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tampire · 2 months
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Lara Croft in Tomb Raider / Crowley in Good Omens + Shooting with guns while wearing sunglasses
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deadeery · 6 months
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cheers for zoro !!!!!🍻
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The Revenant Wife
Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of grief and death. 
Summary: Ellie knows very little of Joel and even less of the wife he had before the outbreak. When she finally meets you, its just as much as shock to her as it is to your husband. 
Word count: 1.6k
Note: ficlet is based off of this previous post about Joel getting separated from his wife during the outbreak and assuming you died until you find one another years later. Reader is described to look like Sarah. Title came from the ever lovely @djarin-junk​ <3
Tagging those I think would enjoy: @pedrostories​ @thesadvampire​ @joel-mlller @softanon​ @max--phillips​ @captainsamwlsn​ @hooplahoopla​ @moondirti​ 
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Ellie didn’t know that Joel had a wife. 
Granted, she didn’t know much about his old life at all. 
She knew he built things. That he had a brother named Tommy and a daughter named Sarah, but didn’t like to talk about the latter that much. In one fleeting conversation, full of mumbles as her eyes began to close while they rested under the night sky she heard him mention you but was far too gone to truly hear what he said. Nothing more than the vague rumble of his voice saying “my wife” before her eyes opened once more. 
“You’re married?”
She asks with such incredulous shock it sounds more like “somebody married you?” but girls at her age hardly ever have filters. 
“I was.” 
There’s the same bristle in his throat and far off look in his eyes as when she first asked about his daughter. An open answer but one that carries enough unsaid to tell Ellie of your fate. To warn her that she should change the subject or simply shut her mouth and go to sleep before plucking his raw nerve one too many times until he snaps- 
“What was she like?” 
But Joel learned early on that Ellie wasn’t one to follow warnings. 
“Kind.” His breath stutters. “But not a pushover- she didn’t take shit from anybody.” He stares up at the sky, feeling his chest grow tight and fingers twitch by his side until there’s a rustling, the girl next to him rolling over to face him and he turns to find Ellie peeking out from her sleeping bag with a smile. 
Damn this girl. 
“Not even from you?” 
Joel scoffs. “Especially from me. The amount of times she gave me and Tommy and earful-” he shakes his head, Ellie watches a smile grow on his face in silence, as if worried she may frighten it away. 
“Did she cook?” 
Ellie thinks of the stories the older kids would tell her. The ones who remembered life before the Outbreak, who told her of freshly baked pies on weekend and fluffy pancakes in the morning. 
Joel remembers the first time you tried to bake him a cake for his birthday back when he was sixteen. How he opened the door to your forlorn face and a store bought sheet cake in your hands because as your mother told him over the phone, you damn near burned the whole house down trying to bake for him as a surprise. 
“From time to time.” 
There was only so much she could get out of him before his voice became clipped and eyes full of an emotion she didn’t quite know the name of that he told her to get some rest. Leaving her with nothing to do but to stare at the sky and wonder about these stories in the shape of a woman who unveiled a little bit more about the mysterious man she traveled with. 
Of all the silence and secrets that made up the man that protected her, she created stories to fill them. Stories of Joel Miller, husband, father, brother and badass contractor that everybody loved.   Of his soldier brother, of his wife and their smiling daughter between them both. 
In Ellie’s mind, you didn’t work. 
But not in a ditzy lame way like some boring housewife. But just because you didn’t have to. 
Joel said that everybody loved contractors so that means he probably got paid like, a ton of money to build stuff for people so you got to stay at home all day. Ellie imagined your house to be ginormous. Maybe Joel made it himself for you when you guys first got married. It was big enough that when Joel came home everyday he’d call out your name and it’d echo through  the hall as you called him into the kitchen, where your daughter sat reading as you set dinner on the table. Sometimes you’d get upset if he came home late but then he’d kiss your cheek and you would roll your eyes but smile before you all sat down and ate as a family. 
Ellie imagines Joel’s daughter, she wonders if Sarah looks more like her mother than her father. 
Ellie wonders as the sleep takes over her body, if they could have been friends. 
When it happens, months later after she’s come to think of Joel as something akin to family and he thinks of her as something he can’t say out loud just yet, she’s shocked. She’s face to face with a woman holding her at gunpoint that looks nothing like the smiling mother she dreamt of during cold nights. 
You don’t match the stories Ellie made up in your head.
