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dcxdpdabbles · 27 days

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Excuse me? I really love your work and I was just wondering if we can get another chapter of Passion for Fashion?? I really love that but no rush whether or not u wanna. (Also, I'd love to see the Batfam or croc or anyone be educated WHAT KC actually is lololol I just think it would be fun.)

Danny stares at the man across from him with barely concealed bemusement. Red Robin hides behind his menu, muttering about all the pizza toppings.

It seemed pineapple was a must, and he fought not to wrinkle his nose as various people shot their table side glances. He's noticed the staring since they changed, but Danny is tired of the lingering gawking.

He gets that his date looks suspicious in his get-up, but it's not the worst.

They had to stop at a second-hand store, where he went in to buy a trench coat, a pair of large sunglasses, and a fedora, per Red Robin's request. While inside the store, Red Robin somehow produced a blond wig and some makeup, changing his features just slightly so that he appeared to be a different person.

They both stop at a local gas station to change outfits and finish their prep work in the bathrooms.

Danny had gone in sweats, a stained shirt, and mismatched shoes—he had not been expecting a date—but when he left, he came out wearing an experimental style Dan had found.

It was called Corp Goth, and he secretly adored it. Maybe Sam was onto something when she said a pure black offit made anyone attractive.

It was a form-fitting black jeans, a top with a darker shade of black long-sleeve shirt, and a flowing black trench coat. Dan had included various jewelry pieces, with strict instructions on where to put them so that the style was "balanced," it gave him the slightest hints of old-style rock aesthetics.

Danny felt good about his clothes until Red Robin saw him. He didn't think he was that bad-looking, but if it caused the other to run into a streetlight, Danny would hate to think what other less kind people would say.

"Would Hawiian be alright?" Red Robin finally asks, his voice just a tad bit high. Is he that nervous to be seen by people?

Danny raises a brow. "If that's what you like. I'll do whatever you want me to."

The other teenager—is he? He looks older now with his make-up—a few years—and makes a strange choking sound. "Okay."

"Alright. So now that we know what to tell the waitress when she comes here, can we return to the fact you broke through my window?" Danny asks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs to get comfortable.

A girl nearby chocks on her water, making Danny's head snap in her direction. Her friends quickly pat her back and urgently speak to the blushing girl. When he confirms she is all right, Danny returns his gaze to Red Robin.

He is taken aback by the sharp attention now being aimed at him. Yes, he can't exactly see the other eyes behind those dark sunglasses, but he feels the heavy stare all the same. "I want to discuss your connection to Killer Croc and the Infinite Realms."

Danny considers it. On the one hand, he can't talk about his secret mission, but on the other, he needs to find some information about this place. He's gotten bored wandering around, tinkering with things while the fashion contest dragged on.

They have been here for months and have made no headway in helping Batman. Heck, Danny has yet to even see him. If anything maybe this guy will know some information.

But he thinks he shouldn't lay all his cards just yet. So, he needs to bend the truth a little.

"There isn't much to tell about Killer. He was involved in our kidnapping a few days ago. I guess they hired him without explaining what the job was since he came to apologize for almost trafficking us." Danny shrugs, thinking over his answer as he takes a small sip of his soda, missing his mouth slightly. He quickly catches some of the spilled drink with his tongue, mentally debating himself for being so clumsy. There is a gasp from the same girl three tables away.

Danny fights the urge to sink into his seat as he ignores her. "He said he sells drugs, not people. How he tracked us down is anyone's guess, but since he came all the way in person, I figured I should invite him in and offer him a drink."

Red Robin tilts his head. "Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would you invite him in and offer him a drink?"

"Ugh, 'cause it's good manners?" Honestly, did big-city folks really have no sense of being civil? Amity Park has a small population, but there are enough people to be called a city, and none of them have ever been confused by the idea of being invited in for a drink.

Red Robin considers this answer before he leans forward. "How about your connection to the Infinite Realms?"

Here, Danny carefully selects his replies, ensuring that all his answers are accurate, just not in the way the others will get. "You can say it was my parents, but mostly my mom. She was the one who made the final step and connected the family to the Realms."

"Your mom? Where is she?"

"Dead," Danny whispers, thinking of his own mom, whom he hasn't seen in weeks. He wonders if she or his dad has noticed him missing yet. If they have reported it.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

Red Robin looks down at his hands in silence in a show of respect. Danny can appreciate it. However, that doesn't last long before he lifts his head again, this time with a stubborn little tilt to his mouth.

"That wasn't a full explanation of how the Infinite Releams involve you or your brother."

