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astorichan · 8 months

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Covered In False Images

Fandom: Hollow Knight

Rating: Gen

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Radiance, The Hollow Knight | Pure Vessel & The Pale King

Summary:

The Pale King's plan was flawless: his vessel was pure, flawless, reliable.

The vessel did not share that opinion.

Additional Tags: POV Third Person Omniscient, Past Tense, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Fanfic of AU, Fanfic of fanart, AU: Radiant Vessel

For @quirrel. Happy New Year!!

Text under readmore!

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

(They say that praying to be loved is a sin.

It has such a sweet scent.)

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

Shadows and light: two opposing forces.

Such was the idea behind the Pale King's ultimate weapon. When all else failed in subduing the Radiance’s rampage, weapons of Soul ineffective and healing properties of lifeblood useless, he turned to the darkness that slept beneath for aid.

Shadows and light: one meant to subdue another.

The shell of a child desecrated by the choking twilight listened to his every command. The only light it would ever follow was his, as was the only light that it could not overpower. He trained it to perfection, eradicating every flaw of its mortal design and preparing it for its eternal vigil.

When the day of the Sealing came, he was certain his plan would work. The vessel marched on with even, steady steps, its empty gaze cast forward; in his wake were left joyful Hallownestians, their reverent whispers rising as wisps of silver luminescence to tail him like a second cloak.

Shadows: bringing the kingdom much-needed shelter from the light.

If you weren’t there on the day that heralded Hallownest’s salvation, you would not know of the battle raging just outside of view. Life went on as though no plague had ever bathed the narrow caverns in haemolymph and rot, as though no smell of decay had ever wafted off bloated corpses strewn across the capitol’s streets.

But light would not surrender to the suffocating shadows so easily.

Within the pitch dark temple, beyond the offerings left on the threshold glimmering with Soul, two enemies as old as the world itself clashed once more. Their blades crossed, each wound, each victory and each loss quaked through the voided vessel’s shell that hung limp in its chains, eyes bored into the black egg’s inner wall forevermore.

And slowly, ever so slowly, the first flickers of lurid orange clawed their way into the fathomless darkness of the Hollow Knight’s gaze.

Shadows and light: unable to co-exist.

From the outside, the strenuous war was not visible, lest we count the first pustules full of scorching rot that sprouted from the vessel’s chest. But on the inside...

Its mind, the one it was not meant to possess, was flooded with the dawn’s whispers. The light wove its lies through the shadow in golden thread, unravelling streaks of silver and black alike. Frayed ends of collapsed lies stuck out, ugly and unseemly; the vessel’s trust in its King was giving out inch by painful inch.

Light: branded into shadows.

Why let yourself and your kingdom burn? the dawn asked over and over, when you can save everyone in truth?

And the vessel cracked under the unbearable weight of truth and rage. Golden ichor seeped out of the fissures left behind by the light’s onslaught, in its gaze the Old Light’s radiance and on its mask a fiery brand covering the Pale King’s spellwork. It would get back all that had been denied to it; it would get its revenge on the world that betrayed it.

Shadows: embracing the light.

The vessel let the dawn’s power course through it, the oppressive shroud of Void that had cornered the Old Light in a far-off corner of the Dream dissipating into nothing. All doubts thrown aside, it rose from the ashes of its former glory, shaking off the chains of deceit that had bound it for so long – and it incinerated the jailors holding it in the Temple.

If you didn’t know exactly what to look for, you would never notice the seals fizzling out like smoke from a fire. The morning following its treason came, and the denizens of Dirtmouth were no wiser as to the battle that came to a head mere hours ago.

From their eyes, though, surged golden luminosity.

Light: unbound, no longer held down by the choking shadows.

The infection spread like wildfire, in the Hollow Knight’s footsteps blooming twisted vines that carried disease within. Adorned with beautiful flowers, they invaded the shade of Hallownest’s caverns, and it was too late to do anything to stop the traitor’s descent.

Not that they didn’t try, of course.

Hallownest’s most powerful champions rose to defend the kingdom from the plague. But the vessel had been trained to perfection: it was infused with power beyond mortals’ understanding, prepared for an eternal war with the goddess of dreams.

Shadows: entwined with light.

The Hollow Knight brought down the kingdom’s greatest knights, its weapons infused with sunlight. It tore through chitin and flesh in primal, cold fury, its claws and mandibles tearing its former allies to shreds. Not even all their prowess combined was enough to resist two forces old as the world itself.

With the final obstacle gone from their path, the two gods stood before Hallownest’s crown jewel. The White Palace gleamed with familiar, though no longer welcoming silver; motes of Soul swirled around the Hollow Knight as it treaded paths of its former home. None was fool enough to stand in its way – none, except the Pale King himself.

Shadows and light: allied against a mutual enemy.

Soul and blackened Dream clashed in a violent battle. The Palace’s walls creaked and lamented the sacrilege taking place within, on them left sprays of Void, godly ichor and infection alike.

But even the King could not hold out against the joined forces of unknowable darkness and luminous dawn. The radiant vessel cornered him, though its shell was littered with wounds deep and shallow, though its mask wept black miasma and its arm held only by the virtue of the Old Light’s strength; it cornered him, and as he stared into his perfect creation’s eyes, he saw only the raging pyre of fury and contempt.

Gone was the love it had once carried, the Hollow Knight wanted so desperately to believe as it plunged its nail through the Pale King’s chest. Gone was the unfulfillable wish to prove itself that ate it alive, it convinced itself as chitin snapped and silver haemolymph pooled at the feet of Hallownest’s new ruler. Gone was the conflict that tore the kingdom apart, clawing its way free from Hallownest’s very heart.

Gone was the reason behind its suffering, and so its anguish should’ve been gone as well. But was it truly so?

Shadows and light: finally reaching a truce.

When the Hollow Knight embraced her, the only one that had ever understood and accepted it, it could almost believe that the price it had exacted for its needless pain was enough. In her light, the reassurance she extended to it soothed every ache, every doubt that it could ever have.

Sometimes, though, in the darkest corners of its mind – those that still held, if by the thinnest of threads keeping the tapestry of its mindscape from coming undone – a wail like that of a wounded animal resounded, no end and no beginning to the elegy for the life it had taken with its own hands.

Shadows and light: ancient enemies.

