#IM FULL OF RAGE RIGHT NOW AND IT'S RIDICULOUS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

books-and-catears · 4 years

Note

I’m back to cause more chaos! :D (You did my Savage MC so well, how could I not return?)

My idea for this request shall be head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an Mc that’s just over everything. Threats from other demons (including the brothers) don’t phase her. She’ll either have a blank expression or say something like:

Demon: I could kill you right now! 👿

MC:*smiles and raises eyebrows* Then do it. Put me out of my misery right now 😃

Since MC’s died before, she’s just not concerned about her life anymore and would say concerning things like:

“How messy do you think my corpse would leave the ground if I jumped from this ledge? 🤔”

“Go ahead and kill me, you’re making things easier for both of us ☺️”

“I’m pretty sure if it wasn’t for my relation with Lilith, I would still be dead....So close *pouts* ”

When someone asks why she’s like this she just explains with a soft smile and empty eyes about the shit she went through in the Devildom and that she’ll never be the same person she was before she was forced there. “You can’t blame me for being fucked up. I’m just accepting it 😀”

(This is only if you feel comfortable doing this, I understand if you’re not since this can be touchy to other readers)

Oh my god. I was literally thinking about writing something like this three days ago but I got stupid college assignments and completely forgot. I relate to this so much I feel like you and I share a good amount of brain cells thank you so much for this ❣️❣️

Warning: Mention of death, suicidal thoughts

Lucifer: MC, you're late again. How many times do I have to tell you to maintain curfew?

MC: I was busy helping Solomon, Lucifer so lay off me and go scare someone else.

Lucifer: You dare talk to me in that tone of voice?! Is that how you're supposed to talk to me?!

MC: Oh great Sir Lucifer, I've seen death, you see. You will have to do more than just threaten me now.

Lucifer: *shocked* MC... I wasn't....

_______________________________________

Mammon: *seeing MC in a scuffle with a lower demon*

Mammon: MC! How many times do I have to tell ya to not pick fights with other demons!?

MC: *laughs* Why? Cause they aren't related to Lilith and so won't spare my life?

Mammon: MC...no...

MC: Honestly I'd rather be killed for being me than be kept alive in someone else's memory so go away Mammon.

Mammon: *tearing up* MC don't say that... *Holds your hand tight while taking you back home*

_______________________________________

Levi: MC for the last time, stop killing your character within 5 minutes of playing!!

MC: Sorry I can't help it. It's not like I can die that easy in real life!

Levi: ...what?

MC: Ah man these characters are lucky! Look just one little bomb and dead! *kills character again*

Levi: *quitting the game, hanging his head low* Let's a play a different game, okay?

________________________________________

Asmo: MC, would you like to join me in bed tonight? ;)

MC: Sure only if you choke me.

Asmo: Ah that's kinda kinky-

MC: Choke me like Belphie did.

Asmo: *horrified* MC, honey, no!

MC: Come on! Think of it as a kink!

Asmo: *distraught* Stop it MC! We're going to cuddle and kiss and you'll stop talking about this! *drags you and cuddles you tight to himself, softly sobbing*

_____________________________________

Beel: MC, you're standing too close to the edge there!

MC: How messy do you think my corpse will be if I drop from here, Beel?

Beel: *wide eyed* MC what-

MC: Oh my bad, can't have you watch your sister die in front of you again, can we? Ah man *pouts* why did I have to have her bloodline... You could have eaten me so long ago!

Beel: *breaking down in tears* MC no... please...MC just come back inside...*picks you and holds you tight to safety*... MC I would never eat you...

______________________________________

Belphie: MC what's wrong? Why won't you hug me back?

MC: *dry laugh* Sorry Belphie, it's just not the same without you berating my worth and choking me to death.

Belphie: *looks away hurt* ... I'm sorry.

MC: Maybe you can do me a favour instead of half assed apologies.

Belphie: Favour? Sure I can do that.

MC: Do us both a favour and kill me, will you? No more apologies for you, no more worthless living for me, how about that?

Belphie: *buries his head into his pillow* I'm sorry MC... I'm sorry...

________________________________________

Simeon: MC this is the third day you've eaten Solomon's cooking.

MC: Well it's not death, but it's close enough.

Solomon: Wait what?

Simeon: MC...

Luke: *crying and screaming* IM GOING TO KILL THOSE DEMONS! LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO MC!

MC: *pats Luke's head* It's okay Luke, I'm safe here with you guys right?

Luke: YES! THOSE DEMONS WON'T SEE YOU AGAIN!

______________________________________

Satan: MC I'm worried about the books you've been borrowing from the library lately.

MC: *sitting in the middle of books about lethal poisons and easy killing methods* Ah I wonder why~

Satan: Do you think I didn't notice how much you changed after your ressurection?

MC: Well good for you Sherlock. Say have you ever rage killed anyone? Cause I would love to volunteer.

Satan: MC stop. *Holds their hand* Don't be this way.

MC: *lifeless eyes and softly smiling* Try being brought to a whole new world without warning, getting ridiculed and threatened and made to feel weak by people you clearly you want to cherish, and then getting manipulated and killed by the person you only wanted to save.

Satan: *runs his fingers on your palm, listening*

MC: And then! Being brought back to life and told that you were spared for the sake of a dead stranger, who you have to replace.

Satan: *smiles sadly* Does being thrust into existence with a head full of memories and a heart of full anger and pain that isn't yours come close enough?

MC: ... Well a little. *holds his hand back*

Satan: You and I are more similar than you think. Our voices are but echoes of someone else's call. But it doesn't have to be that way always. Don't let it damage you like this.

MC: Ah well the damage is done. And I'm too tired to fix it, so I accept it instead. *dry laugh*

Satan: Well let me watch over this damaged soul then. *Brings out their favourite book* And for now let's read this instead.

MC: Can we go play with the cats later?

Satan: Of course, MC.

Hope this was okay! :') Really loved writing this thank you for the asks 😭😭😭😊😊😊😊

#obey me ask #obey me angst #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me belphie #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me imagine

2K notes · View notes

jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one)

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to.

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you—

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible.

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here.

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction.

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.”

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning.

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.”

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either…

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow.

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are.

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?”

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it.

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you.

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air.

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter.

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more.

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.”

Touching.

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow.

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.”

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen.

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor.

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.”

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three.

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand.

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop.

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.

You scowl. “It’s fine.”

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose.

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums.

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel.

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face.

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep.

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.”

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin.

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward.

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.”

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you.

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw.

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers.

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not.

Whatever.

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare.

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need.

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp.

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet.

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides.

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away.

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off.

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no.

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head.

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat. Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts.

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter.

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise.

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans.

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world.

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

#well it aint that good but it honest work wkerkjehr #my writing #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #star wars #sw #star wars fanfiction #jangofctts

341 notes · View notes

beigehearts · 3 years

Text

Yandere adult trio: college AU These are drabbles for when they lose their mind and kill the people around you... and kidnaps you

These are going to be a little longer than usual but I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I did when writing it (also im trying out the beta version of the new posting system so lemme know if anything is weird)

Sorry this took me forever bro

CW: murder, blood, physical abuse, alcohol

Hisoka

It's getting quite annoying to be completely honest. He just won't leave you alone, constantly flirting and making passes at you. And yet at the same time he makes fun of you and is actually very mean. It wasn't so bad in the beginning but this is just getting out of hand. You made sure he was aware of this. ---- He's looming over you as he corners you against the wall. You refuse to look up at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

While you aren't looking at him, you can feel him looking at you. You already know he has that annoying grin on his face that makes you want to punch him square in the nose.

He brushes his long fingers against your face, making a quiet humming noise. "Are you ready to give up my pet?"

You ignore his words and slap his hand away from your face. "I need to get to class, move Hisoka."

He frowns though you aren't looking at his face. He opens his mouth to say something when someone from behind him calls out to you. "Hey y/n! Are you okay?"

She walks towards you but before she can get involved you shove the man away and huff. What a nuisance. You turn towards him once you're standing next to your friend and glare at him.

"Leave me alone. It's annoying and it's scaring people. Got it?" Before he can respond you turn on your heels and drag your friend down the hall by her wrist just hoping to put distance between the two of you. ---- You're pretty sure you made it clear that you don't want him near you anymore. But by now you know he doesn't give up so easily. One can only hope that he gets bored of you and finds someone else to bother.

You and your friends went out for brunch earlier, and all was well until Chelsea handed you something. She said that she found it in her bag but it was addressed to you, so you put it in your own bag.

You pour yourself a rum and coke and make yourself comfortable on the couch of your shared apartment. All of your roommates went out for drinks but you were too tired to go out.

After taking a sip of the sweet liquid in your glass, you examine the letter you were given earlier. It's a typical white envelope with your name written in pen. There's no address on it or return address so you assume it was just supposed to be handed to you.

You rip open the letter with your finger and pull out the singular loose leaf paper. It's folded in three sections so you pull it open. The handwriting is messy but in an aesthetic sort of way.

Dear y/n, I strongly suggest that you go to class 406B in the technical building tonight. Don't be late or you'll miss the whole party. 10:45 pm - see you then. I almost forgot, if you don't come I have some revealing pictures of you that I can share with anyone I wish to. XOXO

This is the strangest letter you've ever received. It's probably a prank by one of your roommates or friends. You've never sent nudes to anyone so obviously they're bluffing.

Though perhaps you should entertain your friends and go. Who knows, maybe there will be drinks. But you are tired... Maybe you'll just go to bed. You peek over to the time on your phone, it's 9:12 pm. Yeah, you'll just go to bed after you finish your drink.

'bzz' 'bzzz'

Who is texting you so late at night? You sit up and realize you fell asleep on the couch. You wipe the drool off of your face and grab your phone with distain for whoever woke you up.

It's a blocked number.

ur late

Late? Late for what? Your phone displays the time, 11:27 pm. Are your friends really this committed to their prank? They must be trying to get Tik Tok famous or some shit. Well you're awake now, you might as well head over there.

----

The moment you step into the building something seems off. If all of the lights including the emergency lights wasn't enough, the ground seems sticky. Though you can't bring yourself to use your phone flash light to see what it is.

Eventually you find the room 406B in the darkness. The door is closed and no lights are on in the room. It seems as if no one is inside. As you reach for the handle of the door, you notice something on the window of the door. You can barely make it out, but there's what looks like a hand print. You chuckle, this must be a prank.

Now feeling a little better, you open the door and step inside. It's too dark to see anything but you can make out some figures in the dark. It must be your friends thinking they're being sneaky.

You roll your eyes and look for the light switch, finding it and switching it on. You squint at the sudden light, and your eyes begin to focus. Which you wish they never did.

There is blood everywhere, on the ceiling, the windows, the floor, the tables... But that's not the most jarring part. Your friends are sitting in chairs, one of them sitting on the ground against the wall.

There is your friend Chelsea, sitting in a chair with her head tipped down. You can't even tell what color her clothes originally were, they're covered in red, a dark dark red. Next to her is Derick, he's sitting the same way except his head is tipped backwards. His eyes are wide and his face is left in permanent horror- expressing the brutality of his end. You can't bare to look anymore, you drop to your knees and cover your face with your hands.

You scream and scream until your voice is hoarse and throat is raw. You're left coughing while you are drowned by your own tears.

"Are you ready to give up yet?" A deep voice asks from in front of you.

