#you have to take the little shiny scraps you get and piece them together into a little moon.

[nayruwu]

I saw your ca16 post & it's so true I hate reading ca16 because how shinya was treated kagami wrote such an interesting character with fun personality & ideals but put him in back burner like give him one chapter about his backstory that follows up with story but nothing??? It was so insane like that poor kid went through so much & it's for nothing like why did you even mention that?? I thought it will be explored or there will be some reason but at end of day it was about how perfect pure beautiful mahiru is so all those death & suffering is justified the fuck with that & not even gonna talk about girly treating him as if he owes her little miss your family ruined his life what was with that attitude like??? Shinya was really kags middle child but I feel like if he was written like guren kureto or mahiru I would've hated his ass. Rant over I needed this off my chest sorry.

yeah, he's... well.

i don't actually notice this that much while reading the novels, because it is mostly from guren's perspective and he has, like, a million different things going on. he's got 99 problems and a bitch is 97 of them. it's when you're done that you think, hey, what about shinya?

i fully believe it didn't cross the author's mind at all that acknowledging shinya's fucked-up'ness would be something worth writing about, because it's just... not important to the plot.

but he also accidentally made him not only a lovable but also extremely interesting character, so the fact that there are so many missed opportunities to tell us more about him or develop his friendship with guren to a more balanced level just feels bad. he spends so much energy on guiding and checking up on guren but no one ever really thinks to check up on him, lol.

even if it is guren's story, all shinya gets is "god i fucking hate myself" - "wow guren is so great amazing better than me omg" - *dies horribly* like WOW. thanks! there are many things i would have liked to go differently in their relationship and it starts right at their first meeting. not sure if y'all would like to hear.

in the end he's just here to support guren's story and we are all clowns that got attached to the wrong doormat. it is a very intricately woven doormat though, so i won't be leaving.

i'm not gonna talk about mahiru again but i will say that what her family did to shinya wasn't her fault, and i personally don't really mind the way she acted towards him in that scene! but the fact that it focused on her so much really annoyed me.

[42wv]

Blaidd Cosplay project I worked on during May 2022

Elden Ring was the hype, I wanted to be a good turtle. I originally wanted to get this cosplay ready by Otakuthon 2022, but I never did finish it. I do want to finish this cosplay one day!

Now let ramble about my progress on it! :readmore:

When it comes to video game cosplay, I take the easier route and rip models from the game, then modify them for cosplay. I 3D modelled a few Kamen Rider suits before and all that was a pain in general. For my sanity's sake, I plan to model as little as possible for future cosplays.

Lucky, the in-game model was well made, so I didn't have to make a lot of modifications. I had to separate some pieces, subdivide and give it some volume.

The head was given a lot of holes, so it would be lighter to wear. I had to separate the teeth and the gums because I will paint them individually.

I let my 3D printer work. Meanwhile....

Eyeballs! Molded with moldable plastic pellets. The iris part of the eye hollows inwards for a bit of that 3D look. The whole thing then got covered in 2-part epoxy to fill the cavity and make the eye shiny.

There's usually a few steps involved when it comes to painting. That is priming and then taking your time to paint something with the medium of your choice. Well, I skipped all that and decided to draw on the eye with sharpie and markers. Results were... satisfactory enough.

Time to work on the gummy teethies! I've been saving up for years on an airbrush set and I got really excited to try them for the first time.

FDM 3D prints don't come out perfect usually, so I brushed some XTC-3D (fancier 2-part epoxy) on them, and let it cure first.

With a bit of filler primer and airbrushing magic...

Teeth! Dentists in the Lands Between will make a KILLING if they ever move there.

Pretty happy with the process! I didn't bother to shade the gums because we won't see a lot of that anyway.

Did I ever tell you sewing is my least favorite part of cosplay? My specialty is more on props and armor. This image should've been flipped upside-down!

I tried to sew gloves using a free-to-use pattern I found on the internet (forgot where I got them). First one was too tight, second on was better, but still feel weird to wear. I will get these right one day!!

I bought some FUR! I shopped for a WHOLE hour at the fabric store for the right faux fur, and none of them felt like a match to Blaidd's fur. His fur was darker (than the fur in the picture, left side), with a hint of blue.

I tried to dye the fur a little bit to darken it, but not too much because I didn't want the white part of the fur to turn too dark. I used a dye for synthetic fibers. Right side of the image the the fur after soaking in hot dye solution for a few minutes (still wet)

Results? I there was only a subtle difference between then non-dyed and dyed furs! I either didn't let it bathe in the solution long enough, or I did not put enough dye in the solution.

ANYWAY I decided to just used the furs as is and airbrush the details at the end.

Now for the cloak? I was planning on tying some crochet threads together, then separate the ends with a fur brush, resulting in some fluffy ends the add on to the cape.

However, after re-examining Blaidd's cloak, I'm considering on scrapping this process because I feel like there's better materials to give out the look I want.

After assembling the mouth parts/eyes/nose, adding the lips with black moldable plastic and adding the hinge (to make the mouth movable), it's off to furring the head!

With the help of masking tape and sharpie, I went to pattern the fur. I then cut the appropriate shapes to sew.

I knew I had to cut the fabrics a bit bigger to make things fit and all, so I did that. My mistake? I realized after finishing the snout part, that I've cut the shapes TOO BIG! It did not fit the print!

So that's another thing I have to redo. Sewing is my passion (sarcasm).

This concludes part 1 of my Blaidd cosplay journal. Will there be a part 2? I don't know. It started snowing a few days ago and Winter is generally not a good time for cosplay-making. I'll have to see about this when Spring/Summer comes!

[dweetwise]

[Dbd] Wanderlust

A small post-Entity one shot I wrote this summer and apparently never posted 💚 No ships, just some survivor bonding (and bickering 😂) Rated G | 1.2k words | ao3 link

The plane lurched to the side and Haddie did the same in her seat, her pencil sliding across the map of Malta and drawing a line in the Mediterranean sea. She huffed in annoyance and wordlessly reached to buckle her seat belt.

Next to her, Élodie did the opposite and pushed up from her seat with an exasperated groan.

“Just a little turbulence!” Ace’s voice sounded from the cockpit. “Nothing to worry about!”

“This tin can is awful!” Élodie complained. She wobbled to the front of the small plane, steadying herself on any solid objects as the plane shook from the turbulence.

“Aww, don’t worry, baby,” Ace said, affectionately patting the outdated flight instruments in front of him. “She’s just jealous of all your vintage glamour.”

“It’s a piece of scrap metal held together purely by duct tape and wishful thinking,” Élodie retorted. “In fact, I’m amazed we haven’t crashed yet.”

“Eh, I’ve flown in worse,” Zarina piped up from the co-pilot seat. Based on the fact that she had her feet propped up on the dashboard and was leaning back in her chair, she didn’t seem to be doing much of said piloting.

“See?” Ace told Élodie, then added with a grin, “If you’re so peeved about my plane, why don’t you ask your sugar daddy to buy us a shiny private jet instead?”

Zarina snorted while Élodie merely glared down at Ace.

“You refer to Felix as that one more time and I’m ejecting your seat,” she threatened.

Ace gasped. “But then who’s going to fly you all over Europe to do your Scooby gang shit? I’m not letting just anyone touch my plane, you know.”

“You’ll hopefully be a pancake on the ground, so I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Élodie countered.

“Human pancake. Yum,” Sable offered. She was sitting in the back of the plane, busy with painting her already black nails even blacker regardless of the bumpy ride.

Zarina sighed before turning to look back at Haddie. “How’s the map coming along?”

“Good,” Haddie said. She waved the thin folder with the Imperiatti insignia that contained their information on the case. “It should only take a day to investigate the site and talk to all the witnesses. It’s a small island.”

“Should we split up?” Zarina asked.

“Dibs on the witnesses!” Ace hollered. “I’ve heard Maltese women are stunning.”

“Me and Haddie should go to the site to investigate,” Élodie said. “I brought my archaeology kit just in case.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sable said. Nobody protested: keeping Sable away from people was usually the way to go if they wanted their witnesses to not shit their pants from fear.

“I’ll go with Ace,” Zarina said, fiddling with her voice recorder. “And Vittorio?”

Haddie glanced at the man in question. Vittorio didn’t even appear to have heard the question; he sat completely silent on the seat opposite of Haddie, staring intently at the floor. His face was ashen and he desperately clutched the Lidl plastic bag they’d acquired on their pre-flight shopping trip in Coburg.

Considering this was his first time ever flying and he’d chosen to do it with Ace as his pilot, he was doing remarkably well.

“You okay?” Haddie asked, nudging Vittorio’s shoe with her own.

He looked up and gave her a shaky smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Zarina said. 

“I will have to get used to flying sooner or later,” Vittorio said with determination. “The Imperiatti works all over the world and I don’t want to be hindered by this should my help be required somewhere.”

“You could have stayed in Germany with Ursula.” Ace’s head popped into view as he leaned to look back at them. “She sure seemed interested in getting intimately acquaintanced with you and your…knowledge.” The sentence was accompanied by the wagging of eyebrows.

Haddie rolled her eyes while Vittorio grimaced: from nausea or the innuendo was anyone’s guess.

“She’s a very capable woman, but I don’t see how that’s relevant—” Vittorio started.

“Air pocket,” Zarina abruptly cut him off. 

A split second later, Haddie’s stomach dropped as the plane jumped and tilted to the left, before Ace grabbed the controls with a curse and righted their course.

Vittorio squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a few times before rasping, “Can you please focus on flying?”

“I am!” Ace protested. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Vittorio’s already having a hard time,” Haddie said. “So keep the plane steady unless you want projectile vomit all over your ‘baby’.”

Élodie visibly cringed. “Eugh, please, no puking.”

“Speak for yourself, I love puke,” Sable said. Somehow, her nail polish bottle and drying nails were still completely unscathed.

Élodie stared at her. “Remind me why we brought you along again?”

Sable responded with a sickly sweet smile. “Because I’m not going to get spooked by lawn furniture and run away screaming like a little bitch.”

“I told you, the canopy curtain looked like the Nurse from where I was standing!” Ace protested.

“Yeah, it probably did,” Haddie hurried to defuse. “And I sensed some weird energies in the area. I most likely would have been startled too.”

“Exactly!” Ace said.

Élodie looked at Haddie with a raised eyebrow, but Haddie just shrugged. She really didn’t want to hear more of Ace’s excuses about the sun in his eyes, or how he was just running away to get help, or “Felix’s girlfriend told me the manor is haunted, so of course the Nurse could appear at the garden party!” when the reality was most likely a few too many German beers.

“Maybe it did look like the Nurse,” Sable conceded, then grinned wickedly and added, “if you’re a little bitch.”

Ace let go of the flight controls to turn and point at Sable, eyes narrowing as he snapped, “Okay, listen here you fucking brat—”

“Fly the goddamn plane!” Haddie, Élodie and Zarina yelled almost in unison.

In the end, they made it to Malta relatively unscathed. Haddie successfully marked all their destinations on her map of the island, Élodie secured all their bags, Sable finished painting her nails, Zarina radioed the airport and got them permission to land, Ace got them back onto solid ground with most of the plane’s rusty landing gear still intact, and Vittorio only puked once into his bag.

The others were grumbling about the rough flight and even rougher landing as they exited the plane, but Haddie was smiling as she felt the familiar adrenaline rush of an unsolved mystery. Now, they only had to figure out if the rumors of shadowy figures lurking in the woods were an urban legend that got out of hand, or something more sinister like a paranormal occurrence or the Black Vale trying to regroup after the Entity’s defeat.

