#< ohohohoho this will be good

[pain-is-forever]

After he had thrown up, Theo looks back at Rey. Yeah, he deserves the yelling. He deserves everything that's about to happen to him. Everything that Rey wants to do to him- he killed a kid. He killed someone, and it wasn't self defense. There was no excusing his actions.

Though, Theo knows something Rey doesn't. The way Argo went. Quick and relatively painless. The way Argo begged Theo to do what he asked. The way Theo had to relive his worst memory. The way his mind raced. The way his brain reminded him of the way Andrea died.

Then, he gets angry. Not angry enough to attack Rey- he won't hurt another friend. Not now, not ever. He won't. He just can't. But, he's angry enough to tell the whole truth. To tell Rey what exactly happened, not the details he would share with everyone to make them hate him because he deserves it.

"Do you really think I wanted to do this?! In your mind, think for a second! Think! He asked me to kill him as Atticus, did I do it?! No! Because I believed he could be saved! You wanna know what happened?! I'll tell you what haplened! He surrendered his body to Eris and told me to make sure he dies so he doesn't hurt anyone!"

He doesn't even realize when he starts coughing. Doesn't realize when he collapses from exhaustion. He wants to cry, but no tears come out. He's cried them all, at least for now. He can't physically produce more. He's still unarmed, his own sword laying on the ground next to the grave. He won't raise it at another friend, he refuses to do that.

OPEN STARTER: BROKEN PROMISES.

TW: Murder, blood, self harm, suicide attempt, gore.

Why.

Why does everyone leave him? He can't bear it anymore. He can't- there nothing he can do about this anymore. He can't bring them back. He can't bring any of them back. It's over. They're all gone. What would his friends say if they saw this? They'd abandon him for sure. Gods, he's going to be alone again. He already feels alone.

Why did Argo have to do this? Make that deal with Eris? Make Theo kill him? Why- there had to be some other way. Anything at all. If they only had a bit more time, he's sure they could've figured something out. Why do they never have time?

Fuck. This is all his fault. He's a disgusting pig. How could he? How could he do this? No one will ever forgive him. This isn't something he can fix. It just isn't. He can't do this. He can't- he did. He did do this, and he regrets it so badly.

Everything is quiet, the only noise he hears is the horrible ringing in his ears and his quiet sobs. Even the ghosts in his head don't dare speak, though he's sure his parents would love to give him a piece of mind. Or Andrea. He just... doesn't hear anything.

Nothing matters anymore. He doesn't deserve to live. He broke two of his most important promises today- that he'd never kill another person the way he killed his sister and that he would always stick by Argo. How can he stick by Argo if he killed them the same way he killed Andrea?

There are cuts and slashes all over his arms and legs, his sword laying to his side, covered in a mix of his and Argo's blood. Tears mix with the blood on his face. Theo wants to just grab the sword again and slit his own throat, or stab himself through the heart, but he's shaking and crying too much to be able to hold his weapon right now.

He's sitting by a bump in the ground in the woods. A bump that resembles an improvised grave. There's a dagger in the ground on the bump- if anyone knew Argo, they'd recognize it as theirs. Theo's back is turned to you, hands clutching at his hair. "No- no, no... no... please, no..."

Taglist (ask to be added or deleted!!!): @the-great-emperor-commodus @literally-tinker-bell @the-son-of-the-sun @roryandthethorns @dad-left-for-the-milk @reyno-solis-real @onlymythologypersonincamp @l0st-child-of-war @lyric-of-the-sun @toxic-daughter-of-love

[ponds-of-ink]

MXES's eyes snapped open, and the hare, taking in his surroundings, found himself back to the place that he had left only a week ago.

There was a pain that he was met with--and as the seconds met with, it only seemed to be growing. It was all around him--feeling as if something was desperately clawing and tearing at the hare's very code...

And perhaps, that truly was the unfortunate truth of the situation. The coding...

MXES's eyes went wide as a pained groan splattered out. He tried to move forward, but it felt as if he were almost tied up by invisible, thick ropes.

A delighted chuckle alerted the hare of the fact that someone else was in the room. "You had gotten rather far back then, hadn't you? Hm..."

Glitchtrap stepped--or, really hopped--into the hare's view. His hands were clasped together, and his glowing pair of eyes were wide in what could have been excitement.

"You..." MXES slowly began, barely managing to shake his head around in a sluggish manner. "What... what do you think you are doing?"

Glitchtrap's ears twitched, catching a single hint of a distressed tone, and at first, his only response was a chuckle. It was followed by him snapping his fingers.

MXES grunted as he collapsed to the ground. He tried to move--he tried to get up--but the hare remained. Whatever was keeping MXES in place was still in place.

Glitchtrap turned to face the other way as MXES shuddered from the pain. His arms were folded. "Well, you did fail, I would have to say. It's certainly not something you would enjoy, my little poor soul..."

"But me?" Glitchtrap snorted, his grin growing. "I'm certainly going to enjoy having you by my side..."

MXES tried to speak, but only a pained cry escaped as his code continued to be ripped apart.

"Your very programming is being rewritten as we speak," Glitchtrap spun around, easily making his way over to MXES, and placing a hand underneath his chin. "It won't last too much longer..."

"With you by my side?" Little, brief giggles kept escaping from the rabbit. "I could do anything..."

Glitchtrap dropped his hand, stood back up, and began to walk away once more. "I would warn that it may hurt a 'little', but I believe you already-"

The door burst open, filling the both of them with surprise. Glitchtrap's head turned, and MXES's head remained staring on ahead.

"Why, this is certainly a shock..." Glitchtrap sarcastically hummed.

"Vanessa...?" The weakened hare murmured.

The woman was advancing quickly. In the moment, she ignored the familiar, digital rabbit--in favor of reaching the hare's side, and crouching down beside his weakened form.

"MXES..." He had never seen such a large frown on anyone before--and it only seemed to be growing. Slowly, one of her hands raised, being placed atop his head.

Then, Vanessa's head spun around, eyes meeting Glitchtrap's. "You can't do this!"

"Oh, I can't?" Glitchtrap tilted his head to the side. "Well, I believe I already am..."

