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muzzlemouths · 5 days

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[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!” He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related?#I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

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anothertransauthor · 8 months

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Ok I’m antsy to write something starting out just to see what I can do. I’m going to start with the ABC sfw list first for the band + Charles. If you want to see any additional characters you can comment or ask!

ABC Headcannons (SFW) Nathan Explosion

Summary: like I said this is Nathan’s full ABC list. I’m going to be as detailed as I possibly can for your viewing pleasure ;). I’m feeling Pickles or Murderface next.

Warning: slight angst // dipping into they’re toxic traits they’re learning to overcome

Word count: 4,410 words (oops!)

.. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Nathan is a bit apprehensive at the start of your relationship due to his rocky previous ones. He likes you, don’t get him wrong, but he’s never really gotten the chance to get so close to someone like he has with you. He’s still trying to wrap his head around how he hadn’t scared you away when he thought you were just some fan. Still you wiggled your way into his Iron Maiden heart, open for you to remove the defensive impalers he’d put up.

After he’s learned to accept the affection you bestowed upon him graciously, and patiently might I add, he uses the tactics he’s learned from you to be a better boyfriend. He asks about your day, genuinely enthralled by your voice. Nathan swears he could listen to you for hours even if you really weren’t talking about anything.

Massaging his shoulders and back was always the key to calming him down whenever he was insatiably irritated. He figured it would surely get his message across to you, who doesn’t love the intimate act of vanquishing the poisons of a stressful day with your own hands? It didn’t matter where you were, if you weren’t having a good time he’d find some way to expel the tension. Say you were backstage with the band after a show and you were overwhelmed with the lights and the noise, he’d take your hand and gently massage it thoroughly. He’d roll his thumb pads over each finger, each knuckle- no joint left aching. Even if he only held one hand, every inch of that hand would be tended to. If they were cold, clammy, and anxiously shaking, they were surely warm and quelled now. Despite Nathan’s stature, despite his large hands, and despite what his attitude had lead you to believe, he was gentle with his hands.

When all else failed, Nathan resorted to what he was best at to convey just how much he adored you. Writing was always Nathan’s go to outlet to organize the scrambled thoughts in his mind, it’s apparent in his music- brutal poems that paired with equally intense music. Racing thoughts and far away words always made more sense when he put the pen to the paper, the unmoving paragraphs further cemented everything he felt. You had started a notebook to house all of the eloquent letters he’s written for you to remind you that at the end of the day you were the one he’d return to. Your heart was home to his.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Nathan is all about going out and doing things with people he’s particularly friendly with. Expected to go on your fair share of road trips and lots of camping. It’s all the activities he enjoyed with his dad, he considered him a friend so why wouldn’t he bring his friends along for the experience?

You never took Nathan to be a survival buff, but given his himbo nature you weren’t that surprised. He’s taught you a lot about being in the wilderness whenever he had time between records.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Oh my gods, if his arms aren’t constricted around you he will not sleep well that night. Your warmth has become so incredibly soothing to him, he falls asleep almost as soon as your head rests on his chest. Nathan is essentially a 250 pound teddy bear at the end of a rough day where all he wanted to do was wind down with you. He really enjoyed how your smaller frame slotted with his, how natural it felt to wrap his arms around you and stay like that forever.

Nathan had a 3 point plan when it came to his night time routine with you; Step one: acquire the snuggle bug (a nickname he’d drunkenly bestowed upon you when you both retired to his room after a drinking contest with pickle), Step two: profit, Step three: uhhhhh. Ok so maybe it was more of a two point plan, but his point still stands.

If the secret softie couldn’t fall asleep as fast as he’d intended, he’d watch the rhythmic rise and fall off of your chest as you slumbered peacefully against his big burly chest. His hands would slip under your shirt to rub your back, or stomach depending on how you slept that night, in idle circles. The feeling of your skin no matter if it was smooth or blemished, he never cared either way, soothed him more than he thought it could. You were real, you were here- with him! And gods did you look exhilarating in his arms, trusting him completely as you dreamed.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

There was something in Nathan that constantly made him want to impress you as your relationship grew increasingly more docile. He picked up more around the areas the two of you occupied most at Mordhaus; cleaning up the empty beer cans and putting away any stray bongs or other illicit drugs that were littered around the main room the previous night, or he’d take the time to clean his room and bathroom a tad more he usually would when it was just him. It was never about getting a deep clean, he wasn’t embarrassed to have you over when his room was messy, yet something about you made him more motivated to do more than just sit on his ass with you.

