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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer General Profile

Yandere! Chrollo Lucilfer x fem! reader

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, heavy manipulation, threats of violence, threats of assault, mind breaks, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of non-con, non-consensual touching, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of cum, threats, Chrollo has a god complex but what else is new, Uvogin is mean to you but he doesn't mean it I promise!, 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!

DARLING PROFILE:

Smart

His darling doesn’t need to be a genius or anything like that, but they do need to posses a certain degree of intelligence.

Chrollo considers himself a well-read, cultured man, and he feels that his partner needs to match his level of worldly awareness, of cognitive ability. It doesn’t need to necessarily lie in the same fields as his own (though he can’t deny that it would be absolutely wonderful to have a darling who enjoys the same types of literature as him, the same philosophers, the same composers), but they must have a certain area that they hold an above average amount of knowledge in.

He finds intelligence attractive, and what initially causes him to develop an interest in his darling is largely due to the showcasing of this knowledge and smarts. He’s entranced the moment his darling opens his mouth, eagerly hanging onto their every word and nodding along, actually finding himself enjoying speaking with them.

He doesn’t have to pretend to be interested in their words for his own gain, rather finding himself genuinely wondering about their opinion on this or that, curious like a child.

He finds his darling fascinating, and a smart darling will get him falling faster, harder, deeper, to the point where Chrollo develops into a love-starved, desperate man who wants to learn more and more and more, aching to become an expert of his own in his favorite field; his darling.

Creative

Similarly, a darling who leans more on the creative side is a perfect match for Chrollo. It doesn’t matter where this creativity finds its medium – perhaps his darling is particularly artistic, enjoying expressing themselves with the arts.

Maybe they love to paint, watercolors and acrylics seeming to come alive under their fingers. (He’d melt if he found a work of him, the colors making him sigh and dreamily trace the lines, joy swimming in his heart that they painted him, that he means enough to them that he’s taken a starring role in their hobby.)

Perhaps they enjoy photography, documenting small, beautiful moments in life. (He’s always trying to look his best around his darling, keeping his neck tense and posture strong, so that if they did take a sneaky, candid photo of him, they’d enjoy what they see.)

Perhaps they play an instrument, melodies ringing out and making Chrollo smile and nod along. (Learning his favorite pieces would make him struggle to not reach out and place a gentle kiss to their forehead, letting his hands wander down their shoulders and cupping their breasts, telling them he’d love to repay the favor and learn their favorite things as well.)

Maybe they enjoy knitting or crocheting, making all kinds of creations that Chrollo finds endearing. (He’d expect them to make him something, of course, subtly demanding he receives something so that when he’s away, he’ll be able to keep a piece of them with him, something made with love and care and specifically for Chrollo Lucilfer himself.)

Cooking, sewing, writing, anything and everything can fit into this category – Chrollo really just likes that his darling is thinking of him, that they spend their time doing something that makes them happy, and if he gets to be involved, all the better.

He’ll even push his way into their hobby, learning all that he can about it with eager fingers, wanting to impress his darling and make the activity into something they can bond over – a way to spend time together, a way to get them all by his side and happy, never, ever wanting to leave.

He just loves them so very much, after all.

Observant

While it would be difficult to find someone more calculating and cunning than himself, there’s something alluring about a darling who is more observant than those around them.

He likes the idea that his darling is just able to pick up on things, their eye more trained to assess those around them, to understand their motives and notice the things they do.

It’s a sign of intelligence, and once Chrollo’s obsession has formed, he’s purposefully doing things he’s hoping his darling will notice, all with the hope that they’ll spend time wondering why he’s always fiddling with his ring finger, or letting his eyes flick to them. It’s like a game to Chrollo, and he finds it beyond entertaining to watch his darling in action, seeing their expressions flit across their face as they try to interpret his odd behavior.

There’s just something that attracts him towards darling that are able to perceive their world for more than it is – he views himself as better than everyone else, a sort of God among men, but a darling that has this trait rises above the countless below him, standing out alone as a superior being, someone worthy and perfect for him.

He’s egotistical, after all, but a darling that can at least kind of match his observation skills is something that will attract him to them – whether that’s good or bad, one can’t say.

Witty

His darling certainly doesn’t need to be a comedian, but someone who can keep up with his thinly veiled banter would cause his interest to spike.

His words are almost always tinged with just the slightest amount of snark, the slightest bit of condescension that seems to be present no matter who he’s talking to.

Perhaps it’s a result of his own pride or self-confidence, but regardless, a darling who can not only pick up on this but also respond with a bit of snark as well would make him momentarily pause, before laughing a bit and wondering just how far he can push them. It excites him to have a darling who can keep up with him, bantering back and forth, and once his infatuation develops, this is one of his favorite things about his darling.

He loves that speaking with them is endless entertainment, hence how often he tries to goat them into conversations. He’s always, always asking them questions, often designed to get them speculating, philosophical questions that he’s genuinely curious to know their answer to, and in the process he gets to have a sort of playful discussion, something that makes his heart race a bit in his chest.

He just likes his darling’s ability to think on their feet, only reinforcing their intelligence and making him fall deeper, harder, more soundly.

It makes him want to keep that wit all for himself, to not let anyone else have the pleasure of indulging in his darling’s words – they’re his, and the longer his obsession festers, the more he believes in that sentiment.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Dependent

Much of what fuels Chrollo’s obsession for you is selfish in nature.

Initially, he’s interested in you because you make him feel something, some strange emotion he can’t quite place. He’s running through all the possibilities early on, wistfully trying each emotion on before discarding it.

Does he want to use you? No, you wouldn’t be especially useful - you’re not all that developed of a nen user, if one at all, so you’d just be wasted effort.

Does he want to steal something of yours? No, you don’t have anything of particular value, nor are you an important individual.

Does he want to kill you? No, something about the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He’s stumped at first, genuinely unsure of what you’re making him feel, but it’s not until he spends more time with you that he begins considering options that are more foreign to him - that is, that he may have developed more positive emotions towards you, less manipulative and more yearning.

He contemplates whether he’s fallen in love - the books he’s always perusing make love sound so obnoxious, virtuosic, grandiose, and Chrollo can’t quite say he agrees. What he feels for you is ultimately overwhelming, surely - but it’s also much more subtle, slowly taking root in every aspect of his life seemingly without him even noticing. What used to be hours spent searching out new heists and items to steal becomes twinged with just a hint of your presence.

Small thoughts in the back of his head wonder whether you’d like the diamond necklace displayed in this gallery, or how it’d look against your pretty skin, sitting in the hollow of your throat.

What used to be solitary evenings spent reading in candlelight become small daydreams about what you’d think of his current philosopher’s theories, whether you’d indulge him in hours of philosophical discussions, what your opinions on the perception of self are. What your perceptions of yourself are, and, more importantly, what your perception of him is.

It’s not too overwhelming at first; he’s mostly able to control himself, that ever composed stature of his kept carefully in place.

The thoughts are mostly just fleeting, odd off-handed curiosity about you that he doesn’t worry too much about. It’s interesting, mostly, that you’ve gotten to him at all - and it’s this, really, that drives his desire to learn more about you. The fact that you continue to become more and more intertwined with his thoughts leaves him anxiously aching for more, wanting to see the extent to which you’re able to make him feel - something he’d always thought was more or less impossible.

And what you make him feel is so, so very good; his palms are a bit clammy when he sees you, gaze raking over your figure and noting how well your shirt fits your curves, dark eyes eagerly scanning the title of the book you’re reading out of. He’s a confident man, of course, but at the prospect of approaching you and discussing the literature, he can’t help but swallow, tongue sneaking out to lick over his lips.

He feels a strange sense of peace when he’s looking at you, taking in the way the sunlight shines off of your face, the way your clothes frame your body, how your lips quirk up into a smile when you see the little bunny that hops along the grass in the public park. It’s small things, mostly, that get little butterflies fluttering in his chest – and it’s these little fleeting moments of happiness, of contentedness and fascination that lead him to believe what he’s feeling for you could be the ever famous love – or, at least, some variation of it.

Is it love when he’s letting a smile cover his features as you scrunch your brows and huff when you can’t get that stupid jar open? The way you stick your tongue out in concentration and squeeze your eyes shut is honestly adorable, forcing Chrollo’s eyes to linger on your face just a tad bit too long.

(He can’t help but imagine how you’d thank him so profusely if he opened it for you; he’d even go so far as to roll up his sleeves, exposing his smooth forearms that he knows women can’t resist. Do you fall into that category? Would you be transfixed by his strength, his physical appearance, his smooth voice when he tells you that next time call me first, please, I wouldn’t want you to struggle…)

Maybe it’s the way you look so disheveled in your oversized t-shirt and ill-fitting lounge pants as you shuffle about your apartment, completely unaware of the camera he’d had Shalnark place in your living room. You look comfortable, and there’s something about seeing you so vulnerable, so raw that gets him breathing a bit heavier.

(More than once a thought has, seemingly out of the blue, surfaced where you’re starring and wearing a dress shirt of his – white, stiff material just barely hiding the outline of your breasts and the curve of your hips, tantalizing and looking so very right on you. If that were to happen, Chrollo has already made peace with the fact that he’d hold out on washing that particular shirt – just until he’s gotten the chance to slip it on himself, occasionally sniffing the collar and getting something heavenly, something that can only be described as you and him together.)

Chrollo honestly isn’t sure what it is about you that’s gotten to him to develop feelings - he’s intrigued, earnestly trying to understand it, but as time passes and he finds himself spending more and more time simply thinking of you, he finds himself caring less.

It’s happened already - he’s in love, he’s certain, and now that he’s in that position, the only logical thing to do is pursue you. And while he tells himself it’s all because he wants to learn more about how you’ve managed to trick him into falling for you, really it’s all because he absolutely has to. The longer his infatuation goes on, the less time he can spend away from you, and the less he can justify the strength of his feelings.

He becomes restless when you’re not in his sight - his hands are shaking slightly, thin brows pinched together, every muscle in his body flexing involuntarily. His temper is heightened, irritation brewing in his chest even if he doesn’t mean it – he’s snapped at Nobunaga by accident, his words just a bit harsher, a bit more clipped when telling him the meeting time for the next month.

When he’s not been around you for long periods (a day or so), he just feels like something’s missing, something he can’t quite place. There’s a you shaped hole in his chest, and it turns Chrollo into something of an addict going through withdrawals - he’s become too dependent on the way you make something warm bloom in his chest, and the moment he’s without it, he’s counting down the seconds until he can return to you, return to the calmness and serenity of being around you.

And when you smile at him, answer his questions, brush your hand against his when he hands you a cup of tea, Chrollo can’t help but shiver slightly, his content smile twitching up at the corners ever so slightly. It’s addicting, the way you make him feel so alive, so strangely happy, so light and bubbly and horribly enslaved to his emotions. But while he’s never known himself to a weak man, he thinks he’d be okay with you being his Achilles heel - as long as you smile at him, let him stare as you talk away about your day, let him brush his knuckles against your cheek and whisper that you’re so warm and frail, Chrollo could care less.

He could care less about most things, really, once you step into his life - as long as you don’t leave him, that is. As long as you don’t abandon him, taking you and the feelings you ignite within him with you.

You wouldn’t dare, he’s sure of it.

Possessive

Tying into his desperation for you to stay under his thumb and by his side, Chrollo can’t seem to shake the way anger flares up inside him whenever another man interacts with you. He knows it’s irrational - it’s possible to have interactions with the opposite gender without ulterior motives; he regularly speaks with Machi, Pakunoda and Shizuku without any goals aside from Troupe business.

And yet, he just can’t forget the way he knows some men are - viscous, disgusting, cruel, vile in a way even Chrollo isn’t. He may be a mass murderer, mentally unstable, unhealthily in need of being in control and a pathological thief, but he’s never harassed a woman before. He’s never sneered at one, groped or touched them in a sexual way without their consent, and he’s only ever seduced a woman with the intent of getting information out of her.

But others?

He knows others are probably just as in love with you as he is - you’re beautiful, intelligent, sweet and oh so perfect, truly a naive, painfully unaware little bunny in a world full of wolves. And wolves will pounce, even if the bunny is already in another’s jaws - just the thought of another man attempting to intervene and seduce you themselves is enough to get Chrollo’s jaw clenching ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit and his fingers clasping around his nen book just a bit tighter.

He’s territorial, unwilling to share the way you make him feel with anyone else - only you can bring him the happiness he craves, so therefore only he is allowed to be on the receiving end. He hates the idea that another man could start chatting you up, throwing false compliments and sweet words your way, buttering you up and trying to steal you from right underneath his nose. It makes his fingers itch, the sense of control he harbors over you slipping slightly. It scares him, if he’s being honest – an emotion he hasn’t felt since he was very young, scavenging the streets of Meteor City.

He loves the way you’re able to make him feel, but this particular emotion he very much doesn’t like, nor does he enjoy the way jealousy pricks at his heart when another man glances at you. It leaves his blood boiling, every inch of his body feeling unbelievably hot, his muscles tensing up over and over.

And yet, Chrollo is a man of opportunity – while it may be torture to see you with another man, something excruciating in ways Chrollo has never experienced before, this is a good chance to paint himself in a better light. It’s a good opportunity to sway your perception of him – particularly if the man isn’t wooing you successfully.

Before he’s stolen you away, he’s quick to observe how men approach you, with suave smiles that make you visibly nervous, your high pitched responses to his questions vague and obviously constructed for your escape. It makes some weird sort of protectiveness spring up into him, but he holds himself back. He wills himself to wait just a tad bit longer, to elongate the discomfort you’re feeling because this will only really work if you’re desperate for an escape route. It’s torture, watching, but Chrollo holds on – until he decides you’re fearful enough, his long strides towards you not nearly as quick as he’d like.

Words will slip from his tongue before he can even really think, always placing himself in between you and the man, physically separating you as he quietly but firmly tells the man off, mentioning something about how unchivalrous it is to corner a defenseless woman.

Honestly, as shocked as you’ll be that Chrollo just emerges from the shadows so often, you’ll be incredibly grateful for his presence and intervention - which is exactly what he’s hoping for. He doesn’t like the way his possessiveness eats him up, but there’s something to be said about making sure that he saves you, making sure that you perceive him as your protector and someone to trust.

It’s an insurance thing, more than anything, because there’s nothing that calms Chrollo quite like knowing that you like him, that you’re associating positive emotions with him. It makes pride swell in his chest to think that you perceive him as some sort of guardian angel to you, and while it almost makes him pity you, it just makes his job easier.