You can't stop the flow of tears as you look up at this monster. He's also covered in blood, and some is splattered on his face. He wipes a thumb across his face in the blood, and brings it to his lips. Sobs rack your body, you can't even make sense of this.

Hisoka squats down so you're face to face and grips your jaw bone tightly in his hand. You can feel the now cold substance being rubbed against your jaw by his fingers and it makes you want to puke.

"I got tired of waiting for you." His grin is nauseating, forcing you to stop yourself from puking.

His nails dig into your skin, mixing your own blood with that of your friend's. He brings his face close to yours and in a gentle but menacing tone he croaks, "Let's stop this childish game, alright y/n?"

Illumi

It's easy to miss things when you're caught up with the rush of classes and friends and love. All of the parties and hangovers are enough to satisfy your needs for entertainment and drama in this boring life. If you didn't fill up your daily life with these acts, you would probably sleep every day away until you fell into a coma.

To put it short, you're a busy body. And busy bodies don't have time to stop and look around at what is happening. For example, how were you to notice the key under your doormat was missing, or how your dresser drawers were left slightly open when you know you closed them before leaving. Noticing these small things are definitely not on your agenda.

It's 10 am, Saturday, and you don't have any classes or work today. You're sitting at the kitchen bar, drinking coffee and chatting with your roommate. It isn't often that you have a free day, and sometimes it is nice to have even if you want to get moving. The sun is peeking through the curtains and the aroma of espresso beans is a delight. It's a bit chilly so you have a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. What a peaceful morn-

'BANG BANG'

Your roommate eyes you when someone bangs on the front door, already knowing the events that are about to take place. She rolls her eyes and stomps up the stairs to her room, not wanting to get involved. You always feel bad that your roommates have to listen to this but you're really not sure how to end it.

You take your last peaceful sip of coffee and call out, "Come in!"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he storms inside and slams the door behind him. Your boyfriend of course is mad about something you've done. He trudges towards you and moves the stool next to you out of the way, and leans towards you so his face is next to yours.

"Are you kidding me y/n?!" He yells in your ear, but you don't flinch because you're used to this.

He rips his phone from his pocket and shoves it in your face after pulling up a screenshot. It's a conversation between you and his friend.

"Can't you learn to shut your damn mouth? This is our business and you have no right to tell anyone about it!" He's practically seething with rage.

You take a last sip of coffee and set your mug down on the counter. You continue facing forward and not facing him. "It's not our business, it's yours. And I asked him if it was true that you were cheating on me." You turn your head towards him while grimacing and mutter, "Again."

Ah but you've just lighted a bomb with your words.

His face has gone red and he looks like he's about to explode. You begin wondering why you were ever attracted to him.

"Maybe if you weren't such a prude! I can't even kiss my girlfriend whenever I want, it's ridiculous. You know full well that you're so... so... Ugh! You know what? Fuck you!"

As quickly as he came, he runs out of the house, slamming the door once again.

You whisper to yourself, "Fuck you too."

God he's such a child, you don't even want to be with him anymore. But every time you decide to break up with him he suddenly becomes Mr.Perfect. "I'm so sorry." "I love you." "Let me make it up to you." And then he does make it up to you only to tear down all of his hard work.

----

It's been a few days since your big fight with your boyfriend. He hasn't talked to you at all but this isn't uncommon for him. You promised your roommates that you would break up with him, not just for yourself but for the sake of their peace and quiet.

You texted him a few times while you were at work but he left you on read. He's so petty. So you text him one last time.

Come 2 my place at 8 tonight, We need to talk

He answers immediately which surprises you.

Can't, flat tire Come to my place

It doesn't make a difference to you where it is so that's fine. You wonder if maybe he's come to terms with the fact this needs to end. Hopefully so. If there's one thing you want him to be mature about, it's this.

Your shift ends at 6:30pm. You drive home, shower, get dressed, eat something and get ready to leave.

You send one last text,

OMW

It's read immediately but there's no response. Well, it's not like you expected much from him anyway. You drive to his house at 7:45 pm, and arrive around 7:58 pm. All of the lights in his town house are on. He's a few years older than you so he has his own house due to somehow being able to hold down a job. With his anger issues it's hard to believe that he can hold onto anything. Damn, he really is an unattractive person isn't he?

You step out of your car and lock it. Now that you're out of the car you realize that it's very quiet. This is unusual for when you go to his house, normally you can hear music or the sound affects of a shitty video game. But it's silent. Maybe he's waiting for you? He must be taking this well.

You step up the creaky stairs of the house, and knock on the equally as creaky door. No response. Maybe he's sleeping? You peek into the mail box and take out the extra key for the house from it. But when you go to unlock the door, it's already unlocked. This is becoming very strange.

You push open the door and peer into the dark living room. It's not too dark that you can't make out the furniture in the darkness. You step inside and shut the door behind you, it's still quiet. Not quiet, absolutely and undeniably silent. You flick the light on and look around again, nothing seems out of place. It's messy, with empty beer cans and bottles on the ground per usual. The stains on his carpet remain untouched, including the vomit stain in the corner.

"Jay?" You call out into the still atmosphere. Nothing. Is he not home? That can't be, his car is in the driveway.

The sound of his old floor boards being stepped on echoes through the house. What the hell is he trying to pull? You look up the stairs, but it's only darker up there than it was down here. He must be drunk.

Each step you take up the stairs, your heart begins to pound faster. Something feels off, this doesn't feel right. This isn't like your boyfriend, he's simple, he wouldn't try scaring you like this. On the top step, you feel your shoe touch something soft. You lean down and pick it up, and raise it up to your face. A pair of thongs that definitely aren't yours. So that's what's happening. He couldn't even pull himself together for one night.

Your pounding heart is no longer caused by fear but anger. He's cheated too many times to count on your hands, but this time makes you angrier than you've ever been. He's never been in bed with another woman knowing that you were coming over. This is fucking ridiculous.

You stomp towards his room and kick the door open. It's dark but you can tell that there are two people in bed. Your vision has gone red, you've never been this angry in your life.

You don't bother turning the lights on, you storm over to his side of the bed and rip the covers off. Just barely you can make out a woman sleeping next to him. You grab his shoulder tightly and shake him violently to wake him up.

"Get the fuck up Jay! Get! Up!" He doesn't respond, you lean down and yell in his ear like he always does to you. "You're such a childish piece of shit!"

He still doesn't move or speak, for fuck's sake. You stomp back to the entrance of the room and flick on the light. You turn around and begin walking back towards the bed, when you're stopped in your tracks.

Everything is red, but it's not your vision anymore. The bed has been dyed red, and his naked body is covered in it. Your mouths falls open but no screams come out. The woman next to him is splayed out on the bed, naked as well. Covered in red. You look down at the hands that touched your boyfriend, they're also red.

You rush over to the bed and shake your boyfriend again.

"Jay? Jay! Can you hear me?" You put your ear to his chest but you don't hear anything. You put your finger under his nose but don't feel anything.

"Hey! Hey! Wake up! This isn't funny!" Tears stream down your face as you pull him to your chest, cradling him.

Your sobs make it hard to speak and your chest begins to hurt. "J-... Jay... This- isn't-" You gasp between each word, "Funny..."

It's only when you hear a noise coming from behind you that you stop to think about what's going on. It doesn't matter to you though, they could kill you too if they wished.

"People are strange." You turn your head to see where the voice is coming from.

It's someone you don't recognize, he's tall, pale, has long hair, and hypnotizing eyes. Your sobs cease for a moment and you hug your boyfriend tighter to you.

"All of that fighting... You were even coming here to break up with him and yet... You're sad that he's gone?" He makes his way towards you slowly, "I've done you a favor, haven't I?"

He looms over you but all you can do is stand there, frozen by fear.

The man grabs the back of your shirt and pulls you violently from Jay. You try to run back to him, but the man pulls you to him, hugging you tightly. No matter how much you flail in his grasp you can't get away from him. You're left sobbing into his shirt, your body limp in his arms.

"Why?" You manage to whisper.

He holds you to him with one arm and pets your hair with his other hand. "You were miserable. He was making you miserable."

He sighs and kisses the top of your head. What is going on?

"Come on, don't waste your energy on human garbage. I'm here, so it's fine." He states it so 'matter of fact'.

"Who?" Is all you can ask, unable to finish your question.

"I guess I haven't introduced myself yet. Illumi is my name." With ease, he grabs you by your shoulders and lifts your face up to his. "Your future husband."

Chrollo

What more could you ask for? You already have easy college classes, fun parties, a good part time job, great friends, and an amazing best friend. Tonight you're going to hang out with a bunch of friends and have drinks at one of their apartments. It's a pretty normal Thursday night, nothing odd about it.

You're waiting for your best friend to pick you up, he's always there to pick you up on the dot. If he doesn't come early that is. You shove all the essentials into your bag and hear a honk outside. Must be him.

But of course you're always tardy. You lace up your shoes and run out of the dorm room, tripping out of the building. He's watching as you stumble towards the car since one of your shoes is already unlaced. When you finally flop down in the passenger seat he shakes his head with a knowing smile.

"Oh y/n, will you ever be organized?" He asks with amusement.

You click your tongue and straighten out your clothes, "Don't ask such stupid questions."

He turns his body towards you as much as possible and pats his lap. You instinctively know what that means. You hike your foot up above the console and put your foot on his lap. He begins tying your shoe, his smile is unmoving. He's always smiling.

"Chrollo, you don't need to baby me." You roll your eyes and groan.

He laughs and pats your leg, signaling that he's done. "If not me then who?"

You swing your leg back over to your side and buckle up. The two of you hang out a lot. Since you're both going to the hangout tonight, you decided to car pool. But first you're going to go get the alcohol. Everyone has to bring something for everyone, that way you guys can get wasted with no qualms.

You plug your phone into the aux and play your shared playlist. The first song that comes on is "The Cult of Dionysus" by The Orion Experience. Something that he added.

Finally you feel like you can relax, it always feels that way around Chrollo. His presence is just, comforting, in every way. You feel like you can do anything, say anything, ask for anything. He's always there for you with no exceptions and honestly you think you may have feelings for him. But it's a question of are you confusing comfort and friendly affection for romanticism. It's just that he's so perfect, he doesn't have a single flaw. Not one that you've ever seen at least. You probably never will see one of his flaws.

You sink into the seat and sigh.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, but quickly looks back at the road. "What's the matter?"

"Oh nothing... Just, everything is good."

He knows you better than anyone, so it's an obvious lie when you say this. "But what?"

Anytime he calls you out, you surrender and tell him everything. "Everything is so great you know." He nods with your statement. "I go to a good school, have good friends, have a good job." This has been on your mind for quite some time.

"Something is missing, you know? The excitement, the... the..." You chuckle and turn towards him and put up jazz hands, "The pizzazz!"

He doesn't turn to look at you but you know he saw you when his smile widens. "I get that. Maybe you just need to step outside of your comfort zone. Do something different."

Do something different? Yeah, maybe that is what you need.

----

All eleven of you are sitting in a circle on the ground, drinking and playing never have I ever. You take a long drink of your Mike's hard lemonade, which is just something to get the night going.

Dina wipes hair from her face and smiles, "Okay okay my turn. So never have I ever.... Uhh." She pops up when she thinks of something, "Never have I ever jumped out of a window."

DJ leans forward and raises an eyebrow, "Okay what kind of window we talking? High up? First floor?"

Dina answers, "Any kind, any kind of window." The majority of you put a finger down which makes the group burst out in laughter.

