#rns angst prompts

[silverskye13]

Enemy caretaker, but Wels helping Tanguish this time!

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

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

{This wasn't about Helsknight.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{Just be done with it.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

... A monster.

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

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

"Can you stand?"

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

"I said, can you stand?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then stop staring at me like that."

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, Tanguish nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then what?"

{... Then what?}

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you serious right now?"

Tanguish blinked at him.

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

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

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

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

"Coward."

"Obviously."

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

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

Welsknight tried a different tactic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do."

"Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you love the sun?" Tanguish asked.

Welsknight blinked, perplexed. "What?"

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

"That's a stupid question."

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

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

"Do you want them to?"

"No."

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

"I would be."

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

Welsknight hesitated. "I don't know."

"Would you ask them to."

"No."

"You're certain?"

"I get it."

Tanguish had the audacity to raise an eyebrow at him.

"I get your point."

"You don't."

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

"Have you ever wanted to die?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tanguish's expression twitched, something like irony.

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

Tanguish swallowed.

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

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

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

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

They sat in silence for a moment.

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

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

Everyone deserved the sun.

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

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

He left.

[eph3merall]

goin back to my roots with some toxic!matt angst . . .

it wasn't his fault. matt was set, mind made up that he wasn't the bad guy in the situation here. he doesn't get why his heart thumps heavily in his chest, seeming as if it's weighing him down and rendering him speechless when you yell and scream and cry at him.

"you're so fucking ridiculous, you know? god, and— and to think i actually thought you liked me," it was another argument between the two of you. it's unclear how it started though, you aren't sure what happened for the match to be thrown into the puddle of gasoline.

well, maybe because he started up smoking again. the frequent smell of weed lingered on his clothes, burning your nostrils whenever you just happened to get a whiff. he's aware of your dislike for it, so he stopped when you two 'got together', if it could even be called that.

matt's fingers twitch at his side, itching to dig into the pockets of his jeans where he can feel the weight of his lighter sitting and a pre rolled joint chris had handed him earlier. his jaw ticks at your contant rambling and yelling, much of the words unable to get through the buzzing in his ears he didn't even realize was there.

he's just glad you aren't aware of the girl he fucked last night—nate and chris having dragged him to a party where he just got a little wasted and met a pretty girl with a sultry smile. plus, she was giving him bedroom eyes the minute he walked in.. how could he resist that?

"matt, you just— you never fucking learn do you? you're ridiculous, i'm so done," those words seemed to get through his thick skull however, blue eyes blinking at you as a scoff passes under his breath. leaving him? yeah, okay, that's fucking funny.

he knows what to do to get you crawling back anyways. you always come back, it was a given. if he wasn't able to convince you for another chance, he didn't have to worry at all since you'd be back in no time teary-eyed and sniffly. you were like a damn puppy, instinctively padding back with your tail between your legs.

maybe matt did feel a little bad. it's why he let you go for now, let you cry it out to your girlfriends who he knows will come for his ass again soon enough.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[keyotosprompts]

you see me like a ufo (that's like never)

angsty assorted relationship prompts (platonic and romantic)

⇴ person a and person b have two different dynamics. person a needs constant attention while person b can go weeks without talking to someone.

⇴ ^^ "we–i can't do this anymore. sometimes, i really need you, and you're just not there."

⇴ person a tries their hardest to reach out to person b, but person b barely ever responds. person a leaves person b for other people, and person b is deeply hurt.

⇴ ^^ "you replaced me! do you have any idea how that feels?" "i never replaced you. you meant the world to me! but that was never reciprocated! the phone works both ways."

⇴ person b desperately wants to see person a again, but their relationship has long tarnished and person b thinks that person a probably doesn't want to see them ever again

⇴ person a and person b have stopped talking for a long time, but some of person b's belongings are still at person a's house.

⇴ "it didn't work out between us." "are you sure that's all?"

⇴ "i'm tired. i'm tired of this relationship and i'm tired of being the one who is continuously trying. i give up."

