#the bleed does give it a fun texture

[herearedragons]

Also, there’s this Kyana portrait with yet another alternative design for her marks. I tried to color it digitally, but ended up liking the traditional one better, even though there’s some bleed from the other side of the page.

[sysig]

Some more Just Desserts pets, and thinking about Candy Mers again (Patreon)

Also ft. the pigeon study I did, what a cute bird!

[abbystanaccount]

hii! i recently stumbled upon your owen scar analysis where we see most of his scars, and wondered if it was possible for you to the same with abby? :)

Ohhh good idea. The only reason I hadn't yet is Abby only has a couple scars we don't know the origin of, but I can go over every scar she gets!

Abby's Scars Analysis

First, I'll start with Abby's oldest scars, she has a small scar on her forehead and it's the only visible scar on her younger self. Fun fact, Jocelyn actually has this scar and she's mentioned it's from being hit in the head as a kid with a golf club (lol).

Her older model has a similar looking scar on her right cheekbone. I assume she got these either from being hit with a blunt object or a fall, something like that. Her forehead scar interestingly becomes more noticeable as she ages, it even raises a bit in her Pillars model.

Her chin injury from the car crash does not visibly scar in Santa Barbara.

Next is the other visible scar Abby has when we see her in Seattle. Abby is for the most part not scarred much at the start of the game, she gets a hurt shoulder from Jackson and has some blemishes but these are the only scars we can see. (Her bare torso model is completely unmarked.)

There's two small marks on her arms, one more noticeable than the other. To me, the one on her forearm looks semi recent and looks scabbed. They'd come back from Jackson a few weeks prior, so it's possible Abby was hurt on that trip. But I headcanon it more that she was distracted on patrol when she returned and it was a small stab wound, possibly environmental.

One thing that annoys me about these scars though is that in never heals, it looks about the same from Seattle to Santa Barbara.

Now Abby gets some scars after the theater fight. The wounds Ellie gives her is the bite (which heals) and a stab to Abby's left thigh (which she masterfully shakes off lol.) We don't get to see Abby's bare thigh but it's likely that wound scarred.

The rest of the slashes, which seem to be 4 slashes on her arms and one across her left cheek come from Dina. It also seems as though the arm scars are mostly raised and noticeable, while her cheek scar is more subtle and indented like she tried to stitch it and take care of it more afterwards.

Abby’s next batch of scars are from Ellie on the beach… as if she didn’t suffer enough 😒 She gets a slash on her cheek, a slash on the front and side of her torso, multiple slashes on her arms, especially her left arm which she used to block, a deep stab wound in her left shoulder and a stab wound through her chest.

Here I’m showing her post beach fight textures on her Seattle body (the full Pillars body isn’t complete). You can see how deep the wounds are 🙁

I’m thinking she must have rode the boat a bit down the coast and then looked for supplies to help her and Lev before going all the way to Catalina, so she wouldn’t bleed out…

These are my interpretations of how the beach fight scars might heal. You can see some more of that with my various fan arts of TLOU 3 Abby. I drew over the slash placements, and added in the thigh stab and chest stab scar and some other various scratches she might have gotten. I tried to have them look similar to her scars in early Santa Barbara, raised and a bit pink.

Hopefully the Firefly doctors will help her out a lot with the healing of the cuts and the sunburn and she can just chill for a bit 😢

Bonus skins

This new skin isn't canon or anything and neither is the Eighties skin. In that skin you can see Abby's cheek scar under her makeup, which I thought was cool. But the Badlands skin has a brand new scar that goes all across Abby's cheek to her lips. I think this must be a scrape from some sort of weapon that scratched her. The redness on the cheek makes it seem fairly new

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

 “Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters.  “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.  

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

 “I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

 Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

 “Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.  

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a…  like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

[dizzystqrs]

personal h2o lore & mermaid rules explanation

disclaimer: h2o: just add water is by no means a scientific show, the creators even said that they didn't put much thought into the specifics of anything, but if you are like me and Upset that they didn't, this is for u <3

disclaimer 2: these are my personal best-of-my-ability explanations, but they r Not canon at all, and absolutely feel free to disagree!

here we go!!

1. are the girl's human forms and mermaid forms separate bodies?

short answer: no, they aren't--but the episode red herring does make it seem that way, when emma's red hair is only in one form. however, if they were separate bodies, emma's finger cut in season 1 and rikki's head injury in season 2 which they both got in mermaid form would not have stayed when they transformed back (but they did!) it's more of a bodily permanent-to-not-permanent basis on what stays and what leaves during a transformation.

long answer: opalsiren also has a detailed post on this if you're curious (and i do highly recommend giving it a read bc it changed my life, reshaped my reality, watered my crops, etc etc) but i'll try to explain it here too

if we look at what stays and what leaves during a transformation, we can sorta see a pattern

freckles, scars, wounds, hair texture/length, bodily proportions (mermaid forms age along with their human forms) and eye color all stay the same, meanwhile clothes, accessories, makeup, hair dye, etc, all disappear. furthermore, anything permanent, genetic, or breaking the skin keeps, and anything temporary or sitting on top of the skin disappears, and then reappears later. (ex: hair length stays consistent because hair follicles penetrate the skin and go beneath it, semi-permanent hair color doesn't cuz it inly sits around the hair follicles. would dying your hair fully & permanently transform too? mayhaps!)

a scientific way to explain this would be that the transformation process takes into account genetics and then the current state of your body before making the switch into either form. so, during the 30 seconds it takes to transform, the process involves reading the genetic code (eye color, skin color, face shape, etc, and also perhaps it only does this the first time, and saves the information for the future?) and then the state of the body (wounds, age, weight, hair length, etc) and then proceeds to alter the genetic makeup to the incoming body type with the new information. (and all of this needs to be read so that the transformation doesn't mess with anything integral or unnecessary, and doesn't cause unwanted changes!! for example i like to think a mermaid bleeding out would not transform back, in order to preserve the body's energy and resources)

2. how do the girls get clean?

this is by far the most common question i see and. u know what... it is a good one to ask LMAO

as i went into before, anything that doesn't permeate the skin will disappear when transforming. this includes dirt and grime!! it will just disappear, then come back like everything else. while they could wash their face and arms in mermaid form, their legs will still be grimy cuz theyre unaccessible!! so like,, how is no one complaining that the girls smell all the time?

so first, fun solution; i like to think that a good solution is that the transformative process is cleansing, as in they straight up Turn Into Water so every single impurity on their skin (such as dirt, oil, makeup maybe, etc) is washed away in both human form and mermaid form in the 30 seconds it takes for them to fully turn. this is a little hard to explain scientifically but i think it would make more sense when given the magic treatment--it just does it bc it can.

semi-boring solution, probably the canon one: their mermaid skin IS their human skin, so cleaning a mermaid tail is just like cleaning their human legs. would make sense as to why they all take baths w their tails! this is also probably the canon explanation, because when dr. denman transforms a scale in her lab, it shifts right back into skin, meaning it is, essentially, the same material. this conflicts a teensy bit with previously established lore in my opinion but . yknow. it is a mermaid show for kids 💀

actual boring solution: there is a canon specific amount of water content that transforms them, which i believe is like above 32% or something. if a liquid contains 32% water, boom, tail. however, it wouldn't be too hard to find alcoholic wipes that contain less than that water content, which they could use to clean the parts of their body that the mermaid tail obscures. straight bars of soap are sometimes less water content than that too, so they could pretty easily just scrub then dry-wipe it off. is it... more sanitary/safe than just washing with water? probably not! but it's an option! and if you dont vibe with the above options, this is a p good alternative

