#but I love him and I love the culmination of all of those things in him
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ARMAGEDDON ‘cause i wanna see, i wanna see truly
━━━ " act one, armageddon supernova cant stop hyperstellar. 원초 그걸 찾아. bring the light of a dying star. 불러낸 내 우주를 봐 봐, supernova AESPA
( yn ) & the ikaris introduction MASTERLIST
• this chap only involves reader & her parents, next chap will have the jujutsu kaisen characters
‘reader speaking telepathically’ , thoughts’ , “talking”
‘when you have supernatural powers, the impossible becomes possible’
“wow, look at this little guy! so cute. im a huge dog lover” but im way more into girls’ the man said, petting a lady’s dog. suddenly escaping out its leash, the dog sprinted towards the road which happened to have a moving truck, “no! pochimi, come back— pochimi!” the owner said with panic
before it could even make contact, the vehicle flew above the dog, onto the space away from it. the dog walking back to its rightful owner like nothing, having the two speechless. “..that was weird. so, you wanna go out sometime?” said the man.
“ew, are you trying to pick me up”
‘my name is ( yn ) ikari, and i have psychic super powers’
‘sixteen years ago, an ordinary couple gave birth to a not so ordinary baby girl’
the scenery changing to when ( yn ) was days after birth, “so cute, almost as cute as mommy” said her father, “so cute, almost as cute as daddy” rhymed her mother. “oh, you” he tapped her head using his index finger. ‘wow, so i guess im still only second place’ baby ( yn ) said
‘i started talking when i was fourteen days old. without using my voice’
“baby ( yn )’s walking, baby ( yn )’s walking” clapped her mother
‘soon afterwards, i started walking when i was one month old. in the air’
“how cool” his father emphasized watching him walk from point a to b above them
‘and at one year old..’
“we’re out? i can’t cook without rice wine” her mother pouted. catching glimpse of ( yn ) teleporting, “( yn )?”, and returning back with numerous rice wine bottles
‘..i ran my first errand’
“oh, ( yn )”
‘my mom finally started to worry about me. now, you’d think after a year of this weirdness, they’d take me to get tested. but my parents are kinda weird themselves’
“im pretty sure she stole the rice wine” her mother held ( yn ) on her lap. her father right by them, “well, i’ll go pay ‘em back tomorrow when there’s time”
‘not to mention lazy’
just for ( yn ) to raise her small hand with the receipt, “our little psychic did pay after all!” her mother embraced
‘they can still act like love birds, and they’ll take everything in stride. including me, and all my weird powers.
so time rolled on.
i became the person you see now, a highschool student. as you saw with the dog and floating car, i still have my superpowers. i can bend spoons like any good psychic. and i can win any corporate giveaway i want. my life is a dream come true!’
‘..that is what you’re thinking, right? well let me drop some truth bombs, bending spoons makes it harder to eat and winning free popsicles just leads to stomachaches.
“she’s the happiest girl alive, that girl can have anything and do anything!” well that’s dead wrong. im the unhappiest girl alive, a girl who has nothing!
telepathy, psychokinesis, x-ray vision, precognition, teleportation, clairvoyance, etc, etc. sure i can do all those things. but having powers like that also means having something taken away’
‘sort of like how because we feed our pets, they’ve lost the ability to hunt. or when a mother spoils their child, he loses the ability to be a functional adult. in this way, there some key experiences ive missed out on. hard work, culminating in the sense of achievement, the thrill of being thrown a surprise party, they’re both totally foreign to me.
sure, i never get angry or sad about anything but that just means there’s no joy or thrill in my life either’
‘maybe i should focus on the bright side though, no drama means things are always peaceful for me and that’s not bad’ ( yn ) thought to herself while walking home. her father surprisingly outside their residence, “( yn )! welcome home, my daughter” he stood up, signaling her a salute. “you’re running kinda late today, huh?” he questioned
‘why’s dad sitting in front of the house?’
he pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, “i’ll get right to the point. im locked out of the house, can you open it up for your old pops?”
‘are you kidding? again?’ she passed the gate over to the front door. with one swift hand movement, a click was heard meaning the door had opened. “wow, i love those psychic powers of yours, they’re just so sneaky”
‘don’t call them sneaky’ she opened the door for her father. “( yn ), with those kind of powers think about all the things you can do” he said with a tint of suspicion, hand covering his mouth. ‘keep your dark thoughts to yourself, dad’
from the inside, her mother could be heard, “( yn ), is that you? you’re back?” making her father panic, “ah! we’ll talk more later!” he scurried off inside
‘i guess there is one thing in my life that’s decidingly unpeacful’
“i can’t believe you changed the locks on me again!” her father argued
‘that would be my parents current relationship’
“i hope you’re hungry, ( yn ). im making you breaded pork chops for din-din!” her mother smiled, glancing at her. “now you’re choosing to ignore me?! besides, i told you i wanted to have steak tonight!” her fathers fist going to point at his wife.
“im sorry i forgot, but i can boil you a leather shoe”
“i don’t want a shoe, leather or not!”
‘i wonder where it went wrong for them. they used to be so passionate’ a memory of them staring lovingly at each other with their hands together played in ( yn ) mind, “i love you like a fish loves water” then to their current state, “my hate for you has become as wide and deep as the pacific ocean!”
“i hate you like a fish hates air!”
“you suck!”
‘well, they’re still passionate now but it’s a little different’
━━━
“gord yourselves guys, i made a ton!” her mother grinned from ear to ear across the dinner table. her father then repeatedly banging on it, “hey! hey! hey!” pointing to what she had served him, an actual leather shoe. “is it good, ( yn )? oh honey, would you like something else?” her mothers usual beam still on her face
“no, because i bet it’s just the other shoe” he faced her. another plate with a shoe was plastered on the table, “boneappletea” she said. “that’s not even from the same pair!?” he yelled
‘they been going at each other for a year’
“hey, ( yn ). use your powers to turn this old shoe into a steak for daddy” he shoved his first plate in her vision
‘so in case you forgot, this pathetic dudes my dad, kuniharu ikari. he’s lazy and irresponsible and asks for help with everything in his life but surprise, surprise, the more i help him the more useless he gets, so lately i’ve stopped doing him any favors’
“what?! how dare you take your mothers side in this! do you have any idea how many shoes i have to lick each day to buy the food you’re eating now!?” he frustratedly shouted. ‘so, you do like to eat shoes?’
his father sighed, crossing his arms, “..alright, i’ll eat it— it stinks! what did you do to this shoe! are you trying to poison your father!”
‘im pretty sure that how they always smell, dummy’
“( yn )” a sudden bubbly background came about her mother, “now just remember what i’ve always said, please don’t use your powers for evil” she gave a shut eye smile
‘this is my mom, kurumi ikari’
“you must only use your powers to help those in need. or those people who you’re certain genuinely nice”
‘she’s a big reason why i haven’t let my gifts turn me to the dark side. she’s a caring soul. well.. to me’
“but feel free to use your powers to hurt your daddy!”
‘..she kinda has a dark side herself’
in the corner of their eyes, her father was seen chowing down on his daughters food, “stop eating ( yn )’s dinner, you thieving son of a bitch!” her mother angrily shouted, spooking her father away from the plate. “that’s it! we’re taking this outside!” she roared
‘in truth, i can break up this fight whenever i feel like it but this is something they’re going to have to work out themselves’
something shiny distracted ( yn )’s attention away from her parents, ‘coffee flavored jelly? hm, doesn’t taste bad’ she described whilst her mom spun her dad around behind her. finally snapping and accidentally throwing him straight towards ( yn )
from the impact, her coffee jelly had seconds from landing on the ground. as psychic, her fast reflexes let her catch the jelly straight into her mouth. landing on the floor from the save, she chewed her savory treat, “you wanted to eat jelly that bad?! forget the jelly, we got bigger problems! your mother turned into a monster!” his father feared
“stop running from me, you coward!”
“you have to help me, ( yn ). you’re my only hope to stop her rain of terror!” her father cried. from the anger ( yn )’s mom had, she lifted their dinner table in attempt to throw it, “you’re not leaving til i say so!” she yelled
making ( yn )’s father scream out in fear. before the table could touch him, ( yn ) used telekinesis to hold the table back. “huh..?” her father opened his eyes
‘i’ve got the weirdest parents. i really don’t care about stopping another pointless fight but i can’t help myself’
“so now you’re on your dads side?! but i even made you pork chops!” her mothers mouth gapped open.
‘it’s pointless? just wait’
“i want nothing to do with either of you again” that’s a lie, truth is i love them!’ her mothers thoughts were heard
‘no matter how hard they try, the voices in their hearts always bubble up. in other words, all these fights they have are a sham’
“alright, well i hate you both too so there, yeah i said it” just kidding! you know i love you guys, i wanna snuggle!’ said her father
‘like i said, another pointless fight. there is one person here who has a real reason to be upset, me! those weirdos interrupted my dessert. i guess only a psychic can fix this’
“love you!” her parents said in sync. “wait, did you just say you love me?” is it really possible she loves me back?’ asked her father. “what? no. that’s you who said it” oh no! i thought i just thought that! but did i say it? and what does ‘she loves me back’ mean? he loves me?’ panicked her mother. her father pointed out, “so you did say it. you just admitted of thinking it out loud” is it possible that i love her so much ive started hearing things?’
he loves me ‘so much’?’
huh? she can hear me too?’
“what? yeah” .. he did say it!’
“not out loud..”
“—( yn )!” they both shouted. ‘forced shared telepathy. i used my psychic powers to link their minds at the nerral level. in other words, thanks to me they can now hear each others thoughts’
“turn it off right now! i don’t want your dad finding out that i still love him!”
“her finding out that i still love her is my worst nightmare!” they both waved their hands, flustered
suddenly a twist of emotions happened and they proceeded to apologize, “im so sorry, honey” cried her father. “no, im sorry it was all my fault!” followed her mother. ‘what a pain. normal people are complicated. at least now i can finish my dessert in peace’
“your coffee jelly would’ve trapped us in a cycle of violence, i wouldn’t have done it”
“you did nothing wrong, honey. it was all my fault for getting so angry at you and breaking all the doors and windows in the house”
as ( yn ) was about to dig in her pastry, her mother snatched it away, “let’s set things right! a tooken of our renewed passion” bringing the jelly between them. “wow!” her father took a bite
“is it good?”
“mmhm, it’s a dignifying treat. delicious!”
( yn ) stiffly glared at them, making all the windows shatter for the reason of taking her jelly away
#armageddon jjk x tdlosk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#megumi fushiguro#nobara kugisaki#yuuji itadori#maki zenin#toge inumaki#satoru gojo#fushiguro megumi#kugisaki nobara#itadori yuuji#zenin maki#inumaki toge#gojo satoru#tdlosk#saiki k#the disastrous life of saiki k.#megumi x reader#nobara x reader#yuuji x reader#maki x reader#toge x reader#satoru x reader#fushiguro megumi x reader#nobara kugisaki x reader#itadori yuuji x reader#maki zenin x reader#inumaki toge x reader
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Director Kirk Wise, screenwriter Linda Woolverton, and actor Robby Benson on casting the Beast [x]
They gave me an incredible amount of freedom. I didn't want Beast to be a cartoon character. I played it as though I were doing a Broadway show. As if this was a living person. And I wanted him to be funny. By funny, I don't mean shtick or one-liners. I am talking about real comedy. When real comedy works, and is truthful, especially with the Beast, it comes out of the fact that he is so pathetic. For some reason, I really understood that. Ha! Because of that, they gave me a lot of leeway. [x]
My first audition was recorded on, of all things, a Sony Walkman. As a musician, I had branched out into recording engineer and loved to play with sound. When I saw the Sony Walkman I knew it had a little condenser microphone in it, and if I were to get too loud, the automatic compressor and built-in limiter would 'squash' the voice— and there would be very little dynamic range to the performance. I did a quick assessment and wondered how many people who had come in to audition for the part were making that error: playing the Beast with overwhelming decibels, compressing the vocal waveforms. I decided to give the Beast 'range.' Because of my microphone technique, and an understanding of who I wanted Beast to be, they kept asking me to come back and read different dialogue. After my fifth audition, Jeffrey Katzenberg the hands-on guardian of the film, said the part was mine…
Beauty and the Beast was so refreshingly fun and inventively creative to work on that I couldn't wait to try new approaches to every line of dialogue. Don Hahn is one of the best creative producers I have ever worked with. The two young directors, Kirk Wise and Gary Trousdale, were fantastic and their enthusiasm was contagious. I not only was allowed to improvise, but they encouraged it. It never entered my mind that I was playing an animated creature. I understood the torment that Beast was going through: he felt ugly; had a horrible opinion of himself, and had a trigger-temper. Those are things that, if done right, are the perfect ingredients for comedy. Painful and pathetic comedy— but honest. The kind of comedy I understood...
In the feature world of Disney animation, the actors always recorded their dialogue alone in a big studio, with only a microphone and the faint images of the producers, writers, directors and engineer through a double-paned set of acoustic glass. Paige O'Hara and I became good friends; it was her idea that for certain very intimate scenes, such as when Beast is dying, we record together. We were able to play these scenes with an honest conviction that is often absent in the voice-over world...
The success of this film was the culmination of a team effort but I must say, the honors go to the animators— and for me (Beast), that's Glen Keane — and to Howard Ashman and Alan Menken. This was the perfect example of a crew who 'cared'. And the final results (every frame) of the film represent that sentiment. [x]
#beauty and the beast#disneyedit#robby benson#kirk wise#linda woolverton#actor#director#writer#my gif
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Not a steddie!dads post believe it or not, but I was thinking about how S1-Steve conks the fuck out after sleeping w/Nancy (which was.......an interesting choice imo) but it got me thinking about what would happen if the same thing happened with Eddie.
Like, all the Upside Down shit is done and they're all healed up and, after pining for each other for ages, Steve and Eddie finally hook up.
It definitely wasn't a gooey, sappy, romantic love confession type of situation, more like the natural culmination of several agonizing months of sexual tension and trying to feel out what the other might be thinking and a pretty aggressive campaign of flirting on Eddie's part that he's certain Steve was matching him on toe-to-toe for at least most of and being badgered by their friends to pull their respective heads out of their respective asses — a glorified hook-up, really.
Yeah, there might have been an undercurrent of more in the way Steve had threaded their fingers together and the way he'd looked at him with those gorgeous hazel eyes of his and the way he'd kissed him like it fucking meant something, but there hadn't been a lot of words.
Eddie's a words kind of guy, believe it or not, and he'd really like to be looped into whatever the hell is going on inside Steve's perplexing brain, thanks, but no.
Instead, afterwards Steve had pulled Eddie into his arms, twined them tight around his waist and tangled their legs together and tucked his face into the curve of Eddie's shoulder, and that was...new, but in a matter of minutes he'd started softly snoring, and that — dozing off after a hook-up so the other can make a discreet exit — is a move Eddie knows intimately, not that knowing it makes it sting any less, because Eddie had thought Steve might be more, that this thing roiling beneath the surface of their friendship could be more than just a one-time thing.
It's actually kind of fucking horseshit, actually, that Steve is expecting Eddie to just leave like this had been nothing more than a chance to get laid, because Eddie knows it's more than that — not because he has good self-esteem or whatever, but because it's so obviously more than that.
The whole thing actually kind of bothers Eddie, and he's always been a petulant shit about things that bother him and he'd never cared too much about doing what he's "supposed to", or whatever, so...fuck it. He's tired and this rich-people mattress is way more comfortable than anything Eddie had slept on before, and Steve needs to grow a pair and face the music of this shit in the morning.
So instead of sliding out of Steve's grip like everyone who came before him, Eddie settles in and forces himself to fall asleep too.
#steve wakes up the next morning and is like *heart eyes* “you're still here?!?”#eddie is just so used to being a borderline-insomniac that he forgot some people don't take a full hour to fall asleep#and steve forgot he can sack out in like 2.5 seconds if he's not careful#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#wow she can write other things#i'm just as shocked as the rest of you
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i keep thinking about like. how the brutality levels vary between seasons and how secret life is the natural culmination of everything these people have been through and the watchers pushing everything to extremes. i’m going to try to articulate how crazy this makes me
3rd Life: god. 3rd life was a clear cut war. we haven’t seen a season since where nearly everyone has such an intense devotion to their chosen faction. the fact that there’s no precedent that they’re coming back next season, the fact that as far as they know, dying means staying dead, makes just how much they’re willing to go down with the ship that much more heartbreaking. grian ended the season exactly how it was played by damn near everyone else— i love you, i would do anything for you, i would rather die than keep going without you. the season of widows.
