#the thing is the exoskeleton WILL be covered by his clothes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelastspeecher · 2 years

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If requests are still open please accidental abduction au!! Maybe Stan and Angie seeing the girls off on their first day of school? Or Stan being excited/nervous about being a dad while Angie is pregnant? Or whatever you wanna write! Tbh not sure how the whole prompt thing works…

“Put that down,” Stan said firmly. Angie, who had been carefully putting a box of baby supplies on a tall shelf, looked over at him. “You’re pregnant.”

“Uh, I know.” Angie looked down at her large baby bump, then back at Stan. “It’s pretty obvious.”

“You’re supposed to take it easy.”

“Stanley,” Angie sighed heavily.

“You can’t pull the whole ‘This planet is different from Earth’ thing on me this time. I was there at the doctor’s appointment.” Stan crossed his arms. “Honestly, it sounds like pregnant people around here need to be even more careful than on Earth.”

“That’s just because of the glass skin. I can put a box of diapers away.”

“No dice. You got stuff you want to get moved around, have me do it.” Stan looked at the shelf, evidently out of his reach. “Even if I gotta get my step stool for whatever it is.” He frowned. “I thought we agreed we’d get short things.”

“That’s the shortest one they had,” Angie said. Stan scowled. “Don’t worry, I’ll see if Sebastian can make something shorter.” Sebastian was the name Stan had come up with for one of Angie’s older brothers. He was particularly gifted at carpentry. When Stan and Angie couldn’t find a piece of furniture with an accessible size for Stan, they would have Sebastian whip up something custom-made.

Serves me right for staying on a planet where everyone’s over six feet tall. I’m shorter than average on Earth.

“Seriously, though, I’ve got a step stool for a reason,” Stan reminded his Amazonian wife.

“Yes. I know.” There was a muffled thunk. “Someone’s kicking again.”

“Which one?” Stan asked. Angie carefully lifted the shirt she was wearing. Normally, she wore the style of jumpsuit that was popular on the planet. But after becoming pregnant, she’d discovered a fondness for Earth-style clothing, as it was more comfortable for her swelling stomach. At the moment, she was wearing an over-sized basketball jersey. Stan walked over. “Looks like it’s the one that got my hair.”

“She is the more active of the two,” Angie agreed.

When Stan and Angie decided to have children, Stan had assumed that pregnancy for Angie’s species would be similar to humans. After all, they shared a lot of physiological similarities. However, it became clear early on that there were a few significant differences. The first, that Angie’s species exclusively had twins, was one Stan had known already. The second took him by surprise.

Stan smiled at his unborn daughters. Angie’s skin covering her baby bump was completely transparent, allowing for perfect view of the fetuses gestating within. It was apparently the first sign that a member of Angie’s species was pregnant. As the pregnancy progressed, the skin became firm ad protective, like an insect’s exoskeleton. Angie’s species had a name for it, but it didn’t translate well into English, so Stan came up with the term “glass skin”. Apparently, once the pregnant individual was near term, the skin had a tendency to become brittle, making injury a serious concern.

“How odd, that she has hair in the womb,” Angie said idly. She lowered her shirt again. Showing off glass skin for too long, even to close family members and significant others, was considered by her culture to be unlucky, so Stan was used to Angie covering back up quickly. “Perhaps her sister will have hair as well by the time they’re born.”

“Does your species not have hair before being born?” Stan asked. Angie shook her head. “Huh. Weird.”

“I think it’s the other way around,” Angie said. She sat in the rocking chair. “So, since we’ve only got a few more months before the kids are born, have you been thinking about any names?”

“Hmm.” Stan leaned against the wall. “Well, I know some names in your language that I kinda like, but I can’t say them.”

“I was actually wondering about names from your language.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because they’re part human, silly!” Angie cocked her head, smirking. “And like you said, you can’t pronounce any names in my language. What would you call them by if you can’t say their names?”

“Fair enough.” Stan looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. His eyes widened. “Wait. When we visited Earth that one time, didn’t you really like that flower you saw?”

“Oh, yes!” Angie gushed. “You picked one for me and I preserved it.” She frowned. “Why?”

“Sometimes on Earth we name girls after flowers.”

“Really?” Angie asked. Stan nodded. Angie clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Aw, that’s adorable!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you remember what kind of flower you liked so much?” Stan asked.

“Uh, it was a weird Earth name, so no,” Angie said. “But I think it began with a ‘D’.”

“Right!” Stan snapped his fingers. “Daisies!”

“Yes! That was what it was called.”

“How about we name one of the girls Daisy?” Stan suggested. Angie beamed.

“I love it!”

“And since they’re twins, we should give them matching names. That narrows down the other one a bit.” Stan frowned. “How about…Danica?”

“What does it mean?” Angie asked. Stan shrugged.

“No clue. But it sounds nice. Don’t it?”

“Yes. It does.” Angie smiled. “I think it sounds lovely. So, their human names will be Danica and Daisy?” Stan nodded. “Beautiful. Just like they will be.”

“They’re only gonna be beautiful ‘cause they’re gonna take after you,” Stan said. Angie giggled. Stan grinned. “They better get your laugh, too.”

“I don’t know about that.” Angie winked. “I like yours an awful lot.” Stan laughed. “See? Such a lovely sound.”

“If you keep saying that sort of stuff I’m gonna have to kiss you.”

“I better keep it up then,” Angie said, winking again. Stan walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Our daughters are gonna be the luckiest kids on the planet with us as parents.” Stan nodded.

“Damn straight.”

#sorry these are taking so long to write up but hopefully this was worth the wait!!!#Stangie #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Accidental Abduction AU #my writing #ask #douglasfirtreee

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hmshermitcraft · 2 years

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Okay this has nothing to do w the theme buttttt

Hermits are only allowed to keep a few small things when the season ends.

Unfortunately, Scar can't always take his wheelchair. Yes, his exoskeleton works fine, but it gets uncomfortable after a few hours and he would really prefer to only use it if he has to.

Mumbo had originally designed Scars exoskeleton in season 4, after realizing that the mobility aids he had weren't really fit for someone like Scar, who is all over the place and a simple wheelchair just won't do. But Mumbo wasn't great on the design front and always had to get somebody else to do the seat.

When Mumbo started the wheelchair for season 6, Grian, who was basically attached to Mumbo at the hip, realized that he's a designer and could help Mumbo so he didn't have to find someone else to do the cover. [Thats a fucking nightmare, finding all the hermits in a new world with no maps [and sometimes no elytra] is Mumbos least favorite part of each season. More painful than water getting in his redstone.]

At the beginning of every season since, The two have decided to settle near Scar and as soon as all three of them have a starter base and food, Mumbo and Grian go off to gather their supplies [iron, gold, redstone, wood, paper, slime, honey, and now, copper for Mumbo] [wood, copper, string, slime, honey, wool, cloth, leather, dyes, and rope for Grian] while Scar stays behind with his sketchbook and comes up with ideas for this seasons wheelchair and his base.

Once a week Xisuma goes to markets off world and lets hermits request he get things hard to make at home. X has started going on the second day of the first week to help out our boys because. Needles aren't easy to make and even though Grian always keeps a tin of needles and sewing supplies with him, they get dull and lost over the season. Grian insists on paying, Xisuma doesn't want money, he's happy to help.

Scar enjoys the company, and he couldn't be more grateful for such amazing friends. Its weird, he's not used to being accommodated for and these two are going above and beyond. [Oop projecting]

Grian and Mumbo both have adhd, Grian has autism. Moving seasons is always unpleasant, but building wheelchairs for Scar each season helps them adjust. However, the two get so hyperfocased on the project that they forget about themselves. [This has lead to some wholesome and gay ass moments, such as Scar having to help bathe a very sleepy Grian after he fell asleep in some paint, several cuddle piles, Iskall having to run food over to the base, Pearl being very confused when she watches Mumbo fall face first off Scars season 8 base, and just... soooo many cuddles and goodnight kisses]

Scar has gotten other wheelchairs over the seasons, but he always chooses the one the two made for him. He cherishes everything his friends give him! [Scar, you don't kiss iskall or impulse when they give you a gift, but you do kiss Grian and Mumbo when they give you things,,,,,,,,,,,,,]

He just like how much consideration they put into it, he loves the thought put into it and loves how it was made by the two people he loves

#hermitshipping #ask #grian tag #mumbo tag #scar tag #scargrumbo #ghost-of-a-vulture

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shatouto · 3 years

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YOUR BABY VADER IS SO GOOD I NEED TO GIVE HIM ALL THE HUGS. please tell me he gets like. a weighted blanket or soft clothes. or! or! or! anakin and obi-wan go to the market because nobody knows that anakin was vader, and anakin gets some nice clothes in pretty colors and theyre very soft and he gets some ingredients for cooking and droid parts to play with and everything is nice and good for him

GOSH thank you!!! aww i love that idea sO MUCH just reading your prompt makes me feel warm fuzzy inside. im not sure which baby vader you’re referring to (because there are so many of them in my wips and i love it) but i’ll assume this is the au ive been writing with @obiwanobi. so pls enjoy this near 2k of tooth-rotting fluff; i took some liberties

who likes sweet things

The clinic smells like bacta, as clinics do. But instead of sterile durasteel walls, the floors are carpeted and the walls are painted and the windows are curtained and everything is multicolored and joyful. Across from Anakin sits a healer - a kindly woman, very small in stature, with large, gentle eyes, wispy hair and pointed ears. She chats happily with Obi-Wan while working in tandem with the medical droid to secure the prosthetic to Anakin’s elbow.

“...disheartening, isn’t it?” She chirps, her three-fingered hands deftly fastening bolts around the cap and manipulating the droid to screw down the simple plating. “I can’t count the number of innocent civilians who have come here to fit a new limb. Just last week, I constructed an entire exoskeleton for this young lady. Poor girl, so young.”

“That is so good of you. I am glad for the young lady to find you. She came to the right place.” Obi-Wan smiles. “Those of us who have some sense all know Healer Saada’s prostheses are of the highest quality in all of Coruscant.”

“Ah, young man. Flattery gets you nowhere. Have you learned nothing as a youngling?” Saada shakes her head at the Jedi, then turns her great eyes to Anakin, ears perking. “And you. You’re a rather quiet boy, aren’t you?”

Anakin presses his lips into a tight, blanched line. This woman may not be a Jedi any longer, but she is not Force-blind. He glances to Obi-Wan, breaths bated.

Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “He’s quite shy, Healer Saada. Please do not worry.”

“Oh, poor thing.” The healer hops onto a moving droid. It rolls towards the counter, where she sorts out some bottles while asking, seemingly in an absent-minded manner, “Where did he come from?”

Anakin catches his gaze the moment Obi-Wan looks at him. Obi-Wan parts his lips, as if ready to lie.

“Tatooine,” Anakin mutters.

Astonishment freezes across Obi-Wan’s face, and Anakin turns away. The admission isn’t for her, though he supposes he doesn’t mind her knowing. She’s just a person. She doesn’t even know his name, or what he has done, or what the dead Sith Lord has made Anakin do to earn his demise. Obi-Wan does.

“So far away!” the healer comments lightly, turning around with a soft smile. “What a great trip you must have made.”

“Indeed he did. He lives here now,” Obi-Wan clarifies. Anakin opens his hand, and the healer places a stretchy ball in it. She instructs him to practice squeezing it to get used to the new artificial limb, before sending them off.

They exit the clinic and out under a vast starlit sky. Gentle winds whirl overhead as they climb into their speeder, heading for the usual park where Anakin takes his walk. The night has gotten cold, yet the darkness is unusually diluted. As they pass by downtown, music wafts up alongside the scent of butter and frying oil. Anakin looks down to see a sea of lights over a town square, and colorful awnings draped over kiosks of all sorts. There seem to be many people there, eating, laughing, hand in hand. He eyes them closely, fingers tightening on the side door of the speeder.

“It’s a celebration, Anakin,” Obi-Wan supplies, as they come to a stoplight. Anakin turns around, and his heartbeat ratchets up when Obi-Wan reaches over to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.

“What are they celebrating?”

“Harvest season. It’s an old tradition, I’ll give you that. Coruscant barely has a greenhouse on it, let alone agricultural land.” Obi-Wan chuckles, then quiets down into a thoughtful smile. “Though I suppose the election result is as good of an occasion to celebrate as any.”

“Election?” Anakin asks, just as they pass by a great billboard with the face of a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman in a night-purple cape. The speeder is going slow enough for him to decipher the words written beneath it. Obi-Wan keeps saying he’s a fast learner, so he tries to read at every turn. “Chancellor… A-Ame…” He frowns. “Amidala?”

“Very good, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s eyes crinkle at him for a second before returning to the path ahead. “Padmé Amidala is the new Chancellor now. It was a rather close call. She is well-loved by many people, but not quite so in the Senate.”

Half of those words mean almost nothing to Anakin. “Why?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan hums. “One could say the Senate hasn’t been loving its people so much, in a while.”

Obi-Wan grows pensive, as he oft does. The faint, warm light from below and the cool starlight from beyond color him in an otherworldly tint. His profile is startlingly delicate, from the slope of his nose to the soft fluff of his whiskers and beard. Even the flutter of his lashes is graceful. Then Anakin remembers he shouldn’t stare. His eyes strays towards the bright lights and jovial music beneath.

“...But I am hardly brave enough for politics,” Obi-Wan muses, after a stretch of silence. When he looks Anakin’s way it is with some tiredness in his small smile. “Say, Anakin. How would you like to stop by the night market, for a change?”

They lower their altitude as soon as Anakin nods his agreement. Obi-Wan parks their speeder, draws up Anakin’s hood, and takes his right hand. Anakin’s synthetic nerves light up, even though it’s only enough transmission for him to feel touch and not warmth, it being a very standard model of prosthetic. His face warms up under the hood of his cloak. He’s glad Obi-Wan doesn’t notice.

They let themselves be carried by the stream of the crowd, of parents jogging after excitable children toddling about with sweetmeats in their hands, sugar on their cheeks; of young couples, one’s arm around the other’s waist, sharing bites of fluffy sweet bread or sips of mulled wine. Light shines golden and amber through bottles of syrup and jars of honey, glitters on the crystal sugar and drizzled glaze on heaps of candies in open boxes. The smell is divine whenever they pass by a warm stall with steam bannering overhead.

Anakin shivers lightly, even though the crowd blocks most of the winds. Obi-Wan tugs at his hand. “Let’s get you something warm.”

He follows Obi-Wan. A paper cup is pressed into his hand, ample and warm against his skin. The drink smells and tastes sweet with a note of toasted bitterness, the texture creamy and rich on his tongue. There are floating white chunks of some sort of confectionery in there.

“What’s this?”

“Hot chocolate.” Obi-Wan raises his identical cup and touches it to Anakin’s. “Do you like it?”

”Yes,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan’s smile warms his belly more than any hot drink.

They continue on their path, still a straight line from one end of the market to another. Anakin’s wide eyes travel from stand to stand: here a string of patchwork puppets, there a counter of carved wooden figures; and perfume vials, colorful figures (“It’s artisan soap, Anakin”), bouquets of everlasting tissue flowers tied in silk ribbons. There are clothes: soft robes in various colors, touted as “warm in winter and breezy in summer,” per the merchants; tunics with blossoming patterns embroidered at the collars or sleeve hems. There are kiosks of datatapes, illustrated by sparkling holograms of a High Republic castle, or a great speeder model, or even some holodrama character whose name Anakin can’t remember.

And then a booth takes his breath away. Glimmering under the light are shelves after shelves of mini household droids, custom-made transmitters, and a variety of artfully wired core processors. Replacement parts bathe in the blue glow of holograms depicting the corresponding droid models; and below all of this is a row of toolboxes of gleaming silver and shiny ivory, even iridescent inlays of mother-of-pearl. The booth seems to be one of a kind in the vast entirety of the market.

Anakin stands, transfixed. His fingers itch, and one of the tools begins to quiver and lift into the air, unbeknownst to the seller who has his back to it. He wants it. The thing will be his.

“Anakin? Anakin!” Obi-Wan’s hushed voice rustles by his ear, jolting him back to his senses.

The tool drops down with a small clang, barely audible in the noises of the festivity. Fear bursts coldly in Anakin’s chest - he shouldn’t, he knows he shouldn’t, his Master would be very unhappy if he found out his young foolish apprentice had tried to waste his time playing with droids again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, bowing his head, even as Obi-Wan squeezes his hand.

“Do you want that?” Obi-Wan asks, softly.

Anakin peeks up. The empty paper cup is still slightly warm in his hand, and he crushes it absentmindedly, tightening and loosening his fingers just to have something to do. “I, uh…”

Obi-Wan’s hand covers his own, gently prying the crushed paper cup out from the curl of his fingers. “I would love to get it for you, if you want it. It’s the toolbox on the bottom shelf, second from the left, isn’t it?”

The light on Obi-Wan’s smile is a honeyed gold, pooling stars into his eyes, and Anakin is transfixed again, not quite by the tinkering booth this time. He looks down as his face warms and his heart still pounds hard, and slowly he nods.

