#I feel like I just need to get some of the gunk off

[the-njnb]

Taking my brain out and giving it a good scrub wouldn’t fix all my problems but it would fix a lot of them

[bunnyboy-juice]

ngl. every time i see someone talk about a fairly standard/innocuous bong or pipe that isnt that structurally complex and they talk about the way it would be "impossible" to keep it clean my concern for the ways y'all treat your glass (and therefore your lungs) rises by 10 notches........

[writingoddess1125]

You Give them Face Mask! 🧼

Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Usopp, Buggy, Mihawk

Fluffy Fluff

Just felt like more Fluff Fluff rn 😌 Enjoy!

Luffy

Trying to get this man into a face mask is like trying to wash a puppy- A happy struggle and pain in the ass.

"Luffy please" You say with a sad eyes- He will fold after this and let you. However he doesn't sit still so you use a sheet mask that simply helps with oily skin.

"This smells nice" He will say as you have to bribe him with snacks to keep it on for 15 minutes.

"It's rose scented" You say and wear one yourself to keep him still with some gummy candies. Will have trouble sitting still and will start chatting and walking in circles as he waits.

Once it's over he rubs his shiny face and talks about how squeaky he sounds. Utterly destroying your work-

Sanji

Sanji is more then willing to indulge you. Picking out some mild scents and you do a peel off mask since he has deep pores.

"Wanna do the charcoal mask?" You offer which he accepts after finding the scent pleasant enough.

"Do people do these often?" He will flirt and talk about the curiosities in your self care. Once the mask is done he will complain about the tightness.

"That means it's ready to peel!!"

"AHHH! OW!!?" He yelps in surprise as you pull the mask off his face. His face bright red and raw from this so you add some water based moisturizer to his face. You show him the mask.

"That was in my face!?"

Will both be disgusted and fascinated by the amount of gunk pulled from his skin.

Zoro

His skin is fairly flawless which is honestly frustrating since he cares so little for his skin.

You offer the face mask anyway and he refuses for a while bit does eventually fold. You use a snail slime mask on him since it will keep him skin looking flawless.

"This smells funny..." He grumbles as he will lay there listening to you talk, Half asleep and waiting. Will open his eye occasionally and ask a few questions about your interest in this stuff.

You wipe it off and help him rince his face. Skin is pretty much glowing at this point and You stare in awe. "So pretty!"

"I'm going to go train now-" You scream at him in protest in trying to ruin his pretty face.

Usopp

Usopp is willing of course, since the ocean air drys his skin quite a lot. So you use a shea butter face mask and tap his skin with your fingers to help it soak in his rough skin.

"You know I once got a spa treatment from Mermaids like this-' He will spin his tales as You work. When you do rince off the mask you add some nice skin oils afterwards to his skin.

You rub a lot of oil in his skin and he will pause his stories as he judt enjoys the time. Will smell the jar you're using and a softness will run over his face in fondness.

"This smells like the stuff my mother used to use-" He will say with a smile. His skin looks shiny and golden by the time your done, making him look sexy- in his own words.

Will come back regularly to have you treat his skin and will even talk about stories with his mother from time to time.

Buggy

Grease paint wrecks havoc on one's skin Buggys especially since he wears it so much. Needs some detoxing clay mask then a aloe moisture one to replenish. If you're doing his face might as well deep condition his hair as well.

He does enjoy the attention and doing them since his face feels better. Secretly he actually has acne marks from his youth and some scars from before he ate a devil fruit.

"What was this one from?" You ask pointing to a light scar on his cheek.

"Hmm 10- Me and Shanks were trying to figure out blades better. Let's say I learned knives can bounce back at you-" He says amused and letting you work.

"The skin around your nose is dry" Buggy will frown, thinking you're about to insult him since even though he trust you the most his insecurities will win- till you carefully paint the mask on those areas and smile proudly.

"There we go, all better" You say and kiss his hand to go apply your own.

Will sit and listen to you read outloud or talk with him about show ideas as he lays there with the face mask.

"Can we do this every night?"

Mihawk

"No-" He will protest, his eyes narrowing as you offer the mask to him. However after enough begging and ever Perona joining in at pestering him he will fold.

Mihawk gets treated to a full spa day when this happens- A hydrating honey facemask on his skin, cucumbers on his eyes and even a hair mask in his hair to make it softer.

Perona is overjoyed as well as she cleans his nails and applies clear polish to make them shiny and nice! Grumbles the whole time silently and ends up Downing a bottle of wine.

"Do not get used to this-" He grumbles as he takes his wine and drinks from it as you and Perona work. He kinda looks like a spa mom-

Once done this man looks runway ready- His hair is much softer so sets lower, his skin flawless and even his beard looks nicer. Stares at you and Perona deadpanned and sighs-

"Thank you both for the nice gesture..."

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request drift (idw/lost light) having an opposite personality, daughter? With said daughter being with him since he was deadlock?

First of the MTMTE cast to have a daughter with the opposite personality!

Hope you enjoy!

Drift with a daughter with the opposite personality

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Familial, Cybertronian reader

MTMTE

Deadlock found the little sparkling while wandering aimlessly through the gutters of the Dead End.

The poor thing was struggling around in a deep puddle of oil, whirling and chirping for help.

Drift immediately went over and scooped her up from the puddle and placed her down.

Using some cloth and thinner pieces of scrap, he managed to get most of the gunk from the little one’s vents and cleaned most of the excess oil off her.

Drift: “There.” He feels a bit proud he managed to help someone out, even if it wasn’t much. The sparkling stared at him with wide optics and curiously chirped at him. Drift looked around. Drift: “Where are your guardian’s at—oh?” The sparkling was attempting to hug his pede. Drift: “Oh! I’m not—Little one I’m—now go on now.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling away from him. The sparkling looks a bit confused before waddling right back to him… but not before tripping going headfirst back into the puddle. Drift quickly grabs the sparkling from the puddle again. She blinks as Drift once again cleans her face. Drift: “You need to watch where you’re going, little one. Now go and this time the other way.” Drift gently pushes the sparkling in the opposite direction. The sparkling chirps at him sadly before waddling sadly away. Drift spark clenched. This was for the best… Right… SPLASH! Drift: “Oh sweet Primus not again!” Drift picked up the sparkling in the cloth, but this time made no move to put her down. Drift: “…I guess you’re stuck with me… At least until your guardians arrive.” The sparkling chirps happily as she snuggles up into his chassis.

What was he doing?

Drift barely had enough as it was to support himself and now, he had a little sparkling!

…But he buckles up a bit and tries working odd jobs to at least get more credits for some kind of energon for the sparkling.

He was grateful that the little thing was quiet and not that fussy.

Though her curiosity and slight clumsiness were the downside.

Drift is looking around for his sparkling. Drift: “Little one! Little one where are you!? I really need to name her…” He hears some chirping and frantically looks around him. A rock falls on his helm. Drift: “OW!” He looks up and feels all the energon draining from his frame. The sparkling was sitting on a rusty guard rail a couple feet up in the air. Drift: “How did you get up there!?” Drift pulls a stray crate and stands on it trying to reach her. Drift: “Hey little buddy, come here. Come to papa buddy!” The sparkling chirps before the rail gives in. Drift manages to catch her just as the railing came down. He frantically looks at his sparkling, who was thankfully unharmed. Drift: “Oh thank Primus… you really scared me there buddy. Buddy? Hmm… that’s sounds nice don’t you think?” Buddy chirps in agreement.

As the years grew on, Buddy matured much quicker than Drift would have liked it.

It seemed that one minute he was holding her servo as she nervously tried her first transformation.

The next she was carrying him to safety after a couple of mechs decided to beat him to a pulp for not giving him the rest of his circuit booster.

She often scolded him about taking those… enhancements and telling him the damage they could cause.

Buddy manages to messily wield a bit of scrap metal onto his arm. Drift winces a bit. Buddy: “…This wouldn’t happen if—” Drift: “I laid off the boosters. Buddy how many more times are we going to go through this?” Buddy gives him a slight glare. Buddy: “Enough times to see when that message gets into that thick helm of yours… I don’t know how to fix you if you…” Buddy grunted a bit, not even daring to say the last thing. Drift gives her a reassuring smile. Drift: “Have I mentioned I have the best daughter a mech could ask for?” Buddy smiles a bit. Buddy: “Not too often… but that still doesn’t mean I’m forgetting about the boosters.” Drift: “Scr—” THWACK! Drift rubs his helm. Drift: “Buddy!”

Buddy was a scrapy youngling when Drift nearly overdosed on speedster circuits and engex.

She remembered cradling his glitching frame, crying for someone to help her.

Was pushed and nearly beaten by some thugs who wanted Drift’s frame, before the famous officer Orion Pax cuffed them.

Buddy tried to stand up and protect her father by trying to shield his body with her frame.

She was utterly terrified but ready to fight for him.

Was surprised when the officer kindly told her he knew someone who could help her and Drift.

As frightened as she was, Buddy decides that any chance of saving Drift was worth the risk.

She makes it very clear that Drift needed more care than she did and would refuse until Drift was okay.

Thankfully Ratchet was able to get Drift stable and moves on to help Buddy.

Ratchet starts patching up Buddy. Ratchet: “I take it the mech I just fixed is your guardian?” Buddy: “He’s, my dad.” Ratchet: “Hmm…” Buddy twitches a bit. Ratchet: “You got a question kid?” Buddy hesitantly nods. Buddy: “What are those tools for?” Ratchet: “Those help me see better into a bots smaller crevices.” Buddy: “…Do you think you can teach me how to save a bot from overdosing?” Ratchet stops for a minute. Buddy: “I just don’t know if he might do it again and I want to be prepared for it.” Ratchet looks at the youngling who had determination and slight twinge of fear in her optics. Ratchet: “I can teach you how to better hide some of the boosters and the warning signs, but I can’t teach you the proper procedure.” Buddy looks down a bit. Ratchet: “Not because I don’t want to, but because it is a difficult procedure to do, near impossible without any prior medical knowledge. If you come to me with at least some sort of certification you can do some healing besides a standard patch job, then we’ll see.” Buddy smiles at him with a new look of determination. Buddy: “Then… can you tell me about that tool?”

Drift is glad to see Buddy okay.

He brings her close as they start to depart.

His audial ring a bit with what the doctor had told him about starting a new life and to watch for his daughter.

Buddy makes sure to remember the location of the clinic.

Ratchet is surprised to find the youngling back.

She wants to help him, help others like he did with Drift.

Buddy couldn’t exactly go to school or medical school, so he was the next best thing.

Ratchet makes her work for it.

Constantly randomly asking her random questions about certain parts of the frame of a Seeker, to names of certain tools and what they are used for.

Buddy makes him proud by putting the work in.

Drift doesn’t notice Buddy’s absence.

He had taken up more tasks and jobs that were taking even more time than before.

As much as Buddy loved Drift, she did wish he was home more.

Those were peaceful moments where they would staring into the sky and see how many constellations they could spot.

Buddy soon stops coming by the clinic, which worries Ratchet but there are other things he needs to worry about now.

As much as it pains him…

What happened?

Drift had brought Buddy to one of Megatron’s rallies.

There was supposable going to be some free energon at the event.

The pair is surprised when the leader of the movement himself came to them.

Megatron asked Drift if he’d like to join.

Drift accepted seeing a new opportunity in life, maybe a better one for him and Buddy.

He was even given a new name, Deadlock.

Buddy didn’t like the name, but never voiced it.

Megatron kindly turned to Buddy and asked her if she wanted to make a difference, to help bots less fortunate to find a voice.

Buddy was onboard with the idea of helping others.

Just like doctor Ratchet!

They became Decepticon’s that very day.

Being a youngling, there wasn’t much Buddy could do but do odd little jobs or be a messenger.

She showed promise in the healing department, and given that the Decepticon’s were short on medics, thoughts on teaching her the ropes didn’t seem too bad.

Buddy was taught by engineers and other doctors around the base.

She quickly rose up to the occasion once the injured started arriving.

It would take a couple more years before she officially was given her doctor’s title.

This happened around the beginning of the war.

Deadlock started becoming this infamous bounty hunter.

Buddy did not like this deadlock persona.

He was rude, snappy, and at times even cruel.

The pairs paths crossing was rare.

The only time they would be in the same room for more than a minute would happen whenever he was sent to the medbay.

Deadlock refuses any medic besides Buddy to see him.

She would feel flattered if the injuries he came back didn’t hurt her spark.