Last Life: and then they come back. and then ending things isn’t an option. and all of a sudden it’s not a war, it’s a death match, and damn is the competition is vicious. deaths are more often than not a vague, impersonal thing— not get away from my king, my husband, my charge— just the flash of a knife and a quick sorry, just playing the game! if 3rd life told you to hold the ones you love close, defend them to your last breath, last life urges you to burn that love out of your chest entirely.
Double Life: but everything slows down eventually. no more dying for the one you love— just learning to live with them. double life is about knowing that when you die, you will go together, hand and hand into the dark. a soap opera, the players joke. a small kindness, the universe replies. again, pearl wins the same way everyone else lost— no, not yet, please, just give us a little longer together, i’m not ready, i’m so sorry—
Limited Life: but the clock, unyielding, ticks ever onward. and god, everyone is starting to feel it. that sick, nauseating feeling of dread creeping up on them: what if it never ends? what if this is it, this is all that’s left for us— tearing each other apart over and over and over again, and for what? for a show? to feed those hungry things lurking in the dark? we’ll give them a show. bombs rain from the sky, the world shaking under the weight of it. there isn’t a thing left by the end that’s not rubble. we’re all doomed! the players cry, laughing with nothing but nihilistic, unrestrained joy. none of it matters! we come back again, and again, and again, have a little fun with it! light the fuse, collateral be damned. when death means so little, what’s the point in pretending they don’t take a little joy in it? we settle this like grian and scar before us, scott jokes, armor and weapons tossed to the side. are you insane? martyn thinks, remembering the hollow look that would wash over grian’s face when he thought no one was watching. it ruined him. it will not ruin me. this is a death match for a reason.
Secret Life: and here it is. the natural conclusion. this season is candy colored, the map dotted with cute pink houses and silly builds, the players all running around doing these ridiculous tasks. it’s so easy to forget how bloody this season was. unclosing wounds, bruises that don’t fade, the sting of fire or falling from a simple misstep. the hurt never goes away, but it gets easier to ignore— distract yourself with something silly to pass the time: spyglasses and frogs and the ugliest house you’ve ever seen and matching leather jackets and the doghouse and the relationSHIP and a weird tunnel full of doors and secret soulmates and god it’s almost, almost, enough to forget how much it all aches, how much the grief weighs on you, how many times someone you love has died, sometimes to your own blade. almost none of the grudges you hold are real by now, not really. not when you’re going to live and die with these people for as long as the hungry, many-eyed things delight in your suffering. you love each other, in the strangest way— sure you’ve all killed and betrayed each other in a thousand different ways, but at the end of the day, they’re all you have. clinging to each other in the face of the vast, unknowable horrors that drive you to slash each other to pieces. it’s still a game, after all. they’ve gotta figure out how to be good sports about it eventually.
#I DONT KNOW IF I SUCCEEDED IN ARTICULATING WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY BUT GOD#it kills me how as the brutality goes up in each series so does the sillyness factor#god#trafficblr#3rd life#last life#double life#limited life#secret life#eyesandears#<— tagging it cause it kinda alludes to martyns watcher stuff yk yk#god how else do i tag this#gonna tag the winners i mentioned and call it a day#grian#inthelittlewood#pearlescentmoon#mouse.txt
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I was watching the bts videos yesterday including the making of the opening credits and Mr. Anderson said “We added plaques to the back of chairs and Neil chose who to honour on them”.
He’s referring to the chairs we briefly see in the theatre where Aziraphale is doing his magic act:
Left to right: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and The Crow Road by Iain Banks.
I want to focus on these three in a row specifically because Neil chose to put those books there in that order and I had something of an epiphany last night about it all when insomnia was chewing on my toes.
These three books have also been mentioned out loud in the show in episode 2 when Gabriel is reorganising the shelves:
“It was the day my grandmother exploded” - The Crow Road
“It is a truth universally acknowledged-” - Pride and Prejudice
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” - A Tale of Two Cities
For those unfamiliar with the books, I’ll do a quick potted summary of each, with a focus on why I think they’re relevant and especially why the order of the chairs in the theatre feels relevant.
A Tale of Two Cities
Set during the French revolution with one lead who is an aristocrat who has stepped away from his class and background to support the less fortunate than himself because he disagrees with the way they did things. Also, he changed his name because he doesn’t want to be associated with the place where he came from.
The big culmination of the books is when said man is betrayed and set to be executed, but his friend takes his place. There is very literally a body swap by someone who looks very like him in order to save his life. This body-swap is done out of love.
aka - season 1.
Pride and Prejudice
Two people from very different class backgrounds have a very very bumpy start to their relationship because of misinterpretation, miscommunication and a lot of external pressure put on them by the rules of their respective societies. Both of them have different information and because of that, both of them are seeing exactly the same situation very differently. One of them tries to express his affection, but does it so badly that the other tells him there is no chance she will join him.
aka - season 2
The Crow Road
A young man tries to solve a mystery of someone’s disappearance using only the papers they left behind, with said young man’s background rooted in faith and belief in a higher power. There’s also a secondary plot about emotional growth into a more mature and more fulfilling relationship.
(And wouldn’t you know it, it’s the book handed to Muriel by Crowley, who tells them they’ll like it, and the Metatron comments on it)
aka - season 3
Needless to say, I am quite excited :)
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Hold me close and hold me fast
Hi, my darling @always-andromeda!! I'm your secret santa from the space sisters server 🥰 I hope you're having a fantastic day and will enjoy what I wrote for you 💕 I tried to mix fluff and angst into your Joel prompt and it was tricker than I thought it'd be but hopefully I did it justice 😌 I wish you all that's best and happy holidays!!
Summary: It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.
Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, fluff and angst, soft and shy Joel, hurt/comfort, established relationship 💕
Word count: 3.3K
A/N: dividers by @saradika, beta read by @reddedmiller ❤️
Twenty years ago, when the apocalypse started and Joel Miller lost his only daughter, he was certain that he’d never feel happy again. Time didn’t heal his wounds – he still thought like that when he was fighting for survival with Tommy, then when he was doing side jobs with Tess in the QZ… It was never going to get better.
But somehow, as he looked up at the massive tree he just helped the others set up in the middle of the square in Jackson, he realized that it could. It did. Now Joel had a home here. He had his brother back, he had Ellie whom he cared for like his own kid and he had a community that welcomed him into Jackson, people who didn’t know about the horrible things he’d done and therefore didn’t hate him.
“Hi, handsome,” he heard from behind his back and turned around to the most beautiful face in the world – the main source of his newfound happiness. You. His girl. “Are you done with work?”
He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. You were the newest addition to Joel’s life, but the most precious one in his eyes. Unlike everyone else in Jackson (excluding his brother), you knew all about the sins he’s committed. And yet, you still chose him. Every day you continued to choose him, to envelop him with the warmth of your love which Joel wasn’t sure he deserved.
He’d never tell you, though. Not as long as you kept him in your heart.
“Yeah, no, we’re done. M’pretty sure my back will blow if I have to pick up or carry one more damn thing.”
Right at that moment Tommy walked by with another box full of tree ornaments in his arms, and huffed a laugh when he heard his brother complaining.
“Jesus, Joel, you really are gettin’ old.” He put down the heavy box on the snow and sighed, propping his hands on his hips and nodding at you. “You sure you’ll be able to put up with this grump?”
“Positive.” You climbed onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek, and he felt his skin growing hot under your lips. He turned his head to hide the embarrassment evident on his face, missing the slight furrow of your brows, but not missing a hearty laugh his brother let out.
“Aww, is the big, scary man gettin’ all shy from a little kiss on the cheek?”
“Get lost, Tommy.”
Tommy chuckled and bent down to pick up the box again. “By the way, you two have any plans for today? We’re makin’ a screening of some Christmas movies for the kids, and after that the adults will head to the bar. You should come.”
“Well, if you want to?” you directed the careful question to Joel, but he shook his head just slightly, causing you to smile. “But we actually have other plans for tonight.”
That was true, and there was no way Joel would trade those precious hours spent in your company for having to sit – or worse, dance – in a loud room full of half-drunk people.
“Sounds like somethin’ I don’t wanna know about.”
“We’re just gonna bake some cookies for Ellie,” Joel murmured when you bumped his arm lightly with a giggle. The irritation at his brother lessened slightly when he heard the sound of your laughter. “But don’t tell ‘er.”
“My lips are sealed.” Tommy winked at Joel, then shifted his eyes to you. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.”
“That’s the plan.” You took Joel’s hand in both of yours, beaming up at him with excitement. “You’re ready?”
“Yeah.” He inconspicuously let go of your hands to brush the arm of your jacket lightly, and then nodded in the direction of his house. “C’mon, darlin’.”
He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too harsh as he hid his gloved hands in the pockets, intending to blame it on the cold in case you asked. But instead of saying anything, you just matched his step and slipped your hands around his arm. Joel went rigid when you leaned your head on his shoulder, the side of your body almost hugging his.
Joel loved you like no one before and until he met you, he hadn’t been this happy in years. But there was a problem, a major one, in your relationship that he didn’t at all know how to address.
Because Joel didn’t have any clue how to react to all your touches.
No matter if they were tender or needy, brief or lasting, he always felt out of his depth. It’s been so long since he actually wanted to be intimate with someone that when the chance arose… he was at loss. You were such an affectionate person and he loved that part of you, he cherished all touches and gestures you graced him with – craved them even – but…
He stole a glance at you, wondering if you could feel the stiffness of his body when you were so close, but it seemed that you were none the wiser. He tried to will his muscles to relax, but it didn’t work and he still felt an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his arm.
The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do as your partner, but ever since Sarah died, he hadn’t had an opportunity to show affection to someone. Everything he thought about seemed awkward and incongruous, but he really didn’t want you to think that he was an inexperienced old man who didn’t know how to please – and in your case, love – a woman.
He did. In theory.
So he tried his hardest to show you in other ways how much he cares about you. He brought you gifts, whether they were knickknacks scavenged during his patrols or wooden figurines he made for you. He did what he could to relieve you of your duties, helped around the house and out in the town. He found time during the day to spend with you or at least just talk in passing if you both were busy.
But that still wasn’t enough. He knew that wasn’t enough.
Every damn time you cuddled, every time you kissed him or did something as simple as lay your head on his shoulder, Joel never felt better. He never wanted those moments to end, but at the same time he just couldn’t reciprocate, and it was tearing him apart, because he could see how hurtful it was to you.
“You’re quiet.”
Joel snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at you, noting that you’re almost at his place. He breathed a little lighter when he realized that he managed to go all this way without the need of pulling his arm out of your grasp.
“Is everything alright?” you asked with concern in your beautiful eyes and squeezed his bicep slightly, causing Joel to clench his teeth. “Listen, if you’d prefer to go with Tommy, just tell me…”
“Hey, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured you quickly and even managed to smile as if the guilt of not being able to even kiss your forehead wasn’t eating him alive. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”
“Just right now?” you asked teasingly, and Joel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.
“Listen here, you little tease…”
A bright smile returned to your face and you tugged his arm down so your lips could reach his stubbly cheek – and (only a little) reluctantly, he let you kiss him with a huff.
But the guilt of not telling you the true reason of his worries was still swirling in his stomach, making him feel sick for the rest of the way.
An hour and a half later the cookies were already done, and somehow the attempt to clean each other off the flour and the colorful frosting you used to decorate them ended up with you sitting in Joel’s lap, kissing him softly.
Not that he minded.
There was nothing as wonderful as the feeling of your lips on his skin, Joel was sure of it. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since he was with someone that made him feel like a young boy in love again, but your every gesture, every sound coming out of your mouth and every day he got to spend with you was just a confirmation of how lucky he was to have you.
Even now, as you were kissing him slowly and without any rush, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But while they initially appeared from the happiness and giddiness you were causing in him, the longer your hands wandered – and the longer his stayed uselessly at his sides – the worse and more stressed he felt.
“You know you can touch me, right?” you asked playfully at last, and the pit in Joel’s stomach grew almost tenfold in size. “It’s highly encouraged, actually.”
There was an actual question in your voice, which made him feel even worse. He should’ve known you’d address it eventually – after all, nothing went past you – but it still felt so awfully embarrassing to admit it to you. He was an old man, but felt like an inexperienced teenager who didn’t know how to make a woman feel good.
You moved to kiss him again when he didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, but on instinct Joel pulled back – actually ducked – out of your reach. Immediately regret painted his face at the rejected look in your eyes, and he started to rake his mind in search for something he could do to fix it, but nothing came to him. He knew what you’d want from him – you’d forgive him if he took your face in his hands, kissed you with all his strength, let you know that you did nothing wrong… but it made him nervous just thinking about it, let alone do it.
“Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”
“Hey, look at me… What’s wrong?” You brushed some hair out of his forehead and Joel exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the knees at your touch. “Talk to me, baby. Did I do something?” Joel shook his head and you pressed your lips together. “Did something happen, then?”
“No.” He shook his head quickly, but he avoided your eyes. “No. Nothin’.”
“Joel…”
The room got too stuffy all of the sudden, the shirt on his back too tight and your body too heavy on his lap. Joel knew he was panicking over nothing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so unsure and embarrassed over his own insecurity and behavior… So he gently removed you from his lap and stood up from the couch.
“Sorry, I gotta… I need some air. I’ll be right back, alrigh’?”
“Joel.”
No ‘baby’. No ‘handsome’. The tone of your voice made him stop dead in his tracks, and he turned around to meet your sad, solemn eyes.
“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”
Your voice, so small and weak, took him off-guard and for a couple of seconds Joel wasn’t sure if you really said that, or if it was just his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. He blinked several times, but you were still in front of him, sad and… oh, god, you were on the verge of tears.
“What?” He couldn’t help a curt, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him – which was a terrible reaction, he realized when you turned your head away from him. “I– I don’t understand.”
“You don’t ever want to touch me first.” You let out a shuddering breath and lifted your arm to wipe your eyes, and Joel realized with mortification that he fucking made you cry. “And when you do it’s only when I initiate it, but sometimes you just pull back and it… it makes me feel so unwanted. And I know I might come off as too clingy…”
“Hey, none of that.” Joel quickly made his way to you and sat back down, gazing at you with his brows furrowed in worry. Your face was tearstained already and you avoided looking at him, but didn’t pull back when he took your hand gently in his. “Darlin’...”
“Just tell me if it doesn’t work for you,” you breathed, your voice thick with tears which also welled up in your pretty eyes again. “I hate not knowing if I… if our relationship makes you happy.”
“Of course I’m happy, babygirl.” Joel lifted your hand as if to kiss it, but hesitated. He had half a mind to draw back, but you needed him now, and he needed to prove that he really loved you. So, tentatively, he pressed his inexperienced lips to your fingers, making you look up with suspicion dancing in your irises. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever felt.”
“You’re pretending.” The quiet accusation combined with you withdrawing your hand caused Joel’s heart to break and he opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t want you to pretend now that I’m upset, I want– Joel, I need you to be honest and tell me if it isn’t working for you. You always move away when I try to hug you and during all this time we’ve been together I can count on one hand the number of times you kissed me first. I don’t…” you choked down a sob and a new wave of tears flew down your cheeks. “I don’t want to waste either of our time if that isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want–”
“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I want,” Joel whispered with pain in his voice, moving so he could sit closer to you. “M’so very sorry that I wasn’t…” He searched for the right words, but everything felt flat on his tongue. “I’m sorry. For everythin’ I did that made you feel this way.”
“But why?” you asked pathetically, staring at him with defeat and sadness. “You never said anything and I wouldn’t try to touch you so much if you just told me you didn’t like it!”
“I do like it,” he cut you off with a firm tone, which caused you to stop abruptly. “I fuckin’– I love it when you touch me, darlin’. I’m dyin’ for you to keep doin’ it, but I…”
“You what?” you asked, softer this time, and Joel swallowed hard, nervous how you’ll react. But you had the right to know, so ultimately he pushed through his discomfort.
“I just don’t know what to do,” he finally settled on that. “I really, really love when you touch me, babygirl, no matter in what way.” He took another deep breath, bowing his head to look at his hands so that he didn’t have to face you. “But it’s been so long, damn decades, since I… since anyone touched me in the way you do. I never loved someone the way I love you. I’m very sorry, I just don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do… when someone…”
He trailed off, worried that he might break down and cry in front of you if he says another word, and he’d prefer to avoid it at all cost. The world outside was so harsh and cruel already, and you needed someone strong – a safe haven, a pillar you could lean on. He was that someone for everyone around him for the last twenty years, and even longer before the outbreak.
But it was so much different now. You made him feel safe and loved no matter what he could provide to you and it was almost scary how vulnerable he was becoming in your presence.