Danny shrugs. "It's how we got our meta powers. The portal to the other side opened on Dan and me, triggering our ice and glowing eyes. We've been inside it a few times, but the portal sealed shut the last time. We haven't been able to go back."

"That's why you here," Red Robin says in great realization. "Gotham has enough death in it that it helps your powers."

Not really, but they can work with that. Danny smiles, putting one finger up against his lips, and Red Robin is true to his name by turning a lovely red hue. Danny hasn't seen anyone blush that hard since Jonny 13 when the other asked him out on a date.

It's cute.

"That and it's also the cheapest living city. Dan really has his heart set on being a fashion designer so we need to save money on fabrics and stuff."

"You're his model. Have you always wanted to go into modeling?"

"Not really. I like mechanical engineering more. Maybe when I finish helping Dan, I'll look for a school to apply to." Danny shrugs, leaning forward to give the other a smirk.

Star once told him that Danny's slow up and down was his best flirting technique after he had done her math homework for her. In return, she agreed to help him get better at dating.

He's not sure how well her lessons had gone, seeing as he still struggled to get a date back home (with the living anyone), but he thinks some of it was right since Red Robin goes even redder, if that's possible.

"Enough about me. How did you get involved in smashing widows and looking tasty in spandex?"

"I-um- well funny enough I-" Whatever he was going to say is lost as a figure jumps down from the darkness, landing on their table. Danny yelps, pushing himself away, but in doing so, he falls backward since his chair is not meant to be leaned like that.

He crashes to the ground with a swear, closing his eyes at the impact. The back of his head stings a little, as Danny slowly cracks open his eyes and stares upwards- at...a man in a bat suit?

"Moby Dick! Are you Batman!" He gasps, finally feeling like they are about to make a step forward in their mission.

The man glares down at him before grunting. "Red Robin. Retreat to cave."

"But-"

"Now"

Then he throws a smoke bomb on the ground. Danny leaps up, but both men are gone by the time the smoke clears. "Wait! Mr. Batman, sir, I need to talk to you!"

There is no reply, just the girls filming with their phones and the sound of speeding cars. Danny kicks the ground. "Oh come on!"

When he wanders home, he finds Dan lying face down on the ground with various ice cream tubs surrounding him. On some pieces of paper are various-sized hearts, the initials "DF + KC" inside them.

Dan is singing heartbreak sounds into the carpet, muffled by his tears.

"Dan, man, have some dignity. You knew the EverBurning for like ten minutes."

The muffled crying gets louder, and Danny rolls his eyes. He slumps onto the couch with a sigh. "Listen, I think I got a lead on Batman. It's a man dressed like a bat. How hard can it be to find him?"

His clone-turn-twin raises one hand, pointing to a smashed button Danny missed when entering the living room. Upon closer inspection, he is startled to find out that it's a miniature microphone and tracker. There is a very tiny symbol on the side.

"Did Red Robin bug our house after breaking our window!?" he asks in outrage as Dan nods. "To think I flirted with him!"

Dan sobs louder. "I tried flirting with the best tail I have ever seen in my life and you got a date with a stalker! We're going to die alone!"

Danny really hopes they finish this stupid mission soon. He's getting tempted to let Clockwork's bomb take him.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #fashion for passion #Part 5 #Dan is in the trenches #He found the bug after cleaning the glass #Bruce interrupted Tim's date #Danny unknowingly looking mind numbing hot

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envirogoth · 11 months

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Thrifting tip: make a mental or written note of commonly found brands that appeal to you- in terms of sizing (how it fits you or if it sells your size at all), material, style, etc. this can help you more readily know if you're going to like a piece or not, especially if it's something you cant/won't try on, or if you're unsure of if you like if or not.

this is the cool thing about thrift stores- it acts as almost an archive of brands from a variety of stores, sizes, collections, etc. instead of going to 1 store with the same styles from this one time period, it's a variety.

in a reblog I will list my favorite brands to look for while thrifting

#thrift tips #thrifting #second hand shopping #second hand clothes #tips #eco goth #sustainable fashion #fashion #slow fashion

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redstarwriting · 11 months

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the clash | ix. last caress

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.4k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, cavity-inducing fluff, crying hobie, mentions of giving blood, mentions of procedures, needy cat, mention of weed, allusions(ish) to s*icide

a/n: omg writing fluff takes me so much longer than anything else cause i’m squirmin around and squealin BUT here it is! second to last chapter! (also, i’m not black so i hope i touched on the haircare for black hairstyles right! if i missed the mark please let me know and i will re-educate myself!) what a wild ride, i’ll get the last chapter either up late tonight, or tomorrow! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!