3. hey, what the Fuck is the moonpool

fantastic question. literally no one knows. they are soooo vague with this piece of lore it actually makes me upset considering how COOOL it is that there is an ancient magic pool in a volcano on an abandoned island. they fumbled the bag so hard guys

heres like, pretty much everything we know canonly abt it (in h2o lore only, not mako mermaids, all my homies hate mako mermaids)

- it works hand-in-hand with the moon & planets

- it, or the water in it, is sentient, and is aware of any dangers to it

- it seems to have a connection to fate (as in, the 1950's mermaids & their connection to the 2000's girls)

- there are several of these (implied, but there could just be only one other in ireland)

- each one has a specific set of water-based powers to give out, evenly divided among each person that jumps in the moonpool in a full moon, and these powers can be amplified on specific nights. (this also seems to correspond with personality)

-it is magic. (this is a point because it is Very hard almost near impossible to explain it scientifically)

and yeah! i personally have a few headcanons for What the moonpool is and how it works, but i think it's a lot more fun to make your own so go crazy (and there is no way i could explain it cuz i have like 8000 thoughts abt it and None of them fit in a tumblr post) !! if youre curious u can read my fic about it tho B) xoxo

anyway that's all!! feel free to tack on any questions or answers slash disagreements about this silly little mermaid show as well !! <3

[trueguertenaexhibit]

random headcanons go!

garry has strabismus and it gives him pretty severe double vision, but he doesn’t want to/can’t afford to get the surgery that fixes it, or glasses (he doesn’t think they would look fashionable enough) so he just covers the affected eye.

ib prefers chocolate over other kinds of sweets, but after garry showed her the wonders of macarons, her eyes are opened to fruit candies as well. mary is like a vacuum when it comes to food, she doesn’t care what kind it is.

they’re all autistic. look at garry and his coat that he probably wears everywhere because it’s a good texture. look at ib and her. everything. mary might be adhd instead though

speaking of mary, in the timelines where she escapes, she struggles in school because she’s never learned any math or science and her previous world literally operated on dream logic. if garry lives, he tutors her! if he doesn’t, she can get ib to try, but she’s kind of out of luck otherwise

paintings bleed paint. I think that’s pretty much canon. but what if it was fun colors?

ib’s parents aren’t horrible, but they are a little restrictive, and so when she goes to college she does a lot of fashion experimentation. big scene phase for a bit. she probably settles on a similar look as the one she started with, though.

i know the popular idea is that garry carries around a lighter because he’s a recovering/current smoker, and i don’t reject that headcanon, but i think he’s just a bit of a survivalist. my evidence for this is that in the original translation i think it’s implied that he has a knife? but i don’t know about the new version.

feel free to add your own or argue with mine :)

[hermitdrabbles56]

Stimming headcanons?

Writing this current fic just...has me in a mood because. Yes.

Also happy to hear if anyone else has stimming headcanons for the boys. Because it's wholesome.

Time: his stims have become more subtle as he's gotten older but they are still there.

Healthy stims

Vocal stims; chirps, grumbles, growls, squeaks, humming(especially the songs his knows). See like..the whole Porcupine!Time post and the fic that will follow

Knee bouncing, swaying in place a bit when he's standing or sitting on the ground.

Fiddling with his ocarina and his wedding ring

Unhealthy stims

Cuticle picking

Chewing on the inside of his cheek to the point that he has scaring there

Twilight: He only recently started suppressing his stims because of the time he spends in castle town. But at home he feels safe about it. He is a little timid about around the chain at first but he's getting better about it.

Healthy stims

Vocal stims of humming and whistling, will also howl as a human but mainly as a communication. Also canine like whines/whimpers/huffs (he does also start to pick up some of times vocal stims because seeing his mentor make them makes him feel safe)

Rubbing/nuzzle stims; rubbing his hands, his legs, his face/eyes/forehead but also rubbing against things and people (especially if specific textures as involved). Like other people's backs and shoulders when he's comforting them. But will also nuzzle and rub his head against them when he's hugging for his own comfort.

Scratching will scratch his own head just because it feels really good and when his hair is short the ruffling motion is really fun.

Flappy hands!!: this is one of the ones that comes out when hes really stressed and he tries to only do it when he's alone.

Pacing, swaying, bumping his hands together in one way or another.

Lassoing things to destress during down time.

Knuckle cracking

Asking people to hug him as tightly as they can (generally Sky, Wild or Time)

ZOOMIES will slip away from the group specifically so he can bolt around like a mad man be it human or wolf form

Get this boy some god damn fidget toys he'd be mesmerized for hours

Unhealthy stims

Scratching; sometimes it can go to far and he'll scratch himself raw even accidentally make himself bleed.

Sometimes the hand bumping turns into full force punching his palms or slapping until his hands are sore and bright red.

Head hitting sometimes will just suddenly crack his head into something when he's got bottled up stress. Or will wack himself in the head. Sometimes it's only light because the sound the action makes is distracting, but a lot of times it's when he's uh..not being nice to himself.

Biting/chewing...his hands are covered in little scars because whennhe bites he bites hard and his sharp choppers go right through the skin. And he doesn't exactly feel like he can just pull something out and start gnawing on it unless he has jerky on him or something.

ᴵ'ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵖʳᵒʲᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵘᶜᵏ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱᵈᵉᵃ

Legend:

Healthy stims

Bone cracking (honestly I don't know if this is healthy or unhealthy especially with his angry skeleton but it releases the built up fl..fluid.? Gases? And usually feels a little better afterwards so fuck it. Yell at me if this is bad and I'll move it) he'll pop his knuckles, wrists, ankles, neck, back, knees anything pretty much until it stops popping. The feeling and sound bothing being soothing in some way unless his extremely sore for whatever reason. (He starts to really like when Twilight does chiropractic things on him because it feels even better while still giving the popping sound)

Puzzles! He has wood carved/hand held puzzles and things that he can easily stim with while walking that make his brain work.

Organization? (Ehh maybe this is more a satisfaction thing. But like..rapid Organization of books or cards or things like that can be nice so the thought was him going through his stuff and organizing when he's stressed)

Playing with his hat: kneading at/rubbing/twisting/fixing his hat especially when freaking out is calming.

Embroidery is one of his stimming activities because the repetitive motions focus his brain and the way Embroidery feels as he runs his fingers over it is nice

Sprinting, doesn't do itnoften but sometimes will just activate the Pegasus boots and sprint to alleviate emotions

Unhealthy stims

Will also suddenly just, clock his head into something hard enough to bruise.

Wild:

Healthy

Chewing on things especially if they're crunchy

Humming or tounge clicking especially when it's too quiet

Playing with his hair, running fingers through it, braiding it, putting it up, tugging, twisting, coiling anything

Scalp scratching (can get a little overdone if he's not careful)

Penguin arms

Swaying

Signing even if he's talking verbally to have something to do with his hands

Grass plucking

Rubbing his eyes till he sees those odd little stars

Face rubbing in general

Light finger taps on different parts of his body

Flappy hands and happy dances

Fiddling with his earrings

Climbing: just the thinking of where to put his feet and hands the feeling of the tree or rock beneath him the repetitiveness of it? (Maybe this doesn't make sense but it popped into my head)

Unhealthy

Lip chewing, picking, biting

Biting himself in general, usually hands and arms if he can't get a hold of something to chew.