It wondered, on those days, if someone heard those cries, muffled as they were. If maybe, just maybe, someone would come to enact the final act of vengeance long overdue.

But then, the Radiance’s gentle glow shrouded its fractured mind as she extended the same mercy to it as to the entire kingdom, and those thoughts were no more.

Shadows and light: ruling side by side.

Until, inevitably, someone would try to take what was rightfully its once more.

▪──── ⚔ ────▪

(My rage and other such things vanished long ago

But though I perform my act, I’m ignorant

Yet this story is still going

Because I wish for it to reach you)

#toriswriting #hollow knight #hk fanfic #hk au #hk thk #hk hollow #hk radiance #hk pale king #loved working on this so much #thank you for giving me a breakdown of the au :3c

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thegreatobsesso · 5 months

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Writing share tag // PITCH (!!??)

@winterandwords tagged me to share some writing and I did get distracted drawing fanart of her characters but now I am fulfilling the tag with what I'm currently working on, WHICH IS a PITCH for The Insuppressible Callie Ray.

Feedback is welcome!!! At the end of the month I'm going to be submitting it for a professional critique and actually pitching it to a couple agents at a virtual conference, so, like, it's go-time. 😱

Callie Ray is an urban legend. A cautionary tale. Tucked away in a snow-blanketed castle, Simon Bennett assures his students they’re safe at Delaney School for Magicians. Everyone knows he failed to protect his friend, Peter Silver, from her twelve years ago and her name still haunts these halls as much as Simon’s guilt-wracked dreams. He’s a telepath, for god’s sake - he should have seen her coming. If anything helps him sleep, it’s knowing she’s locked up, her abilities suppressed. Callie Ray is a killer. Riley Silver can use that. Somewhere wholly off the grid, Rileyis closer than ever to stripping her own magic out of her body. She’s using the same method Callie did to extract her brother’s magic, except without the killing part. Which no one’s ever done, but Riley will. When it’s over, she won’t be a medium anymore; won’t have to listen to the constant cries of the dead. Callie Ray is a wrecking ball. Riley will be a syringe. Keeping that power out of the hands of people who want to eradicate magic is a problem for another day, and that’s just pragmatism. One thing at a time. And miles off the coastline, the sun is shining, seagulls are singing, and the waves lap against barnacled steel under Callie Ray’s window. It’s a beautiful day for a prison break. Sure, they’ve got her loaded with enough suppressants to kill an ox. But she also happens to be the only magician alive capable of burning that shit off like carbs, and it’s high time the world knew it. Because here’s the thing: an ancient artifact of unparalleled power waits deep in the caverns below Delaney. It’s only the most expertly fortified castle in the world. Piece of cake. Callie loves cake, and she knows every inch of Delaney, every flickering enclave, nautilus stair, and ivory-carved constellation adorning its soaring ceilings. And before you mistake that for nostalgia or anything as saccharine and unproductive, know that she’d raze the place to the ground to get that orblex and the power it holds into her unrepentant hands. Because if Callie Ray is anything, she's the fucking end. The Insuppressible Callie Ray mixes parallel redemption and corruption arcs for two messy nightmare women with one nice guy stuck in the middle, trying his best. Enemies-to-family, twisted queer feelings, cinematic magic fights, and unapologetically bombastic dialogue were liberally dumped into the cauldron and stirred long enough to form a thick, spicy duology. It is my debut.

#the insuppressible electra ray #writeblr #novel pitch #oc: electra #oc: simon #oc: eve #tag game

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astaldis · 1 year

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Witcher Monster MAYhem masterpost

New works (41.033 new words) written for the event prompts (in chronological order of events):

Shimmering Scales and Stormy Seas (Words 800): This is the story of Jaskier's first time. Decide yourself if it is true or just a tall tale. Smut! (13. shimmering scales, mermaid, mesmerised, 22. Seduction)

Of Smelly Sewers and Man-eating Monsters (Words 2,808): On the run from the Brotherhood of Sorcerers, Yennefer and Cahir travers the ancient elven aqueduct on their way from Gors Velen to Oxenfurt to find the Sandpiper. But not only the monster with the many tentacles is lurking in the sewers. (6. Terrifying tentacles, Zeugl, 21. Ancient abomination, 28. Absurd amphibian)

A Most Unusual Plant (Words 1,765): Jaskier saves a cow! With Geralt's help, of course - A little monstery adventure Geralt and his company have on their way to find the druids. (Set during the events of Baptism of Fire, more exactly after the Fish Soup and before the Battle on the Bridge. You don't need to have read the books though to enjoy the story.) (19. Acid attack, Archespore)

Of Eery Eyes and Vicious Venom (Words 500): While travelling with the Witcher and his friends in search of Princess Cirilla, Cahir faces a frightening monster. (7. Vicious venom, paralysed, 10. eery eyes, 15. eyehead)

A most interesting read (Words 2,534): While Geralt and his strange company are on their way to the druids of Caed Dhu, Milva asks Cahir to read a very special book for her. (26. Grim Giant)

How to Kill a Troll (Words 7,612): Geralt and Cahir go on a monster hunt together. Set the summer after Stygga (1268). (14. Reverberating roar, 26. Towering trolls, alt. Silver Sword, Toss a coin)

Wicked Wings and Fearsome Fangs (Words 2,548): On their way to fulfil a contract, Geralt and Cahir happen upon yet another monster. And upon you. First person POV or second person POV. (2. Fearsome Fangs, 3. Wicked wings, 4. Cruel claws, Wyvern, alt. Forked tongue)

You'd be wise to beware (Words 12,847): Geralt and Cahir go on a monster hunt together where they meet an old friend, Jaskier. Unfortunately, the hunt is not as easy as expected ... (1. Too many toes, Myriapod, Centipede, 3. Wicked wings)

The dark things that wait in that house (Words 7,714): After his almost fatal injury at Stygga Castle, Cahir has lost his memory. He lives at Kaer Morhen and has become a Witcher. On the way back to the Witcher keep after his first monster hunt alone, Cahir helps a woman in distress. But is she really who she appears to be? (16. Metamorphosis, 23. Smelly swamps, 24. Treacherous trap, 27. Duplicitous Doppler, Shapeshifting, alt. I hate Monsters)

Monster Friend 1 (Words 300): Regis is waiting in front of the Witcher Keep, but Vesemir is reluctant to let the monster inside the walls of Kaer Morhen. Can Geralt convince him? Triple-Drabble. (alt. Monster friend)