It makes it easier to constantly be trailing you (you’ll never catch him, however), and to get you falling for him just as strongly as he’s fallen for you. If you hold him in a position of power, he will be exploiting that power and control - he’ll be subtle when he starts isolating you, the power trip making him giddy because now no one will talk to you. It makes the corners of his mouth twitch up when he sees that notification on his phone, your contact flashing across his screen.

(It’s just your full name, though sometimes he’ll play with the idea of adding a star next to it, or perhaps a diamond or crescent moon - it’s too childish for him, but he’ll often type it out and quickly delete it, only to retype and repeat the process.)

It makes him feel good to know that you’re contacting him, that you reached out to him, meaning you’re thinking of him and not someone else. He’s leaving small hints of his presence in your apartment; a copy of his book that he ‘accidentally’ left there last time you invited him over for dinner, a watch of his (that he stole, of course, but you don’t know that) that you keep neatly on your dresser and glance at every morning, marveling at how pristine and silver it is.

He’ll leave his leftovers in your refrigerator from nice evenings out, internally cooing at the way you finish them off yourself, liking that you’re wanting to finish his food, obviously not disturbed by the fact that his mouth may have touched a bit of it. He’s trying to stake his claim on everything around you, no matter how big or small it may be, just to get you thinking of him.

(Of course, he’s also a fan of staking his claim in ways you’re less knowledgeable about - he’s even spent nights at your apartment, dark eyes appraising your pretty, sleeping face, spending hours simply staring before wandering around your room, picking things up and digging through your drawers. Sometimes, on days when Troupe business has him feeling just a bit stressed, or he has to deal with particularly important but irritating individuals, he’ll even settle himself beside you, sitting in your desk chair and letting his black slacks fall to his knees, palming himself and shakily exhaling. He’ll caress your cheek with one hand, letting a strained, breathless smile slip across his face while his other hand relentlessly tugs and flicks around his cock, eager to see the way you’ll look with white splattered all across your pretty face. He’ll clean it up afterwards, mostly – it can’t hurt to leave a bit on your lips, right? Just so that you’ll taste him in the morning? Just so that he’ll be with you all night, all day tomorrow, so close?)

He’s possessive in the worst way possible, and while it manifests itself as seeming chivalrous and even a bit endearing, it’s anything but. There’s nothing cute about the way he religiously thinks of you, his every free moment spent watching you or speaking to you with the smoothest, most attractive voice he can muster.

There’s nothing sweet about the way his hand lingers on the small of your back, just a tad bit too insistent when he's guiding you through the crowd, making sure you don’t stray far enough away from him to let air flow between your bodies.

There’s nothing flattering about the way he gazes at you as you slowly wake up in his hold, with no memory of how you got there, no memory of where you are, no memory of how you’d changed into a pretty, billowy nightgown, and no memory of him, at least of the tattoo across his forehead or the carnal look in those eyes.

He’s a possessive freak, and once he decides you’re his target, there’s really no chance of escaping. So don’t even try.

Manipulative

He’s good at getting what he wants, and that mixed with his natural charisma leaves pretty much everyone he encounters susceptible to his charms. He’s spent his whole life studying human emotions, interactions and what drives people, and as such he’s got a pretty good understanding of how to exploit others, how to find the cracks in their armor that leave them putty in his hands.

It’s almost fun, in a way, like a puzzle Chrollo becomes extremely skilled at solving flawlessly. But when it comes to you? Well, no matter how adept you are at seeing through people, no matter how levelheaded or careful you are, Chrollo will be getting you wrapped around his little finger, completely bending to his will.

You are certainly no exception to his charms, if only because Chrollo is trying extra hard with you, the genuine drive to get you visibly bashful at his compliments and craving his touch nearly driving him to insanity. And honestly, you probably won’t even realize it – he’s subtle, giving you a small push here or there with little comments about the people around you, or about habits he wants you to break.

When you’re out together shopping around at stores much too expensive for you (courtesy of Chrollo smiling at you and requesting you let him buy you something, because it would mean so much to me, and I know you’ve secretly been yearning for that new dress), he’ll gently chastise you about how you shouldn’t talk to him anymore – don’t you see the way his eyes are on your chest rather than your face?

(The sales clerk who had been helping the two of you was most certainly not ogling your breasts – but even if you bring it up to your companion, he’ll just sigh softly at you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and murmuring that he knows men better than you do, that he can see right through them, just trust me, he would’ve given anything to have you alone.)

The comments will be small but plentiful, designed to get you listening to him and coming to think of him as right, as much smarter and more observant than yourself, something that Chrollo will use to his advantage. He does love you, in some twisted, sick way, but Chrollo’s idea of love is distorted, warped and made ugly by the way he treats you.

He knows it perhaps isn’t the classic method of wooing you, but there’s nothing wrong with twisting the situation just to make sure that his desired outcome sees fruition. He doesn’t like lying to you, and would prefer to always be truthful (to an extent, at least), but he understands that it’s what has to happen in order to make his long term plans a reality – in order to get you unconditionally devoted to him, just as he craves.

It’s unhealthy, but Chrollo doesn’t mind; which is why he’ll be putting to use every possible tactic he can think of to get you returning his feelings, all twinged with just a hint of manipulation, just to get the right seeds of thought planted in that pretty little head of yours.

He’s buying bouquets of flowers every week, sent to your address by hand with a note attached in big, loopy cursive detailing how gorgeous you are; haikus he writes describing your eyes, your hair, your figure and your laugh that get your neck and cheeks feeling warm, the flowers always your favorite colors. (The note also generously makes use of the word ‘my’, preceding nearly everything pertaining to you – my darling, my beloved, my angel, my future.)

He's dressing himself to the nines, with his shirts and pants always pressed and pristine, his cologne noticeably but not too intense, just the slightest touch of gel in his hair, all just to make sure he look as attractive and presentable as possible. He knows women find men in casual business wear attractive, and he’ll purposefully choose white dress shirts with the sheerest material he can get away with – just so that when the light hits just right, you’ll see the hard lines of muscle underneath, his abs and pectorals standing out and straining against the fabric. (He’s always making comments about how other men dress when he’s out with you – claiming that there’s wrinkles in their clothing, that wearing such bright, obnoxious colors are unbecoming of a true gentleman, that their watches and jewelry are obviously fakes, even that he’s seen that shirt for sale and it’s a laughable price – some men must not care much for beauty, and if they’re willing to purchase such low-quality items, imagine how poorly they must treat their partner.)

It’s a constant with him, as if he’s actively looking for every opportunity he can to make himself look better compared to those around him – call it a result of his possessiveness, or maybe some weird, unhealthy craving to get your praise and admiration.

Regardless, it’ll eventually have you slowly seeing what he means, finding yourself nodding along and agreeing with his words, even if you’d never have independently formed such a thought. It’s a slow process and will take a while to work, but Chrollo watches with intent, bright eyes and bitten lips, satisfaction oozing out of him because he’s got you right where he wants you, and sweet little you doesn’t even know.

Of course, once he’s stolen you away and permanently attached you to his hip, his manipulative tendencies don’t just magically disappear. Oh no – if anything they grow stronger, because now that you’re truly isolated, it’s just so much easier to mold you into the perfect version of yourself, all needy and dependent on him just as he wishes. It’s easy to get you believing things about those on the outside, using tactics like ignoring you or limiting your freedoms in order to get you caving to his desires, to get you listening and hanging on to his every word like it’s God himself speaking.

And really, Chrollo likes that imagery – that he’s your god and you’re his devoted little follower, worshipping everything he says and making him feel good, important, wanted in a way he’s never experienced before. (Although, in reality, the roles are more flipped – you’re his god, the one thing he comes crawling back to no matter the situation, his unending devotion to you rooted so deeply inside him that not even his soul is unaffected by you. He’s written poetry about the idea, entertaining it through writing, but he’s always quick to rip the pages out and crumple them, not enjoying the uncomfortable sense of truth in the words.)

So while Chrollo’s feelings for you do resemble love in some ways, his methods and expression very much doesn’t – he’s not afraid to lie t you in order to receive the results that he wants, and really, it’s best not to bother fighting him. He will prevail, no matter how to try and keep your head on straight, and it’s just easier for the both of you to not try, to not attempt to make sense of the mixture of lies and truth he feeds you. It’ll save you both time and energy, and Chrollo would really, really appreciate your cooperation – you’re cute when you’re being defiant, but it grows old.

And while Chrollo would never lose interest in you, he’s not above making you believe that he has – if it gets you obeying and letting him rest his hand on your hip (dipping down to firmly grip and squeeze at your thigh too, if he’s lucky), Chrollo will do anything it takes, no matter how depraved or violent.

Anything at all.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Chrollo, while liking to view himself as being above other men, is only human. He’s still a man, one with an intense, disgusting obsession with you, and the moment that your attention is threatened, the human side of Chrollo becomes very apparent.

It’s difficult to look at him and see it, but internally he’s simmering with jealousy every time another man approaches you, to the point where it becomes difficult to focus on anything else except you, except the way that you’re looking at someone else, talking with them and breathing the same air as them. It’s horrible, and even more so than the idea that you’ll be stolen away from another man, Chrollo doesn’t like the fact that this scum thinks he has to right to even be in your presence.

You’re perfect, in Chrollo’s eyes, and he hates the fact that others get to be around you so freely, even when that privilege is something should belong to him and him only. It angers him how other men don’t seem to understand that you’re already taken and claimed, your fate decided the moment Chrollo decides he wants you.

You’re better than everyone else, a breed above, and he's always just a bit worried that you’ll somehow be tainted by talking with other men, like your perfection will become marred when others look at you.

So, Chrollo does what he feels he must – he must interfere, even if getting closer and closer to the scene has his heart pounding, anger swimming through his veins in amounts he’s never, ever experienced. It’s cathartic, in a way, to have such sudden bursts of emotion, but as his dark gaze focuses on you, he decides that what you make him feel, all the warmth and dizziness and disorientation, is much better than the jealousy sitting heavily in his gut.

He’ll, of course, take his time; he’s opportunistic and wont’ simply waste the chance to further build his positive image in your mind, but waiting is absolute torture. He’s digging his nails into his palms with every moment he’s forcing himself to wait, dark gaze unblinking as he stares at the two of you, mentally berating the man and thinking of the thousands of ways he could torture and kill him. And once he thinks it’s finally, finally time, he’s not wasting a moment and approaching the two of you as fast as he can. It's easy to enter into the conversation, picking up something the man has said.

His voice is smooth and sure, a complete contrast from the stranger attempted to pick you up – your head turns sharply when you hear him, relief flashing over your features at a semi familiar face.

He’s maybe a regular at a café or diner you enjoy – you’ve seen him around, chatted lightly a few times, only really knowing his name and a few of the books he’s always reading.

And while Chrollo knows this, he can’t help the way his heart practically soars when he sees how visibly relieved you are for his presence. His fingers twitch with the intention of reaching out and cupping your cheek, but he refrains himself.

The man, however, doesn’t seem nearly as pleased by his sudden arrival – he’s scowling slightly, brows tucked inwards as he growls out sorry, but we’re having a private conversation.

Your relieved and awed expression suddenly returns to a grim and fearful one, and internally Chrollo feels his anger flare. His face is still neutral, however, as he responds carefully and calmly that he’s making you obviously uncomfortable, and it’s the chivalrous thing to do when I see a woman being harassed. The man splutters slightly, shocked at Chrollo’s forwardness.

He tries to argue back, claiming you were answering his questions, being polite, so evidently you must have wanted him, right?

You’re unimpressed, shrinking back further away from the man and instead subtly getting closer to Chrollo, something he notes with a distinct sense of pleasure. Chrollo doesn’t let up, however, continuing to inform the man that you don’t want to be there, that you aren’t really interested when he offers to show you his apartment that he swears is the best thing you’ll ever see.

You’re grateful, and as weak and lame as it makes you feel to have Chrollo fighting this particular battle for you, you’re glad he showed up. He always seems to show up, really, just when you need him – it’s almost magic, you think, how he seems to know when you need help. The image of him as your savior makes your cheeks feel warm, the girlish thought embarrassing but oddly accurate.

Eventually the man leaves, huffing and muttering under his breath about how you weren’t even all that pretty anyways, and Chrollo feels his eye twitch, a small flick of the wrist inserting just a bit of nen into his shoulder.

Not enough for the man to feel it, but just enough so that he can keep track of his whereabouts. You’re immediately thanking him profusely, embarrassed about how inept you’d seemed, some small part of you hoping you didn’t look as pathetic as you felt.

But he doesn’t seem to mind – if anything, he’s silent, allowing your rambling to continue on, those dark eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze. It’s intense, but as your voice dies off after the fifth ‘thank you’, he only softly smiles.

Of course, his voice is low and nearly demure, making a shiver roll down your spine, it’s no trouble at all. I’d help you out anytime you need me.

He can tell you’re flustered, and while he wants nothing more than to revel in the sight of you looking bashful, twiddling with your thumbs and stumbling over your words, he knows he has to leave. He needs to leave, really, so that he can check over his book of nen, flipping to the page where that the location of that piece of scum that had bothered you was.

He bids you farewell with a twinkle in his eye, looking over his shoulder as he turns and walks away. You look so pretty, standing there and staring at him, trying to hide the way your mouth gapes open, and Chrollo bites his lip ever so slightly, closing his eyes and reveling in the way his chest feels all warm and airy from just the sight of you. Soon he’s turning off the street where it had all happened, immediately stepping into an alleyway and flipping open the book.

The nen signature leads him to a dingy apartment – surely not the beauty he’d been boasting to you about – and Chrollo nearly snorts as he sees the man throwing back his head, drowning the beer bottle in hand. No one else is in the apartment, he finds as he slips through the front door, which is ideal. He’s quick to conjure up his giant nen fish, a smile slowly spreading across his lips as the man suddenly freezes, unable to move as a fish moves to nibble at a toe, teeth biting and crunching through bone.

It doesn’t take long – maybe ten minutes or so, but Chrollo enjoys every moment of watching the man slowly get eaten alive, those dark eyes wide and excited. It’s euphoric, really, and as he remembers the way the man had nearly had the audacity to touch you, to touch what was Chrollo’s, he can’t stop himself from chuckling slightly.

It’s only after the fact, once all is said and done, that he notices his hands are shaking, his cheeks a bit sore from smiling for such a long period of time. It’s only then that he hears how his heartbeat is loud in his ears, blood pounding as the excitement and satisfaction of seeing the sofa now empty, not a spec of blood ruining the upholstery.