“...when someone cares for you?” you asked quietly. Joel nodded, and tears gathered in your eyes again, though now for a very different reason. “Oh, Joel…”
“M’sorry,” he whispered, his own vision also going misty. “I want to give you everythin’ you desire, darlin’. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll try to…” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’ll try to get past it.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You scooted just a little closer and put your hand on his knee lightly. He looked up with anguish swimming in his brown eyes, not believing that you were still here and not already out of the door. You worried your lip between your teeth for a couple of seconds before inhaling deeply. “How about… I show you what to do? We can go as slow as you want.”
Joel slowly shook his head, not understanding. “...show me what?”
“You said you don’t really know what to do, right? So how about I show you exactly how… you know.” You smiled almost shyly, but it only caused Joel’s heart to beat even faster. “Where to put your hands.”
Joel was nodding before you even finished speaking.
It was embarrassing, really, how excited he got at this idea, but just the thought of your hands guiding his, demonstrating where and how to touch you, had him feeling weak in the knees and hot under his clothes. You smiled, almost with relief, and moved even closer until your thighs were touching.
“Here, just relax. We can stop at any time, just say a word,” you said soothingly, placing his palms on your hips and sending him a small smile. Joel wondered if you could see how red his face surely was, feel how sweaty his palms got. “Is this okay?”
“S’better than okay,” he breathed in something akin to wonder. “It’s easier… Everythin’ seems easier with you.” His chest was tight when he looked up at you. “Thank you.”
It wasn’t a lie. You did make it seem effortless, and though Joel could still feel the rigidness of his muscles and tendons, the tension was slowly melting away, replaced by a tingling warmth on his skin.
You gave him a reassuring smile and his eyes flickered to your lips almost involuntary. You noticed it, of course – Joel didn’t think he was exactly subtle with his staring – and cupped his jaw in your hands. His arm, practically instinctively, encircled your waist and pulled you closer before he could stop himself, but you didn’t berate him – in fact, you seemed delighted by his action.
“Now, are you going to kiss me or not?” you whispered coyly, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. Joel chuckled at your attempt to put him more at ease, but it worked and he leaned in to press – very, very carefully – his lips to yours. He felt you smiling against them and his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming relief.
“I love you so much,” he murmured with his mouth only millimeters from yours. “So much, babygirl.”
You hummed a quiet love you, too, and moved your lips up to softly kiss his eyelids, then temple, then cheeks and nose. Joel almost wanted to cry when you started running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It felt so good, your touch so nice and tender… He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone treated him with such care. Maybe never. “Next time it becomes too much, you tell me, got it? And I promise I’ll make you feel better.”
Your touch didn’t bother him now that he admitted what was weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now, it felt soothing. Grounding.
So, so loving.
Joel held you closer, melting into your embrace, and claimed your lips in a soft – if not a bit shy – kiss.
There was nothing else he’d rather be doing tonight.
#space sisters secret santa 2023#joel miller x reader#joel miller#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller fluff#joel miller x you
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Devotion.
I just want, or rather need, to write about this scene, because it stuck in my head for the last seven days. And because of the wonderful @lurkingshan I decided to post it...
This scene is the culmination, the end of the years that Qian has forbidden himself to feel joy or love. Romantic love that doesn't demand, that doesn't require him to be in control, to take care, to be the big brother. So far he has not allowed the depth of his feelings for Yuan to surface. He has kept them locked away, kept control of them. He knows they were there, but couldn’t or didn’t dare to face them, to name them. And he would have continued to do so if Yuan hadn't finally told him what he actually wants from him. It wasn't enough for him to tell Qian that he loves him, that it was his own problem, not Qian's, that he was content if the person he loved was happy. The talk with San Pang and the staircase talk were the first steps, Qian is finally able and willing to face those emotions, but couldn’t make up his mind. Still couldn't name those feelings.
Everything is too much for him. He is overwhelmed by the decision he has to make and the possible outcome of that. He could lose Yuan, if they don't work out in the end. If those boundaries are finally crossed, there is no going back to where they were. So Qian needed to hear that Yuan doesn't want him as a brother. Every time Yuan told Qian he can take care of him, he is there for him and holds up the world together with him, it was as a brother. In Qian’s mind, he said that as a brother. All Qian brought Yuan was suffering and sadness and abandonment, because he fell in love with him.
In his mind, Yuan shouldn’t love him as something else than a brother, because that would harm both of them. Because loving Qian isn’t a good thing to do. Qian knows that Yuan loves him but hasn't understood, or rather wanted to understand, the extent of his feelings. Yuan wants to be his partner. He wants him to be able to rely on him, to be Qian's rock, no matter what life brings, he wants to be there for him. And not just for the moment, but for the rest of his life. And not just as a brother Qian has to take care of, but as a lover, the one person who puts Qian first.
He wants to be Qian's partner, he wants to protect him and take the burden off his shoulders. He wants Qian not to have to deal with everything on his own, but to open up to him, to share his worries and hardships with him. And Qian finally understands what it means when Yuan tells him that he can summarize his life in two words: Wei Qian. Yuan puts Qian above himself, he would run to the end of the world for him if he had to, he would fight against the rest of the world if he had to, he will protect him, he will take care of him and love him no matter what the world holds. And finally Qian understands that it's good, that Yuan won't just leave him once he opens up, because he loves everything about him, his dark sides and his light ones. Yuan can take care of him to the end, can love him to the end. And Qian surrenders. He's always in fucking control, no matter what, he has to control everything, even his heart. But at some point, all resistance breaks. He just had to understand.
And when they get into the bedroom, Qian is beaming. The lightning focusses on his face, this delighted face. He is like pudding under Yuan’s kisses, touches, breathes. In that moment he exists only out of his emotions. There is nothing more and nothing more is needed in this situation. He has never looked so weightless before and has certainly never felt like this.
We know what Yuan imagines at night, or at least we have a pretty good idea. We have witnessed countless moments when his love and affection for Qian literally leaked out of his face, while Qian tried to suppress his feelings with a petrified expression. But finally, he can feel them. He allows himself to give in. He allows Yuan to take care of his world, to let him feel how much he loves and desires him. The power of emotions and sensations are depicted on Qian’s face. He has his eyes closed, tasting every single moment, savouring every single touch. Blissfully.
Yuan's presence is Qian's entire focus. Just as Qian is Yuan's entire focus. And he makes sure that Qian feels good, that he forgets everything, all problems and responsibilities, illnesses and losses, for the moment. He takes care of his world. This one thing he wanted to do for so long, he is finally able to do.
(Well, there is an edited version out now with this whole scene as one without the flashbacks, but I saw the other one first and I loved it, so I stick to it.) The whole scene is repeatedly interrupted by scenes from the past and it is always Yuan. I was also a bit irritated by the time jumps at first, I get why people are annoyed by this, but it makes sense. We know that Qian is Yuan's whole world, the centre around which he has revolved for years and for which he would do anything. We see scenes that led to where they are now. Their shared history. Their shared memories. The sequences speed up and at some point it's just Yuan’s face at its core. Yuan. Yuan. Yuan.
And you can understand, without needing to be told, that Yuan is also Qian's whole world. He is the centre, the heart that gives his own life warmth, with whom he can let himself fall, who knows him better than anyone else, who was always there, even when he physically wasn't, the only one who could tell him to do things he didn’t want to do, the one he can’t fucking live without. And Qian surrenders. The feelings he couldn't allow for so long are now boiling out and we have these close-ups of his face and see how he's longed for it. How touch starved this boy was.
I don't need a close-up of Yuan to know that he's enjoying every single second. Would it have been nice? Sure, but I think narratively, that's the way they wanted and needed to go. And I love this whole scene. It's aesthetic, it advances the story, it's intimate and it's fitting for the show. Because Qian always was Yuan’s world and Yuan is Qian’s whole world.
I just wanted or needed to say I love this scene, its buildup, its pace, its hecticness and this disconnected feeling. It's Qian's scene. It's what we've all been dying for, for Qian to finally give in. And when the emotions overwhelm you, then it becomes hectic, then nothing hangs together and thoughts can't be grasped, can't be put in order. You jump from moment to moment, starting at one point and ending at a completely different one. It's Qian's scene. It's not Yuan's. We've had enough scenes to see Yuan's love and devotion, now it's time for Qian. We are, like Yuan, experiencing Qian in his first moment of absolute devotion. Without time, without place, without anger or fear. He doesn't think about the past or worry about the future, because for the first time he lives in the present. Yuan gives him this security that he can let his guard down, give up the control. I don't think Qian has ever felt as safe, secure, and loved as he does in this moment. And I love it so fucking much! Perhaps I just ignore my little dissappointement in them rushing this whole thing, because I watch those scenes with a narrator in my mind and he is giving me so much more in those scenes than the actual scene shows. But I understand everyone who is dissapointed with this scene and editing.
#unknown#unknown the series#unknown ep 11#qianyuan#chris chiu#kurt huang#qian x yuan#bl drama#bl series#asianlgbtqdrama#taiwanese bl#taiwanese drama#taiwanese series#queer drama#lgbtq+#just my thoughts#josi watching bl#unknown meta#long post
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"The atmosphere on this ship is fucked. Everyone knows why."
"I don't. Enlighten me."
"Your feelings for Stede—"
This scene has been picked over a lot, but this is the first time I noted the speed with which it happens, including how clearly Ed himself knows what Izzy will say, and has from the moment he walks on deck. It's the culmination of an emotional violence that has been there since the start of Season 1 and that focuses on how and where Ed is allowed to express his feelings.
It's Ed who decides to make the discussion public, and Ed who challenges Izzy to say, out loud, in front of the crew, exactly why Izzy thinks the atmosphere is fucked.
Ed's acting unhinged a moment before, but as soon as Izzy speaks, he's very present—because he's been pushing for this to happen. The tone of voice he uses when he says, "Enlighten me," is similar to the sarcasm in his voice back in "Discomfort," when he says, "Sounds stressful, Izzy." He's not daring Izzy to say it's about his feelings; he's waiting for him to.
Izzy barely even gets Stede's name out before Ed is nodding and pulling the trigger. It's not at all what Izzy later says—"He took my leg because I dared to mention your fucking name." The exact words are "your feelings for Stede."
In Season 1, Izzy has insisted that his words to Ed about Stede be spoken in private. He never discusses it with anyone in the crew. The only time other people are present for those discussions is when Izzy insists that Ed send Stede to "doggy heaven," and then Fang has an emotional breakdown (and for a good bit of Season 1, Izzy treats Ivan and Fang as an extension of himself). The crew know that Ed is in love with Stede, but Izzy does not speak about that in front of them. Izzy's verbal violence about Stede, and his attacks on Ed about Ed's feelings for Stede, are always out of sight and hearing of the crew.
But he does speak to Stede's enemies about it, and Ed knows it. Izzy has told Calico Jack that Ed is "shacking up" with Stede. Spanish Jackie also knows, and so do the English, because that's how and why Izzy sold Stede out. Ed is aware, from the moment that Jack uses the term "shacking up," that Izzy has been speaking publicly about Ed's relationship with Stede.
Ed himself does not talk about his romantic or sexual relationships. Other people do—Calico Jack, Anne and Mary, Izzy—but Ed is not public with that information, even saying that “our private lives are our private lives” (echoing Stede’s statement to Jack: “Ed’s past is Ed’s business and I respect that.”). The times when Ed makes his feelings toward Stede known, even implicitly, are private—the “fine things” scene, the kiss on the beach, even the stabbing scene, all are between Ed and Stede. No one else is meant to witness those. After Stede has left him, Ed’s grief and the reasons behind it are clear, but he still conceals it with a song “about someone else.”
Ed keeps his softer emotions hidden and private, or tries to, because he’s been conditioned to believe that they’re dangerous to have. And they are—Jack makes them the subject of derision, and Ed is explicitly threatened when he makes his love for Stede too publicly visible. Izzy invades his private spaces (his cabin, his personal space) to berate and expose his emotions, mockingly calling Stede Ed’s boyfriend. The discussion of emotions that Ed tries to keep private are always initiated by Izzy, and the discussions are always violent and derisive.
The crew themselves do not know what has led to Ed shooting Izzy. They haven’t seen the escalation of violence and violation, going from emotional violence to physical—and the initial toe-cutting scene is very much Ed invading Izzy’s safe space to enact violence on him, just as Izzy did to him. They haven’t been witness to the threats and the danger that Ed has increasingly experienced and that in part led him to putting on Kraken in the first place.
The shift that happens in “Impossible Birds” is Izzy once again invading Ed’s space, where he’s caressing and then concealing the groom figurine, to prompt the discussion of emotions. What Izzy thinks is a result of him speaking Stede's name and ethos is actually a result of him invoking, again, Ed's emotions about Stede as a way of manipulating him. But this time, Ed is going to make him do it in front of the crew.
It is, in a sense, an expansion of "the love that dare not speak its name.” If “everyone knows why,” then Izzy is going to have to say it. So the moment on deck is Ed forcing Izzy to publicly expose the things that have been concealed: Ed's private emotions that Izzy has broadcast to his enemies but never to his friends, and the violence that has been attached to those emotions. They're going to "talk it through," but Izzy has made talking it through violent and unsafe. Now what had been private violence is going to be public.
#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd meta#edward teach#izzy hands#stede bonnet#gif#ofmd season 2#tw: abuse#i keep thinking i'm done with this dynamic and then something else comes up#the violation BUILDS over two seasons#but to the crew it appears almost random#long post#i'm also really happy for any discussions or disagreements#as long as they're polite
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daniil crying daniil crying daniil crying
i like to imagine that he almost never cries and i just wanna know what finally makes him break down and ugly cry
OH MAN, I 100 percent agree with this, he strikes me as the kind of person to bottle up everything and try to push all his emotions down, but those emotions end up manifesting in negative/self-destructive ways until the weight of everything finally causes him to break down
There's a fic I love that does this really well, please read Shedding Skin by Plaguedboar, I binged all thirteen chapters in two days and was ugly crying by the end of it
Daniil and Artemy come to a slow harrowing realization about their feelings towards each other, but they both recognize how dangerous and destructive acting on those feelings might be. After Daniil takes a bullet for Artemy, it drives a wedge between them, Daniil pushing Artemy further and further away, as Artemy increasingly believes that Daniil sees him as something dangerous - something with the capacity to destroy him. That if Artemy allowed himself to love him and keep him in the town, Daniil will die
❗ SPOILERS ❗
The reason why Daniil ends up taking the bullet is because he realizes that he's also in love with Artemy, but truly believes that he's not worthy of being loved and that he'll ruin Artemy just like how he's ruined everything else he's touched. So, by dying by saving Artemy's life, it would have have been the best thing he could do for the both of them. However, because Artemy ends up saving him, Daniil becomes devastated and does everything in his power to make Artemy hate him and leave him, if he knows what's good for him. In turn, it causes Artemy to question if he's even capable of loving anyone. Thus, begins a cycle of Daniil being as cold and hateful as possible, throwing insults and being self-destructive, while Artemy keeps trying to save him, which only pushes Daniil to be more hateful and self-destructive....
❗ END SPOILERS ❗
There's a beautiful moment at the end where it culminates in Daniil walking out into the steppe to die, and against all odds, Artemy finds him there. After all this time, after all the insults, the coldness, the violence, Artemy decides to love Daniil despite it all and follows him into the wide expanse. Even then, the Capital Snake is still trying to spit venom - doing everything in his power to get Artemy to leave and let him die, but it doesn't work because Artemy finally sees through the facade. He reaches past the Bachelor's many roles and holds on to the Daniil that's terrified of loving and being loved in return, and that's when Daniil finally breaks and allows his vulnerability to bleed through
PLEASE READ THIS!! The angst and catharsis of it all is immense, and I can't recommend it enough!!
#Pathologic#Daniil Dankovsky#Artemy Burakh#Burakhovsky#I think the only way I could have done this scene justice was through film or animation but I did my best#Also I can see the burning of Thanatica compounded with Artemy choosing to destroy the Polyhedron manifesting into something very ugly#The man he considered a close friend and maybe even love shatters the last remnants of your hope for the future#There won't be tears at first but it'll be months of coldness and hostility until something finally makes him snap
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SLOWLY ; LH44
— after all the years you’ve been together with lewis as friends, you realize what lewis means to you
amgf mentions of break downs and panic attacks, crying, realizing feelings are overwhelming and it's just too much for reader but don't worry it's fluff 🫶 enjoy because wow i loved writing this, also tried my hardest not to make this like my other lewis smau and i hope i did that. anyways, enjoy!!! the next part we're going somewhere special 😉👍
masterlist
“Nico! You’re here at Lewis' party? I missed you so much, I have no one to talk to— Lewis is busy yet he’s always around. What if… what if I start seeing him in some type of way? Or am I drunk? I’m not drunk aren’t I? Maybe I am… a true friend wouldn’t have feelings for a friend right? OH MY GOSH! What if it was Lewis all along? I mean, I don’t mind, look at him? But… ARRGGGHHH! I have so much to say, but I can’t say it. Not to his face… I really think I’m starting to like—”
Do you have an unhealthy attachment to the voicemail Nico sent you four years ago of your drunken confession to admitting to having some type of feeling for your friend, Lewis Hamilton?