She’d never tell the Imperiatti, but she actually hoped it was one of the latter. Returning to normal life after years in the Entity’s clutches hadn’t gone well for her—and based on the ragtag group of fellow survivors who had eagerly volunteered their help for the trip, she wasn’t the only one still craving the thrill of danger.

A new adventure was just what they needed.

[iowkey-ioki]

How i made xenos nails!!

Materials

-worbla

-2mm eva foam

-scissors

-heat gun

-soldering iron (technically optional but helps A LOT)

-gesso (i used regular gesso, but if you can id buy heavy body gesso)

-P400+P600 sand paper

-acyrlic paint (just silver is ok, but black will help)

-white gloves

-hot glue

PART 1- forming the base

This part is VERY hard to explain so hopefully the diagram helps- ill explain every step here

Finger tips

1. Cut out a piece of worbla thats double the length of the finger tip you want + a little extra.

2. Heat it slightly and fold that piece of worbla in half around your finger.

3. Form it slightly around your finger, leaving a little extra space for the glove material, then cut it out with good scissors. (NOTE- if you try to form it on your finger while wearing gloves, the worbla MAY stick to the gloves. Id recommend just doing it on your bare finger)

4. Heat it up again until its very soft and round out the shape, making sure the sides stick together. If its too small when you test fit it around the glove, try to push out the walls a bit more.

Nails

Watch this video before starting this part-

1. Find a good length for your nails- mine are approx. 3 inches. Make a template and then cut the shape out of eva foam.

2. Cut out TWO pieces of worbla a little bigger then the nail strip and heat one up, sticky side up (the sticky side is shiny). Put the eva foam strip in the middle. Heat up the second piece of worbla and put it on top, sandwiching the eva foam.

3. Score all around the eva strip then cut AS CLOSE as possible to the edge.

Attaching the pieces

1. Heat up the finger tip and half of the nail. Attach the nail to the finger tip while wearing it to make sure it doesnt cave in. Use a picture from the manga as reference while doing this part

2. Once again, using a manga reference, use scrap worbla to fill out the sides and smooth everything down. This is the part where you can use a soldering iron to smooth everything out- be careful though, because you can easily burn the worbla.

2.5. I forgot to make a diagram but dont forget to curve the nails! I used a little metal dome to get a consistent curve for all of them.

3. Make little worbla balls, flatten them with something flat, then attach them to the nails while still hot.

Now repeat ALL these steps for all 10 nails! Yay!

PART 2- priming

For priming i used regular gesso because I was impatient, but if you have plenty of time I recommend heavy body gesso. It took me 12 layers to get everything decently smooth, but if you used heavy body it would probably take 3-5 layers.

I also used floral foam, craft sticks, and sticky tack for my painting setup- if you can think of a better method without sticky tack id recommend trying something else- just because i had to pick out the sticky tack with tweezers, and it took forever lol

Two things to note about gesso-

1. It doesnt self level so you need to sand it smooth

2. DO NOT DRY SAND!! Always wet sand gesso

My exact steps were this-

4 layers of gesso -> sand with P400 -> 4 layers of gesso -> sand with P400 -> 4 layers of gesso -> sand with P600

This part is very time consuming if you use regular gesso, but its definitely worth it for the smooth finish.

PART 3- painting

Before adding silver, I threw down a quick matte black layer. It tends to make metals look much better and it wont take long to dry, so I highly recommend it.

For the silver, i used decoart extreme sheen in silver, which i highly recommend. Relatively cheap and can be found in any craft store

Id also recommend having all your brush strokes go vertically if you can- it looks much cleaner.

PART 4 (final part)- attachment

I used a pair of white gloves i bought a while back at spirit halloween, but you can make them or buy them- doesnt matter as long as you like them.

This part is kinda dumb but I genuinely dont know if theres a better method… i put hot glue in the nails, let it cool for a couple of seconds, then put them ON MY FINGERS while wearing the gloves. It gets you the best fit possible but also burns a little so watch out.

And thats it! Thats all there is to it. Let me know if you found this helpful, and if anything was confusing leave a comment and ill try to help you.

As a bonus heres a picture that works very well for reference

[tillywunderwing]

some things i really like

birds. so cool that we get to just go outside and there’s little critters all about. and they fly?? fantasy shit that’s awesome babes

pixel art. crazy that we take some squares and we make it into pictures with oir hands and also our minds…

words. certain funny sounds and funny shapes on paper mean so many things. we invented ghe word ‘love’ and we use it every day

hair dye. we are so colourful!!

quilts. did anyone see that series on one of the other sites where the guy got all his viewers to send in scraps of fabric and he made a quilt out of it. a big piece of blanket with so many stories. that’s so important i think

stuffed animals / plushies. we took our fav lil critters and we made them small!!

vaccines. any medicine tbh. the world on its own can be so scary with so many tiny biological weapons but we made our own tiny biological weapons to fight back and make it less scary and i think that’s so cool

playgrounds and theme parks. we just made some places just for having fun. that’s so cute

urban myths. every day people tell each other things, sometimes cause they think it’s true, sometimes cause they want it to be true, and every day someone believes them and i think that can be beautiful

snakes. i like the ones that go all shiny when they move

music. we just make sounds for fun sometimes (and sometimes these sounds, like words, also mean things, with or without the words as well)

rollerskates. someone rlly looked at a bike and said, ‘what if that was me’, and now i get to fall on my ass trying to do the macarena and laugh over the bruise i’ll have tomorrow

time loop stories. what if it was all still and quiet. what if you could do it all again

videos where large groups of people all sing together. you already know bohemian rhapsody at the green day concert gets me crying every time

you. i love you if you’ve read this far. thank you for letting me share some things i like with you

[bluewren]

happy friday! :D I see Merrill, I ask for Merrill/Dagna and "You didn't do anything wrong." from the hurt/comfort dialogue prompts!

hahahaha Merrilll🥺🥺 This is her needing to talk to someone after seeing her bestie without vallaslin. Dagna is here for Merrill.

@dadrunkwriting

wc: 657

Merrilll watches as the Inquisitor leaves the Undercroft, she seems more freed the days after something has happened between her and Solas. Taliesen has not said, yet.

It’s disgusting to watch from where she sits. The marks of their people stripped off of Taliesen, yet she acts like she feels nothing about it. Onwards to other work, because whatever she has now is far more important than the people and their culture she devoted herself to.

That’s what the former First of Clan Sabrae keeps seeing… A sigh leaves Merrill, where did this malice come from? Her friend seems more content than many other times, she’s seen her.

Yet once again, it feels like she’s being left behind.

“I don’t like that look. Did an argument come up or something else?” Dagna peers over her shoulder. “Did you get her mad?”

Merrill heaves, letting her head drop to their worktable.

"I didn't do anything wrong." She mumbles, hopefully not swallowing a piece of her work. “I-it’s not something so easily explained.”

“It’s the tattoos, isn’t it? It’s got to be the tattoos.”

Merrill popes her head back up, raising a brow. “What do you know about vallaslin?”

“Not much, but I know their important.” Dagna chuckles. “You don’t mark your face unless it means something important.” She does a quick blink. “Dwarves know that one.”

Merrill grumbles, sucking on the back of her teeth. At least the outsider knew vallaslin is important to her people. Yet she’s still hard pressed to admit it.

Once more, she takes a breath to rush words out.

“I don’t know why she isn’t more bothered.” Sighing, now less tensed up. “We’ve worked together for years, fixing scraps of our history. How could she leave that all behind her?”

“What makes think she’s leaving something behind?”

Merrill rolls her eyes, it couldn’t be more obvious. “She’s smiling like nothing happened. It shouldn't be like that. An outsider shouldn’t have been able to convince her to forsake it all.”

“That’s not what this looks like to me.” Dagna's dismissal causes Merrill to quirk up her brows. "Lots more like she's avoiding something. Getting distracted is very easy when someone has as much to do as she does."

"That's not much easier to take in." Merrill sighs, it coming out as a whisper.

"I did the same when left Orzammar, else I'd kept wondering if I did the right thing." Dagna tents her finger. “I don’t regret anything now.”

She does little fidgety finger taps by bouncing them together and away. Merrill is tempted to disrupt Dagna's thoughts and steal her hands away for herself.

"Give it time! I'm sure she'll tell you how she really feels."

Merrill nods. In many ways she knows Dagna is correct, although that lenience is not something she’d want to give Taliesen.

“I suppose you’re right, admittedly it feel like I’m talking to a different person now.” She turns away from Dagna for a moment, she shakes off her worries with gentle pats on her cheeks. “I shouldn’t think of her that way. She’s been an important friend to me.”

“Good! Lots of stuff has happened recently, you both just need time to heal.” Dagna pauses for a moment, snorting at something out of her sight. “Maybe it’ll take lots of time.”

“You’re a better person than most. Though, you’re not going free yet.” Merrill reaches to claim one of Dagna’s hands. “I feel lonely and you’re the only one who hasn’t shut me out.”

Merrill rests her chin on her dwarven partner’s hand, staring wistfully in her eyes. It’s a poor attempt at being wistful however, Dagna’s shiny gray eyes never seems to reciprocate the longing. Always chuckling at her feable attempts at flirting, turning her flush red every time.

“Do you want dinner first or go straight to your home?” Dagna snorts, brandishing a cheeky smirk.

“Dinner first. Please.” She giggles, unable look directly at her.

[somethingelseishere]

“Aww no no no no, come on you son of a bitch!” Rod begs.

The truck is jerking wildly, it was inevitable - the dreaded stall. It had finally run out of gas. This was not their day.

“Goddamn piece of shit!”

Milly was not amused.

“You said another swear.” “Well it probably won’t be the last.” he assures.

He tries restarting the engine but the wires have nothing to work with. Alex and Beth are already unloading the back.

“Here we go.” Rod says to Milly.

They all congregate at the back of the truck before departing. “Let’s have some water and be on our way.” Rod insists.

Beth fills the cup for her husband. “This is suicide. I mean, I know we can’t stay here but we will never - “

“Then we’ll die together.” Rod interjects.

He finishes the drink and passes the cup back to Beth. He takes up his weapons and starts walking towards the enormous rock formation in the distance - Uluru - their destination.

Chatter on the shortwave spoke of resistor camps being set up around the sacred site. For whatever reason - the abominations wouldn’t go near it, maintaining what some claim as a ten kilometer perimeter.

If one could make the treacherous journey, it was indeed a safe haven - but it was still nearly a hundred kilometers away.

Beth grabs the wagon handle and chases after Rod - Milly beside her, Alex close behind.

“Hey, hey!” Rod ignores her.

“Wait a goddamn minute!” she demands. “Now mommy said a swear.” Milly points out.

Rod stops and turns to face her.

“I want a gun.” He scoffs.

“We need to keep moving.” he adds, dismissively.

“Look, we have no idea what’s between us and the place we’re heading. We’ve already crossed paths with unspeakable tragedy. Better three shooters than two. I want a fucking gun!”

Inches apart - eyes locked in a tense stand-off. Rod, with his best poker face, reaches into his left pocket granting her request. He grabs the business end and extends it to her.

“The bullets come out here.” he says slyly, tapping the barrel.

He resumes marching. Beth stares at the weapon - its cold, shiny black sheen - then hurries it into her pocket and continues pulling the wagon.

Thirty minutes later - Rod notices the highway ahead bending to the left - he stops and wipes perspiration from his forehead. “We gotta get off this road.”

The rest of the family come to a momentary halt.

“I’ve seen a map before, this highway crooks and turns, it’ll add at least twenty-five unnecessary kilometers to our trip.”

