocooned up for transportation and were now searching through the vegetation for some mosscreeps. Finally, Hornet found one and struck it down with her needle, preparing a cocoon for it again, when Ghost picked something up from the grass.

“Ghost, what do you have there?”, Hornet asked. The item was too small to be prey and they tended to hoard stuff they found. It probably was just something that was completely worthless nowadays, only generating Geo when given to this historian in the City of Tears. She still wanted to know.

Ghost came over and laid the thing they had picked up in her outstretched hand. When she looked down on it, she froze.

It was a King's Idol, the item that the citizens of Hallownest had crafted to worship her reclusive father. Each of them looked different, but they all shared the general shape and depicted his most salient feature: The horns that resembled a crown.

Staring down at it, something in Hornet broke. It might have been the stress she felt since Ghost had arrived. Or the fact that Hollow recovered from years of abuse from both the gods of Hallownest. Or that she was running on an empty stomach most of the time. But once she saw that thing, all her frustration crashed down on her at once.

You!”, she hissed. “It was all your fault! You knew that the plan wouldn't work! You knew that they would suffer and you still have let it happen! The teacher, the watcher, my mother, all sacrificed for nothing! And then, in the moment you were needed the most, you vanished, you damn coward! We needed you! I needed you! I hate you. I hate you and I can't even say it to your face anymore!”

Hornet threw the king's idol on the ground with so much force that it skipped on the ground and then fell on her knees, slowly getting aware of the tears on her face and the presence of little ice cold hands patting her arm.

“I am fine.”, she said, wiping the tears away. Just a moment of weakness, nothing else. Even though she could feel the judgemental stare of Ghost, she was fine. She had to be. “Seriously, I am fine.”, she continued once more. “Let's continue hunting.”

As Hornet was putting her composure back together, she didn't notice how Ghost continued to stare at her, picking up the idol from the ground, and only starting to move again once she called out for them.

The hunt had been more or less successful. At least they had found enough prey that nobody should go terribly hungry (at least when Hornet halved her own portion again). As usual, hunting had taken the better part of the day. Hornet would have liked to go hunt at some different locations, but the Old Stag from the stag ways wasn't around lately, apparently he was taking care of some personal business. With him not being around, it was just too far to walk to the Fungal Wastes or Deepnest, at least not when she wanted to come back the same day.

Currently Hornet took in her meal in Hollow's room with Ghost present as well. She was busy thinking about if there was another route that would make sure she could hunt elsewhere but Greenpath for once, when she felt a nudge. When she looked down, she saw how Ghost offered them a half of their mosscreep, holding the prey up in their little hands, seemingly eagerly awaiting for her to take it.

“I can't take this, Ghost.”, Hornet said. “You need all the food you can get, you are still growing.”

Ghost cocked their head and for once their eternal deadpan expression was on point. Hornet knew how ridiculous her argument was. Ghost had been born before her. They hadn't grown in years. Their body had been unable to grow because they didn't had access to void. “You know what I mean.”, she defended herself. There was the possibility that Ghost would start to grow as long as they stayed in Hallownest.

Ghost offered their meal a little while longer and then gave up with a little frustrated stomp of their foot. It was then when Hornet felt another nudge... this time it was Hollow, who had simply watched the scene unfold in front of them, offering their part of their meal.

“Oh no, not you too, Hollow.”, Hornet sighed. “You need the food much more than me, you are still recovering. I won't accept anything from you.”

The both vessels shared a look and once again Hornet asked herself if they could talk to each with some kind of void telepathy, before both of them looked at the ground in defeat.

“I am fine.”, Hornet repeated herself, she knew that. “Really, I am fine...”

Hornet awoke the next morning... not because her stomach cramped and she had trouble sleeping because of it, but because someone nudged her. She cracked one eye open and murmured: “It's barely morning...” She just craved to go back to sleep, to forget about the day in front of her for a few minutes longer, but the nudging got more and more intense, until she shouted: “Fine! I am getting up! Stop bothering me!”

It was Ghost in front of her and immediately Hornet stopped being annoyed. What if something had happened? “Is something the matter with Hollow? Or is a threat approaching the village?”, she asked, already fumbling for her needle, once again forgetting that Ghost was more than capable of defending the village themselves. They just looked too much like a little, defenseless child, even though Hornet had experienced otherwise.

Gladly, Ghost shook their head, though this put Hornet right back into annoyance. “Then why have you woken me up?”, she said, falling back down in her pillows, ignoring the urge to close her eyes and looking at Ghost again, making sure to give them a judgemental stare.

Ghost did grip something under their cloak (wings? Hornet never knew what this thing around the vessels was) and after a bit of struggling, they produced a jar... a jar filled with honey. The smell actually made Hornet's mouth water. Honey was one of the few things she liked to eat that wasn't meat, mostly because she had trained in the Hive in her youth.