He wishes he could have killed him by his own hand, perhaps stabbed him a few times, burned him alive, maybe even drowned him – but this is better, because now when you watch the news you won’t see some horrible, mangled body.

And once he’s stolen you away, it’s better if you don’t see the gruesome ways that he’s killed – how will you continue to look at him with such adoration and love in your eyes if you do? And Chrollo couldn’t stand to not have you gaze at him with anything short of fondness, admiration, desperation.

He closes the man’s apartment door, making sure to lock it, before tapping into the nen wedge lodged into your own shoulder – seems you’re walking home now. Perhaps you’d like some company from the shadows.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Chrollo is extremely methodical with his approach towards seducing you.

He’s careful to present himself as a gentleman, a classically chivalrous man with his dark features and smooth voice. He’s never tried to genuinely make someone develop feelings for him before – it’s only ever been for a job or to place someone into the palm of his hand, but with you it’s different.

He’s actively trying everything he can think of to make you like him, pouring through romance novels to find common themes, trying all manner of approaches and tactics so that you’ll only associate him with happiness and nerves.

And frankly, Chrollo will absolutely get you falling for him. By the time that he feels he’s ready to steal you away, you’ve probably developed a massive crush on him, your feelings strong and difficult to ignore. Really, you can’t be blamed – he’s a master manipulator, and while his romantic experience is dismal, it’s not so hard to find out your favorite flower and leave a bouquet at your door. It’s not so difficult to send expensive perfumes or jewelry to you, attached with a note detailing what it is about the piece that makes him think of you.

You’ll nearly be in love, something that he’s worked extremely hard to cultivate. It hasn’t been easy, holding off all this time. There’s been more opportunities than he can count where he could’ve so easily swept you into his arms and took off into the night, never to have you seen again by anyone but himself.

He’s had to physically restrain himself more often than he’d care to admit from reaching out and grabbing you, tucking you so tightly against his chest that you can’t breath as he boards the airship, the Troupe standing guard outside your new bedroom to make sure you don’t get any funny ideas. You’re laughably weak compared to him, and while it sometimes causes Chrollo to worry for your safety, it’s ultimately an asset to him.

Because now that you’re completely under the impression that Chrollo is the perfect man for you, it’s all so much easier to relocate you without a fuss. It all happens much faster than Chrollo had expected, however – all too soon you’re seeing blurry images on the television news one night, the cereal you’d been eating forgotten as you take in the familiar earrings, the dark eyes, the forehead tattoo he’s always written off as a family tattoo.

You’re in shock, eyes wide as you listen to the anchor list off the multitudes of crimes the Troupe has been accused of, and for a moment you refuse to believe it’s true. That’s not Chrollo – not your Chrollo, the man who picks you up at 7:00 sharp for the dinner date he’s reserved at the fanciest restaurant in town.

That’s not your Chrollo, the man who opens doors for you and pulls out your chair, almost placing a hand on the small of your back to guide you through large crowds. He could never murder someone – could never be the cause of the some hundreds of lost lives the TV claims he’s responsible for.

But then you hear a sigh, that familiar voice murmuring out that it’s really all just so unfortunate, I was hoping to gain your favor a bit more. Alas, the façade is up, I’ll make sure to pack that sweatshirt you love so much. Please, love, don’t struggle too much. There’s a pinprick in your neck, those dark eyes the last thing you see before blackness surrounds you. Chrollo can only mournfully look down at you, having caught your unconscious body in his arms.

It’s a good opportunity to run his fingers over your lips, to trace the shape of your nose, to press a surprisingly sweet kiss to your forehead. It was inevitable, but I’m sure you’ll forgive me eventually. We’re made for one another, after all.

Once you’re trapped with him, a few things will become very apparent to you very quickly. Firstly, Chrollo is a criminal – the dashing man you thought you knew is not real, his true personality slipping out almost immediately. He’s no longer attempting to hide the reality of his work, discussing new jobs and elimination plans over the phone in the same room as you, not mincing words when he tells the mystery man to make it messy, the more blood the better.

Second, he’s a very important man. He’s constantly being phone called, stepping out for this or that meeting, making decisions you don’t even understand. The very few people he’s ever let you meet almost seem to revere him, unconditionally bowing to his word and only addressing him as Boss.

Third, he’s much stronger than you’d realized, the odd pressure he seems to radiate growing and ebbing at various points in the day. You’d seen the way he’s merely flicked his wrist and a man that had seen the handcuffs initially around you was suddenly headless, sliced clean off without so much as a sound.

Lastly, Chrollo Lucilfer is desperate. Despite being kidnapped, forced to jump from hotel room to hotel room firmly attached at his hip, there’s never been a lull in the way that he demands your attention. There’s never been a free moment where he’s not looking at you, that same small smile quirking on his lips that used to fluster you but now only makes your gut twist. He’s always asking you questions – some are easy, surface level and don’t require effort on your part. He’s asking what your favorite color is, what your favorite breakfast foods are, if you prefer to wake up early or sleep in.

(He already know the answers, but he likes hearing you say it.)

Some are more difficult, making you consider your words before you speak them. He’s asking you whether you’ve ever dreamed of what your wedding venue will look like (he of course pushes for details, mentally noting everything and imagining it alongside you), what you would name a pet cat (either solid black or solid white fur, you pick), asking you to jot down a few of your favorite songs so that he can compile a playlist for you, as you have limited electronic access (the playlist is really for him, so that when he’s away on missions he can still feel like he’s with you, but that’s besides the point).

And then there’s the ‘why’ questions – these are the hardest, his eyes boring into you as he asks you why you claim to love your friends, why you’re fighting him so hard, why you think life itself even exists. They make you think, and while you don’t want to answer, Chrollo will keep pushing and pushing and pushing, using your words against you and slowly taking away any privileges you’ve managed to earn.

It’s not worth the fight that ensues if you ignore any of his questions, so you’ll answer as succinctly as possible, choosing your words carefully and watching for his reactions. Mostly, he just likes to hear your voice – knowing there’s no one else in the room, so you’re talking to him and only him, thinking of ways to respond to what he asked you.

He likes to know your opinion on things, each and every word you utter only furthering his fascination with you, contradictions in your thoughts popping up right and left. Mostly, as a captor, Chrollo is really just omnipresent. He’s always there, dark eyes trained on you and listening to every little thing you say, watching every little thing you do, commenting on what feels like every thought you have.

It’s exhausting, the way he’s constantly hovering, the way he’s constantly on the look out for any kind of interaction with him, and at first you’ll find yourself growing tired, afraid, frantic to be alone.

You’ll eventually explode, yelling at him and telling him to leave you alone, to disappear, to just get away from me, you monster! He’s silent as your words sink in, his face carefully neutral, before he laughs softly, shaking his head a bit.

If that’s what you wish, he’ll ominously tell you, walking out the hotel room door and locking it behind him. It’s wonderful, the first few hours without him – finally some time to yourself, to really cry or scream or just ponder your new life.

But after a day or two passes, thing start changing – you don’t like Chrollo, you promise, but it’s sort of lonely without him. The hotel room is big but empty, his missing presence louder than the silence. You’ll slowly find yourself starting to miss him, wishing he’d come back and continue asking those stupid questions of his, to brush his fingers against your cheeks and thighs, to gaze at you with that deranged but enamored look in his eye.

By day five, you’re frantic for him to come back, taking to sitting in the corner and staring at the door, persuading yourself that he’ll have to return sometime, that eventually he’ll come back to you, that he won’t just leave you alone to die.

And when he does, ten days after leaving you fully alone (minus the cameras placed in the room), he’s shocked to feel the way you rush in for a hug as the door swings open. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest, and Chrollo can’t help but blink widely down at you, lips parted but no sounds coming out. He knew the loneliness was getting to you, but you’d never initiated physical contact like this before. Was it an act of desperation, or was it because you were missing him?

Did you ache for human contact, or did you ache for his contact?

He’s not sure, but he finds himself humming and returning the gesture, letting a hand pet your hair as he asks you if you missed him, if you’d gotten lonely, if you’d like to lay down for a bit with him. You’re not as clingy after you pull away from the hug, but Chrollo doesn’t care – you lay with him, a good two feet of space between your bodies, but it’s progress.

You’re more open after that, not flinching away and snapping at him when he reaches out to touch you. Instead, you’re almost leaning into his touch, enjoying it – which leads to another key aspect of being Chrollo’s captive; the touching.

He’s not invasive with it in the beginning, but as time passes you’ll notice the way his hand is always lingering at your waist, his fingers drumming against your skin. You’ll realize he’s always shuffling closer to your body, dissatisfied with the space between you. You’ll get used to the way he asks for a kiss before you both fall into slumber, his arms snaking around your middle and pulling you back against his chest as he sighs into your ear.

The rational side of you is enraged, disgusted by his attempts at romantic and intimate touches, but a part of you that grows larger with every passing day stops caring, slowly accepting that Chrollo is all you have left now, and that you should take advantage of every ounce of affection he’s willing to show you. It may not be real (though the obsession that gleams in his eyes certainly is, as is the blood that sometimes stains his pale chest when he returns home from a few days away), but it’s something.

It’s enough that you can almost overlook the way he keeps you trapped in the hotel rooms, stuck by his side, with only your books and himself to entertain you. You can almost forget the way he’s freely admitted to killing for you, nonchalantly threating family members if you try to escape, telling you he’ll hear about anything and everything you do because nothing can hide from him.

Eventually, you’ll stop caring – your life is easier now, all the stress and worries of independence gone, and Chrollo couldn’t be more pleased that you’re settling down, or mellowing, as he likes to say. You’re closer to realizing your true purpose with him – to continue to give him that warmth he craves, to continue to let him kiss and hold you, to let him steal every ounce of your attention and time.

He’s a thief after all, and now that you’re his, he’s entitled to take whatever he wants.

PUNISHMENTS:

While Chrollo is, overall, a somewhat lenient captor, he does have a few strict guidelines.

Firstly, you are to never ignore him. To ignore him would mean a rejection of his feelings for you, and while Chrollo is normally a cool, level-headed man, the second you even encroach on any actions that could be considered a rejection of a his love, of him, he’s clenching his jaw and doing his best to not lash out, keeping his temper and check and calculating ways to make you recognize the consequences of your actions.

Secondly, do not try to escape. He’s lucid enough to understand that once you’ve first been kidnapped, you’re likely to try everything in your power to escape. It doesn’t matter how deeply your feelings for him have formed – it’s only human nature to not enjoy being trapped, which is why he’ll have to train you, to make sure that you correctly acclimate to your new life with him, to your new future.

And lastly, you must never attempt to hurt him. Of course, you could never do any real damage, but the sentiment will hurt him more than he’d care to admit – by reaching out and wishing him harm, you are, once again, rejecting him. You’re displaying a desire to wound him, and he absolutely cannot have you thinking that you’re in any position of power or control in your relationship with him.

(You are, of course, because Chrollo’s dependence on you is really quite pathetic and sad, but you won’t be aware of the depth of his feelings for you until very, very late into your time with him. He’s good at hiding this, if only because letting you see him vulnerable would mean letting you have a sliver of control over him, a concept that terrifies him to his very core.)

Those three things are really the only ways to set Chrollo off – he’s generally pretty adaptable, able to read you like a clock and understanding what you’re thinking merely by watching your facial expressions, and because of this he won’t often punish you. He doesn’t like the idea of disciplining you, instead preferring to simply manipulate you into thinking and feeling the way he wants you to. But, if any of the three rules are breached, Chrollo finds himself resorting to more extreme measures, doing what he feels is necessary to garner the results he’s looking for.

Even so, he won’t ever rely upon physical means to punish you – he doesn’t like the idea of you being injured or hurt, and it would be a hassle to mend the damage hurting you would cause.

So, Chrollo defaults to more manipulative measures, punishments he knows will leave you crying and terrified, inflicting more psychological rather than physical damage. It’s the only way he can get what he wants, after all, and Chrollo has always been determined to get his way – even at the expense of you, his most prized possession.

When you’re staring at him with such hard, pained eyes, it almost makes him feel bad for a moment. Almost, if only because your words are replaying in his head, the tone and wavering in your voice making pause for a brief moment.

You’d said you hated him, that he was a monster, that you were unhappy being with him. It was all things Chrollo had already known, of course, but it certainly didn’t feel good to hear them come from you, nonetheless.

He just sighs, looking at you with that same belittled, heavy gaze, telling you to calm down, darling, don’t say things you don’t mean.

This just angers you more, it seems, because soon you’re nearly screaming, throwing a pillow or two at him as you yell that you’re not lying, you sick fuck! I hate you, I will never love you, I will never need you! Please, you have to let me go, I can’t stand being with you any longer!

What you’re saying isn’t even particularly harsh – he’s heard much, much worse from his victims over the years, searing words insulting his intelligence, his appearance, his morals, his past, everything and anything. And yet, there’s something about hearing the words coming from you that makes him flounder a bit, a sinking feeling in his gut making him stand up straight, appraising your shaking, heaving form across the room. It’s silent for a few long moments, before he simply adjust his jacket, pulling the lapels slightly and turning his back to you. Very well then, if that’s how you feel. As you wish, my dear.

And with that, he’s slipping out the hotel door, disappearing to who knows where. You’re left trembling in anger, your breathing unsteady, but before you can think you’re rushing to the door, wiggling the handle violently and sucking in a sharp breath when you feel that it’s unlocked, practically begging you to throw it open and leave this godforsaken hotel room.

As you rush away, sprinting down staircases and down never-ending hallways, you’ll distantly know that this is probably a trap. Chrollo wouldn’t just let you go, you’re sure, especially with such suspicious time. But you can’t stop yourself from taking advantage of the opportunity, deciding that even if it is a trap, the few brief moments of freedom that you’ll have will be enough to warrant it all.

And yet, as you push through the front doors and take a look around the busy, bustling street you’ve stumbled upon, you nearly sob. You have no idea where you are, the landmarks totally unfamiliar, but you’re free, feeling the sunlight on your skin without Chrollo’s presence pressed into your side, his cold fingers pushing into your hip or shoulder. You don’t have any money and have no idea where to go, but your legs are moving faster than you can think, wandering through the city along back roads and side streets.

Hours quickly pass by, exhaustion beginning to settle into your bones as the sun dips back behind the horizon, leaving the city in shadows and quiet aside from the hum of cars and the bustle of city goers. It’s only once you’re stumbling through an alley that you hear it – him, to be specific.

At least, you’re pretty sure it’s a man – the footsteps are obviously trying to be quiet, but they’re not doing a good enough job to go unnoticed by you. He’s breathing loudly, too, and as you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide and scared, you don’t see anyone.