—

They come back to Obi-Wan’s quarters with a small armful: a new set of robes in muted, ashen pink; a box of tools with carved handles that are probably more fancy than they need to be, but still practical enough; a new array of spices and condiments; and a great tin of “absolutely decadent powder for drinking chocolate, Anakin, I can’t believe I let you persuade me into buying this.”

“You are the one who likes sweet things,” Anakin counters, arranging the new addition into their pantry. Obi-Wan laughs aloud by his side.

“Now how could you possibly know that?”

“I cook. I know that.” Anakin shrugs, and admits, “...and Ahsoka said so.”

Obi-Wan’s brows shoot up. He’s quiet for a few seconds, but the wide smile that follows only seems all the more brighter for it. “Best friends now, aren’t you?”

“No,” Anakin huffs and closes the pantry door. He doesn’t say more. Ahsoka gave him her old voicebook plug-in and lent him her comics; in exchange, he would pack her this spicy meat stew whenever she needed to leave for some time. They struck a fair deal, is all.

Obi-Wan doesn’t say more, either. They settle on the couch, Anakin almost rushing to fish out the toolbox from its paper bag. Finally having two hands to work with again, he examines it with zeal. It’s a good set of tools, he knows it; he hasn’t been allowed to touch these things for years, but he still knows. It’s in his blood. He can still wire standard circuit boards for protocol droids (the slightly outdated type) with his eyes closed; can definitely assemble a cleaning-type mouse droid from scratch if he’s allowed to scavenge for parts. He smiles down at the lacquered handles and the durasteel glint, picking up and balancing each microscrew, each hexagonal wrench, each tiny plier.

“...I hope it was enjoyable for you,” Obi-Wan speaks up, all of a sudden.

Anakin turns to him, not bothering to wipe off his smile. “It was.” He chews on the inside of his cheeks. “I’ve never had so many things. Thank you.”

Obi-Wan studies him for a long moment, more intent than he ever did. By the look on his face, Anakin expects him to say many things, but he doesn’t. He just pats Anakin’s elbow, where the prosthetic is joined, and murmurs, “You’re welcome.” His eyes have a moist sheen to them, smiling though he is.

#raised as sith anakin #always a sith anakin #obikin #shatou writes #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #it was fun writing this #i cant believe i wrote this in one go

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toxooz · 2 years

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I have brain rot for Wig again SO looking at that thingy you made of Wig's anatomy. If his torso is hollow is there like..empty space in there? What happens if someone punches him? If he has a heart attack, would it affect all five hearts or simply one? Would he drown/suffocate if his tail was completely submerged in water or wrapped up with something?

WHELL yeah im pretty sure his "humanoid" torso is mostly just hollow with just muscle and a nervous and circulatory system, it's honestly just a place for the portal to be at i think?? like there’s still a rib cage possible or something that resembles it OR since the ribcage is there simply to protect organs, since Wig doesn't have any there, it's just a smaller rib-like structure that only helps him to move and prevents the portal from collapsing on itself:

as in there's no sternum or cartilage that it connects to because the portals there, like if you punch or stab or shoot him in the chest its just goin in the portal!! there’s nothin there critical to protect so his ribs are kind of passive. Wig ofc doesn't have an exoskeleton since he got inside bones and his skin is just like a humans skin except when it gets closer to the tail so he doesn't crunch if he gets punched (as funny as that would be 😔) but it would probably feel like punching any old fool since his muscle would still be in his torso so it wouldn't feel much different.

I’m stiLL trying to figure out how he has an open circulatory system in his tail ( doesn't have blood vessels or arteries, just a cavity that delivers blood n nutrients) but then somehow transfers into a closed circulatory system when it gets to his humanoid part of the body??? maybe there’s a whole other system thing in his lower back that does that bUT that being said His 5 "hearts" aren't like individually formed hearts, rather just one dorsal vessel with defined chambers and valves that prevent the blood from backtracking so I think if something happens to “1 heart” its basically all of them so i would think he damaged the trachea that leads to his dorsal vessel that would be the closest he could get to a heart attack since bugs blood doesn’t transport oxygen nor do they have tubes that the blood goes through, therefore the idea of the heart being unable to receive oxygenated blood cells just simply wouldn’t happen ( but thats a whole other can of worms that boggles my brain abt how his tails blood is like different from the blood in his arms or legs??? sO UM shhh) bUT yeah i don’t think he can really have a heart attack.

and YEAH he would drown or suffocate if his tail gets covered or even like any kind of spray chemical can rlly fuck with him but i dont think having like clothes on his tail would hurt him too much, I’d imagine it would be like wearing a mask or face covering or somthn but if he gets like oil or something all on his tail he’s in Deep Trouble 🤔

#wig #also if u the one who sent the other ask abt his ass ill get to that eventually ill probs draw it out soon don worry 😭#oc facts

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pirrha · 2 years

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Heya, I wasn’t sure if you got the message i asked in the past as I was aware of tumblr not sending messages sometimes. So I’ll try sending again😂:

Heya, I have a question. :3 I just LOVE how you draw Eliksni and I wanted to know how you draw them and how you learned to draw them. I draw my Eliksni ocs and stuff, but I’ve been having issues on learning them as Their anatomy is tricky for the limbs and stuff. And their face is my biggest issue as the jaw isn’t anatomically correct in game😅😅 anything helps if you wanted to share any tips or pics. Also your work is amazing! Keep up the amazing art, your ocs are so cool!

hi, i tend to not answer every ask i get because 1) idk how to respond 2) im busy and can't give an extensive answer at a given time

i haven't been able to create a guide for how i personally draw them (as i've been wanting to do for a very long time, just to show my own process) but there are many references of eliksni available on artstation that help a lot (u can literally just google an eliksni class and it's there somewhere)

eliksni during gameplay have static mouths but various cutscenes show working facial structure. i'd recommend forsaken cutscenes even though it's unfortunate you can no longer access those from the game itself for that sweet HD cut

there is also the destiny comics, i believe it's volume 2?? it's where cayde-6 goes to the tangled shore and there's many appearances of eliksni and scorn. they are drawn in a specific way and don't possess toothed mandibles, but it's interesting to see how the artist interpreted them into their style.

scorn = eliksni in terms of basic anatomy so just scavenge for any screenshots that would be helpful for references. keep in mind artstation pages, cutscene, comic and gameplay eliksni are all structurally different and it's up to personal interpretation on how you wish to draw them, but the fundamentals are all there

for limbs, exoskeletons and how they work, it's good to study insects, crabs, etc. also (human) skeletons to an extent. of course this is extremely optional but it's gets you used to how their body naturally functions and looks - think of joints, where the hinge should be, if the chitin covers the elbow in a certain way would they be able to extend it? things like that. knowledge of muscle placement helps with exoskeleton plate placement. usually you'd use that for torsos only but i cut lines between any section of the body so it looks more visually appealing. this is just artistic touch so apart from torso muscles you don't need to know the rest!!!! (if you're drawing them without full clothing)

but i understand this is very tedious for someone who just wants to draw art of characters they think are cool, so all this extensive study is unnecessary, it's just how i approach it. i think learning about muscular and skeletal anatomical structure and functionality is fun

#ask #Thank you for the compliments as well :)#i normally don't section off my paragraphs like this but i literally couldn't read anything there's so many words without proper punctuation #in a limited space. i am a changed man

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tarithenurse · 3 years

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Spark - 24

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shōbōtai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Lack of proper terms for clothes (I think). Fluff. Feels. Lots of angst. A/N: Here ya go, darlings! Feel free to ASK (or reblog) for tag – in fact: always reblog. Thanks to those who have already <3

24. From the ashes

… Reader …

Something hard and jagged prevents you from resting. It’s digging into your thigh and what first was pure numbness is growing into an unyielding pain. Finally admitting defeat, you open your eyes to see what’s causing the offending sensation, but it’s forgotten the moment you notice the shimmery light.

At first, it seems to be far away and only the visible simple due to the magnitude. But then you blink. Woah. Funky. In reality, the glow is from a small beetle which seems oddly familiar about a hand from your nose.

And then everything comes roaring back, filling your brain with images that you wish only belonged in nightmares rather than memories. People, children and adults alike, swallowed by flames that twist their skulls and stretch their limbs; the echoing shrieks twisting from pain to despair to hunger. Somewhere in between it all, there’s an intermezzo where fire fills everything, blocking out any other sensation than fear.

A fear that’s still roiling in your guts and clawing its way up your throat until only a fraction of it lands on the beetle that’s waving its antennae towards you. It clicks as if offended (though more likely disgusted) and tries to free the legs one by one to get away.

If it escapes...

Benimaru (and others) have called you stubborn. You’ve learned not to give up because giving up meant allowing yourself to get caught and you weren’t naïve enough to think that the only punishment for that was to see your parents’ faces and sorrow over the little sister you had lost. No. It would’ve meant landing yourself in this exact situation – even if it was nothing but a fearful conspiracy at first.

Now, you know better and realize that the stubbornness has changed.

Now, you twist on the jagged ground, pulling yourself forward by hands and elbows to drag your leg free from a slab of concrete. The dead weight threatens to hold your hostage, squeezing onto your foot with cruel determination. It would be easy to give in to it – to lie down and claim the rest your body is screaming for – but the beetle is moving faster than you are, having spent the time wisely while you fought with gravity, mass, and your own mind.

It can’t be called a scream, the sound that begins deep in your chest and works its way up and out as the strain of muscles constrict around your lungs. You don’t feel the way the nails scrape and break against the sooty floor, just like the muted pop from a strained joint goes ignored save for the tears of relief the moment the ruins let go.

The thud of your palm slamming down doesn’t conceal the satisfying crunch of an exoskeleton being crushed. Shards of concrete dig into your skin and you’ve never welcomed them as much as now.

“Got you, fucker,” you swear, voice hoarse but seething with a new sensation: revenge.

One down. Time to find the rest.

... Joker ...

There’s no reason to talk. Not yet, at least. All the men can do for now is to search through the rubble methodically, each covering a half of the space ahead of them while pretending that the odds aren’t stacked against them. He must have realized. But even the lanky man doesn’t have it in him to give up yet, wishing instead to extend the blind hope for just a bit longer. She’s stronger than we give her credit for, but...

“[Y/N]!” Benimaru’s deep voice fills the darkness, briefly fooling his friend in need to think the search is over. “[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” the captain yells, a crackle of desperation breaking through.

Dust and small debris falls from the ceiling as if startled by the sound. It’s a miracle the place hasn’t caved in already and Joker’s about to shut up the normally quiet man when he hears it. Or...? No...it must’ve been an echo.

But then it’s there again: something more akin to a cough has come from the farthest side of the new cavern.

“-maru?”

As if they had planned it, the men each let lose a roaring blaze, licking against the uneven surface above and cast deep, jagged shadows that dance in the white-hot air. Dust is fanned by the invisible wave, split into streams as obstacles loom in the path only to be caught against nothing a few feet from a mess of a woman.

Arm raised as if holding a shield, [Y/N] is leaning against the remains of a wall. Apparently she’s just clambered over it, but how she has managed is a mystery. She’s barely standing! Swaying dangerously, blood seeping from the nose and countless cuts and scrapes, not even the dirt and bruises can hide the fact that the usual lustre of her skin is gone. The only parts of the woman that seems somewhat alive are her eyes glow with a deep crimson a few seconds longer before that too disappears with a blink.

Not a blink.

Benimaru moves faster than Joker can think, suddenly skidding to a halt right before the supposed damsel in distress, catching her effortlessly as her legs give out and she tumbles towards the ground.

... Benimaru ...

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

It’s impossible to tell if [Y/N] has heard him, her body limp against the captain’s. There’s no time to worry about decency as Benimaru quickly inspects her for serious injuries – a task that’s all too easy, though, as the once-faded-now-flambéed jumpsuit has been torn to the extend that it barely can hold on to her frame. Finding nothing too obvious (health wise), Benimaru shrugs off the dark-blue kimono shirt to wrap around her.

“We’re gonna get you out of here.”

A slow groan precedes the answer. “Wh- not yet...” [Y/N] can barely keep her eyes open. “Imma k-ki-ick their...asses.”

It’s Joker’s startled laugh that breaks the silence, earning him a confused frown from the dazed woman until he explains. “There’s no one left here.”

“He’s right, [Y/N],” Benimaru agrees, suddenly reconsidering what might have caused all the destruction, “so let’s get you fit for fight before round two.” His entire world consists of this woman as she looks up at him with a tiny smile, asking if they’re going home. “Haï. Home to Konro and the twins. Home to Asakusa.”

“Just give...give me five minutes to rest,” she demands, eliciting a new laugh, “then I’ll be on my feet.”

Not with that leg, you won’t. “Will you let me carry you until you’re okay to walk?” It’s the closest he can get to arguing with her stubbornness right now. “It’d be good to get out of here before the whole thing collapses.”

The chagrin is obvious in her face although it’s softened by fatigue. “Fine.”

With a bit of help from Joker, [Y/N] gets settled for a piggyback ride, her chin resting on her would-have-been rescuer’s shoulder with a content sigh.

“For the record,” she mumbles as the last of her energy has been used, “you don’t have to knock me out this time.”

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batfamily14 · 3 years

Text

The Sun Queen

BOBA FETT X BLACK QUEEN!READER

Chapter 2

Rating: explicit

A/N: You were raised to be strong, fierce but when you suddenly come into power with the task of fighting a war and for your people’s freedom becoming queen is more challenging than you imagined. Recruiting a fearsome bounty hunter by your side, it’s up to you to restore your kingdom. Follow your journey to becoming a royal legend and perhaps find love on the way.

You caught yourself thinking...

he may destroy you.

And you know what? That’d be fine.

To be completely disintegrated by all the best parts of him. At least then you’d know what you had was real.

Even if it killed you.

You’re settled in the garden, your crown perch on your head. The thick loth cat cloak you wear stands out against the black gown that slit up both your thighs. It’s you who now caught Boba staring.

Boba.

The name so fitting. As if it were crafted for him, and him only. It wouldn’t make sense if it belonged to anyone else.

You.

He couldn’t help but to look at you. The hunter notices that your skin makes it seem like you were conceived by the night sky, the stars caught in your eyes. Sparkling when you smile. He has been with plenty of women and seen dozens of beautiful girls but when he made love to them or kissed them, it didn’t feel right. When he was a young teen he often wondered what was wrong with him, thinking perhaps he would never be capable of falling in love.

But now, he thought maybe he just didn’t recognize those other girls. When he touched you he recognized you, as if your entire essence was lost to him at some point and now you’re finally his again.

Home.

You’re complete. You’re real. A living and breathing artwork met before his eyes and all he wanted to do was memorize your details. So, then maybe he’d appreciate everything in the universe that was bright, soft, and brown.

And it’d lead him like little boats down aisles floating back to you.

Back home.

~*~

You’re sitting, gazing at your mother’s statue, you squint your face up. You did that when you’re about to cry, he noted. Which you often did when you thought of your mother. He reaches out and touches you, touches you like you’re a rare and universal treasure. Precious. Fragile.

A confronting hand on your shoulder. He did that more often now, his hands becoming an extension of you.

“Little one,” his modulated voice came. The nickname shatters you. Pleasantly breaking under the unmerciful weight of him. “Fett,” you respond, coolly. His finger traces patterns into the skin of your shoulder, another new sensation.“What was her name?” He questions , softy.

“Saphoriae,” you tell him. “ In my language it means “The loved one.” ”

“What does your name mean?”

“Shining light.”

He smiles under his helmet.“How fitting.” The hunter thinks. “It’s perfect, practically designed for you.”

He’s gone back to guarding the garden entrance behind you, blaster to his armored chest. You’re perched on a bench, eyes carefully tracing over him. His body seems as if it's sketched from charcoal like he’s art and art isn’t beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, and every time you see him something blooms in you. It always did. You try to remember how this happened, when you started to wonder why he wasn’t a painted portrait hung everywhere in case the universe forgot he existed once, and that thankfully at the same time you did too. What luck that is. That you could climb up his ribs into his heart if he let you.

You shift in your seat, your hand caressing through your hair. His visor gleams in your direction, his head doing his signature tilt which you found yourself growing slowly fond of. He strides closer, walking with purpose, always moving with a reason. He stops at the edge of the bench next to you. When Boba looks at you, he focuses on you as if you’re the only person in the world. Despite how unimportant the thing you could be babbling about, he makes it seem like you’re telling him the galaxy’s greatest secrets.

Your eyes unintentionally linger on the battered scars of his armor. Dents and scrapes, you cherish them all. The armor is a part of him like an exoskeleton, a shell that you so desperately want to see him crawl out of. Not so that you’d appreciate the real him, the honest him is a bounty hunter too. Just so that you could appreciate every layer of him, peel back every exterior of his being and appreciate each surface.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” He questions. You bat your lashes at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Your armor, how did it get like that?” You ask, gesturing to a rather large dent on the side of his helmet. He huffs, “I’m a hunter after all.” He says matter of factly. You roll your eyes to the sky making him let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean...did it hurt?” You inquire.

He sighs dramatically, peering down at you and offers a small shrug. “All a part of the business.” Boba lets you run a shy hand across his chest plate. “I’ve seen you train in the Sparring Hall, I would...watch you.” You confess. You hear the rumbling of another chuckle bubbling up in his throat.