Buddy is patching up Deadlock. He hisses at some of the sparks. Deadlock: “Would it kill for you to be a bit gentler?” Buddy: “Would it kill you to be more careful out there?” Deadlock stays silent. Buddy: “That’s what I thought.” Deadlock: “…How are the exams coming along?” Buddy: “I passed those exams… 6 months ago…” Deadlock: “You did?” Buddy: “I’m a doctor now.” Deadlock chuckles a bit. Buddy swears she hears Drift for a second. Deadlock: “Look at you. I would be proud if you could be a bit gentler with your patients.” Buddy doesn’t say anything as she finishes patching Deadlock up.

The first time he snapped at her, she gave him the silent treatment, a bit in shock that he did that.

Deadlock would later apologies by managing to snag a couple of new tools for her to use.

He would be gone for an unknown number of times, but Buddy found herself trying to cherish the time that she did have with Deadlock.

Deadlock was the last thing she had left of Drift.

Soon enough she stops giving him the silent treatment when she patches him up and continues to scold.

Buddy was tired of seeing her loved ones and friends get hurt all the time, there was some part of her that hoped that nagging enough would get them to be more careful.

It never happened or worked too well.

She hated losing her patients to this war, she hated losing everyone to it.

But the only thing she could do now was do her job.

This was not the future she thought when she stood in front of a smiling Megatron.

Soon enough Buddy was given a promotion.

As Megatron’s personal nurse/doctor.

A doctor that also became a therapist of sorts when he’d started ranting about Prime or the recent battles or just about Starscream.

Given the recent attempts on his life, Megatron saw fit to have someone trusted to care for him.

Buddy just so happened to be the least likely to betray him on his list of medics.

Also least likely to do something other than heal his frame.

Buddy was patching up one of his pedes from a nasty mesh wound. Buddy: “If I’d have to guess… this was Starscream’s doing?” Megatron: “Not entirely.” Buddy: “How so?” Megatron: “I do not believe that is part of your concern.” Buddy gives him a tired look. Buddy: “Yes, silly me, a doctor asking her patient how they got hurt. Silly me for wanting to make sure I am healing it properly.” Megatron: “… I trip down the stairs.” Buddy blinks. Buddy: “You what?” Megatron: “And in falling I kicked Starscream in the face causing him to retaliate.” Starscream on a nearby berth: “How do you think I would have responded!?” Skywarp laughs by his side, ‘playfully’ slapping the Seeker. THWACK! Skywarp was now on the floor groaning as he held his helm. Buddy has another wrench in her servo while not taking her optics off the wound. Buddy: “Don’t touch my patients like that.” Megatron: “…How is it that you never decided to join your fa—” Buddy gives him a sharp look that surprisingly shuts him up. Buddy: “I’d rather fits the bots that I see, not dismantle them.”

Buddy began to see Deadlock a bit more too, no surprise him being one of the few mechs in the warlord’s inner circle.

Though not much was said between the two.

It wasn’t personal, but there wasn’t a lot of time between the pair given one’s job being outside the base taking bots out.

While the other spent most of her time in the base patching up the wounded.

It would be a simple miscalculation that would cause a major shift in Buddy’s life.

Someone had breached the information of the location of Megatron’s base.

It was compromised and they all needed to move.

There was a rapid panic through the troops as they tried to move everything before the Autobots would arrive.

Buddy was in the med bay trying to get patients to safety when the first shots were heard.

She only had two bots left.

There was an explosion knocking her back.

Waking up, Buddy quickly realized that she was pinned down by some of the debris.

The doctor struggled to move when a blaster was shoved close to her faceplate.

Buddy freezes staring at the blaster. Spark pulsing too fast. Suddenly the blaster was yanked back. Buddy just stared dumbfounded at the red and blue mech. The scene seemed strikingly familiar to her. Buddy: “Optimus Prime.” Optimus looks down at the medic before it clicked. Optimus: “Buddy. It has been a long time. I see you made yourself a medic.” Buddy: “Doctor actually sir.” Optimus chuckles a bit before he starts to get some of the debris off her. There are some bots arguing against the action, suggesting leaving her there. Buddy stiffens a bit at the thought of being trapped under the rubble alone in the dark. Buddy: “Sir, if I may. I am a doctor and word around is that you need more medics. Allow me to help you.” The Prime looks at her confused. Optimus: “You’d willingly leave your side of the war to join the enemy?” Buddy gives him a serious look. Buddy: “I joined this cause in the promise to help bots and make a better place for Cybertron… I have been deceived sir. I am disappointed and to say I am furious is an understatement.  I can’t think of a better way to get back at the Decepticon’s than taking away a good medic who knows where the secret compartment of data slugs of the location of the next base are.” Buddy was hoping that the data slug would be enough to persuade the Prime. Optimus looks at her with surprise and slight suspicion. He finds no sign of lying. In a single kick, he manages to get most of the debris off Buddy. She now noticed she was down a pede thanks to the explosion. Optimus gently picks her up. Optimus: “Lead the way, Buddy.” A couple hours later in some remote location… Deadlock gets a call. Deadlock: “Yes Lord Megatron.” Megatron: “The base was compromise. We are moving to the next base of operation in the South quadrant.” Deadlock’s optics widen a bit. Deadlock: “The entire base?” Megatron: “The Autobot’s took no prisoners. Anyone who was in the base has been massacred.” Deadlock is silent. Megatron: “…You have my condolences on your loss Deadlock.” The call ends as the Decepticon screams into the silent night.

Buddy was brought into Autobot custody.

She kept a stoic face on meeting the other Autobot’s.

Buddy knew well enough that these bots did not trust her, not that she would blame them.

The only reason she was alive was because she was a medic.

After a fresh coating of paint and change of insignia the doctor was finally allowed in the medbay.

Her façade almost completely dropped seeing Rachet there.

Buddy had long come to the terms that he had offlined at some point in the war.

Her spark warmed seeing her first mentor had survived this long.

Ratchet was surprised to see his former student in front of him.

Under Optimus’s direct order, she was to always stay by Ratchet’s side unless under dire circumstances.

Buddy knew this was for the team to get used to her, but the thing she cared most was seeing how her mentor managed to stay online for so long.

The two would eventually sit down and talk about the past and why she was a part of the Decepticon’s even though she had different views.

Ratchet’s spark clenched a bit hearing one of the biggest being her father staying.

She truly thought if she left the Decepticon’s earlier that he would not last long.

But now… call her cruel but she did not care where he was.

It wasn’t like Deadlock would look for her.

It was thanks to Optimus and Ratchet that Buddy would get integrated fast into the group.

A lot of the bots thought Buddy would soften up Ratchet considering she was younger.

They were so wrong.

Buddy might as well be known as Mini Ratchet because she acted JUST like him!

Buddy finishing the final patch work on Sunstreaker. Sideswipe and Bumblebee were on the berth next to them, wrapped up and waiting for one more look over. Buddy: “And what was going through your processor when you and Sideswipe decided to take on the Elite Trine alone? And to bring Bumblebee, of all bots as back up? No offense Bumblebee.” Bumblebee: “None taken.” Sunstreaker: “In our defense—” Buddy tightens her grip on his armor making him wince. Buddy: “Try again? Sideswipe: “We had it under control.” Buddy gives him an unimpressed look. Buddy: “Yes because nothing says that you have it under control than sitting in themed bay with injuries that could have been avoided—” Bumblebee: “Aww, you do care.” Buddy huffs and continues working. Buddy: “One more peep and its lights out for you.” Sideswipe: “Yeah, like you’d hurt a poor defenseless mech—” THWACK! Sideswipe was knocked out on the berth with a wrench on his chassis. The other yellow mechs stared at her in shock. Buddy just continued her work. Ratchet enters the room. He glances at Sideswipe. Ratchet: “He couldn’t stop running his mouth?” Buddy: “To be fair I gave a warning.” Sunstreaker: “Are you sure that Ratchet isn’t your father?” The young doctor tenses up. Buddy: “And that’s nighty night for you.” She presses a pressure point and watches the mech crumble on the berth. Bumblebee makes the right decision and lays back down.

Buddy hadn’t exactly introduced herself to Drift.

She remembered hearing about Deadlock defecting and going by Drift once again.

She also remembers waking up in the medslab with a concern Rodimus by her side.

But any opportunity of meeting him Buddy had to stop herself.

It was too painful.

Too many why’s and hurting for Buddy to handle.

Ratchet was very admitted about having her go and meet him, that he was nothing like Deadlock.

She still refused to.

The young doctor knew that if she met this new mech and didn’t see any sign of Drift...

She’d rather avoid that as long as she can.

Timeskip to Lost Light boarding… Buddy was accompanying Ratchet to the med bay when Drift and Rodimus turned the corner. Drift stopped dead in his tracks staring at her. Ratchet continues into the medbay, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Buddy was going though. Buddy mentally and physically steeled herself up. Buddy: “Captain Rodimus, Third in Command Drift. What brings you two to the medbay?” Rodimus: “Buddy you can lose the title thing.” Buddy: “I’m just being polite Captain.” Rodimus raises an optic at Buddy. Buddy: “…Fine. How does Roddy sound?” Rodimus puffs his chassis. Rodimus: “Now that’s better! Anyways, Drift and I were just doing the last walk around the ship. You’ve met Drift, right? You know he defected too?” Buddy and Drift just stare at each other. Buddy: “I am well aware of who Deadlock was.” Buddy pretends not to notice Drift wincing a bit at the sound of his previous name. Buddy: “Now, if you two excuse me, I need to make sure everything is secure and ready for quantum leaps.” Buddy returned back into the medbay sitting close to Ratchet. Rodimus shrugs and continues his walk with Drift who had yet to say anything. Rodimus notices his friend’s silence. Rodimus: “You okay Drift? Did you and Buddy have some sort of history?” Drift: “Rodimus… that was my daughter.” Rodimus: “Oh just your daughter, I thought you—wait what!?”

[cozy-writes-things]

I am absolutely fucking insane and want to see Edgar in pain

Like physically not emotionally or mentally

I’m weirg

I didn't want to be simply cruel to our lil guy in this so its very tame... it simply goes against my programming to be mean to my pookie bear lmao But I'm so thankful for the request!!

“I’m fine,” Edgar pressed, annoyance evident in his shaken voice, “seriously.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and groaning. “Edgar, seriously, you have so much dust buildup in those vents it could cause a fire.” You gestured toward his base component. “I just need to clean it with some compressed air. It’s literally not a big deal!”

He whined again.

“To you, it’s not! To me, it feels too… personal. I’m very sensitive, you know.”

Your shoulders dropped at his words. “Edgar, please? I just don’t want you to get hurt. Or set the apartment on fire. Or both!”

You deployed your best pleading tone for this, hoping, praying, that he’d let you inside to clean him. You just couldn’t bear to see him get so gunked up like this; it made you feel like a bad friend, in a way. He wasn’t able to clean himself, so naturally, that responsibility fell on you. Who would you be if you continued to let him deteriorate like this?

His screen went dim as he thought over your words. You always had a way of swaying him, he feared.

He knew you were right. He was just really, really nervous. An emotion still new to him, but all the more unwelcome. It ruminated inside of him, bubbling up and out of his fans. They struggled to rotate, and he could feel his internal temperature struggling to maintain itself.

“Fine,” he murmured, “but I want to stay on. I don’t need to be plugged in, just… I’m not powering off.”

A weight lifted from your chest as you let out a weary, bated breath. “Oh, thank goodness. I promise, I’ll be careful. I kind of have to. I don’t want to get shocked.”

He chuckled, voice deep and thick with nerves, yet it reverberated through your chest and down through your fingertips. Why were you so worked up about this? It just felt too intimate, for whatever reason. The way your fingers brushed lightly over his casing to move him, eliciting a small whimper of surprise barely whispering from his speakers, your screwdriver carefully unscrewing each little screw, the atmosphere growing thicker with every passing second. The air felt thick and hot. Edgar stayed silent, but you could nearly tangibly feel his fear pricking the air like electricity. It tingled against your fingertips as you carefully lifted his casing to reveal his insides.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You quite literally restored him; you’ve spent hours scrubbing the gunk off his motherboards. But that was before. Before you knew who he was and before you began to harbor very confusing feelings for the old computer. That was before you heard his playful voice praising the ground you walked on, complimenting you till you became a mess of nerves, making songs for you…

He did not seem to understand the meaning of casual.

