#goth circus certainly beats DEATH | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

payasita · 3 years

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a request for some quirrel and grimm interaction

The scholar sits upon the shore, His duty done, his purpose naught

For his madame he had fought with her to sleep forevermore.

But why another dreaming loop? The memories alone can burn,

You only have to light the lantern--

The bug before him faltered slightly, the top-heavy lantern in their hand dipping down an inch. Quirrel continued to gawk for another moment, then hurried to catch up with his mouth.

"Ah-- that is, no thank you. I'm quite content where I am, good, er... sir," he assumed, and held up his hands peaceably, eyeing the nail embedded into the sand just an inch too close to his colorful new guest.

"...Are you, now." The guest in question pulled back the lantern some, and stood idle. It did not sound like a question, which Quirrel found just a little bit disconcerting.

"I am," was all he said in turn.

"Hrmm. The master is seldom wrong about… prospective recruitment." The being that was probably not entirely a bug eyed Quirrel curiously. He guessed it might be curiosity, at least. It was of course difficult to glean any expression behind the mask, and with his strange getup that a bemused and apprehensive Quirrel could only describe as either "whimsically menacing" or "menacingly whimsical".

"Well," he cleared his throat, "He's wrong this time."

"Is that right." Again a question-non-question.

"It is." His affirmation was terse, just a bit too tired for his normal sociability. "While I could certainly understand the attraction in your offer for some, I myself have no desire to be rid of any memories. I've too little of them left as it is, you see."

"Hrm. You'd rather take them with you, then." The being gestured with a nod to the lake, unassuming as it ever was. Quirrel balked, but any fears of having been caught were quickly found irrelevant. There'd been no accusation or judgment in the nightmare thrall's tone.

"...Yes," was his only response.

The thrall only hummed again, throaty. And then waited for an uncomfortably long moment, finally speaking again a split second before Quirrel had been about to try.

"What's keeping you?"

What, did he intend to watch? Quirrel blinked, and bit back that response for a less hostile one.

"...I am waiting for someone, actually."

"Best be on my way, then. Mrmmm."

Of everything he might have expected to hear, that was probably the most relieving. He nearly sagged with it.

"...Safe travels, then," he bade wanly. The thrall hummed from the back of his throat at that, and then wedged the tall lantern he held into the ground, right next the nail. He offered a short, casual nod before turning to leave. Quirrel scrambled to stand, nearly sputtering.

"Wait-- you're just going to leave tha--?" Somewhere in the milliseconds where he was pushing off the ground and not looking directly at his guest, the strange bug had vanished. He hadn't even been moving with any sort of haste.

Quirrel stood mutely, staring out at the empty cavern for a second, and then looked at the lantern. It was a pointy thing carved so its stone (or metal?) appeared hastily braided, with a scarlet flame flickering away up top over whatever hidden burner or robust kindling fueled it. Even if his curiosity for the unknown and peculiar hadn't already been extinguished, there was little about the lantern or its recent bearer that made touching it seem like a great idea.

And neither did he particularly feel like extricating his nail beside it. What would be the point?

Little to do for it, then. Quirrel sat again in the same spot he'd been, (he had been here first, after all,) and resigned himself back to his waiting. The flame made no sound as it burned, and with his back turned to it, he could easily forget it was there, if he ignored the slight tinge of red glow now reflecting off his carapace. The blue of the water much nearer was brighter, and easier to focus on.

He briefly worried that the little wanderer might be deterred by the clashing new addition to the cavern, but concluded that it would take far more than a spooky lamp to stop them from coming in if they wanted to. There was little in Hallownest that could stop them from doing anything they wanted to, really.

And Hallownest really did tend to attract such oddities. That fact had amazed and delighted him such a short time ago. Now though, it was just another thing for him to forget.

The lantern was attracting pests. Little red robed creatures came by and flitted about the cavern, at first so quick and unpredictable in showing themselves that Quirrel thought he was imagining them.