Though, as lucky as she felt about having more food, she couldn't help but scold Ghost. “Ghost, did you get this on your own? The Hive is dangerous, even without the infection! What if the Hive Knight would have found you?”

Ghost shook their head and then outstretched their hand, showing Hornet a shiny little charm. A charm she remembered. The charm of the Hive. “Wait, you have been there and challenged him already?” Hornet wanted to be surprised, but Ghost couldn't really surprise her anymore. When they could surprise her somehow, then it was that they were full of surprises.

“Anyway... I guess I have to thank you, though I don't approve that you sneak out at night into the Hive.”, Hornet murmured. “At least we have more food for the group now..”

Ghost rigorously shook their head and pressed the jar in her hands. “For me?”, Hornet asked and Ghost nodded.

“But... Ghost, I appreciate it, but I don't need.. the others need the food much more than...”

Another shook of their head and a stomp of their foot along with crossed arms and a slight turn around. Hornet suddenly felt very small, she had never seen them that upset.

“Alright, alright...”, she said. “Maybe I have eaten insufficient lately...”

Ghost nodded again and gave the jar of honey another press, so that she had to hold it firmly in her hands.

“Alright alright...”, Hornet finally gave in. “I will take your offer, Ghost.”

As she opened the jar, her hunger became more and more apparent and soon she dug in and had finished the whole jar in what felt like no time and finally, for once, she didn't feel overly hungry. Satisfied even.

She then saw Ghost holding up something. A little rock with a few letters written on it. Lately Cornifer had given them writing lessons, though it still was a work in progress.

“Fine?”

That was the word they had painted on the rock (where did they even have the colours from?).

“I am fine.”, Hornet said. “This time for real. I am sorry, Ghost, I shouldn't have lied to you. I just feel so... responsible for everyone. I can't show weakness in front of anyone.”

Ghost shook their head again and then got something out. Hornet recognized it as the King's Idol they had found in Greenpath. They tossed it at the ground, just as she had done and then hit it with their nail, leaving a notable crack in it.

“You as well don't have the best memories of him, right?”, Hornet said. Both of them had been left behind, though in a different kind of way. Ghost had been discarded and Hornet had been left with responsibility far too huge for her age.

Ghost nodded again and gave the King's Idol another smack, so that it landed in front of her. Hornet took it into her hands and stared at it. She did miss him, that she had to admit to herself, but she also knew that her anger and her disappointment were real and there was no reason to hide it in front of Ghost.

She squeezed the Idol until it cracked into two pieces and just watched as they fell down. “Thank you, Ghost.”, she said. “But make sure to not tell Hollow about this.”

The way Hollow idealized their father... it would break their heart seeing his image being defiled like that.

Another quick nod and then Ghost actually got another one out, their face clearly saying: “Wanna break another?”

A grin crept over Hornet's face. She would never get her mother back or escape her responsibilities, but at least she could vent out her frustrations, even though it took her sibling for her to realize.

“Oh you bet I want.” (Author's note: Little Ghost is kinda fun to write. I think they are a character mostly showing what they feel through body language and it was fun to come up with how they would act. I also like to think that they can stare very judgemental, even though their expression never changes, a stare of them can make anyone falter. Hornet's relationship to PK is... complicated. He hasn't actually been a bad father to her, but as the infection came back and depression took over, he left her alone more and more and she got angry about it... especially when he decided to just vanish. She felt utterly betrayed by it and it is a huge source of her frustration and anger. I put in some little references to the game in there, try to find them if you please.)

#hollow knight #fanfiction #hornet #little ghost #march of the whumps #request fill #hornet has issues #whump #emotional whump #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #Anonymous

[ineffablegame]

I was reading the prompt list you reblogged and thought 17 would be interesting to see play out. Especially in an older setting, when Az and Crowley aren't as comfortable with each other. Maybe using the deleted scene of Az opening the bookshop? Though I'm sure you could make the modern setting just as enjoyable

@vvcorvusvv I hope it isn’t too long! and I hope you expected Moses when you made this ask, because of course Moses.

Warnings for some disturbing imagery and minor (Biblical) character death, as well as images borrowed from Prince of Egypt.

Also published on my Ao3.

Reeds

The moment Crawley enters the Egyptian city of Pi Ramesses, he knows something is deeply wrong.