Scar scratching when he's nervous especially since he doesn't have much feeling in the scars so it can get raw very easily

Clapping/bumping stims until his hands are numb or sometimes bruised depending on how he's doing it.

Head hitting

Wars:

Healthy

Pacing

Swaying in place

Fiddling with his scarf or his gloves but mostly his scarf

Light teeth clacking

Humming

Knee bouncing

Wild hand gestures when talking.

Nonsensical humming: as in not a tune or anything but just, noise especially while reading or writing or focusing on something

Unhealthy

Teeth grinding

Lip biting

Cuticle picking

Sky:

Healthy

Earing fiddling

Idly plucking at his harp or humming softly

Rubbing at and fiddling with his sail cloth. Especially just burying his face in it and rubbing (he'll do this with other very soft things too like Twilight's pelt but mostly just the sailcloth)

Scuffing his boot along the dirt.

When he's forced to stand still he's found ways to subtly tap his fingers to help relieve the ache to move.

Just running his fingers through his hair

If he has bigger earnings in hell playwith them.

He has a few of crimsons feathers that he'll sometimes just hold so he can run his fingers along them. Because petting crimson is a huge comfort stim for him. He lives the texture of feathers. So anytime he has access to birds.

Asking people to hug him as tightly as they can (generally Twilight)

His woodcarving! Sometimes he'll just sharpen twigs into shives as they walk

Unhealthy

Throwing himself off of things to feel the rush of the wind he makes sure to have his sailcloth ready and doesn't do it around people. Because usually he would just go for a fly with crimson. But he has scared the shit out of people a few times. (So no, technically he is fully informed on how to do this and is safe when doing it. But the others worry about it though sometimes Wild will join him, and teaches him how to use the paraglider)

Wind:

Healthy

I will have to find the source. But during sicktember someone wrote a homesick fic about Wind having a small bag of sand that he just, plays with and runs through his fingers and that lives in my head rent free.

Fiddles with his necklace regularly

Bouncing in place

Flappy arms

Swaying

Pacing in circles specifically circles, and if there's something too circle? Definitely.

Likes braiding wild and Hyrules hair and will ruffle and fluff his own hair wildly.

ZOOMIES often will get Twilight wrapped up in his zoomies

Vocal popping or toung clicking

Knee bounce

Knot tying: has a short length of rope and will just practice knits or twist it between his hands

Unhealthy

Picking: lets be honest he's in the throws for puberty he has pimples and weird bumps on his skin and he picks at them and pops them whenever his fingers find them

Nail biting when they get too long but he doesn't bite them too far down because they can be useful

Cuticle picking

Biting but not nearly as badly as Twi or Wild. Just..sinks his teeth into his thumb or index finger once and holds it there. It's more of disguise for just sucking on it so he won't get teased.

Hyrule:

Healthy

Swaying and rocking both sitting and standing

Penguin arms

Quiet nonsensical humming, just loud enough to feel it in his chest

Finger taps on his thighs

Taking petals from flowers that are starting to wilt so he can fiddle with the petals. Will also do this with leaves and large grasses.

LEAF CRUNCH absolutely obsessed with crunching dried leaves. And other crunchy sounds

Has a very old ragged piece of cloth that's sort of falling apart but when he's extremely stressed rubbing at and fiddling with that calms him down (it's the remnants of his old baby blanket)

Curling his hair around his fingers in a repetitive motion

Most of his stims are very quiet and subtle

Unhealthy

Hand biting when panicked so he'll stay quiet. Similar with digging his nails into his arms or biting the inside of his cheek. The release of that pain making it easier to cope either the situation around him.

Four: his stims change depending on which color is in control and they each have their own different stims when separated. Red having the most, green having the least

Healthy

Chainmail designs. Has flimsy chain mail rings ment specifically for creating little creatures or bracelets or what not because the repetitive activity is soothing. So he also loves repairing the chainmail of the group (vio, he also loves borrowing Legends puzzles)

Knee bouncing/subtle bouncing in some form when he's sitting

Hugging himself and swaying when standing

Flappy hands, bumping hands calpping and very expressive stims (red)

Unhealthy

Lashing out types of stims? Hitting head, ramming his head against something, angry biting, kicking. (Blue, it's very rare that these happen because Four is a rather composed person but sometimes you just need to fucking snap)

[ckret2]

Sooo

I have two questions. Or three

1). Does Bill have any favorite cloth texture?

1a) what texture is unicorn hair?

2) how long did it take for someone to hose him down, toga and all? Or did he just sulk in a closet in the nude while the toga got washed and dried?

3) periods. Does he get them, does he gripes and complains about getting stabbed by rusty spoons on the inside and not in a fun way, does he scarf down ibuprofen?

1) I'll have to think on it more to see if I can come up with something really fitting for his character, but the off-the-top-of-my-head answer is I feel like his favorite fabric texture would be something humans would find really unpleasant. Like, super itchy wool, or latex on a hot day. But then on the other hand I feel like he'd be uncomfortable getting a constant reminder that he's wearing clothing because it's also a reminder that he's still human, which sucks. So: something that humans would find unpleasant but that to him is unnoticeable so he isn't reminded he's in clothing? Until I can think of a fabric that meets that criteria, I'll say "knitted super cheap acrylic yarn" since that's what the hoodie Mabel's gonna give him is made of.

1a) Unicorn hair is like the finest, softest, most delicate of wools. It's like silk made out of clouds. It feels like a dream. If you make a handkerchief out of unicorn hair and use it to clean your glasses, you glasses will never get smudged again and you'll always see a faint rainbow around the sun.

2) I'm addressing Making Bill Take A Dang Bath in the next couple of chapters, so I'm not gonna spoil the details! But he'll be given normal clothing pretty much as soon as he's made a full-time resident/prisoner of the Shack. The toga doesn't stay. He's not emotionally attached to it, it's literally just the first thing he found. (But bold of you to assume that if his clothing was confiscated he'd bother hiding in a closet. Mr. Floating Golden Triangle considers "nude, but with a bow tie and hat" to be dressing up. If the humans ever try to take his clothing without giving him a replacement, his naked ass is THEIR problem. He's watching TV in the living room until he gets more clothes.)

3) Believe it or not, I've been asked before! Yes, he gets them. And his reaction to them—along with his reaction to most human physical discomforts—is "meh, apathetic." The first time he feels one coming when he hasn't been through it before and doesn't know what these symptoms indicate, he gripes a little bit—just in case it gets a lot worse and it turns out he's dying, this way the humans will know how long he was experiencing symptoms so they can report it at the hospital—but the moment blood shows up he goes "oh, I'm familiar with this concept," and shuts up about it entirely because the humans don't get to know he bleeds. No meds, no chocolate, no heating pad, no nothing, he just raw dogs it. He's got a high pain tolerance and enjoys pains he shouldn't. Consumes a handful of uncooked beef at 3 a.m. but this isn't outside the usual range of Weird Shit We Caught Bill Cipher Doing so nobody questions it. The only way the humans discover he's got a cycle at all is because Mabel's stock of pads disappears and there's only one suspect. (He could have stolen Melody's supplies, but Mabel's have the bright & colorful tween packaging with stars and stuff? Obviously superior.)

[bluiex]

@justfor2am Having Fae AU thoughts on the brain again guys.

So this is getting into some ideas of what type of Fae Scar is.

tw... it's Fae Scar so yeah...