He points to the towering rock. “We’re going there - and the shortest distance between two points is a straight line.”

“You mean through the bush?” Beth challenges.

“We’re out of food, dangerously low on water with at least two days of travel left - cutting corners is our only hope.” he says with conviction.

There were no dissenting opinions - in fact, not one of them spoke against the idea.

“I’m thirsty.” Milly says sheepishly. “Get her a drink.” Rod says, putting his feet into motion.

Beth fills the cup halfway and hands it to her daughter. Milly empties the cup and gives it back. She and Alex begin walking, Beth gets herself a drink. Alex stops several feet away to wait. She notices the tap on the jug is leaking.

She fiddles with it but water continues seeping out. Spotting a small scrap of paper in the wagon, she balls it up and plugs the nozzle. It works. She sighs deeply and follows her family into the desert.

After an hour, they come upon a shallow canyon with massive boulders positioned at the opening. Rod stops short of the entry point. “Eyes open, barrels up.”

Each of them ready their weapons. Beth lays her machete in the wagon and pulls the gun from her pocket. “Stay close.” she cautions Milly.

She nods, moving slowly behind her mother, clutching a plush bear toy to her chest. Then as if on cue - the left rear wagon wheel breaks off. The vessel stops dead in its tracks.

“Goddamn piece of shit!” Milly exclaims. They all stare at the little girl - then break into laughter. Milly kicks the wagon several times to vent her frustration.

“Good thing there’s not much left. Pack up the ammo, we’ll take turns carrying the water.” Rod says.

Beth divides the munitions between her pack and Alex’s, then lifts the water jug - panic strikes - it’s much lighter than it should be. She raises the large plastic container to confirm. Looking into the wagon, the paper plug lay in a small puddle. Their last few liters gone.

“Water’s empty.” she announces, holding up the jug. Rod spins around to meet this new obstacle. “We had almost two gallons, what the hell happened?”

Beth doesn’t know what to say. He storms over, grabs the container and glances down into the wagon. Beth wells up. “I thought I fixed it.” she says, tears trickling.

Rod is furious. He flings the jug against the canyon wall. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he barks.

Milly drops her bear and covers her ears.

“You were already upset and we were losing time!” she pleads. “You’ve just killed us all!”

The screaming match continues several more seconds.

“Stop it! Both of you!” shouts Alex.

Rod kicks the wagon, flipping it over. Beth attempts to compose herself.

“Where’s Milly?” Alex asks. “Oh God, Milly!?” Beth calls out, looking in all directions.

They arm up and begin the search. Piercing the eerie silence - a child’s scream. The three race towards the sound at the mouth of the canyon. They surround the cluster of huge boulders - ready to fire - but they are paralyzed by what emerges. They were not prepared for what they were seeing.

It lumbered into view - covered in filthy, matted fur - filling the air with the stench of rot and decay. One of the most dreaded abominations.

A hybrid of Silverback gorilla and Kodiak bear origins. Its face gnarled and unnatural - like a forced fit of jigsaw puzzle pieces. Rearing up on its hind legs, the twelve-hundred pounds of murder stood over ten feet high. The behemoth clenches Milly, small and lifeless, in its jaws.

The beast bites down and shakes its head violently side to side, the poor child’s body falls to the ground in pieces - her blood painting its broad chest, her entrails dangling from its frothing mouth. It raises its paws into the air and thunders a roar that reverberates off the canyon walls. There could be no Hell worse than this.

Beth issues a blood-curdling scream and collapses, wailing and convulsing in the dirt. The father and son open fire with everything they’ve got. The grotesque creature is down. Rod blankets the beast with flame as it lay beside his young daughter’s remains.

"There is No God Here" - Third in the four-part series 'Chimera'.

Mixed media on plywood. My 133rd painting.

[independentzaun]

For Jinx: you're the only one that matters.

In Jinx’s opinion sometimes Silco got too caught up in his work. Of course it was important, and needed to be done and the sons and daughters deserved better and blah blah blah but what was the point if he worked himself into an early grave? So really her showing up around noon, and spending a good half an hour asking him to go outside with her in progressively cuter ways completely with those big blue eyes offering a pleading puppy dog look was a favor to him. She was helping! The fact that it also meant she was going to get attention from him was just a happy side effect of the whole situation, and made it a win on both sides.

The excuse reason given for them going out was that she’d “heard of a new scrap pile” that was supposedly nearly untouched and wanted to go through it. However she needed him there just in case. Just in case what? Who could say. Maybe to pick something out Jinx would use to build him a gift with. Perhaps to keep her from taking too much all at once, or on the other side to help her take even more because with him around she wouldn't have to worry as much about defending herself. Jinx could come up with any number of reasons all of which sounded reasonable so long as you didn’t look too closely, and at some point she’d even mentioned it could be like a lunch break and they could get food at some point. Regardless eventually they found themselves on the streets of Zaun going for a walk together which was the really important thing in Jinx’s opinion.

Regardless of if Silco talked much or not Jinx was just happy to spend time together, and that of course meant he had to deal with her little touches and gentle shoulder bumps and chatter as she spotted one thing or another that interested her. Eventually they reached the spot she’d claimed had fresh scrap to scavenge, and blinking in surprise Jinx found that she had actually been correct.

“Oh! There is fresh… I mean, of course there’s scrap here! I knew that, that’s why we’re here, heh.” Before long Jinx was nudging bits, and pieces around and asking for Silco’s thought on one new shiny piece or another. At some point however she heard his comment.

You’re the only one that matters.

Looking up Jinx blinked before getting a soft, warm smile on her face. “I know that, silly.�� Voice surprisingly gentle she dropped the scrap in her hand before moving back over towards him. Glancing down for a second Jinx leaned a bit looking up at him. “But, it’s… it’s still nice to hear you say it.” Hands behind her for a second she bit at her bottom lip before suddenly moving forward, and hugging him with one of her full body tight hugs pressing herself against him as her head turned so her cheek could rest against him. “And you’re the only one that matters to me. The only one.” Staying like that for a long moment Jinx suddenly was struck by a sudden curiosity, and leaned her head back enough to look up at him while still hugging him close.

“Are you okay though Silco? You know if you need anything taken care of all you have to do is tell me, right?”

[doctorho]

i have a lot of feelings okay and i need to scream about them for a bit

like. man. so i've been thinking about this little au where the reader is from the undercity, right, aspiring scientist/engineer/mechanic/whatever the unofficial hobbyist version of those is. just like trying to survive, working in like. idk. random tech factories and such, or doing some dodgy repairs, or just fixing stuff on the side because that's what you do when you grow up surrounded by scraps and broken things and not enough money to really fix any of it. you don't really go to school for any of it, you just learn because you have to, and factory jobs are fairly reliable and pay okay and it’s easy once you get the hang of it. sure, it’s dangerous and terrible for your health, but what isn’t, in the undercity.

in the ever-turning cogs of the machine that makes the city run the way it does, you learn to see the way things work. and a natural progress of that is learning how to fix things. and a natural progress of living in the undercity is learning how to improvise.

so it’s like. yeah, you're not really a scientist, or an engineer, or a mechanic, not in the literary definition of the word. but you know how to fix things. and you know your way around tools, improvised and otherwise, and that’s something that isn’t really taught in fancy piltover schools. you've never been to one, but it’s clear in the way the fresh-out-of-school engineers keep fumbling with their tools, their hands always too-clean and too-smooth to show any signs of actual work.

and - yeah, everyone in the undercity is just trying to survive, mainly. very few people actually liked living there.

so you take the opportunity to leave when it comes. in a heart-stopping near-hesitant second, you take it. it's terrifying, of course, leaving, but really, isn't that what you wanted? to get out, to someday be big enough to actually make a difference? staying there always felt like being underwater, and the idea of leaving felt a lot like finally starting to reach the surface.

it's not....simple. leaving. of course it isn’t. change rarely is.

but you accept the invitation anyway, with your oil-stained fingers and burning lungs and a simmering hunger for more.

it's a learning curve, adapting to life in the academy. but you expected that.

for one, the air is clean. easier to breathe. it's quieter, everywhere. and their tools are newer, and they always seem to have the parts, for everything. new shipments coming in like clockwork, never staggering, never hindering the progress.

and your new co-workers are a lot more civilized than the company you're used to working in. they're focused, and smart, and polite, and nice.

and -

okay.

in terms of working conditions, the academy is miles ahead of the undercity. that's not surprising, really.

but you don’t really...understand it, until it just...hits you in the face. repeatedly.

at first, you just see that everything is more modern than what you’re used to, and newer, and shiny, and clean. there's more space. that sort of stuff. all the machines were...whole, none looking like they were pieced together from the bones of something else.

and then when you actually start working, it’s like you've suddenly gained a million new little blind spots. because you don’t know what you’re not seeing until you see it.

like - okay. the air is better in piltover, right? you knew that.

but when you start soldering at your desk, you don’t even consider that they might have an extraction fan for the fumes.

it makes sense, that they have one, it’s obvious once one of the guys - viktor - points it out. and after he shows you how to turn it on, soldering is remarkably more pleasant.

he's from the undercity too. you know that. and - you don’t know exactly what his background is, but the way he explains the extraction fan makes it sound like he knows that those aren't really a thing in the undercity factories. it's not like breathing vaporized solder differs that much from breathing the standard air down there. and it's not like anyone cares enough to do anything about it. anyone with the money, at least.

so you use the extraction fan after that. get fewer headaches. focus better. breathe easier.

the second thing he points out are the protective gloves.

he only says this after noticing the little burns and cuts on your hands.

and - yeah, okay, that makes sense, too. but it's just not something that had registered as an option for you before. before, your supervisors had always been more concerned about the conditions and safety of the parts you were working with. burns from handling hot parts and accidentally catching your fingers with the longer-than-usual dysfunctional scrapped together soldering irons weren’t worth the cost of some gloves. cuts from sharp metal edges weren’t even worth a band-aid, nevertheless the fancy wound-closing glue these guys kept in the top drawer of every desk.

(you only learn about that from viktor, too.)

(in some twisted way, it does make you feel a bit better about yourself that you weren’t the only one in there that seemed to be accident-prone.)

anyway. you wear the gloves after that.

and the list of things you didn’t know just keeps growing.

one morning a pair of protective goggles has appeared on your desk. he doesn’t say anything about it, but you suspect they’re from viktor, too.

he seems to recognize your thinking pattern. it's not like you're averse to workplace safety, it's just that you’ve just never had a workplace this safe before. or anyone that really cared about your safety, for that matter.

so he keeps teaching you. showing you how things worked on this side of the mud. it's always patient, always friendly, and never condescending. and never while jayce is in the lab - you're not sure if that's intentional or not, but it feels a lot like him wanting to help you blend in.

and it’s like a whole new world, living above the surface. there's just so much. that you just didn’t know about before. and not just the work safety - everything else, too. all the light. the clean, open air. the strange reassurence that comes with having a steady supply of food and water and a warm place to sleep at night. that weird new softly-glowing calmness in your chest, like ocean waves settling in the night.

having someone else care about you.

it's just one of those things you don’t see until you see it.

anyway. yeah we're thinking about caring about others and work safety as a love language tonight i guess

[the-possum-writes]

could u maybe do a finn x reader imagine where reader is a princess that needs rescuing? ❤️❤️ also thank you for being such a lovely author!!

What a Princess Does [Finn Mertens]

A/n: Sorry for the delay, but thanks for the support~

Pairing: Finn x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1271

The day of your coronation finally came. With your eldest sibling being crowned King, you were given the title of princess along with a crown to prove your title. It's not that intricate as your sibling's crown, just a smooth band of gold with a single jewel on top.