But they slowly got bolder, and now flew about in erratic circles around the lantern and over his head. One halted right in front of his face to cackle, and he'd fallen backwards in shock. That had greatly amused the little terrors.

He shot back up and righted himself, wildly swatting both arms around for a moment in a vain attempt to convince the little intruders to bugger off. They kept a wide berth of him, but seemed happy enough to keep their aimless racket up slightly further away.

"... Alright, then," he relented, shifting to rest an arm on his knee, "Suppose it was just a little unreasonable for me to have more than a moment's silence, down here." The ruins of Hallownest were a lot of things. Gloomy and shambling, first and foremost. But it was never truly silent between all the skittering, buzzing things about the crossroads, the burble and rustle of the Greenpath, and the din of rainfall in the city. Even the darkest reaches of the spiders' realm were haunted by the mournful whispering of long dead predators, still hissing at anything that came to close.

He theoretically remembers the archives as always bustling, though he couldn't say with any certainty whether that was true. Maybe he just would have liked to see them full of life again. He couldn't remember what it was like.

It must have been far less annoying than all the chittering creatures up in the air, all glaring him down and making the air behind him hot on his back. The lantern too must have been glaring.

Quirrel had lost track of time. That happened easily, especially up in the wastes. It was less that he couldn't tell how much time had elapsed, and more that he couldn't remember how long ago he'd sat down. The difference was slight, but it was as disturbing to him as it was convenient for a long wait.

The lake shone before him, still and serene as ever. The surface of it still fascinated him, for the slight and particularly Hallownest flavor of wrongness to it. A body of water normally darkened as it got deeper, but this one did the opposite. The entirety of the Blue Lake was as if illuminated by some distant and massive source of light far in its depths. He theorized some joined phenomena with crystals and bioluminescent algae, but there would have to be quite a lot of both to make that feasible.

"It is a spell," a dry wheeze of a voice spoke up beside him. "The cavern below was the only one big enough for the city within to be built, but the great lake above proved a threat to it. Its drainage would adversely affect the entire ecosystem, and the ceiling would only crack more and more. What is now rain would have been a waterfall, devastating everything."

Quirrel had jolted, and was staring at the new visitor as they spoke. He did not consider himself an inattentive sort, even if he was prone to get a bit lost in the sights. He would have surely perished in a place like this if he were, by now. And yet, he hadn't even heard the tall stranger come in.

Very tall. Not even with the bulk he'd expect of a bug that size. The being looked more like a cadaver in stage paint than a living bug. One that had died of smoke inhalation from some wildfire, by the sound of them.

But they weren't actively trying to stab Quirrel at the moment, not that he could defend himself if they did. His nail was still propped up alone out of reach behind them. Thankfully, he usually preferred to talk these things out, as it was. He relaxed his posture again, keeping a careful eye on his ominous new guest.

"...So there's a seal of some sort down there, then?" He asked. The stranger nodded.

"Of a sort. It was already cracked enough at the bottom to cause the rain below, before the powers that be took action. The lake drains eternally, though never loses a drop. Neither does the soil in the waterways beneath where it'd already collected ever lose its moisture," they explained, head cocked slightly.

"...So the stillness of the lake is older than that of the kingdom, then," Quirrel gathered. He'd started watching it again without even noticing, heedless of the stranger. They kindly continued their streak of not murdering him, so Quirrel went on with a quiet sigh.

"Incredible. Magic so consequential to the day to day lives of everyone living down there, but only known to them as the rain. Something so mundane."

"Only an inconvenience," the stranger agreed.

"...And a comfort, maybe." Quirrel had rather liked the sound of it, and it was nice to watch. He sincerely doubted he'd have been the only one to think that way.

He did have another thought, though. "...Why couldn't they have simply reinforced the cavern ceiling?"

The stranger laughed, a sound like a smoker’s death rattle that set Quirrel's spine rigid.

"Why indeed. Perhaps they simply hadn't had anyone around to ask good questions," they posited, all scornful mirth. Quirrel took the implicit compliment, and smiled faintly.

