#headcanon that the only 'removable' thing is his helmet. for the rest is actually part of him.

[ninjastar107]

Outfits :>

#susi art #megaman #protoman #headcanon that the only 'removable' thing is his helmet. for the rest is actually part of him. #also headcanon that things are extremely bright for him w/o his shades

[rararazaquato]

monkey headcanon doc

be warned: VERY LONG POST, will be putting it under a cut.

The white spots on the chest and their muzzles are the only parts of the actual monkey that show through the cybernetics, with the exception of helmet removal for brain inspection and repair.

Too long without the helmet will kill the monkey. Probably a 10-minute timer a la that one half-finished Invader Zim episode. The one where Zim loses his PAK and he only has ten minutes to live. That one.

The rest of the monkey is in there still, but removing the cybernetic armor would certainly be painful. Plus, again, 10 minute timer.

“so how is Mandarin surviving without his helmet” well on the HOOP the prison staff were basically just force feeding him fluids or whatever, so he had a little more than half an hour left in him by the time he tried taking over Shuggazoom in Sixth Monkey. However, he was nearly a corpse by the end of the whole ordeal. Muscle Bod Mandarin was crafted to have extended “battery life” by Skeleton King, and Skelemandarin has no more need for being on what is effectively Villainous Life Support. Then again, he’s basically a corpse barely clinging to life at this point. His face post-s2, with one blind eye? That’s not scar tissue around it. That’s rot. He’s a rotting corpse. Peace and love ❤️

Sparx, Gibson, and Otto’s lenses aren’t actually black. They’re tinted red, blue, and green respectively.

Similarly, Antauri’s fur in his original form isn’t exactly black. It’s a very dark and desaturated purple, but it’s still definitely purple. Think Shiny Gengar.

Speaking of Antauri, remember how I said the snout sticks out of the cybernetic parts? When Antauri gets his fully mechanical body, there’s obviously no more snout. The body was never meant to house an actual monkey, so there’s no snout built in. Antauri’s head is basically an orb.

Still, Antauri’s head is evenly divided between the actual silver on the top half (which also has a slight purpley hue) and the white of his original muzzle on the bottom half. Poké Ball lookin’ man.

Antauri can still “eat”, in a sense. He has taste receptors in his mouth, but any food he swallows is all converted to energy and stored in a spare battery pack. To make sure he has enough energy for his physical form to keep going, he usually does the robo-equivalent of carbo-loading before intense missions.

Each monkey has a physical feature that sets them apart from each other.

Antauri has sharp claws even when not using his weapons. When he gets his new bod, his hands are normal, but as previously mentioned, no muzzle.

Sparx wears those stupid Dirk Strider glasses. However, those conceal his actual differing features - his pupils are triangular instead of circular like the other monkeys. This is how we get a similar visual effect to his eyes going all “sharp” when he goes Fire of Hate mode - he takes off his glasses when hanging out with Valeena and Mandarin.

Gibson’s tail ends in a sharp point that’s the same blue as the rest of his body. This point also glows when he’s experiencing heightened emotions or is using his drill attacks.

Nova has extra face fluff. Basically, she looks like Tails from Sonic. I think it’s cute.

Otto’s weird little head fin thing has two sections instead of one. This is to make it resemble a ponytail, and a mechanic would need to keep his hair out of his face!

Mandarin is the closest to canon, because he has no distinguishing features (since he was the first monkey given a cybernetic body).

The monkey snouts have a little nose now! Reason: it is cute

I think the two pieces above really show off the way my headcanons for the monkey’s appearances work. One is the dialogueless version of a comic I did where Mandarin gets kicked off the team for getting into NFTs, and the other is a collection of Gibson being gay as hell (the Otto design used in the second piece is my current one, the Mandarin comic one has a different fin style).

The monkeys are about 3 feet tall, maybe a little less. They’re all about the same height, too, although Mandarin always seemed like the shortest due to his tendency to slouch. Antauri’s silver body is also a little smaller, so he ends up being “the short one”.

They can regulate their outside body temperature. Are you too hot? Gibson’s an ice pack now. Too cold? Otto is a hot water bottle. This is kinda canon with Snowbound, but I like to think they have a lot of control over their temperature. Unfortunately, Nova’s thermal regulators were busted when she had that confrontation with Mandarin in the training room, so she can lose control of how warm she gets pretty easily. The same probably applies to her cooling abilities, i.e. she can basically turn anyone that touches her into a popsicle, but she hates even her outside body temperature being cold that much that she hasn’t bothered to try.

However, the exposed parts of the monkey maintain regular… monkey… temperature? What is the regular monkey temperature? idk lol

Each team member takes care of their chest fur differently.

Antauri combs his fur exactly 99 times in the morning and exactly once before bed. He also washes it every other day with shampoo and conditioner, as is recommended for many humans. He doesn’t have any in his robot form, though. Bald.

Sparx puts hair gel in his fur and slicks it into a stupid little spiral shape. Washes it every other day.

Gibson is actually the least careful with his fur. He’ll quickly comb it out if you bring it up, but it usually goes unbrushed. Do not ask him when he last washed his fur. He’s too busy doing science and research and being tormented by Sparx! The man loves dry shampoo.

Nova brushes her fur every day and washes it every day as well. She also pays special attention to the fur around her muzzle, as it gets tangled and matted easily.

Otto isn’t anywhere near as bad as Gibson, but he’s not exactly the most bothered about his appearance. He washes and brushes his fur when it gets something like oil stuck in it, which is actually pretty often, but he isn’t doing it for appearances. He’s doing it because it feels weird to have goop in your fur!

If you so much as tap Mandarin’s fur with a comb it will all fall out.

Also, music tastes!

Antauri doesn’t listen to music? If he isn’t on high alert with the team, he’s either sleeping or meditating, and he doesn’t like music when he meditates. Sometimes he’ll put on rain sounds or, like, whale songs or something while sleeping.

Sparx has a whole music career! Unfortunately, his album has become a laughingstock among bald music critics. Meta jokes aside, he likes most subgenres of rock and the occasional hip hop song.

Gibson mostly listens to classical music, although he is also known to partake in Lo-Fi Hip Hop Beats to Relax/Study To. Also, because this show was made in 2004, he has an “embarrassing” interest in Britney Spears’ music. No one else on the team finds it embarrassing. Except Sparx. But, as mentioned above, his own music career was a flop, so he can’t exactly judge, now can he?

Put on any gym playlist. That’s Nova’s music taste. Bonus points if it includes Eye of the Tiger.

Otto listens to the most obnoxious hyperpop you could imagine. Somehow, he has the best music taste of the group. He and Sparx composed the team’s theme song in-universe.

Mandarin, like Antauri, also doesn’t listen to music. Unlike Antauri, where he just doesn’t have time, Mandarin doesn’t listen to music because allegedly that’s one of the telltale signs of a future serial killer.

Not a monkey, but Chiro likes to roll down the windows of his little car thing and blast My Chemical Romance and other emo people music. That’s what he was doing at the beginning of Girl Trouble. He also likes generic guitar solo music as evidenced by the same episode.

Obviously, the monkeys don’t like bananas, but they have their favorite foods.

Antauri actually enjoys those healthy smoothies from Wonder Fun Meat World. Chiro will pretend to do shots of them, much to Antauri’s chagrin (and Sparx’s amusement. “Hey, Antauri, after we save the universe, we should send Chiro to university. I think he’d have a great time!”)

Sparx is convinced that carrots actually do help with eyesight, so he does his best to eat as many as he can. He also has a sweet tooth, so his absolute favorite food is carrot cake.

Gibson drinks black coffee, like some kind of freak.

Nova loves Otto’s cooking, whatever he makes. The clam chowder from Night of Fear? Chef’s kiss (she said this and Otto responded with “huh? chefs kiss? do they really?”)

Otto, on the other hand, loves fast food hamburgers. He found out about the Gakburger “secret ingredient” and kept eating it. When he retires from saving the universe, he plans on starting an ethical Thingy-fur farm to make sure Mr. Gakslapper doesn’t have to shadily shave the Thingies behind the counter. He is also the only monkey who doesn’t dislike bananas. He doesn’t love them, but if given the choice between a banana and one of Antauri’s smoothies, he’d much rather take the banana.

Mandarin has been living off of nothing but fluids for the past god knows how many years.

Antauri’s “sensing” powers actually detect signature electromagnetic waves. Like a shark.

Antauri and Gibson are Chiro’s legal guardians. Chiro’s full legal name is Chiro Niyelli Gibson (“Niyelli” being a corruption of “Nieli” in the same way “Chiro” is a corruption of “Ciro”).

Again, not monkey, but Chiro’s birth parents were actually the Sheenkos, and Valeena was his older sister. They went all freaky Skeleton King mode and turned Valeena into a perfect cult sacrifice/put Chiro in the orphanage when he was a baby. yeah i know this probably has a lot of timeline loopholes and is probably not anywhere near canon but shhh

And Clayton Claymore is his great uncle, making the Alchemist his great uncle through, well they never got married but he and Cpt. Shuggazoom were effectively married so Skeleton King is Chiro’s great uncle, basically. And Valeena’s. No one involved has any idea. again don’t talk about the timeline here

All of the frogs from Brothers in Arms are evolutionarily related to poison dart frogs. They probably aren’t poisonous, though, since the diet needed to create poison in frogs is very specific and you probably can’t be too picky in space. Although, I do like to think Otto’s frog counterpart is still poisonous, both as a parallel to Otto’s ability to fix/”heal” the Super Robot (although that frog is also shown to be a mechanic by the end of BiA) and as a callback to the original pitch bible for SRMTHFG, where Otto was learning how to control his mean streak (almost like it was his toxic side).

Mr. Cheepers is fully sapient. (also, fun fact, in the Japanese dub, his name is Pi-chan) (another fun fact: Mr. Cheepers was actually one of the few things I remembered from the show as a child before rewatching it. Did not remember any of the monkey’s names, but by God did I remember Mr. Cheepers).

Well, that’s it for now! Please DM me for more headcanons I have so many thoughts.

#srmthfg #super robot monkey team hyperforce go! #headcanons #long post #a little bit of body horror warning for the part where i discuss mandarin in-depth #also VERY IMPORTANT headcanon that i must stress: the monkeys are not familially related #i know theres a super popular hc of sparx and gibson being biological brothers but i could not find any proof of that specifically #like ive seen the whole show recently i dont remember a single instance of that being a thing #like obviously theres mandarin calling them all his brothers but i feel like thats. not literal. #i mean he includes nova when he says brothers and her whole schtick for a while is just She Is A Girl #so im gonna take a gamble and say it is not literal

[princecharmingwinks]

heres another fail date, emphasis on FAIL. he took me horse riding. i have a healthy respect towards horses as they are sentient beings, sherlock holmes said it best with 'Why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?' anyway i'll spare you the set up and hit you with the punch line. the horse galloped straight for the fence, suddenly stopped short, threw me off directly into said fence, and my helmet got stuck in the wire. the worst part? fence was electrified.

Firstly, I am soooo sorry for how long this took me. Life happened and apparently my studies think they are important? Ridiculous really haha. Anyway! Thank you for gifting me another fail date prompt. Had lots of fun with this one. Hope you like it too <3

Setting the scene: established sterek, alive hale family, hales have a farm in their extended family somewhere and Derek spends most holiday breaks there while growing up...enjoy!

---

"Remind me again how you convinced me to do this?"

Derek snorted as he continued bridling the horses, "I believe it was around the time I was making breakfast."

"Naked, Derek. You were making me breakfast naked. How am I to be held liable for what I agree to when I've got your glorious ass bending over to find cinnamon for my waffles?"

This time Derek really did laugh. He finished up with the horses and made his way over to Stiles, placing a kiss on his lips.

"It will be fun. And besides, it's the best way to show you everything. Wasn't it you who wanted to see where I grew up?"

"Fine." Stiles huffed. "But only because imagining baby Derek herding cattle is adorable."

Derek smirked, "Imagine what current me looks like."

Images of a shirtless Derek swinging around a rope while on horseback flickered across Stiles' mind. He made a bee-line for the smaller horse without further comment.

~~

While Stiles didn't love the idea of horseriding, the scenery was making up for it. Both the acres that the Hales had owned and worked for several generations as well as seeing his boyfriend so at peace. Derek was a natural, even with being away from the farm for months. Stiles on the other hand was a city-boy through and through so while he might respect horses, riding one was another story.

He held the reins tightly in his grip and tried to pretend he wasn't freaked out.

"Hey, deep breaths. Horses can smell fear." Derek teased. "I thought you said you liked all animals?"

"I have an appropriate level of respect for horses. But why would I want anything with a mind of its own bobbing about between my legs?"

Derek rolled his eyes, "Come on, Holmes, we're almost back at the house. Dad promised to keep mum as far away from the kitchen as possible so I'm actually looking forward to dinner."

As they neared the homestead, Stiles saw some mini silhouettes crowding onto the front patio. He couldn't make out faces but could already guess who the spectators were.

"Introducing you to the twins was a terrible idea." Derek mused. "I'm starting to think they might like you more than me."

Stiles grinned. Of course he would hit it off with the twins. They were the offspring of Laura, who was practically his partner in crime when teasing Derek.

"That's because they like that I can do this!" Stiles let go on the reins and twirled his fingers in the air.

"Stiles, don't-"

It was too late for Derek's warning. The moment his spark shot out in bursts of mini fireworks from his fingers, the horse bolted.

Stiles yelped and clung on for dear life. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed this wouldn't kill him.

"Pull on the reins, Stiles!" He heard Derek yell somewhere off in the distance.

Right. Stiles wasn't a damsel in distress. He was a human who ran with wolves. He could stop a runaway horse, right?

Without acknowledging his surroundings, Stiles pulled the reins with all his might. In her mercy, the mare did stop. Except the abrupt halt forced Stiles forwards and over the horse. For a moment, he experienced what it was like to fly...and then fall.

Stiles' helmeted head wedged into the wired fence that the horse had suddenly stopped in front of.

Stiles remembered muttering, "Well least things can't get worse." Just before a bolt of electricity shot up his spine.

~~

When Stiles came to, it was to a ceiling of eyes. Derek's he recognised instantly, before his brain registered the others belonged to the twins. He was lying on the soft grass, thankfully away from the evil fence line.

"That was awesome! Do it again, Stiles!" Nate cheered.

"Yeah, do it again!" Ruby joined in.

"Give it a rest you two troublemakers. Stiles just got himself electrocuted." Derek huffed, shooing them away towards the house before returning his focus to Stiles. "You ok, baby?"

Derek had removed Stiles' helmet and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the blank ink lines tracing up the wolf's arm. So that's why he wasn't in agony. Yay for supernatural boyfriends and their ability to take away pain!

"Told you horseriding was a bad idea." Stiles smiled at his boyfriend's frown, "I'm fine, sourwolf. Just got a bruised pride and possibly tailbone."

Derek kissed his forehead and rubbed his stubbled against Stiles' cheek in a scent-mark.

"Next time no Spark Shows while on a horse, alright?" He said, helping Stiles slowing to his feet.

"There won't be a next time on a horse. Sherlock was on to something." Stiles dusted the grass off his shirt and jeans.

"You sure there's nothing you want bobbing between your legs?" Derek whispered against his earlobe.

A ripple of arousal slithered down Stiles' spine.

"Maybe just one exception."

"Aunty M said if you two don't come inside now, she's gonna eat all your roast beef!" Nate yelled from the patio.

"Ok, pocket that thought for later because there is no way I'm letting Malia eat my hard earned dinner." Stiles grinned, "You'll have to carry me babe to make it in time."

Derek rolled his eyes but understood the seriousness of the situation. His cousin never bluffed about food. He scooped Stiles up and they took off towards the house

---

Ta da! Ok so I picked Ruby as a nod of recognition to my favourite headcanon / casting of Laura (Ruby in Once Upon a Time). I know Malia is a cousin but I'm going with the theory that all the next generation call her Aunty M because...why not haha. I have never been electrocuted so please forgive any inaccuracy on that. Hope you weren't too badly injured in the real situation, concussed dragon! As always, thanks for popping in!! <3

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #princecharminganswers #princecharmingwrites

[alderaani]

prison break (echo x reader)

A valentines gift for @just-some-girl-92 as part of the event being run by @starwarsfandomfests! Thanks so much for putting another one of these together @lilhawkeye3, and I really hope you like this Dell! I think credit for white haired Echo goes to @/amiro-art? That was the first place I saw it anyway, and I’ve really liked the headcanon that it’s like that post-techno union ever since!

Based on this prompt: Character A moves in next to Character B. They have conjoined balconies and A's pet/child wanders into B's apartment.

Fives and Echo are both reunited and well in this because everyone gets to be happy on Valentine’s Day and I said so. We don’t need canon on this blog.

The other side of the wall explodes with noise. 

It makes you pause, looking up from the knitting trailing over your knees to cock your head towards the opposite apartment. You think you hear the screech of furniture legs being pushed along the floor, then the frantic rumble of several male voices speaking over the top of each other, the clatter and clang of things as they are removed and replaced.

It’s odd. When Tith-Mar lived next door, you used to hear it every time he coughed, or swore at that awful old holodrama he used to watch every Taungsday. As much as you tried to stop yourself you couldn’t help but get invested, and that was almost worse. Out of pride you never put it on your own unit, but that just meant you ended up half pressed against the wall, eventually not even pretending you weren’t listening to Capula and Mont confess their love. It had given you something to talk about, anyway, when you went onto the balcony to water your plants and he went out there to smoke the fancy deathsticks he joked he’d live and die by.

In the year since the war ended and Tith-Mar was finally able to move back out to be with his daughter on Ryloth you’ve never quite gotten used to the quiet. There was a strange comfort in knowing that there was someone on the other side of the wall. Maybe it came from the three years of water shortages and occasional outages - or, notably, the rampage of the Zillo beast, which hadn’t come quite close enough to flatten you in your sleep, but had downed enough of the power grid that you’d been locked in your apartment for five rotations. You miss the soft Rylothi folk music he used to play in the mornings, and you miss seeing him sometimes, blowing smoke up into the brisk Coruscant mornings with his blue lek, faded now in old age, wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

You just miss the comforting assurance of having someone else there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the door going, and the occasional thump of something being moved, you’d hardly know that you had neighbours at all now. It’s almost funny to think back on the furore it caused when the Republic bought the apartment for GAR resettlement. It led to the only neighbourhood meeting the building has ever had, and you’ve been very glad for that fact after discovering that a solid faction of your fellow citizens are bigots. It’s something you knew, objectively, but witnessing it from the people you personally rub shoulders with was a harder pill to swallow than having to watch some of the anti-clone protests on the holonews. You’ve not tried to remember the more colourful misconceptions about clone troopers aired by prim soft-handed mid-levellers as they sat in a lobby you can remember the Coruscant Guard clearing rubble from with nothing but their hands. However, you do very vividly remember someone from two floors up asking you if you’d ‘really feel safe’ living next to ‘those walking warmongers’, being young and living on your own. You’d shut that down, of course, and the resulting vote had passed in favour.