Yes.
Does Nico constantly remind you of the said confession four years after?
Yes.
Is it haunting your mind? It’s haunting your mind, soul, and heart— because as much as you hate to admit it, the feelings are starting to follow you, four years later. All your drunken word vomit to Nico was slowly following you throughout the years and it’s only then that you realize the culmination of all your deepest and darkest thoughts about Lewis.
That after all those years of friendship and platonic love… it might be him.
As time passes by you’ve fully integrated into yourself that Lewis would be an integral part of your life, in your formative years you stuck by each other up until the occurring present, and soon you figured out you’d still be friends with him in the future. He was always there, it was understandable.
But it wasn’t until you fully grasped that he was always there, and he might never go away.
“So have you thought about it?” Nico breaks your train of thought, sitting on the carpeted floor of his daughter’s playroom wearing tiaras and tutu skirts, playing tea party with the teddy bears Lewis gifted them last Christmas.
“I’m not thinking about Lewis.”
“That was an awfully quick answer, didn’t even mention him in the slightest.” You blink, dropping the “cup of tea” handed to you. “What did I say?”
Nico sighs in front of you, picking up the plastic tea cup, placing it back on the table, whispering something to his daughter before removing the wand from your left hand and whisking you out of the room.
“Is everything okay?” Nico asks, pulling one of the throw pillows into your lap, eagerly waiting for your response.
“It’s scary— these feelings I’m bearing. I don’t think I can handle it, I want them gone.” Your words are void of emotion, but your eyes tell a different story as tears start pooling your eyes, heavy and slowly out of breath, shaking your head in disbelief.
You shudder as Nico pulls your arms together to your side, forcing you to face him— you stare at his eyes, slowly blurring at the tears blocking your view. “I don’t know what to do, I don’t want it. It’s all too much for me, this— this feeling, it’s uncomfortable, I don’t like it.”
“It’s new, but it’s still the same. It’s still the same Lewis and he won’t ever change.” Nico tries to comfort you, but you’re spiraling way too quickly to make sense of it all.
“No it won’t! I like him, things will be different from then on, can’t you see? I’m ruining it all, and once Lewis realizes that he’ll leave me for being a bad friend. It’s all my fault, I like him and I hate myself for it. I can’t believe it, all those years will end up with me being alone all because I like him. And now, I can’t even— I don’t want to look at him. I’m disgusted and disappointed at myself for even thinking that I have a chance, every moment I’m with him I look forward to the next, and it’s all new to me, I don’t like it Nico!”
You catch his daughters peeking from the playroom, fully unaware of the volume of your voice. They probably didn’t expect their aunt to break down in their house on a random weekday, yet here we are. You laugh bitterly, wiping the tears in your face. “I’m scared Nico, I don’t know what to do.”
Nico holds his breath out nodding slowly, comforting you, “Yes, I understand… it all seems scary, these big feelings— it’s new. But, remember it’s still Lewis. I don’t think he would want you to be all alone as well.”
It was the last straw, the cumulation of all your feelings summed up to one— after Nico left and Lewis being avoidant about the situation, it left scars around you. You realize not to bring it up, and thinking of your own feelings and over analyzing down the “what could have beens” in your head, you went ahead of your own thoughts, slowly pulling you in a never ending spiral of destruction.
“I’m home! And guess who I met on the way?” Watching you bursting into tears on the couch in front of Nico, still adorning the tutu skirt and plastic tiara on top of your head was not the sight Lewis and Vivian were expecting when they came in.
Nico put his hands out defensively, “It’s not my fault— okay maybe I was part but I promise you I was just helping her. Not helping her cry, I just said some things that made her emotional— okay no. It wasn’t my fault I promise you, YN was just saying something and I said it wasn’t true, I just assured her. I promise I didn’t make her cry, she did that to herself.”
You burst into laughter all whilst rubbing your eyes dry, “Hi Vivian… Lewis— I swear it wasn’t him. It’s all just me being silly.” Nico gave you a pointed look, assuring you your feelings are very much valid and not silly, but you just shake your head in dismissal.
Lewis approached you, slowly wiping the tears of your face and pulling onto the strings of your heart. If you had any more tears left to cry you would’ve bursted then and there again, but you wouldn’t do that in front of Lewis. “Are you sure? Or are you just saying that because we’re here? I’m sure Vivian doesn’t mind if you tell us the truth, did Nico make you cry?”
You laugh resting your face onto the palm of his hands, “He did make me cry, but I assure you it was out of the goodness of his heart. It was either me crying or possibly passing out, I’d rather cry my heart out.” The mention of almost passing out leaves Lewis more worried than Nico being the reason for your tears.
“Darling why? Are you tired? Do you want to go home?” Go home. Home being Lewis’ apartment just a floor above Nico's. As much as you want to rest, close your eyes, and forget about all of this, you couldn’t bear being alone with Lewis yet.
You shake your head, “No… I want to play with the kids, Nico pulled us out to talk for a moment and then I had this breakdown, I want to stay I promise. It might help distract me from my own thoughts.”
Lewis, still wary, lets you off to play with the kids as he helps Vivian and Nico in the kitchen. “So… care to tell us what happened?” Nico presses his lips into a thin line before shaking his head.
“Sorry but this is about YN, if you want to know you ask her yourself, I doubt she wants to talk about it yet but don’t worry. It’s nothing alarming, I promise you— she just needs time to think about it more.”
Not convinced, Lewis presses on the issue, “She’s okay though?”
Nico laughs, “She’s more than okay! I think it’s only going to get better from here on. It was just an enlightening time for both of us, more for her, but don’t worry Lew, things are looking up from here on.”
Sitting with the kids as you continue your interrupted tea party, they shower you with hugs and comforting words before instructing you how to play tea party with them. Peeking from the door of the playroom, you catch a glimpse of Lewis in the kitchen with Nico, not before sending a small smile and waving in your direction.
You smile back at him, and to yourself. Nico was right.
It’s still Lewis— things may be looking fast for your feelings, but one thing’s for sure. You’ve been slowly falling for Lewis since then.
#f1 fluff#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lewis hamilton fluff#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton imagine
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To continue riffing on the marriage/tradition stuff because that’s one of the themes I’m obsessed with in her discography, it’s fascinating because it would be easy to reduce it to, “she’s adhering to patriarchal societal norms in chasing the traditional nuclear family and that’s why she throws herself into these relationships,” but it’s just so reductive to well, how human beings exist in the world. Just because it’s a societal pressure doesn’t mean some people don’t genuinely want to get married or have families.
Yes, she’s been singing about it right back to her first album when she as 16. Yes, her view on it has evolved, from marrying the sweet neighbor boy to the princess fairytale early on (debut/fearless), to the disillusionment that increasingly pushed it out of the narrative (speak now/red/1989), to slowly letting herself believe in forever again (rep), to seemingly actually committed (lover), to questioning what that means (folklore/evermore) to trying to reconcile what it means for her current life (midnights). Every relationship she experienced throughout those periods informed those views and how *she* pursued it.
I think what makes it so interesting on TTPD is that it is EVERYWHERE, as I mentioned in my previous post about it. And it’s unsettling because it’s not just in the setting we expect it to be — e.g. a long term partner she’d previously indicated she was ready to marry — but also in songs about a man who swooped in to save her when she was low only to break her apart, in thinly-veiled fantasies about strange bedfellow neighbours, another thinly-veiled story about marrying the person you want consequences be damned, in taunting your on again/off again partner in a bar (e.g. i want to smash your bike or be your wife).
And it’d be easy to chalk it up to, well she’s in her 30s and the clock is ticking, she’s just obsessive! And there’s a nugget there about women and their bodies and both the lauding and weaponization thereof and everything that personally I’m dying to talk about at some point. But when it comes down to it, I’m willing to bet that the reason why it’s everywhere is because THAT WAS HER LIFE. That was the plan she’d taken for granted for so long — and I don’t just mean in a general sense as a girl in the world — but in the very real, very tangible way she was living her life and in the circumstances that led to what would be written about in TTPD. By working out all these scenarios through her songs (and tbh in whatever she was doing IRL that inspired them), she was grappling with and grieving the loss of the life she thought was ahead of her. We’ve talked about how pervasive grief has been on her recent albums, in all kinds of forms, and I think this is kind of the culmination of all of those worries.
She’s not the girl with the paper ring and all’s well did not end well to end up with him. She’s not the girl who has his midnights after cleaning up bottles on New Year’s Day. She couldn’t give him her wild or a child because it wasn’t enough. She may have even been the self-fulfilling prophecy of the girl who is fucked in the head, but feels more like the one left out on the landing.
So in TTPD, she is all of these things. She’s the neglected wife whose husband cheats on her so she runs off with an old flame. She’s the one who gets the jewel on her ring finger and talks about babies because he says it’s love. She’s the woman whose partner once made a promise but never followed through. She’s the hell-raiser who follows love in a different kind of getaway car while the town calls her mad, consequences be damned, but joke’s on them because she gets the wedding in the end anyway. She’s the wife who feeds her cheating husband to the swamps of Florida. She gets swept off her feet by an old flame to run down the aisle. SHE’S the one who gets to decide if she’s gonna marry him or decimate him (be his wife or smash his bike). She’s the girl who didn’t become the wife while she watches the one that got away marry his. She’s the woman scorned who has to call the whole thing off. She’s the saucy girl who bets her new lover is gonna marry her for real. She’s sold off as chattel to the highest bidder in an arranged marriage. She’s the young girl starry-eyed with the dreams she grew up with only to have them go up in flames, leaving only her pen behind to turn it into art.
She navigates all these scenarios because in the end, she isn’t any of them and she is all of them. She’s mourning what she gave up, mourning what she’s already lost, mourning the time she feels she wasted and could have started over. She’s mourning any number of women she could have been if she’d just tried something else, but also mourning that ultimately much of this was out of her hands. She’s grappling with a past that can’t change and a future that doesn’t exist. Every one of these scenarios is a way her life could have gone with any number of different decisions, but in the end, none of that matters, because she is who she is and what happened happened.
Obviously there’s a lot more going on in the album; she’s not just processing the end of relationships, she’s processing her fame and career and health and harassment and trauma and struggles and misogyny and any number of things in frankly shocking ways. But, I think there’s also no denying that this very important thing — the step many young adults expect to take in their lives — precipitated a whole lot of what went on, and may have even had a domino effect on all the other issues explored. It’s raw and vulnerable and ugly and funny and human.
Anyway apparently I’m back and thinking.
#maybe i should not sleep more often#the tortured poets department#writing letters addressed to the fire
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Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer NSFW Profile
Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader
Tw: kidnapping, non/dub-con, manipulation, I know I might break some hearts but I actually think Chrollo is very vanilla, loud sex, begging, h*nd holding, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unethical usage of a copying nen ability, masturbation, stalking, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
HABITS:
Generally speaking, sex hasn’t been a huge part of Chrollo’s life. Of course, being a man with charisma and questionable goals, he’s had his fair share of partners to woo and use for information, sneakily extracting names and facts from them as he kisses and touches them, a husky, whispered question of and where might those gemstones be exactly against his temporary lover’s lips seeming strangely erotic, though the intent is anything but.
He’s never really viewed sex as something meaningful; rather, it’s simply a tool, a means to an end for whatever it is that he wants to steal next, and thus it’s never been much of a concern. Why should it be, when Chrollo finds connections and genuine human interaction something of a chore, unless it’s towards his own Troupe members?
Sex is a means to an end, and while there’s something strangely alluring about the idea of having sex for pleasure, he’s not one to simply go out and find a hookup to relieve himself. He likes to think he’s more refined than that – besides, while he isn’t especially wearing of intimacy or touching others, he doesn’t want to touch anyone he isn’t at least needing to, for some job or another. Casual sex just isn’t his thing.
Of course, then you come along, and just with everything else in his life, you’re to blame for his sudden change in opinion, his sudden changing belief that maybe, just maybe, sexual desire and intimacy has more of a purpose than he originally believed.
It’s not instantaneous, his desires to be touching you and making you moan so prettily and feel your skin against his. He doesn’t see you and immediately imagine bending you over and fucking you until you’re sweating and panting and spent. He doesn’t immediately imagine spreading your legs and getting you gripping at his hair, your pretty slick smeared all over his lips.
It’s not immediate, but rather a culmination of his obsession with you deepening over time. It takes him a long time to develop his feelings for you, and even longer to make sense of them – he’s not particularly hostile towards them, but it takes a while for his obsession to fully set in, for him to realize that he wants you in a romantic, genuine way. It will be a solid few weeks after his obsession form for him to get to the point where he’s fantasizing not only about the way you’d smile at him and softly sigh as he reads passages of his favorite gothic poems to you, but also about the way you’d quote certain stanzas as you kiss his neck, run your fingernails against his back, tug at his hair and keen his name.
It’s slow going, and to be honest Chrollo doesn’t even really notice that it’s happening until he’s suddenly so pent up that he just can’t take it, his hand itching to reach down and quell the dull throbbing coming from between his legs.
He’s never been one to masturbate much, the act seeming tiresome and without little reward, and as a result he’s more curious than anything that you’ve managed to inspire within him such primal urges, animalistic desires to see you stuffed full of his cock, cum leaking from your spent, sore pussy, your eyes dazed and hazy as he kisses you breathlessly.
He’s impressed, more than anything, but Chrollo isn’t too surprised once he thinks about it – you’re something of a breath of fresh air to him, someone real and interesting and oh so intriguing, so why wouldn’t he want to fuck you until you’re crying?
Why wouldn’t he want to map every inch of your skin out with his lips, feel your muscles clench and stiffen up under his fingertips?
He’s mildly surprised by your ability to essentially get him horny, and while it doesn’t happen too often (maybe two or three times per week), it’s still sizeable – and so is the amount of time that he begins spending in the company of a candle, a novel, and symphonic music in the background, blending in with the airy gasps and groans of the evening.
When it comes to actually touching himself, Chrollo has a bit of a dirty secret; his nen ability (and its extensions, of course) comes in handy to the extreme in a lot of ways regarding you, but as soon as his more sexual desires towards you begin emerging, he’s suddenly so grateful for the sheer amount of nen abilities that he’s accumulated over the years.
That is, he’s particularly grateful for a certain one he picked up towards the beginning of the Phantom Troupe’s existence: an ability allowing partial recreation of an individual’s body parts, up to the whim of the wielder.
Guilt has never been something he’s given too much thought to, and so as he lights the few candles surrounding his place at the edge of the queen sized bed he's used the last few evenings, he merely closes his eyes and smiles, the aroma of a blissful, peaceful evening settling around him, the feeling of moonlight hitting his pale features and the crackling of the flames relaxing his body and preparing him for the next few events.
Chrollo is nothing if not a man of culture, and so as he carefully removes his jacket (folding it on top of the Victorian style chair in the corner of the room) along with his pants, he lets out a small sigh and grabs the book laying atop his nightstand, the golden cover with its black lettering making a small shiver run down his spine.
The book is, admittedly, a bit more graphic than his normal tastes, but there’s something about the way the narrator describes the female lead that makes his mind immediately shoot to you – something about the description of her hair, her body, her mannerisms, her everything, though Chrollo could say without a hint of hesitation that you were still better in every possible way. He’s read the novel dozens of times; it’s a classic, cliché love story of a dashing, mysterious man who swoons a sweet, traditional daughter of some nobleman, their romance dark and swift and taboo.
It reminds him a lot of his situation with you, really – he’s the handsome, dark man who comes and sweeps you off your feet, tempting you into leaving your good-girl, righteous persona and instead letting him taint you. Just the thought gets him throbbing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and wills himself to calm down, to not ruin the ambiance he’s diligently set up for the night.
He flips to the marked section towards the middle of the book, the chapter detailing the night of passion and romance that ensues between the two characters. He’s quick to begin pouring over the words, and though he’s read this multiple page passage easily hundreds of times, the image still comes together in his head as if it’s fresh – the woman pinned below the man, the collar of her silky, white nightdress pushed down to just above her breasts, collarbone exposed along with her neck, half lidded eyes staring up at the lead while she gulps and breaths a bit raggedly.
Her wrists are beside her head, her whole body open and exposed for his future pleasure, and immediately he’s imagining you in a frilly, white nightgown, the material short and sheer and making you look angelic, like something for him to ruin.