It clots the air, a miasma of anguish so choking it sets him back on his heels.  As angels are attuned to the divine emotions – love, joy, contentment – so demons are to the infernal, the sorrow, the wrath, the hate.  It is a sense not unlike smell or taste, and the grief billowing downwind from the Nile carries distinct notes of death and rot. His camel arches its neck in alarm and he tightens his grip on the reins.  Bile sours the back of his throat.  To his knowledge, Hell played no part in this, which means…

Crawley is about to turn his camel around and flee when a fresh wave of grief barrels into him.  This one is entirely different from the rest – a glacial knife of shock and sorrow.  Crawley recognizes the divine imprint of that grief.  He hesitates.  His tongue darts out, viper-swift, and tastes the faintest trace of apples.

“Blast,” he mutters, and flicks the reins.  The camel plods into the heart of Pi Ramesses.

It takes time, winding through the narrow streets, chasing the elusive taste of apples.  Crawley counts himself lucky the angel did not linger long in the city, did not trace and re-trace the maze of dusty pathways, leaving his scent everywhere, impossible to track.  But his relief withers as the scent leads him through the Egyptian quarter – clean, quiet, untainted by grief – and toward the slave ghetto.  The two neighborhoods are separated by shallow decline of sandstone and a stretch of bare earth.

Crawley halts his camel at the top of the hill.  If he stretches his senses, he can just catch them:  scraps of wailing and screaming, babies crying. Whispers beside the tidal grief crashing over him.

And there it is again:  the angel’s sorrow, cold dread.

Setting his jaw, Crawley guides the camel down the hillside and across the empty land.  The lamentations grow louder as the distance shrinks, the raw clamor of emotion very nearly overwhelming.  Every tendon in Crawley’s body is strung tight as he urges the camel into the melee, cursing the beast for its good sense to be afraid, cursing himself for being fool enough to keep going.  As he moves through the ghetto, chasing the trail, screams and sobs assail him.  They come from the homes, little more than clay hovels, and bleed shrieking into the streets.

Crawley drags the camel to a stop as, scant yards ahead, an Egyptian man emerges from one of the hovels.  A screaming baby is slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain.  A woman chases him, eyes streaming, face contorted in a rictus of horror.  The man backhands her and she staggers against the wall of the hovel, dazed.

Crawley doesn’t think – only reacts, hand flying up to pluck a shred of infernal power from Below.  The Egyptian’s eyes glaze over and he slumps, topples.  Crawley snatches the baby from his limp grasp the moment before he hits the ground.  A boy, mere weeks old, maybe less.

“Take this,” he snarls in Hebrew, shoving the baby into his mother’s unsteady hands.  “And get out!”

He forges onward, horror prickling at his insides as the truth of the situation sinks in.  Boys, all baby boys.  Boys held aloft by their legs, thrown over shoulders, ripped from their mothers’ arms. Babies screaming in uncomprehending, instinctual terror.  He helps where he can, throwing miracles like sparks cast off a flame, but the Egyptians are endless.  He may as well fight the ocean with a guttering candle.  

Crawley sucks in a breath as the camel rushes out an alleyway and into a clearing beside the Nile.  In the burnished light of the sinking sun, the water runs a carnal red.  Reeds crowd the riverbank, swaying in a placid breeze.  For the briefest instant, Crawley’s focus is fixed on the reeds:  the peaceful, hollow rattle of husk on husk.

And then the scene crashes over him in a torrent of grief.  A woman lies inert on the shore, arms tangled over her head. Her face is turned toward the sky, splattered with red clay-mud, eyes fixed sightlessly on the inkblot twilight. The neckline of her shift is dark with congealing blood.  A pair of children stand beside her, a boy and a girl.  The boy is sobbing, great, heaving wails that seem wrenched out of him with every gulping breath.  The girl simply stares.  She is beyond tears.

Crawley casts his gaze out across the Nile and sees him:  Aziraphale, standing waist-deep in the water just beyond the reeds. The angel has a dark bundle cradled in his arms.

Crawley clicks his tongue and the camel trudges forward.  As they near the riverbank, the demon slips off the camel’s back and lands with a wince.  With a snap of his fingers, the children are frozen in time.

Mud sucks at Crawley’s sandals as he stops, stiff-legged, on the edge of the Nile.  “Aziraphale!”

The angel startles as if from a daze.  Turning slowly, Aziraphale regards him.  “Oh.  Crawley.”

“Get over here, you great fool,” Crawley calls.  He doesn’t know why he bothers, doesn’t let himself dwell on it.  “Hurry, before—”

His words are drowned in a rush as the waters of the Nile mound up around Aziraphale, snapping apart in a cascade of droplets.  The maw of a crocodile appears, scything the water with horrible speed, teeth bared to ruin and rend.  Aziraphale fumbles with the bundle only to bend double when it threatens to slip out of his arms.  The crocodile speeds closer and Crawley’s heart leaps into his throat.  Aziraphale pries an arm free and raises his hand to pluck down a miracle from Above.

