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ataraxiaspainting · 10 months

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Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body.

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is.

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to.

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes.

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod.

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts.

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down.

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?”

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems.

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom.

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone.

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.”

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches.

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort.

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show.

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements.

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front.

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way.

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed.

“We’re finally alone, baby…”

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.”

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily.

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said.

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran.

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks.

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you.

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing.

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side.

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom.

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring.

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips.

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door.

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.”

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast.

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm.

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read.

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you.

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground.

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well.

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you.

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth.

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away.

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend.

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed.

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked.

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her.

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own.

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune."

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?"

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously.

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound.

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home.

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal.

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up.

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage.

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do.

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself.

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.”

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he?

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you.

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.”

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better.

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.”

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.”

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day.

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?”

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off.

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.”

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore.#ultraviolet.#author aya

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good-beansdraws · 4 months

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Massive Milgramsona art/info dump as a treat to myself!! Alas, my fatal flaw is being unable to shut up about anything even while simultaneously embarrassed/nervous to share, so here's literally all the info I have on her 😅

Profile:

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Number: 012

Color: #E7355B

Age: She’d be 20 when Milgram started

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Song genre: Pop/theater (a mix of Mahiru and Kazui's vibes)

Backstory: She is studying abroad in Japan to work on technology related to the mv machine when she stumbles into top secret info about the trials. Horrified at the lack of prior testing, she demands to be included in the experiment to make sure the brand new tech runs smoothly and doesn't harm anyone in the process. To prevent her leaking info to the public and deciding an extra participant wouldn't hurt, Milgram agrees.

Role: Rose performs routine maintenance and updates on the extraction machine, and checks in with prisoners' health to make sure it's not having any adverse effects. She listens in on the interrogations, ringing the bell to signal Es when the machine is ready for use (re: my theory on how it works >:3). She then watches the mvs after Es to make sure there are no glitches.

(Though she is a personal milgramsona, her role in the story is supposed to reflect the audience's experience overall when it comes to how much info we know, emotions we experiencing regarding guilt/responsibility, and how much power over events we actually have given the voting system and trial breaks.)

Trial 1

Jackalope's comments during trial commencement: Oh, I almost forgot participant 012, Rose. We've never had more than one staff member before, so we figured that sort of numbering would be fine. Hey, don't look at me, it's not like it was our idea to include her. She's not a prisoner -- the only crime she's committed is sticking her nose where it didn't belong... You can ask her for the details, but she's just here for maintenance on our extraction machine. It's not easy keeping that thing running smoothly, you know? As part of her duties, she'll be privy to all the same information as you, but don't let her be any more of a busybody than she already is -- she has absolutely no authority when it comes to your verdict decisions, got it?

MV: Mic Check - “Can anyone hear me?”

VD: Positive Feedback

Cover: Pathological Facade - Ghost

Her album would release last in line. The VDs aren't interrogations since there's been no crime -- Es asks about her duties and observations of the prison. In them, she admits her predictions that she and Es will eventually be on trial for their involvement in the prisoner's fates.

Thus, her mvs are focused on her emotions towards the prisoners, her pride in helping bring justice, and her guilt at providing Milgram a means to pass judgement on people she cared about. I'm going to Goncharov the actual mvs/songs, but Mic Check is generally an introduction to her job behind the scenes prepping the equipment that will allow the prisoners' songs to be heard, as well kick off symbolism of her as a performer herself. She'll make a comment about how the experiment is leading to tragedy, "as if someone said Macbeth" (then covers her mouth, as she's standing in a theater herself).

I kept getting tripped up looking for Deco*27 songs that worked and weren't already taken, so I decided to go with some favorites and vibe-matching songs from other artists!

Comments during trial closing: It's good to hear you weren't a pushover when Rose gave her thoughts on the verdicts -- you guys disagreed on quite a few of them, eh? Ah... so she's not the type to pick fights, is that it? I guess that explains how she's managed to get along with everyone. (sigh) Even you knew better than to get attached like that. Well, at least she's kept our machine up and running the whole time.

Trial 2

Commencement: Now I need to wake Rose. We're going to need some extra upgrades to our machine if we want to get the most out of this round of extractions. I've got a sneaking suspicion that she and her bleeding heart are going to try and sway you during this trial. Her duty is specifically to look out for the prisoners' safety, but yours is only to judge them. Don't forget that.

MV: Changement - “Don’t say ‘break a leg,’ if it might just break.”

VD: Control Variable

Cover: TOXY - Kujiragi

I did my best to write out the title pronunciation out in katakana since I wanted it as the name of the dance move, not a direct translation of meaning. I went with シャジェモ "sha-je-mo" as the closest I could get to the "shanj-mou" sound, but feel free to correct me if there's a better way to write it. The door is based off of various set designs for Clara's home in The Nutcracker. (There's no deep meaning that this is the only one not opening -- I realized too late all the others are cracked open and my art app doesn't have the tools to easily fix that so I'm sticking with it 😭)

A changement is a small jump in ballet -- I thought it was fun to combine that (which means "to change") with Control Variable (refering to the variable in an experiment that never changes). The video shows conflicting emotions as her decisions/inaction caused so much to happen between trials, yet at the same time she feels like there's so much she'll be unable to change even if she really wants to intervene. Her mvs show the prisoners pretty regularly (since they are her crime, she's realized), and the teaser line is paired with references to Mahiru's broken leg.

The thumbnail combines different areas of study -- mechanical, medical, musical, mathematical (theater spotlight, muscles, Weakness notes, motion formulas). I think it's super cool how many areas of expertise are passed around the fanbase when discussing the characters. I've picked up new facts about plants, food, anatomy, geography, music, animals language, (sigh. color theory.), hobbies, professions, mythology, etc from fans with different fields of knowledge. While that's one of my favorite aspects of the project from the outside, I think it would be super intimidating to someone on the inside trying to tackle so much information at once.

Closing: As for Rose... (laughs) I thought she was dooming herself before--! Not only has she gotten hopelessly attached to everyone over the course of this trial, she's even started a relationship with one of the prisoners! And of all the people she could have chosen... Eh? Oh no, we have no policies against that for our staff. I mean, the whole point of Milgram is to explore human nature, the power of emotions, the complexities of connections, all that crap. I'm just grateful she shows a bit more common sense when she's operating the machine...

Trial 3

MV: Showstopper - “There won’t be applause, but I’ll take a bow, okay?”

VD: Please Exit Left

Cover: Ironina - Nilfruits

I don't know the album theme yet, but this is the tentative sprite and thumbnail design. The T2 sprite was kind of an "innocent" one, since at the beginning she still has faith in her role in the prison, excited to work with everyone there. (Plus, I joined the fandom a little after t2 started so that's peak excitement time lol). The T3 sprite has much more of a "guitly" feel to it because, at the end of T2 and after this hiatus, she'd harbor a lot more guilt about her position and fear about the experiment's conclusion. As a fun little detail, her pencil has been replaced with a more permanent utensil as final verdicts are locked in.

Now listen. My artist brain was constantly fighting my science brain when doing sprite designs -- I know gloves like that and nothing else isn't proper PPE. I know none of those are safety shoes (god forbid wearing just socks??? to the lab???). There should be no jewellery at all. The whole point of a lab coat is that you don't roll up the sleeves and expose your bare skin. However. It's anime character design. There can be compromise.

Referencing Rose's personal life as a performance and comparing Milgram's trials to one, I wanted the mv to play on "showstopper" as both a great show and a literal attempt to stop the project before it reaches its finale. There would be creepy comparisons in the mv between operating stage equipment and prison executions: curtain/set ropes and nooses, heavy duty lightswitches and electric chairs, etc.