Not Yet - Monster Friend 2 (Words 1,405): Regis meets Cahir on the doorsteps to Kaer Morhen just before the rain starts pouring down. (alt. Monster friend)

Blue (Words 200): Geralt spots something in a meadow. Something that is impossible to exist. (3. Dragon, alt. Monster friend)

Dreaming of Unicorns: Fanart (18. Unicorn)

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Older works fitting the prompts:

5. Ghoul, alt. Growl, Run, Blood-curdling cry : Of Monsters and Moonshine

9. Something wicked in the water, Bubbles, 12. Puncture wound: And quietly lay the frozen lake

14. Scary scratching, alt. Hide: That Scratching

26. Grim Giants: The White Death

31. Cave creature / Barbegazi: Of cavern conversations and mountain monsters

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 1 year

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So this isn't much and it's not a fanart, but I like it. It's actually supposed to be a lil scene from a dystopian/fantasy fiction novel I'm slowly but surely starting to write. It's apart of a dream/vision sequence and inside the door is supposed to be some awesome jade crystal carved cavern/cave with some super long bridge right inside. But I haven't drawn that part yet, so I just wrote it instead, lmao

#purple_strxnger #strxngersart #art #original art #mine

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iceheap · 3 years

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underworld consept for my mumza fic.

#dsmp mumza #mumza as death #mumza fanart #mumza goddess of death #c!mumza #mumza my beloved #mumza #dream smp #mimecraft #mumza carved the cavern out herself #the people of the underworld made the homes as time went on #phil made the castle though #the castle is made of glass because i thought it would be cool #if anyone can build a functional glass castle in the dsmp it's philza fuckin minecraft

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mostlydeadallday · 2 years

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Lost Kin | Chapter XX | Our Last Meeting

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: suicidal ideation, referenced murder, memory loss AO3: Lost Kin Chapter XX | Our Last Meeting First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Notes: Surprise! Quirrel snuck up on me, and what was supposed to be a brief encounter became an entire chapter as I realized how well his and Hornet's stories mesh together. I cannot wait to explore this further, so Quirrel will definitely be returning. Big shoutout to House_Of_Knives for beta reading this chapter, lampfacedstudios for the idea of cricket!Quirrel, and zoestarlings and verdeltiathedead for the awesome new fanart!

○

The air grew cooler as she flew.

The scent was stronger now, too. Hornet paced herself, unable now to go as fast as she had, though the desire still beat beneath her shell. Exhausting herself meant she would only be more vulnerable if she met with trouble, though there were precious few husks that traversed the lands near the Resting Grounds. The infection seemed suppressed here, a timeless stillness weighing down like a heavy hand. The influence of the moths, perhaps; they had always been adept in things of the Dream. There was a reason, after all, that the dead here stayed buried.

These graves had quickly filled once the infection began. Once space ran out, the bodies of nobles and common bugs alike were disposed of in pyres, at first singly, then en masse as the plague hit its height. Shellwood for burning had run short, at the end.

She had dug graves for the vessels, though. She had dug them wherever they fell, in lush soil or loose ash, in packed dirt or springy loam. Once their shades had effervesced, restored to the void from which they came, she could be sure there would be no returning.

Hornet growled, the sound rattling painfully in her throat, and yanked her needle free with a vengeance, loose rock cascading down from the crack where it had stuck. Her hands trembled. She tucked her weapon under her arm for a moment to press them to her stomach, smoothing out the aches and tremors. The flight across the lake would be a long one—and a miserable one, too, if she fell in because she fumbled her needle.

Get it together.

She sighted the final throw out of the dim cavern, swooping through the doorway and landing on a bed of rushes on the lakeshore, blinking hard until her eyes grew accustomed to the shine of light on water.

When she saw the other bug, she nearly stumbled. He had turned to look at her with a wide-eyed stare from his seat at the shoreline, the gleam of the lake casting the smooth curve of his mask into shadow. His shoulders slumped a fraction, though he did not seem startled. Hornet felt, somehow, that she was not who he had been waiting for.

There was a nail stuck in the rushes at his side.

He did not reach for it.

The bug—a cricket, she could tell from the scent and the long thin legs folded beneath him—cleared his throat. “Ah.” His voice was smooth and gentle, cultured, in a way she had not heard in centuries. “I… had not thought to see you again.”

Again?

Hornet swallowed, with difficulty—her throat was painfully dry. Her grip did not shift on her needle. She cast back in her memories, bewildered, for an impression of that face, and it came to her that she had seen it, once before, though she could not say how long ago. That bug had worn a second mask, a familiar one, atop his head like a strange hat. She still remembered the pulse of magic through her needle, the sting in her hands and the rumble in her skull when she struck it.

He did not wear it now.

She wondered if he, too, was thinking of that meeting, however long ago it was. It seemed so, for he made to stand, unfolding himself slowly, eyes never leaving her, their many facets glinting topaz-blue.

If he meant to fight her once again, he was more reckless than she thought. That mask no longer protected him. Tired as she was, she could more than best a common bug.

Her shoulders slumped a fraction, though she did not relax her stance. Dread crept over her shell like a many-legged thing.

She was a warrior. A protector. She had fought her whole life. She did not waver, did not hesitate. She did what she had to do and did not—

Did not—

She did not want to.

It was a pitiful wish, a childish cry, and it had always fallen on deaf ears, had been ignored so many times that she thought it silenced forever.

She did not want to fight. She did not want to kill. And it had never mattered.

Even tired and careworn and heartbroken as she was, even haunted by the memory of her siblings—so many deaths, so many little bodies—she could not afford to quit. She was meant to keep living, to give all of herself for the heritage she’d never be able to earn. She was the daughter of the Beast and the Pale King, and she owed debts she’d never repay. And when she grew weary and when the days grew long, she reminded herself that she was not her own, that she was born for a purpose, that she had a job to do.

She would kill this bug. She would kill him if he so much as reached for his nail.

But he didn’t.

He touched his right hand to his chest-plate and, without a waver in his gaze, bent forward at the waist, barbed ankles crossing in a perfect court bow. His voice was steady but subdued, nearly reverent, when he spoke again. “Princess.”

Hornet deliberately did not breathe. She forced herself to stand firm, though everything in her wanted to leave. Only when she could be sure she would not falter did she answer.