You had mulled this concept over many nights; what he could possibly be feeling for you. Is this sentient machine flirting with you? Don’t be ridiculous. But who would ever write a love song dedicated to someone like that? Who would send constant sweet messages of praise and encouragement, or do domestic tasks like make coffee every morning, or microwave leftovers, or sit snugly in your arms, watching cheesy rom-coms? Is that platonic? Do you feel platonically for him? What are you feeling?

“Okay, I see where most of the dust is,” you, with great force, willed yourself back to reality to face the task at hand. “This is probably going to be really cold.”

You took your can of compressed air and angled it against the little dust bunny caked against his vents and pulled the trigger. A hard, icy stream of air shot out, fanning across his motherboards, ports, connectors, and quite literally everything else.

You couldn't help but wince at the harsh sound it made.

He hissed loudly, causing you to jolt and cease your icy barrage. If he were able to, he would have jumped out of his casing right then and there.

“Agh, stop! I- I can’t. I can’t do it, it’s cold- it-” he began panting, somehow, despite his lack of lungs, “it hurts. I don’t like it…!”

His whine tore at your heartstrings. You hated to be the cause of such discomfort. The dust bunny was nearly three-fourths gone now, and just one good-angled blast of air could probably clear it out. You swallowed your bubbling emotions and forced yourself to be firm yet gentle.

“C’mon Edgar, I know it hurts, but I’m almost done. Just one more time, and it’ll be over, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Your voice was thick and sweet like honey as you spoke to him. He cursed himself for feeling some kind of way at your voice. The icy trail the compressed air had left seemed to disappear as quickly as it came as he began to heat up at the sound of your words.

The way you were so gentle with him despite how utterly helpless he was…

Why did he like it so damn much? Why was he almost excited? Why did he feel like things between you were going to be awkward for the rest of the day?

“O-okay… I trust you, just- please? Be quick?”

You softly smiled at him, and damn it, this shouldn’t feel so intimate but it did. He felt guilty thinking these things while you were just trying to help, but could you blame him? Who in their right mind wouldn’t want someone like you doing something like this?

Damn.

He’s got it bad.

You pulled the trigger to the compressed air again and this time he bit back the yelp of pain. It hurt, but it also felt… good? He was confused. Was this relaxing or not? Did he like the feeling of being cared for in this way? No, it felt like shit. It was cold and harsh. But it was gentle and soft.

The stream of air suddenly became a bit too frigid for his tastes.

“Ah, stop, stop! It’s too cold, I- ugh, am I clean yet?”

You halted your blast of air, checking his screen for any signs of real damage, yet he seemed to be fine, just shaken.

You examined his vents one last time. “Yeah, I think you should be good for a while.”

He sighed dramatically. “Finally!”

You carefully assembled him back together again. He almost purred as you did so, his plastic warm to the touch. His fans whirred to life as you smiled at him. You could already hear how the airflow had improved.

“Ah, see, isn’t that better?”

His little green screen rolled its eyes. “Yeah, whatever. It feels great. Now watch movies with me! You owe me.”

His voice boomed with energy. You supposed it worked better than he expected it to. He already seems much more chipper and energetic. Are you going to regret this later? Probably. But his constant pestering for your attention endeared you.

You laughed and petted his casing as his little digital face leaned into your touch. “Alright, you’re right… What do you want to watch?”

His face turned mischievous, and sometimes when he looked at you like that, you swore you could see little horns sprout atop his head.

“Something dirty!”

“Absolutely not.”

[lou-struck]

Your Special Day!

~ Obey Me x reader

Part 1 Featuring Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

~ They have so much planned for your birthday! But first, you have to wake up

a/n: I started this on my birthday yesterday so this is super self indulgent!

Lucifer~

For once, The workaholic demon managed to get a full night's sleep last night since he knew he would need to be at his best for your special day.

As the oldest brother, he invoked his authority over the others and told them that he would be the one who got the pleasure of waking you up this morning. To be the first to wish you a Happy Birthday.

So now, with absolutely nothing standing between him and you, he makes his way down the hallway. His steps are light, and your favorite morning beverage is in his hand.

Getting up to go across the Devildom to your favorite cafe was quite the feat, but it makes the Avatar of Pride smile to himself when he imagines your sweet face when you see the treat he got for you.

His (and everyone else's) goal for today is to make sure that big, beautiful smile of yours never leaves your face. Not even for a minute. 

He quietly opens your door; his movements are careful, silent, as he stalks toward your bed, where you rest somewhere underneath the pile of tangled bedding, pillows, and stuffed animals. 

He lets out a low chuckle at the silly site and sits down next to you on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips slightly, but he can tell from the soft, even breaths you are letting out from beneath your pile of fluff, not enough to wake you.

His gaze is full of loving affection as he places your drink on the side table and begins to unbury you. Carefully placing each item neatly on the end of your bed.

Finally, he finds you. Your face is smushed into your pillow, and you are drooling slightly, but to him, you have never looked more adorable. 

Gently, he reaches his hand out to brush a little white feather from one of your pillows off of your forehead. As much as he wants to let you rest, he knows you have a big day planned full of love, gifts, and spoiling that you just can't miss.

"Mc, wake up," He says softly. Leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You stir at the contact and blink sleepily. 

When you see his stunning features just inches from your own, you sit up and rub the drowsiness and some gunk from your eyes. "Morning, Luci." You murmur, sleep still lacing your vocal cords.

Lucifer smiles and reaches for the drink. When you see the familiar cup the look of joy on your face is better than anything he imagined. "Happy Birthday, Little Lamb

Mammon~

Of course, he gets to be the one to wake you up on your Birthday. 

He is Your First, after all. 

Mammon was so excited to get to you this morning, he forgot to change out of his pajamas. He's down the hallway in a blur. His inhuman speed swishing past the long curtains. He only pauses to take a breath once he is outside your door.

He reaches for the knob but pulls back slightly to gingerly pat the pocket of his pajama bottoms. When he feels the small box inside, he relaxes a bit and lets himself inside.

When he sees the way you're sleeping, he quickly covers his mouth to stifle his laughter. 

Sometime during the middle of the night, you must've shifted in your sleep. Because now you are sprawled horizontally across the mattress, your blankets are pooled on the floor under you and your pillows rest untouched at the top of the bed as your head rests in a not-so-comfortable position. 

Despite his poor attempt at being quiet, you seem to wake up. Twisting over, you lift your head up from the edge of the mattress to look at the avatar of greed. 

"MC! He says with a start, a light blush appearing on his tan cheeks, "I didn't mean to wake ya like that."

"It's okay," you smile, reaching out your hand and making a grabby hand gesture to tell him to come closer.

"You humans are so clingy," he chuckles, more than happy to oblige. He lays down on the bed next to you, and you wrap your arms around him. Despite having no blankets on your bed, it still feels warm and cozy.

"You love it," you tease, burrowing your face into his chest. "it's my birthday."

"I know," He says, reaching for the little gift box in his pocket. "Did ya really think The Great Mammon would forget about yer birthday?" 

He takes the box out for you to see and hands it to you. You look a bit confused as you undo the slightly squashed little gold bow on top.

Once the knot is undone, you open the box to reveal a beautiful golden chain. Your smile makes the demon's heart melt as you express your gratitude for the lovely gift first thing in the morning. 

As you wrap your arms around him once more, Mammon hides his satisfied smile in your neck. Because he knows there are more surprises in store for you today. 

And he is willing to bet a decent amount of Grimm that you were going to love the next surprise even more than this one.

Leviathan~

Levi is mid-daydream as he walks towards your room with a spring in his step. A bundle of enchanted balloons bobbing behind him, bumping into each other with a happy little bonking sound

Recently, the Otaku saw a scene in a romance anime where it was the love interest's Birthday, and the main character woke them up by filling their room with balloons and he is so excited to try it out on you.

Maybe he can make you blush even harder than the love interest did?

Just thinking about it makes steam come out of his ears as his brain short circuits just outside your door. 

"Okay, Levi, you've got this. You have to make today special for Mc," he whispers to himself. "Just be cool. Just be cool.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his pant legs as he takes one more calming breath. Determination flashes in his amber eyes as he lets himself into your bedroom. 

He can't tell if he is just imagining it, but you look like you are glowing. Your Birthday really suits you. You look so good; in fact, Levi's confidence disappears, and his knees buckle; he stumbles forward a few steps, his ankle catches the leg of your dress, and he hits your bedroom floor with a thud. 

The large bunch of balloons in his hands scatter, and he wants to curl up into a ball and disappear. 

The loud thump of Levi hitting the ground wakes you, but as dozens of enchanted balloons seem to rise up from nowhere, you are mesmerized by the sight. You gasp in amazement as they reflect the moonlight that shines through your windows. 

Levi, noticing the wonder-filled smile on your face, feels relief blossoming in his chest. 

Maybe he didn't completely blow it?

"Levi, that was incredible," you say, noticing the Avatar of Envy on the floor. The balloons still floating around you peacefully. 

His cheeks heat up as he carefully gets to his feet, "J-just like I planned." he smiles. "Happy Birthday, Mc."

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[21wanderer]

A career in music

“Hi Sebastian, sorry if I’m late.” I said entering the music room. I’ve had a busy day, with it being my final day of teaching.

The young man looked up from his guitar and smiled.

“No worries, teach, I’ve just been sitting jammin’ a bit while waiting.” Sebastian said innocently.

“Well, I’m not a teacher much longer,” I replied as I closed the door.

“Does it feel strange to have your last day today?” Sebastian asked curiously.

“Sort of… But it’s a great opportunity. I still wanted to talk to you about the strings, I’ve been pulling.”

“Yeah?!” Sebastian eyes lit up, he sat up straight, eager to hear, what I had to tell him.

“I’ve been talking to a producer at Alpha Centauri and showed him some of your music, and he is considering you-”

“What?! Are you fucking serious?! They really are going to let me-”

I had to cut off the excited young man, I handed him my phone; “Here, you can read the mail, he sent me, yourself.” He smiled a million dollar smile.

I handed him my battered old phone and pretended to be reading over his shoulder, as Sebastian excitedly read the quite long e-mail.

Unfortunately for Sebastian the mail wasn’t real, as a matter of fact, I had written it myself, but I just needed to be very close to him and have him be distracted. Then I jabbed the syringe into his neck.

The young man immediately lashed out, falling off the chair and dropping the phone in the process. He looked up at me with a shocked, but already somewhat vacant expression.

I immediately sat on top of him, pinning him down, pressing one hand against his mouth, whilst holding his right arm down against the floor. He was no doubt much stronger than me, but with the drug debilitating his body, it was much easier than expected.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian,” I said with apathy, “but this is the opportunity, I’m talking about.”

He tried retaliating with his left arm, but soon appeared to lose control of it, causing it to flail around randomly until the drug really kicked in.

When he stopped struggling, I got up and checked the door was locked, and then quickly took off my clothes, stuffing it into a plastic bag.

Sebastian was completely unconscious by that time, so I could take off his clothes with ease as well. His naked body was a sight to behold – young, strong and handsome, except slightly twisted as his insides had decayed.

I laid on top of what remained of Sebastian to squeeze out all the air and gunk still trapped in his body. It was like lying on a deflating balloon, a visible vapour left every orifice, and soon he was completely flat and empty.

“I’m done with teaching, now it’s time to take what should have been mine.” I monologued, as if Sebastian could still hear me.

I picked up Sebastian’s skin, shook it a little and marvelled at the result. Not hesitating any further I stretched his mouth wide and began slipping my feet inside. It was a struggle to get inside, but eventually I got my foot all the way down. The next foot was easier, and as soon as I could wiggle my toes within Sebastian’s feet, I could easily pull his strong legs into place as well.

I fed my dick into his hollow shaft, and it sprung to life, after which I could pull his gaping mouth over my butt. I pulled the stretchy skin further up my body, my own gut being replaced by Sebastian’s flat stomach.

“You’re by far the most talented musician I’ve ever taught, and I’m sick and tired of teaching, now I’m getting the music career, I always dreamt of when I was your age.”

It wasn’t getting any easier, but I was so close. Getting my arm inside his mouth, whilst being stretched around by abdomen was more difficult than anticipated, but I eventually managed to get one arm in, and the result spoke for itself. It was smooth, tan, strong… and mine! I flexed it a couple of times, and even stroked my arousal a couple of times… It was perfect.

After a little more struggling, I could plunge my other arm into his, and that was the last major obstacle.