You’re sure there’s someone there, that they’ve followed you down this alleyway, and as you press your back against the slightly wet brick wall of the building behind you, you feel your heart practically about to beat out of your chest.

Who was there?

It’s silent for a moment, before a short laugh is barked out, the man emerging from behind a dumpster. Shadow falls over his face, making it impossible to see his face, but you do see his size. He’s a monster of a man, bulky shoulders easily above your head, muscles bulging along his arms and under his pants. A wild bed of hair sits atop his head, and you feel yourself freeze, fear eating away at your heart.

You can’t move as the man comes closer, face still hidden in the darkness, and it’s only when he comes down to punch at your stomach do you realize what’s about to happen, panic engulfing your senses as his fist comes closer and closer and closer – It sucks the air right out of your lungs, making you wheeze and gasp for breath, knees slamming into the concrete below you as you gasp and struggle to regain your breath.

The man laughs, a timber, horrible sound, but stops abruptly at the distant sound of sirens. He curses under his breath, and you feel his eyes on you, daring to look up at him in between your fits of coughing.

You’re lucky, bitch, he starts, voice gravelly as he begins backing up. Next time I’ll get you, the cops won’t be coming and I’ll show you why weak little things like you shouldn’t be in alleyways late at night – makes it hard for me to resist ya, and I think you’d look even better without that ugly ass nightgown you’ve got on.

And with that, he’s sprinting down the alley, running away even as the sirens get further and further away. You’re left to lay on the cold, wet ground, having regained your breath but letting tears stream down your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you’d been hoping that Chrollo would magically appear, just like he always does. You’d hoped that he would’ve stopped the stranger’s punch, that he would’ve saved you just like he used to.

The thought of Chrollo makes you flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from wondering if maybe he was right. Maybe he’s right that you can’t take care of yourself, that you’re too weak for this world, that you’re better off with a monster like him (quoted directly from him, with that signature smirk of his) rather than the everyday men.

You curl up, knees to your chest for a while, before your up again, wandering and trying to retrace your steps back to the hotel you’d run out of only hours ago. Eventually you’ll make it back, and as you wait in the lobby, rubbing at your now dirty and bruised body, your eyes will flick across every person entering and exiting, before you begrudgingly make your way to the elevator, riding up tot eh floor you knew your room was on.

It takes everything in you to knock on the door – his door, but eventually you do. And when he opens it, a small hello trickling past his lips, you can’t help but let out an ugly, gaspy sob, rushing forward and wrapping your arms around him. It feels horrible, disgusting, so very good to feel how he returns the hug, gently patting your back and smoothing down your hair, a soft hello my dear making your shoulders shake.

He won’t ask too many questions, letting you inside and nearly forcing you into the shower, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Even when he’s got you wearing a fresh set of soft, lounging clothing (with a neckline just a bit too low to cover your collarbone, something his eyes are often drawn to), you can’t find it in yourself to ask. He’s talking to you, after all, asking you if you enjoyed your time in the real world, if it was as grand as you’d hoped.

His eyes are twinkling, and although the apology you offer up isn’t as loud or insistent as he’d hoped for, it still makes him smile, his throat bobbing as he loudly swallows.

The conversation is over for the evening, and it’s only after you fall asleep (in his bed, he notes with a somewhat shy smile and a shaky exhale) that he pulls out his phone, pressing the contact name and smiling at the dial tone.

Thank you, Uvogin, he starts, letting a hand run very lightly over your leg under the sheets. This favor won’t be forgotten.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The thing that makes Chrollo a dangerous yandere is less his violent tendencies, and more of the way you nearly won’t recognize yourself after being with him for long enough.

Of course, he loves you – a sick, messy, disgusting love that he quickly grows addicted to. He finds you irresistible, fascinating and growing drunk off the way your body fits with him, but he’s still a criminal. He’s still a mass murderer, singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of more than he can count, and he will not be suddenly listening to commonplace morals once his feelings for you form.

There’s no such thing as bad to him – he views you as his woman, his partner and his most precious, cherished possession, and as a result he has absolutely no qualms about doing what he wants to you. He’s manipulative, lying to you just as often as he tells the truth, making you feel as if you’re going crazy because you have no idea what’s real and what’s fake.

He’s possessive, slowly isolating you and barring you from any contact at all with anyone he deems a threat to your future with him, or anyone at all, really. He doesn’t want you to grow feelings for another man, and has no issues with cutting off your contact with everyone in your life that you hold dear. He’s always got that same look on his face; a small, prideful smile, his dark eyes so impossibly wide and sparkling as he stares at you, every ounce of his attention focused on you and only you.

He’s terrifying, and while you’ll more than likely develop feelings for him before you know of his true self, you’ll begrudgingly find those feelings doesn’t entirely dissolve even once you know that he’s a crook and a perverted, horrible man who’s stolen you away. You’ll probably still find him charming, still thinking his hair looks soft enough to touch, still finding his hands (littered with a fair share of veins) drool worthy, even when you realize how many have likely died because of them.

You’ll hate yourself for it, but you will eventually find yourself growing just as dependent on Chrollo as he is on you – and really, that’s exactly what he wants. He wants you to need him, to yearn for him and crave him, if only because he feels all that for you and more, and he needs to make sure he has you under his thumb, so that your pretty smile and lovely voice and heavenly body are never not by side.

Things would grow ugly if you were to ever be snatched away from him, corpses piling up and his own sanity slipping away until he can hold you in his arms once more, pressing his lips messily, desperately against yours, hearing you say his name with that lilt you always do.

Chrollo needs you, and it’s best if you just give in – you may essentially be ending your own life, but you’re giving meaning to his and saving so many others. So, so many others.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_chrollo lucilfer

782 notes · View notes

allamericansbitch · 5 months

Text

since y'all seemed to want this.... here's the live notes i took while listening to each song for the first time (bold are thoughts i had during later listens)

fortnight:

‘i was a functioning alcohol till nobody noticed my new aesthetic’ what the fuck does that even mean…

love the fact she gave post the female collab treatment. don’t wanna hear what he has to say.

they’re voices sound actually good together?

some pockets of the melody are catchy

okay i don’t hate this

ttpd:

her red flags are on fire in this song lol

this seems very half-cooked

also jacks weird mixing continues to plague us all

CHARLIE PUTH???? WHAT THE FUCK WHY HE HERE

tattooed golden retriever??? ……no way

my boy breaks all his favorite toys:

i blinked and it’s half over

this also is like… half cooked and didn’t need to be released tbh

i love the way she sings the second verse tho

down and:

the production does not match the vibe

did tpain produce this

i’m… kinda bored lol

like i have nothing to say this also didn’t need to be released tbh

this grew on me a lot actually

so long london

the production is so futuristic?

oh im obsessed with how she sounds on this one

her talk-singing in the verses is great

honest lyrics without any clunky unnecessary metaphors! a win!!

the fast-paced verses with th slow chorus is really really cool

a favorite so far

daddy i love him

i can barely hear her? the bad mixing continues

‘growing up precociously sometimes means not growing up at all’ oh yeah WE KNOW

is this…… is this about her dating matty and loving how people hate him… no fucking way she’s this stupid

SHE IS BEING THIS STUPID

‘it’s white noise’ yeah yeah that’s exactly how id describe him

.... anyway y'all remember when fans really believed the little mermaid theory and this song was supposed to be about how 'joe stole her voice' lmaooo

we will pretend this one doesn't exist!

fresh out the slammer

are we getting another ‘i didn’t cheat technically’ song lol

what is this weird tempo change….

okay kinda catchy

it’s sounds exactly like you are in love at the end….. jack is really out of tricks

florida

‘my friends all smell like weed or little babies’ what the fuck is she even talking about anymore

i’m sorry but i’m laughing at the phrase ‘fuck me up florida’

again the production sounds so detached from the vocals

i honestly still have no idea how i feel about this one

guilt as sin

an real instrument?? wow crazy

okay she’s kinda cute? catchy and fun, love the melody

i love when she goes up at the end of the vocal

okay…. i don’t mind this one she’s catchy, a little too long and drawn out but cute

who’s afraid of little old me?

what is this production? it’s way too soft to be as threatening as they’re trying for

why did jack push her vocals back so far when she’s supposed to scream…. that’s ruins the whole thing…. she’s supposed to be screaming and threatening….. not quiet and far away…. hello

this song is trying very hard to be threatening but it’s not... vigilante shit 2.0

‘you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum they raised me’…………… upper middle-class pennsylvania?

‘i’m drunk on my own tears isn’t that what they all say, that’ll sue you if you step on my lawn’ okay bar?

the bridge was good but that’s about it.

i can fix him

…………… not another matty song oh god

‘i can handle a dangerous man’…… im too stunned to speak this is so embarrassing

wow taylor really is that girl who like ‘women supporting women’ and then dates/defends a racist bf…. a walking example of white feminism

intersectional feminism found dead.... twice....

loml

okay this is really nice?

I WAS ACTUALLY ENJOYING THE SONG WHY DID SHE RUIN IT BY SAYING ‘MR STEAL YOUR GIRL’ 💀

if we ignore that one line we're good this is good. im refusing to let that line ruin such a good song

i can do it with a broken heart

‘bitch smile’ why are there so many cringey lyrics on this album lol

what is this song omg why do i kind of like it

taylor please learn depressed isn’t a synonym for sad

they recycled the mastermind production

wait till taylor finds out most of the entire world is sad while they're doing their job and has to pretend they're not

smallest man who ever lived

oh i think i like this?

‘you said normal girls were boring’ GIRL AND YOU DIDNT IMMEDIATELY GET UP AND LEAVE??? EWWWW??? she's not beating the pick-me allegations

'i just wanna know if rusting my sparking summer was the goal' okay love that line

i like this a lot

the alchemy

no….. no way this is real

i cannot

THE SPORTS METAPHORS WE JOKED SHED DO THAT AND SHE ACTUALLY DID IT OH NO

touchdown ✅ teams ✅ benches ✅ winning streak ✅ the league ✅

she’s doing…… the worst thing ever this is so laughable

the corny lyrics are on overload

‘this time it’s heroine with an e’ didn’t she write folklore? i can’t remember

that literally was an snl parody of a taylor song

clara bow

love how the guitar sounds… bet money this is an aaron track

a stevie nicks reference!! a win!!!

i like this one a lot no cringey lyrics yet

nope never mind she name-dropped herself don’t like that

overall really liked it tho

the black dog

i think i like it?? this is kind of what i expected the album to be

okay for once the weird production choices kind of pay off

imgonnagetyouback

kinda catchy?

she loves a fancy car getting wrecked line

the pre-choruses are the best part

this would’ve been better without the jack of it all bc he loves a song that doesnt build to anything

this just comes down to personal preference: i don’t like her lighter vocals with jack’s heavy production (ie most of lover lol)

the albatross

a real instrument!!! production that matches taylor’s voice and is well mixed!!! aaron’s arrived!!

i think it’s solid, has good writing and she sounds great. that's about it.

chloe or sam or…

took me a solid minute to have any semblance of a fuck to know what was going on but okay

okay i love this one

wayyyy more emotive than like… most of the original album

a lot of the 2nd version (or whatever this is lol) are way more emotive, maybe because her voice isnt drenched in reverb so we can actually hear her voice emote better

how did it end

this sounds like an old school adele song?

i love this one too….

her being upset people wanna know what happened but then also feeding it while promoting the album oop

i love the story of this one it's so refreshing

so high school

THE PRODUCTION is so good ugh aaron never fails

the man here is a walking red flag girl and the lyrics are ~not it~ but the production is too pretty to hate it

fuck these lyrics are so bad lol

maybe if i disassociate hard enough i can ignore the lyrics and just listen to the production and vibe

give me a karaoke version of this song and we'd be so back

i hate it here

i mentioned disassociation and she made a whole song about it!!!! this one’s mine!!!!

‘without all the racists’ GIRL HUH

WHAT WAS THE REASON

also... girl don’t act like we don’t know you’re fine with that lololololol

if i had a dime for every time i was liking a song to then have it slapped away because of a bad, out-of-pocket lyric……

thank you aimee

this isn’t grabbing my attention

oh the bridge is interesting

it’s meh

i will never be thanking the people that bullied me thanks tho

i look in peoples windows

what do you mean aaron didn’t produce this??? it’s well-made and has instruments?

i love this one, again a really interesting and unique concept that's very refreshing to hear at this point when a lot of the songs feel repetitive

the prophecy

aaron guitar!!!!

she’s nice i like her

i've really grown to love how she sings this one, the melodies are cool.. however i feel like we've heard the same melody.. like on this exact album... where she upturns at the end of every line...

cassandra

this seems very…. familiar… idk i feel like we’ve covered this (i mean there are 31 songs we’ve already covered everything lol)

this is such an aaron song, that's a classic 'the national' piano

i like her voice in this one tho, sounds good

peter

oh love i love this

now this? THIS feels the most like a taylor swift song

once again she’s at her best with a simple instrument and emotive simple lyrics

the piano reminds me of champagne problems

the bolter

i like this! the chorus is so cute

oh i like that ending line a lot!

she’s cute, a little long and drawn out but cute

robin

i haven’t seen anyone talk about this one

welp…. i literally have no feelings toward this one but sounds pretty!

the manuscript

oh this is soooooooo powerful

i love this concept

her ending the album on another introspective album that sums everything up a la dear reader yep yep!!

if you actually read of this ily 💗

#tp #ttpd lb #kind of lol

112 notes · View notes

alatusprinz · 1 year

Text

Matsuri - (Xiao x Fem!Reader x Scaramouche) - Modern!UniStudents!AU

word count : 5.1k

trigger warning: none except potential swearing. reader wears a dress and is referred to in feminine titles.

Chapter 2 - Someday .

Proceed to masterlist - Matsuri .

---

“Anonymous: thank you…?”

You were positive you were dreaming when you saw the private message on the anonymous website of your college community. There was actually no way this was him, was someone messing with you after they saw your post? That had to be it, it felt too good to be true.

You shakily typed back a response after pondering for a solid minute spent staring at the screen motionlessly.

“Are you really the drummer who played Raise Hell?” You hesitantly pressed “Send”, heart pounding in your chest with millions of questions raising in your head. It was the name of the first song they performed, the hidden gem you didn’t imagine many knew until you coincidentally heard the familiar melody today.

To your surprise, the reply came relatively faster than you first assumed.