“Few there are who still know me by that name.” She sounded hoarse, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Throwing her shoulders back, she lifted her chin and stared him down. “Explorer you claimed to be, once. Yet I knew then that you were more than that.” She paused, letting her fangs gleam beneath her mask, and his head ducked a fraction—acknowledgement, but not fear. “It seems you know it now, as well.”

“So I do,” he mused, and the words tasted bitter in the air. He straightened from his bow and stepped deliberately to the side, parallel to the lake’s edge, away from the nail.

So he did not intend to repeat his mistakes. Good.

She settled, letting her needle’s edge fall a trace. It was a desperate thing to hope, but perhaps she would not need to kill.

Not today.

“My name is Quirrel, though I could have told you that at our last meeting.” The admonishment in his tone was feather-light, but she felt it all the same. “What I could not have told you is this.”

He took a deep breath, and his stare was distant, and something in the tilt of his head and the drape of his long hands looked as though he had lost part of himself, rather than finding it. “I am—I was employed at the Teacher’s Archives.” His voice, too, had lost something, some surety, some steadiness that she hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. It sounded older, cracked and weathered like the stone roads in the Crossroads. “I was personal assistant to the Madam herself. To—to Monomon.”

She did not know what it was like to lose one’s memory. She had always been cursed with the opposite: too many memories, too much history weighing on her shoulders. Too many things clamoring to be part of her, too many lies and truths and promises. She tried not to think of the unnaturally long years she had lived, knowing that peering into that depth was what led some to cackling madness.

What would be the greater pain: to lose and then find yourself again, or to never be able to leave yourself behind?

Comfort was not in her nature. She was rough lines and sharp edges, grit and sand and the harsh wind off the cliffs. Whatever she offered would be inadequate; it always was. And yet sometimes she could not help but try.

“The wastes are not kind,” she said, low and level, shifting to gaze over his shoulder at the smooth expanse of the lake. “But I can imagine that returning would be more difficult still.”

Quirrel huffed. He, too, looked out at the water, letting the silence rest for a long moment before he answered. “I never asked for it to be easy.”

The unspoken truth hung between them. That nothing about life in this kingdom was easy. That it always took more than it gave. That it required more from you, and more, and never stopped asking.

Life anywhere was never easy or fair.

Life in Hallownest seemed intent on proving that point.

The cricket shook himself, his focus returning from the distance, from the luminous fog that rose in twists and curls from the water. “But my troubles must pale next to yours, princess.” There was a rueful smile in his voice, held forth as an offering. “After all this time protecting these ruins, to now be faced with the very thing you sought to prevent. To know that you were right, to try to keep me from this place.” His empty hand clasped, as if feeling the ghost of his nail hilt. “I almost wish that you had.”

“What do you know of it?”

Her voice finally cracked on the sharp question. She coughed, then inhaled hard and coughed again, and again and again until she could not breathe, fighting not to double over, specks of light spinning in her vision.

Blindly, she fumbled for her water flask, only to feel its damning lightness in her hand. She had grabbed it along with her other travel gear, but had been too distraught to think of refilling it before she fled.

“Here. Wait.” A cool hand alighted on her shoulder. She flinched weakly back, needle jerking up, but meeting resistance as Quirrel’s other hand stopped her—not gripping her wrist or impeding her movement, merely held above her arm, halting her reflexive swing. “Allow me.”

His hands left her for a moment as she stood frozen, breaths coming short and ragged between jags of coughing, eyes squinted nearly shut against the tears gathering in them. She heard a lid unscrewing, then he was prying her empty flask away and pressing a full one into her hand, and she was so desperate to soothe the tattered agony of her throat that she lifted it without thinking, guzzling half of it fast enough to make nausea rise in her gut. She swallowed and pressed her wrist to her dripping mouth, reveling in the air flowing unimpeded through her lungs.

When she could breathe evenly again, she lowered her hand and held out the flask, and Quirrel took it, and stared at her a moment before noticing that she was still bristling, still gripping her weapon so tightly that her chitin creaked, and he stepped back to a respectful distance, out of reach.

She barked a harsh laugh, still more of a cough than anything else. Here she was, accepting water from a stranger without testing it first, allowing him to touch her, letting him call her princess, and she could not even bring herself to be sorry.

Perhaps there was something to be said for company. The miserable weight of guilt had lifted for a moment—but she no sooner noticed it than it fell back over her, as if the City ceiling had opened and dumped all the rain down on her at once.

“Answer me,” she said, more harshly than she would have liked, but it was out in the air now, echoing and fading off the tunnel walls, and she could not take it back. “What do you know of the Dreamers?”

Quirrel paused in the act of screwing the lid back on his flask, then continued, deliberately, without looking up. “You recognized the mask I wore when we first met,” he said. “Besides being the Madam’s assistant, I was also her confidant.” He sighed silently; his rounded shoulders rose and fell. “She asked something of me. Something I could not refuse.”

Hornet thought of her duty, of the things she’d never thought she would have to do, of the last time she had seen her father. She could not have spoken, even if she had had anything to say.

Quirrel stood with his head bowed, the flask held stiffly in his hands, and continued, though his voice went flatter with every word. “She entrusted me with her mask, once she was Sealed. She sent me far beyond the reaches of this kingdom, into the wastes that would take all memory of her. She asked me to ensure that her Seal never broke.”

The silence when he finished was its own answer.

After a long, long moment, he went on again, not looking up. “I know not what has happened, but I cannot help theorizing.” He tucked his head farther still, the beaded ties of his bandana slipping free and dangling beneath his chin. “The Dreamers are fallen, the Seals broken at last. The Black Egg has been breached.”

“And the Hollow Knight is free,” she finished, in a near-whisper.

His head jerked up, and he fixed those glinting eyes on her. She found them near-inscrutable, almost as much so as her sibling’s, though perhaps she had simply been alone for too long. She could read a battle, a map, a landscape, with perfect ease, and yet the emotion in Quirrel’s eyes was as obscure to her as the darkness of void.

“You know this?” he said, careful and quiet, wary as footfalls in Deepnest.

“I do,” she answered, and could say no more. She looked away, allowing him to think her cryptic, mysterious, rather than just choked with emotion. He already saw too much, already smothered her with an empathy she had not asked for. He didn’t need to know that she had fled here to escape her own thoughts, that she wasn’t fast enough to outrun her own remorse.