Chrollo licks his lips, eyes still rapidly scanning the page as a hand snakes down to the slowly stiffening length resting against his thigh, the tip turning a deep shade of red, the trimmed forest of black hair standing out against the pale skin surrounding. A brush of his fingertips against the sensitive base has him exhaling slowly, the fantasy of the heroine’s knee slightly rising to brush against the lead’s clothed cock making a blush rise to the back of his neck, images of the way you’d bite your lip and whisper his name making him feel hot, every nerve on fire as the excitement and anticipation of pleasure – of you – rolls through him.
He knows the passage by heart, knowing every event taking place between what he pretends to be you and himself, his own imagination even filling in the details, imagining little additions to the plot that the book doesn’t even mention – you whispering his name and tracing the tattoo across his forehead, the feeling of your soft fingers against his skin making him groan ever so lightly. And with that thought in mind, he’s gently bookmarking and placing the book back on the stand, instead taking a deep breath, black eyes appraising his throbbing cock desperate for attention and stimulation, your attention and stimulation.
He spends a moment stroking himself, the pulls of his wrist languid and slow, just barely enough stimulation to feel good – hesitant, almost, like he imagines you being. Would you be nervous, the first time you see him naked? He likes to imagine you’ve never been with a man before (though he knows it’s likely untrue), or at least that you’ve never cared so much about pleasing one, about making him feel good and pleasured and satisfied.
(He decides you would be a bit anxious – your touches small, unsure, your pretty eyes always flicking back up to his, your soft lip caught between your teeth, your thumb just barely brushing over his tip and making him murmur your name with a slightly strained voice.)
He’s quick to pull up his book of nen abilities, flipping through the pages until he finds the correct one, the familiar black lettering describing the ability making him shiver in anticipation. It’s easy to conjure up the familiar image of your face in his mind, the corresponding physical image appearing before him immediately, and as he opens his previously closed eyes, he sucks in a sharp breath at the image of you, your lashes and cheeks and pretty eyes staring up at him.
It’s perfect – a complete replica of you, down to every last mole, hair, and scar decorating your face. It’s a bit disorienting to see a version of just your head and hair floating, your eyes gorgeous yet lifeless, muscles unable to move freely on their own, but Chrollo moves past it quickly – how can he not, when you’re right there, so pliable and beautiful and for his use?
He swallows harshly as his free hand comes down to lightly run over your strands of hair, the texture familiar and pleasing to the touch, and he watches with unblinking eyes as he slowly pushes your head down, further until your unfocused eyes are level with the now pulsing erection sitting between his legs.
He bites his lip as he recalls the words of the passage, the eloquent language not diminishing the meaning behind the words. She kneeled before him, a servant to her master, lips parted and eyes appraising him as if he were a work of art, the single most valuable thing to have graced her gaze.
He imagines the way you’d stare at him, your eyes raking over his sculpted chest, the ‘v’ of his navel, your tongue flicking out over your lips as you appraise the pale length of his cock, the soft, smooth set of balls attached.
He hopes you’d be impressed, but impatience gets the better of him as he once again moves your head further forward, so that his tip brushes against your lifeless lips.
They’re cold, a stark difference to what he’s sure is an inviting, riveting, and wet mouth you possess, but he’s in no position to complain – certainly not when he remembers how the woman swallows him as if he were the most divine, succulent meal, savoring his taste as if it were her last.
It’s difficult to recreate the scene with your unresponsive mouth, but he’s carefully pulling your lower jaw down, your lips parted and tongue lolling out as he slowly, ever so fucking slowly, pushes inside, the small groan fighting its way up his throat telling of how even your cold mouth can affect him.
He shivers, the sensation climbing up his spine, and his fingers gently scrape your scalp as he gets a good grip, his head lolling back slightly and his eyes closing as he begins moving your head up and down, up and down, your cold saliva coating his length as he sighs and whispers your name under his breath.
The music in the background is soft, romantic, orchestral and something Chrollo very much imagines fucking you to. He likes to imagine the way your moans and breaths would blend in with the melodies and crescendos – though, the sounds you’d make when he’s got you creaming all over his fingers and cock would drown out any sort of background music, he’s sure.
Once again musters up more aura, conjuring up a replica of your hand that he quickly intertwines with his own, his fingers joining yours in shakily holding up his nen book. The pace is slow, soft, the moment feeling sweet yet erotic, and as he opens his eyes and stares half liddedly down at your unseeing eyes and unresponsive mouth, Chrollo curses, a small l-love, you’re so beautiful…
His fingers tighten around your hair as he comes closer, the book’s scenes flashing through his eyes as he picks up the pace of his wrist, your head coming down over his throbbing, sensitive skin quicker, the sensation climbing and climbing as his breath steadily gets harsher, soft groans tumbling past his now puffy and overbitten lips, the light flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose almost endearing.
He’s fairly quiet, only the occasional deep groan or murmur of your name, and as he gets closer, his grip around your fingers tightens, his breathing getting more ragged and uneven. His complexion reddens, his skin shining with a light sheen of sweat, abs clenching and twitching as the pleasure grows stronger, more acute, the feeling of you and your spit and your soft skin only spurring on the twitching of his cock.
The music climbs to a crescendo, his eyes peeling open to see the way your lips suck him in again and again and again, his cock glistening with spit and his hips bucking to get even deeper inside you, the visual of him fucking your face just too much too much –
He’s coming with a strangled gasp of your name, dark eyes blowing wide as his hips start thrusting on their own, plunging forward and down your throat, untimed and uneven.
He imagines the way you’d gag, your throat tightening up and your pretty eyes dotting with tears as he shoots load after load of watery, semi-bitter cum down your throat, the thought only making his hips jerk harder, his body spurred forward by the motivation to get as much of his cum as deeply down your throat as possible, to claim you as his in the most carnal, natural way.
He’s panting by the time the feeling dies down, a few strands of his carefully gelled back hair loose and framing the pale skin of his forehead and the tattoo decorating it. Beads of sweat frame his temples, his chest heaving still, his nipples hard and pebbled in the cool air of the bedroom.
It takes a moment for him to slowly regain his composure, giving your floating facial replica a gentle, long kiss on the forehead, his eyes fluttering closed and eyebrows scrunching up as he kisses you harder, more fervently, more desperately, trying to express every ounce of love and appreciation and want he has for you, even if it’s merely a cold, carbon copy of you that he’s kissing.
Then, he’s shutting the book and watching you disappear, a cold, familiar sense of loneliness settling into his chest.
The music is still on in the background, lulling him into a relaxed state as he lays on his back, body nude while he thinks back to the way the novel describes the post-sex cuddling, soft touches and sweet, affectionate words, lulled promises of loving each other forever, claims of ownership and commitments to stay together.
He sighs softly, the faintest smile gracing his lips as he imagines the way he’d hold you, your sweaty bodies pressed against one another, cum seeping from your cunt as you clutch onto him, your hair tickling his chin and neck, your soft breaths as you drift into sleep, feeling safe and protected by him…
Occasionally, on nights where he feels particularly restless for you, where the stress of running a wanted criminal group begins to get to him, he’ll conjure up your full body, and while it’s cold, unresponsive and unable to speak or look at him, it’s enough. Cuddling you, kissing your freezing skin and running his fingers over your jawline, collarbone, your supple curves is enough to have him slowly drifting to sleep, secure in your arms and dreaming of the day when you’re finally there to enact the scenes of his romantic, smutty novels with him in person, just as you should be.
(He’ll never actually fuck your nen-conjured self, however. He feels it would be crossing the line – as if fucking your mouth isn’t – and although it wouldn’t feel nearly as good as the real you, he wants your first time together to be special, to be a true exploration of each other’s bodies and genuine reactions. So, rest assured, he doesn’t use the fuck doll he makes of you as a stand in for actual sex – he’ll just use your hand, or your mouth, or your breasts, or your thighs. Never that perfect cunt between your legs, the one that makes his mouth water and his fingers twitch.)
FAVORITE BODY PARTS:
Your Collarbone
In a lot of ways, Chrollo is a traditional man. Surely not with his profession, nor the company he keeps, and certainly not the way he feels for you – but still, some aspects of how he views intimacy are very classical.
That is, while he adores the sight of you in revealing, slutty clothing, with your tits nearly bursting out of the pathetic, stringy bralette and your pretty, puffy lips clearly visible through the sheer thong, there’s an appeal to the more sensual parts of your body that aren’t as oversexualized.
Specifically, Chrollo finds himself drawn to your chest – of course, your breasts are alluring and wonderful and fit in his hands so very perfectly, but his favorite spot of all is right above them.
The expanse of your collarbone is a sight that always manages to catch his eye, his dark gaze lingering on the symmetrical, pretty bones. He likes to trace them with his finger, his touch light and soft but insistent, running over the lines and pressing his thumb into the dip in the center.
It doesn’t matter if your collarbone is prominent or not – there’s just something about the intimacy of it all that makes him giddy, the fact that no one except him gets to feel this part of you making his possessiveness flare up and shivers race up his spine.
When he’s kissing you, his lips always find purchase there, traveling down your neck and the juncture of your shoulder, before settling heavily against your collarbone, soft lips pressing kisses and hickeys and biting against the skin.
When he’s pressed you up against the wall, his figure looming over you and his presence making you feel small and weak, he’ll leave a hand at the base of your throat, the heel of his palm pressing against your collarbone so that he can feel your pulse, feel the way you breath, feel you you you.
You’ll often wake up after nights of long, passionate fucking (love-making, he likes to say, though the way he loses control after his first orgasm and fucks you so hard it nearly hurts really only resembles an animal, not a man) with dark marks all over your collarbone, the entire area bruised and swollen and aching, a constant reminder of Chrollo’s presence.
When he kidnapped you, it was a very spur of the moment, rushed affair, and as a result you weren’t able to bring any of your own clothing – which means, outside of just roaming around naked (something that Chrollo certainly wouldn’t argue against), you’ll be left to dress with whatever he deems appropriate.
More often than not, that means shirts with very low necklines, off the shoulders, or with wide necks that show off your collarbone.
(It also means skirts and dresses, sheer tights or thin materials, things that show off your thighs and the curves of your legs – Chrollo’s second favorite spot on your body.)
You’ll catch him staring idly, his eyes hyperfocused on the area even when you’re speaking to him, and sometimes you can even actually see the way he zones out ever so slightly, an internal war taking place inside him because he wants to hear what you’re saying and watch your lips as you speak to him, but he just can’t stop staring at where he’d left a large, prominent hickey on the right side of your collarbone, feeling your pulse under his lips while he made you cream and squeeze and come all over his fingers, just for him.
He thinks you’re beautiful, and even if you aren’t, Chrollo finds your body to be elegant, truly a work of art, and your collarbone is the crowning jewel of said art.
So don’t be surprised when he’s forcing you to wear chokers and tight necklaces, the combination of the jewelry and the sleeveless top leaving the expanse between them open and vulnerable, perfect to suck on and kiss.
He’s just in love, and is it so wrong to find your body perfect, wonderful, so damn alluring that it drives him insane?
His fingers
From the moment his sexual urges towards you begin, his fantasies tend to revolve mostly around using his hands to please you.
Of course, he likes the idea of using his mouth on you or stuffing you full of his cock, and those fantasies are most definitely present, too.
(As are the ones where you’re pleasing him – he has to be careful with these fantasies, though, because if he’s in public, any thought of you dropping to your knees for him or pressing your pretty tits together and moving them up and down his cock gets him hard immediately, his orgasm already halfway there from just the thought of you wanting him to feel good.)
The majority of what he imagines in detail is really just him working at your body with his hands. They aren’t too terribly veiny, but they’re the perfect amount, just enough to get your gaze lingering on them, and seeing the way the tendons and muscles flex when he moves will make your throat feel dry.
Even the way his hands are connected to his forearms, veins dancing up the expanse of his pale arms can get you staring, embarrassment making your neck feel hot when he catches your gaping with a knowing look, that prideful, cocky smirk on his face making you feel hot in anger and a bit of excitement.
(He’s noticed your staring, and makes it a point to roll up the sleeves of his shirts to expose his wrists and forearms, even purposefully flexing the muscles when he sees your eyes on them, his own gaze eagerly examining your face for even a hint of awe, or attraction, or enjoyment.)
But the real draw of his hands are his fingers; they’re pale, nimble and surprisingly smooth, given his past and occupation, and they’re long. They’re always cold, the feeling making you shiver, and Chrollo has them pressed against you as often as possible.
He’s touchy, really, and while this often manifests as his hand sitting on the small of your back or your shoulder or brushing against your cheek, this habit certainly doesn’t change in the context of intimacy and sex.
When he’s got you underneath him, staring up at him with wide eyes and your lips all swollen and bruised from his harsh kisses, he’s immediately touching you, his hands coming up to rip off the shirt he’d picked out for you this morning, tearing the flouncy skirt he’d helped zip you into cleanly in half in his desperation.
He can’t control himself, really – he’s gripping at your thighs and the fat of your stomach, squeezing and kneading and wanting, and while that entertains him for a while, eventually he’ll be nudging your legs apart, fingers immediately tracing up the insides of your thigh, tickling you and making you suck in a breath as he gets closer and closer to where you need him. (Or, at least, where he thinks you need him.
He’s convinced he knows your body better than you do, though, so any amount of denying this claim will result in that same, familiar patronizing smile and a soft murmur of it’s okay, darling, your body says what your mind won’t.)
He likes to tease you, even though it ends up teasing him too, by pressing feather-light touches against your folds and sensitive clit, dark eyes flicking between your cunt and your face, eagerly taking in every expression and sound you give him.
He’ll ask you if you want more, for you articulate what you want, all because he needs to hear you say please Chrollo, I need your fingers inside, I want to feel you fuck me with your fingers! Eventually, though, his patience will snap, and he’ll push them inside, listening to your little gasps and moans as he immediately curls them, rubbing and pressing against the spots he knows make you moan and writhe.
He’s unfairly good with his fingers – he’s got the pacing and motions down perfectly, his stamina high enough to keep going throughout the entire night.
He’s always got a finger steadily working at your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles against the sensitive area until you’re coming for him, and while a lot of his desire to make you feel good genuinely comes from the place of wanting to please you, a lot of it is selfish, too.
By constantly stimulating your clit or loosening you up with his fingers, he’s making sure you’ll enjoy him, that when he’s fucking you and stuffing you with his cum, you’re wet enough and receptive enough, and god, the feeling of you coming on his cock, the constant pressure against your clit tipping you over the edge?
Well, don’t blame him when he’s gasping into your ear, a strangled sort of noise that almost sounds like your name, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you, before you feel warmth spilling into you, his black hair tickling your cheeks as he rests his face in the crook of your neck.
DRIVE:
In general, Chrollo’s libido isn’t the highest. Obviously, he desires you sexually and loves to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, make you scream his name and clutch onto him like you’ll otherwise die, but he doesn’t need to be in bed with you at all times. He doesn’t have to be making you cream and stuffing you full of his cock, fingers and cum every day.
(Every other day is ideal, or – if he’s particularly stressed or busy – maybe every two days, but that’s pushing it.)
No, Chrollo isn’t that sexually driven – though, he is that clingy, even if he’s good at not showing it. In general, there’s something about you that makes Chrollo feel, and he’s found that any sort of physical contact brings this strange, fluttering emotion in his chest, one he’s fairly sure is love – which ultimately results in the conclusion that in order to feel good, wanted, loved, touching you is something that he must do often.
The reality is that he’s never really had a partner, someone to give and receive genuine love and affection with, and the moment that he realizes how wonderful a hug can feel or how good of an experience simply locking pinkies can be, he’s hooked. Suddenly, those cliché, overt couple actions that used to intrigue him in a clinical way are much, much more interesting, the idea of wrapping his arms around your waist enticing in a way he can’t quite describe.
From pretty much the beginning of your time as his captive, Chrollo will be forcing affection onto you. It’s little things, mostly – things that make your skin crawl because they’re so innocent and sweet and pure that it makes you sick.
He’ll gently intertwine your hands with his, staring down and marveling at the sight of your fingers wrapped around his own, your smaller hand looking perfect against his.
He’ll press a kiss to your cheek or forehead after he compliments you (though, the compliments are always a bit strange – slightly threatening, or too specific, or just weird).
Of course, while this affection and surplus of physical contact is generally innocent, slowly Chrollo’s tastes and urges begin to change slightly, going from wholesome, sweet acts to more questionable touches, actions that have you slightly cocking a brow, slightly not comfortable with the implications of his behavior.
Because really, while you’ll likely be just fine with him lacing his fingers with yours (though, it’s likely that you’ll be less happy with it and more just complacent, figuring that with his criminal status and abilities, there’s far worse he could do to you), things will get a bit complicated when his hands start resting at your waist, dipping ever so slightly lower to your hip, his fingers pressing just a bit tighter against your skin than you’re comfortable with.