You’d honestly half expected the troopers to reject the place after that, and you wouldn’t have blamed them either. 

Everyone had known the day they moved in, had pretended not to watch as a GAR issue speeder loaded with two armoured figures and a meagre quantity of possessions had pulled up on the walkway and made their way cautiously inside. You’d thought about introducing yourself, knocking or something, but concluded in the end that they didn’t need anyone else ogling them. You’d figured that there would be plenty of time for that later...and now here you are, a whole year on, and that glimpse is just about the closest you’ve ever gotten to them. You think they still spend a lot of time off-planet, helping with the reconstruction missions the now-voluntary GAR conducts throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. You hadn’t even been sure that they were home at the moment, actually. 

There’s no doubting it now, as the frantic thumps and raised voices continue. Through your balcony door, cracked open to catch some of the soft breeze the weather engineers have scheduled today, you can make out a little of what their voices are saying, one frantic and forceful, the other softer, but no less worried.

“ - kriffing hell, can’t believe we’ve lost...Rex will have our heads…”

“...can’t have gotten far...can’t even walk!”

“ - already checked the fresher, Echo!”

“It can’t hurt to check twice...knew we shouldn’t have…”

You bite your lip, turning round while debating whether you should offer your help. Then you freeze. The baby on the other side of your caf table freezes too, chubby hand poised to grab the cookie you’d been saving for later. They’re standing on legs that wobble a bit, and there’s a glint of steely determination in the dark eyes that fix on your face. 

“Hello,” you say a little weakly, realising very abruptly what the troopers must have lost.

The kid appraises you for a moment longer, brow furrowed and intent. There’s a huge amount of judgement there for such a small face, those focused eyes taking you in for several very long seconds. Then they huff, and very deliberately turn their attention back to the cookie. You smother an incredulous laugh. 

“Not impressed, huh?” You say, carefully setting your knitting aside and uncovering your legs. “Can’t say I blame you, I prefer cookies too.”

The baby doesn’t dignify this with any attention, instead making a soft crowing noise as their little fingers strike victory and retract with the cookie firmly in grasp. When they immediately move to cram it into their mouth you burst into action, leaning across the caf table to swipe it. Just those mere seconds of contact have made it slightly damp. 

The baby’s face scrunches in outrage, and they let go of the table edge, sinking down onto their padded bottom with a sharp, high noise of annoyance. They don’t cry, but the frown is something spectacular.

“Sorry, kid.” You force yourself the rest of the way up, keeping a hold on the cookie with one hand. Can kids this young even eat solid foods yet? Do they have any allergies? You don’t have any siblings, so the last time you were around a baby was when you were one. For all this one’s bravado, they look awfully breakable. “I’ll hang on to this for now, yeah?”

You don’t think that they’re old enough to understand what you’re saying, but the huff the baby lets out feels extremely pointed. You stare down at them on your rug.

“Don’t suppose you could give me any pointers on how to hold you?”

It turns out babies are wriggly. You put the cookie down long enough to hoist the kid into your arms and attempt to manoeuvre their little arms and legs so that they’re not jabbing into your vital organs, but at the sight of the food being placed far away, the kid lets out a piercing noise, right into your ear, and attempts to kamikaze their way back to it. A body that two seconds ago was ramrod solid and deliberately unwieldy is suddenly boneless and impossible to hold onto. Your brain goes empty of everything but wrestling with several pounds of struggling infant. 

You end up on the floor, eventually, but at least both of you are in one piece. You’re breathing heavily. The kid’s face is thunderous. It’s very cute, but you can’t wait to give it back and appreciate that from a distance. Somehow, you manage to settle them onto your hip.

“What the f - heck was that for?” You ask, purely to make yourself feel better. Even if the kid could answer you, you get the feeling they simply wouldn’t. “Was it because I put the biscuit down?”

The kid makes a huffing noise. You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. The baby’s dark, just-curling hair is soft against the skin of your upper arm, and their weight is warm and solid against your side. 

“I’m not taking it away from you. I’m gonna let you have it, just need to make sure it’s safe for womp-rats first. And return you before those poor guys tear their place apart, okay?”

You re-collect the cookie and struggle back to your feet, looking towards the open balcony. Visions flash through your mind of the baby pulling that boneless trick out there, with nothing but spacelanes separating them from the ground 50 stories below, and...no. You’re not even vaguely risking that. The front door is definitely the better option, but somehow more daunting, as you stand before the neighbouring apartment with your heart in your throat.

The second you knock, the frantic voices inside cut off abruptly, and then you hear the mad scramble that ensues to reach the door. It wooshes open, and suddenly you’re face to face with your neighbours for the first time. 

They’re less identical than you’d expected. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it’s the first one that stumbles, half formed and dazed, into the open void your brain has just become. The second, very unhelpful follow up, is that they’re also much prettier than you’d expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected anything, but - you’ve never seen one of the clones without their helmets before. The Corrie Guard, back during the war, had made a point of never taking them off as far as you’d ever seen. That was apparently a crying shame. One of them has thick, dark curly hair, a tidy goatee, and a tattoo on his forehead. The other’s hair is a sharp, startling white, interrupted by metal nodes of some sort. Some sort of post-war medical adaptation, you assume. He’s slightly leaner all over, his eyes a little larger in his face. But the way both of them sag against the door frame is exactly the same.

“Thank the fucking force,” The dark haired one breathes, clutching at his chest.

The other trooper elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Fives.”

“She’s ten months old, Echo. She’s not gonna repeat it.”

“She just escaped from our apartment after General Skywalker swore up and down she’s not mobile yet. It’s gonna be her first word just to spite us.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself and flush a little when all attention snaps back to you.

“That I can believe,” you force yourself to say. “Hi. I think I found something of yours.”

You hold out your armful of infant and - you presume Fives is his name - reaches out to take her, groaning in relief. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervent, taking a moment to bury his face into the child’s hair. She puts a determined thumb into her mouth and stares at your hand, still clutching the cookie. The trooper turns her in his arms and holds her up at eye level. “You are a menace, Leia. I thought we were gonna have to call in a search.”

It’s nice to have a name for that little displeased face. Leia regards the trooper for a moment before sticking her hand into his face. His eyes are impossibly warm as he pretends to gobble her fingers, and it is, quite frankly, cute as fuck. He turns his attention back to you, but just as he opens his mouth, the sound of a comm going off somewhere behind them cuts through the moment.

“That’ll be the General,” The white-haired trooper laughs. “You better take her and show him, before he raises down half of Coruscant trying to get here.”

Fives nods, flashing another blinding grin at you, before he and Leia are gone. The trooper you’re left with blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Well,” he says, his mouth crooking into a wry smile. “That was exciting.” 

He sticks his hand out, and when you take it, his palm is rough and his grip firm. You give him your name without thinking about it, staring into the kind, golden depths of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners when he grins. 

“I’m Echo. And - I know Fives already said it, but seriously, thank you. Where the shab did you find her?”

“Trying to steal biscuits from my caf table,” you say, laughing openly when Echo drops his face back into his hand and groans with embarrassment. “I think she got in through the balcony door.”

“Force, we didn’t even think of that. What a first impression, you must think we’re idiots.” 

You shake your head, enamoured by the faint colour you can see rising in his cheeks. He brings his metal hand up to his face and presses the cool prosthetic against his skin. 

“Not at all. You should have seen the look she gave me when I found her, she knows she’s in charge.” 

Echo smiles bashfully. “It’s the first time we’ve ever won the lot to babysit the twins, our Company would have crucified us if we’d lost her.” 

“Then I’m very glad to have provided a rescue.” 

There’s a short silence as you fidget with your sleeves, strange anticipation churning in your gut. There’s no reason to keep standing here now that the pleasantries are done with, the baby exchanged, but...some part of you resists it, almost looking for an excuse to stay. He and Fives are the first new friendly faces you’ve met in a long time, soothing a sting you didn’t know was there.

“I - um -,” Echo begins suddenly, shifting a little. The colour in his face deepens. “I really like your plants. I’ve always meant to say something. We keep trying to guess what they are.” 

“Oh!” Your heart turns over in your chest and you wouldn’t be able to stop the smile bursting onto your face if you tried. Those damn things are so hard to keep alive through the unpredictable engineered weather. You don’t think you’re particularly house proud, but you do preen a little that he’s noticed. “Thank you, I, um, I water them every morning. I could...go through them with you one day? If you like?” 

Echo’s head dips an assent. “I’d really like that.” 

You linger a moment longer, a pleased thrill still lingering in your belly, but there’s no putting it off now. “I suppose I should let you go. But...please knock if you need anything.” 

Echo smiles. “Hopefully not in pursuit of any more babies.” 

You’re just about to turn away when you remember the cookie in your hand, slightly smushed now. “Oh! Can you give this to Leia? I wanted to make sure she could eat them, first, but I promised. Seemed only fair, since she went to all that trouble.” 

Echo huffs, his expression softening, taking the cookie with careful hands. “I’ll make sure her highness gets it.” 

Then you go back to your quiet apartment, somehow deflated when faced with the monotony of your knitting and your music. You hear a few more sounds from the other side of the wall, faint laughter, perhaps a child squealing, and find your curiosity has not been sated at all.

It’s a wonderful surprise, then, when two days later on a clear, sunlit morning, you slide open your balcony door to water the plants and find Echo waiting, his face tipped up to the brightening sky. There is a packet of cookies resting on the duracrete by his feet, and two steaming mugs of caf on the railing by his elbow. 

It feels like something special...It feels like a beginning. 

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @battletales @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @dom-i-nic // 

#arc trooper echo #echo #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper fives #fives #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fic #alderwrites

[hardcasey]

Better than Watching Paint Dry

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 3

Pairing: Blackout x F!Reader

Summary: As a requisitions officer in the GAR, things can be boring sometimes. That is until you happen to meet a certain handsome clone commander who asks for your help repainting his helmet. 

Word Count: 3.6k 

Rating/Warnings: T, Most of this is just flirting, but things get a little spicy at the end. 

A/N: This fic is actually based off of this artwork of Commander Blackout by @cacodaemonia. 

[Edit - I wrote this fic when I was still relatively new to the fandom, and as such, did not realize that this artist supports cl*necest. I want to make it clear that I do not support that at all and removed any comments promoting their other artwork. It felt wrong to remove credit for this fic entirely, as this fic is based on it, so I will leave up the credit with a warning to my readers] 

Also, it’s one of my headcanons that the clones know about memes, but only really old ones since it takes a while for them to filter down to them. It’s like talking to your grandpa whose only meme knowledge is from Facebook. (Would the clones like the minion memes? Who knows) 

Mando’a Translations:

vod’ika - little sibling (affectionate)

di’kut - idiot 

~~~

You sighed as you leaned on the counter to rest your chin in your hand. You glanced first to the right and then the left, hoping to find anything other than the same boring grey walls staring back at you as they had been for the past five hours. Unsurprisingly you found nothing new. A piece of hair flopped between your eyes and you tried to blow it away, only for it to flop back down after a few moments. You threw your head back and groaned. 

You were so bored. 

For whatever reason, your bosses decided to put you on a double shift even though it was usually dead at this time of day. Most of the clone troopers were either asleep, on lunch break, or just starting shifts of their own, so there was not a lot for you to be doing.

You were a requisitions officer attached to the 212th Attack Battalion, a job which normally tended to be fun… or at the very least fulfilling. If you asked yourself a year ago what you would have been doing now, joining the military wouldn’t have even cracked the top ten, but it was funny how life worked out. This time last year you were a fresh graduate from one of Coruscant’s top art schools. Unluckily for you, with the war kicking off, there was not much demand for graphic design and you struggled to find a job. You’d stumbled across a freelance job with the GAR designing posters to drum up support for the war effort. Your friends had teased you for becoming a sellout, but you’d been so low on money that you ended up taking the job anyway. The job paid well and you started doing work for them on a semi-regular basis. You still wanted to have a bit more financial security so when they posted an opening for a requisitions officer you jumped on it despite not having much relevant experience. Apparently they’d been as desperate as you since they hired you within 24 hours. 

As a requisitions officer, you were in charge of keeping the ship’s inventory stocked as well as procuring specific items for officers upon request. Most of the time that meant simply booting up the holonet and placing an order, but sometimes you got really strange requests. Like the one time General Kenobi tasked you with tracking down a rare blend of tea only found on the planet Gatalenta. It seemed like a big waste of time and money (not that you were opposed to wasting the government’s time and money) until he’d explained that it was known for its relaxing effects and he wanted to give it to Commander Cody. You’d seen for yourself just how stressed the commander was, everyone giving him a wide berth as he marched rigidly down the hallways. It had taken many calls and you’d even had to hop on a shuttle to meet with the supplier, but you’d been able to procure the tea for him, and you’d been happy to see the ommander seemed much more chill in the days following. 

Focusing back on the present, you busied yourself by shuffling things around on the counter. Eventually you got bored of shifting pieces of flimsy around and started to fold one into an origami frog. At least it was something to keep your mind off of how hungry you were. Right now was normally the time you’d be eating lunch, but you had at least two hours until your shift was over. You’d meant to bring a snack to tide you over but had forgotten it in your room this morning. As if on cue, your stomach growled loudly. You groaned. 

This was torture!

The Maker themself must have taken pity on you, because right then two clone troopers rounded the corner and made a beeline to your counter. You grabbed your origami frog and tried to hide it before they could see, but you were too slow. 

“Working hard, I see,” One of the troopers teased as he poked at the frog in your hands. His helmet was grey with white markings, the most distinctive of them a white sunburst painted on the forehead. It was distinctive enough that you knew immediately who was under there. After all, you helped him come up with the design. 

“It’s hard to work when there is no work to be done, Spark,” You sighed as you showed him where to press down to make the origami frog hop. He let out an awed noise as it jumped across the counter  and you shoved it into his hands. “Keep it. It’s a bribe so you don’t rat me out for slacking off on the job.”  

“Can you show me how to make them? That way I can make a whole army of little frogs.” Spark asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“The clankers won’t stand a chance.” You replied with a laugh that he joined in on. The other trooper behind him cleared his throat. You didn’t recognize this one, though you couldn’t be blamed for that. Any design previously on it had either been rubbed away or covered by the mess of scratches and carbon scoring across the surface. He must have been in a pretty gnarly accident. 

“Oh yeah,” Spark straightened up, “We actually came here with a bribe for you.” The other clone trooper pulled a plate piled high with food taken from the caf. You practically drooled at the sight. “I know you’re working a double shift today and won’t get to eat for a whi-” 

He was cut off as your greedy hands tried to snatch the plate from him. He managed to pull the plate out of your reach without spilling anything and tsked at you. “Now, now. You don’t get the bribe until you agree to our terms.” 

 He waggled a finger at you as if he was a parent scolding a child and you made a face at him. “You sound very familiar with the ins and outs of how bribes work. Too familiar.” 

The two troopers in front of you shared a glance between them that confirmed everything you needed to know. “Well we are spec ops… it comes with the territory.” Spark said with a chuckle. He must have caught the way you opened your mouth to ask for more details since he continued, “Sorry, all classified information.” 

“Hmph, you’re no fun.” You crossed your arms and spun around in the swivel chair you were sitting in before planting both palms down on the table and fixing them both with a serious look. “Okay, lay out your terms. And introduce me to your friend, too.” 

Spark looked over his shoulder at his companion. “Oh right, sorry. I just thought you’d met before. This is Blackout, my commander.” He put an emphasis on the word commander as if to silently warn you not to say anything that would get him in trouble. Spark was the newest member of the spec ops team attached to the 212th, only having joined a month after your first day. Both being newbies, or shinies as the troopers liked to say, the two of you gravitated towards each other and became fast friends, often eating meals together when your schedules allowed. Spark had mentioned his commander in passing, but had never gone into much detail. From what he said though, you could tell he had a lot of respect for his commanding officer and was constantly working to impress him. 

“Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of stories about you.” Blackout greeted you, extending his hand out to shake. You were (pleasantly) surprised at how firm his grip was. It wasn’t painful by any means, just strong and purposeful. It must be a commander thing. You’d shaken Cody’s hand once when you were being shown around the ship and it had felt similar. You found yourself wondering if all the commanders had to take classes on proper handshake techniques back on Kamino. 

“Oh, have you? Hopefully all good ones.” You flicked your eyes over to Spark, who looked like he was regretting introducing the two of you. 

“Only the best. The boys were all asking him about the new paint job on his bucket and he said that you helped him with it. My bucket, well...” He motioned down to where his helmet rested between his arm and his hip, “It’s seen some better days. I was hoping you could help me repaint it.” He flashed a grin at you that made your heart flutter. Stupid sexy troopers. You silently thanked the Kaminoans for choosing such a sexy template for their army. 

“And the bribe is for?” You questioned, inwardly thanking your voice for keeping steady despite the butterflies in your stomach (though those might have been from hunger). 

“So you can let him use the non-standard issue colors too!” Spark added excitedly as he waved the plate of food in front of you once more. 

“Deal.” You agreed without even mulling it over, your stomach doing all the thinking for you. He placed the plate in front of you and you immediately shoved a dinner roll in your mouth. As you were chewing, you pushed off from the counter and rolled over to where you kept the paint swatches. You’d taken the time to paint little pieces of plastoid with all of the available colors so the troopers could see how they would look when dried. With that in hand, you wheeled yourself back to Spark and Blackout and gave it to them. “Here are all the colors we have. Let me know which ones you want and I can grab the bottles for you.” Blackout took it from you and you tried not to think of the way his fingertips brushed against yours, instead busying yourself with stuffing your face with food while the two men discussed what colors to pick. 

Procuring the paint that the troopers used to customize your armor was one of your duties as requisitions officer, and one of your favorites as well. You’d learned early on that earning the right to paint one’s armor with their unit’s colors was a right of passage for the men. Nothing brought a smile to your face more than handing a former shiny a can of paint as all of his brothers stood around him, patting him on the back and asking him how he was planning on painting his armor. Sometimes you would offer up design ideas or coach them on the best techniques to make the paint look neat and smooth. At one point you had even suggested a new brand of paint that would adhere to the plastoid of their armor better. And your mom said your art degree was useless. Ha!

Since you were attached to the 212th, most of the paint you handed out was the standard orange, but you also kept stocks of other colors available as well. Some of the regular troopers liked using other colors as accents and there were many specialized units aboard the Negotiator. Pilots, clone commandos, and the spec ops troopers liked to get very creative with the colors and designs of their armor. Honestly, you’d always thrown around the idea of taking photos of all the different helmets you saw and creating some sort of collection, maybe even putting it in an art gallery at some fancy fundraising party or something. 

You shoved the last piece of cafeteria slop in your mouth before flicking your eyes up to Spark and Blackout. “Have we made any decisions?” 

Blackout made a noncommittal sound as he shifted on his feet, his eyes flicking between the swatches in his hands. “I know I want to paint the base grey like Spark’s, but I can’t choose between red or yellow.” 

“Why not both?” You suggested. You always encouraged the troopers to get as wild as possible with their armor. After all, it was one of the only real outlets they had to express themselves, besides their hairstyles and tattoos. 

“Wouldn’t that be a bit...busy.” He said, waving his hand through the air. 

“Well, what are you thinking for the design? Depending on how intricate it is, you could get both red and yellow in there. Maybe even some black and white for accents too. If the design isn’t too complex, the multiple colors won’t look busy at all.” 

You finished your explanation and started expectantly at the troopers who both just gazed at you without speaking for a beat. You were starting to think you had food on your face until Spark broke the silence. “See, I told you she went to art school!” The proud way he said it gave you a warm feeling in your chest. 

“That you did.” Blackout responded, flashing you a dazzling smile. Ugh, it should be illegal to have such perfect teeth. All the clones had perfect teeth, but somehow Blackout’s seemed...perfecter? They were so straight and white, like something out of a toothpaste commercial. Between that and their words of praise, you found yourself blushing furiously and averting your eyes.

You were trying to figure out what to say when one of their wrist comms went off, the staticy voice of another clone trooper echoing through the empty hallway. 

Blackout sighed. “We’re needed on the bridge. Are you free tomorrow around this time to help?”

Technically, you didn’t have a double shift tomorrow and had the time off, but he didn’t need to know that. And as much as you loved Spark, you were very interested in spending some alone time with this handsome commander. 

“Yeah, I’ll be here.” You told him, managing to recover enough to flash him a big smile of your own. 

“Great,” he responded, still holding your gaze and making no move to leave.

“Great,” You said, also not breaking eye contact. You felt like you could stare into his beautiful brown eyes for the rest of your life. 

Spark glazed between the two of you and rolled his eyes. “Okay, come on commander. We don’t want to get there even later than General Skywalker. Commander Cody will wring our necks.” As he spoke, he stepped behind Blackout,  and started maneuvering him down the hallway by his shoulders. 

You giggled at their antics and gave them a little wave. As they disappeared down the hallway, you rested your cheek in your hand and indulged in fantasies of what tomorrow would bring. 