She heard a hiss of breath, a shaky inhale that seemed to rasp against the smooth silence. “Then—the plague—”

“I know not.” To his wordless, apprehensive exclamation, she said, “I have seen no signs of the infection spreading further. But I was… otherwise occupied. I have been unable to make journey to the temple until now.”

She had far darker stains on her record than hiding the truth. But still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his eyes.

He did not seem to notice, staring off into his own private distance. He laughed, once, incredulous. “Why should it matter?” The question was directed inward, she could tell, a private query she did not need to answer. “When this world is dead and gone, when all sacrifices have been for naught.” He did look at her, then. “What here is worth saving? Why do I still find that I care?”

She couldn’t answer that. Not for anyone but herself.

And so she didn’t.

“I have never been overfond of scholars.” Hornet stuck her needlepoint in the rushes. This bug did not seem inclined to make for his nail anytime soon, given that he still stood deliberately out of reach of it. Besides, holding her weapon at the ready for this long was beginning to make her arm shake. “However, I find myself in need of one in this instance. You said you could theorize. So theorize.”

“The Madam was the scholar,” Quirrel said stiffly. “Not myself. I could never—”

“By your own account, she is gone. Along with every other Dreamer. Do your best.” Hornet ground her teeth, resisting the urge to flash her fangs again. “How did the Seals come to break?”

Quirrel twisted the flask between his hands, unhappily, and she stifled the urge to lift her needle again, to force him to tell her. At last, she would know what had happened to her mother. At last, she could put her suspicions to rest.

“There was a vessel,” Quirrel said finally. Hornet felt her chest clench. The guilt pressed down on her again, so thick and smothering that, for a moment, she lacked the air to breathe. A vessel. It had to have been her failure that caused this. Ceaseless years of vigilance, all for naught, all thrown aside in one moment of weakness.

That day in Greenpath. That little vessel in the blue-gray cloak. It had to be them.

Then the word struck her anew, and she startled out of her turmoil.

All these years hunting vessels, and she had never heard anyone call them by their real name. They were most often called travelers or wanderers—words assigned by those who knew not how else to describe them. They were unknowable, almost indefinable, and often referenced with a shudder.

She had not thought anyone but her knew what they truly were.

“A vessel?” she prompted, as gently as she could, though her impatience made her want to snap.

“I knew not what they were at first.” Quirrel seemed to notice himself fiddling with the flask and made himself stow it, reaching round to hook it to his belt. Now, however, he had nothing to do with his hands; he awkwardly crossed his arms instead. “I did not know what to call them, so I called them an explorer, like myself. I… I called them a friend. We crossed paths many times, in what seemed like the most unlikely places.” He shook his head. “They were enigmatic. Purposeful. I wondered if they were driven by a force not dissimilar to what brought me to this place. Yet, somehow, I knew they could not tell me.”

Hornet shook her head, yet when he looked at her, she had nothing to say. The thought of this vessel wandering alone through her kingdom haunted her; had she known that they still lived, she would have done her best to kill them, and yet they had evaded her long enough to do what no other had done.

Break the seals. Free their sibling, at last, from their suffering.

“They met me at the last in the Archive; we were both called there, I think, though whether by the same voice, I cannot say.” His hand came up to brush the top of his head, at where the mask had been last she saw him. “It was as if… as if the Madam herself reached out from the Dream, and spoke to me.” He choked and swallowed, and his voice was shakier when he went on. “It was her choice. She asked me to do it. And… and I did.”

He fell into silence again. She allowed him a moment—really, she was allowing them both a moment, for she was not sure she could speak any better than he could.

“Perhaps this was inevitable,” she said finally, nearly inaudible over the murmur of the water. “Perhaps this would always have happened. Nothing truly lasts forever, though my father did his best.” Despite herself, bitterness laced her tone like acid, and Quirrel looked up, his shoulders dropping once again.

“I apologize,” he said, retreating behind those courtly manners she had glimpsed a moment ago. “I—I do not wish to overburden you with my troubles, princess.”

“My name is Hornet,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Before the Sealing, before this bug had been sent away, she had been known only by her titles; her naming ceremony had come afterward, when she completed her adult molt. Eventually, all those titles fell by the wayside, as did those who knew her by them. She had been simply Hornet ever since.

Her mother had never known the name that was given her.

She winced, then. Neither had her sibling. She had never told them. She had never bothered to introduce herself. Did they even know her as their sister? She’d thought they recognized her, but only based on their obedience and their hesitance to harm her. What if they were only obeying her because of some long-held instinct? Because it was what they had always done?

What did she really know of them?

Almost nothing.

Quirrel nodded, accepting. “Hornet, then. I… apologize.”

“There is no need.” She waved off his regret, returning to the more pressing matter. She had lingered here long enough, despite the conflicting allure of speaking to someone—anyone—who knew of the old kingdom. She had to shove aside the grief now, bury the guilt; she could no longer afford the luxury of falling apart, and Hollow needed her.

Hollow needed more than her.

She fixed the cricket with a sharp look. “You know of vessels. How?”

“The Madam was instrumental in their creation.” Quirrel’s hands tightened, nearly to fists, before he seemed to consciously release them. “My memory is still… incomplete. But I remember that the king often consulted her on the matter. The theory, at least, was sound. The practice appears to have been lacking.”

The dispassionate way he said that made her neck bristle, but she didn’t let him see it. A scholar’s remove was all it was; at least he could speculate levelly on this, though anything related to his Madam—to Monomon—seemed to stir up feelings he could not adequately hide.

She could use a level head. And someone with more knowledge than herself.

But she didn’t have time to linger.

“A vessel saved this kingdom,” she mused. “And a vessel doomed it. The blame lies not with them, but all who may have answered for it are no more.” Hornet paused. Quirrel was listening, head cocked slightly downward. When he did not interrupt, she went on. “The Hollow Knight lives, though grievously injured. They are under my care in the City of Tears.”

The confession was harder to make than she had anticipated, and she hated how unsteady she sounded. She straightened her spine and put more force into her words. “If it is purpose you seek, this kingdom may still have use for someone who remembers.”

Quirrel’s hands clenched again, and this time, he didn’t let them go. He stared at the rushes under their feet, his voice harder than she had yet heard it. “I should think I’ve been of nearly enough use in my lifetime.”

She hesitated. She had not thought he would resist; she had dug in, expecting soft, yielding earth, and met stone.

