#and i think the brainrot is bleeding into me

[transformersbrainrot]

MegOp is making me crazy as usual, but now I have some new, specific inspiration!

So it started with @that-fanperson-meg saying this under a post I made about the Transformers account posting a TFO MegOp edit.

I recognized the name of the song but had never actually listened to it, and hooooo boy, it activated something in the part of my brain that thinks about MegOp... So, I'm listening to this song, and I have the clearest vision that it's about Megatron's mindset/thoughts during his mental health's lowest point in the worst depths of the war. (fair warning, my analysis/brainrot is based on my own personal continuity/au, so there are some minor references to that, but it's all fairly standard, and I explain it a bit, so just go with it, and you shouldn't be confused.) Ok, preamble over. Time for the lyrical analysis:

I hope that our few remaining friends Give up on trying to save us I hope we come up with a failsafe plot To piss off the dumb few that forgave us I hope the fences we mended Fall down beneath their own weight And I hope we hang on past the last exit I hope it's already too late

Megatron assumes that Optimus is in just as bad of a place as he is. He's wrong, of course, OP certainly isn't enjoying himself, but he has an actual support system that he feels comfortable leaning on. On the other hand, Soundwave is the only thing even approaching a friend for Megatron (and he is waaay too closed off at this point to admit it). Starscream is a backstabbing, power-hungry sycophant with his own heap of baggage (I really gotta make a post about my version of all that sometime); Shockwave is purely logic-driven as usual, only interested in advancing the Cybertronian race via the Decepticon cause. By this time, Megatron feels like both sides are too deep into the war to even consider peace. He honestly can't fathom it.

And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here Someday burns down And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away And I never come back to this town again in my life

Megatron has always wanted to escape the path that was decided for him. But now, after losing what he and Orion had and the resulting fallout, he won't go quietly into the night, not before causing some irreparable damage first. And the war will do just that. He hopes the destruction the great war causes keeps pushing him forward, even out beyond Cybertron. At least then, he won't ever need to face the past and who he used to be. He couldn't recognize himself now if he tried, so he doesn't even try.

I hope I lie And tell everyone you were a good wife And I hope you die I hope we both die

Even though it's clear to him that they hate each other and are not good for each other, Megatron still has some form of loyalty to what he and Orion had. If somehow, someday, someone were to ask him about them, he wouldn’t tell them about all their problems, but instead that they were good together. Maybe if this hypothetical future version of Megatron doesn't mention all the pain their split caused, then maybe it was a little less real. He knows that as long as Optimus is around, he won't be able to stop fighting; he's just too hurt and angry. He wishes Optimus would just die, that they both would.

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow I hope it bleeds all day long Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises We're pretty sure they're all wrong I hope it stays dark forever I hope the worst isn't over And I hope you blink before I do And I hope I never get sober

Soundwave, the only even semi-positive influence on him right now, is the one telling Megatron it's darkest before the sun rises. Soundwave is a true believer in the original cause of the Decepticons, probably the last one in High Command; everyone else is either using the cause as a means to take out their pain (Megatron and Starscream) or as a means to an end (Shockwave). Megatron is finding it harder and harder to believe Soundwave with each passing day, and yet again assumes Optimus is doing the same. He's starting to hope it never ends. He's comfortable with it now; the war fills the hole that his old life left in him. All he really knows is that he can't bring himself to yield to Optimus and doesn't think he ever will. If he did, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

And I hope when you think of me years down the line You can't find one good thing to say And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out You'd stay the hell out of my way

Megatron is hoping that Optimus is suffering too, since he is, and doesn’t want him to feel anything positive through this since he cannot. But at the same time, he’s trying so hard to be a bastard so that it won’t hurt as much. He does still want to speak well of their past if he gets the chance, so some loyalty or fondness remains deep down. If there were good times to look back on, there would be sadness that those times are over. If Optimus has nothing good to say about him, all he would feel is relief that that part of their lives is over.

I am drowning There is no sign of land You are coming down with me Hand in unlovable hand And I hope you die I hope we both die

Megatron can't see any way out of where he's gotten them. To him, there's no path to peace anymore. The only solace Megatron can find is the hope that Optimus falls with him. Even now, the two of their fates must be interlocked, as if it were a universal constant to him - simple common sense. He just wants it to be over, even as he can't bring himself to stop.

[qualityrain]

joker & akc being considered as one got me sidnskjdsjjdjdjsndjsjdjsjdnsjjd two sides one coin. in the end your wishes became one. one conclusion. dont even need to plan the showtime fuck it we ball lets go tear this motherfucker to shreds joker!!!!!!!!!!!!

[wonderinqrache]

Spectacle and Bleeding Heart (based on @isjasz and @gingermaple designs)

[sad-torbek-noises]

Holy shit, is the bleed from Candela Obscura just...basically magical radiation??? Or like, just straight up radiation?????

If just being exposed to it (not even having to touch it directly) is enough to weaken the human body (because they take a bleed mark when they get too close to it),

if there's a chance that prolonged exposure to copious amounts of it could mutate you (or start disintegrating you) in some shape or form like when they take a scar after getting four bleed marks,

and if it had a hand in the straight up obliteration of an entire civilization because the people were trying to use it to gain power and then ended up suffering direct damage from it as well as creatures mutated by it (and the bleed and its mutated creatures are still around to fuck with the citizens of the new civilization)

THAT'S JUST BASICALLY MAGICAL RADIATION

[bbeoms]

rugby!simon headcanons

hello, my sports hyperfixation this summer is rugby union, thus here i present you my rugby player simon riley brainrot! decided to write it cause why not???? someone needed to bring this idea to life. i hope you enjoy <3

fluff, suggestive, slight hurt/comfort

- plays as a forward (more specifically, second row/lock) so he’s always there during a scrum!

- and as we know, forwards are usually huge men 🤭 so 6’4 117kg simon is the perfect candidate

- you have to restrain yourself every time he’s in his kit cause have you seen how tight their jerseys and shorts are?????

- you can’t help but stare at how the fabric hugs his pecs and how the sleeves are lowkey cutting off circulation to his arms cause of how large his biceps are (and the way his tattoos peek out from the sleeves? chefs kiss)

- hikes up his shorts when he knows you’re watching and smirks when he catches you staring at the thick muscle of his thighs

- avoids wearing his kit around you when you’re ovulating cause he’s not sure he can control himself with the way you eye him like you’re ready to pounce

- (he learned his lesson after that one time you went to a match when you were ovulating. simon didn’t think it was possible, but you managed to milk him dry after you guys went home that night 💀 the hormones made you too feral until you managed to make him tap out lmao)

- anyone else become possessed by a succubus during ovulation?,,,,,, just me?,,,,, okay,,,,

- doesn’t usually wear a scrum cap during his matches

- but there was a couple of times he had to wear it (per the doctors recommendation) to protect stitches he had near his ear

- “ohmygod si you look like the end of a pencil ✏️”

- sulked at your teasing, he didn’t want to wear it either 😭

- you cooed and proceeded to shower his face with lil kisses until he forgave you

- felt his heart melt when you squished your cheek to his and took a selfie, your smile wide as you laugh at the way his blond strands were cutely sticking out of the cap (and how he still, looked like the end of a pencil)

- made it his lockscreen immediately

- being a rugby girlfriend isn’t always fun and games though

- it’s an extremely physical and dangerous sport and although you’d like to think simon is invincible, he’s still human

- it’s hard to believe but there are quite a number of players that are taller and heavier than him (you can’t say they have the same skill set though, simon is really good at his job)

- there’s always an underlying feeling of anxiety every time you watch him play

- injuries are a given

- split skin, bleeding ears and broken bloody noses are some of the more tame injuries you’ve seen simon get.

- simon coos at your tears and furrowed eyebrows whenever you tend to his injuries during rest days

- you don’t like seeing your man hurt!!!! :(((

- (okay but it is pretty hot when he gets all bloody in the face like in the first picture like hello??? lemme jump on you)

- straddling his lap while wiping the dried blood off his eyebrow

- “gimme a kiss”

- being cheeky and steals a kiss on your lips after you ignore his request

- reassures you that he’s alright and reminds you that he’s had worse injuries

- you give him a glare, silently telling him to not remind you of that time you thought he died on the pitch

- simon got hit with a high tackle, the fucker that was attempting to tackle him had his shoulder straight into simon’s neck (the guy got a red card deservingly) knocking simon back and motionless on the pitch

- you watched in horror as multiple bodies pile on top of him, not noticing that simon was out cold

- soon enough, the team’s medics were on field and stretching him away for treatment

- simon still feels your gentle touch on his face that day, thumb rubbing his cheek willing him to be okay

- he still remembers the look on your face despite being concussed. distraught, dried tears staining your cheeks.

- you were so scared, you didn’t know how bad his concussion was and what the aftermath of such injury would entail.

- he’d never felt such tenderness before

- he couldn’t believe that someone cared about him that much, didn’t think that he would ever find someone to love him like you do

- whispers i love you for the first time in his dazed state

- decides at that point that he won’t let you go, and has become a simp ever since <3

left to right pics: david pocock, tariq sims, chris robshaw (<- he would lowkey make a good simon riley imo)

[house-of-angst]

Y'all mind if I talk about Present Mic's quirk for a second? Great.

So, my partner and I have been having Erasermic brainrot lately, and while we were binging content with them, I became interested in Hizashi's voice quirk. I began searching stuff about how sound/volume works, and linking it to his canon stuff.

I'll just say, the info I found makes him a pretty scary guy. It's a shame he's so underused in both canon and fanon.

Frequency

First of all, I want to talk about something everyone knows about him: his quirk is potent enough to shatter glass. Now, when it comes to decibels, it's always important to consider the time and distance a certain note is held for, since these can impact the "hit" a certain sound wave can have when influenced by effects such as the air or vibrations.

(Please keep this in mind for the reminder of this post)

When it comes to glass, however, it breaks almost instantly under the pressure of his voice. Our most constant example of this is the man's poor lenses, but there is a scene I'd like to talk about the most, it being he one where he completely shatters Shigaraki's tank.

One might argue that the glass was already weakened from Mirko's kicks, but that's honestly part of something that makes this so impressive to me; Mirko's legs are strong enough to straight-up rip a high-end Nomu's head clean off, yet this tank was tough enough to withstand two attacks from her - including her ultimate move - before starting to leak; and the fact she was heavily injured doesn't fly here, as we very clearly could see she wasn't holding back one bit.

Now, let's get technical.

According to Google, a normal tone of voice would be around 50 decibels, while the required to shatter glass would be a minimum of 105. For comparison, that's roughly the same volume as a jackhammer. Now, you might be thinking, "Oh, that's not so bad! Some singers can do that!" and you'd be right, but there's also some other things to consider. Allow me to explain.