“I know.” He almost teases, and you think you should feel embarrassed but you don’t. If he really didn’t want you to watch him he wouldn’t let you. Boba has a way of disappearing and reappearing whenever he pleased. You awe at him,“The way you fight it’s…”

Breathtaking.

He moves fluidly, as if he was dancing. Every flick of his wrist or thrown kick and punch roll one after another. His build is strong and a bit slender but nevertheless his form showcases all his strength.

“It’s what?” He probes, two fingers smoothly lift your chin up when your eyes shift away, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s...it’s fascinating.” You answer, flush with nervousness.

“Fascinating?”

“Yes...I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“How to fight?”

You nod. “Our warriors have a particular way of battle but you...you’re ruthless. You’re brutal. I like it, the fierceness of you.” Boba chuckles putting away his blaster to cross his arms over his chest, listening. “When you fight,” you continue. “It’s a testimony to your power. I want to fight like you, I need to.”

“Why do you want to fight?” The hunter questions.

“I want to feel what it looks like when you do.”

“And what’s that, girl?”

“Alive.”

~*~

The sparring hall is carved under the kingdom, built firmly with mud brick. Heavy wooden doors open to a sweeping

aged cream colored staircase leading to a platform covered with a blue mat. There’s various weapons draped on the walls. Spears, knives, a hunter’s wet dream. You’ve changed into your mother’s old sparring clothes when she waged in wars. A manogany thicken fabric wraps around your breast and crisscrosses over your stomach and spine securely, a pair of shorts with a pooling fabric hangs in the front and back like a skirt split in half, and leathery strapped sandals lace up your legs and thighs. Your locks are pulled upward with a silk wrap revealing your whole face.

Boba wears grey sweats, and it feels like a violation to see this much of him. As if he’s wholly exposed though his helmet is still on. Boba’s body is lean and muscular, his skin tan, littered with scars like his armor. But still...art nevertheless just greatly more detailed now. You find it strange, almost comical actually. At first he wasn’t your anything, a guard if you had acknowledged him in the least, always looming behind. A second shadow. But, now he's undeniable and suffocating, he’s like…

fire.

It’s always fire with Boba, burning inside you. You’re surprised him touching you hasn’t completely disintegrated you yet. You used to go all night without thinking about him, place him far enough in the back of your brain so you could survive eight hours. But, being without him is like not breathing, even in your mind. So, waking up in the morning and seeing him bathed in the sunlight is as if taking your first breath after an eternity of drowning.

It’s a desperate gasp from the loss of him.

“Let’s start with something simple.” He says. “A punch.”

You nod focusing on him and he directs with his hand to back up. “I’m going to teach you primary types of punches, first a jab.”

Boba demonstrates a series of jabs, arms moving in a blur. You can hear the wind whipping with the force of it.

He’s strong, grateful, ruthless. He’s advised to watch his form, observe his steady movements. “When it’s a decent fighter,” he begins. “they won’t be easy to read. They’ll move their arm from the place where it is right forward , so you need to have a quick reaction time and defense saved in your muscle memory to react to it automatically. You understand?” You nod and he circles around you talking. “You won’t be able to tell which arm will strike first. So, when your punch lands, your arms should be close to fully extended, extending your striking range and improving your punching power.” He demonstrates again by throwing a quick punch that breezes pass your face and you flinch away.

“Land the punch with your index and middle fingers, with your fist rotated so that your thumb points downward on impact. Power is transferred better there, and you're less likely to break your hand.” You lower yourself into stance, but your form is all wrong so he comes up behind, his hands on your hips. “Relax your upper body and use speed instead of strength.” You let him correct your stance and he knees your thigh making you slide your feet further apart . “Rotate your body and be sure not to lean forward. And most importantly...” he trails off and you hear the smile in his voice. The sound of it makes you shudder like his breaths prickle your neck. “...protect that pretty face.” You nervously adjust your footing, squaring your feet just below your shoulders.

You throw a sloppy jab that makes the hunter grunt under his helmet. “Were you even paying attention?”

You grumble under your breath a few frustrated curses before throwing another jab. He shakes his head in disapproval and grabs your arms. “Straighten up and twist your hips. Keep your eyes on your target.” You try again and though you do a lot better you almost embarrassingly lose your balance, making Boba have to catch you. He groans under his helmet frustrated but pulls you up to your feet anyway. “Try again.” He orders. You can already feel yourself prickling with irritation but you're too keen on not giving up so easily. You ultimately go at this for hours, him grunting under his helmet and correcting you, you groaning and cursing. Finally Boba has had enough and tries a new tactic, “hit me.”

“What?” You gasp, stopping your fist in mid air. You’re drenched in sweat and heaving from exhaustion. Boba feels himself twitch in his pants. “Hit me.” He repeats, voice stronger. “N-no.” You protest and he shakes his head growling. “It won’t hurt.” He argues, and admittedly that stinks but you still refuse making his cheeks burn red. “Hit me like your people depend on it.” He says suddenly, and your eyes narrow at him. “I mean it!” He growls. “Hit me like I’m the only thing standing in your way of freeing your people.”

“No!” You choke, backing away. “I won’t.”

“If you won’t hit me! How will you ever defend your people?” He insists. You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “I can help them. What do you know?” He grips your arms firmly. “I know alot about war, girl. There’s no mercy for the weak and hesitant.” You scold him, this time pushing past him. “I’m not weak nor hesitant!” You sneer.

“Prove it.” He hisses. When you don’t turn around he pushes at you once more. “You say death is better than bondage? What is different from giving up and living and giving up and dying if either way you’ll be remembered as the last of the Nivrols.” You hault, your skin burning, you’re practically seething at his words. Knowing they held a deadly truth. “Because we’ll die with honor.” You growl, fisting your hands at your side. Boba steps closer, his head tilting down close to your ear. “But you don’t want your people to die, you want them to live like every great leader would.” He whispers, and you clench your eyes close as you feel him tilt closer. “So, are you willing to lay down and die for your people or are you going to fucking fight?”

You don’t think, you just move like he does. Fast and fluid.

It happens so fast, he barely has time to register what happens. You hardly know what’s happening yourself before it’s too late. He lands on the matted ground with a heavy thud and you hold your aching knuckles close to your chest. D-did you just fucking uppercut him? You’re bewildered, panting and staring at him with wide eyes. He’s still...too fucking still but then you hear it, grumbling from the depths of his chest and you’re frozen. He lets out another animalistic growl at the sight of you. Horribly disheveled, a wondrous messy thing. Lock strands loosely hanging, clothes ruffled and nearly exposing the sensitive skin he’s dreamed about mindlessly. You tower over him like a true Nivrol warrior, a savior coming to cut down a sarlacc herself. Your chest heaving and stickyly coated with sweat. Mouth parted and tongue peeking out and licking the saltiness tethering down to your lips.

You could crumble right now, he’s a vision of ecstasy. Pure static plowing right through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. He’s on his hands and knees gazing upward at you, panting. Then all of sudden he’s growling and springing forward, latching his arms around you and using all his weight to knock you over. Forcing all the wind out of your lungs. He wrestles your arms over your head once you’re on the ground and you grit your teeth squirming. Great sun god he’s fucking strong! His visor glaring below at you, you give in, gasping for air. You could fight him, you feel the edge of it curling in your stomach but you release the urge. Instead relenting and letting the sensation of him hovering over you consume you. Overwhelm you.

You’re like that for a while, a sweaty messy pile on the floor. He’s snarling at you as if he's an animal, ravishing with no reason, with the desire and instinct of wanting blood between its teeth. You’re afraid to move, laying like a corpse underneath him. His blunt nails bite into your skin as if he can’t decide how to devour you yet. You feel yourself clenching around nothing between your legs, grasping at an emptiness, longing to be full. You brace yourself for whatever comes next. His head lowers slowly and you’re trembling in his grasp. His visor comes closer until it’s taking up nearly all your vision. Then suddenly you’re closing your eyes, waiting in anticipation. Agony. Then...there’s a cool icy sensation pressing against your forehead. it’s heavy and hard, shoving your head into the mat. Your eyes hesitantly peer open and you realize he’s connecting your heads together, comfortably. It’s… debilitating.

You’re certain his eyes are close and you think maybe yours should be too. Some of the most beautiful moments in life are often spent with your eyes closed. Praying. Dreaming. Kissing. Wait, is this kissing? It feels like it, spine tingling and disembodying but it’s so much more. You know it. So you close your eyes and relinquish, pressing your head back into his. His breathing shudders at the action but he doesn’t move away. Instead his hand comes to gently cup the side of your face. With your free hand you hold the back of his helmet. His fingers loosen around your wrist, thumb brushing up and pressing into the center of your palm.

You’re disintegrated.

Utterly annihilated. This is it, he’s finally done it. Like a laser beam from the Death Star he’s ripped and vaporized you molecule after molecule. So, you catch yourself wondering how long does it take for a galaxy to collapse? Because it feels like only mere seconds for stardust to flood behind your eyes as if Boba has ignited a billion supernovas inside you.

Boba’s weight is heavy on yours, his legs stretching out and on either side of your own , trapping you in. You can hear faint panting breaths beneath the hem of his helmet. Your heart beats an inconsistent thump in your ears, and you absently wonder if you’ve ever heard it this loudly. His visor is a shimmering vision of your own reflection, holding it eagerly. You see your face glancing back at him with a peculiar look of joy and adoration, as if you’ve transcended. You’ll never get over how he looks at you. How could someone ever get over how a deliciously tan man admires them, as if they're a kaiburr crystal. His strong arms help pull you to your feet. You could smell the million miles of the galaxy on him. Feel the raveled adventures and experiences buried within his heating skin. You stand entwined , his arm swung around your waist and yours looping around his neck.

You almost ask him to lift his helmet, promise him you won’t peek, that you just want him to lift it so that you can kiss him...again. This time traditionally on the lips. Your mouth stutters open hesitantly but a voice stops you.

“Your majesty.” It proclaims.

There’s a brief silence.

You turn to glance at a man standing at the doorway, his braided beaded hair is tied back from his handsome face. He wears a wool brown coat and unpolished leather boots. You recognize him as Zoid’s son, Randdem. Zoid towers directly behind him, a disdain expression looms over his face. You nonchalantly remove yourself from Boba’s grasp and the hunter follows in suit. You felt pearls of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. If Zoid wants to say something crude he stifles under his breath.

You nod to Boba who takes that as his crew to leave, he walks casually to the changing room outside the hall. Zoid and Randdem wait for you to stride up the steps with the little bit of dignity you have left. You’re quite as their judging eyes glance you over, once Zoid has emptied all the pitying remarks from his head he sighs deeply before saying, “You remember my son, don’t you queen?”

Randdem is a husky young lad, bolder and fuller in outlines where Zoid is thinner. He’s worse than Zoid, really. He’s a four part combination of Zoid’s arrogance and pity with his mother’s selfishness and pride. Talking to him is like speaking to a tornado, not much to deliberate with a thing that only wants or knows destruction and dominance. The saddest part of it all is Randdem is fairly handsome and if it wasn’t for his redundant personality more suitors would surely be in his favor. You’ve never liked him, not even when you were children.

“Of course,” you swallow. Zoid nods approvingly,”I brought him here to get to know you better, seeing as he’ll be serving at your side as a council leader once I’m gone.”

Yeah, great. “My queen,” Randdem says and he halfway bows to you. “If you’d like I’d love to request having you to dinner this evening.” You must pull a face because Zoid scolds you. “I-I’m sorry!” You try to recover. “This is so unexpected.” You rub the back of your neck, embarrass.

“I understand your majesty, which is why I made sure to ask on a day I knew you’d be free.” Randdem continues. You give him a puzzle look. How long have they been planning this meeting? “Though, I wasn’t expecting to find you here?” He goes on. You try grinning but you know you must look ridiculous because all you want to is snarl at them so you just purse your lips instead and nod. “R-right.” You answer, your hands fidgeting at your side.

“So you’ll be ok with this evening?” He asks again.

You frown,“Well, actually-”

“Of course she will!” Zoid interrupts, and it takes every ounce of self restraint in your body not to uppercut him. “Isn’t that right?” He turns to you with a look of expectancy in his eyes. And you’re left gawking between the two before mustering up the tintest smile you could without cursing at them both.

“Of course.” You finally utter through gritted teeth. “It’ll give us time to catch up.”

“As I thought,” Zoid nods. They both turn to leave but before they’ve finally left Zoid turns around and crinkles up his nose. “And please I’d advise you freshen up before the evening, if you don’t mind. You smell ranted and too much like him. ” Randdem and Zoid chuckle on their way out before letting the heavy doors slam close behind them. You turn around, sighing with exasperation. Boba stands with his arms crossed, now fully armored. “So,” he began. “You have a date?” You groan, “Shut it, fett!” He chuckles and you feel your heart flutter but you are in too much of a sour mood to truly enjoy the sound of his laughter though it is nice to hear.

Great sun god give you strength. What have you been dragged into?

~*~

The dress Galine has fastened you in is way too nice for an evening to be met in disaster. The hunter is cautious with his hand, lingering and pressing into your back lower than what’d normally be appropriate. He lets it slither away and melt down at his side when the merchant warriors come into view at the entrance of the dining hall. Randdem leans back casually against the large doors, arms crossed and an impatient expression sunken in his features. “Shall you accompany me inside?”, he began. “Without your…companion.” He flicks his hand in Boba's direction and recoils it just as fast as if his skin cells reject even being near the same air as him. Your inside grind together to mush. “If your warriors will keep him company instead.” You bargain, and Randdem scowls at you but you just smile which makes his scowl impossibly more scornful. He clamps his mouth shut and nods pointedly, escorting you into the dining hall. His brows never unfrowrow . Like father, like son you supposed.

~*~

A single marble table with a white sheet handsomely decorates the dining hall. Two chairs set out on either ending sides of the table, and bestow on top are delicate appetizers and aged wine. Randdem pulls out your chair for you before walking and plopping down on his own. He picks lazily from a bowl munching on a purple fruit. While a young peasant boy fills your goblet , before scrambling into the kitchen away from the tense atmosphere. The air is stale from the lack of conversation. “I didn’t know you took an interest in me.” You quip, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I’m interested in our people’s future.” He sneers, plucking again at the fruit. A smile stretches thin on your lips. “I figured.” His own grin is sly and conspiratorial, making your leg twitch under the table. “You’re leading an entire world now. Do you believe it’d be wise to do it alone?” You shoot him a curious glance and it’s like he relishes in watching you grow flustered. “Historically,” you began. A knowing smile tilting upward on your lips, “women led their kingdoms better compared to kings. Especially alone.” He scowls at you but you pretend not to notice, instead politely sipping more wine.

“Are you referring to your grandmother?”

You nod, “When my grandfather passed she raised my mother alone and cared for the entire kingdom. Then for ten years my mother led this kingdom before marrying my father. During that time we prospered.”

He clasps his hands. “Those women were not only queens, but warriors.” You cock your head, a challenging glint in your eyes. “Warriors can be judged more than on just their fighting.” You respond. “They can be judged on their character. I was raised by two of the most prominent warriors of our lifetime, and not just because of their fighting skill but because of their heart.” Randdem gives you a smug impression. “Our people need more than good spirits and charm.”

“Then I will be whatever they need me to be.” You say.

He crosses his arms, leaning back making the wooden chair creak in protest. “Why is it then you pranced around with that hunter in the training hall?” You squint your eyes at him. “That doesn’t concern you.” He chuckles amused.“You know I’m right! That’s why you were down there with him.” You flush warm with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t comment on what you don’t know.” You snarl. “I've seen enough of your gushy display in one of the most sacred rooms in the entire kingdom to know you have no shame. How dare whore yourself out to t-that damned cloned buckethead your father allowed to roam the kingdom and filthy it!” This time you scowl at him. “You dare speak ill to me? You’re queen! Who are you to speak to me this way and question my father?!” You shot to your feet, voice ringing out. He jabs his finger in your direction, “You are not my queen!” He growls, teeth baring.

“But I am, whether your father or you can accept it or not! I am your queen.” You hiss, gripping either side of the table. “But, you’ll never be king.” He glares at you, eyes like two black infinite portals. “What were you expecting? That I’d marry you?” You croak. “Never.”

“The kingdom needs an honorable leader.” He retorts. “And that isn’t you!” You huff, crossing slowly around the table like a predator onto its prey. Menacing and delighted to devour. “And you think that’s you?” You snarl, lifting an eyebrow amused. “You have less honor than you think. Your father would rather give in and lay over as our people become enslaved, he’s less of a warrior than he is a leader.” He’s taken back by your words, fisting his hands in his lap.

“That’s not true you lying bastard!” He snaps, rising to his feet and knocking over his chair behind him with a loud clang.