A snap reverberates through the air. The crocodile collapses sideways in a shower of water, submerged.  When it resurfaces, it has become a piece of driftwood, hollow and termite-ridden and floating fast downstream.  It may return to crocodile-shaped before it reaches the delta.  If it remembers to.

Aziraphale, still clutching the bundle, stares at Crawley in disbelief.  “You…”

Crawley lowers his hand, fingers still smarting with infernal power.  He can’t begin to fathom why he just did that.  Clearing his throat, he calls, “Get out of the river, angel.  Before another one comes along.”

Nodding, still dazed, Aziraphale trudges toward the bank.  The bundle in his arms resolves into a basket of reeds and pitch, slick as fish scales.  The angel steps onshore, his linen kilt soaked through.  Crawley averts his eyes.  “Miracle yourself dry, for pity’s sake.”

“Oh.”  Aziraphale shuffles the basket in his arms, which emits a faint whimpering noise. Crawley’s heart sinks.  Growing impatient, he snaps his fingers – no sense in subtlety at this point – and Aziraphale sucks in a breath as the water purls off his skin, out of his kilt.  “Um. Thank you, Crawley.”

“What’s that,” Crawley demands, eyeing the basket.

Aziraphale’s blank expression crumples into sorrow.  Crawley winces, stung by the keen chill of it.  He extends his empty hands.  The angel surrenders the basket with infinite care.

Crawley lifts the lid and hisses out a curse.  A baby boy lies inside, damp and grizzling but overall unharmed.  The basket was clearly made with care, bound tightly with twine, each gap stoppered with pitch.  The love imbued between the reeds stings Crawley’s hands.  He darts a glance toward the three humans, still frozen.

“It’s hers,” he surmises, meaning the dead woman.

Aziraphale’s voice is low, quavering.  “Yes… yes, he is.”  He swallows. “Was.”

“What happened?”

The angel drags in a shuddering breath.  “She tried to escape.  Been hiding the child for months, apparently.  Her plan was to… to hide the baby in the reeds until the Egyptians left, but…”  His eyes dart to the mud, to the red rush of the river.  Anywhere but to meet Crawley’s gaze.  “An Egyptian man saw her and…”  He gestures, helplessly, eyes flitting skyward.  “I sent him away.  I couldn’t… couldn’t kill him.”

Crawley can hear the words beneath the words, whisper-soft:  I wish I was strong enough to.

He buries his pity.  “This madness had better not be your lot’s doing.”  He means it to be bitter as gall, but the words emerge a plea.  He thinks of lashing rain, pillars of salt.

Aziraphale tenses.  Blinking hard, he shakes his head.  “It wasn’t.  It couldn’t have been.”

You don’t know, Crawley thinks, but holds his tongue.  The world is still new, still an infant bobbing helplessly along in the current of time, and he has not yet exhausted the endless quirks of his human body, but he knows what is it to weep.  If Aziraphale hasn’t learned that yet, he is about to.

“I see,” he says.  “But why…?”

“Pharaoh was worried the Hebrews would become too strong,” Aziraphale says. He lowers a finger into the basket, touches the baby’s brow.  The whimpering infant subsides into sleep at once.  “So he… h-he…”

Another wave of anguish rolls off the angel, nearly dragging Crawley into its icy depths.  Shuddering, he gathers the basket closer, pressing the sting of love to his chest. “Humans always find ways to outdo us, don’t they.”

His thoughts are on the Flood and they pour into his voice, fouling the words. Aziraphale’s mouth flattens in a grim line that belies his unshed tears.  “They… they had done wrong, that time.  God was angry with them.”

“Just like She was angry with Sodom and Gomorrah,” Crawley volleys back.  “Yes, I’m sure they all deserved to die.  Just like those babies in the river.”

Aziraphale flinches as if struck.  Crawley’s fingers bite into the reed hull of the basket and he steels himself. Regret sits rancid in his belly.  He hadn’t wanted to hurt the angel, not really, but if he hadn’t uttered the words, hadn’t come up for breath, the noxious cacophony of memories swirling between them would have choked him.

“Angel,” he begins.

But Aziraphale has already unfurled his wings, a hard light battering back the misery in his eyes.  “God has plans for that child,” he says, beating his wings in a gust of mud and grit. “If you don’t want to be destroyed, I would counsel you leave well enough alone, fiend.”

He is gone before Crawley can reply, rising into the sky and winking out of sight.  The cold aura of his sorrow lingers, burrowing into Crawley’s bones.  The demon rises, basket held close, and approaches the reeds.  As he lays the basket in the water and urges the current to carry him someplace safe, a sense of loss worms its way inside him.  It makes a home, hollows him out.