With a simple movement, the chest and shoulders slid into place, and with only his vacant head dangling behind mine like a hood, I was almost done.

I gently ran my new hand over my new firm chest, feeling my pecs, both slabs of smooth and strong muscle.

“Just imagine how far the two of us can go together as one. I want the fame, the money, the-” I paused, that would be the last time, that I would hear my own voice. It was time to finish.

I stretched Sebastian’s mouth wide one last time, so it could swallow me whole. A tingling sensation rushed through my body and mind, as Sebastian’s mouth snapped shut around mine.

The sensation of darkness and unintelligible pictures and thoughts rushed through me, but suddenly there was light and clarity.

“FUUUUUUUUCK!” I growled triumphantly. Looking down my new body, I was beyond satisfaction. I instinctively looked up at the clock over the door. I had been here longer, than expected. I needed to slip into Sebastian’s routine, there would be plenty of time for self-gratification later, though I had to strongly repress the urges.

I put on Sebastian’s underwear, socks, t-shirt, pants, his signature necklace and wristbands. There was something particularly pleasing about claiming these personal keepsakes as my own. Finally, I slipped on his biker jacket, it was a perfect fit and still smelled strongly of leather and the sweat of the young man.

I picked up his guitar and the plastic bag with the last remaining traces of my old self.

I quietly left the room, wanted to head outside to get some fresh air and sun.

Everything seemed brighter and lighter outside the classroom as I stepped into the hallway.

But after having only walked about 200 metres, I felt unwell, as if the hallway was spinning. I needed to sit down, so I sat on the stairs leading to the upper floors. I suppose the transformation wasn't completely done yet.

As I sat here, waiting for the dizziness to go away, I decided to put this new body to the test. I strummed the guitar like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I could feel both my and Sebastian's talent streaming through my fingers and the notes they produced.

It was almost an unreal sensation. I was better than my old self, I was better than Sebastian, I was on a whole other level. The dizziness had precipitated, and I got back on my feet. A couple of girls passed by in the hallway, they had noticed my music, they smiled at me, and I flashed signature Sebastian’s grin right back at them. Once they were gone, I burst into laughter.

I grabbed my phone and gave a call to NewU Records, who were the ones I had actually gotten an agreement with, and they were going to make me their new star, all I had to do was give them a call.

Everything was set up for Sebastian. Record deal, new apartment and future career, all set up by me. From my savings I've even bought a white convertible, which I think would go extremely well with my new identity.

I took it for a spin later that night, like a totally insufferable, self-absorbed and enviable celebrity with the world at his feet. It feels so good, it feels so right. This is going to be sweet.

[catscidr]

Can I please request Dottore x clingy reader who loves giving him affection thank you! 💕

hell yeah baby that's what i'm TALKIN ABOUT ୧(☉□☉୨ ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: fluff, vague mentions of gore includes: gn!reader, dottore, webttore mentionned for like a second wc: 1k

6 minutes. 

That was the longest amount of time Dottore had gone without being bugged by your presence. Well, "bugged” was a bit of a strong word- maybe more so inconvenienced by your endless whining for attention. It’s not that he hated it, it was quite the opposite really, but he actually needed to get work done before tomorrow and couldn’t afford to get distracted this time around. You called out after him for the millionth time today, trotting up to his side with an almost puppy-like expression, looking up at him expectantly. 

Currently wrist deep in the guts of one of his poor victims, he swallowed down the urge to speak his mind honestly, instead choosing to glance over at you from the corner of his eyes. His glare (unfortunately) did nothing to deter your determination and willpower- with his attention now on you, you flash him a bright smile, wrapping your arms around his torso from his right side. 

“Hey, why don’t you take a break?” you ask, tilting your head up to look at him properly. Dottore’s sharp, angular features never failed to make you swoon no matter how many times you looked at his unmasked face. You think it’s a blessing, but he argues that it’s a curse- especially now that you won’t leave him alone, making him pause his work. 

“No,” he sighs for the nth time, bringing his attention back to the corpse on the metal table. “I have work to do. Why don’t you go bother Delta instead? He should be filing out some paperwork,” the doctor says, skillfully shrugging you off of him. You shake your head, resting your hands on his forearm to give him the space he needed. 

“I don’t want to hang out with him though,” you say with a frown, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “Come on, you’ve been working non-stop for ages now. Just a small break! An itty bitty one. Like thirty minutes. You can spare that much, can you?” 

The Harbinger stares at the wall with a deadpan expression, weighing his options. On one hand, he could give in, listen to you and take a much needed break. But on the other hand, he could always just... lock you in his office. Not that he would leave you there for long, just enough for him to get this experiment over with. Plus it’s not like you’d be like a dog stuck in a hot car in the middle of summer without any a/c, he had a plush sofa he never used im his office alongside a mini fridge he also never used. The amenities were there for this exact scenario, anyways- so you’d be comfortable while waiting for him to be done. Although, the more he thought about it, the more his body began to feel heavy, exhaustion seeping through his limbs. Dottore grumbles some choice words under his breath and withdraws his arms out from the bloody mess that came from his current experiment and makes his way towards the sink. You follow after him, curious. 

“‘Ttore?” 

“I give up,” the doctor sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. He turns on the sink and discards his bloody surgical gloves, washing his calloused hands under the cold water to get rid of whatever gunk had gotten on his skin. “What do you want?” he asks in an indecipherable tone. You perk up noticeably, a smile making its way back to your face as you watch him dry his hands and turn around to give you his full attention. 

“Just wanna spend time with you, honestly.” you say a little sheepishly. “Have you eaten yet?” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Wanna take a walk? Get some fresh air?” 

The offer seemed tempting. After spending hours smelling nothing but hospital-grade cleaning supplies, iron and death the doctor wouldn’t say no to a trip outside of his lab- that is to say if he were anyone but the second Harbinger. 

Instead, he grabs his mask and lab coat from the coat rack and begins to walk away, making a gesture for you to follow after him. And you do so eagerly, catching up to him fairly quickly considering how long his strides were. 

Your footsteps echo in the quiet hallways, the only sound bouncing off the ornate walls of the otherwise cold and barren palace. The both of you reach your destination, Dottore pushing the door open to reveal his (barely used) bedroom. Tossing his coat aside and placing his mask on his nightstand, he loosens his button-down shirt and sits on his bed, looking at you with a raised brow. 

“Are you going to stand in the doorway all day?” he asks with the slightest bit of amusement, kicking off his shoes and repositioning himself to lay down on the bed properly. You snap out of it and shake your head, closing the door behind you, jumping in next to him happily. Your bodies fit with one another perfectly, his arms snaking themselves around your waist while you hold him around his shoulders, keeping one free hand to stroke his icy locks. He hums contentedly, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“Happy?” he asks, voice muffled from how close his face is to your chest. Your nails gently scratch his scalp, drawing out a soft sigh from the doctor. 

“Very,” you say, smile audible in your tone of voice. Dottore simply hums in response, basking in the comfort of the warmth of your body against him. Part of you felt the need to ask him how long he wanted to stay like this knowing that the doctor hated being away from his lab but, feeling a bit selfish, you allow yourself to revel in the small victory that came in the form of finally convincing Dottore to let you have him all to yourself for a portion of his day. The both of you drift off peacefully, knowing perfectly well that you’re going to repeat this dance once more in the morning when the Harbinger has to work.

[nolesserhuman]

be nice to me.

sicktember prompt 7: borrowed hoodie. PM Dazai + reader ~2400 words warnings: none also on ao3.

“—I’m cold.”

“Yeah, ‘s what happens when there’s no meat on your bones.” Even though you scoff at Dazai’s complaint, you’re already on your feet and padding towards the linen closet in the hallway. There’s a few old blankets folded and stacked on the shelves. You don’t put too much thought into which one you grab; maybe you should have, because when you drape it over Dazai’s sprawled-out form, he whines again.

“Don’t you have anything warmer?” He pouts up at you even as he pulls the threadbare throw up to his chin. His unbandaged eye is glassy; he’s already gaunt, but now he seems breakable; even with his new blanket, Dazai is still visibly trembling.

If you think about it, you should probably be glad he showed up on your couch instead of hiding away in his damned shipping container. This is about as close as you’ll ever get to him admitting he needs some kind of help.

Dazai lets out a dry cough, rolling over on the couch so he can press his face into the plush cushions. That does nothing to hide his sniffles. You roll your eyes and reach over to pluck at his shirt, damp with sweat. “Stop contaminating my sofa, you bastard.”

“‘M gonna go contaminate your bed next.”

You just roll your eyes again.

Dazai doesn’t move when you prop yourself on the arm of the couch, just above his messy head. He knows what’s next— he feels your hand dip into his damp curls and, embarrassingly, he leans into the touch. Your palm is cool against his burning scalp. He could finally fall asleep like this.

Unfortunately— predictably— good luck doesn’t surface this time. Your concerned hum breaks through the fragile drowsiness that had begun to settle over him. “You’re warm,” you say quietly. Dazai would argue that— he is shivering, after all. Before he can snark back at you, though, his breath catches in his lungs, and he curls in on himself in another coughing fit. Misery hits all at once; he can’t breathe, he can taste sick in the back of his throat, and he’s both freezing and overheating as his protective layer of bandages irritates his skin.

You make a vague noise of sympathy and pat his heaving back until he can breathe again. “—I think some steam would help with that.” You tug on the brunet strands at the base of his neck until he groans.

“Too much effort,” he rasps. And then he sneezes hard enough that his head bounces off the back of your couch. “Shit.”

“C’mon now,” your voice gets firm. “If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you. Entire way there.”

That threat is enough to send an unfamiliar pulse up Dazai’s spine; he’s not sure if it’s pleasant or uncomfortable, but he doesn’t care enough to analyze his own feelings right now, not when it feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton. Instead, he lets out another long whine— like a puppy that doesn’t want to go for its walk— but hauls himself upright anyways.

It takes some struggling, some wrangling; despite his height advantage, Dazai is stick thin and incredibly easy to manhandle once you actually get your hands on him. Eventually you get him to fold his gangly legs underneath himself and sit on the bathroom floor. Even as you’re turning the shower on, he’s clearing his throat and trying to stifle another coughing fit.

As soon as the hot water is on, the entire bathroom begins to heat up, and Dazai visibly relaxes, the shivers finally vanishing. He lets out another weak cough as the gunk in his chest starts to loosen up.

“Now,” you fix him with a firm stare as he tries to get comfortable on the tile floor. “I’d better not turn around and find you digging through my bedroom or somethin’, okay?”

Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs. “As if you own anything interesting to begin with.” Still, he’s not in the headspace to argue the way he would on a normal day; his head is fuzzy, and the gathering moisture in the bathroom is already dampening his gauze wraps. He’s the very picture of a wet kitten.

You close the bathroom door behind you and Dazai is left alone with his thoughts.

Not needing to keep up a facade once he’s out of eyesight, Dazai scrambles over to the shower, half-hanging over the edge of the tub as he hacks up a wave of gunk. He doesn't care that the shower water is soaking his hair and clothes as long as it washes away the slime leaving his lungs. It looks gross, it tastes gross, and Dazai is sure your neighbors in the next unit have a very low opinion of him right now— but, after a few long moments, airflow comes easier. He’s finally able to take a few deep, shuddering breaths that fill his aching lungs with more steam and warm him from the inside.

Now that he’s breathing again, Dazai’s self-awareness kicks back in. Wet hair he can deal with, but feeling the warm droplets roll down his neck and soak into his shirt, his damp bandages curling and itching against his sensitive skin? Too much too much.

You’re alone in here, Dazai reminds himself. One of his hands absently fidgets with the buttons on his wet dress shirt, delicate fingers tapping against the smooth plastic. It’s okay, it’s okay— you’re alone.

With one more deep breath, Dazai peels his wet clothes off all at once. He shudders, not because of the temperature change that hits his skin, but because all his shields are down. Vulnerability is worse than sickness.

The steam in the room has Dazai’s sinuses draining as he works; he swipes his bandaged wrist under his dripping nose only to immediately sniffle again. In the back of his mind, he can already hear you fussing about how outright gross that was. It’s always nice when his typical inner monologue is replaced by your voice.

His gauze seems almost like a moisture magnet, because even the strips that didn’t get caught in the shower stream are sopping wet and heavy. That makes it a bit harder to unravel his defenses, but eventually Dazai is standing alone and fully bared. Thank whatever god that the mirror is already fogged— he’s not sure he could handle the full image of his own body, gaunt and frail, coming apart at the seams. It’s too much.

