#i mean as far as I'm aware it's probably the last option | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

silverskye13 · 2 months ago

Text

Angst prompt submitted by @theunderscorwolph

[Part 2 of 2]

[Part 1 Found Here]

[Trigger Warnings for this part: Swearing, blood and gore, religious self-harm, general angst, threats of dismemberment, torture. Read with caution, it gets dark.]

"He's been taken by the Thieves' Guild, for infringing on our turf," the thug had said. "He always hit the main square -- prime real estate -- and we thought we'd scared him off. But then he popped up last week spouting shit about a Gargoyle, and threw a bunch of our guild members off a roof. He needed to be taught a lesson. Figured we would pick up a friend of his for insurance, something to make the threat stick. Nothing personal against you -- honest! He's at the Guild Hall, just past the Watcher's Den."

Helsknight and Tango jogged down the hels streets, silent as grim death. Helsknight, for his part, was trying to keep his thoughts as still as possible. If he could just manage to keep from thinking about the events that had already passed today, maybe he could stop feeling so gods-awful about them. Control of that sort kept slipping through his fingers though, his thoughts like writhing, circling eels that kept breaking free to coil around the feeling of his sword, and the begging voice, and the wrist that looked for all the world far too breakable. Helsknight felt both exhausted and innervated, like at any moment, he might shudder apart. He also, predictably, really, really wanted to punch something. Flight had never really been an option for him. When he was scared, or stressed, or really just mildly out of his comfort zone, his one and only instinct was to fight.

[Good then, that where he was going, a fight was surely about to happen.]

Tango kept pace with him surprisingly well. Helsknight was starting to learn the Hermit was a bit more resourceful than he'd given him credit for. Pragmatic. He didn't know where he was going, but every few streets he would ask straightforward questions about what direction, and what they were looking for, and he noticed on his own that he could see Evil X’s tower from anywhere in the city.

“Landmark build,” he’d called it, when they rounded into the Watcher’s Den, and it still loomed like a shadowy colossus in the distant haze. He paused long enough to shade his eyes and let out an impressed whistle. “BDubs would build something like that.” Then, when he realized Helsknight was waiting for him to follow. “So you and Evil X aren't on speaking terms, huh?”

“He's evil,” Helsknight said by way of explanation. “I'm not.”

“Yeah… right.” Tango looked him up and down, and Helsknight found himself stifling the urge to shift uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “You're really not evil, huh?”

Helsknight felt a hot flicker of tired indignation. Tango sounded so�� surprised. Like he was realizing something for the first time. Helsknight thought for a moment about defending himself. Of course I'm not. But he was very aware all Tango knew of him was what Wels had probably told him, and he was very aware the things he and Wels did to each other when they crossed swords were unkind, and sometimes cruel, and not the sorts of things good people did.

“A matter of perspective,” Helsknight growled, and turned to continue through Watcher’s Den.

“I don’t think it’s just perspective,” Tango said reasonably, walking briskly to keep up with his long strides. “I mean! Most evil dudes don't have fits about torture, for one thing. Like, I know everyone draws lines somewhere, but that doesn’t feel like it’s just a noble choice, you know?”

Helsknight sighed and rolled his eyes up towards the sky, beseeching patience from whatever god or saint would deign to listen.

“And also, you gave me your cloak thing.” Tango continued, flourishing the fabric demonstratively.

“Don’t get attached,” Helsknight snorted. “I want that back.”

“Right right, whatever.” Tango waved a hand dismissively. “But you gave it to me because it would keep me safe. That’s also, objectively, not very evil.”

“How uncharacteristic of me.”

“And you clearly care about Tanguish,” Tango continued, ignoring Helsknight’s sarcasm. Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out where all of this was going. “I mean, the minute I said he was gone, you wanted to look for him. And yeah, you were kinda mean about it, but you let me come along. And when those thugs attacked you, you didn’t yell at me to come help you -- which, I mean, obviously I was going to. But you didn’t expect me to put myself in danger. You went into that fight thinking you were going to be protecting me from something.”

“You give me too much credit.”

“I think it didn’t occur to you to make me take some of the heat.”

“A tactical error.”

“What changed?”

Helsknight sighed again.

“I mean, everyone’s heard you and Wels’s rap battle thing.” Tango said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “It was a little dorky -- but that’s Hermitcraft. We don’t do real serious wars or anything. But. The threats sounded. Genuine? Destroying everything someone loves. Being someone’s inner darkness. That’s evil.” Tango looked up at him. “Right?”

“Tangotek.”

“Knight of the Hels variety.”

“Don’t ask questions that have messy answers.” Helsknight rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I’m a redstoner.” Tango’s eyes rested briefly on his sword, before he seemed to decide Helsknight wasn’t threatening him with it, and he met Helsknight’s gaze instead. “Every question I ask has a messy answer.”

Helsknight almost ended the conversation there. He wanted to. He could not rightly describe why, but he didn't like that a Hermit might consider him a good person. It made him squeamish to be looked at and judged on the truths of himself, rather than the biases and fabrications of his other half. At least then, if he were found wanting, or lacking, or cruel, it was because of Wels.

“Has it occurred to you yet,” Helsknight said, “that I can be every bit the villain Wels says I am, and still manage to care deeply for someone?”

“Well yeah, obviously.” Tango answered simply. His voice was so light and conversational, it was hard to tell he was being earnest. But he was. He looked Helsknight in the eye, and didn't flinch. “I just also think there's more to it than that.”

Helsknight sighed. He decided to cut off… whatever this bungled heart-to-heart was, now, before it could escalate into territory where Helsknight felt too raw and vulnerable. He told himself it was knightly: it did not do to arm your enemies against yourself.

“What you think doesn't matter to me,” Helsknight said decisively, glowering down at Tango. “What Wels thinks, or any of you Hermits think, doesn't matter to me. What matters to me is what I think about myself.” Helsknight sighed, and allowed himself a little more straight honesty. “And I care what Tanguish thinks of me as well.”

Tango took all this in, turning it over with ponderous weight, like he were considering a tricky line of redstone coding.

“And what do you think about everything you've done today to rescue Tanguish?”

“I think if I manage to rescue him, and he's in one piece, and I haven't come too late, then I will still be able to sleep tonight.” Helsknight grimaced. “Though I may go to confession when he's not looking.”

“You go to confession?”

“Knights and religion,” Helsknight shrugged.

Tango nodded, snapped his fingers like he'd come to a conclusion, and said smugly, “Antihero.”

“Pardon?”

“You should read comics, Killer,” Tango smiled. “They're up your alley. Might even give you some inspiration for your outfit.”

Helsknight glanced down at his armor, and when he realized Tango kept walking without him, felt foolish as he lengthened his stride to catch up.

-------- -

The Thief Guild was a small basalt compound on the outskirts of Watcher’s Den, one reclaimed set of structures probably stolen from the Watcher itself -- fitting for a pack of thieves. It seemed less like a proper building, and more like a honeycomb burrow someone dug into a naturally formed basalt cathedral. Only the fact that it was surrounded by other dilapidated buildings gave any indication it wasn't a stolen part of the landscape.

They didn't approach by the main road, opting instead to spider through the alleys surrounding the compound. Helsknight kept an eye on their surroundings, making sure they weren't spotted or followed, while Tango navigated them closer to their quarry. Once he knew where they were going, he had a pretty good head for directions -- Helsknight chalked it up to all the times the Hermit had explored new generation, or gotten lost in his own strip mines. Pathfinding was a skill honed just like any other.

At last their alley intersected with the entrance to the compound. Peeking around the corner, they got a glimpse of locked gates and a barren stone courtyard, leading to purple-grey stairs. There was a landing, flanked by a pair of guards, and a closed door. From this distance, Helsknight only knew they had bows because he caught the flicker of light off the tip of a flint arrowhead.

“So, what's the plan?” Tango whispered, eyeing Helsknight as he drew his sword. “And if your answer is ‘storm the castle like an idiot', guess again.”

“I would have stopped at ‘storm the castle’.”

“You're kidding.”

“I'm a knight.” Helsknight hissed, scowling. “I don't do sneak-thieving. Even if I wanted to try stealth, I think the clattering armor will give it away.”

“So you've decided your only other option is running death-or-glory for the front gate?” Tango asked, his voice threatening to tilt out of its already over-loud whisper. “They'll turn you into a pin cushion before you run five steps!”

“I have netherite gear,” Helsknight muttered testily.

“On your arms and legs, congratulations! I'm sure that's what they'll be aiming for, and not your big head.”

“You have any better ideas?!”

Tango opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. He tapped a finger to his lips like he was shushing himself, maybe forcing himself to think before he spoke again. “Let me see what I've got.”

Tango rifled through his pockets, found what looked to be a small black die, and tossed it to the ground. The moment it landed, it hissed into the shape of an ender chest, and with a kick from his boot, it flipped open. Tango stood quietly like that for a few minutes, hands on his sides, muttering under his breath as he parsed through the indecipherable contents. Eventually he kicked it closed.

“I've got an idea,” Tango whispered. “I'm going to make a distraction.”

Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him. “How mysterious.”

“You'll know it when you see it,” Tango chuckled. “Cover your ears.”

He started off down the alley. Helsknight called after him in a loud whisper.

“Don't kill anyone.”

Tango stopped and cast a skeptical look back at him. “Why not?”

“We don't know where their spawns are set,” Helsknight said, squashing down a feeling like guilt that was clambering to life in his stomach. “If I have to fight through an army today, I'd rather only do it once.”

Tango swallowed uncomfortably. His bow was still slung over his shoulder, and he reached up to it now, fingers plucking at the string. “Any uh… any tips?”

Helsknight searched through bitter memories of Colosseum fights for the things he knew he couldn't fight through. Those times when he, and the people he fought against, stopped seeing each other as people and instead as problems in need of solving.

“All the limbs and joints.” Helsknight gestured to his elbows and knees. “Stay away from the thighs, the neck, the body.” He hesitated, then grimaced, the ghost of a memory tangling in his guts. “If you're desperate, and someone won't stop coming at you, you can hit them here, but save that as a last resort.” Helsknight drew a circle low on his abdomen, where organs got twisted and complicated. “It hurts like all hels, and kills slowly.”

Tango grimaced and went a little pale, the flames in his hair and tail taking on a greenish cast. It seemed to be sinking in, belatedly, just how gruesome this whole business might end up being.

“You don't have to go in with me,” Helsknight offered, forcing some steel into his voice, self-assuredness he didn't really feel. “Make your distraction, come back here, and wait for me and Tanguish to come out again.”

Tango teetered on the edge of agreeing to that. Helsknight could see it in the way his body leaned, someone who wanted to run away, to make something not his problem. Helsknight couldn't blame him for that. He didn't want it to be his problem either. There was a world of difference between fighting in an arena, and making war on someone, no matter how justified that war was. But Tango, as Helsknight was repeatedly being reminded, had resolve that was hard as obsidian, and cut like diamond. The Hermit swallowed, took a bracing breath, and shook his head.

“I've come this far, right Killer?” He said, and darted away down the alley.

Helsknight waited. He wondered, briefly, if it had been wise to let Tango go off on his own. He waited longer. He rubbed the side of his face tiredly, trying to stave off the fatigue that came from boredom and a trying day, and, when his mind threatened to wander, he found himself itching the cut on his wrist. It was hard to scratch with his gauntlets blunting his nails, which was probably for the best.

Helsknight's gauntlets were made in pieces. It made them easier to clean, which, after many months of fighting in the Colosseum, was something he'd come to appreciate. The main part of it was a thick leather glove, with netherite plate buckled and riveted over top. There were versions of the gauntlets where the metal plates used fully encircled the wrist, and extended down each individual finger for maximum protection, but he found these also hindered his range of movement somewhat, and given how often he wore armor out and about in hels, his were a bit simpler. The metal plating stopped at his knuckles, and only covered the top of his hands and forearm, cinching underneath with tight buckles that he kept adjusting. It was easier to take on and off, easier to pull apart to clean -- and it meant his dagger had only had to shear through leather before finding the skin beneath.

Helsknight wondered idly as he slipped a finger beneath the cut leather, if he had armored himself better, if he would have been able to hurt himself in his panic. Would he, upon glancing his dagger off the hardened plate, simply dropped the knife and prayed? Or, he wondered with macabre humor, would he have found somewhere more inconvenient to stab? He wore a chain shirt, but it was a simple thing to lift that away and access his thighs, where large veins could bleed someone dry in the seconds it took for pain to travel. He didn't think he had it in himself to kill himself over guilt. He feared dying too much. The deep unknown of whether the universe would devour him in the moments before respawn was a lurking terror that still strangled him on dark nights, and during particularly bloody fights.

[Then again, Helsknight thought grimly, he hadn't thought he was capable of torture, and yet, desperation had driven his hand to that particular blade with startling speed, even if circumstance had spared him the swing.]

Tango’s ‘distraction’ sent him hurdling out of his poisonous thoughts like a man thrown from a second story window. There was a loud explosion, something near-deafening, that shook the air and the ground, and sent sheets of dust cascading around Helsknight. The ground beneath his feet cracked ominously, and the wall at his back groaned and resettled itself, bowing slightly in the middle as something integral in the ground destabilized. Two smaller explosions kicked the air overhead, billowing smoke and the high, tinny whine of spent fireworks. Helsknight's world narrowed to haze, and the pervasive smell of gunpowder.

Tango, a flickering spark that seemed to leap at him from the gloom, materialized at his side. His hands were soot-stained, his grin wide and manic. He reeked of sulfer and salt peter, and the chemical high of ignition.

“Consider them suitably distracted!” Tango keened, his words mangled by giggles. “Time to kick some butts!”

“Was that TNT?!” Helsknight coughed, trying to pull the collar of his tunic over his mouth and nose. The smoke stung his eyes and put a bitter taste in his mouth, and he kept blinking to clear away tears.

“No good redstoner ever leaves home without it!” Tango laughed, shrugging his bow off his shoulders. “After you Killer, before the smoke blows away.”

Helsknight nodded, gathering up his determination. He drew his sword and charged for the gate. The explosion had knocked askew one of the support pillars holding it up, and Helsknight found it relatively easy to kick it open. The lock held, but the cracked stone gave up the hinges on one side, and Helsknight vaulted over the twisting metal as it fell. Behind him, Tango cackled, impressed. The smoke billowing through the courtyard sheltered them, so that the remaining guard by the door only knew Helsknight was there when the knight was slamming the flat of his blade against the side of his head. He crumpled to the ground, and Helsknight shouldered his way through the front door which was, thankfully, unlocked.

Inside the compound, the corridors were dark and close, lit intermittently by shroomlights in the ceiling, casting everything in a dim orange glow. Helsknight paused, tilting his head to listen. Ahead of him, the building split into three hallways, one continuing into some kind of foyer, while the other two branched into long tunnels. There were shouts down one hall, mostly names and demands about what had happened and who was hurt. The other was relatively quiet, emptied perhaps, after the ruckus. The foyer started empty, but as Helsknight watched, a pair of thieves passed into it, looking shaken.

“Get the one on the left,” Helsknight told Tango, and charged in while the Hermit sputtered, and drew an arrow to his bow. Helsknight was on the pair of thieves in a handful of long strides, his gauntleted fist connecting with one’s sternum with the full force of his run behind it. He felt the satisfying huff of air bucking out of their lungs as he winded them, and as they crumpled to floor wheezing, he turned to the second. He caught their drawn dagger on his gauntlet, but before he could raise his sword to them, Tango’s arrow took them in the leg, and they fell.

Helsknight, running on adrenaline and the need for swift action, turned to slam his boot down on the arm of the one he'd winded. He wrinkled his nose at the sound and feel of bone breaking. He took a second to gulp down his revulsion, and then demanded, “Tanguish, the Gargoyle thief. Where is he?”

They pointed him towards a nearby open door. Helsknight narrowed his eyes towards the corridor, not entirely sure if he should trust the direction given. He swallowed, and once again dredged up his dread persona from the Colosseum, the remorseless villain that didn't trust, and didn't relent. He ground the heel of his boot down, eliciting a long shriek of pain.

“Perhaps I should drag you with me,” Helsknight said in the cool, quiet voice he used for villain speeches and threatening monologues, “so, if I find out you've lied, I can break your other arm as well?”

“N-n-n-not lying!” They gasped, eyes wide and terrified. “That hall. Down the stairs. Past the big doors. Guild boss is down there with him.”

Their friend, who was now staring down the point of Tango’s next arrow, nodded fast agreement. “You can't miss it!”

Helsknight nodded. He was about to move, when a clattering sounded from the entrance to the foyer. He turned to watch three more thieves come into the room from where he and Tango had entered. One of them he recognized as a street thug who had ambushed him. That one took a frightened step back, while the other two drew swords and knives.

[Not good odds.]

Helsknight opened his mouth and said something. He wasn't really paying attention to words, only pulled a suitably terrifying line at random from a list of memorized Colosseum threats, and focused on the tone of his voice and the lines of his body. The thug he'd met before turned abruptly and ran. The other two took hesitant steps backwards, and lowered weapons. Beneath him, the thief with the broken arm whined. Tango gulped audibly, and cast him a wary glance. Reassured he wouldn't be followed, Helsknight turned and made for the hallway he'd been pointed down. Tango backed after him, keeping his bow trained on the thieves for a few seconds longer before coming to his side.

“Maybe… I take it back,” Tango laughed nervously. “There might be a little evil in there.”

