#tw fighting

[dean-winchesters-clit]

Hi! Film editor here! This is absolutely not one take!

For starters, it would be impossible for these guys to be in place for multiple different choreography beats in under a second between cuts. Especially on sand in the dark. Secondly, the guy who is playing Robin Hood is 100% the same between cuts.

So, what's going on?

The blurry camera movements between each moment are called "whip pans" and are achieved by moving the camera really fast. Each of these moments or "set ups" starts and ends with one of these whip pans.

It is very, very, very easy to hide a cut inside a whip pan. Because the image is completely blurry, the audience is unlikely to notice if the image suddenly changes. It's all just blurry colors. But we also hide these secret cuts by blending the shots by fading from one into the other. The fades in hidden whip pan cuts are typically only a few frames and are invisible. Even knowing they're there, you wouldn't know unless you went frame-by-frame.

This is standard practice for pretty much anything that is done in "one take" these days. The best example I can think of off of my head is the Church fight sequence in The Kingsman.

Watch this and note the quick camera movements and how many times someone runs across the camera. There's a hidden cut every single time. This famous one shot scene is made up of dozens of shots that are planned and cut together to look like one shot. It saves time and energy, especially with a fight scene (or a dance one), to not have to start from the very beginning of the scene every time someone messes up.

So, there's a little bit of movie magic that's permanently ruined for you! Have a nice day!

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

Draw your characters like this

[frownyalfred]

So I’m watching the Jake Paul/Mike Tyson boxing fight right now and I’m having some Batman-related thoughts:

I so badly want to hc Thomas Wayne as a casual/amateur boxer in college. It just makes sense. Bruce got it from him.

Bruce being able to take direct hits to the face all night on patrol or even just consecutively is very very impressive. These guys can sometimes barely take one or two before they just can’t keep going.

Bruce’s bulk and Jason’s bulk post Pit make sense for how they fight; you need that kind of weight in order to keep taking hits. You need that kind of weight in order to throw hits that hard.

“These guys get knocked out enough that they know how to get up right away without panicking.” Hmm that’s giving me thoughts.

We’ve seen Bruce default to a boxing stance as a fallback for close quarter combat in canon and I have thoughts about that too. He knows a dozen different martial arts and is an expert in many of them.

Bare knuckle boxing is even more impressive to me now after seeing the damage gloves can do.

Telegraphing hits is so real, but sometimes your opponent is so tired or injured it doesn’t matter.

[4axel4loop]

"the task of being alive is a sacred one" / Book of Ancestors, Margaret Atwood

[n0va-daamnn]

Catfight!! 🐱

[coolpartytimefan]

Rick Grimes - TOWL s1.6

Rick: I never lost my son. I lost myself. He brought me back, my wife brought me back! We're the sword that kills. We're the sword that gives life. One life, one unstoppable life. We're not dead. You ARE!

[ananxiousgenz]

pssst. pssssssst. hey guys. look at what i got y'all (IT'S MORE JARTHUR COWBOY AU)

this one comes with several pieces of info you need to know first:

@percymawce-arts and I are writing this fic together!!! we have entered into writers matrimony for this fic and we are super excited about it!! I wrote the bare bones of the scene you're about to read and he added almost all of the flavor and spice (while i was laying on my bed in the family guy dead pose bc of how good he made it). make sure to go show percy some love for this too!!

this scene takes place after one where john and arthur chase after larson, but arthur refuses to shoot him, and john is more than a little pissed off about it.

and some trigger warnings: this scene contains some fighting (both verbal and physical), child abuse, religious trauma, homophobia, and some suggestive themes

and finally, i will tag @ellamenop and @izel-reblogs bc i have a feeling you will both enjoy this :)

“What,” John snarled, slamming the cabin door shut behind him, “the fuck. What was that?!”

“None of your business,” Arthur replied, ever so prim and fucking proper. He kept his back to John, maybe to hide his face, so John couldn’t read him. Maybe because he was too much of a coward to meet John’s eyes after that stunt. John didn’t care what the reason was. It was only pissing him off more.