He goes to the frozen family and stares down at the woman.  She must have been alive mere minutes ago.  Her hands bent the reeds, tied the twine, laid the pitch.  Crawley wishes he could breathe life into her.  Animals and plants he can do, but a human life is beyond his power to reclaim.

Crawley kneels before the children and snaps his fingers, restoring time. The girl stares at him with mute shock.

“You will forget this,” Crawley intones, “and come with me.”

-

Later, there will be whispers in the slave ghetto about Jochebed and her children.

The whispers will say this:  that Jochebed was forever changed after the Egyptians came for the baby boys on that terrible day.

This would, in itself, be unsurprising.  Every woman who felt her child torn from her arms to be given to the Nile was ripped in two, that day, never to be whole again. That was the way of the Egyptian masters – they took you apart, piece by piece by precious piece, and found still more to crush underfoot.

But Jochebed was changed beyond that.  Oh, she was still Jochebed, to be sure.  But after that day, a peculiar witchlight entered her eyes, a gleam that seemed almost golden if you looked at it right.  A predator’s stare, one that dared its foes to threaten her or her children. A serpent’s stare, always coiled on the verge of striking.

Her children were changed, too.  After that day, her son Aaron grew sharper, always ready with a quip, always dropping pithy pieces of knowledge like grains of sand in his cupped palms. Silvertongued and keen, his wit surpassed even that of the Pharaoh’s counselors.  And then there was Miriam, whose singing could coax asps to lay pliant in her hands.  She had a songbird’s voice and light, dancing feet, and her mind sheared holes in the fabric of the universe to wheedle out its secrets.  Prophetess, they would call her.  One day.

The baby boy was restored to Jochebed for a time to be nursed.  When Pharaoh’s men came to take the baby to his new home, the whispers say Jochebed wept.  But none dared ask her if it was true.

And when the time came – when Aaron and Miriam were grown, able to fend for themselves and care for one another – Jochebed vanished.  The whispers say she took herself off to the Nile, as had so many other mothers who lost their sons.  No body was found, but that was common enough – the crocodiles were always waiting, always hungry.

The baby boy – Moses, he was named – has a story all his own.  But that is a tale for another time.

#vvcorvusvv #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #good omens word prompt #long post #sorry Jochebed... #tw suicide

[mollyphoria]

(off my chest post.)

As soon as I turned the age of 27 last year it was like I've been awaken from a cruel false dream. I opened my eyes then boom I see 27 years of my life laid out in front of me wasted. Yes it took 27 effin years for me to wake up. I wasted all this years and now I'm suffering the consequences of not following my heart, now I'm suffering the repercussions for not realising my dreams sooner as well as pursuing them. I don't believe in myself enough to stand for what I really want so I let society dictate me. I dont love myself enough to believe that I have the capabilities to follow my dreams, luck wasn't on my side too,the odds were never in my favor. So yes I guess I blame both myself and the circumstances given to me on why I failed in life. I failed myself. Society failed me. The system failed me. Oh how I envy people who were able to realise their dreams when they were a kid. these people mostly turns out to be the successful ones in life while I'm left in shambles of not knowing what to do or having such a huge dream I knew I would never reach it. I wanted to become a supermodel but I'm not pretty and tall enough plus I'm from a country not supported by society on having supermodels. Then I wanted to be a rock star. Touring the world, playing the guitar, performing on stage. I can probably make this happen but once again I don't believe in myself and lack of support from family/society was what made this dream seem to get more impossible. I would like to pursue the arts anything from singing, dancing,writing ,painting,drawing etc but I let myself be influenced by what our society drills in my head everyday that there's no money with any of these endeavours so I never got serious to try to achieve greatness from these "useless, juvenile" dreams and plus you need God-given talent to qualify pursuing the arts and I don't have an ounce of it.

So as time goes by I continued to grow older like a dead leaf flailing around in the wind without a specific direction but downwards. But deep-rooted in my soul I knew what I wanted but I chose to stupidly ignore that little voice in my heart that tells me what to do. I to this day continue to beat myself up why I haven't even tried to listen to myself.

So what I did was to completely surrender myself to settle for a lesser,smaller dream that I could possibly reach according to the circumstances I'm handed with