previous chapter: viii. love you to death

now reading: ix. last caress

next chapter: x. brand new

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When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the smell. Weed and incense. You groggily open your eyes, realizing you’re clutching a bat plushie. You grin. It’s cute, especially since it belonged to Hobie’s world, and you didn’t own a bat plushie. You sink further into the satin pillow, shocked at how comfortable you are in his bed. You hear the soft sound of a guitar playing, and you reluctantly and slowly sit up. Your intention is to go harass Hobie, but damn. Venom must have done a number on you. You’re sore as hell, and your energy is still almost completely gone. You successfully sit, but you’re immediately leaning against the wall as you do. The guitar playing stops, and you hear Hobie’s thick accent from the next room over. “You awake in there, love?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice is scratchy. How long have you been asleep? He walks into his room and leans against his door frame. He’s wearing casual clothes, his suit nowhere to be found, and yet somehow, he still looks cooler and more attractive than anyone you’ve ever met. “You know, you really should be layin’ down,” he says, and you shrug. He walks over to you and sits on the bed, next to your legs. You notice he has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted. “How are you feelin’?” he asks, placing his hand on yours. You shrug. “Honestly, been better.” He nods and looks down. You frown. “What’s on your mind there, Hobie?” He plays with your fingers, and you turn your hand over, grasping his. He visibly relaxes a bit. You softly squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. “I… need to tell you somethin’,” he starts, “Somethin’… bad.”

“What…?” you look nervous. He looks at you and frowns. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Seeing the fireworks with you,” you respond, and he nods. “Good,” he mumbles, “I guess I should start with tellin’ you you been sleepin’ for three days now.”

“Three days?” you ask, surprised. He nods, “Yeah.”

“Have I been here the whole time?”

“Mhm,” he says, dreading the next thing he’s about to tell you. “I appreciate it, Hobie, but why not just take me home? Do I look like I need a caretaker?” you joke, and he smiles a bit. “Yeah, actually, you do,” he responds and you grin. “But uh… you are home now…” he says, and you look at him confused.

“What?” He sighs, scooting further onto his bed and turning to face you with his whole body. His other hand reaches out, and he cradles the hand he’s holding with both of his hands. “Right, lemme just… start from the beginnin’, then. Venom takin’ control of you… that wasn’t meant to happen,” he says, staring at your joined hands. “What shoulda happened was Venom was supposed to take over m–… the Prowler. And then, uh… then he woulda become the spider of your world after Venom bondin’ with you for a short while and gainin’ your spider abilities before returnin’ to the Prowler…”

“So, there would have been two of us? One good and one bad?” you ask, and Hobie looks up at you with a sad expression. “…No. No, there woulda been one bad cause… well…”

“I was supposed to die…?” you whisper, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening. “I woulda saved you either way, but… I accidentally-on-purpose interfered and–”

“You killed the Prowler,” you finish his sentence, and he looks at you surprised. “Venom mentioned something about you killing someone, so…” you mumble, and he nods. “Yeah… yeah, I kinda lost my cool for a bit after seein’ what he did to you and uh… took matters into my own hands,” he says, and you nod slowly. “What did Venom mean by you killed yourself?” Hobie freezes and looks down again. How the hell is he supposed to explain this one? Guess he’ll just say it and accept whatever reaction you have. “The Prowler on your world… was me,” he whispers the last part, feeling himself tear up. He prepares himself for you to pull your hand away and use what little energy you had to travel to Gwen’s world and never talk to him again. He would completely understand, learning that someone identical to him ruined your life in so many ways must be jarring.

So, he prepares for the worst.

What he doesn’t prepare for is to feel your hand on his cheek, gently wiping away a single tear that escaped down his cheek with your thumb. “That wasn’t you, Hobie. He may have had your face and your name, but… he wasn’t you,” you assure, and he swallows the lump in his throat. The anxiety wracking his body eases slightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. One of his hands comes up to grasp yours on his cheek, holding it there as he leans his face into it, closing his eyes. He feels another tear fall, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t agree with society’s take on masculinity. He opens his eyes again, looking at your face. “Don’t cry, love,” he hears you say, and he gives you a small smile. “Nah, that’s my nickname for you.”

“And?” you say, grinning at him softly, “I’m not one to necessarily give a fuck what you say.”

“Cheeky. You’re lucky I loved it,” he says, and you softly laugh. “But uh… right, so I killed myself, sorta.”

“In a way.”

“A different me. Did you know he worked with the cops?”