~~~

Spark didn’t let go of his shoulders until they reached the elevator bank. He went to press the button and the two of them stood back as they waited. 

“She’s cool, huh?” Spark said smugly. He was always bragging about the cool civvie friends he had. Spark just had a way with people and always made friends easily. Which worked well for Blackout, since he could just wait to get introduced to said cool friends. 

“Yes, very.” He responded, rolling his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to give Spark even more of an ego. But his civvie friend was incredibly interesting, and quite pretty. He’d definitely felt a connection with her at the end, like there was an electric current passing between the two of them. Suddenly, a thought came to his mind. “You and her… you aren’t… involved, are you?” He cringed internally at his words. He couldn’t have asked that any more awkwardly, could he? 

Spark leaned back, resting both hands behind his head. “Nah. I had a crush on her when we first met. And we kissed each other once when we were both drunk at 79’s, but after that we both realized we only liked each other as friends.” Spark turned to wiggle his eyebrows at his commander. “Why, do you wanna get ‘involved’ with her? ‘Cuz I saw you two practically eye fucking at the end there.” 

“Shut it.” Blackout said, but there was no weight behind his words, he simply smiled as he shoved his annoying vod’ika out of the way. Spark only laughed harder and Blackout just knew that he’d never hear the end of this. 

~~~

Later that night, you were sitting on your bed, wrapped up in a cozy blanket and sipping at a mug of tea as you chatted with your childhood best friend over holovid. 

“Okay, spill it.” She demanded after you’d finished catching up. 

“Spill what? My tea?” 

Your friend rolled her eyes. “You know exactly what I mean. I’ve known you for almost two decades now and I know that dreamy-eyed look on your face. So spill it. ” 

You sighed dramatically. As much as you loved your friend, you hated how easily she could read you sometimes. “I met this guy today, and he was really cute.” You smiled to yourself as you replayed your brief encounter with Blackout in your head. 

“I knew it! You can’t hide anything from me! So tell me everything. How did you meet? What does he look like? I need details, sister.” Your friend sat up straighter in her bed, her blanket falling off her shoulders. 

“Well, he came to the requisitions counter today because he needed to repaint his helmet-” You started. 

“Woah, woah. Helmet? Is he a clone? You know what I said about getting involved with soldiers.” You could already sense the lecture coming, one that you’d heard many times before. 

“Ugh, just because you had one ex who happened to be a nat-born officer doesn’t mean all soldiers are bad. And besides, he’s different. He’s so handsome and has the nicest smile.” You told her, and okay, maybe you were getting a dreamy look in your eye. 

“Don’t they all look the same though?” 

“Wow, I can’t believe you would say something so ignorant,” You scolded her playfully. “If you spent time with them you’d see that they’re all different. And this one just happens to be especially handsome and charming.” 

“You’ll have to send me a picture of him. You know, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen a clone without their helmet before.” She mused. 

“Let’s just say, the Republic chose an absolute dreamboat of a template.” You laughed, and your friend joined in with you. 

“When are you seeing your Prince Charming next?”

“Tomorrow, I’m helping him repaint his helmet.” You said, barely able to contain your excitement. 

“Maybe you can drop a paintbrush on the floor just so you can pick it up and give him a good view of your ass.” She snickered. She was always the better one when it came to flirting with guys. Though you weren’t sure that kind of move would work on Blackout. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“You love me though.” She paused to yawn. “Okay, girl, it’s getting late, so I’m gonna jump off. Good luck with your boy tomorrow. I expect a report with all the details to be on my desk by tomorrow night.” 

“Of course. G’night.” You gave her a little wave as you clicked the holo off, flopping back on your bed to continue what you were doing before she called you, searching the holonet for inspiration for the design of Blackout’s helmet. You wanted to help make a design that was extra special, for one because he deserved it, but also, selfishly, because you wanted to hear him praise you again. 

Tomorrow couldn’t come any faster. 

~~~

By the time you made your way back to the requisitions counter the following day, Blackout was already there, sitting at a table towards the back of your office, meticulously applying a coat of grey paint to a shiny new helmet. 

You quickly threw your bag down on your desk and made a beeline to him. “Hey, there. The new helmet is already looking good.” He was clearly in the zone and didn’t notice your entrance because he jumped slightly at your words. But then he turned his head towards you and his eyes - no his whole face - lit up in a way that made you feel about ready to melt into a puddle on the floor. 

“Hey! I’m glad you're here. Training ended up finishing early and I got here a little before we planned. Another requisitions officer let me in and gave me this paint. I hope it’s okay I started without you.” He told you, leaving out the part where he almost turned down the other officer’s offer to get him supplies and a workstation because they weren’t you, and it had felt like a betrayal of sorts, and the part where he debated with himself for five straight minutes whether or not to start without you. He knew he was being a lovestruck dumbass, a condition he’d seen a few of his men fall victim to before and one that he’d vowed would never affect him, but he couldn’t help it. He’d spent all night thinking about how today would go, and this sort of start was not at all what he’d expected. But he was a special operations trooper, and adapting to changing situations was his specialty, so he eventually shook off his hesitation and got down to business. 

Up close, you could see his dark curls were slightly damp still. He probably showered after his training and came right here. Something about that made you giddy. “Don’t worry about it. It’s actually good you have the base layer down. We can work out the design while it’s drying.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” He said with a smile, turning back to his helmet to add another layer of paint. 

Your fingers twitched as you watched him. You just wanted to touch his face, to run your hands through his hair, but you knew how incredibly weird it would be to just do it out of the blue, so you sat on your hands to fight the temptation. 

“A little tip, if you paint all in one direction, you won’t get as many streaks and brush strokes. I know it’s a little hard to do so close to the visor though,” You told him as you watched him struggle to get an even coat on the last section of the helmet. 

“Like this?” He asked, moving his brush as you instructed. 

“Yeah, perfect. Nice, even strokes, just like that.” 

The side of Blackout’s mouth quirked up, and before he could advise himself against it, he blurted, “That’s what she said.” 

You made a choked sound in the back of your throat before sputtering out a laugh. “What, is it 32 BBY? That joke is so old. Where’d you even learn it from?” You asked once you caught your breath. 

“It was in some old holovid the boys found. It became a whole thing in the barracks for a while. I know this may come as a surprise, but Spark loved using that joke. It got so out of control I had to put a moratorium on it after a week,” he explained. He was just happy you were laughing at his joke instead of throwing dirty paint water at his face. 

“Sounds like the same thing that happened in my school when that joke was popular. There were many a detention issued over it.”

“None for you of course.” Blackout flicked his eyes away from his work to look at you and as much as you tried to keep your expression neutral, you couldn’t help it as your mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. He rolled his eyes at you. “I knew it. Tsk tsk. I can’t believe you would resort to such crude humor.” 

You spent the next few minutes like that, chatting and joking with one another as he finished his last coat of paint. Once he was done, he went to rinse out his brushes and get fresh water while you grabbed the supplies you’d brought with you from your bag. While you waited for him to return, you drew a few quick outlines of his helmet that you could use for brainstorming. 

As he sat back down and took in everything you had laid out, he whistled low under his breath and asked, “What’s all this then?” 

You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly as you explained, “Nothing much, just a sketchbook and colored pencils so we can sketch out design ideas, a few paintbrushes that you can use for detail work. Sometimes the bristles fall out of the ones the GAR provides. Plus some painter’s tape so we can keep the lines nice and straight. Oh, and I found some reference images of cool helmets on the holonet in case we needed any ideas.” Okay you knew you’d gone a little overboard with everything, but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as a cute boy was involved your brain simply shut off. 

“Wow, this is amazing,” You’re amazing, he wanted to say. “Thank you for bringing all this. It means a lot to me.” He internally jumped for joy as he watched your cheeks color at his words.  

“N-no problem.” You stuttered out, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. You didn’t remember it being so hot in here, and since when was he so close to you? His knee brushed yours ever so slightly, and the simple touch seared into your skin. You took a long breath to ground yourself before continuing, “Now, was there anything specific that you wanted on the helmet?” 

He managed to quash his smirk at your reaction before answering. “Yeah, I wanted to include jaig eyes on the forehead.” 

“Jaig eyes?” You questioned, tilting your head to one side. 

“They’re a sigil awarded to warriors who distinguish themselves in battle or act particularly bravely. It’s a Mandalorian thing. Back on Kamino, a lot of our trainers were Mandalorian and they introduced some of their traditions to the troops. Do you know Captain Rex of the 501st? He wears jaig eyes on his helmet.” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen them, they’re awesome.” You’d seen General Skywalker’s captain a few times in passing and had always wondered if the symbols on his helmet meant something or if they were just meant to look cool. “How did you earn yours?” 

“I led a squad behind enemy lines and we took out a military base.” He told you, puffing out his chest in pride. 

“That’s impressive” you praised, and the slight coloring of his cheeks did not go unnoticed. Ha, two could play at that game. “So what color for the jaig eyes? I was thinking maybe yellow with a black outline to really make them stand out. And I also saw something…” You trailed off as you searched through your reference images, finally landing on the right one. You held up a picture of a helmet with an almost flame-like stripe painted on it. “Something like this. In the same color yellow with a black outline as well.” 

Blackout’s eyes went wide. “That looks sick, hell yeah. Oh, I was also talking to Spark and some of the other boys, and you know those white lines on the sides of his helmet? We wanted that to become something our whole unit has. So we look cohesive while still having our unique helmets.” 

You’d already started sketching a preliminary design as he spoke. “I can make that work.” You told him as you added the white accents to the drawing. 

“Oh, what about the red?” He questioned, leaning closer to you to get a better look at your drawing. He was so close you could feel his warm breath tickling your cheek and you almost lost your grip on the pencil. “Maybe we shouldn’t use it after all, there’s already a lot going on.” 

“Well, I was thinking we could paint the earmuffs red. Just the outer ridge so it’s not too much.” 

“Earmuffs?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. 

You raised your hands up and gestured around your ears. “You know, the thingies on the side of the helmet. They look like earmuffs.”

“They’re actually built in digital storage for any encrypted data we might come across during missions. Not earmuffs.” He harrumphed, wrinkling his nose at you in an expression that was more cute than anything else. 

“Whatever you say, commander.” You teased him, complete with a little boop on the nose which made him pout even harder. “C’mon, the helmet should be dry by now, we should get started.” 

Without further ado, you started ripping off pieces of painters tape and laying them down on the helmet. He busied himself with getting all of the paints ready and tidying up the work area. Once everything was ready, he grabbed a brush and got to work on one of the earmuffs/digital storage devices. After a moment he paused before grabbing another brush and handing it to you. “It’ll go a lot faster if we do it together. Plus you can show me the right painting techniques.” He told you with a wink. 

For the next few hours you worked on his helmet together. Once all of the details with straight edges were done, you gingerly removed the painters tape so he could work on the jaig eyes. You were just sitting back to watch him when your stomach let out a loud growl. 

His brush paused in mid air as he flicked his eyes to look over at you. “Hungry?” 

“How could you tell?” You said dryly. Your stomach had the worst timing. “Are you? I can go run down the caf and get us something quick to eat.” 

He thought about it for a second and said, “Yeah, that sounds great actually. I didn’t grab anything after training.” 

“I’ll be right back. Stay pretty for me while I’m gone.” You said cheekily. 