“I am, yes. Could I ask who you are?” Slight anxiety from his curt message made your hand tremble as you hurriedly thought of a reply. People don’t normally immediately tell their names or introduction in situations such as this, do they? It’s not as if he knows you to begin with, so you decide to somewhat divert the question.

“I was at your performance, and I just wanted to write about how cool it was to see you and your bandmates on stage. I’m sorry if the post made you uncomfortable!” You sent the reply, and stared at his previous message for a while. Call it the spur of the moment, but you remember adding something embarrassing along the lines of “I wonder if he has a girlfriend”. It was too late to delete or edit the post now but god, you truly did regret adding that part. It's not like you could’ve known he would (un)fortunately see it, or even send you a private message to begin with. You didn’t even write to post in an attempt to court him if that’s what he was worried about. Then again you imagine you’d find yourself apprehensive if you saw the same post regarding your performance if you were in his shoes.

Just as you were starting to wonder if you said something weird for him to not want to reply anymore, he thankfully did after around ten minutes.

“Not at all, it was just curiosity speaking. Thank you for appreciating our performance.” Now, you appreciate him replying at all but his messages really had no corner for you to turn to continue the conversation. Was it perhaps on purpose? You guess you’d never know if you didn’t push your luck a bit.

“Your first performance really was amazing because I hadn’t heard Raise Hell in years! I really liked the arrangement your band made.” Your eyes nearly popped out when he replied almost immediately after you pressed send.

“Oh, Raise Hell? It’s nice to hear the band isn’t as underappreciated as I thought. :)” Shoot, your heart almost leapt out of your chest at the random smile he added at the end. Something about the fact that he wrote the smiley face in between two dots to end the sentence properly made it even more adorable than it probably would’ve been otherwise.

You blinked in slight pause when you noticed the smile on your face that bloomed beyond your control, and at least attempted to keep a straight expression on the bus in a sea of passengers.

“I love the song, I used to listen to it a lot back in high school. I really didn’t expect to hear it today, your band did an amazing job performing it, truly.” You wrote the reply back after a little more than 3-5 minutes so as to not startle him with an instant reply. Call it dignity or pretending to have something to do if you will, there’s just something distasteful about immediately replying especially to someone you barely knew. And in this case, a complete stranger you knew nothing about except for the fact that he plays the drum and is unfairly attractive.

After a while, your phone vibrated in your hand. The speed at which you picked it up to check the message would be somewhat embarrassing to let someone else see, but truth be told you couldn’t be bothered to think of what strangers on the transportation thought of you when you were overjoyed that you actually managed to contact the pretty drummer like this.

“I suggested the song to my bandmates, actually. It took a little bit of persuasion but it was worth it in the end, I’d say.” As if he was actually talking in front of you, you nodded a little as you read the last part. “Worth it” would be an understatement, their band truly did an amazing job performing the song. You found yourself repeating that over and over both to him and yourself.

Suddenly you felt maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to write that post spontaneously after all.

—

The pretty drummer had slowly become some sort of an internet friend before you knew it. It had been a little more than two months since you two first started chatting. It was like an unspoken rule between you two to keep the somewhat exciting anonymity, neither of you knowing each other’s names or faces yet. Well, you’d be the one with a slight advantage because at least you knew how his hair looked. The raven locks flowing past his shoulder slightly with that prominent forest green streak, it was hard not to remember. But then again, he was wearing a mask and even if he weren’t, you couldn’t have had a clear look from the distance between your seat and the stage. So in other words, it was safe to say neither of you knew much about each other personally except for the most random messages you two end up sharing in the comfort of anonymity. He was a great listener in spite of being a curt replier, he somehow always made his responses short and direct while still not making you feel uncomfortable or cornered.

For example, you mentioned yesterday how you were craving a slice of cake and he simply sent two cafes near you two’s college with a “These places are pretty cheap and nice to sit in.” The other day you briefly ranted about your college group presentations with teammates and he gave you short advice on how to deal with the ones who slack off, the ones who are stubborn and only want to pursue their own ideas. College was tiring and an insufferable struggle, both of you seem to bond over that one fact if nothing else each day past.

On the other hand, you had to explicitly ask him a question if you wanted to learn anything more about him. The most he asked from you was your age on the day you started chatting, and he turned out to be one year older than you. So you had automatically assumed he was probably a junior since this semester was your second year of sophomore year. Well, that turned out to be your false assumption because he mentioned that he was one year below you in engineering college this morning in the middle of a conversation, albeit a bit randomly. You’d like to think he brought up the topic because he wanted your chat to continue or perhaps because he wanted to get to know you better. Though you weren’t sure if he knew how out of the blue it felt to see a reply of his major and year 17 minutes after you left him on read at his “Ah, I see.” when you mentioned how particularly tasty your iced drink tasted in the morning while you were semi-running late to your lecture. You could only assume.

He had a habit of replying a bit on the later side during the weekdays and relatively sooner on weekends you noticed. One thing you found somewhat cute was how he always disappeared around 11pm every day with a “Good night. :).” and replied to your latest message the next morning around 7am with a “Good morning. :).” His smiley emojis were one of the sole reasons for your happiness as of late if you could afford to be a bit dramatic.

What surprised you the most was how he mentioned he had been playing the drum for only half a year now, and claimed to be a complete beginner. Now, you don’t know much about drumming to start with but unless playing an instrument in a band that mostly performed upbeat hard-rock songs was extremely unchallenging (you knew for a fact it wasn’t easy), this guy had to be gifted. Truly gifted.

You felt yourself slowly getting attached to him, the more you talked on the anonymous platform. It felt so easy to fit him into your daily routine, just having a comforting online figure to talk to. Well, maybe for some people his replies wouldn’t be comforting and you may be overthinking, but it did feel like he was making an effort to make his messages sound less harsh. By that you mean he'd attach a “:)” or heart-react to your message if he found it pleasant to see once in a while. That could mean something, no? Even if it was out of common courtesy, it wouldn’t hurt getting a little ahead of yourself if it wasn’t hurting anyone, right?

—

That was all in your sophomore year. It startled you when you noticed an entire year had passed since you first met Xiao, especially since your memory was crystal clear from the way you spent every day giddily waiting for him to reply.

Unfortunately before you knew it, you two began to grow distant more and more as class workload had gotten the best of you after around 2 months or a bit longer since you got into the habit of chatting with him every day. To be perfectly honest, you two did end up changing social media accounts. But the problem was in the fact that he rarely logged in and didn’t reply to your messages for a week or longer because he hardly ever used it so in truth you semi-regretted choosing to move onto another platform where you two could communicate. There were times where you uploaded a picture including your face on your stories to see if Xiao (you finally got his name the day you two followed one another’s accounts) would see, but there was no use. He never watched your stories, or probably anyone’s in fact. 68 followers and 54 following, no pictures and no stories with a single song link on his bio- that was his account. An account you were positive he remembered the existence of once in a full moon, you were convinced. So it was almost safe to say you two remained strangers who now happen to know each other’s names and nothing else, even after exchanging your social media.

His long, long absence on his account slowly contributed to you two growing apart and hence, you hadn’t talked to him at all for the past 9 or so months.

That’s why from the announcement of Breeze, you silently wondered if he was even in the band still to begin with. If only you were still in contact, maybe you could’ve known prior and even cheered him before he went upstage. Or, you don’t know- be less startled by his potential appearance and not feel like your heart is going to leap out of your chest, holding your breath to see if he would actually be here? Some bandmates, especially the ones in college often seem to quit amidst their time together due to various problems, academic pressure being a popular reason why. Now that you were in your junior year and him in his sophomore year as you assumed, maybe he had quit due to workload that drove you two apart in the first place.

Well, you were wrong.

Your breath hitched when you surely saw him walk towards the seat behind the drumset with his familiar black attire, his street-comfy style still similar to the first day you saw him. Only this time he was in a black leather jacket, his signature (or so you assumed) silver jewellery layered around his neck and over his fingers in forms of stylish rings. This time everything about him graced your eyes, perhaps too much so from the way your heart wouldn’t calm down from seeing him again. His hair was slightly longer than you remembered last year, and most importantly- he wasn’t wearing a mask this time. Being in the front row, your eyes widened and nearly popped out of your sockets when you saw his face so clearly. He was beautiful. He had a curious shade of amber eyes, and a bold red eyeliner drawn similarly to Scaramouche as you noticed earlier. You didn’t know when red eyeliner had become a trend or if their tastes just happened to overlap, but you continued staring at him as if you temporarily forgot that you weren’t watching this on screen, but in person.

You shamelessly gawked over Xiao’s attractive appearance as you stood motionlessly amidst Kazuha and Hutao sharing a lively conversation, you didn’t even notice when she moved over next to him and you found yourself shoulder-to-shoulder to Scaramouche again. Maybe you would’ve been irritated by her switching sides and consequently forcing you to tolerate the smug brat next to you, but the moment you saw Xiao again, nothing else seemed to matter. In fact, you didn’t even hear him poking fun at you anymore as he started off his band performance with the same four hits on the cymbal. The entire moment felt like déjà-vu, the familiar sight of Xiao playing the drum with a silent yet domineering confidence, and you in the audience in awe. And once more, you felt yourself completely enthralled by Xiao.

You’d be lying if you didn’t keep him in your mind even though you didn’t speak anymore. Perhaps it was foolish to feel this sense of longing? missing? when you hadn’t even spoken a single word in person before. In fact, you were sure Xiao didn’t even know what you looked like.

A pang of sadness made you softly put your hand over your chest as your expression flashed melancholy. He left such a lasting impact on you, adorning your thoughts and stayed in your restless mind for months of no contact. And when you finally somehow found your fate cross his again, you were brutally reminded of how little you truly mattered to him. You bit the inside of your cheek in conflicted emotions as you realised you were the same as everyone else in the crowd in his eyes. A complete stranger.

The moment he set foot on stage, your world faded away to nothing and your entire focus had shifted to nowhere else but Xiao. All the while being painfully aware of the reality- he doesn’t know what you look like or perhaps doesn’t even remember your name. You had to remind yourself you were just a passing by online friend for him, not this fated destiny you somehow managed to convince yourself it was.

Perhaps your gaze was overly clear or the way you completely fell silent and stayed unmoving was too obvious, it unintentionally captured the attention of the not-exactly-a-stranger next to you.

“Ex or something, is he?” You didn’t even think he was talking to you until you yet again saw him turn his head entirely to stare at you. Him and his unyielding gaze.

“What?”

“That drummer you’ve been staring at nonstop.” His tone was devoid of the amusement he held earlier, diverting his indigo gaze to Xiao. For a moment, it almost looked like he was concerned about your sudden change in behaviour, but you brushed off the thought. Why would he be worried? That was ridiculous.

“No, just…” You found yourself stumbling over your words as you paused before explaining how you knew the drummer. What were you to him anyways? More than a nobody, yet less than a friend? Or were you two entirely strangers at this point? If it entirely came to that, you couldn’t even deny the possibility of someone else chatting with you because they saw your post and wanted to ridicule you. But come on, you two had been chatting every day for a few months, surely at least it was him?

“...someone I know, I guess.” Settling for a vague reply, you mumbled under your breath. It didn’t take a genius to know you couldn’t offer any more explanation, and thankfully Scaramouche hums in acknowledgement. Although he dropped the subject, whether he stopped pressing on because he truly noticed your hesitance or just lost interest remains unknown.

“You might want to be discreet with the staring. You’re very much visible to him, if you didn’t realise.” Just when you thought he’d gotten the hint. With a sigh you crossed your arms over your shoulder, facing Scaramouche.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to notice me amidst a sea of people.”

“You never know. You didn’t say you two were strangers so I can only assume you two share a history.” Once again you didn’t know how to reply to his statement. How could you explain that he probably doesn’t even remember your identity when you were so obviously astonished to see him on stage again?

Scaramouche’s face was unconcerned most of the time if not for the smug amusement from time to time. Maybe you should’ve gotten the hint when his eyes widened at some sort of realisation after a while.

“He does know you, after all.” A tad too slow to grasp what he was referring to, you sighed quietly.

“What do you mean?” Your question remained unanswered as you diverted your focus back to the stage at his wordless gesture towards who you assumed to be Xiao.

And oh, you did get the answer to your own question the moment you looked back at those amber eyes who bore into yours directly. Eyes widening in shock, you glimpsed around to check if it was truly you he was staring straight at. Nobody else seemed to be focusing on the drummer perhaps due to his location at the very back, but you were. In fact, you were the only one whose attention was pinpointed at one member in particular and the way your gaze met for the first time ever took your breath away. Even that was an understatement as your heart pounded in your chest in excitement. Could it be that he really did recognize you amidst a sea of people? Or was this another one of your borderline delusional mindset playing another prank on you? You wanted to ask Hutao to confirm if he was truly looking at you of all people but deep down, you knew he was staring straight into your eyes. He had been looking directly in your direction for minutes now, gaze unshifting and somewhat inquisitive. Like he couldn’t believe his eyes as much as you couldn’t either.

Of course Scaramouche would be the one to break your little moment as he sighed out dramatically. Reluctantly, you glanced in his direction to see what his issue was. Maybe it was “the Xiao effect” but you found yourself even less irritated by Scara’s behaviour that was almost driving you crazy to the point you wanted to throw him to the stage and force him to sing Bohemian Rhapsody. Maybe that would wipe that smug smirk off his face.

“You call that ‘someone you know?’. He’s been looking at you for the past ten minutes or so now.” That was news to you. Ten minutes? That’s even longer than you became conscious of his stare.

“I… didn’t know.” This time when you turned your face back to the stage, Scaramouche remained quiet for once. Perhaps you would’ve teased him for his silence if you weren’t so caught up in the sudden weight of Xiao peering over at you without bothering to conceal his attention. Or maybe he wasn’t even aware of his fixated look in the first place, you couldn’t put past the possibility if you had a hunch on his character for a few months since you’ve known him.

Neither the golden-eyed drummer on stage nor you who was occupied with distress on deciding your following actions seem to focus on the braided band leader who was introducing his bandmates to the crowd. It appears that they had two more songs to perform, and this time Xiao looked like he was the only drummer in charge. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see him play the instrument again, if only your heart and mind could quiet down for a while at least until they got off stage so you could properly enjoy their hard work spent practising the songs.

Every cell in your body seemed to be screaming at you to wave at him or do something, anything to confirm your suspicions, but you found your actions held back by the constant fear of being wrong. What if he truly was looking somewhere else and you waved at him, a complete stranger whom he didn’t recognize? Or was there something on your face, or your hair was weird, your dress was untidy, something that attracted his regard within these lines?