“Oh yeah. They hate me. Another clear indication that he is not you in any way except physical,” you say, and he grins. “Well, in the fight we had–”

“Did he hurt you?” you ask, and he shrugs. “He tried. I won, though. Obviously. But the fight was in Oscorp Labs, and durin’ it… I broke some glass, releasin’ Venom to the outside world like the bloody dickhead I am,” he explains, and you nod, but give him a look. “You’re not a dickhead, Hobie. If you weren’t there, evil you would have bonded with it because he wouldn’t have died, so… maybe it was a good thing?” you suggest, trying to lighten Hobie’s dark mood. “Maybe. But then Venom followed me back to your flat after I killed who it was originally supposed to bond with,” he says, and you frown. “It probably wanted to bond with you,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “It told me it feeds off of the life force of humans, and the easiest way to make it more powerful is for the host to have strong negative emotions. That’s why it taunts and belittles whoever it has control of. To piss them off. It probably saw the anger that drove you to kill and figured you’d be the best host.”

“But then I went home before it could attach itself to me, so it attached to you instead,” he mumbles, and you nod. He sighs. This really was all his fault. “Well… yeah so it attached to you, and then you remember what happened next.”

“Yeah,” you nod, and he rubs the back of your hand against his cheek with his thumb. “So, we did end up successfully killin’ the wanker,” he says, and you nod, “but in doin’ ‘at… we killed your world with Venom.” You freeze. “W-What?” You draw your hand away from his face due to the shock of the statement. He subconsciously grips your other hand tighter. “Venom was supposed to be the spider-person of your world… there were too many canon changes,” Hobie explains, and you feel your chest tighten. Now you’re the one crying. But seeing you cry and look so defeated makes him cry more. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. He loosens his grip on your hand, fully expecting you to pull away, but you don’t.

“Everything… everything’s gone?” your voice is weak, and he opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, he’s interrupted by a meow. You turn your head, and see a black cat, looking up at you before hopping onto the bed and nuzzling against your side in an effort to cheer you up. “Shadow…?” you mumble, and he meows. But he doesn’t look like the Shadow you’re used to seeing. He looks more like a cat from Hobie’s world. “We saved what we could,” he whispers, and you look at him again. He smiles sadly at you. “I told Gwen, Miles, and Pav to grab everythin’ they could… they got everythin’ but the furniture, it’s all out in the sittin’ room… figured you probably wouldn’t want to move in with me after hearin’ bout what I did, so… we could move you to one of the other flats in the buildin’. Y’know it’s an abandoned buildin’, so there’s loads of rooms, and you wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout payin’, and–”

“You made sure my things were safe…?” you cut him off, and he looks at you. His focus was drawn away from you during his rambling, so he didn’t notice the realization of just how much he cared about you spread across your face. “Of course… it was the least I could do,” he answers, “I also asked a friend for that lil bat for you to have while goin’ through the genetic procedure. it was all my fault this happened, so helpin’ you adjust–”

“Adjust to what…?”

He takes a deep breath. “Miguel has a way to alter the genetic code of someone to have ‘em switch worlds… when we found out your world was gonna… disappear, we prepared. After the fight, I took you to Miguel and we successfully changed your genetic code. We did the same for Shadow, and all your things,” he explains, and you look at your hand. Sure enough, you look like you belong in Hobie’s world now. You didn’t notice the change before. Not until this very moment. “I had to give a lot of blood to continue to stabilize your genetic code changin’, so if I look like shit, that’s why” he admits to you, “But I would do it all over again without a second thought.”

“You don’t look like shit. That’s virtually impossible,” you mumble, and he smiles softly. You look down at Shadow, scratching between his ears with your free hand. Hobiie looks down, feeling another wave of emotion crash over him. He takes a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, (Y/n). This all happened because of me… it’s my fault,” he whispers, and you gently put your hand under his chin, lifting his head to look into your eyes. “Stop doing that.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Blaming yourself,” you say, wiping away some of his tears. “Can’t help it,” he mumbles, his voice shaking. “You can. Just takes time,” you respond, smiling softly at him through your own tears. He wipes away some of yours in return as the two of you stare at each other, no words being spoken. His eyes flick down to your lips before returning to your gaze, nonverbally asking you for permission. You nod slightly, and the two of you slowly lean toward each other. When your lips meet, the both of you immediately relax into each other. The two of you stop holding the other’s hand, but you quickly wrap your arms around his neck as he wraps his around your waist, pulling you closer. You two only break apart from each other to take a breath, but you keep your foreheads together as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to move in with you?” you whisper, and he grins. He gently rubs up and down your sides, humming in response. “Cause I’m an absolute turnip,” he mumbles, and you giggle. “Nah. You’re more like my hero,” you say, and he chuckles. “Always, my love. Always,” he whispers, kissing you again. You smile into the kiss, causing him to do the same. Shadow’s annoyed meow makes the two of you look down at him, and Hobie laughs. “Little mate can’t stand that he’s not gettin’ all the attention,” he says, taking one of his hands away from you to pet him. You yawn, and Hobie looks at you. “I think it’s time for you to get some more rest, my love. Your body’s goin’ through a lot right now,” he says, and you nod.