Misc.

And lightening things up again -- birthday art and minigrams :3

Birth flower: Camellias. Pink camellias symbolize love but also longing. The fact that they bloom in winter, and have a quick death (the entire flower wilts at once, instead of individual petals falling off), have inspired different meanings in different cultures -- overcoming hard times, facing death in battle, inseparable lovers, and so on

Three minigrams featuring my own annoyance that her design is a bit close to Shidou's coat/gloves look, a mandatory short joke, and a pun that works so perfectly for my Put-In-Situations guy

#lol it really is a DUMP - ive been collecting little pieces for so long and decided to just drop everything at once #my art app doesnt have a good text function so you must deal with my handwriting 🤷‍♀️#im usually pretty willing to do accurate uniform runes but i did not have it in me to do it this time lol #it was so fun learning to mimic the minigram style!! i tried my best at Manga Humor TM but idk if i succeeded adfsdf #the panel where fuuta is zoning out -- the notes are the mii channel music 😂#aww and i found a really cute wobbly cake reference that i used :D #i own like no fancy shoes (i always borrow my parnters/moms/sisters if needed sadfasdf) so i thought itd be perfect to use my pointe shoes #even though my favorite color is yellow i went with pink because 1. muu already has the standard bright yellow id want #and 2. i own So Many pink clothes and accessories LOL #still -- i didnt want to go crazy figuring out a million outfits so i just drew her in the same one each time rip #definitely a good exercise to combat the usual self loathing..... it was really interesting to do and im... much happier with the #final pieces than i ever expected..... ;-----;

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finrays · 2 months

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Thinking this morning about the time I got to witness the universe spank a pedantic asshole that I was about to slap myself.

I was at a folk concert given by the local symphony orchestra with my family, and the guy sitting a row behind us was being just… insufferable. Aside from the fact that he was bloviating excessively about every song on the program, the tone of his voice was just MADDENINGLY smarmy and superior. I was ready to turn around and shove the program in his mouth the whole first half of the concert.

Then we get to Ashokan Farewell, which is a song I really, really like. This fucking moron starts going “Ah yes, it’s an old Civil War folk tune, written by an artist from the South, I believe-“

And if you know anything about the song you’ll know that’s entirely wrong. It’s a rumor that got started because Ken Burns used it as the intro for his Civil War documentary series. The damn thing was written in 1982 by Jay Ungar and his wife Molly Mason, and it originated as a goodbye/goodnight piece at a mountain valley in Upstate New York where they used to hold fiddle and dance camps. One of his companions cautiously ventured this and was summarily dismissed with something like “Oh, well that’s not what *I* heard.”

It took a HERCULEAN effort not to turn around and Well Actually this guy. I strongly feel that if you’re gonna be smart about something, you should be cheery and excitable about it, as if you’re sharing a bag of snacks. The point is to share the knowledge you love, not to try and puff yourself up like a blowfish.

But I was beginning to observe how much smoother my life went if I hid my strangeness at that point, and a lot of that was shutting the hell up. So I just held my tongue, ground my teeth and sat there.

And I was rewarded for it; the conductor must have heard my psychic scream, because he introduced the song by pointing out the Civil War Folk Song rumor and then dismissing it and providing the real info.

Folks.

Mr. Grand High Cultured Muckity Muck. Went DEAD SILENT. I heard not another word from his mouth for the rest of the night. It was magnificent and I immediately had the NEW problem of not giggling and kicking my feet.

Sometimes, if you stay quiet and keep out of the way, an asshole will own THEMSELVES, and it’s glorious to witness.

#it was a beautiful moment and I still treasure it

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cleolinda · 5 months

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Weekend links, April 21, 2024

My posts

Initially I wrote, “I ran my mouth about the Watcher streaming/paywall situation because I make bad decisions,” but I think the post has actually gone over well? In short, I want to see them succeed but I am also deeply fuckin’ baffled. I so desperately want the tea about what was really going on behind all this, and how the guys are reacting to it now, and I really hope they can turn this around somehow.

Side note, Friday was CHAOTIC.

Reblogs of interest

The Hot Vintage Lady Polls are escalating in round four. We got to a point where I posted propaganda for Ava Gardner AND Dorothy Dandridge in their matchup. Probably the biggest scandal of round three was Vivien Leigh getting knocked out, but she’s now High Chancellor of the Shadow Realm. The most contentious matchup this time seems to be Judy Garland vs Natalie Wood, which is nearly 50/50 as of this writing. But keep your eye on Hedy Lamarr, who may have Mifune Sweep energy.

(I think I love these brackets for the same reason I love Dracula Daily: it’s delightful that thousands of people on Tumblr actually have deeply-held opinions about things from many decades ago, and if they didn’t before, they do now.)

(“I’m Katharine Hepburn, and this is Jackass!”)

Happy Bread Day (Observed)!

Hozier Watch 2024: “Why Would You Be Loved” has arrived on the Wasteland, Baby! special edition. I like this post about how that song is in conversation with “No Plan,” one of my favorites. (I wrote about “Movement” a while ago, but I could have fully inflicted an essay on you about how “No Plan” pulled me out of my six years of hiding from the internet. Anyway, it’s a great album from a few years ago, check it out if you haven’t.)

Generally I keep my mouth shut about Taylor Swift, but the new songs sure have some lyrics. I love Florence Welch, but I’m scared.

You’ve heard of spoon theory, now check out spell slot theory

“You’re either frolicking in this field with me, or...” is funny, but then you get to the reblog.

What if we lay in this field together and held feet

A deep breach of etiquette with a little dog named Gucio

A story about statue vandalism with a delightful twist

You gotta fight mint with mint (like I can bring in my lemon balm, but at what cost?)

I saw this post about feeding wild skeletons on Pinterest and I loved it so much that I tracked down the original.

Once again, Holy Shit, Two Cakes theory

Remember the haunted house I grew up in? Yeah, it had a carpeted bathroom like this.

“gonna start formatting my posts like fics on ff.net circa 2008” will do you exactly the psychic damage you’re imagining

The Round Table attempts to use Zoom

Video

Lil Nas X covers “Jolene,” Dolly Parton loves it, and @oscar-wet-and-wilde has further Black Country recs

A big loud steppy

“He’s retrieving”

Crispy meows

Watching this angel of a Doberman get a full spa treatment is also self care

AND YOU DARE SAY NO MORE TREATS??!?

The sacred texts

I don’t like thing, now with artist credit

Personal tags of the week

I love when I can use a really niche, specific tag, and this week, it’s mouth perfect size for meme, with a little shaped on the side.

#weekend links #odds and ends #linkspam

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bazzybelle · 7 months

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Don't You Look Good In Red

TITLE: Don't You Look Good In Red

RATING: Mature

WORD COUNT: 80K

SUMMARY:

Hob Gadling is a broken man. He’s been a broken man since the head of an up-and-coming mob family murdered his wife in cold blood and left him for dead. For the last five years, he’s been away from the city, training and planning to bring that man’s empire down piece by piece. Hoping to do whatever it takes to allow his wife to finally rest in peace. But when he meets a shy, sweet, and fascinating man at the local pub, he begins to re-evaluate his thirst for vengeance. Maybe he can go back to who he used to be. Maybe he can allow love back into his life. Maybe he can find a way to be whole again. Or die trying.

Special thank you to my INCREDIBLE artist, @kitsune2022-artish for creating the BEAUTIFUL artwork you see linked below. They have perfectly captured the vibes of the fic within their suspense-filled movie poster creation. It was an honour working with you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Here is the link to their AMAZING ART!!