“No. Fuck that. It's all my business.”

“I didn't fire a gun. How is that making you upset?”

“You had him right in front of you,” John rumbled, his voice as low and dangerous as thunder on the horizon. Arthur shivered. “And you let him go. You had the opportunity to kill him. To end this, all of this. And you let it slip through your fucking fingers.”

“Maybe I didn't want to kill him.”

“What the fuck does that matter? He's too goddamn dangerous to be left alive!”

“It's not that simple, John-”

“The hell it is! I’m sorry you feel conflicted or whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours, but this isn’t about you! All you had to do was fire the fucking gun. He was right in front of you, and you didn't shoot!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Why?!”

“You want to know why?” Arthur shouted, whipping around to face John, at last. “Because I can't kill another person! Even someone as awful as Larson! I’m not like you! This isn’t easy for me, alright?!”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Arthur’s face fell. John could see the regret wash over his face like a cloud over the burning sun, but it only lasted a moment before he was collecting himself. Putting on that same mask of polite-until-you-fuck-with-me he always wore around suspects and targets. John had never had that face turned on him before. He hated it.

“So that’s what this is about,” John murmured, his tone dark. “You think it’s easy… You think I’m a monster, and you’d rather let Larson go free than be like me.”

“No, John, that’s not-”

 “Who do you think made me that way?” John snapped. Arthur’s mouth closed so fast John heard his teeth click. “It was him, Arthur. It was Larson. And thanks to you, he’s going to go and do it to another lonely, scared Native kid with nowhere else to go!” John chuckled humorlessly. “Christ, Arthur, If that’s what you thought of me, why didn’t you just say it at the start?”

Arthur threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I think of you, John. Jesus, am I not allowed to have a minor moral crisis over shooting a man?!”

“He’s not just a man! He’s a gangster! A robber! A killer! You told me so yourself!”

“So are you, John.”

“Yeah, and you shot me for it,” John reminded him. 

Arthur growled and slammed his fist down on the mantle of the fireplace beside them, hard enough that John could feel the vibration travel through the floor. “Jesus fucking Christ, John, I wanted to let the law deal with him! Is that so hard to understand?!”

John took a step in Arthur’s direction. “Oh yeah? The same law that ripped me away from my family and home? The same law that turned me into a monster? Too little and too much for everyone all at the same time? The same law that drove human beings off of their lands and into reservations? That killed thousands of people like me?”

“The criminal law would have placed Larson in jail. Like he deserved.”

John scoffed and crossed his arms. “You think the law cares that he deserves it, Arthur? The law is punishment for those who don’t deserve it and ignorance for those who do. There’s no justice in it.”

“What, so that means it’s your job to deal it out?”

“Yes!” John yelled. “If it means he can’t hurt anyone any longer, then yes. And vigilante justice works a hell of a lot faster than the court system will ever manage!”

“I thought you were trying to be a better man, John.”

“I was trying to be like you,” John said venomously. “My mistake.”

That was the final straw. Arthur took a step forward without warning and swung his fist as hard as he could. It made contact with John’s ribs (he could feel them shift beneath Arthur’s fist), and John made a soft oof sound as the wind was knocked out of his lungs and he was knocked into the fireplace mantle, the corner of it digging into his shoulder. 

The fight that followed was chaotic and messy in a way John had never experienced before, and when he tried to think back to it, it would only be preserved in blurry snapshots, like someone moving in the middle of a photograph. Arthur grabbed John’s braid and pulled. John clawed a deep gouge into his arm. He drew blood. Arthur twisted John’s arm. John cracked Arthur’s rib. Arthur knocked John’s legs out from under him, causing them both to go sprawling onto the floor. Arthur punched. John slapped. Arthur bit. John pinned. And then paused. And then…

In the midst of the fighting, John had ended up on top of Arthur, straddling his waist while pinning both wrists with one hand and grabbing a fistfull of Arthur’s shirt with the other. Both of them had frozen, the only movement the rapid rise and fall of their chests. Their noses were nearly touching, and John could feel Arthur’s breath fanning across his lips, staring into those dark, dark eyes. They weren’t so dark, John realized as he looked into them. They were brown, lovely and warm, with scattered flecks of gold and green nestled deep inside. Hidden gems, wide and wild with adrenaline, flicking back and forth across John’s face without any point of focus.