I took up a course in college that I felt at the time would be something I would enjoy and easy,cheap enough to simply graduate and have that diploma just for the sake of it. When I got into the real world and became a full pledge adult for the first time ever I got hit by depression and that's when I first acknowledge that I'm not made for this at all but what I did instead of abandoning it was to try again and aim higher which is to have my own wings and to fly high in the sky and see the world. I held on to that dream. I went to school again. For a moment I had a purpose and for the first time I had direction. I thought I found myself as I try to get those wings. I thought that this will be my redemption. I made myself to believe that I'm meant to do this. I went above and beyond to achieve success. But alas I continued to be the chosen reject and once again odds weren't exactly on my favor and I have given up by the time I'm 27 years old. This is when it all crashed down on me I was chasing a dream gone dead all those years and basically wasted my youth as a result and gained nothing at the end. And I have to admit that i somewhat resent God for putting this dream to flourish in my heart but never gave me a breakthrough to even achieve it. I was left beaten and destroyed. I slaved myself away for nothing, experienced all those sufferings for nothing. I got nothing for all those sacrifices and hardwork I did. Literally all those blood,sweat and tears were for absolutely nothing at the end. I was utterly broken down,my heart was utterly crushed nothing left but broken pieces and a whirlpool of regret. If even this small, mediocre dream I settle myself for is still unattainable for me then my life is no longer worth living. I then proceed to wallow on self pity and resentment and went down to the worst depression I've ever experience in my life. Tears kept on falling like faucets in my eyes. Every streak of effort, energy, motivation ,hope left my body,mind and soul altogether. I turned ultimately dead inside. I don't have anything left in me to even pretend to continue fighting my way into this world. I can't even help myself to help myself. it's like I already died and what was left is just a hollow husk of my former self.

At 27 yrs old i went back to zero. I'm left with nothing to hope for, I didn't gain anything from all the things I went through. After Having the painful knowledge that the journey I made for myself all throughout my teenage to mid twenties is only to become of worthless dust and vomit at the end it made me inevitably bitter about life in general. I started acknowledging thoughts of dying for real. How I realized that it's better to be dead than to be alive, how I wish to have never been born at all. I missed all of these opportunities to win in life and I felt like giving up. Because Life is Suffering nothing more nothing less we will continue to suffer coz that whats life for this is the true meaning of life we are just put here to live so we can suffer and I'm not cut out for it I'm too weak to even restart again.

I realized alot of things. When I was a kid I was always looking forward to the future. I was foolishly, completely convinced that my life will get better as I get older and now that I'm older it turned out to be such a stupid thought coz life didn't get better it only gotten worse and it could only get worst from here on out.

Starting now I shouldn't hope for things to change for the better. It's dangerous to have a false hope and I swear to myself that I wouldn't let myself be fueled by false hope anymore.

And now that it's October I will turn a year older unless I cease to exist first.

I'm honestly scared of the future, now that I can see the true essence of it in its whole entirety.

At 28 I'm running out of time.

I missed the chance to get my life stable.

At 28 I'm entirely clueless on how to get my shit together and I don't even think I have the strength to improve myself. I felt like I just don't care anymore.

At 28 I should have already bought my mother a new house instead I'm stuck and rotting away in a room at her own old house.

At 28 I'm still miserable asf

Still bitter asf

Still dumb asf

Still doubtful asf

Still a loser asf

Let me discuss the thoughts I have about this song 28 of Agust D. This song single handedly describes the anxiety I feel for getting older. The fact that the age he pertained on the title of this song is 28 exactly the age I'm about to turn into soon just solidifies the strong grip it acquired to hold my heart and soul. I felt extremely lucky to turn 28 at the same year with someone as genius as him (tho his 27 international age) nevertheless I'm thankful about this.

Tho there are things that I'm honestly confuse about him having the same fears with someone like me who's a nobody without any single awards, recognitions, accolades or any kind of impact to the world, who's not loved and praised by millions nor have millions of money in my bank account, who doesn't have a big house,big cars nor big rings.

It baffles the living daylights out of me that a person like Min Yoongi who achieved so much in life would feel scared about not knowing his dreams is really about as he gets older. He basically achieved every single one of the dreams I have for myself. His overly set for life that his great great great great great grandchildren will be also set for life. His life wasn't the same like before. His life changed for the better . He earns millions of money by doing what he loves at such a young age. He simply won in life.

We are both 28 but the life I'm bestowed in is the utmost opposite of the life his bestowed in. I'm at the loser end of the spectrum while his in the winner side yet we share somewhat the same fears and anxiety about having to grow older.

This made me question if happiness is really just an illusion. well the genuine authentic euphoric kind of happiness.

Is existence all really just a one big mess with occasional ephemeral pleasure?

If a person who accomplished so much at only 28 still feels depression what's left for me then should I just go kill myself?

Alot of the reasons why I got into this level of depression is because I didn't fulfill anything Yoongi fulfilled.well I'm not really into fame so much but i hope i succeeded on not having to worry about whether I could buy a house or rent an apartment. Yoongi could buy a building for himself while I can't even afford a bedspace of my own

Yoongi could travel the whole world in a whim while I'm mostly stuck in the same place

The stark contrast of our lives is so immense I cant even get my head wrapped around it

My only dillema is that I'm afraid to die but I'm also afraid to live

It's been proven to me now that living in this world is not really living at all it's just purely surviving and I can't deal with this

I'd rather die than to be a slave to the system. And it seems like I don't even have a choice maybe to disappear is the only way out

I'm just not cut out with the cards I've been dealt with

If only I could voluntarily pull my existence out of here then I would do it in a heartbeat

I wish there is a stop button from all of these

#twenty eight #agust d #october #time #sadnees

[ramckinnley]

The streetlights were dim tonight, nothing new. The cities power grid had been awful for years now and the church was in an older part of town.