There’s gauze in the towel closet. He’s seen it on the second shelf, next to your oft-used first aid kit he’s come to know so well. When he gets his hands on the packaging, Dazai is pleasantly surprised to see you’ve stocked up on his preferred brand, the only one that doesn’t irritate his raw skin. Probably just coincidence.

Dazai is well-practiced in the delicate art of wrapping himself back up; even with no suspiciously-fresh wounds, it often feels like the strips of cotton are the only thing holding his fragile body together. Once he’s nice and snug in his second skin— and boxers, for the modesty he pretends he doesn’t have— Dazai cracks the bathroom door open and peers out into the hallway.

After being stuck in such a warm room, the air conditioning feels nice against his flushed face. You’re nowhere in sight and, judging by the sounds of clattering metal down the hallway, it seems you’re probably engrossed in putting a meal together. Meaning you’re very distracted. Perfect.

Dazai leaves the shower water running so you don’t suspect anything as he darts across the hall and into your bedroom. He shivers again as he nudges the door closed behind him— the breeze of movement against his damp skin had only been nice for a moment before getting too cold again. As long as he’s in this body, he thinks he’ll be miserable.

There’s probably not too much time before you abandon your chore to come check on Dazai, meaning he’s limited on how much snooping he can accomplish before he’s caught. Still, your bedroom is so full of your presence, even when empty, and he can’t help but try and commit it to memory; the patterns on your bedsheets, the titles on your bookshelves, the pictures on the wall. It vaguely crosses his mind that he should add his own photo to the mix sometime and see how long it takes before you notice. 

No time for that now, though. Dazai makes a beeline for your closet and tosses the door open.

When he thinks about it, your choice in casual clothes amuses him— the Port Mafia does have a semblance of dress code, so most of the shirts hanging here are things he’s never seen you wear. His hand drags across the various fabrics, enjoying some textures, jolting away from others. Ah, if only there wasn’t such a size difference between you both— he’d love to slip into one of the frillier shirts, just to see your reaction.

And finally his delicate fingers brush against an item he recognizes. It’s that oversized hoodie you’ve worn to the office more than once— the only item in your closet that he’s sure will fit his frame as well.

Fitting his broad shoulders is the main reason he’d been hoping to find that particular hoodie, but Dazai is still mildly surprised at how easily he’s able to slip it on, immediately enveloped in a sense of comfort he’s not sure he’s ever experienced. While it’s huge on you, it’s only a bit big on him; the hemline falls just past his hips, the sleeves almost long enough to cover his hands, and the whole thing is practically drenched in that perfume you’re always wearing. Dazai brings the fleecy fabric up to his nose and inhales deeply— in this borrowed hoodie and with his head clear for the first time all day, Dazai finally feels some level of okay.

There’s no time to stand around, though. If he lets the shower water run too much longer, you’ll demand he pay this month’s bill.

Dazai sneaks back into the hallway, making sure neither door slams shut as to not alert you to his wandering. With the hot water having run for so long, the tiny bathroom is nearly stifling, and he can immediately feel sweat beading at his hairline as he shuts the shower off. His clothes are still sitting abandoned on the bath mat, and he’d only bothered to kick the bandage wrappings in the general direction of the trash— meh, he’s sure you’ll make him pick it all up later.

There’s no real reason to creep down the hallway this time— you’re well aware that Dazai is in your apartment, after all, so he has no real reason to sneak around. Still, he finds himself toe-walking to keep his footsteps light as he passes the kitchen where you’re still banging things around as you cook.

Your back is to the door, so you definitely don’t see him as he tries to sneak past, but you seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to Dazai. “Are you feeling any better? Haven’t heard any coughing.”

At that Dazai forces out a light cough, not even able to make it sound bad now that his airway has cleared. “I think it’s terminal.”

“Mmm, too bad,” you hum without looking away from the stovetop. “Go lay back down an’ try not to die on my couch, okay?”

You hear Daza scamper away, no longer trying to hide his footsteps, and something prickles at the base of your neck. It’s suspicious when Dazai doesn’t argue.

Knowing your boss, Dazai probably hasn’t eaten in at least a day, possibly longer if his illness has smothered his already-rare appetite. Getting him to eat is hard enough on a normal day. Lifting the frypan off the burner, you slide the sandwich onto a plate before fishing cookie cutters out of a drawer. Chop the sandwich into cute shapes, spoon some tomato soup into a patterned bowl— it’s like you’re trying to entertain a toddler into eating their veggies.

“You’d better take at least a few bites,” you order as you carry the food into the living room. “I went through all the effort of a gourmet grilled cheese—” your voice falls off as you peer over the back of the couch, only to be greeted by Dazai wearing something that definitely doesn’t belong to him. That’s one of your favorite hoodies; it’s a bit surprising it fits him. “—where did you get that?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dazai hums, stretching out so his long legs hang over the far end of the couch. He makes a show of pulling the hood up until it covers his eyes. “It suits me, no?”

You just sigh. When you nudge him, he grumbles, but wordlessly makes room for you to join him on the sofa. As soon as you’re settled, he drops his head in your lap to use your warm thighs as a pillow. “You coulda just asked, y’know. Instead of sneaking around. I would’ve let you wear it anyways.”

The tone of your voice is different now. Dazai tilts his head back to read your face. “—you don’t mind?” He can’t quite get a read on you when you’re toeing the line of being too nice.

“Just eat your damned food,” you blatantly avoid the question by shoving the plate of warm food into his hands.

Dazai wriggles with a dramatic “noooo!” only for his whining to stop when you shove one of the sandwich bites into his open mouth. He pouts but doesn’t spit it out.

Your hand comes down to tug the hood back off his head, just far enough for you to slip your fingers back into his hair, and Dazai once again leans into your touch as he reaches for another bite of food. Even when he’s difficult, you stay gentle with him.

Dazai is only able to eat a little bit before his sensitive stomach begins to complain and he turns his face away. For once, he’s nice and full; the borrowed hoodie is deliciously warm, the itch to cough has vanished, and your hand in his hair is hypnotic. For the first time in a long time, Osamu Dazai manages to drift off into a pleasant sleep.

aaaaaaa I've never done sicktember before on any account and I know I literally had a death in the family but I'm irked that I wasn't able to finish much during the actual month,, I know the whole point is just to have fun but I'm only just now beginning to try and get over my perfectionism and stuff fghjhgfd

idk if anyone will read these so ig I'll just talk a lil bit. but man I started writing really young, and after college I feel like my writing got super messed up in comparison to how it used to be, so I'm really doing my best to try and get back to something I'm happy with. I've never written anything besides reader inserts!! I've also never ever finished a piece that had more than one chapter, even though I've been doing this for over a decade dfghjnhgfd. I want to start practicing other stuff!! but reader inserts are fun bc I wanna kiss the anime boys lmao

anyways!! I think I'm gonna keep trying to finish all my planned prompts even though we will definitely be rolling into at least october, possibly longer. and if I may be so bold, likes/comments/reblogs are all appreciated dfghgfd. if you read all this, thank you!!

[fairy-writes]

Here is my second request!!

Could I please get a kaneki ken with the action prompt 7? Fluff please!

STITCHES AND KISSES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Pairing(s): Kaneki Ken x Gender Neutral!Human!Investigator!Reader

Prompt: Bandaging/washing their lover’s wounds after a fight (Action Prompt #7)

Notes: This is like… post-Jason Kaneki

This is for my 1K followers event! It’s going on between June 8th and June 22nd!

__________________________________________________________________________

By definition, your relationship with Kaneki Ken was forbidden. 

The infamous half-ghoul and the prodigy of Arima Kishou? That was almost as good as being a Montague and a Capulet. 

You got lost in thought as your lover hunted through your apartment for your first aid kit.

Would the CCG be the Capulets if this were indeed a Romeo and Juliet story? They were the ones who had more power, after all. They were able to walk around freely during the day, freely hunting down their prey while ghouls hid in fear for their lives.

A gentle caress on the back of your head made you jump and look up from your spot on the side of the bathtub.

Kaneki Ken stands illuminated by the bathroom light, but you swear you’ve never seen anything more handsome. The harsh luminescence makes his white hair almost transparent, and his dark gray eyes are overshadowed as he bends his head and sits beside you. 

“You found it?” You ask, and he nods, keeping quiet, and you don’t miss how he doesn’t say a word. 

He’s angry. That much is obvious. 

You don’t want to argue, don’t want to fight. So you wordlessly unbutton your white work shirt that’s coated in your own blood and shed it, tossing it in the bathroom sink. Then, you turn around so he can see how bad the damage is. While he doesn’t say a word, you hear the almost inaudible gasp that escapes him. 

And you know how bad it is.

The kagune of the Aogiri Tree ghoul had cut deeply into your shoulder blades and spine. It wasn’t lethal. You could still walk and everything. It had been a tough fight, with you getting the injuries protecting a small child that had almost been a midnight snack for the ghoul. He—or she, you couldn’t tell with the mask—had been an Ukaku type, with wings of reds and purples that you, frankly, found beautiful. 

It almost hurt you to kill them. 

But you had to remind yourself that all ghouls weren’t like Kaneki. They weren’t all like Anteiku. Some of them are simply man-eating monsters, people or not; that wasn’t something you could forgive that easily. 

The sting of antiseptic has you jolting from your memories, and you hiss in pain against your attempts to keep quiet. Ken murmurs a soft “sorry” but doesn’t stop cleaning the gunk and grime out of the gash. 

“You’ll need stitches.” He says in that quiet voice of his. You hum,

“I trust you.” You whisper, and he doesn’t respond. 

He’s been so silent after everything with Jason. But you still hear soft cries when he thinks you’re asleep. You still see the almost invisible shaking of his hands when there’s a loud, unexpected noise. 

You still see how broken he is because of it. 

But you also see how strong it made him. He loves fiercer, holds you just a few seconds longer every time he hugs you, every time he kisses you. 

The pain of the needle dipping in and out of your skin and muscles has you biting your knuckle to keep quiet. While your neighbors knew what you did for a living, that didn’t mean they had to know you were in agony. 

Ken, luckily, makes it quick. He ties off the thread and cuts it before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the wound. His lips are soft, and when he leans his forehead between your shoulder blades, you can feel how worried he is. 

Because he almost lost you tonight. 

If your partner had been a few seconds slower or hadn’t gotten you away from the ghoul in time, you would have died. Would have left him alone.

“You don’t have to be so gentle.” You say and feel him shift, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pulling you tenderly into his chest. 

“Yes, I do.” He says, and you hear his voice crack, “Someone has to be.”

And that breaks your heart. 

Because you know it’s true. 

Your hands are perpetually coated in red and covered in harsh calluses and blisters from handling your quinque. Your body is hard with muscle from endless fights. 

You aren’t gentle with yourself. You know it. Ken knows it. 

Abruptly, you realize he’s talking. 

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.” He whispers, and you smile. Weren’t you just thinking about Romeo and Juliet? You lean your head back and turn it so you can kiss his hair.

“Is that a roundabout way of saying you love me?” You ask and feel him chuckle, feel the vibrations against your back.

“I suppose so.” Is all he says. But he doesn’t need to say more. 

Because you can tell he loves you.

[ddejavvu]

Meiiiiiiii I have an idea for a blurb/fic if you're interested!! It's actually inspired by the dream I had last night :))) Remus and I (reader in this case) were best friends but Remus had a huuuge crush on them. One day they were at reader's place and reader asked him if he wanted to try some skincare stuff. He was kinda shy and insecure at first because of his scars but accepted anyway. He ended up laying in bed while reader rubbed some facecream on his cheeks and poor boy fell asleep </3 (please excuse my awful grammar :)))

"Eyes closed," You remind Remus, who's peeked a total of six times now. Really, he can't help himself. You look absolutely gorgeous hovering above him, your tongue poking out from between your lips as you concentrate on painting the gel mask over his features.

"You're sure this is okay for scar tissue?" He asks, his words muffled as he tries keeping his face still.

"Mhm," You hum absentmindedly, tracing the hinge of his jaw with the brush, layering green goop over his skin. "It'll make your skin nice and soft, Remus. It's not a peel-off, don't worry. You just let it sit there, then massage it in."

"I don't wanna get my hands sticky," He fights the urge to wrinkle his face into a grimace, and you line his nose with the stuff.

"I'll do it," You offer, trying to inject confidence into your tone that you don't really possess.

