Hi, I am very normal about dca with tusks. I have a question. Can they growl for real? Can yn feel it if they were to put a hand on their chest? (One of my favorite tropes!!)
I sit us down like this is a business meeting. and then I open up my briefcase.
though they have no traditional vocal cords, the vibrations from their voice boxes can be felt all the same. yay!!!
... :) I am also very normal about it--and this ask has forever rolled around in my mind since. ty for enabling me 💚
reader x yeti!moon
❄️ word count: 1,312
You never were much of a survivalist sort. Without the help of the 'ice devil' before you, you'd long since be a popsicle left forgotten in the mountains. Vanessa was right; you never should've left town without her.
But luck had it you found a different tour guide. Not without ample struggle first.
"Could you do that again?" You ask, watching as the yeti slowly and methodically maneuvers around. Each step he takes is calculated well before his metal paws touch the icy surface of the terrain.
Moon's back is turned to you. Wearing a long, draping cap that ombres from a pastel lilac to a mosaic of stars. A light gust of frigid wind rustles the pristine white fur of his coat wrappings.
A slight twitch of his glacial horns, readjusting in their slots on his faceplate, indicates that the lumbering giant is listening to you, despite his choice to stay silent. He bends at his knee joints, squatting to start pulling a fishing line out from the chunks of ice. Hunting for the hooks, the gleams of silver that could catch upon the wildlife in this area.
Further out, where the mouth of the cavern yawns open, is a watercolor splash sunset. The beginning signs that night is approaching. Floes break off the solid chunks of glacial ice, drifting out to the inky void of the ocean.
You observe Moon for a moment longer, and then, encouraged by the vague gesture of interest, you continue, "Y'know, smile," resting your chin on both your palms, your elbows upon your knees as you lean forward.
Whenever you speak, mist curls out from the corners of your mouth. The swirls betray your mischief to the robot a couple yards away.
"no," Moon responds. You fight the urge to instantly react in turn, letting the sloth-like robot take his time as he winds up a fishing wire, "takes too much energy."
A sigh escapes you as you fall back into the powdery snow that dusts the stone outcrops. The darkness of the cavern is split into fractals by the ice draping down from the ceiling in curtains, looking like thousands of tiny crystals. A drained thermos of hot cocoa sits to your left.
According to Moon, you were still a few days out from making it back to town on foot. It didn't help speed matters up that your "guide" only traveled at night, when the temperatures were easily sub-zero. The only other option was to weave through frosty caves, the nightlight glow of Moon all you can follow.
You stretch out your fingers, closing your digits into a fist beneath the dense layers of gloves and mittens. Eyeing a particular icicle that looks like a glittering gemstone. Out of reach.
You turn your head, and look to Moon. The circlet of icicles around his head - six horns, you count — shimmer in the light. The tips of his horns are weathered, a devil only in name and name alone. Frost curls up and down the cold surface of his metalwork frame.
During the day, boredom plagues you as restlessly as the hunger gnawing at your stomach. It was almost time for dinner. Another evening spent relying on your generous guide for a meal. Last night, you hovered by the yeti's side, drooling as he carefully pared off layers of fish scales to expose the juicy meat beneath, nestled between pockets of thin bone.
You nearly burnt your tongue once you dug into the meal, starved and enthusiastic. That was the moment you first saw Moon smile, as he laughed so quietly into the back of his hand, that you almost missed the rumble of his subdued joy.
You never were much of a survivalist sort. Without the help of the 'ice devil' before you, you'd long since be a popsicle left forgotten in the mountains. Vanessa was right; you never should've left town without her.
But luck had it you found a different tour guide. Not without ample struggle first.
As the quiet settles in, you mull over your options to pass the time. You could help Moon with tidying up—Or! You could continue to badger him. Badgering sounds more tantalizing than cleaning, and so, you press the issue further.
Hopping back up onto your boots, your arms wobble out in a struggle for balance, sliding forward on the ice. Moon stiffens, then resumes his task of winding up the fishing cord.
