#my favorite phantom troupe members
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bublines · 4 months ago
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spiders 🕸️
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keiriiz · 7 months ago
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Chrollo Relationship/Romantic Headcanons
Now for these headcanons, this is where my opinion might really differ from the rest of you guys. Of course this isn’t all but just some of my favorites. I will be putting a clear NSFW warning for when I start to talk about him in bed. 🔞
I do want to add that some of my headcanons would change depending on his partner. If they’re a Nen-user or not, exactly what their ability is, if they’re in the Phantom Troupe, and how long he’s known them, etc. These are just as neutral as possible haha. Even some of what I say here contradicts how I’ve written him in certain ships because I knew exactly how he would act for those specific love interests.
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✥ Right of the bat, Chrollo is bi-romantic, having very little preference of gender when it comes to his s/o. And sexuality wise, he’s definitely on the demisexual spectrum.
✥ Chrollo never really planned on being in a long term relationship or ever settling down with someone when he created the Phantom Troupe. It was just another aspect of life he was prepared to sacrifice. So giving a genuine relationship a shot he’d have to really love the other person.
✥ It would take forever for Chrollo to actually recognize he was feeling romantic attraction to another person as the entire thing is foreign to him.
✥ This man’s charisma goes out the drain when trying to flirt with someone he’s genuinely interested it. Tapping his fingers as a stim while he awkwardly flirts. It’s painfully adorable.
✥ Before making things official, he may do extensive research on his s/o. Background checks, verifying friends and family members, overall borderline stalking. It’s a safety measure. He doesn’t want to risk falling for someone who works for an opposing group or who might betray him.
✥ In a relationship, his s/o would be a source of comfort, especially if the relationship is long term. He’ll relax in their arms after a heist or cuddle up to them when he has a nightmare.
✥ I said in my last post but I’ll say it again here. Chrollo is a little spoon!
✥ It’s not too often Chrollo will verbally tell someone he loves them, his main ways of showing affection are quality time, and gift giving. And for his special someone, he wouldn’t just give them random things willy-nilly, he’d put thought behind each one. Say his partner mentions needing new shoes because their current ones are really worn out. You bet next time Chrollo sees them he’s bringing two pairs of brand new shoes.
✥ He loves to be able to lay his head in his s/o’s lap and have them play with his hair while he reads. He might even purr if given the right setting.
✥ Chrollo can be touch avoidant in general. If anyone touches him and he hasn’t given that person mental permission he will move away, shudder even. So if he’s actually allowing another in his space it really is a sign of fondness.
✥ This man definitely takes notes from romance novels he’s read when it comes to dates with someone he’s head over heels for. It can be cheesy.
✥ Chrollo isn’t a chef by any means but on occasion he’ll attempt to cook for his s/o when staying in. Might as well put some of his cook books to use after all.
✥ The times Chrollo is with his partner, things can be quite pleasant. However he can still be emotionally distant. He often wonders what he did to deserve all of this. To be able to love and be loved. It’s a mental battle he might struggle with quite often in the relationship and he wouldn’t be too open to communicating that, leaving his s/o confused. Just some general reassurance could go a long ways.
✥ I feel like a lot of people go for the idea that he’d like others with similar interests or are like him in general, and I could see potential in that mindset however I much prefer the “opposites attract” trope. I think Chrollo might have a bigger interest in someone different than him who can really show a different perspective on certain things. Or even test his mindset and show him new interests.
✥ He’s protective of his s/o, knowing with the life he has, anyone might try to hurt them to get to him so Chrollo wouldn’t be one to really “show off” his partner unfortunately. They relationship could be pretty private.
✥ Assuming his s/o isn’t in the Troupe, Chrollo may ghost them while he’s away on the job. He’ll let them know he’s working, but no calls or texts while he’s away. He won’t even give a location. He wants to keep his personal life separate and doesn’t want to risk revealing to an enemy his relationship or possibly get distracted.
NSFW BELOW ‼️
✥ Before the relationship, Chrollo didn’t really like sex (as I mentioned him being demi), he viewed the act as a chore used on jobs to get information and didn’t find it all that gratifying.
✥ With his s/o, Chrollo much prefers to make love as opposed to casual sex. He likes the intimacy of being with someone he truly loves and not just an act of pleasure.
✥ He prefers bottoming though is open to being a verse. Acting as Boss all the time he really just likes to relax in his personal life so in all honesty it wouldn’t be rare to catch him being a pillow prince in bed.
✥ Chrollo’s not the biggest cock wise, probably just reaching average. He’s uncut being from Meteor City but trust and believe he keeps that shit clean with his pubic hair trimmed.
✥ He’ll almost never out right ask for sex, he’s honestly fine if his partner doesn’t have any interest in the act either. Though if they make a move he’s more than happy for a session.
✥ He’s got VERY sensitive nipples. Give them a little tug with your teeth and he’ll mewl.
✥ Aftercare is always a given between him and his s/o. If Chrollo just got done bottoming, cuddles and praise are a must. He’d especially melt if given a massage.
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imagobin · 2 months ago
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HxH Poster Day 15: Pakunoda!
Legit one of my favorite Phantom Troupe members, here she issssss
OMG I'm halfway through with this let's goooooo!!
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Nobunaga and Uvogin coming next!
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flowerofthewave · 1 month ago
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Doodle request for @uvonobu my favorite phantom troupe member
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jjkamochoso · 3 months ago
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Feel the Rain on Your Skin
Fluff
Feitan Portor x f!reader
Feitan shares his umbrella—and sweet sentiments—with you!
Warnings: mentions of death; a bit macabre but more along gothic vibes
You heard the steady drip of rainfall pound against the roof, your stomach churning with excitement. Gloomy days held a special place in your heart and you couldn’t pass up the perfect opportunity to submit yourself to the storm brewing outdoors. You hastily shoved on your boots, foregoing a jacket so you didn’t waste time as you raced outside. The Phantom Troupe had taken up residence in an old abandoned house for the time being and it was by far your favorite place you’ve ever stayed at; having your own room was a luxury you dreaded giving up when you eventually had to move. Your favorite part of the house, though, wasn’t even inside. It was the sprawling backyard, with its towering, gnarled trees, luscious grass, and quiet cemetery holding the tombstones of the previous owners and their family members, that made this place so special. The wet atmosphere assaulted all of your senses in an instant and you couldn’t have been happier. You spun around, throwing your head back in delight as heavy droplets made contact with your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. You made your way to the cemetery after you got your energy out, wanting to enjoy the rest of the rain in a calmer fashion. It was peaceful out there, no doubt about it. There was no one for miles and you relished in the silence as you sank down, the cool tombstone slick underneath you. You admired the gray clouds overhead, behemoths in the sky, until you couldn’t stand the rain hitting your eyes anymore. You quickly closed them and sighed, content in your own serenity. It felt pleasant having the rain soak your hair, face, and clothes; it made you feel alive (ironic as you were sitting among the dead). More rain kept pelting down on you.
Until all of a sudden, it didn’t.
You frowned, your eyes still shut. Did it stop raining? Your eyelids fluttered open and you were met with the sight of your fellow Troupe member Feitan—
And his arm holding his umbrella over you.
“You going to get sick out here,” he said from behind his cowl. “You want to join them?”
He gestured to the graves scattered around you, trembling lightly. It was then you registered just how freezing you were, starting to shiver.
“No. But do you want to join me for a little bit longer?”
You gave him a hopeful smile, your teeth chattering. Gray eyes, the same color as the clouds above, rolled at you but he took a seat next to you anyway, still holding up the umbrella. You knew he wasn’t big on physical touch but the warmth you were getting from his closeness was so addicting that you couldn’t help yourself, leaning into him more than necessary. You waited to hear a scoff or any sign of disgust, but it never came. In fact, you could’ve sworn that he nuzzled into your side further. You sat in silence for a long time, neither of you wanting to interrupt the moment you were sharing, even if you should’ve gone inside many minutes ago. The pitter patter of the rain landing on the umbrella over you was almost trance-like, lulling you into a state of deep relaxation that you had never experienced before.
“It… nice here.”
Feitan, surprisingly, broke the quiet between you first.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “Machi did a great job finding us this place. I wanna stay here for the rest of my life.”
“I mean out here,” he said, looking off into the distance, “with you. It…”
He stopped, trying to find the right word. He spoke out a few phrases in his native tongue, shocking for you a second time in such a short span since he rarely graced you with the chance at hearing it. He always sounded so confident in his first language and you wished that someday you could learn a few words and make him feel less alone.
“It calm,” he finally said, before turning to look at you. “It beautiful.”
Any sense of chill within your bones was immediately extinguished by the burning love flowing through your body for the raven haired man next to you.
You gazed upon him, adoration and sincerity oozing from your irises.
“It truly is,” you whispered, your soft voice competing against the earthly elements raging around you but Feitan heard you loud and clear. He was grateful for the cowl that was hiding the bright red blush on his pale cheeks, opting to focus his attention on the grass as he picked at the long blades with his unoccupied hand. After another several minutes, you stretched out your legs and began standing up. Feitan did the same, moving quick enough to where you didn’t have a millisecond without the umbrella hovering over you.
✨IF YOU’RE OVER LIKE 5’5/1.67 METERS✨:
“I can hold the umbrella so you don’t have to be on your tiptoes,” you told Feitan as you stood, not wanting him to be uncomfortable.
“Tch. Can I trust you no shoot it?” he teased, quirking an eyebrow at you. “We already have dinner. No need for dead birds.”
“Ha ha, very funny. I know what button to not push. I pay attention.”
He relented, holding out the handle for you to grasp.
✨IF YOU’RE UNDER 5’5/1.67 METERS✨:
Feitan still holds the umbrella for you😚
✨BACK TO THE STORY FOR EVERYONE✨:
Before heading back inside, you looked down at the grave you were sitting on. The inscription mentioned the name of a woman who lived there over a hundred years ago, making you gasp slightly.
“That’s amazing that she gets to stay here for good,” you murmured. Feitan glanced down at his own temporary seat, reading the name of a man who also lived there at the same time as the woman. You two had just noticed that the graves were right next to each other, stones practically touching. The pair were married!
“They died on the same day,” you observed.
“Broken hearts,” he said plainly.
“Oh? You’re a romantic, I take it?”
He didn’t say anything but rolled his eyes in exasperation, making you giggle.
“I think it’s sweet to have someone follow you into death like that. That’s true love in my eyes.”
You fell into another comfortable silence, the only sound being the rustling of branches as the wind blew through the leaves.
“Feitan?” you finally said.
He didn’t reply but turned to you, giving his full attention once more and the intensity of his stare made your heart flutter again.
“Thanks. For being out here with me.”
He blinked at you slowly before finally replying. “Of course. I go where you go. Always. Forever.”
“Even to the grave?” you asked sanguinely.
He nodded solemnly. “And in whatever lies beyond death. We together.”
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ataraxiaspainting · 1 year ago
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Hier Encore I.
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Yan Chrollo x F Reader.
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), manipulation, references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and past stalking.
Word Count: 18k.
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
i. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow."
The sitting rooms in these types of hotels have always been your favorite place to sit because of the scenery. There is almost always a large window overlooking whatever city you are temporarily placed in with your captor, making everything below you seem insignificant. You see nothing other than your faded reflection in the window and blinking city lights that are so small they seem like a city of stars. At the same time, you can only touch the framed glass panes or the couch you are sitting on. You can only hear Chrollo’s pleased hums and the occasional page-turning of his current novel. You cannot feel or hear the world outside, no matter how much you try to imagine such.
When you were working, you would use your phone to notify others of what you were doing at work or when you would arrive home, but now you can't feel your pants pocket where the phone was usually kept. It would vibrate or chime loudly as its duty as your alarm and messenger. The phone, once opened, would relay your family members’ voices, or your boss’, or your assistants’. Even if some voices were secretly irritating to you before, you feel compelled to admit that they are better than hearing nothing other than the squeaky wheels of a room service cart or the air conditioner. You cannot feel the rest of your work uniform, a classic white dress shirt and black tie. You cannot hear your co-workers’ drunken laughs as they cheer with large glasses of beer in their hands. A small thud catches your attention, making you turn your head in that direction. Chrollo is putting his book down on the coffee table in front of you two. It is closed, with the cover facing upward, and the title in a foreign language. His cup is empty except for a few drops, having been previously filled with black coffee. Yours simply has room-temperature water, still filled to the brim. You make eye contact for a second or two, his eyes calm and composed. Chrollo breaks it as his arm reaches out towards his coffee cup. He picks it up with grace, sipping quietly before setting it back down on its porcelain saucer. A small smile forms on his pale lips as he looks at you.
"You seem rather bored, my dear. Would you mind conversing with me?”
“No, I would not mind.” You say, your lips moving to mimic his own with precision.
“Marvelous. Would you like to talk about anything in particular?” Chrollo asks, his left arm moving to rest on the couch.
“Anything you would like to discuss.”
“If you insist.” He places one of his legs over the other; his posture is relaxed but his stare is suddenly intense. “There is something I would like to ask of you. Tell me, do you enjoy being here with me?”
“I do. I needed some time to adjust, but I like it here. I have fewer responsibilities than what I used to have.” 
“Wonderful.” Chrollo’s smile widens.
You know that he would not be pleased if you told him the truth; that you feel nothing for him aside from disdain. His softness would fade and give way to his true colors rapidly. An eye-catching crimson red specifically. It is the color of blood, danger, fire, some species of spiders and snakes… It is the color of danger and anger. Perhaps he would threaten to murder a dear friend of yours. Perhaps he would hit you. Perhaps he would isolate you even further by not returning for days at a time. Perhaps he will tie you to the bed. …Perhaps he will kill you. It would be easy, you know it from the bits of strength he has shown you. All it would take is a simple wave of his hand and–
“I enjoy having you here, beside me. Your presence is very comforting.” His eyes glimmer for what seems like less than a fifth of a second, a light that you learned only shows when he is curious about something.
“Did you want to ask me something?”
“I am glad you noticed.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “I do have something I want to ask you.”
“Well, what is your question?”
“Do you plan to try to run away from me?” His cold tone and facial expression are unlike the one he had a few moments ago. 
“No. I do not.” You shake your head and take his hand gently. “What better place is there to be other than having you by my side?”