Your friend Zoey finishes off her bottle and slams it down on the floor. "Let's play something else."

"Like what?" One of your friends ask.

Zoey thinks for a moment, "Like... Truth or dare, spin the bottle. Or maybe eleven minutes in heaven."

Dj interjects, "I think it's seven minutes in heaven, not eleven."

"Oh whatever DJ, they rhyme." Zoey spits back.

Lex answers, "Let's play seven minutes in heaven!"

Of course DJ huffs and rolls his eyes, "What are we? Middle schoolers?"

Guac (which is his nickname) speaks up, "Oh come on, are you shy DJ?"

Finally the quiet Chrollo sitting next to you says something, "I'm not really interested. Right y/n?" He looks at you to back him up.

The group coos at the two of you and someone says, "We get it, you got something going on. The game is just for fun, don't be so serious Chrollo."

Chrollo opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off, "Hey, you told me to do something different. Maybe this is the first step."

His face shows betrayal and you feel a squeeze in your heart.

He stands up and glares at the group, "Whatever." He storms out of the apartment, and everyone mumbles to each other. Chrollo has never acted like this so this is quite a shock to everyone.

In order not to kill the mood you speak up, "Alright, let's pull names out of a hat!"

All of you write down your names on a small piece of paper and put it in a baseball cap. Dina pulls two names out of the hat and of course makes it a dramatic event.

"Alright so first we have the most lovely of people..." She looks at the group like a teacher waiting for an answer from her class. "Gracie!" Everyone claps and she stands up in front of all of you, taking a bow.

Dina pats her thighs rapidly, "Drum roll please!" Everyone obeys her, "The next hot piece of ass is y/n!"

You stand up and curtsey, taking Gracie's hand and leading her to the closet. Dina stands in front of the closet once both of you are inside and grins, "Timer starts now kids." She shuts the door on you two and all of your friends cheer from outside.

Here comes the awkward part. It's too dark to see her expression but you already know she's blushing.

You lean towards her and in a low voice so no one else can hear say, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

She shakes her head, and you brush a hand through her dark coils. The both of you giggle when your finger gets stuck in her hair. She leans in for a kiss, but before your lips meet you're interrupted.

The front door is opened and slammed shut, you hear the lock click as well.

"Hey Chrollo, you feeling better?" "What are you doing?" "Holy shit, please, what are you doing?!" "Are you fucking crazy? This isn't funny!"

Something slams against the closet door and Gracie yelps.

"Whoa whoa, we can work something out." They sound desperate "Back up!" You hear a loud thump and then screams. "Grab him guys!" It sounds like people are running around, but soon the screams become not those of only fear but of pain. There are gargled pleas and pathetic whimpers for mercy.

You and Gracie hold each other, gripping onto one another for dear life.

Soon the screams, pleas, thuds, gurgling, all of it ends. The apartment goes quiet and you try to silence your heavy breathing.

There's a loud thud right in front of the closet and then the doors are opened abruptly. There Chrollo is, covered in blood, and you can see the bodies of your friends behind him. Before you can react, he pulls Gracie away from you, slams the doors closed and there's another thud.

Gracie's screams are blood curdling, screeches and cries for help. You try to open the doors but something is blocking it, keeping them closed. As her screams get louder you throw yourself against the doors, trying to push whatever is there out of the way.

Before you can even imagine of getting out, the screams fade out into whimpers, and into nothing.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

You're given no time to think when the doors fly open and you're face to face with Chrollo. He's blocking out the light and his usually neat clothes are crumpled and bloody. You look down to his hands, a sledge hammer hangs from his fingers, dripping with your friend's blood.

"Ch-Chrollo... Please don't." You whisper.

The sledge hammer drops to the ground and he wraps his arms around you gently. "Oh y/n. I would never hurt you."

He's so gentle with you, so gentle. It almost makes you forget what just happened, because he feels like home. "Why? Why did you do this?"

He steps back and grabs your shoulders, he leans down so he's eye to eye with you. "They crossed a line, a line that should not be crossed."

You begin to speak but he grabs your cheeks with one hand and dawns his usual smile, "You don't need them. You have me." He kisses your squished lips as if it were normal. "Right y/n?"

Slowly you nod, you don't need them. If Chrollo says it, it must be true.

"Good girl."

228 notes · View notes

hualian-blessing · 3 years

Text

fall of grace from both parties

okay can we all agree that the army vs jack manifold and tubbo is really ridiculous and downright rude to both parties? like i get it that the armys have been subjected to be ridiculed for almost a decade and are reasonably cautious with fans outside the fandom but do they really have to attack two streamers because they're just having fun and are just light-hearted ratio the boy band? which led to some fans also attacking the army because of a simple joke? okay, the last part is really rare actually because all i saw were fans (some are from both fandoms actually) defending jack and tubbo from false accusations of xenophobia and racism. but come on, do we really need to drag this on?

to those who aren't aware on what's going on in the dumpstertruck that is twitter, jack manifold (an mcyt streamer) jokingly attempted to ratio kim namjoon (a member of bts) in a post that has a carrot in it with jack posting a biscuit with almost the same caption as the idol. namjoon's post is currently almost 3 million while jack's is like 80k i think? then fellow streamer tubbo said how it's impossible then minutes later said that he'll attempt to ratio namjoon in honor of the jack manifold. both ranboo and tommy light-hearted warn both streamers how it's a bad idea (and in tommy's words: when kpop, mcyt and christians collide, it's not going to be pretty). thus led to our situation is the overwhelming hate on tubbo, jack and their respective fanbase.

as usual, evidences and ss will be provided as to show that, yes, it's really happening and to show the intensity of the situation:

for those who are still confused, the basic premise is that jack tried to ratio namjoon cuz he saw how tubbo successfully attempted ratioing both the president of america and the prime minister of uk, and thought maybe it's a good idea to go for the kill by attempting to ratio one of the members of one of the biggest boy bands in the world. long story short, jack failed, tubbo tried to avenge jack by doing the ratio himself, and at most a half of the army fanbase are mad at them.

it's really ridiculous cuz this was only to be a harmless joke yet it reached to the point where both streamers got hated on and were sent death threats by the fans. like i said, i get why fans of bts are cautious around outsiders of the fandom but to the point discrediting both streamers just because of a ratio joke? for fucks sake, tubbo is a fan of bts' music so it's really contradicting by calling him racist and xenophobic towards the band when he didn't even say anything bad to them? and saying that jack is harassing the band and being racist to them? like bruh, it's obvious you don't know what they're like during streams and videos. some fans of both streamers don't even know why at most half of the army are being mean towards their comfort streamers so when they see that tubbo and jack were getting hated on and were sent dts, are we really surprise that they're defending the two friends? it's basically what the army is doing right now but turn it into mcyt fans defending the two. in the end, what jack and tubbo did were just harmless jokes. jokes that were supposed to be funny and impossible to do yet all it ended up is a full rage fandoms war between mcyt and the army. also, saying that you have "power" over the hellscape isn't going to help with the reputation :///. even ccs and fans left the hell bird app because of the toxicity the platform emits off. saying you have "power" over the app is like saying you're a bigger asshole in twitter :///

on a lighter note, calling jack names isnt going to do shit to us because even jack knows his fans joked about him. so calling him original and creative names is just going to backfire in the end. though thanks for pointing out that he looks like eleven from stranger things. now his fanbase are calling him eleven kekw

edit: OH MY GOD, I THOUGHT IT WAS JUNGKOOK WHO POSTED THE CARROT POST. IM SORRY ARMY, I CANT DIFFERENTIATE WHO TILL MY FRIEND POINTED OUT THAT IT WAS RAP MONSTER. IM SO SORRY-

#mcyt #dream smp #mcyttwt #kpoptwt #twitter drama #twitter discourse #jack manifold #tubbo #bts army #bts #it's supposed to be funny guys 😭#we all know it's impossible to ratio bts #but come on we don't need the overwhelming hate #also to some of the army who called mcyt fans as stans just because they're defending tubbo and jack over a harmless joke #uno reverse cuz this also applies to you #bts namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon #rap monster

42 notes · View notes

dashedwithromance · 4 years

Text

Slithered Here From Eden - Princewitch

KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS!!! I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH HOW SPOILERY THIS FIC IS. THE HEIGHT OF SPOILERS!! THE PEAK OF SPOILERS!! THIS IS A VERY LOUD WARNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! KINGDOM OF THE WICKED SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT DO NOT KEEP READING IF YOU DONT WISH TO BE SPOILED THANK YOUUUUUU

anyways here is my first princewitch fic!! i hope you guys like it, and let me know if you have any ideas for fics for those two. im a little nervous to put this out here - ive written only cressworth and original stuff for a while, so im kinda nervous this wont be in character or will be weird in my style. anyway, please let me know if you like this, and if its something you want more of. im already working on a few others, courtesy of @duchess-of-nothing-and-nowhere ‘s brilliant ideas, but send in any requests you have!!! i hope you guys enjoy, thank you!!!!!

---

Hell was, well, hell.

Her husband was busy doing whatever kings of Hell did in their spare time, which she was thankful for. She didn’t wish to run into any of the Wicked, but Pride was close to the top of the list. Not the worst offender, however. The Prince she’d once tentatively called an ally had claimed that spot with his spectacularly humiliating betrayal.

The worst part was that she still didn’t understand. His motives, his feelings, his aims - all were shrouded in mystery, one that seemed to taunt her at every twist and turn. Bastard.

Contrary to her preconceptions, her rooms were actually rather beautiful. Similar to the style of the house Wrath had rented in Palermo, but it felt different. Darker. Her quarters were styled in black and gold, with serpent scones lining the walls. The fire flickered in a menacing fashion, though she’d long since learned it had more bark than bite.

Shadows crept along the floor until they curled at her feet like a cat, announcing the presence of the one demon prince she wished to see the least.

“What do you want.” Emilia barely gave him a glance before he walked him, arrogance pouring off him. As if he owned the damn place.

Infuriatingly beautiful as usual, he wore a dark suit, flecked with golden patterns, not unlike the tattoo she knew adorned his shoulder. Her attention flicked to the wicker basket he held gingerly in his hands. Covered with a soft blue tea towel, it looked like something plucked off the streets of her home, not something that belonged within the obsidian walls of the kingdom where wickedness ruled with abandon.

Silence was his only reply as he looked her up and down. The gaze threatened to set her alight; with rage or desire, she wasn’t entirely sure. Once, the bed that loomed behind her would’ve offered a taunting distraction and a fragile but desperate wish. Now, it only annoyed her, reminding her of the moments she’d failed so magnificently at seeing through his façade.

Still no response. They hadn’t spoken since her wedding, and their last words had been less of a conversation and more of throwing of well-deserved insults on her behalf. He’d told her that she knew nothing of his motivations, and to assume he wished her harm was foolish. She’d told him a few carefully chosen expletives, complete with a hand gesture that would’ve had her mother wringing her hands. Wrath had spent the days prior skulking outside her quarters, never saying a word, only letting his shadows pollute her already foul mood. She might’ve had the slightest amount of sympathy for him, had he not betrayed her, lied to her, married her to his brother and thoroughly pissed her off in the process.

He placed the basket down on the table at the other side of the room. Looking up, Wrath raised a carefully groomed brow. Apparently, princes of Hell had beauty routines.

His mood was undetectable through his face, but the shadows that followed him gave it away, if only slightly. They were the same dark as a summer night; dark enough for comfort, but not the soulless black pitch she’d seen him wear so often. An interesting combination for a prince who seemed to care not a whit whether she lived or died after he’d gotten what he wanted.