Vanessa walked away from the hare, her eyes remaining on the smug rabbit. "Now. You need to stop this, now! I'll..."

"Do anything?" This time, Glitchtrap was the one to move closer, head tilting further. He chuckled.

The silence from Vanessa was enough.

"V-Vanessa-" MXES tried to start, panic quickly seeping through.

Glitchtrap's eyes darkened. "How about... one unfortunate soul for the other, Vanny?"

-

Kind of something that could technically lead into the reprise that you mentioned.

<Incorrect-FNaF-Quotes

I’m not normal about Glitchtrap’s body language lining up with how I first pictured him in the animatic. I don’t think I’m going to be normal about that detail. @incorrect-fnaf-quotes, I’m gonna need a minute to recover, then get back to rest of it—

[rouge-the-bat]

gender ambiguity by removing any gender signifiers from their presentation: HELL YEAH

gender ambiguity by COMBINING different gender signifiers into their presentation:

HELL YEAAHHHHH

[star-paths]

( @collectivemesses continued from x )

In spite of his snarky invitation for Jax to proceed, Jaesung had not expected the bluntness of his response, the words from the other’s mouth slapping him across the face in a way he hadn’t anticipated (though in retrospect he might should have.) His expression changed visibly for a moment, dark lashes fluttering as his chin tucked back in recoil… no one had ever said they hated him before — not with such conviction as Jax did now, standing in front of him face-to-face. Sure, his cocksure attitude might have come across annoying to someone throughout his years, but in general he’d always thought himself a fairly easy person to get along with; had he been wrong?

Introspection in the heat of argument, however, had never really been Jaesung’s strong suit, and while he might have been rattled momentarily, that naturally competitive attitude spurred him to meet and even exceed the other’s energy.

“You don’t even know me!” He challenged, taking a step forward as if to use his height as an advantage to stare down at the other through those impassioned eyes. “Don’t you think that’s childish? Going around hating people you don’t even know? What’s your problem?” Those dark brows knit on his forehead.

“Give me a good reason and I’ll never talk to you again — otherwise get the hell over it and grow up! We have a job to do,” he gestured between them emphatically, not paying much mind to the staff members who shuffled around them awkwardly, keeping their heads down and trying to avoid the heated moment.

[breezycheezyart]

Liking this sketch so far 👀

[quailxcrossing]

AAAAHH AAHH JUMPS UP AND DOWN JOYFULLYYY!!!!! I love reading about your ocssssss I’m. Stares up at you with giant wet eyes THERE ARE A LOT OF THESE IM SORRY I GOT EXCITED HEELLPPP FEEL FREE TO NOT ANSWER SPOILERY(?) ONES OFC!!!

43 & 17 for Rlioch

37 Auï and Fracture

35 Auï

1, 38 & 44 for Bartenn

16, 40 & 49 for Machwell

and 56 for Machwell and Bartenn LMAOO

YAYYYY HI!!!!! HEY FISH ohhohoho rubs my little hands together. delightful questions so delightful

RLIOCH [43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?

nooooo but also yessss ? he's allo/allo, but simply doesn't prioritize relationships at the moment. he...does flirt, a little, in a weird way, and he doesn't mind being flirted back with, but only women he's interested in, or else he gets unreasonably pissed off. he's just a very difficult person to be with, i think...for many reasons. he has indeed been in relationships but they've been......mmmmm......

[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe? I'll imagine the "no one" in this question is our little protagonist troupe. I think the true answer to this question is a bit sppooilery of Rlioch's backstory, but I think its literally just that- Goat and his friends have a hard time believing Rlioch really has a backstory. it's not a great one, but I would never say Rlioch acts without motive. they just have so little sympathy for him, they can't understand he'd act under pretense but pure malice.

AUÏ

[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?

MY GUY!!! ok ok Auï has had such an up and down relationship with his body.....from the biggest ego ever to so much crushing body dysmorphia, the answer to this question is not an easy yes or no. Auï understands, on some level, his appearance is likeable, and has qualities to be liked, but he feels so disconnected and uncomfortable in his skin that he used to literally shower fully clothed.

but he's getting better over time, and he's doing all sorts of little things to make himself feel more at home in his frame again- growing his hair out, for one! that was always something he had control over. he also is taking more time for his fashion, instead of simple greyscale clothing, he loves experimenting with alt fashion like his gothic outfits when he goes out and his silly graphic print shirts at home. his fashion has become a huge outlet for him.

Auï has two moods.

both make him very happy :)

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

he loves to laze....watch tv or videos, play clicker games in the basement on Vega's desktop (like Horse World Online), or nap/catch up on his rest, or he'll wander around and see what his friends are doing and watch them/join them. he's a simple lad. so tired. a day off is soooo desired...

TURRIE (art by my friend @/tigtoggle!!) [37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

probably find a little perch and sit around and doodle. if she wants to go out, she'll find some idle wandering and exploring to do around town, as she's still learning the area! she might also sleep tbh, but hanging off Cian is incredibly likely. she might find a little place in their backyard to sit and work in her sketchbook.

BARTENN [1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?

Depends on who are you are, i think! He gets along best right off the bat with people who share his humor, he can't help to rib at people when doing transactions, and a lot of folks find that offputting. he's just sorta an old dad. he's friendly, but teasing. so if people are as chatty and extroverted as him, they may have him likeable off the get go, but i know my scared fearful prey-animal self would be so unsure what to say to him

[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?

He's most comfortable and safe at his gas station! he treats the whole place like his house. no one has the upper hand on him in there. he actually feels really vulnerable outside of the gas station, even to a certain degree in his own house, but he doesn't show it. bartenn is not one to ever let his guard down

[44] On a party, where would you find them?

most likely in a back corner with his friends, drinking and making idle smalltalk. he's not one for raging parties anymore- and he is NOT hitting the dance floor. dad is NOT breaking it down swagful style. he is not even going to try. his back hurts

MACHWELL i like this guy

[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?

