#sasoriminibang2020

[ku-mareee]

Day 1- Narcissism

@sasori-mini-bang

[justanotherblonde]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE WORLD’S BEST SCORPION PUPPET MASTER!!

today’s offering for the @sasori-mini-bang​ is “Home”, a time travel sci-fi Sasori Survives!AU. 

A blast of gritty desert wind whipped through Sasori's robes and forced him to close his eyes. His long lashes blocked the particles of sand from entering the membranes of his ocular implants—the length of his eyelashes was as functional as it was cosmetic. Every part of this body was.

The eyes and hands were the only parts of one's body that remained exposed in traditional Sunan attire. Decades had passed since he last set foot on this planet, and long had it been since he had worn the robes, head wrappings and breathing apparatus of his people. Today the apparatus was merely part of his disguise: the body he now inhabited did not require recycled water or oxygen to survive this harsh, arid climate.

He scanned the crowded market square once more, running infrared and x-ray analyses in addition to visual spectrum partly because he could, and partly because he was growing impatient. Where was the boy? Dozens of people bustled back and forth from stall to stall, the hot, heavy air peppered with the shouts of merchants advertising their wares. He had not missed this chaos.

Today was the right day to execute his plan, of that much he was certain. He had been watching and waiting, as much as he hated it. The wormhole had brought his consciousness to the right year, but he had still needed many of this planet's lunar cycles to reconstruct a body that met his requirements. After that, he had needed time to observe and devise a strategy while remaining incognito—or, more specifically, off Chiyo's radar. If she were to discover him here and now all of his preparation would be for nothing.

There. Chiyo and her grandson appeared at the far end of the square. She paused at a vegetable stall while the boy wandered into the crowded market on his own, dull brown eyes passively perceiving the boisterous atmosphere. He held something in his hands—Sasori remembered it well—one of his earlier robots, a melon-sized scorpion complete with flexible, actuated joints. The boy was looking for somewhere secluded to play with it.

Continue reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352738

[kaknzn]

A late piece for the @sasori-mini-bang ! Prompt: Narcissism. 

This was a fun piece to do honestly, and I had a lot of fun trying to do something in renaissance style. This is Sasori as Narcissus!

[sunagakurenosato]

When Sasori walks home after the regicide, he expects them to figure it out.

Entry in @sasori-mini-bang, Day 3, Precious Gifts Warnings: Tw semi-mentioned depictions of a murder (^ regicide) and tw PTSD (not technically but for tagging purposes)

Sasori did not will himself to walk home— he could not go home. But he continued walking, as if by someone else’s strings. One foot in front of the other; his eyes vaguely focused on the dirt road before him.

His arms were not his. His body was not his. His house, this home that he found himself in front of, was not his.

He could not bring himself to knock on their door. He should just go��� stop playing house and pretending that he belonged here. That anything would ever be alright after he—

Read the rest at AO3!

[jacarandabanyan]

Sasori finds himself indebted to Kisame after Kisame saves Deidara from a brush with death. When a chance presents itself to repay Kisame, he takes it.

Entry in @sasori-mini-bang​ Day 3: Sasori Lives AU/Precious Gifts Warnings: Blood/Injury, some canonical character death, Sasori’s truly terrible taste in gifts

“What do you want?”

“Hmm?”

“We are criminals, Hoshigaki. We don’t do things out of the goodness of our hearts. So what is it that you’re angling for?”

Kisame shrugged. “I wasn’t lying. I do enjoy Deidara-san’s presence at meetings. But if you’re offering, I do have some passing interest in antidotes. Do you have anything that cycles toxins out of the lungs?”

Sasori shook his head.

“Antidotes aren’t like medicine. They target specific toxins, occasionally in quite specific ways. Have you been poisoned?”

He doubted it; Kisame looked as hearty as ever.

“No. Not poisoned.”

“Too bad. Then I recommend you see a real doctor.”