He moves to get up, but you tug on his arm. “You need rest, too, Hobart,” you say, and he grins. “Are you sayin’ you want me to stay?” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “On second thought…” you start and his smile falters. “No, wait,” he says a bit too quickly, causing you to laugh. “Get your ass in here before I change my mind,” you say, and he slips underneath the covers. He maneuvers you so that he’s underneath your body, and he holds you tightly to his chest. You bury your face in his neck, and he smiles. “You’re lucky I got my durag on,” he mumbles, and you hum in response, already starting to feel the effects of sleep overtake you. “Y’know, I thought you’d be a little more upset with me,” he admits, and you sleepily shake your head. “Death is inevitable, Hobie. Instead of giving into the inevitability of the end, I like to see the beauty in it. Although my life as I knew it has died, a new life is beginning, and I think that’s beautiful,” you mutter. He grins. “You are such a fuckin’ goth,” he mumbles, and you playfully smack his chest. “Maybe I was wrong before...”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe not all people are selfish assholes. I know one who isn’t,” you trail off, falling asleep. He softly kisses the top of your head, “Maybe I was wrong about some shit, too, my love.”

Shadow curls up beside Hobie, and he places one hand on the cat while the other keeps you pressed against him. He’s so tired, that he doesn’t move at all during the sleep that he gets, which is unusual for him. But at this moment, he’s never felt more content. Just him, you, and Shadow in yours and his home.

He could get used to this.

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『 tag list 』

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*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue

if you asked to be on the taglist and i forgot, i’m sorry :( in the least conceited way, a lot of people have been asking and some of the requests get lost because my brain short circuits when i see how many people are following along. feel free to leave a comment on this or message me separately and i’ll get you right onto it!

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #spiderpunk #spiderverse #theclashofthespiderverse

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after-witch · 6 months

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Horrorfest: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Title: It Knows Not How it Sounds [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: He's going to kill you--and this is how you react? Curious, curious, curious.

For Horrorfest request:

Vampire! Chrollo could be interesting? He fits the image of a vampire well, with his inclusion of religious imagery, goth aesthetic and his personal search for his self (his “soul“). Perhaps he becomes interested in one of his would-be meals, being attracted to their humanity and their perspective on his vampirism (maybe them seeing it as a curse, not a boon)

Word count: 1565

notes: yandere, vampire, some descriptions of blood, mild wounds, dying; Chrollo is a pretentious asshole even as a vampire

Humans are so very interesting. And so very predictable.

Chrollo Lucilfer knew the first truth at an early age. He has learned the second truth over the years, the decades, and then the centuries.

For instance, humans always seek comfort. That is certain, whether they are rich or poor, old or young, beautiful or ugly. They want to be held and warm and fed; they want someone to comfort them when they cry; they want to be told that, in the end, things will be alright.

This is true even for the humans that he kills, for so often in their last moments, they cling to him, desperate, wanting him to be their savior even as he is the one draining their blood.

Therefore, it does not surprise him too terribly when your shaking arm reaches up for his face; when your increasingly exhausted expression takes in the sight of him, eyes wide, looking for kinship or absolution or someone to tell you it will be just fine.

It takes his victims some time to really comprehend what is happening, after all.

It is usually at this point that (if they haven’t already--not everyone is so slow on the uptake) they realize what he is--vampire--and he goes back to lapping at his victim’s blood, enjoying the way their muddled dying thoughts are spiked with a renewed bright acidic terror.

The taste is not his only reward. There is the entertainment, as well. The thoughts of the dying.

The thoughts come to him like moving pictures, flashes; not only visuals but sometimes words. Monster. Him, covered in blood. I don’t want to die. Lovers, children, things left unsaid. Mother. This word, so common, most often paired with the foggy memory of a chubby hand held in a larger one.

Your eyes widen after a moment and ah, there it is. Like a clock. “Vampire,” you mouth, lips that were perhaps once rose-red now growing paler, the more he blood he takes from you.