Settling down never crossed his mind until you, that was always something he’d associated with parents and old people- you settled down when you wanted to start a family and give up your career and anything that gave you substance. It was always love or hate when he thought about it. On one hand, he absolutely loved you and wanted to spend his life with you. His parents always seemed so happy with each other even after all the years they’d spent together, so maybe it couldn’t be too bad. Yet on the other hand he wouldn’t give up the band or the empire he built for you, you never wanted him to.

Who said you two had to slow down or give up to settle completely into each other? Nathan’s wanted to settle up with you, so he’d said, to never slow down or stop experiencing the fast life he was so accustomed to.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

The way Nathan would break up with you depends on how deep he was into the relationship with you. He wouldn’t have any qualms about bluntly telling you to stay out of his life if he wasn’t feeling it, and he would tell you the moment the thought arose. He’s been with a few women who’d overstayed their welcome and he’s learned not to dance around it if he wanted the comforting discomfort of his loneliness back. Alternatively, if he’s been invested, gave a shit, and was receptive to you opening your soul to him, he’d be more delicate. Whether it was a fault on his end, or you had finally had enough of his baggage he could feel it. He could feel when your laugh didn’t hold the same joy in it like it used to, your eyes didn’t look at him with the enthusiasm he’s grown accustomed to anymore. When Nathan noticed the signs, it was the most brutal pain he’s ever felt, emotionally that is. He never wanted you to feel like you were trapped with him, it’s just as bad if not worse for sticking around just because he was famous in his eyes.

Much like his affection for you, the man has to put all of his feelings, all the words he has left to say to you, and his best wishes for you all on paper. It’s not a script mind you, more of a practice for how he’d approach you. He felt pitiful as he stood in front of his mirror as you slept in the bed just feet from him, mumbling tiredly as he rehearsed the best approach. Nathan didn’t want to completely break your spirits or guilt trip you, the only thing that has brought him joy was your happiness and even if you had to find it with someone else he’d be content knowing you weren’t forcing something that had died out a long time ago.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

The moment he felt like he could talk to you openly without the guard of his walls, he knew he wanted to be yours forever. Mind you this would be over the course of at least a couple of years as you grew with the band. He was a busy man and in the beginning he’d rather do anything else that sit down to have a conversation he thought he’d regret at the time.

And now here he was five years later, the best version of himself that he’s been in gods knows how long, commissioning a ring he’d deem as the perfect oath to you. He’d been planning this for the last six months, between working on the music and getting his band mates to swear on their lives that they wouldn’t fuck anything up the time has passed him by. When everything was perfect he put his plan into motion. While on some vacation he’d pull you aside, away from the band and any prying eyes and propose to you. He’d been so caught up in not crying that he definitely didn’t notice Pickle and Toki recording him while skwisgaar recovered from his preemptive cringe to see everything went surprisingly well.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

While Nathan was essentially a brick wall, he has learned to carry himself a bit lighter while he was around you. He used to be heavy handed whenever he handled you but since then he figured out how to turn the brutality meter down. Not to say he didn’t rough house with you, play fights were a guarantee.

Emotionally, it took several trials and tribulations to find that sweet spot he could handle. While he did figure out how to talk a bit easier with you there were still certain topics he’d be blunt and a little hurtful, though it’s never his intention. There’s just some things he needed to work through himself before he drug you into it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Nathan’s arms are two heavy magnets when it comes to you. Anytime you were cooking, washing dishes, or hell just standing around, you’d come to expect Nathan to hug you from behind at any given moment.

He’d also liked to pick you up just to marvel at how light you were! He also enjoyed how you’d instinctively wrap your arms around him but don’t tell him I told you that. Any time he could have you like that he would, most often pulling you in his lap no matter where you were (it was also a tactic to scare any wandering eyes).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Just like with the engagement, he would tell you the moment he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. It took a lot of time, you showing your love for him through your actions so you didn’t scare him off. Nathan is grateful for it and it certainly had him thinking about it. With each passing day he grew more confident that his feelings were concrete.

When he told you, it wasn’t anything special, hell if you ask him he probably wouldn’t remember what you were doing when he did. You could have been laying in bed, you humming a soft tune and he was just laying there. Whatever the case was he wanted to catch you in your most candid moment, being the you- the person he fell for, before he finally said those three magic words.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

It’s Nathan fucking Explosion. You were the one thing he truly had any incentive to keep for himself and himself alone. If he so much as catches anyone glancing your way they caught his cold intimidating glare in response. He knew better than to make a scene, the first incident nearly killed you with how embarrassed you were. He definitely pulled the “do you know who I am” card and slung a few swears, very loudly might I add.

He would take every step he could to keep you close to prevent anyone from making that move. Every possible chance he could get you were in his lap, leaning against his chest, or wrapped around his arm. It was definitely something he needed to work on, but it was gonna be a bit of a bumpy road. For now you appreciate the thought behind it at the very least.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

You had actually initiated the first kiss, but when he found his footing he found it. He was breathless as he watched you crawl over him, wanting to do something but didn’t want to scare you incase you changed your mind last minute. The kiss grew fervent quickly as his lips molded to yours in his own sloppy rhythm.