All he got for his entirely reasonable suggestion was a snort.

He waited, but Kisame just sunk back under the water without asking for anything else.

Read on AO3

[zombie-honeymoon]

Summary:

Sasori wants his new model all for himself, not wanting to share with anyone and Sasori always gets what he wants.

For the @sasori-mini-bang  Day 4 - Prompt: My Muse 

Sorry it’s a day late… 

[ku-mareee]

Day- 2 Poisonous

@sasori-mini-bang

[justanotherblonde]

hello my loves! this weekend i’ve got three sexy pieces for the Sasori Mini-Bang! today’s offering: The Narcissist’s Muse

@sasori-mini-bang​

He was smiling as he worked. He knew it, too. Couldn’t help himself. He lived for this work. This work was his life. His life was this work. He was this work.

A little more off the cheek. His were not prominent cheek bones. But he had to get the curve of the—what had the med-nin called it?—malar prominence and eye orbit as it lay beneath skin just right. So he shaved a little more wood away with his knife, sharpened not ten minutes ago on the leather strop he kept on his worktable. Blades had to be kept fresh, every stroke precise to the millimeter.

The block of wood pressed between his left hand and the anchored backboard was far from finished: its surface was rough, consisting of flat gouges where he had removed material to form a vague sphere; he had drilled two holes deep into the sphere where the eye sockets would appear and a third hole where the spinal column would have been up into the skull to allow him to hollow out the sphere, creating a shell of an appropriate thickness. For now, the surface was crisscrossed with pencil strokes marking the centerline and positions of features. These would slowly be removed as he smoothed away unwanted edges.

Taking his attention away from the cheek for a moment, he set aside his short knife and picked up a moderately curved gouging tool. He needed to remove more material from inside the skull before he could work properly on the eye sockets. It would not take long: his wrist twisted in curt, measured demi-rotations, flicking wood shavings out of the cavity onto his worktable at a rapid pace. The consistent speed, pressure, and length of his strokes were what had earned him his reputation as a master of efficiency and prolific creator in the Puppet Corps. Yet those weapons he had produced for his ungrateful colleagues were bundles of matchsticks compared to this. In those days, on a budget, he had been forced to work with the materials the Corps could afford: dull blades and frustratingly mediocre wood. On this project, unlike then, he had spared no expense on materials.

Selecting the right wood had been paramount. It needed to be close-grained, not porous. The pores of an open-grained wood would drink up the finish, leaving it bumpy and uneven like the face of some pockmarked ancient. Why should his body be riddled with disgusting imperfections when it could be smooth and flawless? Close-grained wood, once carved, carefully sanded and meticulously oiled would take the varnish in a smooth, mirror-like gloss.

The wood had to be durable, rot-resistant, insect-resistant and dense. If it was difficult to work with because of this, so be it. He had the tools, he had the time, and he would not rest until this job was done. The wood must not lose color when exposed to light or water or any other unfriendly element. He would take great care selecting ingredients for and mixing his finishes, when the time came—experiments were necessary before he could guarantee that no undesired reaction would occur between oil or alcohol in the finish and wood.

The wood he had chosen possessed a straight grain, so fine, so thin, so uniform in texture that the striations would be invisible save to the most discerning observer. The color was a pinkish cream; each block of wood hid a blushing, blooming rose. He worked with the natural ebb and flow of these hues, each piece of him pale where it would need to be pale, flushed where it needed color and life.

... 

Keep reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352591

[sunagakurenosato]

Sasori is, indisputably, beautiful. He knows this. He likes hearing about it anyway.

Entry in @sasori-mini-bang, Day 1, Narcissist Warnings: Vampire AU, expect a speckle of blood Relationships: Sasori/Tenno (Sandaime Kazekage)

Sasori did not come here for blood.