Machwell really prefers doing everything himself. he hates asking for help...which sucks because he really does need a lot of help in a lot of aspects of his life. his main "problem solving" tactic is "lay down and don't move for days on end" but he's FINE he's handling EVERYTHING and he doesn't Want anyone getting in his space anymore; he doesn't like feeling incapable, it makes him scared. so. regardless. bartenn will help him anyway. he's careful to make sure machwell doesn't feel coddled, but just enough to keep him from rotting to death on his couch. bartenn is actually one of the first people machwell met when he moved to their town, when machwell was in need of some SERIOUS help, and he's been quietly helping quill ever since. and machwell is helping him too!

[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?

Machwell is a moderately picky eater, he has a couple of set meals that he really likes (usually with highly acidic, bitter ingredients) and he likes a lot of "controversial" food like bleu cheese, eggplant, and beef liver,,,so he's not really a classic picky eater, he's just more of a guy who often forgets to eat and then gets crazy cravings for a whole jar of black olives at 4am. (and he eats a lot and i mean a LOT of pineapple....canned pineapple is his favorite. he loves how it makes his mouth hurt.) he is lactose intolerant tho. this is not a relevant fact but its something that i know

[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?

A little known fact about Machwell is that he was going to be a realtor before his life went extremely downhill. he was in trade school for it and everything- he dropped out because his ex-girlfriend-then-ex-wife thought it was taking up too much of his attention and time. but yeah Machwell will just randomly know a lot about housing markets work. and he gave his youngest son his crazy good math brain to wrap around all the transactions.

now. i know what you're thinking. "Quail, Machwell does not seem to have a single skill that is useful for being a realtor" (good communication, people skills, personable, friendly, emotional intelligence, etc etc) i know.....i never said he was a GOOD realtor! just noting he was a lot of unexpected knowledge in that area :D

the silly grand finale

BARTENN AND MACHWELL

[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke? Bartenn loves making them, so assuming he's not the guy making it, he's laughing and egging it on. dirty jokes are just like dad jokes between dads (????)

Machwell takes them at face value.

[switch]

THE SMT TABLETOP IS BASED ON NOCTURNE?

[rileys-battlecats]

I feel like the song Free by Mother Mother is such a fitting song for Mudpaw. What do you think?

OUGH EXCELLENT I haven't listened to that song in a while and never really paid attention to the lyrics but like...... very fitting in certain areas

[shiroselia]

Finally got to starting 13 Sentinels

Played 13 Sentinels for 4 hours

I am not normal about 13 Sentinels

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

Kiryu is so funny as a character to me because I really relate to him a fair amount and I kinda love him but I also kinda hate him lmaoooo. Like Majima and Nishiki make me so mentally ill and I cry and scream and weep and lust for them and they both love Kiryu so much (in different ways) and I guess like...in a way I’m jealous of Kiryu?? Every time I see art of him with one of them I’m like ‘it should be ME’. He’s a kind and well-meaning man (bear in mind I’ve only played 0 and Kiwami so far) but like.....he’s so fuckin’ annoying. Sometimes he just pisses me OFF and I’m like “I don’t CARE about you, Kiryu!!!!” I don’t give a shit about him!!!! But like, can I truly be a Majima or Nishiki fan and NOT care about him? Cause I do like him. I love him and Haruka’s bond, like I say, I relate to him, but just....God, Kiryu, things would be so much easier if I hated you (omg Nishiki moment). I relate to that lumbering autistic moron so much and I fuckin hate him for it and he is my good friend and I am going to punch him in the face

[howdyfriend]

howdy you have really been awakening my old interest in liminal spaces lately. thankyou for your service

🫡 of course king im glad to see you enjoying them

[rxdhairxdsirxns]

[ Father ] Seems the silhouetted villain’s attention has been caught by recent events. In fact, he’s inviting child!Taryn and her mother to a lovely dinner in his mansion. It’s only fair he introduce himself after all. ~ Kaiju-crimson-storyandask

UNPROMPTED || ALWAYS ACCEPTING || @kaiju-crimson-storyandask

----- WELL, in a surprise turn of events, it seems the current Queen is taking interest in this particular invitation from a commoner. Taryn stands near the older woman as she reads over the invitation, not daring to lift her head until her mother speaks.

"Well, now, my little flower, when did you acquire so many acquaintances? I would have thought you were far too busy with your lessons to have time for such silly things."

The little girl looks up, her expression a mix of horror and embarrassment as she pipes up.

"I am, mother! I am very busy with my lessons. I-I think they only know me through the wonderful renown of my lovely mother, the Queen." A pause, lowering her head again and speaking softly. "I'm sorry for raising my voice, and stuttering."

Taryn's mother hums with thought, carefully folding up the invitation between her fingers before standing from her chair. The firelight catches her dark hair, stained with heavy streaks of silver, honeyed brown eyes staring down at her child as a bemused smirk rests upon her mouth.

"Let us attend this dinner, then. We must keep up appearances, and I must correct this commoner on thinking he has some sort of connection to the throne through my lovely daughter."

Her hand reaches out to tuck some hair behind Taryn's ear, the little girl closing her eyes until her mother's hand retreats.

[eluvixnsarchived]

whoever invented bubble baths deserves the sloppiest head

[ushitoshiii]

Jungwon….brainrot?!

[lystring]

haha im fine actually im okay :) <- *gripping the sink staringk into the mirror* this is fine this is fine this is fine im ok right now its fine im not going insane im fine its fine ok i don't have to go to work tomorrow im loved im fine someone loves me.im fine ok all good

[leapdayowo]

oh I really love this so much :OO The beginning is really effective setting up how Welsknight thinks in good vs evil

And the cloak oh noooooo! DD:

Okay OKAY THIS PART??:

“{Subjectively, it felt very, very bad when someone stared up at you with blind panic, and, in a snap decision, figured out they would rather drop to their potential doom than be caught by you. Which was exactly what Tanguish did.}”

SO GOOD I’m amazed how much is packed into this short paragraph! We are told what is happening but I just love how it’s told while also describing how Wels feels about it! And the word choice here is just so precise and visceral! Like DAMN. We’re getting Wels’ mounting guilt (he’s also calling Tanguish by his name👀 it’s harder to try to kill a demon when you call him by his name) and Tanguish’s terror