Then again, he was a warrior, much as he might deny it. He had lived dozens of lifetimes, traversed this treacherous kingdom with nary a scratch. Hallownest was not a forgiving place. The soft did not survive.

Hornet had no use for comforting words or warm platitudes. Reality had always stripped them away, reducing them to rags, distilling her beliefs to the meanest truth.

And yet, in saving Hollow, she had acted without thought for consequence or reward, had saved a life that she had once thought best ended, and she was finished apologizing for those actions.

Her sibling deserved better.

Quirrel, too, had suffered. And he, too, deserved more than what this life had given.

She could at least try.

“Perhaps…” She shifted, adjusting her grip on her needle, and started again. “Perhaps something like a life should not be judged solely by its usefulness.” Wincing at how awkward she sounded, she rushed on, regardless. “My sibling is wounded, and though I’ve done my best”—she nearly choked at the thought of what her best had entailed—“I-I know not how to care for them.”

He was silent.

What had driven him to give up his life for this kingdom, for the king’s plan, for the Teacher’s demands? Was it love? Loyalty? She did not know how to appeal to him.

It was duty that bound her. It was duty that had forged this weapon out of her. It was duty that had guided her hand to slay the vessels.

Perhaps what he wanted, after all this time, was to choose for himself. To be asked. To be free to refuse.

Her chest ached at the thought. Such things were not for her. But she could extend them to another.

“The kingdom should ask no more of you. It has no right.” She took a breath. “But… may I?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed on the pale, muted rushes. He stayed still for so long that she had to resist opening her mouth to push at him, to prompt him into an answer, to throw a stone into the lake just to see the ripples.

She would not. He owed her nothing. Though they shared experience of the old kingdom, their lives had never crossed; the Hallownest he remembered would be completely different from her own.

All she had was the plea of a stranger, a fellow traveler, a wanderer through the world. Some honor-code of the road might compel him, or a scholar’s oath, or perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps he would refuse her and continue on his own path, whatever that might be, and she would have to accept that. She could not conscience asking for more.

Gods, she hated this. Every inch of her shell was crawling as she waited. Why had she asked him? She must be insane. This was precisely why she did not rely on others, why she refused to ask for more than the basest courtesy. She could compel him, she could threaten, but on equal terms, what could she offer?

The gratitude of a dead kingdom. The blessing of an orphan. Nothing that meant more than a moment’s warmth against the cold world.

At last—at last—he laughed.

Laughed?

She stiffened, prepared to be outraged, but he held up a pacifying hand. “No, please. I must apologize. I… I had not thought to hear anything that might stir me from my course.”

Hornet tried to swallow down the bitterness in her mouth, but her words still sounded brittle. “And that would be?”

“Truly—I beheld the end of it.” Quirrel glanced at his nail, at the shining length of it buried tip-down in the rushes. “What more was there to do? Where else was there to go? I meant to return to the wastes. A fitting epilogue, though perhaps a harrowing one. I would forget all I had done. I would not know why I bore no weapon, or why I had wished for such an end. And by the time I had forgotten what brought me there, it would be too late to return.”

Hornet had nothing to say to that. She nodded, once. It was a solid plan. She could not pretend she hadn’t thought of it before.

But again, such things were not for her.

“And now?” she murmured.

“And now…” Quirrel’s hands rose and fell again, empty. “Now I may see a reason to delay.”

She nodded again. Pretty words and court manners failed her, this time; all she truly had to say was “Thank you.”

When he didn’t reply, she pulled her needle free and strode forward, drawing even with him. He reached out, but stopped short of touching her—remembering, perhaps, how she had reacted last time he did so.

“I had hoped to see them again,” he said, and laughed, a little ruefully. “I hoped they might find me here, before the end.” A long breath scraped through his throat, in and out. “But they’re gone now. Aren’t they?”

“It may be.” All signs pointed to one outcome. Hollow was free, and the infection was still rampant. And if the vessel she had spared was indeed the same one Quirrel had met, they were the sole other living candidate that she knew of.

She eyed the distance, sighted her throw out over the water. She had not known until now where she would go; she needed to return to the City, hopefully before Hollow woke, but she could not quite make herself turn back yet.

The Blue Lake was not far from the Temple of the Black Egg. If she was quick. If she made use of a few shortcuts.

She needed to know what had happened. She would find out what had befallen her kingdom, how she had failed it, what she could do to patch its wounds. And now she had another reason, pulling and tugging like a string hooked under her shell.

There was another sibling living. Another sibling behind that door.

What could she do? Likely nothing.

But she needed to know.

Hornet turned to Quirrel for the last time. “If my request is, indeed, reason enough to linger, find me in the City of Tears, in the nobles’ sector.” She drew her arm back to throw, then hesitated. “My house is the one without curtains.”

Without waiting for a reply, she hurled her needle out over the water, trailing a bright strand of soul-silk, and followed it into the silence.

○

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#hollow knight #hk hornet #hk the hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hollow knight fanfic #whumpwriting #mywriting #lost kin fic #hk #lost kin chapter

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toggle1-mrfipp · 2 years

Text

Unexpressed Words

Mrfipp: I decided to write a little something.

Marcy gets closure. Or at least tries to.

000

The last years had bee pretty great for Marcy Wu if she was being honest with herself. She had finally finished up her web comic, the final page posted online and met with much appraisal by her fans, all the words of praise and the fanart had certainly caused her heart to swell. Merchandise was certainly selling well and she was currently in talks to get physical copies of her comic printed, which would become available in the next few months. Her recent dabbling into animation led to her helping a friend with a pilot short for a show they wanted to make, and it got picked up they said there was a spot for a full time animator open for her. Between that, and ideas for a new comic shaking around in her head, she certainly had options where to take her life in the future.

She even managed to get back in touch with Anne and Sasha!

After she moved away, they stayed in contact, constant texts and video chats, her flying back over several times, but the further they got into high school, those contacts became more spaced out, until it reached a point where one day she realized that she hadn’t even talked to either of them in months. It hurt to think their relationship had drifted apart that much, but it wasn’t all bad. Despite her own fears and anxieties, she did make new friends in high school, and they liked the same books and games and anime as she did, and as much as she missed and loved Anne and Sasha, it was honestly refreshing to hang out with people who shared her interests, who would happily talk to her about the things she liked because they liked them too. Even today she’s still friends with some of the. Right now she’s the DM for an online game of Creatures and Caverns that they hold weekly.