"Greet our new subjects (y/n)." your brother comments, waving at the citizens below the castle porch.

"Why?" you respond.

"Because it's what royals do, especially princesses." That's something that lingers in your mind for a while. What does a princess do exactly? After the day of your coronation you've been receiving tea party invitations from other princesses, finding it as a nice opportunity to find out an answer for your question.

"What does a princess do? Look glamorous of course-!" Slime princess responded with a flick of, what you assume is her slimy hair.

_____

"A princess is responsible of filling their head with knowledge and share it with others." is what Turtle Princess told you, her library more than an obvious demonstration of her love for literature. Even if it's on the more spicy side.

____

"What? A princess doesn't have to do anything, just sit back, relax and watch others do things for you." Lumpy space princess scoffs at the thought of responsibilities, she's way more interested at picking up boys. But then again she's homeless so you can't completely trust her advice.

___

"A princess is just as important as a king or queen, it's your duty to watch over your kingdom and help them prosper." Princess Bubblegum, the more strict of the bunch, explained more than you were expecting to hear.

It made your status as a princess sound more important but your self-doubt manifested itself as well. What if you're not fit for the role? Your thoughts are interrupted when the carriage came to an abrupt stop. Worry started to fill your stomach when you heard horses run away and your guards cry out and drop to the ground. The door opened up to a tall man wearing dark robes, a bandit you assume.

"You're a princess right?" the man asked.

Fear climbs up your throat, unable to speak but still responding with the nod of your head. The man grunts in relief. "Good." before tossing you over his shoulder.

You finally snapped out of your shock after a minute or two. "Hey! What are you doing!?" you start shouting.

"I'm kidnapping you, it's what all the bad guys do to princesses."

Somehow that part made sense to you no matter how messed up it sounded. The man kept rambling about how he'll hold you hostage for ransom money, you had faith that your brother wouldn't leave you hanging, but that doesn't mean you're frustrated with the situation. "I demand you put me down! Somebody help!" you started kicking and shouting again. The bandit struggled to keep a hold on you. "Stop that or i'll-"

"Or you'll what?" A third voice came into the scene, causing you to stop and try to get a good view of who this stranger is. You've heard of brave knights clad in shiny armor saving princesses but you never expected your hero came in the form of a boy dressed in blue shorts and a white bear hat. "Drop the lady or I'll cut you to pieces!" he withdrew his sword from behind, instilling fear within the bandit.

"Alright, alright," he huffs without another word. Unceremoniously dropping you to the ground. How rude! Before he could take his leave the white knight blocked his path with his blade.

"Nah ah ah, you forgot to apologize." the young man was teasing him now, pulling a little chuckle from you.

The thief rolled his eyes, turning around to face you. "Sorry." the thief apologized, "Can I leave now?" he turned to the young man, who, in a single slash of his sword managed to cut the thief's belt and drop his pants in humiliation. This was enough to satisfy the young man and let the thief run off.

"Are you okay?" your knight stored away his sword in favor of helping you stand up, taking your hand in his calloused ones. "Yeah, I'm fine." you insist, but wince slightly the moment you stood up. A scrapped knee. "Ouch, that looks like it hurts. Here, let me help you with that." the blonde lowered himself to his knees, pulling out a plain band-aid from his backpack and sticking it to your fresh wound.

"I... Thank you, but I never got your name."

"Oh right, my names Finn. I'm sorta the sheriff around here." the young man chuckles between a bright smile with a few crooked and missing teeth. He's nice, was the first thought that came to mind upon meeting the boy, although you've never met him before his actions demonstrated a courageous spirit and a heart of gold. Someone you'd definitely love to have around.

Remembering your manners, you stood up straight and pressed your hands together on your lap. "Ehem, Sir Finn I am grateful for your help and as a princess of a nearby kingdom I award you with an honorable job as my bodyguard. I'm sure my brother will pay you heavenly for your services." you keep a formal tone and vocabulary you're definitely not used to.

Finn laugh momentarily, scratching the back of his neck."That's very nice of you princess, but the rest of Ooo needs me as a bodyguard. So, I'm gonna say no to that." A frown appeared on your face, why would he reject your offer? He's a knight and you're a princess, isn't this how these things go? However, any sense of doubt or disappointment faded away when he added. "But, if what you want is to hang out I'm definitely down for that."

The frown on your face turns into surprise, before settling on a beaming smile. Finally, something that has nothing to do with being a princess. "I would gladly... I mean, yeah that'd be cool." you drop the formality with him, happy to be yourself and relax. With your carriage broken down and no guards to company you, Finn offered himself to safely walk you back to your kingdom. Taking the moment to make small talk.

" Hey Finn, you rescue princesses all the time right?" you turn your head to look at him, eliciting a nod from the young man. "Do you know what princesses do exactly? Like, I'm kinda new to all this." you admit, somewhat embarrassed.

Finn chewed on a piece of grass as he looked up at the sky, pondering for a moment before responding. "I'm pretty sure you can do whatever you want. You wanna cook the world's most delicious desserts just for yourself? go for it. What about just going on vacation? Sure, why not? You wanna make life easier for your kingdom? or even rule with an iron boot? It's all up to you princess. Each princess I've met is unique in thier own way."

You're left speechless, you've been so focused on what others want that doing something for yourself has never crossed your mind. It's like an invisible weight has been lift off your shoulders. "What I want..." your eyes trail away from the path that leads to your kingdom, stopping on your tracks to turn the other way around. "... I wanna go out and eat some waffles." you proclaim confidently.

Finn jumped excitingly, jokingly acting in a formal manner. "Mind if I tag along m'lady?" he extends his arm to you, which you happily grab onto.

"Of course my fellow white knight."

[cuppakyle]

hello mcyt fans, I made sword designs for a lot of the creators and amazingly got a lot of love for them and I actually have like a lot of lore for all 16 of the swords so thats this post, a mega deep lore post for these mcyt sword designs:

they’re all in order from left to right

Tubbo:

So tubbo has two small and used netherite daggers, engraved with little bees. He made them with help from philza himself when he was young, they arn't perfect, the handle on the left dagger is a little loose and the leather on the handles themselves are worn out but they are sharp and loved. created with attention and always by tubbos side

Tommy:

His sword is a small but strong sword, thin and easy to conceal, the handle wrapped in a piece of Techno's cloak. It isn't used much but it's always carried, not many know of it.

Techno:

So for techno it was about lightness, it's a thin sword made out of diamond with gold designs and a neatly wrapped leather and pearl handle. It's a very long sword that hangs on his waist.  He doesn't use it much as a king has other people to do the dirty work for him. But when he does need to use it  it's all about swiftness, it has to be light but incredibly sharp to work quick and efficiently. No need to get his hands dirty, he has potatoes to farm.

Philza:

A netherite sword with an obsidian handle and a diamond for detailing which techno gave to him long ago. His sword is incredibly heavy but one of the strongest swords ever made. Not everyone can carry it let alone use it but Phil uses it a lot.  it's his main weapon and he carries it on his back. The sword is one of the most admired weapons there is as it was made expertly and given to philza as a gift of thanks, he treasures the sword but knows it was made to be used and does to beautifully

Wilbur:

A dagger made from iron with gold lettering a messily wrapped leather handle and a delicate music note hanger. Wilbur isn't one for fighting he's a talker he doesn't need a big sword to intimidate his enemies so it's not used much but it's always by his side.  The dagger itself was given to him by techno as a gift when he noticed his friend didn't have anything to defend himself. Wilbur uses it mostly for cutting food or to look at his reflection but he treasures the dagger and uses it when necessary.

Niki:

a beautifully crafted diamond sword with a gold handle. the detailing on the sword is matched by no other, the swiftness beautiful. most see a pretty young girl carry a pretty shiny sword and think nothing of her. before they know it the sword is at their neck big and strong and they blurt all their secrets out or they don't even see the sword before they leave the mortal world. no one even dares to say a bad word against her friends in fear of the sword and the woman that wields it

Eret:

a golden sword, light, swift, unused. he is not a man to use brute strength to accomplish his goals but even the sight of the sword fears enough men to stop their insults. the ruby on the hilt was once found by tubbo on one of his adventures, he came back smiling and offered it to eret. not a day later did the ruby adorn the beautiful sword. the ruby is never dirty, the sword might have stains and might break but the ruby itself will never show age

Fundy:

a basic iron axe in almost every way, not specifically sharp, a little to heavy for the young fox and maybe a bit to blunt but this axe doesn't need to be sharp to hurt.  touch it even slight by any part but the rubber handle and a surge of electricity will end any hopes of a long life. fundy doesn't always carry it, why should he but when it's needed its carried on his back, proud and strong

Calvin:

a big and incredibly powerful diamond sword with a heavy iron handle and a piece of old leather wrapped around the handle. a sword with many scars and bumps, taped together in places. for a fighter like calvin the sword doesn't matter, as long as it's sharp. it's not like you'll feel that bump on the left side as it punctures your heart.

Tapl:

a golden sword, oddly shaped with an unusual wrapping around the handle. most people are to distracted by the sword to watch the man, which might just be the reason the fighter once bought it at a market. he was still young but he seemed to understand why he wanted that sword so specifically, now, so many years later the sword is worn with pride and whenever someone asks it's origins or the reason for the odd shape a different story is told.

Nestor:

an extraordinarily beautiful iron bow with netherite tips for the arrows, not one crack, not one bump all you can see when you inspect the bow is the intricate drawings carved into the iron, nestor will only react with a small smile if you ask what they mean the bow itself is so silent it's almost useless, why would you ever need a bow so silent, he uses it all the time, how is it in such pristine condition, so many questions but the mysterious archer won't answer any of them.

Skeppy:

a smaller diamond sword, one shinier then maybe needed. a sword with a history, given to skeppy when he was young by is kind father, one with a family history longer then most countries. during all those years only two things have changed. the leather wrap around the handle and the netherite scrap the wrap a piece of the badboyhalo's famous cloak given to skeppy when they first met and the scrap given by technoblade as thanks. the sword is loved and always by skeppy's side, both the additions loved by the fighter.

Bad:

a delicate netherite sword made for the fighter by a legendary sword smith, when it was made for bad he insisted on the diamond in the handle, a diamond given by skeppy and the muffin at the base of the sword. when the sword was given to the fighter something happened that has never been seen before or after, a dark mist appeared when it was touched, it took over the sword like a cloak. when bad leaves it its normal, when he takes it the mist takes over. it seems to have a strange power that has never been explained, when an enemy get touched by the mist their skin burns like a coal touched it. bad doesn't use the sword much but its always polished and sharp ready when needed.

Sapnap:

a basic iron sword, not one that is very special when sapnap first bought it. no one knows what exactly he did with the sword that day but when the people saw the sword again it had a permanent smokey stain on it as if it's constantly burning from the inside.

Dream:

a heavy and incredibly powerful netherite axe, in itself so powerful it couldnt be used by any man, the power needed just to hold it enough to scare any man but the eye on the top of the axe is what makes most run away at the sight the eye held at the top by a gold handle. the eye taken from a legendary ender man. not many have seen one let alone slain it and taken its eye not for the potions but just for decoration, just to show off you can.

George:

A delicate diamond sword with gold and silver handle. the sword known to be from a historic house, a sword that every one of that family has with them at all time, only small details able to keep them apart. the power of just holding the sword is enough to frighten most.