Chrollo’s eyes seem to soften at your answer. His posture returns to one of no worries. His shoulders are not as tense. His breathing is a bit steadier. He looks at your hand with a slight smile. He leans a bit towards you. He squeezes your hand lightly. You put your head on his shoulder to further convince him to believe the lie. Your captor hums with a pleased voice.
He is cold to the touch. It is like your hand is in a blizzard, a small warm flame surrounded by snow. There is a slight stinging sensation. It is colder than literal ice on your skin. Chrollo’s grip is tender yet strong, making it clear that he does not want to let go of your soft hand. 
You feel his nose go into your hair and dare not do anything to stop it.
Your kidnapper inhales sharply and sighs fondly. His breath smells like mint; sharp, fresh, and cool. To distract yourself from the unpleasant truth, you look around the hotel room. There is a rose bouquet in front of you two, still fresh since you both arrived this morning. They are a deep burgundy color, similar to that of the city lights outside. The glass they were placed in is intricate with flower markings. The coffee table is rosewood by the looks of it, most likely polished right before you two came. The curtains on the sides of the large window are a fawn brown, obviously to match the roses. The carpet is a beige with chocolate brown swirl patterns on it. You try to follow one with your eyes but get lost in it after a few seconds. The couch you two are sitting on is beige as well. Perhaps the reason why this room is so dull is because of how colorful the city outside of it is. Designs like this are probably why this city has so many tourists. Either that or Chrollo chose its blandness specifically because he still wanted an aura of superiority, both literally with how high the hotel room is above and in spirit with the colors. It is ironic, but Chrollo’s white dress shirt is the brightest thing inside this room. You wonder if his clothing choice was on purpose too.
You know yours was. A black dress that stops just before your knees, with gold earrings and anklet. It is a part of your plan to lower his guard. You just washed your hair a few hours ago and put on a bit too much perfume. You walk with confidence yet not too much of it. It is similar to how you used to dress when you went to parties hosted by members of high society, tasked to butter them up a little to the higher-ups’ requests for funding public safety projects. Those people were pompous for certain, but still childish and easily fooled. Chrollo, on the other hand, is pompous but intelligent and a manipulator himself, hence why you have done this dance for the past thirteen months for him to lower his guard. You think it is working, but it is not time to escape just yet.
There are still matters that must be attended to. Like a possible escape route. You know that if you try to escape Chrollo in this hotel he will catch you quite quickly since this room is so small and he will for sure notice if the only hotel key is missing. Also, you note that you cannot know for sure whether or not Chrollo fully trusts you at this point. You plan to ask him to take you on a date tomorrow and then run away once you see an area with much fewer people. You will hide a change of clothes in your purse and change your appearance. You will use a false name from then on. You will try to notify your loved ones about your whereabouts and tell them to move within a few days to be safe just in case the Troupe knows where they live. Then you will try to go north then east using the money you have secretly been stealing from him. If he says no or still has a tight grip on you throughout the day, you will not try to escape that day and try within a few more months. You will repeat this process until you have escaped successfully. You must make sure that you have loosened Chrollo’s grip on you enough, otherwise, he will catch you quickly. Who knows what will happen after that? Who knows if you will ever get this chance again? The answer is most likely never.
“Your scent… it’s nice.” Chrollo whispers.
You bat your eyelashes at him as a response.
Chrollo’s eyes appear to be full of adoration. Your makeup is fully done, a style that you know your captor likes. Winged black eyeliner. Black eyeshadow. Dark red lipstick. Your hair is in a braid with your bangs just slightly covering your eyes. Your nails are painted a color to match your eyes.
Deep down, you worry if this is enough, too much, or too little. If it is too much, he will catch on fast, and you will pay dearly for the consequences. If it is too little, he shall not be impressed and not take you outside tomorrow. It has to be just right. Chrollo leans in closer, still making eye contact as you bat your lashes. His hand is still grabbing onto yours, but it seems to have gotten a little warmer because of the heat of your own. Either that, or you had gotten used to it.
“You truly are a sight… My girl…” Chrollo’s other hand makes its way to your cheek. There is a strong scent of flowers coming off of you. He leans in more until his face and yours are just inches apart. “You smell lovely… Let me taste you.”
You hide your disgust and nod your head. 
Chrollo’s lips touch yours. The cold hand that was holding yours also makes it upward toward your other cheek and squeezes lightly. His fingers are thicker than yours. His fingernails are in pristine condition as usual. His wrists are bony. His skin looks callused, but in actuality, it is quite soft. There aren’t any scars or injuries on them, which is remarkable considering what he does for a living. You wonder if those he killed had touched his soft skin and thought they were being strangled by silk instead of actual human hands. His lips are soft too. Chrollo’s kisses always were elegant and gentle, but you think that is because you have tried your hardest to not disobey him. You wonder if the people Chrollo extorted information out of knew the touch of his lips. At least some of them knew, you think. Chrollo is attractive to many people, both rich and poor. He had told you a few stories such as when he had a sexual relationship with an older woman who had a high-paying role in government and one day he ran off with all of the riches in her safe. She died soon after. Chrollo says she died of a broken heart. You don’t know whether he meant she was mentally heartbroken and was joking with you or she had her heart mangled by Chrollo during her last few minutes alive. You don’t think you want to know the answer either. 
Chrollo’s tongue starts to trace your lower lip with greed. You feel your heart nearly skip a beat. Let me out, you want to say. Let me out. It feels like you are black and blue all over from all the tall hurdles you had to jump through to make it this far. A voice in the back of your mind says that the outside will never heal your wounds, but giving in would. It is better to just give up, it speaks in the back of your mind with a forked tongue and unsettlingly calm tone. It would be better to just accept it. Perhaps Stockholm Syndrome is settling in, or it is just your hope for the future withering away.
Your kidnapper bites slightly on your lower lip and looks deeply into your eyes. His pupils are dilated.
You look down at his lips and notice the hue of your dark red lipstick.
Chrollo doesn’t seem to care as he pulls your face towards his own again. Either that or he did not notice it, but it is unlikely considering how perceptive he is. His cold hands hold your warm face in place as you feel his hot breath tickle your nostrils. His elbows go underneath your armpits and stab into the couch. You hear nothing except for his breathing because you look at the clock on the wall to distract yourself yet again. It is nearly midnight. 
Your perfume smells like dahlias and roses, which Chrollo has mentioned liking on you before.
His right hand pushes your right cheek into the arm of the couch and he starts to suck and bite your neck.
Your skin is soft as usual, looking like porcelain.
Chrollo has complimented it before. He has complimented your scent before. He has complimented your makeup before. He has complimented your hair before. You look beautiful, there is always a genuineness in his tone that would make you feel slightly sick like you were going to throw up whatever expensive fruit or chocolate you had eaten. You would never voice it though, because that would mean all the progress you have made to lower his guard would be for nothing. It would only make him test your sufferance further by doing unspeakable acts against you or your loved ones. The only weapons he has not taken away from you are your tactical mind and honeyed words. If you play them correctly, you will eventually escape and live a somewhat peaceful life. 
Chrollo moves upward toward your ear and nibbles at your lobe softly. “You are so beautiful, my precious.” He whispers. “So beautiful…” His perfume smells like sandalwood and musk. “Like a doll. Truly, you’re quite the sight to see…” Chrollo purrs.
His fingers trace the top of your hair.
“Like silk. So soft and gentle…” His fingers dance downward on your braid, twisting back and forth. “The shampoo I chose for you was a good choice.”
You smile.
“White jasmine…” A sweet and soft scent. Swirls of saccharine and fruit. A slight tart smell of citrus. Universally ambrosial paired with the bitter words that leave your syrup-covered lips; making a charming palette of a flavor similar to that of biting into a square of dark chocolate mixed with orange zest. The texture is not ever strange because of how well-crafted the chocolate is. It is not difficult to swallow but doesn’t melt in the mouth too fast either. The delicacy’s flavor stays in the mouth even after it is fully dissolved, coating each tooth in a substance that has a lovely bittersweet taste like honey mixed with black tea. “It suits you.”
*~*~*~*
1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people. 
A lot of them were on the lower floors, scampering away to locked exits like stray, captured cats, clawing and screaming at the metal doors to open. You sometimes envy them, for their time with the Troupe was short. They knew how their fate was going to end; swift and twisted. A quick punch. A sudden stab. A loud blast of a firearm. They knew how they were going to die. They comforted each other as they were ripped limb from limb. 
You don’t know how you are going to die, or when you are going to die. You could die in a few seconds, a few months, or a few years. You could die by being shot, being poisoned, or being strangled. No one came to comfort you, and no one comforts you now. No one listened to your struggles and cries for help as you were pushed in a black car, gagged and restrained. No one helped you in one of your most desperate moments. 
You are tired of doing everything with the person that made your life a living hell. You want to go back to eating dinner at a restaurant and not feel an unwanted hand on your thigh. You want to go back to sleep with a loose arm around you and not a strangling one. You want to go back to talking to someone you like about a topic you like and not think your every move toward freedom is a gamble.
1995, April 10th. The Phantom Troupe targeted the Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, one of the largest public safety headquarters in the world, killing 1,891 people, leaving very few people to tell others of the tale. Perhaps you count, but you are presumed dead by the outside world so it wouldn’t matter anyhow. You are all alone and stuck in a situation akin to limbo. 
*~*~*~*
Chrollo keeps batting his eyelashes at you across the dining table.
His hair is well-kept, he is wearing a fancy suit, and his nearly black eyes are wider and brighter than when you saw him last. It is well past sunset, the sky outside the window a murky, livid color. He is humming now, staring at you rather than the uncut steak in front of him. You are about to stop playing with your food when–
“Black is a good color on you.”
Your head jerks up. His eyes are even more vivid, and focused, while yours are uncertain. Your hand stops moving your fork to your mouth and falls back to the table lifelessly. 
“Your dress,” he smiles.
“I…” You look down and close your eyes. You have to force your shoulders not to shake by thinking of happier times in your life. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” You refuse to look at him for it will show what you are feeling. Your heart beats so fast that you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest. “I have something for you, after dinner.”
He has just come back from another successful heist in this city. It makes sense.
“I’m not very hungry, Chrollo.”
He hums. “You are going to go hungry.” You hear him place his cup of wine back onto the table. “At least eat the radish soup. You need to eat your vegetables.”
As if brought to existence by his words, you smell the bowl of vegetable soup beside the uneaten steak. You mostly smell the tartness of the tomato slices, big and bright. Mint comes second, fresh yet light compared to the tomato smell. You don’t smell the radish, though, despite the chunks of them being large enough to hardly fit in your spoon.
You open your eyes and lift your hand to pick up the spoon in the bowl. You take a piece of radish in your mouth, quickly chewing the peppery vegetable.
You still refuse to look at your captor. You just try to focus on eating the soup so you can at least temporarily avoid his gaze. You are never this nervous when you are about to try to manipulate someone into doing what you say, but Chrollo’s eye for tactics is about the same as yours. When you are almost done with your soup, you suddenly hear Chrollo’s chair move, followed by footsteps.
“You’re nervous.”
You shake your head and take the last bite of your soup. “I am not. I am just thinking about something, dear.”
He grabs the hand that was holding your spoon. His thumb makes circles around your own.
You take some of the quietest and quickest deep breaths and look at Chrollo, the corners of your mouth turning upwards into another deceitful smile. “You don’t need to worry about me. You already work hard enough as it is.”
Chrollo hoists you up and hugs you. 
The window gives way to the starless night sky as dark as obsidian���the moon a slight crescent, and a snow white. It floats atop the carefully cut trees onto their tips and stays there, like a strung puppet in a finished puppet show, unmoving until called upon again by its master. 
“What is my beautiful [First] worried about?” He murmurs. 
“I was examining something.” Your fingertips graze against his palm. You plan to recreate the classic dance of Black Swan Pas de Deux, with you taking on the role of Odile. “Something most peculiar.” Your hand clasps onto his. “I am like a train. I can only run anywhere my rails take me. I suppose you are a new track I have yet to explore, and the only option is to move wherever it is you take me.” His hand feels warm, but not warm enough to comfort others. “It has been an unexpected journey with many stops, but it is my purpose to keep moving forward until the end. The end’s length feels far and I feel that only through death would the tracks cusp.” You stand up straighter than before and your breath echoes in his ear. “People focus more on the train’s condition than the tracks but the tracks are the most important part of the journey. Without tracks, trains would not exist. So, Chrollo…” You feel comfortably numb and not as timid as you were a few minutes ago. “How do you feel?”
You look into your captor’s eyes, and all you see is hell. The very gates of hell in the eyes of a human being. When judgment passes, all of your sins shall be weighed. The only way for your sins to disappear before that day is to lie. 
The Devil himself is waiting for the moment when your mask shatters and gives way to a horrid monstrosity. Only then can he punish you for your misdeeds.
“...How I feel, huh?” Long, silent fingers move like a spider’s legs up and down your back. He is now reciprocating your dance by playing the role of Prince Siegfried. The gramophone plays Beethoven’s Für Elise.  “I think you're a fascinating woman, darling.” His tone is gentle, contrasting with the usual coldness and detachment he carries so often. He moves his other hand to the side of your face and gently caresses your cheeks. “You're smart, creative, and strong. You have a unique charm that sets you apart from everyone else.” 
Like a rose, Chrollo’s thorns and stunningly beautiful features cut deep into both your psyche and the world around you. He has spent what feels like years trying to pluck your petals off one by one in a game of effeuiller la marguerite, the logic behind it being a bizarre combination of many things. His stalk, the axis that connects all his reasons, would be simple curiosity. He was curious to find out where your traits stemmed from, what and who made you the way you are today if you were hiding something nefarious behind that bright smile and kind voice of yours, and thus began his hunt for more knowledge. His calyx, a shield made of his in the form of sepals, represents how protective he is of his deepest, darkest secrets. He has buried them all beneath a temple of fake phlegmatism and honesty. The petals of his biggest and most colorful flower lead his admirers astray so they could never uncover the real Chrollo, which you think is a mercy in itself. Most of those who have seen his true self are buried along with it soon enough.
You want to take a lighter and light him ablaze so that he shall never reroot in the soil around him. The only way you can do such a thing is to play a game of effeuiller la marguerite as well. This is the path you must take to get your freedom back.
The key is to follow the hidden rules.
That means doing things you find repulsive but he finds lovely.
That means kissing him when he comes back. That means letting him do what he wants with your body. That means lying straight to his face when saying you are attracted to him. It will all be worth it in the end, you tell yourself.