“Yes,” he breathes, and you make the softest of sounds when he nudges your head back with his hands, giving him access to the open, bruised weeping puncture wounds he’d created earlier. Your blood still flows freely enough, and he laps at the edges before he begins to suck from the wounds.

He wonders how he must look from your eyes, though he may see it soon enough. His pale skin and dark hair. The fangs jutting from his mouth. The blood on his lips. Even his clothing, silken black with delicate lace. A storybook vampire, he supposes; all that’s missing is the smell of dirt and decay, though that is perhaps a stench better left to his more unhinged colleagues than his own delicate scent of roses and musk; purloined perfume bottles were easy to come by when you could simply kill the ones who set them on varnished bureaus.

But what pulses through his mind is not pure abject horror at the sight of him or fleeting, terrified thoughts of a life that will be incomplete.

Instead, it’s something that startles him so fiercely that he yanks himself away from your neck:

Pity.

Pity, pity, pity. For him--for him!

A warm almost sour sensation lingers behind on his teeth, and he licks it away. He has never, in his centuries of killing, been… pitied.

Your head rolls a little to the side, eyelids drooping, but you gain enough awareness to realize that he’s no longer feeding on you. Your voice is a soft croak when you do speak, words spoken as if you don’t understand why you’re even permitted to say them at all. You should, after all, be dead.

“Why did you stop?”

He considers you for a moment. He keeps a grip on your shoulders--you might just fall, if he lets go--and makes you face him. Finally, he mirrors your question. But only to satisfy his curiosity, or so he tells himself.

“Why do you pity me?”

Your eyes widen again, but this time not in the realization of the monster before you. You likely don’t know how he felt your pity. He doesn’t care to explain it to you, either, and after a few moments you furrow your eyebrows.

If he weren’t feeding on you, it might be a cute expression. Perhaps it still is; even lambs to the slaughter can have their charms.

“You’re…” You swallow. “You’re a vampire,” you say. But that usual horror is replaced with something else, something Chrollo wants to stick his finger into and pull out so he can see it more fully. Pity, yes yes, but something more. What is it? And why do you feel it so strongly that he couldn’t stand the shock of it?

When he doesn’t respond, you continue.

“You have to kill people to survive.”

He snorts.

“That’s never given me pause before.”

And oh, the way you look at him is absolutely beautiful. Your eyes glisten with tears--not from the pain, surely, but for him?--and your lips, nearly colorless though they are, curl into a pretty pout.

“But it should, and I’m so sorry it doesn’t.”

You wince, the shock perhaps ebbing away, letting you feel the pain of your ripped flesh more fully than most of his victims have time to do. But you don’t even press your hands to the wound, and he likes you better for it.

But still. You pity him because he’s a killer? What a waste of the emotion.

“I have lived for centuries,” he tells you, speaking as if to a child, learning lessons at a father’s knee. “I have seen things your mortal mind could not comprehend. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, seen civilizations turn to dust.”

He can practically see the cogs in the clock of your mind turning. Perhaps you will be one of those who foolishly asks him for the gift. He has rarely given it, and he wouldn’t give it to you; but he wouldn’t tear you apart for the audacity as he has some others. Your death would be merciful, calm--you’ve earned that.

But when you speak again, you don’t ask him to make you into a vampire.

“But you must be so lonely.” Your words are sudden, fast. Perhaps you don’t realize you’ve said them until it’s too late to wonder if you’re being too presumptuous, because you stumble over your next words. Or perhaps you’re just that emotional over the thought of him, and wouldn’t that be a delightful novelty?

“Everyone around you dies… your-your family. Friends.” You shake your head, blinking as a few tears finally do drop from your eyes. “You can’t live a normal life… you can’t go out in the sun.” You look up, as if you’re imagining the warm feel of it on your skin.

It’s a sensation he has long since forgotten, but to you it must be as normal as breathing. “I-I can’t imagine how sad that must be. To never be truly warm. To not see the flowers reaching up to the sky or see the grass in the morning, all green and dewy.”

Your arms, no longer trembling, wrap around your chest.

“I just…” You don’t look at him when you say these last words, but you don’t really need to, do you? Not with the way your voice is choked with emotion, the way tears fall so prettily from your eyes. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you.”

You are a wonder, truly. Bleeding from the neck, no doubt light headed from blood loss, in the face of a nocturnal creature who moments ago was draining the life from your body… and you apologize to him?

When you live for centuries, you often lose the ability to be surprised. But here is that sensation, now queer, once again. And all because you happened to take an unfortunate shortcut through the park on this night, making yourself easy prey for him to pull into a darkened alley and feast.