[hlizr50]

Willow

TW: Nightmare at the beginning is of Gwyn's SA. Nothing detailed, but definitely more than I've done in the past

After a week of cuddling together when they sleep, Azriel and Gwyn spend their first night apart. At least, that's what they try to do. Spoiler alert - it doesn't work.

Read on AO3

She was shaking.

Large, rough hands roamed over her skin. Unwelcome. Unyielding.

Pain.

A scream ripped past her throat.

God, it hurt. It was unimaginable – a searing burn that reached straight into her soul, shattering her into shards so small that surely she would be broken forever.

“Feels good, huh, little red? You’ll never forget me now, will you?”

Gwyn sat up with a shriek, panting, hands frantically pushing away the sheet and the lingering spiderwebs of that unwanted touch. Thin t-shirt cotton clung to her freckled skin, damp with sweat as the nightmares purged from her.

Sucking in deep, heaving breaths, she covered her face with her hands. Hot tears coursed from the corners of her eyes.

She’d had a full week completely unbothered by these demons. A full week, every night spent in the arms of Azriel Aphelah. She had never felt so safe, so at peace.

But now…

She reached to her nightstand and found her phone, raising it to her face to check the time.

2:23am.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, opening her messages and finding the goodnight texts they’d exchanged hours earlier. She froze there, thumbs poised to start typing.

She shouldn’t bother him. She could deal with it. She had plenty of times before. But…

But she wanted him. Gwyn wanted him to be here. With her. She wanted to curl up in his arms and feel his long fingers tracing lines up and down her back, soothing her until she was pieced back together. Teal eyes stared at the phone as she pondered the conversation they’d had when she dropped him off.

“It feels… wrong. After a week, this will be the first night we won’t spend together,” Azriel murmured, leaning in her rolled-down window.

“Aww, you think you’ll survive without me?” she teased, nose scrunching. He flicked it before grasping her nape and leaning in to brush lips over hers.

“If you need anything, Gwyn, you call me. You understand?”

“You worry too much, Azriel,” she scoffed, even as her heart squeezed at his tenderness.

“Promise me, Gwyn,” he demanded, fixing her with a pointed look that screamed ‘I don’t trust you with this’. She tilted her chin up, earning another light kiss.

“I promise, Az,” she whispered.

“Okay. Drive safe, sunshine. Text me when you get home.”

And even with that assurance, even though she had promised, Gwyn hesitated with her thumb hovering over his name, glowing in the night. She didn’t want to be a burden to him. Didn’t want to seem broken or needy.

You don’t have to deal with this alone. Let us be here for you. Let me.

Promise me, Gwyn.

She took a big gulp of air and tapped on his name before bringing the cellphone to her ear as the tone began to sound.

“Gwyn?” The deep, rich voice on the other end seemed to instantly sooth the aching wounds around her heart. Her breath sawed in and out, voice unable to form words. “Gwyn? Are you okay, sweetheart?” The tears began rolling again at the endearment. God, if he knew what one word could do to her. What would he think?

“Az. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… want to wake you. But-“

“Don’t apologize, sunshine. Just tell me what’s going on. Was it a nightmare?”

“Uh huh.” Gwyn choked on the sob that slowly bubbled up.

“Do you need me, sweetheart? I can come over,” he offered.

“No.” Yes. “No, that’s okay. I just… can we just talk for a little bit?” Gwyn swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet before padding out of her bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Of course. What did you do when you got home? Get all that laundry loaded?”

She couldn’t be more grateful for his ability to immediately settle her, to give her exactly what she needed. A quiet giggle escaped her lips as she opened the fridge and fished out her water pitcher.

“I don’t appreciate your insinuation about the amount of laundry I created over the week,” she grumbled, pouring some to help soothe her throat and her mind.

“You had a suitcase full of dirty clothes, Berdara. It is not an insinuation, it is a fact,” a throaty chuckle rumbled through the phone, along with something that sounded like rushing air.

“Are you outside? It sounds… windy?” she asked.

“Nah, I just opened my window. Needed a little fresh air.” Gwyn shrugged as she returned the pitcher to the refrigerator door, finding comfort as he continued to talk as if they were just having a normal, daytime conversation. As if she hadn’t just roused him from deep sleep because she was now somehow too weak to spend a night alone. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t do a single scrap of laundry. I threw my bag on the couch and then just started looking at emails, then got distracted by the pictures Nesta sent.”

She grinned to herself, remembering the texts she’d received from Azriel about them. How he adored her smile. How beautiful she was. There was a picture of her sitting between his legs, her head tilted back laughing. His crooked smile so serenely painted across his handsome face. He’d said it was his favorite. She was inclined to agree, although she was sure it was for a different reason.

“You still in bed?” he asked softly.

“No, I came out and poured a glass of water,” Gwyn replied. “So I’m just sitting on the couch sipping on that. Trying to calm my nerves. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to sleep in a little bit. Maybe I’ll put on a movie or something.”

“You mean you’ll watch The Little Mermaid for the thousandth time?” he teased.

“Do not judge me! I like singing and I like shiny things, okay?”

“I know, I know. I would never truly judge your comfort movie,” he laughed, the sound a light piercing through the night. “Hey. Speaking of singing, why don’t you sing a song for me?”

“What?” Gwyn balked, eyes wide. As if he were asking her to her face.

“Sing for me, sweetheart. You’re always so joyful and carefree when you sing. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Hmmmm.” Gwyn chewed on her lower lip, pondering. He’d heard her sing before. Many times. But somehow this felt… different. But, much like the decision to call him, she didn’t give herself time to question it.

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (oh) Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

A knock sounded at the door and she gasped, turning toward it.

“Az… someone just knocked on the door,” she murmured, heart racing with barely contained panic. The answer she heard didn’t come through the phone, though. She heard it from the other side of the threshold.