You hum, acting like those words that leave his mouth are the things you want to hear the most.
“Those eyes, so grounded yet divine, are the only ones worthy of reverence.” His pale lips twirl upward like a ballet dancer’s arms. “I shall be honored if you choose me to be your apostle.”
“Do you see yourself when you gaze into my eyes, my beloved?”
“I do.” His voice seems breathless, almost drunk, his mind above the clouds and fantasizing about the future. Your eyes are similar to that of a small, round mirror that can reflect light just like the surface of a pond does. 
“I see myself when I look at yours as well,” You sigh with a pseudo impression of an amorous tone. “I suppose we are meant to be together.” Like an elegant ballerina, you relevé. “So, Chrollo…” Your lips are so close to his. Your voice is hushed, calm, and teasing. “I have a favor to ask.” 
His eyes light up with adoration, similar to how Romeo first saw Juliet at the Capulet ball. 
“Ask me for anything you wish for and I shall see to it that it is done.” The hand that is on your back clenches it a bit more.
“I would like to go somewhere tomorrow.” 
“Hm? Where would you like to go?” Chrollo’s tone is now a mix of curiosity and hopefulness. 
“The planetarium.” Your thumb circles his. “That is if you’d like to oblige my request.”
“Of course.” His fingers curl into yours. He smiles as he speaks, his tone soft and sweet. “I’d like to go to the planetarium with you, especially since you have such a desire to go.” There is a twinkle in his eyes.
“Perhaps afterward we can go to a cafe and sit in the park?”
“That sounds like an excellent plan.” He casts you an unfamiliar glance before your lips meet. You start to back away as he lets go of you, and you pick up your glass of water. You take a few sips before setting it back down on the table.
The absence of sound doesn't please you, as the music from the gramophone has ceased and Chrollo seems lost in thought. However, you're not bothered enough to not enjoy the silence. You are envisioning a future of peace, where your captor never finds you again. 
Donned in velvet attire and sipping on tea, you frequent the sandy shores, observing the ebb and flow of the ocean. Undisturbed, you create music with your violin for an audience of one; yourself. A life of uttermost pleasure.
“I shall prepare for tomorrow, then.”
Chrollo nods with a satisfied hum.
“Very well.”
You slink off into the bedroom, grab your purse, and pack the money you had stolen from Chrollo’s jackets and pants. It is not much, but it should be enough to cover travel fees. You also pack more comfortable clothes and shoes to run in. They are clothes you have never worn, so they are the clothes most likely to not be recognized by him.  You lay out a fancier outfit over your purse to hide it. 
Now all there is to do now is wait.
*~*~*~*
“Get in.” 
Your mouth is gagged with a tied scarf and your hands are restrained with handcuffs. There is no warmth in the monster of a man’s tone. There is only an open car door and a forceful push. Later, a slamming sound. 
You are covered in blood, your supervisor’s blood–he tried to use you as a shield against the intruders but was met with a bullet to the head–so much blood. Your dress shirt is as red as a traffic light or a ladybug, though you would prefer the traffic light because you signal to those still dying not to scream anymore, that there was no point in trying to delay the inevitable. There are small pieces of his flesh inside your mouth, you are certain of it considering that you can taste something metallic and flabby. Multiple small, flabby things. Your colleagues’ screams still ring in your ears; they hurt so much.
You can still hear the crunching of their smashed skulls and bones, the alarms, the emergency protocol announcement, the gunshots, the loud severing and ripping of muscle and fat, and–
“Greetings.” A voice, calm and placid. A man sitting beside you, visibly comfortable with one of his legs over the other. He moves his left arm and clicks your seatbelt into place, then does the same with his own. 
A blaring statement outside the car. “Two billion Jenny and she’ll be set free,” one of the thieves said, probably the one that pushed you into the car, “if we aren’t paid by next week she dies.”
“Do not worry.” The man beside you speaks in a lulling tone. “It is simply a ploy. We won’t kill you, I will make sure of it.”
You look down at your legs and shoes, considering what to do or say if the gag is ever taken off. 
A firm grip on your shoulder and a say of your name makes you look at him again. His eyes are filled with nothing but obsession and make your heart stop beating for a split second. “If I take this gag off of you, do you promise not to scream?” 
You nod, because what choice do you have other than being compliant? 
There is a pleased hum and a praise you cannot exactly remember, then the scarf is off and on the floor of the car. 
“I should introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” A warm chuckle. “My name is Chrollo, and… for now, just let me say that we are going to get to know each other quite a bit.”
*~*~*~*
“Stars are such wonders, aren’t they, dearest?”
You give an impressed hum as you look around and sit in your seat beside Chrollo. The room soon goes dark as the public speaker starts talking.
There is a single spotlight on her that is a bright white which contrasts with the pitch-black room. She bows as some of the audience claps, you included. You don’t think Chrollo clapped, though.
“It's been estimated by astronomers that there could be as many as one septillion stars in the universe.” 
“Yet there is only one of you,” Chrollo whispers in your ear.
The announcer speaks with a proud yet modest tone, not being too outward yet not being too quiet to not draw any attention to herself. “The Milky Way galaxy is home to over 100 billion stars, with the Sun being the most well-known.”
You are not the moon above, you aren’t even a star. You are simply a piece of an asteroid, soon to fade to dust in the cold, cruel darkness of space.
You look at him and smile. He smiles back at you.
“The creation of this universe brings me joy, for it has led me to cross paths with you.” The spherical walls light up and turn a dark blue and fill with holographic stars and meteors. “I’m glad.”
“These fiery balls are composed primarily of hydrogen, with traces of helium and other elements.” The speaker continues. “Each star has a unique lifespan, which can vary from millions to trillions of years, and their characteristics shift as they age.”
“The Sun is needed to sustain life in this galaxy, just like how I need you and you need me.”
You hum again and grab his hand gently. “You do not need to hang a legion of stars around yourself to show you are not Neptune, for I already know you are my Sun.”
“Should the sun disappear, the Earth would be devoid of light, warmth, and life.” It is like Chrollo had a vision of the future. “Initially, the planets would follow their orbits for a short while before eventually exiting the solar system. Although the sun's rays would continue to reach us for a brief eight-and-a-half minutes after its disappearance, the world would be plunged into darkness.”
“Within a week, temperatures would plummet to zero degrees Celsius, causing the demise of most flora and fauna.” Chrollo resumes. “As time passes, the atmosphere would also gradually disappear. The Sun is very important if you cannot tell.”
“I concur, beloved.”
“It’s a miracle the Sun’s warmth exists in the first place, or that this planet’s orbit was placed in the perfect environment.” Chrollo sighs peacefully, but you aren’t sure if he is in awe at the planetarium or you. “We wouldn’t have existed if this planet was made in a different area of the universe.”
“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it? Thanks to the Sun, now we have a bright future ahead of us all.”
His hand clasps onto yours. “I make a vow to you that our bond will never break, and we will remain inseparable for eternity.” His mouth is so close you feel like he is about to kiss your ear. “Do not worry about the details, for I shall take care of everything.”
*~*~*~*
There is one mirror. There are two hanging jackets. There are three lights above you. There are four paintings on the wall facing the entrance. Five vases contain your favorite flowers, two on the floor and three on the table. There are six rows of stone bricks, then carpet at the start of the stairs. Seven glass panes make up the decoration above the entryway. There are eight engravings on the locked wooden door, each of a flower or deer. Nine smells are coming from upstairs; garlic, cheese, tomato, onion, poultry, olive oil, butter, pasta, and basil. Let me out. 
It’s dark outside, but the chandelier above provides enough light for you to see that the door is still locked. As much as you want to mask your real feelings from your captor, you have to acknowledge the fact that you cannot breathe. There is a call from upstairs. You put your book down on the sole chair. There are ten steps leading to the second floor. 
There is one staircase leading to the third floor. There are two rooms: the living room and the kitchen. Three footsteps are approaching you. Four words leave Chrollo’s mouth, but you cannot remember them.
You cannot cry. You cannot do anything but smile and hug back. His embrace feels like it is burning your skin. He says something about your beauty. He grabs your hand gently. There are ten steps you take as he guides you to the stove.
There is one pot full of food. There are two plates. Three instruments are playing on the gramophone; violin, piano, and cello. There are four chairs near the kitchen table. There are five books, with one of them being an open cookbook. There are six candles on the table with the lights turned off. There are seven wrapped gifts on the table. There are eight seconds of Chrollo hugging you.
You unwrap the gifts. Matching necklaces with engraved names on them. A gold ring with rubies. A decorated photo of you taken from a Polaroid. A large box of your favorite chocolate. A butterfly pin. A velvet coat with a spider embroidered on the back. Chrollo’s smile almost makes you shudder.
There is one chair you sit in. There are two utensils before you; a fork and a knife. There are thoughts in your mind for three seconds; fantasizing about you stabbing him. There are four seconds of temptation before you ignore it. There are five seconds of silence before you say you love Chrollo. Gifts are celebrating six months of you being held captive. There are seven roses in the vase in the middle of the candles. There are eight bites you take of your food, and then force yourself to eat the rest through your nauseousness. 
Let me out.
*~*~*~*
The nutty smell of coffee brings you a feeling of slight warmth and relaxation. The chalkboard above the barista reads Carte Du Jour with white words, listing off the assortment of pastries, coffees, teas, and fruit-flavored drinks. Chrollo is ordering for you two, spending what feels like an unnecessary amount of Jenny on pumpkin muffins, chocolate croissants, and two espressos. The barista audibly gasped when he gave her a tip that can best be described as more than what she would make in a week. 
The two of you soon make your way to this city’s largest park and sit on a bench away from most people. There is a musician loudly playing clarinet nearby, but he is not close enough for you two to see him, and he is too invested in playing his instrument to notice anyone. The sun is well above the pond, making the ducks swimming in it almost glow. Chrollo is still holding the paper bag full of the pastries and his espresso, but you are holding yours in your hand.
He is still, visibly calm, and enjoying the sight.
You feel an invisible pressure on your neck. It’s just a knot in my throat, you think to yourself, closing your eyes. The sight of his stillness gifts you a veil of comfort so thin that if anyone were to touch it it would tear. I’m not going to die. But you can’t breathe.
Your heart tells you otherwise. You can feel, no, hear blood pulse to the very tips of your fingers. Your feet tell you otherwise. They are cold. They hurt. They are adhered to the ground. Your arms and legs tell you otherwise. There is nothing but pins and needles all over. This is your chance, the little voice in your head says with blind reassurance. Who knows when you will ever get this chance again? Do it now, and be quick about it. But you can’t breathe. You can’t breathe, and you have to try your hardest to stop the hand holding your espresso from shaking and falling on you. 
“Thank you for taking me here,” You smile the best you can, as usual. You try to not focus on your memories of Chrollo’s observation skills. “You made my day. This is one of the best experiences I have had in a while.”
There is sweat going down your forehead. Chrollo nods his head and smiles. You’re afraid, and you never are afraid. His head leans forward until your noses are barely touching. 
He is so close you can smell the mint in his mouth. 
“Of course, my dear. It is an honor to have you in my life, after all.”
“I… would say the same.”
He lifts his head slightly. “Spending time with you is always a pleasure. I would commit the gravest sins if it meant having moments like this forever.” You know that he is being literal. That is the reason you nearly shudder.
He is leaning in closer. You want to run. You have to run.
He backs away after kissing you, and that is when you strike.
You throw your espresso on him, its lid on the bench. You don’t focus on his reaction, because you are running as fast as you can with your purse.
You toss your heels to the side of an unknown road when your feet start to bleed. 
You change clothes in a rat-infested public restroom. You throw everything aside from your stolen money into a nearby lake in fear of a tracking device being on something. You cover the wounds on your feet with toilet paper and then put on sneakers. 
You put your hair up in a bun and cover it with a hood.
You wash your makeup off using lake water.
You soon get on a bus. Then another.
You then eventually take a train. For nearly three days you stay, hardly eating out of fear of vomiting due to nervousness. You walk the rest on foot until you have reached somewhere far, far away from that city. 
You steal money from those around you when needed. You threaten those around you when needed, threatening them to stay silent or their fate will end at your hands. You make use of a few kind-hearted people who let you into their homes when they see you, dirty and injured on the side of the road. They clean up your wounds, give you warm food, and you repay them with a simple, untrusting, and cold goodbye and leave without a trace. 
You move from place to place every few hours.
Then you move from place to place every few days.
Eventually, you move from place to place every few months. You ultimately settle into a town by the seashore, under a fake alias. You move into a cabin by the beach with no warmth other than a few candles and no entertainment other than books or writing. You eat the cheapest food the local saloon sells that day. 
The day you escaped was 1996, May 9th.
It is now 1997, August 3rd.
*~*~*~*
The speakers blare a sound akin to ambulance sirens. A man’s voice soon after, panicky and horrified. 
He spoke of evacuating as soon as possible through the emergency exits. An infamous terrorist group is in the building, he said. Then the sound of a gunshot, cries for mercy, then another voice. 
“Run, rabbits.” Whoever was speaking had confidence and arrogance. 
Your supervisor stands up from his desk and his guards pull out their guns. You look around for a way out. Screams from outside the office. Flesh being ripped apart. The evacuation door was locked, as much as you and the guards pushed and pulled. 
The main door was kicked open by a man taller than any you have seen, ripped apart by its hinges, and fell on the floor. The guards shot at him, but they reflected off of him like he was made of iron. He was fast, fast enough to smash their brains in with his mere fists. He laughed loudly, amused. Your supervisor grabbed you by your hair and put you in a chokehold. 
A gun was put to your head.
He threatened to shoot you. The threat was met with a gunshot behind his head, his body falling on top of you as he cried out for mercy, and his blood covering you from head to toe as someone dressed in black slashed his body again and again. 
You put your hands up and close your eyes, expecting the same fate as you hear his corpse falling off of you with a loud thud.
Instead, your wrists were grabbed and put in handcuffs. A hand on your shoulder and a pat.
“We can’t have damaged goods. You have been chosen to live… at least for now. Congrats.”
A push that blurred between light and strong. A walk out the office doors and to the elevator. A thumb pressing the down button. The elevator doors opened with an automated voice saying going down. Another button is being pressed, the doors closing, and jazz is playing.