“But it is.” You sneer. “My father and I wanted to fight for our freedom, but yours wanted our people to suffer again. And you accuse me of being the weak one? So, don’t you dare question me or him.” You growl, closing in. “And don’t dare talk about the hunter like that again or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?!” He interjects as he rounds the table all fuming anger and resentment. “Don’t make me laugh, boy.” You huff. “You think you’ll bring back our honor? You’ll have no honor left if I find out your father had anything to do with my father’s death. You and your whole family will be banished!” Randdem stills, paling at your accusation. “N-no!” He can barely spit out. “No! That’s isn’t t-true! M-my father is a man of honor!” He screams, like a child throwing a tantrum. You know the help is listening, who wouldn’t. You’re sure there’ll be rumors spreading like vicious fire tomorrow. You turn away and he’s left trying to follow after you but he’s so angry and confused he stumbles over his own feet having to use the table as leverage as he walks, while cursing loudly behind you. The dinner hall’s doors abruptly open and the hunter and merchant warriors usher themselves inside. You carefully maneuver yourself around them, making a hasty exit while Randdem spits more cruel insults. The hunter half expects you to turn around but you don’t budge. Instead you walk calmly out of Randdem’s sight and request the guards not let him enter the castle again without direct permission from you.

~*~

“What happened?” Boba spoke first and you’re startled by the gentleness of his voice. Your chambers are dark and quiet, chilly from the wind blowing in the open window. You perch yourself on the edge of your bed. “We had an argument, and he said some rather distasteful things...and so did I .” You groan and run a tiresome hand through your locks. “It’s clear Randdem and Zoid don’t want me to be queen.” When he steps closer you shift your eyes away. The hunter tilts his head.

“What else is bothering you?”

“He...well he insulted you.”

“So?” The hunter shrugs and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. “So,” you mock playfully. “I defended you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He huffs as if scuffing down a laugh and you glare at him. The hunter looks down as if his shoes suddenly needed a close inspection. His shoulder shaking lightly, the corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought you once saw me like you saw dirt on the bottom of your shoe.” He suddenly comments and you flick your eyes at him in shock and this time you make a quiet sound that made him peer halfway up at you.

“I see you like I see the sun, blinding. Even when I’m not looking at you, I feel you.”

The hunter’s head snaps up at you and you take a breath.

You wondered if he was smiling, imagined his eyes crinkling with the force of it. As if reading your mind a hesitant hand reaches out and touches the bottom of the helmet. You suddenly seem incapable of moving, face deliberately blank. He waits and there’s a brief moment before your eyes grow wide. You rise and walk close to him and your hand covers his own. His gloved hand is warm underneath the rough leather. You’re trembling with pure adrenaline, heart fluttering. You let him guide you into lifting it, you go slow enough for him to stop you if he wants to, but when he doesn’t you see his soft lips first and you almost lose your composure and kiss him right then but instead you take a deep inhale. Dark trimmed facial hair prances across the lower half of his face and his upper lip, it prickles against your fingers. Dark hair brushing under his ears and trimmed and faded almost down to his gorgeous sharp jawline. Some of his hair extends long over the back of his neck, then his broad nose comes into view, straight and wide. And suddenly...his brown eyes meet yours and you realize he’s more breathtaking than you could’ve ever dreamt. Handsome and sculpted as if everything in the universe that blooms from a certain beauty that commands your attention cracked open and offered you him. Now that you see him for the first time...smiling at you...you realize

like the moon he’s a stealer of light but you know nothing better that could hold light like the smile upon his face because just like the moon he’s crafted to glow. So, maybe he’s collected borrowed time, star dust, and gunpowder. Enough wisdom and morals to fill a holy scripture but enough violence and death to also burn the same book to ash by the touch of his fingertips. Enough adventure to last lifetimes and fill children’s heads with a mindless abundance of wonder and fantasy. Enough vulnerability hidden away to quiver at your hands and melt like an ice sculpture to his knees. There’s so many ways this could end, but with him in front of you like a heavenly body, you know it’s barely begun, whatever universe that was slowly being born into existence between you two. You knew you’d be tethered to him by it forever.

“Come with me.” You whisper softly and his brown eyes gleam, heart thumping against his chest.

“Where?”

“Outside.”

You point to the window and he rubs a slow hand up his arm while the other holds his helmet against his side.

“It’s cold.” He protests and you giggle to yourself as you begin to clamper out the window anyway. The ledge is much smaller compared to you now of course, though you still manage to crawl out and sit near the window. You lean back on the kingdom wall carefully, knowing Galine would kill you if you soiled your gown. Your thighs rest on the ledge while the rest of your body hangs over. You close your eyes but the corners of your mouth twitch up in a small victorious grin when you hear his defeated sigh. Boba comes out more smoothly than you as if the womp rat has done it a thousand times and he rests himself beside you.

After a moment of staring into endless space he utters, “Tell me about the stars.” You bite your bottom lip. “The stars have secrets like us my mother used to tell me, but they also have stories.”He tilts his head, waiting. You smile, closing your eyes tighter and breathing in deeply. You remember your mother taking you into her lap at the window and oiling your small braids and scalp. “She’d say the sky and the world fell in love. That the sky hung the moon for the world, and that the world in return gave the sky, flowers. My mother said the sun god was born first, then all the other gods followed.” She’d tell you each god’s birth and their purpose as her soft massaging hands lulled you to sleep.

“You believe that?” He questions, lifting an eyebrow . You look at him, baring a cheeky smile. “That two powerful lovers created a universe of their own? I witness it all the time.” You gesture to the hundreds of homes stretching out in the grasslands of the kingdom. Boba chuckles, smiling at you and leaning his head back against the wall and you couldn’t help but stare at the subtle movements. You know he wasn’t doing anything extraordinary but you could tell he was the god of his life, of his own destiny. We’re all the gods of small things, even if it’s just ourselves. With an upturn face you peer at him. If you both were gods you wanted to meet him halfway to an astral plane where both your heavens collided.

So...you kiss him, mouth slotting over his gently, soul transcending to the stars. Your mouth becomes an open exhibit for his tongue to explore through. Instead of his eyes, his wet warmth admires the best parts of you. Flicking and tasting the dirtiest details with the filthiest sweetness he’s ever known. Your fingers curl into the nape of his dark coarse hair, tugging. As if teasing the strings from an instrument it pulls a wondrous sound from his lips, an orchestra rumbling in his chest. His heavy groan quiet against your lips, a song only yours.

If tonight you could make love to him, you’d push him over the sheets of your bed, lay him bare and golden like a horizon. Kiss his scarred skin and lick the stardust from his flesh. Let him wither you down into a vulnerable shaking pile on the blanket and obliterate your ego and the rising sarcastic remarks on your tongue and so maybe then when he’s laid warm on top of you, weary and desperate, you suddenly appreciate everything in the universe that is...

...metal, quiet , and green.

And it lead you like little boats floating down aisles back to him.

Back home.

#boba fett #boba fett smut #boba x reader #boba fic #boba fett x reader #boba fett fic #boba fett x you #star wars #boba fett fluff #boba fett x y/n #boba fett x female reader #black reader #black writers #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x black reader #Boba fett fan fiction series

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merryfortune · 3 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Under the Sea

Written for 100ships on Dreamwidth

Prompt #40 Ocean

Main Ship: Chongire/Numeri

Other Notable Relationships: Chongire & Elda, Elda & Numeri

Fandom: Tropical Rouge PreCure

Word Count: 1,634

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Fluff, Bittersweet Ending, Domestic, Found Family

“Excuse me, Elda, but it is past your bedtime.” Butler said, peering in closer to the girl, his eyes unnerving but Elda was unrelenting. “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a girl healthy, pretty, and wise.”

“I don’t wanna.” Elda pouted, her arms flailed as she held tightly onto her dolls.

Chongire who had been walking past the hallway overheard and decided to, “I don’t see any harm in letting her stay up. Imagination play is good for kids or something like that.”

Butler sighed and shook his head.

Numeri, who had been following along with Chongire, giggled, “I’m sorry, Chongire, but I’m with Butler on this one,” she said, she placed her hands on Chongire’s back, unsettling him as he could feel her snail slime seep in past his clothes and was cold, “it would be better for Elda if she went to bed early.”

“I don’t want to!” Elda continued to resist.

Butler looked pleadingly to Numeri, “You are better at handling this child than I am.” he said.

Numeri slithered into the room and put her hands on her hips. Elda stared her down and Numeri knew if it was going to be a battle of wills, Elda would win. She had more youth and energy, after all. She could throw a tantrum until the Fool’s Casket was full and never tire. Get hungry, perhaps, but not tired.

“Elda, why don’t Chongire and I take you to your room. We’ll put you to bed with sea cow milk and seashell cookies. We can even tell you a bedtime story. That way, you can still stay up a little bit late but not too late like Butler feels.” Numeri negotiated in a pleasantly sweet and gentle voice.

Elda paused to consider the offer. She hummed in thought and tapped her chin before shrugging. She set down her dolls and said, “Alright.”

“That’s a good girl.” Numeri praised her.

“You spoil her too much.” Chongire whispered to Numeri and she just giggled again.

Butler shook his head but the bargain worked. Elda popped herself off the top of the table she was so comfortably lying on and swam over to Numeri and Chongire. Numeri gave Butler a wave good night as it was unlikely to see him afterwards as it was his usual bedtime, too but Chongire rolled his eyes.

Numeri and Elda began to shuffle off and Chongire gruffly piped up, “Good night, Butler.”

“Good night Chongire, good night Numeri, and good night Elda. I will see you all in the morning, ready to report for breakfast.” Butler bade them and that was that.

Chongire huffed and though he had been going one way - leaving the kitchen - it was time to go the other way - back to the kitchen. He was just as bas as spoiling Elda, quite clearly, otherwise he wouldn’t go through the effort of fetching the snacks that Numeri had suggested. One cold, frothy drink of sea cow milk and seashell cookies coming up. It wouldn’t take that long, thankfully.

So, once Chongire had done that, he scuttled along to catch up to Numeri and Elda and it looked like he had made it back just in time. Elda was throwing a tantrum. She swam swiftly around her room, literally banging off the walls and following the ricochet and all whilst incessantly screaming for her snack. Poor Numeri, shuddering at the shrillness of Elda’s voice, in the middle of it.

“Good grief…” Chongire muttered to himself and he lifted up his claws slightly, to show off the tray that he had brought out. “Here you go, little girl.”

Elda stopped mid-paddled and was completely still, she beamed, “Well why didn’t ya say so sooner?” she asked as she very civilly swam over to Chongire, her little tail wagging and her antennae twitching excitedly. “You always make the best snacks, Chongire.”

“Thanks, kid.” Chongire replied, half a smile on his hard face.

Elda grinned greedily, reaching for the sea cow milk with one hand and with the other, she was snatching up the seashell cookies that Chongire had made. Elda was munching them down, getting crumbs everywhere but she did it with an earnest excitement that was endearing. Even Numeri slyly sneaked a biscuit or two. It made Chongire smile, even if it was a gruff and somewhat hidden smile. He put a lot of effort into this pain in the neck cooking thing, it was nice to see it appreciated for once. He wasn’t going to get such gusto from the Witch of Delays any time soon so he did savour Elda’s gluttony and even Numeri’s as well.

“Ah,” Elda exclaimed, smacking her lips together, “that was the good stuff.”

“Ready to brush your teeth and go to bed then, hm, Elda?” Numeri prompted her.

“I suppose.” Elda breathily sighed. “I’ll be quick as.”

“No, you won’t. Two minutes.” Numeri told her.

“Fiiiine.” Elda sighed loudly again.

Chongire smiled to himself. Perhaps Numeri could be strict with Elda once in a while.

Elda swam off to her ensuite and kept the door open. From the doorframe, she showed off how she could brush her teeth like a big girl and to complete Numeri’s order of at least two minutes. It was horrible. It was such an inconvenience, but Elda did it and then returned once she had wiped her mouth.

Her little, fat tail wagged as she dived on her bed. She had a nice cosy little nest of a four poster bed in the corner. She got under the covers, wriggling down, and yawned, a little bit fakely. She patted her mouth and beckoned her two carers closer.

Numeri very happily slithered closer, putting an arm around Elda, half in her own bed whilst Chongire hovered, a little distant, a little awkward. He crossed his arms but he sat down. Numeri smiled softly and she played with Elda’s hair, undoing her pigtails and straightening them out.

“Is that better? Easier to sleep on?” she asked.

“A little… yeah…” Elda murmured as she settled and then took a big breath. “But I want a bedtime story! You promised me a bedtime story!”

Numeri giggled, “That I did, that I did…” she murmured. “Hm, let’s see… How about the story of Finderella.”

“Ooh,” Elda’s eyes shone, “that’s my favourite.”

“Glad to hear it,” Numeri said and then she glanced at Chongire, “what about you?”

“It’s not bad.” Chongire replied with a flippant gesture of his gauntlet.

“Well, you can do the prince’s voice.” Numeri said impishly.

“I’ll try.” Chongire grumbled, he didn’t think he was going to be very good at it.

Not like Numeri. She was a natural. Her tone of narration as she reeled off the story of the mermaid named Finderella was beautiful. Elda smiled, her eyes slowly closing, as she listened to Numeri’s fairy tale and by the end of it, Elda was snuggly and cosy in the bed. Numeri smiled gently and kissed Elda’s forehead.

“And Finderella lived happily ever after…” she murmured, “Good night, Elda, sweet dreams, we’ll see you in the morning.

“Okay,” Elda yawned, half-asleep, “night, night, Mama… g’night, Papa.”

Numeri giggled, a scant blush of blue to her purplish face. She glanced at Chongire who was completely embarrassed.

“Aww,” she whispered, “not yet ready to be a daddy?” she teased him.

“N-No, it's not like that, argh, darn kids these days… I’m not that old.” Chongire grumbled.

Numeri slowly edged away from the side of Elda’s bed and slithered towards Chongire. She slipped her arms around his huge, shelled forearms and snuggled in.

“Speak for yourself,” Numeri murmured, “my biological clock is ticking.”

Chongire grumbled but nothing coherent.

“I think it's sweet that Elda considers us parental figures.” Numeri said and Chongire opened the door for them.

Chongire’s guarded expression softened, “Yeah, it is,” Chongire murmured, “I guess I just wish…”

“Wish it didn’t have to be so?” Numeri finished Chongire’s sentence for him.

He nodded gravely as they continued down the halls. It was pretty lonely and very tough to grow up in the bottom of the ocean. Down an abyss where no one wanted them, except to use them like with the Witch of Delays. Cast out from the Grand Ocean, where light did penetrate the layers upon layers of water, where song and dance were commonplace. Where it was vibrant with energy and motivation and for reasons unknown, even to the adults that they were now, they had been forbidden it. Parents had abandoned them, or maybe they just came out of the squishy egg shell alone with only their instincts. Him, Numeri, and even little Elda. That was all the beats of their story - and it wasn’t exactly a fairy tale nor was it to be on the villains’ side.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed, we’re too old to stay up late, don’t you think, Papa?” Numeri teased him even after that lull of unspoken, melancholic reverie.

“Whatever you say, marm.” Chongire teased her back.

“Well, I'm the doctor and doctors always know best.” Numeri said and she stretched herself up, her sea cucumber tail wiggling unsightly, just so she could get a chance at pecking the side of Chongire’s face.

He smiled back at her, “Thanks and good night, Numeri, don’t sleep in again or we’ll all get in trouble.”

“You better take your own advice as well then,” Numeri said and there was a bittersweet hesitance to how her hands slowly receded back to herself, the slimy pads of her fingertips skating over Chongire’s exoskeleton, “good night, Chongire.”

With that, they parted and returned to their own quarters but for some reason, they both had the lingering feeling of not wanting to leave each other’s side. The heart could be very bothersome at times.

#100ships challenge #tropical rouge precure #precure #tropical rouge #numeri precure #chongire precure #elda precure #butler precure #chongire x numeri #numeri x chongire #writing tag #god i love villainous found family!!!!#also happy precure day

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lethargicsunlight · 3 years

Text

'Demon' Chapter 3 : For The Mission Bakugou x Fem!Reader (book 1)

Hello~

First of all, Thank you for reading!

You can also read this chapter and the previous ones here on my AO3.

Or, you can find the previous chapter here.

I will come up with a better linking system soon, but I gotta get back to work real quick :(

WARNINGS: Injury, bodily fluids, angst, SFW

Please enjoy!

👹🖤⛓🔪💣

You knew running was a losing game, as speedy as you could be. He was saving his energy by using his mutation quirk for movement.

You pull loose a throwing knife from the holster on your side, keeping the blade bared outward to defend yourself as you take in your blurring surroundings. You make a turn, decidedly veering away from the direction of the bar you'd just left; the last thing you needed was for your pursuer to call in reinforcements that could teleport.

Despite sliding through sharp turns, you couldn't manage to get far enough ahead to fake him out. With the tough exoskeleton they possessed, he was easily driving his extra limbs into the walls and using them as leverage to fling himself forward--closing in on you much faster than you wanted.

"What is it little Demon?" He screeches, mandibles scratching and gnawing together as his mouth stretches open. "I thought you would be a much more riveting opponent than this!"

...Sometimes, you gotta give them what they want.

Mid-run, you locate a window going into an abandoned office building. Throwing your knife, it punctures the glass and leaves hair-line fractures across the surface--you can see the reflection of Sting's eyes within the shards as you thrust your weight into the opening.

In a circular motion, you manage to unsheathe one of the longer blades at your back and parry his limbs in the air before you're tumbling over the broken glass. It hurts, but you don't allow yourself to slow down. You roll back up, unsheathing the second blade with your free-hand as you crouch, ready to strike.