When Sasha contacted her, asking if she wanted to get together for Anne’s twenty-third birthday, it didn’t take much for her to say yes, and when all three of them met up again, for the first time in years,she almost cried. Still, their dynamic was different, she couldn’t really describe it, but there was something different about the way they talked to one another that wasn’t the same when they were children. It wasn’t different bad, just different. It didn’t stop them from laughing and having fun and catching up, and almost feeling like it hadn’t been years since they've done this. Still, they’ve changed, they’re grown women now, so how their friendship forms will reflect that.

So when the time to go home came, she expected them to go their separate ways once more, but on that, she was wrong. They were talking more, they messaged one another and kept each other up to date on their lives and were all too happy to share; like her possibly careers paths, Sasha teaching fencing in her spare time, Anne admitting that her desire to get a doctorate is partially spite-fueled so she can rub it into the faces of the teachers who thought she would go nowhere in life.

It’s been pretty great for her.

Then the portal opened.

The original portal machine that Terri had built could only make a small rift, much to small to let anyone through, and it required an insane amount of power to do just that, only becoming usable when exposed to the power of one of the gems, which was no longer available. As far as anyone assumed, any returns trips to Amphibia were a dream at best.

But after over a decade of work, they managed to make another machine, able to create a stable portal the size of a door to allow easier travel between the worlds.

Of course, the three of them were contacted the instant they were sure it was safe.

Coming back to Amphibia was nearly overwhelming, almost like a dream, but she knew this was real, that she was actually back, and the changes were amazing. A council had taken rise, filled with amphibians from all walks of life, to allow better and more fair ruling over the land. The discovery of a new continent, one populated by reptiles had sparked the beginnings of a new industrial age, one separate from the old technology of Newtopia’s past. There were airships now! How cool was that?!

Then there had been the reunions.

Sasha and Grime had first tried to be stoic and professional, but it didn’t take long before they broke down into tears and they hugged.

There was no hesitation however when Anne met the Plantars, with everyone bawling the moment they one another another. Gosh, Anne looked so happy to see Sprig again.

It was honestly pretty funny to see Anne, the biologist, trying to figure out how a snail and a bird ended up having children.

She herself was happy to see Yunan and Olivia again, the latter having actually become of the more influential members of the council. They even adopted a couple of kids! That was great, and she was happy with them.

Still, there is one thing she had been avoiding since she came back, and with them leaving tomorrow, she knows she needs to do this now.

It’s how she finds herself here, standing in front of this massive tree, deep in a thick forest, with a simple headstone in front of her.

Andrias Leviathan, it read.

Well, she finally worked up the nerve to ask about him, but even as Olivia told her, as she guided her here, still had trouble thinking it was real, but now that she is, she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s small and simple, the morbid thought that comes to her is, it really undersold that the massive body beneath her feet was once a king who sat on the throne for one-thousand years.

“How?” she asked, her voice a bit more quite than she thought it would be.

For a moment, Olivia says nothing, maybe trying to think of the best was to answer, before finally speaking. “It was decided that as penance, he would spend his days replanting the forest he destroyed, and it was a punishment he readily accepted without any trouble. The forest you see around you were not here over a decade ago, so he did his job.”

Marcy looked around to the forest. It was an impressive sight, did he really do al this himself?

“As you recall,” Olivia continued. “That his battle with Anne left him injured and his cybernetics damaged, we offered to repair him, we knew that he had no intention of ever being a danger to anyone again, but he always refused. After four years, he one day just... stopped.”

“...oh.”

There is silence now, neither one of them saying anything. Only the wind and the animals of the woods spoke.

“Marcy,” Olivia said, after a time. “While we knew that your return was an unlikely event, before he died he asked me to give this to you, should you somehow come back.” From somewhere, Marcy didn’t know, Olivia pulled out an envelope, and with hands that suddenly felt too heavy did she take it. “I will give you some time alone now, to make whatever peace you want, but should you need me, just know I won’t be too far off.”

With that, Olivia was away, leaving Marcy alone.

She looks to the grave, and back to the envelope, thumbs tracing the edges of the message, debating what should she do with it. A part of her wants to throw it away, another wants to stick it in her bag and never think about it again. Another...

She opens it.

Dear Marcy, should this letter somehow ever make it too you.

During our time together, I lied to you, manipulated you, turned your fears and anxieties against you and your friends before nearly killing you, and serving you to the Core to be violated in both body and mind. You have every right to hate me, to look up my memory in revulsion, and to curse my very name from the deepest reaches of the earth to the expanses above the stars. You suffered greatly because of me.

Despite this, you still chose to say goodbye to me on that day, despite everything that had happened.

There was so much I wanted to say to you, but I knew that there would be nothing I could say that would right the wrongs I have committed against you. Even now, in this letter, do words fail to completely express how I feel.

Despite everything that followed, I did truly enjoy the time we spent together, you brought a happiness into my life that I had forgotten how to feel, and I wish, more than anything else in this world, that I had the strength and courage to listen to my heart instead of that parasitic amalgamation.

I know I don’t have the right to say this, but thank you Marcy, truly thank you for your kindness, and granting me the honor of being your friend, and how I truly sorry I am.

Sincerely, Andrias

PS This might now be the best time to talk about it, but during the invasion I had sent some frobots to try and collect the rest of the Cynthia Coven series, which they did manage to do so I was able to read the rest of them before my eyesight went. I only have so much paper to write on, so I’ll be brief about it, but I thinking beating the Queen of The Below with the Ring of Sealed Truths at the end was a bit contrived, but I really did enjoy how every characters’ arcs came to a close.

Marcy looked down at the letter, going over it several more times, trying to process how to feel and think about this. Until it suddenly came to her, so suddenly that she was surprised to see herself act like that.

“Really?” she said, a laugh escaping her. “Your last words, your dying words, and you spend them talking about a book?”

She kept laughing, laughing so loud because of how ridicules it was, so hard that she fell to her knees, clutching at her stomach and tears streaming down her face.

At some point, she didn’t know when, but the laughter turns into sobs as she found herself wracked with grief.

It was some time before she calmed down, composed herself enough to trust herself to say anything, before finally looking up at the grave.