The timer that you set for the face mask to settle feels like a time bomb, ticking down the seconds until you have to - (get to?) - touch Remus's face. You've brushed a hair away from his eyes in passing, smeared chocolate off of his chin, but nothing like you're about to do.

When the alarm sounds you shut it off, tentatively reaching for his gooey face. Most of the paste has settled into his skin, and what you carefully rub away is more grainy, its moisture having done its job. He hums when you dig your thumbs into the apples of his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open once again to meet your own.

You don't need him to keep his eyes closed anymore; nothing's going to get in them. But you can't handle looking into his eyes while you caress his face, so you remind him, "No peeking."

"Sorry." He murmurs, lips brushing the heel of your hand as you rub the mask into his nose, "'Feels good."

"Just relax," You urge, praying he doesn't feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks, "I'll wash it off when you're done."

Despite your weight over his hips as you straddle his lap, he drifts off into sleep. You notice it when his breathing flattens out, his inhales aren't rugged or mismatched anymore. He's serene as you smooth the gel into his skin, and you almost feel bad when there's none left to massage onto his face.

You take a damp washcloth, clearing his skin of the leftover gunk. He doesn't wake, and you're sure it's only aiding his slumber to have a wet warmth patting down his face. You dismount awkwardly, not sure how to proceed now that he's not conscious to tell you what to do. You consider napping with him, but that feels far too intimate, but you don't want to leave without saying goodbye.

What you settle on is a bold kiss to his forehead, one that you lean down to peck against his freshly moisturized skin. That's all the courage you have, though, and once your lips drain it to his temple you bolt for the door.

You're going too fast to catch the faint smile that works its way across his no-longer-chapped lips, but it's the one Remus always has on his face at the sight of you, so you'll see it a thousand times more to come.

[angellurgy2]

Hiveship

hii! this is the 1st and 2nd chapter of my new story, as a little show of whats to come when i make it a full-length book.

cw for bug rape but like, its also just an introduction to deeper non/sexual ways the bugs will destroy this girl's soul. you'll see!

i'd appreciate if people checked this out/gassed it up because i've worked reallyyy hard on this for a bit ^-^

CHAPTER 1

A live wire sparks as loretta reaches a gloved claw inside the open electrical box, her digits blunted by her heavily plated and padded, alabaster white cosmonaut suit. she roots around the active electricity, scraping out chunks of the greenish-brown sludge growing in its crevices- the same mysterious viscous slime that’s been popping up in parts across her starship over and over the past few weeks. her theories ranged from an excremetal expulsion of an unidentified space object, to some disgraceful cosmonaut’s trash finding its way into her ship’s vents.

she clicks the button for the analyzing tool of her protective visor, closely examining the fluid. long thin wires splay across all sections of the large junction, leaving burning hot indents in the thick substances that feel like way too much of a fire risk. looking at the wires, spread out in patterned parallels like gigantic spider-webs, an anxious tinge of fear strikes her. don’t fall in, don’t get caught- robots don’t need any more prey. not that you’re prey. you aren’t.

she flicks her visor back off, worried her sweat might fog up the the visor, and continues swiping the rest of the gunk into a bin.

all clean, she fixes the fuses back into place before immediately making her way back over to the equipment corridor to hang up her suit. on the way she passes vibrant posters of mechanical cross-section diagrams, detailed anatomy drawings of every variety of species she could scavenge, and historical propaganda posters. it was a nice splash of existence inside a clinical minimalist coating. 

lounging in the cabin suite on her sofa, she flips her state-provided entertainment console to the galactic news. on-screen a suited, pristine looking woman takes the centre stage behind a stretched out desk. her voice is calm and analytical, with a hint of soft sympathy that can’t be hidden no matter how hard of a professional facade they must put on.

“News from the pandora planets have finally reached the internal core, revealing devastating effects of the latest assault campaign from the exoskeletal hives, multiple colonies’ messengers have reported complete razing of ground and sub-ground infrastructure, with several not appearing for the census at all. the URSS military and all commune bioships have retreated back to pantheon-V for rehabitation before a pandora counter-takeover can be attempted.”

Loretta shudders. the exoskeletals have been advancing deeper into URSS territory much faster than ever before, the fact that the state hasn’t been able to put a stop to it—and that the threat has only gotten more aggressive—makes sweat begin to pour down her head. if she was doing a term with the forces or part of a commune science crew she’d probably be worried for her life right now. thankfully, her ship was currently flying safely in one of the middle systems, relaxing in orbit of an abandoned desert world after recently coming back from a call of excursion to the outer worlds. she always enjoyed the quiet of minimal space travel and the utter lack of civilization when she gazed down upon a world, so this has been her favourite spot to reside for a long while. from the cabin module’s glass wall she can see such stark vistas of sandy mountain ranges, demarcating the most beautiful fields of gigantic outstretching spiny cactus.

with a loud buzz the tv automatically switches to the nightly Sallite news segment, where they broadcast the most important of state propaganda to every television set at 8pm local time. with an exasperated sigh she turns the volume all the way down to 1, takes off her grey tank, and throws herself into her cushioney bed. a switch on the wall next to the alloy headboard turns on the room’s surround sound to a soft pitter of forested rainfall, and she falls asleep in a matter of seconds.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Loretta awakes to the foreign sound of a sloppy wriggling near the floor by the end of her bed. jerking upright, she quickly slides into the suit boots she had laid at the side of her bed, strapping them tight, and moves to examine the intruder. 

a pulsating green slime slides itself across the floor, leaving a small trail of slightly transparent lime goo behind it. loretta kneels to look at it closer. she could swear it’s looking right back at her- though without any obvious eyes or features of its own. it excretes another loud squelching sound and fires off a copper-smelling mist around it, some of which sprays directly into loretta’s face causing her to wince and tear up at the dense cloud of smell. she reflexively slams her booted heel down into the creature, stomping through its gelatinous body.

she attempts to swiftly scrape the thing off her heel,, but the flattened slime spreads to encase her entire boot before she can even look down at it. when she does, she sees sticky lime green half-translucent goo coating the suit metal like adhesive, excreting a slight burning odour. loretta throws her leg around trying to eject the subject, but only manages to trip over herself, tumbling to the thick panelled floor with a resounding thud. 

on her back she watches with wide terrified eyes as the slime continues to slowly expand up her limb. it should be stretching itself out fully by now, but it seems to have an infinite amount of mass to express over her. some kind of anomalous entity from deep space? but how would it have gotten this deep into the middle systems? a new wormhole would’ve been reported immediately, and the nearest systems are all too well-inhabited. the gears turn in her head, clearly rusted over, struggling to think of a potential scientific hypothesis. by the time she breaks out of her clouded monologue and thinks to stop analyzing, the slime has already subsumed her entire left leg, grasping spreading tiny green tendrils grappling for the next part, which is fully uncovered by the comforting protection of the URSS engineer corps. she struggles to force herself away by clawing into the floor, but the slime seems to have extra weight to pin her leg down. such a little creature, overpowering her so easily- it must be alien. she doesn’t stop struggling even if it pins her utterly. if she could just get to the corner and grab her piece she could-

her scrabbling eyes find themselves staring at the cabin’s ceiling vent. a thick bile-like grey sludge seeps down from the cracks, forcing her to hurry. loretta shoves her hand into the green slime against her better judgement, trying to peel it off like one of her mother’s gelatin molds. her hands try to slide underneath it but they find themselves struggling to push against an unmovable solid, far away from the gravyesque consistency it had before. then she feels her legs, or rather, feels the lack of feeling of her legs. when she tries to move them, she cant even muster a shake, lower half pinned to the floor, not even pins or needles remaining. it doesn’t stop her relentless pushing and attempts to pull herself out by her arms, but she might as well be an amputee at this point. like one of those UOA prisoners of war from back in the day, laser neutered to be nothing but working hands for the Authority’s machines.

unable to get away from the oncoming deluge, lorreta realizes it must be relent or die. and so she does, shutting her eyes tight and curling her lips inward together like the anti-parasitites’ studies have taught her. though this wasn’t the typical annalidesque parasite commonly found in the outer cosmos, or a parasite at all for all she knows, it’s the best her dizzy mind can handle. and as she feels the sludge’s drip touch down on her estrogenated skin, it succeeds in helping stop it from flowing inside her eyes. she can feel it coat the skin tight, like a face mask but smelling of wood and suffocating and lively probing at her pores, blocking her vision black with its opaque body.

the sludge now dispensed, loretta senses a chance and attempts to pry the mask off of her. blindly groping for a free spot by her neck and sliding her unkempt nails under it and into the disgusting goo. it feels like a cadaver from anatomy class under her fingers, diving into the fat and peeling away the outer layer. but this corpse has undergone rigor mortis, and loretta’s attempts to peel it off go only slightly better than with the green thing, lifting an inch before it slaps itself back on even tighter. her second attempt goes even worse, her arms starting to feel numb and anaesthetized. she lifts her arms to fight but she cant feel the texture of what she touches anymore, and then the viral limpness travels to the rest of her motor function, and they flop uselessly at her sides. no part of her body responding to her brains frenzied orders to move, the most she can do is flail inside.

she pictures Andromeda-ZE in her mind’s eye, emotionally travelling to the place she spent most her childhood. she’s running through the market, the most well-known place in the capital, excitedly waving at family friends and commune teachers like she’s a kid again, so happy, so free, so ignorant. red and yellow and orange colours shine bright on the market stalls, sand and wood structures stand beautifully tall around her, everything is even more beautiful than it was when she was young. the wind on her cheeks as she runs makes her glow with a safety she doesn’t feel in the atmospheric void in space. not far ahead she spots her unit hut, and ramps up her speed. in a minute of invigorating sprint, she makes it to the large aspen door, knocking 5 times. she hears several light footsteps trot up and bounces with excitement. the door slowly creeps open… 

and a hulking nurse bug towers over her. its mandibles chitter, the egg sack on its back wiggles, and its claws rub together in front of its chest. she looks into the creature’s eyes and sees a thousand mirrors staring back at her. she screams muffled into the slime gag, jolting away from the colour behind her eyelids, and back into the void in front of them. instead of trying to push inside like loretta assumed, the sludge begins to creep into the part of her eye socket above her lids, pushing with prying hair-like digits. her heart cramps, and she can feel her heavy perspiration being immediately absorbed by the material the second it drips.  she doesn’t want to close her eyes, doesn’t want to see the bugs that close again- the spindling inner legs, the slimey chitin, vision of swarms of exoskeletals charging her squad flash through her, all she wants to do is scream but all it does is wear out the last muscles she can work. but she can’t stop, she wails banshily, reverberating in her own skulll. and then she can’t manage to hold her eyes open any longer.

the jointed arthropod returns, fully subsuming her soul. 

“it’s okay, sweet darling Lore, we are here now” it speaks in her mothers voice. sweet and soothing.

CHAPTER 2

loretta wakes up in a stasis vat, her body floating in air like oil. green biofluid drenches her skin, manufactured nutrients flooding her organs, keeping her fed and stable. she smiles, thinking back to her first spacewalk, bounding into the open cosmos with footless steps. she kicks her foot up, sending herself into an airy backflip. her mouth opens on its own and takes in a load of the fluid. it tastes like the earth pineapples her mothers would trade for on her birthdays. she has to figure out what this is when she’s out of here. and by the looks of her motor functions, she’ll be out of this in no time. 

* * *

she awakes groggily inside of another vat. there’s no more fluid, but something similar sticks to every inch of her skin. the walls of steel have turned into a coffinesque cocoon, fleshy and aboreal brown and wriggling with her movements. yet as she attempts to push herself backwards, her hands still find themselves scraping cold metal. she sees how some light manages to seep through the cracks of the chitinous chamber, and prods at the squishy folds where the tiny glowing rays strike, poking through an inch or two of foreign flesh before her fingertips feel air. bio vat? or some sort of.. metamorphosis chamber? she can’t remember how she got here, or when she signed up for such a procedure. she needs to find someone before she gets stuck. she lifts her moist lips to one of the little holes and screams out a plea for help. she manages to fit another finger out, and begins trying to spread open the breach when she’s stopped by someone’s cold fingers pulling hers. one of the scientists, or guards? 

the person outside pulls on loretta’s hand hard and she feels her light body raise up to the roof of her confines. despite her reaching the walls, they keep going, tugging forcing painful friction between her bare limbs and the meaty hide. in a few short, supernatural pulls she is burst through the sac entirely, getting to see chunks of what appears to be sinew and slime splattering the surroundings as she flies through antigravital space and crashes hard into a familiar wall.