“It’s me, sunshine. Now open up and let me take care of you.”

~~~

It wasn’t so much the ringing, but the vibration against the wood of the nightstand that woke Azriel from his admittedly light sleep. He squinted, pale face and teal eyes meeting his bleary gaze. Gwyn was calling, at… 2:24 in the morning? Worry twisted in his stomach as he answered.

“Gwyn?” All he could hear were her jagged breaths on the other end. He had a feeling he knew why she was calling. “Gwyn? Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Az. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t… want to wake you. But-“

Immediately Azriel was up and moving, tossing a hoodie over his head and stalking toward the door. “Don’t apologize, sunshine. Just tell me what’s going on. Was it a nightmare?”

“Uh huh.” Her voice sounded so strained. As if she was holding on by a thread. Grabbing his keys and wallet he slipped out of the apartment.

“Do you need me, sweetheart? I can come over,” he offered.

“No. No, that’s okay. I just… can we just talk for a little bit?” Azriel thought to pause for a little, but then thought better of it. He had decided that night he found her screaming in her bed that he would not let her suffer alone. And he would hold to that.

“Of course. What did you do when you got home? Get all that laundry loaded?” He tried to keep his tone light, act like they were just having a normal, everyday conversation. As if she hadn’t just called in the middle of the night on the verge of tears. He climbed into his car as quietly as he could. He knew Gwyn would likely protest if she knew he was heading her way when she’d already said he didn’t need to. She didn’t seem to notice when the car started and he began driving down the road, but he was sure she might hear something in the background.

“I don’t appreciate your insinuation about the amount of laundry I created over the week,” she grumbled. A chuckle bubbled up from his chest.

“You had a suitcase full of dirty clothes, Berdara. It is not an insinuation, it is a fact.”

“Are you outside? It sounds… windy?” she asked.

“Nah, I just opened my window. Needed a little fresh air.” Azriel paused for a moment, breathing a silent prayer of thanks that she seemed to accept the explanation. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t do a single scrap of laundry. I threw my bag on the couch and then just started looking at emails, then got distracted by the pictures Nesta sent.”

He had been far more enamored with them than he cared to admit. His chest tightened when he saw her bright smiles and crinkled eyes. And the picture where she was laughing in his arms? It was like gazing into heaven.

“You still in bed?” he asked softly.

“No, I came out and poured a glass of water,” Gwyn replied. “So I’m just sitting on the couch sipping on that. Trying to calm my nerves. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to sleep in a little bit. Maybe I’ll put on a movie or something.”

“You mean you’ll watch The Little Mermaid for the thousandth time?” he teased. She’d always had a soft spot for the movie, and he knew the music helped lull her to sleep.

“Do not judge me! I like singing and I like shiny things, okay?”

“I know, I know. I would never truly judge your comfort movie,” he laughed. But he needed a way to keep her on the phone until he got to her place. Something that wouldn’t be suspicious. “Hey. Speaking of singing, why don’t you sing a song for me?”

“What?” Gwyn balked. He could imagine the pink staining her cheeks under wide, innocent eyes and couldn’t contain the grin that tilted his lips.

“Sing for me, sweetheart. You’re always so joyful and carefree when you sing. Maybe it’ll help.”

“Hmmmm.” She seemed to contemplate on the other, the silence stretching. Perhaps it was too much to ask.

But even as he had the thought her sweet voice began drifting through the phone. It was a song her didn’t immediately recognize, but it didn’t matter. The melody was pure magic, settling him as he pulled up to her building and dashed out of his car and up the stairs. And when he heard her take a breath he rapped his knuckles on her door.

“Az… someone just knocked on the door.” He heard her voice through the phone. Lowering it from his ear, he called gently from the hallway.

“It’s me, sunshine. Now open up and let me take care of you.”

He heard her gasp and lope to the door. The knob jiggled, as if she was struggling with it. Then the door swung open and there she was, teal eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

“Az?” she whimpered.

In one step he gathered her in his arms, ushering them into her apartment and pressing the door closed behind them.

“What are you doing here?” Gwyn’s voice was muffled against his chest. He could feel her shuddering, tears soaking into his sweatshirt.

“Gwyn, sweetheart,” he pushed her back gently so her could lift her chin and look into those ocean-deep eyes. “I made a promise to myself that first night that I would not leave you to suffer through this alone. Never again.”

The dam seemed to break, and she launched herself against him, arms curled around his neck and face tucked against his neck. He pulled up at her thighs, carrying her back to her room as her legs wrapped around his waist and her body continued to tremble as she released those pent up emotions.

“Gwyn,” he murmured as he reached her bed. “I need you to let go. For just a second.” She unwound herself from him, and he found himself entranced by her flushed face. Wetness shimmered over her freckles and eyes swirled with emotion. Azriel’s mouth tipped up. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she hiccupped. He lifted his hand and brushed his fingers over her cheekbone before cupping her jaw. Dipping his chin, he captured those full pink lips with his. It was a feeling he could ever get over, never get tired of. He pulled away and crawled over the mattress, sitting himself up against her pillows and spreading his arms to her.

“Come here, sunshine.”

His girlfriend practically leapt into the bed and curled up against him, seemingly trying to press herself as far into him as she could. He wrapped her in his arms, letting his hand stroke down her back and over her shoulder.

“I know I’m no Little Mermaid, but I hope this helps,” he offered, lips pressed to her hair.

“I didn’t realize how much… how much this week had changed things. I feel safe with you. And trying to sleep without you…” Gwyn’s voice trailed off, so he gave her an encouraging squeeze.

“I wasn’t sleeping that well either, if I’m being honest.” He sighed, glad to have her in his embrace again. He hadn’t wanted to leave her earlier, anyway. “What do you think we should do about it?”

Gwyn was quiet against him, and he might have thought she had fallen asleep if it weren’t for her fingers tracing patterns against his toned stomach. Azriel swallowed. He could be the vulnerable one, for her.

“I think… I would very much like it if I had you in my arms every night. If… if you think that might be something you want,” he offered. “I’m not saying you have to move in, but you could if you wanted. I know this is all moving really fast, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. But I also want to make sure you feel safe, to make sure you can sleep-“

“Azriel.” Her voice was soft and sure and he felt her fingers along his jaw. He looked down just in time for the redhead to press her lips against his. When she pulled away she brought up her other hand, cupping his cheeks. “I… it is fast. But I trust you. You make me feel safe and treasured. I would like to spend every night in your arms, too.”

Azriel grinned down at her, the woman who was just his friend little more than a week ago. But she had been stealing his heart, piece by piece, for some time. It had just taken him awhile to admit it. He tenderly brushed his mouth over her forehead.

“Let’s get some sleep, sweetheart. We can figure out the rest in the morning. Okay?” He reached out to grab the sheet and pulled it up over them as they settled into the mattress, Gwyn tucked snugly against him. He could feel the exhaustion weighing on both of them, their first night apart in over a week a clear failure. But was it truly a failure if it brought them back together? Back to this?

“Thank you, Azriel. For knowing how much I needed you. For taking care of me.” The sleep was heavy in her silky voice as she relaxed against him. He let his lips brush over her head one more time.

“You’re not alone, Gwyn. Never again. I’m here now, and I plan on taking care of you as long as you let me.” And he let his eyes close, lulled by the rhythm of her steady breathing – the assurance that she felt safe and was resting. That he was the reason for that. That they would never spend another night apart.

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @katiebellf @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430 @live-the-fangirl-life

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: iii

(Mostly SFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii​​ (epilogue)

word count: ~2.2k

Nothing ever really ends. It just grows in different ways with different parts. 

warnings: description of post-injury, reader and hawks being traumatized but coping, a soft epilogue

the ending folks :’^) thank you for reading this far. here is something gentle for all of us, with some future, past, and the present for sweet starshine and keigo :’^)

enjoy loves 💞!!

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

Keigo doesn’t break promises. 

He loves white lies, the silly kind where he can rib you for a minute or two before soothing any ruffled feathers with quick kisses. He never leaves big wounds, nothing gaping or jagged, just loving pokes in your sides to get you to laugh and quip back at him.

He never goes back on his words that count.

His journeys out of the house remain short and rarely surprising. He never leaves without a goodbye, whether that’s a sleepy fuck or two, or a hand-written, tooth-rotting note on a scrap of paper next to a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen island.

Keigo’s used to the open skies, rolling forever. The curve of the horizon is his primordial friend that he never got to say goodbye to, but he still chases it a few times a week. Little drives he takes by himself, hikes, and things that he let him feel a bit of that free wind in his shaggy hair. 

It takes you a while, but you don’t look forlornly at the door anymore.

The awareness that of his absence from your little bastion lingers as you move throughout your day, but you know he’s good for his word. He always returns, bearing a toothy grin, and usually an armload of snacks or takeout. 

It’s better, and you’re both a bit more alive. 

...

Spring in the mountains reminds you of something you can’t place. 

The memory of it is foggy, far-off and untouched. Probably a bit dampened from, you know, a year of trauma, but the feeling of it makes your quirk burst to light without fail.

It comes when you notice the little patches of wildflowers that spring up in new grass that rings around the porch. Heat flares in your eyes when you see the little seedlings you and Keigo planted into the window boxes begin to bud and flower. 

The days get longer, sweeter, and the summer comes easily.

...

The bad days never cease, but you both learn to cope to some degree.

Your scar... cracks one day. You’re doing some half-assed stretches in the living room (mostly arching your back so Keigo gets a good peek of your ass) when it happens. Your right leg bends at the knee, and a resounding ‘crack’ and shatter echo off the walls of the cabin. 

You both panic. 

Keigo instantly urges you on the couch, trying to soothe your own panic with little coos from the back of his throat. You feel numb as Keigo shoves up your pant leg, looking for any damage.

The scar looks relatively unchanged. It hasn’t writhed since your days at the hospital, and its edges have only faded a shade or two with time. It’s long, obtrusive, and something you still avoid looking at.

All the same, Keigo traces the gnarly flesh, nimble fingers searching for the source of the sound. Any bit of pain he can identify and soothe, ideally, remove. The pads of his fingers drift to the crook of your knee, pressing against the shiny, black seam of the scar.

His eyes go wide before awe shines through, without a lick of fear. 

He warns you to take a deep breath, ‘breath with him’, before pinching at the glassy center and pulling. There’s a bit of resistance as he pulls, you’re not sure what he’s doing, and you see ‘it’ before you really put it together.

Keigo holds ‘it’ up for you to see.

The inky glass of the scar.

Literal rock. Inky obsidian pulled from your flesh, about the size of your pinky and painfully jagged. 

“W-what is that?” You asked, grabbing his wrist to examine the bit. “That’s... the scar?”

Keigo nods his head, scrutinizing it with you, pinching at it, “Weirdest scab I’ve ever seen.”

Scab.

You have never thought about calling the ugly root of the scar a ‘scab’ but looking at the way it so easily was pulled away, it makes sense. After a bit of examination and tender prodding, the tissue around it looks healthy, albeit thick and burned. The scar goes deep into your flesh, feels raw to the touch, but the skin that’s beneath it is somewhat alive. Maybe too alive, given how sensitive it is.

Nonetheless, you marvel at the little piece of volcanic glass that Keigo had pulled from you like it’s the most precious stone in the world. 

...

It takes a long time to convince both of you.

Keigo never receives another call from Suits, ‘president’, what the fuck her name is. Thank fucking god. His snap seemed to have scared her and her crumbling organization away. You can only hope that it was for good.

The potential return comes from kindness rather than demands. 

Calls from both Endeavor and Miruko, ‘Enji’ and ‘Rumi’ as they insist you call them. Rumi chatters on the phone for hours with Keigo every few weeks, puts the phone on speaker, and has you give your piece as well. You like her, she’s funny and loud and Keigo smiles when he talks to her.

Enji actually visits. 

Once or twice, maybe more. You stop counting when the extra bodies in the cabin don’t have you breaking into a cold sweat anymore. It had taken a great bit of coaxing, but you opened your cabin up for the former pro and his entourage. 

He brings along his daughter and the ‘Three Musketeers,’ as the media calls them. The boys train in the mountains nearby, never lingering too far based on the shouting from the blond one that echoes against the hills. 

The rest of you settle into the walls of the cabin whenever they come to visit. It feels warmer than normal; it makes sweat gather under your arms and in droplets on your forehead. Even if you wanted to attribute the heat to the old flame hero’s presence, it wouldn’t account entirely for your thumping heart. 

You work through it, slowly. 

You like watching Keigo and Enji. They both look worn. Keigo’s a bit too young for grey hair, but Enji has more than his fair share around his temples. The beard around his jaw glints silver in the lowlight of the cabin whenever he tilts his head to sip at his tea.

They smile like old friends, talk like it too. 

You end up in the kitchen a lot during their talks, distantly cooking and observing. You’re always listening to their stories, the banter. It’s hard to keep up with, a lingering vestige of Keigo’s old persona that clings to him and his mannerisms.

You don’t mind it, even if it feels foreign.

...

“Can you pass me that honey, dear?” Fuyumi asks, voice sweet and close.

You nod, sliding her the jar across the corner top. She carefully spoons a glob of the thick liquid into the four waiting mugs, humming just under her breath. 

The cabin feels warm, and it’s not just the ambient heat Enji gives off. 

The ‘three musketeers’ plan to camp in the mountainside and ‘rough it’. You couldn’t imagine the freshly-greened hills giving them too much trouble. They bicker, you have found, constantly. Blunt jabs from Enji’s son, met by explosive remarks from the blond one (why is his hero name so long? You can never remember it well.) Consider your growing aversion to loud noise, you like Deku the best. He seems like the peacekeeper (and peacemaker) of the trio and compliments your cooking. What a gem.

The guest room has been polished into an actual guest room. Fuyumi takes it, and Enji, bless his heart, takes the creaky fold-out couch. He doesn’t mind, he tells you, something about enjoying tending to the hearth at night.