He chuckled. “I’ll try.” 

~~~

Twenty minutes later, you were walking back into the office with a plate piled high with food. Surprisingly, the caf actually had a decent assortment of food today and you went a little overboard grabbing everything that looked tasty. 

Your trip would’ve been much quicker, but you ran into Spark on the way out. He’d immediately jumped you with questions about how you and Blackout’s painting session was going, obviously probing for details. As soon as you questioned why he was so interested, he’d immediately found an excuse to run away. Still, it left you with the impression that he knew something you didn’t. 

“Long lines at the caf?” Blackout questioned as you settled down next to him. He hadn’t looked up from his work, his brow scrunched up in concentration as he focused on adding the black outline to his jaig eyes. 

“Not really, but I ran into Spark. He had a lot of questions.” You answered. 

That made him look up, narrowing his eyes at you as he placed his helmet to the side. “What did that di’kut ask you?” As he looked at you, you noticed he had a few smudges of paint on his face, the freshest of them being a bright yellow glob on his chin. Your lips twisted up as you tried to keep yourself from giggling, which only made him more distressed. “Oh, maker, what did he say to you?” 

“Nothing, I promise! It’s just- you have a little bit of paint on your face.” You reassured him. 

He tried to wipe it off with the back of his hand, but it only served to streak it across his cheek. 

You leaned in to clean it off with your thumb, and you could hear the slight hitch in his breath as your finger made contact with his face. You both held each other in a heated gaze, the tension between you two, fueled by all of the jokes and little flirtations, reached a peak. With his eyes still on yours, he turned his head slightly and planted a soft kiss on the inside of your wrist. 

That was all the encouragement you needed and you surged forward to press your lips against his, one hand grasping at the front of his shirt while the other threaded into his dark curls, still ever so slightly damp. His arm wound around your waist and pulled you into his lap, your bodies flush against each other. You sighed into the kiss and he used the opportunity to press his hot tongue into your mouth, tangling it with yours. 

You broke off only when the both of you needed to come up for air, and you rested your forehead against his as you caught your breath. 

His eyes flicked down to your chin and now it was his turn to laugh at your paint streaked face. . “It looks like I made a mess of you,'' he said warmly as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “How will you ever forgive me?” 

“I can think of a few ways,” You told him, biting your lip as you went to close the distance for another kiss. 

Just then you heard distant voices coming from somewhere down the hall and you quickly hopped out of his lap. You immediately went to the counter and flicked on the closed sign before pulling the shutter down. Then, for good measure you went to the office door and locked that as well. You didn’t need any interruptions. 

You turned back to find him sitting back in his chair, legs wide open and hands planted firmly on his muscular thighs. He looked like an absolute snack, and you couldn’t hide your eagerness as you rushed back towards him. As soon as you were in range, he pulled you back down to his lap. 

“Now where were we?” He asked as he started pressing open mouth kisses to the side of your neck, his hands wandering down to grab at your ass.

#commander blackout #blackout x reader #commander blackout x reader #clone wars fanfic #star wars fanfic #reader insert #the clones would LOVE minion memes who am i kidding

[vinyls-and-valentines]

Droid!NewsAGoGo headcanons redux because i said so, part 1:

official BL/i records classify them as having been "stolen" by one of Dr. D's agents, which is surprisingly somewhat accurate. What actually went down is that Newsie was supposed to report on what was maybe Cherri Cola's 5th execution that week, so they rode out to the Zones with the scarecrows that were supposed to take care of things and long-story-short, Cherri, Poison and Chimp absolutely decimated them;

Newsie, of course, did their job and reported all that (although BL/i never aired the report because that'd be just embarrassing), but eventually they were found out by Poison and their equipment got destroyed which really pissed them off and they may or may not have punched Poison for it which Cherri thought was hilarious and him and Chimp decided they'd bring Newsie over to WKIL because "[NewsAGoGo] has killjoy spunk";

nowhere did Newsie agree to this, but also they were already in the car by the time they fully processed what was going on and Poison gave them the evils through the rear-view mirror for the whole ride, so they didn't have much of an alternative. Dr. D was, altogether, a more net positive experience mostly because both sides saw eye to eye from the beginning in that it was going to be a short conversation- Dr. Death-Defying being between transmissions and NewsAGoGo being convinced BL/i would come and recover them;

D runs a few questions by them to which they don't exactly lie to as much as they give him vague or straight-up textbook answers to and D gets irritated because he's by no means a patient person and calls Show Pony to show them something or the other while he carries on with his transmission, telling the other three killjoys to scram;

Pony thinks D's plan is...flawed, to say the least, but it's better to rip off the band aid sooner rather than later, so they quietly lead them outback into the van and tune into BL/i's frequency. It's a little early, so there is a fair bit of awkward silence and debating whether it's a wise idea for Pony to remove their helmet because it's hot as hell but also they 2 feet away from a Better Living droid, but eventually the news broadcast begins and, well, everything is normal. No one even mentions the attempt to Cherri's execution and there's already another news anchor presenting in Newsie's place like they were nothing important and that makes them mad;

they all but storm off back into the radio station and demand Dr. Death-Defying makes them one of his agents, which he has the gall to laugh about. So, Newsie puts a wager: if they manage to beat any of his agents in a competition, then he has to find something for them, if they don't then they'll get off their back (something they by no means meant to honor, but he didn't have to know that);

D accepts and calls up Cherri for a shooting competition, which the agent shows up with every intention of being a show-off, but NewsAGoGo doesn't exactly give him the chance as they shoot him in the leg with a stunt blast as he lines up his first shot. If the contest had any rules that would've been considered a dirty move, but there weren't any rules, so no one tired to stop Newsie as they knocked down stack of cans after another;

Cherri still ends up winning in the end, though just barely and mostly because they hurl a shit ton of dust at Newsie, which gets all up in their fans, but again: there were no rules against it, so he won fairly. Dr. D still ends up giving NewsAGoGo a spot as one of his agents if only because they had proven they were driven to get that title and assigns them a Zone 2 station that had recently had its inhabitants evicted by BL/i, so to speak. The rest is history

#a.k.a i didn't think that far and this is already getting too long #i want to post more mismatched hcs for part 2 though idk if i'll be able to get that done tonight #also technically this is my vers of twitter! newsie since that's where the thought originated from so yeah #no one really knows they're a droid though except d; poison; chimp; cherri and pony so it's fine #anyways #killjoys #danger days #newsagogo #headcanon #killjoy headcanons #character headcanons #extra canon content #long post

[starsinmylatte]

i’m in a mass effect mood so how about a femshep + garrus with “under the skylight and starlight” :) take that any way you wish <3

So, this ended up being way longer than I had originally planned. I'm so sorry it took a while, but I hope you enjoy it!! I personally headcanon that Garrus and Shepard fell for each other back in ME 1 and are just being idiots (affectionately) in love.

Pairing: Garrus Vakarian x Fem!Shepard

Rating: M for a little bit of hurt/comfort. Please remember this is an 18+ blog, so minors DNI

Length: 1.3k

Death had always been inevitable, but now it was fairly certain. Archangel was prepared to go out in a blaze of glory and take as much of Omega’s gang problem with him as possible, but deep down, Garrus Vakarian was honestly just tired. Somehow, this heroic fate seemed kinder than a life alone; one spent without his team, and worst of all, one spent without her.

Shepard had crashed into his life with the sheer force of a falling star. She was beautiful, a fierce warrior unrelentingly dedicated to saving humanity, and the most capable commander he could’ve ever hoped to serve under. How could he not have fallen for her?

Garrus may as well have been found floating in the wreckage of the Normandy because a part of him died the day Shepard was lost. His cracked heart had begun to heal over time with the love and care from his team, but when they were killed, it shattered completely.

--------

The kickback from his sniper rifle shook Garrus out of his daze. His shoulder throbbed from the repeated force. Across the bridge, a Blue Suns officer crumpled to the ground while the others yelled and dove for any available cover. The ghost of a wry smile formed on his face.

Heh. Still got it.

Suddenly, the tone of the battlefield changed. Three more figures hopped over a barricade close to the entrance, and Garrus snapped his scope in their direction.

Shit.

He focused in on the smaller figure in the lead. They seemed to be one of the outside mercenaries from the look of their armor.

Inhale.

The scope was trained for a clean headshot.

Exhale.

His finger moved to the trigger.

Suddenly, the mercenary on the right stumbled, the unexpected fall catching his eye right before he pulled the trigger.

Before Garrus could even think, the mercenary in the middle -a woman- turned back to grab their arm and pull them aside. He would’ve normally chalked it up to some kind of uncommon honor among criminals, but the red and pearlescent white N7 sigil etched into their breastplate glinted in the light as they turned.

For the first time in years, Garrus felt a sharp pang in the heart he swore he no longer had.

His hands moved before he could even think. The concussive ammo was clipped in, and one round was fired into their shoulder. The woman barely even flinched. Instead, she turned, looked knowingly in his direction, and inclined her head.

It may be a cruel joke, but at least it’s a helpful one.

Garrus sighed. Hope was a funny thing; he’d seen the wreckage of the Normandy himself, and not even Shepard could’ve survived that. Now, he’d get to see the woman humanity chose to try and take her place.

Another bullet, lethal this time, left the chamber and a Blood Pack operative crumpled. The woman led her two friends through the doors and into the first floor of the building. Garrus could hear raucous cheers from the mercenaries and gang members on the other side of the bridge.

If I’m right about this, they won’t be cheering for much longer. If I’m wrong……. I won’t exactly have much time to regret it.

As if on cue, several pairs of footsteps could be heard running up the stairs behind him. They ran through the door behind Garrus as he fired another shot. Yet another gang member fell.

Time to see if my luck has run out.

As he lowered his weapon and turned around, the woman released the latches on her helmet. The sight of fiery red hair peeking out from underneath made his heart stop. Time seemed to slow as she lifted it completely off, and, before he knew it, the face Garrus saw every night in his dreams was looking back at him expectantly.

He nearly dropped the rifle. Garrus slowly reached up to remove his own helmet, afraid she’d somehow disappear if he moved too quickly.

“Shepard….. I thought you were dead.” His normally smooth, purring voice cracked with raw emotion; he couldn’t have kept it out if he’d tried.

---------------

Garrus found Shepard where she always was after a difficult mission, the observation deck. His heart jumped again at the sight of her, a feeling he’d have to get used to again. The starlight from the large viewport was the only source of light in the room; it shone on Shepard as she gazed out into the galaxy, brows furrowed in thought.

He made it all the way over to where she sat before she turned to acknowledge his presence.

“It’s good to see you back on the Normandy,” Shepard rewarded him with a small, relaxed smile, one he only saw given to close friends. She gestured to the spot beside her.

Garrus took the invitation and sat. He had recovered enough to be walking around, but the wounds he suffered were still fresh, and the weariness from the long fight hadn’t fully left him. Shepard noticed the slight wince he tried to hide and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You know you can go rest if you need it.”

The look of genuine concern on her face was touching.

“Shepard, you came back from the dead; my rest can wait.” Garrus paused and gestured around. “The crew, your friends, missed you… I missed you.”

That last bit accidentally slipped out before he could think. Turians didn’t blush like humans, but Garrus was sure his face would be bright red if they did. He was far from shy around women; he was usually quite the charmer, but Shepard was a special case.

For the first time since he had been back on the Normandy, Garrus actually looked closely at her face. Her expression would seem peaceful for anyone who wasn’t close to her, but there was sadness and worry hidden in her eyes. There were new scars on her face still healing from the explosion, and she seemed just as weary as he felt.

“The world wouldn’t end if you got some rest too.” Garrus looked at her pointedly before mirroring Shapard and resting his hand on her shoulder.

They sat in comfortable silence, still in their partial embrace, before she finally responded with a new mischievous glint in her eye. “Since you’re back on the Normandy now, I have your first order. Take the rest of the night off to rest.”

Garrus opened his mouth to protest, but Shepard wagged a finger at him and poked him in the shoulder. “I wasn’t finished yet, but I’m serious. Your calibrations can wait until tomorrow.”

She grinned before continuing, “Besides, I happen to be taking the rest of the night off to make sure you actually follow my order. I know how you are.”

Garrus tilted his head in mock disbelief. “I just got out of the med bay, and you’re already ordering me around?” He feigned a look of hurt, the familiar bantering purr returning to his voice. “Very well, Commander, since you insist.”

Shepard fired back, her tone still light and teasing, “Good to see that all your time as Archangel hasn’t overridden your military training yet.”

This woman is going to be the death of me.

The stars continued to shine through the viewport as they sat in comfortable, friendly silence. There was so much to talk about, so much to discuss, but, for now, there was this moment of peace carved out of a chaotic universe. There was only Garrus and Shepard, and that was more than enough.

Earlier today, life had seemed like a cruel joke, but now Garrus Vakarian would swear to anyone that he was the luckiest Turian in the entire universe. The fight was dicey, they had barely escaped, and he had a few new scars to show for it, but what was new? The most important thing was that Shepard was back in his life. Besides, some women find scars attractive…..

Join my taglist here!

Tagging some friends: @saradika @thefact0rygirl @rebelpitstop @kirsty-kiddo @hereforthesunrise @not-the-tie-youre-looking-for

#garrus romance #garrus x shepard #garrus x femshep #shepard x garrus

[crispyjenkins]

Prompt where the 212 gets together to paint Obi-Wan’s armor so he would wear it more but at some point our fool gets captured and his captor wears the armor to piss Kenobi off so when the 212 comes in Cody goes absolutely feral when he sees someone else where his general’s armor and Kenobi gets absolutely railed by Cody after.

(i don’t do smut, but i love this idea so so much, i really don’t know why i haven’t come across more painted armour Obi stuff, and y’all have probably realised i’m all about Obi angst, sooo this one was a lot of fun. thank you so much for prompting, lovely! threw in some headcanon mandalorian family and courting culture just for you) 

  Jedi were not made to wear armour, they were not soldiers, at least not before. Cody knows his general picked up clone culture better than most, from the little bits of Mando’a to the importance of Vode An, and he should perhaps be thankful that General Kenobi wears any armour at all, but what good are simple pauldrons and vambraces when Kenobi throws himself against hundreds of clankers without backup on a weekly basis?

  It’s Wupi that suggests it, drunk on Waxer’s rotgut and going grey with how often he has to patch up their general after missions. Boil is mostly amused by Kenobi’s apparent death wish, but he isn’t like their medic, or Cody: he doesn't have to deal with the fallout when Kenobi comes back to the Negotiator so much worse off than his men.

  “Why don’t we give him one o’ yours armours?” Wupi had slurred, half out of his blacks and staring into his cup like it would relieve him of his duty. “S’General’s too nice to lose someone else’s.” 

  Wooley had jerked his attention from his own cup and stared at Cody because that... that wasn’t a bad idea. 

  And because Wupi is too hungover the next day to do anything about it himself, it’s Wooley that starts the task of finding and retrofitting pieces of clone armour to fit their general (their “wonderfully tiny" general, as Wupi had put before passing out in his chair). It takes a few days, bouncing between three different quartermasters and Commander Tano for input on how to wear it over more traditional Jedi clothes, but Wooley finally amasses something close to a full set that they might convince Kenobi to wear, and then goes around giving each member of the Ghost Company a few pieces to paint. 

  Cody tries not to think about why Wooley gives him the chestplate. He tries really hard.

  There’s something to be said about family giving each other armour, of course, Cody doesn’t think Wooley or Boil or Wupi or Waxer are trying to woo their general, and it shows in the pieces of armour they choose to paint, but the breastplate is... forward, when not given in a familial sense, and Cody can’t pretend that he is. Giving it in a familial sense. Kriff. 

  Ghost Company all sit together in the empty mess one night, Cody having strategically made sure their sleeping shifts line up, and they paint the pieces while drinking more of Waxer’s rotgut and pretending they don’t have a battle tomorrow that they might not win. Cody’s men paint each piece to match their own, so that Kenobi’s set is a mix of bits of each of them. They aren’t quite sure how it works for natborn Mandalorians, there were limits on what the Kaminoins let the Cuy’val Dar teach them, but this is as close as they can get to claiming Ken— Obi-Wan as one of the vode. The meaning won’t be lost on him.

  Cody carefully paints his sun rays onto Obi-Wan’s chestplate, the orange crisp and shiny-bright, and he wonders if Obi-Wan knows the meaning of colours on beskar’gam. He seems to know a lot about Mandalorian culture that even the clones don’t, but Cody has never pushed to know more about why, not when it makes Obi-Wan clam up like that.

  Boil finishes quickly, and just as quickly gets completely smashed to the point he’s singing the last raunchy jig they’d picked up planet-side, and it’s almost calming to see him so relaxed. Waxer smiles fondly at his brother and switches his cup for one of water instead, shaking his head at Wooley’s disapproving glare. 

  Cody waits until the others have gone to bed to ask for the medic’s steady hand, to help him stencil a beskar’ta right above the sternum. He isn’t sure if he’s ever seen another vode with a beskar’ta, and perhaps it’s a little presumptuous for Cody to give Obi-Wan one without discussing it with him first, but he can offer no greater protection to his general. The way Wupi doesn’t say anything when Cody carefully paints in the lines says more about his relationship with Obi-Wan than he’d really like to admit. 

  Cody isn’t there when Wooley presents the armour to him, but when Obi-Wan joins them in the hangar before descent planet-side, he wears every piece as if it were the regalia of some ancient royal, and not a cobbled-together attempt to keep him alive. The rest of the 212th hide their stares inside their buckets, and Obi-Wan still wears his outer robe over it all, but Ghost Company all preen at the sight of their general not only protected, but in their colour and crests. 

  Obi-Wan smiles at Cody as they load into the shuttles, tapping a closed fist over the beskar’ta in all-too-knowing thanks. So he knows at least the familial connotations, which doesn’t bode well for Cody’s half hope that that’s all he knows.

  Crys claps Cody on the shoulder with an eyebrow wiggle, and Cody wishes Jango hadn’t taught them a damn thing. 

-

  Day three without water, even with the Force sustaining him, leaves Obi-Wan more than a little delirious. The Nikto bounty hunter that thought they could somehow convince Count Dooku that they’d captured the famed Negotiator grows increasingly agitated as the hours roll by, and Obi-Wan wishes he had better presence of mind to appreciate it. 

  They have him on his knees and strung up in chains like a barbarian, and stick him with a needle every three hours with some sort of Force suppressor that makes him even more incoherent — Obi-Wan is fairly sure they’re over-drugging him. Actually, perhaps the Force isn’t sustaining him properly; that would certainly explain a lot. 

  The morning of day four in the brig of a ship Obi-Wan can’t remember the make of, the Nikto starts picking through his removed armour, with scathing comments about the colour and fact that it had come from “cannon-fodder slaves that are better put-down than eating up the galaxy’s resources”, and oh, Obi-Wan wishes he could rend them limb from limb.