More notes and thank yous tagged below!

NOTES: After changing my idea right as signups closed and then writing 80k words in like 3 months, I am excited to FINALLY share my fic for @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang.

I am SO proud of this fic. It's been one of my favourite fics to write, and I hope you all enjoy it. For the friends in the Sadman server who were all screaming about "Reacher", you guys do not know how difficult it was for me to keep my mouth shut as you were all begging for more Badass Hob, more Fighter Hob, more Snarky Fucker Hob.

I hope this fic scratches that itch for you.

All the thanks and love for the Mods involved with CHBB! You guys have all worked your butts off to make sure this event ran as smoothly as possible. You were all so supportive and kind and encouraging. Thank you to my assigned Mod, @spockandthings for being so kind and reassuring and willing to lend a helping hand.

Thank you to my amazing Alpha-readers, @ginjones and @purplesauris, as well as my Beta-reader, @garnetcapricorn.

Finally, thank you to my friends over at The Sadman server, for all of your love and support and for welcoming me into the community. Thank you to the Shaxberd Sprint group for fighting against lack of motivation and stress with me. We did it, friends!!

The title of this fic, as well as the titles of the chapters were taken from the lyrics of the song Good in Red by The Midnight. I HIGHLY suggest looking them up on Spotify, because they are amazing!

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #centennial husbands #centennial husbands big bang #centennial husbands big bang 2024 #my writing

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rocketnottheraccon · 2 years

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A ShinBaku one shot I wrote bc this random ass crack ship happens to give me life

Art by: Horikoshi

Let’s get one thing straight.

Hitoshi Shinsou was not.

But he also adored Mitsuki.

So, you can probably imagine his favorite song to listen to when his life went to shit.

“Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart~” He mindlessly sang, spinning around in Aizawa’s office chair at… say… 4:30 in the morning?

He was currently running on 16 cans of Monster energy, 17 now, 3 bowls of cereal, and this week's dose of testosterone. He could take on the world- better yet: end the world!

“YES!” He shouted to himself, still spinning aimlessly. He would take over the world! Reinstate quirk management laws, maybe just get rid of heroes all together! That way he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit-show known as the hero course.

On second thought, that seems like way too much work.

Yeah, way too much work.

“Queen!” He exclaimed as the next song came on. He jumped from his seat, sliding into the common room to sing. No one was watching him, and with the amount of caffeine in his veins right now, he wouldn’t care if there was.

Actually, he didn’t want to sing.

Yeah, no thank you.

He collapsed onto the couch, still holding a can of Monster. I’m definitely addicted. He thought.

Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He was healthy enough to be a hero. Degrading that ever so slightly wouldn’t hurt anything but his mental health, but come now.

Were any of them really ever good in that department?

No, he didn’t think so.

“I’d like you and I to romancing~” He mumbled, taking a sip. His brain was currently going 150 miles per hour, as well as three miles per hour.

Is this what it’s like to be high? He questioned, thinking about how Aizawa would act when he came back from the After-PTA-Parties. Now, his dad was no light weight. He’s seen the man chug an entire bottle of beer and merely walk out and go to school like it was his morning coffee, which was also usually spiked. Now, imagine how much Aizawa had to drink to end up slurring, throwing up, and almost blackout drunk.

Yeah, that's how Hitoshi felt right now.

Thank god today's Saturday.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, as Harry Styles was the next artist to start playing. “You're a wizard, Harry!”

Was he high? If he wasn’t, he had to be pretty goddamn close to it.

“Oi?” He hears very distantly.

Hitoshi looks up and around for the source, until he’s met with his blond Pomeranian. “My love!” He says, slinging himself over the others shoulders.

Katsuki raised a brow. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Who cares? Kiss me!” Hitoshi showered the others neck in kisses, and Katsuki shoved him off promptly after.

“Your fucking high,” He deadpanned.

“No I’m not!” Hitoshi said, “I’m underage, that’d be illegal!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, somehow managing to lift the other taller boy's body weight like he was a baby. “I’m taking you to bed, you fucking dumbass.”

“You’ll go with me?” Hitoshi asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Never do that again,” Commanded Katsuki, and Hitoshi's mouth was promptly shut.

“You need to stop doing this Toshi.” He started, making their way to the elevator, “I didn’t sign up for fucking baby sitting.”

“Love you too!” Hitoshi said, kissing the others neck.

“You're six foot!” Katsuki exclaimed, “I hate to admit it, but I should not be the one carrying you!”

“You admit I’m taller than you?”

“Fucking- How could I not?!? You’re like a fucking skyscraper, Hitoshi!”

“Aww.”

Katsuki scowls as they make it to their hallway. “You interrupted my morning workout routine.”

“Eww, you work out?” Hitoshi drawled, pursuing his lips.

“I’m in the hero course- and so are you for that matter! You cannot keep pulling caffeine induced all-nighters and expect to be a famous hero-“

“Who said I wanted to be famous?” Hitoshi interrupted.

“Right, right. Daddy’s boy,” Katsuki sighed, opening Hitoshis door with his foot.

“Goddamn!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “Hella flexibly!”

“Mhm,” Katsuki replied tiredly. He nudged open the door. “Stand up.”

“You were doing such a good job though!” Hitoshi whined.

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I will count to five-“

“Fine, fine,” Hitoshi rolled his eyes stepping down from around Katsuki, yet still being miles above him. “Hehe.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki said, “Good night. And I swear to God, Hitoshi, if I see you downstairs before 1:30-“

“I know!” Hitoshi said, rolling into bed. “I love you, Kat.”

“Fuck off!” He yelled, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, Hitoshi received a text.

BoomBastic: Love you too dumbass

#my hero academia #mha fluff #shinbaku #rarepair #first post

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abromelon34105 · 2 months

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Here’s a snippet from Chapter 7 of my ADA!Chūya AU, For the Tainted Human! This scene is one of Chūya’s memories, and this chapter gets pretty emotional. Chūya has a story to tell and maybe now is the best time~

“What is this?” Dazai asked as he lifted his head and turned towards my phone. I gripped him tighter, pulling him back towards me so he couldn't change the song. “Does that matter? I want to listen to it.”

“It just sounds…sad. Not like you,” he said as he turned back around and wrapped his arms around the back of my neck again. I shrugged and snuggled deeper into him, keeping our legs entwined under the sheets. “So? I’m allowed to like sad songs too.”

“I never said that, Chibi~ I was just saying that it’s the first time I’ve heard you listen to it, that’s all.”

“...It’s called Gavi’s Song.”

“Gavi’s Song?”

“Yeah. The artist released it after her best friend died. She’d been working on it with him, but he didn’t make it through to the end, so she released it as a homage to him or something. I think it’s really beautiful. Call me sappy, I don’t care.”

“Why would I do that?” Dazai placed his finger under my chin and lifted my head, meeting my gaze with a soft smile. “If Chibi thinks it’s beautiful, that means is must be beautiful~ Since Chibi is the most beautiful thing in the world~”

“S-Shut up…” I muttered as I moved my head and hid my face again, getting a chuckle out of him. We were still new to our actual relationship, so the softer flirting embarrassed me. It also sometimes reminded me of that place, though I never told him. He didn’t know about that place, and I wanted it to stay that way.

“You really like this artist, huh?” Dazai asked after a moment and I slowly nodded. “Yeah,” I whispered without moving my head. “She’s good. The music’s complicated and loud enough to keep me focused but it also helps keep me from singing along.”

“Does she tour?”

“Dazai, you are not taking me to go see her in concert. I don’t even know when she’s coming to Japan next.”