⇴ person a caves and lets person b back into their life, knowing exactly what happened last time.

⇴ person b desperately wants to get closer to person a, except person a only gives out minuscule details about themselves. this makes it much more frustrating when the two of them argue.

⇴ ^^ "how are you going to ask me to understand you when i don't even know you?!" "what."

⇴ person a not being good with people, and person b expects a lot out of them and the relationship. person a is easily overwhelmed but too nervous to express this with b, until it finally comes up one day.

⇴ person a is too attached while person b cuts off people too easily. person b cuts off person a randomly, and person a is left wondering what they did wrong.

⇴ "what did i ever do to you? why did you leave?"

⇴ "we don't work together. there's not a single universe where we would make it as a couple, and i think that you need to accept that."

⇴ "i want you back." "you need self-control."

⇴ person a always comes back to person b when they have no one left. person b feels bad for person a, and always welcomes them back in. person b knows there's no chance for anything to happen between them.

⇴ "i have to go, i can't stay." "i know." "then why did you ask." "just... i wanted to see you one last time."

[chorusofcrows]

FOUR.

"I love you."

Villain scoffed, "No, you don't. You're drunk."

Hero steped forward, trying to take Villain's hands in their own. They were brushed off, "I do." they insisted.

Villain sighed, "You don't even know what that word means."

"I do." Hero protested.

Two 'I do's, you may kiss the bride.

Villain shook off the joke.

If they were anyone else, if their situation with Hero was anything else, perhaps it would actually work. They could be domestic, cuddles, binge-watching Modern Marvel's re-runs, dates, hand-holding.

But they weren't and it wasn't.

"Do you even know what this-" Villain gestured between the two of them, "-means? What you- your feelings mean?"

Hero frowned, "It's not wrong to feel this way."

"I didn't say that." Villain wished Hero never told them this. Villain could live with the ignorance and the dancing around the bush, the flirting, the snarky comments, "It's wrong to feel this way about me."

Hero's voice, despite being intoxicated, was certain, "Do you think yourself undeserving of love?"

Villain laughed at that. A paniced, insane, broken, hurt laugh they didn't know they had, "I don't want you." A lie.

Hero smiled softly, "That's okay. I just wanted you to know."

Well, did Hero, perfect, warm, gold, and special Hero ever wonder if Villain wanted to know? No, they were selfish and egotistical and sacrificing and perfect and pretty and put people before themselves.

Just above a whisper, Villain said, "You deserve someone better."

Hero's grin faltered, "So you do think yourself undeserving."

Villain chose to stare past Hero, instead of meeting their eyes, "I think that you shouldn't waste your time on someone who thrives on everything being the same. Someone who can't bring themself to care for you the way you deserve to be cared for."

"Well, self-awareness is a great start" the charming, beautiful smile was back. It was blinding.

"How much have you had to drink?" Villain said instead.

Hero's smile was sad, "I don't want to forget tonight."

"I rejected your advances."

"It's okay. I just wanted you to know that I love you."

Villain took a step away from Hero, avoiding their gaze, on the bridge of breaking down, "Please, stop saying that."

Hero smiled still.

Villain hated change.

[magicicephoenix]

Nostalgia - The Ink Demonth 2024 (Day 1)

If you close your eyes, you can pretend he’s really there.

[justaz]

s1ep13 merlin, believing he will be dead by morning, goes to say goodbye to arthur and he leans against the door of arthur’s chambers and watches the glow of the fire light his skin golden, full of color and life that it had been sorely lacking while the prince was injured. he stares at the softness of arthur’s features and pressed the line of his profile into memory for while he passes he will wish for nothing more than to see arthur one last time, his smile and blue eyes one last comfort before he passes on to the otherworld. arthur turns to stare at him and frowns at whatever expression merlin is making. the prince kicks a weak foot out at the chair next to him and motions for merlin to join him. merlin slowly shuffles over but ignores the chair completely. he stops in front of arthur who watches him with wary confusion. the tug of his lips and the furrow of his brow sickeningly endearing and merlin allows himself to be selfish and leans down to press his lips to arthur’s.