  “A bastardisation of Mando armour, you know,” the Nikto grumbles, sending Obi-Wan a pitying look when all he can do is grunt angrily. “Look, this even has an iron heart; what poor kriffing fool told you you were allowed to wear such a mark?” Scoffing, the Nikto discards their cloak to slip on Obi-Wan’s chestplate; every last scrap of energy in Obi-Wan screams at the wrongness, and he jerks in his chains.

  The Nikto startles and doesn’t get to fastening the sides as they stare at their prisoner. “You shouldn’t have any mobility left,” they say in part surprise, part anger, getting back to their feet to drag the small medical crate of suppressors back across the room. They kick it open and pull out an almost-empty vial, but don’t get to the needles before a proximity alarm goes off.

  They drop the vial and grab the blaster from their hip, and barely get it up in time for the single door to explode inwards, Ghost Company forcing their way into the room before the smoke has even cleared. And Obi-Wan trusts his men, his family, with every Force-forsaken bit of him, which means he promptly passes out at the sight of them.

  He doesn’t wake in safety, rather with a vibroblade pressed to his throat and a hand twisting cruelly in his hair. His vision is filled with white and orange and warmth, before his brain catches up to what he’s actually seeing, and he focuses on the blank helmets of his men. The suppressors in his system do nothing to hide the molten metal anger that leaks into the Force all around them, and Obi-Wan must look worse than he thought, if Cody’s hand is trembling on his blaster.

  ‘Easy,’ Obi-Wan whispers without moving his lips, Cody giving the smallest of jerks so Obi-Wan knows the message is received.

  ‘Sir?’ Cody shifts on his feet, the Nikto saying something from behind Obi-Wan that’s surely full of gloating and threat, but Cody’s helmet is tilted towards Obi-Wan, his presence fluttering in the Force like a lamp in the dark.

  ‘I’m not quite sure how you’re managing this,’ Obi-Wan admits, with half a thought to the cosmic implication of Cody giving him a beskar’ta, which has meaning even outside Mandalore, outside even the Force. ‘But my lovely captor is weak on their left side, an old injury, I think.’

  ‘He’s wearing your armour,’ Cody all but growls and raises his blaster properly, and the Nikto must sense the change as they nervously fumble the vibroblade and cut through the collar of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

  And Obi-Wan is tired, he’s been in chains for four days with drugs he’s never encountered burning the ends of his nerves and cutting off an entire sense he has never been without, so he looks up until he meets Cody’s eyes squarely. ‘Then relieve them of it.’

  ‘With pleasure, sir.’

Mando’a: Vode An — "Brothers All" (a Mando’a war chant taught to the clones by Jango and the Cuy’val Dar)  Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones beskar’gam — Armour made of beskar, “Mandalorian Iron” that was actually probably a steel alloy beskar’ta — “Iron heart”, the elongated hex-shape common in Mandalorian armour designs (great post here comparing them to katana tsuba). also called ka’rta beskar or “heart of the iron”

#wupi is mine #as obi's medic because i'm soft #named after wupiupi cause his eyes are fuckin GOLD mate #completely irrelevant to the plot but he was named by kal skirata as more of a joke but then it stuck #mij is jealous that kal named one of his kids #codywan #crispy writes #fanfiction #star wars #tcw #clone wars #prompt #prompt fill #ask #anon #prequel trilogy #mandalorian courting customs #mando'a #implied force sensitive cody #or at least force aware #clone oc #ghost company #soldiers as family #headcanon customs #obi-wan kenobi #commander cody #trooper boil #trooper waxer #medic wupi #trooper wooley

[bisexualsforprompto]

If you’re still doing the jealous!Adrien headcanons, could you please do one with Garmari (BB/Marinette)? it’s my latest JAM and hnfhg its so c u t e

Jealous! Adrien Garmari Headcanons fic

Ummmm I got carried away?

Marinette opened her locket that was carefully placed on her mirror. Inside were two kids, almost unrecognizable after everything that happened and everything that came between them.

Marinette ran across the hot, sandy yard, panting when she finally reached her destination.

“I win!” Marinette called to an out of breath redhaired boy.

“Just you wait!” Gar panted, “One day I’m gonna be faster than you!”

“Yeah right!” Marinette laughed.

Marinette stared blankly at the locket. Seeing the redhaired boy with green eyes smiling face, she reached out to close it.

“We should get married!” Gar exclaimed as Marinette picked at the flowers around her. She thought about it for a moment.

“Okay!” She grinned, showing her missing two front teeth.

“Marinette Dupain-Chang will you marry me?” Garfield asked, offering a ring that he had fashioned out of flowers. Marinette giggled and slid the makeshift ring onto her small finger.

“I do!” Marinette exclaimed.

Marinette closed the locket abruptly, trying not to remember the last time she saw Gar. She didn’t even get to see him when he needed it most.

“Why not?!” 10 year old Marinette pleaded to her parents.

“Honey, you know we want to support him. It’s awful that such a tragedy happened to him. His parents were good people, they left too soon.” Sabine said averting her gaze, “But he’s deathly sick, we can’t risk you getting it too.”

“It’s not fair! I wanna see him!” Marinette stomped off upstairs.

She still regretted it. She didn’t hear about Gar again. She didn’t know what happened. For all she knew his sickness could’ve-

Marinette grabbed the locket off of her mirror and clasped it around her neck. She felt the urge to wear it, although, she hadn’t in almost eight years. She walked downstairs, Kaaliki and Tikki already in her bag.

“Are you excited for the trip today sweetie?” Sabine asked, handing her a bag of food. Marinette pulled her suitcase behind her,

“Yeah, it should be a fun four days.” Sabine noticed the locket around her neck.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve worn that.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She said before embracing her mother, “Goodbye Maman.”

“Goodbye Marinette. Don’t forget to call!” Sabine exclaimed, but Marinette was already outside of the house.

Marinette ran down the street, the last thing she wanted was to miss the bus. And she knew they’d go without her.

She stepped onto the bus and saw Alya’s apologetic expression when she was sitting with Nino. The only empty space was next to Adrien.

Alya🦊: Sorry, girl. He insisted. I tried, but I didn’t want to make a scene.

Marinette sighed at the text and sat down next to Adrien.

Mari: It’s okay Al. It’s just until we get to the airport anyway.

It wasn’t though, when they got to the plane Adrien ended up sitting next to her. She was able to tune out his flirtations for the most part, but ever since they revealed identities as their superhero alter egos Marinette’s crush dissipated quickly and Adrien’s grew stronger.

She ended up trying to sleep in order to get him to leave her alone, and she drifted off.

She woke up when they landed and the memories of her dream came flooding at once. She dreamed about Garfield, something that happened occasionally, but this time it was different.

Most of her dreams about him were nightmares where her fear was confirmed and he had died along with his parents.

This one was more hopeful, she supposed, she saw Gar again, but really only his eyes, just the green. But then his green eyes morphed into Adrien’s.

And that was the end.

She was no Freud, she wasn’t even going to try to think about her bizarre dreams. She walked into the aisle and met up with Alya. Alya was able to save her from talking to Adrien, by leaving the blonde with Nino and taking Marinette by the hand and exiting the plane.

“Okay class!” Miss Bustier clapped, “We’re walking over to the studio now!”

A chorus of groans was heard from the class.

“Don’t complain! It’s only about a ten minute walk, let’s go!”

Marinette and Alya begun walking, Alya pointing out all the sights.

“That’s the Hollywood sign!” Alya squealed, “Maybe we can go to it later!” Marinette grinned and nodded. Alya was more interested in the culture of Hollywood and California than Marinette was, but the bluenette was looking forward to looking at the trending fashion!

“Oh you know I know the the lead actor of the movie we’re going behind the scenes to see today!” Lila remarked loudly. A cacophony of ‘wows’ and ‘that’s so cools’ was heard from the sheep in Bustier’s class. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but actually my connections with him were the reason we got to come on set today!”

Marinette and Alya rolled their eyes, they both knew that the reason they were going backstage was solely because of Marinette winning a contest for the class. They ignored Lila and talked with each other the rest of the way.

“Oh girl!” Alya had said when the studio came in view, “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear that locket before. It’s cute!”

“Thanks.” Marinette smiled, “It’s from awhile ago, my friend and I are in it.”

Alya knew not to pry when she saw the wistful expression on Marinette’s face. They rounded the bend and Miss Bustier scanned the security card she had been sent. The door opened for them and the class walked in.

The set was truly breathtaking, it was space themed and a large prop spaceship graced the center of it all. Marinette glanced around it all and saw the costumes. They were amazing and obviously hand stitched, but there were two missing from the rack. Marinette saw the director come to them.

“The actors will be out soon! unfortunately, only two were available today, but your lucky class will be able to see the lead of our movie!”

The class cheered, but Marinette was still focused on the costumes.

“Now which one of you sent in the contest entry?” The director asked. The class gave each other confused looks.

“It was Marinette, ma’am!” Alya said pointing to the bluenette.

“Oh wonderful!” She exclaimed, “Your entry was delightful! You’re truly a talented artist.” Marinette blushed.

“But Lila, I thought you-“

Rose was cut off by the starstruck Oohs and ahhs when the actors stepped out. They were in full costume, including their helmets that covered their entire face. The first actress removed her helmet.

“Hello all!” She said, “I��m Grace Kingsley! I play the female lead in the movie.”

“Hey!” Said the second voice. A voice Marinette recognized. She turned around from the director and saw the boy take off his helmet. She was met with familiar eyes.

“Oh my god.” She whispered underneath her breath. She made eye contact with him briefly. It couldn’t have been Gar, could it? He was green all over, and his red hair was replaced with green. The only thing that looked the same about him were his eyes.

“Marinette?” He gasped. Marinette gripped onto her locket.

“Gar?”

“Garfield Logan!” Chloé swooned.

Marinette stepped forward and Garfield ran over and embraced her.

“You two know each other?” Asked the director. Alya was awestruck.

“Yeah.” Gar said breathlessly.

“I’m so sorry.” Marinette cried as she hugged him tighter, “I wanted to be there, but-“

“It’s okay, I was sick.” Gar said, “I almost died if not for a blood transfusion, that’s why I’m green by the way, I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”

“I still feel horrible, but ummm, on the subject...”

“You wanna talk about my greenness?” Gar laughed.

“It’s just a little different.” Marinette giggled.

“It’s Martian blood, I can actually shapeshift into any animal because of it. I’m a hero here, Beast Boy.” Marinette didn’t end up being too surprised, after all she’d trust Gar with a miraculous, “I guess I can be faster than you now.” He laughed.

Marinette gaped, “Wait a second! Why did you tell me all of this? Your secret identity-“

“Well when you’re green it’s kinda hard to have one.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Marinette relaxed.

“Wait!” Rose exclaimed, “Don’t you know Lila too?”

“Who?” Gar asked.

“Lila, she said she knew you.” Rose repeated.

“I’ve never met any Lilas sorry. Marinette is the only one I know in your class.” Gar said dryly. “Also, Mari, are you free tomorrow?”

Marinette nodded.

“Do you think we can catch up?” Gar asked nervously, “I can introduce you to the other Titans, maybe we can grab lunch too?”

“Are you asking me on a date Gar?” Marinette laughed.

“I guess I am.” Gar said going pink.

“Sure, we’re already married, right?” Marinette winked. Gar laughed and nodded.

“Seriously?” Adrien muttered. Everyone turned to him. “I mean, I’ve known you for years and when I ask you out you say no, but this random guy you’re saying yes to?”

“I’m not a random guy.” Garfield barked, “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“I’m so done with this.” Adrien gritted his teeth, “Come find me when you’ve come to your senses Bugaboo.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as Adrien stalked off and Miss Bustier ran after him.

“Sorry about him.”

“No need to apologize, I’ve met plenty of famous people like him. Entitled.” Gar scoffed, “So, tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

~•~•~•~•~•~

Bonus:

Marinette walked into Titans Tower with Gar admiring the architecture.

“Welcome!” Garfield exclaimed as the elevator dinged.

“Beast Boy...who’s this?” Robin asked.

“My friend, Marinette. I’ve known her forever, you can trust her I promise.”

“Oh, it is the lovely to meet you!” Starfire grinned shaking Marinette’s hand frantically.

“You too.” Marinette laughed.

“Hey, I’m Cyborg.” Cyborg greeted, “BB has talked a lot about you.”

Marinette blushed, “Really?”

“Really.” Raven said looking up from her book, “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you too, I’m so happy I got to see Gar. It’s been so long and-“

A blaring alarm cut Marinette off.

“Titans! Trouble!” Robin yelled, the other Titans, save Garfield, fell into formation. “Down at the bank, we need to go now! It’s the HIVE.”

“I’m so sorry.” Gar sighed, “Can I drop her off?”

“Wait!” Marinette exclaimed. The team turned to face her, “Do you need help?”

“We shouldn’t get civilians involved, it’s dangerous.” Robin stated.

“Yeah, Mari, I really don’t want you to get hurt.” Gar said placing his hands on her shoulders, “You don’t have powers or any-“

“Spots on.” Marinette whispered, welcoming her transformation.

“Woah.” Cyborg yelled as Ladybug stood before him.

“Miraculous magic.” Raven assessed, “I thought I sensed magic off of you.”

“So...how do you feel about help now?”

Two weeks later the newest Titan from Paris was announced, and the talk of the community was the French superhero Ladybug who was dating Beast Boy.

And back in Paris a certain cat was furious, and plotting revenge.

Btw, this won’t be continued, sorry!

Taglist:

@northernbluetongue

@queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm

@luciferge

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@interobanginyourmom

@beaversuenightly

@worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry

@mochinek0

@shamefullove

@emjrabbitwolf

@actual-disaster-human

@littleredrobinhoodlum

@elijahcoser

@daminett4life

@18-fandoms-unite-08

@kawaiigiantjudgefish

@myazael

@kass-is-weird

@dramatic-squirrel

@novicevoice

@abrx2002

@corabeth11

@mochegato

@the-fusionist

@lesscoolloki

@aegyobutpsycho2

@spiritofchaoticdreams

@shizukiryuu

@luleck

@moonystars14

@minightrose

#maribat #garmari

[vdragon-creations]

More Danganronpa Headcanons!

Why? Because I can! And I have to wait for a Commissioner to get back to me about a WIP I just sent!

I Think I’m gunna try my hands at making some Headcanons for Mondo, Ishimaru, Leon, Kazuichi, and Kiibo this time a round! Just cause I wanna try and explore new characters. (And totally not because I fell hard for a certain Robo Boi! WHAAAAAAAT! YOU CRAZY GURL!) I’m still loyal to my man Yasuhiro! But I gotta spred the love! Cause these boi’s need it! Also, wanna mention that these are more like...Non-Killing Game AU Headcanaons. So yeah! ^^ 

Let’s do this!

Mondo:

Is a Semi decent carpenter, but there was that one time he fucked up the legs on a chair, and now one of Asahina’s shorts has a rip in it where there was a stray nail sticking out.

She wont let him live that down. And neither will Sakura.

Get’s pretty embarrassed/pissed off if someone touches his neck! The dude’s jacket practically covers that entire part of his body, so he’s not used to feeling anything touch him there!

He once let out a girlish scream when Leon poked him there once to wake him up during class! The rest of them are surprised Leon wasn’t killed right then and there.

Once he participated in a little competition between the classes to see who was the arm wrestling champ. He got pretty far till he had to go up against Gonta. He lost by a landslide, but he felt better loosing to a dude like him at least. 

Totally escorts any female classmate or student home on his bike if they ask, or he sees some creep hanging around them. 

He does get embarrassed about it though, and ends up yelling at them. This results in one of three things.

The girl runs away!

The girl just politely declines, and walks away kinda creeped out!

Or a mix of all, with the addition of the dude sees this, and get’s spooked himself, and fucks off

Ishimaru:

Has a bit of a panic attack and dies inside if he sees someone leaving the men’s restroom without washing their hands!

Carries scented hand sanitizers with him! At all times! No matter what! And must offer some to every single one of his classmates! 

Once he tripped in the halls while chasing after another rule breaker, and had to be carried to the nurse’s office. Now that alone wouldn’t have been a bad thing, except Sakura was the one who did it, and she carried him bridle style, much to his dismay. 

Mondo and Leon teased him about that one for months.

During Christmas, he’ll start screeching about PDA anytime he sees a Mistletoe, or people under it who are about to kiss! 

But will ultimately be the first one forced to stand underneath it by is classmates.

Stays behind after school hours to either clean, or poke his head into every class room to see if the teachers need help with anything.

He’s totally that guy who during the Gym Class or Sports festival, is bitching about how short the girls shorts are, but not realize he’s staring. There by making HIM the creep! 

Leon of all people was the one to point this out to him, only adding to the shame.

Leon:

It’s not hard for him to start catching feelings for basically any girl meets.

Totally has an Instagram where he posts shirtless pics! He’s pretty popular thanks to that, and his Baseball Skills.

Purposely taught himself English so he could flirt with some of the American and British chicks who visit his profile and leave comments.

He’s pretty used to going from girl to girl, so it’s safe to assume he’s used to getting dunked on by the girls he’s dumped. Getting called a pig, dirty looks, even some of them going so far as to pour their drinks on them at lunch. This he can handle!

Wanted so badly to start a band with Sayaka, Ibuki, Kaede, and Kazuichi! (Probably due to the punk look Soda always puts on!) But he was promptly let down by all of them! Cause Ibuki had her own shit to deal with, Kazuichi because he had no experience with music (at least any good ones, Stay tuned for that! ;3), Sayaka cause she’s already part of a group, and Kaede because punk wasn’t exactly her thing.

But what really stresses him out is when one of his Exes just.....doesn’t really seem to care! It feels so outta place to him, and it actually makes him pretty paranoid. Wondering if their plotting for revenge or some shit! So he’ll spend days after breaking up with a girl like this, just kinda....being a little bitch! XD

Secretly, I’m pretty sure they all turned him down because they thought he was coming on to them to a degree. 

Kazuichi:

Is a lot like Yasuhiro, he doesn’t like birds, but not because he thinks they work for the government. It’s because he doesn’t like most animals, they remind him of Gundham.

Miu makes him HIGHLY uncomfortable! Sure, she’s hot and stuff, but she’s a whole other level of fuckery that he wants no part of! She’s banned from entering his workshop, and so Kiibo is usually the one who comes in to grab something if Miu needs it. He completely get’s Kazuichi feeling put off by Miu.

However, Kazuichi is still pretty insistent on asking Kiibo if he can take him apart every time he comes to get something for Miu. Making the poor robot very uncomfortable!

He’s pretty jealous that Miu get’s to play with the Robot and he doesn’t. Get’s kinda salty about it.

Teruteru once gave him the idea that he should try to serenade Sonia. And so he did! Or at least he tried to. He got over the fence to the girls dorms, ripping his clothes in the prosses. Then when he got to the window (he thought was) of Sonia’s room, he threw a rock that was a bit too big at it, cracking the window and scaring the girl in the room! Waking up the whole dorms and he booked it out of there! 

He attempted this one more time, and was better prepared. But Sonia opened her window to see a Kazuichi dressed in a Ghillie Suit and wearing an army helmet holding a guitar! When he started to sing and play, it was now obvious why Ibuki refuses to let him sing along with any of her music! 

A girl from a neighboring room called the campus security to repot a strange dude outside the Girls dorms, while another one poked her head out of her window and began to throw things at him. 

He left soon after, but was caught by security and reprimanded. Now he refuses to listen to Teruteru has to say about anything.  

Kiibo:

Often get’s bossed around by Mui to get her things. He finds it rather degrading, but when she’s not being bossy, she’s helpful to him. So he puts up with it, as a way of saying thanks. 

One of these tasks he’s asked to do a lot is going over to Kazuichi’s Workshop to barrow tools and such. He hates doing it though, since Kazuichi is always wanting to take him apart. So he does his best to make these visits quick!

Miu gave him the ability to remove some of his heavy armor so he can wear clothing like normal. Surprisingly, This was his idea! He wanted to be able to enjoy the comforts of soft fabrics like most humans. And it would help him blend in a bit better.

Gonta and him get along very well! Mainly due to both of them having a hard time understanding things like sarcasm, harsher jokes, and certain social cues. This usually leads to them both learning at the same time when they hang out!