“Alright, fine. But I’ll keep an eye out, don’t worry.” He pressed another light kiss to my forehead and my cheeks flushed a little more as I tried burying myself deeper into him. He snorted and ran a hand over my head, letting his fingers get tangled in my hair and gently working the knots that had developed overnight out. “Your hair’s getting long.”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna cut it?”

“Probably not this time. I want to try having it long.”

“I think long hair will suit you.”

“You just want something to grab when I’m being a brat.”

“That is a benefit, I will admit~ But it’ll look so good with Chibi’s dresses~”

“What is with you and those damn dresses?”

“Chibi looks go pretty in them~ Like a god sent into my life~”

“...Osamu, you’re a dork.”

“What did you call me?”

“I called you mackerel, stupid mackerel.”

“No you didn’t. That doesn’t even sound like what you said! I think you said my name! Chibi called me by my name!”

“Wha- No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“No, I didn’t you stupid-” He shut me up with a well-timed kiss as he pushed me down onto the bed, rolling us over so that I was on my back and he was above me. I gave in easily, kissing back as I moved to grip his hair, letting him have full access to my mouth as he wanted. We were still working out how to be gentle with each other, since we both knew just how rough we could go and were used to being, but I didn’t mind. The gentler times gave us a chance to figure out my “subspace” or whatever it was called so that we knew how to deal with it during our rougher nights.

I just wished I remembered more after I slipped that night.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #au #fanfic #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bungou stray dogs kunikida

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sucantslay · 6 months

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Meiyuu Deshi Kairou analysis. I'm losing my sanity...

Hello @hypn0sssss, just wanna let you know, I've been working off my ass to research this song like...more than 30 minutes but then in turn into a whole week long.

It was fun though ( I really need a rest but my brain said just do it! )

BUT, ANYWAY, here are some important information you should know before getting into this song analysis.

If you don't know, this is an event song, it connects with an event story about a VR game, yes, a VR game. It was introduced to Mika by Makoto and Sora. And later on, became the inspiration for Mika's song.

This is related to Mika's character, so if you know nothing about him, you can learn more from some sources out there or have a quick check at my post

3 . I'll mostly put the lyrics in word form. I really want to put all the translation pictures here but since Tumblr stop me from having more than 10 pics in a post...I can only put some.

4 . Most of this is my personal analysis. Pls tell me or put on the sources if you want to put it somewhere. Also, since it is a PERSONAL thing, the lyrics might not mean like that to you, but it is to me. You are free to have your own idea of this song however you like.

Alright! Let's get started!!!

For the theme of the song, Mika is using the VR game as his base, so it understandable that some words might be a little lead into the mechanical aspect.

The story for this song is about a mechanical god who ends the story/ the world abruptly. It very interesting when the song did not only successfully portray the theme of mechanical but also the theme and story of Valkyrie itself.

Oh my dear Mika, you are really something of an artist, aren't ya?! It the time when Mika finally step up and going his own art more then waiting for Shu order!

The name of the song "Meikyuu Deshi Kairou" which means "Labyrinth Electronic Corridor"

With some lines mention classic songs

(this line got repeated 2 times)

"Ode to Joy" or in other words "An die Freude"

You must have known it as Beethoven's most significant work, Symphony No.9, a choral symphony.

Since the name isn't being written in another name until you start digging deeper, you'll find something eles, lies in these words they had chosen.

It was origin from a poem written by a German named Friedrich Schiller and was used by Beethoven in his Ninth Symphony.

But the version that Beethoven used is the revision of the poem. Yet Friedrich himself didn't like that version at all, he viewed it as a failure.

Why? Because Friedrich made that poem for his dear beloved ( longtime friend and partner ) Christian Gottfried Körner, who inspired him to write the poem.

He stayed "of value maybe for us two, but not for the world, nor for the art of poetry"

I SWEAR TO GOD, WHEN I READED THOUGH WORD, NO THING APPEAR IN MY MIND AS FAST AS MIKA AND SHU DID.

His performance and his dear partner in art. Did I mention that Friedrich made a whole verse for Christian on his birthday.

( uhm, ok, that's enough! Let's move to the next one for now before I can't keep this mouth shut. )

Some lines in the poem go like this:

"Rescue from the chains of tyrants, Magnanimity to the villain too, Hope on the deathbed, Mercy in the high (law) court, Even the dead shall live! Brothers, drink and agree (with me) That all sinners shall be forgiven And hell shall be no more."

The "Ode to Joy" old name was "Ode to Freedom" / "An die Freiheit"

Then there came "Libera me" ( "Deliver me" )

Which also has an interesting background related to the Catholic Church. "Libera me" originated from a song named "Office of the Dead" which had been sung as a service prayer for the death.

The text asks God to have mercy upon the deceased person at the Last Judgment.

And it fits the theme of the song well! Because as I said before, the song is about a god who wants to destroy the world in sudden.

So "Ode to Joy", "Libera me" can be seen as the voices of humans who denying the god choice, the choice to turn the world back to dust.

( Note: The line in the song is not being sung by Mika or Shu, but by voices in the background. It becomes more noticeable when considering the fact that none other Valkyrie songs have these "background voices" at all )

The next two lines both sing an indirectly about the old Valkyrie.

"Ah, the melody sinks into overwritten myths"

The old Valkyrie had been sunk down to the deep by the play of Fine.

"Come, it is the time to open the floating corridor that full of electrons"

But it was the story from a long time ago, now, we taking a different path, to the new corridor, a new path to the future yet we're still unable to predict. Accidentally we lead ourselves to the door of destruction. ( It can also be seen as the god in this play had opened the door of doom, ending the world in sudden )

Ah, yes, once again this song mentions the use of the classic poem.

This "Song of the Bell" had nothing to do with song or symphony, which gives us more clues and confirms the truth about "Ode to Joy".

Surprisingly, "Song of the Bell" is also been written by Friedrich Schiller.

"Ode to Joy" was written in 1785, while "Song of the Bell" was written in 1798.

The poem talks about the bell, how was the bell made, by what, and with what tools and techniques they used to make it.

I have a belief that the "love and punishment" part of the song lyrics has other means than taking from the "Song of the Bell". Yes, the poem did mention "love" as a part of the story where a couple has known each other since they were kid.

Wedding bell and allocation of roles is the part when the bell acts as a wedding bell.

To later on, mention death: Death knell upon the decease of the woman where the bell has an earnest purpose and tolls in accompaniment to a funeral

But there is no mention of crime or punishment.

So go back to the lyrics where they sing: "Reflect the song"

Reflect...which means there is a connection but not really is about the poem. It was more about Valkyris, the love had turned its back on them. Their art, their joy, their peaceful life as 3 small people in an unpopular Unit was now a punishment, pulling them down to the ground.

Nazuna left, Valkyrie broke, Shu is no longer himself.

To Mika, if not a punishment then what could this horrifying scene had been?

We can also see this in the human's eyes. If "Ode to Joy", "Libera me" was all human ( in the theme ) talking about, then this line is the begging for the god to rethink his decision:

"Please, don't you see, this beautiful planet is our everything. Is our beginning and our ending. We may suffer, but we are happy, and that makes living a meaningful thing."

noticed how Mika uses "Each other" not just "Other" which points to both Shu and Mika.

In their era of being a "not so happy" unit since the war ended.

They have gone so far and now look back at themself. Such action of shame, the days when we are still nothing but a nameless Valkyrie.

You can also look at it in the MV theme way: ''I wish this world would disappear.'' As the god of mechanical no longer feels the need of humans exiting.