One of them, the swordsman, asked how people working (or worked, really) could wait for an elevator every day to go to the top floor, saying how boring that would be if it was him. You cannot tell if he was joking with you or was genuinely curious. The elevator slowly goes down, the light at the top of the button selection decreasing from seventy to one. The doors open. Another push.
A walk out to the lobby.
“Oh, do you guys think that the pocket change from that dude will be enough to buy some snacks from the vending machines? I’m pretty hungry right now. Do you guys think so?”
A woman with magenta hair rolls her eyes and scoffs. “You are such a child, Uvo. You want to get snacks, now?”
Another scoff in response. “Hunger is part of the everyday human experience. Don’t think you are so above it, Machi.”
“Fine.” The swordsman speaks, clearly annoyed. He looks at you with a neutral expression. “Take her to the car and Feitan and I will get you snacks, my treat.”
The man wearing all black rolls his eyes.
“I never agreed to that.” He shakes his half-masked head. “I am also not hungry. We can also get food elsewhere. Vending machine food is expensive. Waste of money.”
Machi rolls her eyes in turn.
“Everyone is dead already.”
You are closing your eyes and imagining being somewhere else, anywhere else than here. A cafe. A ballet. Anywhere but here.
“I’m hungry.”
The swordsman punches him in the arm.
“Ow, Nobu!”
A man crawls on his arms towards you all, his legs ripped off. He cries out and curses as he coughs up blood. Curses for their family. Curses for eternal damnation. They are quickly snuffed out by Uvo’s punch and brain matter splatters all over the lobby floor.
Then silence.
The man called Nobu sighs, visibly exhausted. He looks at Uvo like he is two years old. He asks Uvo what snacks he wants. He responds with something meaty or cheesy, like jerky or something. An alright leaves Nobu’s thin lips and he asks you where the vending machines are.
You feel like you are about to soil yourself. Why the hell are they acting so normal after killing an entire building full of people? But with a shaky voice, you tell him that it should be on the 61st floor because that is where all the workers go to eat lunch. 
A damn it leaves his mouth then, and another roll of his eyes. But he thanks you, and he and Feitan go back to the elevators. 
Uvo and Machi stare at you. 
“Listen,” Machi finally talks to you. She tries to smile, but it doesn’t bring you any comfort. If anything, you feel like you are about to cry more at the sight. She puts her hand on your shoulder. “We don’t want to hurt you. Far from it, if that helps.”
It doesn’t. You just look down at your feet. 
A sigh. Another push.
“You could have tried to be more gentle, Uvo. Now she’s scared of all of us. What’s the boss gonna think?”
You stare at them. They glare at each other.
“Machi, she’s supposed to be our hostage, at least to the public eye.” He looks at the receptionist's desk, where the receptionist’s corpse lays, her neck bent to an acute angle. You look around for any possible escape route. You see one. The main entrance. 
You run fast. Until you are outside. Uvo’s arm wraps around your waist and pulls you back.
“Listen. We do not want to hurt you. But we have to at least seem like we are rough handling you.” His hands go on your shoulders and make you walk towards a foreign black car. “Sorry. But it’s for the best. I  promise.”
“Just put this on.” She wraps a scarf around your mouth, gagging you. 
“Hey, you’ll have a good life from now on. Trust us with that, at least. You’ll be happier now.”
Uvo pushes you, hard, when he sees police cars approaching. He opens the car door. A malicious smile appears on his face, like a mask he has just put on.
“Get in.”
You hope that whatever is in store for you isn’t as bad as what your colleagues suffered.
*~*~*~*
There is a man around your age who goes out around the same time as you to smoke by the beach.
He has dark hair with a slight purple tint, making you assume that it is dyed. It looks long and it is swept to the side, except for a quarter of it which is shaved. He has near-black eyes, but they don’t look as intimidating as Chrollo’s. If anything, they look slightly sorrowful. 
You go on the fishing dock as usual with a box of cigarettes and a lighter in your sweater pocket. The man is there, searching his own pockets and visibly frustrated.
“Do you want one of mine?”
He looks up at you. His eyes wander from your face downward towards your extended hand which holds an unlit cigarette. He doesn’t answer and just stares at it.
“I noticed you are looking in your pockets for one.” You smile, but as you usually do with fake kindness, not caring enough about him to get too close.
“I…” His eyes squint, slightly suspicious. Perhaps it takes a moment or two for him to realize you are talking to him. “Yes, thanks.”
“Hmm. You’re welcome.” You hand him the cigarette and you take another one out for you. You put it in your mouth as you pull out your lighter from your sweatpant pocket. “So, what is your name?”
He doesn’t answer, because he is looking in his hoodie pocket again.
“Damn it.”
You extend your lighter out to him. “Do you need a lighter?” He takes it. “You sure are forgetful tonight, huh?”
He presses the ignition button and orange flames arise. The end of his cigarette turns a yam orange. He hands your lighter back to you.
You do the same with yours. You then put the lighter back in your sweatpants pocket.
You inhale the puff of smoke that enters your mouth, an ash gray. You take the cigarette out of your mouth with two fingers and exhale. You then look back at the man, who just did the same thing.
“Thanks for the help.”
You smile.
“Of course.”
“I don’t think I have seen you before so you must be the one that just moved in, right?”
You nod. “Yes.”
“Cool. Out of all the places you could have gone, you chose this town.” He raises an eyebrow, visibly curious. “May I ask why?”
You fix your eyes on him, taking a few moments to process the unexpected nature of his question. He inhales his cigarette again and breathes out the smoke. 
“This town seems quaint.” You finally answer. “The locals are nice, the expenses aren’t that much, and the scenery is alluring.”
You use your cigarette again and use your other sweatpants pocket to fish out your portable cassette player along with your headphones. You then realize that you had forgotten your music tape at your house. You sigh and then put it back into your pocket. Footsteps get your attention and you see the stranger approaching the shoreline. He bends down and picks up a small rock. He throws it to the sea and it bounces; one, two, three, four.
It then sinks beneath the waves, and the man mutters something under his breath. “Should have been more.”
You take a few steps towards him.
“What is your name?”
“Sebaste.” His tone isn’t warm, but it’s not cold either.
You stare at each other for a few moments in awkward silence. Your tone is just as strange as his as you say, “My name is [First]. A pleasure to meet you.” You place your lit cigarette on the pier and stomp on it until it goes out. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Do you live with a family member?” You’re not sure where this question came from, but you are for sure more interested in him than you realize. He turns his back to you.
“Yeah.”
You look out into the deep and dark sea.
“I don’t have any family here.”
“Mmhmm.”
His voice is slightly dismissive, but you don’t think he means to be.
“It must be nice, having people you can rely on.”
He looks at you again, but you cannot tell what he feels.
You don’t look at each other after that. You look down at the items that line the beach instead. Even though they are indeed damaged, they feel more like treasures than whatever expensive gifts Chrollo gave you.
There are mostly large shells that are still vibrant despite it being nighttime as well as being covered in sand. They look like fragments of a broken rainbow when the moon’s light reflects in just the right areas. You have contemplated bringing one home and stringing it into a necklace. 
Sebaste takes his cigarette out of his mouth and points out to the ocean. There is no sound aside from the waves and occasional seagull calls. His two fingers trace the stars beyond the horizon. 
He says there is a constellation called the Hydra. According to Sebaste, during summer, the season of rebirth and peace, the Hydra constellation appears as a reminder of assured death to those below it, whatever arrogance mortals may have had disappearing in an instant. Their fates loom over them like the blade of a guillotine, knowing their hearts shall stop working eventually, the color of crimson fading like flowers in autumn. Memento mori, you suppose.
“You sure know a lot about nature.” You say.
“It’s interesting, but it’s not what I mainly like learning about.” He throws another stone into the sea. One, two, three, four, five. He throws his cigarette out into the ocean and watches the flame die out. “I’m mostly just coding on my desktop. That,” He lightly chuckles. “And playing games. Video games and board games, as well as comics. They are fun.”
You don’t know anything about those either, even more so than nature. “That’s nice. I… don’t know anything about those. They seem cool, though.”
He chuckles at that. You do too.
He turns to you and takes a few steps forward.
He says that that seemed sort of obvious considering how upright your posture is, and how polite you speak. He offers to play games with you sometime and lend you comics. He walks you to your house and says a warm goodbye.
Although the certainness of seeing each other again is unknown, this fleeting encounter holds a remarkable significance, because you don’t feel as alone as you usually do.
You don’t feel alone. It is a strange feeling.
*~*~*~*
You wanted to watch Sleeping Beauty.
“Beautiful.”
Chrollo wanted to watch The Nutcracker.
“Just beautiful.”
The dancers’ feet move with grace and precision as the orchestra plays. Green, yellow, and pink dancers. You let Chrollo have his way with which performance tickets to buy because you didn’t want to fight and lose all of your progress.
“Don’t you think so, dearest?”
You look from your compact mirror to him, your lipstick still in hand.
“Yes.”
Chrollo seems to be smiling, but you cannot tell because of how dark the theater is. It’s a miracle you can see your lips in your compact mirror.
“I spot something even more beautiful, however.”
You almost want to shudder as his hand reaches the one carrying your mirror. He closes the reflector gently. You are thankful for how dark the theater is now because it hides whatever lovesick expression he is wearing. He is the one paying attention to the ballet, while you daydream of being anywhere else.
There is a light chuckle. A light squeeze. A light whisper of a compliment you pretend to listen to. 
“So beautiful.”
“Thank you for taking me.”
It’s Christmas Eve. A fur coat covers you and keeps you warm. It is snowing, and the sight makes you slightly less nervous. 
You and Chrollo are walking out of the theater. Hand in hand. As much as you want to break away. Your captor soon opens the car door, and you sit down.
He goes to the driver’s side and sits down too.
The car soon drives away onto the salted road. 
“I had fun.” You try your best to smile. “I did.” You look out the window to the snow-covered, dead trees, as well as the reflection of your red dress and white coat.
Chrollo grins as he turns the steering wheel left. After a few moments, the car stops. “Wait here for a moment. I will be back in a few minutes.”
With that, he steps out of the car and leaves the key with you to make sure the alarm does not go off. 
He makes sure you lock the doors before walking away.
You don’t dare go sit on the driver’s side. You don’t dare touch the steering wheel or press on the gas.
You just sit with your thoughts until he eventually returns, and you unlock the car.
“I have something for you,” His voice is almost cooing, but is laced with honey. There is a large box in his hands.
He extends his arms out and you take it. He sits back down and closes the car door. 
“Open it,” He croons. You pull on the tied ribbon until the knot is undone. You take off the box’s lid. Macarons. Colorful macarons, all spread apart within the box just enough for people to see their fillings. Green, yellow, pink. But there are also a few white ones in the center with red filling. 
You thank him and he tells you the flavors. The green ones are pistachio, symbolizing good fortune in the years ahead. The yellow ones are champagne, symbolizing joy and celebration. The pink ones are flavored strawberry, symbolizing life. 
There is a nefarious twinkle in his eyes as he points to the white ones. The cookies are vanilla with a cherry filling. 
They symbolize renewal and love.
He says that the macarons illustrate your relationship well.
You agree, because what else is there to say?
*~*~*~*
Sebaste invited you to a summer night on the shoreline. He said there was something special going on tonight. 
Most of the townspeople are by the fisherman’s shop, overlooking the pier. They bring lanterns and are huddled together in their sweaters. Knowing Sebaste, he has probably gone somewhere more remote on the beach.
You are right. He is sitting on a picnic blanket with a few takeout boxes of food. He welcomes you with a grin as you sit down with him. There is sashimi, cheese-covered cauliflower, and fried calamari.
There is something behind him. But you don’t ask about it.
Sebaste is a rebellious loner, from what you have come to know from both the townspeople and himself.
He hardly has anyone over because of how judgmental his stepfather can be. He often fights with his stepfather and half-sister, and as a result, was forced to live in the basement as per his mother’s wishes to not cause any more problems. He loves his mother, he does, you can tell. She seems to love him too.
His room is often full of takeout boxes and used cigarettes, as well as video and board games and his desktop. The couch in his room always has comics and food stains on it. But you sit on it anyway to wait for him to finish his work before talking to you about whatever interest he currently is fixated on.
You sit on the picnic blanket and face the shoreline, your dirndl moving slightly with the wind. Your boots are covered in sand, but they are the only ones you have that will keep you warm while keeping the sand out of the inside of them. It’s just you, Sebaste, and the ocean.
Sebaste isn’t smoking for once, and neither are you.
You both agreed to focus on the ocean instead.
Sebaste gets a bit closer by scooting over. He is smiling gently, a smile you know hardly anyone else has seen. He takes a rock and throws it into the water, making it skip. One, two, three, four, five, six. He cheers quietly at his accomplishment, and you do too.
He looks at you.
He looks at your left hand that rests beside his right one. He moves just a hair closer. He clears his throat when you make eye contact. His pale cheeks are a slight pink.
“I…” he starts as his face turns away from you. His voice is a bit jittery. “I think I like you. Romantically.”
Does he mean it? His body language is slightly tense and his shoulders are uptight. His left hand comes out from hiding behind his back as he shows you a bouquet. There are blue thistles, purple sweet peas, and orange poppies.
He waits for a response as he turns to you again, visibly nervous.
*~*~*~*
You continue to try to pull away, but your efforts are unsuccessful.
Chrollo seems somewhat amused at your struggles, though he still doesn't force you to stop moving against his grasp.
"You're acting in a very ungrateful manner, my dear. I've given you this beautiful home and life that you couldn't even dream of on your own. You should be happy and thankful for what you've been given, not trying to escape from it. This is what love is. You are too young and immature to understand that, it seems."
"Love? Do you call this love? You're insane! Let me go!" Your eyes fill with tears as you try to pull away, and your voice breaks as you speak. "You're insane! You're insane and sick and disgusting! You're... you're..."
Chrollo still doesn't force you to stop trying to escape, and he doesn't raise his voice or grow angrier at your words. He just waits patiently.
"Monster... Disgusting... Sick freak... Monster..." Your voice is shaky as you continue to speak, and your eyes are filled with tears. "How can you justify this? What was wrong with my life before you? Why did you have to destroy everything? Why do you enjoy hurting me?" You yell and cry out, still trying to pull away, even though you don't seem to be hurting him.
Chrollo, once again, doesn't seem to be bothered by your words. As the alarm goes off, signaling your time out of restraints, he turns it off and drags you to the bedroom once again. Something tells you that you won’t be sleeping much tonight, less so than usual.