Wrath pulled back the cloth covering the basket to reveal – food. A carefully curated selection of her favourites, smelling like they’d been plucked off the serving plates of the Sea & Vine.

She nearly salivated at the sight – the food she’d eaten in Hell had been a sore spot for her. Though nothing was wrong with it, it lacked the love of homemade food. The flavour that came with knowing that someone lovingly made every single bite. There were no laughing families who cooked here, no fathers to taste-test, or sisters to tease while they made sangria side by side.

“How on earth did you find this?” The words slipped out before she could correct herself. ‘Earth’ was perhaps not the right term, though she couldn’t truly tell where she was. Under, felt more accurate. Below.

He looked at her as if she was missing the obvious – and she was.

The food smelt like she was used to because it was what she was used to. The same recipes, made with the same care as every meal that came from the Sea & Vine kitchens.

Panic enveloped her faster than joy.

“Did you hurt them?” She hissed, desperately searching his appearance for any sign of violence. He was wearing black, that much was true, but either he cleaned up exceptionally well, or there was no blood to be found.

“Hurt them?” Wrath’s tone was even, but she could hear how he scoffed. The nerve, “No. I even paid for it.”

Her heart still beat fast enough to burst from her chest, so he continued, “Relax, witch. No harm has come to them, nor will it, if you comply with my brother’s terms.” There was no audible threat in his tone, but she knew it went without saying. Comply, be Pride’s blooded wife, or her family would receive the same fate as Vittoria. It hurt to even think about, however brief the thought was.

She was going to throw something right at his beautiful, awful face. Maybe the basket, once she was finished devouring her favourites. Wrath would certainly look ridiculous enough with a basket slammed over his head, if he didn’t kill her first.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you fear.” Emilia blinked, unsure how to respond. He seemed to be lingering, if demon princes could ever linger. Why wouldn’t he leave?

She nodded, restraining a biting retort about how she was sure that fact was a deep disappointment for him. Remembering the odd rules of demonhood, she thanked him.

Still, he wouldn’t leave. Just stood there, watching her with those golden eyes that peered into her very soul, reaching inside and setting her alight. His gaze was unnerving.

Her patience, which had thinned dramatically since becoming a co-ruler of Hell, waned, “Are you waiting for payment?”

He laughed. Actually laughed. A short, biting sound, but a laugh nonetheless.

“I could smell your foul mood from my own House. Perhaps this will appease you.”

Appease her. As if it were that simple. As if he hadn’t tricked her, lied to her by omission, made her into an even greater fool than the one she was.

“Perhaps if you deigned to be truthful, I would be more polite.” Lies, but worth a try. If only he would tell her something, anything by way of explanation. Even if it was brutally cruel and benefitting a member of the Wicked. Anything but the agony of anticipation.

Apparently this evening was full of more surprises, because Wrath then pulled out a chair, and gestured for her to sit down, like they weren’t sworn enemies. The thought of a biting retort was attractive, but the smell of food was too much. The scent of all her favourites, food she’d spent hours labouring over in the past, wafted towards her like an irresistible gift.

The basket held everything she dreamt of. Wrath laid the table with his harvest as she tried not to gape at the sight. Twin glasses of sangria, somehow still delightfully cold. The comforting smell of garlic and fresh herbs permeated the air. Plates piled high with a mix of all her favourite things: a selection of antipasto, a side plate of bruschetta, a bowl of pasta, and a small dish of cannoli. If she closed her eyes, and forgot the presence of the prince in front of her, she could picture being back home, surrounded by her family and loved ones. If she thought hard enough, she could faintly smell Vittoria’s favourite perfume, the one she made for herself.

When she opened her eyes, the dream faded away, and there was only Wrath sitting across from her. Despite all the effort she presumed he must’ve taken to fetch the food, he sat watching like he thought it was attack him. Or she would. A laugh escaped her lips, almost hysterical, at the situation. Her, Queen of Hell, sat with her husband’s brother, another demon prince, as they ate food from her family’s restaurant. Comical, if disturbing.

“It won’t bite,” She said, eagerly helping herself to a plate. His eyes flickered with the promise of his bite, and she fought to keep any sign of her reaction off her face. Now was not the time to think of his kiss, or goddess forbid, his tongue. Watching carefully, he followed suit, piling his plate high with a mirror of her own. If she didn’t know the strength that lurked beneath that bronze skin and manicured hands, she would’ve called it sweet.

The food was – the food was heavenly. The taste of home, the love of her family, the promise of safety offered in those few bites brought her more joy than she thought possible. She wanted to stretch out the meal forever, as long as time would permit. If this was the last time she would taste such heaven, she wanted to remember it.

Despite her anger at the demon sitting across from her, curiosity embedded itself in her mind. How could he have known? How could he have known this was exactly what she needed, what her soul craved? Just as he’d done with the orange blossoms after Lust, he’d somehow known her mind and soul needing nourishment, and brought it as a gift to her door. Perhaps there would be a price to be paid, someday, but for now, her happiness was enough.

It was ridiculous and Nonna would’ve scolded her dearly, but it was the first semblance of normal she’d had since signing her name over to Pride. The meal sent flashbacks of the time she’d spent after Lust had invaded her mind; the days she’d spent lying in bed, a stranger in her own body, while Wrath sat like a comforting guardian demon. They hadn’t spoken, but he’d delivered her meals thrice daily, and never left her side unless to fetch her clothes from his mysterious source, or to give her privacy if she’d asked. He’d even brought her reading materials, though they were filled with battle strategies, not the steamy romances she craved. At the time, she’d thought it was a sign that maybe, just maybe, Wrath was different. Now, she only felt the white-hot flush of shame. Her appetite faded, and she pushed the plate away.

He catalogued her change in mood with a barely perceptible nod of his head. Truly, she had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes she thought he was terrified for her, her witch-blood and mortal heart acting as a beacon for all those whom Pride had made an enemy. Sometimes she thought he wanted to kiss her until her lips were swollen and she begged him for release. Sometimes she thought her presence disgusted him to a never-ending degree. A mystery.

“You need to be careful,” He broke the silence with a warning, as if she treated Hell like a stroll along Sicilian streets.

“It would help if you told me anything.” She hated the petulant near-whine of her voice, but it couldn’t be helped. She had nothing and no-one in the world, but she needed an ally. Or, if she couldn’t have that, information would have to do.

“I’ve already told you too much.” Lies. Complete lies.

Her questioning had bored him, she assumed, as he stood up to go, leaving the remnants of their meal scattered around them. Wrath cast one last look at her before stalking out, taking the shadows with him.

Just as she was about to curse his name, she spotted a bouquet of orange blossoms on the dresser.

Bastard.

---

Let me know if you want to be added to my KOTW tag list!!

Tags: @shadowturtlesstuff @otome-azarada @chococannolii @beccalovesbooksstuff

#princewitch #kingdom of the wicked #prince wrath #emilia di carlo #emilia x wrath #my fics #kotw fic #the thought of wrath slithering up to her door like a fucking cat is SO funny to me you know hes going through it book 2

146 notes · View notes

tarantulas4davey · 3 years

Note

HELLO BESTIE I am currently having Ralbert Brainrot and you're the best person go come to for this, obviously,, so PLEASE share! I would like to hear about ufc albert or youtuber race, or dancing partners!! I love them smm

HI YES HELLO USING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO WRITE UFC FIGHTER AL PART 2 THANKS BABES

i just witnessed a literal crime and i’m Feeling The Rage (boxing judges at mma events can catch these hands) so here is. my brain on anger.

also the first half of this is pretty fight-talk heavy but the second half is more al/ralbert central so message me/send me an ask if i don’t explain something well enough <3

here is the ask i sent to @we-are-inevitable (thanks jac i’m in love with you mwah) and here is part 1 for this au if you haven’t read that one yet !!

also,,,,, this is fairly obvious. but trigger warning for violence/physical fighting, as well as blood. (it’s a rough gig y’all fjdhdb) oh and swearing but that’s pretty much just me LMAO

here i am, bein mad and writing ralbert. therapy time with chandler ig

OK SO

this is after his debut. duh. continuation

i think he’s probably 5 fights in with 5 wins. he’s been running people through, especially with four full camps after a short notice start, and he’s never even seen a decision in the ufc

let’s just say the hype train is moving FAST and it’s moving LOUD

everyone has to have those people that watch their fights just to see them lose, on top of the majority male fan base that have to have a little bit of toxic masculinity and homophobia in there

so there’s A LOT of people that are waiting for him and his hype train to get derailed. but there’s also a fair amount of fans, so you win some you lose some (the way i would die to see this be a real fighter pls)

now albert’s not always the most confident guy, and he’s never been cocky, but none of this shit gets to him. he’s got his coaches, he’s got his friends and he’s got race behind him. he knows he’s got the skills, and he’s got his support system, so who gives a shit what a bunch of cowards on the internet have to say?

and then they put him against someone known for his grappling and stamina. and the “it’s a wrap for dasilva!” bandwagon starts. it happens every time a rising striker and early knockout artist fights a well known grappler with any semblance of later round power (even if al has a background in wrestling and has gone 5 rounds and won outside of the ufc. it’s a bandwagon for a reason)

and it’s not Upsetting, it’s not really getting into his head in any way that’ll make him do worse, but it’s kinda pissing him off. which is bad for his opponent

the last person on earth you want to be fighting is an annoyed albert dasilva who thinks he has something to prove

he works his ass off in camp, and the press tour is a self-assured albert vs. a loudmouth who thinks he’s hot shit cause a few people on twitter think he’ll sweep

and, to be completely honest? it’s starting to look that way 2 rounds in.

it’s a 5 round fight, co-main event on a big card, and so far all al’s opponent has done is pinned him to the cage and kept him there. a few strikes worth anything - at least enough make al’s cheek bleed, no takedowns, which would at least give him some activity, and so submission attempts, so he can’t even gain any ground that way. he’s just- Stuck. and if THIS is how he loses, he’s gonna be pissed

the bell for the second round sounds, and you can actually see al’s chest heaving on camera as he walks to his corner - not because he’s tired or out of breath, but because he’s MAD, and fuck if he’s not going to do something about it

not only that, but he can not only see race and jack standing up by the cage - plus race’s expression, which is slightly annoyed and super anxious, which hurts his chest to think about - but he can hear them too

jack is yelling profanities, as per usual. he doesn’t that regardless of how the fight is going, but it’s less encouraging when you’re the one losing.

race though,,,, race isn’t really yelling, he’s more talking to himself than anything, but he’s close enough to cage and al knows him well enough to figure out what he’s saying. and if the muttered almost-prayers while he paces back and forth weren’t enough, the shiny gold engagement ring on race’s hand definitely is

round 3,,,, let’s just say it goes a little differently than the first 2 had gone.

he opens with a spinning back kick, of all fucking things, and that truly sets the pace

he’s the taller guy by a few inches, like usual, which makes his arms longer. the only reason crushing his against the cage worked is cause the guy he’s fighting cuts weight like a wrestler, so he’s easily got 20 pounds on albert come fight night

but once he finds his rhythm and starts throwing, he starts connecting too. he manages to stay out of range of his opponent and stay his comfortable distance to start t-ing off

this isn’t a one punch power ending. this isn’t a beautiful head kick, or a giant knee, or even just a clean right hook.

this is albert, who’s arms are starting to feel the 3rd round a little bit, hitting this guy with everything he has cause he refuses to lose this fight.

i mean- everyone watched him get up at the start of the round with a set jaw and a scary determined glint in his eye. he’s not a person you fuck with, and he’s definitely not a person you publicly ridicule before being locked in a cage to fight with

the guy he’s fighting is absolutely battered, but he manages to survive until round 4. the first of the championship rounds, something al’s never seen in a ufc fight before, and it feels like the arena is holding its breath

so when al comes out and does the same thing as round 3 to better results - fight ending results - everyone’s a little shocked, honestly

the commentary team’s in disbelief, cause albert is NOT a slow starter, regardless of what this fight would tell you, and the fact he managed a win at all, let alone such a phenomenal one, is fucking astounding

he gets his hand raised, obviously, but the really interesting part is the post fight interview

“albert, man, what changed between round 2 and 3? what second gear did you find?”