You’re mean. 
No. Mean isn’t the right word. 
Cold. Yes. you're very cold. 
Ellie watches in shock as you ask where they're headed, gun focused on the center of her chest while the two boys at your side point their own at Joel, who has yet to speak. 
She waits for him to answer, but he just stares at you in awe. The same man she’s seen kill and threaten to keep her safe day in and day out is rendered speechless until all he can do is utter your name and she realizes that he knows you. More than that, judging by the way he surrenders his gun to you with no fight, something she had never seen him do. 
You lift your head to look at him, the brim of your hat raises just enough to clear the shadow cast over your face and Ellie can finally see your eyes and the snarl on your face. 
You’re also very pretty.
“I won’t ask again.” 
The two boys standing on either side of you have your eyes. Same color and intensity, narrowed into slits like guard dogs waiting for an order and Ellie sees the way Joel stares at them. 
She wonders if Sarah had brothers. 
“Out west.” He manages. “Takin’ her to her family.” 
Your eyes move to her and she holds her hands higher in the air. 
“That true?” “What?” 
“Is he telling the truth?” 
The taller one, Duke, she had heard you call him, had already ripped the bag from her back and emptied its contents onto the ground, she had nothing else to hide from you. 
But then she sees something in your eyes. A concern for her that she hadn’t seen since Tess or Marlene. 
And she understands. 
“He’s telling the truth.” Ellie forces out. 
You watch her for a moment and there’s a moment of panic where she thinks you can see right through her lie. 
But then you lower your gun and jerk your head over your shoulder. 
“C’mon.” is all you say before you begin to walk away. The boys gawk at you for a moment before you give them a look of warning and they follow in your step, occasionally casting glances behind them at Joel and Ellie who follow suit. 
She’s quick to grab onto the sleeve of Joel’s jacket and pull with a harsh whisper as the other’s march forward. 
“You know this psycho?” 
Joel flinches at her voice as it pitches up. If any of you heard her, which he gathered you did because Ellie didn’t have an inside voice to save her fucking life, you didn’t care enough to react. 
Ellie whispers his name again. Insistent and angry for answers but he just keeps looking forward. He can’t take his eyes off of you or the boys ahead and it fills her with worry but she doesn’t know why. 
“She’s my wife.”
You lead them to a cottage. Its paint is chipping and the fence is reinforced with wiring around the perimeter but it looks like a home. She can vaguely hear the soft clucking of chickens nearby and there's a flash of fur behind the fence with a pair of pointed ears that duck away just as fast as she saw them. 
Ellie has seen the remnants of homes before the outbreak. The plates still stacked in the sink and the jacket still hung up on the hook. A story telling a family that once lived within its walls and is now nothing more than memories that ghosts along its foundation. 
But this one is real. It’s yours. 
 There is a rickety wooden table in the dining room. Each chair around it seems to have been brought from a different house and is varying shades of faded brown. You kick the leg of one and nod toward it.“Sit, both of you.”
Ellie looks to Joel before sitting. He follows suit, choosing the chair closest to her. 
“I’m gonna get some bandages for that leg-” 
Joel shifts forward. “I don’t need-” 
“I wasn’t fucking asking, Joel.” 
You’re not stronger than Joel, if she had to guess. You both look the same age, but she’s seen his strength, his violence, all done for her safety and knows if it came down to it, you might not win in a fight against him. 
But at your order, he sits back in his chair. 
You turn and set a shoulder on your son’s shoulder. 
At least. She thinks he’s your son. 
Softly spoken words are exchanged while the other keeps his eyes on Joel and his hand on his holster. The boy says something back in insistence, but you tilt your head and he nods. 
“If either of them try moving or taking anything.” You offer them one final look over your shoulder before slipping out of the room. “Shoot them.” 
They listen to your footsteps slowly retreat until there’s nothing but the subtle creak and groan of the wood floor beneath them. Ellie leans forward to look at Joel, setting her hands firmly on the dinner table in announcement. 
“Dude-” The young girl breathes out. “Your wife is a bitch.”
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skrs-cats · 2 months
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ive wanted to draw lion talking abt this topic for a long longggg time now
Prev || Next
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fischiee · 2 months
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the best part of rvb is when they refer to tex by he/him pronouns for like 2 episodes and church just rolls with it
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kabutoden · 1 month
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I love your bugstuck so much it's so silly and cute,,, can we see more Feferi and Eridan please I love them so much
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FISH FRIENDS!!!!! !!!!! !!!!