What starts out with a mostly tolerable chaste kiss to the cheek will turn into his lips against yours, his tongue running along your lower lip, a small groan tumbling into your mouth as he forces his tongue inside, running it along your teeth and coaxing your own tongue to participate.
What begins as a simple pair of hands resting against your shoulders will become him running them down the length of your sides, thumbs pressing circles against the area right underneath your breasts, those dark eyes seeming to shine with something that makes your breath hitch.
Because really, while Chrollo does absolutely bask in the innocent affection he can garner from you, there’s just something about you that makes his more natural urges kick into gear, the area between his legs feeling warmer, more insistent, more desperate the more he kisses you, the more he holds you and whispers to you that he loves you so much my dear, won’t you let me show you the extent of my feelings?
However, Chrollo is a smart man – when it comes to actually having sex or any sort of intimacy on the same level with you, he’s willing to be patient.
He doesn’t want to force you into anything, to make you uncomfortable or dislike him, to reverse any progress he’s made in getting you to fall utterly, completely in love with him, so he steels himself, mentally reminding himself every time he sees your plush thighs that he must wait.
He’ll chastise himself for almost losing control when you stretch, the sliver of exposed skin of your stomach and your cute little grunt nearly making him throw caution to the wind.
He has remarkable self control, and while you likely won’t know it, you’ll be seeing it in action nearly every moment he’s around you, especially when you’re already doing something affectionate, like hugging or sitting in his lap.
(He’s the one that’s forced you into these things, of course, but it doesn’t matter – if you make any sort of movement that isn’t prying him off or swatting his hands away, Chrollo considers you as being willing, happy, enjoying touching him, and the thought makes this pleasant, warm feeling bloom in his chest.)
He’s working incredibly hard to not push too far, but after some time of you not seeming to come around, not voicing any desire to go further, Chrollo decides he must resort to certain measures in order to speed up your progress.
Thus, he begins subtly trying to plant the idea in your mind, trying to tempt you into admitting that yes, you want him to reach underneath the frilly, white shirt he provided to you and cup your breasts, to roll your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, to feel you shiver and hear you sigh against his lips.
He wants to lay seeds in your mind so that you’ll come to the conclusion sooner that you want him to rest between your legs and use that talented, smooth talking mouth to make you talk, to hear you babble and cry out his name.
He’s talented at being discreet, and so as he moves his hands to rest closer to your ass, squeezing the plush of your thighs, leaving fluttering kisses against your neck, he’s hoping you’ll slowly come to the conclusion on your own, your own body and desires betraying you.
And quite honestly, while you’ll likely be uncomfortable at first, confused and a bit scared, eventually it’ll work – after all, charisma is something Chrollo possesses in mass quantities, and while you’re obviously not happy that you’ve been kidnapped, that the leader of a mass group of international criminals is holding you in his lap and nuzzling against your mouth, whispering to you that you’re so lovely, won’t you say my name darling, it’s difficult to not let the ideas form, the lack of human contact forcing you to imagine paths you rationally have no desire to.
It’ll make you feel dirty, like you’re betraying yourself and letting Chrollo win, but he’ll ultimately get exactly what he wants – he’s observant to a tee, and so once he notices the way you start clenching your thighs together ever so slightly as he tells you that he’d love to take care of you tonight, he’s inwardly smiling, pride swimming in his chest because finally, finally you’re beginning to be affected by the subtle touches and words, things that could leave you second guessing, the possibility that maybe he wants to go further unrelenting in that sweet little head of yours.
And so, as he begins probing you, asking you how you’re feeling, if you’re satisfied, if you’re feeling like I give you everything you desire, he’s waiting with baited breath for you to embarrassedly admit that you want more, that you want something only Chrollo can give to you.
He’ll goat you into admitting it, telling you to be more specific, to tell him exactly what you want, because otherwise he won’t know, and then he can’t improve, now can he?
He’s calculating, smart, analytical and damn good at getting what he wants, and so ultimately you’ll cave, admitting that you want him to fuck me please, I just – just please…
He won’t outwardly be affected, but just know that the speed with which his erection makes itself known is directly tied to you, the eagerness of his body and his movements to undress you betraying him.
And as he starts breathing a little heavier, stripping you of your clothing and his as well, it becomes hard to miss the way he’s eager, anxious, frantic to touch you.
You’ll see the signs of months of repressed sexual tension, months of desiring you but needing you to consent first, even as pressured as your admittance may be.
But in the end, does it matter?
Because when Chrollo’s hovering over you, those dark eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that’ll make you shiver, you’ll feel oh so taken care of, the small signs and subtle pushes making you insatiable for something you didn’t even know you desired.
And Chrollo will be happy to keep providing for you – what kind of lover would he be if he didn’t? Besides, no one else canmake you feel like he does – not even you – he’ll make sure of it.
You only need him.
MAIN THREE KINKS:
Loud Sex
Generally speaking, Chrollo is a quiet man. He’s polite and personable, yes, but he doesn’t bother with unnecessary chatter – when he speaks it’s purposeful, calculated, commanding, and this is true even when it comes to you.
You make him feel the closest he’s ever felt to being nervous, but he’s still not especially loud around you. He never shuts up, that’s true, always asking you questions and telling you about his day, about a flower that reminds him of you (a petal or two was missing, making him think of how you aren’t truly complete unless he’s with you), or even, on rare occasions, telling you a reason why he’s in love with you.
(It’s not as romantic as it sounds – the way he speaks about romance is too clinical, and the reasons he’ll give you are far too specific and detailed to really make you feel good.)
So yes, he speaks often, but he’s not loud.
And during sex, this stays true – the most you’ll get out of him is a low groan and a few heavy, drawn out sighs, or a few chants of your name when he’s getting close and he’s particularly pent up. He’s still not quiet though – he’s talking the whole time, dirty talk spilling from his lips about how you’re so beautiful, especially when you’re falling apart around my cock or that he loves when you moan, can you feel how I’m throbbing inside of you? It’s all for you, does it feel good to know you’re affecting me like this?
His voice is always sultry, always whispered directly into your ear, and while his particular brand of dirty talk is, more or less, mediocre (it’s always too long and makes you think too much; you’d prefer something shorter, something more explicit, something coming from anyone aside from him), Chrollo likes the concept of sex not being quiet. Specifically, he likes when you fill in the silence.
There’s something about the noises you make that make him absolutely feral – similarly to his curiosity about you in everyday life, he wants to understand you sexually. He wants to hear every sound you have to offer – he needs to understand what’s causing you to make that noise and how to keep you making it. He needs to hear every little thing, to have a mental catalogue of the different noises and cries he can pull from your pliable body.
It doesn’t matter if you’re naturally loud or quiet – he will be expecting you to put on a show for him, your body a canvas for him to create a masterpiece on, your every gasp, moan, and sigh a paint stroke that eventually comes together to form you, a piece of art Chrollo wants to keep stolen away from the world forever.
He’s not particularly shy about this desire of his, either – it’s very easy to tell that he’s striving to get you to moan for him, because you’ll feel his fingers work in that certain way, grinding and rubbing in that particular spot, those dark eyes wavering in excitement because he absolutely loves the way you sound gasping his name.
You can tell he’s aiming to get you vocal when he’s pressing his face between your legs, dark hairs tickling your thighs as he diligently works his tongue against your clit, the sensation partnered with the insistent thrusting of his fingers inside you not stopping until you groan his name, and then only getting harder, that same motion being repeated over and over because he needs to hear it again.
He’s like an addict, really – once he hears a noise he finds pleasant (every noise you make, really), he’s trying everything in his power to get you to make it again, wanting to have auditory evidence (to match the slick coating his fingers and the smell of your arousal) that you’re enjoying this, that you’re enjoying him and the way he’s touching you. It’s selfish, really, because while giving you pleasure is great and brings you a step closer to desiring him as he desires you, it quells his possessiveness.
It makes him feel good because it’s proof that he’s affecting you, that the motions and pleasure his body is bringing you is making you feel good, that your brain is mush because of him. It’s proof that your thighs are trembling and shaking because of the way he’s massaging and toying with your clit.
It’s proof that your lips are swollen and puffy and parted because of the way he’s kissing your neck and kneading at your breasts. It’s proof that he’s the only one on your mind, that your every thought is revolving around him him him, that your body and brain can only focus on Chrollo alone.
It makes him feel good, knowing that no other man could possibly be in your thoughts in moments like these, and the more he can get you moaning and screaming and sobbing in pleasure, the higher the likelihood of you focusing solely on him. So really, any time the two of you are intimate, expect your voice to be hoarse the next day – he needs you to be making noise, and he’ll even tell you as much.
He’ll tell you to show me how badly you need me inside you, moan my name and cream on my fingers and I might consider adhering to your wishes.
He’ll tell you to say his name, to tell him that he feels good, and even to narrate exactly what you’re feeling.
(That last one is a favorite of his – it’s so dirty, and it fills him with pride and arousal to hear you say that he feels s’good, your fingers are so big and it’s making me feel so full and good and fuck, Chrollo, please let me come!)
It’s an obsession, truly, one that rivals the one he holds for you – so really, just give him what he wants.
Fake the moans (but be careful, because he can normally tell – though, as he gets closer to his own orgasm, his façade slips and the true lustful, crazed man underneath his carefully constructed exterior rears its head, his snapping hips and messy hair evidence of just how much you affect him. He’s less able to tell apart your fake moans from real ones in these moments, and when he’s right on the edge, any noise from you will have him toppling over, gripping onto you and coming, filling you so fully that it leaks out, white spilling all over your thighs and dripping down his balls.)
He just wants you to be vocal, and it’s in your best interest to meet his demands – the night will be long and very, very painful if you don’t; Chrollo knows your body well enough to overstimulate you past your threshold, the pleasure melting into pain with each orgasm he tears from your body.
Begging
While Chrollo is a difficult man to decipher, one thing you’ll learn about him is that he’s very, very susceptible to your begging.
Of course, he doesn’t always give in to what you want – your escape and freedom, for example, are things he’ll never grant you, no matter how incessantly and long you beg. (And no matter how you offer your body or your fake affections or any number of things.)
He’s stringent about many things, but in the bedroom he’s more or less easy to win over – you just have to know how to do it correctly.
It takes a very specific methodology to get him to listen to your wishes, to have him do exactly what you need in order to feel good. And that methodology is mostly rooted in begging him to do what you want, what you need in order to seek the pleasure you’re wanting.
And frankly, just hearing you say his name and beg him for literally anything has his hips stuttering, arousal spiking through him because god, you must really want him, huh?
There’s something so riveting and right about the power imbalance that you begging him for pleasure sets up; he’s the one in control, giving you what he deems as the right amount of pleasure, controlling your orgasm and deciding when – and if – you’ll be allowed to come.
It’s a power trip that gets his heart racing and his cock flushing bright red, his chest swelling with pride and greed because god, every fucking inch of you belongs to him, and when you acknowledge that it makes him want to fuck you hard enough to make you scream his name.
You’ll need to beg, but even more than that, you’ll need to mix the begging with some sort of compliment. He’s good at telling when you’re lying, though, so the compliment must be somewhat genuine – tell him his fingers feel so good, oh Chrollo you’re gonna make me come, don’t stop! Tell him that he’s so big, you feel so – so big inside me, oh god, please harder, I need you harder!
If you intermix the compliments in with your begs, Chrollo is almost certain to at least consider your wishes, fucking you harder or deeper or angling his fingers just right, anything and everything to get you to keep talking, to keep paying attention to him and telling him how much you need him.
He may not show it, but he really, really wants you to enjoy sex with him, both because seeing you writhe in pleasure gives him pleasure, and also because it means you’re giving him all your focus and attention. So really, if things aren’t going quite as they should to really get you off or to make you feel good, using this master formula will often yield the results you desire – he’s a sap, even if he doesn’t show it, even if he’s not fully aware of it himself.
What he is aware of, though, is this little strategy of yours.
He’s figured it out; you’re not as smooth as you think, and although it boosts his ego and makes his heart race when you compliment him, Chrollo knows there’s an ulterior motive behind your words. And so begins a game of cat and mouse – he likes the way you beg for him, and he doesn’t want you to stop, so he’ll only slightly give in to your request.
This will, in turn, make you beg for more, a new compliment and moans slipping from your lips that get Chrollo gulping and steeling his resolve, his fingers moving slightly to the spot you want them, his pace getting slightly faster, only half-assedly doing what you’d begged for.
The cycle repeats, Chrollo managing to milk you for every last possible bit of praise and desperation for his touch, until he’s eventually giving in, doing things just as you ask for so that you’re a shaking, moaning mess for him, completely falling apart on his fingers. He’s aware of the game you’re playing, and frankly, as time passes Chrollo will begin purposefully not touching you like how he knows you like.
You like to be fingered quickly, with a certain angle and a certain rhythm? Well, he’s finger fucking you at a moderate pace, aiming for a certain spot an inch or so away from your sweet spot, the rhythm just slightly off.
It’ll be enough to get you squirming, your face scrunching up in pleasure and need, your eyes teary and watery as you beg him to go just a hair faster, because it always feels so good when you go fast, please make me feel good, Chrollo!
You’ll go through the cycle three or four times, but he’ll almost always eventually give in – with one big, glaring exception.
Chrollo really likes to bring you to orgasm, it’s true – however, he really, really likes when you beg for permission to orgasm, waiting to fully let go until he’s given you the okay to make a mess all for him.
He wants you to beg him to please let me come, please Chrollo I wanna come for you, all the while he’s holding off just a bit, not quite pushing you over the edge with his thrusts or flicks of his tongue.
He knows your body so well that he’s able to hold you right where he wants you, right on the brink of coming but not quite, just so that you’re unbearably close but needing that one final push. And he’ll milk this out of you, too – he’s unashamed with how he asks you to repeat yourself, to tell him exactly what you need, to moan his name and show him just how badly you want to come for him.
He wants you to be prickling with embarrassment at how unabashedly you shame, loving the way you get all shy and bashful when he tells you to beg me to fuck you into an orgasm, love, and then you’ll get it.
It makes him giddy to see the way you writhe and cry out his name so wantonly, your desperation to find your high trumping over any bit of self-respect you pretend to have, because ultimately you’re choosing him and the pleasure he can give you over this stupid, rebellious side of yourself that’s unwilling to accept his love.
It’s good, a step in the right direction, and by forcing you to beg him permission to orgasm (an orgasm caused by him, no less), Chrollo simultaneously gets to push you a smidge closer to willingly being his, and he also gets to feel you come for him.
(A sight that normally pushes him unbearably close to his own orgasm – just a few thrusts inside you and he’s blowing his load, cum spurting inside you as he gasps your name under his breath, the warmth settling into his stomach both a result of his orgasm and giddiness that you’re starting to come around, aren’t you?)
He just loves when you beg, and although you think you have the power in the situation, thinking you’ve got him figured out, you really, really don’t. You never do, after all, and Chrollo will always outsmart you.
So just tell him you want his cock, beg him to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, and he’ll give you just that – not without a few caveats, though.
Oral Fixation
While your collarbone may be his favorite part of your body, Chrollo really, really grows to love your mouth.
He’s always been entranced by the gentle curve of your lips, the shape playing behind his eyelids as he sleeps at night, driving him crazy when you aren’t yet by his side, making sleep – already elusive enough for him – nearly impossible to find.
(You’ll never know, but on nights where he can’t stop thinking of your lovely lips and how soft and warm and bitable they’d be, he’ll begrudgingly turn to his pillow, his own pale pink lips pressing against the silk, his eyes fluttering closed as he presses hesitant kisses against the material. As he gets more comfortable, he’ll move towards using his tongue; letting it flick out against the pillowcase, imagining it’s actually pressing into your mouth, brushing against your own and coaxing it to rub against his, to suck, his own tongue running along your teeth and reaching deeper and deeper into you until there’s not an inch of space he hasn’t touched and licked and tasted -)
He’s thought endlessly of how you might taste; would your saliva be sweet, or perhaps a nice, neutral taste? He’ll lick his lips while he contemplates, unconsciously salivating himself as he imagines how you’d taste as he kisses you, your scent and feel and everything else about you overwhelming him and making him dizzy in the best possible way.
He’s thought of the way you’d place kisses against his skin, how soft your lips would feel against the hard planes of his chest, against the firm, defined muscles of his thighs, against his neck.
He’s spent many, many nights imagining the way your mouth and lips would worship his body; he imagines you’d start with his own lips, kissing him and moaning into his mouth with fervor, your tongue slipping out to meet his, saliva and spit getting all over your chins because every time he imagines kissing you it’s messy, sloppy and earnest and dirty.
He likes to think you’d move onto his jawline next, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp line, tracing it from his chin all the way back to the juncture of his jaw, leading up to kiss and lightly suck at his ear.