Miu is his wingman, weather he knows it or not! She’s always wanting to add new functions to him to make him more appealing. One of these is a thin velvet like coating on his armor that’s meant to make his metal less harsh on the skin if you touch him.

Another one of these features is a type of diffuser at the top of his skull under his hair! It releases a pleasant scent into his hair, similar to pheromones. The scent changes based on Kiibo’s emotions. 

Kokichi likes to openly mock Kiibo in front of new people. Like a lot!

Kiibo actually releases steam when he get’s too Angry or Embarrassed, but this is really rare. 

Get’s really curious about Occult, Paranormal, or Religious things. Sure, he finds some of it to be very silly, but he can’t help but wonder why some humans like those things! 

Some holiday traditions he finds weird too, and in some cases, a bit Robophobic. Like giving candy or sweets out on Valentines Day, when....well, he can’t fucking eat it! So he feels excluded in times like that.

He’s really confused about most PDA! Especially kissing! So humans just like...put their mouths together? And that’s like....supposed to mean deep affection? What’s so great about swapping fluids like that? Couldn’t they get sick? QUESTIONS! ANSWERS! HE MUST HAVE THEM!

His Ahoge doesn’t just change shape and move to show emotion, but it also tends to point in the direction that he’s attention is drawn too. Even when he’s trying to pretend he’s not looking at something! His hair is a dead give away!

Has a built in “Cellphone” in his head. Miu added it so it would be easier to contact him if needed. 

Everyone in his class has his number, except Kokichi! And it will stay that way!

.......Until Gonta gave it to him by being tricked into doing it!

And now he has a small panic attack every time his “Cellphone” rings. Praying to all that is good that he doesn’t hear “HEY KIIBOOOOOOOY!~<3″ on the other end!

#headcanon #danaganronpav3 #Danaganronpa Kiibo #danaganronpa #danaganronpa2 #Danaganronpa None-Killing Game AU #danaganronpa leon #danaganronpa mondo #danaganronpa ishimaru #danaganronpa kazuichi #kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #mondo oowada #kazuichi souda #Kiibo #keebo #K1-B0

[nyasha-of-germa-66]

Hi! Can I ask headcanons for Killer and Eustass Kid showing up their soft side and their insicurites (which I think they both have) to their respective s/o? Thank you for your time!!

Hello there! I’m so sorry for making you wait so long! I feel awful about it. I’ve been working on this request little by little for weeks, and I’ll admit it had it’s challenges haha.~ But hopefully, you’ll enjoy these! I’m so grateful for your patience through all of this, and thank you so much for this sweet, little request! 😁

Soft Sides and Insecurities HCs - Kid, Killer

Kid

It takes a long time for Kid to open up about his insecurities, but his S/O has probably figured out a good number of them by that point. He wears his heart on his sleeve, but there are some things he would rather keep hidden.

His S/O already knows about his sensitivity to people insulting his dreams and his underlying care for his crew, especially his lifelong friend, Killer. But Kid is always so confident and brazen that it comes as a delightful surprise when he first shows his S/O his softer side.

When his S/O seemingly falls asleep before him, he'll softly caress their face and pet their hair, thinking that his S/O isn't awake to witness him being tender and caring for a change.

Kid loves listening to all sorts of music, but to him, it's weird to ask anyone from his crew besides Killer to go see a live concert. It's too friendly for his tastes, but he's a lot more comfortable asking his S/O to join him.

He does experience some insecurity in the type of partner he is. He's completely aware of how over-the-top and affectionate most boyfriends are, so he secretly worries that his rough exterior and rigid personality might drive his S/O away.

When his S/O is having a bad day, he'll drop everything and plan to spend the day with his S/O, doing their favorite activities. He's not obvious about it, though. For instance, he'll change the ship's course in order to take his S/O to places that he thinks will cheer them up, like islands with hidden waterfalls.

Kid hates it when his S/O cries, not because it's annoying, but because he doesn't know how to comfort them. It makes him feel inadequate, especially when the best he can do is hand them tissues and rub their back while their sobbing continues.

Despite Kid being confident and daring, he doesn't like being stared at by strangers. His S/O can try to talk Kid down from his irritation, but it still leaves the lingering question of why said strangers were staring at him in the first place. He's not as bothered when he's with his S/O as compared to when he's alone.

Although Kid is proud of his battle scars, he sometimes dwells on the fact that he wasn't strong enough to avoid losing his arm in battle. His intricate prosthetic may have its perks, but it still serves as a constant reminder of his failure to hold his own against a powerful enemy.

The best part of Kid showing his secret soft side to his S/O is that he smiles and laughs a lot more when he's alone with them, a brilliant reminder that Kid is in fact a bright human being beyond his occupation as a murderous pirate.

Killer

One of the first of Killer's insecurities that he reveals to his S/O is his odd eating habit. It's difficult to hide and brings about several questions that he'd rather not get into. He's bound to spend a lot of time with his S/O and eating in front them comes with that pleasure. He'll even pass it off as less of an inconvenience compared to removing his helmet to eat, despite seeming like it should be the other way around.

With food in mind, Killer does enjoy cooking. And since his S/O is different from Kid and the rest of the crew, he can be a little more creative with his decoration of the dishes he serves to his S/O. He'll manipulate the food to either look like hearts or maybe little animals, basically any plating that'll put a smile on his S/O's face.

Killer likes to make lighthearted jokes around his S/O simply because he loves hearing them laugh. Since he hates his own laugh, he doesn't really have much of a reaction to his S/O's jokes other than saying "That's funny."

Give Killer some time, and he'll gradually warm up to the idea of sharing his laughter with his S/O. It'll start off as a quick huff of a laugh, progress into a small chuckle, and then become more of an honest laugh. He'll only laugh when he's alone with his S/O, though, so don't expect him to laugh in public.

He obviously has insecurities about what's under the helmet, so it takes time and patience from his S/O before Killer builds up the courage to reveal his face.

Killer actually has a soft spot for kids, too, but not in the way one might think. He's not overly friendly with them, but he buys treats and toys for them with his leftover berries. He also tends to stick up for children when they're in danger or when they're being harassed by others. His S/O's praise afterwards is a nice plus, too.

He may not look it, but he's a secret fan of cuddling. He'll never explicitly ask his S/O to cuddle, he'll just take advantage of an opportunity to cuddle and pass it off as his attempt to make more room for the two of them or he'll say that his S/O simply looked cold.

Because Killer enjoys playing the drums as a hobby, he'll play different rhythms and try talking his S/O into singing. If they're too shy, he'll see if they're more comfortable humming along or drumming along, whichever one they prefer. He thinks their voice is wonderful, but he understands their self-consciousness. His goal is mainly to find something that he and his S/O can bond over together, after all.

Since Killer knows what it's like to be insecure, he's always complimenting his S/O. He compliments their appearance, their laugh, bits and pieces of their personality... He won't stop until his S/O has nothing to feel insecure about anymore.

Although Killer's name and reputation may seem unappealing to most, his S/O is one of the few people that gets to truly enjoy Killer's entire being from his rugged role as a vicious pirate to his charming role as a loyal partner.

#nyasha of germa 66 #one piece headcanons #one piece killer #one piece kid #eustass kid #thank you anon! #killer

[countessofbiscuit]

If you're taking potential prompts...Fox and Riyo discuss tattoos in their respective cultures? Maybe while one gets a new design or a touch-up?

Fox didn’t set the Republic military standards, but he sure as heck has to exemplify them. So it’s my headcanon that he doesn’t have any tats until Riyo’s affection works on him and/or the shittiness of the rest of his life strips his uptight grain. But I like to think this still fits the bill! Thanks for the prompt : )

- - - - - 

Inked

2k. Teen. Also on Ao3.

- - - - - 

The Senate concourse never slept, but most of the Dome’s regulars had long since made for their beds when Fox spotted Senator Riyo Chuchi waiting for the Annex hovertram. She stood alone on the platform, arms wrapped snugly around herself and engrossed in the floor's marbling. The hour was far from social, but Fox had both an apology to make and thanks to offer. And there was no time like the present.

“Good evening, Senator Chuchi,” he greeted from a polite distance. Natborns, especially politicians haloed round by ego, took personal space seriously; brothers wouldn’t give both ears unless someone were right on top of them and they still might not pay any heed.

She straightened up, almost startled. But then — a diplomatic smile. “Commander Fox. Is everything alright?”

Species and biographic profiles popped across his display. Fox blinked them away.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry for the disturbance. I wanted to apologize for not addressing you properly the other day, when you kindly held the lift for me.” For him, the discomfited idiot, who couldn’t bring himself to enter the public turbolift he'd subversively called when faced with a mere Senate guard and a pretty woman. “And to thank you — for that, and for not giving me away to Senator Robb.”

They’d only just been formally introduced yesterday by the Security Committee Chair — and Senator Chuchi had not let on that Fox had recently broken a Dome directive. Ignorance or indulgence, it mattered little. The effect on the fresh-off-the-transport commander was the same: he was very grateful.

“Oh! Of course. You’re most welcome,” Senator Chuchi answered mechanically. Diplomatically. Stalling for understanding with a squint behind her smile.

“My database wasn’t synced to my input feeds yet,” Fox clarified. He’d been plagued by a deep need to reassure her that he took professionalism seriously. That he wasn’t chronically cavalier with protocol. “I didn’t know who you were, at first. But I’ve modded the software, so I —”

The tram approached. But it was Senator Chuchi’s blue hand on Fox's gauntlet that really stopped his thoughts short at the brainstem. She was very petite and looked about as warm as a silk petal in a breeze; but Fox’s skin prickled strangely under the plastoid.

And she wasn’t cutting him off: she was holding him in place. When the tram doors parted, she did not let go. Senator Chuchi meant to keep him with her. Closely. As no one else was around — especially as no one else was around, Fox had no argument against overstepping another rule if the Senator condoned it.

The tram was reserved for senators whatever time of day; when Dome-bound platforms were busy, and certainly when a vote was called, no mere aide, intern, attaché or privileged tourist could expect passage. The tram droid would spot you at fifty paces, bleat and wail with flashing lights, shame you into the permacrete. Clones were just supposed to walk — or, in Fox’s case, bike.

“Truly, you’re very considerate,” Senator Chuchi replied once they were onboard. “But I didn’t notice. I forget that my face doesn’t always give me away.”

It certainly gave her away as being very beautiful. Fox killed his display entirely. He even indulged the idea of removing his helmet, the better to appreciate her. But that would be quite forward: she hadn’t asked and the Guard had a lids-on policy handed down by the executive office.

Fox cocked his helmet in silent encouragement.

“Chuchi tattoos.” She touched two fingers to her cheek. “Obvious to Pantorans.”

Fox cast his mind back to cultural modules. He remembered certain trivia and understood that this was a situation which called for small talk. “I've read about Pantoran ink. Is there really aurodium in yours?” he asked in a carefully modulated voice, though there was no one to overhear.

“Yes. It’s still common practice for — among certain families. Impossible for the layman to tell, however.”

Fox mentally calculated about twenty seconds until arrival. The time begged another question. “Did it hurt?”

“The first time. But everything is unbearable to a child. They were filled out when I came of age and it wasn’t so bad.”

“Who did yours?” Fox found his questions coming as naturally as her answers. This wasn't so bad. Not at all.

“Someone my Grandmama knew. They decide these things. And they keep the rakes.”

“Rakes?”

“The tattooing tool. Usually the bone — well, it’s … it’s customary to keep an ulna and radius of one’s mother to be fashioned into rakes, and then into button hooks or hair pins once they’re worn down.”

Wasn’t the oddest natborn tradition he’d ever heard. And just the other day Stone reported that a detachment of MPs had cut their teeth over Ohma-D’un breaking up a brawl about some cursed finger of Jango’s. A few units claimed to possess one. Everyone deferred to Geonosis vets, and really, what was the harm? Well, until they came to blows over it. “Huh.”

“Do you have any?” she asked.

“Ma’am?”

“Tattoos?”

Thankfully, the hovertram was slowing into the station. It allowed Fox a transitory moment to consider why she’d care and to gather his conflicted thoughts on the subject as they disembarked.

Strictly speaking, tattoos were against regs, at least for clones. The RCMJ prohibited any bodily ornamentation that might bring discredit upon the galaxy’s preeminent military, but culturally significant tattoos and jewellery were permissible for natborns — the unspoken being that clones didn’t have a culture to claim.

“No, I don’t have any. It’s, uhh … not allowed in the Guard.” Not that Fox hadn’t seen some. Even before deployment — back before it was his problem to punish — the occasional itch to differentiate, to distinguish, had defied the longnecks’ surveillance, at least until the next quality control inspection.

Some experiments with filched hypos and med-markers had lasted longer than others. Stars and heavens help the bastards who’d inked themselves and paid for it in sweat and blood and punishment tours, only for the artistry to fade. Or for the shine to quickly wear off their youthful love of Coruscanti opera or the Galactic Senate. Or for the limb get plain blown off.

“Oh. On what grounds?” she asked.

In the main, Fox liked the RMCJ: it accorded a comforting set of guardrails, standards, and norms in a new and overwhelming operating environment. But he sensed a rebuke of the hard facts of life forming in the good Senator’s mind.

No point clouding the issue for her sensibilities; the regs only referenced what the Military Creation Act made plain in Section 3: all of clonedom, from marshal commanders to the lowest and last trooper on the production line, belonged to her federal government. Down to the dermis.

“Defacement of Republic property,” Fox offered as he followed her onto the Annex slideramp, since she hadn’t dismissed him yet.

Senator Chuchi did indeed frown up at him. “Does it really say that?”

“Yes. In the uniform code.” In a number of articles, actually — like the ones about mistreatment of service property and punishments for desertion. “There’s a certain leniency out in the field, I gather,” Fox added lightly, though privately he marvelled how any officer could sufficiently shake that feeling of a cold finger hovering behind their ear and get inked; would he even recognize himself without observational stress? “But it’d be nice to have it codified — or, err, uncodified.”

While he’d made it widely and painfully understood that facial tattoos would be burned off before they could be flagged as culturally insensitive, Fox wasn’t wholly a rule-bound, stuffed suit of armor. He was slightly more practical than purist. The Guard’s plates needed to be uniform and finer than dinnerware, sure; but so long as you were fit to fight, what happened under your blacks was between you, your sergeant, and your capacity to endure barracking.

Fox chose not to see a lot of things and liked to figure what natborns couldn’t see couldn’t hurt them.

Problem was, natborns liked to see fucking everything, especially politicians curious about how fully organic their new army was. Inspect, his shebs — bother, interrupt, and gawp at, more like. Guard Central off the Executive Thoroughfare was hardly incognito and not necessarily off-limits if you could nab some natborn logistics lieutenant with the most basic clearance.

It was only a matter of time before a guardsman got his favorite dancing girl slapped across his back in glorious color and some peeping bureaucrat kicked up a stink about a gross lack of standards in the locker room. Fox could do nothing about General Tiaan or other top brass, but at least they trumpeted a few hours before their arrival to ensure the proper pomp and ceremony — and they didn’t care about the showers.

Senator Chuchi had gone quiet as they reached the main Annex lobby. Fox’s neck dampened to think he’d lowered her spirits or given her cause to regret his company.

He also believed guilt helped no one. She didn’t seem pompous or presumptuous, just unfailingly polite. Maybe he had a chance to make a real ally. “If I may request a favor, ma’am,” he ventured, steepling his hands at his navel like he’d seen the Chancellor do when putting forth a sensitive proposition. “For my own ... err, family.”

This time Senator Chuchi arrested Fox with both hands on his gauntlets. He couldn’t have moved if Corrie’s axis pitched. “Certainly,” she said. “I like to think I’m a public servant. And not only for Pantorans.”

Fox had been primed to make a short speech about clone personhood and the need for senatorial sympathy. He was damn tired, though. And moonstruck. Enough to make him chuckle and ask instead, “If you could maybe … I don’t know, discreetly put it round that it’s gauche for politicians to drop into the barracks unexpected? The men don’t get a lot of privacy and the shower block’s the closest thing to a spiritual retreat they’ve got.”

Senator Chuchi’s bright eyes widened, his display registering a sharp increase in her pulse and temperature. “Of course. You have my word. I’ll see if can carefully address this matter of … discretion. And I’m sorry you had to ask.” Her knuckles paled as she squeezed his armor; he felt nothing but her sincerity.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Fox was so flustered, he nearly invited her to drop by his block anytime, which would’ve been the height, depth, and breadth of stupidity. Instead he said something else that was only marginally short on sense. “It’s very late. May I escort you home?”

“That’s kind of you, Commander. But my driver will be here now.” Her driver — of course: she was as rich as Koros, she possessed a smile literally finer than gold, and she wasn’t touching him anymore. Fox bowed his head low — a head that had almost outgrown his helmet in a moment of unprofessional conceit.

He had to walk back down the Thoroughfare to fetch his bike. As he did, Fox wondered what might bring him to patronize that closet in the barracks he wasn’t supposed to know about. What he’d ask for, if he ever forgot his station enough to ask. What could ever stir his heart so much, that he’d wish to mark the spot.

Hypos and hypotheticals: Fox, senior commander and paragon of the Guard, didn’t have time or liberty for either. He tried to forget all about it.

#foxiyo #commander fox #riyo chuchi #coruscant guard #biscuit fic

[mistabullets]

Can you do headcanons for Fugo, Giorno, and Narancia getting to see their crush's face outside of a mask or helmet for the first time. Maybe it's broken or ripped, so they can't wear it anymore. I just adore the trope, and I know it's definitely something I'd do, because my face is very expressive, and often seen as cute, so no one would take me seriously. Bonus points if they've come off as kind of intimidating or creepy, due to their lack of expression.

someone asked for a very similar request so i hope y’all don’t mind me combining the two requests into one!!

Seeing S/O’s Face for the First Time HC’s

Pannacotta Fugo:

Fugo was originally wary of you. You never wanted to reveal your face and sometimes, he had the urge to just punch it off of you. But he kept his cool. He just didn’t trust you since you face was too secretive to reveal. What if you were working for the enemy or a close associate to the boss? Bruno had to reason with him, saying there might be a good reason for it.

Eventually, Fugo just assumed you wanted to lead a normal life and not get your true identity into the mix of it all. It makes sense, considering everyone seemed to know his face and his association with Bruno and the others. He slowly starts to let his guard down around you but he still feels tension. What if Fugo said something rude but he wouldn’t know.

It’s not that you’re creepy but the fact that you have obscured all your emotions and hid them behind a mask bothered him slightly. Who knows what you were thinking. While he now thought of you as trustworthy, the looming fear of betrayal still would cross his mind when interacting with you. The fact you may never know who you’re truly are bothered him…

But was it because of how easy it was for you to slip from Passione’s grasp if things got busy? Or was it maybe the fact that if you were to leave one day, he would never know who you were. No name to put, no identifiable feature besides your height and weight (he had no idea what gender you were either)… just another person, lost in the sea of bodies.

Eventually, like it was fate, Fugo had finally seen your face when your mask was cracked from old age and tear during a fight. Your large eyes showed your focus with brows furrowed and your face contorted with fiery anger and hints of revenge. It was weird, to finally have a face for you. But he thought you had a lovely face with expressive details.