-

Perhaps this should scare Mumbo more than it does. How else Scar can go from threatening to sweet. How he can strange fear in Mumbo's heart one moment, then make him laugh the next at his comments. One such comment was how Scar went on a rant about how evil socks were and they were just 'bad texture'.

"Honestly how can you mortals even stand to wear clothing is beyond me. It's stuff, itchy, likes to rub in places it really shouldn't."

It was bewildering, but amusing at the same time. Mumbo did laugh a few times, catching how Scar's eyes would gleam at his laughter. Complimenting him on his voice, and how pretty it would sound if he could sing for him all the time without rest.

The good feeling was gone as quick as it came, reminding Mumbo where he was.

Mumbo found days when he wasn't in the Gardens getting lost for hours... days?... he was in the Library, trying to learn all he could about the fae. Their customs, and what to expect with Scar... or any escape at all even if Grian told him it was pointless.

The library was fancy, impressive, books in elvish tongue to dwarf tongue as well. Some were from the mortal world, others weren't. And Mumbo did was he could to learn about how he could not make his stay worse with Scar.

He felt silly when he read up about Elves and Fae, it was easy now to see the differences between them. Something he missed in the dark of the night when Scar invited him to his manor.

'Fae beings often do not have a gender, they assign themselves one at their own will. They can change forms as easily as a human changes their clothing. Some have wings, some do not. Depending on the fae you are dealing with, is dependent on the power they have.'

Mumbo looked at the picture of very naked beings with elongated faces, large eyes, and sharp teeth. Pretty wings like crystals, and some having tails. They were hauntingly beautiful.

'Fae deal in illusion magics, deals, and offers. In exchange for something they will give you something in return. They can appear mortal, elf, or anything to give what they desire, but traits can bleed through, too large smiles, too focused eyes, and words that make you shiver.

There are 4 kingdoms and 2 courts. Following the seasons the fae work in cycles. Summer Fae: Fun loving beings with sunkissed features and warm magic. Spring Fae: Flower beings with vines that grow out of their skin and mossy hair. Autunm Fae: Silver tongue creatures who bring with them the change of the leaves. and Winter Fae: Cold hearted beings, with ice in their souls and hard eyes.

There are 2 courts, The Autunm and Winter fae make up the Unseelie Court, known for trickery, curses, twisted games, and monstrous looks. And the Spring and Summer fae, more fair than their colder counterparts, loving games, riddles, poems, and song.'

Mumbo looked at the pictures and felt his heart sank, Scar was hitting on the check marks of a Autunm Kingdom Fae. From his warm browns, reds, and oranges, to his deals he makes and how he carries himself. From the description, and what he sees here, Scar might also be a Noble Court Fae. Higher up in the system. This would explain how and why he can so easily kidnap humans and not many fae come around here.

He felt sick, he was dealing with something that wanted to see him try and play games, only to keep failing. A fae who enjoys watching him in vain try to escape, and would love to mess with him more.

Despair sat in his heart as he sat back on the way to comfortable chair. Scar was something else, something dangerous and scary, yet had also a funny laugh and stories to tell. Words having a way of weaving into Mumbo's head and making him feel wanted. He hated it so much, he wanted to cry.

Stories told to him as a child said once the Fae take you there was no hope of escaping. The mortal realm would forget your name, as the fae uses it, and time would become nothing. Mumbo hugged his knees closer to him, feeling tears start to fall. And small sobs escaped his mouth as he just wanted to go home.

It was silent in the room, until a hand started to pet his hair. "Shhh, don't cry my dear." Scar's voice purred to him, "I didn't want tears." Mumbo's felt a hand tilt his chin up to look at the face of the other. A thumb brushing away the tears so gently. "there we are, come and eat now, it'll make you feel better." Scar coos to him, his voice so deceptively sweet and soft. Mumbo was too tired to argue as he lets Scar pull him out of his seat and down the hall. Fae food was the sweetest thing you could ever taste, but it came at the price of human food turning to ash in your mouth. Yet another reason he could never go home. Once you ate from the fae, nothing would ever be good enough again.

Scar petted his cheek again, "Eat up my dear, you look so hungry." he coos, a smile on his face, sharp and hiding shark like teeth. Eyes intense as they watch Mumbo sit down.

Grian was starving himself rather than eating, Mumbo didn't know if had the will to do that. If you've already ate it once, what was the point? He felt exhausted.

Silently he did eat something, and maybe he was tired, but he did like the way Scar smiled when he did eat.

LORE. I love that Mumbo chooses to learn and try to find out all he can about fae (in hopes he can find a way to escape) but OUGH MY HEART. He just wanna go home- but it's a bit too late he's eaten the food.. Mumbo finding himself slowly become more an more infatuated With Scar. Wanting nothing more than to see him smile or hear his laugh

[beloveddawn-blog]

OC Random Headcanon Generator

@evilgabe29 I took this from you because it looks fun.

The generator can be found here.

Without further ado,

OOIF:

You know what, he probably does. He'd find the texture, flavour, and effect all to his liking, as well as being a novelty. And if someone handed him something he didn't recognize and said it was edible, he'd probably toss it straight back without asking about preparation.

For sure. The only thing stopping him most of the time is his complete disinterest in if you live or die, coupled by the fact that Davan is a bleeding heart cinnamon bun and it would upset him.

She probably is, actually. Her family falls fully on the abusive side of Snobby, Perfect, Noble so her punishment for not would have been... unpleasant at best.

Not in her world, it's not a thing, but she might enjoy that. It would depend on the setting for the Modern AU.

Unnoticed Apocalypse

False. A bit unfair as well as she's an android, but several other ones I've seen could have applied so I thought I'd give it a go.

Sun Haven protags:

Absolutely not. Even if she'd done so on accident she'd help stop it and fess up.

A double, but also probably false. Teleri comes across a bit feral most of the time and tends to swallow things whole. Like a snake. It's why she'd the four year reigning champion of the hot dog eating contest.

Since it was a double I spun again.

Probably. She'd invent more and more outlandish things they'd done until someone called her on her obvious bullshit, then laugh her head off.

Reluctant Immortals:

... He probably does. Then attempts once again to kill Morrigu if it's brought up. Especially in context of how he actually did cause the explosion of Vesuvius for the lols at one point.

Morrigu is almost 5000 years old. His short term memory is actual shit and the majority of the time he couldn't even tell you what decade it was, let alone year, let alone what he had for lunch. Tethra likes to lie to him about things because, despite being in the same boat, he's much better at remembering. This backfires because Morrigu may not remember what he had for lunch, but he damn well knows it wasn't sandwiches because Tethra is being a lying liar who lies again. He knows the tells.

This was super fun and I encourage everyone to try it, but I'm gonna tag @coffeeangelinabox @leahnardo-da-veggie and @acertainmoshke

[lovejustforaday]

Shoegaze Classics - Delaware

Delaware - Drop Nineteens (1992)

Main Genres - Shoegaze

A decent sampling of: Lo-fi Indie, Noise Pop, Post-Hardcore

Hola folks. After reviewing a couple of the first wave shoegaze records coming out of the original British Isles scene, I think now would be a good time to start looking at what was happening on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

I said previously that I would be doing a review of the noteworthy classic shoegaze albums for the first wave. Likewise, these write-ups will include some of my favourite shoegaze records, but I also wanted to include records that others generally love or consider to be landmark records in the scene, regardless of my personal stance.

Today I'll be focusing on one of the earliest and most celebrated names in the 90s American shoegaze scene. Let's talk about Drop Nineteens.