Helsknight raised an eyebrow at him. “That bad?”

“I mean yeah that was kinda threatening!”

“Wasn't paying attention,” Helsknight grunted. “Glad it worked.”

Tango blinked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean you weren't paying attention?!”

“I kind of just… say things sometimes.” Helsknight admitted, shrugging. “Something that came from my relationship with Wels, I think. Sometimes I focus on what I want, and don't pay attention to the words really, and it'll stick. Comes in handy when I'm improvising villain lines in the Colosseum, though I've had some people ask me not to do it, since it gets a little personal. Red especially hates it.”

Tango opened and closed his mouth a few times in a good impersonation of a startled fish.

“What'd I say?”

“Oh, nothing interesting,” Tango gave a bark of baffled laughter. “Just, you know, something about taking the marrow from their bones before the mercy of respawn. Reasonable threat.”

“Oh. Gross.” Helsknight snorted and rolled his eyes, “Sounds too dramatic to work.”

“It helps that you're like, twice everyone’s size and obviously know your way around a sword.”

“That helps,” Helsknight grunted, refocusing on the hallway ahead as doors began opening up along its sides.

Startled people, thugs and thieves and whoever else happened to have business in the Guild, were peering out to gauge the commotion. Some of them took one look at an armed and armored knight, flanked by an archer, and promptly scrambled to close and bolt their doors again. Several didn't. Helsknight charged to meet them, taking advantage of the closeness of the hallway, and the forced bottleneck it made. Three, four people at a time he would struggle to fight off, if he could fight them off at all. One or two, though, he thought he could manage, if he was quick enough.

Helsknight ducked a knife, parried a hand axe, and punched the nearest throat he could reach. His focus narrowed to his hands, his feet, and the flickering of metal in the dim light. Twice he felt a blade clatter off his armor, the thick grieves protecting his forearms. Once, someone managed a lucky stab at his ribs, and while his chainmail caught the blade, he felt something bruise, and lost half a breath. Someone -- the axe wielder -- slammed their blade hard into his sword and he dropped it. This was not ideal, but Helsknight was a man who preferred a sword in his hand. He was far from helpless without one. He drew his dagger, buried it in the axe-wielder's shoulder, then ripped their axe from their now limp hand and promptly chopped it into someone else’s knee. While he was ducked low, Tango’s arrow caught someone else in the shoulder, and then the forearm, and they fell howling.

By the time Helsknight had hacked and slashed his way down the hall, his arms were bloodied up to the elbow. His breath came in gasps that rattled in his sore ribs in growls. There was a fiery line of pain on one thigh that threatened to make him limp, and a bone-aching bruise on his left arm where someone smashed him with what he thought was a chair leg. Fatigue was starting to worm its way into his muscles, the repeated shocks to his joints made him grit his teeth through increasing aches. His stomach churned, adding to the chorus of discomforts. He was not used to so much blood, and the smell was cloying; so physical it had a taste.

Blood was one of the many things respawn scrubbed away, the universe setting harms to rights. In leaving so many people alive in his wake, all that wounding had nowhere to go, so it clung to him like groping hands, and ran in rivulets down his armor. Helsknight felt mad, a rabid animal barely in control of his senses. His sword, returned to his hand as he'd cleared the hall, was both slick and sticky all at once. It all felt deeply, deeply wrong.

[Confession, as soon as the next one wa held. Or he might just preemptively bleed himself dry begging for forgiveness.]

Helsknight's Saint, it had to be said, was not a squeamish divinity. They were the Saint of Blood and Steel. Most of their prayers were made not with words, but with the opening of veins. But the Saint, for what Helsknight thought were very good, very obvious reasons, didn't condone wanton violence and cruelty. Helsknight’s tenets were so tied up in reasons why not to raise his blade, sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't keep it peace-knotted like the paladins did.

[The Saint, he thought, would not like what he was doing now. He thought he fought with good reason. He thought he wasn't being unnecessarily cruel. But he thought many people probably thought that way, when justifying atrocities to gods.]

[He wondered, distantly, as he reached the stairs down, if Tango thought he was a villain yet.]

Regardless of what Tango thought of him, if he thought anything at all, the Hermit was at his back. His nervous laughter had stopped about halfway down the hall, giving way to exhausted concentration. They were back to back, Tango keeping an arrow trained behind them in case someone tried ambushing them, and from their closeness Helsknight could feel him shaking. He didn't know if Tango shook from horror or fatigue, but he could hear the Hermit’s breath quick and harsh, and his fire had taken on a permanent greenish cast that greyed the red-orange hues emanated from the overhead shroomlights.

They descended the stairs together in breathy silence. Tango fired a warning shot behind them, and whispered something so soft and hoarse, Helsknight couldn't hear it over the sound of his own rough breathing. He deciphered the meaning well enough though, between the tone of voice and the arrow: People were coming behind them.

Helsknight moved quicker, taking the stairs two at a time, until he emerged into anothers at foyer of some sort. There was a pair of double doors -- like the thief had described -- at the end of the room, and past that, another set of doors that he watched close and lock. Helsknight stormed through the abandoned room, past overturned chairs and other signs of haste. When they passed the open doors, Tango stopped.

“I'll make sure no one can follow us,” Tango said, closing them and running for some of the nearby furniture. “You think you can get those open, Killer?”

Helsknight put on a grim smile. “No force in hels can keep me out of that room.”

“Villain vibes!” Tango called to him, only halfway joking.

Helsknight strode up to the closed doors and, reasonably, he thought, tried the handle first. It was locked. Helsknight rolled his shoulders and sighed.

It took three kicks to break open the doors. The first broke the lock. The second bent the latch, and sent a wide crack spiraling up the wood. The third had them thrown open so hard, they banged off the walls and shuddered, and one tilted askew off a hinge.

Helsknight’s eyes locked on someone who looked vaguely like a leader. At the very least, they wore clothing that looked more official, and better kept. Tanguish was at their feet, slumped over onto the ground. Helsknight spared Tanguish enough of a glance to see no mortal wounds, before striding across the room, sword held out wide, the bloody tip ringing as it grazed across the ground. He didn't know what he planned to do exactly. Beating the Guild Leader senseless was probably on the list somewhere, but for now he would settle on looking terrifying and unstoppable.

The Guild Leader lunged for Tanguish and yanked him to his feet, a dagger shoved up against his throat threateningly. Helsknight stopped dead in his tracks, sudden fear shooting frigid lines through his veins.

“There we are,” the Guild Leader said, smiling tensely. “Let's be reasonable here.”

Tanguish was awake and alert in the Guild Leader’s grip. There was an ugly purple bruise beneath one of his eyes, and he breathed irregularly, like it was a labor. His eyes were wide and fearful, and brimmed with unshed tears, his expression a war of relief at seeing Helsknight, and terror of the circumstances.

“H-Helskn--”

“You stay quiet,” the Guild Leader hissed, pressing the dagger against Tanguish’s skin. They didn't draw blood, but the delicate skin dimpled warningly. Tanguish let out a soft, fearful noise, almost too pathetic to be a whine. Helsknight seethed. Anger and fear were snakes in his ribs, his adrenaline a lighting buzzing to life in his veins. He felt like he had when he’d pinned the thug to the wall, desperation on the verge of moving to wicked violence.

“Let him go,” Helsknight demanded, his voice cold and soft as a deadly promise.

“I would love to,” the Guild Leader said amiably. “But see, I'm not stupid. As soon as he’s away from my knife, that sword is coming for me, and I would rather not flirt with the universe today, if it's all the same to you.”

Helsknight heard a noise to his side, the slip of a boot. He glanced over and saw two thugs waiting near the wall on that side of the room. One had a sword, the other, a daunting looking spear. A quick check of his other side, and Helsknight saw a third person waiting, sword in hand.

[Blundering right in here had perhaps been a tactical error.]

“Drop your weapon,” the Guild Master hummed, and this time when they pressed their dagger against Tanguish's throat, they didn't relent until a trickle of blood spilled free. Tanguish, very bravely, did not whine, but he screwed his eyes shut painfully.

Helsknight tossed his sword to the ground, and watched Tanguish flinch every time it clattered. He tried to collect all his helpless anger into the center of his chest, where he could bury it. Anger wouldn't help him right now. He wasn't sure anything could help him, but anger certainly wouldn't.

[Tango.]

Tango hadn't followed him into the room. He didn't dare look back to see if the Hermit had been caught. It would just draw attention to him if he wasn't. Helsknight couldn't hear anything besides the cautious approach of the henchmen he’d stumbled in on. Their footsteps were hesitant, skittish. He felt them more than he heard them, like spider legs on his skin.

“Check him for further weapons,” the Guild Leader said, and as their thugs moved in to do so: “Well, this wasn't how I anticipated getting you here, but you did get here. So, now my threats can have the weight I need them to have.”

Helsknight was still listening for Tango, trying to figure out what, if anything, the Hermit might plan to do. He decided the best way he could help was to be distracting. [It would give the Hermit time to escape, if nothing else. There was no point in everyone getting killed here today.]

As well as he could, Helsknight shoved his emotions down in favor for his Colosseum theatricality, to make himself threatening and dangerous, even disarmed. One of the only perks to being drenched in blood, was ir proved not all of his pretense was an act.

“Watch yourself,” Helsknight murmured to the brave thug who reached him first. They watched him warily, freezing halfway to reaching for his belted dagger. “I bite.”

They took a rather large step back away from him, and he flashed his teeth in something that was more snarl than grin.

“Don't be ridiculous.” The Guild Leader snorted. “Put your hands over your head or something.”

“I would rather not.” Helsknight splayed his blood-spattered hands, a motion that startled one of the three thugs trying [and failing] to search him into jolting back a step. “For obvious reasons.”

“Not my fault you decided to cut your way through half the compound.”

“And I'll cut through the rest of it before I'm done,” Helsknight said levely.

“I don't think so.” The Guild Leader said, and nodded to one of the thugs.

A boot planted itself in Helsknight’s knees, and he dropped to the floor. He caught himself with his hands, but the flicker of metal at his eye level kept him from springing back up again. The swordsmen were flanking him, their blades crossed over the back of his neck, the tips intruding on his peripheral vision. He had to force himself to breathe slowly, to ignore his panic as it crawled to life in his chest and set his heartbeat racing.

With Helsknight secured, the Guild Leader finally released Tanguish, shoving him roughly to the ground. Helsknight had to bite his tongue to keep from calling out to him. He didn't like how weak Tanguish seemed to be, how easily these thugs yanked and tossed him around. But he worried showing his concern would make their situation worse, or at the very least, give their captors vindication. Instead he glowered, and searched Tanguish for anything that could be wounding.

Their eyes met, and Tanguish flashed him an agonized expression. His voice was small and broken as he whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Helsknight found his resolve breaking almost immediately. His gaze softened, and he whispered back as comfortingly as he could under the circumstances. “Don't be.”

The Guild Leader flourished their dagger, a motion that set the metal flashing in the dim light. Tanguish flinched at the motion. Helsknight only watched it warily, waiting for the blade to find a reason to bite.

“I do pity you swordsman. I didn't want to get you involved--”

“A wise decision,” Helsknight growled. One of the swordsmen hovering over him tapped the back of his neck warningly with their blade.

“--but you see, we here at the Thief Guild, well, you've heard the saying thick as thieves I'm sure. We built this place to protect each other. Hels is a very large, very dangerous place.”

They flourished the dagger again, and this time, Helsknight caught a flicker of something in the reflection of the blade. He couldn't be sure, but for a brief second, he thought he saw what he thought was firelight ducking back behind the wall.

[Tango.]

Why was the Hermit still here? Surely he should know to cut his losses and run. There was no saving them from this. No way Helsknight could see, anyway. Helsknight couldn't run, even if his tenets didn't keep him from it, he didn't think he could break away from so many blades. Not now while he was pinned. And even if he could somehow fight through these four thieves, with no constricting hallway or element of surprise to aid him, he couldn't go back out the way they'd come in. Tanguish still had no reflection to leap through, and Helsknight didn't think he could get him one in the time it would take his captors to remove his head from his shoulders.

Dread and helplessness were poisons in his stomach, weighing him down, draining him. Helsknight realized, now that his blood had a chance to cool, that he was exhausted. The cut on his leg still burned. His arms throbbed, both from bruises and from his rough use of them. His back, shoulder and neck hurt from swinging his sword, and the contact of bodies. A bone-deep weariness was settling across him, and he was pretty sure just getting here already had him borrowing strength from tomorrow. If he were the sort of person who gave up, he could very easily see himself laying down here on the cold ground and waiting for the inevitable. There was only so much fight a body could muster.

Helsknight pinned his gaze to the floor beneath his hands. His brow creased in a slight frown. Slowly, praying the movement didn't draw attention, Helsknight shifted his hand over to rub at the smear of blood on his gauntlet. Netherite was not nearly so reflective a surface as iron or gold, but it did have some luster. He could see his own eye reflected back at him, and the hazy shapes of the swordsmen overhead.

The beginnings of a plan tumbled together in Helsknight’s head. He thought there was a large chance it wouldn't work. He thought a lot relied on Tango being clever, and good at timing, and pragmatic enough to not make stupid mistakes.

[He thought, if the Hermit had proved nothing else today, he had proved he was good at those three things.]

Helsknight let out a derisive noise in the back of his throat, cutting off the Guild Leader halfway through their threatening monologue. They had been pacing, and now they stopped, flourishing that dagger in their hand again.

“Can we speed this up?” Helsknight asked, disdain thick in his voice. “I'm not sure if you idiots have looked in a mirror lately, but you're not exactly scary, and I'm getting tired of kneeling on your stupid floor.” He narrowed his eyes daringly at the Guild Leader and spat. “Whatever you're planning to do, get it over with. There are a thousand things worse than dying here. Listening to you blow hot air for the next hour just might be one of them.”

The Guild Leader blinked at him, caught somewhere between incredulous and irate. Helsknight actually watched their face redden with anger. They stalked over to him, kicking aside Tanguish as they went. Tanguish who, as soon as Helsknight stopped speaking, immediately started making excuses for him.

“He didn't mean it! Please, leave him alone! He's got nothing to do with this--!”

Tanguish started to crawl to his feet, but the spearman was over him in an instant, harrying him back down.

Helsknight twisted his arm so that the reflection on his gauntlet faced Tanguish. He knew Tanguish needed the physical touch to leap through, but all he or Tango needed to make the jump from the other side was the ability to see their other half--

The Guild Leader grabbed a fistful of Helsknight's hair and yanked his head back, twisting him uncomfortably so his throat was bared. Fear, cold and relentless, washed through him like ice water, radiating from the point of the knife as the Guild Leader hooked it beneath his chin, and all thoughts he had fled him.

“You know,” the Guild Leader hissed, “you're entirely too smug for a prisoner. I think you could use some humbling.”

Helsknight suppressed a shudder, if for no other reason than he feared the jerking movement would slice him open on the knifepoint.

“I was informed you threatened to take off one of my thief’s hands,” the Guild Leader said. “I don't know about you, but I don't think a swordsman is quite so effective without both of his either, wouldn't you say?”

Helsknight's mind went very still, and very cold, emptied of any ability to reason and plan. He felt as though he'd been very abruptly shoved underwater. Fear smothered him, made him senseless and slow. What was it Tango had called it? Shock?

He thought [N…]

He thought [No…]

Someone shoved him down roughly. A boot stepped down on his gauntlet, holding his arm still and outstretched. The joint at his elbow was exposed, that diminutive gap between armor and mail.

He thought [He didn’t want this to happen.]

Tanguish was shouting.

He thought [This can't be happening.]

The people holding him down were discussing the best way to go about their business. Helsknight tried to thrash, tried to break free, but his angle was awkward, and he was tired and sore. The second swordsman pressed a knee against his back, pinning him down.

He thought [Is Tanguish worth this?]

One of the swordsmen passed their sword to their leader.

He thought [He has to be worth this. Because otherwise it was for nothing.]

The blade gleamed as it was drawn back. Low light flickering. Helsknight's heart beat so fast he thought it might give out and stop. His ears rang, his head full of empty fear and animal panic and void static.

He thought [

He thought [S

He thought [Stop]

He thought [Please]

He thought [Saint of Blood and Steel]

He thought [Any God.

He thought [Any Saint.]

He thought [Anyone.]

He thought [Anyone!]

He thought [Please.]

[Don't let this happen.]

Tango sprang out of the sword’s reflection just as it began its arc downward. His bow was in his hand, the arrowhead a blazing smear of reflected light. His flame was the blinding white of fear, and the anger that chases fear, and the fear that chases anger, and the anger that chases fear. He was, for a moment, weightless, timeless, frozen. He was, for a moment, the will of gods, and divine intervention, and the fumbled attempts of someone who lacked all heroism trying his best to be help.

Tango’s arrow took the Guild Leader in the chest. The shot was terribly close. The full force of the bow and the air and everything that made arrows work couldn’t work at such a short distance. Shouldn't work. But it was a very powerful enchanted bow, and the Leader was unarmored, and Tango was desperate, and a Hermit, and whether he knew it or not, the universe loved him deeply.

The shaft sank halfway to the fletching in the Guild Leader’s chest.

