i've been thinking about this since you asked for brainrot.
you and foul legacy childe have been at war for what seems like ages, now. who knows what started it? it's been years, and you don't think anyone really remembers why anymore. hell, you don't even know why you're still fighting. it's been so long.. and the fluffy moth boi before you, darting to and fro, desperately trying to dodge your attacks and catch you off guard is covered in blood. just like you.
your thoughts are scattered when you feel a sharp jab at your side and hiss in pain. you were too distracted, too lost in thought, and now you were injured. perhaps badly. you pressed a hand against the wound, trying to suppress the bleeding. in retaliation, you dart forward, trying to get a jab in, to make him pay for what he's done to you, when suddenly something changes.
he's no longer aiming at you anymore. you've memorised his moveset perfectly by now, and you know that it's changed. you can't quite figure out what, though -- at least not until he finally wins and knocks your weapon out of your hands, sending it spinning across to the other side of the building. what he does next leaves you speechless and confused. he tosses his dagger down, no, he throws it across the building, near yours.
and then your eyes meet. you can see the tiredness in his eyes. the exhaustion creeping in. and you don't miss the way his breaths come in short pants as he tries to catch his breath. i'm fine, you think to yourself, unaware that you're exactly the same. you're too busy realising the toll that this battle has taken on him. realising that all the years of sparring and dueling to the death has tired him out.
childe purrs softly, trying to let you know he means no harm, before roughly managing to say, "let's end this. i'm done. i'm tired of this. do you even remember why we're fighting? it's been too long, you're no match for me, and i'm no match for you. please, let's just.. end this."
your face softens as you watch his soft furry body crumple to the ground. and for the first time, you realise that you too, are exhausted. you make your way over to him and settle down next to his body. ".. fine by me, i suppose."
hey *sits down next to you* this is amazing. i love it so much
when you finally, finally sit down for the first time in years, relief floods through your aching body. so much so that you nearly tip over and collapse into Childe's sharply armored and very comfortable looking lap, but you resist. you've been fighting him for years, even if he says he's tired, he's still your enemy.
isn't he?
pain suddenly sparks in your side, and you let out a gasp. you forgot that you're still injured; even if the fighting stands still, blood still flows. it hurts, and you press your palm firmly against the wound, wincing when the pressure makes it flare angrily. but you haven't any medical supplies with you, nothing to clean or wrap it in.
it was supposed to be a duel to the death, after all.
vaguely you hear a whimper beside you, and claws brush against the hand clamped over your injury. you flinch and push yourself away from the gentle touch, away from Childe, because you still don't trust him. don't trust the Harbinger, no matter what- that's what you were told.
Childe purrs again, the same low sound from before, "hey, i'm not going to hurt you..." he trails off, but the words unsaid hang in the air.
i won't hurt you, not anymore. you hope he knows you feel the same. this time, when he reaches towards the gash in your side, you stay still and watch him carefully move the edges of your ripped shirt aside. he's so gentle, touch light over the stinging wound, barely even touching you. your own eyes trail up to Childe's body, just as bruised and battered as your own, and you raise your hand to wipe at a cut on his face.
Childe stills, as do you. then without a word he leans into your touch, a soft rumble laced in his blissful exhale when you slowly rub your thumb across the unmarred portions of his cheek. you swear you can even hear him humming some song as his eye slides shut, delighted at your touch despite how your fingers are calloused and scarred. when his claws begin kneading at the edges of your shirt, where there's no skin for him to break, you finally crack a small smile.
"guess we're each other's company now, huh?"
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Uh oh Ranboo effed up O.O . I absolutely hate this but it’s somthing. This was mostly me testing out how to do affects… not working to well.. art block is such a silly billy
HE'S SO SILLY❤️❤️❤️
i feel like i'm in a very similar spot rn like i have a bit of catalyst writers block, so instead i'm writing the worst thing i've ever written because i want to try something new
not to say that this is bad no this is SO GOOD all of ur art makes me go ❤️👄❤️ i love his shirt and the blood OO the blood very nice and the fangs THE FANGS [explodes] i love this it is also joining the others on The Wall :D
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daniel jacobi in the wolf 359 finale is in the fucking scenario of all time. imagine. imagine that, after a tense hostage situation, you get shot in the leg, even though you did nothing to deserve it. this is a non-issue, of course, because thankfully your evil science overlords brought an automated surgery system with them. leg gets patched up. you take none of their meds. eventually your team figures out that they probably popped a tracker in your open wound while their spaceship was playing operation™️ so, either by your own volition or someone else’s suggestion, you end up with the job of distracting the super dangerous dude who basically specializes in murdering other super dangerous dudes while everyone else handles the rest of the station. you decide to do this by locking yourself in a room with him. you probably have a little hand-to-hand combat training, but making shit blow up isn’t necessarily an intimate activity. you are only moderately dangerous. also, you still have a bullet wound. also, you’re a bit of an asshole. and for some reason you brought confetti into space.
so you get the absolute shit beat out of you for probably the better part of the day while everyone else does their part before the bomb you planted earlier finally joins the party and blows up the room you’re in. thankfully, you’re an expert, so you get out of the way in time to not end up in bits and exit this room probably feeling pretty good about how the plan turned out. only to join the rest of the crew to find that your captain is asleep, your commander is bleeding out in a pool of her own blood, your comms officer has no memory of what the hell he’s even doing here, the AI in charge of the station is rebooting, there are 11 minutes before you all end up freefalling into the star you’re orbiting, and someone fucking harpooned your (ex) boss. so you, your bullet wound, and your various injuries from several hours of losing at physical combat and surviving a bomb exploding gather everyone up into the one functioning ship you have left and take off into space. and somehow you still had the most normal day out of everyone else there
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