John’s eyes flicked over the rest of Arthur’s face. Freckles smattered across his nose and cheekbones. Loose strands of auburn hair falling messily across his forehead. The crooked corners of his nose from being broken one too many times. Smile lines beside his tired eyes. Lips like flower petals, soft and pale. Slightly parted and inhaling, exhaling. At some point, John realized he had let go of Arthur’s shirt and was cradling Arthur’s face oh-so gently as he examined it, dragging his thumb lightly over his cheekbone, caressing it. Down the bridge of his nose to his lips, his perfect lips. Arthur remained as still as stone, barely even breathing as he stared blindly back at John.

Somewhere behind the haze of the moment, John wondered subconsciously what would happen if he kissed Arthur. Because, the truth, he realized, was that deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he wanted. He wanted Arthur, in a way he had never wanted anyone else before. He wanted to be close to him, close like this. Closer than this. To be around him always, to hold him, to kiss him. 

What would happen if he took what he wanted instead of what he was told, for once?

He hesitated when he heard Arthur’s breath hitch.But then, when no resistance came, he leaned his head down ever so slightly (there was barely any bridge to gap, by that point), and then he was kissing Arthur. And it was like the world had been set ablaze.

As he pressed his lips against Arthur’s, every nerve in John’s body was alive. It felt like a jolt from a live wire, like a burst of fireworks that would light up the sky on the Fourth of July, like the sparking tang of gunpowder before the shot rang out. It felt like energy, pure and bright and hot and lighting him up from the inside. He felt Arthur’s body respond in kind, arching up to create a line of contact that started at their hands and continued all the way down to their tangled legs, making John shiver. He tasted like whiskey, sweet and sharp beneath the campfire smoke and aftershave, and John marveled at how such a strange and sinful combination could taste like it had just come down from heaven.

He kissed harder, chasing the taste. He nipped at Arthur’s lip hard enough to draw blood, adding a coppery tang to the kiss and eliciting a small moan from the back of Arthur’s throat. It only made John want more. He kissed him again, and again, and again, Arthur’s lips and tongue moving against his with a practiced skill that made John dizzy. He kissed him until his lips were swollen and his head was swimming with nothing but Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He only pulled away when his chest was burning and there was no choice but to come up for air.

Arthur’s face was flushed, his eyes wide and twinkling. “Oh God.” His voice was hoarse. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, John.”

And an unbidden memory surfaced in John’s mind. 

He was back in boarding school, sitting for a mandatory midnight mass in the chapel, his posture ramrod straight. The priests had always been so particular about those masses. There was to be no slouching or fidgeting, and God alone could help you if you dozed off. John had been kneeing in one of the pews, focusing all of his attention on keeping his posture perfect and his eyes open and remaining somewhat alert. 

In the midst of silent prayer, one of the priests, a Father McKenna, had thrown open the doors to the chapel, and dragged another boy up before the altar by his ear. 

The boy had tears streaming down his disheveled face and his nose was red from crying, but the thing that struck John the most about him were his eyes. He just looked so… tired. Not the kind of tired that John was fighting, the kind where a seductive sleep was lingering at the corners of his vision, waiting for him to blink or close his eyes in “prayer” for a second too long. This boy looked like the kind of tired that shot through his bones and grew like rot and rust with every passing day, the kind that only shuffling off this mortal coil a bit too soon could cure.

Father McKenna said the boy had been caught ‘with’ another, with a fury in his eyes that made John wonder in the back of his mind if he had been possessed by the devil. He’d been too young to know what it meant to be ‘with’ another boy at the time, but he knew it must be evil. Father McKenna threw him down in front of the altar, and the boy- John vaguely recognized him to be a child named Alexander- just knelt with his head bowed, like he had accepted his fate before Fate came to dole it out.