The room exploded into motion and sound. Tango landed heavy on the floor, and was immediately ducking a swung sword. The spearman lunged for him as well, and the one unarmed thug was busied trying to keep their dying Guild Leader from collapsing. Helsknight, all panic and anger, and the need to fight anything if it would stave off future helplessness, came lunging off the ground. He barrelled into the spearman, his shoulder planting itself squarely against their chest and sending them off their feet. Helsknight's sword was in his hand -- he didn't know when he’d picked it up -- and he turned on the swordsman and crashed his blade into theirs before they could stab Tango.

Their blades met once, twice. His arms hurt. His chest hurt. His leg hurt. The edges of his vision were blurs, and the only thing he wanted was to make these people gone, now, before they could kill anyone.

The Guild Leader was dead.

The second swordsman had picked up their dropped sword, and they came at Helsknight with grim ferocity. He slapped away their lunge with neither finesse nor calculation, only the knee-jerk and instinctual power of the frenzied. Helsknight backed up a step, and his boot kicked into Tanguish’s tail. Tango was trying to help him to his feet, but when Tanguish tried to stand, he whimpered in pain. Behind them, the spearman was retrieving their spear, a hand clutched to their winded chest.

“Get him out of here!” Helsknight snarled at Tango.

The Hermit looked at him, looked for a moment like he might argue, and then to Helsknight's infinite relief, he yanked an arrow from his quiver. The metal arrowhead glinted as he turned it in his fingers.

“No!” Tanguish argued, horrified. “Not without--!”

Tanguish reached for Helsknight a second after Tango reached for him. They vanished.

Leaping towards Helsknight from where they had been, came the spearman. Helsknight twisted, hacked away the spearhead, and lost his breath when one of the swordsmen lunged and jabbed hard at his ribs. What once was bruised, broke. Helsknight’s breaths, when they finally came, lanced him with pain, and that pain focused him, grounding his wits momentarily. This time when a swordsman lunged, his blade snaked out to drive into their shoulder, and they fell back bleeding. The second swordsman and the spearman attacked him in tandem and he back-stepped hurriedly, focusing on parrying the spear. His shoulders touched the wall behind him. The swordsman leaped for him, victory spurring them into a headlong rush. Helsknight’s sword sheared through their throat, and as they fell, the spearman lanced forward.

The air was driven from Helsknight's lungs again as the spearhead plunged into his stomach, punching through a few weakened rings of his mail and burying deep. Helsknight’s entire world narrowed to white, hot, electric pain, and the intimate wrongness of intrusion where nothing was supposed to be able to reach. He doubled over, his hands groping for the spear shaft, his sword dropped and forgotten. Before he could grip it, the spear was ripped from him, and he would have screamed if he had the breath to.

Helsknight crumpled to the floor and curled in on himself, fists bunched against the wound. He didn’t know if he was trying to stop the bleeding, or simply trying to shield himself from the awful sight of it. Touching it made his hands shake, lanced him with another wave of pain, and a feeling of wrongness so intense he nearly gagged. He had taken wounds like this in the Colosseum only once or twice before, and that experience didn't help him. It was every bit as breathtakingly painful as he remembered, and it seared his thoughts raw.

Out of the corner of his eye, a hazy silhouette loomed. The spearman was watching him.

A shattered thought, more instinct than coherency, made Helsknight search for his sword. It was within reach.

He wanted to reach for it, but fear stayed his hand. His wound was terrible, but it was in the deep, complicated places of the body that didn’t kill with immediacy. Helsknight, above anything else in life, feared death. He thought he would rather suffer here on the floor for the next hours, hels, the next days, if there was a chance he would live. That someone might bring him mercy, and healing, before he had to face down the maw of the universe and respawn. But if he picked up his sword… if he made himself threatening…

There was no one left here for him to protect. No one to distract from any coming wrath, or vengeance from the thieves in the hall. It was just him.

He was alone, and he was dying.

Fear sank its withering roots deep into him, twined in his ribs, where his already haggard breathing grew tight and suffocated. It wrapped around his spine, commanding him to be still. It commanded he wait, and suffer, and hope and pray and be helpless, for the barest chance death might pass him over.

The spearman moved slowly, stalking around so that Helsknight could see them better. They were not anyone Helsknight recognized, though there was a detached coldness in their gaze he didn’t think he’d ever forget.

“You’re so quiet,” they informed him, as he lay on the ground and bled. “Even when you’re threatening people, or in pain. It’s uncanny.”

Helsknight took a breath, and tried to muster enough coherent thought to speak.

They kicked him.

They only did it once, but they kicked him where his fingers interlaced over the wound in his stomach. It was a cruelty driven by frigid curiosity, someone pulling the legs off a spider to see when the squirming would stop.

If they expected Helsknight to scream, he didn’t. He would have, if he could. Between his fear, and the broken rib, and the intrusion of his diaphragm on the wound in his stomach, breath was a thing Helsknight could only sip shortly and painfully, in hitches and gasps. There wasn’t enough of it in him to scream properly. But every muscle in his body contracted in agony, and a gag ripped its way up his throat, and when the little breath he had left him, it left him in a whimper that shook and strangled out when blood pulsed with his heartbeat onto his hands. Helsknight’s vision contracted, edged in black, spangled by multicolored stars.

The spearman seemed unimpressed. They took their spear in both hands and studied him, considering.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be tough, or if you’re just pathetic.”

[Pathetic.]

[Pain made heroes of no one.]

The spearman moved, pointing their bloody spearhead down at him. For a moment, Helsknight feared they had decided to kill him and be done with it. They lowered the broad spearpoint down towards his hands, as though they expected to probe the wound again. Helsknight’s hand snapped out with a suddenness he didn’t even know he was capable of, driven by one last faltering, frigid spine of adrenaline. The dying ghost of self preservation. He gripped the weapon shakily, and hissed in fleeting gasps.

“Touch me again, and when I come back here for you, I will bring every knight and paladin in hels with me.”

Helsknight didn’t speak with sureness or authority. His voice was a weak and wincing thing that threatened to break at the end of every word. But he meant it. He meant it with every fiber of his being. A place like this, with people this cruel, could not be allowed to exist. Not if he was allowed the chance to leave. If no one else, he knew his Saint wouldn’t abide cruelty like this.

Helsknight had never been a paladin. In truth, what the paladins went through in their blind service scared him almost as much as dying did, but he would unleash their fury on this place in a heartbeat.

The spearman laughed at him and yanked their spearpoint out of his hand. It cut his palm, but it was such a small hurt compared to all the others, Helsknight barely felt it.

“Really? And how are you going to do that, huh? Knights don’t listen to people like us.”

[People like us?]

“I’m a knight,” Helsknight gasped.

They laughed again, “Really? And did you leave your cloak at the cleaners when you went on crusade?”

“It’s on loan, you asshole.”

The spearman startled, turning on their heel towards the voice. Helsknight didn’t know when Tango had returned. Probably it had been just now. He didn’t have time to wonder how Tango had made it back to him again. Wels stood behind Tango, a look of horror and fury on his face. The resplendent silver and diamond of his immaculate plate didn’t gleam so brilliantly in the dim red of hels, but he was an imposing figure nonetheless. Wels’s own fist was balled sympathetically against his stomach, like he could feel the ghosts of Helsknight’s pain through whatever connection they had. His double’s empathetic rage washed over Helsknight like a wave, buried his own dread and fear beneath a wall of righteous fury. Breathtaking.

Wels moved like a hawk swooping, quick and arrow-point keen. The spearman, caught off-guard, barely managed to lift their spear.

Then Tango was kneeling beside Helsknight, cutting off his view. He swore bitterly when he saw the wound, and clasped his hand against Helsknight's, as if he thought the extra pressure would help. It didn't. Or if it did, it paled in comparison to the spike of pain it wracked through Helsknight. He must have made some pathetic noise, because Tango keened fearfully back at him, yanking his hand away.

“I'm sorry! Just hang in there, Killer,” Tango said, rifling through his pockets for anything reflective. “I've got like-- like six health potions with your name on them brewing back at Hermitcraft. Just-- just-- you know. Keep it together.”

Helsknight didn't think the ‘keep it together’ was directed at him. He must have looked pathetic indeed, because Tango clasped his hand in Helsknight's in an attempt to be reassuring, and shouted for Wels to hurry up.

[Had the little fool really come running back here so fast, he forgot to bring a reflection to escape with?]

After what felt like a small eternity, where Tango mumbled awkward reassurances, and all Helsknight could do was breathe, and try very hard not to bleed to death, Wels rejoined them. His armor was pristine as always, though he had a new cut on his cheek, and a disgusted expression on his face. The emotions radiating from him were of the purest contempt, probably directed at the spearman he’d killed. They softened to pity and nervousness when he laid eyes on Helsknight again, like colors bleeding in water.

“It's a bad wound Tango,” Wels said hesitantly. “It might be kinder to help him respawn.”

Tango shook his head briskly, “I promised.”

“The trip through the void--”

“If you won't bring him back for me, move your metal butt closer and I'll bring him back myself,” Tango snapped. He grimaced and said a bit gentler, “They're scared of respawn here for some reason. I don't get it bu-- but-- just-- I'll owe you one. Okay?”

Wels sighed and looked down at Helsknight. It was not a hateful, cruel, or wary look. It was an expression like someone trying to make his way through hard choices.

“Wels--” Tango started again, but stopped when Wels knelt beside him.

“This will hurt,” Wels warned, and then pulled one of Helsknight's arms around his shoulders. Tango grabbed his other arm, and Helsknight's world was consumed by fire in his stomach, and a blurring of star-filled black and breathless pain. He must have cried out again, because Tango was babbling apologies beside him, and Wels radiated the kind of nauseating determination one acquired when about to embark on a holy war.

“Hold onto him tightly,” Wels instructed. “If we lose him between worlds, I doubt we'd find him again.”

They fell.

----- ----

The Universe was a living thing.

It muttered, and felt, and spoke.

It was not human.

It understood, in broad strokes, human concepts like emotion and religion and thought and living and art. If it had a mind for metaphors and analogies, it might describe its understanding as the same understanding a human has for ant pheromones, or the way a sea slug hunts for certain chemicals in the water. A human hears the word pheromone and knows, to an ant, it is probably a sweet and enticing smell, like lavender or fresh bread, but a human will never smell an ant and smell something desirable. A human will hear the word chemical, and know whatever the slug is hunting probably has a taste, and to a slug, that taste is like honey, or sugar, or, again, freshly baked bread. But a human could never sift through the ocean floor and taste something enticing.

The Universe liked the idea of bread.

The Universe thought, in the closest way the Universe could think about anything, in thrums and chords like discordant melody, in tapestry and weave and time, that the things it loved most in itself were like bread. They were molded and shaped, and through fire and heat, they rose. And they made something that smelled desirable, and tasted enticing, and the Universe, above all else, loved to devour. It devoured bits of itself every instant, and through that devouring, it remade itself again.

And the Universe said: nothing is separate from any other thing.

There were two bright stars falling through the Universe, and they smelled to it like baking bread. Between them, held in hands that clung for life and limb, was a dark spark of dying and nothing and never should have. It was a familiar never. It was a spark of flame made so one of its best loaves could rise. A bright star.

The Universe didn't want to devour that flame of never, and shouldn't have been. The Universe could not want, as all it needed, it was.

The Universe liked to set itself to order. It liked the making of bread. It liked the things inside of it that set its world to order, and made with their hands, and rose. It liked things that were like itself.

And the universe said: you are a flame of what never should have been

And the universe said: I feel nothing for you, for you came from nothing

And the universe said: you are weak and small and failing

And the universe said: your heat may not be strong enough to form a rising

And the universe said: you are disorder, and chaos, and change for the sake of changing

The jaws of the universe neared, wide, and hungry. It liked to set things to order. It liked leavened bread. It liked two bright stars, very like itself. Between them was a dark and dying thing, that never should have been. It was a dark and dying thing that they should not hate, because nothing had no substance to despise. It was a dark and dying thing that they should not love, for nothing had no substance to enjoy. But it was a dark and dying thing that they clung to regardless.

The Universe clung to many things it should neither hate nor love. Things like stars, and orbits, and worlds. Things like code, and making, and living.

And the universe said: you are creating change

And the universe said: you are creating chaos

And the universe said: someday you must be set to order

And the universe said: but the bread has not finished rising

The Universe let them pass. It did not decide to let them pass. If the Universe were able to speak in metaphor, or even in words that the pieces of itself could hear, it would say it could not decide to let them pass. Just as the lungs do not decide to breathe, and the heart does not decide to beat, and the spine does not decide to hold. As a heart that times itself to another, so that two bodies close together might feel comfort and belonging, the Universe timed itself to their movement, and they passed.

And the universe watched those bright stars and said: I love you

And the universe said: Even the absence of something has purpose

And the universe said: Rise

Helsknight must have passed out somewhere between hels and Hermitcraft, or if he didn't, he faded so close he had no memory of the crossing.

He awoke on a bed that wasn't his own, hot and sweaty and uncomfortable. Everything ached. There was a persistent pinching and cramping in his stomach where healing hadn't quite finished its work. He was hungry -- or nauseous. He was thirsty. He was exhausted. He itched with dried blood, and itched again where links in his chainmail pressed uncomfortably against his body. Someone had done him the kindness of taking his gauntlets and boots off.

There was a cold hand clasped in his, a soothing reassurance against his own feverishness. That simple touch alone made him, inexplicably, want to cry.

[It hadn't been for nothing.]

Helsknight opened his eyes and looked over to see Tanguish sitting in a chair beside him. The arm that wasn’t reaching to hold Helsknight’s hand was pillowed beneath his head. If he wasn’t asleep, he was well on his way. Worry, sluggish to wake through his tiredness, rose slowly in his chest. How long had he been out?

A flicker of light highlighted the doorway to the room he was in [one of the Hermit’s bases, probably] heralding Tango’s arrival. The Hermit was balancing three health potions in his arms, still warm enough from the brewer to be bubbling slightly. His eyes passed over Tanguish first, a look of weathered contentment on his face. He awkwardly shuffled the potions in his arms so he could run a hand through his hair, a small, worried motion that made him seem… very human. Helsknight didn’t idolize the Hermits -- if anything, he disdained them for what they were. But in that moment, he had never related to another person’s care and weariness so much in his life.

“Oh,” Tango said quietly, eyebrows raising. “You’re awake.”

Tanguish’s eyes opened immediately. He sat up quickly, moving so he held Helsknight’s hand in both of his. “Praise every god and saint in hels.”

“Was I out long?” Helsknight asked, his voice a rough rasp in his dry throat. He started to sit up, and let out a painful breath as the twinge in his stomach shocked him still. It wasn’t nearly the unbearable stab from earlier, but it stiffened his spine and threatened to take his breath. Tanguish’s hand was on his chest pushing him gently back down.

“Easy does it, Killer,” Tango said, offering half of a laugh he clearly didn’t feel. He passed one of the potions to Tanguish, who got to work uncorking it. “That was intense.”

“I’ve had worse,” Helsknight said dismissively, not entirely sure if the statement was true. He may have had worse wounds before, but he didn’t think he’d ever had worse circumstances. He sipped on the potion and sighed with relief as the intensity of aches and pains across his body soothed. The lance in his stomach dulled to a bitter, persistent throb. He looked down in time to see what was left of the wound knitting itself back together, and then grimaced, when he realized the blankets he was on were spattered in blood. “Uhm… sorry for ruining whoever’s bed this is.”

“Blankets needed washed anyway,” Wels said from the doorway. Just about everyone in the room startled -- apparently Helsknight wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard him enter. He’d taken off his armor, and stood in only a blue tunic and breeches, his empty scabbard cinched around his waist. The cut on his cheek was still there, though the blood had been washed away.

[Enough time to get rid of his arms and armor, but not enough time to heal himself.]

[Intentionally defanged.]

Helsknight curled an arm around his stomach, shielding a hurt that was no longer there. Wary.

“What happened? I have Tango's side of the story but...” Wels asked quietly, soothingly. It was not the quiet of violence or anger. It was the quiet of someone trying very, very hard to be nonthreatening. He looked to Tango first, and when the Hermit looked away awkwardly, not sure how to answer, he looked to Helsknight. “Please.”

“I-it was my fault--” Tanguish started nervously.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Helsknight interrupted. “A group of thugs took Tanguish captive. When Tango and I realized what happened, we went to get him back.”

Helsknight briefly toyed with the idea of taking responsibility for what had happened. He found himself… somewhat protective of Tango. Something noticeable in how he saw the Hermit as a person had shifted. He didn’t have time yet to untangle just what or why, but he thought if Wels was going to get high-and-mighty about what had happened, he might try to spare Tango from the brunt of it. It wasn’t like Wels could hate Helsknight any more than he already did.

“A group of thugs?” Wels queried, his voice taking on a slightly more grim cast.

“I didn’t know they existed before today.” Helsknight answered honestly. “They will not exist for much longer.”

Tanguish looked at him, startled. “You… you can’t. Helsknight they almost--”

“I know people who can,” Helsknight said. He downed the rest of his potion, and this time when he sat up, he did it painlessly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at how gross he felt. He scowled disgustedly at himself, at his gore-splattered clothes. His arms were strangely bare now that the gauntlets were off, two swaths of unmarked skin surrounded by havoc.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Wels observed.

“I will take care of myself at home.”

“Tango said your house was trashed.”

Helsknight shot the little Hermit a glare.

Tango only held his hands up in surrender. “Didn’t think it was a secret, sorry.”

“Tango,” Wels said, his voice still that cool, soothing quiet, “I have some food cooking. Make sure Tanguish gets something warm.” He rested his gaze on Helsknight. “Come on. I’ve already gotten started on your armor.”