“bro, i just— it was pissing me off, honestly. i don’t come in here to get pinned down for 25 minutes. and, y’know, my team gave me good advice. i had all the pieces, straight from the jump, someone just had to force me to put them in place…”

and then he looks over at race, who gives al one of those half grin, half smirks and winks at him, and al just chuckles to himself and finishes answering the question

“the thing that really forced my hand is race. i won’t get cheesy on you, but watching someone who loves and supports you through everything panic cause he’s scared for you - it’s a big motivator. everyone would figure out a lot more of my motivations if they went and watched race’s expressions back instead of whatever the hell i’m doing in here. he’s always been the brains, i’m just the brawn.”

and that’s a better answer than anyone was expecting, plus he’s just had the fight of a lifetime that’s probably earned him a title shot, so he’s done soon after that and gets to have his little in-cage celebration

he hugs his team and jack, who razzes him a little bit as per usual, and makes some dumb quip about going over tapes later like he’s a coach. and then comes race

he hugs him, all tender and cute and also very sweaty cause That’s How It Works, and the camera’s focused on him, so they can tell they’re whispering back and forth. but there’s no mics on them, so what’s said is missed entirely on the audience, but it’s their usual cheesy, in love mess

“congrats, baby. i’m proud of you.”

“oh please. it was 90% you anyway. i meant what i said, it wasn’t just for the cameras.”

“i know that. i’m gonna have to get you back somehow for telling everyone to go back and watch my awful anxious expression. i’ll think of something.”

“i’m sure you will, sweetheart.”

and then al does that awful, adorable lil nose bump thing, and then kisses race. and then jack covers his eyes and whines until they stop like the actual 12 year old boy he is inside

and then they leave the octagon, race and al holding hands, and al throws his arm over jack’s shoulder and shoves his head down and pushes him, cause even though he was just in a literal cage match he’s still a roughhousing teenager at heart

and he’s got interviews and press shit that separates him from his people, and he’s gotta slide that bulletproof mask back down over all the happy and in love shit he’s feeling so he can not smile like an idiot on camera constantly

but every once in awhile he’ll catch jack giving him the finger and laugh before returning it below view of the camera

or he’ll catch race’s eye from where he’s standing behind all the studio lights and do a little wave under the camera and return the wink from earlier, and the unbothered fighter facade will crack a little bit

but he’s not completely convinced that’s such a bad thing

GOD THIS POST IS SO MUCH LONGER THEN I MEANT IT TO BE IM SORRY

but Yeah. Them.

i love this au a helleva lot more than i should but that’s Fine cause i’ve got thoughts for days on it

25 notes · View notes

vs-redemption · 4 years

Note

Hey, im not sure if your requests are open if not ignore this lol but do you think you can do a part two of finding out their unknown child is/was being abused by their mother with Shouto and any other character you would like? (May I ask if Shouto's child could be a girl if it's not too much? Im soft when it comes to him having a daughter🥺) Sorry for being a bother if requests are closed. I can't find where it says if it is or not. Thank you!❤

From Cindy: I’ve written so many of these now! I hope they’re not getting repetitive. It was really nice writing Todoroki (I’ve been thinking about him with a kid recently anyway) And I chose Dabi as the second character because the only other villain I did this scenario for was Shigaraki.

A Surprise Meeting (Todoroki and Dabi meet their abused child)

You can read the same scenario but with Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa HERE You can read the same Scenario with Hawks, Fatgum and Shigaraki HERE

Warning:⚠️Angst, Child Abuse, mentions of murder/killing⚠️

Shoto Todoroki

Winter was in full effect as Shoto made his way home after his evening patrols. There was a thin layer of snow covering the ground already, and with the rate in which the white fluff was currently coming down, he predicted there would be even more to trudge through when he went to work in the morning. He decides to stop into the nearest convenience store to pick up something hot to eat. He wasn’t particularly cold since he was able to warm himself up pretty well with his quirk, but the pangs of hunger after a long day of work could not be ignored. He sighs in disappointment when he sees that the yakisoba bread is out of stock before going up to the counter and asking for a few steamed meat buns out of the glass case next to the register.

After purchasing his snack he went back outside into the snowy weather to continue his journey home. The sun had already set, so he took his time to enjoy the city streets which were decorated with holiday lights. A small bubble of excitement formed in his chest as he remembered the Christmas party he’d been invited to by one of his classmates from his days back in UA. After graduation, they’d all split up to start their own agencies around the country, so they tried to do something fun once a year as an excuse to see each other again and catch up.

“Mommy, can I have one of those?” the tiny voice pulls Shoto from his day dreaming and he looks across the street to see a mother and daughter making their way through the snow. The girl was really young, no more than five or six years old.

“No!” the mother’s answer comes out harsh and the little girl slumps her head.

“Okay,” the girl sighs and they continue walking. Shoto keeps watching them for moment just out of habit. After all, he was a pro-hero, so it was natural for him to be concerned over a woman and her child waking around after dark.

“Hurry! Up!” The mom suddenly snaps and yanks the daughter forward by the arm. The aggressive behavior makes Shoto flinch, especially when the little girl stumbles over her clunky snow boots and loses her footing. He knew parents lost patience with their children sometimes, but he couldn’t help the memories of his own childhood that resurfaced when he saw things like that.

“Sorry mommy,” the girl yelps when the woman pulls her back up. “But my feet are getting cold.”

“I don’t care if your feet are cold,” the mother lowers her voice. “Walk faster or I’m just going to leave you here in the snow to freeze! What do you think about that?”

Something about the woman’s voice was familiar to Shoto, but he couldn’t see who she was due to the fact she was bundled up in her coat and scarf. The way she treated her child, however, left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to interfere though.

“No, please don’t leave me!” The little girl begins to sniffle and struggle harder to keep up with the mother’s pace. She grabs on to the woman’s coat so that she won’t get left behind.

“Stop hanging on me!” The woman whirls around and raises her hand angrily above her head. Shoto can’t stop himself from crossing the street to step in when he sees this. Unfortunately, he doesn’t make it in time to stop the woman from slapping the child, causing her to fall back into the snow while cupping her stinging cheek in her hands.

“Excuse me,” Shoto wasn’t even sure what to say. “Is everything all right?”

“Mind your own business!” The woman turns to face him but her eyes go wide when she sees who’d approached her. Shoto reels back in surprise as well. He knew this woman. He’d been in a relationship with her years ago, but she’d disappeared one day without ever saying why.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Shoto felt extremely confused. “What happened?”

“I got pregnant,” she shrugs as if that weren’t a huge deal. Shoto’s eyes glance back to the tiny girl who had finally stood up and brushed the snow off her pants. She looks up at him and he feels the air leave his lungs. Her watery eyes were identical to his, and her hair was white with just a single lock in the front which was the same color as her mother’s. He had no idea what to do or say, so he simply reaches into the grocery bag to take out a hot meat bun to hand to her. She snatches up the food eagerly and starts munching away while Shoto looks back at his ex.

“What didn’t you tell me?” He asks, trying to keep all his emotions in check as he processes the information.

“Because I had plans for how I wanted to raise her,” the mother gestures to the girl. “And I didn’t want you to stop me. The people in your family tend to have powerful quirks. I wanted to capitalize on that, and I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

Flashbacks of the torturous trainings Endeavor had put him through as a child played in Shoto’s mind and he found himself getting angry. Just what had this woman done to the daughter he’d never even known about?

“Oh, calm down.” She says, noticing the change in the atmosphere. “It all backfired on me anyway. The girl got her quirk a few months ago and it’s nowhere near as powerful as yours or your father’s. Why do you think I’m back in town? I was planning on dropping her off on your doorstep soon anyway.” Shoto looks back at his little girl, sadness and rage consuming him. It hurt to know that she’d suffered with such a heartless parent for so long, just as he had.

“How could you talk like that about your own child?” Shoto asks, looking back at the mother.

“Don’t waste your time trying to make me feel bad,” She crosses her arms over her chest. “If you want her, take her. Otherwise I’ll find an orphanage to drop her off at.” Shoto was quick to shoot down the second option as he reaches down to lift the girl into his arms and cradle her against his chest. He feels a surge of love chase away the negative feelings in his heart as the small girl snuggles against the warmth of his left side.

He exchanges contact information with the mother so that he could get ahold of her when it came time to do all the legal paperwork that would allow him to adopt his daughter. With her cooperation, hopefully the process would go smoothly.

“Can I have another meat bun?” The girl asks shyly has he makes his way home with her in his arms so she wouldn’t have to be in the snow anymore.

“Yes, you can.” Shoto hands her the entire bag. “From now on, you can have anything you want.”

Dabi

Dabi didn’t always hang out in back alleys in the middle of the night, but when he did it was because the rest of the League of Villains had driven him to a point where, if he didn’t go off to cool down somewhere, he was liable to send them all into early graves. If he was honest with himself, the idea wasn’t without merits. There wasn’t a single one of his criminal comrades that didn’t annoy the ever loving daylights out of him. He had the misfortune though of needing them to achieve his wish of fulfilling the doctrine envisioned by the hero killer, Stain. It was for that one single reason that he didn’t end them all.

His self-imposed solitude worked wonders for a short time. The coolness of the night felt good against the burned flesh on his face and arms, but it was quiet times like these when bitter memories tended to creep into his mind and remind him of the reason he was even in the condition he was. He hated how difficult it was to just get a single moment’s peace. If he wasn’t being nagged half to death by the league, his mind was torturing him with images of his messed up past. That was the real reason behind his burning hatred. Sure, he had no problem killing as many heroes as dared to cross his path, but there was only one life that would really calm the bloodlust that constantly consumed him.

The sound of soft footsteps alerts Dabi to the presence of someone approaching. They were trying and failing to be sneaky, but he pretends to be oblivious while using his peripherals to size up the intruder. He wanted to laugh when he gets a glimpse of the form of a young boy, probably no older than seven or eight. He decided to end the kid’s ridiculous ploy before he ended up embarrassing himself.

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to play in dark alleys, kid?” Dabi doesn’t even bother to look at the boy who’d froze as soon as he realized he’d been caught.

“My mom’s dead,” the boy snaps and Dabi notes the vengeful tone of his voice.

“That sucks,” he says in a way that clearly showed his disinterest. Recently, Dabi’s only victims had been the scum of society. They were people who he considered so useless he couldn’t even be bothered to let them live after rejecting their pleas to join the League of Villains. “If you’re looking for revenge, I doubt it was me who killed her. And if it was, trust me when I say you’re better off.”

“I know you didn’t kill her,” the boy sounded more confident now, “because I did.” The confession throws Dabi off just a little, and he finds himself intrigued.