Keigo calls the nights where they fill the house ‘sleepovers’, and he adores them.

They’re a bit overwhelming for you if you’re being honest. But Enji is far less intimidating now that you’ve seen him nodding off and slack-faced on your couch. Fuyumi has patience you’ll never fully understand, and babies you a bit, which you don’t welcome but don’t refuse either. 

She does just that, scooping up three mugs after pushing your own toward you. You regather and sit next to Keigo at the kotatsu, slipping your legs under the thick blanket and sagging with the heat. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he presses you into his side, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. It’s an idle action, habitual and welcomed as the conversation flows.

(Something about one of Keigo’s old sidekicks. Another about Endeavor’s agency, still chugging along with him at the helm, albeit not as an active hero. The new hero charts, the new rules established, legislation. Things are getting... safer, a semblance of order being re-established now that much of the League has been apprehended.)

(Things are settling, as horrifying as the change is.) 

The thought of so much makes you sleepy, long-standing exhaustion heavy in your bones. You nod off at some point to the kind, safe voices. 

Keigo coaxes you awake once the conversation dies down.

“Love,” he purrs, rubbing your side, “let’s get up now and get you to bed.”

You follow him, the way he rises and guides you to the bathroom to help you ready for bed. Enji is settling on the couch, tugging a few throws over himself on the futon. You give him a shallow wave with half-lidded eyes, meeting his own.

Eye contact feels hard, but you manage to hold it for a few seconds.

In the bathroom, you pop onto the counter and slowly brush your teeth. Sleep clings to you, and you know it’ll return quickly, but the process of moving and interacting wears you down so easily. Your toothbrush almost slips from your grip.

“Just a little more, and then you can rest, dove,” Keigo urges, reverent as he finishes his own routine in tandem. You watch as he splashes water on his face, wetting the tufts of hair that fall around his face.

The cabin feels warmer. 

You notice it as you enter the bedroom, Keigo already hopping into bed to assemble the ‘nest’ as both affectionately refer to it. The old throw, a few extra soft blankets, and a buttery soft duvet must be arranged just right before he is satisfied. 

 Keigo knows it’s a remnant.

He carries plenty of them, little chunks of him that are old and worn, old and unused. He can shake them, can’t bury them, they just simply are.

The birdish ones are nice, he thinks. He likes that he can preen you. He loves that you can preen him. That you’ll indulge him in that way, running your hands through his overgrown hair. You detangle any knots, soothe the snarls and rub at his neck until he’s liquid in your lap. 

He likes nesting. The cold of the cabin can be almost forgotten in the little nests he makes. The mountains of bedding and pillows that you both can settle in. It’s peaceful, and it's shared, and things are okay. 

It’s all slow, and a bit tedious, things that the remnants of ‘Hawks’ scream and thrash at. But, really? Keigo has no reason to listen to a ghost. He tries not to let himself be haunted. 

He indulges himself for the first time in his life, probably.

As Keigo nestles you into the sheets beside him, he gives you a bit of room to get comfortable. Adjusts your pillows how you like, tangle your legs together in the comfiest way. Your own version of nesting that makes his palms sweat and his words turn to mush.

You settle together, chest to chest, Keigo’s chin hooked over the top of your head. 

“Did you have a good day?” You ask, soft and sleepy.

Keigo nods easily, “I did. Enji doesn’t seem to quite as much of a square as he was a few years ago.”

You snort, muffling a giggle into his chest, “He’s definitely a little bit of a square. But I like him.”

“He offered to host us at the estate if we ever want to go back.”

You swallow, thick and slow, and try to bury yourself deeper in him, “... Do you want to go back?”

“No.” He pauses. “Maybe. Not yet, and not anytime soon. But the offer is on the table. It’s nice to have, even if we don’t take it.”

It’s insurance, somewhere else to tuck yourselves away if the mountains stop favoring you. 

The thought of the future makes your head spin, as it tends to. The scar aches, but maybe it’s a tad duller than it was a few months ago. The pains only last a few moments, only stab so deeply. The place where the little chunk of obsidian fell out doesn’t feel quite as tender. 

You lay your cheek on Keigo’s chest, your breath coming in time with his. 

“‘M tired,” You murmur into his chest. “Can I sleep?”

“Of course, starshine.” He pushes back your hair, clears your forehead to press his lips to the skin, lightly. Little kisses piling up on top of each other. “Get some rest.”

“You too, pretty eyes.”

You both need it. For more than just a day with the folks who stuck around. You and Keigo need more rest than a being can responsibly accumulate during a human life. There are things to be stitched, worn parts of you that need tending to, and burns that’ll need salve until the day you die. It’s not any less than it was in the month’s past.

But it’s easier to manage. 

You snuggle into Keigo’s chest, drifting off to the thought of fresh coffee and crackling heat.

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

thank you for reading!!💞

ko-fi

[mxvladdy]

hi!! just wanted to say i LOVE your writing omg!! sorry if ur not taking requests but i was wondering if you could continue that prompt about MC being fascinated by their horns/tails with barbatos and diavolo??? thank you!!

Ahhhh thankie! And of course! Our bougie boyos need love too.

Barbatos

He hasn’t had a human fascinated in his horn or tail in-well… Ever really. He never has had a reason to show his demonic form to a mortal before. He is hardly out of the kingdom, and when he is it is for a quick errands to humor His Lordship. So when you ask he is taken by surprise but will happily comply with your wishes.  

His horns are delicate and feel like spun glass in your hands. They pulse with a low hum of  energy underneath the thin membrane of his finger like horns. You can’t get over how delicate they are up close. While they look so rigid from far away, they are quite malleable. The joints move just as fluidly as the demon who grew them.

You never realized how sensitive the man was until you are gently rubbing and petting at the shiny horns. It’s the only time he is putty in your hands. He uses how sensitive they are to his advantage. Though their minute twitches and adjustments he can pick up even the faintest movements from even the most secluded corners of the castle. 

He appreciates the jewelry you buy for his horns but turns them down gently explaining that it dampens his ability to sense things. He uses them instead to decorate the many doors in his room. Diavolo gets a kick out of walking into his private rooms and seeing all the knobs and windows littered with ornate pieces of jewelry or multicolored knots of silk. He adds to it too, but it’s not as special as the ones you gifted him.

In return for your presents he will give you his shedding's. He finds this magpie-like tendency you exhibit endearing. It makes him smile when he sees how excited you are for the bits he gives you. The flaky shavings on his horns are paper thin but when they hit the light sparkle like freshly falling snowflakes. They crumble easily but the dust they make is gorgeous. You collect a bit of it and turn it into jewelry to parade around. He lives for seeing you adorned in his likeness.

His tail is a different matter though. He lets you do whatever you wish with it. He has a soft dry brush that he uses to sluff and polish it daily. You volunteer heartily to be his personal groomer. You love stroking his sleek tail. You aren’t 100% sure on what it’s made of, but it is lovely all the same. It feels like smooth cool marble, but gives under your soft squeezing like supple leather. It is mesmerizing much like his horns when the colors fade and change lazily throughout the day. 

His tail is prehensile but not as strong as Levi’s. He can’t pick you up with it unfortunately, but he uses it mostly in the kitchen as another hand if you will. Does he show off a little more with it when you are helping in the kitchen yes, but he won’t admit it. When he has a little down time he will invite you to sit in his private parlor for tea and homemade treats. Then he lets his tail run wild.

It always finds a way to wrap itself around your waist while you sit and chat. You have gotten into the habit of expecting it wrapped around anytime you two are in the room together. One of your hands holding his and the other stroking the blue tip of his tail.

He glows with pride every time you gush about how much you love it. So far he has heard you equate it to the human practice of kintsugi. The way his natural indigo coloring mixes with the obsidian of his base and the vein is beautiful to you and you tell him regularly. He has never thought of his horns and tail and anything special. Merely an appendage that has a useful purpose to him, but now thanks to you he thinks of them as pieces of art. 

Diavolo

Poor man. Like Satan he can’t have you touching his horns directly. They are a weapon and a status symbol. They are built to kill. But he sees you cooing over the others and he wants it too-

He’ll have gloves specially commissioned just for you so you can inspect them without a care in the world. They are magically enhanced so that he can feel the warmth of your hands, and you, the heat of his horns and skin. 

He loves it when you scratch around the base of his horns, the skin there is sensitive and gets itchy so often. He has a lot of salves and oils that he uses in his morning and nightly routine to help with the constant growing pains of his still young horns. You help him with the oiling and conditioning of them in the evening while you let him vent. 

Growing season is a nightmare. He is a pouty, agitated mess. He is itchy and shedding, but unlike the brothers and Barbatos’s shavings, his are quite volatile and dangerous if they get into the wrong hands. So they have to be disposed of carefully. He sulks about that too. Why can you collect the others odds and ends but not his? 

You appease him and his childlike pouting by making matching cuffs for the two of you to wear. Yours tiny but ornate to wrap around your ears and his large and opulent to adorn his young horns. He likes to mix and match all the colors and styles you had made for him. It drives Lucifer mad seeing how he purposely makes sure that NONE of his jewelry matches his given outfit of the day.

While he has no tail he makes up for it with his wings. They are huge, supple and give the best damned hugs. He has mastered his hugging and grabbing technique with his thumbs on the tips of his bat wings. (Barbatos got use to being swept up into surprise hugs by the young lord years ago)

You are always excited for a four winged hug plus his two strong arms. If you were feeling down beforehand, well no more! His wings seem to exude a warm dry heat so on cold nights you always seem to find him close by offering to help ward off the chill.  

The leather like hide of them is very thick and rough, but you can touch them without the use of gloves thankfully. If you had to use gloves to touch every part of his demon form he would cry. 

The material of his wings is very porous and gets dirt and bacteria build up very easily if he keeps them out too long. They are for special occasions (you), formal events, or a show of force. 

To counteract this he has special medicated soaps and antiseptic lotions to use. He shows you how to apply them too. He loves the company and it gives Barbatos a break. If you see any scraps of damage on his skin while working on them he can feel you give each a little kiss before moving to the next one. 

His wings come out to play more often than not now, just so he can have more of your attention.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Okay, so you said I could send an ask for headcanons about the childhoods of some specific merc(s)... I think I would really like to read your headcanons about Soldier’s and Engineer’s childhood :)

Thanks in advance and I hope your well.

Ooooh…I’ve been waiting for this! And thank you for being specific and not just saying “the rest of them.” Sometimes I get overwhelmed with nine specific mercs to write for. Your specifics are much appreciated.

****************

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t talk very much about his childhood - whether it’s because something happened or he just doesn’t remember it, no one can tell. It’s nowhere in his file, either…he refused to do anything except tell fantastic tales of a fictional youth.

However, in a rare streak of almost lucidity, he spouted off the entirety of his younger years, much to the team’s surprise. Usually, if anyone asked directly, he changed the subject.

But now he described everything in vivid detail. And, with a bit of research from Miss Pauling, everything fell into place.

Apparently he had been born in a small military town in Georgia. His father was overseas, leaving he and his mother alone in their small yellow house.

In order to make ends meet, his mother worked at a nearby factory, mostly leaving Soldier to fend for himself and the house.

“Can you be a big, strong soldier like daddy for me?”

Soldier would always agree, finding his own food, his own entertainment, and his own friends. No matter what happened, he never bothered his mom. If anything, his job was to protect her.

That’s why, when his stomach started hurting and his arms and legs ached, he said nothing about it.

When he forgot the chores he was supposed to do and even the names of his friends, he didn’t bring it up.

When he felt tired all the time and some days could barely get out of bed, he just chalked it up to laziness like his mother did.

It turns out the factory they were next to was polluting the water next to the house with dangerous amounts of lead, which soon overcame Soldier’s immune system of steel.

He could barely remember anything anymore, and he became more and more distraught every day. Sometimes he would forget where he was and run outside, then get lost in the woods, only coming back once he remembered where he was supposed to be.

Soldier began to wear one of his father’s old helmets after his mom commented on his red eyes and the dark circles around them. He didn’t want to worry her. Besides, it helped bring back a few memories if he ever got lost again.

Finally, it got to the point where he didn’t even remember his mother, or his promise to her. He began to wander farther and farther away from home.

One day, he didn’t come back at all.

Out in the world with not a single memory to his name, Soldier wandered far and wide. He usually slept in barns and old, abandoned houses, cut off from most people.

Occasionally, he would find a family that wanted to “raise him as their own,” only to turn him away after finding him too difficult to care for.

He had frequent nightmares, ate little due to his unresolved stomach issues, and could barely walk ten feet without forgetting where he was going.

If he accidentally wandered into the same house twice, he would be chased out with either a broom or a gun - usually the latter.

He became “the demon child” in some counties, and “g*psy kid” in others, due to his long, unkempt hair, hidden eyes, and odd habits.

It even got to the point where Soldier couldn’t sleep on anyone’s property because he would be actively fought off like a wolf or a bear.

His only pleasure was an old movie theater that, as he recovered from his lead poisoning, remembered the location of and frequently snuck into.

The only thing that played were romance movies - which, like many children, Soldier hated - and war movies, which he watched over and over again with starving eyes.

Because of these movies, a single memory from his mother’s house came to him. A woman, tall and muscular from hard labor, giving him a shiny badge to hold, asking him to be a strong soldier like his father.

And thus began his life-long dream of becoming a military officer.

He trained according to what he knew from the films…which was mostly running, doing jumping jacks, and occasionally rolling around in the mud.