Some singers can reach a pitch that can make glass vibrate enough for it to break, but I've personally only heard of this happening if the person has their mouth close to a smaller, empty cup, and even then the volume would be distributed around. Hizashi, on the other hand, was standing several feet away from this reinforced tank and was able to shatter it immediately, using the directional speaker around his neck to aim the volume. This would naturally require for him to hit even higher decibels, specially when you take into consideration that one's frequency must match the glass' for it to vibrate, which drastically increases when it's dampened. (Read next topic for more info on this)

And then there's his glasses which, like I've stated before, are the most common thing he breaks with his voice. Obviously, this is not directed and it's not a total shatter, but there is something to be observed; say, did you know the necessary volume for lenses to crack, when not being directly aimed at, would be that of a nearby shot from a highcaliber gun? That's roughly 140-170 decibels.

Harm factor

Boy, oh boy! I'm betting most of you were looking for this part when you clicked the read more, right? Look no further, I've got you covered, you just better remember what I mentioned before about distance and duration.

Hizashi's parents were unfortunate enough to have a mutant child that was born with his quirk already active, and I'm willing to bet a newborn doesn't have the slightest bit of control over a power as destructive as a sonic-powered voice, which immediately resulted in everyone in the room bleeding from the ears.

Sound-related ear bleeding is most commonly associated with a ruptured eardrum, which can happen at around 150 decibels and is about the same as a jet engine taking off. While a baby most likely unleashed his maximum voice power on the first breath, I believe something like that would, thankfully, only develop fully after puberty, just like with non-powered people like us, since his quirk is a drastic intensification of a common function and not a new ability altogether.

With that being said... The Finals Exam.

In this, Hizashi was standing very far and, even with the directional speakers, there were many obstacles in the way that kept him from landing direct soundwaves on the students. Regardless, Jirou's ears bled in less than 30 minutes being exposed to this.

This could have happened due to the fact that she has a hearing quirk, which would make hers much more sensitive, but let's study this, shall we? We don't have the exacts of what happened there, but the students are visibly uncomfortable upon the first soundwave, which would suggest it was at about 120 decibels upon impact (with 85 already being enough to cause damage to your ears) and being emitted even higher by him, considering distance muffles volume. Still, I think all that would be nothing compared to the scream he let out after those bugs started crawling on him, with how unfiltered that was.

With Jirou, it comes to no surprise this volume at this distance and time almost rendered her deaf, and realistically would take several months of healing time. How much do you want to bet Hizashi got a solid scolding from Shouta? I mean, it was supposed to be a challenge, but homeboy came this close to breaking her quirk.

Another thing I want to point out is that his voice is powerful enough to actually fucking launch people, and this only happens due to an event called acoustic trauma, basically meaning Hizashi can surpass supersonic levels. Although, it's important to note that this effect is caused mostly due to pressure and not so much as sound, so while it's not freakishly loud (about the same as thunder), it can still cause hearing and psychological damage.

! WARNING !

The following part contains graphic mentions of injury, and death. Do not proceed if these are sensitive topics for you.

Now, we look at the disturbing side of Hizashi's quirk. Buckle in, because it's a wild ride.

Remember what I commented earlier, about him having to hit even higher frequencies to be able to shatter Shigaraki's tank? First of all, as the doctor was sent flying, this qualifies as supersonic, but that's not all. To shatter such a protected tank, with liquid inside increasing the density, he'd have to hit over 200 decibels; which is considered extremely dangerous and most definitely fatal, as the threshold of pain is of 115-140 - this can cause damage such as crushed ear bones, ruptured lungs, or embolism. For comparison, this would come close to standing right next to a Saturn V Moon Rocket during launch, and is no longer considered a "sound" due to the vacuum.

With that being said, the man came very close to dying by Hizashi's hands (voice?) twice. Not only was he so close during the lens incident, literally being inches away from his face and in risk of getting his eardrums ruptured already, but if Mic had decided to raise his voice even more during his rage, it'd be possible for the frequency to make the doctor's inner organs malfunction, or straight-up burst from the pressure.

But that's not the worst part.

After establishing that the lethal amount of over 200 decibels would be necessary to shatter the tank given the circumstances, if he exceeded 240 and the doctor happened to be in the way of this, it would be enough to cause his head to explode upon impact. That old man better be grateful that he was standing a feet few away, and that the supersonic blast blew him away a bit more, or it'd be an immediate game over.

With all this being said, how devastating would it be for this guy to scream his rage out?

(Please keep in mind that many of the extreme cases in this are actually impossible to happen in a real-life scenario and are purely speculation!)

[sunderingstars]

So how do you think Zayne, Xavier and Rafayel would react when their s/o has a boy best friend, purely platonic but makes other people have second thoughts about their relationship.

Hehehe have a good day, write this if your okay with this 🪐

boy best friend (l&ds x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: 1.2k, no gender signifiers used for reader, established relationship, ✨jealousy✨ but with a healthy dose of respect partner juice, surprisingly well-adjusted xav, half-headcanon half-prose, slight allusions to lore if you squint

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ hello !! thank you for giving me an excuse to write jealous rafayel >:3 the love & deepspace brainrot is so real for me right now, hope you enjoy !

— zayne is really good at hiding it, but his tiny mannerisms bleed through enough to make it clear he’s worried. it’s not that he has an issue with you having guy best friends, it’s just that everyone else seems to assume you two are together despite zayne standing right there. 

Zayne just stares. Blinks. Stares. Blinks again. You have to nudge him as a reminder that he is, in fact, in public, and that introductions are usually reciprocated by both parties. As soon as you make contact, it’s like a switch flips.

He breezes through his name, occupation, and a firm handshake (not too loose, not too tight), making it look so effortless that you almost forget he’d frozen like a statue as soon as he laid eyes on your best friend. Almost.

He does his best to hide it, but it’s clear something’s wrong. The slight clip to his voice, the furrow of his brow, the hesitance in his eyes when he looks at you — they may be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but all the telltale signs are there. It’s only a matter of time before you get an answer out of him.

“I’m an adult. I don’t worry about those kinds of things,” he says when you voice your suspicion a few days later.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s true,” he continues when you shoot him a disbelieving look, shuffling the papers on his desk in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I have absolutely no problem with him.”

You don’t say anything else, simply fix him with a deeper look and cross your arms. He doesn’t crack. It takes a whole five minutes of him pretending to go back to work before he sighs and makes a show of signing something.

“I may,” he says, setting the pen down gently, “Be slightly… somewhat…”

“Jealous?” you finish.

“No,” he says. “Annoyed.” Then, quickly, “Not at you. Or him. Just everyone else.”

You don’t quite understand. “Everyone else…?”

Now it’s Zayne’s turn to fix you with a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Notice what? you want to ask, but refrain since you don’t want Zayne thinking you’re more oblivious than you already are. You rack your brain for something, anything that you can remember from that day, until…

“Oh,” you say. You do remember getting quite a few stares even before you and your friend coincidentally ran into Zayne. At first, you thought it was because you were still in uniform, but you realize now that it may have been for a completely different reason.

Zayne doesn’t respond, just taps his fingers against the wood of his desk, a nervous tic.

“Those were people who got the wrong idea,” you continue. Then, when his mouth dips into a frown, you move to stand beside him. “I don’t mind hunting them down and telling them just how wrong they were.”

At this, his frown begins to lift. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I would, though.”

He looks at you clearly for the first time in a few days, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you say. You maneuver yourself between him and the desk, falling into a half-straddle. “I’d go to their house, knock on the door, and tell them exactly how Dr. Zayne and I make out every Friday eveni—”

You feel his hand brush against your mouth, closing it.

“Alright, alright,” he interrupts with a small smile, “I get it. I’m secure enough in our relationship not to worry.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Just don’t miss any checkups.”

“I’ll be right on time, as always,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And if anyone asks, i’ll tell them exactly who my boyfriend is.”

“Thank you.”

— xavier isn’t sure why you think he’d be annoyed, since your best friend seems nice enough. if anything, you’re the one that seems nervous, broaching the topic with him only to realize he hasn’t minded from the start.

Xavier looks a bit confused. His eyes shuffle between your face, his phone, and the twisting hands in your lap, a small, awkward smile beginning to spread on his face.

“Am I supposed to be… worried?” he asks.

“Are you?” you respond.

This prompts a light chuckle from your boyfriend. He shifts on the couch, turning until his arm rests on the back and his body is angled towards you. “Not really. What about you?”

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

This seems to surprise Xavier, and you can’t blame him. You’re a bit surprised, too, given that most people’s roles would be flipped in this context.

Still, you can’t help it. Even though you’ve known your best friend for years — much longer than you’ve known Xavier — you don’t want your boyfriend to feel like he’s being overshadowed in his relationship with you. However, it currently seems like those worries are unfounded.

“Well, the way I see it…” Xavier leans in, brushing his lips against your temple, “… it’s wonderful you have so many people to share your life with.”

“You really think so?” you ask, just to make sure.

“Of course. Although…” He leans back, then, mid-afternoon light filtering through the window and washing his features soft gold. His eyes sharpen like sun rays piercing through a cloud. “… if he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

— rafayel is very loud and clear about his jealousy, and you can count on him to become clingy after you hang out with your best friend. ultimately, you know he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he says he does, so you’re happy to indulge his want for attention if it means you can comfort him when he’s insecure.

Rafayel, as he is wont to do, makes his feelings known immediately and with such startling clarity that at first you think he’s joking.

“You’re serious?” you finally ask, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards into a smile while his stay fixed, pouting.

“Of course I am,” he says. He glares at the empty air beside you head as if it wronged him in a past life. “I mean, it’s fine and all, I guess, but we haven’t seen each other in four days. You haven’t even taken me plushie hunting. And yet…”

“And yet…?”

He crosses his arms and mumbles. 

“Use your words, Raf.”

He sighs. “You were with him all day. People were staring.”

“And so you’re jealous,” you deadpan, “because my best friend helped me with a case.”

“Yes!” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could’ve helped too! If you keep going around without me like that, you’ll… you’ll…” Something changes in his eyes, and he clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

You know your boyfriend well enough by this point to grasp what he’s hinting at. Putting your own frustration aside, you lean in, the soft fabric of Rafayel’s shirt brushing against your fingertips. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not going to forget you,” you say. Then, you find his arm, uncrossing it so you can take his pinky in yours. “Promise.”

Slowly, slightly, the tension in his shoulders begins to release. 

“Can we go plushie hunting?” he mumbles. Then, “Just the two of us?”

You smile. “Of course.”

🩵 bonus hc 🩵: i mentioned it in zayne’s part, but i like to think he drums his fingers against any available surface when he’s nervous or worried. between that, pushing up his glasses, and fiddling with his pen, you can read his mood based off of how much he messes with the objects in his vicinity.