The Band

Drop Nineteens were one of the first American shoegaze bands to drop a record. Originating from Boston, the lineup consisted of vocalist/guitarists Greg Ackell and Paula Kelley, lead guitarist Motohiro Yasue, drummer Chris Roof, and bassist Steve Zimmerman.

If you're savvy to popular indie bands of the time, then it becomes pretty clear that Drop Nineteens sound really does sound more "American-ized", at least as far as the indie scene goes. There are clear influences from bands like The Pixies, The Breeders, and Dinosaur Jr., and their output really bleeds that early 90s Gen X slacker "yeah whatever" sound.

Also fun little tidbit I learned while reading the Wikipedia article of all places: Radiohead and The Cranberries opened for THEM. Hard as it is to imagine now, there was a brief moment in history where Drop Nineteens were a bigger name than two of the 90s biggest bands. Funny how quickly things change, huh?

Drop Nineteens only managed to put out two records before they split, with a pretty brief original run as a band from 1990 to 1995, but their debut LP is one of the only first wave shoegaze records to have come out of the United States that you will find consistently being mentioned online among the many 90s classics, most of which came out of the U.K. and Ireland scene.

It's quite possibly the most canonized 90s American shoegaze record, and I know a lot of diehard fans of the genre in online spaces totally love this record. So what do I think?

The Record

Delaware is a record that mixes the state of suburban boredom and teenage angst with the sound of constant humming guitars into what is one of the most 90s sounding records I think I have ever heard. Drop Nineteens' ethos on this record is simple and straightforward; give me walls of sound to block out everything else. Let me do my thing in noisy, blissful peace. This is 100% slacker shoegaze.

One of the biggest pros of this record for me is Chris Roof's drum work, something that usually goes underappreciated in a genre so blatantly defined by its guitar textures.

Chris definitely has a style of drumming that is derived from the post-hardcore scene, which contrasts with the mostly lowkey, uncomplicated walls of sound that this bands interpretation of the shoegaze formula has to offer. In particular, the drums really start to stand out towards the end of the record on "Angel", "Happening", and "Reberrymember".

But beyond that, If I'm being honest, this one doesn't do it for me as much as it clearly does for others. I do enjoy this record, and it certainly is an easy one to put on and just vibe to. But it's also one of the more, dare I say it, 'nondescript' records of the 90s shoegaze canon.

If you were to ask me what the defining features of Delaware are, compared to a record like, say, Loveless or Nowhere, I would probably just end up spouting off the same few adjectives that I've already used multiple times in this review. It's teenage, it's raw, it's got a slacker sound, it's suburban-esque. There were a lot of records like this in the 90s, though perhaps not nearly as many that blended these ideas with shoegaze guitar immersion.

I don't consider it a per-requisite for a record to break a ton of new ground for it to be an excellent record, or even to be considered a classic in my own personal canon. Instead, maybe it's more just that not a ton of this sticks with me in the songwriting department.

That being said, I wouldn't want to include it in this series on the classics if I didn't have at least some shining moments to offer my praises. So let's talk about the two tracks that I often do revisit regularly on this record. The first track I love is "Kick The Tragedy". This is eight laidback minutes of steady shoegaze hypnosis meditation, like soaring through the air on the worlds slowest kite. It's also a wonderful vignette of 90s adolescence, with a spoken monologue halfway through from Paula that delivers cryptic, stream-of-consciousness angst about having dreams and living in the present versus the future. Something akin to chilling out and talking to your buddies in a skate park in heaven (note: *cough* I've never skated in my life *cough*).

The other track that stands out is the band's cover of Madonna's "Angel". It's a completely transformative track that takes Madonna's bubbly dance pop crush anthem, swaps the genders, strips it of its charming 80s funk and chintzy synth production, and in its place, blaring reverb melancholy and a transcendent interpretation of the original hook on a pyrotechnical lead guitar, revealing a more yearning sadness hidden in the original lyrics. The solos at the end are totally angst-ridden, but wondrously flashy in a way that you don't often see in shoegaze, or really most indie rock in general. A complete upgrade from the original, mad props on this one.

Now let me reiterate again that ultimately, I quite like this record. I like the cut of its jib, and I like the effortless coolness it embodies. That itself is a big part of the reasons why I love shoegaze.

But something lacking here that many other shoegaze records also do for me is creating some of the most vivid imagery, that forces me to whip out ye olde thesuaurus just in order to put it into words that would even begin to do the sonic textures justice. Whereas this record, well it just doesn't inspire my minds eye or my audiovisual imagination nearly as much as records by bands like Slowdive, Flying Saucer Attack, Lush, or MBV.

Nevertheless, respect must be given to this band. Drop Nineteens were one of the first bands to make their own homegrown American shoegaze, and it's thanks to bands like them (and, well, the internet) that today there seems to be just as many shoegaze bands popping up on both sides of the Atlantic. If nothing else, Delaware is a landmark record for how shoegaze was beginning to influence and impact other rock scenes in different parts of the world.

What Came After That?

Drop Nineteens disbanded in the 90s. And like a bunch of other prominent shoegaze bands from the original wave, the band decided to reform after the renewed interest in shoegaze that online music forums and websites like bandcamp helped to revive.

Drop Nineteens' just got the band back together incredibly recently actually, and they have their own upcoming third LP called Hard Light slated to come out in November. There's a single already out on streaming platforms called "Scapa Flow" which is a nice little throwback that could easily pass as the single off of their hypothetical third LP in a parallel dimension that came out in 1996. You should check it out, and I'm planning on checking out the record too.

While you're at it, listen to Delaware. Enough hardcore shoegazers seem to love this band and this record a lot more than I do, so you should take their word for it and give it a fair shot.

7/10

Highlights: "Kick The Tragedy", "Angel"

[ritzy-biscuit]

Hi, I just wanted to ask you something if it's no problem to ask.

I really like the old comic feeling your arts have and I would like to know which brushes, textures and color palletes you use? Or any advices for that type of art and where I could possibly find sources that could help learn about.

Hiya!

I draw in procreate and use these products from Retro Supply

And recently I bought KraftTone by True Grit Texture Supply which has an identical halftone system to Colorlab, but I wanted to know the difference. That being KraftTone has their CMY values (slightly) darker to give a gritty feel compared to Colorlab who gives you brighter color.

Before either of these products were available I used Debaser by True Grit Texture Supply. Instead of mixing your own halftone colors, Debaser has them ready to go. Just import the color file and brush in where you want the color. I still use this when I’m lazy or don’t wanna put in the extra effort 😅 (it still looks great tho!).

All these products come included with textured paper, inkers, distress effects and color chart references all of which I use in my art. 👍 These are all available for photoshop, illustrator, and Affinity. And I think right now only KraftTone is available for Clip Studio Paint. I can go into more depth about these products if you want to in another post.

If you don’t know about the comic color process and print here’s a quick article that will help you understand better.

You can find comic references anywhere. I get mine from Pinterest! Searching “vintage/retro comics” will give you a plethora of images that you can click through and get more similar images or find neat websites like this one!

Details I take note of when starting a piece:

If the colors and blacks will be vibrant or faded

If the print will be clean or bleeding and shifted ( or if I’m using halftones at all or solid color)

If the comic will have an overall yellow tint from age

How will I ink the lineart

There isn’t really a guide that teaches you how to achieve every single iteration of comic style. You get your lineart and halftones down and from there you experiment with effects depending on what look you want to achieve, which is the fun part imo. But on the retro supply website under “resources” they offer tutorials how to achieve various effects and art styles.