HISSSSSSSTHH

innumerous spindly brown limbs bringing fading memories of phasmid anatomy charts stretch out across the polished floor and walls now brutally scattered with keepsake and furniture debris, looking like abstract blobs in loretta’s slime coated vision. blobs which are constantly being absorbed upwards into the air by twitchy movements. loretta grasps at the wall behind her, pulling herself away from the enormous creature. 

slamming into the far wall, she attempts to reach for where her dresser should be, where her trusty sidearm should be awaiting its imminent retrieval. then she remembers the lack of gravity. 

it was a stupid idea to make a grav switch so accessible. she never even uses it, and humans are the only creature out in this abyss who are weak to its pull. stupid stupid stupid. she tries to look for it in the debris but can’t make it out through all the other white and grey blobs. 

in the room, a few brown splotches stand out, utterly foreign to the ship’s shade-based palette. she stares closer, and even more seem to appear. the black space where the open door leads to dark corriders begins spewing them  out en masse until at least two dozen of them scatter across the floors walls and ceiling of the cabin, staring right back into her with beady pinpricked eyes. 

a bug pounces, its thin limbs pinning loretta hard. the hair on its tarsi scrape across her bare arms jolting goosebumps up her entire body. its membranal underside presses up close, making her shake with unease as its squishy segmented body rubs against her and coats her with an inky discharge well familiar to her after multiple campaigns. 

click, click, click, click. clinking mandibles together, like a hungry and petulant child. antennae rub against her ears, just then noticing their dulling by a xenotic wax substance. yet the vile hissing of a group of specially angered freaks still deafens. 

searing pain transports into her flesh. she screams but a sludgey backup in her windpipe stops everything but the vibration. loretta looks down at the thick brown apical claw stuck inches deep in her side. a gaping void begins a slow seeping of crimson.  another of the blobs quickly dashes into her view, bursting into definition as it pops up at the wound’s side. the same black liquid that drapes over her skin begins to leak out of its open mouth-thing, mixing and diluting the blood until the cut is naught but a thick black wall subsuming a portion of her outer thigh. 

she looks forward again as a twinge of neck pain insults her for forgetting herself, and sees the first roach reaching its body upwards. a yonic hole in its abdomen begins to slowly invert, while a large black tendril reaches out of the now-extremity and fluidly twirls itself around loretta’s leg, dripping ichor all the way.

she’d never gotten this close to one of the breeders before, to the point she didn’t even recognize their exotype until now. as far as she knew, they stayed deep inside the tunneled grounds of the hive worlds, fucking like lagomorphs to appease their queens and ever-outbreed the URSS’s onslaughts. and yet, here they are.

the appendage flicks into loretta’s belly, proding at and pushing inside her navel cavity. it feels almost like she’s being licked by a pet dog, or it would if it wasn’t by a fucking bug. the creature tries to push forward past the inch-deep space and is swiftly yanked back in turn, reaching the end of its rope. loretta sighs. if they can’t even reach her then the worst they could probably do is-

the tentacle prods at a lower place before a concept can reach her nerves. a deserted, forgotten plateau, a space too human for her to accept. sliding over a smooth ravine, wet shocks drive up her legs. coiling atrocity digs into her malleable dirt like the hills in pandora. she screams like she imagines it must. though the terror speaks in soft, writhing texture, and not pain. pandora and i, sister bodies- desecrated in twain.

she turns her head to the room’s one window. beyond the hexagonal plasteel frame, one of the last things held up through the chaos, halcyon skies stretch out for infinity- vistas of beautiful achromatic calm broken only by dots of terrestrial colour. an anaerobic dead zone, where nothing except calm would subsume her. devour her. she yearns to feel that cold blanket take her now. she dreams of the window bursting open, space gaining pressure the glass wasn’t ready for, and ripping them all out with it. she dreams of mom bursting through the door gun in hand. she dreams of simply disappearing from all being. 

from above her head slithers another pair of mandible and trio of forceps, digging into her budding chest. a sparse pink miasma sprays across her vision, and she’s stumbled out of her wonder by a furious coughing fit rising in her trachea, and finally taking off some of the adhesive coating her throat alongside it. she tries to look back outside and the claws digging deeper just force her gaze right back. her eyes glaze over with water and, unable to wipe the sleeves away, it drowns her. it fills her mouth until her muscles strain, spread taught like an epithelial fingertrap. she cant help but cough more, painfully clenching on the foreign object sliding deeper inside using her windpipe as a transistor to her weak points.

beige meat squishes up against her face, phantom sensations of a man’s stomach thrusting. it should never have been able to get more evil than that. how did they put human’s cruelty into animals, was it taught? more inches of squishish meat force the thought from her shrouded head. her tears taste like ink. maybe they like it that way.

Lorettas’s hull stretches with fullness and terror. she cant see it, but she can feel it bulging her front extremitously. it feels like the two tendrils will soon meet in the middle. she shudders in fear and feels them swirl inside her as punishment. 

she feels a slight relent, and her thoughts finally losing their haze. the creatures in front of her thrust backwards through the air, and the twisting coiling tentacles whorl their way out like a pullcord. again she has to feel the thing climb her hole, leaving a painful space where there used to be nothing, unable to go back to nothing. it is ashamed and sobbing in it’s own. what a bipolar old lady you are, where is your rage?

his voice forces itself inside of her. look what you’ve done. ruined and irreparable. you must’ve loved it. you and your little bug fascination. maybe if you didn’t spend your time with abominations, you wouldn’t have become one. 

she screams back. it’s not too late, i don’t love them. he’ll never control me again, i’ve carved so much into the world, i won’t let myself be belittled. you’re smart, they’re miniscule- a surprise assault shows their utter lack of strength. i’ll kill them all if i have to. i’ll prove it, i will.

she tries to open her eyes again and sees, stained by pink clouds floating in her sclera, a huge mutated insectoid towering behind the others. a large dynastinaen horn displays ignorant ideas of its strength above its excitedly quivering mandibles. or perhaps the exoskeletals have no need for concepts of pride or egotism. perhaps hive mentality’s destroyal of the individual will always grant them an advantage. no thought of the victim- evil little creatures. no different than the evil of the Authority. no different than-

two blunt black mandibles thrust into her chest. the wind is crushed from her body before she can realize what’s happening. she is too dazed to look at the impact. her deflated cadaver is thrusted into the air, and carried,

her vision bobs up and down as swift twig limbs drag her forth without thought. station windows fly past her, blobs vaguely looking like her favourite posters lay scattered and sliced in pieces, slime staining them irreparable as it coats the floor. does their cruelty know no limits? was the destruction of her ship and her spirit not enough? the destruction of her people? will anything sway their pure evil? she wants to cry, but she’s already using all the tears her body can muster. 

black begins to gorge itself on the halls, the chunky whirring of automatic doors blares in her ears drowning out the chattering sounds of dozens of limbs. the hydraulics were a deeply familiar sound, one she had always cherished hearing. it felt like a reminder of the spacecraft’s life, always interacting to her existence, responding in kind noise whenever loretta’d root around fixing her insides. it was a comforting relationship, wonderful in its unconditionality.

now, her beautiful partner screamed red with anger. they destroyed her entrance too. the airlocks outer seal is burst open with what could fairly be assumed to be anti-ship cannons, if not for the claw marks and acid tainting it all. she looks through the inner seal, into the void where death surely awaits, her body has been so painfully torn and remade, that she can’t make herself put up a single limb to fight at the end. she imagines a blaster in her hand, and clenches its handle tight. then she opens her eyes, and her fingers havent moved an inch. 

then her face meets cold surface, jagged. then the green drapes grab onto her skin again. then her blood mixes with the green and turns the colour to the same rust she smelled in the air at the start. then she feels the perfectly held-at-average air of her beloved spaceship turn into cold freezing anguish of the outside. then she feels her body turn to nothing. then, she feels nothing at all.

[writingstreetspirit]

You're an awesome writer ♡ so I want to request a lil blurb for neteyam x human reader where he Learns more about human stuff maybe trying new snacks with the reader or maybe even watching the reader do their skin care routine , etc. If you like this idea and okay with writing it, I will be grateful thankk you In advance 🤗💗

It’s…A Human Thing?

Summary: Neteyam learns things about being human through skincare

Pairing: Neteyam x Human!Reader

Warnings: May contain spoilers from ATWOW, reader uses makeup and skincare products

Word count: 0.4k

A/N: Hi lovely, sorry for the looong wait. I lost motivation there for a little while, but I finally got the spark to write back! Thank you for this adorable request, I enjoy making this small piece :)

—

”It’s…a human thing?” Neteyam’s intrigued, watching closely every move you make. How you go through some form of learned routine of rubbing, washing and massaging your delicate skin that is for once not covered by the breathing mask.

”Well, yeah. On Earth it’s pretty common to use makeup to feel more confidant or to enhance ones looks. And the face wash is to get rid of all the leftover gunk from my face before I go to bed.” You explained while simultaneously tapping a dot of the moisturizer on your nose, a dot on your forehead, one for each cheek, and finally your chin. You rubbed the moisturizer into your skin, looking back at Neteyam in the mirror every few seconds.

”Do you use…makeup, for confidence or to feel pretty? Because yawne (beloved), you don’t need it to look pretty, you are the most beautiful being I have ever lain eyes upon!” Neteyam is quick to say, sounding almost offended by the very thought that you doubted your own beauty. It made you smile at the Na’vi that would one day become your mate for life. Oh, how he made you happy.

”Thank you Neteyam, I know I don’t need it. I just like to explore and discover new things.” You reassured, leaning back to give Neteyam a small comforting kiss on his lips before you continued on with your routine by applying soothing oil under your eyes and on your cheeks.

”Can I do it?” Neteyam asked, head tilted to the side as he observed your hands move over your face. You looked back at him with a small confused smile. ”What? Applying the oil?”

Neteyam nodded, his yellow eyes never leaving your hands. You smiled, turning around to face the much taller boy. ”Yeah, sure. Go at it.”

His much bigger hands dwarfed your face has his fingers slowly massaged the liquid with the gentlest touch, the way he always touch you. As if you were his greatest treasure, which you very much are. Once Neteyam felt finished after what must have been minutes, he cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips lovingly against yours before departing to press one on your forehead, one on each cheek and finally your nose.

”Thank you for the helping hand.” You laughed a little, cheeks slightly flushed from the affection. Neteyam laughed with you, arms creeping around your waist to playfully tug you closer. ”You’re welcome!”

Your mouth stretched into a yawn as your body sagged against Neteyam’s strong torso. ”I think it’s time for bed soon. Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Neteyam guided you toward your bed in the corner of the room, practically lifting you off the floor. He nuzzled his face into the crock of your neck. ”I’ll stay as long as you want, yawne (beloved).”

[rambunctioustoons]

✨domestic au but sun and moon won't stop killing your house plants caring for your houseplants🪴🔪❤️

full disclosure this is inspired by shenanigans from the @//daycarefriendpickup server !

contains; crack treated half serious, plant murder, domestic fluff, sun knowing better than you how to care for plants, no justice for plants at all.

[ sun-centric, no gender/pronouns for reader, 1,200]

Domestic squabbles are a given in this lifetime. Can't co-exsist with anyone without some minor irritation.

It's a guarantee really.

But Sun never draws the curtains in the morning if you're still groggy. Moon never keeps the tv at night a decimal above what could stir you awake.

You make it your honest mission to always keep your clothes in the laundry bin the one time you catch Eclipse red handed tidying up the space.

Difficult to complain when your newly founded housemates did mostly all they could to be agreeable. Much like you did in return.

As cliche and sappy as that sounded, you loved them so much.

But the plants.

The plants.

Your beloved houseplants faced the wrath of miscommunication and you just can't fathom how it's plant care that keeps causing arguments.

The first day it happens. You're awoken to early daylight, and the scent of watered down bleach. Staring out into the hallway, gaze transfixed on the spray bottle in Sun's hand, like the handle of a dagger in a slasher flick.

Because that is the household cleaning solution he's wielding.

"Darling! Good morning! You're up early early today. Lemme finish up and I'll go make us coffee!"

Spritzing the chemical all over your beloved Fiddle-Fig Leaf plant!

"What are you doing..?!" You squawk, swatting the bottle straight out of his hands. The element of surprise in your favour here, bottle tumbling to the floor out of harm's way.