the prince is sat frozen under merlin’s touch but he can’t find himself to care much about that, not when he finally knows what it feels like to kiss arthur. he hopes that will be his last sensation before the ever consuming nothing, he hopes he will close his eyes one last time only to find arthur grinning at him and calling him an idiot before leading him into paradise where he can watch arthur smile, hear him laugh, and feel his touch for all eternity. he pulls away and leaves before arthur can gather himself to form a response, dropping the letter explaining everything on the table as he passes. so he allows himself to be selfish twice - to take from arthur and to give, to let himself know what is feels to kiss the man, to embrace his feelings for him, and to have the man know him for who he truly is. he wishes to pass peacefully with no regrets. somehow that revolves entirely around arthur.

only…he survives the whole ordeal and yeah has a gnarly scar on his chest but is otherwise fit to return to his duties. which include taking care of the prince. of arthur. who he kissed. and who most definitely know about his magic by now. yeesh.

[myymi]

i wanna write smthn with knuckles and tails so badly but for the life of me i cant think of anything to actually write

[thefollow-spot]

"Untitled" (Idol)

Merlin & Arthur ● General Audiences ● WC: 200 ● No Warnings // Written for @merlinmicrofic 2024, for the prompt 'Sunlight'.

---

[hypewinter]

You know, we see a lot of Danny absolutely wrecking the Joker but what if he didn't? What if what happened with Freakshow still lingers? What if Danny post adoption is absolutely terrified of this clown and Joker seeing that this boy has a worse reaction to him compared to most people and eats it up?

I wanna see a Joker who makes it his life mission to traumatize the newest Wayne. A batfam who's terrified the Clown Prince of Crime will hurt yet another family member. A Danny who sees Joker and instantly thinks of what might happen if he loses control again. Of who he might hurt this time.

[depressedgaywriting]

43

"You're a bad person." Hero whispered.

"So are you." Villain said softly, pressing their face into Hero's hair. "It's neither of our faults."

Hero let their face drift closer to the Villain's neck. They wanted to feel again, so badly. They wanted to throw themselves against them, to fall from their tightrope and just feel the exhilaration of anything other than endlessly balancing. "Villain, please."

Villain hummed into their hair. "You can step back." they said, bending so their lips brushed Hero's ear. "If you like."

Hero felt like they were going to collapse. They might have preferred that, to put some distance between themselves and Villain. "Villain..." They were almost ashamed of how breathy their voice came out sounding. "Please."

"I can leave if you want." they whispered, pulling back to let their eyes meet Hero's. "Just say the word."

Hero let their head fall to rest on Villain's shoulder. "Don't be cruel." They closed their eyes, savouring every breath they took.

"What was that, my love?" Their hands were soft on Hero's waist, holding them carefully, as if they were made of glass.

"I'm yours." they whispered. There was a sort of relief to saying it out loud, even if they felt like their voice was going to shatter with the weight of it. "So please," they drew in a shuddering breath, "don't be cruel."

[writinggremlin]

How's about a whumpee who desires pain?

A whumpee who wants to be stressed and panicked and hurt. Everything's been too good for too long, and maybe that frustrates them a little bit.

Why do they feel this way? They don't know. All they do know, is that that risky and/or hurtful scenario is looking quite tempting.

If nobody's going to make them worse, they'll do it themself.

[nullsleepy]

Hero to None, Savior to All

Maribat BioDad!Batman

“Oh, like you’re any better, father! Or should I say Batman?” Ladybug whirled around, staring the man in the eyes.

“Mari, I-” Bruce kept his face blank, looking down at her. What was she doing? Playing hero?

“Oh don’t ‘Mari’ me! I am, and will always be, Marinette DUPAIN-CHENG to you, Wayne!” She spat at him, taking a step forward towards him.