“I... I want to forgive you,” she said, her voice hoarse from the laughter and crying. “But I don’t know if I... can? Should? I just, I just don’t know.” When strength finally returned to her legs, she pushed herself up and slowly made her way to the grave. “I get why you did the things you did, having that thing hover over your shoulder like that, I mean, I can relate to that to some degree.” There was a small, tired laugh. “You know, I never told you this, but there was a time where I thought you made a good father figure to me, but I-” She stops, what else could she say? “It’s not an excuse, but I get it, and I guess what I want to say is...”

What did she want to say? She didn’t know, she tried to think of it, but nothing came to. So instead, she didn’t think.

“I just wish things had been different too.”

Feeling drained, Marcy looked back down to the letter, crumpled in her clenched fist, before smoothing it out, before returning it to its envelope and placed it in her bag.

With nothing left, Marcy turned around and walked away, giving on last look over her shoulder.

“Bye,” she said, in a small voice.

#amphibia #marcy wu #andrias leviathan #lady olivia #fanfiction #fanfic

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foryouthegays · 4 years

Text

Egg [Dream SMP] summary and kinda liveblog but im tired so its not much

Sellout pog: 30:40, 1:41:00

Techno starts his stream in his house. He tells chat that he’ll be missing donations, and then he goes to Ranboo’s house and joins his voice chat. They talk, and Techno mentions that he might make a second house. Ranboo shows Techno his magic trick, making two beds out of one bed, and they talk about the laws of physics.

12:00 Techno and Ranboo go into Techno’s house and listen to a noteblock left by someone. They joke about Techno’s thumbnail, and eventually, they make their way over to their mailbox, which has new mail from Tommy. The book is an invitation for the grand opening of his hotel. While reading, Techno spots BBH staring at him, but he continues to read the book.

19:00 they go to the house, and wait for BBH to find them. BBH opens the door, and they stand awkwardly as they wait for him to join the VC. They talk, and BBH asks about any notes Techno’s gotten. He shows him the noteblock, and they spam it for a few seconds. BBH mentions that The Egg would love to know about the block, and Techno asks what that is. Without answering, BBH asks if Techno would like to go on a roadtrip with him. Techno asks if he can take Steve, his emotional support polar bear, with him, and BBH reluctantly agrees. They boat to The Egg and Techno sees Ranboo hiding behind a pumpkin. BBH asks if they’re being followed, and Techno denies it. BBH brings him closer to The Egg, and asks Techno to be open minded about it. Techno crafts an iron hoe. While walking around, Techno breaks some of the vines. BBH keeps insisting that someone, or something, is following them.

47:00. Once Techno and BBH reach The Egg, Techno hears a strange whistling noise coming from The Egg. He hears a echoed and distorted voice coming from it, and BBH asks if they’re being watched. Techno sees someone in the cavern, but turns around to give The Egg a piece of steak.

50:00 After The Egg responds in its strange voice, Puffy walks in and interrupts them. Puffy insists she has to talk to Techno, and they argue. Puffy asks what The Egg said to Techno, and he says that it’s hard to distinguish all the voices, and that Chat is spamming ‘egg bad’ and other such things. Puffy agrees, and demands Bad explains the Eggpire. Techno and Puffy agree that it sounds very government-y, and Puffy suggests they turn The Egg into an omelette. Techno asks what will hatch out of The Egg, but BBH doesn’t answer. He continues to insist that someone is watching him, and Puffy tells him to stop fantasizing about Skeppy and to talk to them.

When BBH realizes bribing Techno won’t work, he threatens him, which is honestly less effective. Puffy questions his methods, asking why BBH would ever threaten Technoblade, and he says that it isn’t a threat, it’s just a message. BBH leaves, and catches the person who’d been spying on them. While he catches the intruder, Techno runs, but goes back to continue the story. BBH takes Techno to Ranboo, who’d been watching them, and BBH takes him to The Egg. Bad and Techno argue about Ranboo should do, and BBH eventually decides that Ranboo doesn’t have to step on The Egg. They go to a picnic table and eat lunch together. Bad tells Techno that he’s the most powerful person on the server, and Techno asks if The Egg is scientology.

1:16:00 Bad offers to take care of the people who Techno doesn’t like, and Techno declines, because he can take care of things himself.

BBH threatens Ranboo, and they start planning to kill BBH. Techno mentions that the voices are saying ‘Blood for the Blood God,’ and Bad doesn’t seem happy about it.

Bad asks Techno to leave, and starts killing Puffy and Ranboo. Techno runs back, and they try to kill him, but he ender pearls away. During the chaos, Ranboo is shoved down a long tunnel with water at the bottom, and has no way up. Techno throws his trident down, and he starts stuttering, freaking out, and Techno starts giving him instructions, and gives him a pearl. Ranboo manages to escape, and Techno asks if he’s ok. He says he is, but is a lot quieter than he was before. Techno asks Puffy what’s going on, and he explains that Bad wants to take over the server, and that she doesn’t know what The Egg is for.

Techno decides to be pro-omlette, and Techno walks back to the house with Ranboo. While walking back, Steve almost dies, and Ranboo has to run to the house

Ranboo asks Techno about his voices, and Techno says that he can’t get attached to them, and that they’re saying ‘fire resistance.’

Ranboo says that he hears one voice, Dreams.

He talks about the enderwalk, where he isn’t in control of himself and the Dream voice tells him what he does.

They walk to the portal with Steve, and walk to the house. They end the stream after hitting the channel member bell a few times.

‘Does anyone love THEIR fans as much as technoblade’ enbyblade,,,,,

Techno explaining redstone at 7 mins is so funny like pls techno learn how to redstone

8:35 TECHNOSNEEZE

‘Why hello, bad boy halo, what brings you around here?’ Billiam voice billiam voice 20:40

26:30 whos a good boyyyy whos a good boy :D!!!! Im gonna cry i need fanart of steve n techno now

30:00 what kind of things are egg shaped? Eggs…

34:10 he just called the prison a middle school im-

49:00 egg morman

1:14:00 egg scientology

AWWWW 1:15:10 ‘techno, you dont really like people, right?’ ‘I mean, i kinda like ranboo’ IM GONNA CRY (and he mentions phil ofc gjfhksdl)

Is techno pro life? Is that what were getting out of this stream? 1:25:10ish hsdfjkghds

I cant believe they never continued to talk abt ranboos voice like cmon techno thats so rude

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