The music reverberated through the speakers and a mess of bodies moved against each other, bewitched by the Northern Lights of blue and pink and then green that shone over the dance floor. A head thrown back and hair down, someone’s eyes met his as the stranger traced his open hands down his chest, and then lower. Much lower. Hips moving against the beat.

But Sasori did not move from his spot at the bar; he did not look away. Merely smiled, with a glint of something sharp behind it.

He did not come here for blood. But he came here to feed.

Read the rest at AO3

[justanotherblonde]

it’s the last day of the @sasori-mini-bang​! 😭 my final piece will not make you cry as much as the last one (sorry about that, my loves!) but it will entertain you~! 

Summary: It's Halloween. You receive a Scorpion's Kiss from the bartender.

Sasori Mini-Bang 2020 Day 2 Prompt: Poisonous / Day 5 Prompt: Free Day

Characters: Sasori (Naruto), Reader Additional Tags: POV Second Person, Bartenders, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Sasori Mini Bang, SasoriMiniBang, Sasori Mini-Bang, You get flirted with, You flirt

You wander up to the bar. The bartender draws your eye with his shock of fiery red hair, long, doll-like eyelashes, and immaculately put-together Victorian vampire costume. Taking it all in, you could almost believe that this man is indeed an immortal being dressed in clothing he actually procured in the late 1800s. You draw closer. His pale skin is dusted with powder, and the blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth looks too dark to be fake. He turns to speak to a customer: his fangs glisten, pearly white and perfectly porcelain. Doubt leaves your mind: this man must be the real deal.

He turns to you and you’re paralyzed by his cool brown eyes. His face betrays no emotional reaction upon seeing you: he bestows the same impassive expression on all of his customers.

“What’s your poison?” he asks, soft tenor voice cutting through the noise of the crowd.

“Um…” You mutter the name of your usual mixed drink, nothing fancy. You’ve been out drinking since ten and your wallet is doing its best impression of a desiccated skeleton.

The vampire props an elbow up on the bar, cups his chin in his hand and regards you with a sly, closed-mouthed smile, a single fang protruding over his lip.

“You don’t want that,” he says firmly, eyelashes beating slowly like butterfly wings. “Let me make you something a little more interesting.”

He scoops ice from the freezer into his shaker, coattails swirling as he spins around the space, snatching bottle after bottle. A splash of this, a shot of that—your eyes grow wide as you realise just how much alcohol is going into this thing. Poison, indeed, you think.

Keep reading on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427108

Bonus: my aesthetic for this was definitely inspired by @cabbage2012′s art here and here and here

[sunagakurenosato]

A lot can happen within the span of a year.

Late entry in @sasori-mini-bang Day 5: Free Day Warnings: Minor character death, and sadness mostly

“Thank you.”

Sasori squinted at the three pieces of gulab jamun that were offered to him. He was all of six years old and knew that only teachers and parents gave out sweets. And only if you had done a good job at something.

The blonde haired boy standing in front of him was neither teacher nor parent. And Sasori had not done anything special recently.

“What’s it for?” Sasori asked. “Is this a bribe?”

Read the rest at AO3!

[sunagakurenosato]

There will always be experiences that define a person and shape the landscape of their world views. This was one of Sasori's storms.

Entry in @sasori-mini-bang, Day 2, Poisonous Warnings: ...well poison. Hospital scene if you’re not into that. Minor character death

In the hospital lobby was a violent storm, and Sasori was trapped in the middle of it.

Someone behind him darted towards the growing front in the middle of the Resuscitation bay. And as the doctors and nurses’ hurried movements surged in intensity, Sasori could feel the temperature in his skin go into free fall.

The harsh fluorescent lights blinded him. He could barely make out the materials being brought in. The green of the oxygen tank. A face that moved from pink and gasping to a quiet ashen color. The flurry of shapes.

The noise in the room faded. Like when you’re swimming in the sea, and a wave too big, too heavy pushed you down before you could take your last breath.

Asystole, continue compressions.

Read the rest at AO3