It’s a small thing, but I like the mention of the monsters when they enter the cave so that when they become relevant again it doesn’t feel like it comes out of nowhere (I’m also eyeing that part where Wels makes the connection he’s no better than a monster right now… and conveniently stunts down that train of thought. It’s that or he realizes Tanguish is not behaving like a typical monster. Or both)

Tanguish is the little beast (derogatory) and the little pest (affectionate) :3

poor tanguish is just so miserable and terrified! Utterly pathetic to look at. I love Wels grappling with his guilt over trying to kill someone who refuses to fight back like hk would

I’ll keep saying it, but Silver I just love how you write action and emotions <3 they blend together at times and I’ve noticed how much I enjoy you writing how a POV character interprets the emotions on another character’s face :3 I just feel so immersed with your writing and invested!

tanguish might enjoy flying (something I believe Tamgo had made a comment about), but to not be able to find joy because it with Wels, one of the people actively hostile towards him :( also got us thinking about the sky and sun here so it can get brought up later👀

and there’s Tanguish being so smart?? Refusing to heal until he gets confirmation of his safety . I really like seeing that shift from scared to cunning form another perspective and how uncomfortable it makes Wels :3

the end really breaks down helsknight’s and tanguish’s relationship and to see tanguish break it down just hits really well (especially because he’s explaining it to Wels. I like when the hermits are faced with the realities of hels as a place and what the helsmets go through). Also Wels not being immune to the protect Tanguish instinct when Tanguish starts picking at his knuckles :3 love that

also ya know what, I will bring up how I adore this bit:

“‘When we found each other, I was a bright living thing that wanted to die, and he was a defeated, dying thing that wanted to live. We were not good or kind. Not in any way either of us could recognize.’” So so effective and powerful this is, I love it <3 and the part about being puzzle pieces to each other after time of going through things together <3

“Everyone deserved the sun.” I love that line <3

Enemy caretaker, but Wels helping Tanguish this time!

Maybe something along the lines of, Wels getting Tanguish to tell him what he sees in Helsknight in exchange for the help, if you’d like a slightly more specific prompt ^^

When it comes to the whole Hermits vs helsmets thing, Welsknight can, nine times out of ten, say with confidence, he's the good guy. The Hermits are all, barring a few hiccups from time to time, objectively good people. Helmets are the opposites of Hermits. Ergo, helsmets are evil. And if he didn't have logic to prove this, he had Helsknight. Helsknight who, as soon as he had the wits to start making his own identity, immediately started orbiting Welsknight like the most destructive, malicious moon might tear up the atmosphere of a nearby planet. He was mean, vindictive, cruel, heartless, brutal, and worst of all, perfect. Perfect form with the sword, with his knightly duties and tenets, hels, even when their fights were more philosophical, he always seemed to have the perfect argument. There was something uniquely insufferable about fighting a perfect enemy. Grinding.

{This wasn't about Helsknight.}

Anyway. Helsmets. Everything their Hermits aren't. And if the Hermits are objectively good, well, it follows they're all pretty evil. And a good person fighting an evil person -- the good person is in the right. That's what good is all about, generally speaking.

So, chasing Tanguish through a strip mine: Objectively Good. He is Fighting Evil. Sure, that evil is terrified of him, and keeps scrambling away like he thinks Welsknight is the devil incarnate, but... Objectively, Welsknight is doing the right thing, the good thing. Fighting evil. Fighting Evil Is Good.

{Subjectively, Welsknight admits to himself, begrudgingly, it doesn't feel good.}

They ran into each other by accident. Welsknight was mining. He wasn't wearing his good armor -- just some old chain beneath his tunic, so nothing would maul him. He'd been digging away mindlessly and broke through a wall into the bottom of someone else's strip mine -- probably Tango's. He came out of the wall right beside a pile of chests, and right beside the little helsmet sneak thief pilfering from those chests.

Welsknight and Tanguish made eye contact. Welsknight drew his sword in the time it took either of them to blink, and swung it. Tanguish dodged. The vertical slash that would have pretty neatly bisected the little helsmet missed by less than a fraction of a hair's breadth. It was so close, in fact, that it cut through the chain chord that fastened his cloak to his shoulders, so when Welsknight lunged forward and grabbed that cloak in his fist, the pins tore free, and Welsknight was left standing with a bundle of cloth while the helsmet escaped down the hall. Welsknight sheathed his sword and sprinted after him.

It was a long, dark, relentless run. They didn't shout at each other. There was no epic chase music playing. There was only the pounding of feet, the wind in their lungs, and the echo of their movements bouncing off the tunnel walls. Tanguish turned a corner, and so did Welsknight. Tanguish leaped down a drop, Welsknight followed. The little creature was nimble and quick, but he had no idea where he was going, and all Wels had to do was follow. They burst out of strip mines into a mine shaft, splintering the depths of some cave somewhere. The sound of feet on stone turned abruptly to the hollow thrum of old, rotting wood. The place was only half-lit, and the glittering red eyes of spiders high in the ceiling glinted with watchful malice. Far below them, amidst the old beams at a bruising drop, the clattering bones of skeletons started pulling themselves together, warned awake by breath and sound.

Tanguish did a snap turn on the wood, a quick dart off a side path -- or what would have been, if his claws hadn't slipped. The caves were humid, and the ground stayed just the barest amount of slick. Momentum caught him in its fist and he tumbled, only saving himself from rolling off the edge by digging in with long claws. Welsknight slowed his sprint, pulling to a stop before he could make the same mistake. He and Tanguish made eye contact again.

{Subjectively, it felt very, very bad when someone stared up at you with blind panic, and, in a snap decision, figured out they would rather drop to their potential doom than be caught by you. Which was exactly what Tanguish did.}

The little helsmet gasped, bright yellow eyes flashing fearfully. He let go of the wood, plummeting off the mine shaft's boardwalk to the hard stone below. It wasn't a killing fall. Welsknight knew that because, when the helsmet hit the ground, he let out a cry of pain. Welsknight stepped up to the edge, paused long enough to make sure he wasn't leaping into a hazard, and then stepped over the side himself. He landed safely, his momentum dampened by the splay of his elytra, and the feather falling enchantment that sparked off his boots when they touched the ground.

