#eridual

So now, despite you bein maybe only half a tine shorter than he was then, you have to tilt your head all the way back to meet his eyes. Or. Eye. His eye, because only one of them can see you, you think.

He's handsome. You hadn't known that for certain before, all of his paintings had his face blacked out, like he'd purposely hidden from- everyone. Not just you, though it always felt like that. He's not hiding now, or maybe he can't.

But he is still good looking. A pair of dark grey slashes split across either side of his face, one slicing through his lip, the tooth it knocked out replaced in gold. The other scar blinded the eye it ripped over, and disappears into his hairline. Both are the only real break in the perfection of his face.

Though, and this catches your thoughts only dimly, he looks nothing like you. His nose is flatter despite sharing your hooked arch, closer to his face, his eyes aren't as wide as yours, his face is sharper, and he's so much sterner looking than you think you've ever been.

Until he isn't. His face softens when he singles you out in the line up, and suddenly there's a hand the size of your head resting comfortingly on your neck. You take in the full frame of him, how broad he is, in the chest, in the shoulders. How much the weight that comes with age in your kind has filled his middle out and padded some of those edges.

You, he says, and it sounds so much more ragged than you'd thought it would, do not call him "Sir", or "Captain", or "Lord".

The hand moves to mess your hair, and he laughs. The noise is like something choking, like the creaking wheeze of a ship's deck once the woods started rotting.

You call him like you would your lusus, he tells you. You're kin after all, feels less stilted than working out specifics.

I know not everyone is comfortable with it, but if you are would you be willing to draw Dual-Scar x Eridan or Hand-Maid x Crow-bar? If not please feel free to trash this ask!

Have a nice day! `u`

Hi anon!! first, do i mean nothing to you?

second, I wanted to draw crowbar & handmaid too, unfortunately i ran out of motivation + had no ideas (i might reblog with some art of them at some point if i think of anything, either way it’s a cute ship)

third,

An EriDual aesthetic! Enjoy!

It takes the old shark a few weeks to really settle in to having you around. He's more skittish than you'd expected, clearly too used to being alone in his quarters. There are nights he avoids you completely, others where he watches you from across the room but never speaks to you. You've consider leaving him alone occasionally, going to handle matters across the ship by yourself, but...

The one time you tried to, he looked at you like you'd told him you wanted him dead. Started asking if you thought you weren't wanted in his attendance, or if you needed something in your block they hadn't thought to provide. He'd sounded almost afraid, like he thought something was wrong. It had taken hours to calm him back down.

So you stay close, whatever that may mean in the moment. Today feels different, though. He's more... alive, tonight, more relaxed than he's been since that first night on the ship. He's sticking close to you, not right at your side, but only just behind you.

He wants to ask you something, he said, but not in front of the crew. The corridor you're in feels smaller than it should, the cold floor beneath your boots still managing to seep into your limbs despite the barrier of your clothes. You don't even think this part of the ship is used anymore, dark and cramped and cold and stagnant. Just another casualty to the empire's upgrades.

"Like me," He murmurs suddenly from behind you. You spin on your heel, startled.

"I- I didn't even realize I'd said that- That wwasn't wwhat I meant-" He cuts off your sputtering with an almost plaintive smile, and a short flick of his claws.

"It's fine, lad. 'S the truth, time leavwes us all behind evwentually. I made my piece with it ages ago. The Empress vwill livwe an eon, an evwen she isn't untouched nowv."

You hate how happy he sounds about it, like he's romanticized his own oblivion. He pushes past you, humming softly, and you watch him fiddle with the door in front of you.