"Thank you for telling me, dark stranger. I admit I'd been curious about this place." He found himself trusting their information, though he had no idea why. Any curiosity he might have had about it had easily given way to exhaustion.

"You are welcome. In turn then, perhaps you might indulge a question of mine," they said while still looking out at the lake. Not once had they turned to look at him since they got here (or at least since he noticed them), though he could not confess to feeling ignored. He was even waited on for his answer.

"...Of course," it came dubiously.

"Why here?"

It took a second. But after that second, Quirrel found no reason to feign ignorance. He got the sense they already knew why he was here. Perhaps that was why they were here.

(It made sense enough, then, that he'd not heard them, if they were spectre rather than bug.)

He shrugged, then. "I wanted to see the source of the rain."

"That is all?"

"That's all. I just wanted to see it."

The spectre was quiet for a moment, not moving, nor changed in their countenance. Both merely watched the lake.

"And for now, what are you doing?" they finally asked. Quirrel let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.

"For now, I am waiting for a friend."

"That is what keeps you."

“It is."

"And what if that has already happened?"

"...Pardon?"

Quirrel turned back to the stranger, and found them looking right at him. Between the brilliant scarlet of their eyes, and the utterly alien intensity of their stare, he found himself a tad grateful they'd avoided doing that while they spoke. He doubted he would have been able to so much as move, much less respond.

"What if the little shadow has already come and gone?"

Those eyes were not all that kept him frozen to the spot. The question had him searching them, though he could find nothing he liked within them beyond the way they shined.

Somehow, though, he felt his exhaustion ebb. He'd expected it to deepen, but as he broke their gaze to watch his hands, his pulse picked up from under them.

"...Then the next logical action would have already taken place, as well." He’d had no intention of waiting any longer. He'd not been afraid.

Above, the stranger said nothing. And again, they both gazed out to the lake, to the unperturbed peace it offered any observer. He could hardly hear the rain before, but as he listened, the thrum of it picked up incrementally.

"It is beautiful here," the spectre offered amiably.

"It is," he agreed.

"The choice is yours, then. It is an ultimatum, but it still comes down to you, even now." The stranger's voice was getting just a bit more difficult to hear, over the din of rainfall.

"Is it, really?" He asked, sounding far more drained than he felt, and just a touch bitter.

"It is," they repeated.

"Why? Did you come out of pity, then?"

"No. You need not worry about that. None shall ever hold any pity for what becomes of you. If there were ever any alive who once could, none are left to remember you," they promised. He had no idea if they meant for that to bring him despair, or peace.

"Then why?" Quirrel pressed, having to shout over the rising roar of water.

"Simply to offer a choice at all. It is clear you had little in the way of that in life, and something within you feels the same ought to be true about your death. After all, an obsolete tool is given no choice about when it has outlived its use, and so must be thrown away."

Quirrel felt as though he might burst from his shell, and in the deluge it was getting very, very hard to hear. Bright red eyes, like a distress beacon, kept him focused on their words, for just a few more moments.

"Another purpose might await you if you decide that is wrong," they bent down some, and took the chin of his mask between their fingers.

"But if you do not… It is beautiful here."

And like that, all was dark, until it wasn't. Then it was much too bright, the light coming from somewhere below, from some unseen seal placed centuries before his own birth.

There was some flailing, and precious seconds to get his bearings, but then, Quirrel swam up.

He broke the surface of the lake with a painful gasp of air, and the cavern was silent save for his frenzied splashing. He was actually much closer to shore than he would have guessed, and was able to haul himself back into the sand after a brief and rather undignified show of more desperate scrabbling. It'd apparently been a remarkably steep drop into the deep end, and he was sure it must have caught him by surprise.

He coughed as much water as he could get out of himself before rolling over to catch his breath. The first thing he registered was the cavern ceiling, and how the height and vastness of it was presently causing more nausea in his waterlogged skull. With a short groan, he turned his head more to the side, and caught sight of his nail, and the lantern. Still jammed into the shore side by side.