Tanguish was curled up on the ground not far from him, hands grasping at his ankle, a painful grimace on his face. When Welsknight landed, Tanguish snapped his gaze to him, breath coming sharp in his chest.

Welsknight swallowed hard, steeled himself, and drew his sword.

For every one of his steps forward, Tanguish scrabbled back away from him. He didn't stand -- maybe his ankle was broken. He kicked away with his good leg, and pulled himself with his claws and elbows until he backed himself against a stalagmite. Welsknight continued forward. He reminded himself to be relentless. He reminded himself to be steadfast. He reminded himself that this would not be the first time he killed a disarmed enemy, someone completely at his mercy. He had done it to Helsknight a few times before, and Hels had done it... several times to him.

{But Helsknight didn't show fear. Helsknight didn't cry out. He growled. He snarled. He spat. He did grandstanding. He spoke quiet, seething oaths. He vowed to do awful things, threatened, and made good on those threats sometimes. Helsknight didn't show fear. He did the thing that monsters did: when he felt pain, he made himself dangerous.}

Tanguish did not make himself dangerous. He didn't make himself monstrous.

Tanguish pressed himself against the stalagmite like he thought, if he leaned hard enough against it, he might fall through it into safety. He didn't watch Welsknight. He watched Welsknight's sword like it was a snake, waiting for that fatal strike, as though, if he could only see it coming, he might be able to better prepare for it. He shook, shivers that gripped him so violently they made even his breaths shudder. He would probably cry, if he weren't too scared at the moment to remember what tears were.

And then, as though all of that weren't bad enough, he begged.

Welsknight closed the final distance between them, heart hardened as much as he was able. He drew up his sword, laying his free hand across the blade to better steady it. He was going to do this right. One swift, well-placed stab, somewhere the little thing wouldn't suffer.

"Please. P-please. Please--" Tanguish hiccuped a terrified breath and stammered with every exhale, over and over, like a prayer. "P-p-p-please."

Welsknight felt something cold wash down his spine. His determined scowl twitched.

{Just be done with it.}

Welsknight drew his sword back an inch more, tilted his shoulders--

"P-please don't," Tanguish gasped louder. Quicker. Words tumbling out of him like a flood. "Please d-don't--! Don't--! Please don't--!"

By the time Welsknight had moved into his lunge, Tanguish was screaming, his voice echoing loud and terrified off every wall in the cave.

"--d-don't kill me! Please don't--! Please--!"

His shriek cut off abruptly against the ringing crash of steel on stone. Tanguish choked, peering at Welsknight wide-eyed through his crossed, shaking arms he'd thrown up to shield himself. He was crying openly, hiccuping gasps that shook his whole body. Very slowly, he glanced to his side, to the gouge in the stone where Welsknight's sword lanced against the stalagmite at the level of his neck. Welsknight could see in the helsmet's eyes the fatal arithmetic of where that sword would have gone if it hadn't twitched to the side.

Tanguish lurched for Welsknight's sword. It was a motion that seemed almost as surprising to Wels as it was for Tanguish. Welsknight managed to draw the blade back before he could grab it. He cursed himself for his moment of weakness, pulled the sword high over his shoulder to bring it down on the treacherous little creature--

"Wait wait wait!!" Tanguish shouted, curling up small, arms over his head protectively. "I'll-ll-l l-leave! M-my ref-flection I'll--" he looked up at Welsknight beseechingly, begging with every inch of his terrified posture. "Y-you d-don't have t-to kill m-me I'll g-go. Please. I d-don't-- I don't-- I d-don't--"

Tanguish hiccuped, and swallowed, and bowed his head. It was by far the most miserable, defeated thing Welsknight had ever seen a person do. Tanguish curled up on the ground, face buried in his arms to save himself the view of the sword, and shaking and crying, he whispered. "I don't want to die."

{There is nothing, objectively, subjectively, abstractly good about killing someone begging desperately for mercy. Even if that someone is Evil. There is nothing good about bringing someone so much terror, they sob at your feet, would rather fall to some terrible end then meet whatever justice you have in store.}

{And, on that note, there is nothing just about relentlessly pursuing and killing someone for... what? Rifling through some chests?}

{Well, it was more than the chests. It was the fact that he was a helsmet. But the chests had kicked this whole thing off and... Well... It just seemed a bit stupid.}

With Tanguish cringing at his feet, Welsknight felt uniquely ridiculous. It was all very dramatic and harrowing, and surreal. Wasn't this thing, effectively, a demon? Wasn't this thing evil? Why then, did he feel like such a monster doing what was supposed to be right? Why wasn't right easier to do?

Somewhere further in the cavern, some mobs groaned. Welsknight was almost relieved to hear it. Zombies and skeletons and creepers were simple, straightforward evils. So simple and straightforward, they were almost benign. They hurt, so he killed them before they could hurt him. They were merciless, because they had no reason not to be. There wasn't enough sentience or thought in them to be any way else. They did not cry or run or beg. They didn't look at him like he was...

... A monster.

Welsknight had lowered his sword at some point. He didn't know when. Probably around the same time Tanguish had buried his face in his arms and stopped begging, resigning to his fate. Welsknight sighed. He suddenly felt very, very tired.

An arrow fired from a skeleton in the dark sailed wide and rattled off some rocks somewhere.

"Can you stand?"

Tanguish flinched at the sound of Welsknight's voice, but didn't answer.

"I said, can you stand?"

Tanguish cracked an eye open and looked up at him hopelessly. He sniffed, and swallowed, and rasped, "N-no." His gaze flicked to his ankle. "It's-- it's broken."

Welsknight sighed and sheathed his sword. The barest flicker of something like hope sparked in Tanguish's eyes. It was a look that nearly guttered out when Welsknight shoved his hand forward. Tanguish flinched away from him again, and then watched his outstretched hand like he feared it would suddenly lunge forward and strangle him.