You’d take his lobe gently between your teeth, lightly pulling and tugging just to hear him harshly exhale, your tongue even coming up to lick at the shell of his ear, your breath warm and sensual as you breath and whisper his name.
You’d move onto his neck, next, sucking kisses and hickies against the pale skin, the perfect canvas for you to leave your artwork against. He wants you to mark him up – he may be the dominant one in the relationship, sure, and he may the one indisputably in charge of everything, but there’s something endearing about wanting to stake your claim on him. It makes him feel good, desired, possessive over you, and he’ll proudly don his coat with the dark marks all along his neck, perhaps even pulling the collar to the side a bit so that others can see that he’s yours.
Then you’ll move down to his chest; he wants to feel you press fast, quick kisses all over the plain of his chest and abdomen, your tongue tracing the lines of his abs and making him shiver. He wants to feel your lips wrapped around his nipples, sucking and running your tongue over the sensitive skin, leaving a wet pop noise as you pull back.
He wants you to kiss along his thighs, the kisses here more harsh and demanding, maybe even sinking your teeth into his skin just to get his eyes rolling to the back of his head, your sudden display of dominance (or brattiness, rather) making something primal sound from the back of his throat.
And of course, Chrollo’s fixation with your mouth extends towards your ability to suck – before you two reach a point of sexual contact, he’ll firmly trace your lips with his fingertips, only to push past them and situate his fingers against your tongue, a small smile on his lips as he sighs softly and tells you to suck, my love, I’m sure you know how.
He’ll watch with wide eyes and baited breath as you work your tongue along his digits, slipping between them and letting your lips suction, the warmth and wetness making his pants tight and his cock ache, desperation nearly sending him over the edge as precum drools from his tip. And god, when you use your mouth on his cock?
Chrollo is a fairly composed man, yes, but even he can’t keep up that image when you’re sucking on him like you’re trying to suck out his soul, your lips gliding up and down his length, the suction and feel of your tongue rubbing against that sensitive spot on the underside of his tip making his abs clench and contract, his hips getting a mind of their own as they thrust and buck and hump.
He loves when you use your mouth on him, and although he tries to let you set the pace yourself and do things at your own leisure and speed (mostly because he likes seeing what you come up with, how you think he’ll be pleased), he’ll reach a point as he nears his orgasm where he takes over, his hands grasping onto your head and physically moving it up and down, controlling the depth and pace as he groans lowly, his orgasm powerful and heady and numbing as he comes, cum spilling down your throat as he holds you tightly against his pelvis, the short black hairs sitting at his navel ticking your nose.
Another spot that makes him melt when you lick and touch is his balls.
They’re always full, heavy, swollen, aching and begging to be fondled and licked and emptied, and what better way than with your soft, pretty lips and your nimble tongue? He likes to watch the way you stroke at his shaft and move your attention to each sack, tongue coming out to lick and tease, the sensation making him suck in a shaky breath – the sound so quiet you very nearly miss it.
He wants you to take on in your mouth, the warmth making his knees feel weak, the feeling of you lightly sucking making him have to clutch onto whatever surface is nearest just to steady himself.
It’s so dirty – seeing the way your lips stretch to accommodate something so big, and by the time you’re through with them he wants his balls to be positively smothered in your spit, glistening in the light and sensitive to the touch because you’ve worked him up so well.
Of course, Chrollo enjoys when you touch him in pretty much any way, but there’s just something about your mouth that he finds himself gravitating towards, because while it’s intimate and wonderful to fuck you, when you use your mouth – something that feels more taboo, more personal, more sacred – well, that’s a different thing, isn’t it? It means you want him, you want to taste him, that you like his aftertaste of musk and cum to linger in your mouth long after you’ve finished him off.
Chrollo just likes the implications of it all – and seeing you on your knees or feeling your lips against his neck will just make him shiver, excitement and lust and love pooling in his gut, all directly at sweet, perfectly little you.
OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:
Holding your hand
It’s not really a kink, but you’ll notice quite quickly into your sexual relationship with Chrollo that he has a habit of always managing to interlock your fingers when he’s fucking you.
The first few times you’ll think it’s sweet, deciding that although it seems out of character for a mass murderer to want to hold you hand when he’s already stuffed as deeply inside of you as possible, it’s kind of endearing.
It seems like a manipulation tactic at first, honestly – you don’t trust Chrollo, not at all, and despite the fact that you’ve caved and given into your bodily desires to have him touch you and pleasure you, you don’t like him. Maybe this is some ploy to get you to fall for him – you’ve seen him reading articles and researching on ways to make women feel loved and valued during sex, his dark eyes diligently and eagerly scanning the words.
(You didn’t bring this up to him, however – the conversation that would’ve ensued would’ve been unbearable, and what would you even say? Chrollo, why do you want me to feel wanted during sex? What are you playing at? Is it not enough for you that I’ve already admitted I want you to touch me?)
The truth, actually, is none of those things – of course, he does view sex as a way to bring you closer to him and get you closer and closer to returning his feelings, but the hand holding actually isn’t something he’s meticulously planned.
The constant stimulation and attention to your clit, he’d known from the beginning – making you come feels good, yes, but he needs you to enjoy it, to realize that he can give you pleasure consistently, that he knows his way around your body. But the hand holding?
Well, the first time he fucks you, he’s genuinely gone – you can’t tell, not really, but from the moment he slips inside of you, he’s fighting to keep his composure, his hips begging him to just ruin you, to fuck into you as hard and fast as he can – even if it means spilling himself inside of you in as little as two minutes. He finds himself drifting away and getting lost in the pleasure that first time, and subconsciously his hand is finding yours, needing something to grip onto, something to ground him and keep him from coming much too early.
His cold fingers lace with your own, pressing your hand against the mattress as he continues humping his hips into yours, and he’ll squeeze your hand when the pleasure gets especially strong, his grip so tight it nearly bruises you.
He needs to hold your hand – it’s comforting, but more than that it keeps him connected to you.
It feels intimate, like something reserved only for you, because even though he’s slept with other women before, never has it been like this. Never has he actively been trying to make them feel good, and never has he actively been hoping they’ll want to fuck him again and again and again, something that he ardently, feverishly hopes you feel.
Holding your hand becomes something of a tradition; it gets easier to not immediately orgasm when he slips inside you, but still his hand moves on its own, capturing yours and squeezing, his dark eyes boring into yours and the veins on his hand standing out.
It’s romantic, he thinks, and even when he’s kissing you and throwing your legs over his shoulders, balls clapping loudly against your ass as he pants and whispers your name under his breath, his hand will stay in yours.
And his grip is tight – you can’t pull your hand out, he won’t let you. You’re not allowed to, because this makes the sex special, intimate, meaningful – it makes the two of you closer, your bodies truly united in more ways than one.
He loves you, he promises, and frankly, it’s best if you don’t mention this habit – he won’t tell you the truth, instead letting a small smile flit his lips and telling you cryptically that it helps me know if you’re feeling good.
That’s bullshit – it’s all for him, but you don’t need to know that gripping your hand like its his lifeline is the only thing keeping him sane when he fucks you – it’s the only thing keeping him from bucking into you like a wild animal, filling you full of cum like some sort of predator.
Voyeurism
Chrollo has a rather nasty habit of watching you. He’s not quite as overt as some other members of the Troupe, but it’s not hard to notice the way those dark eyes are always trained on your figure, observing, scrutinizing, staring with an intensity that makes you feel like a bug under a microscope.
He just finds you utterly fascinating, and he honestly finds himself unable to look away from you. You’re captivating in every sense of the word, and his feelings don’t change when it comes to the bedroom – he’s constantly, constantly looking at you.
The eye contact can be sexy, sometimes, in the right circumstance, but most of the time the intensity makes you nervous, embarrassment settling in your gut because you feel like he can see every inch of you, every imperfection and flaw.
He’s always looking at you while he’s fucking you, those eyes boring into yours as his hips snap into you, faster and faster and harder and harder, watching your face as you get close to coming, seeing how you fall apart for him and cry out his name.
He’s staring and breathing a bit harshly when you’re taking him down your throat, mesmerized by the way your lips slot around him, how his cock appears and disappears again and again, your little gagging noises when you take just a bit too far down making him near feral.
He’s even staring at you while he sucks on your clit, fingers curling inside you as he looks up at you from under his lashes, the eye contact making you shy away and close your thighs around his head, just wishing he'd stop staring at you like you’re some slab of meat for him to devour.
But more than anything, Chrollo likes to observe the way you look when you’re feeling good – pleasure looks good on you, and especially before you allow him to touch you in an overtly sexual way, Chrollo will have you touch yourself for him, all the while he gets a front row seat.
It’s thrilling, the way you spread yourself open on your fingers, tugging your lip between your teeth as you rub small, tight circles against your clit, your thighs trembling from both the pleasure and the weight of his gaze.
He’ll settle himself into a chair at the end of the bed, sitting with his legs crossed and his fingers digging into the armrests, his eyes trained directly on you. He’ll alternate between staring at your face and staring at your cunt, too entranced by it all to fully commit to one or the other.
He likes seeing the way you work yourself, how you flick your fingers or turn your wrist, the pace and tempo and precision of your movements.
He likes to stare at your breasts, watching them heave in time with your chest, seeing your nipples perk up and pebble up, looking hard and pinchable and suckable, like the perfect spot to rest his lips.
He’ll stare at the way your thighs tremble and jerk together occasionally, the pleasure and risqué of being Chrollo’s entertainment making everything feel heavier, stronger, more intense.
He’ll request that you finger yourself or play with your clit or touch your tits, anything and everything because he wants to see everything.
Of course, it’s nothing new to him – he’d watched you masturbate countless times before he stole you away, enjoying the vulnerability of it all, your weak, alluring form totally unaware of the eyes watching your most intimate moments.
But now, now, it’s different – you know you’re being watched now, and that adds a certain layer to your actions that makes Chrollo lick his lips, because while seeing your naked body and hearing your barely contained moans has his cock standing at attention in mere seconds, the fact that you’re reacting so strongly to knowledge that it’s Chrollo staring gets his ears feeling hot and his hands twitching, aching to reach out and touch you.
There’s something alluring about the fact that you’re acting all shy and bashful because it’s him that’s watching you like a hawk, his cock clearly hard against his stomach as he stares, obviously enjoying the sight.
He likes to know that he’s affecting you, that you’re thinking of him, that he’s on your mind as you play with yourself and make yourself come – it’s hot, frankly, and although it’s a test of his self control (one he struggles with far more than you’ll ever know), watching you bring yourself to orgasm is the best foreplay he can imagine.
Because then, he can watch himself bring you to orgasm, and isn’t that just the prettiest, loveliest sight?
Isn’t you falling apart for him, moaning and writhing and scratching down his back, the single most valuable thing on this Earth?
He’s a thief, after all, and anything valuable is his for the taking – including you.
BIGGEST FANTASY:
Chrollo is, without a doubt, extraordinarily possessive. You’re completely and utterly his, his property and under his ownership, to the point where he’ll often refer to you as such in passing with another Troupe member, no matter how demeaning and belittling his hummed response of yes, she’s my most prized possession may be.
You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly, the only thing he’s ever wanted so much that it physically hurts, and he has no qualms with acting on these possessive urges, claiming you as his and only his.
However, Chrollo presents an odd juxtaposition in bed – while he absolutely does not want anyone else to ever see you in such a vulnerable, intimate position, there’s a certain allure to the idea of fucking you in public that he simply can’t shake off.
Of course, he’s thoroughly unwilling to allow you to be seen by other people, for your perfect, lovely body to be ogled by other human beings, those who are completely unworthy of being graced by your soft curves, your pretty moans, your twitching thighs and dripping hole.
You’re his to ogle and play with and make a mess of, and although the idea of another man watching you fall apart for Chrollo is appealing in its own right, he’d never be willing to stomach the idea of you seeing another man – or another man seeing you – when you’re in your most vulnerable, intimate position.
And these conflicting desires lead him to a sort of problem. On the one hand, he wants more than anything to fuck you in front of an audience, because what signifies ownership more than claiming you publicly, and what more can he do to show the world that you’re his, that he’s made his mark on you and you’ll never be loved by another?
But on the other, he can’t stand the thought of actually fucking you in public, which leads to a compromise – that is, it’s just so easy to spend a night in a bedroom high, high above the streets, the city skyline out the window and from the balcony mesmerizing, the dark night making the lights shine and the people they illuminate shine as well.
It’s not ideal, but Chrollo has found that the only way he can think of to satisfy this intense sexual fantasy with you is to simply fuck you in a space where no one can see you, but you can see everyone – thus, the window of some fancy, swanky hotel should do the trick, right?
Then everyone, whether knowingly or not, will be witnessing Chrollo claim every fucking inch of you, right?
It’s perfect, and something he’s so, so desperate to try out with you – just the thought gets his body feeling hot, his pants uncomfortably tight, and this strong, dizzying excitement brewing in his chest.
“The room is really lovely, Chrollo.” You compliment, appraising the room bathed in maroon and gold, the intricacies of the wallpaper and bed sheets catching your eye. It’s a simple one bed room, an adjoining bathroom to the side, but the real showstopping aspect of the horribly overpriced room is the set of floor to ceiling, pristine glass windows facing the night city, the various buildings too far to truly make out any specifics. It’s situated downtown, but Chrollo has made sure to secure a room on the fiftieth floor – towering above any nearby skyscrapers, thus giving him the privacy he’s been fantasizing of.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Comes his response, smooth and suave, though you think you can hear the smallest smidge of pride.
Making your way towards the windows, you stare across the sleeping city skyline, trying to memorize every detail you can, while Chrollo watches you from across the room, excitement swirling in his chest at the prospect of what’s to come.
He’s quick to join you, standing beside you and glancing towards your awed face, chuckling softly and using his thumb to trace the line of your cheekbone. “You’re staring, love.”
You blink a few times, before throwing him a playful glare. “And so are you.”
He’s silent for a moment, before he leans down to press his lips against your own, his dark eyes fluttering closed. “How could I not, when something so beautiful is standing before me?”
His words are sweet, and they have you bashful despite yourself – something Chrollo doesn’t hesitate to exploit, as he pulls you in deeper to the kiss. His hand rests snugly at your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, his lips working faster against your own, though the kiss is still softer, less insistent.
That changes quickly though, as your hand reaches out to brush against the growing bulge resting in his black slacks, a small hum pressed against your lips as Chrollo unconsciously moves closer to the action. Soon you’re unabashedly groping him, fingers idly squeezing and lightly pressing against him as he deepens the kiss, lips getting needier as the minutes fly by, small gasps and breaks for air the only sounds reverberating through the night air of the hotel room.
Insistent hands grasp onto the hem of your shirt, pulling upwards and exposing the expanse of your stomach, the soft skin immediately felt and caressed by the man before you, his fingertips oddly soft for his line of work. He pulls back slightly from the kiss, dark eyes slowly opening to meet your hazy gaze, a small smile quirking on his lips as he moves forward to your ear, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin.
“Undress for me, darling.” His words are sin, his voice smoother than silk, the timbre making a shiver race up your spine as you gulp and follow his instructions, peeling each layer of cloth separating your body from his wandering touch. Chrollo’s dark eyes take every movement in, excitement burning in his chest as your body is slowly revealed to him, your skin soft and supple and touchable.
His fingers twitch.
He’s quick to follow suit, sliding off his jacket, pants and undergarments, leaving him nude in all his glory, prompting you to rake your eyes across his sculpted chest, the lines of his biceps, the sharp ‘v’ of his navel, and of course, the eager, flushed cock pressing harshly against his lower stomach, practically begging for your attention and touch.
“You’re beautiful, my dear,” He starts, approaching you and bringing a thumb up to trace your cheekbone, that same small smile decorating his lips. His lashes are long, easy to see from this distance, and as your lips part to respond, he cuts you off with his thumb placed against your tongue, his eyes shining brighter.
“Why don’t we show the world just how beautiful you really are?” His voice is oddly uneven, the excitement dancing in those dark depths of his gaze making you arch your brows slightly, confusion lacing your features as Chrollo gently pushes your shoulders. The glass hitting your backside is cold, the smooth surface alien against you as you squeak slightly.
“What – what do you mean?” You ask, voice small as he sharply inhales, his other hand coming down to run along your side as his eyes trail along your lips and down to your breasts. He smiles as he takes in your nipples, the skin puckering.
“Wouldn’t it be such a shame to keep a beauty like you hidden from the world? Don’t you want everyone to know,” he starts, leaning into your neck before kissing down until he reaches the juncture of your shoulder. “That you belong to me?”
He bites down, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to get you gasping out and throwing your head back slightly, the glass cold against your scalp.
“Would you like that? Do you want the world to know how much you crave me?” He asks, his voice low and husky.