As the next lyrics go:

"Behind this veil of anonymity" (Shu line)

"The ghosts of the dead-" (Mika line)

"Are dancing in the underground till the end of the trial" (Shu line)

There are two things I need to point out in detail here:

Firstly: The meaning of these lines seems to me as if they're talking about their trauma. Behind this veil is the old time, the old ghosts, look, they are all here, never left until we start open up with them. Until we learn how to heal ourselves from the brutal injury of war did we be able to make them leave

Secondly: Mika once again mentions death. It was Mika's own thing, if you don't know, death kinda became a thing that fond with Mika's style. Lots of times, we can see Mika associated with death ( mostly in the old song. )

In his 'In the Shadow' outfit, which had a deep connection with butterflies.

Butterflies are a symbol of the representative soul of a deceased person. In that outfit, Mika is represented by a blue butterfly, what was the meaning of that symbol?

A symbol of the soul who passed is nearby!

So, by now you would be questioning: "Why are there so many signs about death from Mika?" Well, glad you asked.

This all came down to the fact that Mika was being a doll in Valkyrie. Nazuna was also a doll himself, but he break free and Mika didn't.

Mika is dying from the inside, becoming the soulless, as he loses what support to belong to him. He sells it away, sacrifice it for the wish of making Valkyrie great again.

"Surrounded by faceless choirs, there's stand the lonely soloist So, let's sing out loud to those who have no place to go, here's the truth."

Sung by both Mika and Shu.

In my belief, these lines are dedicated to them, the Valkyrie that got injured after the war. They got no hope, not thing to relied on.

Shu got a bad representation, lost his mind.

Mika also had to suffer from the event but he's trying his very best not to become a burden to Shu after Nazuna left.

That was the moment when Mika became more doll-like than how he was before.

We stood together, yet loneliness filled inside our souls. Becoming the "soloist" singer without notice.

"Sing to those who have no place"

They're telling themself, their pitiful past self that the daunting world is now no more.

We now have a place to stay, a home to be in, we've got our back.

Ok, ok, here it comes, MY FAVORITE LINE!

LIKE, THERE ARE SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT, I CAN'TTTTT

Ok, I can actually do that now ( since this analysis is already long as hell )

This line makes a connection to another line, which is:

"Here's the truth" - "Audience, please come"

"To the New World"

Isn't simply just about the god and the humans, it carries two meanings.

One is the literal, a sore thumb that sticks out the most to me: IT ABOUT THE VALKYRIE NEW ERAAAAA.

They maybe not yet healed, not yet prepared themself for the world outside, but they're now more happy than ever.

Shu is trying his best to understand Mika.

Mika is trying his best to become something of his own, escape from the realm of a soulless doll.

"Dancing with full bloom"

Like, uhm *raises eyebrows*, full bloom, full bloom you said?

The last time ( the first time Shu appeared in the game main story ), Shu said: "I am counting the days until we bring our blossoms together to make "Valkyrie" the most beautiful bouquet in the world."

And now ya said that you're FULL BLOOM? That can only mean one thing, they have finally found their meaning of art.

They may not "bloom" to the world but "bloom" to themself. Becoming different. They changing, they learning, and they are growing.

"where 0 and 1 dancing"

Yeh, you already know what I'm going to say. 0 and 1 are binary code or we usually call it "computer language" / bits.

0 and 1, is what this theme song is about. The mechanical god, the new world of mechanics. "0 and 1 dancing" is "The god is speaking".

Like, 0 1 then 1 0, 0 1 then 1 0, where 0 and 1 will change their place to make a byte, a string of bits, representing the god language.

And, it is just me or do I get the feeling that this goddess who wants to destroy a world in rust has his reason, he has a feeling that leaving the world like this, isn't a good idea.

Even if the humans are begging him to stop, he did not listen.

Because, in some of the next lines, we got this:

"A play that crueler than dream" (Shu line)

"With everyone's prayers" (Mika line)

"Everyone will remember it" (Shu line).

"Above the Surface world that full of selfishness and egoism" (Mika line)

The god see human as this selfish and only care for what they want most then how others feel.

"This lost child of the era, is confused by the fragile waves" (Mika line)

"So let's come and come into a new world trapped in 0 and 1" (Shu & Mika line)

Is about Valkyrie, IT ABOUT VALKYRIE. *Gone crazy at this point*

If you didn't know, Valkyris wasn't that used to the new system after the war. The DreamFes system made by Eichi, yeah, that one.

They skip school and most of the time do their show outside of school until Eichi himself steps in and threatens them to rejoin the school and accept the DreamFess system.

They were lost. Lost of the modern world, and still stay in the old era. Shu never wants to go back and join the DreamFes for once because how much he hated Eichi, and how much the war hurted him, yet, they return, make a change that not even Eichi can imagine of.

"Lost in their own tears, and still..." (Shu line)

"Falling away..." (Mika line)

They did, however, losing against Fine, and still...this was not the end.

THIS WAS A MARK FOR THE NEW BEGINNING.

That they're now known to DreamFes, open their mind and continue their journey.

That why the next line of the song came with a stronger beat. Bam! We are now reborn, we are now continue to blooming up on this world of hidden beauty. We'll find it and make art out of it!

"Scrutinize, lament, and let your own foolish schemes drive you crazy" (Shu line, it kinda fit Shu too)

"And now, ask yourself here and now." (Mika line)

"Is there an omnipotent being to be ruled?" (Both)

"And do you believe it?" (Shu line)

"Do you believe it?" (Mika line)

"Do you believe it?" (Both)

I think these lines are pointing to Shu and how he've been since the end of the war.

Scrutinize mean: examine or inspect closely and thoroughly.

While lament mean: a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.

After the war, Shu was cave for perfection even more than he was before, he wish to not made all that mistake again or else he might lose Mika too.

He drive himself crazy, then look back what happened, he started to ask questions.

He was so into perfection, he loses the meaning of art it self. He put himself into a jail, said that, this was all for the work of art, but it wasn't.

People are being harm for his actions, Mika wasn't getting any better if he keeps acting like this. Reckless and madness drive him away from the actual beauty in art that the old Shu was fond of.

So, he ask himself. If art is freedom, why so gaol...

"Is there an omnipotent being to be ruled?"

And realizing that, will he continue to be like this. Do you believe in such form of art that not bring happiness and joy?

For the bloom of Valkyrie, must we sacrifice our little life for the victory Shu wanted.

Also important element needed to be mention: Last Lament.

Meiyuu Deshi Kairou was released in 2023, and Last Lament which is also a Valkyrie song was released in 2017.

And in the song, there was this line: "It fine if we reach the brink of our dreams and rot forgotten."

"We'll use the flames of passion on us, to show them that we can melt even despair."

But, but! In their newest song ( from the Trip albums)

Shukufuku no Library

We can see, Shu is now accepting the future and wish for joy to Valkyrie then only to successfully reach their dream as soon as possible:

"Is it only success stories that are now illuminated by the love that shines down from the heavens?"

"No! An unfinished adventure stories is also a foolish memoir that's also precious."

"Come on, let's play the lovely poems of our lives and gently store them in the library of blessings."

Return, return, let's us get to the next line:

Ok, Ok, I love that they put both Friedrich Schiller work into one line!

"A play that's crueler than a dream" (Mika line)

"Everyone inside this veil wishing for something" (Shu line)

The god talk about everyone wishes, seeing their foolish little small wishes yet never to be turn into reality because the god already had their own plan for them.

It also Shu, talking to himself that even if life is cruel, everyone has their little dream.

"In the face of the myth of the Perfect world" (Shu line)

But Shu dream was too far from reality, can that Perfection he wished for really have a way to get?