You pull the puffer jacket you wear tighter around your frame. The jacket has been carefully mended with Moon's help, since Sun's claws nearly tore it to shreds. He was surprisingly good at embroidery, having decorated the jacket where he patched it with a plethora of stars and diamonds, returning it to you with an apology. You hadn't minded being swaddled up in the furs he wears for the time being, actually.
You circle around Moon, expecting the mountain of snowy fluff to respond to your presence. There’s no indication he sees your circling, either playing into the cards or genuinely unaware of your approach.
Feeling playful, you pounce at the robot, arms outstretched to encircle its shockingly lithe framework.
The smile on your face wipes away the instant you feel claws wrap around your wrist to effortlessly lift you into the air. You stand at the tips of your boots, the muscle fibers in your arm stretching and feeling as if they might snap apart thread by thread.
You are pulled up to be eye-level with the hulking, spindly devil, donned with blindingly white furs. Your field of vision is consumed by their face. Your stare widens as the sharp point of their tusks nearly jabs your eyes out.
Steam puffs from the corners of Moon's mouth, briefly fogging up the cold metal on his faceplate with each faux breath. The eye on your left is alive and alert, a vivid LED screen with an acute, digital pupil. The eye on your right — and the side you made the mistake of approaching the yeti on — is a darkened void, metal torn into with deep gashes and corroded with rust.
The warmth of his synthesized 'breath' brushes off your face with a huff of air. Like being sat up right against a furnace, boiling and burning. You watch as silicone shifts, inner mechanisms inside the thin layer of their mask moving to open up the hinge of their jaw. The jaw hinges open at the circle divets at the corners of his mouth; silicone pulled taut to bring out a large, predatory grin. Lined with sharp, jagged, metal teeth that look deadlier than a bear trap.
"happy?" Moon asks. His expression is cast in shadow as the sun sets behind him, leaving only the bright glare of his remaining pupil the source of light you cling onto.
"Y, yes, well, I guess so—" you find your voice enough to stammer. Fear rushes through your body as the muscles in your arm scream, the soles of your boot losing their grip on the ice and causing you to freely dangle from the yeti's iron grip.
All at once, Moon lets go. Dropping you quickly and abruptly down, the decision jarring and sudden. The yeti backs away a few paces, crystalline horns retracting into their face plate as his pupil thins out.
Moon fumbles, caretaking protocols gnashing against his reactive response, quickly sorting through—didn't mean to, reflexes are— before deciding saying nothing at all was better than a half-baked apology seasoned with nonsense excuses. Utterly flavorless.
You are not a threat to him— you couldn't have known that being approached in his blind spot puts him on edge— but humans have not always been kind to what they perceive as nothing more than an eternal beast.
"i'll go check the nets," Moon mutters with a duck of his head away and out of sight, lumbering away with more speed than you've seen him exert in awhile.
You sit there in the snow, and miserably untangle the scarf you wear off your neck, tossing it aside.
The cheerily bright colors of the fabric mock you, waving like a flag in the infinite expanse of the arctic.
reader x yeti!moon
🩸word count: 1,621
2/2 chapters.
rated M
SNIPPET-
Water drips down your arms. A steady stream of crystalline beads forming a river.
Stray droplets of blood mix in; diluted by the pure liquid. Cascading, as steam curls around your naked body in a comforting shroud.
The bathroom is soothingly dark, save for the soft glow of a night-light plugged in beside the sink. Flickering, now and then, like a candle flame.
The pounding in your skull causes the faintest splotch of light to bloom into a supernova. Staining the underside of your eyelids in a kaleidoscope of colors. Stupid, you berate yourself. You were so stupid.
You want to blend in with the mist, to meld with the shadows. Maybe it'd save you from the wretched shame curling inside your guts, making you feel rotten from the inside out.
Your heart beats faster as you recall the look of concern on Sun's face. Clinging desperately to the smallest of details.