(also also rafayel is so petty when he’s jealous, i know this one is basically canon but i just love it sm ♡)

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[hitomisuzuya]

More Scaramouche brainrot. Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Masturbation. Scara having lots of lewd thoughts.

Don't mind me, I am just typing whatever smutty thing comes to mind. I have more Gamer Scara smut planned and some Scummy Scara stuff. I feel pretty relaxed tonight.

Scaramouche restlessly turned over onto his back. Sitting up, he thudded his head against the headboard once. You weren't next to him. He could smell you on the sheets.

He was used to his usual routine, crawling into bed with you, getting you out of your clothes and fucking you senseless. But there were those few inevitable times where you couldn't share the same bed with him.

And he hated it.

Shifting restlessly under the sheets, he threw the blanket off of him. Groaning when he felt his cock throb, thoughts of stuffing your cunt full with his cock filled his head.

He wished he could feel how soft your skin was as he sucked and bite bruises on your neck, his tongue sweeping across any blood that welled into the indents made by his teeth. He palmed his cock as it began to strain in his boxers.

Scaramouche pinched the head of his cock, his precum clinging sticky to the fabric, making him hiss as he pulled his boxers down off of his cock.

That brought him little relief, letting out a shaky moan, wrapping his hand around his cock. He squeezed before pumping his hand, wish it was his fingers pinching and rolling your clit.

Your mewls of pleasure as you twitched from his fingers plunging inside of you, barely nudging against your sweet spot. The way those mewls would bleed into desperate whimpers, begging for more consistency from his fingers would sound intoxicating.

He rutted into his hand, his precum providing lubrication to pump his hand faster on his cock. He thumped his head against the headboard again, pinching the tip of his cock harder. His cock was already threatening it unload cum onto his hand.

His fingers would taste so sweet with your cum all over them. He would lick them before spitting on them, pushing them into your mouth to show dominance over you. His cock throbbed stronger in his hand, slowing the pace of his hand down as he thrust.

Scaramouche wanted to savior the images of you. The way your back would arc off the bed when he pushed his cock inside of you, relentlessly pounding into you, whimpering as you clawed at his back about how his cock was so big to take in.

He would degrade and praise you for taking him so well, calling you his fucking slut, his cock drunk whore who couldn't stop cumming from his degradation. His pretty, perfect cock sleeve.

You would cry for him to cum inside of you, to leave his cock plugged inside of you so none of it would leak out. His cock would squelch in and out of you, his fingers bruising and possessive as he gave you exactly what you wanted.

Scaramouche bit his lip, moaning loud and husky as warm cum spilled into his hand. He didn't stop fisting his cock as his thoughts continued to race.

"Beg for me to make you cum again, slut," He would demand, teasing the tip of his tongue against your dripping, abused hole. He'd hold your cunt against his face when you bucked your hips up as his lips latched around your clit.

He couldn't hold back his moans anymore, letting them pour from his throat the stronger his cock throbbed in his hand.

Tears would be welling in your eyes, your fingernails digging into his scalp, pressing his face into your cunt. He twisted his hand around his cock thinking about how your thighs would close around his head, trembling while came hard on his tongue.

Fuck he needed you.

Your eyes would be glazed over in a haze of fucked out bliss, drooling and babbling about how only he could make you feel this good. To fuck you this dumb. You would beg for him to fuck you over and over again until you could barely think.

More cum spilled into his hand. The moment Scaramouche could get his hands on you, he was locking the door behind him, tearing your clothes off and making every lewd thought he'd just had about you a reality.

He would take out all the frustration of being away from you out on your cunt.

[themeeplord]

@naffeclipse‘s cryptid boys, but they're a Monster Hunter icon!

I've wanted to make another MH World style icon ever since I made my first one. But I didn't know what I wanted to turn into an icon,, until now!! Making this was so much fun!!!

I'd love making more of these! I just gotta figure out what/who I should draw next.. and also get the time to draw it... :')

(Nerdy ranting and stuff under the cut)

Ah yes, combining two of my brainrots. No one asked for this. Only my brain did. Please don’t mind me in my weird little corner.

I would love to fight them in a Monster Hunter game! They'd DEFINITELY be a powerful elder dragon of some sort! I don't know what ailments they'd inflict, definitely bleed but I don't know what else. Maybe they can make the arena pitch black and move unseen in the shadows, only giving away where they are from their glowing red eyes. Maybe they can throw sticky demon goo at you, making little puddles where you slow down or even get stuck if you get hit by one of theier projectiles directly, kinda like being stuck in tar. And while you're stuck they're getting ready to swing their giant powerful arms at you!

Hands and face are definitely weak points. Breakable horns, back and claws! I wonder what their armor and weapons would look like!! :O

I can't help but fantasize about their music too! I think making it quiet instead of large and grandiose works better for them. Something that would fit their elusiveness. Low rumbling notes with some higher notes and fast tempo bits scattered around to keep you on your toes, never knowing when and where their next attack will strike as they stalk you in the shadows.

Is it weird that in one moment I wanna cuddle this creature and in the next I wanna fight them and make armor and weapons out of their body parts kljfbvlasjkvbs

[whorbidmore]

okay, so, I've fallen victim to the leon kennedy brainrot steadily overtaking me, following me from Tumblr to Pinterest, to Instagram and even the absolutely fucking dreaded application of TikTok. I don't even use it that often??? and the algorithm is just like 'wow, yeah, this little fuckers gay as hell send in the 40 year old meow meow!!' and having watched Death Island fairly recently, I'm gonna have my opinions on what this dude would be like. Cus my brain loves to rationalize shit and think ab 'what if this mf was someone real?' so... fuck it.

Leon Soft Kennedy Headcanons

SFW

accidentally bigoted. - im sorry but let's be so fucking real here. he's a 40 something year old man who spent the majority of his life in either the military, a police training academy in the 90's, or otherwise working under the U.S Federal System with minimal/no time between missions to unpack absolutely everything he's got going on... the guys gonna have some problematic tendencies. Obviously that doesn't mean he means any of that or is incapable of change, etc. etc., but I know for damn certain this dude would laugh a little at Bill Burr's borderline to blatantly misogynistic material and has probably chuckled unironically at the attack helicopter jokes. But, he's not a complete dick, and would definitely become more critical of those kinds of jokes if it's pointed out to him.

honest to God, Dad Without Kids™ - it's not simply enough for me to leave it at 'but it's the vibes!!' so, I'm gonna break this shit down. Leon is absolutely Gen X incarnate. I can fucking guarantee you that on his off days he accidentally ends up dressing as an undercover cop; I'm talking cargo shorts, light blue button up, those fucking standard issue boots cus "they're perfectly good shoes" and those stupid ass sunglasses... you know the ones I'm talking about. Let's say you're living with him, right? And you're... you, and you wanna watch something on TV. This dude would strain himself getting up like a turtle fallen backwards on its shell, stand up, walk right in front of the TV screen and stand there with his hands on his hips. It doesn't matter that he had to piss, he needs to get a better look of what's happening! Does those really loud, obnoxious coughs and sneezes, absolutely blows his back out doing one at least five times a year.

Only watches British Reality TV - Considering he's canonically a film buff, I'll say that this is purely for whatever he gravitates towards on general streaming services. I honestly don't see him being the type to regularly tune in to standard American cable TV, or only does so under specific circumstances like American Ninja Warrior or maybe Forged in Fire if there's absolutely nothing else. It's not something that's exclusive to Americans, — I'm from New Zealand and I do this too, — but Leon absolutely falls into the category of watching British Reality and Game shows purely because of the accents. I'm talking Jeremy Kyle, The Big Fat Quiz of Everything, Taskmaster, The Great British Bake Off and so on and so forth. It doesn't matter that baking isn't his forté or a passion of his, if Josephine curdles her buttercream by over mixing, his hands are in his hair in utter disappointment. 100% tries to mimic their accents too. We all do it, don't lie.

Has... very dated music tastes - I don't know if you could guess, but the last paragraph included me calling myself out and name dropping some shows I watch anyway or grew up watching, and I'm just saying that this is gonna be no different. If anything? This'll be worse! Since I'm very passionate about the music I listen to and have the inability to keep my interests separated from the other, of course my love of particular bands will bleed over into my interpretation of Leon's character! Anyway, all that for me to say that Leon fucking LOVES 90's grunge musicians, specifically Pearl Jam and Soundgarden, as well as early nu metal bands like Korn (their dubstep phase did not happen.), TOOL, and Rage Against the Machine — and no, he unfortunately doesn't see the irony of him being a fed and listening to Rage, — but would also have a soft spot for psych rock, post-punk and shoegaze. My man's definitely laid awake at night, sobbing without expression as he struggles to accept that Ada never really wanted him like he wanted her while listening to fucking Slowdive. My hottest take here is that he doesn't really listen to Deftones. Like he'll occasionally blast My Own Summer, Change, Bored or Rosemary, but anything outside of those? He just didn't listen to 'em. My second hottest take is that he does NOT like Slipknot, which kind of pains me 'cus I do, but I fucking bet you this dude would actually adopt one piece of "Gen Z lingo" or whatever just call them cringe. Though admittedly he would've been jamming the fuck out to Psychosocial and The Devil in I when they came out. Went off the deep end in Vendetta, obviously, and drunk-cried himself to sleep on the couch listening to Linkin Park.

Very confusing spending habits - On one hand, we all understand that Leon came from money, — he was implied to have been born into a mob family from my understanding? And I doubt he'd ever really had to worry about being fully, irrevocably broke, — but I'm sure that growing up in the U.S Foster Care System made him at least a little more cautious of where his money comes from, where it's going, what he's spending it on, etc. So, on the one hand, he's apprehensive to spend recklessly, particularly on perishables. But also, if he can drop over $100,000USD on a motorcycle that got absolutely fucking cheese grated into the road, and spend a perceived, metric fuck ton of money on designer leather jackets and massive watches, it's gonna be hard for me to call him 'financially conscious'. On one hand, he gets apprehensive on spending more money than he needs to on food since he's "just gonna shit it out later", but if he sees a cool watch or a nice suit in a shop window? Money's suddenly not an issue! Not because he's materialistic, but because the one thing he really maintains a sense of control over in his life are his possessions and the way he dresses. The D.S.O can call him in for another months long mission whenever they please, and all he can realistically do is allow the government to tug on his leash and put him where he's needed. He may as well spend their money on things he wants!