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nova-rpv · 3 months
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"mm i think i have a consistent artstyle no-" shut up, ms paint mephiles that looks nothing like what i have drawn before is here before us
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meph w a smile and sketch under cut
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ddawnee · 10 months
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let me cook
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cracklewink · 5 months
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redrawing my sunny starscout redesign again? its more likely than you think
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vanlegion · 18 days
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mochapanda · 10 months
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bunch of kairis (+ bonus quadratum kairi)
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bella-ved · 9 months
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doodle in celebration of 2 years of genloss!! this project is so cool i cannot wait to see what the future holds for it !!!
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rainofthetwilight · 7 months
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what i love abt the ninjago fandom is that the moment we knew cole went missing in the merge we expected him to come back as a dad
and we were RIGHT
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lucabyte · 2 months
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warm day
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zer0pm · 1 year
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Imagine being the one chained to Luis Serra instead of Leon and he’s flirting with you the entire time.
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“So, uh, you come here often?”
If your back wasn’t to him, he’d be on the receiving end of a pointed look asking him if he was being serious right now. Instead, you opted to get up from the ground where you sat and assess the current situation. The cuffs around your wrists are attached to a heavy chain that seems to hang overhead and you follow the length of it with your eyes until they stopped to another set of metal cuffs clamped around the man that was speaking to you. He was already standing by the time you take account of his attention on you, his grey eyes slowly taking you in before a playful, lascivious smile curves upon his chiseled face.
“Gracias a Dios. Glad they stuck me with someone so attractive,” he says before dropping to a low bow. The gesture seemed awkward due to his bound hands but it did little to dampen the dramatic flair he exuded. “Luis Serra. Encantado.”
You immediately recognized him as the man in the sack that you and Leon found in a basement before being knocked unconscious by some giant of a man. This Luis was a talker then too despite his apparently ever changing and unfortunate predicaments. He must have quite a story to tell and perhaps can be of use to your mission.
Pinning the thought to question him after you have freed both of you of your shackles, you look up at the mount that kept the chain suspended and give the metal a firm tug. The action catches the Spaniard off guard as he is dragged towards you.
“Easy, my friend. If you wanted me to come closer, all you had to do was ask.”
No amount of willpower could stop your eyes from rolling.
“Do you ever stop talking?” Your words set off a spark in his eyes and you realize your mistake too late.
Luis smiles, “Ah, so you finally speak! Any more of the silent treatment and I was about to start serenading you with sign language.”
Thankfully your focus on your mission outweighed your curiosity at imagining this man dexterously using his hands and fingers to communicate with you, feeling the support for the mount give slightly. Another tug and this time Luis seemed prepared for it as he braced himself in place, the sound of the mount straining against the chain finally catching his attention.
“Ah, I see your thinking. Muy bien.”
With him finally coming up to speed on your intentions, the man met your strength with each pull upon the chain, the support nails keeping the mount up gradually weakening. Sweat was beginning to pour down your brow. Just a few more…
“May I have your name?”
The question made you stop in your efforts.
“What?”
“Your name. I’d like to know what to call you.” The damn smile widened as he spoke, evidently amused at your responses to him.
“What does it matter?” You tried to hide your increasing excitement with indifference, he didn’t seem at all put off by this.
Luis shrugs, “Given that I introduced myself to you in such gentlemanly fashion, I’d expect the same courtesy in turn. It’s only fair, sí?”
He made a point, but of course rather than answer him, you gathered the chain in your hands for one final pull and was grateful he had the sense to pull back. The mount and chain fall to the floor with a loud clank and Luis was on his back once again from using too much force.
“¡Mierda!” He groans and you couldn’t help the smirk creeping on your cheeks. “You’re very good at playing hard to get.”
You were about to offer him a snide apology as he moved to stand up once more but saw an infected coming towards him with an axe swinging. Quick to react, you drag Luis towards you and the unsuspecting Spaniard collapses to his knees before you. He looks up at you and you would have thought he’d be annoyed if not for the playful grin he continued to wear.
“This isn’t exactly my ideal place to be tossed around. I’d prefer somewhere much softer, but if you insist-“
“Shut up and brace!”