Father McKenna was not pleased by this. He smacked the back of Alexander’s head. Hard. He didn’t respond. He picked up a hymnal and smacked him harder still. And still, nothing. 

The priest was trembling with barely concealed fury now, and there was a steady pit of dread opening up in John’s stomach as he began to eye the doors, the windows. Any potential escape from the devil and the punishment that awaited him.

But there was no escape, there never was. So John sat, quietly, and watched as Father McKenna began to beat Alexander.

It was horrible, but somehow John couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even as Alexander’s screams tore through his ears and began to echo off the vaulted ceilings, pleas to stop and promises to never do it again ringing in John’s mind. Not even as the boy’s blood began to stain Father McKenna’s hands and drip onto the marble stairs, as vivid and crimson as sacramental wine. Not even as two of the altar boys had to drag Alexander’s barely conscious, barely breathing body down the aisle and out to the hospital wing.

John was trembling by the end of it. He felt like he was going to throw up. He dreamed of that moment for weeks afterward, never able to sleep without witnessing another religious sacrifice, another crucifixion, another martyr behind his eyelids.

Suddenly back in the present– but not really, never fully out of the past– John scrambled back off of Arthur and pressed his back against a wall, wide-eyed and sweating in sudden, sickening fear. In another life he might have missed the feeling of Arthur beneath him, his waist between his thighs, his lips against his. But nothing could permeate that fear. Nothing would ever be bigger than the fear.

“Wha– John?” Arthur asked. There was fear in his eyes too, but it was different. It wasn’t fear of hell or Father McKenna or whatever had become of Alexander. It was fear for John. It was concern. John closed his eyes against it. “John, what’s wrong? What–,” “Shut up.”

“What?”

“Just, be quiet!” John snapped. “Please, please, just–,” his voice broke. He squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stave off an oncoming headache. 

“Okay…” Arthur said, quietly. Gently, so cruelly gentle. John could feel the beginnings of tears burning behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut tighter. “Okay.”

“This…” John started. He didn’t want to say it. He knew there would be no coming back from it. No more fireworks, no more whiskey on flower petal lips. Never again would he be so close to Arthur Lester if he said it. But that was the point wasn’t it? Make distance.

Take what he was told, never what he wanted.

“This was a mistake,” John said, firmly. A lie, of course. Inside, his very soul was shaking. The strings of his heart were trembling in a tragic vibrato, a song with no recipient. But he’d always been good at lying. He stood, tossing his braid over his shoulder and brushing the dust of his shirt (his wrinkled shirt, stained with a speck of Arthur’s blood). “It never happened.” He didn’t look at Arthur, because he was a coward. He was everything Arthur thought he was, so he didn’t look him in the eye when he said:

“If you ever so much as mention this, to anyone, I won’t hesitate, Arthur.”

He opened the door to the cabin, ready to step outside, leaving everything he’d never known he’d wanted behind. 

“I’m not you.”

[gilverrwrites]

I’m lowkey curious what 🚨 scenario you’d write for Tim

🚨 sex that sent me to the ER headcanon

Tim likes to play fight as foreplay sometimes. Usually, it’s fine. You can hold your own, and if you can’t, he’s pretty good at toning it down to a level you can compete with, but there have been a couple of occasions where he has gotten a little too rough with you. The worst being a pin down, he'd grabbed your arm and pulled it around your back, just like he’d done a million times before in and out of the field, only this time there was a sickening crack and you bawdy panting immediately turned to a pained cry.

Needless to say he was guiltily at your beck and call until your dislocated wrist healed up.

[Smut emoji prompts]

[0xy--m0r0n]

ty @numerous-bees-in-a-skin-suit for the wonderful stock image that i used as ref for this

i just. felt like it worked.

also i was super tired while drawing this so its not. super detailed. idk

[void-bitten-ghost]

Modern Mizu hears you like a bit of 'danger and excitement' from one of your friends, so she takes you to an underground fighting ring for like, your fifth date. This is after the gun range fiasco, so you've already seen a side of Mizu that not many have been allowed to see.