If you plan on mixing your own halftones it’s easier color it like normal then translate that color to halftones. The products I use all offer a solid color palette to the corresponding halftones to make the process easier because it does get a tad confusing especially if you forget what color formula you were using ( it’s a pain to match the colors tbh b/c they’re not labeled), I should pre color my stuff, but I don’t and I end up fumbling over myself. Lol.

Hope that helped some! Cheers!

[whumpzone]

The thing with Vik and his beard made me think of one of my favorite but very rarely used tropes, which is teaching the whumpee to shave. Like, Col starts to get super annoying stubble and Vik notices that it’s not comfortable so he decides to use his endless knowledge of manscaping and personal grooming to show Col how to use a razor. But Col stuck in the small bathroom with Vik and a razor makes Col incredibly nervous. So, it’s a lot of Vik finding weird but smart solutions.

Small space making him nervous? Grab a mirror and go to the kitchen sink where there’s more room.

Col unable to relax because it just really is too scary right now? Vik sprays a handful of shaving cream into his hands and they both kinda play around with the texture. Vik puts his own on hilariously, despite not planning on shaving, and uses this as an opportunity to tell Col that he can just wash it off and say no if the shaving part got too much.

The razor looks scary? Vik tells him that he is shaving for maybe the first time and his hands are shaky, but it’s a safety razor and even if he does nick himself, it’s not a big deal. He also tells him about when he’s nicked himself, and that it’s no worse than a paper cut, and sometimes he doesn’t even notice until he sees it.

Col manages the first pass down his cheek, and stares at the razor then at the strip of clear skin, waiting for blood, but there is none.

Vik applauds, making him jump, but also giving him confidence to do it again, slowly but surely going across till his face was clear.

He made it through with only a little nick above his upper lip, which Vik fixes with a dab of Vaseline to stop the bleeding.

They both wash away the excess shaving cream and Vik gives him a set of his own shaving stuff, and tells him that he looks “right nice” before heading off to make fun of Linden for something and steal his tea.

Col catches himself in the mirror as he’s putting the shaving things away, and thinks for a second that he sees someone else in the mirror. Someone from a long, long time ago.

I love this so much!!

I've been thinking lately that Col should start getting some stubble. now that he's getting proper nutritional food his body can come out of survival mode. and Vik teaching him how to shave just works so PERFECTLY

there is so much vulnerability involved in that situation. it'd take so much trust ;-; and I love that Col would feel a bit more like himself at the end!!

The only thing I'd say is that "right nice" isn't really a phrase people say. Vik would say "proper nice" :D

[plush-rabbit]

Taking Care Of Tomura Shigaraki - Headcanons

Request: can i request tomura with a s/o thats always buying/making clothes for him, cutting his hair, doing his skincare and just caring for his appearance in general

A/N: i tried knitting once, i wasn’t good at it immediately and i gave up:(

-

Tomura isn’t one to care for his appearance, not because he’s lazy or unable to do something about it, but rather because he is apathetic about it. The dry skin does have it’s setbacks- itchiness, cracking skin that bleeds easily and brittle skin- but it’s nothing that he minds too much. At this point in his life, he’s used to how he appears- he doesn’t hate his appearance and he’s made peace that any product applied to him just makes him feel uncomfortable. However, when you come along, you dote over him, wanting to take care of him and make sure that he feels his best whenever possible.

You don’t try to change, but rather help him feel a bit better. You’ve dealt with your fair share of skin problems and even just having dry skin is enough for you to feel uncomfortable. You do your best to find the best creams for him, making sure to figure out what textures and scent she isn’t fond of and what ingredients he reacts negatively to. While the experience takes time away from his duties as a leader, he doesn’t mind it too much. He has you with him, sitting on his lap with your hands pressed against his face- cupping at his cheek or twirling with a piece of hair- so he’ll sit still and lean into your hands as you take care of him.

You’ve gotten into habits of knitting and sewing so when his shirt has a hole in it or his sweater sleeve, you’ll patch them up. You make sure to add a match color so nithing stick outs. It’s then that you realize he has no clothing prepared for the winter cold and that he’s left with just a thicker sweater to wear. You decide to buy yarn and stitch something for him- a sweater to keep him warm and it’s a bit oversized and a few loops out of place towards the end, but it's made with love. He’ll take it in his hands and give you a sort of wide eye look as you explain that you wanted him to have something personal. You wanted to make him gloves but you’re sure knitted gloves wouldn’t work well with a missing finger hole or two and that it sort of defeats the purpose to keep him warm.

It’s a bit of a mess when taking care of him. He’s independent and apathetic about his appearance so when you approach wanting to try to give him a semblance of love and care, he is at a loss for words. He allows you to do what you want, but he feels as if he has to repay you back in some sort of way. He’ll hold your gifts in his hands, his pinky lifted and eyes narrowed as he asks what it is that you want in return. He can’t promise he’ll get it by ethical means, but he can promise to get it. He doesn’t understand the nature of a gift, he wasn’t given gifts when he was under the care of AFO without some sort of repayment. He had to do something good to earn things so when you appear gifting him knitted clothes, he stares at them, not knowing what you want or what he did to warrant something nice. He can only nod his head and give you a rough kiss on the cheek when you tell him its gift and that you expect nothing in return.

His closet is filled with similar types of clothing so, you like to buy him outfits and at first it was more about a bit of selfishness by dressing him in things you like and changing to things that he’s more comfortable in. You buy outfits that are dark in order to keep up the villain's attire to playing around with it and gifting him turtlenecks and different types of jackets. While you wish you could play around with color for his more noticable outfits, you know that he relies on stealth for a decent part of his work. You tend to give him colors for his sleepwear or even outfits for him to relax in. It starts off with bursts of color, wanting to see which one you think he will look nice in- you end up choosing warmer tones like reds and oranges and a few cooler tones like dark and light purples and dustier types of blues. You want him to have fun and you also want him to be happy with his style and feel seen so you decide to buy more gaming related things for him. Rings with a symbol of a console attached to it or mirroring one from a game, to shirts that have a logo or even a panel from a manga or scene that he likes. You like gifting him accessories just a bit more. It’s nice to see him wear something small and be reminded that he actually enjoyed the thing rather than just stuffing it into a drawer.

For the most part, he doesn’t really touch his hair, choosing to let it grow out rather than messing with it. On the rare occasion that he does cut his hair, he does it on his own. He isn’t a fan of having other people touch him, especially with something so sharp close to him. When he does cut his hair, he’s a bit reckless with it, seeing it as a form of expression rather than wanting to make it look something proper. Music will blast from his phone speaker, drums and loud screaming that matches his mood as he stands in front of the mirror, a pair of scissors in his hand as he snips around, fluffling up the sides and twirling the ends. While he isn’t one to care for appearances, his hair is the closest that he’ll take autonomy in, wanting to decide for himself how to style it.

Touch is something that he can be rather odd with. He craves it, wants it and will press your hand close to his nody desperate to just have you touch him, but there are other days where he is repulsed by it, touch so toxic to him that it makes his throat close and acid burns his tongue. One the occasion where he does enjoy touch, and he’s too tired to cut his own hair, he’ll drag you to the bathroom. He’ll sit in the shower, the tile cold underneath him as your hands run through his hair. Shivers will run down his spine when you press your lips to the crown of his head. You’re much gentler with his hair than he is, trimming at the ends and fluffing it with your hands, asking for his advice and wanting to follow it. He doesn’t let you do any more than just trimming the ends and sections where the hair is split, but even then, he appreciates that you did it for him.