Gets out... enough? But also, not really? - So, personally I've pegged Leon as more of an introverted person, — amateurly typed his MBTI as possibly ISFJ? — so he doesn't really feel the need to go out and meet new people or really hang out with anyone. If somebody invites him out? Sure, he'll go. Otherwise, it rarely occurs to him to meet up with friends or colleagues at a cafe or anywhere. I think he'd prefer to just go there alone, mostly for the sake of having somebody else cook for him as opposed to actively seeking out the atmosphere. It's pure convience in his mind. And remember when I said in the beginning about him accidentally being at least a little misogynistic? Yeah, that was me trying to say that he regularly tries to hit on younger waitresses. Not because he actually wants anything to do with them, but simply because it's an ego boost. He likes that he can make girls half his age blush or offer him their numbers, because it tells him that he's still desirable, and ultimately, that gives him the power to reject them politely and go about the rest of his day. If they don't reject him first, of course. Admittedly, Leon's audacity towards women peaked during Infinite Darkness.

Since I'm planning on posting more NSFW headcanons for this guy, — and more NSFW kinds of posts, — here is the obligatory Minors DNI attachment. For your own safety, I don't care if what I have to say is tame so far, you can hold it off I promise.

[yandere-daydreams]

Feel free to ignore this! I'm just v sleep deprived and having brain rot inspired by some things I saw in ur writing and thought it may be up ur alley. Also this brainrot thingy is mainly aimed at readers who have the ability to get pregnant so if that don't sit right with you feel free to ignore it or change aspects of it!

Hear me out right. A mix of the sex doll au and hybrid au (either fox or husky) for childe. But like in the doll au how he replaces components as a form of trying to live out the dad fantasy? Yeah that but in the hybrid au. Like reader is trying to rehabilitate this poor little baby fox kit/husky puppy that's really sickly and was abandoned. Childe basically looks at the reader playing nurse/mommy for this poor thing almost 24/7 (his attention is being deprived lol) and goes "oh yeah that little one is ours duh". He starts exhibiting protective dad behavior while simultaneously being like "look at how good of a job I can do".

Follow up to that the pup/kit either gets better and can be handed off to another conservationist who has other young hybrids and would do a better job at caring for them in a group environment with other hybrid kiddos so there's less of a risk of em becoming too domesticated. And reader is supper bummed out about it for a while bc all their attention was zoned in on this one really precious little one and now they've moved onto bigger pastures 🥲. Meanwhile childe sees this and is like "oh now I can both console my mate in their grief, I've proven I'm a capable partner, I can totally help them make new little ones!"

Take all of that inspo/brainstorming as u will. Also if you consider people submitting ideas as commissions I apologize for misunderstanding! Did not intend to overstep 🙇‍♀️

tw - implied violence, child neglect/abandonment, and obsessive behavior.

fjdkljdfksdj i think this would probably be more plausible with husky!childe, but something about this scenario with fox!childe is just,,,

it'd just be so sweet to watch him dote over the tiny, terrified kit one of your friends found shivering in a snowbank. you really aren't qualified to take care of such a young hybrid, but while you scramble to get a hold of a more experienced volunteer, childe picks up the slack. despite being old enough to walk, the poor thing barely leaves his arms. he handles their near-hourly feedings, modifies the ill-fitting clothes you pull out of storage to accommodate their tail and hind legs, even lets them crawl between you and him at night and violate his cardinal rule (no one else gets to so much as touch your bed except for him - an unspoken law that's resulted in more than a few bitten hands and bleeding guests). he does his best to put a dent in their never-ending energy, and when it's time for you to take over, he's never more than a few feet away, wagging his tail as you take the kit's temperature and try to convince them to swallow a few drops of medicine. and, when you finally contact a volunteer with a small shelter and a pack of orphaned kits, childe seems as happy as you are, rubbing his cheek against theirs as he tells them that they'll be home soon enough. it's sweet, even if fox-hybrid dynamics are, admittedly, a little lost on you. honestly, you're just relieved you'll be able to sleep through the night again.

at least, you're relieved until you get back from work the next day, until you find your door unlocked and your apartment wrecked, furniture overturned and rust-colored stains soaked into your carpeting. you find childe on the foot of your bed, bouncing a crying kit in his lap and gushing them quietly, but he doesn't look concerned. if anything, his posture is slack, the smile written across his face nothing short of ecstatic. he looks calm. he looks happy.

he looks like someone who only just found his way home.

[madaqueue]

eternally, yours

chapter 7 | servitude

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, angst, smut. language, mentions of death/loss, mentions of blood, oral (f receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry this took me AGES lmao been in a real gojo brainrot moment the past few weeks but i hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me xoxo

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Choso is a patient man. Part of it is innate, sure, but more than that, his patience was carefully crafted, curated through experience. He was made into the man he is today, a good man. But even good men get pushed to their limits.

Which is why he has moments where it takes everything in him not to scream; he wants to grab anyone who dares to walk past him by the shoulders, nails digging into their skin, and force them to listen. He wants to create a captive audience, any outlet for the unfamiliar feelings constantly bubbling over inside of him, a volcano threatening to erupt. It’s too hot, too violent.

Sometimes, he thinks there must be something other than blood coursing through your veins - something mysterious, something addicting. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about you, that’s why his heart pounds and hands shake when he’s with you.

Since the day he met you, you have slowly overtaken his soul, his thoughts, his very being, watering the garden of his life until it’s overgrown. He would profess his love to every person who could hear it, a proclamation of his undying dedication. Every moment without you he feels empty, as though a piece of his soul is missing, only completed when your warmth bleeds into his.

And you, you don’t seem to notice; or, at least you don’t mind if you do. It’s peaceful, to blend into another person like this, to let him see you and be seen by you. Of course there are hurdles, but he easily lifts you over them without a second thought, letting you run forward into the future together.

One recurring challenge you’ve come to note is his diet. As winter settles, the two of you become increasingly creative to work around the less tasteful components of vampirism, the primary one haunting the back of your thoughts: blood. He’s always careful to avoid letting you see him feed, rinsing any remaining crimson from his teeth before rejoining your company. Outings to restaurants become increasingly exhausting, growing tired of explaining to strangers that he just “isn’t hungry.” Instead, you opt to stay inside under the comfort of your home, simply content in each other’s company. It’s easier here, there are fewer risks, it’s safer, both for you and him.

Which is why it comes as a surprise when Choso arrives at your apartment one morning after his overnight hospital shift, letting himself in with the key you had given him a few weeks ago out of ease due to his disruptive work schedule, grinning ear to ear. “I have an idea,” he whispers as he climbs under the covers of your bed, careful to not jostle you as you rouse yourself from sleep.

“Oh?” you murmur, tiredness still clouding your vision as you rub your eyes.

“It’s a surprise,” he smiles, “but whenever you’re awake enough, get yourself ready, and wear something cute.” Nuzzling into you, he wraps his arms around your waist, heat radiating off your body. “Oh, and warm,” he remembers before pulling himself away. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your head, “love you.”

“Love you,” you hum as your eyes flutter closed, the depths of sleep pulling you back. The bed shifts as Choso removes himself from it, rustling echoing through your apartment before you hear your front door close again as he leaves.

You’re awoken again a few hours later to the sweet scent of coffee hitting your nose, Choso’s deep voice humming some song you don’t quite recognize from the kitchen. As the sheets rustle beneath your movements, he suddenly appears at your side, a sweet grin plastered across his face. “G’morning,” he whispers, gently kissing your forehead. Your skin is warm under his lips, his cool fingers resting against your cheeks still flushed from sleep. Setting down a mug atop your bedside table, he continues, “I got your favorite from that coffee shop down the street.”

You tiredly smile up at him, his small acts of devotion a consistent light in your life. Every chance he gets to show you how much he thinks of you he takes, your presence a constant hum in the back of his mind, every thought punctuated with you.

Slowly rising, he never leaves your side as you get ready, his arms wrapped around you while you brush your teeth, his fingers lazily combing through your hair as you style it, his lips trailing every bare inch of your skin as you get dressed.

When you finally pull on a sweater and skirt, fuzzy socks lining your calves, he feels his heart flutter in his chest. Absolute, utter perfection. There’s a softness to you, a tenderness that resides within your body. It contrasts his sharpness, the harsh edges he’s been forced to develop; every moment with you he feels them wearing away, dulling into a gentleness he’s never known. Yet, one he has grown to crave.

Walking hand-in-hand through the snow-covered city, his grand surprise is revealed as he leads you to a small lake hidden behind brick facades of unfamiliar buildings. The snow crunches beneath your feet as you continue down the thin gravel path until you’re met with a freshly-shoveled bench along the outskirts of the pond. Setting the gym bag that had been slung over his shoulder onto the ground, he gestures for you to sit. Complying, he unzips one of the side compartments, revealing a crisp, white pair of ice skates.

“May I?” he asks with a hesitant smile, placing the skates onto the ground. A grin tugs at your lips as you nod, a blush forming across your cheeks. He planned this? When did he have the time to find this place, to prepare all of this? Removing your boots he replaces them with the ice skates, meticulously tying them snugly up to your ankles.

Kneeling on the ground he pulls out another pair, black and much less pristine, as he settles next to you on the bench. Lacing up his own skates, he rises, holding his hand out to you. As your fingers intertwine with his, the coolness of his skin sends a shiver through your spine.

“Oh,” he hums as his gaze covers your body, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he rummages through them. When he pulls them out, they hold something unfamiliar: small black and orange packets rest in each palm. Closing his hands into fists he shakes them before rejoining his fingers with yours. Heat pricks at your skin where your palms rest against his, your fingers interlaced between the mysterious objects as understanding suddenly clicks.

“Hand-warmers?” you ask, tightening your grip around them as warmth courses through your body.

Choso nods. “I saw them at the store and figured I’d pick some up.” Joy exudes from him as a lopsided grin plays across his face. “And now we can hold hands without me getting you cold.”

He seems almost giddy as you rise from the bench, guiding you to the frozen lake. You’re too lost in the simple happiness of the moment to recall your utter lack of experience with ice skating, until the ground suddenly falls from under you as your skates slide against the ice, landing you flat on your ass.

As the shock settles, both you and Choso erupt into a fit of laughter. The frozen ground is cold under your skirt, forcing you to attempt to stand before slipping and falling forward onto your knees.

“Okay, okay, I got you,” Choso chuckles, extending his arms for you to grab. Pulling yourself up, you manage to stabilize yourself enough to temporarily balance. Wrapping his arms tightly around you, he holds you in place.

“Don’t laugh,” you dramatically pout, “I’ve never done this before!”

“That’s why I’m gonna teach you,” he smiles, pulling you closer into him. “Just trust me, okay? I’ve got you.”

The next few hours are spent with your hands tightly gripped around his arms as he coaxes you across the ice. Eventually you learn how to stand on your own without slipping and can even manage a few glides forward. The sun begins to hang low in the sky as evening settles, casting a warm glow over the small lake.

“Okay, you ready?” Choso prompts, skating backwards slightly and holding his arms out.

You nod, determined, as you lock your gaze ahead. Pushing off on one foot, the blade carves through the ice - your ankle wavers, but just in time you place your other skate down, catching yourself. Another push, and you land in Choso’s waiting embrace through an excited cheer.