Amidst your inner conflict, he slowly raised his hand to your astonishment. A short nod of acknowledgment followed his slightly awkward wave, his drumsticks still in his hold.

He waved at you. He waved at you.

It didn’t help one bit how faintly cautious he looked, like he was nervous behind his piercing stare. And if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, his hands were shaking ever so slightly too. All of your former thoughts seem to evaporate into the saffron tinted evening air as you raise your hand to wave back, eyes wide just as your smile was. You couldn’t help it, you could barely wrap your head around the fact that Xiao recognised you, let alone acknowledge your presence. From the way his ochre sight pinpointed you as the centre of his attention, you knew you weren't imagining things.

A part of you pondered how he knew it was you in the first place, did he somehow come across your story when you didn’t check it? Admittedly, you had stopped going through your feed and pictures you uploaded both on the platform and stories for the past few months when you assumed he never used the social networking site anymore. You had spent an embarrassing amount of time just scrolling through the viewers and likes in hopes of spotting one blank account which never happened. To your surprise, it turns out in the end, your efforts were not in vain.

And so the festival continued with molten gold and midnight amethyst gazes directed to you.

—

A part of you kept considering writing to Xiao especially since as soon as the performance ended, he took off and disappeared just like the first day you talked to him. It was hard to stay still when you got a positive sign on this seemingly-hopeless feeling you’ve harboured for an entire year.

Do you write to him, and even if you do, what do you say? Or should you ask to see him for a while? You had no idea, how do you even talk to guys?

What came as a surprise to you was how Scaramouche for once stopped poking fun at you every breathing moment. In spite of bickering with him for the past few hours for the first encounter with him, you found yourself slightly curious about his… colourful personality. He was an enigma, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t even the slightest bit intrigued by his uncommon behaviour.

“Fine arts, was it? Do you happen to paint?” You asked the question to hopefully break away this tension between the two of you that you didn’t even notice for a while now.

This time he didn’t even look at you as he answered in a slightly bitter tone.

“What’s it to you? Are you trying to force whatever subject you can find to accommodate the silence? There’s no need.” You didn’t know whether to sneer at his unwelcoming attitude or feel impressed by his ability to twist such a simple question into… whatever that was.

“Is it unbelievable to think I’m just interested in getting to know my saviour of the evening?” You purposefully quoted his former words as he liked to turn back on you so much.

As you slightly leaned forward to peer over to Kazuha and Hutao, your eyes nearly popped out of your socket when you noticed not one but both of them absent. It didn’t take much to understand it was mostly Hutao’s idea to probably “give them time to themselves”, and Kazuha probably went along with it because he already had misunderstood Scara’s hoodie wrapped around your waist. What a turn of events.

“If you’re looking for them, they both left around twenty minutes ago.” Noticing your shock, he smoothly replied as he reached out to fix his hair blown to the side by the wind. Once again your eyes worriedly shifted to his bare arms, his tight-fitted tank shirt didn’t look warm in the slightest.

“Your friend led him away.” Of course it was Hutao. Alright, here goes nothing.

“Are you cold?” You managed to ask him what you’d meant to make sure about an hour ago.

Ah, yes. His familiar smug smirk returned immediately. You had been prepared for this.

“Why, are you worried all of a sudden?”

“But the wind is super chilly.” You might’ve been speaking for experience from the way you shivered under the cool breeze just now. It felt like the cold seeped through your thin crop cardigan (if you could even call this see-through material a proper piece of clothing) that you wore just so you wouldn’t be showing the entirety of your arm. Not to mention it was thanks to the sleeveless dress that’s been the centre of all of your series of unfortunate events today.

“You’re shivering like that from one gale of the wind? I don’t get cold easily, worry about yourself.” His unwavering gaze dropped down to his shirt hanging onto your lower half, holding the stare as if considering something.

To your surprise, he pulled off the hoodie around your waist from the side and once again, purposefully paying attention not to drag your skirt along with it, then draped it over your head.

“Wear it properly. It’d cover your skimpy short dress plenty well if that’s keeping you back. It’s long enough”

You pulled off the thick fabric again from atop your head, half irritated by him messing up your hair a second time, and half impressed with how surprisingly observant he was. How many guys just offer their outerwear to a girl he might never see again and stand in the cool wind in a tank shirt? Exactly, so despite everything, you truly were grateful.

“Thank you.” You replied and followed his words to wear his hoodie, then zipped it up all the way. Although you were sure you looked ridiculous with a mismatched oversized street-style hoodie and the somewhat preppy dress, you found yourself unable to mind such details in hopes of avoiding catching cold in this weather. After all, spring-summer colds were the worst.

“Does this even fit you? It’s so big.” His entire body was slender without being too stick-thin, you’d go as far as to say he looked like a model. Not that you’d ever say it out loud, it’s bound to feed onto his preexisting god complex or narcissism you reckon he had.

“It’s called style, I imagine it’s your first time hearing such a term.” Right. It doesn’t even surprise you anymore as you continued paying no mind to his words and replied.

“It definitely is. When has this term started to go around? Youth these days, nothing but outer appearance on their minds.” You played along, making Scara raise his brow in what you assumed to be an indication of pleasant surprise.

“Ironic coming from a vixen who comes to a college festival in a short dress who can’t handle the cold.”

“Vixen? I seem to remember that isn’t quite the insult you think it may be.”

All of the former annoyance he held seemed to slowly lessen the more he talked to you. Now that isn’t to say he is kind or welcoming now, it just means that he is slightly less insufferable in comparison to when you first met him. As much as you’d like to deny, he was fun to be around. So much that you were barely paying attention to the performances on stage anymore.

“Watercolour painting.” Scaramouche quietly mumbled under his breath amidst the comfortable silence you two were sharing.

“Huh?”

“Fine arts. Watercolour painting.” He replied to the first question you asked to break the ice. Your eyes widened in pleasant surprise at his forte, quietly concluding how it seems to suit him now that you imagine.

“It suits you.” With a nod, you looked at him.

“Heard that before.” If he didn’t mean to sound cocky, he failed miserably. Yet despite his tone that some may find unbelievably arrogant, you found yourself nodding along in silent agreement. It wasn’t like he wasn't allowed to be confident in himself. Besides, art school students hold a place in your heart from the way they seem to hold such free and creative minds enough to pursue it as a career. They create their pieces from the bottom of their soul. Art was soulful, and you respected those who could create such physical manifestation of their thoughts and emotions. Respect was an understatement, really.

A glimpse of a mismatching shade on his black tank shirt captured your interest when he stretched with a tired groan. You tilted your head slightly when you noticed the splashes of what you assumed to be watercolour on the side of his top. It brought a small smile to your face before you could control it.

Without a warning, Scara suddenly sighed out loud and threw an unamused look at the stage.

“I’m leaving.” You blinked and turned your head at him slowly with a confused look at his declaration out of the blue. First Kazuha and Hutao, now him?

“Now?” Reaching out to grab his black leather bag, he carelessly swung it over his shoulder and nodded at you.

“Yeah. See you.” Before you could say anything or even offer his shirt back, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd of students.

See you? When? You were left wondering alone.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #xiao x reader x scaramouche #xiao x reader x wanderer #genshin fluff #xiao x reader fluff #scaramouche x reader fluff #wanderer x reader fluff

179 notes · View notes

ggukkiedae · 2 years

Text

seri

[3:18pm, wc: 983]

(cw: talks of self-doubt and self-guilt tripping)

It was way past lunch time when Seri woke up.

In all honesty, she wasn’t even sure if she was actually awake. Not once did she move out of her position in bed, but she didn’t close her eyes again. The only time she did move was to check the time the second she woke up. How long has it been since 2:02? She silently thanked god that it was their rest day because sleeping in like this on any other day would get her in trouble.

A knock sounded at the hotel room door, but she didn’t bother moving out of bed. She didn’t even shout which, apparently, didn’t matter to the knocker. They had probably used one of the spare keys that were with the manager and Soobin to get in. Was it Soobin?

“Lily,” a familiar voice rang through the room, “hi. Why didn’t you come out for lunch?”

She said nothing but continued to stare into space. She felt the bed dip by her stomach as Yeonjun settled in the little area, a free hand brushing her hair out of her face. He placed the other hand on her forehead, checking to see if she was sick.

“No fever,” he began before getting off the bed and kneeling down so she could meet his eyes. “Tell oppa what’s wrong, baby.”

“I’m 21, not a baby.”

“She speaks,” Yeonjun smiled and poked her cheek, “why so lethargic?”

A simple shrug was all she gave. Yeonjun sighed but went back to sitting on the bed. This time, he pulled her up to sit next to him. Except, she immediately dropped her head forward onto his shoulder.

Yeonjun let her be like that for a minute, one arm wrapped around her and free hand lightly running through her hair.

“Today not a good day?”

There was the slightest of nods from her, which instinctively made Yeonjun coo and bring her onto his lap. To him, she may be an adult, but she was always going to be one of his babies. This is something she understood, which is why she just let him treat her like one.

“What’s wrong?”

There was silence for a minute, feeling like forever to Yeonjun, before Seri spoke in a whisper. “I feel guilty.”

A frown made its way to Yeonjun’s face. “What for, Lilyflower? You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“You guys are working so hard to help me,” she began, “and MOA are working so hard to help us. I feel like I’m not giving back enough. I feel like I’m not doing enough for you guys.”

Hearing this broke Yeonjun’s heart, especially as someone who’s been watching her growth for the past five years. He saw how hard she pushed herself and by how much she improved. He saw her on good days where she was giddy about how much she was learning and on bad days where she felt like she was retrograding.

Seri was giving her all, but she didn’t see that. She didn’t see that, and Yeonjun was terrified that she’d eventually cross the line and fade into nothingness. He leaned back a little and lifted her face so their eyes could meet.

“Yoon Seri,” he began, “I have known you since you were a sixteen-year-old little misfit who preferred practicing your dance with Beomgyu alone than with the rest of the trainees because of how terrified you are. I watched you grow into your confidence until you started making your own melodies, writing music, widening your vocal range, and improving your dance all the way until you got your own Artist of the Month video. You’re doing more than enough. I see it, the members see it, and MOA see it. We’re all so proud of you, okay?”

He cut himself off by squeezing her face in between his hands and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Today is just a bad day, so don’t listen to that little mean voice in your head. Stick with me and the members. We’re right here for you, so don’t close yourself off, okay?”

Seri nodded, her heart feeling like it was swelling, but almost feeling like she was choking. It was one thing to know someone was proud of you, but it was another to actually hear it from them.

She place her head back down on his shoulder, trying to take breaths to calm her mind, but Yeonjun started talking.

“Seri’s vocals are literally what you hear when Heaven’s gates are in front of you.”

What? What was Yeonjun saying?

“The goddess of facial expressions herself has dance skill that matches, let’s go, Seri!”

“Oppa?”

“Seri works so hard, look at her notes from recording. Can I just say I’ve never seen anyone more critical about their own performance than Seri? Honestly, Seri already started of great, but she’s getting better all the time.”

Seri finally looked up and saw Yeonjun reading from his phone, twitter open with the search tab reading “YOON SERI” on top.

“These are just some of the things MOA think about you,” Yeonjun told her with a proud smile before frowning at his phone again, “I just don’t approve about all these “I think Seri and whoever are dating: with proof” threads. MOA should know better.”

That got a snort to escape Seri’s lips, making Yeonjun grin victoriously. “You see? You’re doing more than enough, and we all love you for it.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “okay.”

“Now come on,” he picked her up bridal style and walked to her door, making her laugh in surprise. “None of us have actually eaten lunch yet. Room service should be in Soobin and Beomgyu’s room by now.”

“Oppa! Put me down!”

The smile never left her face after that. She may have bad days, but, hey, at least she knows she’s got people that have her back.

taglist: @choisoobiniscute @strwberrydinosaur @1-800-enhypennabi @caratinylyfe @sunflower-0180 @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @jkebabayy97 @stopeatread (taglist/s open! just drop an ask or a dm <3)

#in celebration of one month since i saw tubatu live #i miss them a lot #seri.timestamp #seri.yeonri #seri #yoon seri #txt 6th member #txt female addition #txt female member

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cloudcountry · 1 year

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YESS, MATCHMAKER TROPES ARE SO INTERESTING 👏 Ngl, I was kind of nervous sending that one in kjfgndfkg-

So instead of doing school work like a normal human being, I decided to impulsively put together a whole bunch of concept voice lines/dialogue pieces for Ikevamp Beethoven 🧍 And yes, I am very normal about him (This is a lie)

But before that!! Have some more details about him- (Ngl, I love how we’re both talking about an Ikevamp OC and I’ve,, never played the game- I’m gonna try and see some gameplay about it later though if I can kjfngdfh-)

-He has a coarse German accent

-I like to think he’d occasionally slip in a few German words here and there,, (is this a self-indulgent detail of mine? ,,Perhaps-)

-Despite being a composer, he actually can’t dance or sing! As he says, “I can compose, thank God, but I can’t do one other thing on earth.”

-He did speak softly, but after he started to experience hearing problems, his voice shifted into something more louder

-The more angrier he gets, the more louder and thicker his accent gets-

-He speaks kinda formally, but again, he’s a Grump™, so he can be quite curt,,

-Fluent in German and English, can also speak Italian and French, and he does know some Latin!

-He always carries paper and a pen with him, just in case he gets inspired or has an idea for music

-He’s,, kind of lonely?? He doesn’t have many friends given his sharp tongue and hot temper,,,

-Again, he’s partially deaf/has hearing problems, so he’s picked up the habit of lipreading. But he’d definitely appreciate it if you spoke louder to him (though, he’d definitely wouldn’t want anyone shouting at him)! He’s gonna have trouble hearing you though if you’re like,, far across a room or something. Ngl, this led to me writing this-

MC, at one far end of the room: What was your childhood dream??

Beethoven, at the other end: What??

MC: What was your childhood dream??

Beethoven: ?? No, I like ice cream!

Dhjfbg Anyway,,! On to the voice lines, asdfgh-

Beethoven: Greetings, MC, my name is Ludwig van Beethoven. Any charm or taste I may have has been poured entirely into my compositions. Regarding myself, I am simply a freelance musician. That's all the introduction you need.

Beethoven: Social etiquette of Viennese aristocracy? Hah, it’s an endless subject. Shaking off commoners, behaving only in particular ways… It all demands carefully calculated courtesies that I find hard to conjure myself. Herr Comte de Saint Germain is a nobleman himself, is he not? I’m sure he is more knowledgable on how noblemen and noblewomen behave than I.