Now, though, he finds his hunger satiated. Or at least satiated until he finds another victim. Someone less worthy to stay alive than yourself, of course.

After some consideration, he leans backward, and releases his grip on you. His hands ache for the warmth of your skin underneath him, and not for the usual voracious reasons.

Yet another curiosity to add to his growing list.

You look at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?”

Perhaps, if he weren’t who he was, he might feel it too--this feeling of pity. Because you have no idea what he intends to do, and what it will mean for him to keep you alive now.

You have no sense of the impulsive need that has rooted itself in his brain, a need he hasn’t felt since he was a young fledgling of a vampire. He wants to know you; know what you think and why you think it.

What life has created you so earnestly that you can feel genuine sympathy for a creature like him? Have you known hardship, and it was an impulse to sympathize? Or has your life been so unmarred by difficulty that the pty came easily to you, pure, sweet thing?

The most important question of all, he thinks, as he pulls you closer to him and shushes the soft sounds you make--

Will you continue to pity him once he has taken you for his own?

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere vampire #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrrorfest

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flower-dagger-gay · 8 months

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Hello I've never watched ofmd and I only follow one ofmd blog (and don't remember why I did that) here's what I've gathered:

These are the least intimidating pirates ever.

Jim's friend(?) is a cinnamon roll who's never done anything wrong.

This dude's last name is Hands for some reason.

My Noses Monday™

There's marriage trauma or something.

Stede and Ed switch clothes at one point (I guess one of them must've been like "hey let's do something funny, first take off your clothes" and the other was like "yeah that sounds like a reasonable request")

Blackbeard the living legend is just a goth dork.

There's a love triangle and Hands lost. (but might have a second chance apparently) (also a goth dork).

Divorce™

THERE ARE SO MANY AUS OF THESE GUYS MY GOD (obviously this is relating to the fandom and not the actual show)

Apparently it ended like Good Omens 2-

#our flag means death

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jd07201990 · 3 months

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Honestly dude? I kinda brought this on myself. Definitely coulda gone a little softer on my bro... I mean boyfriend, but like, come the fuck on! He came home every fuckin' day from practice, kicking off his rank shoes, and stomped all over the house leaving nasty sweaty footprints on the hardwood bro! Then he fuckin' thinks it’s cute to sneak up and hug me with his soaked tank top, as if his funk wouldn't ruin my clothes! What the fuck!

Ok, ok, looking back after everything that happened, maybe I shouldn't have called him a Nasty Sweatrag, and told him to soak himself in bleach next time... Especially not in front of the creepy Goth kid, who happens to be his little brother!

One moment, I was just shouting at him, really laying it on him, sick of the sweat and the time he spent with his bros. I guess I was a bit jealous, but damn dude! I'm his bro! I mean, his girlfriend... or at least I was, until I made him cry and his brother glared from the corner of the room, seething.

In that split second before my stomach heaved, I knew I'd fucked up bad. Like, really bad bro! The world fuckin spun, I hacked and spluttered, then everything went black. I woke up later that day in a bedroom that was distinctly mine, but totally different. When I sat up and noticed my B-Cups were flat, solid, and square, my nipples small and pointing downward with the new bulk, I knew I was fucking JACKED brah! I, I mean I was fucked... this is a bad thing damn it! I'm not some lumbering meathead! fuck!

Anyway, I tossed my sheets, and noticed the rest of me. I was definitely taller, with big, clammy feet like my best bro... I mean boyfriend's, dangling off the end of my bed. My legs were thick, solid and capable of carrying the added bulk I'd suddenly packed on. The entire room reeked of humid funk. There were dirty clothes all over the floor by the hamper, battered, worn old sneakers and cleats by door in a heap, and my Vanity had become a fuckin' beast of a gaming rig dude! Fuck yeah! Wait... no, I don't game damn it! I'm not a fuckin' dude!

the rest of the room had changed similarly. Everything that could have pointed to a female living here, was now distinctly male. And that of a Big, Dumb, Sweatrag of a dude, as I'd called my bro earlier. However... it didn't bother me. I could barely smell it over the pungent fog that came from my muscled-up body. I was swole! And kinda gross dude, not gonna lie... But like, I can't fuckin help it! It’s like there's a fuckin' furnace inside me, burning up everything it’s got to keep me pumped and riled, on edge so bad I can't stop myself from fidgeting. my hands just, do their thing dude! One minute I'm lookin' in the mirror, the next I'm groping my fuckin Rod... I, woah... ok, it might be getting worse! I meant my fuckin' cock! I, I mean dick! Fucking damn it!