“I did it, I did it!” you exclaim through giggles, throwing your arms into the air. He effortlessly lifts you up, twirling you around on the ice.

“I’m so proud of you,” he exhales through a grin, still holding you above him.

Gingerly setting you down, his heart feels full as the setting sun reflects golden hues off your face. Pulling you into him, his lips crash into yours, a familiar hunger behind his motions as lust overtakes him. Before you realize it, the cool brick of one of the surrounding buildings hits your back as his hands roam your body.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re so talented, so strong,” he murmurs praises against your skin as his lips trail down your neck. Searing kisses light his path as he moves, covering every exposed inch of you in his love.

Warmth begins to spread inside you as his fingertips slowly make their way up your thighs, his palms groping at the soft flesh of your ass. He easily hoists you into the air, your legs wrapping around him as he pushes you further up the wall behind you. Struggling to balance yourself, your hands land on his shoulders as he adjusts lower and lower until he’s settled in between your legs, calves dangling in the air as you carefully position the blades away from his back.

Wet kisses tingle up your inner thighs as he draws closer and closer to where you need him, but hesitation overtakes you as you struggle to keep your skates from piercing him. Sensing your apprehension, the hand against your calf pushes you against him as he murmurs into you, “It’s okay, you won’t hurt me.”

Recollection floods your thoughts: oh, right - the inhumane strength, impenetrable flesh. Tentatively, you lower your legs as they rest against his shoulders, allowing yourself to pull him closer.

There’s an awe behind his gaze, a gratitude to whatever gods of fate blessed him with you. Sometimes, he still can’t believe it, that you’re his, that he’s yours. As he slowly makes his way closer to your aching cunt, his eyes land on the wet patch forming against your panties: he still can’t believe you get this wet, all for him. Finally, his head ducks under your skirt, placing gentle kisses against your clothed core.

“Cho, please,” you whine, lowering your hands into his hair to tug him into you.

And that’s all he needs to hear. Hot breath hits your cunt as he exhales contentedly, willingly acquiescing to your shared desires. With one hand he pulls your soaked panties aside, easily supporting you with one arm. You mewl as he licks a slow stripe up your slick folds, the cool air biting against the heat of your skin.

“So perfect,” he breathes into you, “s’soft, s’pretty.” Everything about you seems crafted by the heavens, perfectly melded, all for him. He’s lost in you, in your thoughts, in your body. It intoxicates him as he allows himself to fade into the quiet hum of your soul.

A soft giggle escapes your throat at his lust-drunk praises, the sound transforming into a moan as his lips attach to your clit. Reflexively, your heels dig into his back, serrated skates piercing his clothes. Choso groans at the slight pain lighting a fire beneath his skin.

Two opposing senses, the hot and cold, soft and sharp, overwhelm his body in a blissful haze. As your grip in his dark hair tightens, the stinging air burning his lungs, he finds respite in the oxygen-deprived space between your thighs.

Nothing had ever, and could ever, truly harm him. Blades can’t scratch the surface of his skin, but as they dig through the denim of his jacket, they attack like cold pinpricks of rain. And it feels so, so fucking good - refreshing, almost. A part of his desire claws its way out, begging you to hurt him, begging you to try.

Shared moans fill the air as your back arches off the brick wall behind you, grinding your hips against his tongue as he flicks over your sensitive folds. Gliding his tongue into your aching entrance you gasp, cold air filling your senses against the burning fire of lust within you.

He babbles incoherently into you, muffled proclamations of his love etching into your core. Heat begins to fill your body, your cheeks flushing, chest warming as tension builds in your abdomen.

“C’mon, pretty,” Choso murmurs into you, a quiet plea. “Let go, lemme feel ya.”

Picking up his pace, his tongue relentlessly circles your clit, alternating between needy suction and patient motions of the wet muscle against you. Despite the flurries of snow beginning to fall and swirl around you, all you can feel is hot.

Grabbing into his hair, your skates dig into his shoulders as you come undone. Through whines of pleasure, he greedily laps at every ounce of your essence, his hot breath fanning across your skin. So fucking good.

After a moment, both of his hands return to your hips, adjusting your weight to gently lower you to the ground. Legs shaking beneath you, your arms instinctively reach over his shoulders as he holds you up, a smug grin on his face overcompensating for his blown-out pupils and flushed cheeks. As he leans in to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips, warm air fills the space between you.

“I’m so proud of you,” he hums into you through a grin.

As the haze of your ecstasy finally begins to clear, you muster your strength to respond. “For the ice skating?”

“Amongst other things,” he smirks, pressing his lips against yours once again.

Admiration swells in his heart as you walk home, fingers intertwined over the heat of his newly-purchased hand warmers. Everyday you surprise him with your dedication, your talent; yet, you remain unendingly humble. He’s never seen you brag, never boasted about your immeasurable smarts, kindness, or strength. So of course, he takes it upon himself to do it for you, singing your praises at every opportunity.

Just as you’ve changed him - allowing him to soften, to find comfort and love in his life - he’s begun to change you. Hearing his compliments, receiving his veneration, you almost start to believe him, believe that maybe there is something special about you. To date, your life has been filled with service to others, prioritizing caring for your family, but maybe you hold your own unique worth, too. Until you truly feel it, understand your place in the world - in his world - Choso will tell you, every single day, until the end of time. If only you could see yourself how he sees you.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Choso was never bothered by the cold. He felt a certain peace in the stillness of snowfall, allowing his thoughts to wander, as though the world was truly quiet for a moment. Maybe now, in its silence, the universe would have to listen to him, a captive audience to his prayers.

Watching the blanket of white cover the landscape from your apartment balcony, he suddenly feels the heaviness of an avalanche, nearly suffocating. The bright warmth of the sun is buried under it, the flowers of summer long gone, the trees having shed their final leaves, a now barren wasteland. Yet, they don’t seem to mind; instead, they allow the cold air to become a part of them, to change them. It’s not the sun’s fault it couldn’t protect them indefinitely, nor was it a responsibility. But does the sun not wonder if it should have done more to keep life safe?

Warm puffs of steam leave his parted lips as he exhales, a fleeting glimmer of proof that he is here, that he is alive. Yet, as snowflakes land on his open palm, they pause before melting, a hesitation in the forces of nature. Blood courses through his veins, his cells grow and die, but is that enough? Where does the burden of proof lie when deciding what is human?

Where is the boundary between human and humanity?

It’s in devotion.

Dedication.

Servitude.

He is human because he serves, he protects. Since he was born he swore himself to save those who could not save themselves, to shield them from harm.

In the silence of the night, the gusts of wind howling against his ears, he nearly mistakes the sound for screams. Kechizu. Eso. Flames burn under his skin, surrounding him, his lungs closing, filling with smoke.

No.

Tightening his grip on the railing, the cold metal scalds his palms, veins pulsing against his arms.

He failed to save them.

He wasn’t strong enough.

But now, he will do anything, everything, to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. He will never, ever, fail to save those he loves.

“Choso?”

Your voice cuts through the air, it’s softness cradling him. The momentary tensing of his muscles is immediately soothed as he registers your presence, turning to face you. Under the gentle illumination of the moonlight as it reflects off the freshly fallen snow, you look picturesque. Sleep hides behind your eyes, the slight mess of your hair haloed around your face, as your hands grip onto the blanket shrouding your shoulders. Slowly padding across the balcony, a gentle crunch punctuating the steps beneath your slippers, you find your place next to him, resting your head against his body. His arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you into his warmth.

The pale skin of his bare arms seems to glow softly against the darkness of the night sky. “Aren’t you cold?” you murmur into him, instinctively wrapping the blanket around his torso. As soon as your hands make contact with his cool skin, you hear him lightly chuckle above you.

“I don’t exactly get cold,” he smiles, “but I appreciate the gesture.” Placing a gentle kiss to your head, he allows a silence to fall between you, praying you don’t ask him what he’s doing. He wants to protect you - needs to protect you - and if he tells you the truth, it would only do more damage. He can’t hurt you; you don’t deserve to be held under the weight of his fears.

“Why are you out here so late?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates for a moment as he formulates an answer, navigating his thoughts to avoid unnecessarily worrying you. “Sometimes I like to come out here and think,” he responds truthfully.

“Think about what?”

Concern laces your tone, interwoven with your love for him. Was he okay? Was something wrong? You’ve caught him out here before, shrouded in the comfort of the night. Sometimes you’d be awoken to the porch door latching, despite Choso’s best efforts to close it softly, or sometimes you’d catch his shadow moving across the curtains lining the window. You never pressed him on it, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to tell you, but you couldn’t help but worry when he’s been coming out here more and more, seeming more and more detached.

You noticed it the first time when you were out with Yuji and Megumi, the two boys running through nearby snowbanks while you and Choso rested on a covered bench. Choso sat next to you, hands folded in his lap, as he watched them. Yet, when your eyes caught his, something seemed off. He was far away, somewhere deep in the tortuous maze of his thoughts. Gently reaching out your palm, you rested it on his thigh, slowly rubbing circles into his skin. It took a moment, maybe two, before he seemed to register your movements, his attention flickering as he returned to reality with a soft smile.

You wanted to ask, but you knew better than to push him. After the tears he shed, the pain he felt, the last time he talked about his past, you were hesitant to force him to relive it anymore than he already does. Yet, in the back of your mind, you wonder: where do you go, Choso?

A weak sigh escapes his lips, warm breath circling in the freezing air pulling you back to the present. “I think about my family,” he finally murmurs. He pauses, gaze far away as he looks into the darkness ahead. “I think about how I failed them.”

Your chest feels like it’s cracked open, your heart bleeding at his words. Your soul aches for him; you wish you could take his pain away, carry his grief for even just a moment. You’ve heard the words of his history, seen the outlines of his past, but it suddenly hits you that he truly lived it.

A familiar sadness forms between your ribs, the dull ache of regret. Before you can think, you speak. “Sometimes, I look at Megumi and I get this pang, right in my stomach. It feels like I just got punched, like I can’t breathe. For a long time I don’t think I really knew what it was, but now I think I know. It’s guilt.” You don’t know where the words come from, pulled from the depths of your mind, but as you say them, there’s a weight behind them, a truth.

Taking in a steadying breath, you continue. “I feel like I’m not doing enough for him, like all I do is let him down over and over and over again. The worst part is that he doesn’t seem to notice, because he loves me anyways, he’ll love me no matter what.” A dark chuckle bubbles from your lips. “I’m pretty sure I could literally punch him in the face and he’d still be smiling, still hug me afterwards and apologize for making me hurt him.”

Tilting up, your gaze meets Choso’s, his eyes glassy beneath the tears that have begun silently covering them. Your voice threatens to shake as you speak, suddenly overcome with the shared connection, your emotions melding with his. “His love has cursed him. It blinds him to the cruelty in the world, to the people who would hurt him. But then I get stuck thinking ‘who would I be if I wanted him to see that?’ I don’t know, it’s like, I want him to be able to protect himself, but does that mean I failed at doing so in the first place?”