Using the chain, you make fast work of wrapping it around the infected man attacking you two and effectively snap his neck. Luis swiftly rushes over to the body as soon as it collapsed and searched through their pockets. He finds the key and unlocks his cuffs. You were about to take it from him to remove yours but he steps back and uses his long arms to keep it out of your reach.
“Give it here, Luis Serra.” Despite the obvious mirth in your voice, the man appeared pleased at the sound of his name on your tongue.
“Of course, my friend, but first,” he started, playing with the key between his fingers for you to see, “I have a proposition.”
If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. “You being serious?”
“Mi luz, know that I’m always serious. Especially when it involves someone with a face like yours.”
You sincerely hoped that the heat burning on your cheeks was from the adrenaline of just killing an enemy and not at all from his charming words. Luis took your sigh of defeat as a sign to keep going.
“Obviously you’re not a local. But, lucky for you, I happen to know the area like the back of my hand.” He twists his hand, dangling the key into your view for emphasis. The scoff he earned from you made him laugh.
“We can help each other, keep each other safe. I watch your back,” his lecherous gaze makes a shameless journey over your form before stopping at your hips. You made a point not to turn or twist your body in any way. “You watch mine.”
Just as you were about to tell him off, he continued, “And who knows, perhaps we can reunite you with your agent friend and rescue a certain señorita?”
A thousand alarms went off in your head. Luis definitely knew more than he let on. It was always your intention to question him, but now you realize that you weren’t the one holding the cards between you two and the shit-eating grin he wore showed that he’s well aware of this fact. Countless curses flooded your mind at how ridiculous this situation is, but the rational part of you knew that this idea was the most logical course of action. You needed to find Leon (assuming he is still alive somewhere) and finish the mission. This is what you rationalized and not at all because Luis’ incessant attention was beginning to grow on you. After a long moment of contemplation, you sigh.
“Fine,” you acquiesced, making sure the displeasure in your tone was evident even though there was none in your heart. The smile he gave you radiated throughout his entire being and warmed you from the inside.
“¡Excelente! We are partners, then!”
Assuming that was the end of the exchange, you move over to grab the key from his hand. Once again, Luis pulls it out of your reach. This was getting frustrating.
“What now?”
The man deflects your sharp tone with a click of his tongue, a teasing glint in his grey eyes. You were about to start threatening him until you felt an unexpected tug around your wrists, your whole body tumbling forward until your hands forcefully made contact with his firm chest. The sight of his other hand gripping the middle of your cuff catches your attention.
When the hell did this man grab a hold of your shackles?
Instinct kicked in to hit him but before you could regain your composure to do so, you feel the warmth of long slender fingers against your skin. His thumb caressing gently against the exposed part of your arm below your wrist before wrapping around to keep you firmly in place. He finally brings the key down in the space between you two, inserting it in the lock but not twisting it.
You cast an impatient glare up at him and fell into the trap of his gaze. The way he looked at you suggested that he had been watching you the entire time he brought you to press against him and you noticed then that he no longer wore the chesire cat grin. His voice reaches your ears, low and husky.
“I still didn’t catch your name.”
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A/N: hope you enjoyed that ;) spicy continuation can be found here.
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silverskye13 · 20 days
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random thought, but i had a vivid image of, if helsknight and welsknight ever saw each other without armor (or just helsknight out of his armor tbh), helsknight showing welsknight the scar tanguish gave him and saying "this was intended for you."
i don't know how in character that is, but tbh it's haunting me. maybe it's part of helsknight's revenge against welsknight or something, calling out his unknightly behavior and unhonorable conduct.
"You didn't answer my summons."
Helsknight froze. It was a quick, momentary startle, a short-circuit of normality. The moment he did it, every instinct told him to keep moving. That old command [Do something.] blared loud in the quiet surprise of his mind. So he moved his hand to pick up the brush on his table, and pretended to be unconcerned.
"I'm not a dog. You can't call me to heel," Helsknight said simply. He smirked and growled, "Though if you feel like losing some limbs, feel free to try."
Behind him, Wels shifted uncomfortably. Helsknight liked making Wels uncomfortable, he didn't handle it well. He was a creature used to comfort and ease. Inconvenience often galled him more than a sword to the throat. Different tactics for different battlefields, and this battlefield was a delicate one.