He disappeared into the hall. Helsknight, Tango and Tanguish all exchanged glances.

“If… if he tries to fight you,” Tanguish stammered, “come back here. I’ll get us home.”

Helsknight studied the empty place Wels had been standing.

“... I don’t think he wants a fight,” Helsknight said cautiously. He hesitated a moment longer, then stood and followed after Wels.

Helsknight’s other half had gone outside. He lived in a small castle away from the other Hermits, though he was within easy sight of one of his neighbors in the river. He had moved several tools outside: cauldron, grindstone, and a drying rack among them. Helsknight’s gore-streaked sword was propped up against the grindstone, his gauntlets and grieves in the grass beside it. The gauntlets had already been scoured once, though looking at them, Helsknight knew he’d probably be scrubbing them down with a toothbrush for the next few days before he got out every bit of blood.

“No one’s on this side of the server besides xB, and he’s probably half a league underground right now, diamond hunting,” Wels said, grabbing up a rag and dunking it into the cauldron. “Get your chain and your shirt off. No one will care -- and if you care, no one will see.”

The bitter creature of animosity he always held for his hermit wanted to crawl to life and argue. You will see. But Helsknight was tired down to the bottom of his soul, and while Welst’s emotions seemed muffled and odd to him right now, none of them seemed to contain bad intentions. Helsknight did as he was told, peeling off first his tunic, then the chainmail and padding underneath.

“Leave your chainmail here,” Wels said, picking up one of his grieves and getting to work scrubbing. “Though I recommend taking your shirt to the water with you.”

“I know how to clean my gear,” Helsknight muttered.

Wels shrugged. “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

They side-eyed each other for a moment, gauging reactions. Helsknight sighed and waded into the water.

The river was cold. That was something Helsknight had to admit he wasn’t used to. Running water in this much quantity in hels was already a rare thing. This much cold water in hels was practically impossible. It sent goosebumps sprinting across his skin, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from squeaking ingloriously when it swirled up to his waist. Satisfied he was deep enough to suitably clean himself, Helsknight got to work scrubbing everything he could reach.

He had hoped it would be soothing. At the very least, he hoped getting the blood off would ease the persistent nausea still squirming around in his stomach. Watching the water slowly redden around him, though, only made him feel sicker. What started as calm, scrubbing started to get rougher as a tremor worked its way into his hands. Every pass of his touch across his clothes, his skin, all earned him more blood. Helsknight found himself taking long, intentional breaths in an effort to keep himself calm. It was his hair that broke him. He carded his hands back through the messy locks, only for his fingers to snag on mats and tangles, and when he knelt down in the water to wet the ends and comb them out, a clot of brown-black ugliness came out onto his fingers.

Helsknight’s hands were shaking. What had started as low-level nausea suddenly twisted his guts in something much more intense and immediate. He stamped it down as best he could. He was the Champion of hels, for helssakes. He’d seen blood before. He’d seen more than blood before. He shouldn’t be acting like this, feeling like this. What was so different between what he’d just done, and fighting people he knew in the Colosseum?

[He’d never maimed people with the express intention of leaving them alive, in the Colosseum.]

[No one had ever kicked his wounds, purposefully, because it seemed like a fun thing to do in the Colosseum.]

[No one had ever held him down while he struggled and thrashed, and threatened to dismember him in the Colosseum.]

[And in the Colosseum, he’d never done that to anyone else.]

Helsknight didn’t know what repulsed him more: the den of snakes this whole fiasco had revealed, or himself. The thought of going back there, of leading knights and paladins to the place to clear it out, sent a pang of dread through him so fiercely, it squeezed his chest tighter, and made it hard to breathe. Helsknight shivered, and shivered again, and couldn’t stop shivering.

[He needed to get the blood off.]

A sense of calm and serenity suddenly blanketed Helsknight, washed over him like the cold water of the river. It draped itself over his thoughts, slowed them to a halt. Tenseness in his shoulders and spine relaxed almost against his will. The shuddering in his hands stopped.

[Wels.]

Helsknight turned to look at his other half, who had doubled over the cauldron, a look of deep concentration on his face. He was breathing in long, slow, deliberate breaths, and when he exhaled his mouth moved as he counted. Wels, with determined intent, and no small amount of sympathy radiating from him like smears of sunset color, was anchoring Helsknight like a port in a storm. Forcefully, by controlling himself first.

“You did what you had to do,” Wels said quietly, but honestly, and that honesty was golden light. On anyone else, it would have been a binding shackle, an imposition of will. On Helsknight, who was immune to that from Wels, it was a display of sincerity. “You are the perfect knight, Helsknight. You’ve said so yourself: Knighthood is ugly, and unkind.”

Slowly, like a storm cloud passing over, Wels’s blanket of assuredness rolled off of him, and when it did, Helsknight realized he was crying. They were small, contained tears, the kind of thing that came from fatigue more than anything. Shame and bitterness crawled to life in his chest, and he did his best to stamp them down.

“Fuck I’m tired,” Helsknight said, the most self-aware thing the thought he was capable of at the moment. He should have seen this coming. The exhaustion after a long fight, the emotional fallout of finally coming down from fear and adrenaline.

“I didn’t think it was wise to let you rest for too long,” Wels said somewhat cautiously. “I know us.”

“Needed to get cleaned up before everything rusted anyway,” Helsknight muttered, finally dragging himself from the river. His clothes would need another wash at some point. There were still stains that he hadn’t managed to scour away. But the blood was off his body at least.

He looked with disgust at his sword, his stomach twisting again when he saw it. He forced himself to take it in hand and, when Wels offered him a rag, began wiping it down. Wels had moved on to his chainmail, running over it with a bristle brush to clean the links. Laid out beside him were pliers and a box full of rings -- apparently he intended on repairing it as well.

They worked in silence, broken only by the small, lethal noises of cleaning and polishing and scrubbing. Blood had gotten underneath the leather wrapping around Helsknight’s sword hilt, so he unwound it to re-oil the leather, and seal it with wax. Wels moved on from scrubbing the chain to repair, and the air filled with the soft clatter of the links moving, and Wels occasionally discarding links that didn’t fit back into the box again. Intermittently, when Helsknight’s mind had been still for too long, anxiety would make his hands shake, and the ghost of the boot against his stomach would twist like a knife in his guts, and his world narrowed to the quickness of his breathing and the determination not to vomit into the grass. Every time it happened, Wels stopped what he was doing and breathed, and counted, and, when the fit passed, repeated, “You did what you had to do.”

With a single-minded purpose they put Helsknight’s world back to order. It was as efficient as it could be. It was relentless, and determined, in the way two knights focused on one goal could only be. It was the slow, methodical purging of discomfort, seeking normalcy. Helsknight felt that Wels was trying to put him back in the box he was meant to live in -- force him back into being something he expected to see. Helsknight wondered, if their situations had been reversed, if he would react the same way. If he would piece his other half back together, purely because seeing him ripped apart was too uncomfortable.

[He thought he might.]

“What happened?” Wels asked quietly, as he bent another chain link in place with his pliers. He paused in his work, watching Helsknight with those frigid, sky-blue eyes. Helsknight thought they were carefully neutral, the wind holding its breath over a lake. “What happened to cause the panic, specifically.”

Helsknight looked down at his sword. He had polished it to a shine again, though he’d had to rinse the rag a few times to do it. The edge was marred with chips and dents. He would be sharpening it for ages.

“Tango said you go to confession,” Wels said at length, when Helsknight said nothing. “I don’t know how yours works. Mine mostly involves two people sitting in a room, talking. Normally they can’t see each other. The anonymity is important. We could set our stools back to back.”

Helsknight shook his head. “You wouldn’t like how my Saint takes confession.”

A ripple of discomfort broke the intentional, smothering placidity clinging to Wels. “Tango, uhm, also said you cut yourself.”

“Prayer.”

“Ah.”

Wels snapped another link into place.

Helsknight picked up a whetstone Wels had laid out for him in the grass. He propped his sword against his knee. Before he ran the stone across it, something prodded him gently in the shoulder. Helsknight took the knife Wels offered him. It was a small blade, a tool, not a weapon, but the edge was sharp. Helsknight stared at it for a long time, while Wels patiently bent stubborn links into place.

“I’ve never chosen this for myself,” Helsknight whispered. “The Saint is supposed to tell you your penance.”

“What did you do that was wrong?”

Helsknight took a long breath.

“... I was cruel.”

Wels snapped another link into place.

“... I was… cowardly.”

There was the rattle of metal as Wels searched for another link.

“... I was wrathful.”

The pliers clicked as Wels pulled the ring apart, twisting it deftly, a practiced craft.

“... I served myself, and my aims, instead of my Saint’s.”

Helsknight turned the little knife in his hand. He let out a slow, steadying breath. He ran his thumb down his forearm, tracing the direction of the vein there. He stumbled through memories of going to confession, of what price the Saint had asked of him for similar sins. He decided on a cut to his sword wrist, something painful and inconvenient, that would take time to heal.

“Your Saint,” Wels said, and Helsknight paused before he could draw the blade across his skin. “Does he have more knights?”

“They have many, yes.”

Wels nodded. He pried another link in place and sat back, running the chainmail beneath his hands. He hadn’t completely patched the hole the spear had made, but he was getting close. A few more links until the gap closed. He ran it over his hand again, making sure all the links were laying in the right directions.

“I heard you speak a little… before we came through to hels.” Wels admitted. “Something about bringing every knight and paladin in hels down on the place. Does that include your Order?”

“Yes.”

“Will you tell… your Saint… everything that happened today, when you ask them all to come?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure your Saint will lend you hi-- their knights?”

Helsknight let out a slow breath. “My Saint doesn’t suffer cruelty.”

“So then, your Saint would approve of what you did today.”

Helsknight shook his head almost immediately. “No. They can’t.”

“You… uhm… you just said…”

“That was cruel,” Helsknight said. “That was terrible. I was terrible.”

Helsknight felt that smothering blanket of calm start to drape over him again, and he tried to shake it off.

“I threatened-- I almost-- I would have--”

“They took your friend hostage. They tried to take you hostage.”

“I cut through so many people. You saw me. I was-- I was a bloody mess. I was a terror. I was a ruin.”

“They held you down and tried to disfigure you.”

“I would have torn that place apart brick by brick. I was one man, and I would have razed that place to the ground. I was the wrath of gods, working under my own will.”

“They stabbed you in the gut and tortured you with it.”

“Stop-- stop--- stop acting like I was being reasonable.”

“Then stop acting like you deserve to suffer for it.”

Helsknight flinched at another touch to his shoulder. He glared at Wels, and then blinked in puzzlement. Wels held out a hand to him, palm up, waiting patiently. Helsknight really must have been tired, because it took him far too long to realize Wels was asking for the knife back.

“They tortured you once already,” Wels said quietly, sternly. “Don’t retread the ground for them.”

Helsknight’s chest felt tight. Something like panic welled up inside him so fast it was nearly blinding. He was scared. He was terrified. Not just by what he’d done, but what he was capable of doing. No man, no matter how desperate, or for how good a cause, should be allowed to do what he had done today. Not on their own. Not without divine intervention, something holy telling them what they’d done was right. He could not be trusted with the responsibility of starting his own crusade. He had no right to be judge and executioner, but he’d done it nonetheless, and it terrified him. And it terrified to know that, after doing it once, he now knew he could do it again. That couldn’t be right. That wasn’t allowed to be right.

Helsknight and Wels both moved at the same time. Helsknight, on the sudden unstoppable impulse to punish himself for what he’d done. Wels, feeling his intentions the instant they focused themselves into something actionable. Wels lunged at him, one hand a vice on his wrist, the other catching the knife before he could use it.

“Helsknight,” Wels commanded, his voice glory-gold and relentless, “your Saint doesn’t abide cruelty.”

Helsknight scowled. He wanted to say yes! Exactly! He wanted to say that’s the entire point, you idiot! He wanted, very badly, to feel the blade running across his skin. He wanted to do something quick, and painful, and immediate to alleviate his guilt. He wanted--

“Does that include being cruel to yourself?”

Helsknight managed to twist his hands free of Wels’s grasp.

“Answer me.”

Helsknight shook his head.

“Is that a no?”

“I don’t-- I’m not being--”

“You are.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“It does!” Wels snapped, his composure finally slipping. “A good knight abides by his tenets.”

Helsknight sprang to his feet suddenly, his panic exploding into something white hot and angry. “You don’t know my Saint! You don’t know my Saint’s will!”

Wels rose to his feet as well, and this, this was familiar. This was normalcy. This was the world set to order and correctness and--

“You’re right,” Wels said, stern and determined, but not angry. “I don’t know. But you do. So answer me. What does your Saint say about being cruel to yourself?”

Helsknight shoved him. Hard. Hard enough that Wels stumbled back over his seat and fell to the ground. Then he turned, angrier now that he’d acted, and kicked over the grindstone. Helsknight paced, full of angry, anxious energy. The rage and fury that chases fear. He wanted to run. He wanted to bite and kick and punch. He wanted to-- he wanted-- he wanted--

Wels, still laying in the grass, started counting again. Counting, and breathing. He was trying so, so hard not to spiral. To not give in to the way their emotions circled each other. Beneath the determination to try, to keep a grip on his sanity, was a depth of sympathy and compassion that was nauseating in its intensity. Someone who had witnessed atrocity, and for once, didn’t blame Helsknight for it. It hurt. It ached. It pushed its way into Helsknight’s chest, and begged him to relent, to be kinder. It was so different. It was so human. It wasn’t how the Hermits were supposed to be. He needed them not to be kind. He needed-- he wanted--

Helsknight realized he was crying again, only because he blinked and realized his world had blurred beyond recognition, turning to smears of blue and green. A sob hiccupped its way up his ribs, and he felt so stupid. There came another, thick and harsh and ugly, and then he couldn’t stop himself. He stood there in the grass like an idiot and he cried, loud uncontrollable sobs. It was the kind of cry he hadn’t had in years, maybe never. The kind that made him feel like a child, with emotions too big to keep in his body.

At some point, Wels crossed to him, and very gently, as though trying his best not to intrude, he took the knife from his hand. Then he righted the grindstone, and finished snapping the links into place on Helsknight’s armor. By the time he’d finished, Helsknight had managed to pull himself back together again, little by little.

“U-uhm. We all, uh, we all alive out here?”

Helsknight swore colorfully. He passed his hand over his face, and demanded hoarsely, “How long have you been here, Tango?”

“Who, me?” Tango asked, a nervous laugh in his voice. Something behind Helsknight shuffled -- Tango grabbing up something to take back into the house with him, maybe. “Not long. Definitely. Probably. I wasn’t-- you know. Keeping tabs on you two in case you got a little too knightly or anything. I wouldn’t do that. I trust you. Implicitly.”

Helsknight snorted.

“It’s just, uh, you know. Food’s done.” Tango continued. “And uh. Also if anything else bad happened today, I think Tanguish would break in half.”

“We’re fine,” Wels said, calm, quiet. “We’ll be inside shortly.” He paused, and then added, “Uh, knight’s honor.”

“Right.”

Tango retreated, footsteps cushioned by the greenery. Helsknight was not used to the sound of grass. Stone, basalt, netherrack, hyphae. He had the sound of footsteps on those memorized. Grass was a rushing, soothing noise, almost like water in its consistency.

“I think your armor is as clean as it’s getting, without going over it with a fine brush,” Wels said. “I have more netherite plate. Spare stuff, in case I lose sets in the End.”

“Keep it.”

“It’s not charity. I owe you a set, from when we last fought, and you fell in the End.”

“It’s not… because of the charity.” Helsknight crossed his arms. “I haven’t worn plate for awhile.”

“Hm.”

“Why.”

Wels tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“The calm. The kindness. The…” Helsknight gestured broadly. “We hate each other.”

“We do.”

“So why.”

Wels looked away from him, quietly considering the ground. At length he said, “Apparently… your Saint isn’t the only person who can’t abide cruelty.”

Wels reached a hand up to his chest and sighed. “When Tango came and got me… I didn’t want to come and help you. I could feel… something. Struggle. But you’re right. We hate each other.”

He sighed again. “And then I stepped into hels.”

Wels chuckled bitterly. “Fear. And helplessness. And desperation. And Pain.”

He looked up at Helsknight. “I thought I was going to respawn on the spot. And I wasn’t you.”

“We hate each other,” Helsknight repeated.

“We do,” Wels agreed. “But… I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

Welsknight offered Helsknight an ironic smile, “Not even you.”

The two knights watched each other. Nervous. Awkward. Worried. And underneath it all, an undercurrent of surreality and ridiculousness. Two enemies forced to admit some things could be worse than their rivalry.

“Anyway,” Welsknight said, “when you go back and storm the place, you have my sword, if you want it."

#the barking writer #rns angst prompts #rns ficlets #helsknight #tangotek #welsknight #tanguish #redstone and skulk #tw blood #tw gore #tw wounds #tw torture #tw whump #tw a lot of stuff okay

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directdogman · 9 months ago

Note

Hello Hound!! Since it's Dialtown's 2nd anniversary, I've been planning up a few "general" related questions about your series that I've been meaning to ask, but I decided to save them up for the big day because why not? Anyways, here's what I've got, these were meant to be fun to answer so don't sweat it :]

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come?