When she mentions this idea you're like, so fucking excited but still kinda like??? There's one of these here????? Nearby????? Holy shit yes???? Please?????? That's so cool?????

She specifically avoids answering how she knows it exists. This isn't about her. This is about sharing an experience she loves and you've shown interest in.

She picks you up on her bike (because Of Course she would have a motorbike that's like either this hand-me-down or a fixer-upper she restored) and you go. It's exactly what you thought it would be, off vibes and dodgy people, but being with Mizu somehow makes you feel safe because she's confident. But it's not an arrogant kind of confidence, it's a steady, assured sort of confidence that puts you right at ease as she takes your hand and leads you through the crowd.

Now, something you don't know is this is not Mizu's stomping grounds. Not even close. But she knew it by name and reputation and it was close enough you could both make a night out of it rather than three. Although... she wouldn't mind if that were to happen--

She snaps back to reality when you step forward and holler out encouragement to the scrawnier one of the two currently in the ring. The corner of her mouth quirks at your enthusiasm, a brow lifting and a hip popping as she crosses her arms to just. Watch you. As you lose yourself to the energy of the room.

The match ends with the scrawny one getting his ass handed to him by the dude built like a brick shit-house. She expected as much. It takes a certain amount of skill to be able to take a mountain of a man like that down while having such a slight build. She'd know, after all.

Anyway. Everything is going swimmingly until some prick pushes his luck trying to get your attention. You very bluntly tell him he's barking up the wrong tree and he does not take the rejection well. Mizu tries to not intervene directly with your battles too often. You're a capable person, it's one of the things she lov- likes. Likes about you.

But then the burly fuck reaches for you. You smack his hand away and go to headbutt him. She grabs you by the waist before you could start the climb to reach and if you weren't so riled up you might have short circuited at the feel of her calloused hand on your skin.

"This bitch yours, mutt?" He grunts to Mizu, and you see fucking red.

"You fucking dare call her a mutt you jumped up little cun--"

"Yes," she says over you, calm as a still lake, and you do actually short circuit at Mizu calling you 'hers'. The heat of anger in you switches gears to something far sweeter, but no less scalding.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't upset her," Mizu says, her fingers trailing to your hip and gripping a belt loop possessively. You can suddenly feel every point of contact. Hip, arm, chest...

That's when the man looks at Mizu. Really looks at her with a lean forward and squinted eyes, looking over her tinted shades.

"Onryo," he breathes, and you feel Mizu tense behind you. She hadn't heard that name for a good long while. It was a name from her troubled youth. One she thought was long behind her since going legit.

"You're a long way from home, demon."

"What of it?"

You could sense something was happening as the two spoke in what you thought was an amicable tone, but then Mizu is pulling you behind her and shedding her jacket. You take hold of it instinctively as she went to drop it on the ground and she finally turns your way.

"Everything is fine," she tells you in that same confident tone, but she must see your confusion and anxiety written on your face because she takes your chin in her hand and gives you a quick peck on the lips. You stand there with a stupid, dumbstruck look she grins at as she--

She's heading to the ring. She's heading to the middle of the ring and she's shedding another layer as she climbs over the freshold oh dear gods you don't know what to do. What to think. Holy fucking shit she's right there in a sports bra and baggy pants while wrapping her knuckles-- where did she get wrappings from?????

You're more than short circuiting at this point. You need a soft reboot. Maybe a full reboot at this rate since she's sliding off those tinted glasses and-- oh.

You see her eyes.

You've seen them before, of course. But not like this. Not with this intensity behind them. Like she's looking right through her opponent to predict every single movement his future self might consider making. That indomitable focus had you flushing with heat from head to toe as you watched, mouth parted, breaths quickening.

She floors a man twice her size and three times the bredth and your knees might give out. Are you swooning? You might just be fucking swooning holy fuck--

But then she gets gut punched and then tackled by a secret second opponent and you snap back into the whole situation.