After you were done kicking ass, your face flushed when you noticed Fugo was just… staring at you. It made sense, considering this was his first time seeing you. But he seemed to be captivated by your beauty and how easily you expressed yourself. It was definitely weird but you were cute. “Q-Quit staring” you said. “Oh, right! My apologies.”

Giorno Giovanna: 

Giorno always wondered why you wore your mask. He wondered about it to himself, trying to come up with logical explanations. Did you lead a double life? Perhaps some sort of old scar covered your face? The young boy would try to gain your trust and investigate on his own. He tried to make small talk with you and eventually, you thought he was trustworthy.

You admired Giorno’s skills and how his Stand could essentially bring life to inanimate objects. It was truly something to marvel over, and you were impressed with his deductive abilities. You would talk to him about his thought process and what was going through his head. Well, he couldn’t tell you his true intentions, but he can tell your his sense of logic. 

Eventually, you learned a bit more about his past and how he came to Bruno’s gang. You apologized for his pain. But Giorno couldn’t tell if you were being sympathetic or uncaring of his past struggles since the mask did obscure your features. He realized you had the upper hand in risky situation: no one can see your fear, anger, or doubt.

Your voice never showed emotion and that had a him bit frightened but he was determined. If he was going to be your new don in the the near future, he would demand to see your face. Partly to confirm your identity but somewhat out of curiosity. Did you have a pretty face, that was just as calm and composed as your voice? He was determined to find out.

During the final showdown with the boss, a particular slap to face by a certain enemy knocked you to the ground. It had also cracked your mask and broke. Giorno was too busy to notice the shock read in your visage, the wide eyes of surprise, and how your lips parted in a gasp. No one would have known how truly expressive you were. 

After everything is said and done, Giorno takes a moment to admire your face. It’s almost too cute. He questions why you hid your face. It was somewhat to protect your identity since it was hard to trust anyone but mostly because you don’t want people to read you like an open book. The blonde laughs and you can’t help but blush when Giorno calls you cute. 

Narancia Ghirga:

Narancia seriously thinks you look like a badass with your mask on. He’s impressed by the intricate design of it, believing it gives you specks of personality. He’ll always ask to touch it and will be the one to constantly ask you to remove it. Of course, you outright refuse to and usually tell Narancia to fuck off, albeit playfully. But it would come out the wrong way.

He can’t tell if you like him or if you’re annoyed by his presence. Sometimes, the tone of your voice just sounds too cold, causing shivers to go down his spine. Usually when you have someone held captive, you’ll be the one in charge of investigation. You had a cruel way with words and how you would articulate them to your prisoners…

And while he found that also very badass of you, he couldn’t help but be slightly intimidated by you when he accidentally angered you. For all he knew, you could be a sadist. You could have hated him, Mista, Fugo, and the rest of gang but he wouldn’t be able to tell. Only Bruno had gotten a glimpse of your face but never gave out your real name.

It was terrifying to know what you might be and that scared him. But Narancia being Narancia, would quickly brush away the dark thoughts and doubts. Clearly, if you were looking to fuck up Bucciarati’s gang, it was one versus six. Even thought your stand was quite powerful, he’s pretty convinced Aerosmith could do some damage if needed.

But you seemed trustworthy, so hopefully a traitor was nothing to fret over. During one mission, after the betrayal of the boss, you had your mask shot off your face. Narancia was there to witness the entire thing and gasped upon seeing the flowing hair be set free. Your eyes, with blood trickling down and obscuring your vision, was also on guard.

Luckily, Narancia’s stand discovered the assailant and shot him down before he could do any more damage. Afterwards, he was teasing you about finally seeing your face and laughed when your face was heated up by the red blush that couldn’t be contained. He reassured you that you had an adorable face. You can’t tell if you wanted to punch or kiss him. 

Guido Mista:

You had long ago been incorporated into Mista’s friend group consisting of you, Narancia, and Fugo. Aside from Fugo, the gunslinger had deemed as being the serious one. You would constantly chide them for their childish behavior, lecture them for whenever they did something risky, and was very open about your concerns when bantering went on.

But what you more scary to Mista was the lack of expression. Your body language didn’t have a lot to say, you always balanced and composed during combat. Never letting the enemy get the upper hand. Your abilities were incredible and Mista wondered, how you truly were behind that mask of yours. Probably a hardened person, like Abbacchio.

Sometimes, he couldn’t tell when you were joking or being serious. You would tease him but sometimes, he would catch it as some form of mockery and be hurt by your words. You tried to tell him it was just playful banter. But he had already built up this image of you and what your face might have been: cold, distant, and stunningly intimidating.

And it was hard to replace that image; you, a seemingly playful person that was actually nice? No, never. That caused the two of you to get into little arguments when misinterpretation occurred. Mista was brutally honest. The two of you bickering was an almost everyday occurrence and if the two of you weren’t, then something must have been wrong.

However, all that would come to an end when the enemy had ripped off your mask. Your were wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights. A grimace appeared on your face, contorting the soft lines and hardening them with boiling anger. Without a second thought, you fought the enemy and gave him punch. Mista couldn’t help but whistle.

And you heard it! You turned toward him with a bright red face, about ready to punch him too. Cue your usual bantering but this time, Mista is teasing how easily red you get. “I didn’t know you were such a cute person behind that stupid mask of yours.” Even the Sex Pistols chirped in argument, showing how eager they were to see your flustered face. 

#Anonymous #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #narancia ghirga #mista guido #golden wind #vento aureo #jjba #jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #my writing #headcanons #sfw

[elizabethemerald]

The Hand of the Eldritch Queen

This is based on my very loose understanding of Arthurian Lore and my own headcanons for how magic works. Full warning losing your hand is not a kind of even and the fic reflects this. 

Please Reblog and comment if you like!

Morgan Le Fay danced alone in the woods. Golden glyphs appeared in the air around her as she effortlessly wove her magic into her surroundings. Faye Magic sang in her veins with every beat of her heart. The answering song of magic trilled through the grove. 

Magic was an innate part of her, as natural as breathing, from her Faye heritage. However even among those with Faye blood she was powerful. She flexed her hands, allowing her golden armored fingers to clack lightly together. Even more magic flowed into the spell she was weaving. 

She paused in her dance, closing examining the glyphs and runes that hovered there. The spell still wasn’t quite right. Her left hand danced almost with a life of its own while she carved more symbols into the air. Magic always came easier through her left hand then through the right. The golden sigil began to spin on its own as she finished inscribing and floated away from her to join the rest. 

Morgan breathed in deeply, feeling the strain of the magic she was controlling. No one else alive could even attempt a spell like she was working on, but it was still draining her reserves. She let out the breath with a sigh and extended her awareness. 

She could feel every tree in the grove. Every ant among the grass. Every beast and plant hidden among the wood. And she could sense every shiver and quiver of magic. Most importantly she could not sense her master. The only magic around was her own. 

Another deep breath in and she began to pull on another source of magic. One that was deeper...darker. The Faye magic that was her life blood could only drive this spell so far and she needed more power. 

She focused on her anger, on her fear, on her disgust, on her grief and poured that into her spell. The shadows around her longer and darker. She grimaced as the dark magic began to bite at her, pain eating at her insides. Her master would surely kill her if he saw her using these dark magics, but what did Merlin know?

If she could perfect this spell then her changelings could end all the senseless blood shed between human and troll kind. They could act as emissaries between the two species, walk in daylight like humans did and feel the warmth of the heartstone like the trolls did. Was peace not worth utilizing some magics that could harm and poison the user? Morgan considered the pain she put her body through to be a cost well worth the potential of seeing them all come together. 

Morgan drew on more and more of hurt and all of the feelings Merlin considered beneath him. Slowly she was lifted off the ground as the tides of magic flowed through her into the glyphs and sigils. She was careful not to draw too much of this dark power. She couldn’t let it poison and take over her mind. 

Finally with one last wave of power she settled back onto the grass. She looked around in satisfaction at the spell her dance had created. It was almost completed. Soon she would be able to bond a troll welp to a human infant to form a creature more powerful than either. 

With a soft smile of satisfaction she cut the flow of magic, tying off the spell. The sigils flared brightly for a moment longer then faded to nothing. Soon there was no trace of the magic she had melded into this space. 

Her smile faded into a grimace as a wave of pain slowly brought her to her knees. She curled up gently, holding her arms tight to her stomach. There was a bone deep ache that spread from her hands and shoulders. Her legs felt like they were filled with pins and needles and her insides burned like she had swallowed coals. Tears fell from her eyes as she leaned to the side and retched, her stomach heaving up nothing but bile and blood. 

As she cried softly from the pain that wracked her body, she couldn’t help a feeling of happiness. Any sacrifice she made to her body would be well worth peace. She could live with the pain and damage the dark magic did to her body if she could only stop the killing. 

Eventually the tears stilled and retching slowed. She wearily got to her feet. Even besides the deep ache from the dark magic she was exhausted. The Faye Magic inside her was almost completely tapped. It would be a few days before she could so even light a candle with a spell. And of course she couldn’t rely on her dark magic around her master. She slowly kicked some dirt over what she had thrown up and walked out of wood. She wanted nothing more than to rest. 

Morgan carefully dragged herself back to the castle. She didn’t even have the magic to hover there and spare her sore legs. When she got to her chambers she could sleep for the next couple of days and be ready to face the public. 

Much to her surprise the castle itself seemed to bustling with activity. Things had been so somber of late with constant ill tidings from the front of the war with the trolls, and yet here was the clear markings of a celebration. Banners hung from the castle walls and the halls echoed with the sounds of bards playing and singing. When she was within sight of the main entrance a knight standing there hailed her. 

“Lady Morgan! Lady Morgan!” He called to her. “How was your trip?”

“Fruitful.” She said, trying to hide the exhaustion in her voice. “And exhausting. What is happening? Is there some news from the front? Or my brother?”

“Nay my lady. Emrys bade us feast, so the next soldiers that leave for the front will remember and be filled with the fire of love for their home. Come join us!”

“Ah, of course.” Morgan gave the knight her best smile. Finally the old curmudgeon learns to have a fun and it when she’s so exhausted she can barely stand. “Well I am afraid my journey has taken more from me-”

“Aunt Morgan!” 

The excuse died on her lips as the teen boy, with shoulder length black hair came running up to her. Morgan smiled fondly as he ran up and gave her a tight hug. She hid her grimace of pain from the pressure on her body. 

“Aunt Morgan, you’re back just in time.” The young boy smiled up at her, though soon he would be as tall as she. “We are finally having a feast! I feel like everything has been so dower all the time, we can finally relax.”

He paused as he looked at her closely. She knew even with his own latent magic that he couldn’t sense the shadow of the dark magic she had used. However he still knew her to well, for her to hide everything from him. He could see her exhaustion on her face. His own contorted in sympathy. 

“Oh how rude of me. You must be tired from your trip. Why don’t you retire and I can have some wine and food sent up to you.”

Oh this boy. Her own nephew. And so much more to her. Everyone in the castle knew he was Arthur’s bastard, they whispered that he was born of some base born wench. But Morgan knew different. He had a special place in her heart. She smiled brightly at him. 

“Nonsense. I have the rest of my life to rest. How often do we get to have an actual feast? Lead the way, dear nephew.”

As she entered she removed the golden helmet she had worn during her ritual, and allowed her wild red curls to fall down her shoulders. She was tempted to retire to change out of her armor as well, but knew if she entered her room she would fall asleep before she could get dressed again. So she joined her nephew and the knights in the dining hall. 

* * *

Morgan walked, a little unsteady on her feet toward her chambers. Biggest downside of Faye blood was that even a sip of wine went straight to her head and she had significantly more than a sip. Maybe if she had not been so tired she would have showed more self restraint, but there was nothing wrong with a bit of fun. And her nephew had kept her cup filled for the entire night. 

She smiled wobbly to her self. He was a good lad. And while she would be hung over tomorrow and on top of her other pain might regret the festivities it was nice to see her nephew able to relax from all the pressure that was on him every day. With Arthur gone the weight of leading the remaining knights fell to his heir. 

A quickly muffled cry of pain echoed out of her as she stumbled on the last step and almost fell on her face. The wine must have been stronger than she thought. She felt like she could barely stand. The magic that normally blazed within her moved but slugglishly. No doubt due to enormous amount of magic she had used earlier. She carefully picked her down the  hall to her rooms. 

She opened the door with a sigh, all she wanted was to sleep for a week. 

As soon as she stepped inside the world felt like it flipped upside down. She fell to her knees as the door slammed shut behind her. A panicked look around showed her fear. All of the walls of her room had been covered with lead and iron panels. The faye magic inside her screamed in pain, and even had she not exhausted her magical stores would not be able to call on her ability. 

She looked more closely at the plates, and recognized the smith work. Of course, this was a completely human trap. If there had been any magic used even in her weakened state she would have sensed it. She groaned in pain as she tried to drag herself toward the door. If she could just open it, she could use her magic to call to her nephew. He would rouse the knights to help her. 

Before she could reach the door man stepped in front of her and pushed her back. She was too weak to fight him and her limbs felt like they were full of lead as he pulled chains across the room towards her. Iron chains. She tried to recoil in fear as the cold metal clasped itself to her bare skin, but he was too strong. 

“Iron chains. Lead and iron panels to block your magic. Iron powder in your drink to dull your senses.” Morgana’s mind was overwhelmed with pain. The pain from her earlier casting. The pain from the iron chains. And over it all, the pain of betrayal. She knew that voice. Merlin leaned down to her level so she could see his face. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed your little spell you are forging out in the woods? Do you think I will stand to have anyone use magic against me?”

She tried desperately to explain that the magic wasn’t an attack against him, but the pain in her head stopped her from speaking. Instead she reacted on instinct, pushing that pain through her and out targeting Merlin. 

A roar echoed in that small chamber as the shadows gathered, tearing themselves from the walls and forming into a great mouth. Morgan screamed and the shadows lunged forward. Merlin was knocked backwards and flung against the far wall. He was only barely able to form an emerald shield to protect himself. 

“Dark magic?” Merlin shouted as the green magic whirled around him driving the shadows back. “I should have known you would stoop to dark magic.”

Morgan howled again, driving the shadows against him. She could feel the furious pain from earlier returning with a vengeance and she could taste copper in her mouth as blood foamed at her lips. 

The shadows resided as the last of her magical energy drained away. She sagged against the burning hold of the iron chains. 

Merlin stepped forward drawing his sword. Morgan did her best to look up at him, pleading with her eyes. She always knew he would kill her if he found out she used dark magic. She just hoped that her master would continue to protect her brother and her nephew. 

He looked at her with a look that was almost just as loving as it had been, a look that was almost kind. 

"I am sorry." He whispered. 

Morgan's eyes grew wide as he pressed his blade to her arm, just below her wrist. The burning pain shot up her arm and she released a feral scream before consciousness was mercifully stolen from her. 

***

#morgana #Morgana's hand #merlin #tales of arcadia #Trollhunters #toa wizards #writing emerald #please reblog #and comment!

[heroes-writing]

Yo, can I get some headcanons where Saitama, Iaian, Amai Mask, Flashy Flash, Metal Bat and Mumen Rider caught doing couple-like things. (talking dirty, whispering sweet nothings to each other, cuddling, making out, having sex, whatever you want.) Thank you so much!

Word Count: ~1296

Metal Bat: I feel like in school he might be theboyfriend that gets pulled into kissing sessions between class. You know thecouples eating each other’s faces? He’s not quite that level, but you mightfind him huddled in the stairwell trying to squeeze in some smooches before hehas to part with his s/o for an entire hour--(Oh, the AGONY!)

He’ll be pissed if someone interrupts, but on the other handhe might become incredibly embarrassed too. Especially if it wasn’t his idea!He is usually courteous and dislikes rudeness, so he’d apologize to thosefollowing the general flow of hallway traffic with a bow. Then he’ll try torecover by taking his s/o by the hand and escorting them back to theirclassroom, blushing all the while.

-The rest venture into nsfw territory!-

Saitama:

It’s hard to imaginehim getting caught out in the open. I feel like he’d be the one to get flackfor “public indecency” by some hero because he even dared to kiss his s/o onthe cheek…So in a different circumstance, he would most certainly be caughtwhen he’s at home. Mostly by the rag tag crew he’s collected from the HerosAssociation: Genos, King, Bang, and Fubuki.

Saitama may just be hanging out in the evening watching amovie, or things are heating up in his futon with clothes being removed at aneasy pace. He’d have an arm around his s/o or have them cuddled against hischest while they kiss and grope. They could be talking in hushed undertones,about anything, but it would be intimate all the same while the sun setsoutside the window. Whoever barges in and ruins his moment with his s/o willget a glare for sure.

(AND I JUST REMEMBERED: I also have an OLD (ugh, 3 years old apparently???) scenario fill forthis: https://heroes-writing.tumblr.com/post/134074860971/could-i-request-a-scenario-where-saitama-and-his)

Iaian:  

While Iaian trains, his s/o could meet him at AtomicSamurai’s dojo to save him the trip of going into town. Seeing his s/o alwaysmakes Iaian beam with joy and race towards them like a certain dogbreed...-cough- (Blonde Kelpie) -cough-

It’s pretty funny actually. His s/o is always in thesame place beneath a large red torii, and wherever Iaian happens to see them,he jogs right over at a forward tilt.

Kama and Bushi, Atomic Samurai’s other disciples, are theones who can’t help but stumble across the couple when they pass by Iaian’s superobvious meeting spot. Usually it’s chaste, and nothing is outright indecent,but sometimes it’s been quite a while since Iaian and his s/o have seen oneanother…They simply can’t help but share some passionate kisses at the veryleast.

Iaian’s signature move would be a gentle kabedon. A strongarm over his s/o’s head so he can angle his right above their own.  If his s/o is eager they’ll pull him in forsome kisses for his whole dojo to see. In most cases, he can’t help but returntheir affection with gusto. His whole body will align with theirs; his embracewould be gentle and warm.

Amai Mask:

Unless he’s not adamant in keeping his relationship a secretfrom his all adoring fans, he’ll detest the thought of being the subjectof illicit photo leaks, controversy, or even simple rumors. He won’t be caughtdead with his s/o in a way that could be construed as anything but platonic.

The only ones who can catch them in the act is his closeinner circle that he employs for his idol-work, and the upper echelons of theHero’s Association. (Since he seems to have an iron fist over class A, I assumehe has a lot of people in his back pocket.)