“Wow, kid.” He says, still sounding dismissive. “That’s pretty messed up.”

“Not as messed up as being abandoned by your father before you’re even born, and then spending your entire childhood getting slapped around by a deadbeat mom!” The kid’s voice cracks in the middle of his rant, betraying the vulnerability he was trying to hide.

“Oh,” Dabi deadpans. He was done with this conversation now. The boy’s words were seeping into his brain and poking at old traumatic wounds that were better left forgotten. If this child was out looking to cut down his father in cold blood, that was something Dabi could unfortunately relate to and understand completely.

“Well,” he speaks again once the kid failed to take the hint that he should scram. “Bothering me isn’t going to help you. If you die right here in this alley, you’ll never get the chance to fight your old man.”

Suddenly, a wave of heat rolls through the air and the entire alley lights up in eerie blue light. The familiar glow finally elicits a response from Dabi who widens his eyes and finally turns to look at the boy directly. He doesn’t know what to think when he sees bright blue flames dancing in the boy’s palms and around his arms. In the light of the fire, Dabi notices the way the boy’s brilliant blue eyes stare him down with a predatory glare that he knew all too well. It was all evidence leading him to the conclusion that he’d accidentally gotten some poor soul pregnant during his promiscuous mid-teen years. He wasn’t going to bother asking the name of the kid’s mom, he probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.

“It looks like you really drew the short stick when it comes to parents, kid.” Dabi takes a few steps towards the boy whose fire only grows with intensity the closer he gets. “I’m not sure if this’ll make you feel any better, but I can’t be blamed for abandoning someone I never knew existed.” The boy tenses up, looking unsure about what Dabi was trying to say.

“If you knew, would you’ve stayed?” He asks through clenched teeth.

“Probably not,” Dabi admits shamelessly. He kept his tone even although there was an inkling of jealousy worming its way up his spine. The boy had been wielding his blue flames for a decent amount of time now, with no hint that he was taking any damage. When Dabi had been his age, he’d already had permanent skin and nerve damage from the way his sweltering flames tore at his own body.

“You’re a monster!” The boy accuses before waving his arm to send a billowing blast of fire at his father. Dabi countered with his own burst of blue flames that knocked the boy right off his feet and onto his back. The boy scrambled to back away, but Dabi was looming menacingly over him in the blink of an eye.

“I’ve been called worse,” the villain says flatly while placing his boot on the boy’s stomach to keep him from getting away. He leans down so that his son could look into his face and understand the mistake he’d made by coming after him.

“Are you going to kill me?” the boy asks while trying to push Dabi’s foot off of him so he could breathe more comfortably.

“No,” the answer slips out before Dabi can even consider the alternative. “Not unless you try to threaten me again.” He puts a little more pressure onto his foot causing the boy to winch in discomfort. “That’s why you’re going to get out of here and never come looking for me again. You got that?” The boy nods his head obediently and Dabi removes his boot.

“I’ve got nothing to offer you,” he admits while the boy scrambles back to his feet. “Except more of the same miserable existence you’ve known until now.” The boy opens his mouth to speak, the confidence he’d shown before was long gone, but Dabi didn’t want to hear his pleading.

“Get out of here,” he allows his self-destructive flames to erupt all over his body, “now.” The boy didn’t need to be told twice. He understood the threat. He turned on his heel and ran from the alley. Dabi watched the retreating form of his son until he disappeared into the night. He takes a second to stare down at his scared hands as his brain comes to terms with what just happened. He now knew that he had a child out there in the world, but maybe it was best to tuck that knowledge away with the rest of the memories he tried so desperately to suppress. At the end of the day, it didn’t really change anything anyway.

#Shoto Todoroki #Bnha Dabi #Dabi #Toya Todoroki #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha #mha #writing requests #Cindy's Writing

173 notes · View notes

genshinconfessions · 3 years

Note

I'd love to pull for Thoma, Zhongli, Kazuha, and Xiao when they rerun, and certain new "leaked" characters... too bad I don't have loads of money to drop into the game, and MiHiYo is so stingy with events and dailies/endgame content that it won't compensate for poor rng mechanics. It's endlessly frustrating and I wish I could get a refund for what I *did* already put in because in the end it got me ONE five-star, for $120. ONE. The only reason I stick around now is to get my money's worth in time and to sometimes play with a friend. I am so sick of everything being locked behind resin. "No more game for you unless you open your wallet, and lmao your chances of getting the artifacts or things you need to progress are abysmal even then." This game is predatory and it has made me hate MiHiYo.

huh. u realize ur criticizing the game after having ridiculous expectations right? do u even hear urself. "oh i want all of these 5 stars even though the game is totally honest about how many wishes it takes to get a guaranteed banner character and 5 stars are supposed to be rare but i want them to drop like hot cakes into my hands". if you could do math youd know that it costs $365 for a guaranteed banner character. it takes 180 pulls to get a banner character for sure if you're really unlucky and if you buy that much in primogems it would cost around $365. how do i know that you may ask?? oh because genshins very honest and open about how the wish mechanics work and how much everything costs and i have a brain?? like you spent your own money thats on you did you expect to get 5 five stars or something> the five stars are supposed to be rare with a base drop rate of 0.67% (once again genshin tells us these probabilities as they are open about it). nobody is supposed to have every single 5 star they want with little effort otherwise they wouldnt be rare and the game wouldnt be fun if you effortlessly get what you want? maybe youre jealous of whales who DO have everything they want but theyre also putting in a LOT of money so thats their choice, it isnt just being handed to them. also do you even play genshin?? did you see their livestream for the upcoming update?? i've been playing since this game launched and im sick of all you new players. genshin consistently has a LOT of events with a lot of primogems and theyre all different with so much variety and fun to play. i literally hadnt played in like 2 weeks because of school and played this week and gathered like 30 wishes in one week just from all the gifts they gave and the rewards from the new event. and just from like actually playing the game?? i dont play a crazy amount because i dont have time so its hard for me to farm primos, but if i wanted to they exist in excess throughout the game if youre playing at a normal rate and not speedrunning everything. if youre speedrunning this game just for primos and youre only looking to play so you can get every single character you want and you have no other interest in the content, then just quit. nobody wants to hear you whining, the rest of us are -playing this game as a de-stresser or because its beautiful and we appreciate the efforts of the developers. i want certain characters too so i understand the frustration. i wanted hu tao, eula, childe, and ayaka and of those i only got ayaka. and i dont even like ayaka as much as the others, i just needed a dps to go well with my mona. so i really dont have any 5 stars that i REALLy wanted in this game. however im happy playing and ive learned to enjoy every character... like a normal person?? im playing this game for fun and i understand how probability works so itd be stupid to rage quit just because i didnt get all of the five stars i really wanted.

long story short, life is full of worse hardships than not getting every single five star you want in genshin. youre not gonna get everything you want in life and you definitely wont when theres a 0.67 probability of getting it and its SUPPOSED to be rare. if you wanna complain about how unfair a gacha game is then go cry to someone who cares idk.

- keith

lol sorry about your spending habits but mihoyo ain’t forcing you to spend jack. look, i want huxiaobedo too but guess what? i’m not pulling for hu tao during her rerun. why? well, i’m f2p and know how to prioritize my primos. i’m guaranteed for albedo and with all the amazing events with many amazing rewards, i’ll be guaranteed for xiao before he reruns as well, and they’re the only two i super want as of now. also, i know for sure that i won’t be able to give both hu tao AND xiao good weapons, so i’d rather just save for hu tao’s second rerun later lmfao.

i do apologize if you have a genuine problem with gambling addiction, but instead of complaining about it to us (when we’ve always made it very clear that we support mihoyo), i suggest getting real help.

- katheryne from liyue

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin confessions #genshin headcanons

10 notes · View notes

nalgenewhore · 3 years

Text

storm

essar x lorcan, alternate canon au, domestic fluff, word count: 1556

Outside, the storm rages. The windows and cupboard doors rattle, the noise forcing tension to crawl up her spine. Essar sighs softly and turns over again, just as a clap of thunder erupts in the skies above. The female startles, immediately reaching for her bedmate.

As she stretches towards him, she hesitates, her eyes tracking over his slumbering face. He’s been so tired lately, what with all their preparations for the winter. She shouldn’t bother him, she thinks. With another sigh, Essar returns to her spot and tucks her hands beneath her pillow. She closes her eyes, but the flash of lightning is bright and they open a moment later.

She curses into her pillow, frowning in annoyance. Essar peeks out at her mate, who has hardly moved, except to rub the tip of his nose and wrinkle his brow. She turns her head and watches him, silent. Something in her chest calms as she continues staring at Lorcan, but she knows that sleep will still evade her. Carefully, the Fae gets up from her bed and pads across the mat-covered floor to the door of their bedroom.

Essar slips through the door and walks down the hall, Lorcan’s shirt falling to her mid-thighs. Her bright eyes trail over their cosy cabin, seeing the fire that glows in the coals of their fireplace. Before it, on a soft wolf pelt rug, her clothes are still laying rumpled from their… frenzy. A smirk pulls at her plump lips and Essar scurries into the kitchen, her body recalling his warmth. After her tea, she’ll curl up next to him and his presence will soothe her back to sleep.

The storm attempts to shake the house, but it doesn’t bother her as much anymore. Essar feeds kindling and larger pieces of wood into the oven, summoning her flame to set it alight. The heavy kettle is still halfway full, so she won’t need to fetch water for it. She puts it down on the metal surface and takes a mug down from the shelf.

She spins to the island counter, where they keep a collection of various everyday dried herbs to make their drinks. There’s a hand-sized mortar and pestle next to the collection. Essars plucks a small jar from the neat row and pries the cork off with an audible ‘pop’. She tilts it to the side, trying to determine how much of the tea blend is left.

A week or so ago, they traveled to the nearest village to stock up on supplies that were hard to come by, like specialty dried flowers and roots, dairy products like butter and a dozen pints of goat milk, eggs, flour, and sugar too. Their pantry is well stocked and Essar knows they don’t need to worry about starving over the colder months.

She takes a small linen bag and shakes some of the blend into it, then ties the drawstring closing shut and puts it in her cup. While she waits for the kettle to boil, Essar keeps her eye on the weather outside, watching it whip at their sheet-covered crops. A slight frown graces her brow. She doesn’t like to see their plants so abused.

It doesn’t take long for the kettle to boil. When its steam billows in the air, Essar lifts it off of the stove and carefully fills her cup a few centimetres beneath the rim. Then she lets it steep for a few moments as she hunts for the honey. She knows her love has hidden it somewhere. It’s a joking habit of theirs, wanting to keep the sticky-sweet treat all for themselves.

Essar finds the jar quickly and takes the teabag out. As she stirs in some honey, she hears steady footsteps tracking across the wood floor, made audible so that she isn’t scared moments later. Two big, tattoo-covered arms circle around her waist and his head comes down to rest his face in the crook of her shoulder. “Essar,” Lorcan grumbles, clearly displeased from waking up to an empty bed. He sniffs and presses his lips to the curve of her neck, his lips brushing against her, “S’matter, love?”

“Nothing,” she murmurs back, resting her free hand on his forearm. “Just can’t sleep. The storm.” Essar stirs in her honey and turns to look at him. Lorcan’s eyes are shut and she grins, leaning back against him. She loves the way his shoulders curl around her, protecting her.

He hums, “Why didn’t’cha wake me?”