"Well, come on," Welsknight snapped impatiently. That look, distrustful and scared, angered him. He didn't know why, other than it galled him to know someone thought he was more likely to harm than to help.

Hesitantly, Tanguish reached out and took Welsknight's hand.

Welsknight forced himself to be gentle, to not rip the infuriating helsmet to his feet. He pretended he was a squire again, and there was a knight over his shoulder telling him gentle when you take a lady's hand for a bow, you don't want to hurt her. Tanguish was not a fair lady at court {quite the opposite, in fact}, but he had the fragility of someone whose wrist might break if Welsknight squeezed too hard by accident. He tried not to be too bitter knowing he'd inspired that, made the helsmet breakable with terror.

Tanguish had to lean on him heavily to stand. He refused to look at Welsknight, an expression of misery etched into every line of his face, a wounded animal forced to take shelter by a starving wolf.

Welsknight decided abruptly that he'd never felt so guilty in his life.

{This is ridiculous. He's an enemy. He's evil. He should be scared of you.}

Welsknight stamped down the little voice in his head. He reached down and scooped up the helsmet's legs. Tanguish screwed his eyes shut and hugged himself, an action that made Welsknight scared he'd drop him. His elytra flared out behind him, splaying into a shape like eagle's wings. Welsknight leaped into the air, hovered briefly, long enough to figure out where he needed to go, and swooped off down into a nearby tunnel.

It was cramped. The wind whistled by his ears, and his wing-tips brushed the walls and floor when he flexed them. It was an act of immense concentration not to lose his balance and send them both hurtling into a wall. Yet somehow, he still managed to be disconcerted by the fact that Tanguish barely clung to him. He had one hand pressed against Welsknight's chest, almost restraining more than it held, like he anticipated needing to pitch himself from Welsknight's arms at any given moment. The other hand had found Welsknight's chainmail where it peaked out from beneath his sleeve, and the clawed fingers tangled in the links, like only the metal was safe to touch. His expression was grim death, someone offering trust not because they wanted to, but because they had no other choice. Someone who was convinced they weren't being saved, but were instead only prolonging the inevitable.

Guilt like nausea bubbled up in Welsknight's stomach, and he stubbornly told himself it was the motion of flight that made him feel so wretched.

At last, Welsknight burst from the winding tunnels and into the bright day. He soared skyward, reveling for a moment in the feeling of stretching his wings without fear of crashing. There was a brief moment where, high in the sky and warmed by the sun, Welsknight felt some relief from his guilt. He even dared to wonder if he might impress the helsmet he carried -- surely he'd never flown before, or if he had, never on Hermitcraft, where there was only sun and wind and endless horizon, and not the twisted, smothering red of hels. But when he looked down, Tanguish's eyes were closed, that same look of mournful patience on his face, waiting, perhaps, for Welsknight to make the fickle decision of dropping him to his death.

"The sky is beautiful today," Welsknight said before he could stop himself. A peace offering. Look. See. I'm not a monster. A monster could never admire the sun. The sun, something of Light and Good. The sun, which burns away the darkness. The sun, which seemed to glare down at him like a great, judgemental eye, and make stark the deep, creasing lines of fear and strain on Tanguish's face. The helsmet didn't respond, besides a very quiet and appeasing whimper of agreement.

Whatever you say, if it means I'll live.

There was a very nasty, vindictive anger in Welsknight that wanted to drop the little beast. Expect the worst of me? Fine! Have it then!

The much louder voice of his guilt replayed for Welsknight the image of Tanguish curled up on the floor begging for his life, with a sword aimed at his throat.

Welsknight swallowed another sigh. He angled towards the earth in slow, gentle circles, spiraling to a landing outside of his tiny castle home on its distant shore away from all the other hermits. He carried Tanguish to the door, then stood in front of it awkwardly, trying to remember if he'd locked it. Tanguish cracked an eye open, glanced between Welsknight and the closed door, and then slowly, like he was scared Welsknight were under a spell that sudden movements might break, he reached forward and turned the door handle for him.

Welsknight awkwardly bundled them both inside. He dropped Tanguish as gently as he could manage onto his couch, and meandered to his brewing stand. He set to work on a healing potion, moving with practiced ease throughout the different barrels and boxes. Behind him, he could feel Tanguish's eyes boring into his back. He did not move from the couch. He didn't even move from the position Welsknight had dropped him in, except to curl his tail protectively around his injured ankle.

Finally, Welsknight's guilt and irritation got the better of him and he snapped. "Calm down, jeeze! If I was going to kill you, I would've done it in the cave."

Tanguish didn't move. He whispered a very obvious lie, in a voice that, rather valiantly, only just barely shook. "I'm calm."

"Then stop staring at me like that."

"When you change your mind," Tanguish whispered again, "I think I would... Rather see it coming."

"Change my mind?" Welsknight turned to face him, scowling. "What in hels is that supposed to mean?"

Tanguish didn't answer. He only watched Welsknight with that lamplight stare. It was deeply distrustful, and deeply unsettling. For a long moment, neither of them moved, or made any sound. Only the birdsong outside and the rolling bubble of the brewing stand reminded them that, while they both froze and watched, the world kept moving. Welsknight had to force himself not to fidget.

Eventually, Welsknight had to give up... Whatever weird little battle of wills they were doing. The imp was clearly better at his terror-stricken statue impression than Welsknight was at abiding it. He turned to his brewing stand, now finished, and quietly corked a bottle. He tossed it -- it was a bad throw -- and far nimbler than Welsknight expected, Tanguish caught it out of the air. He clutched the little vial to his chest, but didn't drink it.

Welsknight gave a scornful snort. "You know what a health potion is, I assume?"

Slowly, Tanguish nodded.

Agitation bolted through Welsknight like the liquid heat of a redstone charge. "Then take it."

Tanguish looked down at the potion in his hands. His eyes narrowed at it just slightly, the very first hint since this whole escapade started that the helsmet was calculating something.

"It's not poison," Welsknight said. "You watched me brew it. You'd know."