Father John Martin made the trek back to his Parish from the shelter he had been volunteering tonight. The stench of stale bread and body odor soaked into his vestments like blood into an old carpet. Walking up the steps leading to his rectory he noticed the lights had been shut off. He didn't remember switching them off and the power seemed to be on, albeit faint.

He tugged on the door open; it creaked and moaned open revealing a dark void. No color, no objectivity. Father Martin navigated the room through familiar instinct. Enroute to his sleeping chambers he passed his office, a quaint little place to catch up on paperwork and plan that weeks sermon. He has walked past it a million times before, lumbering the same tired shuffle...the enthusiasm lost years ago. Yet tonight the air seemed heavier, almost as if he was moving through a dense fog.

Straight to bed...none of the normal, habitual hygienic pleasantries tonight. No, this was a man far too exhausted to worry about such menial tasks. For tonight at least.

The fathers rest was short lived as the smell of smoke filled his nose like waves crashing in the ocean. He jumped out of bed, running desperately to escape the sweltering inferno. With each step he took, he could feel the air being drained from his lungs. Falling to the floor he peered a blurry gaze around him...no fire, no ash...not even a bit of smoke. Father Martin stood up, visibly baffled by the events that had just transpired.

Room to room he searched, checked, ventured. looking aimlessly, hopelessly for a shred of logic or reason. Perhaps he was merely having a dream that bled into his waking mind and confused him...yes, yes that must be it. Simply a dream.

Walking back toward his chambers, the priest glanced over into his office again. To his shock and fright, a small shadowed figure of a child sat on his desk, tapping her heels against the aged walnut. She appeared to be no older than 8 or 9 years old and her features became more noticeable as he entered the room. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly into a braid, porcelain skin was tainted by the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks...her eyes were a color he had never seen before. Something beyond...

"...Jessica..." He chocked out in disbelief.

"Tunc suus 'experrectus es." She stated gently. "Ego erat exspectans."

"Waiting for what." the good father asked the rigid child.

"You." She perked up in distorted English. "I've been waiting for you."

A shiver ran up the priests spine as he heard the child's words. What was this child, surely she wasn't of this Earth.

"Foul demon, give me your name." A mighty bellow from the shaken priest.

"O quaeso, est ut vos have optimus. Infirmi agresti nationis Dei." The girl chuckled back.

"Your Latin is weak demon." Father Martin announced. "I command you back to hell!"

"Not my first language Padre." The girl laughed. "And Hell is no place for me...Hell is a vacation compared to me."

The priest staggered backward, a sharp pain ran up and down his legs. The smell of smoke returned and the sensation of heat scorched his body. fear enveloped Father Martin and he fell onto the floor. Looking up to the child, the universe seemed to shift...distort.

Father Martin's office became a swirling maw of chaos and despair. He couldn't see but a foot in front of his face or hear his own thoughts over the cacophony of discordant echos, screaming in all directions.

Suddenly a voice...not the voice of the child. not the voice before. It was something different...

John began to pray.

"N'ektar ver romshuma Martin. Your time is upon you." A deep growl gurgles deep within John's mind. "Here Priest...here in the Other, your worthless God is one of my many slaves. Damned to die, rot and be reborn until the sands run still. Praying to him now only increases his pain."

A wind howled through the maddening, impossible vortex. John was thrown back, his body hurled at speeds that seemed to defy physics. Disoriented, he lay crumpled over a large rock on a suspended platform in the middle of the inescapable blackness. A stiff wind cut through the priest like a spray from the ocean; constant, unrelenting.

"For everything you tried to be, for every lie you passed as real, for everytime they had to suffer through you." A moan came from the darkness.

John stood up, fists clenched screaming into the hallow void of indescribable eternity.

"I FEAR NO EVIL, YOU SHALL NOT CONQUER ME." His voice echoed into the timeless malevolent filth.

"Evil...maybe not." The sinister voice called from John's left. "You know evil well priest, but what of innocence, what of purity."

John swallowed hard, a quiver came over him as the acrid taste of decay filled his mouth. Looking down he saw his flesh boil and bubble and peel. A spume of puss and blood seethe from his newly opened wounds. Falling to his knees, John erupted with a howl of pain so ear shattering, the hollows couldn't contain out.