You scream out encouragement to Mizu until your lungs feel dry, and then you scream some more. You want to be the loudest. You want Mizu to hear you and know you're rooting for her while she wipes the floor with these cheating bastards.

There's four of the fuckers now. Four all dressed in similar... you hesitate to call them uniforms. More like they all shopped at the same tec-wear store at the same time. But shit are they fast. You have the slightest moment of worry when you see the glint of metal fly past in one of their fists--

Mizu breaks thier arm with a sickening twist and a wet 'crack', and you think you might never have been so turned on in your entire fucking life.

(And also you might need to address and analyse some things about yourself later...)

The metal drops to the floor with an audible clang and a loud noise goes off somewhere. You're going to be honest, you're not really paying attention to anything else other than how Mizu moves around her opponents. Even outnumbered she holds her own, muscles coiled and yet her movements are smooth like flowing water. You can't help but think of the type that wears away cliffsides and cracks apart mountains, because that's what she's doing. She's fighting smart where they're fighting with force, and she is kicking their fucking asses--

Others converge on the ring, the crowd flooding in to hold them all down and you can't help but notice it takes five fully stacked men to hold Mizu down. And even then that only lasts about seven seconds before she breaks free, methodically picking them all off one by one before she launches herself into the now turbulent crowd.

That's when you panic, shouting for her while elbows and shoulders send you this way and that. You narrowly dodge a fist to the face before a hand grabs yours. You're ready to swing right back when you lock eyes with those sharp blues you so adore.

You both book it out, avoiding flailing limbs and thrown table legs. You've somehow still got Mizu's jacket in the crook of your arm when you both make it outside and keep running, only stopping when the sound of sirens was long, long off in the distance.

You're both curled over in a dark, dank alleyway, breaths haggard and coming out as clouds in the crisp night air.

You look up from your knees, ass pressed against the brick wall to support your wobbly legs, and you can't help but crack a grin when you see Mizu in a similar state, only just realising what the fuck just happened.

The grin breaks into a laugh when Mizu looks to you with a bright smile of her own, it's a wheezing thing at first, but then it becomes a full belly laugh when she joins you. And oh, is that such a rare sight. Mizu losing herself in a laugh and then looking at you with the most beautiful full face smile you've ever seen in your life.

Your giggles die in the face of that smile, replaced with a quiet awe and probably the dumbest looking lovesick stare--

Steps. Multiple steps approach the alley and Mizu's first and only instinct is to hide and protect you, pressing you back against the wall and covering your mouth with her hand, catching your yelp of surprise before it could really become an external sound.

And ohhhhh, what a predicament you find yourself in. Pinned to a wall by this very strong and capable and, evidentally, dangerous woman who took you out tonight to a place you would only dream of going to and protected you the entire time and then caused a room wide fight to break out that she was, up until that point, winning--

Ohhhh my phone is currently dying a death imma have to post and carry on later because my brain is a bastard that way 🙃

[therenaissancedungeonmaster]

The act 5 to the act 3 here for @s0ckh3adstudios ‘s TSAS Traveler!Bonnie’s Mirabelle quest :)

Transcription below:

Bonnie narration: Just get it over with.

Mirabelle: Oh hi Bonnie how are-

Bonnie: Please cut my hair.

Mirabelle: Wh-what? You sure?

Bonnie: Brought you scissors.

Mirabelle: Oooo where’d you get those?

Bonnie: Doesn’t matter.

Mirabelle: Oookay sit down. Bonnie I can’t do this with you fidgeting hold still ple-

Bonnie: Yknow what I can do ur myself. Give me the scissors.

Mirabelle: Bonnie, no that’s not a good idea.

Bonnie: Gimme ‘em!

Mirabelle: No, Bonnie! You could hurt yourself! Just let me-

Bonnie: Yknow you’re NOTHING like Princess Macon! If she was here, she’d just give me the crabbing scissors. You’re just some lame wannabe playing DRESS UP and crying yourself to sleep! Now GIVE ME THE SCISSORS

*a tussle occurs. Bonnie gets the scissors but at what cost*

Bonnie: Got it… Ooooh

Mirabelle, bleeding: Bonnie… why…

Bonnie: No no no no no no NO! You crabbed it up Bonnie! Stupid stupid Bonnie!