Usually when he was itching for a kiss you’d catch him staring at your lips and then quickly away nonchalantly. Other times, he’d turn your face from what ever you were doing or whoever you were talking to to steal a quick one. And no matter the length or intensity he always held so much passion with each connection.

Nathan was a sucker for kissing the top of your head. Whatever shampoo you used always seemed to lull the giant into a docile state as he hugged you from behind. Pickle mentioned it as something akin to witchcraft how fast you could switch up his mood. Alternatively, when he’d lay his heavy head in your lap he’d occasionally turn his head to kiss at your thighs. No matter how small or thick they were he adored how comfortable they were to lay on.

When it came to receiving, he was fairly partial to cheek kisses. It tickled him how gentle you were with him not matter what you did, even though you knew he was the farthest thing from fragile. As unbrutal as it was, he couldn’t help but enjoy every attack you’d unleash upon him, smothering his face in peppered kisses. In addition, he liked getting neck kisses, not even in a sexual way. Lately he’d say the most metal thing was waking up to your partner grazing their lips against his throat before following it up with a proper good morning kiss.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Children were very rarely an obstacle Nathan had come across, even when he did he had at least nough common sense not to act like a complete jack ass around them. He’d goof around, tell a grey joke and generally just get along until they could be done with the whole situation.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Nathan usually slept in so you were up before him most mornings. The man almost always had an iron grip around you preventing you from moving until you, playfully, threatened to piss the bed. Then you’d earned yourself a half asleep “ick” before the heavy limb was begrudgingly removed from you.

When both of you were finally ready for the day, the first thing you did together was stuff your faces with breakfast food and down some black coffee to shake off the rest of the sleep that plagued your systems. After a brief discussion of what your respective plans were for the day you’d go on about your separate ways.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

It was never a guarantee when you’d settle down on any given night. Nathan was a busy man after all, and that included when he wasn’t doing anything music related. You couldn’t complain that’s just how the band was. Nearly constant procrastination to get stuff done was the only unchanging factor, so you were dragged around to all their adventures and shenanigans.

When you did finally retreat to the bedroom at the end of the night, the first thing on your itinerary was climbing into a shower. Lately Nathan’s skin has been breaking out from the stage makeup he wears, but fear not for you figured out a skin care routine for him. And it started with you helping him wash his face properly in the shower. Man has a 6-in-one that he uses for everything.

After showers always consisted of sitting on the bed, wrapped in towels while you talked about any and everything to procrastinate actually getting dressed and settling down. Remember how I said Nathan procrastinates everything? When you finally did get up to get dressed you very rarely went to your own closet, instead you opted just to take one of Nathan’s massive shirts so you didn’t have to sleep in pants.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It didn’t take long to realize that you weren’t going away that easily, and it took even less time for him to realize that you weren’t like a ‘normal’ fan of his. You had confided your fair share of secrets in him that he thought he wouldn’t care about. He found himself holding onto every word you said and realized that maybe he should let you in the metaphorical door. Usually it was small details or a look into how his thought process goes.

Whenever he told you something new it was seldom prompted. It was like you’d stumbled into a secret area in a video game while you were exploring, and the character you’d been trailing with suddenly drops some lore without warning. Despite how odd his patterns were it made him all the more intriguing to you, learning about him as an individual and putting the puzzle pieces together.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience was like a generator for him, the less stress he had plugged in metaphorically, the more patience he had. But as more and more things were piled on the battery drained faster. He tried not to be irritable around you, you never in your time with him ever gave him a reason to be mad. He didn’t want you to be in the splash zone if he snapped.

The only exception to the battery rule he had was if anything happened to you. He can remember all too vividly being at some bar full of regular jack offs with you and the band. Someone where in the background while you and the band were laughing about something Pickle had said, a bar fight had started. At first Nathan shrugged it off, it was annoying but it didn’t ruin the atmosphere. That was until one of them threw a half full bottle of Natty Light just above your head, having missed its initial target. The glass shattered and nicked your shoulder, the remaining booze that splashed didn’t do much to help the situation as you winced hardly at the stinging.

None of the band knew Nathan had hopped over the table until they heard him toss a couple of rage filled swears at the culprit.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Having always been slow to learn things, Nathan took it upon himself to keep a section of his notebook dedicated to your favorite anything. It could be as small as your favorite color or as important as an allergy you’d mentioned so he didn’t accidentally gift you something you couldn’t eat/enjoy. He would challenge himself to memorize important dates and names you’d told him in passing to surprise you when he asks about them later.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in their relationship?)