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

5: What's a character you wish you could have given more screen-time or just in general content? (Considering iirc you were trying to make sure Dialtown wasn't TOO long, so I was wondering if this ever came to mind)

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

That's all I have for now, and I'm really excited to see your answers!!

I normally don't answer this many questions, but... alright, sure, tis the season!

1: How do you feel about Dialtown's success? Are you proud of how far you've come?

Yeah, of course! I'm a lil proud, admittedly, but I'm aware of how comically little I really have to do with it all, even if I did make the game. Luck does play a LOT into it, of course. Granted, I made my share of predictions that wound up being useful, but it always comes down to lady luck at the end of the day. I've seen good projects fail and bad ones go viral. It's really all just a hodgepodge of probability and whimsy. That being said, I am very pleased with DT's success, and the community that's formed around the game! It caught me by surprise!

2: Which character was the MOST fun for you to write, and which was the most PAINFUL?

Gingi's always fun to write. And Mingus. Most painful is tough to say. Maybe Crown. I got a little weird when I wrote his full backstory, kinda caught up in the emotion Norm talks about. Never been a fan of stories getting cut short. You gotta wonder what would've happened if he'd made different choices, y'know?

3: What is something you wish more people would talk about or just know about related to Dialtown in general?

Honestly? Karen, probably. She's super underrated for sure. The fandom still loves her, but she doesn't get the same kind of attention as Oliver, Gingi, Randy, Norm. She's worth it.

4: If you had the opportunity to write a FULL complete, detailed life story of any of your characters, who would that be?

Oh, I already have. I have this monstruous 30-40 page document detailing Crown's life and entire career. It's quite a read. and quite a mind-fuck if you don't know Dialtown's universe too well.

Oh yeah, a few characters had scenes that were cut. Stabby, Shooty, Mingus, Bunny, even Bigfoot! There's also the game's cut 6th datable, who was an interesting character with ties to other characters in the cast who I wanted to do more with. Ah, maybe one day.

6: From what I know, you've been doing the job of cosplaying several characters in the game and acting out their sprites, which one was the most fun to act out?

Bigfoot. I made the ape noises in the suit. Had to. It felt right.

7: Speaking of sprites, do you have a sprite you could consider your favorite, out of ALL your characters?

I quite like Norm's set, Mingus' too. Karen's poses too are quite good.

8: Do you have a specific line of dialogue you could consider your favorite throughout the entire game?

That answer probably changes every day. I like pretty much any scene where Mingus loses her temper.

9: Could you ever see Dialtown expanding into perhaps sequels or maybe even prequels? More DLCs mayhaps? Heck, maybe even a Dialtown 2 or a Chapter 4??

I'd love to make sequels one day! I've got a lot of ideas for where the characters/story would end up. By the time DT1 wrapped up, I'd conceptualized way too much stuff to put in one game (without it taking another few years to finish), so if I ever wanted to make sequels, I'd 100% know where to start! But, that's a later down the road conversation.

For now, I'm gonna keep working on the Roger DLC and if there's demand for more, I can go from there :)

10: If you could make any fan-made interpretation (such as headcanons, designs, or ships) canon if given the opportunity, what do you think would be your pick?

I guess I COULD do that with, like, anything. Nothing immediately springs to mind, since, y'know, I'm in control of the canon anyway. I will say, I've seen headcanons and theories that ARE scarily accurate to canon, to the point where I've feared people would just think I'm lifting stuff from the fanbase! It's a good thing I talk about these things with collaborators, huh? I've got a PAPER-TRAIL!!!

11: What was the MOST fun part about developing Dialtown? Coming up with new characters? Writing them? Adding all the bizarre dialogue options?

Finishing a new scene and realizing how stupidly long it was (without me realizing it) was always a treat. But yeah, writing the characters had to be it. Specifically any scene where a character the audience knows meets someone the audience doesn't know well (or at all), with the dynamic changing. Those are fun to write.

12: And last but not least — on a scale of 1-10, how fun was developing Dialtown just in general?

Hard question to answer. I do really wanna give a high number, but truthfully, a lot of game dev actually isn't super 'fun'. Some tasks are, granted, but many parts are a slog. Sitting and formatting dialogue, and then adding text pauses and pose changes isn't exactly a super thrilling activity. The engine itself also has some issues which I have to work around that adds to the workplace. Play-testing a scene for the 4th time isn't super fun either, or trying to figure out why the game crashes on some PCs and ONLY very rarely... Those tasks are Sisyphean to some degree.

...But, while most of those parts aren't fun, it's all still rewarding. There's a sense of accomplishment when you finish a scene. You get to look back at your hard work, remember the hours you spent typing dialogue into a text box and formatting mass amounts of pngs, painstakingly + manually getting the game's awful pre-loader to deal with the sprites right, etc... and suddenly, at the end, you've got this lil experience that people can play and enjoy. Somehow, the sum of all of those not so fun activities has created something that's going to make people laugh, feel happy. That's special. and even if some parts of development weren't super fun on their own, that's always what I remember. That in the end, all of those not so fun days mattered.

The route I agonized the most over was Oliver's. I went through a few weeks of writer's block, and now, it's one of the most popular routes in the game! Crazy how that happens. I was SURE for about a week that people would rank the route at the bottom! That's what I mean, all of the stress I went through trying to figure it out amounted to something people connected with! To think I almost CUT the route entirely!!!

And y'know, God knows Dialtown gave me something to throw myself at during a time where I REALLY needed the outlet. I'm very grateful to the project for that. So, I'll give DT an honorary 8 out of 10, even if it wasn't a consistently 8/10 experience making it heh heh! Sure glad I did, though and I'm very glad if any of you reading this had a really good time playing it! :)

Thanks for the questions!

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miimo96 · 5 months ago

Text

Thoughts on My Adventures with Superman S2 episode 5

I love how Wholesome this Clark is, at 1st it looked like he wasn't really into attending the contest, but as soon as he heard that it was going to be Donating money to the children's hospital, he immediately made up his mind, Showing us once again Why this Show is Amazing, Because they Know how to HANDLE Superman

Aaaaahhh!! We're Finally being introduced to Kara, Omg She looks Soooo good I can't wait to see how they handle her and her relationship with Clark, maybe we might actually get see the "Sibling" Dynamic I talked about not to long ago ^^; (also is it me or does kara look kinda familiar, I don't know she just looks someone I've seen before I just can't put my finger on it, hmmmmm 🤔 eh it's probably nothing )

Annnd just like that Love at 1st sight, in all seriousnes I really love Jimmy's character and how he's handled throughout this show, It's clear that he does feel Guilty for What happened last episode, after all He was the one who gave Lex the "motivation" to do what he is doing So I understand that he does feel responsible in someway, plus he did bring Clark to Expo in the 1st place which led to Superman being framed when the Villains attacked, but C'mon, you Didn't know that would happen or that Lex would be there, or that you guy's would have a TED TALK discussing the "Dangers" of Superman, You have No reason to feel guilty or have any obligation to Fix this because it wasn't your Fault, just sit down and talk to your boy and for crying out loud Omg 😫

Also Clark using his X-ray vision to immediately see who was running is extremely funny to me for some reason idk why lol 😅

Ok 2 things, 1 Lois throughout this episode was really infuriating to me, Lois's ego was really shining here I mean she really feels that there's Nothing Specail about her, and that it would be completely unlikely for a guy like Superman to ever be interested in a person like her, because "who would ever be interested in the reporter right" even though they made entire episode last season focusing on the LOL/ League of Lois Lanes and how Lois lane is DESTINED to be with Superman in every reality, so it really Grinds my gears when she starts getting jealous when she sees Superman acting single around other contestants/girls, and wants act all salty and question if they're even "right" for each other and that maybe he should be with someone who is more Special than her when in reality that's exactly WHY he fell for you in the 1st place, because you are Different and because you Makes him feel Normal, also you're the 1 that Told him to "act" single in the 1st place like Wtf!? Also I find it hilarious that Clark immediately waves as they're talking about who could Superman's identity be, like it's LITERALLY right in front of them 😂

Judging by this scene it feels like she's never been on Earth before whatsoever, from her being to foriegn to stuff like what Ice cream and hot dogs are, to earlier with her wanting to immediately square up with a Truck, It's pretty clear that THIS Is her 1st time being on earth, leaving the question Now to where has she been all this time, and who is her father? Because as far as I'm aware I thought only her and Kal were last 2 kryptonians that made it off Krypton, So who could her "father" be? Well there's only 1 option, but I'll save that for a later scene ;)

So as I was watching this I kept wondering on who the heck the other contestants were, as far as my knowledge of comic books go it's Not really that good, since I mainly grew up with cartoons and only read a few comics from time to time and Superman was the 1 thing that I Never really kept up with all that time, So forgive me I don't really know who most of the people are on here other than Hank Hanshaw AKA Cyborg Superman, if y'all happen to know feel free to lemme know in the comments or just Ask me in the submissions Thx ^^;

Also can Clark Not come up with a good excuse to change into Superman, I mean how hard is it to say "I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back" also saying you're going somewhere and then immediately having Superman show up is completely Sus as hell, how has no one else figured out Who the heck he really is yet ?😅

Ah the Jealous girlfriend face 🤣🤣 also the scene here with Hank talking about just how dangerous Superman is and how he is literally a weapon waiting to go off just shows how much Lex is affecting people and how he already has people thinking he's right; This is stuff that will Definitely be brought up in season 3, I can already see the "Earth is for Earthlings" Hashtags 😅also I don't know about you but to me there's definitely something suspicious about Silver from the way she's acting, idk but to me I'm thinking that maybe Silver may not be as sweet as we think she is, hmmmm 🧐

I love the callback from Last episode with her saying "everything" when Jimmy asks what she wanted to see, just like how he did when Clark asked him the same question, also between this and the Jimmy from the Supergirl TV show on CW, Jimmy really has a knack for pulling Strong powerful women, Nice ^_^

I Really love how Devoted kara already is to Jimmy, the fact that she immediately was ready to go and completely DESTROY Whoever hurt Jimmy tells you just how much she Already cares about him just from being on this planet for like idk 3 hours maybe, bro really knows how to pull the Baddies, Ngl I ship them ^^

She's LITERALLY the embodiment of this

Bruh Kara is really talking crazy here, to me this Not how kryptonians Speak, as far as I'm aware kryptonians are usually intelligent chill people with only a few of them being like soldiers, they're Not effing Conquerors, tbh this Version of them sounds more like Sayains than anything, Damn they're really going in on the whole Anime theme this season huh, which leads me to my Next topic; I think I Know who Kara's father supposedly is, here me out but what if it's Freaking ZOD, think about it, what if before she left krypton Zod kidnapped her as a baby and raised her to make her Think that she was his own, hence why she has this mindset and Why she's talking like this; after all Besides Kal only Zod and her would be last 2 kryptonians, So it's possible he could've raised her and molded her into the warrior/ conquer she is today Similar to him, and if you still don't believe me, then take a Good look at what She says here Next

Ladies and Gentlemen, I rest my effing Case ^^ also OMG WTF IT WAS HER THE ENTIRE F#%KING TIME!? 🤯

Ok 3 things: 1 she beat the Absolute Shit out of him my god she showed No mercy even to her Own cousin Wow, 2 the Animation for this fight scene in this episode was Wild omg I loved every minute of it, They have Not missed a Beat this season when it's come down to the Animation whatsoever, and finally 3 Her design for this Suit looks Just effing incredible, Omfg I love the Red and black color scheme they got going on here and the Symbol, aside from Bulky ass Shoulder pads, everything just looks So effing CLEAN, Man I can't wait to see the Fanart from this Suit; Also it's clear that Brainiac is controlling her somehow judging by how she keeps hesitating and the way her eyes go completely blank after She receives her orders, So there may be hope for her Just yet, but in the end I know that even IF she turns good, Earth is going to be Completely against her and Superman by the end of this Season, So yeah...

Wow it looks like we Gotten yet another New superpower for this man, Ngl, I'm not a fan at all, the last one we got from him was his Bio electric aura which at 1st I wasn't a fan of but once I thought about It some more and did a bit more research on it, It really started to grow on me, Since it's how he's able to Defy the impossible, THIS however I am just Not feeling it, this does make any sense for him to have and Never even once in my life have I ever seen this man Shoot effing energy from his Mouth, like what is even the Point of this power and what is it used for like Bruh, Sry but this is Definitely ain't for me, and is Not going to grow on me anytime soon ^^;

No Please Not the Injustice FINISHER, Omg DON'T DO HIM LIKE THAT!! 😱😱😱

Wow this episode was just Balls to the Walls insane, between this and the Reveal that Brainiac was the one She was referring to as "father" i have No idea what else to expect from this Season, and this is Just making me completely unsure about what's gonna happen next for the future of this show, Omg this Series is so good, Can't wait for the next one #SupermanSaturdays

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joshusten · 1 year ago

Text

bitter melon (guy/honey, redacted audios)

Honey got stood up on a date and Guy tried to save their night.

(pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, jealousy (hohohoho), slight misunderstanding, conflict between characters, making up, fluff) 4.6k+ words [ao3 link] [masterlist]

[cw/notes: insecurities, self-depreciating thoughts and a lil breakdown im sorry honey has some issues over here (projecting moment?), NOT PROOFREAD as always LMAOO

ALSO sadly guy isnt as silly (maybe really ooc) as he is most of the fic because he has Internal Conflict + i tried to make honey’s outfit and appearance as ambiguous as possible but i’m not sure how well i did with that ;---; so just keep that in mind! Idk how to feel about this fic ! i love it and i hate it LMAO]

"Oooh, what's got you all dressed up, roomie?"

It was the weekend—Kayla had just been picked up by her boyfriend, which had Guy realizing he and his favorite roommate had the place all to themselves for a few hours. As far as he recalled, he was off from work, and they hadn’t mentioned any errands to him for today. Perfect!

Guy had a bounce in his step as he arrived by the entrance to the room at the leftmost side of their shared apartment. He rapidly knocked at the door with a giddy “Hello?”, eagerly waiting for the response that he knew would always come.

Hm, which game should they play this time? Smash was always an option but he wouldn’t mind trying something new with them. They could even watch some random YouTube documentary again like they did last time. Or maybe he can finally muster up the courage to ask them if they want to hang out somewhere outside the apartment that isn’t for laundry or groceries.

He smiled to himself. Yeah, I’d like that. They can go to that new arcade that opened up nearby!

Before Guy can daydream more of sharing smiles in photo booths and frustratingly rigged crane games, the door opens to reveal the subject of his reverie, clad in clothing and accessories flashier than what they would typically wear. He got a whiff of a pleasant fragrance too and he realized that they must have put on a perfume of some kind.

Woah.

They looked…amazing. They've always looked amazing. He had thought that about his grumpy companion even before the pair got close. But, seeing them in anything other than their usual casualwear or pajamas was definitely a surprise.

The teasing amount of skin they had exposed didn’t go unnoticed by him, as well.

His roommate, by all means, was no prude. They even had their fair share of comebacks more vulgar than his flirts when they banter (Those particular interactions definitely do not keep him up at night, blushing and wide-eyed while he stares at the ceiling. Nope. Never.) This side of them, however, was something he’d never seen before until now. This side of how they present themselves with such boldness was new and he didn’t mind it at all.

The outfit looked good on them. Too good. A seductive dark top that very much complemented the tone of their skin, unbuttoned dangerously low enough to reveal the expanse of their collarbone that was adorned by a simple necklace.

Their shoes gave them more height too, slightly towering over Guy more than they already did before and forcing him to tilt his head up a little for their eyes to meet. The dizzying scent of their cologne paired with those pants that hugged their figure just right had his mind reeling. It was mortifying—how they had him in such a daze so easily.

Fuck.

Guy gulped nervously.

“You going out tonight with friends o–or something?” he frantically adds, suddenly aware of how much he was probably staring amidst his very appropriate train of thought about the person before him. Admittedly, the man was a little bummed that his plans to take them out first (Platonically, of course. How else would it be?) were off the table, though his interest had been piqued by what they were up to being dressed like that.

"Oh, uhm, no. I mean, yeah? Kinda? I'm…" They looked hesitant and a little…embarrassed? Well if it's something they don't want to share then he didn’t mind. Despite how much of a menace he is (with his roommate never failing to lovingly remind him of this), Guy wouldn’t want to force anything out of them, especially if it got them so uncharacteristically timid. He tends to forget such social cues, but he actively tries to improve and avoid being so pushy.

As he was about to reassure them that it was okay to not respond, they replied with a bashfulness that was unlikely of them, “I’m…going on a date.”

A date? With someone else? Romantically? He felt his grip on the door frame tighten, and a sharp pang shot through his heart, silencing his buzzing mind for a split second before managing to fake a curious smile.

“Oh? Who are they? Do I know them?” He liked to think he inquired them out of politeness, like a nosey friend pestering someone about their crush, but the thought of his roommate being alone with someone for the night leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He had the need to asses this person, and determine if they really were worthy of their time—of them—for reasons he isn’t really sure of, it just felt like instinct.

Guy internally cringed. What the fuck does that mean? Why the hell is he thinking like this? Protective! He’s being protective, of course. Any friend would want to protect their friend with things like these! A love life is a huge factor in someone’s happiness after all, right? So he, as a friend, can definitely be wary if someone could be a potential risk of heartbreak for their friend.

Okay, if he thinks of the word ‘friend’ one more time he might actually lose it.