Helsknight was cleaning his arms and armor, which was one of several reasons why he hasn't leaped for a fight when Welsknight had called him to one. He was only in a tunic and breeches. It was luck he even had his boots on. He had offered to run errands with Tanguish, but Tanguish had said he was visiting his church and wanted to go on rooftops. So Helsknight stayed home, and he left his boots on. That was the other reason Helsknight hadn't answered the call: Tanguish wouldn't know where he was, and he knew Tanguish got paranoid about being left behind. Besides, Helsknight had chores he could do at home [like cleaning his arms and armor] so he stayed. Cleaning the chainmail was almost a formality. Hels was hot and dry, and he wore it often enough that the rings clattering together cleaned themselves. But sometimes he just liked putting an extra shine on things, so he took out his brush and oil and started brushing it down for any miniscule specks of rust or broken links he could find.
Wels, always keen on the times he wasn't wanted, decided now was the perfect time to show up in his living room. He stood awkwardly, waiting on Helsknight to make some aggressive movement. When none came, he cautiously stalked further into the tiny living space. His emotions were loud and uncomfortable without the distance between their respective worlds to dampen them, and they clung like smoke against Helsknight's skin. Caution at an unfamiliar space. Disgruntlement at being ignored.
[Guilt, like ash on a burn.]
"Is this... Yours?" Wels asked, glancing around.
"No, I'm just squatting in a random house. Sounded like a fun way to spend a Tuesday."
Helsknight felt the ant-bite sting of vicarious agitation and smirked. He was already getting on Wels's nerves.
[Good.]
"Couldn't build something nicer?" Wels snapped impatiently.
"I'm a fighter."
Helsknight found a place on his chainmail to brush down and got to work. The rough, grating twinge of the coarse bristles on chain made Wels wince. Helsknight always found the noise pleasant. Like scratching an itch.
"So?"
"I have better things to do than spend hours building the perfect house."
Wels scoffed and looked around the room with renewed disdain. "Where's your little devil?"
It took Helsknight a moment to place what he was asking. He sneered, a quiet bearing of teeth, and caught the flicker of red in the reflective shine of his chainmail. Wels looked pointedly away from him.
[Like ash on a burn.]
"Not feeling remorse... are we, crusader?" Helsknight asked, finding a new place to polish. The coin-drop clatter of chain, and the shrill scrape of bristles filled the silence like an accusation.
"Of course not," Wels sniffed disdainfully, still refusing to meet Helsknight's eye.
"Careful." Helsknight murmured, that red flash reflecting off his chainmail again, anger simmering. "Lying's a sin."
"Why would I feel remorse for protecting my home?"
"A crusade well fought I'm sure."
"It's not a crusade!" Wels snapped, his own anger a living thing raising hackles. "A crusader invades! A crusader fights a holy war just for the principle."
"Right. And you're fighting because--"
"Because I'm protecting Tango."
"-because it's for his own good?"
Wels didn't exactly wince, but he did still, as though he'd heard someone draw a blade from its scabbard. Helsknight might as well have unseated his sword. He had stopped scrubbing, all pretense of work falling. The need to pace, to circle, to corner, rose up in Helsknight like a waking beast.
"Interesting choice of words. Protecting." Helsknight said, his voice low, his hands still. "I was under the impression they were friends. Do you often protect Tango from the people he's begging you to spare?"
"That doesn't matter." Wels said so firmly it was almost convincing. Almost. "People are convinced they need an abusive relationship. That doesn't change the fact it's bad for them."
"So many interesting words today," Helsknight hissed. He stood like a dark tower rising, all embered fury slowly stoking. Wels didn't bother turning to face him. He could feel his intent like thunder. "Abuse. Brings to mind the image of power. I do have a question."
"I didn't come here for your stupid questions."
"No, you came here looking for a fight."
"I didn't."
"You really do need to tame that lying tongue."
"I didn't come here for a fight."
"Did it feel powerful?" Helsknight demanded, pacing a step, and loathing the tiny room for denying him the space to circle. "The voice. The command. How did it feel."
"Shut up."
"To have someone begging you not to hurt them," Helsknight continued relentlessly. "Not your stupid play fighting on your stupid little server. True, shaking, terror. Did it feel good, crusader? Just?"
"I told you to shut up!" Wels shouted, taking a threatening step forward only to find Helsknight had closed the space between them and stood looming like a rook on a tombstone.
Fear, a caged thing howling, battered against Helsknight's anger. It made Helsknight feel almost giddy, the crash of malicious schadenfreude and self-righteousness against Wels; a flickering thing of brittle will. They made a terrible ouroboros together, fear feeding anger feeding elation feeding fear. They were always like this. No matter how calm either of them tried to be, once anger kindled in one, their emotions burned until there was nothing left but fury and loathing. Helsknight had been made to cut Wels down to size.