Choso smiles weakly, a tired understanding behind it. “I get that sometimes with Yuji. I know it’s not the same, but I can’t help but feel like he’ll never have a normal life just because of the circumstances he was dealt. It’s not his fault, he didn’t ask for this, to be raised by Sukuna and me. And sure, he seems okay with it now, but what about when he’s older, when he learns his place in the world? If he was given the chance, would he choose the same life again?”

A soft grin graces your lips as you breathe in, cold air burning your lungs. “I can’t say for certain, but it sounds like he has a life with two people who love him, almost too much. If I were him, I’d choose that every single time.”

Finally, the warmth returns to his eyes, his body relaxing into you as his lips meet yours. Your eyelashes flutter closed, stray snowflakes landing on them as you softly kiss him. It’s slow, a patience to his motions as his tongue swipes against yours, hot breath filling the space between you.

When you finally pull away, you’re both glowing under the fading moonlight.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I love you too,” he smiles, one that finally reaches his eyes.

“But can we go back inside now? I’m freezing,” you giggle as shivers begin to rack your body, the cold reaching its fingers into your bones.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around your torso, picking you up as you mold yourself around him. Resting your head on his shoulder, he carries you inside. Settling under the blankets covering your bed, you finally begin to warm up as Choso intertwines himself with you, his fingertips rubbing small circles into your lower back.

Yuji is so lucky to have him, you think. It feels impossible that Choso would think, for even a moment, that he was letting Yuji down - every moment they spend together you see the pure adoration Choso feels for him, the sense that he would give anything to see his brother happy.

A sudden thought pops into your mind as it begins to cloud with sleep.

“Can I meet him?” you murmur, eyes remaining closed as you speak into the darkness. “Sukuna?”

Choso is grateful you couldn’t see him react, a momentary fear flashing across his face. He hopes his hesitation wasn’t noticeable as he blurts out an answer. “Of course,” he states, silently pleading you don’t hear the way his voice wavers.

In response you simply release a pleased hum, nuzzling your head into his chest. His grip tightens around you, as if it could keep you here with him forever, frozen in this moment.

He knows you’re strong; all he can do now is hope it’s enough.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

“Come in,” a gruff voice calls from behind the door before Choso swings it open.

The warm smell of cinnamon and spices fills your senses as you step inside, eyes scanning the surroundings. Sukuna’s home is clean, grey and white tiles lining the open kitchen, simple yet sophisticated art hanging around the walls. High-pitched screams echo through the halls as Megumi and Yuji careen towards you. Your brother’s arms wrap around you in a tight hug as the boys babble about the movie they had watched earlier in the day, something about worms? Their chatter blurs into the background as a man steps out from the same hallway, leaning against the off-white walls.

He’s tall, probably around Choso’s height, but something about him, the way he carries himself, feels almost ancient, especially in contrast to the grey t-shirt and black sweatpants currently adorning his body. Striking tattoos line the contours of his face, their path continuing across his arms and presumably down his chest from what you can see beneath the collar of his shirt. Pink hair, an uncanny match to Yuji’s, seems to glow against the warm light of the living room. When his gaze meets yours, a chill runs down your spine as red irises bore into you.

“Hey,” he mutters, his voice rougher than Choso’s, the absence of any softness in it. “I’m Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you wave, clinging to the shreds of your strength that seemed to disintegrate the moment his crimson eyes met yours.

Choso’s arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close to him, his presence steadying. “Did they eat already?” he asks, gesturing to the boys who had run off and currently bounce on the couch cushions, pillows being tossed back and forth over giddy squeals.

“No, I was just about to feed ‘em,” Sukuna trails off, marching into the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, he tilts his head back, turning his attention to your still-frozen frame in the doorway. “You can eat, too. Hope you like sushi.”

“I-I do,” you stammer, finally taking a full step inside, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at your inability to muster a full sentence. “Thanks.”

Sukuna just hums in acknowledgement, pulling out a tray of delicately hand-crafted rolls from the refrigerator.

As he moves across his home, the silence weighs on you, amplifying your nervousness. “So, um, Sukuna, what do you do?”

Without turning to you, he huffs a curt response. “History professor.” Before you can say anything else, his loud voice crackles through the space. “Food!” he calls into his home, summoning the boys to the dining room table. Placing three plates down, the white ceramic contrasting against the dark wood, he allows you and the boys to feast.

Hesitantly grabbing the nearest roll, you pop a piece into your mouth. “Oh my god,” you mutter through a full bite of food, “this is incredible.”

Sukuna simply grunts before Choso fills in the conversation. “Sukuna is an amazing cook, he’s actually the one who taught me,” he muses.

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise: the idea of the man in front of you, his gruff demeanor, his stoic strength, standing in the kitchen patiently chopping vegetables almost makes you giggle. “I wouldn’t have guessed that,” you manage to get out through a stifled smile before shoving another bite into your mouth.

“What, you don’t think I’m talented enough?” Sukuna asks, his tone serious.

You nearly choke on your food as the implication of your words processes in your mind. “N-no, not that, I just-”

Suddenly his boisterous laugh fills the space, something in it deeply haunting. “Oh, you humans are so fun to tease,” he practically giggles. Choso reaches out to smack his arm, his gaze darting to the two boys sitting across from you, as if to silently say shut up. “It’s fine, the brats aren’t even listening,” Sukuna continues, gasping in air through his nose to quiet his laughter. 

As if on cue, Megumi and Yuji shove the last remaining pieces of sushi into their mouths before pushing their chairs away from the table. “All done!” they proclaim, cheeks puffed out and full of rice before they run back to the living room.

Sukuna quirks an eyebrow at Choso, as if to taunt him. “See?” he smirks.

Choso just rolls his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Whatever,” he mutters under his breath.

Leaning onto his elbows, Sukuna’s maroon-tinted eyes land on your face, making your blood run cold. A fire seems to rage behind his gaze, an aura of control exuding off his body. As his mouth curls into a smile, sharpened canines poke into his lower lip. “So,” he begins, “how did a little human like you manage to get tangled up with him?”

“Um, well,” you stutter, struggling to form coherent thoughts under the pressure of his watchful eyes, his presence overwhelming you, “he helped Megumi when I had to bring him to the hospital.”

“Oh, I see,” Sukuna muses through a devilish grin. “You fell for the saviour complex then, right, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call her that,” Choso grumbles, shooting daggers at the man across from you.

“Fine, fine, no need for the theatrics, Kamo,” he giggles in response, an unseriousness underlying his very essence. Before he can continue, childlike screams echo through the room as Yuji and Megumi burst in, chasing each other in some complex game of tag. “Will you brats shut up already?” Sukuna growls, grabbing a nearby pillow from the couch before hurling it at the boys.

“Ha, you missed, old man!” Yuji taunts before running out of the room, Megumi following closely behind.

Sukuna rolls his eyes, but you can’t help but notice the genuine smile flash across his features before they darken again, returning his attention to you. “Anyways, I have to ask - what will you do when it comes time to die?”

“Sukuna,” Choso chokes out a stifled yell, agitation brewing under his skin.

“What?” he feigns. “I can’t be the first to ask - after all, I’m sure you understand the implications of our lifestyle, the immortality it entails.”

Heat fills your body as your hands begin to shake, nervousness drowning out your thoughts. “I, um, I hadn’t really thought about it,” is all you can get out before your eyes start to sting. You truthfully hadn’t given it much thought beyond the nagging questions lingering in your mind, ones you worked hard to shove down. You tried to reason them as irrational, yet here you were, being confronted with them head on.

“That’s enough,” Choso growls, the sound of his chair sliding against the wood floor filling the silence as he stands. Reaching out an arm, he takes your hand in his as he pulls you to your feet. “Thanks for dinner, let me know when you need me to watch Yuji again.”

“Aw, leaving so soon?” Sukuna taunts, yet he makes no motion to stop him as Choso drags you to the front door. “It really was nice to meet you, little human!” he calls after you. As the door slams shut behind you, you swear you hear his giggle echoing through the empty halls.

The drive home is…uncomfortable, to say the least. Choso’s hand never leaves yours as he drives in silence, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Rage bubbles inside him, threatening to overflow at any moment. When a car suddenly cuts him off, he lays on the horn, profanities muttered under his breath.

You had never, ever, seen him this angry - annoyed at work, sure, even a little grumpy when you beat him at whatever video game you picked out - but never like this. He was absolutely seething, his entire body practically vibrating with wrath.

“Choso?” you whisper into the silence - you had been sitting outside your apartment for a few minutes, yet he had not made any move to get out of the car, his eyes screwed shut as he rests his head against the steering wheel.

Exhaling a shaky breath, his eyes flutter open; any remaining shreds of resentment seem to fade away as he looks at you, replaced with something closer to despair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his shoulders collapsing inwards. “I just…fucking hate him sometimes.” Squeezing his hand, you wait for him to continue. “He’s just so purposely cruel to people, it’s not fair. He shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”

Reaching your free hand over to him, you slowly rub your palm up his back, a small comfort against the raging storm inside him.

“I’m sorry for bringing you there. I know how he gets, and I shouldn’t have let you anywhere near him.”

Your motions falter for a moment as you trail your hand over to his jaw, forcing him to face you. “I asked to meet him, remember? If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

Sadness flashes across his features at your words. “No, no, it’s not your fault at all.” He sighs, struggling to hold your gaze.

“Choso?” Somber eyes meet yours as you take in an uneven breath, the questions from earlier in the night swirling through your thoughts. “What is going to happen when I die?”

His stomach drops, eyebrows knitting together as dread overtakes him. “I don’t know.”

Body trembling, you find the strength to verbalize the words you’ve been mulling over for months, their shape engraved in the back of your mind. “Would you…would you ever turn me? Make me a vampire, like you?”

He inhales sharply. “No.”

Pain ripples through your chest, an open wound from his verbal knife. Mouth curling downward, your eyes begin to sting. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I just…I can’t.”

“Cho, I know you want to protect me, but-”

“No.” The intensity of his voice takes you aback at first, the finality of it. There’s a silent detestation behind it, an unspoken resentment. Resting in his lap, his palms ball into fists.

“But…why?”

Before the question can land, he’s already speaking. “I have a grave.”

The wind is sucked out of the car, suddenly too quiet, too tense, a vacuum of your thoughts. “What?”

“I don’t visit it, I barely did even before we moved here. But I have a grave, a tombstone, the whole deal.” Silence once again falls, this time painfully so. Any bite left in his words is now gone, replaced with something akin to agony. “They didn’t find my body after the fire, obviously, so they buried an empty casket next to my family.”