“Marinette…”

“I am the LADYBUG, savior of Paris, savior of France, savior of this entire FUCKING WORLD! And you think you can just show up and change that?” Marinette heaved, rage burning in her eyes.

“Ma-”

“OH DON'T YOU INTERRUPT ME NOW, MR WAYNE! YOU’VE HAD FIFTEEN YEARS TO SPEAK UP SO IT’S MY TURN!” She snarled, her mouth straining at the ends from how wide she had to open her mouth to scream.

“…” Bruce swallowed, facing the girl. He could hear the pain in her voice.

“I have tried, AND TRIED, to reach out to you, to anyone! But none of you supposed heroes want to get your heads out of your asses long enough to listen! So I did your job, every single one of you all’s job, and SAVED THIS PLANET, THIS GALAXY! HELL, I’VE SAVED THIS TIMELINE MORE TIMES THAN YOU’VE BREATHED IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE THREE TIMES OVER!” Tears streamed down Marinette’s face, leaving red ugly lines when she wiped them away. “So go ahead, tell me what I’ve done wrong! Tell me I’m just a kid in an adult’s costume! Won’t be the first time I’ve heard, nor will it be the last! But you will not erase all of the pain my citizens have gone through, nor will you erase everything I’ve done! I am Marinette FUCKING Dupain-Cheng, savior of all that exist and don’t exist! I am the champion of PARIS!”

“….” Bruce’s eyes softened, watching the trembling girl- no, the trembling hero. Her stare told stories of tragic losses and unwavering pain. She wasn’t a kid, no, she had long since lost that title. She was someone who had faced more than anyone could handle, but here she was, still standing. She was a symbol of hope.

“WELL? Is that all you got to say now? ‘Cuz you were quite chatty EARLIER!” Marinette pointed a finger at the man, stabbing at his chest. She was breathing heavily, anger the only thing filling her movements.

“…..” He lowered his gaze, unable to stand looking at the once child. Reaching forward, he took hold of her hand.

“Oi! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU-” Bruce yanked her forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “LET GO!”

“….” Bruce held her tighter, silently crying his own tears for her.

“I SAID LET GO! LET GO OF ME!” She struggled against his hold, slamming her fists against his shoulders.

“LET GO!” She continued, using every last bit of strength she had left to try to claw out of his hold. “I SAID LET GO.. let go of me…let.. go..”

Marinette could feel as her body went limp, weighing down heavily on her very bones. Her strength left her completely, her muscles going slack. She couldn’t even control her tears from staining her face.

“…et go…” Her eyelids grew heavy as her legs shook, giving way to the weight of her body. All she could hear was her own whimpers as everything blurred together.

As her eyes closed, a pink splash of light over took her body, leaving her in her civilian clothes. Bruce looked over the unconscious body of his daughter, able to see the scars covering her body more clearly. He didn’t even hold back his small gasp at her injuries. His little girl… could he even call her that anymore? She was so different from before, from the pictures and videos he was sent. She was so small, but so large. She had the presence of someone who would do anything to save those she loved. She was…

His little girl was a hero.

[yourfavecharacterisqueer]

“Merlin. I'll have your favorite meal waiting for you. Now go. Look after him. Go.” He had failed Gaius, failed everything he was taught by his mentor, failed his destiny. He let Arthur die, he didn’t stop it, he didn’t heal him.

Gaius walked around the room, the bowl on the table that he had placed three days ago still there. He knew Merlin wasn’t going to come back, it had been approximately a day since Arthur’s death, he knew he not only wouldn’t go back but also couldn’t go back.

Three weeks later, he woke up in the middle of the night to hear sniffling and muffled screaming coming from the room behind him. He opened the door to the room and saw his ward, except he had three evident grey streaks amongst his black-brown hair. He knew exactly what the far younger man was going to say, just from his hair and the way that he clearly had been crying and hadn’t stopped crying.