Quirrel laid there as long as he needed to until the need to vomit was obliged, and the nausea subsided some. He was freezing, and his legs buckled numbly under him when he first tried to stand. Another few seconds of shallow breathing, and he tried again, slowly.

When he reached past the nail and grabbed the lantern, the effort to stand came a bit more easily as he leveraged himself against it. After that it was just another moment of recovery, and then with it, he shuffled out of the cavern.

The torch did not provide much warmth for the height of the flame, but something told him he'd warm up quickly once he found his destination.

He'd already lived once for someone else, and in a sense, had died for them. If he was going to do it again, at least he would not suffer the cold.

And a circus troupe does lots of travelling, Quirrel understands. Maybe he could come to enjoy that again, given another mask.

But he’d not give up the memories. Not again.

#hollow knight #drabble #doodles #2k fic under the cut #hi grimm and quirrel anon i didnt know how to attach this multimedia nonsense to your ask #i just think hed be sick of erasing himself for folks yknow?#but avoiding that #goth circus certainly beats DEATH

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libraford · 5 years

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ALL THE ROSE PROFILES (so far)

Tag yourself at your own risk, there’s a lot of them.

First photo: Coffee Break (brown, top) and Cherry Brandy (amber-pink, bottom)

Second photo: Jade (green), Sonrisa (yellow on top), Pink Mondial (pink), Tara (yellow-green on right), Tibet (white), blueberry (purple), Neena (orange red)

Third photo: Nina (light pink), Carpe Diem (peach)

Fourth photo: Iguana (coral, bottom left), Brighton (yellow), Ocean Song(lavendar), Black Magic (dark red), Atomic (red tipped yellow, bottom right.)

Fifth photo: Tycoon (yellow orange) and Tiffany (peach) roses

Sixth photo: Shogun (purple) Brave (deep magenta) Amnesia (purple gray) and Tabasco (pink tip yellow)

Cherry Brandy is an ART MOM, even if they’re not a mom and even if they’re not related to you- if you call them ‘mom’ they will respond. Folk art, goes to craft shows and sells painted chairs. Buys way more art than they sell. Too many necklaces and rings, many layers of clothes. Stylish yet comfy. Coffee Break is Farmer’s Market Dad, despite being no one’s father and also bearing no relation to you. If there is a space in their home that has room for a bookshelf, there is a bookshelf there and by golly- there are books. The occasional cigar. It’s uncertain whether they were in the Navy, but the stories they tell certainly would imply it. Blazers and loafers.

Jade- Is all about the chill. Listens to vaporwave and trance music. Has been to at least one silent disco and would definitely go back if they could remember where it was. Manages to both never sleep and also sleep all the time. Can never find them when you need them. Sonrisa- Calls you ‘sweet pea’ and means it. Lemonade, jean shorts, and a toolbox. Knows how to carry a tune and give your truck a tune-up. Sneaks out at night even though they don’t have a curfew, no one knows where they go. Pink Mondial- is going to have the fairytale wedding that they imagined when they were six, despite not having a significant other yet. Still waiting for 'the one.’ Attempted online dating at one point but got a little freaked out by it. Prefers cake over ice cream. Tara- The party don’t start til they walk in! A real night-owl. Neon signs and headlights, cover charges and cutting in line. Always hungry, trying to fill a void. Doesn’t remember what daylight looks like. Sarcastic sense of humor to cover up low self-esteem. Tibet- T I R E D. So tired. Please just let them sleep. They are tired. Makes jokes that they don’t realize that are morbid until they tell it to the wrong person and then they feel bad about it for the next four years. Curious about death and dying, but not in a goth way- more in a science and philosophy way. But still… just… so… tired. Go to bed, Tibet. Blueberry- Will never graduate from their Emo Phase. If it’s black with a neon accent, they will buy it, wear it, and when the thing is worn into torn rags they will sew it into something else. Tries really hard to be edgy but comes off as… trying REALLY hard to be edgy. Resurrects memes from the early 2000’s as a coping mechanism. Striped socks. Invader Zim. Made you a cookie, but they eated it. Neena- The kind of artist that other artists HATE. Uses unconventional materials- melted crayons, tar paper, house paint, scrap metal. Has an entire shed dedicated to the accumulation of this stuff and even actually uses it. Knows how to weld. If you’ve got some junk you want gone, they’ll make something out of it and what’s worse? They’ll sell it for a dollar with a smug smile on their face. Youtube personality.