In the case that it’s his Idol manager, he’ll be caught inhis dressing room before a show. Amai mask seems like he would want to assertcontrol over his s/o or be domineering in some way. He would pin them to hisdressing room door with both hands clasping his s/o’s arms above their head.He’d be pressing kisses, licks, and possessive marks into their skin that onlyhe can see. One of his knees would press between their legs, possibly slipping eagerhands beneath their clothes.

He’d only stop because his manager would knock on the doorsaying that the show was ready to begin. Amai would have no problem invitingthe man inside for a chat, and his s/o would have a hard time fixing theirclothes or hiding their blush. Amai, on the other hand, wouldn’t give a damn.

Flashy Flash:

This is a rare sight to see! Not only do I think he’s rathersubdued in ordinary circumstances, he’s a ninja. If he doesn’t want tobe seen, he won’t. If he doesn’t want anyone around while he’s distracted,he’ll stay alert to anyone’s presence. Maybe in a location where he can lowerhis guard completely will Flashy Flash be caught gently stroking his s/o’scheek and speaking to them in low tones. If the location is the HeroAssociation tower and he took his s/o there to stay under guard during anattack, he’ll be trying to part from them to tend to his duty as a hero.

A worker of some kind watching through the security cameraswould see it. Flashly Flash hushing his s/o’s worries in a darkly lit room andtrying to soothe their fear in the ways he knows best. Close contact, his armsslung low around their hips, while speaking to them calmly. One desperate kisswill turn into a dozen. 5 minutes will turn into 10. His hands will slip everlower, till he’s gently kneading his s/o’s behind, and he’s hefting them atop alarge meeting table to step between their legs...

The security camera will turn to follow their movements byjust a fraction, and in a flash, the feed will go dark.

Mumen Rider:

Sweet Mumen would be caught cuddling his s/o in public! Beinghis s/o takes some real toughness after all. He would make even the most hardenedperson worry for his wellbeing.

I imagine that he would have gotten into a scuffle of somekind, or he’d be making his way home on his bike only to see his s/o at themarket.

With a cheerful grin he’d wave them down, and they’d sooncome running. He get’s hurt so often, so I’m sure he’d be bleeding fromsomewhere or have a horrendous crack in his glasses or helmet. His s/o would bequick to run their hands over him, worried and cautious of anywhere he may behurt.

Mumen would try to soothe them with confident words andsentiments full of the appreciation for JUSTICE. He’d gently claps their handsin his, and tell them he’s alright, and that he would escort them home safely.

Overcome with affection, his s/o would throw their armsaround his middle and give him a swaying hug that he could never hope toresist. He may protest and blush about the display, but it won’t stop him fromrubbing his cheek into theirs or accepting a swift kiss.

After he tries to ignore the cooing crowd forming, he’descort them home. I imagine he’d like to place one of his s/o’s hands on thehandlebars of his bike and placing his own on top! He doesn’t want his bike toget in the way of some quality hand holding!

#Saitama #Flashy Flash #Amai Mask #Mumen Rider #Metal Bat #Iaian #headcanons #opm #one punch man #opmheadcanons #opm headcanons #Anonymous

[mrslittletall]

Title: A Storm is coming (Chapter 15) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Chosen Undead/Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Siegmeyer of Catarina, Sieglinde of Catarina, Griggs of Vinheim, Laurentius of the Great Swamp, Petrus of Thorolund Word Count: 3.303 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16603610/chapters/48785066 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/187216779749/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-14-fandom-dark

Summary: The duo has a moment of peace at Fire Link Shrine.

(Author's note: A bit of a shorter chapter this time. Now that Seath has been dealt with, I need to set a few things up. I also wanted to explore a few headcanons. I hope you enjoy and stay with this duo at their journey to get the other three lord souls.

Also, I decided to use both the POV of Tempest and Ornstein even in a single chapter. It is far easier for me. Tell me when it gets confusing. I promise the POV will never shift away from our main characters though.)

Tempest couldn't get enough from the warm, glowing soul he cradled into his hands.

This was part of a lord soul. A real one. And he had been the one to receive it.

Granted, he wouldn't have done it without Ornstein's help. Tempest should cook his favourite meal when they had a moment of rest.

Right now, the dragon slayer didn't looked like he was eager to eat anything at all. He sat on the ground next to Tempest at the Fire Link Shrine bonfire, his helmet removed and having a rather green colour in his face.

Tempest just wanted to test if the warping powers of the lordvessel could been activated when he would have someone with him and indeed, it worked. But through this he also learned that Ornstein didn't take easy to magic teleportation.

“Are you feeling better?”, Tempest asked after a good while of silence.

“...The next time you ask before I get a surprise teleportation.”, Ornstein murmured.

Ah good, he was talking again. For a moment Tempest had been worried that Ornstein would vomit all over the Fire Link Shrine, so sick had he looked.

“...sorry.”, Tempest said, gaze locking back onto the soul he got from Seath.

“...You are awfully fond of this thing already.”, Ornstein said.

Tempest eyes lightened up: “Because it is a lord soul. A real one! I never thought I would see one, much less that I would be the one holding it in their hands! I just... have a hard time grasping it, that's all.” He looked at Ornstein and his eyes softened: “This wouldn't have been possible without your help, you know this.”

“And I already said to you, I only fulfilled my duties.”

“Still!”, Tempest said out loud. “...Say, Ornstein, don't you have a part of the lord soul too? Does your soul look as beautiful as this?”

“What? You don't expect me I can just rip it out my body to show you? That isn't how this works!”

“No, but I mean, you must have merged your soul with the lord soul part somehow, right? And haven't you seen it then?”

Ornstein looked down at Tempest, studying the face of the little Undead. He had this big curious eyes again. Biting back a sigh, he began to explain: “When I got the part of the lord soul, I indeed merged it with my own, but that wasn't done by pulling my soul out of my body. Instead, I inserted the part into my chest where it could merge with my own soul. It felt... very warm and hot, almost burning. It has been so long but I still remember it vividly...”

“You mean, it felt like if you drink soup that is still too hot?”, Tempest chipped in.

“...You know, Artorias would have really liked you.”

Both of them stayed silent for a while before Tempest spoke: “How was he? Artorias, I mean.”

It took Ornstein a while before he replied: “He was... always there when you needed him. He would always listen. He was always smiling. As nerve-racking as he could be, his presence made every day a little bit brighter. And so, as he died, my world got a little darker...”

“...I am sorry.”, Tempest said once again.

“...Don't sweat it. That was a long time ago...”

Ornstein seemed to act like he didn't care anymore, as if he was above this things, but Tempest, studying his face, seeing the frown and the glistening tears the dragon slayer tried with all his might not to shed, knew that this wasn't the case.

“...Shall we maybe take a walk around Fire Link Shrine? I can introduce you to the others.”

“Oh and how do you want to introduce me, the knight from legends who is twice the size of you humans and should instill fear in your hearts?”, Ornstein said, voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Tempest was happy that he managed to distract Ornstein from his loneliness, but he apparently had to be complicated about it.

“I just say that you are my friend who helps me with my quest. I don't have the feeling the Undead at the shrine know a lot about Lordran. They are all from other lands.”, he said, standing up. “Are you coming or not?”

“Fine.”, Ornstein said, putting his helmet back on and standing up too. “But I leave the talking to you.”

“Great!”, Tempest smiled, heading into the directions of some stairs, but briefly froze and looked back at the bonfire.

Ornstein followed his gaze and both of them stared at the onion knight standing near the bonfire, clearly so lost in thought that they hadn't noticed the duo.

“Is that Sieglinde?”, Ornstein asked. “Doesn't feel like it.”, he added.

“No, I think that is Siegmeyer.”, Tempest said, squinting his eyes. With the same suit of armour it was hard to find out which of the knights really was in it, but that distinct sense of being absent smelled too much like Siegmeyer.

Tempest casually strolled over: “Hey Siegmeyer. I see you have made it back from Anor Londo.”

The onion knights head jerked up and when he saw Tempest his face seemed to lighten, even though it was impossible to see through the armour, his whole being just seemed to light up as he spoke:

“Well! Fancy meeting you here. You did much for me up above. I am grateful. You know, I was thinking… The gates at the old fortress… Was that your doing?“

“Um, you could say that, yes...”, Tempest replied to the question, biting back a nervous laugh. That he had opened the gates for Siegmeyer had been a pure coincidence after all.

“Yes! I knew it! It seemed like an unlikely coincidence. Well, am I fortunate! This knight of Catarina thanks you sincerely Please take this, as a token of my gratitude.“

The onion knight handed Tempest a scroll. Ornstein glanced at it and determined it as a miracle, but one he had never seen before.

“Oh, thank you very much.”, Tempest smiled. “Say, I have to tell you something!”, Tempest suddenly said but got interrupted when Ornstein laid a hand on his shoulder and just shook his head. “Oh, nevermind.”, he finished. “Say, Siegmeyer, what are you planning to do now?”

“Oh me? I'll be heading down below shortly. There's nothing worthwhile up above. No worries! Adventuring is my life; I'm prepared for the worst.“

He finished with a hearty laugh.

“Just... take care.”, Tempest said and stepped behind a corner, whispering to Ornstein: “Why shouldn't I tell him about his daughter?”

“It's better when he doesn't know. It probably is also better when this two never meet. When we see her the next time, we should just tell her that she should leave. Lordran is no place for a living human.”, Ornstein said.

It took a few seconds before the statement hit Tempest, but once it did, he threw his hands up in the air and almost shouted: “She's not UNDEAD?!”

“Little storm, not so loud.”, Ornstein hissed. “And yes indeed, she isn't. I could feel her soul power resonating within her, you Undead have a completely different feel. It is more than impressive that she made it to Anor Londo in this state.”

“I have a newfound respect for this girl.”, Tempest whispered.

“You wanted to go elsewhere before you saw Siegmeyer, so where to?”, Ornstein asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Oh right, I wanted to pay Laurentius a visit.”, Tempest called out. He led Ornstein up some stairs, heading for an Undead dressed in the robes of the pyromancers of the great swamp. Ornstein tensed at his sight.

“Hey Laurentius, how is it going?”, Tempest asked with a big smile.

“Oh, it's.. it's you. I.. I surely hope my flame was of help?”, Laurentius spoke, a sonore voice interspersed with some kind of anxiety. Though Ornstein could relate to this, he preferred to stay a bit to the side.

“It was, thank you very much. Actually, I wanted to ask you if I could get an upgrade?”

“Of... of course. Just hand me the souls I need for this.”

Ornstein watched as Tempest went to grab the souls. It was as fascinating as it was disturbing. While most people just absorbed the souls once the kill had been done, Undead only could store them. And so they were able to trade them. Ornstein saw how Tempest turned around to open up the leather vest he was wearing and touching the dark sign to channel the right amount of souls to hand over to the pyromancer.

The process looked at weird as it looked distressing for the little storm. Ornstein asked himself if maybe he shouldn't have stared. He discreetly looked away as the pyromancer took the souls, probably to add to his own stock and got to work.

“So.. who is your friend standing there?”, Laurentius asked while working on the flame. Tempest turned around to look at Ornstein.

“I met him in Anor Londo. He helps me out with my quest.”, he replied. “You know, you can come a bit closer!”, he suddenly shouted.

Ornstein winced and answered: “...sorry, fire just isn't my thing.”

“Oh, th.. that's fine, I understand.”, Laurentius said and Ornstein could hear some hurt in the pyromancer's voice. It didn't surprise him. Pyromancy was scoffed upon, especially from sorcerers, being a very primal art of casting. That Ornstein didn't want to come closer because fire reminded him of the dragon war and he could get a... rather negative reaction, he didn't dare to say.

It probably was better when none of the other residents of this shrine knew who he truly was.

The both Undead talked about some trivial things with each other before Tempest got his pyromancy flame back and said his goodbyes.

“Where to now?”, Ornstein asked.

“I wanted to visit Logan's student, Griggs.”, Tempest said. “He surely wants to hear about his master's whereabouts, don't you think?”

Ornstein couldn't argue with this, after all, he asked himself where his own master was for centuries now. Tempest ran upon a small figure dressed in the sorcerer garb of the dragon school of Vinheim.

Vinheim with their practices of dragon worship had never been very welcome in Anor Londo.

“Hey, Griggs, guess who I found in the Archives? It was Logan!”, Tempest exclaimed.

“Master Logan is safe? Oh, these are good news.”, the young looking sorcerer said. Of course there wasn't any guarantee that he was still young, just like Ornstein was hundreds of years old, the Undead could have been like this for hundreds of years too and just kept their appearance they had when they turned undead.

“He was behind bars though, your master seem to have an affinity for being caught.”, Tempest laughed. “But don't worry, we freed him and he studies in the archives now.”, Tempest gestured to Ornstein, who simply gave a small nod at his mention.

“Are you in need of any sorceries?”, Griggs asked. “I would like to travel behind Master Logan soon, but I don't want to leave you hanging after all you have done for me. And Master Logan.”

“Actually, I would like to buy that last one you offered.”, Tempest said with a grin.

“Of course, just hand me the souls.”

This time Ornstein turned around as the exchange happened and soon Tempest was in the possession of a scroll with a mighty sorcery on it.

“Why did you buy this? I don't think you are able to use this sorcery.”, Ornstein said as they walked away from Griggs.

“I made a lot of souls in the archives and just wanted to share.”, Tempest replied. “Besides, maybe I learn how to use this! You'll never know!”

“Any more people you need to visit at this shrine?”, Ornstein asked.

“Ah, not at this shrine anymore, but I would like to visit Andre, the blacksmith in the parish.”, Tempest said. “It would be quicker to warp there, but don't worry, there is a shortcut and you only need to fight three hollows to reach him.”

In secret, Ornstein was glad. Magic teleportation really didn't sit well with him. That Tempest took this into consideration made him incredibly sympathetic.

As they headed for the aforementioned shortcut, they passed another Undead, a rather burly man in the typical cleric garb of Thorolund, or maybe the armour just let him look like it. “Oh, this is Petrus.”, Tempest whispered to Ornstein and went over to talk with the man.

“Has your lady returned yet, Petrus?”, Tempest asked.

“M'lady...? I am afraid not, just where could she have run of too?”, the cleric replied. Ornstein frowned under his helmet. A sworn protector who has let his protégé run away? And was not searching under every stone for her?

“Don't fret.. I am sure you will find her.”, Tempest reassured the cleric. He didn't seem to acknowledge Ornstein's presence at all, so the two of them went on.

“This guy, he is shady.”, Ornstein whispered. “Why wouldn't he search for the lady he should protect? I think he might have abandoned her.”

“What?!”, Tempest eyes grew wide. “...your words makes sense, but... he looked so distressed.”

“He's acting. I have seen enough people like this in my life. Just... don't talk to him anymore. He isn't worth it.”

“Well, I guess so...”, Tempest said as they stepped in an elevator that took the both of them right into the church of the Undead Parish.

Ornstein hadn't been in this place in ages. The knights of Anor Londo had sometimes helped out the human population of Lordran to fight off threads, but most of the time, they had been on an Undead hunt.

Now Ornstein was sure that not a single living human was left in the land of Lordran anymore.

Like Tempest had said, the way to Andre was easy and only guarded by three very weak hollows that fell to their blades far too quickly. As they made their way to the blacksmith passing a bonfire, the constant clanging of a hammer was heard echoing in the old building.

Ornstein followed Tempest but preferred to stay out of sight of the blacksmith. He only would pique interest with the golden armour and the special weapon he wielded.

Tempest talked to the blacksmith who first noticed the crystal ember that Tempest had found in the Archives, quickly dismissing it, stating that he wouldn't be able to use it. They then talked further and shortly afterwards Ornstein could hear the distinct sound of a twinkling titanite used to reinforce a weapon. Apparently, Tempest had taken a liking to the silver knight straight sword.

After the weapon had been handed back to Tempest, Ornstein noticed that another exchange of souls happened. When Tempest came back to Ornstein he held an item in his hand, presenting it to him, asking: “Ornstein, what is that?”

“The Crest of Artorias.”, Ornstein gasped. “Why did the blacksmith had it?”

“Wait, this belonged to your friend?”

“No.”, Ornstein quickly shook his head. “It is a key that can open the door that leads to his grave. It was made by Princess Dusk of Oolacile after the grave robbers went too far. There is an alternate path to the grave, but it is long and difficult to take, so the door kept the grave rather safe the last few hundreds year.”

Ornstein fell silent after this explanation. While the door had managed to keep most graver robbers out, what it didn't had managed was to keep Ciaran's sadness out of her heart. She had died right next to the grave of her beloved.

“...Do you want to visit the grave?”, Tempest asked, concern shining in his blue eyes.

“No, not yet.”, Ornstein said. “We have to go there eventually, because that is where the friend is we need to talk to, but.. for now, let's go somewhere else.”

“Alright.”, Tempest said, pocketing the magic key. “Let's head back to Fire Link Shrine.”

“What destination have you picked out for us to head next?”, Ornstein asked.

“I was thinking heading to the catacombs... I already have been there, though I was mostly running through it screaming... The gravelord is down there, right?”

Ornstein simply nodded once they rode the elevator back to the shrine. Once they had managed to make it to the bright burning flame, Tempest spotted the familiar onion knight and said: “Oh, Siegmeyer, didn't you want to head out?”

“Idiot.”, Ornstein hissed and gave Tempest a slight hit on the head.

“You have seen my father? Where did he head to?”, the voice of Sieglinde asked and Tempest knew instantly which kind of mistake he had done.

“Uh, he didn't tell.”, he quickly lied.

“Still, thank you. Now I know he must be around somewhere here...”, Sieglinde murmured to herself.

“I sure hope you haven't doomed this girl.”, Ornstein scoffed as they sneaked away from her, in the direction of where a loud snoring sounded.

Ornstein knew the primordial serpent, knew that he was a friend of Gwyn and that he also worked closely with Gwyndolin.

And Ornstein also perfectly knew that Frampt wasn't telling the whole truth. His gaze rested on the slumbering serpent for a little while before it wandered to the little storm, cheerily hopping in front of him, heading for the cemetery.

Just a sacrifice., Ornstein thought to himself. He really had gotten too attached.

“So, the first time here I tried to get past this skeletons for an hour or so.”, Tempest said, pointing to a piles of bones on the ground. “Eventually I gave up and searched for another way. I don't even know why I was so dead set on trying to get past them.”

“Well, sounds like a typical mistake only an Undead could make.”, Ornstein said. “After all, every sane person would leave immediately and try to get to safety once they notice they don't have a chance.”

“... I surely think I could have a chance now.”, Tempest said. “Are you ready to help out, Ornstein?”

“Sure.”, the dragon slayer replied with a grin under his helmet.

After a short while every skeleton at the cemetery was an unmoving piles of bones and Tempest had picked up a comically large sword, which got determined as a Zweihander by Ornstein.

“We never used weapons like this in Anor Londo, but we had a squad using big weapons, they eventually became the black knights. We also had one silver knight named Ledo who used a giant hammer... was good friends with Havel, the stone warrior.”, Ornstein casually told. Tempest soaked up every word he shared from a world the Undead hadn't been part of.

“So how is Nito like?”, Tempest asked as they stood in front of the entrance of the catacombs.

“Hmm... Maybe I'll tell you when you manage to reach the next bonfire without my help.”, Ornstein teased, but didn't expect the little storm to take the tease serious as he practically rushed into the catacombs.

“... At least he uses a silver knight sword.”, Ornstein murmured to himself as he switched out his own dragon slayer spear for the silver knight spear he had used many years ago.

He waited five more seconds, heard the sounds of explosions and then followed Tempest into the crypt. Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/188214925474/title-a-storm-is-coming-chapter-16-fandom-dark

#dark souls #fanfiction #dragon slayer ornstein #chosen undead #orndead #oc tempest #littlewritesstuff