“You… you were sleeping. And you’ve been working so hard lately.” Heat blooms across her crescent-shaped cheeks, knowing that he’ll think her reasons ridiculous. The male leaps at chances to comfort her and fuss over her. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Lorcan gently nips at her soft brown skin, his elongated canines scratching harder than the others. “You could never bother me, Tangaroa.”

She smiles and turns her head to kiss his temple, “Alright, darling. Would you like some tea?”

He sighs through his nose and lifts his head, humming lowly. “No, s’alright. Just wondered where ya were.” Lorcan taps Essar’s hip so she’ll turn and she does, her tea cupped between both hands. Lovingly, with such care, he brushes her wavy hair back and kisses her forehead, “Is it the storm?” His mate has never taken well to them. Storms don’t frighten her, per se, they simply disrupt her sleep and are a tiresome, stress-inducing nuisance.

Essar nods, “Yes. Come sit with me.” She reaches behind her to take one of his hands and neatly spins out of his arms, leading him to their living room. They bypass the large couch in favour of the armchair. It’s a snug fit, what with Lorcan’s towering stature. Essar is not a small being either – the top of her head comes just past his chin. Her legs are across his lap, her backside on the cushion beside his left thigh. Lorcan rests a hand on her thigh and eases his other arm around her waist, his fingers splayed across her ribcage.

She laughs when she sees his eyelids drooping and kisses the bridge of his nose, “Tired, are we?”

He smiles softly and nods. Blinking hard a few times, Lorcan sits up straight and strokes his thumb over her side as Essar sips on her sweetened tea. “Gimme a sip,” he implores her, nudging his chin towards her mug.

Essar smirks and arches a brow up while she moves her drink away from him. “Thought you said you didn’t want any.”

His grin widens, showing her those dishy dimples that they both know she’s weak for. “Just a wee bit, my love.” She rolls her eyes and concedes, letting him have a taste. In thanks, Lorcan kisses the curve of her shoulder before resting his chin atop her head.

She nestles into him and clicks her tongue, “Ya big thug. Stealing your mate’s tea. How shameful.”

Lorcan huffs a laugh through his nose and winds his fingers through her hair, his neat nails scratching her scalp. Essar melts instantly, near purring as her eyes become hooded and gently slip shut. Unseen by her, the male smiles a pleased smile, pride sparking in his chest at the sight of the female he adores happy under his care. Her lashes flutter as she opens her eyes, staying curled where she is, and finishes her tea slowly.

He takes her empty mug and puts it on the end table, right next to a stack of books. “Feeling ready to sleep now?” Lorcan asks her softly, petting her hair gently. Essar hums and kisses the underside of his jaw.

“Yes, but… only if you… carry me,” she whispers, voice drowsy and sweet.

“Of course,” Lorcan tells her, hooking his arm beneath her knees and the other across her shoulders. He cradles her against his chest and stands smoothly, walking across the cabin. The storm seems to have lessened in its intensity, the strikes of lightning softer, the rolling of thunder gentler.

He bumps the door open with his hip and kicks it shut, remembering to not use full force. Essar is seconds away from true slumber, he can feel it as she becomes heavier and heavier in his arms, relaxing into him. He won’t do anything to jeopardise her rest.

The layered blankets and quilts on their bed are rumpled, pushed to the foot of the mattress. Lorcan sets Essar down and eases himself beside her. She makes a noise in the back of her throat and shifts closer to him as he pulls the covers over them.

Essar fits herself against him, stretching her arm across his waist and hitching her leg over his hip. Her head is rested against his chest. Lorcan runs his hand down her side and fits his hand in cradle above her hip, making the shirt she’s wearing bunch up. He rubs his thumb over her waist and she hums again, shifting so that her chest is cushioned against his.

He buries his face in her hair, smelling her gentle sea salt and tiare blossom scent. “I love you, Ess.”

More asleep than not, his mate mumbles an incomprehensible jumble of words, but he smiles all the same, knowing exactly what she’s saying. With all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

<3<3<3

an: i realise i dont have a taglist for this so......im going to tag a couple people who i know appreciate essar n lorcan <3 let me know if u want to b added for future writings !

@sassyhobbits @hellasblessed @ladyverena

#essar x lorcan #essar #lorcan salvaterre #isa writes #nalgenewhore #also essar is tall because ! it's ! what ! she ! deserves !

41 notes · View notes

ketchup-monthly · 3 years

Text

Sanders Sides D&D 2

Ooh fresh take: Jan is virge’s patron and that’s why there’s beef

Also: Jan is some sort of fae related being

Jan: i need you to do something for me Virgil: no Janus: that's not how this works!! Virgil: watch me :P

Okay so I was thinking of Patton as a cleric cuz ooh healer however, Patton as a Druid makes me so happy

I want logan to have Rage

(Also that could tie nicely in an arc about Logan learning to accept feelings)

but barbarian logan is going to be a scholar again and is gonna be smort

bc hes logan. he cant be not smart

Oh I figured he’d be the bbeg that eventually joins the party (hurt/comfort baybee!)(Remus)

he was the bbeg but then joined the party as a bardbarian or just a bard

plus, actual bard who accidentally casts vicious mockery instead of bardic inspiration

Side note: please include a scene where Remus attempts to seduce the dragon

also with this second au, i can start them at like level 5 so people can multiclass

Pat as cleric/druid

gasp logan as artificer/barbarian

janus sorcerer/rogue

because basically everything but alchemist would work well with barbarian, but alchemist feels very Logan

bc mad scientist being actually mad

alchemist logan making an experimental potion and going "here im not sure what this does but im sure its fine! someone drink it"

Remus does it voluntarily, but Logan usually tries to get Roman to drink it

Virgil will occasionally drink it when he's on his last legs and is just like.....100% done with the party

remus as a wild magic path barbarian and just fucking teleporting or doing something equally ridiculous whenever he rages

Oh my god Remus with rage would be a force to be reckoned with

You gotta describe the first time he goes into a rage really dramatically

obviously virgil is trying to "escape" his patron, Janus (really just do whatever he says to not do out of spite)

Eldritch knight roman

Feywild warlock virgil

hey so in the second d&d au, should roman and remus be actual full siblings but like remus went darkside and like romans just trying to get back at him for putting a dark stain on the family name

hey hey hey what about warforged Logan? (essentially a robot)(so like "i dont feel anything" becoming real)

okay hear me out. elf roman and elf base simic hybrid remus. so like maybe the reason remus went darkside was experimentation? so like. hes elf but special

FALLEN AASIMAR VIRGIL

virgil just transforming in the middle of a combat scenario and like his eyes turn into black pits and flightless skeletal wings appear on his back and like everyone near him has to make a charisma check and like he deals extra necrotic damage

Pat is the one human stuck in a band of misfits

so with it, roman would be a full elf, and remus would be an elf that has tentacles bc octopus

So robot logan

i meant literally he doesnt feel anything

like he has all the emotions, but he doesnt physically feel the need to like eat or sleep or stuff like that

he just.....he pretend he don't have the feelings.....but he do.....he feel so much and he hides it all in his littol mechanical heart <3

plus......if he warforged, then like.....AC huge

he stands in front of friends.....he protecc...."no, i don't have feelings, i am physically incapable of affection" but he do!! he do! he take hits for them because he do!! he care so much

Bro he spouts all this and then he uses a reaction to dive in front of someone and everyone’s just like oh

LIKE ROMAN STILL BEING MEAN TO LO BC HE THINKS HE DOESNT HAVE FEELINGS BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A HEART BUT HE DOES

hey hey everyone needs to grow

and logan standing up for himself and other people stepping in and saying no stop thats not right

plus if canon wont give me roman facing the consequences of his actions towards Logan......

but also Roman learning how to properly handle his own emotions and how he interacts with others

logan who doesn't view himself as anything more than a machine to be useful to others

the party giving logan love and affection until he slowly learns his own worth as a person

Roman and Logan not getting along (maybe Roman has a Lore reason to distrust Warforged, maybe not) and slowly learning to trust each other

when Logan is feeling real down or having some issue, Roman actually comes through to help him, showing how far both characters have come

Okay yes but also can we please give Roman more confidence than canon? Like I’m sooooo sick of low self esteem being played for laughs or just being really really sad

this boy is going on a mission and will slap his brother upside the head and tell him to shut tf up remus youre not a monster just come back home and he will do it alone if need be

OKAY SO WHAT IF HE ORIGINALLY WENT ON THE QUEST JUST TO STOP REMUS ONCE AND FOR ALL BC ROMAN THOUGHT HE WAS A MONSTER, BUT ALONG THE WAY, AND AFTER LOGAN, HE CAME TO REALIZE THAT NO, JUST BECAUSE REMUS (AND LOGAN) ARE DIFFERENT, THEY ARENT MONSTERS, JUST DIFFERENT

AND LIKE IN THE FINAL PUSH TO MAKE REMUS JOIN BACK WITH HIS BROTHER, ROMAN IS PROJECTING HIS OWN FEELINGS ONTO REMUS AND EVERYONE IS LIKE WOW BRO YOU GOOD THERE, BUT ITS A BIG MOMENT FOR LOGAN, ROMAN, AND REMUS

im unsure as to how, but it happened when he was an older teen/young adult. a simic scientist either picked him (read: kidnapped), or remus volunteered (potentially to escape court life, unaware what exactly the experiment was going to do to him physically

bc also, remus and roman are royalty

so like. how best to get at the nobes/royalty/rich famous people than by turning their kid into a monster

wait, wait, wait, because i'm lowkey a sucker for this trope, but i'm not sure if it fits Remus: the experiments left him with some fairly significant physical pain/uncontrolled magical reactions. through some combo of trying to deal with that and trying find a cure for his pain, he keeps like....absolutely wrecking random towns on accident but also deliberately wrecking certain places looking for either a) vengeance on the guy(s) responsible or b) someone who can make the pain stop

SO LIKE. WILD MAGIC BARBARIAN DOING WEIRD SHIT TO HIM WHENEVER HE RAGES

AND LOGAN COULD MAYBE HELP WITH THE PAIN AND SHIT

BC ALCHEMY

Yknow, for simplification purposes, we could say the True Bbeg just gave Remus lycanthropy and Remus hasn’t managed to control it yet

lycanthropy but simic shit?

Mr. I-Don't-Have-Feelings sees the poor dude in pain and also Roman in emotional pain from seeing his brother in pain and is absolutely like "i must resolve this like right now, immediately" because he definitely doesn't hate seeing his friend suffering, or his friend's brother whom he's just met

he definitely doesn't relate at all to the idea of someone else shaping your body and absolutely does not sympathize with Remus's plight

i was thinking the grappling thing and either manta glide or the ability to breathe underwater for the simic stuff, but like he doesnt have control over the tentacles yet?