“Arthur’s dead. I’ve been in Ealdor since he died. Hiding from Camelot, hiding from Gwen, hiding from you, hiding from the truth…” He looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes to stop himself from crying and looking at the older man. “I failed him, Gaius.”

“Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry. I really am.” He stroked his hair and wrapped his arms around him in a hug, stroking his back. “I’m sorry you felt you need to hide…”

[acer-whumpstuff]

Robot whumpee needs to evacuate an area

But they’re not finished charging yet

[masterkohgaiscool]

Warning: this is Cann!balism Angst prompt with one of my fav fictional pairings

I'm gonna need one heaping cup of Leshycat angst fanfic where Leshy, being the chaotic hungry worm guy he is, consumes Yellow Cat in the same fashion as Riz eating Tem from Beastars. BOTH POVs. In Leshy's POV it's romantic and a beautiful display of their relationship, the ultimate show of love and acceptance from YC as they readily allow him to feast. From YC's POV, they're terrified and scared, but knows that their fate is inevitable. It's bitter. The trust they shared with Leshy was shattered the moment he succumbed to corruption and his old ways after endless attempts to better himself.

God I NEEEEED that angst PRETTY PLEASE WITH A CHERRY ON TOP POOKIES. I will offer Leshycat fluff in return since I'm better at writing that than angst xd or even doodle it but god I am HUNGRY.

[sheikahwarriork]

Got a prompt for you

Dimileth Post-Timeskip pre-Gronder unplanned pregnancy

(thank you so much anon, i had so much fun writing this!! hope you enjoy it too :3 <3)

wordcount: 1.2k

“Fuck!”

“… Fuck indeed”.

Byleth looked up at Mercedes, biting her lips. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”

Mercedes sighed, visibly worried for her professor. “I think… you should at least tell him, professor. The final choice is entirely yours, of course, but he has to know”. She hesitated. “He needs to know”.

Byleth lowered her gaze. “Sadly, I think you’re right”.

The former mercenary was standing in front of the Cathedral, unable to step inside. She caressed her belly almost unconsciously. ‘You’re not a mistake. I just… I'd rather prefer you not to meet your father when he’s… like that’.

The belly didn’t respond.

Byleth was angry. Furious. She had never felt such rage, not even to Kronya the day Jeralt died. And the worst part? She didn’t even know who exactly this rage was for. Herself? Maybe. Destiny? Not exactly; destiny was Sothis, and Sothis was long gone. Him? Well, yes, of course; but not only. Biology? That one, too. Maybe especially it.

Byleth’s gaze wandered inside the Cathedral, immediately recognizing his figure, standing in front of the old Goddess statue, as he did every single fucking day since they reunited.

Okay, maybe that anger was totally for Dimitri. What did he do, since she woke up, since she found him? Kill, talk to the dead; kill, argue with Byleth; kill; and kiss her. He kissed her. He fucking kissed her. That damn bastard, who once was so afraid of his feelings he even took back his love confession, had the gall to grab her and kiss her like she was water and he was lost in a desert. He kissed her at the worst time possible because she had waited for it for so long, and that wasn’t the right time. She had kissed him back. Byleth missed her Dimitri; missed the sweet prince, missed the caring student, missed her kind friend. She shouldn’t have kissed him back. She should have scolded him, have stepped back. That… that wasn’t her Dimitri. Her lips weren’t for that… not-Dimitri. She should have gone away. She hadn’t, of course, because when Dimitri’s hungry lips captured hers, she felt… desire. Longing. Fire; a burning sensation she thought would kill her instantly. It hadn’t. She indulged in the fire, she lost herself in that fire. She was fire; she had been since the beginning.

Byleth shook her head; it was pointless to think about… that. What is done is done.

She stepped inside the Cathedral; he didn’t turn to her, his shoulders startled slightly, the only sign he noticed her presence.

Oh, the anger was back. Like a tsunami. “Oi, asshole!” Byleth shouted, unable to stop herself. “I have something important to tell you, so at least, look at me”.