Beethoven: My opinion on Napoleon Bonaparte? Hah! That “emperor,” that wretched snake, is nothing but a small, ordinary tyrant who tramples on human rights. He’s a miserable blackguard, a godforsaken man with a puddle of poison for a heart! He’s a beast in spite of his charms. No, lower than a beast. Stay far away from him, lest you get caught in any deception of his.

[Note: “Small,” he says,, Ikevamp Napoleon is 5’8. Ikevamp Beethoven’s 5’3, literally the shortest man in the cast,,]

Beethoven: Ah, MC. I was just about to go out on a walk through the forest. Forgive me, but I would like to go alone today. I need to sort out my thoughts.

Beethoven: …Ah-hah! I’ve come up with a new melody! I must write this down immediately.

Beethoven: Watch that the notes in my pocket don’t spill out.

Beethoven: I’ve written a new song. Would you like to hear?

Beethoven: Nothing is more intolerable than having to admit to yourself your own errors.

Beethoven: I love a tree more than a man.

Beethoven: My thoughts on Herr Mozart? Well, I have always greatly admired him, ever since I was a young boy. I regard myself as one of his greatest admirers. …Hm? Why do you seem surprised? I am capable of praise. …Pardon? You’d think we’d see each other as ‘musical rivals…?’ What a ridiculous thing to say. I don’t regard him as a rival at all. His music has qualities I wish to emulate, yes, but me and nobody else will ever be able to do anything like that.

Beethoven: I have never thought of writing for reputation and honor. What I have in my heart must come out; that is the reason why I compose.

Beethoven: Ach, was für eine Qual... Ah, MC. I didn’t hear you approach.

Beethoven, at Napoleon: Do you think I give a damn about you and your pathetic violin?

Beethoven: When I was younger, I had trouble keeping up with reading and writing more than other children. There’s a term for it now, I believe…? Dyslexia, if I’m correct. While I have gotten better at the subject, I’ll admit, I do occasionally struggle. But in any case, I would rather write ten thousand notes than a single letter of the alphabet. Music comes to me more readily than words.

Beethoven: Ah, sehr gut, you’ve found my notes. Thank you, Fraülein MC.

Beethoven: My family? …They are not something I wish to talk about.

Beethoven: The amount of money one needs is terrifying…

Beethoven: Only the pure in heart can make a good soup. 👌

Beethoven: Music can change the world. Yes, that is what I wholeheartedly believe.

Beethoven: When I first started developing my partial deafness, I was sent into a panic. The ringings in my ears were a telltale sign of what was to come. When my deafness started getting worse, I avoided social gatherings because it was impossible for me to say to people “I have trouble hearing,” or “I’m going deaf.” If I belonged in any other profession, it would be easier for me to say, but in my profession, it is a frightful state. I remember once I laid my head on my piano, desperately and loudly banging the keys just so I could hear what I was playing.

Beethoven: "Eine ungenügende Leistung…” No, it’s fine, it’s just something I often heard when I was a boy. You can ignore it.

[Translation: “What an unsatisfactory performance…” He may or may not be hinting a little at his father here,, who again, struck at Beethoven’s hands whenever he got a note wrong-]

Beethoven: I hear a musical genre known as “jazz” was quite popular for a time. I've had the fortune to hear a few records. The free, unweighted playing style greatly amuses me. Perhaps I will try my hand at the genre someday.

[OKAY,, I DON’T KNOW IF THERE ARE ANY KIDS IN THE MANOR, BUT I REMEMBER THERE BEING A FLASHBACK INCLUDING CHILDREN,, AND THERE WAS AN IKEVAMP FIC INCLUDING KIDS,,, I feel like I’m incredibly wrong though, so please correct me asdfgh)

Beethoven: I know of no more sacred duty than to educate a child. If any children wishes to learn piano, or any other instrument, you may send them to me, but I am a strict teacher. I’m not one to release a student partway after he or she begins their studies.

Beethoven: I recommend being virtuous to the children. Virtue alone, and not money, can make one happy. I speak from experience. …It is my wish that they may have a better and freer life than I have had.

Beethoven: Vampire haben ein verbessertes Gehör und Sehvermögen...? Hah, was für ein grausamer Scherz, den Gott mir präsentiert. …No, no, it is nothing.

[Translation: Vampires have enhanced hearing and vision...? Hah, what a cruel joke God is presenting to me.]

Beethoven: I value honesty and integrity above all else. One who lies is not pure of heart.

Beethoven: The foundation of friendship demands the greatest likeness of human souls and hearts. No friend have I. I live by myself alone; but I know well that God is nearer to me than others in my art, so I will walk fearlessly with Him… However, Fraülein MC, that is something you have changed, and I must thank you. You have been my first true friend. I shall never forget the days I spent with you. All I ask is that you continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours.

Beethoven: Now, off with you! You’re a happy woman, you’ll give happiness and joy to many other people, and there is nothing better or greater than that.

Beethoven: In the world of art, as in the whole of creation, freedom and progress are the main objectives. Persevere, do not only practice your art, but endeavour also to fathom its inner meaning; it deserves this effort. For only art and science can raise men to the level of God. It demands that we shall not stand still.

Beethoven (this one is specifically aimed at you, Auburn 🫵): What do I think of Herr Newton? I admire both his intellect and contributions to the sciences and mathematics. I don’t know him well, but whenever he starts to talk about his sciences, I can hardly keep up. It’s not my forte. However, I do have great respect for him - he is the pioneer of his field. …Ah, I must ask, have you established a courtship with him yet? Was? Why do you look so shocked? You are trying to make your apparent interest in him quite clear, aren’t you?

Evil Beethoven be like: “I hate Mozart.” / “I like Napoleon.”

Dghkjd I hope you enjoyed this!!

Jackdaw Anon 🐦

I ENJOYED THIS IMMENSELY JACKDAW ANON IT WAS SO GODO AND WELL PUT TOGETHER KASHGDJASGHDJSA I AM AMAZED AT HOW MUCH THOUGHT YOU PUT INTO ALL OF YOUR IDEAS EVERY TIME I GET AN ASK FROM YOU :D!! AND PLEASE, DONT BE EMBARRASSSED I LITERALLY GOBBLE UP EVERYTHING YOU SEND ME AND I LEAVE NO CRUMBS RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Beethoven: Only the pure in heart can make a good soup. 👌

THIS LINE MADE ME LAUGH AS I WAS READING and i know you mentione dhim actually saying something like that before BUT IT MADE ME THINK OF CLAVIS WHO IS AN IKEMEN PRINCE CHARACTER THAT MAKES THE MOST FUCKED UP SOUP KNOWN TO MAN ITS HILARIOUS HELP

oh gosh and the dialogue you wrote about him slowly losing his hearing? gahh i had to cove rmy mouth i was so?? haunted??? by the imagery of his just desperately slamming piano keys and omggg you're too good at this.

[Translation: “What an unsatisfactory performance…” He may or may not be hinting a little at his father here,, who again, struck at Beethoven’s hands whenever he got a note wrong-]

CAN WE FIGTH HIS DAD IS THAT ALLOWED I WOULD LIKE TO PERSONALLY ON BEHALF OF THE ENTIR GRUMPY AMN ENTHSUIAST ASSOCIATION.

DW JACKDAW ANON THERE ARE KIDS!! not in the mansion, but isaac and napoleon teach a bunch of little kids and im sure they wouldnt mind teh addition of beethoven!! he can teach them music since mozart isnt really taht social (and even though beethoven isnt either, i can see the kids taking a shine to him anyway LMAO)

HIS DIALOGUE ABOUT TEH MC BEING HIS FRIEND SHSPTOWPSTTSOPSOTOPOP STOPPPP IM CRYINNG!?!?!?!?!? THATS SO WHOELSOME AND SWEET :(((( ASJHGDJAHSGD WHY ARE YOUS O GOOD AT THIS I HATE IT I HAVE GONE THROUGH SO MANY EMOTIONS IN THE SPAN OF LIEK TEN MINUEST HELLO!!!!!

AND THE DIALOGUE YOU WROTE JUST FOR EM?!?!?!?!? I LOST MY SHIT WHEN I READ THAT HELLO YES SIR I AM MAKING MY INTEREST VERY CLEAR I AM KISSING HIM GOODNIGHT I AM MAKING HIM SANDWICHES I AM SETTING UP HIS TELESCOPE FOR HIM EVERY NIGHT SO WE CAN STARGAZE AJHSFDJASFDSAG

THANK YOUS O MCUH FOR THIS JACKDAW ANON YOU ARE LITERALLY AMAAZING

#jackdaw anon <3 #🎹! ikevamp beethoven

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displayheartcode · 2 years

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2022 wrapped

tagged by @ginwiz! hi, hannah!

tagging @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @corneliaavenue, @takearisk-ao3, @sweeethinny and to anyone who wants to be proud of their accomplishments!

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

no strange land (a marvellous light, robin/edwin) – I am very proud to say that I was the first person to post a fic on ao3 for this series.

on the other side of the door (harry potter, harry/ginny) – Another fun exploration with a Gender AU, but this time I focused more on the shared trauma. What does it mean to like a person who has shared a piece of a monster's soul, how much flower and sunlight imagery can I cram into each 100-word segment, etc.

heart, i implore you (the scholomance) – While I didn't love, love the trilogy, I was fascinated by El's moral fiber as a protagonist. So, why not put her in some AUs where she considered taking the low road, especially to save her mum?

the earth remembers its own name (percy jackson and the olympians) – The idea came to me when I was listening to the musical soundtrack. It was suddenly 2007 again and I was fascinated about a girl who was turned into a pine tree. Something I was satisfied about writing was each liminal dream.

never say there is only death for you (moon knight) – I had so much fun with my references when I wrote this. I had an old haggadah out so that I could properly quote the folk song for the title, web pages about Sephardic herbalism, a highlighted copy of my old prayer book from Hebrew School... I originally found the lullaby La Moza y El Huerco as the epigraph for Ninth House, but a cousin's grandma (she speaks Ladino!) showed me the melody years back. That being said, please never ask me to transliterate anything from liturgical Hebrew. It wasn't worth the headache.

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

no gods stronger than death (the old guard) – I have the outline from a Big Bang event that I never had time to join. Historical urban fantasy! A cursed family mansion! Murder!

keep you like an oath (harry potter, harry/ginny) – This rewrite haunts me.

untitled hp fic (harry potter) – This is the angst fic :-D It's different from my usual stuff, but the planning is fuuuuuun!

all flowers in time bend towards the sun (there is someone for you) (harry potter, harry/ginny) – I won't lie that this Practical Magic AU is mainly in the works because I love the title.

do i have a fifth? idk

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

I branched out more!

Took the time and gave myself breaks to not write but to also focus on my original stuff!

Reminded myself to have fun!

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

Write longer fics! Drabbles are near and dear to my heart, but sometimes I want to take the time to write something much longer.

Branch out to more AUs. Write something full-fledged instead of a series of snapshots.

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year

It's actually from an unfinished nanowrio project!

thank you!

#rachel in real life #fic

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thatwasntlikeridingabikeuasshole · 1 year

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my obsession with Aspects of Love is actually so out of hand and literally nobody knows, likes, or cares about this musical. but its MY tumblr blog and I get to choose the posts i make so heres a list of my favorite moments in aspects of love anyway

"rose it's not the views or the vines that keep me here" just. musically

and then "when the world was a playground all train rides and laughter and love in the morning and armagnac after"

"tell me are you still shooting women" "do you dance with women of your own age?" fuck him UP GIULIETTA

actually the entirety of hand me the wine and the dice

actually everything giulietta has done ever in her life

"and now i claim my best man's rIGHT!!!"

the journey of a lifetime melody playing right before seeing is believing

every repetition of the love changes everything melody, but specifically the one at the end of other pleasures

rose showing up at giulietta's studios in venice ready to steal back her man and then being like "oh wait giulietta's amazing and im a little bit gay" in the book she outright says to george "well i think im in love with your friend" and hes like "cool"

the first man you remember. the entire thing. the very fIIIIIIIIRST

"just promise one thing" "alright what is it" "dont ask me questions you must promise first" "i cant i dont know what it is" "dONT LEEEEEEEEEAVE MEEEEEEEEEE"

and then he fuckin wALKS AWAY

god bless, i love anything but lonely and its like the only scene that you can find shitty videos of on youtube

"ya girlfriends gonna love that donkey"

"(youll be her hero)"

"and my story is oLDER than the stars"

the buildup at the beginning of journey of a lifetime

marcel being a supportive bestie

and specifically rose shooing away hugo after the funeral and then marcel showing up and her letting him stay. i think hes one of the only people she actually cares about she just doesnt know it

"come on show me a smile" ough

the absolutely unhinged yelling before alex shoots rose. "if i cant have you NO ONE WILL killing you would be a PLEASURE" "PULL THE TRIGGER SEE IF I CARE" "you never loved me you never meant it AND NOW YOU HATE ME" "GO ON SOLDIER BE A HERO"

"rose id never harm the girl" "you were once prepared to do a lot of harm to me" TELL HIM ROSE

jenny pulling out the "pas de tendresse et pas de joie loin d'ici loin de toi" at alex and hes like ???????????????

"youre a delinquent a silly schoolboy with a GUN"

shed be far better of with you makes me giggle "you don't cheat at croquet"

when i read the book my heart just jumped whenever there was an exactly quoted line or nearly exactly quoted. the first one i found was "if i'm not very nice to you it's because i have things to worry me but thanks for the flowers every night" and nearly giuliettas whole speech at the beginning of hand me the wine and the dice is a direct quote

also a memory of a happy moment is a rough translation of a french phrase they keep repeating in the book at roughly the same moments that that melody/phrase repeats in the musical. its "un souvenir leger pour toi" "a sweet memory for you"

"my darling george i love you how dramatic can you be"

this is entirely a book thing and not a musical thing. but. in the book. rose speaks very little english and while all the dialogue is written in english, its noted that usually it's actually being spoken in french. which makes sense bc yknow....shes french............but anyway during either the scene at the cafe where she meets alex or possibly on the train, it's noted during one of the sentences she says to alex that he blushed because iT WAS THE FIRST TIME SHED USED TU INSTEAD OF VOUS FOR HIM and i was like. sobbing. french grammar romance. thats so cringe i love it. "oooo im gonna flirt with you by using the informal you"

just the fact that the scene when alex comes back to see rose in her super successful show completely mirrors the start of the musical when he first meets her. "hugo be a dear and get our guest an armagnac" "are you sure you want me to accept? very well then i ACCEPT" "i must have been the only one who didnt throw you roses"

in the book the house at pau is called "les pervenches" and pervenches are periwinkle flowers!!!!

listen like. the scene where they move george to sit by the fire so they can lie to jenny about how he died is like somber and ominous in the musical, with the music matching that vibe, but in the book it just ends up (possibly accidentally) being kind of funny bc rose, alex, and hugo drag his body into their room and then are like "fuck what do we tell jenny"

"one cup of fresh coffee buys two kisses"

giulietta and george's friendship honestly

the fact that giulietta is the one person who is reasonable and not bitter about things. the fact that when george is like "me n rose are over its me n you now" shes like "lmao no its not ur in love with rose and thats cool"

and i love that she was the best man at their wedding. i think marcel was rose's maid of honor. i think marcel and giulietta would get along they have their heads screwed on right

and then i love that he had her speak at his funeral. and he was right about it. george was like "i want my funeral to be a Ragin Good Time" and giulietta was the only person who understood this assignment

right this post is so long and its gonna be over now but the point is. i love this musical and if anyone else likes it at all please talk to me lol

#aspects of love #andrew lloyd webber #my aspects of love era #<-tag to block if u dont wanna hear abt this musical bc this will happen again #im still determined to write rose x giulietta fanfic where the target audience is literally just me #lmao

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tiffanylamps · 2 years

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one line any fic! rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten people.