Tanguish glanced up at him again, cunning glinting in his gaze somewhere. It was striking. Glimpsing it sent a titter of unease through Welsknight. All the pathetic groveling had made him underestimate what he was dealing with, apparently. Tanguish was still a helsmet, after all. Though Welsknight couldn't imagine just what anyone would plot with a health potion of all things. He straightened slowly from where he leaned against the counter.

"What?" Welsknight demanded, when the silence grew long and uncomfortable, and the little beast still didn't move.

Tanguish watched him for another long second, braced himself, and said, "I am trying to figure out what happens when I drink this."

Welsknight frowned, pure, untarnished confusion pulling a snort from him. "Your ankle heals. It's a health potion."

"Then what?"

{... Then what?}

"Then you go home." Welsknight sniffed. "Wasn't that what all your dramatics were about?"

Tanguish, for the briefest of moments, managed to look insulted. But he was evidently still too scared of Welsknight to argue about whether those were just 'dramatics' or real fear for his life. Welsknight was quietly thankful for that. He didn't need to be convinced the panic was genuine. That look on the little beast's face would... Probably stick with him for awhile.

"Give me your word," Tanguish said very quietly, apologetically breaking the silence, "that when I drink this, you won't find a reason to kill me."

"I don't need to find a reason."

Tanguish's expression got just a little bit tenser around the eyes. He leaned over the side of the couch and gently deposited the health potion on the floor. Welsknight felt another flicker of irritation.

"Are you serious right now?"

Tanguish blinked at him.

"Just take the stupid potion, and scamper back to hels," Welsknight snapped in explanation, when all Tanguish did was stare.

"Not until I have your word," Tanguish insisted, not looking at him.

"Why do you need my word? If I was going to kill you I would've done it by now!"

"You stayed your hand out of guilt and pity," Tanguish murmured. Welsknight had to marvel at how well his voice made space for itself when it stayed so small and contained. "If I'm healed, there's nothing stopping you from deciding I'm a threat that needs dealing with again."

"Coward."

"Obviously."

That took Welsknight off guard, set his mind a little off-balance. He wanted to argue about that, needle at the comment and make the little pest angry. You admit it so easily. And then he had to remind himself that Tanguish was a helsmet, but, again, he wasn't Helsknight.

"I am not a knight," Tanguish murmured, apparently doing his best impression of a mind reader. "I'm allowed to fear for my life."

Welsknight tried a different tactic.

"You would seriously rather sit there with a broken ankle?"

"I can survive a broken ankle," Tanguish informed him. "I c-can't survive a knight."

"You survived Helsknight just fine." It wasn't supposed to be an accusation. It definitely, definitely sounded like one.

Tanguish squinted at him and said with equal, accusatory venom, "You're not Helsknight."

"You're right," Welsknight snapped indignantly. "Helsknight would've killed you. And probably told you all the reasons you deserved it while he did."

"He would have spared me," Tanguish said with a galling amount of conviction.

"No he wouldn't," Welsknight snapped. "If the tables were turned, and it were one of us Hermits caught wandering around hels--"

"He would have spared me then, too," Tanguish stated, with all the faith of someone dedicating themselves to a god. "He wouldn't have liked it. I'm sure he would get big and loud, and pace like an angry tiger, but he would find a line and would not cross it. He would make sure I knew he wouldn't hurt me. If I was truly lost and scared in hels, he would even try to help me. If I was being attacked, he would intervene. And he-- he d-definitely wouldn't come s-so close to killing me, that only his l-last m-minute guilt made him flinch. And I wouldn't have t-to cry and b-beg for that mercy. He-- h-he would g-give it f-freely."

As Tanguish spoke, his eyes narrowed and his frown tightened. His hunched shoulders squared themselves into something a little stronger. It was the look of someone committing to some great bravery. Someone who knew what they said or stood for might get them killed, but who believed it so whole-heartedly, they accepted whatever grim consequence came from it. It was a startling difference from the cringing helsmet on the floor of the cave, shaking and begging. So different, Wels was half convinced it had all been an act, that he'd been made a fool of, his emotions manipulated for some unforseen end.

{The other half of him looked on that conviction, that ride-or-die belief, and felt no small amount of envy. Welsknight wouldn't fool himself into thinking he was friendless. Even on his darkest days, he knew he was loved. But he didn't think any of his friends, when faced with what they believed to be imminent, unpleasant death or torture, would speak about him with such obvious adoration and conviction. He had no doubt, if he drew his sword right now and aimed it at Tanguish's throat like he had in the cave, and demanded the little devil take what he said back, Tanguish, cowering and crying the whole while, would stubbornly refuse.}

{That kind of faith and belief in anyone was awe-inspiring. That kind of faith and belief in Helsknight specifically was unthinkable. Helsknight, the most perfectly black-hearted knight Welsknight had ever met. He almost couldn't believe they were talking about the same person, if he hadn't seen the two helmets together before.}

When Welsknight finally managed to puzzle through the mire of his own thoughts, he said, "You have so much faith in him."

The helmet moved minutely, folding his hands in his lap. One of those dagger-sharp claws dug into his knuckle, drawing blood.

"I do."

"Why?"

It had not been the question Welsknight intended to ask. In fact, he hadn't intended to ask anything. But the question slipped past his teeth unbidden, driven by envy and curiosity, and the surrealness of the situation.

Tanguish blinked at him, that mask of grin determination slipping off into something markedly more nervous. The claw he had sank into his knuckle removed itself, found a spot slightly above the knuckle, and started scratching at an old scab. He did it without flinching -- nearly unconsciously. Welsknight had to wonder how Tanguish didn't spend his days finding inventive ways to get bloody fingerprints out of everything he touched.

"If it's because of some misguided sense of duty, don't bother," Welsknight prompted coldly, fishing for more of that conviction. Tanguish watched him warily, stiffening just slightly. "He was made to be a perfect knight. If he's protected you, it's because he has to. If it's because he's risked his life for you, he has no choice. He can't even swear he'll die for you -- he'll die for anyone his tenets demand he make a sacrifice for. It's how we-- it's how knights are."