Dimitri hesitated for a moment, but apparently something in Byleth’s tone caught his curiosity, since he did turn to her. He just shot her a vague questioning glare.

Byleth sighed. She thought about the advice Mercedes gave her, about what to tell him, how to tell him—

“I’m pregnant”.

It didn’t go exactly as planned.

Dimitri’s eyes widened, the hand holding Areadbhar twitched. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her for forty seconds straight.

“… Who”, he eventually said.

Byleth furrowed. “What?!”

“Who dared touch you”, Dimitri growled, his voice raising in tone.

Byleth blinked a few times. “What the hell do you mean”.

Dimitri was getting closer; he stopped a few inches from Byleth’s face.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill whoever dared to touch you, no, whoever dares to even look at you—”

‘Oh… oh heavens, no. He can’t be that dumb, can he?’

“What are you talking about?”

“… The baby’s father, of course”, he hissed, visibly annoyed. “Who is he”. Dimitri looked away, almost as if he was unable to hold her gaze. Almost as if he feared the answer.

‘Oh. He is that dumb’.

“Who do you think he is?” Byleth asked, almost casually. He was going to pay for his dumbness, and she deserved some fun.

Dimitri turned to her, anger in his eyes. “Don’t tease me, you! Tell me who dared touch my—”

“‘Your’ what? Am I yours now?” Byleth interrupted him, folding her arms, holding his gaze.

Dimitri gasped and fell silent. Byleth, still looking him in the eye, grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly.

“This is yours. This— is ours”. ‘You dumbass’, she also thought, but decided to keep it to herself.

Dimitri’s eyes went from their joined hands to her face, looking at her in disbelief.

“Keep in mind—I’m not asking you for help or… or opinions. I don’t need them and don’t care about them. I’m just telling you because you have the right to know—”

Byleth stopped talking when Dimitri suddenly dropped to his knees, their joined hands still placed on Byleth’s belly. It took her a few seconds to notice he was sobbing. Desperately sobbing.

“I’m sorry”, Dimitri was mumbling. “I’m so sorry”.

Yes, Byleth was generally angry with him, but she didn’t hate him. Quite the opposite, in fact. That’s why she yielded and took his face in her hands, looking at him. “Why are you apologizing, Dimitri?” she asked softly.

Dimitri startled, as he did every time Byleth called him by his name. He tried to turn away, but Byleth kept holding him, looking him in the eye. “Answer me”, she demanded.

“I…” Dimitri gasped, searching for words. “Your… child… deserves a better father. A better person. All I know how to do is kill… I have to… They… are telling me this is wrong; I do not have the right—”

“Dimitri”, Byleth interrupted firmly. “A soon-to-be-human is growing inside me. A child will be born. I will be their mother, you will be their father. Now, tell me. Who is more important? The long-gone ones, or the coming ones? Who do you want to dedicate your life to? What, who does your life belong to?”

Dimitri’s eyes were shut, tears along his cheeks. “I… want… it to be yours. Both of you”. His eyes opened. “But, tell me, professor... Please, Byleth, tell me... How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I... How do I save them? Ever since that day nine years ago... I have lived only to avenge the fallen… How could I be a fitting father for a small creature if I can’t even please those that are already here…”

“Those are not here, Dimitri”, Byleth whispered, her forehead touching his. “But I’m here, and they… they will be soon”, she added, bringing his hand back to her belly. “You just need to choose. Not necessarily now. I’ll… wait for you; I’ll always wait for you.” Her vision was blurred. Was she crying too? ‘I miss you, Dimitri. I miss you so much. Please, don’t leave me alone anymore…’

She would wait until the end of time, if needed, to have a glimpse of her Dimitri back. She knew it, and it hurt. Because she was aware she’d never stop loving him. And, sometimes, to love means to wait. And, often, waiting is painful.

Lost in her tears, she didn’t immediately notice Dimitri’s hands softly caressing her cheeks. When she did, she opened her eyes to meet Dimitri’s resolute gaze. “And I’ll always choose you, my beloved.”