He needed a cold shower. Yeah! He just needs a nice cold shower to shock his brain and stop the weirdest fucking thoughts from ever forming, especially thoughts concerning his roommate that’s currently driving him crazy in every way possible.

“Ah, no, I don’t think so. He’s from my class.” They shrugged, looking to the side awkwardly. “I dont know, he just asked me out yesterday and I figured, ‘Why not?’”

Guy hands began to twitch involuntarily as his roommate smiled at themself, oblivious to the spiral that he was having. "My friends kept on saying I should try letting loose and going out more so I guess it’s about time.”

“Oh, uh, hope you enjoy, then.” God, he feels light-headed.

“Well, isn’t this a first. What, no witty remark? No innuendo about me finally ‘getting some’?” Guy fought the urge to grimace. Somehow those jokes would do nothing but sour his mood even more instead.

“Hey,” The man started, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Can’t I wish a friend good luck on their date?” Friend. The word felt worse and worse the more it festered in his mind. Yeah, that’s what they were. What they’ll ever be. Nothing more.

“Pfft, whatever, man.” The smirk grew wider on their lips. They seem really excited and he shamefully thinks it might make him vomit at how eager they are for this date. He should support them, right? Guy can see how his roommate tends to keep to themself most of the time, especially when Kayla’s with them. So seeing them go out of their comfort zone should have been a relief. He should be happy for them.

Whenever Guy was with them, being happy was easy. So why was he having such a hard time now?

Their grin dropped when they glanced at their watch with widened eyes. “Oh shit, I think I need to go.”

They opened their bedroom door and lifted up their arms from the side in a way to reveal more of what they were wearing. “How do I look?”

Yup, feeling dizzy again. Remember to breathe, Guy.

“Uh, yeah, y–you look great! Really.” Guy put on a strained smile. “Have fun, just don’t miss me too much, though. Might be unbecoming for your date.” He prays to god they don’t notice how his voice wavered at the end.

They rolled their eyes with a familiar chuckle that usually follows whenever he makes a joke, “Pfft, whatever.”

Waving him goodbye as they rush to the exit. “Don’t wait for me when you’re gonna eat dinner, by the way. I might be home late!” One last look on their watch had them walking faster. “Okaygottacatchthebusnowbye–!”

He heard the gentle click of the door shutting and the apartment felt lonelier than what he’s used to.

—

Tap, tap, tap.

“In old legends, tales long forgotten, the sea is often said to be unkind.

The sea’s temper is short, and his rage is felt through the angry swells of the water that eat sailors alive. His strength is tremendous, taking down the tallest of mountains and sinking whole countries with his surging claws. But most of all, his cruel waves do not discriminate, drowning both the wicked and the innocent altogether. He cares not for the last breath he takes from their lungs to fill with salt and water and death.

Despite his hostility, the sea yearns for the moon.

Whenever the moon came down to greet him like an old, treasured friend, the waters still. All is tranquil when the sky and the sea meet. The sea breeze is calm as the children play by the shore. The people were grateful, for the sea had fallen for the beauty in the sky.

But all good things never last.

The sea became selfish. He loathes the time when the moon eventually ascends to the abode of angels, their home. He loathes the loneliness that becomes of him when he can no longer feel the warmth of their glow. His loathing turns into wallowing in sorrow until he decides that he has had enough.

His calm waves suddenly grow with the intent to seize, to take, to keep the jewel of the night for himself. His desire for them to stay overflowed into his foolish actions that had done nothing but have the moon be victim to the harshness he had reserved for men.

The moon wept, and the sea received their tears. He had hurt them. He had hurt them in his act of love. They returned to the skies, burdened to carry the melancholy of a broken heart and the sea remains, afraid to cause more harm.

The moon never came down again.

His attempts to reconnect bear no fruit. A different kind of madness consumed him, wrapping around his very soul like how guilt wraps around the sinners. It’s God’s punishment, he deems, for his covetous ways. To chase for the sky but never touch the clouds, to stretch up to the heavens but never high enough.

He had realized that they could not be attained.

They will not come back for him.

Yet he continues to reach high above, hoping for the blessing of a god birthed by pity. To push his tides to the limit for a chance to be in the moon’s presence once more until the end of time.

It is all but a myth, ancient words that the people of the present cannot truly decipher, but all its messages share the same sentiment;

The sea is…”

“Hm.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“The sea is mysterious?”

“No, no, no…”

Tap, tap, tap.

“The sea is prideful?”

“Ugh, that doesn’t sound right either.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“The sea is spiteful?

Vitriolic?

Rancorous?”

The living room which was once filled with the constant stream of clicking laptop keys came to an abrupt halt. I give up. This whole ‘running away from your issues’ thing really isn’t working.

That same irritating pain still persisted. It was becoming less of an annoyance and more of a discomfort, aching to the point that Guy started to rub his chest a few times in an attempt to soothe it. What is up with me today? Even after the cold shower that he was sure would solve his current predicament, the feeling of unease still lingered.

He figured he might as well do the writing exercises that his professor had assigned a few days ago to distract himself yet it was of no help at all. In fact, it was just fueling the fire of these messy emotions that he had been feeling. His tired eyes closed, fingers circling his throbbing temples, as he racked his mind for something that would best fit the final line. I swear to god it’s at the tip of my tongue!

His mind snapped out of focus after hearing the noise of the door suddenly opening. He managed to haphazardly type a word to try out before it could escape his mind so that he could finally finish this troubling assignment that had opened more problems he had meant to solve.

The sound of heavy footsteps reached his ears and they burned, knowing full well who had just barged in. Speak of the devil. His roommate finally returned along with the sinking feeling in his ribs. They had gotten back from their date. Guy made sure to put on his most convincing smile.

“Hey, roomie! Back already? How was it?”

“Uh, yeah, hi.” They didn’t bother to look at him, ignoring his eager questions while they hastily set down the small bag they brought. Guy sees them navigate through the kitchen to fill up a glass of water and hungrily gulp it down. “I-is Kayla here?”

He frowned, shifting his body to face where they were in the kitchen. “Uh, no. She texted me that she was staying over with her boyfriend. Why?”

“Thank god.”

“Yeah, I know right? So, uh, how’s the date?”

No response came again, His roommate was seemingly distracted by whatever they were scrolling through on their phone but it was clear that they were purposely ignoring him.

“He-ey! I asked how the date was. Did something happen?” They were as timid as they were before. And like before, the unease in his gut grew.

“U-uhm, it was fine.” The man heard them murmur. Why were they so secretive? They seemed frazzled and they were doing that thing where they touched their cheeks to cover their face whenever they got warm because they were…flustered. Are they–? On that date, did they–? Did something happen like that between them and their date?

Unnoticed by his roommate, Guy’s eyes widened. The pain in his chest returned tenfold. This should’ve been a good thing. That means they had a great time. Why is he mad? Why does he get that sinking feeling? Why does he feel so spiteful about it?

“What, no juicy details? Oh, I get it. You’re keeping secrets from me! Not a kiss-and-tell typa person now, are we?”

Maybe it was stupid of him to prod, especially about the one thing that set this rollercoaster of confusing emotions in the first place. But he needs to know. What did they do? How was it? Did they like it— being with him instead of Guy?

They continued to ignore his lighthearted interrogations and Guy knew that he should’ve just dropped it at this point but something in him snapped all of a sudden. He isn’t sure if the agitation that built up had got to him but he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out his next words—harsher than intended.

“Hey, I'm not the selfish one over here who left me all alone inside at a weekend while they got to actually enjoy the night in some fancy restaurant or something. C’mon, spill!”

The lightness in his tone never left. In fact, to anyone else, it would’ve sounded like his usual playful nagging Both of them, however, noticed the shift in the direction of their conversation. (Since when was he one to provoke someone?) He’ll blame it on being in the heat of the moment for now. They understand he was just curious like that, right? All he was sure of was that he needed to know what happened. Why is he mad? Stop being mad. They didn’t do anything wrong.

He noticed their flinch far too late.

“I got stood up, Guy. Was that what you wanted to hear? Because, god forbid, I get to actually go out and do shit for myself!” The acidity of the way they said his name sent chills up to his spine. Their voice was eerily still, its coldness made Guy’s blood freeze. “Because I’m such a selfish asshole to enjoy things for once, right?”

“Oh.”

Oh fuck. He fucked up.

“Yeah, oh,” A dry chuckle left their quivering lips. “Can’t believe I fucking thought he would actually show up. Thought somebody wasn’t fucking around with me for once and I–” They abruptly stood up. The harsh scrape of the chair puts the whole room into an uncomfortable silence.

They weren’t flustered from the date, they were embarrassed. Humiliated. They had probably been waiting for that douchebag to show up only to receive false hope and pitying glances. And he just had to add insult to injury by being when he clearly should’ve just listened, should’ve stopped, should’ve comforted them. He can finally see the tears that began to stream down their face.

“It’s whatever. I’ll be in my room.”

“Fuck, I–I’m sorry. I didn’t know that he–”

But they had already slammed their bedroom door with a force that shook the place. Guy stayed sitting on the couch, all alone once more. Great, you just had to be a dick because of your stupid fucking…feelings about the thought of them spending their time with someone else!

He’s pathetic.

Here he was brooding over his roommate going out on a date only for whoever that moron was to throw away the fucking chance to spend time with them. But maybe he’s the bigger moron in this case. The guilt seeped into his bones and he felt them ache. What is going on with him? He was supposed to be there for them. To be a decent friend. But now, he just ruined their already shitty night more.

Truly pathetic.

His eyes darted to the last line he had typed on his laptop and he held his breath.

"The sea is a jealous being."

The lump in his throat became harder to swallow. He needs to make it up to them.

—

This is stupid. This is fucking stupid.

They should have never gone with it. They should have never accepted that asshole’s offer in the first place.

The faint sounds of an old TV series played from their phone, which had long been abandoned within patterned sheets, accompanied the figure that was currently trembling under the blankets. Stuttering, hiccuped gasps filled the room with a suffocating gloom. They think their hoarse throat couldn’t handle another broken sob to let out, having already cried every single last drop of their wallow out hours ago, their hot cheeks sticky from its tears.

It wasn’t like this was the first time something involving relationships didn’t work out with them. They were used to it. They should be used to it—being left out, avoided, and unwanted. (It’s just a stupid date, it wasn’t even meant to be serious. Why are you making it a big deal? Why are you so affected?)

Why are they so affected by this? What made them think they were all-so-suddenly desirable to someone? Why did they even think they had a shot at all this lovey-dovey shit in the first place?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. They’re shit with expressing their emotions and even shittier with dealing with them. Their outburst a while ago was a testament to that, shouting at Guy when he didn’t know any better. Maybe everything tonight was doomed from the start, then. They should’ve expected the hurt. Heartbreak was far from being a stranger to them at this point.

A tired groan came out of them again.

Tired. They’re so tired.

Hungry rumbles erupted from their stomach. Damn it. Thanks to their ‘date’, they weren’t able to eat. Fuck it. Waiting out until Guy’s in bed and sneaking out of their room to eat would probably be the best option. For now, they stay bundled in their bed—thoughts spiraling, head pounding, eyes swollen, and a heavy heart waiting for its pieces to be picked up again.

Then they’ll sleep it off like always. And then they’ll confront him about it, play it off like it’s another bad day so he’ll stop worrying because they know he will. Everything’s back to normal— they’ll apologize for the overreaction, he’ll joke about it and everybody goes on with their lives again.

Yeah. That could work.

Knock, knock!

“Hello?”

What the–? Ugh. For the love of–

“Hello? Roomie? You there?”

When they wanted to confront the roommate that they snapped at, they didn’t mean right now!

“What do you want, Guy?”

“Can you come out, please? It’s…important.”

They finally stood up from their blanket cocoon, hastily wiping the tears from their eyes to try and ‘shoo’ their roommate away. The door swung open, ready to put on their whole grumpy facade again. “Guy, I’m not really in the mood for–”

“Good evening, prestige customer! Your dinner awaits.”

What.

“Wha-- How did– When did you–?” Not giving any mind to Guy’s abominable impersonation of a British accent nor the messy scrawls of black ink on paper that vaguely resembles a mustache taped to his mouth, their eyes wander around the living room, confused and curious.

The atmosphere was completely different from the bleak apartment they had been enduring for months. Multicolored lights that they usually use for the holidays hung around the area, providing the dim room with enough light to give a dreamy ambiance. The small foldable table set they had for eating was moved to the middle, covered in what they remembered to be Guy’s freshly cleaned checkered blanket that they had just picked up from the laundry when they were doing errands.

On the table were some scented candles in mismatched glass containers, and two servings of a dish they couldn’t recognize. They even noticed faint jazzy music playing in the background to imitate the mood of a pretentiously lavish restaurant.

Overall, the decor clashed together horribly, yet despite that, they’d never seen the apartment so charming. The improvised set-up looks endearingly…cozy.

“Come, let me guide you to your table,” Guy, err, the waiter, dressed in a white longsleeved button-up and apron, led them to the center, pulling out a chair and tucking the napkin he had around the collar of their shirt. The man directed their attention to the ceramics containing what seemed to be their dinner this evening.

“Our main course that the chef has prepared for tonight is a creative twist of a classic European dish composed of a rich tomato-based sauce paired with a unique and innovative pasta shell shape, garnished with traditional Italian herbs and spices.” “Guy, that’s a bowl of SpagetthiOs with some dried basil sprinkled on top,”

“Shush! Don’t ruin the immersion. And I am not Guy! I’m a waiter! Ahem!” The totally legitimate server who is not their roommate coughed very un-fakely, before composing himself in a more very real professional stance (then again, that might actually be real, seeing that he also serves the tables at Max’s when he’s not out delivering).

“I believe your date has returned. A very dashing fellow if I do say so myself, consider yourself lucky!” Guy suddenly ducked down out of view (though they could very much see him all the same) removing the mustache and button-up to reveal a shirt with a tacky tuxedo print on it.

He stood up, fixed a few strands of his hair that stuck up from his sudden movement, and looked at the person in front of him with a beaming expression.

“Hey, honey! Just got back from the restroom. Wow! The food looks amazing!”

All ‘Honey’ could do was stare dumbfoundedly before covering their smiling mouth with a trembling hand. A small chuckle became a bemused giggle until eventually they were full-on belly-laughing.

“H-Honey? Really? Where did you even get that from? And what the hell are you w-wearing?” Their voice shook, unable to contain any semblance of composure. This whole situation felt like it was pulled straight from a rom-com.

Guy laughed with them as he sat down to his side of the table. “Oh, so you like it? The nickname…came to me naturally. Feel like it suits you a lot, seeing how sweet you are to me, right?”

Honey, huh? They wouldn’t mind him calling them that.

“Also, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I think I look the most classy I’ll ever be!”

“Well, I’m underdressed then.” Their laughter had died down, slowly processing everything going on, well, it made them want to cry. All of this, for them? It’s too much trouble to go through.

“Nah, you’re fine! And besides, you look pretty all the time—which by the way, is absolutely not fair! I’m supposed to be the hot roommate here!” He declared with a mock offended tone as he sassily put his hands on his hips. Honey hoped he wouldn’t notice how their cheeks burned at how casually he called them ‘pretty’, like it was second nature.

“Then again, I wouldn’t mind if you underdress some more, ehh–”

It was his comfortingly familiar lewd quips, something they didn’t realize they missed hearing, yet why did their eyes water instead? The sobs that they weren’t aware they had been keeping in broke their dam again. Their cheeks must’ve grown tired from their crying all night, but this time, these weren’t tears for some dickhead that ditched them.

The abrupt stop of laughter and panicked sputtering from Guy after hearing their croaky sniveling would have had Honey laughing if they weren’t already struggling to breathe from their convulsive crying. “Oh, fuck! Uh, okay, sorry! I’m sorry! Bad timing! I shouldn’t have joked–”

“No, no, Guy, I’m sorry I–” They let out a shaky breath. “Wh–why did you go through all the trouble for me? I-I snapped at you and I don’t–,” hands wildly gestured around their surroundings. “–deserve all of this! I don’t– I’m so sorry I–”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize. You deserve this, okay? If someone like Kayla gets to share a night with her boyfriend then you, out of all people, deserve to spend your weekend having a great time and I won’t let some jerk ruin that for you,” He looked at Honey in the eyes with a sincerity that involuntarily made them shiver.

It’s not often that Guy was this serious with them. It was only reserved for moments when it was late at night and their teasing and gossip turned into deeper talks about anything and everything. They forgot how intense the look in his pretty eyes could get, how it felt like he saw through them, through their very being.

“I’m…one of those jerks, too. I really shouldn’t have said those words to you. You’re not selfish or an asshole. Your date was the asshole for not showing up and that’s a reflection on him rather than yourself. I just sprouted out those stupid things because I was just…bitter that you had your own plans when I really didn’t have the right to be.” Among other things. He decided not to bring up the other messy emotional stuff in his head. It’s not what they need to hear right now. “I’m really sorry for pushing you. I…really hope that you can forgive me but I would understand if you won’t.”

“I forgive you, Guy. Thank you for… for all of this. It really means a lot.”

They shared a tender smile as they continued their chatting with their dinner. By the time they cleaned the dishes and put everything back in its original place, the pair plopped down on the soft cushions of their sofa. Guy shifted himself into a better position to face Honey.

“I’m surprisingly still not sleepy. What else do you wanna do for tonight?”

“Hm…Smash?”