Despite being in a relationship with you, he always expects you to turn away from him, to reject his touch or to simply grow bored of him. Yet, you’re still with him, gentle and caring, pulling him close to you and washing his hair. Your nails scratch against his scalp and you make sure that no soap reaches past his eyes, your voice a low hum as you mumble a song between your lips. It’s these moments where he can just fall asleep, he’ll lean into your touch and close his eyes, teeth piercing into the insides of his cheeks, desperate to hide his growing smile when the cool water rushes down. You might push, but you care for him.

He’s told you his sob story, has mentioned how he was raised under All For One and how he was denied things until he did what he was told, but he never expected anything from it. He hadn’t realized that you would want to care for him in ways that he had never been cared for before. Your hands are gentle, pressed against his face in a soft kiss, cream thin on your hands as you rub the cooling gel against him. Your hands hold his as you clip his nails, pressing your lips to his knuckles once you’re done. You give him love, your tenderness showing through and your smile gentle as you don’t expect a thing in return, only for you to kiss at the scar under his eye and pull away with a cheeky grin.

Time and time again, he’s been under your touch, welcomed and in awe of it when you are still gentle with him as if it were the first time. You call his name, a lilt in your voice as you pull out various things from your bag, gifting him various items with a smile wide on your face. He’s kissed you before, your lips soft compared to his, sweet like honey and making his teeth ache but he never tires of it. Your touch is something new to him, something old and wanted, something so heavy and intoxicating that he’s sure you are too good to be true. Shigaraki holds you close, his eyes half-lidded as your hand combs through his hair while he lays on your chest. He can feel your heartbeat through his chest and it’s his own personal lullaby listening to the rythmic thumping of it. His face will be red when you call him pretty, your hands still on him and his name on your tongue. Hidden from your view, he’ll smile and feel tears prick at his eyes.

[yuki-the-master-of-demons]

Sensitive Spots Part 2 (NSFW smut/angst) Mammon X Male MC

This is a continuation of another post: Part 1

Yuki is FTM (he/him). I just wanted to write smut but characters decided to go for angst

"What? Did I say something weird?" Yuki asks as all the demon brothers stare at him.

"Oh, Yuki." Asmo coos. "You really don't know what you do to us do you? Giving Mammon's wings special attention and then asking to do the same with everyone else."

"We weren't doing anything like that!" Mammon barks. "And even if we- If we were, what's the problem, huh?"

Yuki shrugs. "It's biology, and I like biology. I wanna learn about demon anatomy, and, while books can teach a lot, a diagram is nothing like touching the real thing."

"Well, that statement isn't wrong," Satan chuckles. "I suppose I should have leant you more descriptive books."

"That would be nice." Yuki comments. "Though, I'd still like to poke and prod y'all if y'all'd let me."

"You can poke and prod me all you want, Darling." Asmo giggles. "I can show you just how different demon anatomy can be."

"Me first." Belphie buts in.

Beel pauses chewing. "I wouldn't mind it either."

Satan chuckles. "I'd be happy to help educate you with a private lesson, Yuki."

"Oh no you don't!" Mammon growls. "The only one giving Yuki an anatomy lesson is me!"

Levi whines. "How can all of you say this stuff so casually?!"

Lucifer sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yuki, why is it that you always seem to rile them up?"

"I don't fucking know, but it's nice to know I can study y'alls' demon forms, at least most of you it seems like." Yuki smiles. "This is gonna be fun."

"I can't wait, Darling." Asmo leans in closer to Yuki, but, before he can respond, Mammon yoinks him out of his chair.

"I call dibs!" Mammon yells before running off with the human as an uproar comes from his brothers. The demon pulls Yuki into his room, slams the door, and shifts into his demon form as he faces the human.

"So that just happened?" Yuki looks at Mammon with confusion.

"Can you not be a nerd for 5 seconds?" Mammon grumbles with his cheeks flushed. "Do you have any idea what you've been saying?"

Yuki stares blankly at Mammon. "Uh..." Yuki shrugs.

"Well, if you really want to be a nerd and study demon anatomy, you'll be studying me first." Mammon pouts.

"Oh uh, okay. So how do you wanna do this?"

Mammon gulps and takes Yuki by the hand, guides the human to sit on the bed with him. "Ya can go ahead and touch me..."

Yuki hesitates. "Where am I allowed to touch you?"

"Anywhere. Just- Touch me."

Yuki looks over Mammon's torso before tracing the markings on the demon's chest. Mammon's breath hitches.

"They're a different texture." Yuki mutters. "Are these tattoos or...?"

"They're kinda like birth marks." Mammon answers. "I didn't pick 'em."

"They look good on you." Yuki begins to undo the buckles of Mammon's top. It doesn't take long for the leather to fall from Mammon's shoulders. Yuki scoots himself to sit behind the demon.

"Ya really like my wings, don't ya?" Mammon chuckles softly.

"Yeah," Yuki answers easily. "They're really cool." Yuki delicately pulls at Mammon's wing and sees how far it can spread. He feels the thing leathery like skin and follows the white edges to the demon's shoulder blades. Mammon bites his lip. Yuki's hands feel up along Mammon's back, feeling how the muscles connect to the demon's wings. Mammon swallows his moan.

"You said the tissue here was sensitive." Yuki comments. "What does it feel like?"

"Good." Is the only word Mammon can get out without letting a groan slip past his lips. Yuki rubs the area where the leathery wing joins Mammon's back. The demon's wing twitches. Yuki rubs it again, the wing twitches again. Mammon can feel his cock stirring in his pants. Yuki tries rubbing another spot, this time Mammon's wing flutters. Yuki does this again and again, finding different spots at the base of Mammon's wings, seeing how the wings move depending on where he touches. A soft curse from the demon catches Yuki's attention.

"You good?" Yuki asks, looking over Mammon's shoulder. The human notices how Mammon's chest is heaving, cheeks and shoulders are flushed. Yuki's eyes widen as he looks further down and sees Mammon's cock straining against his pants. "Oh..." Yuki mumbles. "Oooooh, so they're that kind of sensitive."

Mammon turns to the human and growls. "Now you realize it?"

"Huh."

"'Huh?' 'Huh?!' Is that all you're gonna say?" Mammon tries to calm his breathing down.

Yuki shrugs, eyes not leaving the tent in Mammon's pants. "It's interesting anatomy. Is this kind of reaction common with all demons or is it-"

"Are you seriously still acting fucking like a nerd right now?"

"Should I not be?" Yuki asks.

"Fucking-" Mammon grunts. "You really are something else."

Heat rises in his Yuki's cheeks. "Are demons different down there as well?"

"I- Yeah." Mammon gulps. "Do ya... wanna see?"

Yuki slides off the bed and sets himself between Mammon's legs. "May I?" He asks.

"Fuck yes." Mammon groans.

Yuki hesitates for a moment and then undoes Mammon's belt. He unconsciously licks his lips as he pulls the zipper down, leaning closer as he does so. When Mammon's cock springs free, Yuki's eyes stare in amazement.

"Wow." Yuki mutters. White markings line either side of Mammon's cock, and rows of ridges are stacked along his shaft. Yuki leans in closer, fingers wrapping around the base of the demon's cock. Without thinking, Yuki leans down and licks the tip.