"Do you know what that kind of fear does to people?" Helsknight demanded again, his voice so near a whisper it was smothering. They were so close together, but they made so little noise, all will and wide eyes. "What happened to mercy for the helpless, crusader?"
"He wasn't helpless," Welsknight said, trying very hard not to back down. "He stabbed me."
"And a drowning rat bites. I wouldn't call it an apex predator. Certainly I wouldn't call it a danger to you, with your full armor and sword." Helsknight bared his teeth at Wels, something like a bitter grin. "I wasn't wearing armor."
Wels looked down, where Helsknight had drawn up his tunic to reveal the new scar in his abdomen. Wels looked like he'd stopped breathing.
"This was intended for you," Helsknight said. "You should thank me."
"You're-- you're here telling me he's harmless," Wels laughed nervously. "But he almost killed you. You."
Something in Helsknight snapped, and in the moment it took him to reach for it with white knuckles and compose it again, he'd shoved Wels hard in the chest. It didn't knock his other half off his feet, but he stumbled back hard enough hit the opposite wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough to warn.
"He did," Helsknight snarled, pacing forward slow steps. "That's what terror does to helpless people, crusader. It makes them bite. It makes them beg. It makes them clamor to live. You. Did. That. What did it feel like to abuse that kind of power Wels? To turn someone into a scared animal? To make someone so desperate they would almost kill a friend? Did you find your righteousness there crusader?"
Helsknight didn't know what he planned on doing. Violence was in his blood like a serpent, and he wanted it. And Wels knew he wanted it. There was the ring of drawn metal, and the silver-bright glint of an enchanted blade in a dark room. Helsknight's advance stopped at the top of Wels's sword, not close enough to hurt, but close enough to warn.
"Stop." Wels said. A command. A plea.
"I'm unarmed."
"That doesn't matter."
Helsknight smiled, and there was loathing and euphoria in it, and the wine-dark dread of Wels right on the other side of it. The knowledge of a line crossed, a battle he hadn't even realized he was fighting made forfeit.
"Fine." Helsknight said. "My blood's already been spilled once on your behalf. At least this time do it with your own sword, coward. I'll make it easy for you."
He took a step forward, and nudged the blade with a knuckle, resting the point against his scar. The metal was cold, even through his shirt, the enchantments alive and writhing so close to his skin.
"How cruel have you gotten while I wasn't there to keep you in check, crusader?"
There was a long breath of silence between them. Helsknight stood, precarious and predatory, daring Wels to kill him. And Wels stood there, and dared himself to as well. And the room was dark, lit only by red anger and blue dread, and the pale, languid flicker of enchanted steel. And neither of them breathed. And the universe watched.
A loud clatter sounded on the roof. Both knights looked up towards the ceiling, Wels in startlement, and Helsknight in resignation.
"And he stays my hand once again," Helsknight sighed.
"What--?" Wels didn't get his full question out before Helsknight moved. He knocked the sword aside and lunged forward to grab Wels's shirt. In a move that would've made Martyn proud, he dragged Wels forward into his knee, knocking the wind out of him. In the time it took Wels to collapse to the floor, Helsknight had taken his sword, and held the point beneath his other half's chin.
"Go home Wels," Helsknight said, "before I send you there the hard way."
Wels, breathless on the ground, let out half a strangled laugh. "Why don't you?"
"Because I was asked nicely not to go running off and killing you."
"Helsknight?" A loud knock sounded at the door. Tanguish's voice, a bright comfort even in spite of its concern, called to him. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard something fall."
Helsknight glared meaningfully down at Wels, who only hesitated long enough for Helsknight to draw back the sword before slipping back to his world. The moment he did, Helsknight felt his breath leave him, the great void of being left to his own thoughts and emotions. In the wake of everything that was Wels, he felt ridiculous.
[What in hels had he even been about to do? Die on someone's sword to prove a point? Idiot.]
"Helsknight? The door is locked."
"I'm coming," Helsknight called, pausing only long enough to hide Wels's sword beneath the couch, where Tanguish couldn't see it and inevitably worried about it. He checked his tunic to make sure he hadn't managed to actually stab himself [he hadn't] and went to let Tanguish inside.
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