Bonnie narration: You’ll have to try again. So why are you crying? She’ll just reset like always…

[thelunarsystemwrites]

A fight.

Tw: blood, weapons, fighting, flashbacks.

Textbox: Heh, it's been- *cuts off.*

I'm still on break, I'm not really gonna be scrolling on tumblr or anything, probably not gonna be talking to people much here ^^" but I figured I'd post this! The censored (no blood version) below!

Reblogs and feedback are appreciated, but obviously not forced! Take care everyone!

[ask-liam-p]

BRYCE OWEN STOP FIGHTING! PLEASE LIAM WOULDNT WANT THIS!

[draw-the-squad-like-this]

This is from an anime called "Asobi Asobase" almost all the scenes are good to draw the squad and this slap scene is far my favorite 👍

[strawberry-cowmilk]

the brothers apologizing to mc

-> they say they're sorry after a fight

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proof read

content warnings: implied past fight, some of them are displaying (lowkey) immature behavior, angst, crying

-----

Lucifer

this man cannot say the words 'I'm sorry' unless you two are very close, otherwise it will be like he thinks speaking those words would bring shame upon him

a few hours after the fight he will knock on your door, and if you let him in he'll leave a little something for you on his desk

usually it's a little gift like some lip balm but after placing it on your desk he leaves again after saying dinner is almost ready

if you want a 'proper' apology you're gonna have to approach him first

Mammon

if it wasn't a huge fight mammon will literally be at your door a minute or two later apologizing

but if it was something more serious he would be afraid to talk to you for a while, he's ashamed so he just stares at you during dinner and all

when you or him finally decide to make things right and talk to each other there's a good chance he'll cry (he thought you wouldn't forgive him)

Leviathan

the guy thinks you might hate him if you greet him in a different way than usual a fight isn't good for him

after the fight he has no idea what to do, does he approach you? does he wait for you to come to him? how long should he wait until he goes after you?

if he decides to come to you he's saying things like 'I'm sorry' over and over again

if you want to tell him you forgave him already he'll cut you off and say something like 'I'll give up tsl if that's what it takes'

Satan

it takes him a while to calm down but after he does he realises what an useless fight that was (which might anger him again thinking back on it)

he's honestly thinking of pulling a lucifer and leaving you a little gift but satan thinks that's not a good idea at all

so he goes to your room and it's straightforward

'mc I've thought about what happened and I think I should apologize, I hope you too can put this behind you'

Asmodeus

the second either you or him left the room the realisation of what happened hit him and he has no idea what to do

if the fight was bad enough he might avoid you for a few days, for example by going to clubs straight after rad

but eventually somebody has to apologize and if you didn't already he'll do it, as scary as it might be

if you forgive him and the mood isn't too tense he'll take you out to a nice dinner

Beelzebub

he's quick to apologize

he probably realises the fight isn't worth it two seconds after it started and says he's sorry and you shouldn't fight

unless one or both of you is really upset then he'll wait for the situation to cool doen a little before saying he's sorry

if you hug him the apology he'll smile from ear to ear, beel is relieved the fight is over and he will try to make sure no useless fights happen again

Belphegor

he might start ignoring you in the middle of the fight and realise how immature that was later

either that or he starts insulting you

belphie would be so ashamed he'd probably ask beel for advice on how to earn your forgiveness, both twins think saying 'I'm sorry' is a good start

so belphie does exactly that, maybe he brings a little present too

[justdrawlynn11]

Hey guys I made another thing, it may or may not be based off of Solar’s past for when he separated with his Sun and couldn’t do anything about it. It kinda had to be up to his Sun as his Moon was against the idea. (Also sorry for the angst)

(At 11 and 12 Solar is trying to get control of the body, his Sun is trying to stay in control, hence the shaking)

I could probably clean it up more and finish it later though! I hope you have a nice day!