"Fuck." Mammon moans.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me." Yuki pulls away.

"Don't fucking apologize." Mammon reaches down and runs his hand through Yuki's hair. "Go ahead. Study my cock with your mouth."

Yuki leans in closer again, looking up at the demon to make sure what he's doing is okay, and takes the tip of Mammon's cock between his lips. He runs his tongue over the slit, savoring the taste of the demon. His hand slowly begins stroking the demon.

Mammon groans. "Fuck, Yuki."

Yuki takes more of Mammon into his mouth, mind going fuzzy as heat grows in his lower body. Yuki's other hand wanders down and begins rubbing circles against his clit through the fabric of his pants. Yuki strokes faster and begins to bob his head, taking in more and more of Mammon's cock each time his head descends. When he looks up, Mammon's blue eyes are staring back at him with flushed cheeks.

"You look so good with your lips wrapped around my cock." Mammon moans.

Those words both embarrasses and encourages Yuki. He tries to take Mammon deeper, trying to take the demon down his throat. He chokes and has to pull away, but he does back down, determined to take all he can. He closes his eyes as his head bobs faster, both of his hands working Mammon's cock.

"Y-Yuki-" Mammon pants. "I'm- Fuck, I'm close."

Yuki pulls Mammon's cock from his lips and strokes the demon's cock. He opens his mouth, tongue out and ready. The human looks up, watching as how Mammon's shoulders shudder and how the demon's bottom lip bleeds as he bites it.

A guttural groan escapes Mammon as he cums, his fingers digging into Yuki's scalp. Yuki keeps staring at the demon, taking note of every detail he can, as rope after rope of cum shoots into his mouth. Mammon stares back, watching as Yuki licks his lips clean and sucks the tip of Mammon's cock, making sure every drop is in his mouth. For a moment, the two stare at each other in silence. When Yuki swallows his cum, Mammon pulls the human onto his lap, and they kiss each other desperately.

"Mammon!" Yuki gasps when the demon bites the base of his neck. "Fuck- Your teeth."

"Too much?"

"No." Yuki grinds on Mammon's cock. "Do it again."

"Fucking asking to touch all my brothers." Mammon growls in Yuki's ear. "If you're gonna pick us all, I'm gonna be your first."

Yuki moans loudly as Mammon's teeth sink into shoulder, and the demon bucks his hips. "On you back." Yuki commands.

Mammon's pact pulls him down onto the mattress. He gazes up at Yuki with wide eyes.

"Was that okay?" Yuki asks as he rest his hands on the demon's chest.

"Y-yeah, ya just surprised me."

"Sorry." Yuki chuckles and lifts himself, pulling his leg free from his pants and underwear. His shirt is just long enough to cover himself. Mammon can't see it, but, when Yuki sits himself back on the demon's abdomen, Mammon can feel how wet Yuki is.

Mammon's hands trace up Yuki's thighs and pushing up the human's shirt. "Damn." He mutters.

Yuki flushes and pulls the shirt back down. "It's okay. You don't have to pretend to find me attractive."

Mammon's eyebrows furrow. "'Pretend?' What the hell are ya- Yuki, you're hot as fuck!"

"I'm really not." Yuki shrugs. "I accidentally got you horny, now you need a release, and I'm a warm body close by. It's okay, I'm mediocre. I get it. You don't have to lie."

"I ain't lying!" Mammon grumbles and flips Yuki over, laying the human face up while he cages Yuki in with his arms. "What the fuck are you talking about? Yuki, you fucking drive me wild! You drive so many demons nuts with how hot you are!"

Yuki stares blankly at Mammon for a beat and then laughs. The human yelps suddenly when Mammon flips Yuki on his back. "Mammon?" Yuki gasps.

"You're fucking sexy." Mammon growls. "If you don't believe me, I'll prove it to you." The demon licks up Yuki's neck, making the human gasp. Mammon's hands sneak under Yuki's shirt, feeling up the human's torso.

"Ma-Mammon-" Yuki moans. "You don't have to-"

"I want to." Mammon pulls Yuki's shirt over the human's head. "I want you."

Yuki looks back silently before nodding. "Okay, just- If you want to stop at any time, I won't be mad."

"Ya don't need to worry about that." Mammon mutters as he trails kisses down Yuki's torso. "Spread your legs for me."

Yuki gulps and does what he's told, opening his legs and revealing his hard clit and wet folds. Mammon rests his hands on the human's thighs and licks his lips. He leans in closer and blows on Yuki's sensitive bud. Yuki gasps, hips jumping forward at the sensation.

"Mammon, please-" Yuki mewls.

"Don't worry. I got you." Mammon says before running his tongue across Yuki's hole. The human's hands shoot to Mammon's hair, one of them gripping one of the demon's horn. Mammon goes deeper, pushing his tongue into Yuki and savoring the human's taste.

"Fuck- Mammon, I- ." Yuki moans, back arching. Mammon shifts his his focus, tongue twisting around Yuki's clit, as two of his fingers slowly enter the human's hole. Yuki's legs encase Mammon's head, pulling him in even more.

"M-Mammon, yes- Mammon." Yuki squirms in the demon's grasp as he repeats Mammon's name again and again. Mammon's fingers pump into Yuki, making the human's legs shake, as the demon sucks and nibbles on Yuki's clit. With a final curse and whimper of Mammon's name, Yuki cums. Mammon feels Yuki's walls squeeze his soaked fingers, and the human's clit pulsing on his tongue.

Mammon pulls away and licks his lips as he looks over Yuki's body. Yuki's chest is heaving, and his body still twitches as he comes down from his high. Yuki's arms have pushed his glasses up as he covers his face. "Yuki," Mammon pulls himself up and kisses Yuki's chest. "Lemme see that handsome face of yours."

"I'm sorry." Yuki chokes out, not moving his arms.

"What the hell are you apologizing about?"

"I just- This is-" Yuki sniffles. "What we just did- Why? How could you- Why me?"

"Ah fuck, are ya crying?" Mammon panics. "Did I hurt you? Did I-"

"No! No, I just-" Yuki wipes his eyes. "It feels so impossible. Mammon, you're- I know I'm not ugly, and that I can be cute sometimes, but I know I'm not sexy. You said that's not true, but you're- You're fucking gorgeous Mammon. You have it all, the looks, the voice, the confidence, the experience, but me- I just- I don't understand how you would ever do something like this with me. I'm just the mediocre nerd who's lucky enough to not be repulsive on a good day."

"What the hell, Yuki? Is that how you see yourself?" Mammon pulls the human in for a hug.

"I mean, how else can I see myself." Yuki murmurs. "Look at me."

"I am, and you're fucking sexy."

"I don't understand how you can say that."

"Because you are!" Flushed, Mammon leans in and kisses Yuki with agrowl. "You don't know how often you drive me wild."

Yuki is silent for a moment before speaking. "I don't understand, but... I know you aren't lying to me. I just- You're you, Mammon, a model with tons of fans who flirt with you, while the only people who try and get my attention want to copy my assignments or ask to cheat off of me during exams. It's obvious what people think of me, so how- Why do you, of all people, think I'm sexy?"

"Yuki, have you seen your face? Have you seen your body? Do you know how often you leave me all hot and bothered? I-" Mammon's face turns a darker pink and takes Yuki's hand, guiding it to hard cock. "Your voice, the way you called my name. The way you moved and moaned for me, I'm hard again because of how fucking sexy you are."

Yuki kisses him.