Tempted to kick it out of his reach.

"Fiddle-Fig was dusty, feel it! Look at it! The poor thing was collecting cobwebs! No need to fret now, I know all about plant care! Used to water and clean all the plants in the Daycare y'know! Silly, wasn't gonna wake you up just to-"

"Those were plastic plants!!" You shrill. Immediately connecting the dots. Regretting the decision to let frazzled nerves sway your temper.

Sun curling in on himself like a poor kicked puppy.

"I-I'm..-! I'm sorry just-... You can't water or clean plants with bleach Sun. You have to be gentle," Giving his arm a sympathetic squeeze, dipping into the bathroom to run the bath.

It's all you could think. Carefully rinse off the chemicals quicker and keep the pot out of the stream. Gently dab away the viscera from the leaves. More at ease with this taped together emergency plan.

"They're alive, they're not plastic."

But when you turn back around.

Sun is trying again.

To spritz the plants. Again!!

"Dude! Knock it off! Drop it!! Drop it-.. Drop it drop it-!"

To his credit he drops it.

Dull sloshy clank to the floor. Catching the way his posture ever so slightly shakes. Staring him down, metaphorically hearing the annoyance rattling in his casting. Gunking up his gears.

You've literally never been this frustrated in your entire life. Snatching the Fiddle-Fig off the hallway table.

"... I know," He starts, sharp and wobbly all in the same faux breath. "How to take care. Of our plants."

"Just keep your mits off Fig!" Poking his chest, showing you mean business. "We'll get plastic plants you can play with later. Take care of those to your heart's content."

Failing to shut the door in time before Sun pipes up again. Song-songing in a condecending lamet as he follows your eye line straight on until the door fully closes.

"I think you're ovveeerr-reactinggg!!"

You shut the door twice.

Beloved, Fiddle-Fig stood no chance against caretaking protocols that stubbornly stayed stuck on the wrong dial-tone.

Because this morning you'd been greeted with an even more troubling site.

The dirt is gone.

Out of the pot. Straight up missing.

How meticulous a task to gently remove each little root from the soil and leave it starving. Catching him rounding the corner with gardening gloves (and how in the world he'd even found gloves to fit his hands for one).

"Eugh, saving Fig from all that disgusting dirt was no easy task," He beams. "Not to mention the bath it needed to get all cleaned up! But look, look it looks much happier. I'm sure whatever you were doing was great too!"

Feeling what little patience you had dwindling. Your eye twitches.

"Liiiike I told you! I took care of plants all the time! No more of that pesky dirt!" Tapping a finger to your nose. An equally affectionate and condescending boop to your nose.

"Taking it out of the dirt is killing it." Glancing over the still intact roots. "You're literally killing it."

"We have the internet y'know! Duh. You're supposed to wipe down these kinds of plants once a month! It doesn't look like you were doing that at all. So dusty, blegh!”

Are you going crazy? For real. You feel like you're going crazy.

“Good thing I'm here! To help you out and help out our beloved plants! Don't have to worry about all that pesky tidying with me around!”

Gripping his shirt, shaking the fabric in place of shaking him.

"Not with bleach!! With water!! With water Angel! Where did you even read anything about removing the dirt?!"

"The bleach was diluted with water! Don't get yourself in such a twist!" Literally cupping your hand and making you twirl. Stumbling on the hardwood to catch yourself.

"Where did you read about removing the dirt! Give me your source, give me the name of the article writer I'm going to find their address and stuff live beetles in their vents!"

"Oh!" Distress finally clicking. Maybe. Clicking a little. He cups your face, soothing his thumbs along your cheeks.

"... Goodness. Does our Fiddle-Fig really need... Dirt that much? I mean, I just don't think that's true. But if you're thiiis upset.. hmmm."

"All the plants in this house need dirt. And water, not cleaning solutions!”

"... Fine." He warblers a sigh. Glaring down at the plant. "This one can have dirt."

Tempted to ask him if he's heard literally anything you've said.

———

Glitter, and acrylic paint are what come next.

Dropping the plate in your hands, scattering linguine pasta all over the living room floor.

Literally out of the room for fifteen minutes and he's made a craft project out of the plants suffering. It's screaming tirelessly to a void that no one can hear.

You're very glad you're not a plant. Actually.

Sun sets his paintbrush on the tiny plastic pallet, rushing to you after collecting supplies to clean up the mess of ceramics and sauce.

“The orange didn't come out quite right! Don't you just hate that? Mixing colours and noo matter how much yellow you mix in, it's just not orange enough!”

Fig is ruined. Fig is not going to continue thriving in this household like this.

Urgency to hide it in your jacket and run off into the woods.

“I know I can do better, but sure am glad you love it so much! Rendering you all speechless!” He chitters, like he's proud of this.

Leaning down to wordlessly clean up the rest of pasta wreckage. Sun rambles about his other plans for Fig. If he couldn't clean it properly, he could at least decorate it correctly!

Plants being all one colour is an eye sore.

You could tell him most plants are one colour. Most plants are green. Question his sanity if he too has a distaste for the green grass outside the window. The brittle bark of brown tree trucks even.

“Please don't ever do this again, plants can't handle being tampered with like this.”

“Decorating isn't tampering.”

At least this phase hasn't reached Moon yet you suppose.

... Yet.

[voltronimus-prime]

Murder Drones Hot Take

Oil does not equal blood 1:1 and worker Drones should not be freaked out by seeing or drinking it.

While we're not given an exact breakdown of how a Worker Drone's body functions, we know they've got motors, and we know they've got a lot of power running through them.

This means they need to keep cool, and they need to keep their motors and joints running smoothly.

While oil as coolant shouldn't require frequent top ups unless there's a leak, oil as lubricant can require refills as the old oil loses viscosity and as gunk builds up reducing its ability to properly keep things moving.

Worker Drones, particularly the ones on Copper 9, are in a very rough environment, where particulates building up would be a constant issue.

Combined with the temperature flip flops from going between a heavy work environment to the blizzards of the outside, and I'm sure there'd be some interesting chemical results.

Worker Drones would have to top off/change their oil semi-regularly. Contrary to what seems to be a popular belief(?), they wouldn't be able to regenerate their own, they're literally just robots.

Multiple stories have the Disassembly Drones feeding off of workers and simply stopping short of draining them, and then later on the victim is fine, but that only works in vampire stories because human bodies can replenish the missing blood. Worker Drones can't do that.

Worker Drones would have to have a supply of oil they use to keep themselves going, meaning there'd be options for helping Disassembly Drones with their artificially increased consumption without having to do worker blood drives, unless something really goes wrong at least.

On the topic of oil loss, it also wouldn't result in a semi-quick fatal error like a person bleeding out. The two main symptoms would be difficulties moving as the low oil pressure means delicate mechanisms start grinding due to lack of proper lubrication, and a slow increase in internal temperature due to lack of coolant.

However considering these are robots built for industrial use and not purposefully sabotaged robo-vampires, they wouldn't be as vulnerable to that since they wouldn't be generating the same kinds of heat anyway.

As great as the "Pushing through the pain, ignoring overheating warnings and fighting off lightheaded-ness as your cpu underclocks itself to keep the heat down." stories are;

there's a lot of untapped potential in "Pushing through the pain as your joints feel like they're tearing themselves apart, horrible grinding sounds as metal scrapes against metal. Fighting to take one more step as the joints start seizing."

I don't know, it just always bugged me when writers show Worker Drones as horrified or disgusted at the idea of needing to consume oil, usually in the context of getting solver powers and needing to drink oil to keep cool. Obviously the hunger and the predator instincts would be freaky, but seeing a can of oil and thinking "I should drink that." would not be weird.

I'll probably play with the formatting/add and remove things to try to make this more readable later but let me know what you think.

[idrawfunkythings]

DCAtober24 Day 7: Glitter Glue

Words: 900+ Summary: Sun is in a bit of sticky situation. Good thing you're always there to help him out

You were used to cleaning assorted junk off the daycare attendant. Today was no exception - Sun had decided it was a good day for glitter glue to be handed out during craft time, and that had worked out for all of ten minutes before Sean got his grabby little hands coated in the stuff, which had of course started a chain reaction.

Which was why you were sitting on a kiddie stool after hours, rag in one hand and disinfectant in the other, instructing Sun to stay still and stop squirming as you tried your best to get the pink stuff off of his face.

While Sun seemed to be a neat freak (you’d heard him wailing over the state of the daycare many times) you knew that when it came to him and Moon, they could go days without a good clean. The last time they’d let you scrub them was weeks ago (which became apparent when you found pieces of slime hiding between Sun’s faceplate cracks). You raise an eyebrow.

“Sun, this is why you need to let me clean you more,” you say, sticking your tongue out as you work at a particularly stubborn swatch of dried glue. “All this shit-”

“Language,” Sun says automatically, tracking your hand with his barely visible pupils.

You scoff. “All this gunk would be easier to get off if you didn’t let it all dry.”

“Well, yes, but we’re much too busy to clean ourselves regularly,” Sun protests. His rays retract to allow you to inspect the inside of his head. “Moon has to spend all night patrolling-”

“Oh, does he now?” You pause to give him an unimpressed look. “He seems fine with slacking off on his job if it means irritating me.”

Sun stalls, his pupils momentarily clipping out. You assume Moon was berating him inside their head. “Moon is supposed to spend the night patrolling,” he amends, flinching and accidentally pushing a ray out, although thankfully not one near your hand. He laughs awkwardly as you push it back in.

“Well, you and I get plenty of time before and after the daycare opens,” you respond. Sun smiles mischievously.

“I’d prefer to use that time for other things,” he drawls, and when you snap your head down to glare, he stares back at you innocently. You roll your eyes.

“You’re impossible, do you know that?”

“Me?” Sun places a hand on his chest. “Oh, how you wound me, friend! And here I thought we had something.”

You slap his arm playfully. “Stop that, you’ll get the glue on your chest again. I just cleaned it.” Sun obeys, but not without whining.

“Chica only gets a proper clean once a month.”

“Yeah, because she doesn’t interact with the kids as much as you do. Quit it,” you add, smacking his faceplate when he spins his rays unhappily.

It’s quiet for some time, the only sounds your nails digging at crusted crap on Sun’s exoskeleton. He doesn’t seem annoyed by the action, even when you accidentally chip the paint on his arm. He doesn’t speak, just follows your movements with his eyes.

“I’m serious, though,” you say after a while, finally on the last part, his hands. “You need to let me clean you. You spend enough time on the daycare, you need to spend time on yourself as well.”

Sun tilts his head, but doesn’t respond.

“Fine. If you won’t let me clean you, at least let me clean your room.” He startles. “It’s a mess, Sunny. You can’t live like that.”

Sun laughs nervously. “Oh, we’ve been doing just fine! Don’t you worry about us and how we live - well, we don’t really ‘live’, but you get what I mean.”

You glare at him. “Sunny.”

Sun lets out an artificial sigh. “Okay, okay. We’ll let you clean us more often.”

It’s a small victory, but you take it nonetheless. Finally finishing his hands, you look up at him and smile. “Yes! I promise you’ll feel ten times better when you’re not covered in kid goop.”

Sun clasps your hands, still resting in his palms. “Thank you.” His voice is oddly tender. Before you can ask why he sounds so… soft, he springs up and claps his hands, making the bells on his ribbons jingle. “Now, I have to get everything set up for tomorrow!”

“Sun, I swear to god, if you plan another liquid-inspired arts and crafts day, I’m quitting.”

Sun laughs. “Not at all! Tomorrow is imagination day! It’s all about pretending.”

Ah, you’d forgotten about that. Tomorrow’s whole schedule was thrown out of whack to allow the kids to spend the whole day playing make believe. Sun claimed it was to ‘inspire their minds’. You knew it was really him wanting an excuse to use the old costumes in their room.

“I’m not being the kidnapped ruler again,” you warn, because last time he made you sit at the top of the jungle gym while the kids had to fight a dragon (Sun in a costume) to save you. “You can do that this time.”

Sun frowns. “But you’re so good at it!”

“Sun, if you make me the helpless victim again, I’ll teach Sean how to swear.”

Sun gasps, as he always does, and sighs. “I guessssssssss I could maybe change things a little bit. Maybe. If you’re nice to me.”

You know he won’t. But you smile anyway and help him get the kiddie costumes ready for the day he had planned. You could never really say no to him, anyway.