“Oh.” It’s the only sound you can get out, barely a word, more of a sigh.

“I just…I always know it’s there, an empty tomb of the life I used to have. I can’t dig it up, I sure as hell can’t go back to it, I can’t reclaim it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

Your voice is stolen from you, shaking your head as his glassy eyes meet yours.

“It’s like the universe’s cruel joke, like it’s waiting for me to die, begging me to rot in that hole, but I can’t. I physically can’t.”

A wave of sorrow hits you, knocking the wind from your lungs. To you, immortality always felt like a blessing, a way to ensure your survival long enough to protect the safety of those you love. It was never feared, always sought after, but now his suffering digs at your soul, tearing cracks through your ideals. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “You deserve to rest.”

Finally breaking his gaze from yours, it turns to his hands, consciously unclenching his fists. Silently, he vows to protect you, but never to change you. When he finally inhales to speak, his voice comes out low, taught against the strings of his pain. He wants - no, he needs - you to understand: you can never be like this, like him; death would be a more merciful end. Lifting his eyes, they meet yours as crystal-clear tears pool along his lash line. “Eternity isn’t always a gift.”

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[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 35)

“Uzi! Are you here?” N's voice came wafting down to her, it was a pleasantry really, he could see her on his thermals from a mile away.

“Down here!” She called out to him, hand cupped on the side of her mouth to carry the sound, that too was unneeded but done anyway out of impulse.

“Uzi!” N jumped down from V's nest, voice cracking with how relived her felt to see her, he nearly immediately wrapped her in a hug, before pulling back with a yelp, spines stuck deep in his arm.

“Ow!” He blinked at them before shaking them off and taking a better look at her, eyelights hollowing as he trailed them along her back, the spines poking through her hoodie and down to her tail.

“Uh… yeah. This is a thing now.” Her voice was sarcastic as she showed off the spines, flexing them to stick out and then folding them against her tail and chassis so that they lay flat.

“Woah. Those are new.”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward pause as N gazed at her, wings still somewhat flared out behind her and tail making wide archs in the air behind her.

“Are you okay?”

“Did I kill anyone?” She asked instead of answering, he could hear the urgency in her voice.

“N-no, you left a trail of blood through the vents, you came straight here as far as I can tell.”

She hugged herself, breaking eye contact with him and sitting on the edge of his next, looking out over the crumbling city and the gas giant illuminating the sky. Her wings folded back into her chassis along with her tail.

“Tera's picking up those sounds from me.”

N sat beside her, legs dangling over the edge, he still wore a worried look over his face, but he didn't yet touch her again (to avoid being spined, most likely.)

“The chirping?” He replied

“Mmhm.” She paused for a moment, before adding almost matter-of-factly “I make them in my sleep.”

“N there's something wrong with me…” She almost whispered, looking down at her hands, was she even a drone anymore? There was so much about her now that was organic.

“No… No Uzi there's-”

“N! You said it yourself, I bled! Like- blood! Robots don't bleed!” She shouted! Not wanting to hear any of his comforts at the moment, especially one so… untrue.

“What the fuck am I?”

There was a pregnant silence, Uzi buried her face in her hands, not knowing what else to do other than sulk.

“I don't know…” He admited, making shapes in the spire floor. “But I don't know what I am either.”

“I uh, actively try not to get too hung up over it.” He gave her a small chuckle, and she giggled back before her face fell again, she groaned as she laid on her back, hands still holding her face as she shoved some hair out of her face.

“I wanted to groom her a couple days ago.” Uzi said abruptly, as if it was something she wanted to get off her chest.

“L-like a cat?” He replied, stammering as if he was slightly amused with a half-smirk to match.

“Yes.”

“I mean… that's not violent though.” He replied, still trying to comfort her.

“No! But… it's weird! Why am I- like this!? Ugh.” She sat back up again quickly, clenching her fists up into the air as she groaned.

“Sometimes I want to preen you.” He admitted after a moment of silence, a blush taking over his face as he refused to meet her eyes for a moment, the blush getting fiercer when he finally did.

“Like… a bird?” She asked back confusedly.

“Yeah.” He confirmed, voice getting slightly more higher pitched as he continued talking about the weird impulse.

“Huh.” She replied after another moment of silence. “So we're both weird then.”

“That shouldn't be a revelation, I'm gonna be a hundred percent honest.” N being sarcastic was something that sounded alien, but it did make her laugh lightly.

“Sarcasm is my thing.”

“You can't own sarcasm.” N laughed back.

“Bite me.”

N turned to her and placed a hand on her leg, making her settle her attention back on him, he had a small smile on his face.

“I think the chirps are cute.”

“I'm making her weird!” She shouted back, a worried look in her eyelights as her hands came under her chin to ball into fists.

“We're her parents! She's going to be weird!” He pointed to himself and then at her rapidly, then gestured to his tail that waggled slightly behind him.

“I just… want her to not be like me. Nobody likes me.” She admitted, causing N to look at her sadly.

“Thad likes you.” N immediately launched into examples to prove her wrong.

“Thad likes everyone.”

“V likes you.”

“As like… a pet, I think.” Uzi looked skeptical, as much as V saved her life, she wasn't sure if she'd completely written off killing her.

“Lizzy-”

“Please don't lie to my face.”

“Yeah, thats fair.”

He moved his thumb underneath her chin, making her look at him.

“I like you.” He leaned in as he said it, a small smile on his face that told her exactly what he was thinking. She blushed, but was unable to look away, so she sighed.

“You got me there.” She finally caved, soving him away lightly before resting her head on her hand.

“And I think my awesome girlfriend is awesome.”

“You just said awesome twice.” She lifted an eyebrow in amusement, a smirk that was barely hidden on her face.

“That's how awesome you are!” He punched the air with both of his fists, his legs kicking as he did, she rolled her eyes but found herself laughing anyway, she leaned into him, sighing deeply.

“I love you, N.” The words came put suddenly, without her thinking about them.

He blinked, once, twice, then he felt his core melt into a squishy mess. He knew she did, but hearing someone say it, hearing her say it, was something so special to him.

“I love you too, more than anything.”

She was blushing heavily, but smiling all the same, she closed her eyes, wanting to spend just another moment with him.

“Where's Tera?” She asked, knowing N wouldn't ever leave her at home alone.

“V has her.”

“She agreed to babysit?” She turned to him, eyes suddenly open in surprise.

“Weirdly, yes. Probably should head back soon though, Tera was already upset after you dissappeared.”

“Shit. Sorry, I passed out and- mm!”

He was kissing her suddenly and without much warning, holding her shoulders to keep her steady, her eyelights shut and she reached out to pull him in closer, slotting their lips together.

He pulled back again, resting his visor on hers.

“Whats your deal with kissing me while I'm talking?” Uzi asked, blinking rapidly as she recovered her rapidly beating heart.

“You stress too much.” He said simply.

“I wish you'd kiss me more.” She replied before snapping a hand over her mouth, and backing away quickly, eyelights blown wide as she stared at him.

“T-that was supposed to be internal! Ignore that!”

But N did not ignore it, in fact, he took it to heart, immediately. Despite the fact that he was blushing just as ferociously as she was.

“Can you put your spines away?”

Uzi blinked before she began to try to will them away much like her wings and tail, they flattened further into her, until they were smooth, and then seemed to tuck themselves away in her chassis, as they disappeared.

The second they were gone, N pulled her into his lap, holding her cheek as he reconnected their lips. His other hand resting on the small of her back as he took the lead.

He wasn't sure what he was doing, but Uzi had done this to him before… so.

He ran his tongue over her lip and he felt her shiver before she seemed to melt into him, a hand pulling him by the fur of his coat and the other on his shoulder, gripping him tightly. Her tail made itself known again, wrapping in N's in some vain attempt to force them closer.

He was less sure what to do when Uzi opened her mouth a little more, deepening what was already the most passionate kiss of his life. He pushed her down until she was leaning on the spire wall and he was postitoned between her legs. Pulling the hand that was on his shoulder away until he had it pinned above her head, interlocking their fingers.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, knocking off his hat in the process although he made no indication that he'd noticed, nor cared. The hand that had been pulling the fur on his coat began to unbutton it from the top, exposing his core to the open air.

His breath hitched, but he didn't stop her, he nibbled her lip, and even through the kiss he could hear her shuddering gasp in response, he immediately decided that was his favorite noise any drone had ever made.

His thoughts all stopped when he felt her fingers inch closer to the glass covering of his core, hesitant but clearly wanting.

A flash of J's sneering face, her claw resting on that same covering, tears running down the inside of his visor-

He pulled back, eyes still closed as he pushed those memories down, he didn't need to think about them, he didn't want to think about them.

Especially not while making out with his girlfriend.

Both drones were reduced to harsh pants, as he broke the kiss, Uzi's eyelights replaced with two violet hearts and a blush that was so bright it almost hurt his eyes to look at. Her tail still tangled in his but still trying to wag.

“L-like that?” His voice came out in a husky pant, sounding far more breathless than he had ever imagined it could be.

Uzi didn't respond, text came up on her screen.

[Emotional Overload, Please Stand By]

He chuckled, taking one of her hands and holding it until her eyelights came back to stare at him. Her eyes flicked to the hand he was holding, then back up to his visor.

A high pitched whine escaped her as she yanked her hand out of his and used it to cover her intensely blushing face, her knees coming up in front of her as she shoved herself further in the wall.

“Thats not what I meant!”

Next ->

[lookinghalfacorpse]

Thinking Affections again, and idk if this counts as a prompt or not, but in itwall you mentioned how cPhil constantly touches cDreams hair to calm him down and is just sth he likes so just that being a their thing they do when cuddling or sth is just phil petting and massaging his head

anything can be a prompt if i brainrot hard enough

/dsmp /rp

Dream wasn't sleeping well.

Sleep was always a fickle, delicate thing with him. There were plenty of nights where his exhaustion would take over and he would sleep soundly, especially early on during his time at the cottage, but there were also long periods where he'd barely sleep at all. He would wake from nightmares and seizures, or he'd simply tremble on his mattress for hours and hours, unable to slow his heartrate from its anxious pace. Em helped him to feel safe those nights, but even she couldn't keep his fears at bay completely. For as loving as the dog was, she couldn't stop someone from coming in the night to drag him back into the hell he escaped from. The hell he planned to return to someday. He laughed, sometimes, at the odd predicament he created for himself.

He procrastinated sleep by reading in the living room.

Techno gave him some shitty novel about an underground culture of elves. It was entertaining enough. He sat on the floor with a dog on his lap, leaning against the couch, and pulled his hair from his face. He had to tilt the book forward so the dim light of the fireplace could illuminate the page.

He heard Philza sit on the couch behind him.

The old man hummed thoughtfully before threading his fingers through Dream's long hair, pushing it behind his ears. "Might be less annoying if I braid it," he offered.