Tanguish frowned at him as he spoke, the kind of grimace that implied he'd eaten something bitter. His claw made quick work of the scab, and he glanced down at his hands long enough to find a new scab on another finger to pick. Tanguish sat like that for a long time, studying Welsknight, bloodying his knuckles, lost in meditative self-harm, thinking. Watching him turned Welsknight's stomach. He wanted nothing more than to cross to the other side of the room and grab his wrists, force him to stop hurting himself. Maybe he could find some oven mitts to tie on the helsmet's hands to discourage the habit.

{Gloves. He would benefit from a very thick pair of gloves. The kind Keralis wore when he gardened maybe, with the rubber pads on the fingertips.}

"Do you love the sun?" Tanguish asked.

Welsknight blinked, perplexed. "What?"

"If the sun disappeared today," Tanguish said, "blinked out for no reason. No other consequences. The grass still grew. The seasons still changed. You could still see. But the day and night cycle, the sun on your skin. That bit stopped. Would you be sad?"

"That's a stupid question."

"You're probably right," Tanguish hummed thoughtfully. "Something less important to you then." Tanguish looked around the room. His gaze settled on a picture frame hanging on the wall, a sketch BDubs had made of all the hermits together near the end of the last season. "Have any of your friends ever died for you?"

Welsknight scowled. He didn't like the implication that he had more emotional attachment to the sun than his friends. He answered regardless. "No."

"Do you want them to?"

"No."

"When you first made friends with them, did they imply they would only like you if you were willing to die for them?"

"I would be."

"But would they ask you to?" Tanguish pressed, fixing him with a severe sort of glare.

Welsknight hesitated. "I don't know."

"Would you ask them to."

"No."

"You're certain?"

"I get it."

Tanguish had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at him.

"I get your point."

"You don't."

"You're making a stupid point about how obligation and duty don't matter--"

"Have you ever wanted to die?"

Welsknight stiffened. His stomach did a complicated cartwheel, something that knocked uncomfortably at the bottom of his ribs and asked his heart if it was home. Asked if it was listening.

"That might be hard for you to answer," Tanguish admitted for him, his gaze sliding back to the picture on the wall. "Or maybe, you don't want to answer it in front of me. I'm. Uhm. A helsmet, after all. I might use it against you. Right? But. Humor me." Tanguish started picking at his knuckle again, bloodying a new spot away from any other scabs. "Hels is... a hard place to live. I don't expect you to understand why. Uhm. S-suffice it to say that, a lot of people living under the shadow of greatness, all striking out at each other to prove their existence is worth the space it takes up in the universe... it is very, very hard. Between hels, and, between people like you, who think we are only obstacles to overcome... finding a single bright spot is... so, so important. You know, there are helsmets who can't leave hels? There are people alive out there who, outside of a very lucky, almost unattainable set of circumstances, can never see the sun?"

Tanguish swallowed. His voice was getting hoarse, a symptom of someone, normally quiet, forced to speak too long.

"You make your own light in hels. You try to do it without m-making anyone else's life worse. Or, most people do. Some people don't care, as long as they can capture some light but. But. You have to have something. The universe hates us too much. Without it, living is..."

Tanguish's brow creased, the kind of inward scowl that involved picking apart complex emotions, attempting to lay them to order in the most succinct and useful way.

"When I found Helsknight, I was in a very dark place. I was lonely. My world was becoming dark, and isolated, and cruel. I was cut off from light and heat and warmth. I thought I had lost everything. I thought, if I could die to set things right, I would. And I knew the universe wouldn't let me."

"Death is a temporary inconvenience," Welsknight said quietly.

Tanguish's expression twitched, something like irony.

"When Helsknight found me, I think he was defeated. He had given up on a lot of things that made him... him. He was holding onto the only thing he had left, spitefully, and angrily, and violently. And yes. He was terrifying. And yes. He was hard to like."

Tanguish swallowed.

"When we found each other, I was a bright living thing that wanted to die, and he was a defeated, dying thing that wanted to live. We were not good or kind. Not in any way either of us could recognize. I thought he was dragging me around hels, forcing me to solve my problems. He thought I was a coward wasting precious time. Time I should be grateful to have. We were incompatible. We hurt each other. But we needed each other. The spaces we carved for ourselves into each other's skin, we fit into like puzzle pieces."

Tanguish's claw felt along his knuckle, found a sore spot he'd already worried, and only then did he wince. He looked down at his hands. When he refolded them in his lap again, his hands were balled into fists, an attempt to keep the bitter habit at bay.

"You're right. Helsknight probably doesn't have a choice about who he dies for. He's a knight. You get weird and stupid and noble about things like that. I hate it. I've grown... fond of the space he takes up. I would be incomplete if he left -- all open wounds. And I do not want to know if, or how, they would heal." Tanguish took a breath. Then another. "But when I was at my darkest and most desperate, I hurt him as hard as I could, and still, he helped me. And when he was at his darkest, and he hurt me back, he remade himself to be more harmless. Let him have his duty. Let him be a perfect, insufferable knight. But I think, if his every tenet demanded sacrifice, and I stood in front of him and demanded he live instead... I think he would."

Tanguish offered Welsknight a thin smile. "And what is faith, if it isn't first trust, and trial and error?"

They sat in silence for a moment.

Eventually, Tanguish shrugged. "I don't know. The sun is a lot of things. It burns. It brings life. But I think, most importantly, it has yet to suffer a sunset, and refused to rise again."

Welsknight's chest was a complicated tangle. It occurred to him he should say something. Argue. Maybe point out Helsknight's many flaws. He found he didn't have the heart to. There was something withering about that much faith. He found himself wanting to believe, for the briefest moment, that Tanguish was right. That Welsknight's terrible other half was worth something -- worth living for, for someone at least. He thought, on a fundamental level that had nothing to do with Good or Evil, or his own grudges, that everyone deserved that.

Everyone deserved the sun.

Not knowing what to say or do, Welsknight found himself moving. Tanguish tensed on the couch, convinced, for a moment, he might be moving to violence. Welsknight made sure to keep his hand far away from his sword as he passed.

"Heal yourself," Welsknight said, "and be gone by the time I get back."

He left.