From here on, the line repeat itself:

"confused by the fragile waves" (Shu line)

"This lost child of the era" (Mika line)

"So let's come and come into a new world trapped in 0 and 1" (Shu & Mika line)

But this time, Shu has become different, Valkyrie has changed! The lost child had found their way out of that jail!

"The labyrinth corridor, love is a Perfect world" (The back choir?)

And yes, he did be able to found out, love is the best way to a world he's wish for, no more madness from now on, only love and joy.

And maybe, just maybe, the goddess in this song also did.

Thank you for your time! Reading this.

It late now, and my ears...oh god...it had been listen to Meiyuu Deshi Kairou non-stop ( I remember like 8/10 of the goddam lyrics *cry and laughed at the same time* )

Also, one last thing...

In the 3D MV, noticed how Mika move, yes, he still keep that flexibility of him, but that not just a represent for a doll, Mika now turning it in to his own style of dance.

While Shu do art in a perfect and nicely organizing way.

Mika go for a chaos way that both resemble the old him and use it to make the new him.

In the last moment of the MV, Mika...I don't know if he forget or that is simply how the MV plays out, but there was a moment like this:

Mika when: Look at my Oshi-san!!!

Shu: Mika! Back up! You're supposed to be standing next to me.

Mika: Can i?

Shu: Yes. Yes you can. You're no longer a doll, but a human, a partner who place is staying next to me and performing art together.

Mika: Oh...I'm not fulling understand that, but ok! I'll try to stay next to you from now on!

( this is me, writing that out of thin air, the conversation may not be real, but the meaning are. Mika may be a little confused for suddenly got set free from being a soulless doll, he need his little time )

Thank...for reading...my dear ValkyrieP... I need a rest and a cup of coffee I guess *die*

#ensemble stars #mika kagehira #kagehira mika #shu itsuki #itsuki shu #valkyrie enstars #Meiyuu Deshi Kairou #Meiyuu Deshi Kairou analysis

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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

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Kaleidoscope | Purple

↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, smut ⤜ WC: 893 ⚠️ Crass language, secret personal pining, intimate personal thoughts about a stranger, kissing, flirting, v. sex, imagery of body worship, imagery of carnal indulgence (the smut is really soft; it’s more about the feeling and acceptance than the act) ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

It’s only been a few precious moments since you left Namjoon’s apartment. You’re washing the gouache on your hand off in the sink when you hear a knock at your door. It’s late, nearly midnight. There’s really only one person you can think of who would be knocking on your door this late, and the prospect has your heart picking up its pace. He seems to be doing that to you a lot lately, making you feel things you haven’t in a long time. It’s nice.

With hope simmering below your surface, you dry your hands and go to the door. A glance through the peephole has you smiling and patting at your dress to smooth out invisible wrinkles—just in case.

“Namjoo—“ You swing open the door, and he wraps you up in an embrace, lips fusing to yours, cutting off his name.

The taste of the sweet wine lingers in his mouth as he welcomes your tongue in to slide against his. “Stay with me tonight,” he pleads between fervent presses of his lips to yours.

“Yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as he grips the backs of your thighs and picks you up. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist, dress sliding up to bunch around your hips.

You almost begged him to let you stay earlier, not wanting the night to end. But, you mustered up some self-control and wanted to let the night end on a good note with the promise of more to come tomorrow. Though, you can’t possibly say no to this turn of events.

You lose track of his steps until your back hits a soft surface, making your eyes pop open in surprise to take in your surroundings—Namjoon’s bedroom. You only got a brief glimpse of it earlier, but it was too dark to discern much. Now, it’s illuminated with soft indigo strip lights. Up this close, you can see his sheets are plum-colored satin, shining like glittering amethyst.

It’s the perfect atmosphere to learn more about the man you knew only as Apartment A just a few weeks ago. The more you uncover—the more colors you add to your palette—the more you want to keep peeling back the layers and soaking up what he has to offer.

Your cocktail dress becomes a dark puddle on the floor, splashed with accents of blue as your panties and bra join it. Namjoon looks at you, sprawled out on his bed, like you are a gift he can’t wait to sink his teeth into. The plain white t-shirt and khaki pants, lacking color like the canvas that once was blank and waiting in your living room across the hall, slide from his lean frame like poured paint to pool around his feet.

The bright pop of his white boxer briefs stands out against his deep, golden skin that’s made even darker by the purple lights. He’s standing before you like a conquering god. You reach for him, silently begging for him to lay claim to you.

An ache sparks between your thighs as he slowly, teasingly, hooks his thumbs into the band of his boxers and pushes them down to reveal a strength you’d willingly worship. His cock is long, thick, and already weeping.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers as he crawls onto the bed and gathers you into his arms, one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other settling for leverage on your hip. “You’ve been driving me crazy. All my songs lately have been about you. You’re in my head…in my soul.” The last word is punctuated with the press of his erection against your aching center.

You can’t help but think about your own obsession and how you’ve been consumed by this man, too. To hear it’s been a mutual affair has your body eager to satiate the other thoughts that have crossed your mind regarding Namjoon.

“I’ve painted you,” you confess softly, letting the words sink into the heady atmosphere between your bodies. He smirks, nipping playfully at your bottom lip before deepening it into a toe-curling kiss—your body throbs in anticipation and supplication. You need him. “My muse,” you breathe against his lips.

The feel of his cock slowly sliding into your body brands itself in your mind. It will forever be a representation of pure, carnal gratification. A halo of purple incandescence surrounds Namjoon. The glow wreaths him as you meet his wanton gaze. It’s bliss—art—how he plies your body with pleasures.

The other colors—red, orange, yellow, green, blue—pale in comparison to how Namjoon paints your soul with the rich lilac that’s bleeding through your senses until all you can focus on is him. Your orgasm is sweet, a shared ecstasy filled with panting breaths and succulent moans.

Namjoon holds you close, murmuring soft words of affirmation and praise as you both get lost in the bliss of one another. These moments fill your night, sharp inhales and thready exhales as you indulge in each other again and again.

You’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what color represents Namjoon’s soul the best. The red apple, the orange duck, the yellow paint, the green notebook, and the blue wine bottle are all precious pages, layers of this extraordinary man…but purple, purple is the pinnacle of the myriad that is Namjoon—the kaleidoscope of your life.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

#kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon imagines #bts fanfic #bts namjoon #musician namjoon #bangtanwhq

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lokisasylum · 1 year

Text

I warned ya'll...

I warned ya'll about the company pushing shipping dynamics to benefit ONE member. And as the days tick by the worse its gonna get.

One of these ship dynamics would make one member look bad, and the other like the good guy.

That if you weren't gonna grow a thicker skin and be here for JIMIN, to tap out and KEEP YOUR MOUTHS SHUTS.

But all it took was 2 awkward vlive interactions for some of you to turn against Jimin, slip into my DMs and start questioning everything.

One of you even called Jimin a "hoe" for "letting the company take advantage of him". (And of course it had to be a shipper, because only shippers use derogatory terms that men use towards women for him).

And this is how I know that a lot of you are either too young or too ignorant to understand how this industry works. This is KPOP industry, this ain't American music industry where artists rebel (once they've made money for themselves of course) if they don't like how their label pulls shit on them.

In KPOP you are BOUND BY A CONTRACT and until that contract ends you don't do what you want entirely ("Oh but their solo promos--" yes they had some say in it, but the company still has to approve or not in the end).

And if you've shown signs of not wanting to sign/renew for mistreatment, unfairness between yourself and other co-workers, ect... they will destroy you (like they are doing with Jimin through all those articles downplaying his achievements and comparing him to j/k to make it look like he didn't do well on his own).