You know what, whatever. like I said, one minute I'm standing there, the next I've got my dick in my hand, or groping my fuckin nuts like those behemoths at the gym! Or it'll slide up my shirt, lifting it up while I don't even realize it. There’re all kinds of fuckin' weird dude things happening, and I can't stop any of it! My bod fuckin does as it wants if I'm not actively fighting it! The worst, and I mean it, the absolute fuckin worst, is when I've just scratched my junk good, and suddenly, like fuckin instinct, I'm sniffin' my fuckin fingers like a damn animal! What the fuck dude! All the fuckin' bros say its natural, that its some caveman shit... I might believe them, because it happens with my pits too! Just, standing there hittin' up one of the pretty chicks... I... I mean uh... my old friends... and then wham! sweaty pit fingers all up in my grill!

My Bro's little brother, the creepy Goth kid caught up with me when I'd all but sprinted the few blocks to his and my bro.. I mean my fuckin' boyfriend's house. I was just coming to terms with the fact that I'd hauled ass down the street, half naked, when He opened the door, and busted out laughing. Even when I had him dangling off the floor by his hoodie, threatening to squash his scrawny little pipsqueak ass, he cackled, before his eyes flared, and in an instant, his hand was out, my nipple in his fingers, as a cold pain flashed over my chest, and I looked down to see my nip was pierced, a silver barbell forcing it to stick out, perked up and stiff.

My jaw fell, and I dropped his ass, trying to form words as this wild, aggression filled me. The fuckin' goth punk crossed his arms and smirked, just as the piercings, or rather, the hex he'd put on them, erupted to life. I felt as if my brain was being squeezed from the inside, as if this fuckin' loser had his hands on it, wringing it out like a wet towel. I clutched my head, stumbling until I hit the couch, and sat, my legs splaying wide to give my fuckin' junk some room, like any dude does, when I felt the pressure lesson, and a strange, warmth began to flow from the back of my head, down my spine, and settled into my fuckin balls dude! It was like having all your smarts and who you are, drained down and stored where it belongs bro! Brains in your fuckin balls!

Fuck... no wait! He said if I couldn't fight it, if I didn't learn what it was like being an athletic dude, I'd lose everything I was, and end up just another sweaty meathead, lumbering around the gym, lifting big, gettin fucking swole, and plowing my way through chicks until graduation! I had to fight it; I couldn't give up. And my bro wasn't fuckin' helping!

He was always a fuckin' Golden Retriever, happy and dopey and dumb, I shoulda realized he was a good dude and I was lucky, before I'd been Bro'd up and brain squeezed out! Now, my fuckin' bro loves taking me to the gym, putting this body through its paces, even throwing fuckin shade when he got a whiff of my fuckin' pits! He laughs, but dude? I'm fuckin ripe, always am since his little brother turned up the juice and made sure I fit right in with the bros. My bro... boyfriend... finds it hilarious when he catches me flexing in the mirror while pumpin' out reps, or when I have to peel off my tank cus it got too damn soaked! Just look at my fuckin boxer briefs bro! See that sweat? Thats a fuckin' Man's sweat! I'm a fuckin beast bro!

All I had to do was last 1 week. Live like a fuckin dude for 7 days, learn my lesson, and I'd have my old life back. That shouldn't have been hard... well, I shouldn't have been hard, when my best friend Laura forgot what was in my fuckin pants one night while I stayed over, and fuck if I didn't end up railin' her for a good hour, before I realized too late that I'd be stuck as a sweaty dude if I shot my 5-day pent up load! She gave me no option. Teasing me about being a big dumb meathead, all brawn, no brains, thinking with my fuckin' dick, and the last straw, the moment that ensured I'd be a dude forever, was when she bit and nibbled her way down my neck, her nails leaving red scratches along my fuckin back, until she bit my nipple, playing with the barbell with her tongue, and I fuckin lost it. Just fuckin plowed in, balls deep, and shot my load. That was it, everything that had made me a girl, had unloaded with high velocity into my best friend's belly. I nearly blacked out, my big feet scrabbling in the sheets trying to get deeper as my balls drained desperately. When it was over, I fell to the side in bed, gasping as she panted and giggled, tracing her nails through the sweat dribbling down my pecs. It’s been a month since I'd lost both my temper, and my female body... but fuckin look at me brah?! The bros and I are fuckin swole! My bro says I'm far better off this way, and Laura does her part, keeping the damn Male Aggression and insatiable need in my balls, satisfied. There's a reason dudes are the way they are. Sometimes, they just can't help it.

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