You bite your lip and nod, murmuring out an agreement.
“Can’t hear you darling, try again.”
Embarrassment creeps up your neck as you tell him in a louder voice, “Yes Chrollo, please, want everyone to know that my body was made for you, please!”
He shivers against you, his bare skin against yours making your head spin. His eyes are wide as he stares down at you. “Good, because I’m going to fuck you hard enough that no one will question who owns you.”
And with that, he’s spinning you around so that you’re face to face with the glass. The material is cold, your nipples rubbing against it and making your thighs rub together at the strange sensation. A sea of lights fall before you, the city glowing from so many meters in the air.
His hands settle at your waist, squeezing slightly before sliding down over your hips, the smooth breath he exhales by your air making you shiver. Every sense feels heightened, and although you know no one can see you from so far below, it still sends a thrill through you at the idea that someone could, if they tried hard enough. Eventually his hands lightly pull at your hips, pulling your ass back towards his pelvis and making you bend over slightly, so that your cunt is poised out for him while your breasts still press against the cold glass.
Chrollo hums from behind you, a finger tracing down your spine and ending up right over your fluttering hole, slipping inside carefully and feeling the way you clench down on him, the sharp little gasp you give him only making another bead of precum drool from his tip, his groin throbbing and pulsing with the need to bury himself inside you, to thoroughly fuck the tight, warm cunt he’s feeling around his fingers.
He pulls them out abruptdly, making you whine a bit and wiggle your hips, the sight forcing Chrollo to tightly shut his eyes, grappling for control over himself. “Now love, in order to let everyone know just who you belong to, you’ll have to be loud enough to hear, yes?”
You nod, muttering something in agreement, but Chrollo cuts you off with a wide smile, his eyes flashing as he grips his cock and lines himself up. “Scream for me.”
And with that he’s pushing himself inside, not pausing for a moment to let you adjust. He’s thrusting into you with force, the sheer strength making you rock forward with each pulse of his hips. Your hands press against the glass, your cheek smooshed against the cold material as you moan and cry out his name, the angle hitting you deep and the eroticism of the whole situation making your head swim.
Chrollo leans in close behind you, his breath already a bit heavy and ragged. “Do you like – ngh, do you like this love? Getting fucked while so many people could be watching?”
You moan out a yes in response, gasping and feeling your whole body shake as his fingers snake between your legs and begin working at your clit.
He laughs breathlessly behind you, his chest pressing against your back. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and heavy, and you feel him twitch inside you, his orgasm looming near.
“Let’s give them a good show, yes?”
And when he pulls out a few minutes later, turning you around and letting his cum spraying from his tip and landing on your chest and stomach in ropes, he can only flutter his eyes closed and mutter your name, before peeling them open and exhaling shakily.
He’ll push you right back up against the window, a knee forcing itself between your legs to open you back up again, his cock still hard and insistent and aching to finish inside you this time. Meanwhile, his cum smears against your skin and the glass, leaving a film that makes you shiver – the glass is cold but his cum is hot. You moan as he forces himself back inside you, immediately continuing with the brutal, rough pace he’d taken earlier, determined to let the whole city see how prettily you take his cum inside you this time.
And when you’re done, some forty five minutes later, with two loads of warm, runny cum spilling from between your legs, the smears of his first orgasm all over the glass and your tits will only make him lick his lips, arousal once again simmering in his gut.
Maybe this time the city would like to see how pretty you look when you squirt.
#yandere hxh#yandere hunter x hunter#_chrollo lucilfer#_lee's profiles#yandere chrollo#yandere chrollo lucilfer#hxh smut#_hxh
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Now that I think about it, maybe the reason why Malleus' Magic is so powerful, because before he was born he was copiously sustained with powerful magicians like Meleanor, Maleficia, and Lilia.
The egg is born through love but only through magic can that egg finally hatch (that's where Lilia exhausted his magic). Maybe a fae's power is determined to how much magic can their parents "exhaust" in making them born(?).
So, essentially, His magic consists of the magic of powerful mages.
1) Meleanor (as his biological mother),
2) Maleficia (her magic was life support while he was incubated),
and 3) Lilia (who hatched him).
So when we fight Malleus, we are not just simply fighting "Malleus" himself, but rather a lethal culmination of Meleanor, Maleficia, and Lilia's raw power.
That's why it feels so impossible to defeat him because we're essentially fighting three powerful magicians at once, it's just in the form of "Malleus Draconia."
All these magicians have high-profile powerful magic, and all of them are faes too. I often assumed that Malleus was rich in magic because he's a Draconia but no, Meleanor used her full magical strength as well but the story didn't showcase her casting some world altering magic like stopping time and encasing human souls inside a magical barrier— Only Malleus did...
Maybe there's really no person who can defeat him as STYX theorizes... Not even Maleficia. While its true she's powerful, but based on this interpretation, she can fight Malleus, but fighting Malleus is also the same as fighting her magic, mixed with Meleanor's and Lilia's (and Levan's even though we don't know how powerful he is).
Levan is Malleus' father but so far the story doesn't imply nor mention any significant magical contribution he did to Malleus. The only thing mentioned in the story about Levan's influence was that Malleus is a kind/gentle person because of him.
I like to interpret he's powerful too! So maybe, its not just Meleanor, Maleficia, Lilia, but also Levan.... if he got the chance to bless Eggmalleus some magic before he lost. So its actually FIVE HIGH CLASS MAGICIANS were fighting against if we fight Malleus ☠️☠️ That's why he's truly "god-like".
I really like the fact that Malleus is undefeatable even by raw power or raw cleverness (like using technology). I know that's still going to be a big part, but its more intriguing for me to how TWST will handle stopping Malleus without obvious offense.
They'll only need to rely on one thing that humans are really great of practicing (more than faes): communication. Maybe the solution may be as simple as talking to Malleus that he needs to stop lol Because really, at this point, thats the most staple choice we have, anything else takes too much time💔😔
Not in the accusing way, but in a kind and understanding way. But, I know that's unlikely to happen knowing how "cringed" NRC is towards displaying kindness (which is often their downfall lol). But remember, the resolution at the fairy gala event? Where everyone was antagonizing the Diurnal Fairies, assuming they'll be stubborn and that they're thieves so they should take the stone without asking them, but then it turns out once they got caught and Silver talked with them apologetically and with understandingly, the Queen understood it and let the stone go...
Maybe Malleus would act like that Queen too?? After all, no one still talks with him about how "indeed, it is painful to suffer and lost, but there's merit in their existence, so we don't need to cut them out of our lives, because even those painful experiences helps us achieve our true dreams." or just a simple "You won't be alone even if Lilia passes away. I'm sure Lilia will be more happy to live his life and live it longer because he'll be remembered by Malleus even if he's just a memory now." or maybe a blunt "The world doesn't revolve around anyone, so Malleus has no rights to dictate how we should live our lives" lol
I feel like Malleus is just a person who never really thinks about other interpretations unless its been said to him... That's why I'm wishing that Book 7 resolves his overblot by not fully painting him as a "catastrophic dark fae" (like what the humans viewed Meleanor), like there'll be a balance between depicting him as a villain but also as a flawed person.
But yes I do agree that the biggest hurdle in defeating Malleus, may not just be his overpowered magic, but also his defiance in believing that he can understand humanity and humanity will understand him 😭😭
#twst#twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland#twistedwonderland#malleus draconia#lian notes#disney twst#lilia vanrouge#twst malleus#twisted wonderland headcanons#twst meleanor#meleanor draconia#twst levan#twst theory#twst analysis#twst book 7#twst book 7 theory#twst silver#twst book 7 spoilers#diasomnia#twst jp#twst lilia#twst lilia vanrouge#twst diasomnia#ortho shroud#twst ortho#twst maleficia#maleficia draconia
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Unknown - Ep 11 - That Scene
The opening scene of episode 11 landed differently for me than it did for others. I was going to just keep it to myself since I have a minority opinion, but when I rewatched it last night I fell even more in love with it!
The structure!! It's so good! Let me explain.
At the bottom of the stairs, Qian hesitates. He still hasn't made up his mind.
Yuan says "Do you still not get it?" He knows what Qian is feeling, even if Qian hasn't figured it out yet. So he says what he wants very clearly.
Yuan asks for permission to do 4 things:
1. Be more than just Qian's brother.
2. Be who Qian relies on when he's down.
3. Be someone Qian can talk to about anything.
4. Be with Qian for the rest of his life.
Before Qian answers, he revisits 4 sets of memories, each set answering one of Yuan's questions with a resounding YES.
After each affirmative answer, it cuts back to the sex scene to communicate that THIS is the culmination of all those yesses.
In other words, there are 4 direct questions and 4 groups of memories that hold the answers to those questions, 4 times those memories scream the answer is YES, and 4 cuts to a bit of sex.
Let's look at the groups of memories.
1. He thinks back to Yuan's words in ep 9. Does he not want Yuan? Or does he not DARE to want Yuan? And he remembers all the times he felt desire for Yuan, but suppressed it. Can he be more than just Yuan's brother? Yes.
2. He thinks back to Yuan consistently being someone Qian can rely on, all through his childhood until now. "If the world falls down, we'll hold it up together." "You won't be alone." "I like being around you." Yuan genuinely likes being around Qian and has never wanted to leave him. He's shown his commitment to Qian time and time again. Can Qian rely on Yuan when he's down? Yes.
3. He remembers how long and hard Yuan suffered while enduring one-sided love, and that Yuan chose to suffer in quiet for years rather than confess to Qian about it. But Qian knew Yuan was suffering that whole time and hated it. It broke Qian's heart to see how hard it was for Yuan. If he did likewise and didn't talk about things, he'd also break the heart of the person who loves him because of his silence. Yuan laid himself bare and told Qian everything. Can Qian reciprocate and tell Yuan about everything in his life, even the hard things? Yes.
4. He thinks about how Yuan has ALREADY built his entire life around Qian. "I can sum up my life in two words: Wei Qian." Memories of Yuan come like a flood, rapidly gaining momentum. Yuan has already been with Qian for most of his life, and will NOT STOP. Qian can't imagine a life without Yuan. So can Yuan be with Qian for the rest of his life? Yes.
Qian nods and says his answer aloud: You can. And then they kiss.
The sex is not the point. It's the culmination. It's all the yesses stacked on top each other until they break the last of Qian's walls. By cutting the sex so it only exists between each resounding YES, they've made it less about the action of it and more about Qian realizing that YES, they're ALREADY in love and unalterably committed to each other. Why not give in to his physical desires when the rest is so clear?
Others watched this and saw a sex scene interrupted by cumbersome flashbacks. I watched this and saw a dramatic feelings realization interrupted by snippets of quite lovely sex that drove those feelings home.
A final note: It's probably because I'm demisexual, but I am frequently unmoved by sex scenes, especially when they do not advance the plot or the character development. This onscreen scene moved me. It hit the right emotional note. It was focused primarily on Qian's pov (his face is the one the camera is focusing on). And it was artfully done, instead of merely being titillating.
I'm tagging a few people who I recall talking about this in their posts, but it's been a couple of weeks so forgive me if I leave someone out or misremember. @absolutebl @lurkingshan @bengiyo @wen-kexing-apologist @wanderlust-in-my-soul @twig-tea
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Seeing a couple people missing the point of Trigun after having watched Stampede, and it's probably only a few but I'm still like, please watch the original.
I see people thinking about how Vash is naive and that the whole arc is culminating into him somehow becoming a sad killer, or the end goal is humanity is awful, but Trigun is and always has been about peace. Vash always chooses peace, not because it's the easy answer, but because it is the right answer. And so often it's the tough answer, and you have to Get Good in order to make it out alive. Shoot faster, aim better than the other guy, but not to kill to incapacitate. It's the story of two innocents being cast out from Eden upon learning forbidden knowledge and now having to learn about death and violence and all the evils of mankind. But it's about talking to people and seeing the good in humanity and choosing peace. Choosing love. It's about doing the right thing, even if it doesn't go to plan, even if you get hurt and wear those scars forever. It's when you can't save anyone but try anyway.
Trigun is KNOWING that it won't work out, and that you will make mistakes, but choosing compassion in the face of it every time.
#i love vash#characters that choose peace and are full of love are so important to me#trigun#trigun stampede
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How would it be if blade's darling had wanted to contact him, though? Maybe to try and talk about things? They probably wouldn't know about the mind reset kafka does, so when they try to contact him to set up a meeting they think he remembers them.
Oh my god, that just gave me the sweetest of images! Some yandere's love is just so pure, I swear ♥
»»———————— ♡ ————————««
Blade didn't really know why he reacted so fast to the unknown sound.
He usually didn't get bothered by that thing in his pocket, a device Kafka made him walk around with, telling him to check it regularly. It pling! and dundun! all day long, notifications appeared on its screen that he didn't usually react to unless someone mentioned him by name. Why would he? He knew his mission; there was no need to be in constant contact with the others.
Bing!
And yet, when a new sound rang in his ears, one he hadn't heard before, Blade stopped dead in his tracks. The guy he was hunting hurdled away, crawling through the pools of blood on the floor while the rain washed away the evidence of battle. Holding his bloody stomach, he watched the Hunter reach into his pocket, picking up his phone, unbothered by the massacre in front of him, almost as if he forgot about his target that took the chance to scramble to his feet, running for his dear life.
Blade gazed at the bright screen, his eyes hurting, but he didn't even notice the pain as he read the latest banner that notified him of a message.
we need to talk
The hairs at the back of his neck stood straight as he read those four words. Blade's mouth ran dry while his breathing stopped. As if he had to hear better, every one of his motions ceased, and the sounds of the constant traffic in the distance vanished. He felt fury build up as raindrops landed on his screen, the words vanishing. Yet he didn't understand why.
Bing! Bing!
He flinched. Even a second time and repeated, this sound differed from when Kafka or Silver Wolf tried to contact him. He didn't remember it ever ringing out before. A slight shake of nervousness went through him, followed by a spark of excitement. Before he knew it, he was reading the message—eager, desperate.
[Location sent]
meet me here tonight, we really have to talk. i want this to end, you have to...
The message preview stopped there, and Blade snapped out of his trance. Slowly, his eyes trudged to the sender's name, but it was only a culmination of unfamiliar numbers. He looked at the time next, and with a twinge of disappointment, he realized it was early noon at best. A shaky breath escaped him, and for the first time since he got the notifications, he looked up into the dark alleyway before him.
It was quiet, no more breathing of his enemies. Yet, he could hear his own blood pounding in his ears and feel the desperate grip on the sword he still clutched onto. It had not been drenched in the blood of his target completely, yet, he didn't feel the yearning of finishing a job.
Instead, Blade felt compelled to go.
Where to, he didn't know. Somewhere, or precisely, where he should go, but he had never opened the message he received with the location. All he knew was that he had to go there. His legs moved on their own, steps splashing in the wet puddles on the ground. By the time he walked out onto the busy street, his sword had vanished, but not that feeling of urgency pushing him forward.
What were those feelings? Why did they keep aggravating him so? His head hurt as the lights of the cars flashed by him, taking in every moment of his pain. He should stop. He had to call Kafka. Something was wrong, and although he couldn't pinpoint it, it would be dangerous to continue on this unfamiliar path on his own.
Reaching into his pocket, he felt the little device vibrate against his fingers, followed by the now-more familiar Bling! he began to dread yet anticipate at the same time.
don't chicken out this time! just come and let's talk... i know you can see my messages
Staring at the message for a moment, he let the phone sink back into his pocket, never bothering to reply. You knew he was going to come, and he would. He wouldn't miss it for anything in this world.
You?
Who?
His legs carried him onwards into the unknown, but something told him that he knew exactly where he could find you, even if he didn't remember. Something inside him knew, and this feeling grew and grew stronger until it robbed him of any reason. There was a pull on him so strong, he couldn't help but pursue it—hunt it.
You, whoever you are, were his next target, and he had to have you. All to himself. Pressed against his marred body, engulfed by his shadow, never to be seen by anyone else again. Never to be touched unless it were his fingers resting gently against your skin, and never to be tasted unless it was on his lips and tongue. If he must devour you to have you all to himself, he would. And he would tear you down and ruin you to the point that no one would dare to take his prey away from him.
Blade had to have you. Savagely, violently. All to himself.
He didn't know who you were or what you wanted from him. Why you contacted him, or how you even knew about this pitiful creature with a heart beating so fast that he felt real fear for its safety inside of him. But he'd find you, have you, and destroy you.
And he couldn't wait to meet you.
#Blade#yandere Blade#yandere!blade#hrs#honkai star rail#yandere hrs#yandere honkai star rail#yandere#yandere imagines#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#yandere stories#yandere oneshots#yandere oneshot#yandere drabble#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#Yandere TW
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