“Honey! How scandalous! Take me out to dinner first! Oh, well technically, I already did, so I guess your wish is my command after all—Ow!”

“I meant the game, you freak!” --- THIS FIC TOOK SOOOOO LONG i was so close to giving it up BUT WE'RE HERE EYYYY also this was suppose to have a bonus scene but ehhhh idk where i was going with it rlly rlly hope you enjoyed ;--; i'm still not rlly happy with how i wrote this but there are some parts that i rlly like so i decided to post it HAHAHAHA feel free to give me feedback :DD and have a nc day/night!!

#redacted audio #redacted guy #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted honey #redacted fanfic #sten writes!#FINALLYYYYY #LIKE THIS TOOK SO LONG ITS NOT FUNNYYY #literally ruined my sleep sched BUT EYYY #i like the guy writing assignment part nyeheheh #haha get the title...bitter melon bc guy's bitter and green (with jealousy) hahahahha #thinking up the title took so long also i just thought that the word melon looks cute

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wasongo · 1 year ago

Text

I think I got a lot of new followers recently because twitter keeps going to shit. However, as you probably know I can't and don't post nsfw art here.

You can find my NSFW socials on my pinned post. I think a lot of people are hesitant to join platforms which aren't fully available to the public yet but if you'd like to keep up with my nsfw art I'd like to:

Urge you to visit my website and subscribe to my RSS feed for gallery updates!

Suggest you follow me on either Pillowfort or Cohost (18+).

In the last year I have started using PF and Cohost more than Mastodon, as they've implemented new features and their posting system is more in line with what I enjoy: robust tagging and filtering, ability to post MANY images, and readmores for long posts.

If you've been hesitant to join either of those platforms since you don't know what to expect here's a small-ish review of both purely from my experience as someone who: a) enjoys profile customization b) likes to have an organized art gallery that is filterable by tags.

This review is aimed at artists looking for NSFW spaces to post! UI screenshots might have suggestive terms and images. Proceed with caution.

Edit: Good grief tunglr, if you open this on the web dash the images aren't shown in the neat galleries I put them in to make the post shorter. Head on over to the permalink if you'd like a better looking post!

Let me just say that if you're looking for a review on more technical aspects of these platforms, like security and moderation policies. I'm not your guy. You'll have to look elsewhere for that. I'm focusing on QoL UI and community aspects.

Though both these platforms allow nsfw, please make sure to read their ToS/Community Guidelines for rules on what is and isn't allowed. Though as far as I'm aware they have pretty similar rules.

Pillowfort

Overview::

Pillowfort has more years under its belt being available to users than Cohost does, as such I THINK the artist/fandom userbase atm is larger, which means you might see more activity there. UI as of right now is very comfortable and the site runs pretty smoothly. Loading times are very decent. Posting is easy, though the image uploader is a little wonky (they are working on fixing this). You are able to create and manage communities based on interests or themes, which people can follow or join and all post in the same space. You can personalize your profile by adding images, links, and formatted text to your sidebar, as well as customize your own profile colors. Tag searches in my experience yield results of both art and aesthetic irl porn and gifs. If that's something you miss from ye olden tumblr days it might be worth a look.

Pros:

Posts have privacy options (everyone, logged in, followers, mutuals, only me)

Has a DM system

Posts have Commentable, Rebloggable, NSFW toggle

Can post MANY images on a single post

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging system

Robust filtering system: hide or click-through warning (by installing Tassel userscript only)

Customizable profile colors, Light/Dark mode for whole website

Communities you can follow/join for shared interests

You can filter posts on profile by tag

You can filter posts on profile by "original poster" or "reblog"

Cons:

wonky image uploader, cannot upload multiple images at once

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Search for terms with periods in them is currently broken (ex. "D.Gray-man" will not yield any search results)

Communities have few moderation features atm

Without Tassel installed the filtering system is pretty garbage atm (you can either show or hide nsfw or filtered tags completely, with no click-through warnings)

No multiple account/side blog feature yet

Some inline image formatting options are broken atm

Default endless scrolling

No progressive web app for mobile atm

For a more in depth explanation of PF's UI and features you can check out this official post.

Here are some images of the UI.

---

Cohost

Overview::

Cohost feels like it has a small artist/fandom userbase at the moment. However, to make up for that it has a pretty slick UI, it works great as a progressive web app on mobile, and it recently implemented an ASK system similar to tumblr's! Everything loads pretty quickly, and you can switch between your "latest posts" feed and your "bookmarked tags" feed. You can access your likes as a bookmark system, but as a whole "notes" and engagement numbers except for comments are not visible anywhere (this is wonderful for my personal mental health). It has a simple post editor and though the image uploader only allows 4 images that will load with lightbox, there's a workaround to upload MANY inline images if you want. The catch is you'll need to use a bit of markdown or html to do that. (more on that below) Though you can't personalize your profile colors, you can add personality to your page by making very cool pinned posts and adding images to your sidebar.

Pros:

Animated avatars! (listen i like having my animated komui icon)

You can make multiple "pages" (blogs) which function independently for comments/asks. switching between pages is effortless

Ask system, with anon toggle (you cannot reply privately atm tho)

2 Factor Authentication

Progressive web app for mobile works like a charm

You can preview your post before you post it

Posts have a NSFW toggle and you can save drafts

Can post MANY images in a single post (bit of a workaround as you'll need to upload your images to a draft first and then add them to a new post with some markdown or html code)

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging AND filtering system (show, click-through, hide completely), plus CW system to give your posts additional click through warnings you deem necessary

You can do incredibly cool things with HTML and inline CSS on your posts

You can filter posts on profile by tag, and you can have pinned tags

Toggles for hiding reblogs, replies, and asks on profiles

Paginated browsing instead of endless scrolling (things load faster)

No engagement numbers visible ANYWHERE

Cons:

Image uploader does not let you upload multiple images at once. Limit to 4 images (can upload more as inline images with code)

Advanced post formatting (ex. bold, italics, bullet list, inline images etc.) has to be done through markdown or html + css which is not the friendliest for those who don't know any code (there's a button for a markdown cheatsheet when you post tho!)

No dark mode, or customizing profile colors atm (however there are workarounds to changing site colors with Stylus extension)

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Cool things you can do with CSS on your posts might look very bad on mobile

Since you can do some crazy things with CSS on posts, you might come across eye straining visuals and movement on some posts. There are settings to tone this down, and people are pretty good about tagging things, so with some good filtering you should be able to avoid this however.

A little quieter on the artist/fandom front (but we can change that)

Here are some images of the UI.

If you made it to the end of this review thanks for giving it a look! If there's something vital you might want to know that I missed in regards to UI and posting features let me know and I will try to answer. But again, this is not a technical/security issues/bugs review so don't ask me about that.

Lastly, I've been seeing a handful of NSFW artists I follow on twitter hopping on bluesky. I REALLY suggest you do a little research on the owners and platform to see if you think joining is worthwhile, since I have a feeling many artists might not want their alternative to be a site owned by crypto advocates (and also a billionaire). Some basic research will get you there. Just take heed and use your best judgement. On that note Cohost is strictly against crypto (I'm guessing PF might be too but I don't have a link that I can point you to confirming this atm).

I believe community driven and supported platforms are the way to go. If you end up thinking either of these two places are worth your time, do consider getting your friends and favorite artists on board or supporting them! You'll get added perks on both platforms if you become a supporter. PF recently added the ability to have MULTIPLE AVATARS (PFPs I think they're called nowadays) which I think is super cool (i really miss that from LJ days).

Again, thanks for reading and I hope to see some of you there!

#pillowfort #cohost

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year ago

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About the whole "Fyodor-switch personality" thing: We don't have enough information to confirm whether it was real or fake right now, and besides, both possibilities are really interesting.

If the switch was real and Fyodor was lying to cover it up (...because 'you know characters can lie, right' could mean... this part of it was the lie too...), that could easily be made a reference to Dostoevsky's The Double, as I was kindly made aware of. We've also already had an image of a young woman who looks like Aya from potentially a long time ago, given the outfit and that it is Bram's memory we're presumably seeing there, which may tie in interestingly with "what year is it?" The knife he pulled out also is genuinely a unique design for the series, and looks like it might be an old make. If this original is very old, then something in the takeover of personalities may explain why he hasn't seemed to age. Fyodor being a separate personality created from his ability and kicking out the original could tie in with his ability not attacking him in Dead Apple. This also raises more questions about Fyodor's motives, and I think opens the path for some pretty fascinating theory making. It also places Fyodor as something both human and not... intriguing for the ongoing theme of humanity in the series.

If the switch was a fake and Fyodor was being a completely hilarious little shit (which, we know the Joker is part of his inspiration and he is often contrasted with Dazai, Nikolai, and Mori, for whom this kind of behaviour would be expected - it's characterization, that's not 'done for no reason'), it would quite possibly be the funniest thing he's done in the series so far. But! More importantly, it strengthens Fyodor's connection with the Book (or rather, with altering the narrative). He's told a lie that sounds completely ridiculous but makes sense given the world and situation he's in - and notably, could fool Sigma... and the readers. Fyodor also managed to change the lightness of his eyes without changing the state of his soul - something that no other character seems to be able to do. (I know Dazai can feign the shocked expression, but that's not the clear lightness we saw in Fyodor's eyes in this panel. Nikolai's eyes change lightness but that actually seems to be genuine.) While this doesn't help us discern anything more about Fyodor's motives, it does emphasize his expertise at information manipulation - we cannot trust a single thing this character says, not just in universe, but out of it too. We, the readers, cannot listen to Fyodor and take anything he says as supporting evidence for theories. If this is true - that's fascinating. The other characters will have to solve the mystery of this man completely indirectly, and so will we.

Of course, there is the secret third option: it was a lie mostly, but there is an element of truth to it somewhere, which is actually par for the course for BSD as a whole. It is very rare that a character turns out to be lying completely. The question then becomes "what part is true and how much is it true", which is also very compelling. This, personally, is what I'm ascribing to for now until new info comes up.

Anyways, the last thing I wanted to point out is that if it was genuine, then remember The Double was inspired by Hohol's works, and if it was a lie, then that is very similar to the bait-and-switch performances that Nikolai has done multiple times in the series. Either way, it implies some influence on Fyodor by Nikolai and of course vice versa, which probably means the return of the clown (finally!) and more focus on their dynamic, which is a funny thing to show Nikolai having apparently had influence on Fyodor (even if in more of a meta way) as he is actively trying to kill him right now.

Love wins/loses?

#i also kind of have my gripes about split identity storylines... but in the end i just want whatever happens to be #the most interesting story to tell with this character #we still know nothing about fyodor and certainly not enough to know how much we can take as truth or lies #bsd #bsd chapter 108 #bsd spoilers #bsd fyodor #fyolai #storyrambles

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ysmtttty · 4 months ago

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Red Ferrari

Chapter 4

Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car.

AO3 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

"You’re ignoring him for three days?" Cassian asked in disbelief, and Azriel regretted he had even told him.

"I'm not ignoring him, he hasn't texted me either," Azriel said, while Rhysand and Cassian looked at him as if he were an idiot. "What?" he asked irritably.

"You're an idiot," they replied in unison. They had ganged up on him.

"Dude organized a good date, according to your own words, and you're just ignoring him," Cassian said. "Believe me, in your scale of ratings, the word 'good' is a pretty damn high level. I don't understand what’s your problem."

"I don't have a problem," Azriel groaned, but by the look on his friends' faces, he realized that avoiding this conversation was not an option. After a short pause, he sighed. "Fine, I don't know what to say to him, okay?"

Rhysand and Cassian stared at him silently for a long time, making Azriel wish the ground could swallow him whole because why the hell was he, a grown ass man, feeling awkward like a teenager? Eris Vanserra was just a fling. Just a persistent client with whom they'd probably get laid and then go their separate ways, especially since he had even stopped coming by the workshop. Maybe after the date, Eris even decided he wasn't interested anymore.

Azriel mentally stopped himself. He wasn't at the age to doubt himself or overthink for others. If Eris lost interest, then it wasn't meant to be. Whatever, it happens. He didn't care at all.

"Invite him on a second date," Rhysand simply said when he caught Azriel's annoyed glance. "Don't look at me like that. You liked the first date, so you can go on a second. That's how relationships work."

"What do you know about relationships?" Azriel snorted, well aware of how complicated things were between Rhysand and his not-yet-girlfriend-but-definitely-not-just-a-friend.

"At least I'm not afraid to take a step because of a fear of commitment."

"I don't have that fear."

"You objectively have that fear," Cassian interjected into the conversation. Azriel threw an empty plastic water bottle at him, but the bastard dodged it just in time, ducking his head. "What? How many poor girls' hearts have you broken in the last four years because you 'weren't ready for a serious relationship'?"

"First of all, we discussed everything in advance so that they wouldn't have broken hearts from unmet expectations," Azriel began, frowning. He had no fear; he just had no need for a relationship. "Secondly, that doesn't mean I'm afraid."

He wasn't afraid. Why should he be afraid of a second date with Eris? What exactly should he hypothetically be afraid of? That Eris would lose interest in him? That's laughable, considering neither of them was planning anything serious. Azriel kept telling himself this, but there was something that was holding him back. A nasty little voice in his head that said he liked Eris. And he liked him too much for a one-time fling.

"I'll text him later," Azriel grumbled, mentally recalling how his phone had fallen on the tile floor this morning and now didn't work. Unfortunately, this meant he would have to buy a new one in the morning—some clients called and texted him directly because Amren had an annoying habit of ignoring calls when answering them was her direct job responsibility.

Cassian was distracted by messages on his phone, frowning and looking at the screen. "Nesta's car broke down," he said, scratching the back of his head. "They're not far from here, we need to help."

Azriel knew and respected Nesta Archeron. Having the patience to put up with Cassian and his daily romantic gestures was commendable. Even more commendable was her iron will and the constant refusals she gave Cassian. That's why Azriel was always ready to help Cassian bring her car to the workshop.

"You know what, I think it's time for me to go," Rhysand said, grabbing his jacket. "I have some business with the lawyers, I'll tell you later. You can close up the workshop yourselves, yeah?"

He made a quick, not-so-elegant exit, not wanting to interact with Nesta. Azriel just snorted, marveling at how much fear she instilled in his best friend. Meanwhile, Cassian was already searching for his car keys.

Half an hour later, they brought the car to the workshop. Along with Nesta, Elain, her sister, was there, dressed very nicely and clearly prepared for some event or something like that. Azriel nodded in greeting, and Elain smiled at him, waving slightly. Given that her sisters often hung around his two close friends, they crossed paths frequently, but they hadn't really talked much before.

"Need a ride?" Azriel offered. Elain looked at him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected the offer. "You seem nervous like you're late for something, and ordering a cab from here takes a long time, I know."

"Yeah, I actually do need to be at the restaurant already," she admitted, sighing and glancing at Nesta's broken car, which Cassian was already working on, while Nesta herself, arms crossed, watched him with an icy gaze, responding to yet another of his jokes. The car wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, especially with how those two bickered with each other.

"I was heading home anyway. Let's go, I'll give you a ride," he nodded toward his car.

"Thank you," Elain smiled, then ran over to Nesta, telling her how Azriel had agreed to help her. Nesta looked up at Azriel, as if assessing him for hidden intentions, but eventually nodded and hugged her sister goodbye, staying with Cassian by her car.

Elain gave the restaurant's address as she got into the car, and Azriel nodded, driving in the right direction. Within twenty minutes, they were there. Azriel decided to walk her inside, which he immediately regretted because, by some ridiculous coincidence, Eris fucking Vanserra was at that very restaurant. He couldn't have summoned him with his thoughts, could he?

Azriel just stood there, staring at him in surprise and catching the same look from Eris. Meanwhile, Elain walked further, smiling at her boyfriend.

"Elain," Lucien greeted her, approaching his girlfriend, kissing her, and smiling like an idiot.

"Hi," she smiled, then started rambling on the events of the last hour. "You won't believe how nervous I was. Nesta's car broke down right when we were on our way here, but her not-boyfriend's workshop was nearby. And while we were there, one of the mechanics, Cassian's friend, offered to give me a ride so I wouldn't have to wait for a taxi. His name is Azriel, by the way."

"Azriel?" Lucien raised an eyebrow, hearing the familiar name, and first glanced at the mechanic, then, not even hiding a sly grin, looked at Eris, who was still frozen in place. "Well, that was kind of him."

As Lucien shook Azriel's hand, thanking him for giving his girlfriend a ride, Elain looked around, noticing the strange atmosphere and sensing that she was the only one who didn't know what was going on. But Lucien put his hand on her lower back, leading her toward their table, his look saying, "I'll tell you everything!". Before disappearing from sight, Elain, of course, wished Eris and Azriel a good evening, thanking the latter once again for the ride.

Azriel mumbled "You're welcome," not even taking his eyes off Eris.

"Moonlighting as a taxi driver?" Eris said the first thing that came to mind as soon as they were alone in the restaurant lobby.

"Just gave a friend a ride," Azriel shrugged. "Don't be jealous," he added with a smirk.

"Oh, I was just about to make a scene," Eris chuckled. "Although I don't particularly envy Elain her ride in that piece of junk you call a car."

And he had doubted whether he should have called. Obviously, he had just forgotten what an asshole Eris was in conversation. Even if he'd been polite during their last talk at the bar. Even if he'd organized a surprisingly well-planned date where Azriel had actually felt comfortable. Even if...