The company OWNS YOU until that contract expires entirely.

Why do you guys think Jimin asked during last year's Festa if it would feel okay to keep referring to "their fans" as "Army" during solo era, since Army is for BTS?

Because Bighit Labels/HYBE has copyright/trademark over everything that has to do with BTS; from their group name, image, songs, fandom name--ITS ALL UNDER HYBE'S NAME. The company OWNS it all.

And if one or more should consider going full SOLO they can't use any of it. Unless they pull a GOT/7, and slowly start buying back all their trademarks from the og company before leaving it for a new label.

This is why we've been fighting sun up and sun down that there is no ot7 during solo era, there is no "army" in solo era; EVERYONE IS A SOLO STAN BY ASSOCIATION BECAUSE NO ONE IS FULLY SUPPORTING ALL 7 MEMBERS.

Even the new CEO of HYBE had THIS to say about fandoms:

#some of ya'll need to wake up from that borahae kool-aid they made us drink in the beginning and it shows #jimin #park jimin #bts #bts jimin #pjm #jiminie #free jimin #hybe corrupt #bts solo careers #pjms #jimin face

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morgana-lefay · 7 months

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Yes, Zoran sounds pissed because Till isn't working with him anymore! He needs him but Till doesn't. And saying Till's videos not from him are like Rammstein from Ali Express? Man, you sounds pissed because you're not the onde who directed masterpieces like Ich hasse Kinder, Zunge or Sport frei!

Well, @franwikema just pointed out to me that Zoran had a clip of Till's guitar players on his Instagram, that I've seen being shown during his latest Tour, so he might have been responsible for the video part of the shows, including the more recent ones, even if he directed none of his music videos (at least, so far) since that one I mentioned, back in 2020. But he still sounds pissed that he went with different directors for his music videos in Zunge, since he directed pretty much everything for LINDEMANN.

I don't doubt that he and Till work well together, but does Till really needs to be pushed to extremes all the time? Is Zoran the only one who can get the best out of Till as a solo artist? Even if he, very conceitedly, wants to believe it, I hardly think so and, like I said in my previous post, I enjoy some of their work together and with Rammstein, I just think it's also interesting he's working with different crowds (including a woman director for Zunge).

Till the End, for example. I don't think all that was necessary to convey the message he refers to, which I actually got from it. But, to me, the uncensored version of Platz Eins was much more efficient on that matter (and the song is 10 times better than Till the End) and would have sufficed. Also, I think it's funny he's now saying this about "Praise Abort": "The video starts with "Rammstein Till" and then "solo Till" comes in with a pig face and kicks him off the stage. A lot of people didn't understand that". Well, a lot of people didn't understand that (me included), maybe because there's a making of on that video and never once he mentioned this take. Why now?

To finish this subject, I just think he would have done a better service to his friend by keeping his mouth shut, because it brought back old stuff and just made people lash out on Till yet again (also, I don't think it's cool to talk for another person, especially when that person isn't found of giving interviews...).

#till lindemann #rammblings #asks #dude just wants to start shit for the sake of it. I'm done with him on this matter.#(side note: it's actually strange that Joern Heitmann isn't credited in the Sport Frei music video on Till's Youtube though...)

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catty-words · 2 years

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because my ever after (2011) list helped me find the marianas trench corner of tumblr and i want to celebrate being among my people and also because i simply cannot resist the allure of this format as one ideal for expressing my appreciation for music on which my brain likes to chew,

a non-exhaustive list of things i love about masterpiece theatre (2009):

- themes!!!! this album’s exploration of performance vs authenticity is its beating heart and like, i’ve gotten the sense that it’s the work that really carved the band’s name into the tree trunk of canada’s popular music scene - nevermore to leave there (heyooo) - which makes the bitterness that runs through the album’s veins so so potent. this album is biting me biting me biting me and i never want it to stop

- how the title functions as a mission statement. one of the identifying characteristics of the band’s work following this album, and arguably* including this album, is that it’s serving at least forty percent theatre at all times

“masterpiece theatre i”

- first of all, the fact that this album includes a piece that has three separate movements (and the way this makes ‘symphonic rock’ the objectively correct way to sort marianas trench into a genre thank you very much)

- the tune-up is such a nice touch, why lie? yes kings, i am on the edge of my velvety seat, i am at the theatre!!

- please note that when i mentioned captivating prologues being a hallmark of the band’s work, i was thinking of “masterpiece theatre i” as the next best example to “ever after”

like, a thesis statement for an album what could be better?? the performer (i am consciously separating the art from the artist, josh ramsay et. al., but i am also kissing you directly on the mouth) feels the curse of the performance as much as he can’t live without it.

- the line every word is calculated because the closer i look, the more i see the loving care with which every creative choice in the band’s discography was made so like. say👏 that👏

- the soft plosiveness of this is just a part i portray and how it makes the refrain really fun to sing along to, as well as all the more powerful as the performer’s greatest plea to his audience, that they recognize the divide between authentic self and performance

“all to myself”

- the punch to the face that is the transition from “masterpiece theatre i” to this song

- how it belongs among the ranks of the band’s most danceable numbers, i never can sit still listening to this one

- i’m half asleep, and i am wide awake because, yeah. constantly, forever.

- ostensibly, the way it’s about a romantic relationship, but like.

you can just as easily read the chorus in the context of the performer speaking to his audience. the push of “isn’t the very act of creating art asking for attention, we’re only giving you what you want”, the pull of “if i’m constantly performing for you, when does the mask end and my truest self begin?” we - audience - are literally making the performer feel like someone else.

- this isn’t what i wanted but / i can’t keep my filthy fuckin’ mouth shut firstly because it fucks!!! but also because of how it fits into the album’s larger theme. fame isn’t what the performer wanted, but quite literally he’s not keeping his fucking mouth shut! he is in the act of making music for us! biting me biting me biting me

- chorus variation to round out a song, my beloved

“cross my heart”

- the way this song bewitches me into doing some bastardization of the hand jive every freaking time

- however you would describe these three bad bitches and their contributions to the structure of the song

- just the whiny, slutty energy of this one in general and how well the little bursts of guitar string feedback build up this feeling throughout the number

- the way and i do want to show you, i / will run to you, to you, til i / can’t stand on my own anymore sets the stage (theatre!!) for the speaker/performer/narrator’s pervasive attitude toward relationships and how he’s constantly swept up in the capital R-Romance of this conception of love while simultaneously having to unlearn it for the sake of his beloved, album in and album out

- how the clapping and then the music phases back in during the bridge

“beside you”

- y’all ever croon?

- this is not going to be accessible to anyone else but it’s my list so. the lyric when it’s in your spine like you’ve walked for miles because so much of my logged marianas trench time has taken place while i’m working, moving between my silly lil dog walks and i’m literally walking for miles and do occasionally very much feel it in my spine

- the words you want are out of reach, but they’ve never been so loud for the way it captures something so small and yet so profoundly true about being a person

“acadia”

- nostalgia!!! and how this song is the album’s first attempt to unpack the authentic self in the performance vs authenticity dynamic. is who i was when my childhood home was my one and only home my one and truest self?

- just like. the way i wonder about the names dropped and how my curiosity necessarily plays into the album’s theme. if they’re real people the performer knows, then he’s shilling out something intimate in an attempt to heighten his art - though, to be fair, he’s doing it in a way that’s not completely accessible to us, there’s only so much to a name itself - but if the names are completely made up, then the performer is merely playing at authenticity to bait us into reading intimacy in his art. and doesn’t that make your brain want to eat itself?? biting me biTING ME BITING ME

- god, the way this song is so well-accomplished at bottling nostalgia because like every memory comes on / when i hear that old song / that we used to sing / with the words all wrong immediately evokes thousands of moments that have tied me back to my childhood. this song really said ‘the power of music!!’ and then repeatedly knocked me on my ass with the truth of that screaming crying throwing up etc.