Now you at least had one advantage over him. More cover.

"Heh," he seems to hesitate, finally setting his body back upon solid ground as he evaluates you. His gaze is filled with confidence after watching you run away from him. Like prey. In his pause, you have a few seconds to analyze his structure. The exoskeleton would to be too hard to cut, so your focus had to be the areas you could see flesh exposed. You were aware the legs could retreat into his back, which guaranteed a lack of access there. All you could see was his face and his hands--though peaking out from beneath a tucked scarf, was the smooth skin of a throat.

You had made an oath long ago that you would never kill again. But in defense of your mission... you could manage an exception. It would all be over soon anyway.

Instead of coming at you straight on, he throws another knife at you to get everything back into motion. It has you leaping backwards unto a filing cabinet--and he's charging at you finally with the ferocity of essentially four swords. Due to his extra limbs' reach, you realize you won't get a hit on him this way.

It becomes a tangle of blades as you parry and block and twist around his advances, kicking up papers and folders to distract him as you move up and down over obstacles. The venom in your arm begins to dance through your veins, tingling beneath the skin--you are running out of time.

You can see his face twist into a smile; he's sure he's going to win.

Good.

As he makes the mistake you were waiting for, drawing one of his limbs back for a final attack; his mouth is open to announce his triumph. As the air begins to leave his lungs and form syllables in his mouth, time slows down for you. Your blade held up to parry drops from your hand, sending his stinger forward to scrap across your shoulder; close but not too close to your neck. You grab the knife on his belt that you had been eyeing since his first advance in the alleyway, and slice through the joint.

It brings him to a halt, howling as he moves backwards. Green ichor sprays across your face and drips from his new amputation, his other three limbs curling around his body while his hands grope his shoulders.

You pocket his knife and retrieve your blade from the floor.

"Noo! Nonono..!" He's wailing--it sounds grief-stricken now. While there were questionable 'doctors' among villain society; no one has the ability to bring back a limb. Especially one like that. You had mired him, for the rest of his life.

You prepare for a death blow--but the flash of skin beneath the fabric of his shirt causes your hesitation.

You don't have to kill him. It's relief that floods through your tense and calculating mind; briefly before being replaced with pain. As you had expected, a minute in and his neurotoxic venom has seeped into the muscles of your arm. It feels like a chemical burn--acid turning flesh to sizzling nothing. The arm goes limp, but you force your grip on the blade--you had to appear stable.

"I'm going--I'm going to kill you!" He screeches, and there's a squeal behind it like the voice of the insect part of him was a separate entity.

"...You can't kill me." You say slowly, approaching with your good arm raised. You swallow, then let your voice drop an octave as fear seeps into his eyes. There's a button you managed to press a moment ago, that makes the eyes glow from your mask. A cerulean color--a color that was a remnant of your past. "I'm not human."

From the look on his face--he believes you. Your charade is working. You grit your teeth, forcing your shaking and screaming arm to lift and move to the back of your head. It's a movement that suggests you'll remove your mask.

"N-No, no!" He shifts back again, and unaware of his surroundings he trips and lands among the broken glass. His remaining extra limbs curl in close to his face, leaving his abdomen bare. "You're lying! You can't steal people's souls, you're just--you're like us!"

"Then why are you hiding your face?"

"Wh--" With the distraction of speech, he doesn't block when you throw the hidden blade from your hood down into his abdomen. It's a solemn thwack, and then the harsher crack of his skull when you flip the blade in your good hand and swing it between his stinging limbs to ram into his bare temple.

He's out. He's internally bleeding, and he'll never be the same... but he'll live. Maybe when he wakes, he'll have a different outlook on life. Or, most likely, he'll want to hunt you down.

You suppose that should scare you. But given the note you had received from the hero agency you worked with, your time was going to end anyway. He wouldn't have a chance.

"Hrk--" You crumple to the ground, clutching the arm that felt like it should be bare bone rather than flesh. It's like the nerves are exposed; the grip from your clothed hand sending shockwaves down your spine.

You couldn't help but brood--seeing as how moving was so difficult--at how opposite this situation had been compared to what it seemed.

While you had delivered a blow based on skill--you won the fight by lying. Like an illusion, you'd expertly hidden behind the smoke and mirrors to make him believe you were bigger than you actually were. Like you had won easily, rather than by the skin of your teeth.

You wheeze, tears pricking at your eyes while you force yourself to rise. You needed to get back to base. Especially before he did, and preferably before anyone decides to investigate the noises of your chase earlier.

You stumble out of the building through the window you had broken, and slowly creep through the alleys of Yokohama once again.

---

Every television in the base was alight with the bright colors of the Sports Festival.

You were pretty sure that H.H. kept cameras within those screens, ever watching the faces of his lackeys and agents--judging their actions and expressions. Another advantage to always wearing a mask.

You stood, back pressed to a wall in the shadow of a corner as you side-eye the screen. Watching the students filter out unto the field causes a bitter-sweet fluttering in your stomach.

You remembered the first time you had watched the event. You were much younger, sitting with your knees pressing into the floor and palms crushing a few stray sheets of paper. Really, you had never been all that interested in television, mostly because the other kids at the foster-care center were rambunctious when they sat in front of it.

But this time, the only two souls whose eyes were glued to the flat surface were yours and your new foster brother's, who had been the one to convince you to watch it in the first place.

"You gotta watch it--I'm gunna be on it one day!" He says, arm extending to offer his hand. You stare at it, bug-eyed.

"Oh," you meagerly utter, taking his hand and letting him lead you. He laughs and pulls you along until your both sitting in the living-room floor.

"Don't worry," he leans in towards you, "I'll keep the volume low. Trust me though, kay? You gotta watch it, it's really fun!"

You don't believe him, but before long you're both cheering with the crowd and talking avidly about your favorite contestants. He--

You draw yourself out of the memory as large letters appear in your peripheral. The first game had been announced. A race.

There was a sinking feeling in your chest to know that he should have been there amongst them, maybe a year ago. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that he would have won. Maybe even every challenge.

Even at that young of an age, he had always been so full of righteous fire.

He could have been a hero of heroes...

If not for you.

----

You catch pieces of the Sports festival as you move through the base in search of an old 'escape plan' map. Head Honcho had certainly made modifications since the water-treatment plant had been adopted as his new lair, but you could draw them out if only you had a layout of the place.

Chemical spills did happen, so you could only hope that the escape plans had been forgotten when everything was moving in. In a storage closet somewhere, on the door of an outlet box, above the water control panel--somewhere.

Moving through an old lounge, large screens portrayed the ongoing of the race that had long-since started above the heads of a few agents. They were newer, but they noticed you when you walked in.

The looks in the eyes of those whose faces were exposed was that of mixed admiration and loathing. But, fortunately for you--Head Honcho had made it very clear that you were to be left alone. Treated as exalted, as though separate from everyone else on a holy level. Not that they worshipped you--but that he wanted you to be considered the entity you played as. A demon.

The rumor was as much to his advantage as it was yours.

Their eyes follow you in the dark as you move around them, but something suddenly has their eyes whipping back to the screen as the closer viewers make noises of surprise. You decide to look too, selfishly; and you're rewarded with something familiar.

A freckled green-haired boy. He's flying through the air after a massive explosion, rivaling the two that had been effortlessly charging towards the finish from the beginning. The three of them are suddenly close together, faces etched in the effort to win--and you find yourself openly admiring them.

Beneath your mask, you're smiling. Your heart is pounding and you want to cheer like old times, throwing popcorn in the air and rejoicing--no matter who won. You could practically feel your foster brother's spirit next to you, tugging on your heart. You should be there, enjoying this. You hear him say.

Your breath catches in your throat as there's another explosion--Midoriya had managed to throw the bit of metal he'd carried with him all this way and use another surge of momentum to carry him forward. Everything stills as you wait, holding that breath until finally--finally--it is him that enters the arena in first place.

Adrenaline explodes and rockets around your ribs and your heart--but you're still. You mouth the word 'yes', but didn't dare utter a syllable. Controlling yourself, you make for the exit of the room, intent now more than ever to carry out your mission. To help ensure the safety of those three boys that fought so hard to be recognized as heroes.

For those three boys that reminded you so much of him.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x f!reader #bakugou x female reader #bakugou x fem!reader #katsuki x you #bnha fanfic slowburn #deku

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

A Christmas Like This

Summary: Spencer has a very specific plan for their first Christmas in their new house, and it has to be absolutely perfect. Derek's going to do everything in his power to make his boyfriend as happy as possible, even if that means a house covered in garlands and a tree covered in animal skeletons...

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, christmas fic, est relationship, snow, slow dancing, bathing together, sharing clothes, cuddling, neurodivergence, so much romance

Pairing: Derek x Spencer

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Spencer’s been impatiently counting down the days, much to Derek’s amusement, but the day is finally here: they’re decorating their house for Christmas. It feels particularly special this year because it’s their first year in the house Derek had painstakingly renovated and then surprised him with one random evening, and Spencer’s spent weeks thinking about how to make it just right, because it needs to be absolutely perfect and he simply won’t settle for anything less.

Which is how he finds himself anxiously pacing the living room, waiting for his boyfriend to return. He’d popped out earlier in the afternoon to pick up some last minute decorations at Spencer’s behest, but a flurry of snow had started to fall since, and Derek was taking a bit too long for his liking. He worries his lip as he tries to remember how wrapped up his boyfriend was and why on earth he walked into town and didn’t take the car.

Eventually, though, he’s appeased as Derek bursts through the front door, bringing a gust of wind and a small dusting of snow in with him. “Didn’t quite expect that,” he chuckles as Spencer rushes to greet him and help him out of his soaked through coat. “Got the decorations you wanted, though.”

Spencer grins at his jovial attitude and leans up to plant a firm kiss on his lips. “That’s because you’re amazing,” he murmurs, pulling away only marginally before kissing him again.

“Baby if that’s the greeting I get when I bring you goodies, I’m gonna spoil you rotten,” Derek says amusedly as he runs his cold hands up the sides of Spencer’s jumper, smiling at him fondly.

“You already do,” he protests, pulling away from his hold and snatching the bag Derek’s holding to eagerly peer inside. “This is going to look incredible.” He looks back at Derek with excitement lighting up his eyes and he’s rewarded with a gentle kiss on the nose.

“You are too damn adorable, you know that?”

“So you tell me,” Spencer says, his turn to look amused for a moment before snapping into action. “Right, we should get started!”

“Whoa, I hate to burst your bubble, pretty boy, but I’m soaked to the skin,” Derek says, following Spencer into the kitchen as he watches him empty all the bags and survey the decorations with analytical eyes. “I’m gonna take a bath first. Care to join me?”

Spencer’s head snaps up at that. “What if it stops snowing while we’re in the bath?”

Derek shoots him a puzzled look. “Why… would that matter?”

“It’s perfect weather to put up the Christmas decorations while it’s snowing!” Spencer says, like it’s obvious.

“Well,” Derek says diplomatically, “then the snow will have settled and you’ll actually be able to see the picturesque scenery without having to peer through a white haze.” It’s a pretty good answer. He’s got much better at it in the seven years they’ve been together.

Spencer pauses to think it over carefully. “You’re right,” he decides eventually, setting down the garland he was expecting and walking over to Derek. “You make us some hot chocolate and I’ll set it up.” He kisses him again before running up the stairs to the bathroom, making it as cosy as possible with candles and bath salts and bubbles.

Derek’s only a few minutes behind him and the bath is almost full by the time he gets there, Spencer’s sitting submerged in the water as he concentrates on the taps, diligently adjusting the temperature every thirty seconds or so to get it just right. “Sorry to interrupt your tap watching,” he says, smile evident in his voice evn to Spencer as he refuses to look away from the flow of water.

He sets the hot chocolates down on the edge of the bathtub and strips off quickly, feeling the sweet relief at having the cold, damp clothing finally off his body. “Scooch up,” he tells Spencer, intending to squeeze in behind him. If nothing else, it finally manages to snatch his boyfriend’s attention from the taps.

“No, Derek, I’m too big,” Spencer whines, as he always does when they bathe together.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart,” Derek says, as he always replies to his boyfriend’s ridiculous argument. “We always manage to fit. Come on.” He finally gets Spencer to slide forwards a little, turning the water off at the same time, and he slides into the bath behind him. It takes them a few moments to get properly comfortable and Spencer almost elbows both mugs off the side of the bath at one point, but they finally settle into one another.

Derek’s chest is cool against Spencer’s back but his skin soon warms as the contact with Spencer’s flush body and the hot water make themselves at home, nestling against him. “This is just what I needed,” Derek sighs as he sips his hot chocolate and settles further into the bath. “My baby in the bath with me and a nice warm drink.”

Spencer blushes, as he always does. Not even seven years of relentless flirting and nicknames could drive out his instinctive reaction to praise, but he also knows Derek likes it. It’s funny to think how much they’ve changed over the last few years, how when they got together back on a case in Michigan in 2009, they would be here in their own house in 2016. Spencer’s filled out and isn’t the skinny little thing Derek fell in love with anymore, not that either of them mind, and Derek -- hardened from the many years of being in the FBI -- had told Spencer his plans to retire a few months ago.

Everything around them has continued to mutate, their circumstances, surroundings, physical appearances, but they still love each other just as much as they have done for all these years. Relentlessly, consistently, unfailingly.

Spencer heads straight for Derek’s drawers as soon as they get out of the bath, dressing himself in one of the warmest hoodies he can find. “What if I wanted to wear that?” Derek teases as he grabs a sweatshirt for himself.

“Oh, please,” Spencer scoffs. “You’re not fooling anyone, Derek, I know you love seeing me in your clothes. You’d rather me wear it than you”

Derek grins widely, pulling the sweater over his head before wrapping Spencer in a close hug, softening when he feels him nestle his face into his neck. “You got me, I do love seeing my gorgeous boy in my clothes,” Derek admits, “but who could blame me?”

Spencer leans back slightly, still pressed against Derek and kisses him softly. “I love you,” he murmurs, and it’s almost shy in its naked vulnerability.

“I love you more,” Derek insists, kissing him again and giving him one last squeeze before putting some space between them. “But I believe we have a house to decorate Dr Reid?”

Spencer’s face lights up at that, and he hurries to pull on some PJ bottoms and a pair of odd socks on before grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him downstairs. “I wrote it down because I need you to adhere to these very strict instructions,” Spencer says seriously, despite Derek’s small amused smile.

“Yes sir,” he says as he takes the paper, but he corrects himself at Spencer’s stern look. “I will follow it to the letter, baby, don’t worry.” Conceding is definitely worth the bright smile he gets in return.

Spencer plays his specially curated Christmas playlist over the house speaker system as they get to work pinning the garlands and fairy lights and decorations handsewn by Penelope in their designated spots according to Spencer’s plan. Derek thinks it rather looks like Christmas has vomited over their house by the time they head to the tree, but his boyfriend looks so pleased with himself, and for the past seven years his own joy has followed one simple law: if Spencer’s happy, he’s happy.

There’s just one tiny problem with that stipulation: he’s not sure he can quite stomach the ornaments Spencer’s chosen for the tree. “Spencer, baby, you know I love you,” he says slowly as he watches his boyfriend carefully unbox the decorations, “but we are not putting those on the tree.”

He’s somehow managed to find ornaments in the shape of animal skeletons, and he wants to decorate their Christmas tree with them. Derek feels a little lost.

“But they’re anatomically correct animal skeletons ranging from a cricket’s exoskeleton to the bones of a horse,” Spencer protests, as if that will change Derek’s mind.

“Exactly,” he replies. “The whole house is beautifully decorated with garlands and lights and colours and wreaths and you want to hang skeletons on the tree? The most important part of the Christmas decoration process?”

“Yes,” Spencer says slowly, “I want to hang skeletons on the tree because it’s the most important part of the Christmas decoration process.”

Derek takes a deep breath in. “Okay, how about we put some fairy lights and tinsel on, hang some normal baubles and then you can put some of your skeletons on there, too?” It’s a compromise. He’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of staring at bones on his Christmas tree, but at least there’s a little bit of tradition mixed in there, too.

Spencer’s a lot less uncompromising than he used to be, so after a few seconds and a sigh he coalesces. “Alright,” he agrees, “but I get to hang at least eight skeletons. Deal?”

“Deal,” Derek sighs, smiling slightly at the absurdity of his boyfriend. God, he’s in love.

With the Christmas tree hosting a small archeology exhibit among its branches and the house satisfactorily ready for the holidays, they head to the kitchen to make some dinner, both hungry from a busy day of hanging wreaths and plugging in fairy lights. And getting caught in a minor snowstorm, of course. Derek heads straight to the speaker and plugs his phone in, setting it to play Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album, needing a change of pace from the instrumental playlist they’ve been listening to all day. Spencer doesn’t complain though, he just smiles warmly at Derek, kissing him chastely before heading to the fridge to pull out the ingredients needed for a festive chicken dinner.

“We’re making roast potatoes, right?” Derek checks as he pours them both a glass of wine, listening to the sultry voice of Frank Sinatra accompanied by Spencer’s disorganised rummage through the vegetable drawer.