This only served to distance him further from his fellow human beings, but he didn’t care. Soldier had a mission, and he was going to do it well.

But the biggest change was his hair.

He had started cutting it off with sharpened rocks, but he was always saving up coins he found for a “proper army cut.”

Finally, he had quite the collection in a dirty mason jar, and marched into the barber shop in his town to ask for a haircut.

The manager was appalled, and at first refused, but Soldier stood his ground.

“Civilian, I’ll have you know that by denying a soldier with a haircut, you are denying America one of its best fighters! I can’t curdle the enemy’s blood looking like a hippie!”

After a short yelling match that, of course, Soldier won, the manager decided it would be in his best interest to comply.

He walked out of that shop with no hair on his head, but a huge grin on his face. Next stop, the ranks.

Soldier went from draft office to draft office, applying for and being denied entrance to the army for his obvious lack of mental stability.

This is when the personal retelling ended, since Soldier became very upset by the memory of his recruitment failures, but Miss Pauling concluded that he just bounced from state to state until Mann Co. found him, quote, “sitting in an alleyway, eating army draft paperwork while sobbing uncontrollably.”

Engineer:

Engineer also never really talks about his childhood, but both Medic and Spy (Spy knows everything about everyone on the team) know that’s for a good reason.

He grew up in a trailer community near an almost ghost town in Texas.

His father was an abusive car mechanic with a mean streak a mile wide and a shop full of failed inventions. His mother wasn’t any better - she was bitter and reclusive, only really coming out of her room to pick a fight with her husband.

However, what Engie lacked in family, he more than made up for in friends.

He had a rag-tag, Rugrats-esque team of pals from all walks of life: Rhapsody, the daughter of a struggling porn star; Tom, the son of two farmers wiped out by blight; Cici, an adopted girl that could barely walk into her trailer without a black eye and a string of slurs; Quinn, the nervous child of a single mother that serves as guidance to the other kids; And Fred, who didn’t seem to have any family, but had become a greaser big brother to all of them.

Together, they explored the desert near the trailer park, pooled their resources to feed and support each other, and used their individual strengths to get through each day.

Engineer, whom everyone affectionately called “Big Dell,” snuck parts from his dad’s workshop for his own creations.

By the time he was twelve, he could make a small, running engine for the soapbox cars his friends frequently raced.

No toy, piece of clothing, glasses, or tool was out of his line of expertise.

One day, though, upon finding that some of his parts were missing, Engineer’s dad gave him a terrible beating that broke a few of his fingers and left a huge gash near his eye.

Since then, he refused to fix, make, or even touch a tool.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, but they could make a pretty good guess, since they knew where the scraps and parts had come from.

The whole group was furious with Engineer’s dad - their Big Dell was funny, smart, and was more loving than every family member they had combined. Even Quinn was red in the face.

They wanted to break into his dad’s workshop and destroy all of his inventions, just to teach him a lesson, but they knew Engineer would take the fall for it.

Instead, they rummaged through trash cans, searched their toy chests, and looked under their trailers to find things Engineer could use.

They waited until his birthday to unveil the massive pile of supplies they had stowed away.

Engineer immediately dropped to his knees and began to cry, and everyone else dogpiled him for a huge hug.

As the creme de la creme, they gave him a pair of welding goggles - the same welding goggles he wears to this day, having modified them so they still fit his growing body.

With his healed fingers and renewed spirit, he made each of them a gift: a toy car for Rhapsody, a skull ring for Fred, a full set of candle wax crayons for Cici, a chewable necklace for Quinn so they wouldn’t chew on their collar, and a mini-planter for Tom.

But Engineer was given the greatest gift - confidence in his own abilities and that he can be and was appreciated for more than his services.

This gave him the drive to build bigger and better things, which his friends happily assisted in creating.

Engie’s best memories are with that motley crew of scrawny, beaten-up kids.

But, as he became a teenager, the abuse grew worse by the day.

He was often kept in his dad’s garage to fix cars in sweltering heat and with nothing to show for his work except threats of what would happen if a customer complained.

His mother finally grew bitter enough to pick on him, wondering aloud and pointedly if she had made a mistake by having him, then immediately contradict herself by wailing in his arms about how she’s the most awful mother in the world, and how she would be gone soon, and then nobody would have to deal with her anymore.

Engie grew more and more distant from his friends as they either moved out, ran away, or, in Rhapsody’s case, died.

He thought of just shutting the garage door and turning on a car a couple times, but he would always return to his memories of the hidden cave of goodies his friends had collected or the many inventions they had helped him build.

It just wasn’t worth it.

On a night when his depression and self-doubt was especially bad, he decided to build a personal invention for the first time in years - a small, robotic chicken made out of bent gears and empty oil cans.

He worked on it for a few weeks, but made the mistake of leaving it on a work table once it was finished.

Engie came to work the next morning with his dad ready to chew him out. But, before any finger could be lifted against his son, he was interrupted by a sweet older couple that was having their tires replaced.

“Now, Ethan, ain’t that just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen in your life?”

“Hm?”

“That there chicken statue over there! It looks like it could very well get up and start peckin’ for worms, don’tcha think?”

Engie looked at the couple, then at his dad, then at his chicken. He slowly lifted it from the table and turned the key.

It started to slowly lean forward, then took a few steps on it’s long, spring-loaded legs. The neck went down, and the chicken’s rusty beak began to scrape at the pavement.

Now he had the husband’s attention.

“Didja build that yourself, son, or did your daddy help ya?”

Engineer looked at his dad for a split second before answering.

“My own sweat ‘n blood, sir. My daddy says I should stop wastin’ time on ugly thing-a-ma-jigs an’ put my hands to somethin’ worth doin’.”

The man smiled. “Well, this ‘ugly thing-a-ma-jig’ shows real skill. We could use somebody like you, once we train you up a bit.”

“Now hold on a damn - !” his father interjected, but was silenced with a cold stare.

“We’ll put ya through a state-of-the-art school, then put ya straight inta the work force. You can build whatever you like…and you’ll have a lot better materials than rusty tin. Whaddaya say, son?”

Engineer just nodded, and the man grabbed his hand and shook it.

“We’ll keep in touch.”

Engineer left that trailer park at age seventeen, leaving his fuming father and drunken mother behind.

He only stopped to visit Rhapsody’s grave before embarking on his new life.

There is still a stone plate with a message carved into it next to the headstone. If you brush off the leaves and dig out the moss, you can see Engie’s parting words:

“A friendship with you and the rest of the gang is the greatest thing I ever built. -Big Dell”

[holding-hands-and-hearts]

Remembering Omega

She only pieced together her childhood - or what passed for one - later.

Children didn’t remember things. Children rarely remembered places, either, or features, their minds twisting objects and beings until the tops of their heads touched the sky and their eyes glowed down like yellow lamps, unblinking and uncaring.

But children did remember feelings.

Her first memory is of cold. Darkness. They combined into something tangible, something pressing and present and absent. She remembers how it had sunk into her bones and made something in her chest sharp and stabbing. She remembers that it felt empty. Empty of something she couldn’t really understand, and though she had no reason to think that this wasn’t normal, it felt out of place all the same.

Her second memory is of absence. It was the first time she was able to recognize anguish, tearing at her throat and constricting her airway, and panic, and pain. She wasn’t cold anymore because she was so hot, her blood galloping through her veins and boiling, salty, liquid something dripped down her cheeks and seared her eyes. She remembers a wild need for something, for someone, a hand to cover hers or arms to bundle her up in or even just a voice, and it wouldn’t matter what the voice said so long as she could recognize that maybe there was someone there, and maybe she wasn’t the only one here. She remembers her skin prickling, prickling, prickling, because she’s cold again and there’s some primordial, primal demand for another living being to touch her.

Her third memory is of distance. She was used to the watchful one by now, used to the way it moved and how its features never betrayed any of its thoughts, a mask that she was too inexperienced to see through. But even when the watchful one watched her, even when it spoke, told her to stay still, she never felt seen. When the respected one and the one in the middle, the one who visited, came to see the watchful one and seemed so urgent about when, they looked at her like a puzzle, like an anomaly, like something that wasn’t supposed to be here. She knew they talked about her, but not one of them ever turned and bent their elegant bodies down to her, looked in her eyes and said some kind of something that made a piece fall into place that she was….something. Alive. Okay. She didn’t know the word loved until later, and for her it was defined as the opposite of how unreachable the watchful one’s eyes were.

Her fourth memory is of lost, and of the moments when lost seemed not quite. The world had gotten bigger, like it had simply blinked into existence, and the watchful one had opened the door and sent her away in the care of a strange floaty thing, with shiny limbs and a shiny voice that wobbled with panic whenever she took a step the wrong way. She remembered how bright the lights were, a glowing, constant white that bordered on iridescence and hurt when she looked at them too long. They stabbed somewhere within her skull like an afterthought, a silent kind of pain that didn’t yield until she learned to avert her eyes and keep her head down. She remembered how noisy it had seemed, how her footsteps faded into the endless white hallways. To someone who’s only ever heard silence, even hush is loud.

She remembered her first face, other than the watchful one and the respected one and the one who visited, and how warm its colors had seemed against the stark white corridors. It was tall, but compact, and sturdy, its eyes were confused, but it seemed like asylum when it scooped her up. Its arms were solid and warm and it cradled her head against its chest while it moved, and it clicked something into place. It wasn’t love, but it was something that set a few seconds aside to care, and the warmth in its concern wrapped around her like a blanket and made everything seem okay.

She remembered her second face, and this one was older, its back beginning to stoop and lines sinking into its face like stories untold, and its mouth curved when it looked at her. It knelt down and held her hand and asked her questions she didn’t understand, but it was kindness, and that was new too. She remembered the windows, when the endless white had found an end, and she remembered the cool of glass. She remembered the rain, and that the seal on the window must have been faulty. The kind one had put a work-gnarled hand on her shoulder and let her reach out to drag the ends of her tiny fingertips across the condensation, leaving trails that said I am here. It was the only here that had ever stopped to acknowledge her, the only thing that changed when she moved, like she was worth paying attention to.

Most of all, she remembered her third face, her fourth, her fifth, her sixth, glowing as tiny little lights back in the watchful one’s dark. The others started asking about it, started coming through the door from the world and pointing at the four little lights and saying when. She remembered learning that when got smaller slowly, and the respected one was never happy about it. The one who visited came to say would, and to say this, and to both of them the watchful one’s reply was always will. But every time the respected one came to say when, the four little lights would get a little bit bigger, until she could find herself in their tiny faces and tiny fingers and hope that their four little lights would make the dark a little less.

For now, the four little lights floated oblivious, asleep, maybe, and maybe when they woke up they’d get to stay. For now, they were together, and she remembered something calm settle in her core like how the waves stilled when the rain stopped. The kind one had picked her up and called it the ocean, before the watchful one could see them. He’d pointed, showing her how the funny flying creatures brought their littles to play between the pylons that held the city above the water.

At the end of the when, the four little lights turned off. One of them was bigger than the others, and one of them had a thick thatch of shadow-dark on his head that the watchful one didn’t seem to understand. One of them had a sharper face, carved out of focused intensity, and the smallest one curled in on himself like he was trying to shut out the world. The watchful one gave them numbers, nine-nine, nine-nine, nine-nine, nine-nine, like they were always meant to be together, and something clawed at her stomach when she realized that no one had ever given her one.

Instead, the shiny one zoomed up with its shiny limbs and its shiny voice, intent on a somewhere, and she didn’t want to go, didn’t want to take her eyes off of the four little nine-nines, afraid that they would disappear as simply and finally as a mirage if she looked away.

She only pieced together her childhood - or what passed for one - later.

It took time for her to understand her scraps of memory and feeling, lost without concept or context. She didn’t realize there was a cavernous, empty space she was lost in until she wasn’t anymore, like the way the vents were always loudest in the seconds after they’d just turned off. How do you place isolation, when you’ve been alone your whole life? How do you understand love, when all you’ve ever found is apathy?

She remembered alone, because she never had someone else to be alone with.

She remembered wrong, everything wrong, because there had never been anyone to tell her that she was right.

Now, everyone had a name. She recognized the watchful one, the respected one, the one who visited, and the kind one and the shiny one, who always blurted it in her ear with his shiny voice. For a while, she didn’t understand the identification in these strings of syllables, how they could mean everything, how you would be recognized and explained in a breath. Nala Se, Lama Su, Taun We, Ninety-nine, AZI-345211896246498721347.

She didn’t have a name, because what was there to define her?

She was the last.

Nala Se called her Omega.

*******

eeeeek so I opened Tumblr this morning to a giant pile of notifications and FREAKED OUT. Stupid sloppy grin, excited lil bouncing, all of it. Thank y’all so much for making my day, and probably my week too (by the way, @isaakandreyevs, you’re incredible and I love you).

Anyway, TBB today! I confess I don’t write with them as much as I should, but I got stuck on Omega’s childhood memories. I have discovered that it is REALLY HARD. Like, it’s not supposed to make sense to her, but it has to make sense to you, and my brain is so twisted up right now it should be in Cirque du Soleil.

Let me know what you want to see next! I’m thinking my best boys in the 501st, but suggestions would be more than welcome.