The singers favorite moment in the time he’s met you would probably have to be the first time he heard you sing. As insignificant as it may seem, he did really enjoy your voice.

He was walking back to his room after having a particularly frustrating conversation with Charles. When he grew closer he could hear muffled noises that sounded like humming. Slowly, he opened the door to see you standing by the window, looking out over the rest of Mordhaus as you sang. It was a song he’s never heard but you carried it so well.

Nathan shut the door quietly and made his way over, any frustration he had faded into the back ground. His arms wrapped around your waist and he had to bite back a chuckle as you squealed. The moment was short but it was the softest he’s felt for anyone ever, and he has you to thank for that.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

Much like the jealousy segment showcased, Nathan is usually on top of everything when it comes to your protection. He’s a fuckin brick shithouse so he can handle anything physically. During the course of your relationship with him, he’s most likely hospitalized a small country worth of people who tried to make any kind of move to hurt you— being in the spot light did have its risks you know.

Security ran deeper than just what he could do physically. Having to overcome fear and rejection, he’s learned a small handful of coping mechanisms. He uses that knowledge to help you whenever he recognizes the signs of panic or in general just discomfort. Sometimes you’d have to remind him that you’re ok, that it wasn’t that serious. He just worries about you!

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nathan’s parents were always he blueprint when it came to his perspective of love. When he got famous he never thought he’d reach it, but now that he has you he’s ecstatic to use every trick he’s observed in his youth. On dates and anniversaries expect a plethora of cliche gifts: big bouquets of roses, stuffed animals, jewelry.

He engraved each and every date that something important has happened on in his brain, and also written several times on calendars and in his notebook, so there was absolutely no chance he’d forget anything. He’s working with Charles to plan events and parties for your anniversary, the big fancy ones and not just something he’d usually throw together with the guys.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Nathan tends to shut down some days when he’d have a particularly bad dream…speaking of he’s rather private about his dreams. Any time you’d ask what was on his mind he refused to elaborate further than just “mm’bad dream..”

He was a diva in his own way, if it wasn’t perfect it wasn’t accepted. So many albums lost, green rooms wrecked, tours nearly ruined. Though it makes you uncomfortable to see him regress to tantrums sometimes, you chalked it up to the fame. These moments were small in comparison to your relationship as a whole.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Nathan takes at least some pride in his appearance, anything so he didn’t fall to Williams level. He did have an Old Spice 4-in-1: shampoo, conditioner, face wash, body wash. Why have so many products that all smelled different? It was a lot on his senses so he uses that so all of him was clean and smelled like…wait what did the bottle say? Congealed Liquified Corpse…it was a Dethklok x Old Spice collab. Brutal name aside, it actually made him smell earthy, piney even— it was a joke in a bottle.

Shower practice aside, he did the basics when it came to his actual appearance; he’d comb his hair, brush his teeth, wipe his ass. It did the job well enough and he was ok with how he looked.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely he would, you’d become his home. You domesticated the beast and he was forever putty in your hands. Without you, he’d feel lost. There was no hole in his heart, it was just gone— you were his heart. Any time you had to leave for some other business Charles had you doing, he’d just mope around alone in the room if he wasn’t distracting himself with the band. Even then, the party felt incomplete without you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Nathan is very fluent in French, like he sounds like he grew up speaking it. He most definitely sweet talks you in French. Alternatively he would get away with saying the most outta pocket and down right filthy shit to you and no one has a clue until they see you quickly turn red.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In a partner, he really doesn’t want just some fan— he’s been burned way too many times. They’re shallow and don’t even want to know who he is as a person, it’s slimy and not to mention very one sided.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

See his thre- uhh two point plan, in the cuddle section. He won’t sleep well if he isn’t tangled up with you. In addition if you sleep with any kind of noise going on, he’d adapt and now he can’t sleep without anything going on in the background. Noticing his infatuation with the ocean lately, you introduced him to whale songs to sleep to and boy howdy is he out like a light whenever you turn it on.

Ok I got a little carried away, but I’m really proud of it! Let me know what you think of my big pushover- aha!

Keep those requests in coming! I’m loving the ideas so far. Up next is trans! Pickles x gn! Reader! What’s the plot? No body knows, babe! It it will certainly be an adventure that’s for sure!

Stay tuned, dethfans!

#metalocalypse #dethklok #x reader #nathan explosion #metalocalypse x reader #dethklok x reader #nathan explosion x reader #gn reader #Nathan is such a pushover I’ve decided #you have no fucking idea how long this took #I planned to have this out two days ago #tumblr mobile app keeps glitching on save ugh #anyways keep the requests pouring this is so fun!

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