Nina- Shy. A popular person, but they have no idea why. Everyone wants them to become a model or actor but they get stage fright too easily and aren’t likely to change that about themselves. Prefers numbers to people, but can be coerced out to social places provided it isn’t too loud there. Carpe Diem- Just let them be a mermaid. It’s all they want. They wanted to be a marine biologist because they thought it meant they could swim with dolphins but it turns out you have to memorize a bunch of names. Hair goes down to their butt and proud of it. Flower crowns. Seashells in their jewelry. Saw Aquaman four times in theaters.

Iguana is a Crafter with a capital C. If there’s a Pinterest tutorial on it, they’ve tried to make it at least once (to the result of many failures.) Their business model is ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ There is glitter. Everywhere. Their house is a mess and there’s nothing that can stop it from getting bigger. Fabric hoarder. Tends to say things like 'I’ll use it in /something/.’ Brighton used to play the flute in high school, but the competitive nature of music school has burned them out on instruments that aren’t fun. Now plays the ukelele on Youtube. Sundresses, short hair, winged eyeliner. Attempted unicycle. Has had many, many different jobs. None of them stuck. Emotional support extrovert. Ocean Song is The Sad Friend. Gets their hopes up easy and just as easily gets their feelings hurt. Just wants to stay at home and curl up in a blanket for the next century but /noooooo./ Listens to binaural beats and ASMR videos. Forgets to eat. Often. Needs someone to check on them. Black Magic is Old School Goth. Remembers when Hot Topic wasn’t a thing and is kind of glad it’s not 'the goth store’ anymore because it kind of wasn’t goth enough for them anyway (but they still shopped there. Has at least two keychains from The Old Days). Coffee. Unabashedly Bad Poetry. Despite all this? Probably the most genuinely optimistic people you’ve ever met. Atomic has spent more than one summer working for a traveling circus. Has tattoos they don’t remember getting but figures 'it’s all good.’ Rides a motorcycle and keeps a journal of their travels across the states- but it’s mostly a record of places where they’ve seen cool dogs. Tells excellent stories- who gives a crap if they’re true or not? Has been craving venison for like four years now.

Tycoon is TOTALLY RAD and knows all the best spots for surfing, snowboarding, and mountain biking. Drinks like four Monsters a day, but won’t touch alcohol after that one night they played Thumper and got too messed up over it and they swear they’re clean now. Misses Ska. Tiffany has a really, really, really strong urge to find a spot on the beach, set up an umbrella and blanket, and spend the rest of their life reading trashy romance novels there. Has at least one piece of art that says ‘live laugh love’ and it’s probably in their living room. Breakfast consists of coffee and biscotti.

Shogun is a hopeless romantic that handwrites all their letters. She loves wine a little too much, and sings ‘Total Eclipse if the Heart’ at karaoke. Brave is a woman working her way to the top of the corporate ladder and specifically asks for every Wednesday off- not because she has a prior engagement on that day but just to make herself seem like a desireable candidate by appearing to have other commitments. She spends this day at a Mexican restaurant eating bottomless tortilla chips and salsa. Amnesia has a finely-curated Instagram with a penchant for beautifully ugly things, such as graffiti or rusting structures. They carry a camera with them everywhere and think of themselves as an observer of humanity rather than a participant. Tabasco has driven the entire length of the US twice and would do it again in a heartbeat if someone told them there was a burger joint they just had to try. Unironically idolizes Guy Fieri.

#Rose profiles

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