“Yep,” Spencer affirms with his head inside the fridge, eventually emerging with an armful of vegetable and meat, dumping them unceremoniously on the countertop before continuing his search through the kitchen cabinets. They’d moved into the house properly nearly five months ago, but they still haven’t figured out the best way to store food, and Derek was infamous for shoving the grocery shopping in the first cabinet he sees, leading to a rather disorganised system.

He soon finds the right spices and cupboard ingredients for the traybake they’d made countless times before. Derek hands him the glass of wine as soon as he comes to stand next to him again, cradling his cheek with his hand, stroking his thumb over the ruddy flush on Spencer’s cheek. “I love you,” he says gently, looking deep into the warm honey of his eyes and leaning in for a soft kiss.

Spencer’s blushing even more by the time he pulls back, and Derek can’t help but smile at the bashful nature of his boyfriend even after all these years. “I love you more,” Spencer promises, hand running gently down Derek’s muscled arm, appreciating the soft touch of the sweatshirt he’d pulled on earlier.

“Not possible,” Derek grins, punctuating his words with another kiss to Spencer’s lips.

“Stop,” Spencer protests, wiggling out of his hold and turning to the food. “Stop being sappy. We have dinner to make.”

“Very important business,” Derek agrees, but acts the perfect sous chef as Spencer takes care of the vegetables and trimmings and puts him in charge of the chicken. They work quickly and the traybake is in the oven before they know it, leaving them sipping their wine as they lean against the counter, chatting idly.

That is, until I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm starts playing, bright music filling the kitchen as Derek sets his wine glass down, taking Spencer’s from his hand and setting it next to his before he takes his hand and pulls him into the middle of the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Derek?” Spencer giggles as Derek pulls him close and twirls him around the kitchen.

“Shh. We’re dancing,” he whispers, smiling fondly at Spencer’s unabashed happiness. He told himself at the very beginning of their relationship that this was all he really needed to achieve in life; making Spencer happy would forever be enough for him.

Off with my overcoat, off with my glove

Who needs an overcoat? I'm burning with love

Derek dips Spencer down, making him throw his head back in laughter. He holds him there for a second before lifting him back up and kissing him quickly before returning to a comfortable swaying movement, keeping them in time with the uptempo music. He sings along quietly as they look deep into one another’s eyes, continuing to dance around the dimly lit, decked out kitchen.

What do I care how much it may storm?

I’ve got my love to keep me warm

As soon as they pause their dance, Spencer leans in and kisses him, hand moving from his shoulder to the side of his neck as he holds him closer. Derek kisses back just as eagerly as the music switches to the next song, deepening the kiss as he holds Spencer’s waist, caressing his sides gently, savouring the weight of his favourite person pressed up against him in the warmth of the kitchen.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am in this exact moment,” Spencer whispers earnestly as they pull away.

“Not even when I took you to Bali?” Derek teases, smiling fondly at the joy in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Shut up,” Spencer admonishes, but he’s smiling too when he leans back in for another kiss.

They eat their dinner together on the sofa. The Christmas lights are twinkling on the tree in the corner of the living room and the decorations Penelope had gifted them brighten the whole room; Derek has to admit that despite the animal skeletons, the house looks beautiful. He’s not sure he could possibly feel more cosy than he is right now, tucking into a delicious traybake, cuddled up next to Spencer while Love Actually plays on the TV.

As soon as their plates are cleared, Spencer predictably cuddles even closer, folding his body into the contours of Derek’s as they watch the intertwining stories of the film. It’s not long before they’re both tearing up at the emotional narrative, sharing a box of tissues between them. Usually it’s Derek who cries at the films they watch, but this particular one seems to be getting to Spencer more than normal: the love between Sarah and her mentally ill brother, Michael, has Spencer stifling sobs as he thinks about his mother.

“Come here, baby,” Derek whispers, fairly tearful himself. He gently guides Spencer to lay down on the sofa with his head in Derek’s lap, and he cards his fingers through the curls he loves so much as they watch the rest of the film play out.

As the credits start to roll, Spencer sits up properly, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder. “That was a bit intense,” he chuckles.

“Have you seen it before?”

“No, Penelope just recommended it to me,” Spencer replies, sniffling again.

“I can’t count the amount of times she’s forced me to sit through it,” Derek laughs. “I cry every time, to be honest.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, he just takes one of Derek’s hands sitting in his lap and fiddles gently with his fingers, tracing the outline, the veins, the contour. It’s a comforting little motion for both of them, a point of connection, something to focus on, shrinking the world that sometimes feels so big down to just two hands, one tracing the other.

“Come on, baby,” Derek says after a few minutes, “let’s get up to bed.”

“I’m not tired yet,” he protests quietly, snuggling further into Derek’s side.

“Well you can read in bed,” Derek points out. “But I want to sleep. I’m not the young man I once was, you know.”

Spencer cranes his head up to meet Derek’s eyes. “You’re even sexier now,” Spencer says, and it’s so random that Derek can’t help the bark of laughter it elicits.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” he grins.

“You didn’t call me baby,” Spencer pouts, rotating his body so he’s straddling Derek’s lap.

“I’m very sorry,” Derek says mock-sincerely, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl from Spencer’s forehead. “How can I make it up to you?”

“A letter of apology to management,” Spencer suggests.

“Management being you, I’m guessing?” Derek smiles as he hums in affirmation. “Come on you, let’s head up to bed.”

Spencer grumbles the whole way about old men and going to sleep before 11pm, but it only serves to make Derek smile fondly, kissing him to shut him up as soon as they walk into the bedroom. They’re soon tucked up in bed, Christmas candles burning as fairy lights glow along their journey around the coving. Spencer starts on his new book, lit up dimly by the cosy lighting of the room, while Derek settles down to sleep.

He can’t believe he has a Christmas like this to look forward to for the rest of his life.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728

#moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #christmas fic #criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds fic #criminal minds christmas #my writing #derek #spencer

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cainal · 3 years

Text

I kinda want a steam punk au technoblade.

Hear me out.

The man's a strategist and grinder trying to have the best stuff from the others.

So steampunk version would build his own stuff like

built his flaming sword, invented the rocket launcher

After a trial and error during a festival, fireworks got banned in lmanberg, but explosions can still be heard from a distance

His armor would actually be a steam powered suit of sorts (netherite armor)

The suit is a foot or two (30-60 cm) taller than his average height

Basically a mech type suit

Steam comes out of the nose cause its shaped like a boar

Tusks and spiky metallic hair for more intimidation

Suit is bipedal when fighting but can also run on all fours

Even though suit can be taken off and dismantled, hes got another thing literally up his sleeve

He has a steampunk exoskeleton noone seen him take off

He says its fused to his skin, but the clothes under the skeleton changes every day (dont mention it unless you wanna be his Guinea pig)

It is attached to only his legs and arms which are connected along the spine

The exoskeleton enhances his movements only when powered by certain liquids ( potions)

With out them it is normal movement and in the way sometimes especially when working

Continuing with looks, he does not care when hes tinkering at home

He got the glasses that's held together with tape

Hes greased from head to toes and singed hair is not uncommon

Even though he organized his work he cant organize his wardrobe

Except his "show-off outfit"

Basically his regular skin steampunk version with the exoskeleton and a mask or helmet that is breathable even under water and pig shaped with a crown welded ontop

The headpiece could also be leather like a plague doctor mask but in pig for with aviator lenses on it for easy flight

The lenses are prescription and built into the eye sockets of the headpiece

The cape covers the exoskeleton (or does he not have it on? Noone questions it out loud) and prevent people from touching him

With all the layers it makes sense why he likes cold weather

He is the first to invent a flight contraption (trident)

The trident mechanics work like a plunger in a needle, sucks in water inside the trident to push it back out with the help of compressed air in side and shoots the trident and holder out of the water

even his own butlers (Jackolantern mobs) were made to aide in his projects

moon the skeleton would be a prototype he keeps even though moon tries to kill him every day

He spices up technos life with murder attempts

hubert is his favorite helper and aides with simple tasks like cooking and finding lost items

"Hubert where's my glasses?"

[Points to face where they are perched]

"Oh.... good job."

People will try to follow him after the trident reveal

someone tries to mass produce his works like the trident, but many fail in using it or the trident is faulty since it was not made the same way

Makes sense that he keeps to himself but likes to show off which is how people try to follow in suit and make their own products of destruction since the pig dont share secrets

Also makes sense whenever he reveals a new base, everyone steals and forces him to find a new home

Would make sense that he makes contraptions that reveal secret rooms as well

The withers would be his favorite project

Slaving over every skull necessary to start a robot of mass destruction

The skull works like a light bulb that needs all 3 screwed in to work

The totem of undying could be gears compacted that when a button is pushed, it expands into some form of a mechanical doctor with tiny arms like the davinci machine to prevent feather fix up any almost dying person like someone getting crushed by an anvil

The anvil execution could look so elaborate until the explanation comes along

"Hows this gonna kill me?"

"Well, I-its gonna start with this switch here that will trigger this part wher-"

"Drops an anvil. Get in the cage."

Would also be funny to know how hes good with machines cause he wanted an easier way to plant more potatoes

He became a mechanical genius cause he was too lazy to harvest potatoes but he wanted to show that squid farmer who's boss just cause

Hes gets interested in building even though hes been more into physical violence before and this newfound passion creates the most dangerous inventor

Who is brought to the lands of lmanberg after he receives a telegram from people looking for help in a resistance

How yall think? That's all I got so far, personality is the same and interaction with others is the same except they using steampunk based weaponry and buildings. Just thought this concept is cool.

What would the other characters be in this alternate universe?

#technoblade #dream smp #steampunk #roleplay #au #how would the other characters be in the steam punk universe #add any other dsmp character to this #id love to see your take on this #ask or talk to me about this au #recommend fics if this is already a thing #c!techno

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

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This week, I have a brand-new talentswap MAID especially for you! If you couldn’t tell by the pun in the first sentence, this Myth is the Former Ultimate Maid!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Originally living with her sisters at an orphanage, Myth watched as both of sisters got picked up by loving families, while poor Myth was left in the dust. In order to make herself more desirable to prospective parents, Myth taught herself how to cook and clean after all of the other kids in the orphanage. Eventually though, much to her joy, she was eventually was picked up by a wealthy family that eventually ditched her, despite being great at her maid duties. Eventually, after going through many wealthy families and being tossed out/abused/ignored, without a second thought, one family managed to keep her: a warm and loving family with an artistic prodigy for a daughter. For once, Myth felt the love and affection that she was starved for, after all of those years of isolation and being tossed out like common trash. All of those skills accumulated from both helping out at the orphanage and being raised as a maid for all of these wealthy families, earned her the Hope’s Peak title of Ultimate Maid.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Artist

Born into an influential family of artistic geniuses, with their father being a master sculptor and their mother being a expert sketch artist, Wyre mainly specializes in the craft of both their parents, even though they are a master in practically every art form their parents can throw at them. When Wyre heard from their parents that someone was going to be adopted into their family, Wyre was ecstatic at the idea, and Myth quickly proved themself as a great servant and sister figure. Myth regularly serves food and cleans up after Wyre, when they gets particularly busy. Every since Wyre heard about Myth’s past with all of the other families, they claim that they are willing to fight all of them, much to the protests of Myth.

Outfit: A brown paint-colored apron over a black sweater and matching pants and shoes, a tool belt with sculpting supplies, black fingerless gloves, glasses from original design.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Detective

Despite Scar’s eccentric behavior and constant talk of possessing an “All-Seeing Eye” under her eyepatch (which was actually lost in a battle between her and a particularly violent criminal), none of Scar’s clients can deny that she is a very competent detective, in spite of both that and her age. Her detective duties can get very stressful at times, but it seems Myth has a psychic connection to Scar’s distress, for she would always be there with whatever can calm Scar down. This has caused Scar to feel both intrigued (in regards to the possible existence of psychics) and concerned for Myth’s health and well-being (because of Myth‘s constant overexertion and overworking).

Outfit: A black and purple eyepatch on her left eye, a black jacket slung over her shoulders Yasuhiro-style, a black vest over a white dress shirt, black pants and black thigh high heels.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Astronaut

Ever since he was little and went stargazing with his grandparents, Fusion has always showed an interest in reaching the stars and traveling beyond the boundaries. Having aced both the physical and written exams at NASA, despite his age, Fusion is well on his way to becoming a full-blown astronaut. Fusion also trains younger children who are planning on becoming astronauts just like him, via lectures on astronomy and little physical exercises to build up endurance, and he brought his astronaut-training seminars to the Kibo-Con. Myth regularly assists him in his seminars, and in return, Myth gets glow-in-the-dark star-shaped stickers and freeze-dried “astronaut grub” from Fusion.

Outfit: A blue galaxy printed jumpsuit over a red t-shirt with a yellow star on the front, black and dark grey gloves and matching boots, glasses from original design.

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (aka. Fusion Anon II), Ultimate Robot

FU-510-N Mk. 2 (or Fusion II as she’d like to be called) was a robot created by NASA, in order to both assist Fusion in his seminars and accompany him on his future space expeditions. Created to entertain adults as well as children during the lectures and training, Fusion II was written with more of a sarcastic edge to her dialogue with Fusion, making her a bit more of a straight man to Fusion’s cheerful and pun-loving funny man, almost like Fusion’s rebellious teen daughter. Fusion II bonded with Myth quickly over their shared statuses of being “assistants“ to others. But much to Fusion II’s dismay, it doesn’t seem like Myth is able to pick up on her sarcasm at all.

Outfit: A white exoskeleton, pink and black joints, and four small black wheels underneath her “skirt”, clothes from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Anthropologist

Running away from home, because of his massively rich, influential, and incredibly strict parents, with nothing but a backpack and his wits, Janon eventually found the one thing that actually interested him, while on his trek across the world: people and their cultures, which attracted him to the field of anthropology. After writing all about his travels and the philosophies he learned in a couple of journals he eventually published for the masses, Janon was revered as a genius in the field of anthropology. Despite planning on taking this secret to the grave, Janon has a secret soft spot for Myth, for she reminds her of the poor maids being crapped on by his influential family.

Outfit: A black facemask, a black overcoat over a pink t-shirt, a skull necklace, brown pants, black boots, a big brown backpack.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Entomologist

Specializing in lepidoptery and coleopterology, Sparkle intends on showing people all about the beauty of insects, in the most flamboyant and over-dramatic ways possible. Despite these idiosyncrasies, she is a respected figure by entomologists and aspiring entomologists everywhere. While Myth loves admiring the odd butterfly as much as the next person, Sparkle attracts insects like sugar water, and they are all a nightmare to remove and exterminate. The whole insect issue isn’t helped by the fact that Sparkle loudly and explicitly refuses to let Myth get rid of any of her “precious jewels”. Luckily, Sparkle shared some non-pesticide related methods to herd her insects, in case they get wild.

Outfit: A cape that resembles monarch butterfly wings with shoulder pads that look like rhino beetles, a green insect carrier, a brown skirt with darker brown ant patterns, the glasses, jacket, undershirt, leggings, and boots from her original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Child Caregiver, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Aikido Master

With a childish, immature and cursed yet caring personality, Egg was a massive hit amongst the children of the orphanage that they and their twin Wet Sock were born and raised in. In order to protect the children that their twin cared for, the brooding and cynical Wet Sock decided to pick up aikido and self-defense skills, dominating bigger foes in all the tournaments they entered. Shouldering the burden of hearing the twin’s primary defense mechanism (read: cursed comments), Myth quickly bonded with Egg, thanks to their shared interest in caring for others. Myth tried to bond with Wet Sock, but because of them being tsundere, Myth only gets judo thrown in response.

Egg’s Outfit: Part of their hair tied up with a yellow scrunchie, a green hoodie with yellow sleeves, a fanny pack colored like their original shirt, black shorts, long yellow socks, green light-up-shoes, glasses from original design.

Wet Sock’s Outfit: Same outfit from the original, but with black aikido pants and matching sandals.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader/Assassin

With the dubious and odd title of “Jr. Ultimate Supreme Leader” and an enigmatic and stone-faced personality, almost nothing is known about this mysterious Jr. Ultimate, not even what their talent entails. What Myth and the majority of the media don’t know, is that Curious is that his title is actually the Jr. Ultimate Assassin and is current throneholder of a secret underground religious cult that is particularly known for brainwashing and teaching their children how to assassinate potential religious rivals. Luckily, Myth was fortunate enough to not cross paths frequently with Curious, for she would definitely try to adopt the preteen assassin with a messed-up upbringing, if she ever catches wind of the truth.

Outfit: A simple white robe with a green sash indicating leadership that hides their assassination weapons.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Inventor

Being a mechanical genius born in a country that was ravished by a massive war, Nerd was quickly sent to work in manufacturing and inventing brand-new weapons for his nation’s army. This past has given him a hair-trigger temper and a hatred for being interrupted, when he is in the middle of inventing. And yet no matter how many scouter-burns she suffers in the process, she never remembers that little tidbit of information about, when she comes barging into Nerd’s lab with his dinner, much to the rage of the easily-enraged inventing prodigy. But beneath the foul mouth and even-fouler temper, could Nerd have fallen for Myth’s kind and earnest attitude, despite being very annoying?