*~*~*~*
“Ah. I… like you too.”
“Really?”
You give him a genuine smile as you nod. “Yes.”
He smiles at that as his posture becomes more relaxed. You take the bouquet from him and set it beside your small backpack. Sebaste seems unsure for a second, most likely thinking that you have misunderstood his question. He thinks for a second or two as his face becomes laced with slight worry. You smile again as you take his hand gently. His face becomes bright red and you chuckle at the sight. He does too, but quieter.
His fingers then intertwine with yours.
He doesn’t smell of cigarettes like he normally does. You assume he put on cologne. Refreshing, sweet, and crisp. Pine cologne, with a hint of citrus. 
He bashfully giggles a bit more. He puts his free hand on the back of his neck.
“Does… this mean we are… dating now? Or is this just a fling or…”
Your grip on his hand tightens slightly. You both seem giddy. This is the first time either of you has felt this way. You seem to have sparked something in each other.
“If you want to, we can start dating.”
“Oh? You… actually like me?”
He seems confused or doubtful as to why you feel the way you do for him.
“Yes, I do. I like you. Would you like me to enumerate the reasons why?”
He looks unsure of it all like you will stab him in his back at any moment.
“You’re kind to those who are kind back. You’re willing to do anything for those you trust. When you trust, you trust wholeheartedly. You have interesting hobbies.”
Sebaste chuckles again. “So, beating you within six turns of Go Fish and collecting frogs covered in mud is interesting to you, huh?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as unique as you. I mean that most positively and genuinely. Well, what do you like about me then? I’m curious.”
“Everything about you. The way you walk and talk, your hobbies, the way you present yourself. Everything about you is just so alluring and admirable. You are everything I am not.”
“I suppose we always love what we cannot have ourselves. Opposites attract, after all.”
He nods. 
The ocean starts to glow a bright blue. You look at it confused, with one of your eyebrows raised.
Sebaste giggles once more at your lack of knowledge of what is happening. “Every year, right before summer ends, jellyfish rise to the surface of the shore and glimmer.”
You’re too awed at the sight to put it into words. “Thank you for inviting me, I didn’t know about it. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. Beautiful.” He looks at you instead of the ocean.
*~*~*~*
You take a deep breath. You’ve come to pay what’s owed.
You knock on the door and wait for a response. After a moment, you hear footsteps approaching the door.
It opens and James is standing there. When he recognizes you, his face turns into one of triumph.
“Hmm, so you have come. Just like you promised,” he says to you in a voice a mix of arrogance and gratefulness.
“Yes. The… night you wanted.”
James’ expression changes to a wide grin. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” He says to you with a chuckle, stepping aside to let you into his apartment. “Come in, come in.”
He steps aside and motions for you to enter, closing the door behind you. It is for the greater good, you tell yourself. To get information out of James, you need to make him believe that you are interested in him.
James is very happy that you kept your word. He’s smiling widely.
“Come in, I told you that I would host a special evening for you,” He says to you, sounding sincere and eager to please. He takes your hand and leads you inside the apartment. “I have a surprise for you,” He says to you, leading you deeper into the apartment.
You have to play the part of the seductress to the best of your ability.
“What is it?”
The usual city apartment, it looks like. Messy and full of mildew from the floor to the ceiling. By the only non-musty window there is a plastic up on the ground with drops of water coming down into it from the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip. You can only hear the drips of water and you and James’ footsteps. You cannot feel your true emotions, because you have a job to do.
James brings you to the only lit room in the apartment; the dining area. The circular table seems to be made of poplar and has a dark stain in the center of it. There is a vase of dark red roses on the top, clearly just bought. The chair you sit in is squeaky and is also made of poplar. James is staring at you. You can only hear the dripping of water, the squeakiness of the chair, the broken air conditioner, and James’ chuckles. Drip, drip, drip. James is still smiling, and staring like you are a piece of meat. You suppose you are, at least to him and at least at the moment. You smell cigarette smoke and spoiled food. You lean down to smell the roses, but you cannot smell them because the foul stink of the rest of the apartment is so much stronger. You pretend to anyway, a pleased hum leaving your painted lips. His eyes are wide and unblinking. Another chuckle, and another drip, drip, drip. His smile widens even more as he looks at you.
“Close your eyes,” He says to you in a soft, commanding tone. “I have a surprise for you,” He adds. “I want it to be a surprise. Keep your eyes closed.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to close your eyes.
You cover your eyes with your hands. 
“That’s good, that’s good,” James’ smug voice says. “Just wait one minute.”
You hear his footsteps on the creaky floorboards quieting, making you assume he has gone elsewhere. You hear a cupboard opening and closing along with glasses clinking. 
“Now, remove your hands from your eyes,” James says.
You do as you’re told and remove your hands from your eyes. James smiles at you, revealing the surprise that he had promised. On the table in front of you are two wine glasses and a bottle of expensive red wine. Cabernet. "This is my special surprise for you," He says to you, still sounding sincere and excited. James pours both of you a glass of wine and places one of them in front of you. He then raises his glass and holds it up in your direction. He smiles at you charmingly and says, "To you, [First]. And to your beauty."
You smile at James and cheer with him, raising your glass and taking a sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you.
James smiles at you, still looking charming and sincere. "Tell me," He says to you, "What do you think of the wine?" He takes a sip himself, smiling as he savors the taste. "I always buy the best when I entertain a guest as lovely as yourself," He says to you with a wink.
“It’s good. But… I feel like it won’t compare to you.” You wink back at him.
James smiles and takes another sip of the expensive red wine that he's poured for you. He seems to like your subtle flirtation, as if it's having the desired effect. "Oh, don't worry," He says to you with a charming smile. "I've been looking forward to this night all night. You're just as wonderful and beautiful as I remember," He adds. "I can hardly wait to spend some time alone with you."
James takes another sip of the wine and continues to stare at you, still smiling.
“Am I as beautiful as you say?” You blink your long lashes at James, your eyes gazing into his with a gentle but seductive expression. Your hair is loose, gently framing your face, and you look ravishing.
"Of course," James says to you with a smile as he gazes back at you. He reaches out a hand and gently strokes a streak of your hair, letting it fall back into place after it has been gently moved by the gesture. "You're the most lovely woman I've ever seen," He says to you confidently.
“What do you like about me?”
"Every inch of you," James replies, still stroking your hair with a smile on his face. "From your eyes to your long lashes, your hair, your skin..." James pauses, looking into your eyes for a moment. "To your soft lips, your small, delicate hands," He adds, still stroking your hair lightly. He looks at you with a charming and passionate gaze, as if he can't get enough of your beauty.
“...Would you like me to kiss you? It would be our first.”
James looks delighted by your proposition and nods slowly, in response. He finishes stroking your hair with one last, gentle touch and gazes at you once more. "Of course," He murmurs, his voice softer and more passionate than before. He pauses for a moment before taking the initiative and leaning forward to kiss you slowly and softly. His lips press gently against yours, and he holds you close as he pulls you into a gentle, intimate kiss.
Drip, drip, drip.
It’s for the greater good, right?
You kiss back and return James' affection, feeling the heat of passion slowly build as the two of you kiss. You hold him close and slowly pull him towards you. The kiss is soft and tender, and although it is a rather chaste kiss, it leaves you breathless and feeling dizzy. After a few moments, you both come up for air to breathe, and James looks at you with a warm and sincere smile. 
"You're a wonderful kisser," He says to you softly. "I've always imagined it would be like this..."
At any cost, the greater good must come first.
“Should we take this to the bedroom?”
"Yes," James replies with a nod. "Let's go to the bedroom," He adds. "I can't wait to be alone with you." He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the dining area and into a small bedroom. You enter the bedroom and see a large, comfortable bed in the center of the room, with the moon shining through the window. James closes the door behind you and leads you closer to the bed.
You sit on the bed and open your arms. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
James smiles at you and steps towards you slowly. He takes off his jacket and throws it on a chair next to the door. He then comes closer to you and smiles, leaning forward to kiss you passionately. His arms are wrapped around you, and his body is pressed against yours. He begins to kiss you deeply and passionately, his lips lingering on yours for long moments.
James continues to kiss you, and as he does so, his hands begin to explore your body. He lets his fingers run down your arms, leaving soft, tender trails of affection on your skin. As his lips move to your neck, he begins to bite it softly. He starts to explore and taste every inch of your skin, leaving small marks of affection. You feel a jolt of passion and desire course through your body as you feel James' lips pressed against your neck and his teeth lightly biting you. As he continues to kiss and nibble your neck, he begins to breathe more heavily.
You pretend to groan and moan as James continues to kiss and nibble your neck. You lean your head back and close your eyes, trying to appear lost in pleasure. You feel his lips move down your neck, leaving little, soft bruises of passion. You let out another soft moan as he continued to kiss your neck, nibbling your skin and letting his teeth leave marks of affection.
"Do you like that?" He whispers to you, his voice deep and passionate. "More?" He asks, sounding breathless and eager.
Drip, drip, drip.
“More.”
James chuckles softly before moving his lips back down towards your neck once again. He bites your neck and kisses it again, this time leaving more marks of affection. You pretend to moan in pleasure once again, feeling James' breath against your neck.
"How does that feel, dear?" His voice is low and seductive. "More?" He asks gently, biting your neck once again.
“I want you to touch me all over.”
James pauses for a moment, his green eyes looking at you with a charming and seductive expression. He smiles at you, and you notice his eyes are filled with desire. "I want to touch you also," He says to you softly. His hand gently touches your cheek and strokes your hair. "Please, let me explore you," He whispers seductively. He moves towards you and gently pulls you towards him, kissing you softly before moving his hands towards your body.
As you feel James' hands start to take off your clothes, you begin to feel some of the passion and desire that James had shown before fade away. But as James continues to take off your clothes, you start to feel the heat of passion and excitement come back.
James seems intent on savoring and enjoying every moment of this moment with you, every moment of intimacy and passion. He slowly undresses you, taking off each piece of your clothing, as if you were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world. His touch is gentle, and his eyes are filled with desire.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Touch me, touch me everywhere, for your lips worship me.”
James pauses as he hears you speaking. He gazes at you for a moment, his face filled with a mix of passion and desire, as your words have left a deep impression on him.
"Oh, my love," He says to you softly. "My lips worship you," He adds, leaning forward to kiss you again.
His hands begin to run over your body, caressing you in all the right places. His fingers trace soft arcs over your skin, leaving trails of affection and passion wherever they go.
You find yourself standing in the middle of a large and eerie graveyard. The sky above you is dark and cloudy, with little sunlight filtering through the clouds. You take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, lighting up a cigarette and taking a few puffs. As you lean against a gravestone, you see a figure standing in the corner of the graveyard, just watching you. You can't quite make out who it is, the figure looks like a shadowy silhouette, but you can see the orange glow of a cigarette in their hand as well.
It’s James.
As you take another puff from your cigarette, you see James stepping closer to you, his figure now becoming slightly more visible in the dim light. 
"Hello, [First]," He says quietly, the tone of his voice hinting at a slight twinge of concern for you. He takes a drag from his cigarette, his expression still difficult to make out in the shadowy light. "How are you feeling?" He asks, looking at you with a sense of curiosity in his voice.
“I see you kept your word.”
"Of course," James says, taking a soft puff from his cigarette. "I promised you, didn't I? I'm not one to go back on my word."
You notice James looking at your cigarette, seemingly a bit tempted by it.
"Can I have a puff?" He asks, looking at you with a tiny hint of a hopeful expression on his face. "I've been craving another cigarette for a while now."
James quickly steps forward, seemingly going in for a kiss, but you quickly duck out of the way and move away from him. He stops in his tracks, not wanting to make any sudden movements or startle you. However, he still looks at you with a tinge of frustration and disappointment on his face.
"You don't want to do anything with me, do you?" He asks as the light from his cigarette illuminates his expression for a moment. "Am I just not good enough for you, is that it?" He adds.
You keep your attention on your cigarette, ignoring James' frustrated expression and question as you take another puff. After a few moments of complete silence, James finally breaks the silence once again. 
"I knew you were like this," He says, his voice filled with resentment and anger. "I've always known you were like this," He adds, moving closer to you once again. "And yet, I still fell for you like an idiot." He pauses for a moment and takes a drag from his cigarette. "You're just... so damn tempting," He adds.
“...Hmm. It’s my specialty.” 
"Yeah, yeah, I know," James says, seeming slightly irritated. He takes another puff from his cigarette, the orange glow on it making his eyes seem brighter than usual in the dark. "You know, that was the reason I was attracted to you in the first place." He adds, his tone becoming a bit quieter. "Your specialty of seducing men... and women." This time, there was a subtle twinge of sadness in his voice. "You're just too damn gorgeous to resist, I guess." He adds.
“...It has its benefits. I don’t hate you, just so you know.”
It seems like James still hasn't given up in his attempts to kiss you, despite your repeated refusal earlier. He moves in towards you once again and leans in close to your face, his expression becoming a bit more excited and hopeful. That's when you see his gaze locked in on your lips, and you realize his next move before he even makes it. You quickly duck away from him, moving out of the way just in time to avoid his lips.
"I told you, stop." You say firmly, not wanting to give him another chance to kiss you. “It was a one-night stand. That’s all it was, and… it was for my matters.”
"Yeah, yeah, I know," James sighs, his tone becoming somewhat frustrated once again. He takes another drag from his cigarette, the light from it illuminating his face for a moment as he looks straight at you. "It was just a one-night stand," He echoes, seemingly to himself. "But... for some reason." He pauses for a moment and looks at you with slight confusion. "I still have feelings for you," He finally says. "Even though I know it's stupid to feel this way..." He adds quietly.
“It was just something I had to do.”
James seems to pause for a moment as your words sink in.
"What?" He asks, seeming slightly confused. "Do you mean... you had to sleep with me as part of an investigation or something?" He asks. "Or were you not attracted to me?" He adds. "You felt like you had to sleep with me, even though you didn't want to?" He stops for a moment to take a few more puffs from his cigarette, the light from it glowing orange in the dark. "Is that... what are you saying?" He asks.
You take a soft puff from your cigarette as James continues to look at you with a slightly frustrated expression on his face.
"I want the truth, [First]." He says, sounding more serious this time. "I want to know why you slept with me..." He takes a final puff from his cigarette before looking at you once again. "Was it because you were attracted to me? Or was it because you felt like you needed to sleep with me for some other reason?" He asks, his tone becoming a bit quieter again.