Manta glide seems like we could have fun battle scenes

he just jumps off a cliff to avoid mushy talk/dealing with his actions/roman

Roman: Remus just because you're a monster and though i wish i was an only child-- Remus, jumping off a cliff: byyeeeeee Patton: Roman, look what you did! Virgil: dammit jan what did you do? Janus: why do you think i had anything to do with that? im a fae, not a genie Logan, thinking: what an asshole. i wish i could do that

oh my god Logan always being tired mentally bc he cant sleep

Oh my gosh I love that. So Remus got kidnapped super young, (from royal family) they never found him, as a result Roman had to grow up super fast (side effect: lowkey inconsiderate and forgets to ask for others input). Meanwhile, Remus was experimented on by True Bbeg and came out with some trauma and super cool additives

yep! chronic pain and ptsd and all sorts of other shit!

so like, simic hybrids are usually created when they're adults. but what if the true bbeg decided to go younger to see what would happen, and thats why remus has chronic pain and stuff

he was still growing when his genes were spliced, so hes dealing with growth plates shifting and his body maturing and puberty and body changes and stuff

Pat is going to have a lighthearted story. Im saying that now. Hes the one without all the baggage

Sure, but his parents have to lowkey be the really kind people who are surprisingly always down for violence

everyone: multiple crises Pat: y'all need help Pat: love and affection in spades for his little band of misfits

Patton (which I think would be pretty simple, honestly he might just see danger and jump in and suddenly everyone in the party has Feelings)

Logan

Mhm. So how did he grow up? Was he just poof created? Wait

What if he was created by the king?

To make up for remuss disappearance

wait, wait....angst......he was created to fight (hence the barbarian stuff) but alchemy is his real passion

wait so like. a second son???

hes there to replace remus?

Yea! (But like in a sympathetic grief way) But that causes a bit of a complex in Roman and ergo Roman and Logan have a bit of a beef

okay so like. hes there to be a companion for roman, and like take remus' place, even though hes not actually in line for the throne?

LOGAN AS A KNIGHT

and just......the conflict of being created for a specific purpose (plus being, you know, robot and technically incapable of deviated from said purpose) vs the fact that he actually does have independent consciousness and like....wants to live life for himself

the parents made Logan a barbarian in hopes that him and Roman would be safe

okay. so logan was created by the king with the sole purpose to take remus' place as romans brother/companion, and to be his like guard? protector? and fight, but logan wants to be an alchemist and study shit

wait, wait, wait.....thinks about Asimov's Laws

he.....his first operative is protect (specifically protect Roman)

oh man. so hes literally just a shield

his second level operative is just like.....care for Roman's emotional well-being, but he doesn't really know emotions because he was kinda just spawned and nobody told him how

and he just....kind of....lets Roman treat him like garbage and take all his grief out on him because he's staunchly in denial of both having feelings or knowing how they work

Anyway Yea so Logan created by royal family in place of Remus which created angst between the two “brothers” and identity issues in Logan. Their arcs are learning how to healthily process emotions plus Roman apology and Logan commits to alchemy

So big question: why did virge make a deal?

Tricked

he gave janus his name

and instead of janus like killing him or whatever the fae do to people who break the rules of dealing with the fae, jan was like. hey. i'll give you magic, but do what i say

Janus is lawful neutral, but leans towards being selfish

hes self serving, but he has a strong set of morals and rules he follows

Tho I want to Virgil to also not be pushover so let’s say loophole happened and Jan has to stay with virge (hence why Jan is a part of the party)

okay so a couple of the rules are dont give a fae your true name and don't try to figure out their true name

what if virgil accidentally gave up part of his true name, and got stuck in the deal, but then figured out janus' true name

so in the same vein that janus had control over virgil, virgil now has more control over janus

he still gets his magic from janus, so he cant break free completely, but virgil has more freedom and can occasionally tell janus what to do or when to shove it

there should a running gag where virge can explain how he learned Jan’s true name but Jan can make something loudly censor him every time

(he learned his name bc once he heard janus practicing his evil genius voice and talking to himself in the mirror and janus said his true name)

so maybe janus sent virgil on the quest to protect a town or stop something related to remus, but virgil dragged him along

he might just be trying to protect a town thats close to a ley line, or something fae-related, and they just happen upon the whole thing

janus is selfish. but lawful vs chaotic is where he comes through, in morals vs doing whatever. janus has a strong set of loyalties to the fae, and to himself

so like....Remus is just too close to Jan's stuff and he wants to take him down

Virgil is just like....exhausted and said "fine, but if i gotta do this, you're coming, too"

or at least figure out a way to protect his place, even if it doesnt mean fully taking out remus. just moving him would work for jan

Janus: virgilllllllllll hes going to mess up my magic storage locker Virgil: Jan, its empty Janus: but its mine

Yea. Remus attacks a city away from the fae: Jan: Yknow I’m gonna sit this one out Virge: oh no you don’t, get up

Janus vs Janice

so his real name is Janus, but Virgil calls him Janice

Virgil: This is Janice Janice: with a “U-S” Virgil: mhm, sure Jan

I'm a big fan of just like any of the old theory name being various aliases for Jan

Damien, Dante, Ethan, Declan, etc, etc

#ss d&d 2

7 notes · View notes

chocolate-parfait · 4 years

Note

Okay, I just got myself a tumblr account to ask for this Ikémen Vampire scenario, because the world needs this. Can you do one where the MC questions Mozart about his song "Leck mich im Arsch" (Ger. for "Kiss my ass" (lit. Lick me in the ass). I just can't imagine IkéVamp Mozart composing something like this so please be creative and do something funny. The song really exists btw. Real Mozart was a savage.

Started off serious, became trashy insults somewhere in the middle

Mozart being asked about his song “Kiss my ass” - ikevamp scenario (TW; mature language)

Thoughts are in italic

Bold AND italic is just me highlighting something

"Ugh, it hasn't even been a week and Sebastian is already burying me with work!" You mentally whined as you stretched your arms over your head. "Collect the sheets, wash the dishes, polish the shoes and wash the tablecloths..." each chore you listed made one of your fingers go up, and as the count reached ten you let out a deep sigh. You weren't even nowhere to be finished. "...ain't mama raise no weak bitch. Better get done with this before Sebastian yeets me into oblivion", you quietly spoke to yourself before going back to your full time slavery.

A lonely figure in the long corridor, you walked slightly bent forward for both the heaviness of the basket you were carrying and the mental and physical tiredness of your untrained body. As you took a turn at the end of the hallway, the lone sound of your footsteps found a companion. A sweet melody, a familiar one you had heard as a child, drifted through the air and waltzed its way to your ears. About ten meters from you there was the music room; you remembered it from Sebastian's tour of the house, but mostly because of the ever-so-friendly white haired composer that threatened you to stay kilometers away from him unless you wanted to be smacked to outer space. You had every intention of listening to him and avoiding any type of unnecessary contact with the man, but right now an irresistible curiosity pushed your feet to the prohibited door.

Was he composing something? Would he let you listen to one piece of his or play a modern-time song if you begged hard enough? somebody come git her she's dancing like a stripper If getting on your knees and throwing the last ounce of dignity you still had out of the window meant getting to witness Mozart's genius with your own two eyes --an impassable opportunity, too taunting to be ignored-- then someone better had to open up their purse and buy you some protective knee pads, 'cause ya girl was ready to crawl all around the mansion to get that P iano performance.

Inhaling some well needed air to get oxygen to your already malfunctioning brain in preparation of what was to come, you left the heavy basket full of dirty laundry and responsibilities behind and gently pushed the door open while peeking in with your head through the opening. As soon as he felt a pair of eyes on his back, Mozart abruptly stopped his magical fingers to turn to you, face contorted in an annoyed grimace.

Mozart: what.

MC: I- uh- uhm,,,, uhhhh- I... um

"Great job, chicken brain. The hero I absolutely didn't need right now"

Mozart: "I- uh- uhm,,,, uhhhh- I... um"...? I understand 15 languages and troglodyte isn't one of them. If you have nothing to say then leave.

MC: wait I-

Mozart: you didn't even knock. Are you really that impolite or did you grow up in a cave or something?

It hadn't even been 30 seconds and you had already been owned so hard not even a burnt Thanksgiving turkey could compare to this level of roasting, but there was no way in hell you were going to give up just for some edgy frail-looking man spouting some insults at you. You could probably smash him to the ground if you wanted, maybe... actually it would probably end with him snapping your neck like a twig, but at least the will to punch him was there.

You were ready to talk back with a savage comeback of your own, but before your mind could send the input to your mouth, his curt tone cut you off.

Mozart: Staring at people is a normal thing for future people? Makes me pity mankind. Get out.

...as kind as ever, the pianist! Kinda makes you want to kick him in the shins but you kept that thought to yourself.

As you were about to leave, two pair of footsteps got nearer to you from the corridor. Turning your head to the side you saw the clown duo making its way to the room, and you knew they were the ones who could provide you with the perfect chance to either succeed in your intent or bring you to a violent death.

Arthur: Oh my, what's happening in here? Is our wolfie making a move on our lovely MC before I can ask her out on a date myself?

Dazai: Good evening, Toshiko-san! Is something the matter?

And if this was your only opportunity, then you were going to use all your cards from the beginning. Mustering the best puppy eyes you could manage, you turned to the couple, and with a slightly whiny tone that resembled a half plea for help, you said:

MC: Ah, Arthur, Dazai-san! I just wanted to ask Mozart if I could listen to him playing the piano but he did nothing but be mean to me the whole time! I didn't even speak a word and he's already told me to leave twice~

Mozart: Which you didn't. So now I'm telling you a third time, leck mich. (=bug off)

Catching your subtle hint and feeling in the right mood to mess with the other fellow vampire, they decided to fan the flames of his annoyance by bringing in the discussion that one thing they knew he abhorred talking about.

Arthur: "Leck mich"? Why, Wolfie, you surprise me! You really haven't changed from your youth days, haven't you? My dear MC, did you know that the genius pianist here wrote a song called "Leck mich im Arsch"? A song about licking bums!

Dazai: Buttholes!

Arthur: Arseholes!

Dazai: Bungholes!

This was NOT the type of conversation you would've expected to have in a house full of historically important figures of such caliber, and foremost you were so close to bursting into a raging fit of laughter that only the scary aura of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was preventing you to do so. Despite the amusement you were worried the vein on his temple would explode and show you something you did not sign up for.

Mozart: Haven't I already told you not to bring that up?

Dazai: My, what a chilling smile, Wolfie-kun! Keep that up and you'll scare all the ladies away~

MC: pft——— what ladies?

Mozart: What are you laughing about, dumbass

Arthur: Woah, woah, woah! That's not the proper way to speak to a lady, Mozie! Bad wolf, bad!

Mozart: Did you take me for a dog, you four eyed caveman?

The more the snow white haired man was filled with rage, the more the situation escalated into something even more ridiculous , so much that in the midst of it you didn't even mind the recent insult.

But something was nagging you at the back of your mind. Why did someone as much as a clean freak as him write a song about licking ass? Though you realized Arthur probably gave you the literal translation just to be more direct about his bullying, you guessed it still was something pretty vulgar for someone like him. although you had to admit that the gracious idea you had of him crumbled away the second he opened his mouth

MC: I would've never expected someone like you to write such a song...

Mozart: What are you talking about?

MC: Uhm, you know, you're pretty neat, you don't let anyone touch your piano because of their 'filthy hands'... a piece about butts is a bit...

Mozart: I was still young at the time. My humor used to be different from now, people change in the span of 100 years, you know?

Arthur: Sense of humor? I wasn't aware you had one!

Mozart: Ahahah, so very funny, you stupid tratschtante (=gossip aunt)

Dazai: Maa maa (=now, now ; ara ara maa maa), I don't think the song is that out of character. After all, "licking butts" still has the idea of cleaning something, doesn't it?

Everyone: ...

Arthur: ...That was a bit too much

MC: Yeah, it was.

Mozart: Disgusting. This is why I dont like you people

MC: Wait, so can I listen to-

Mozart: Scram. All of you.

#my writing #answered #ikemen vampire #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp imagines #ikevamp mozart #Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

105 notes · View notes