"It seems I have your attention." The voice called. "I was wondering when we could get down to business."

Whipping and lashing, a festering, slime covered tentacle shot around John's body from the depths. Tiny lancers pierce into his exposed flesh an hold him firmly in place while the ground beneath him dissolves.

The rope like appendage retracts into the time space vacuum at speeds fast enough to agonizingly liquefy John's bones. What felt like a torturous eternity was condensed into a mere second as the Father was transported into a small room. a room he had seen before.

Lilac walls with daisies painted in the corners, a dense berber rug and the scent of camomile and cane sugar enthralled the priest's senses. his body now intact, pain free and vibrant.

"...Jessica?" A woman's voice called from beyond the room. "Father Martin is here to see you."

The clatter of footsteps thundered into the room and ended in a deafening silence. the door slowly opened and John's mouth went slack as he watched himself enter the room. The scene grew cold and John felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Waaaaaaaatch." That brooding voice from the beyond cried inside John's mind.

The man, dressed in priests clothes who was in everyway Father John Martin walked over to a young girl of no more than eight or nine, crying at the foot of her bed. John remembered this moment...suddenly he understood why he was here.

"STOP, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!" John pleaded with this second version of himself, in vain.

"We cannot alter the past priest. We must atone for the transgressions we commit." The young girl spoke in a guttural tone. "Even a man of God isn't absolved from his unconscionable actions."

He watched in horror as he relived a dark moment in his past.

John shuddered as he watched himself run his hand up young Jessica's skirt, exposing himself to her and ultimately taking her innocence. A single tear left John's eye.

"I've changed..." He begged. "I'm not that man anymore."

"CHANGED?!" The dark voice became enraged. "YOU'VE CHANGED?"

In that instant John was taken to another scene. Another young vulnerable girl taken advantage of, desecrated, raped. Scene after scene, girl after girl. The flashes continued into the futures of these girls, these young women. A mural of drug abuse, abusive relationships, destroyed self worth and suicide became an all encompassing ocean of despair, depression and death.

"Change can only come through sacrifice, hardship and pain." The echo rang. "Your existence has proven only that you used any and all of the pithy authority you could command to further your sick desires and destroy the innocence around you."

John fell to his knees. The weight of a life erroneously lived, the lives tormented, the blood on his hands finally took its break.

"I'm...I'm sorry." He wept.

"You will be." It grunted

With that Father Martin fell through the room floor, cascading through a near infinite vortex for what felt like razor wire, acid and flame. As his skin was flayed, piece by piece, the filthy priest was forced to eat the rotting chunks. Maggot ridden muscle was exposed from underneath as he was torn apart slowly, agonizingly by a force unseen.

An intense pressure compacted his head from within. Unable to withstand the punishment, his eyes burst. Foaming vitreous gel saturated his face. the contents of his stomach erupted out from within him. Flesh and bone, bile and blood covered what remained of his body and ate away the remaining rotting husk as he was hurled into oblivion.

Suddenly John awoke, sitting straight up in bed. a cold sweat beading down his face, ready to vomit he ran to the washroom. Clutching the bowl, retching over and over.

"What...was...that...dream?! He pondered aloud as the vomiting slowed.

He stood up and left the bathroom, headed back to bed. Except this time as he passed by the office he closed the door. A simple enough action, but one that made him feel a thousand fold better.

Walking into his room he stopped dead staring breathless, lifeless, horrified at young Jessica staring back tapping her feet against the end of his bed. Eager to start her dream...her eternal revenge all over again.

© 2020 R.A. McKinnley

#author #horror #scary story #short story #authorsofig #authors of tumblr #fear #abuse

[thesilvernimbus]

2/20/17 1:35 am

Hope is such a cruel, cruel thing. Life and Fate clips the wings it gives me, right at the peak; my highest moment And I Fall Fall Fall And I Burn with my dreams fractured, Fluttering out of my grasp and swallowed by darkness ... Here is where I become, Nothing

#I'm just... a small existence #my being here is... to fill in this space #I should sleep these emotions off #and I know people read these tags #I'm not sad or lonely I just am alone #and not much can change that for the foreseeable future #I want many things #but none of them will happen with my body hollow as it is #... #maybe someday I'll be better #maybe someday I'll get the help I deserve #but for now I just want someone I could maybe talk to #I miss talking to Kyle... damn your time zones #I want to call people sometimes but the hours are always bad and I don't want to burden anyone #but I want to be selfish #selfishness gets you nowhere #and only brings about more self pity and loathing #and just a hollow husk of yourself #I need a hike in the wilderness #I can feel my body aching for some kind of connection #a reconnection to anything #but I... #*sigh* #whatever #words #my stuff #poem #writing #it's 1:35 am... #God