“...I suspected you of something.”
"A suspect, huh?" James says, sounding only slightly confused. "So this was all part of some elaborate plan to figure out who I was?" He pauses for a moment as he thinks about your words, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking up again. "Was... Was I really that suspicious, [First]?" He asks. He seems slightly hurt by your words but still manages to hold on to his composure as he looks at you with a bit of apprehension.
“...You were. You drove me five hours to that seaside town without a second thought, even though your guard shift at that hotel had just ended. I had to know if you had other motives… aside from sleeping with me.”
"I guess that makes sense," James says quietly. "So, that's why you decided to sleep with me..." He adds, taking another drag from his cigarette before speaking once again. "Is that it?" He says, his tone sounding slightly less annoyed now. "You just wanted to gather information on me, and nothing else?" He asks. "Did you like, not enjoy your time with me in the slightest?" He adds with a tiny hint of disappointment.
You take a deep puff from your cigarette, the smoke rising upwards into the air before mixing with the gloomy clouds floating above. You can see James looking at you with a bit of disappointment on his face, but you just keep silent.
After a few moments of quiet contemplation, James finally speaks again.
"So, that's it, huh?" He says quietly, his tone becoming somewhat resigned. "You just... slept with me for information and nothing else." He takes another drag from his cigarette, the orange glow from the tip illuminating his face in the darkness.
“...That’s correct.”
"So... you don't like me?" He asks, turning to you with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "It was just... part of the job?" He adds. He takes another puff from his cigarette, his eyes moving back to looking at the clouds above. "Is there nothing else you like about me?" He asks softly, turning to you once again. "Not even a little bit?" You can see James' expression change, his heart is affected by your words. "Please don't be silent again," He adds quietly.
“…You aren’t useful to me anymore, so from this point forward you will not see me again.”
"Not useful to you, huh?" He says softly, sounding a bit hurt by your words. "So... now that you got what you needed, you're just gonna toss me out like a piece of trash?" He asks with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "What happened to the [First] I thought I knew?" He says, sounding slightly frustrated. "Don't you feel at least a little bit bad?" He adds. "Even a tiny bit?" He takes another small puff from his cigarette before looking at you again with mild concern.
You start to lean away from him before he suddenly grabs you and pulls you towards him, the two of you now face to face. James then places his hand behind the back of your head and leans forward, trying to kiss you once again. Before you can get out of his grasp, he kisses you forcefully, pressing his lips against yours for a few moments as he tries to make you kiss back. Once James is done, he lets go of you, his expression still filled with passion and determination.
"Well?" He asks, sounding a little annoyed. "Where's your response?"
“...You know,” You throw your cigarette to the ground and step on it roughly, making a loud footfall noise as you squish it against the cobblestone. “I was going to let you go on with your life as I found no ties to the Spider.” Your hands go into your trench coat pocket. “But now you have forced my hand. Most unfortunate.”
James takes a moment to process what you had just said. “W… What?” He looks confused and panicked. “What do you mean by that?”
You display a smile, yet it lacks any semblance of kindness. 
“The Phantom Troupe? You’re… a part of the Phantom Troupe?” The man takes a few steps back in fear, a stark contrast to how he was just a few moments ago.
“No.” You say firmly. You hear James sigh in relief. 
“Thank God.”
“But,” You add, taking a few steps closer and still having that grin. “I promise you that soon, you will realize what I mean. Very soon, indeed.”
James laughs loudly and arrogantly like a crow’s caw. “You’re going to kill me?” He takes a few steps closer as well and crosses his arms, smirking. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you can even touch me.”
“Never say never.” With a smile on your face, you glance back while making your way towards the graveyard's exit. 
James angrily yells at you to come back, but you don’t listen and soon you are gone.
He better prepare himself for death while he still can.
You broke into James’ neighbor’s apartment.
Victor, you found out later, was his name. Not that it mattered much. He was reading a book, Crime and Punishment, on his couch and facing away from the entrance. He didn’t have any instinctual gut feelings that someone was in his home, standing above him with a blindfold, ropes, and a scarf. He had good taste in books, at least.
“Greetings,” You bend down to the slumped man, weeping with his hands and legs tied, his tears wetting the white blindfold. “I have a favor to ask of you. Then I shall let you go, alright?”
Your voice is soft, and gentle, like a mother speaking to her crying toddler. Like a Venus fly trap, your jaws will soon lower onto your unsuspecting prey. Tender fingers snake around the back of the stranger’s head and untie the gag. A shushing sound leaves your lips as a finger lays on them for a second or two. You roll on your ankles backward and stand up. You tell him that if everything goes well, he can leave. He simply nods, giving up right away.
Your hands go into your trench coat pockets for a second, worshiping the fur that lines them along with your forged ID card, portable cassette player, and flip phone. It is just to make sure they are there in your jacket and not left out as evidence of the performance about to happen. The guests of honor are James and Victor, and they will never know it.
Drip, drip, drip. Through the thin walls, you can hear the usual drops of water coming from James’ ceiling to the container he probably has there. Drip, drip, drip.
“I just need you to say a few words.”
Your demand is sturdy, not taking no for an answer. 
You open up a window and a gentle breeze flows in, making your braid sway from side to side. After a few moments of silence, Victor says that he will do anything if it means he can leave afterward. The floorboards are creaky and splintered and damaged from all of the feet, wheels, and canes that move on and off them. 
“Repeat after me.”
You look down on him like a God. He is nothing more than a dog.
James deserves this. That’s what you tell yourself. James deserves this. James deserves this for being scum and only seeing you as a possession. He deserves this. He deserves what you are about to do.
The sun is rising behind you. You bear resemblance to a masterpiece crafted with the utmost precision and the most vibrant pigments. Your arrival is akin to that of a deity. Drip, drip, drip.
You take your hands out of your pockets.
“Say the name James Ericsson. Please.”
Your stare is vivid, and even with the blindfold on you know that Victor has sensed its intensity because he says. “James Ericsson.”
You smile and your hands dance with one another in a sort of waltz.
There are cries of pain and the sound of bones bending like plastic straws coming from next door.
Victor falls to the ground, not breathing. It is done.
The photos were shown on the news, late at night to prevent younger children from seeing them.
There was nothing left of James' upper half.
There was a huge gaping hole in his skull where the brain burst out. The face was completely gone, caving in on itself. As his body was crushed by the invisible pressure, his chest and arms were ripped apart, the muscles and organs ripping out and sticking to the walls, and the larger pieces of meat slipped down with copious amounts of blood, accumulating on the poplar table adorned with dead roses and a shattered glass vase that had been broken. The rest of his stomach spilled out onto the floor beneath the table he had been standing next to. 
Victor was found dead at his apartment. There were no signs of a break and is presumed to have died of a heart attack or stroke. You were careful to attach and remove the blindfold, gag, and restraints so that no bruises or marks formed. 
It is somewhat regrettable, but there was no other way. You know that. It was for the greater good.
Right?
There was no other way, right?
You know that there was no other way, right?
Because there was no other way, right?
They had to die for the greater good, right?
Right?
…Right?
You ride one bus after another back to town with something inside you telling you that this is wrong. James’ screams, his snapping bones, the way his muscle and fat separated like he was a slain cow being cut into pieces by a butcher. Victor’s begging to be set free, and the way that he trusted that you would let him go after he did what you wanted. All of this is wrong, a little voice in the back of your mind says to you.
This isn’t a crime. It isn’t.
The rest of your brain tells you that.
It was a necessary evil. James deserved it, he deserved every ounce of pain you had inflicted on him through the thin apartment walls. You can imagine hearing the dripping of blood from the formerly white now red ceiling.
Drip, drip, drip.
You eat at your poplar dining table, alone, in a squeaky old poplar chair. You have only managed to take a bite or two of your food before feeling the urge to vomit. You drank half of your cup of water though, at least. You would have preferred bleach or soap, though. Something basic.
That way your insides would be scrubbed clean by the mix of enzymes, organs, bacteria, and a strong base. Your skin, eyes, and hair would be cleansed with the sweat and tears produced afterward. You pick up your spaghetti with your plastic fork.
Your stomach churns and it feels like it is eating itself. You run to the bathroom, overcome by nausea. An acidic smell and taste. They are both sour and nasty. 
You gag like you are being choked by a ghost or your guilty conscience. You are loudly gasping for air through your vomit-covered lips. 
Drip, drip, drip.
Plop, plop, plop.
Bile piles up in the toilet water, making it bright yellow. You hold onto the toilet seat like it is your lifeline. After a few more moments of heaving, you adjust your posture to be more straight.
You walk back to the kitchen and put the dinner food in your refrigerator. It hums as if it is pleased with how you are feeling. 
Drip, drip, drip.
There is some water leaking from the faucet. You put a cup under it and try to ignore what it reminds you of. You hope it goes away soon. You do. More than anything. 
You want it to go away, and you would do anything to make it stop. But you’re not a plumber, and the only nearest one is in a neighboring town a few hundred kilometers away and his fees are worth a few thousand Jenny. Even if he was nearer, you wouldn’t be able to afford his services. Most unfortunate for you.
You still feel like you are being strangled. 
Your neck’s muscles tighten and the tendons are sticking out. You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it. Everything hurts. Everything hurts and you are disgusted with yourself. But you have to keep going, for eternal freedom. 
Your skin is covered in goosebumps.
You want to vomit your organs out.
You want to scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 
You want to swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.
But you can’t, because you are living in a town now, one where the neighbors are so friendly and everyone knows each other. But you can’t, because someone will come to you, worried sick about you. But you can’t, because you are too appalled in yourself right now to lie to them and pretend you are better than them.
You cannot pretend you are cordial and graceful, because if anything you are sick. Sick and twisted. Your secrets mirror your repulsiveness. You want to lean away from yourself and run from yourself. 
But you can vomit your organs out.
But you can scream until your vocal cords swell so much they cannot work. 
But you can swallow and cover yourself in bleach and soap and scrub yourself until your skin is rubbed raw and bleeding.
That’s because this house is nearly impossible to find for most. Only the porch light is currently on, with the rest of the place in complete darkness. There are overgrown weeds and grass, trees, and fallen branches everywhere. You have tripped many times and almost broken something in the past. You are getting better, though.
This property can be the place where you bury whatever sins you have committed. No one comes here, and no one will come for you if you scream. No one will hear you because this property is cramped and large. 
But you are still living in a town full of people who all know each other.
What if someone hears you?
It is best not to think about it, you tell yourself.
It is best to just let it all out, you tell yourself.
It is best to ignore and lie to those who ask you about it, you tell yourself.
So you vomit again.
You scream so loudly you lose your voice.
You scrub your hands so hard under the sink with soap until they bleed and have scratches all over them.
No one comes for you.
Good.
*~*~*~*
You have always been someone who never takes the time to appreciate the beauty around you.
Your thoughts are constantly besieged by a multitude of voices. Unloving, taking pleasure in others' misfortune, outrage, fear, happiness, delicateness, peacefulness, besiege, schadenfreude, wherewithal. In due time, emotions will reach their boiling point, unveiling the authentic hues of your being; crimson red.
You can make people prefer you over the largest of diamonds with just a few words. Your words can be either their exposition or their denouement. 
But you can’t bring yourself to use Sebaste. This feeling is odd to you, but you don’t complain about it. If anything, you feel warmer than you ever have been.
Your emotions find themselves trapped in a state of indecision, teetering between self-centeredness and pure joy. Something has gone off course. You.
You, who was born with an innate desire to only help those who would help you in exchange. You, who never ventured out to explore the depths of your being, to discover the essence of empathy. You, who have always used others in an attempt to better humanity as a whole, to be in control of others. It is what you do best; being in control.
So, why does Sebaste, an impoverished man, interest you so much? Why would you be willing to give everything you have away just to make sure he has a good life? Why can’t you just leech off of him like you do with everyone else?
It cannot be denied that he holds the position of your greatest vulnerability.
But you cannot bear to discard him.
Even if you wanted to. Even if he wanted you to.
You cannot leave him. He holds your heart in his gentle hands, and you will never get it back. There it will stay far past when his body is deep underground and lost to time.
You would jump into the largest crimson tides if it meant he was waiting for you beneath the waves. In the end, the amalgamation of your emotions will birth a monstrous force, unleashing nothing but devastation.
A colossus. 
The devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart.
No exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. It will stay inside you until your last breath. Sebaste will eventually uncover the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.
In the future, when the stars twinkle no more, the moon loses its luster, and the night sky breaks apart, you will need to seek a new refuge to conceal your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun.
If Sebaste ever were to discover the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face, or your sticky, sticky, crimson hands, what would be done to stop you? What would you do to stop him from leaving you?
You simply confine the devil into the smallest crevice of your heart, pushing it inside as far as it can go and locking the door. That way, if Sebaste ever were to delve into the labyrinth that is your soul, he wouldn’t find it no matter how much he looks. There the devil will stay even far after it starts rotting, and you promise yourself to keep it that way.
*~*~*~*
The flowers are in bloom. You don’t know what species they are though. The night sky is above you, cold, injured, and bleeding you. Your only physical weapon is your nails, your dull and split nails. 
It starts raining. You don’t have a home of your own, so you decide that a bus stop will suffice for now.
Every inch of you is shivering. Every drop of blood that you bleed hurts. The forest is deep and dark and cruel. If any animals were unaware of your presence, they surely are now considering how you howled in pain as your leg toppled into a bear trap, and howled even louder as you clawed it off with your bare hands, making them all scratched up. The cicadas are crying, even louder than you are. They only respond to your pain with shrill, grating noises and the flaps of their wings. You have nowhere to go that is nearby. Not with your injured leg that has large, deep, painful markings of the trap’s teeth on it. Aside from this bus stop that is in the middle of nowhere. You’re not sure if any bus at all is even on this route anymore, considering how rusty and broken down this stop is. 
You attempt to light one of the few matches you have left. It’s pitch black outside, and the match is your only source of light and warmth from the rain and the night. Your jacket is still caught in that tree, far away from where you currently are. Well, it wasn’t yours per se, but it was your only protection from the elements with its hood and heat. 
Your cries are wasted on your injuries. You know no one will come for you, aside from predators if you bleed out and are near death.