Outfit: Black armor that covers everything apart from his head, and the scouter from his original design.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Pianist

Videos of a person garbed entirely in black and playing self-composed pieces have been springing up on the internet for the past year or so, and despite the mysterious person attempting to make absolutely sure that he wasn’t found, Hope‘s Peak found the true identity of the online piano prodigy: Eldritch Anon, a former piano champion, who has since retreated to the shadows in growing anxiety and fear. Whenever Eldritch thinks about anything he wants or needs, Myth would always be right behind him with his want or need in tow. Because of that, Eldritch now wears a tinfoil hat on his head at all times, to prevent Myth’s psychic powers from reaching him, to no avail.

Outfit: A black marching band outfit with white music note buttons, over a grey hood-up hoodie patterned with black sheet music, white gloves, tall black boots.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Magician

With infectious childlike cheer and unstoppable charisma on stage, Dream’s magical performances are truly a sight to behold, whether you’re a child or an adult. Dream has recently employed Myth as her magical assistant, and Myth regularly roped Dream out of trouble, just in case her magical performances go awry. But at the same time, Dream also took on sort of a mentor role to the maid. While Myth has entertained several guests with some minor parlor tricks, Myth would love to learn all about how Dream accomplishes all of her large-scale and stupendous, and how Myth can learn them herself. If Myth learns from the best, she would be able to entertain way more guests.

Outfit: A black and pink top hat, a black coat and white gloves over a pink vest, an orange bow tie and a white dress shirt, a pink skirt, grey stockings, and black tap shoes.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Cosplayer

Having been a regular consumer of fiction ever since she was little, she picked up sewing and fashion design from her parents and eventually began making accurate-to-the-show cosplay items, ranging from simple accessories to full-blown outfits. Despite being really clumsy when it comes to everything else, Iris is amazing at handicrafts. Myth and Iris consider each other “sewing buddies”, for their shared interests in sewing outfits and other such handicrafts. Iris regularly lets Myth model her cosplay, for they are about the same height and have the same proportions. Iris would be lying if she said she hadn’t tried sticking cat ears or dragon horns on Myth when she wasn’t looking.

Outfit: Hair down with a heart barrette on each side of her head, a pink jacket with sewing supplies in her pockets and on her sleeves over a seira fuku with a red ribbon and a blue skirt, black stockings and red Mary Janes.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Adventurer

As the daughter of two famous and affluent ambassadors, Purple has been to practically every corner of the globe. Because of her travels, Purple regularly talks in archaic terms mixed with the insertion of gratuitous foreign vocabulary into her sentences, which means that the majority of the Anons can‘t understand a word coming out of her mouth. Purple is also stunningly timid for the daughter of two ambassadors, and often hides behind Anons that are bigger than her for when she doesn’t want to be seen by the crowds. Even if Myth can’t understand much of what comes out of Purple’s mouth, Myth still loves seeing Purple slowly but surely come out of her shell and talk about her travels.

Outfit: The beret from her original design, a dark purple overcoat and brown gloves over the sweater from her original design, lighter purple pants, brown boots, a brown carrier bag.

This AU will center around the maid getting helped for once, much to her protests.

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PERSONALITY

Despite her less-than-stellar past, Maid!Myth has a cheery and energetic attitude that belies (and bolsters) her sheer aptitude as a maid and her joy is described as “infectious” amongst Wyre’s family. With definite “mom energy”, Maid!Myth always comes prepared with the wants and needs for each and everyone of the Kibo-Con attendees, and seems to have an almost telepathic ability to whatever they all want, which unnerves a couple of the Anons (namely Eldritch, Scar, and Purple). Even though she overworks herself to a fault and everyone constantly tells to take a break from her work, she constantly shoulders every burden and duty placed upon her, in hopes that they won’t abandon her, just like every other family before Wyre’s family. This gave her a case of “chronic hero syndrome”.

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APPEARANCE

Maid!Myth’s naturally brown hair is tied in a prim and proper bun, complete with a white and light pink French-maid style headdress. As for the rest of her clothing, Myth wears a white and light pink French Maid dress with the only exception to the “white and light pink style” being a ribbon around her waist with a pink-to-purple-blue gradient, purple socks and red Mary Janes.

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I hope you like this AU! Let me know what you think of the AU and its roles in your reblogs!

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currantlee · 3 years

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Language: English Rating: Mature (M) / P18 Warnings: Mentions of Cannibalism, mentions of non-consensual body modification Fandom: Kingdom Hearts Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Horror Characters: Kairi, Sora, Ienzo, Yozora (memory), Ventus (mentioned), Master of Masters (mentioned) Relationships: Sora & Kairi or Sora/Kairi (SoKai) - can be interpreted either way Words: 4,544 Chapter: 1/1 Beta: FanficWriter827 Notes: This is probably one of the darkest fics I’ve written so far. Nothing explicit or extremely gorey, but please be sure to proceed with caution regardless. Other Platforms: -

Kairi tried to be quiet when she closed the door of the lab behind her and walked towards the middle of the room.

Sora was sitting on an examination bed, his legs dangling over the edge. He didn’t look happy, but calm and relaxed. Almost as if he had never been gone in the first place. Seeing him with an expression like this, it was a bit hard to believe the horrific things that had happened to him during the year and the few months he had spent in Quadratum alone.

He almost instantly spotted Kairi when she came through the door, despite her best efforts to be quiet. A wide smile formed on his face. “Kairi!”

She smiled back. “Hey.”

Kairi still couldn’t quite believe that he was really back yet, even though Riku and her had found him weeks ago. Maybe she just wasn’t used to it yet.

Sora slid off the examination bed and walked towards her.

Kairi tried to not stare at his body. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable… In a helpless attempt to distract herself, she turned to Ienzo, who was currently arranging some papers, probably related to the examination he had just completed by the looks of it.

“How are you?”, Sora asked. He now stood right next to her.

She shrugged as she turned back to him. “I’m good,” she said. The more important question was… “How are you, Sora?”

He laughed. “I guess I could be worse.”

Kairi supposed that was true. The past few weeks and month had been rough. There had always been the very real possibility that Sora was already dead and their search was for nothing, something Kairi and Riku had feared very much. Despite that, they refused to give up on him, especially after they finally had a clue that was as good as a confirmation that he was still alive.

Even after they had finally saved him, they initially weren’t sure whether he would recover from what had happened to him for some time. And after that, there had been little time to spare for looking after his wellbeing. Yozora and his friends had needed every bit of help they could get, and of course Sora had wanted to help too. She just hoped he hadn’t overdone it, especially after everything he had been put through previously.

“Are you sure?”, she asked. “You’ve been through a lot…”

“In fact, he is doing surprisingly well despite his… Current condition,” Ienzo remarked as he walked towards them. Apparently he was done arranging his papers. “I must admit that when I first heard about the occurrences that befell you, Sora, I presumed you would be in a much worse state.”

Kairi bit her lip. So there was something wrong with him aside from the obvious part?

“If you excuse me, Kairi, but I must ask you to leave the room for a few minutes,” Ienzo continued. “I want to talk to Sora about his condition…”

“It’s fine,” Sora interrupted. “I don’t mind her listening.”

Ienzo turned to Sora. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “It’s fine, Ienzo. Really.”

Ienzo sighed and did something with his papers. “Alright…”

“How bad is it?” Kairi couldn’t keep quiet about this question any longer. It had been lingering in her mind ever since they rescued Sora from the Gigas – well, actually, she had wondered about it ever since she first met Yozora. He had been through the same thing after all, although he additionally had his memories erased as well, something that Sora had fortunately been spared from.

Ienzo sighed. “As I’ve already told you during the examination, Sora, some of your organs were technologically augmented. Several of them were also removed and replaced with mechanical compounds entirely.”

Kairi gulped. That sounded awful. She couldn’t help but think about what the Gigas must have done to him in order to get those augmentations where they were, and she felt like the thought alone was tearing her apart. It disgusted her. But even more so, it made her angry to know that Sora, or more accurately his body, had been modified in order to be used to power and control a weapon, all while he had been forced to watch without being able to do anything about it. Now he had to live with the aftermath of it, while the person behind the Gigas force had gotten away and would likely threaten their reality next. Kairi had no idea what the Master of Masters was up to, but she wanted to tear him to shreds for the pain he had caused Sora, albeit indirectly.

It was just so unfair!

To her surprise though, Sora seemed to take the news with much composure – he simply nodded slowly. Maybe it was because Ienzo had already told him before, or maybe Sora had changed at more than she had realized yet.

“Disregarding those deviations in your physiology however, your bodily functions are just fine. Again, I must say I am quite surprised.”

Kairi sighed. That was a relief… She had been prepared for worse. That still didn’t answer the big question though…

“Can…” Sora paused. He was looking down on his own hands, and the black plating that covered the skin. It made him look more like a machine than a human, but Kairi knew that underneath that façade, he was still Sora. He would always be Sora.

“Can you… Change me back to how I was before?”

Ienzo looked down onto his papers. He was avoiding direct eye contact, Kairi realized. “I have to admit… I do not know.”

Sora sighed and hung his head.

“I will have to discuss it with Even,” Ienzo continued quickly. “He knows much more about these things than I do.”

“Can’t you duplicate the missing organs with the replica technology?”, Kairi suggested. She didn’t know too much about how it worked, but… “You did replace one of Ven’s kidneys that way when it had stopped working in the Realm of Darkness.”

“Indeed,” Ienzo nodded. “However, it was a fairly easy surgery with little risk of failure. If it had not worked, he would still have had the other one to keep him alive. At worst, we would have had to remove the replica kidney again if his body had rejected it.”

Kairi already knew that the procedure had technically not been required. But Even had been eager to try and see if the replica technology could be used for good purposes, such as medical ones, as well. Ven wouldn’t have had to agree, but he had done it anyways. Much like Sora, he could never decline an opportunity to help someone, even when it meant getting surgery for research purposes.

“In Sora’s case, however, it would involve multiple complicated surgeries, some of which I am not sure we are even qualified for. Additionally, the internal organs are not what I am most worried about regarding such a procedure.”

Kairi gulped. That didn’t sound good…

“Then what is the problem, Ienzo?”, Sora asked. He had become very quiet.

“The exoskeleton,” Ienzo answered. “It is practically fused with your skin. In order to even reach the internal organs, we would have to remove at least parts of it, which subsequently means that we would have to remove your skin in the area concerned as well.” He sighed. “In any case, it would be a very lengthy procedure with multiple complex surgeries involved.”

So there really wasn’t any way… Kairi lowered her head as well. Of course she had been aware that it might not be possible to restore Sora’s body to how it was before he had been taken by the Gigas. She had hoped that there might be a way though, for his sake. They had never really talked about how he felt about the state of his body ever since his rescue, but she strongly suspected that he didn’t feel comfortable with it. She couldn’t blame him after everything he had supposedly been put through.

If it already upset her that much – how must he feel about it?

Sora lifted his head and nodded. “I understand.” He tried to manage a small smile, but it didn’t look like an honest one to Kairi. “Thanks regardless, Ienzo.”

“You are very welcome, Sora,” Ienzo said. “I promise I will talk to Even as soon as I get the chance. I just don’t want to make you any promises right now.”

So there was still hope? Kairi would have liked a definitive answer better than this…

“Why don’t you two catch a bit of fresh air and come back later?”, Ienzo suggested. “It might help to take your mind off the situation.”

How long had it been since she had last spent an extended amount of time with Sora alone? They hadn’t exactly gotten to that in Quadratum, unless the times when Kairi had watched over Sora while he was asleep counted.

“It sounds like a good idea to me,” Sora said. “Are you up for it too, Kairi?”

She managed a small smile. “Of course,” she nodded. “Let’s go!” After all, that’s what she had come here for: to spend some time with him, and maybe to help a little if it was required. She just wanted to make sure he was okay.

---

They ended up going to the castle garden, where they sat down on a bench near the fountain. It was currently in the shade of a tree, so the sun didn’t burn down on them.

For a while, neither of them said anything. Kairi didn’t really have an idea on how to start a conversation with him. As many questions as she had, she didn’t want to pressure him into talking about the time he had spent in Quadratum alone, the state of his body, or his appearance for that matter. He was the one who had to decide whether he was ready for that or not.

So she simply allowed herself to look at him for once, taking in all the changes to his appearance for the first time in weeks.

Instead of the comfy clothing he used to wear, a skin-tight black exoskeleton now enclosed his entire body up to the neck. It had a few scratches here and there, but overall it seemed pretty indestructible. Kairi still had no idea what exactly it was made of, but it surely wasn’t metal. She had been surprised by how little Sora weighed when she had freed him from the wreckage of the Gigas he had been the central unit of, since she had expected him to be much heavier.

He also had those weird things that looked a bit like headphones now. At first, Kairi had assumed that he could just take them off, but as it turned out, that wasn’t the case. Just like the exoskeleton, they were like a part of his body now.

The by far most outstanding piece of the exoskeleton however, at least when Kairi was concerned, was the backpiece. It looked a bit like a second spine, just that it had some red-glowing circuits and ports on it. It was the part that had connected him to the machine he had been a part of. Kairi knew there was also a tracker in it, but it wasn’t functioning anymore. Ran, one of Yozora’s friends, had ensured that so the Gigas would stop trying to retrieve Sora in order to insert him into another mech – or to turn him into nutrition for other central units.

Kairi’s stomach turned just thinking about that. She remembered how shocked she had been when she first learned about this from Yozora, back when he had first explained what Gigas did with the humans they abducted. ‘What did you expect?’, Yozora had commented in response. ‘The central units still have to get nutrients. And it’s not like the Gigas can just walk into the next store to buy some food, especially considering they give it to them intravenously.’

‘I know that,’ she had retorted. ‘I’m not dumb! It’s just cruel and really gross!’

‘They’re machines,’ Yozora had responded in his rather infuriating calm and collective way. ‘They don’t care about ethics.’

The conversation had taken place before they had found out that the Master of Master was responsible for the creation of the Gigas – and also the one who gave them the idea to use humans as a core component of their mechanical bodies. It just made the entire thing even more gross in Kairi’s opinion.

After all of this, she was simply glad Sora was still alive, even though they hadn’t found a way to restore his body to how it was before he had been transformed into a central unit yet. Quadratum might be free from the Master of Masters’ rule at this point, but the city was still in chaos. The undamaged equipment at the hospitals was needed to treat the injured survivors, and things would likely take some more time to calm down.

They also didn’t want to be an additional burden to Yozora, who had turned out to be none other than the rightful heir to the throne and was now getting accustomed to his new duties. It hurt to leave their new friends behind, especially since clearly everything wasn’t well just yet. But like Yozora had said: they had done everything they could for Quadratum. They rest was something they could help very little with. They needed to look after themselves now. Besides, someone still had to stop the Master of Masters, who had escaped to their reality. Kairi really wanted him to get a taste of his own medicine.

Therefore, they had decided to return to their own reality, hoping that Ansem and his disciples might find a way to restore Sora’s body to its former state. She had barely realized it had already been a week since then – it felt like yesterday since they had finally arrived home.

„You know,“ Sora said, „this body actually has its advantages.”

He didn’t sound too convinced of his own words. Knowing him, he might just trying to be optimistic in order to push his true feelings away, since he couldn’t change his situation right now anyways.

Kairi raised an eyebrow. “Like?”

“Uhm…” He seemingly couldn’t think of a single thing immediately, which only supported her suspicion.

Kairi sighed. Ever since they had returned from Quadratum, he had been avoiding his friends to some degree. Whether it was because he didn’t want them to see him like he was now or because he didn’t want them to worry about him because they noticed how much he hated the state he was in she didn’t know, but it was so unlike him. She wished he would open up about those feelings, but she also knew she couldn’t force him to.

“I can hear a lot better than before,” he finally said, but he still didn’t sound convinced of his own words. “Like, I can hear very high and very low sounds, even if they’re really quiet…”

“You actually hate it, don’t you?”

Kairi couldn’t bite her questions back any longer. It hurt to see him like this, trying to convince himself that everything was fine when it obviously wasn’t. Why did he not open up about it? Was it just a classical, stupid Sora-move because he didn’t want to bother his friends with his problems? Or did he not trust her anymore? Maybe he even thought she couldn’t take it because she was too weak…

‘No,’ Kairi thought. ‘Sora would never think of you that way, even though you were too weak to prevent this from happening.’

Had she not get caught by Xemnas, Xehanort wouldn’t have killed her. If Xehanort hadn’t killed her, Sora wouldn’t have used the Power of Wakening to bring her back, which eventually led to his disappearance to Quadratum. And if that hadn’t happened, he would never have encountered the Gigas, meaning that he wouldn’t have been transformed into a central unit for one.

It was all her fault.

“You’re right,” Sora admitted quietly. “I do hate it. But it’s not your fault that I am like this, Kairi.”

Kairi meant to tell him that he was being too good – it was her fault, at least indirectly. But she knew it would only lead to a discussion she wasn’t here for. She wanted to help him as far as she could, not argue with him. “You can still talk to me about it though.”

Sora sighed and leaned back against the back of the bench. He looked up to the sky, seemingly absent-minded. “You heard Ienzo before,” he finally said quietly. “He doesn’t even know whether they’ll be able to restore my body to how it was, and even if they are, it could take a long time. I might as well come to terms with it.”