"I'm gonna take it out before bed," Dream replied, "but go ahead."

"It's my pleasure, mate." Phil's voice edged close to a whisper. He began carefully selecting some strands of hair from Dream's hairline and drawing them back, letting his fingertips trail along the boy's scalp. Dream shivered at the touch, feeling his skin erupt into goosebumps. "You should be sleeping," Phil continued.

The offer to braid his hair was a trick from the start; Phil wasn't doing anything that seemed close to a hairstyle. Instead, he rubbed and massaged along Dream's head, sometimes scratching with his fingertips. The book slowly dropped to his lap as he couldn't focus on the words anymore. His eyes fluttered closed.

"In... In the prison," Dream started, "Quackity liked to grab my hair. He'd grab it, like, in the front, and slam my head on the ground."

Phil's fingers trailed softly along the back of his skull. "Dream..."

"Sam hated when he did that. My skull would crack, and it would bleed a lot."

Phil could surely feel the bumps and valleys along his skin. They were hard to miss. He would feel rough scars and some patches of flaky, dry skin. Maybe some sharp lines where a crack healed. Dream's hair has been a source of frustration and humiliation for a long time; he hated that Quackity could feel the thick mats, the tangles, the spots of blood he couldn't wash out.

He felt Phil plant a kiss on the top of his head.

"Join me on the couch?"

Dream would spend the night there, on the couch, lying on top of Philza with his head on the old man's chest, sighing at the sensation of his head being massaged until he fell asleep.

[thecoolnauta]

GENSHIN WITH A TEEN!CREATOR WHO IS LIKE LUZ NOCEDA

So yeah, just some brainrot I though while (crying) doing homework

TW: gn reader, teenager reader (ALL IS PLATONIC), some mentions of bullying but not that many, maybe sm angst and a lot of spoilers abut the archons missions

ALSO VERY BAD ENGLISH, IT'S NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE PLEASE DON'T MIND IT (also I have this feeling that this is gonna be long so maybe it would be part two)

So yeah, you are just some neurodivergent kid, trying to vibe with your especial interest but classmates are being mean like they got pay for it and not very friendly stuff

your dearest tutor (I didn't know If put mother or anything else) decided without telling you first to put you on a weird camp were IN TEXTUAL WORDS: "they will make you think inside the box"

And yeah you weren't doing that shit

Luckly you! some weird... random- CREATURE stole your (insert product of your special interest here) and ran away to a very old wood house you never notice before.

... SCREW THAT YOU ARE GETTING BACK THAT THING

You enter no the house without actually looking back, not minding at all the fact after you cross the old door you ended up in a wild life forest.

When you tried to get back to your city you found out that the door was gone, all the freaking house was gone.

"Don't panic, don't panic, QUENOCUNDAELPANICO, maybe the house had some uhhh… halogenous spores that are making me hallucinate hehe" you said before shouting your lungs out when you bite your arm and hurt... and bleed gold.

You weren't hallucinating, you were in a real place and your blood looked like liquid stars..

"carajo"

Trying to find someone to help you probably run all over the forest you went trap, finding that the animals really liked you and the flowers pratically flourished faster when you were around.

"Heh, this place is kinda nice, maybe I could stay a little longer"

It was night you rested your head over a wild boar who very cheerfully offered to be your pillow, some bunnies cuddle you and a little mockingbird started to sing for you to sleep.

You actually can get used to this, felling so warm, so loved by an unkown earth who seems to let you know all it's secrets...

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEIR PRESENCE IS GONE?!"

"IT'S GONE"

All Teyvat (except for you) heard the cries of the Traveler and their rare pixie

After finding out the secrets of the Hydro archon of Fontaine, they decided to get a little walk before doing missions all over again.

BUT when Aether was resting their head and body on a tree, he felt the divine power and the warm scaping of his body like an armour being destroyed after a very rough battle.

You were gone, you abandoned him.

He almost fall into the sea, if It wasn't for Paimon that grab thim of the braid with all her little strength.

After that he just started to panic and cry all loud and to attack everyting that moves a bit to close to him.

(Paimon had to kick him into his face to stop him but shhhhh)

When he managed to splain himself, It was the turn of Paimon to get panic, only after Ather giving her a berry he had on his pocket she calmed down.

"...So what we do now, Do we tell the others?" the Traveler asked

"Paimon doesn't know, maybe we could them the Archons to-"

"Paimon, look at my eyes and repeat that again"

"Maybe we could..." she stayed quite a long time "yeah maybe they won't fully help us"

"What If we tell Albedo? He knows a lot of things about the Creator!"

"You're right! But we still have some missions to do here..."

"We do them as soon we can, also, we can wrote a letter to him so he would have time to investigate this more" he decided.

"Paimon needs to know now, let's do the request now!"

The flying girl disapeard and the yound boy stayed with a frown.

He could fell Teyvat, It felt different than before, even before he got trapped by the unkown godness.

It feel completed.

Aether just hope that nothing bad happends to all the persons he had the chance to meet. He hoped nothing bad happend to you.

I WOULD DEFINETLY NEED MORE FOR FINISH THIS

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw) (I definitely borrowed a little from what you wrote and slashed through earlier)

Knock Out brainrot time. >:3c

Just thinking of him occasionally taking his human Back to the train tracks where he caught them the first time to torment them further. Especially about how they failed to escape him the first time. Not that they Actually Had a Chance, but he's an arrogant asshole so he's gonna act like they did. And that they failed to utilize it correctly.

Maybe he pretends to give them another chance to properly flee, with the same rules/time limit as last time? 20 minutes, but after 5 he's going to begin his search for them. But this time? The human has something of a plan, even if it'll only delay the inevitable. They use the fog cover to sneakily dash about, and cover things in heir scent. They're trying to fool his nose so he has to try harder to find them in the fog.

Five minutes pass of him tracking their progress, and he begins to move. Taunting them about their plan to con a Con, and how it won't work. Of course he knew what they were doing, and it's a decent plan outside of the fact that he can See them trying to put it into action. But, oh well, better luck next time, morsel.

At the ten minute mark, however, he loses sight of them. And with minimal sign of them beyond the smell of terror they leave behind, he begins to grow a little antsy. Not worried, no, he's going to catch them, and It Will Be Easy. They just... hadn't been much of a challenge before. This is certainly proving to be an interesting round of Hide and Shriek.

It's a little past the fifteen minute mark that he catches a definitive trace of them. "Ah, There they are." He laughs lowly, and stomps closer to the boxcar they'd stashed themselves away in. Now that he's locked onto where they've hidden, he decides to walk a little further away from them. To make them think he's still oblivious to their hiding spot. A minute passes. Two, three. Little footsteps pad through the door to the next boxcar.

At nineteen minutes, Knock Out decides to stop playing with his food. He saunters over to their new hiding spot, and tears the door open. Leaning the whole boxcar at an angle with a servo, so His human is forced to skid over to the far side and look up at him. "You know, this game of Cyber cat and Glitch mouse was certainly thrilling, but all good things must come to an end eventually. Now, sit still for me won't you? We have things to do once we get back to the Nemesis."

He reaches in with his right servo to daintily pluck them from their rusty tomb, but stops short when something blunt smashes into one of his digits. He pulls his claws away from them to survey the damage, and notices rusty little scratches in one of them. He growls in displeasure before lunging to harshly pin His Plaything's arm to the wall, and wrenching away the offending weapon. An old crowbar sits pinched between two of his talons before he snaps it in two, and throws it away like a used tooth pick.

He regards his captive with a snarl, hating the effect their resistance has on him. The fact that they have the Audacity to attack him is in itself is infuriating, and he loathes losing his cool. Especially in regards to a fleshbag he's been ever So lenient with. He'll make them buff out the scratch later, but for now... "As much as I can respect your meager survival tactics, don't you think it's a little late to be trying this hard to escape?" He tries to maintain his self-assured tone to scare the human into thinking that their efforts to piss him off were Entirely in vain. But even they can detect the wrath bleeding into his tone like a drop of ink in water.

Knock Out lunges to pin his prize to the far wall with a servo again, making sure that the sharp ends of his claws graze their flesh lightly. "Has it Not sunken in yet human? You. Can't. Escape. From. Me. You only get as far as you do during our little games, because I let you. You didn't stand a chance In The Pits of escaping the second I laid my optics on you the first time, and you certainly don't have a shot now." He lifts them out of the boxcar, and drops it back onto the tracks, a crumpled heap of scrap metal. He ceases to keep his contempt for their petulance out of his voice now that he's got a proper grip on them.

"In case you haven't noticed, human? I am Faster than you. I am Stronger than you. And no matter how Far you run, I will Always find you. Remember that the next time you forget your place in this little arrangement of ours. Though, in case you Do need a reminder after all that?

You. Are. Mine.

His grip tightens while he speaks, and only loosens his grip again once he can he feel them gasp for air. He sighs, satisfied that he'd gotten his point across, and brings his little Snack down from optic level. "Once we get back to the Nemesis, you're getting a bath. And then, you're due for a night long tour of my tank. That's a fitting punishment for a squirmy little fleshy like you, I think. Oh, and you Will be buffing this scratch out of my hand, by the by. Don't think your panicked flailing fit with a piece of scrap metal slipped my mind, dear. I won't be as gentle with you the next time you lash out like that."

Anon. Holy shit. I literally have no words. This is absolutely incredible. I have nothing to add to this because it’s so damn GOOD!!! I don’t even have to write a part 2 anymore because this is that AMAZING!!!! God I am going to be rereading this at least twice a week SHAUZISKDJFNFJJFAAAAAAUGH!!!!!

I can only imagine afterwords when this is all over and you are within his tank. You have never seen Knockout that angry before. Though he makes an effort to intimidate you and show how terrifying he can be, he’s always been relatively gentle with you. Now, though? The memory of being slammed against the boxcar, how his claws grazed your skin, his snarls, the way he nearly squeezed the life out of you. And his words…

“You. Are. Mine.”

You curl up tighter and bury your head into your knees, shaking. You begin to quietly weep.

Meanwhile, Knockout is tinkering away with some stuff when he hears your soft sobs rising up from his middle. Pausing his activities and looking down, he listens to you cry and feels you tremble. A part of him feels smugly satisfied that you know your place now…but there’s another part of him that feels strangely…guilty. Your a small, fragile little thing. He could have seriously hurt you.

Heaving a low sigh, he clenches his tank muscles to squeeze you gently. “Settle down, little thing,” he murmurs. “I was harsh with you, I’ll admit. But you must understand that at moments, harshness is necessary. You need to know your place. You need to know you are mine.”

You don’t respond. He doesn’t expect you to. His comfort is not exactly the most comforting. He’s silent. He doesn’t feel as triumphant as he did earlier.

Even Decepticons can feel remorse sometimes.