You cannot see anything, even the path of blood drops you most likely made as you gripped your injured leg and began moving once more to the poorly taken care of bus stop, ignoring the pain that shot up with every step. It’s too dark.
You aren’t going to die, but it feels like it.
Even if Chrollo knew where you were and was on the way, it wouldn’t matter. This forest is too big and you may die of blood loss before he even catches sight of you or hears your pained cries.
There are most likely predators here. Wolves, bears, hawks. Something is out there, watching you, you are sure of it. You know it. 
Eventually, the rain stops sometime after your match goes out and you close your eyes after refusing to rest for far too long. You catch a glimpse of the flowers, soaked with morning dewdrops and reflecting the sun’s rays. 
Ah.
Columbines. 
The usual white ones are called doves for a reason. They look like five doves nestled together from afar. The white columbines represent many things. Love. Innocence. Calmness. Peace. Foolishness. Winning. Ironic enough, you cannot relate to any of them.
You’re not in love with anyone. Your innocence was stolen from you long ago, far before you even met Chrollo. You aren’t calm, you are weeping. You aren’t at peace, you are internally fighting yourself as to whether to go back to your captor’s gilded cage. Perhaps you are a fool for running away from the warm blankets and fresh, expensive food. You aren’t winning anything aside from both regrets and desperate want for stability.
Maybe that is why these columbines before you are red. An eye-catching crimson red, as red as your wounds and the trail of blood left from it as you walked to the bus stop. They look like dead doves. They only represent three things. Passion. Terror. Trembling. You find a resemblance of yourself in them, as odd as it would sound to anyone who doesn’t know of or believe your current situation. 
The trap didn’t have rust on it, right?
*~*~*~*
Chrollo and Sebaste are both difficult to understand for you. However, they also could not be more different. This dynamic is similar to a newborn witnessing dawn’s sunrise blossom from the night sky. Both confuse you, for both are very similar yet very contrasting. 
Chrollo and Sebaste both know what they want and they would do anything to achieve it, as long as the people they love aren’t in any danger at the reward of attaining their desires. They only trust a handful of people fully while they ignore other people’s presence. They both have that dark brown hue in their eyes. They both wear darker colors. But Chrollo holds the past in high regard and loves history, meanwhile, Sebaste thinks of the future and modern times more so than the past and as a result keeps up with new technology and media. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a doe or rabbit, while Sebaste looks at you with purpose, for he knows who you are; an equal.
You look at them differently, too. 
You look at Chrollo with a facade in your eyes, as you pretend to accept your role in his theater by dancing the waltz and singing praises.
You look at Sebaste with veracity, for he is the only one to have ever earned your genuine admiration. 
If either were to see the cracks within the mask you wear if either of them saw what was underneath… it would all be over, wouldn’t it? Chrollo would know more about you than you ever did about yourself and use it against you. Sebaste would leave you all alone to rot away.
That is why you will play the role of a doting queen who hangs onto every word her lover tells her because it is the only choice you have.
It is the only choice you have, and all you ever can be.
It is all you ever will be, you say to yourself.
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faeble-drabbles · 4 months ago
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•Fandoms I Will Write•
So I want to keep this a blog where I write things for fandoms that don't get much love or characters/pairings that need more love.
Under each I highlight things id love to write but don't be discouraged to ask if it's not listed under the fandom you want to request!
PLEASE READ MY OTHER POST FIRST! It says everything I'm okay and not okay with.
•°• Dragon Ball Z / Super •°•
+ I NEED more poly Vegeta x Reader x Bulma in my life. Same with Goku and Chi Chi
+ I also need more sub Frieza. Specifically a scenario of a God of destruction reader making him a sub 👀
+ Raditz my sweet baby needs more love too. AU where he gets a second chance like Vegeta.
•°• Hunter x Hunter •°•
+ NGL Mostly gonna write about the Spiders / Phantom Troupe 👀
+ I will love you FOREVER if you request Franklin x Reader.
+ I will only accept Feitan x Reader if the reader is just as unhinged as he is
+ Nobunaga, my sweet palm tree needs love too
+ Non-Spider wise, love me some daddy Morel
+ Uvo is a big teddy bear and is fun to write
•°• Yu Yu Hakusho •°•
+ My childhood and it needs more love
+ Who else needs love? My Irish wind goblin, Jin
+ All of the boys and girls need love Especially Yusuke needs a new s/o
•°• Pokemon •°•
+ No Pokephillia here and leave the kids out
+ Most of my favorites are from Sword and Shield. My trio Leon, Piers and Raihan. Want poly with those? Abso-fucking-lutely
+ I also simp hard for Guzma and Nanu
•°• Gorillaz •°•
+ Ace was only a temp member, but I will LOVE request involving him
+ All of them need some good lovin
+ Even stinky Murdoc
•°• Gravity Falls •°•
+ FUNKLE THE GRUNKLE
+ My guilty pleasure
+ Stan and Ford are absolute GILFs
+ Probably won't write for any other characters
+ I have ideas and you will see them
**List will probably be updated as I go**
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lyrainworld · 7 months ago
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A piece I've finished a few days ago for the Shalnark zine, I'm really proud of how it looks, Shalnark is my favorite Phantom Troupe member so I wanted to do something special for him ^^
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basedkikuenjoyer · 2 months ago
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Let's have a fun one. I'm really excited for the next batch of Hunter x Hunter and plan to have a lot of fun here with the new chapters. Probably going to shoot for full reviews like I do One Piece, Jojolands, and Skip & Loafer presently. When you have these big cast shonens, I feel like it really helps to know what kind of fan someone is. Who do they gravitate to? This is the bulk of my top 10, #1 is after the cut but don't think there's a super important order. It was hard to pare it down to 10. The rest of the main quartet, Ging, other Phantom Troupe members like Machi, Shizuku, Kalluto, & Chrollo could have been on here.
Pariston & Pouf are such good antagonists. "I can't wait to see what I do to someone I hate" is a line that goes so hard. Melody on the other hand? She's just so lovely and the whole Sonata of Darkness quest is really cool world building. Alluka is a sweetie and we say trans rights here. Kurapika is a sweetie and we say trans rights here. I kid...but Pika's easily my favorite of the main four. Shocker given how much I loved Kurama in YYH.
Nobunaga's my favorite in the Troupe. I love samurai, even more when their backstory implies he probably went with that aesthetic because of some old samurai movie he found in the Meteor City trash heaps. I want a drag off of Morel's pipe. His ability is so cool. If you've followed my Kakin Succession stuff you probably know I like the twins and yes Katty & FuuFuu can share a slot. They just keep getting better. I love a good brat especially when one like Kacho has a heart of gold underneath. Speaking of brats, my most controversial entry but I love Neon Nostrade. Lovely Ghostwriter is my favorite ability, funny lil brat at first but she develops well. So now for #1...
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Oh Biscuit. Bisky. Bisky-chan. Miss Kruger. I have loved this girl since she first showed up. Top-class hunter despite her ability being completely useless for combat. I think that says it all really. She's still that fearsome even if she uses much of her Nen for cosmetic reasons. Buff Biscuit is always a classic gag, especially this new guy on the boat who is absolutely smitten. All wrapped up in a lovely Fujoshi package.
I like that she's a mentor figure, especially the twist of being Wing's master, but how it fits in her own goals. Biscuit is a Gem Hunter, she sees her students as uncut gems. That's something I can really relate to especially as I get older. I love nothing more than working with younger people who want to better themselves. And that's why she's my fav.
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the-menace-in-pink · 1 year ago
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The Phantom Troupe members if they had a Celebrity Crush — Part 1 (Chrollo, Machi and Feitan)
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(CC = Celebrity Crush — VA = Voice actor/actress)
Chrollo: 
Surprisingly, he's got a little fanboy side.
His celebrity crush would be any or all of these: a VA, an actor/actress, a soloist, or a lead singer in an idol group/band.
Whenever he has the time, he checks on his favorite celebrities' releases/ activities on SNS and YouTube.
Goes out alone on weekends and nights that aren't very busy so that he can watch his CC's movies. He books himself screening rooms at cinemas and watches all by himself —his favorite snacks at hand. He just watches, relaxed, quiet, and in awe. Has moments when he'll sob or cackle because of some scenes.
Has also booked screening rooms to watch animes and music videos lmao.
If his CC models/shoots ads, he goes downtown in the evening/night, sits on benches, and stares at their posters, billboards, ads, etc. All the while he's sipping on a beer or eating ice cream. Sometimes he just stands there, lost in thoughts, with his celebrity crush's face as some kind of comfort and backdrop. He'd be wondering about a bunch of things.
If CC is a singer, he always perks up when their song starts playing in a restaurant, bar, mall, or wherever. Even on missions. He'd sometimes hume or whistle to the melody, gaining amused and surprised stares from the other spiders, but they wouldn't overthink it. He's very lowkey.
Doesn't buy merch, but he definitely tries to attend concerts and meet&greets when his schedule permits. If CC performs at an event near one of the PT's gigs/destination, he will watch or listen from the sidelines. Maybe even from the top of a nearby building to get a view of the stage.
CC's songs definitely played while he was murdering someone or causing mass destruction. He most likely had to kill/abduct people outside concert halls too.
I feel like he'd gravitate toward someone who's the complete opposite of how he presents himself. Someone who's upbeat, confident, bubbly and extroverted.
Listening to their voice or watching their shows would be a serotonin boost to him.
If they're a VA, all of his favorite characters are definitely voiced by the celebrity crush—no matter their relevance or how big or small the role is.
In the case where he's really attached to said celebrity, he might sometimes get all up in his feelings and wish he was an average folk so he could fanboy in peace and write fanfics.
What hooks him is a mixture of talent, aura, vibes, and looks—that person. So I doubt he'd accept to date or start to court someone simply because they look or sound like his CC. They're irreplaceable, one and only. No one else is like his CC.
If any harm had to befall them, he'd get pissed—the silent type of pissed. You know what comes after…
Very loyal, tbh. If he starts liking a celebrity very hard, he'll most likely continue to do so for years. Until said celeb does something that turns him off or dies.
Even if the celeb is a sworn enemy, he'd still listen to their songs and watch their works just because 💀 he's weird like that.
He talks directly to CC's billboards/posters and explains his plans and troubles when he gets a bit loose and tipsy.
Probably has whole debates on the entertainment industry, books, etc., with a billboard or figure cardboard.
Simulates interviews, lmao. He's very unserious.
I've got a feeling he'd be into a band like PRINCESS PRINCESS (プリンセス・プリンセス)… I don't know why. Like I know he’d have stanned the shit outta Kaori’s energy 😭
"19 GROWING UP -ode to my buddy-" is his guilty pleasure jam.
Machi:
She’s not someone who pays too much attention to celebrities. One may catch her attention for a short time, but it’s rare.
However, if and when a celebrity holds her attention long and hard enough to become a celebrity crush… it’s someone phenomenal.
Someone who inspires her and commands respect. By their talent, devotion, and artistic quality.
I see her crushing on a famous stylist, makeup artist, or musician.
CC’s attention to detail, originality, dedication, talent, and hard work in the craft really get to her, making her breathless and wholly captivated.
She’d notice everything about them and how they move, carry themselves, and work. She’d try to emulate them unconsciously but would catch herself. Because she doesn’t want to become them. She still enjoys the rift separating them. She, deep down, wants someone to admire.
Still eagerly drinks in their tips and advice.
If there are colors her CC seems to like, she may find herself buying items (phone case, blanket, notebooks, threads etc.) and clothes in the same palette.
She doesn’t get merch but definitely buys from CC’s collections and brands.
If CC’s a musician, they’re likely in a band too.
If everyone’s bias in a band is the lead singer or the most attractive member, she’s into whoever is at the keyboard, piano, or bass.
Any interest she’s had in playing instruments is because of CC.
She’s quiet on social media. Will drop likes here and there but doesn’t interact with the fandom or CC’s posts much.
She anonymously pays people to film and upload CC-focused fancams.
May have ‘’politely’’ requested from the cameramen that they film more close-ups of CC’s hands and face (that look of deep concentration makes her blush, to her dismay 😫).
Choses to download songs depending on whether or not her celebrity crush had an input in them. If CC rarely ever produces/writes, she downloads their favorite songs from their band’s discography instead + CC’s recommendations.
If they’re a stylist, she probably integrates some of their sewing patterns in her own choreographies.
I’m definitely not projecting when I say she’s a YOSHIKI fangirl.
She gravitates towards a CC who’s reserved but eloquent and passionate when they’re asked about their work or ambitions.
Has already written a letter to one of her celebrity crushes. Not a very gushy one. Just a short note thanking them for their hard work and presence and telling them they’ve inspired her greatly and to keep up the good work. It was one of the hardest things to do for her, finding the courage to send it.. she was scared she’d get busted.
Would much rather watch and hear CC playing live than on TV or Youtube.
As I said, she’s a quiet fan. So no one in the Troupe (besides maybe Pakunoda) likely knows about her fangirl side. (She knows everyone’s celebrity crushes and darkest secrets tho kjshgfkhjgj)
Feitan:
He's an anime enjoyer, so his celebrity crush is likely a VA who may happen to be a singer or an actor. But he's not much into the music part. He definitely tunes in for their acting, though.
Feitan can be very intense in his 'stanning.'
Watches reality and variety shows featuring his CC. He has bookmarked and downloaded all his favorite clips and rewatches them whenever he's on break or bored.
Spends money on mass voting to ensure his CC wins awards and nominations.
I feel like he'd be a total Mamoru Miyano, Kana Hanazawa, and Ayumi Ito fanboy. I don't know why skjgfhjghkj
Retweets every single news about CC and the characters they voiced.
May have murdered or traumatized a known hater.
Probably has considered sabotaging CC's industry rival. The original plan might have been murder, but Shalnark snitched him off to Pakunoda and Chrollo.
Got a bunch of keychains of his favorite characters (voiced by CC) attached to his phone.
Visits every CC and anime-themed cafe and event whenever he can. Goes with Phinks and Shalnark for different occasions and reasons.
Sometimes gets involved in fan wars. He's usually that one bish who makes alt accounts and pops out of nowhere to doxx haters and their whole genealogical tree. It's a mix of him being offended over having his celebrity crush dragged and 50% of him simply enjoying the utter chaos and misery of random internet users.
His alts are on half of the internet's block lists. If CC has a reputation for having a 'toxic' fandom, it's 70% Feitan's fault.