It made sense, when he put it like that. But at the same time, it scared Kairi. The Sora she knew would have stayed optimistic that Ansem and his disciples would come up with a way to restore his body. Had he really changed that much in Quadratum or was he just desperate?

“I...”

He hesitated. Kairi bit back another question that burned on her tongue – she wanted him to take all the time he needed if he was going to open up.

“I miss eating.”

Kairi had never really thought about that part before. She had gotten so used to him not showing up to the meals that she didn’t even question it anymore, and neither did the others. She knew that the central units were fed intravenously – with what were technically human remains, that part would undoubtedly haunt her forever. In fact, both Yozora and Sora still took in their meals that way, although nowadays their nutrients came from labs, not from corpses.

“I know you don’t have to eat anymore, but can’t you just get yourself something and eat anyways?”, she asked carefully, realizing that she still had no idea how all of this worked and probably should have asked about the details sooner. She didn’t want to upset him even further.

But Sora just shook his head. “They replaced my entire digestive system with mechanical compounds,” he explained. “If I eat or drink, it might damage them beyond repair. I could die.”

“Oh.” She should have thought of something like that. Kairi knew he liked to eat, and especially to try out new dishes. If there was any way he could still eat, he probably would have already. “I’m sorry, Sora.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her. “I just wish I could at least drink some water. It’s not the same to get your nutrients injected into your veins, even though that at least keeps me sated.”

He sounded so sad… Kairi wanted nothing more than to take his hand and squeeze it, but she stopped herself from doing so, seeing as his hands were also covered by the exoskeleton. He had explained to her, shortly after waking up for the first time, that the sensors in it registered the touch and even told him what it was, but he couldn’t feel it and how that was weird. Kairi found that a bit hard to imagine. She didn’t know if holding his hand would actually help him or only remind him further of the fact that his body had been changed without his consent.

So instead, Kairi slowly raised her hand and gently brushed the skin of his cheek with her fingers. It was a lot cooler than she expected – was that another effect of having part of his body mechanized?

Sora turned to her with a surprised look on his face, and for a moment, Kairi worried that she had gone too far. But then, a small smile tugged on his lips.

Encouraged by the fact that he was apparently fine with this, Kairi placed her entire palm on his cheek. She even dared to push a few hairstrands behind the weird headphone thing that covered or replaced – she wasn’t entirely sure about that part – his ears.

His hair was shorter than it had been before Quadratum, but spiky and unruly as ever. Kairi suspected that it had been shorn off completely when Sora had been changed, and that it had grown back over the time he had spent inside the Gigas as its central unit. According to Yozora, the machines weren’t exactly known for great maintenance, since it was much more efficient to build a new one than to repair the old ones beyond the most basic functions. So why should they have cared about his hair beyond what was necessary to change his body for their purposes?

Sora leaned into her touch, sighing quietly. “I miss this too.”

“What?” She had never touched his cheek like this before, so that couldn’t be what he meant.

“Feeling,” Sora clarified. “I mean, I can still feel things on my face and head, and I get information from what the sensors in the exoskeleton are picking up, but…” He didn’t finish whatever he was going to say, and instead nuzzled her hand with his cheek, closing his eyes. “This is so good.”

“But it’s not the same?”, she tried to finish what he had said earlier.

“Yeah,” Sora confirmed. “At least on the parts covered by that stupid exoskeleton.”

Kairi suppressed a giggle, not wanting to give him the feeling that she was laughing at his situation. She couldn’t help a smile however. It was good to see that he hadn’t changed in each and every possible way.

Sora yawned. “I’m tired.”

She hadn’t heard that from him in a while. Immediately after his rescue though, she had heard it a lot, but she couldn’t blame him for it.

Apparently the entire time he had spent inside the Gigas, he had been fully conscious. How he and others that had been rescued before him had managed to survive this ordeal was a complete mystery, but after his rescue, the first thing Sora had done was to sleep for several days straight. No one had been able to wake him during that period of time, and Kairi had even been worried that he might never wake up. Even once he did eventually wake on his own, he had still complained about how he was incredibly tired for two weeks. She was pretty sure he had slept more than usual as well.

“Do you want to rest a bit?”, Kairi asked him, just like she had back then whenever he had mentioned how he was tired again.

But Sora simply shook his head. “Nah. I’ve already been resting quite a bit after all.” He yawned once more and stretched. “I just didn’t sleep that well tonight.”

Kairi had a suspicion why. “Nightmares?”

He nodded. “The usual ones.”

Kairi sighed. ‘The usual ones’ meant dreaming about being stuck in that robot again, with no control over his own body, forced to watch as horrible things happened in front of him. She would have liked to give him a hug, but she wasn’t sure whether Sora was comfortable with that either. “Do you want to talk about it?”, she asked instead.

Sora shook his head. “Not right now,” he responded. “Maybe another time.”

“Okay.”

Sora yawned again. “Maybe I could close my eyes for a little bit though…”

Kairi grinned. Sure – just closing his eyes for a little bit. “Do you want to lean on me too?”

It was a joke that had become common between them after Sora’s rescue, when at first he had gotten tired quickly and needed to rest frequently. Every time, Kairi would ask him jokingly if he wanted to lean on her, and every time Sora would end up responding in some non-sensical way. They would then both have a laugh, and depending on whether Sora was up to it or not he’d rest his head on her shoulder for a little bit before leaving to take a nap somewhere. She didn’t expect the answer he gave her this time around though.

“That would be nice.”

Kairi felt her cheeks heating up. Sora had never been that upfront about it before. He still was full of surprises, wasn’t he? Maybe it was just because he was really tired – the examination on top of not sleeping well must have exhausted him. Kairi just couldn’t tell him no. “O-okay,” she said. “Come here.”

He moved a bit closer to her, until their shoulders were touching. Huh. That was new as well.

Much to her surprise, Sora flinched at the contact.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just… You don’t have to do this, Kairi. I understand if it’s uncomfortable for you or…”

He was talking about the exoskeleton, she realized. Well, that and the fact that he was technically part-machine now. Not that Kairi minded much about that. Sure, his appearance had changed a lot and in some ways, she couldn’t interact with him just like she would before his disappearance. Simple questions had become potentially dangerous ground to thread on, and physical contact was something both of them still seemed to be insecure about.

But to Kairi, he would always be Sora, even when he was stuck as the central unit of a giant robot.

“It’s fine. You don’t make me uncomfortable, Sora,” she said, carefully wrapping an arm around him and gently nudging him a bit closer to her. “I’m just glad you’re back and alive. We’ll figure out the rest, okay?”

Sora nodded while moving a little bit closer to her. “Okay.” He sighed when he placed his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. “Are you comfortable?”, he asked quietly.

“I’m alright,” Kairi said. Sure, the material of the exoskeleton felt hard and sturdy, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The more important question was… “Are you comfortable, Sora?”

He hummed quietly.

“Or shall I remove my arm from around your shoulders?” There technically wasn’t any necessity for it to be there, and his sensors must be ticking off.

She didn’t get an answer however. Instead, she heard regular breathing from her shoulder.

Kairi smiled. So much for just closing his eyes for a bit. She’d surely be stuck like this for a while, at least until Sora woke up again. Not that she minded much though. If she could help him like this, she was gladly doing it.

She did remove her arm from around his shoulders though, not wanting to do anything without his consent. And he didn’t look like he was slipping off the bench or her shoulder any given second.

Just when she did though, one of Sora’s hands tentatively touched her leg, as if he was looking for her in his sleep. Kairi blushed when he sluggishly wrapped his arm around her hips. Sora had always been a rather clingy sleeper.

Carefully, Kairi wrapped her arm around his shoulders once more. It was nice to see that despite everything he had gone through, despite the fact that his body had been changed possibly forever, some things were still the same. But most of all, it was good to see that he was still Sora.

#Fandom #Fanwork #Fanfiction #Kingdom Hearts #KH Fanfiction #Sora #Kairi #SoKai #Fanfic Friday #Currantlee writing #Currantlee completed #Currantlee completed Story #Currantlee completed KH Fanfic

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whumpiary · 4 years

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whumptober 2020 | day 1: let’s hang out sometime

[content warning: discussed past self harm, referenced past abuse, mild dissociation/depersonalisation, intimate whumper]

There's something harrowing — gut-wrenching — about seeing a grown man cry. It's almost painful. Just watching someone with utter poise and dignity let it slide and crash because they don't care anymore who sees them crumble.

It's enough to make the one watching crumble a little, too. Just a little. It doesn't even matter what it is that they're crying over. A loved one in a hospital bed. A job that came to an end too quickly. A lost pet. Some spilled milk.

A boy strung up in the middle of their parlour, hands high above his head, barely standing where he's chained.

Christopher sobs silently, one hand clamped over his mouth as the other grips the edge of the desk he’s leaning against like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He had started tearing up as soon as he’d started taking away Cass’ clothing: a soft little gasp as he caught sight of the first scar, and then growing grief as more skin was exposed.

The first sob took the man over as the last scrap of clothing fell away and he’s been braced against the desk since. Shoulders softly shaking, eyes squeezed shut. As though he can barely stand to look at the boy in front of him without being overcome.

Cassius is cold. He registers it dimly. Distantly. This body, right now, isn’t his own. His senses seem to know that, relaying everything from a distance. Like hearing the radio from someone else’s car. Like watching the TV in the reflection of a window.

The cuffs around his wrists cut in and his calves are starting to burn and his lungs ache from breathing against stretched out ribs and he also doesn’t care about any of it. He’s back here again. A whole new cycle that he always knew, not so far below the surface. And every scar across his body is a road map of a world that Cass already feels like he never escaped to to begin with.

Christopher brings his hand to Cassius’ cheek and as though on muscle memory, Cass leans into it.

“My darling boy,” the older man whispers. His eyes are tear-filled still, searching Cass’ own desperately, as though for some sort of answer. Cass has none. “My darling, darling boy. What have they done to you?”

Cass holds Christopher’s gaze and for a moment wants to share with the man the entire history of the last few years. Every secret. Every truth. Give them up. Give them over. Undo. But he feels muzzled. Gagged. Like his lips are sewn shut.

There’s nothing to say. There’s everything to tell.

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher says. His hand skirts over the scar near his shoulder, the one down his arm, the one at his ribs. Like a fucked up dot to dot. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… My god, darling boy, if I had known…”

Cass nearly laughs at that. He would have what? Bought the company just to win his contract back? Stolen him away? Killed Tucker with his bare hands? Or would he have shaken the man’s hand and given him a bonus? Asked to sit in for the next blood letting?

Christopher starts with the obvious.

“This one,” he says, pads of his fingers tracing the gnarled, raised scar along Cassius’ ribs. “Tell me about this one.”

“Got stabbed,” Cass mumbles. His mouth feels full of cotton wool. “Job went wrong. About a year in. Maybe later. Can't remember. Had to have surgery.”

Christopher sucks in a breath, deep and shuddering, covering his mouth on the exhale as another silent tear slides down his cheek. He brushes his cheek dry again with his knuckles and takes another breath to calm himself, lowering his head. For a moment, his hand sits heavy on Cassius’ hip, as though he needed it to steady himself. Cass rocks back on the balls of his feet just barely and the man’s grip seems to tighten in kind, keeping him still and close.

They stay just like that for a moment until Christopher manages to collect himself, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, drying his eyes with a sniff. He drops his hand from his face to trace the scar again, breath stuttering. Cass feels seasick with the the touch. A dragging back of forth over scar-tissue he can’t quite feel properly.

“The scarring is terrible,” Christopher says.

Cass closes his eyes for a moment. If he imagines enough, the cool, dry hands are warm and steady instead. They’re firm and sure instead of claiming and caressing. They’re pulling him back together, stitch by stitch. The memory is such a sacred indulgence, he has to shake his head a little to clear it again.

“Yeah, they... fucked the stitches,” he says, voice croaked. “Had to get it redone.”

Another shaking breath. Another sniff. Cass keeps his eyes lowered. He doesn’t need to see the grief.

“Well that surgeon deserves to be fired.”

They go on like that. Christopher touching each scar, having him name and catalogue them, one after the other.

The thin one over his bottom lip. “Bar fight.”

The short thick one at his collarbone. “Lab test.”

The nick up by his brow. “Beat down.”

The curving long one down his arm. “Don’t remember.”

There are a few like that. More than he’d have expected. The burn on his arm. The glossy skin on his knuckles. The twisted one at his knee. Don’t remember. Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

And Christopher in between, mourning each one. Touching them, pressing his hand to them as though he could will the scars healed with his grief. Christopher has to keeping taking breaks for more tears and sobs. Like over, and over again he’s realising what he’s lost. Of what he once had. What he’ll never have back.

“My God, what have they done to you, darling boy?” He whispers it over and over again and over again. “You were so beautiful. So perfect. What have they done to you? What have they done?”

It takes them a while to retrace every new mark on him since Christopher has seen him last. The man is methodical and thorough. Scrupulous. Cass is almost startled by how many he finds. More than Cass would’ve discovered on his own, he’s sure. By the time they get to the last few, Cass can’t feel his hands.

“I’m so sorry, my love, I know you’re tired,” Christopher says with a kiss to the cheek, a hand cupping his jaw. His eyes are filled with sympathy and apology. As though he isn’t the one who’s doing this. As though this is some necessary procedure instead of his own predilection. “We’re nearly done. Last ones.”

Christopher holds Cassius’ gaze as his hand drifts low, skirting a decent gathering of little scars at his hip, over his thigh. They’re smaller, these ones. Harder to see. Only a shade or so lighter than his skin these days but piece by piece, bit by bit, they stack up, start to look noticeable. Little fine nicks and cross hatches, some raised, some flat, all faded.

“These ones here. The lab again?”

Cass drops his eyes. He stares at them for a beat, stares at what he can see beneath the man’s hand anyway, before looking back to Christopher.

“No,” he says. He feels a thrill to say it. “Me.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Excuse me?”

“I did those ones myself.”

A beat. “I thought we broke you of that little habit.”

And they had. For a while. – You’ll be hurt on my terms or not at all. – But Christopher should’ve known it would be one of the first things to resurface once he was out of reach. Why shouldn’t it be?

Cass smiles at the older man, eyes dead. “If it helps, I thought of you every fucking time.”

Which isn’t true entirely but shit does it feel good to say it.

The slap that flies hard and brutal across his cheek feels good too.

“Don’t you do that to me,” Christopher says, after a moment. His voice is soft and quiet and sad. Shaking with what was maybe a little anger. Funny. It was rare to see Christopher show that card. “I’m hurting badly enough today, I don’t need your cruelty on top of it.”

Cass keeps his head turned, staring at the arm of the leather rancher’s sofa beside him. His cheek burns, hot and tingling with the blood rush, as Christopher’s hand trails up and to his shoulder. As the man steps behind him, both palms pressing at his shoulder blades. At his back.

“And these?” he says. Cass’ eyes shutter closed, breath all at once catching high in his chest. Christopher’s been saving these, he knows. The crosses and lines on his back. One after the other after the other after the other.

Cass can’t answer to these. He can’t say. Can’t bear to. And, by some virtue of generosity, by some kind of twisted, fucked up grace, Christopher doesn’t make him. “He gave these to you?”

It takes him another minute. A long, hard minute of trying to breathe. Christopher allows him the mercy of the hesitation. And then, shakily, he nods his head.

Christopher sucks in a shaky breath as his palm presses to the scarring and Cass can tell he’s crying all over again. The sob shakes down Christopher’s arm, into his hand and hits like a jolt of electricity through Cass’ spine. It feels like it shakes his

“My God. This is cruelty. This is… this is cruelty.”

And Cass could laugh at that. He really could. After everything, everything this man has done. After everything he’s put his head through and his heart through and his body. This is cruelty, is it? Finally, this is cruelty.

Nah, it’s not cruelty. He wants to say. Penance.

He’s glad the words don’t actually make it past his lips.

Christopher’s hand runs across them over and over, again and again, and the feeling is so strange, so tender, so violating that Cass finds himself pressing his face against his arm and screwing his eyes shut, as though to hide. Skin then scar then skin then scar. Numbed then felt. Hot then cold.

Every trace of the crosses feel like he’s being stripped bare. As though with every caress, Christopher is peeling away a layer of numbness, a layer of armour, an exoskeleton. The world is like a burning thing without it all.

Cass hangs his head, arms still stretched up and aching, and he sobs, voice pulling out of him in a broken whisper. “Please stop.”

The plea seems to bring Christopher to the surface of whatever grief laden fascination he’s lost in and the man circles in front of him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb catching the tear that slides down it. Christopher’s tears mirror Cassius’ own as the man presses their foreheads together and Cass is sure they look a lovely picture of grief.

Shared martyrdom. Saint and saviour.

Maybe the man should have crucified him instead.

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher whispers again, and Cass cringes and cries and keeps his eyes shut. “If I had known… I promise you, if I had known…”

It’s a mercy beyond measure that the man never finishes the sentence.

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #let's hang out sometime #oc #fic #self harm tw #dissociation tw #referenced abuse tw #cassius #christopher #return to whumper #possessive whumper #intimate whumper #nell does whumptober

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