To hell with it. Azriel mentally admitted that he should have called. Just a few minutes in Eris's company, and he needed some fresh air. He wanted to get away before his brain short-circuited again and he did or said something stupid. But as he turned to leave, Eris followed him. He probably just needed to get to the parking lot like Azriel, nothing more.

"About the whole week... I was busy," Azriel mumbled as they walked toward the parking lot, for some reason feeling obligated to explain himself to Eris. The pause dragged on for quite some time. "This... hell, this doesn't mean I was deliberately ghosting you, okay?"

Eris was almost at his car when Azriel quickened his pace and stood in front of him.

"I wanted to call," he said. "But my phone broke, and..."

"Azriel, we're not kids. You don't have to make up silly excuses to ditch me," Eris's voice was calm, but there was a hint of irritation. "But it would have been undeniably easier if you had just told me straight away that you weren't interested. It would have saved us this awkward conversation."

"It's not an excuse," Azriel ran a hand through his messy hair, feeling stupid. Even though the broken phone was true, and he couldn't have called today even if he'd wanted to, it hadn't been a problem yesterday or the day before.

Eris finally stopped, looking at him as if expecting some continuation. Azriel couldn't help but notice how Eris's gaze fell on his lips, lingering there for just a couple of moments before Eris looked up and continued to look into his eyes. And damn it, looking that hot just standing in some parking lot should be illegal.

Azriel honestly didn’t believe in fate and doubted that his meeting with Eris today was anything like that. However, something inside him screamed that this was his chance. There wouldn’t be another one like it. So, without giving himself another second to think, he did what he had wanted to do back at the bar.

“Damn you, Vanserra,” he muttered, pulling him by the collar and kissing him. To hell with it. He only lived once, so he might as well kiss a hot, rich bastard once.

Eris froze for a second, but then he kissed back, his hand tangling in dark locks. Azriel cupped his cheek, caressing Eris’s face with his calloused hand, while his tongue brushed against his. And damn, kissing Eris was better than anything Azriel had imagined.

“Is this your way of making amends?” Eris asked between kisses. Azriel shrugged.

“I have an even more interesting way that your ass will like.”

“My profession involves not trusting people until proof is provided.”

Azriel smirked and pushed him against the car, kissing him again and pressing against his body, feeling the hard muscles of his abs and shoulders even through the clothes. Eris’s free hand gripped his bicep while his tongue traced the edges of Azriel’s teeth.

After a while, Eris was the first to pull back, catching his breath.

“Let’s go to my place,” Eris said immediately.

“This time without any shitty ultimatums?” Azriel teased, unable to hold back a smirk. Eris just chuckled.

“Is that necessary?” he shrugged. “I can come up with another shitty ultimatum,” Eris leaned closer to his face, smirking. “I have a feeling you’re already in.”

Azriel rolled his eyes at his know-it-all tone and kissed him again, biting his lower lip.

“I need to move my car,” he said when he pulled back. “The parking here charges a ridiculous amount per hour.”

“Should I be worried that this is your subtle way of escaping?”

“Trust me, Eris, the last thing I want right now is to run away from you,” Azriel whispered before grabbing his car keys and heading to his Volvo, which was parked nearby.

Eris watched him as he drove out of the restaurant’s paid parking lot and moved the car to a free parking spot nearby. And the whole time, he thought about how deeply he had gotten himself into this. And this time, he had clearly gotten in too deep.

When Azriel returned, Eris handed him the keys and got into the passenger seat, giving him the address.

“We will go quickly,” Azriel warned, fastening his seatbelt and burning with impatience. Eris gestured for him to drive however he wanted, which was enough to give him the green light to press the gas pedal hard.

The Ferrari screeched with its summer tires unaccustomed to such maneuvers and lunged forward, seamlessly fitting into the only gap in the traffic.

“I think it’s dangerous to give you access to fast cars,” Eris said as the car was picking up speed instead of slowing down in the flow of traffic.

“And yet you do. For the third time, by the way,” Azriel shrugged, gripping the steering wheel tighter and overtaking the car in front.

They stopped at a traffic light. The red numbers slowly changed one after another while Azriel impatiently drummed his fingers on the wheel. His gaze kept returning to Eris, to those sharp features that looked even more predatory and angular in the dim light.

“You know, it’s good that you’re not wearing a seatbelt,” Azriel said as he grabbed his tie in his fist and pulled him in for a kiss.

Eris responded to the kiss immediately, deepening it and leaning closer to Azriel. Resting his hand on the driver’s seat for balance, he tilted his head toward his shoulder, letting Azriel lead, and felt Azriel’s strong fingers gripping his thigh.

Yes. It was good that he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Just perfect.

For a few moments, he lost himself in the sensations, completely focused on the kiss and the movements of Azriel’s hand, which first caressed his thigh and then slid higher to cover his erection through his pants.

“I had no doubt,” he smirked into the kiss.

“Revelation of the century,” Eris mumbled, biting his lip, and Azriel responded by tightening his grip on his member.

Not expecting such a reaction, Eris almost managed to stifle a short moan. Almost, because Azriel still heard it and smirked very smugly.

They were interrupted by the honk of the car behind them. It turned out the light had been green for a while, so Azriel reluctantly pulled away from Eris and pressed the gas pedal, wanting to reach their destination as quickly as possible.

Eris didn’t make the task easier, clearly as a form of revenge, running his hand up and down his thigh. Azriel gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. Every traffic light, every minor traffic jam led to more kisses and teasing. Azriel thought he might go insane by the end of the drive, and honestly, he really wanted to.

Eventually, he saw a residential complex ahead, turned into the parking lot, and parked in the first available spot. They got out of the car, and Azriel looked around with curiosity, noting the expensive cars everywhere, including a familiar Aston Martin, and possibly other cars of Eris scattered around the lot.

“Which floor?” Azriel asked as they entered the elevator.

“Penthouse,” Eris smirked, pressing the appropriate button while Azriel muttered “of course” under his breath.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Azriel found himself pressed against the cold mirrored surface. Eris’s hand rested on his chest, not allowing him to pull away, while he covered Azriel’s lips with his own once more. Azriel responded by sliding his hands down Eris’s back, placing them on his ass.

The elevator dinged as it arrived at their floor, opening its doors. They somehow made it into the apartment, stumbling, kissing, and touching each other. As soon as the hallway door closed behind them, they started hastily tearing each other’s clothes off. It was hurried and messy.

Jacket, blazer, tie, shirts – everything ended up on the floor, and it was unlikely to be moved from there before morning. Azriel buried his face in Eris’s neck, kissing, licking, and biting the tender skin. However, when his hands descended to Eris’s belt, he grabbed his wrists.

“Not so fast,” he said, pulling away.

“Of course,” Azriel huffed, raising his hands. “What next, are you going to insist on the third date rule?”

“I doubt we both have the patience for that,” Eris said. “Bar in the living room, ice in the fridge. Make yourself at home.”

Azriel watched as Eris walked toward the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm down. Which was very difficult considering how much the situation had aroused him.

A chance meeting and where did it lead him? Nevertheless, Azriel thanked all higher powers and all the aligning circumstances because right now he regretted nothing.

Walking through Eris’s spacious apartment, Azriel took in the surroundings. Minimalist interior, everything in strict order, every item in its rightful place – Azriel wouldn’t have been surprised if Eris measured everything with a ruler to the millimeter, as he seemed like a person who liked to keep everything under control, including the furniture.

The apartment still smelled of his cologne, which Azriel had already inhaled plenty of while kissing him in the parking lot, in the car, and in the elevator. And he liked the scent, he liked it to the point of dizziness. And apparently, he liked Eris too.

Azriel found glasses in the kitchen, scattering ice into them, and went to the living room. He could believe that this place was for sale, as there were so few personal items that it seemed the apartment was empty. Perhaps Eris just had a lot of real estate; with so many cars, why couldn’t he have multiple apartments? One for each day of the week. Azriel involuntarily chuckled at this thought.

He opened the bar, finding many bottles of different alcohol. Not that he knew much about anything more expensive than an average bottle of beer, so he grabbed whiskey at random. Whatever it was, if it cost as much as a kidney, it must be good.

The sound of water from the bathroom reached him, and Azriel opened the bottle of whiskey, looking out the panoramic windows. The view of the city from this height was magnificent.

However, there was something off-putting about the apartment, probably its uninhabitedness. The cold atmosphere, the lack of any hint of coziness or even that someone lived there. However who was he to judge such a home when his own apartment resembled a student dorm, always messy and chaotic because he often lacked the energy to clean it. And he only used it for two things – to eat and to sleep, and for that, any place would do.

“Whiskey?” came the voice from behind. Azriel turned and saw Eris standing before him in a home shirt and gray sweatpants, with wet hair and a damn smirk.

“Why are you dressed?” Azriel asked, watching as Eris lazily approached the counter where the second glass and bottle were, pouring himself whiskey. “If you’ve changed your mind, just say so.”

Azriel hoped he hadn’t changed his mind, but he would understand any decision. After all, he had ignored him for days and then spontaneously kissed him in the parking lot. Not the most romantic thing he had done in his life.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Eris shook his head, bringing the glass to his lips while Azriel’s gaze fixed on his Adam’s apple as he took a sip. “But I’m not eager to flaunt my ass in front of panoramic windows.”

“Do you think someone’s looking in through those windows?”

“Anything’s possible.”

Azriel set his glass on the counter, deciding to take a shower as well while Eris settled on the sofa, throwing an arm over the backrest.

“Don’t miss me,” Azriel said. Eris merely saluted him.

In the bathroom, Azriel involuntarily stopped in front of the huge mirror, where his reflection stared back at him—disheveled hair, several hickeys on his neck, lips swollen from kisses. He hadn’t seen himself like this in a long time. Just as he hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

Pulling himself away from his reflection, he turned on the hot water, stripping off his pants and socks, the only remaining items of clothing. The shower was quick, after which he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. It didn’t matter; he wasn’t planning on keeping either of them clothed for long anyway.

When he entered the living room, he noticed Eris’s gaze sliding over his body, from chest to legs, and he was perfectly fine with it. Especially when the amber eyes looked so predatory and hungry. Azriel smirked and sat down next to him, lifting his glass from the counter.

“To hot displays,” Eris said with a smirk, raising his glass and clinking it with Azriel’s.

“You’re a master of toasts,” Azriel laughed, taking a sip of whiskey. Surprisingly, the ice in his glass hadn’t melted while he was in the shower. Strange.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he should behave right now. His plan since the parking lot had been simple—arrive, have sex, maybe even in the hallway, then get to the bedroom and do it again. Get as many orgasms out of Eris as possible, and then leave to avoid an awkward morning conversation. Eris had ruined that plan from the start.

Eris had ruined his Friday plans in general when the only thing Azriel had planned was to head home, drink beer with frozen pizza, and watch TV with his fish. Or he might have felt like an aesthete and curled up with a book and a cup of tea. In any case, the evening was supposed to be spent alone. And then Eris appeared out of the blue. And showed up in that azure shirt that looked idiotically beautiful on him.

“Should I worry that you have changed your mind?” Eris joked, noticing his thoughtful expression. Azriel just shook his head, smiling.

“Oh no, someone asked for proof and I’m obligated to provide it,” he smirked, while Eris just rolled his eyes and muttered something about excessive self-confidence.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he put his glass back on the counter after finishing the whiskey. Eris quickly caught the signal, getting up from his place and leaving his glass next to Azriel’s.

“The bedroom is upstairs,” he said as Azriel stood up and followed him.

Somewhere midway up the stairs, Eris turned around for some reason, and damn, Azriel felt all his self-control fly out the window because he pulled him close by his shirt and kissed him again.

It was a miracle, or perhaps Eris had a well-honed skill for walking backward, that they didn’t fall as they ascended. They reached his bedroom just like that—kissing like crazy. Eris’s home shirt fell to the floor as soon as the bedroom door opened, and he didn’t mind.

Azriel quickly glanced around—the bedroom was spacious, the interior just as minimalist as the rest of the apartment, and god, that huge bed. So many indecent ideas had never crossed his mind before.

He pushed Eris in the chest, making him fall onto the black sheets. And damn it, Eris looked just magnificent on the black sheets with his red hair scattered chaotically, his snow-white skin covered in freckles. He looked hot without it, but this… This had to be illegal on a state level to look so hot.

Worse was that he knew how good he looked because the bastard threw his arms behind his head and smirked at Azriel while he shamelessly stared at him, trying to decide what to do first. Eris lifted a leg and with one motion tossed the towel onto the floor. And… well, okay, this time he was the breathless one. Azriel noticed it from the movement of his Adam's apple and his attempt to discreetly lick his lips.

“Like what you see?” he asked in the most self-satisfied manner possible.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Eris replied, and Azriel pulled off his pants and underwear, running his hands along the inner side of his thighs before one hand closed around his cock, making Eris exhale loudly.

“I know it’s a bit late to ask, but you do have…”

“Doubting that you carry a ‘fuck the lawyer’ kit with you, yes, I do have lube and condoms,” Eris said, nodding toward the nightstand. Azriel just nodded, removing his hand from Eris’s member, which elicited an almost disappointed sigh, and reached for the necessary shelf.

Finding everything he needed, he returned to Eris, who roughly grabbed him by the hair and pulled him in for another kiss. Eris’s hands slid over his muscles, first from his arms, then to his chest, and lower to his abs. Azriel explored his body as well, though soon it became hard to endure. Foreplay wasn’t really his thing, but he wanted to savor Eris. With Eris, he wanted something different from anything he had with others.

He opened the lube tube, squeezing it onto his fingers and settling between Eris’s legs, who, despite his bold appearance, still betrayed his nervousness. Azriel noticed it from the tense muscles, clenched jaw, and slightly apprehensive eyes, as if Eris didn’t know what to expect from him.

Azriel kept his thoughts to himself, instead biting the skin of his inner thigh while his fingers slid between his buttocks. Leaving marks on the skin, he inserted a finger, watching as Eris closed his eyes, turning his head to the side. Fuck, Azriel wanted to devour him.

He squeezed a firm butt cheek with his free hand, added a second finger, and pushed both in up to the knuckles, closely monitoring the reaction. It pleased him: Eris gasped for air, closed his eyes, and moved toward his hand, and when Azriel found his prostate and pressed on it, he groaned and cursed, gripping the sheets with both hands.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Azriel whispered as he continued rhythmically thrusting his fingers, adding the third one.

“I fucking hate you,” Eris replied without a real bite, tilting his head back on the pillows. Like hell will he ever show what his praise just did to him. Azriel just laughed. He worked him open, then gently withdrew his fingers, and opened the condom package. And the bastard just had to open the package with his teeth, so crude and on display, that it involuntarily captivated Eris.

“So no kink for praise?” he teased while rolling the condom onto himself. Eris glared at him.

“I swear, if you don’t…” His words were cut off as Azriel pushed inside, making his breath hitch. Slowly, then stopping, giving Eris time to adjust.

Azriel wanted Eris intensely. To the point of pain. He wanted to fuck him, slam him into the mattress, do everything he had never allowed himself with any partner before.

Yes, rough sex wasn’t rare for him, but even so, he had never allowed himself to completely let go, to give himself a bright green light, even if the partner said they wanted it. With Eris, Azriel wanted to release all his possible dark demons and go wild, without a second thought. And he felt like Eris wanted that too.

“Azriel,” Eris moaned his name as Azriel began to move, still slowly, gradually picking up speed. “Don’t hold back.”

Those words were a switch in Azriel’s head. Like a toggle.

“You asked for it,” he hissed before tossing one of Eris’s long legs onto his shoulder and thrusting deeply into him, savoring the sound of his moan in response.

Watching Eris’s reaction, Azriel established a firmer pace—fast and deep, his hands gripping his thighs, surely leaving bruises. And Eris moaned in response, arching his back and biting his knuckles, trying to stifle the sounds escaping his mouth.

Azriel moved his hands from his thighs to his arms, pulling them away from Eris’s face and pinning them above his head.

“I’d prefer to hear you,” he said, giving another sharp thrust.

“I’d prefer less manhandling,” Eris hissed, exhaling sharply.

“Liar,” Azriel smirked and only quickened the pace, making Eris gasp for air and slide his back against the bed with each new thrust.

Azriel leaned in, burying his face in Eris’s neck, kissing, biting the skin, leaving hickeys and teeth marks, moving with short kisses and bites along the collarbones, and unable to pull away, braced himself on his elbows, rhythmically thrusting him into the bed and enjoying the sounds Eris made, trying to be quieter and failing each time. If it were possible, Azriel would have stopped the world at that moment, stayed like that forever.

“A-Azriel,” Eris moaned, almost whining, on the edge of orgasm. And damn, Azriel thought he could come just from the sight of Eris.

He released Eris’s hands, and Eris clung to his back with his hands, scratching possibly even intentionally, while Azriel covered his cock with his hand, giving a few more thrusts before Eris came. After a few more thrusts, Azriel came too with a quiet groan and then collapsed onto the mattress next to Eris.

“And you didn’t want to go on a date with me,” Eris smiled, panting.

“If I had known, I would have definitely agreed sooner,” Azriel replied, also breathing heavily and removing the condom.

“At least you provided all proofs.”

“Not all of it,” Azriel smirked, and Eris smirked back at him. Well, the night was still young.

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos

#eris vanserra #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azris #azris fanfiction #azris supremacy #azriel #modernau

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