- not to keep harping on this, i know you guys get it, but like, the way ran out of gas on the highway / we walked there, and i gave / drunken speeches / on sobriety makes me feel like i’m part of this anecdote! i’m there, recalling that stupid speech alongside the performer. stop pulling me so close if you don’t want more kisses directly on the mouth!!!

“masterpiece theatre ii”

- the way the first verse reads as a direct response to “acadia”

after giving us so much of himself, the performer’s inclination is now to draw back

- the way the whole movement feels almost bashful compared to its powerhouse counterparts because more than the other two, “masterpiece theatre ii” is about the performer considering his performance from the audience’s perspective, about his understanding that he’s beckoned us closer but, regrettably, still can’t bring us all the way inside for how that’d destroy him.

- the refrain i’ll burn out and slip away posing the questions to the audience: can we forgive the performer when, eventually, he no longer has more art to offer us? can we turn around and recognize his humanity like he’s acknowledging ours?

“sing sing”

- how the brash opener - can i have your attention? - reads particularly cheeky coming off “masterpiece theatre ii”, where the performer just cautioned us that too much of our attention causes him to slip further and further away, and sets the bratty tone of the whole number perfectly, perfectly

- nothing captures the performer’s feelings about his relationship with his audience as succinctly as the “sing sing” chorus

this is destroying his health, but he still wishes that he were an endless well for us, full of freshness and vitality and all that we need

- just, obsessed with hear the sad little sounds as they fall from my mouth because i DO i AM

- the way the song’s brattiness comes out especially in the bridge. i’m partial to the whininess of gets very hard to drink to my continued success because like, boo hoo. i can’t toast to how popular i am :( it comes at the cost of being adored by you :(

- don’t you ever tell me i’m not loving you best because i WOULDN’T you DO

“good to you”

- GOD but the way they literally invited an audience member (i.e. a fan) to join the performance?? the way that heightens the tenderness this song has for the performer-audience relationship, even as both parties are actively getting a lil messed up by it?? gonna just drape myself on a fainting couch for a minute

- the way the chorus reinforces this read, especially when the performer and the audience sing it as one

hello????

- the way looking at the song through this lens literally just reframed the lyrics i thought i saw a sign / somewhere between the lines for me. here we are, experiencing recognition of the self in the performer’s art and thereby forging an intimacy he has no access to. AHHH!

- so yeah, every love song on this album is actually about the complex love between performer and audience. we are the object of our favorite band’s affection!! we are corrupting each other with our codependency!! ain’t love grand?

“celebrity status”

- they didn’t have to make our return to bitterness for the way performance muddles identity so sexy, but they did and they did it for me, to make sure this album never stops BITING ME

- the PANTING and how evocative it is and, like, yeah, you got me josh ramsay et. al. put me in horny jail, i am once again fuckstruck by your music. but you’re the ones who made it this way so do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars

- the lyrics trading in who i’ve been for shiny celebrity skin / i like to push it and push it until my luck is over because once more with the succinctness of this album’s theme but also because it builds on the drunken speeches on sobriety moment in acadia by making me feel like i know the performer being invited as i am to share a wry laugh over how Much he is at any given moment

- the way i wonder why, why, wonder why, why i oughta / let you wreck, resurrect whatever you wanna tastes

- for all the sexy sardonic tone of this number, there’s a beautiful little ray of hope in the line there’s a piece of me they’re throwing back at us if only for the way it builds on fix me (2006)‘s refrain of the speaker losing bits of himself (see: “say anything”, “september”) by implying that the performance, despite the sea of inauthenticity he sometimes finds himself drowning in, offers the performer the chance to know himself better. it’s a refracted image because of the audience, but he does get to experience recognition of the self in his art, too.

- the way hope also lives in the i’m trying refrain. overwhelmed and cynical about the odds, the performer is still putting forth the effort to be authentic, still putting forth the effort to create art. you gotta keep running up that hill, bitch!

“perfect”

- the seamless fade of “celebrity status” into this song

- if the point’s to never disappoint you / somebody’s got to tell me what to do because it’s very real and it makes me want to pull my hair out in chunks!!!

- i love how pointed the inclusion of this bit

feels because, on one level, “perfect” is about cultivating your image and your art until it’s as appealing as it could possibly be to the masses, and so borrowing a line from the far less polished and palatable (affectionate) “sicker things” builds on that in a delicious way

“lover dearest”

- first of all, shoutout to their ‘live from inside’ concert for unlocking the power of this number for me and, like, i am once again unwittingly roped into active participation in this album’s theme but!! can we grapple for a sec with how watching a performance - seeing the performer laid raw, specifically - is what woke me up to the emotional core of this number?? 😬

- so. you know how some words can be used often enough in a sexy enough context that you can’t help your pavlovian response to them? they lowkey get you hot no matter how they’re brought up? josh ramsay et. al. are responsible for making ‘taste’ one of these words for me (this time that we waste, but i still love your taste)

- the way i’ll just try to hide it, or i could slip into you / it’s so easy to come back into you builds on the “masterpiece theatre i” refrain of you’re beautiful / can i hide in you awhile? and how in general this song really shines a light on the codependent nature of the performer-audience relationship. the fact that this song is also about struggle with addition is like - woof - the performer traded his old vice for the thrill of the performance and amassing an audience and have i mentioned lately? BITING ME BITING ME BITING ME.

- the leave me wail. reblog, you agree.

- how the bitter in you and the quitter in me / is bitter in you and the quitter in me being reminiscent of the “shake tramp” bridge makes my brain go brrrr

“masterpiece theatre iii”

- the way the tinkling xylophone (??) intro automatically brings the drama. i am once again on the edge of my velvety seat!!

- the i’ll wreck this if i have to / tell me what good would that do / i’ll wreck this if i have to refrain being followed-up by a creeping couple bars of i’d be so good to you and how it’s a call and response between the performer and his audience. consenting to the wreckage of the masterpiece is how we, the audience, can be good to the performer. it’s how we could show our most unselfish love.

- how weaving “celebrity status” into “cross my heart” continues to highlight the album’s interest in the act of creating art being essential to the performer’s personhood while the audience’s act of consuming the artist alongside the art turns around and cheapens the performer’s identity all in the same breath

- and then also how the outro makes explicit the connection between “lover dearest” and “masterpiece theatre i”

and the way it all adds up to acknowledge the codependence without resolving it??

- and then these motherfuckers have the audacity to sprinkle on a dash of “say anything” (that’s the thing i’m sensitive about!!!!!!)?? the way i never took you for a trick but sometimes i don’t know what you want serves as the performer’s last acknowledgement that he needs to hold the audience at arm’s length because our want for his art is so monumental that it threatens to overshadow him???? the way i could take it if you need to take this out on someone beckons us closer one last time, invites us to use the art as a mirror????????? UNFAIR, I AM GNASHING MY TEETH

*in conclusion: all these songs being in conversation with one another gives the album a really satisfying cohesion and sets up what’s to come in the band’s later works, though it ironically lacks the rising and falling action that’d convince me to count it among the more theatrical pieces in their discography. it’s my rotten soldier, my sweet cheese, my good time boy, and either my second or third favorite marianas trench album, depending on what day you ask me.

#marianas trench #masterpiece theatre (2009)#to anyone who left tags on the ever after post - i love you #to anyone who listened to ever after after reading the post - i am kissing you directly on the mouth

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