Beefed with 12 years olds. No one will call his CC "MY meow meow" or "MY" anything when he's right there.
Tries to leave eloquent reviews and comments on CC's pages, SNS, and forums, but they always become memes and copypastas within the fandom.
He's on cloud nine when CC mentions or reposts the reviews.
Already sneaked at a convention while cosplaying one of his celebrity crushes' most notable characters. He paid Machi an excellent sum to make it for him, and thankfully he knew he could trust her not to tell a soul (he had to double the payment, tho…)
Showed up to fan signing events with those super elaborated cosplays. Has some pictures with CC too. He's the definition of a successful fan.
However, his pics get constantly stolen by other fans and accounts. Because obviously, his cosplays always hide his face behind a mask or something —he can't risk being recognized by anyone.
100% pretended to lose his balance so CC would catch him by the waist and steady him.
This man reads fanfictions. He's subscribed to any (Celebrity crush) x reader tag variations on every platform.
Buys any food his celebrity crush advertises.
He developed a crush while watching an anime at a very low point in his existence. And he's been obsessed since then. CC's performance in a character he related to really hit him in the feels. It's pretty touching, actually.
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oocooartistry · 1 year ago
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Pakunoda is definately an underrated character. She was one of my favorites for the time she was in the show. Who is your guys' favorite phantom troupe member?
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rexaleph · 5 months ago
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having concluded the hxh phantom troupe arc: it's so fucking good, i loved it so much. this arc is probably my favorite anime now, beating dorohedoro. as i said elsewhere:
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there's no way whatever a chimera ant is can be better than this.
the layers of conflict btwn the mafia community, the Nostrade household within it, Kurapika in that, the Phantom Troupe (i only just realized that they originally put the eyes on the market lmao, as they probably did with much on the auction!), Hisoka in the Troupe, the Zoldyck family, Killua and Gon - tremenduous, intricate plotting. love the uneasy alliances and strange sympathies. as i said in the above conversation w a friend: i loved artemis fowl as a kid, this hxh arc would have cracked open my third eye in middle school
i think my favorite Troupe member is Pakunoda. if i'd watched this as a kid, im 95% sure that she is the one i would have imprinted on, not Chrollo or Kurapika (maybe Killua or Feitan for the cynicism - tho i was always more of a girl liker). bc i am like that i was constantly on the lookout for misogyny around her and the female members in general and like, i think it's fine. you could spin it out where her power is passive (except then!!! with the bullets!!!!), and she is sentimental abt Chrollo, and it does end the way it does for her ofc. but i think that is not a fair way of looking at her in terms of "is this show sexist" bc she is a pov character and representative of the troupe and their feelings as a whole, and obviously she does much of the overt on-screen physical violence. anyway rip to Paku, i could have saved her
i think i want to rewatch these eps sometime when i'm done with the whole show, i feel like it isn't super settled in my brain yet - i struggle to articulate much outside :O!!!. and i am cautiously excited about what comes next. i feel like this will stay my fave arc, but i watched an ep yesterday w a friend - they said they were fine w watching ep 50+ from a show theyd never seen bc they had osmotized much of it, and "of course know about the cheetah bug guy whom everyone loves". and what is up with that.
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ddarker-dreams · 1 year ago
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helloooo. I just wanna say: I've been putting off reading HWR for a long while now despite my curiosity and interest ever since learning Chrollo wasn't gonna be a yandere because that would mean the reader would have to be morally grey to match and plenty of their actions would be justified and it's just hard to relate and root for a character like that!! But I since got over it and started reading and I gotta say WOW. I am in LOVE with Lady Avalor!!! I can relate to her a lot am super duper interested in her story and fhdkdj you just did such an amazing job. I'm so glad you wrote this story and I'm only on chapter 2!!
Only problem is: every time Chrollo shows up, I'm just like ew go away 😭 you don't deserve her 🤚 get your fake and cunning ass awayyyy. Lady Avalor likes genuine and honest people!!!
AAA thank you so much for deciding to give the story a chance!! i loved reading this ask and hearing your thoughts, there really is no better blessing to give an author than that. thank you thank you <3
lady avalor my beloved ,,
it's always interesting to look at a story that i wrote a while ago (two years doesn't feel that long, but how i write has changed significantly), especially since HWR was the most ambitious story i'd set out to tell up until that point. i struggled with the first chapter in particular, but in retrospect, that and the final chapter have ended up my personal favorites. i worked off this basic idea for HWR reader and kinda built the story around her. i wanted someone born as a product of their extreme environment, since she'd later become a member of the phantom troupe, whose experiences in meteor city hardened them in a similar (yet different) way.
the dynamic i've normally portrayed of chrollo with a reader is one centered around power imbalance. reader has their wits about them but is just so positively outclassed due to their ignorance of nen. with HWR reader, i wanted her to be 'strong' in the sense she's an adept fighter, yet the area she falls short of is a solid sense of self. her entire life, all she's known is to receive orders and carry them out from a position in power (originally, her father, the finally, chrollo as the boss of the phantom troupe). the first — and last, really — time that she goes against her father's wishes, she loses everything for it and ends up in a state of nonexistence. just drifting from thing to thing, capable of sustaining herself, but for what?
what you mention about HWR reader's preference for genuine people is what i consider to be one of the more tragic elements of her character. it's what sounds best for her, and still, she's drawn in by chrollo's undeniable magnetism, the chance to have that structure she's unknowingly grown dependent on all this time. before that, it was karina, who seemed authentic enough, but would go on to use her too. even though chrollo came to care for her, it started as a way for him to better understand himself. they're both just these weird deeply flawed beings that orbit one another because there's no one else who can understand what surreal things they've been through.
if you couldn't tell she means a lot to me hjrntegkrm she's a hot mess beneath that prim and proper veneer. the girl edits wikipedia articles for fun. i'm glad that you're interested in her character. i think that even though the exact happenings of her life aren't especially relatable, the themes of isolation, oppressive patriarchal figures, delayed identity development and being used for the advantage of others are things that can potentially resonate.
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your-favourite-plague · 1 year ago
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Could you potentially explain why you ship Kalluto and Feitan? Is it more of a crack ship or like legitimate? You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable
Hi, thanks for the ask!
Around 4 years ago, when I was watching HxH for the first time (the 2011 version) and Kalluto said the line about "toying with his prey" I thought "lmao is he a sadist like Feitan?" and my brain decided to never shut up about it since then, so it very much can be considered a crack ship, especially that they had mere one inconsequential interaction in canon.
But I like to overthink stuff, so here comes the essay:
Ok before the essay, I think I have to clarify that "shipping" doesn't mean I want them to be canon, or I perceive their relationship as a peak of romance.
Sometimes I just like to daydream about fake scenarios, sometimes it's a great mean to analyze characters too. Authors don't usually give full psychological profiles and as the characters are not real people, we have no idea how they would react to everything, but it's fun to think about. Putting two characters together can create some interesting dynamics that can also serve to further explore their individual personalities.
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1. The most superficial layer — they're both my favorite HxH characters, and thinking about my two favorites at the same time is double the fun. Plus, they just look cool. The high school edgelord inside me is a sucker for dark aesthetics.
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2. The differences between them
I like when there is a ground for conflicts in ships. Even in my ships that are most agreed on in fandom, there are some clashes (e.g. AkiAngel is the most popular ship in CSM and I like their fluff content, but I also very much enjoy how they began with hating each other's guts). I just find it interesting.
Their origins (Zoldycks' wealth vs everything about Meteor City) and their upbringings (the calculated torture-training program to become an assassin vs the chaos and uncertainty of living in the junkyard, when the rest of the world barely sees you as a human) had to heavily influence them, shape their worldviews and values.
Although both work as a part of a group, but the groups themselves have completely different attitudes toward their members.
Serving the group, as the Zoldycks teach it, means sacrificing one's individuality for the sake of it, a duty before personal needs (which probably shouldn't exist in the first place). We can see how devoted Kalluto is to his family, basically anything he does is in the context of it and its well-being.
The Phantom Troupe, on the other hand, is very individualistic. Of course, there are rules and hierarchy, but beyond that the members are free to do whatever they want. We know that not every meeting is obligatory, between missions they can spend the time separately if they want, they can use their skills in a way they themselves find fitting (e.g. Kortopi isn't forced to fight).
One offers stability but requires extreme conformity, the other gives freedom in exchange for volatility of living day by day.
How these approaches may be challenged by each other?
Can they find golden mean, or will one overpower the other?
And the other subject I like to think about:
The self-control
Considering Illumi's words to Killua, Kalluto probably strives to be emotionless and passionless as a good assassin should be, which is showing in having a blank expression 90% of time and the most "dialogue" lines being only the thoughts. The only times Kalluto showed more emotions was a) an angry glare he gave Gon and friends; in my opinion, with limited information he had, the rightful hatred toward people who want to take Killua away and are a cause of recent family problems. b) smiling after killing the ant (immediately followed by self-scolding for the "bad habit", even though he clearly found it enjoyable). c) everything that happened during the Feitan vs Zazan fight, which, again, is mostly shown by his thoughts, so I assume his reaction are a little bit exaggerated. Additionally, he was already distressed by the Troupe's power and his own misjudgement.
Meanwhile Feitan. Oh boy. He seems cold and calculated at first, because of his more stand-offish nature, but I don't believe he's good at self-control. A few times canon points it out:
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Another extremes. Another clash.
What if Kalluto would loosen his restraints?
What if Feitan would be forced to hold himself back?
What if both would happen at the same time?
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3. The similarities
So. Many. Traumas. Feitan as a child, had to learn a concept of death very early. Other children disappearing, people from the outside having no regard for the lives of Meteor City habitants – it left a scar on all the founding members. Kalluto was born in the family of the assassins. We know only trainings Killua had to endure, and he's a special heir case, but judging from Kalluto's abilities at his age, he didn't have a fun time either. Both Feitan and Kalluto have to have a screwed view of human life, which isn't really shared by the majority of the population, even in the quite desensitized world HxH is placed in.
Despite what I wrote before about the Spiders, Feitan is shown to be very loyal to both the Troupe and Chrollo. He demands apologies when, in his opinion, Nobunaga insults Chrollo. He doesn't hesitate a second to obey Chrollo's order and sacrifice him for the Troupe's sake. So despite his "Family? What's that?" comment, he seems to be capable of understanding the devotion to the group, and by extent, the Zoldycks' dynamics.
And the first thing I mentioned in this post — the sadistic tendencies. Although, I think they can have different sources (it's already long, (I'm sorry!) I won't write another essay about unhealthy ways to regain a feeling of control over one's life now), it's a peculiar connection. I don't think I have to elaborate on Feitan, as he's rightfully assigned as "the sadistic one" by the fandom. But Kalluto's case is weird. The only scene when he smiles is when he just slowly torn someone apart. Something that in some sense goes against his family. And then it's never mentioned again. I think it has a great potential in revealing his very very very hidden character, and Feitan can be used as a tool to prompt it.
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4. More morbidly, because shifting away from purely emotionally-psychological stuff — would Feitan care about age?
The whole world isn't really concerned about children that much, letting them take the extremely dangerous Hunter exam or compete in the Heaven's Arena. The Phantom Troupe was founded when they were teens. It feels like the old times philosophy of a child being just a weaker adult, and no Spider struck me as a human rights activist to defy that view, especially Feitan.
Adding that he was seen with bdsm loli art book... uhhh. In other situations, I'd take it as Togashi's Easter egg, but the fact that he does it right after torturing someone is quite... concerning. And with the amount of vile acts the Phantom Troupe has committed, I don't hold them to any moral standards and honestly expect the worst of them.
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5. It's kinda me bashing of Zoldycks in disguise... Or rather exploring the consequences of their abuse. In canon we saw Killua's healing story (still not fully finished, I'd say), but as the heir he was a special case. I want to delve into the sadder side of life. It's not unheard of that the neglected child is looking for their place in the world? Comfort? Sense of belonging? Love? In places they definitely shouldn't.
But I could ramble about it for the next few thousands words, so I'll just stop.
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I don't believe someone would read that far, but if you're still here... uh, thanks? Please, don't think of me as a total weirdo for writing all this, I'm just killing insomnia time. Have a good day!
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sylvibullet · 7 months ago
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i cannot edit my 5 star podcast review to add who my favorite phantom troupe member is but i would still like to be judged if you feel like it so: my favorite spiders are shizuku and blinky. yes i do mean both of them, that is essential
this is a good duo, i think i had shizuku as an a on my tier list. maybe b? she's good tho. (i lost that jpeg by the way that's why i didn't post it my b)
#Qs
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starrabbitmedia · 1 year ago
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If any of the animatronic's knows monster high, who's y'alls favorite?, mines always been frankie, draculara clawdine.:3 (sorry if I spell her or any of their names wrong btw)
"I don't think I've ever heard of that," Mirage admitted.
"Oh! Oh I know this one!" Zavy exclaimed, all but pushing Mirage out of the way. "A bunch of kids at the hospital LOVED it. I watched the old series with them."
Though they were grumpy, Mirage huffed out, "What is it?"
"It was a cute doll line, wasn't it?" Fairy asked, looking over the two of them. "I saw bits and pieces of it from one of my troupe member's kids. Danny was SUPER into them. I think I liked the vampire girl."
"Draculara," Zavy said, snapping his finger with a grin. "Daughter of Dracula."
"Dang, you're good at this," Fairy laughed out. "There was also a pirate girl that was pretty cool."
"Vandala Doubloons," Zavy answered once more, easily knowing the character names. "Something tells me you'd also like the original version of Lagoona."
"What about me?" Mirage asked. "Who would I like?"
For a moment, Zavy paused to think, making a big show of rubbing the bottom of his chin.
"I don't remember there being a puppet," he admitted. "But you'd for sure like Operetta. She's based off of the Phantom of the Opera. He's not a puppet, but there's Hoodude VooDoo. He's literally a voodoo doll. Wydowna Spider is right up your alley. But you also like MILFs, so I'm betting you'd like Headmistress Bloodgood."
"... What's a Milf?" Mirage asked after a long pause. Unfortunately, their question was ignored.
"And who are your favorites?" Fairy asked.
"Skelita Calaveras for sure," Zavy answered with Pride. "I'm also a fan of Lorna McNessie and Gooliope Jellington. But now admittedly, I think Abbey Bominable has to be one of my favorites. She reminds me of Shura. A little bit."
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