Tagged by @b1uetrees!! Thanks so much for the tag, it's taken a wee while to get around to doing it but we are here!! I actually only have 14 "proper" fics published, so this wasn't too difficult to do haha. I'm going to post the lines in chronological order (of when the fics were published) and perhaps, we might see a progression of some sort 😊

Also, if I tag you and you have less than 10 fics, I would love to see wips/orginal work 👀👀 maybe?? 👀 either way, no pressure tags: @l-tyrell @foolishmortal @citrinekay @fire-burning-brighter

Indoctrination line taken from the mid-point of chapter 2. The men in front of him frown as he switched to speaking in English without realising. Joo Won’s eyes flicker to Dong Sik, there was that warm look again, stirring Joo Won to conclude his point. “This isn’t a classroom- it’s a police station. A functioning filing system is paramount. Detailed and factually correct reports without spelling mistakes are paramount! I shouldn’t be spending hours of my time correcting your mistakes.”

“Aish, Lee Dong Sik, is he like this all the time?”

Joo Won felt a bark of unbridled laughter pass his lips, causing the men around him to still. Gil Goo and Gwang Young eye the younger man with suspicion, whereas Dong Sik has turned his face away; his lips twisting into something filthy.

Drone Bomb Me Suddenly, his arm is being snatched and his body spun. He goes with it, knowing where his destination will be but it still hurts when this cheekbone is planted harshly against the table. He hopes it bruises. His arm is restrained against his back while Joo Won’s other hand is splayed between his shoulder blades. “What the fuck are you doing?” Joo Won pants against his ear and god, it ignites a fire in Dong Sik’s belly.

take my name Instead, he scoffs and takes Dong Sik's glass from his hand, and sips on his wine. As he swallows, his body throbs under the gaze of Dong Sik's ever-eager, ever-tantalising eyes, watching Joo Won's throat bob as if he intends on ruining it. That's most certainly not helping matters. Blushing, Joo Won grumbles quietly: “You read too many novels.”

Dong Sik chuckles and pokes his cheek, “and you don’t read enough.”

your blessed hands “Ah, that’s a shame. Suppose it worked out for the best now, means you can finally-”

“Stop. Don’t do that,” he softens his voice to the sincere hum of a heart that aches for forgiveness. “You know I asked to be transferred more than once. But we also agreed to put it off until we knew what was happening with the house-”

“Ah, so it’s still my fault.” Dong Sik laughs that awful fake laugh, it bounces high and unnatural against the bathroom tiles, breaking Joo Won apart. In Another Moment With an exasperated sigh and feeling more turned on than ever before, Joo Won snatches this difficult man by the wrist. He keeps eye contact as he works his mouth to produce enough of an offering to impress. Dong Sik doesn’t seem to be breathing. Joo Won stares as he spits long and slow - dribbling and drooling - in the other man’s hand. It’s all complete nonsense… but Dong Sik still bites his lip, wholly enthralled by Joo Won’s borderline licentious display.

Oh, Dong Sik might just kill him. courage to make love known With a huff and a resentful glare, Joo Won decides to give in. The speakers fizzle alive and the room seems to darken as the sound of a mid-tempo piano melody plays through. A part of Jae Yi prickles as she recognises the song but cannot place where from. It sounds dated as if it were from a different decade and definitely not Korean. Perhaps, it's something her dad used to listen to. The shrill power ballad consists of an electric guitar ringing out as it compliments the overall melody of the piece. Which swells and intensifies, building almost like a grand reveal; the drums heighten the anticipation until-

Han Joo Won sings. to a nightingale Dong Sik even lets Joo Won adjust his aching legs, biting his lip hard as they’re lifted to the safety of broad shoulders. His hips scream in protest as his knees are pushed to his chest. But that doesn’t stop him from allowing his hunter to clutch at his neck with eager fingers, either trying to check his pulse or take his last breath. He’s not sure which it is but he moans with pleasure as his young lover squeezes down. “I won’t let anyone else have you,” Joo Won grits out through clenched teeth; his eyes blazed with something feral that might suffocate them both.

There are worse ways to die.

Snippets [scrapped wips. "chapter 1": pining joo won] The cool air hits his tired body with an unsatisfactory hollowness that he doesn't want to dissect. He rises slowly, never having it within him to yank the metaphorical plaster off in one clean swipe. As of late, he’s always the first to breach the day, even though Dong Sik awakes before him. He silently collects his things and doesn't mention that he knows the older man watches him. Without so much of a glance, he'll go to the bathroom, clean up, and get dressed before saying his goodbyes. In that time, Dong Sik would have gotten up and changed into something temporary before he strips the sheets. the threshold of the year "Joo Won-ah," Dong Sik's voice trembles. Joo Won pauses in the doorway and is kind enough not to make it too obvious that he can see just how much Dong Sik is struggling.

He can't lose him, he can't- not Joo Won. He can't. "I love you too."

Now, a sneak peak of the next chapter of: not truly one, but truly two

Right now seems like the wrong time to garner into his comprehension, the amber-like qualities within this creature’s eyes. There’s a spark and a hint of intelligence within their autumn day haze. They search Joo Won’s own polished tourmaline irises, which are so dark that in the hotel room’s low lighting, it is almost impossible to detect the pupil. But the vampire’s heavy gaze suddenly alters from searching to a plethora of mockery: utterly deviant and overcome with a self-serving mischievousness.

There you go! Thanks again and I hope you enjoyed this 💛💛

#tag game #thank you <3 #tiffanylamps: writing #i don't know if this is of any interest but it was fun to go through my previous work

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beautifully-ch40t1c · 9 days

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“Cosmic as fuck”

I have absolutely no idea what im doing with my life, im not im school so im lonely, the situation that has been going on with my ex since we broke a MONTH ago has really been fucking with me. Shes a manipulative, lying piece of motherfucking shit. Im so incredibly lonely and sad i could throw up, ive been running away from my feelings for so long i dont even know what i feel anymore, every inch of me is full of pain. Atleast i have my bestfriend and my vape to keep me marginally on the lines of sanity, im not sane im just trying to manifest it if you get what i mean. I need a cherry cola, a monstrously gigantic bottle of vodka, new lashes and white face paint for my goth makeup, some cigarettes, the whimsical gothic house of my dreams and spotify to allow unlimited songs on my fucking playlist. Its okay though as Im miss world(somebody kill me). One actual positive is the girl ive met recently(i wrote something for her which i will put here) and also i got some new clothes snd a BUNCH of jewellery. Anyway enough of my yap!

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

written by your Sweetheart the Drunk🔮

The familiar, melancholic melody travels throughout my electrical system, infusing my delicate heart with a sudden yearning for connection. As each strum of the guitar plucks at the chords of my heartstrings, her angelic features are vividly illustrated in my mind. As the light of day ever so gently caresses her delicately pale complexion, her transfixing features evoke a current of instant attraction throughout the very essence of my soul. The twinkle in her green eyes strikes joy into my heart, while the cherry-blossom tint in her lips and their subtle glossiness ignite a longing to connect mine with hers. Her lustrous waves cascade down her chest, clipped away from her face, allowing me to admire her ethereal allure. Her softly defined jawline fits perfectly within the harmony of her face, and her nose, softly freckled, catches the light exquisitely. Her features, so strongly engraved in my mind, give me the joy of being able to bask in the warmth of her beauty without needing to include my phone in the intimate moments I share with my cat and the moon as I speak my words of love and reverence for her.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the girl i wrote this about is called angel and shes such an angel oh my god🙌

#cigarettes #girl interupted syndrome #wlw #fiona apple #jeff buckley #hole band #miss world #lana del rey #in love #im going insane #im losing my mind #female hysteria #Spotify

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nekroligion · 2 months

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Stark lights shine on Joen's face. They're hot, bright, and he can barely see into the crowd in front of him. Part of him is thankful for that fact, because he's sure he'd freeze up otherwise.

He is not a performer. He has never been a performer. God, never did he think he would actually be in a band. Maybe behind the scenes, putting all the music together, or working for a label. But no, no. Instead, he is on stage. Knees shaking, hands sweaty, throat dry. Trying with all his might to focus on the bass in his arms.

Marius speaks indistinctly into the microphone. His voice is a low growl, putting on a stupid, gruesome act for the crowd. They eat it up. Lukas plays a random lick on his guitar, something atmospheric, his neck craned as he looks up at the ceiling. Joen wonders if he's nervous too. If any of them are.

He wants them to be. He wants them to feel that same sickness in their guts, just so he's not alone. But the rational voice in his head is telling him that's a stupid desire. If they're all nervous, they'll crash and burn. It'd be better for them to be confident; confident enough to overtake his nerves.

The Swede feels a pair of eyes lingering on the back of his neck, and he dares to look behind him. He's met with an encouraging expression from Adrik - although it looks somewhat goofy under the corpse paint he's got slathered on his face haphazardly. Despite his intimidating height, the drums manage to engulf him, and he has to stretch his arm out to give Joen a visible thumbs up and a grin.

Joen swallows, feeling his Adam's apple bob anxiously as he shoots a less than enthusiastic thumbs up back.

And then, the backing track starts to play. It's something Lukas came up with on the keyboard. Marius announces the name of the song before taking a step back from the microphone, directing his attention to the guitar he's got strapped around his body. Joen stiffens, his body feeling like an awkward sack of potatoes while he prepares to play.

He's not bad at playing. He knows this, damnit. He lets out an inaudible irritated huff and tosses his long, black locks out of his face before his fingers start to work the bass- perhaps a little out of time compared to his fellow guitarists.

He knows the riffs by heart. His memory is fantastic. But when he thinks about the fact that he's playing for people, the execution just gets sloppy. It's stupid. This is stupid!

At some point, though, his thoughts get chased away by the music. The constant, aching riffs pummeled away by Lukas. The sharp melody rung out by Marius' guitar, paired with his raw vocals. The rhythmic and emotive snap of Adrik on drums, something that Joen can't help but stomp his foot to.

And he remembers why he's doing what he's doing. He loves it. He loves to play. He loves to listen. Nobody fucking cares, anyways. Why should he?

He gnaws at his bottom lip as a particularly difficult section of the bassline comes up, his gaze locked down at the neck of his guitar. His brow is furrowed and his nose scrunched in concentration, and when he finally gets through it, he lets out a groan of satisfaction. Relief, even. He's thankful no one could hear it but him.

By the end of the night, Joen is stripped down to his undershirt - a black tank top, something that shows off his muscles an uncomfortable amount. Sweat is running down his face from the exertion, ruining the carefully placed lines of his paint. He's sore. He's a mess. He wants to go home and read a book and go to bed.

But there's a distinct stutter in his heart, now. Even when he's striding outside, past the crowd that's gathered around the other band members, he feels it.

Maybe he really is meant for this life.

If you ENJOYED this ; read more about JOEN here ...

... yours truly, NEKROLIGION

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rosedmuse · 1 year

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distance; for harusoie 650 days

He's putting the degree he earned in making my heart melt and the butterflies in my stomach flutter at the same time to good use, alright. All that we have together is everything I could ask for. He's been my number one for six hundred fifty days now, and I just know it'll stay that way for many, many more days in the future.

Late afternoon skies the color of bright oranges transition into an early evening expanse of stars twinkling around the cresent moon. Street lights across sidewalks are brought to life in a snap of one's fingers. Clocks all over Veludo Way strike six, sharp; and in a mere couple of moments after, just as he promised, I hear my phone ring.

It's hard, life sucks, I'm in pain. A damsel (not really) in distress is what I am, for living alone in a faraway place isn't a situation I was mentally and emotionally prepared to face.

But alas... I need to get my future on track. Haruto tells me endlessly of how I should make him my inspiration to strive and live out the kind of life I want. I'm not, in any way, opposed to the idea, of course. Although his repetitiveness does get a little funny sometimes, it's still one of his uncountable charms I absolutely adore him for.

"Soie," Haruto says through the line, face and tone both dead serious.

Unfortunately for him, I couldn't contain the little snort I've been holding back since we last spent our minimal free times together, physically; much to his dismay.

"Finally calling me by the nickname you gave me?"

"NOW, YA BETTER BE GRATEFUL, YA HEAR!?"

It's been a while. Being able to laugh out loudly like this without the slightest worry about what tomorrow (and the day after) holds for each of us.

"I miss you," I tell him, frankly.

A pause; his expression softening when he replies, "I love you, more."

"Hmph. Is that all you have to say?

"...My bad, sorry."

Grabbing the plushie nearest to where I am, I hug it close to my chest as I tuck myself into the sofa. Looks like I have to be ready for quite possibly a very long night. Coincidentally, though, I realize, the stuffed toy I now hold in my arms is actually the limited edition Sanrio plush Haruto gave to me ages ago.

"Ah," Haruto says, perhaps recognizing my new companion, "speaking of, shouldn't that be mine?"

Checking the plush, I tilt my head. "Kuromi?"

"Mhm," he hums, setting his phone on a stand while he reaches out to somewhere beyond his camera's view, "have ya forgotten I love purple?"

And how can I forget something as important as that? His favorite color's been purple since forever, giving honor and tribute to the one theater company who took him in when he used to have and be nothing. It may seem insignificant to some, but even the back-end staff and production folks in GOD-za appreciate the special sentiment of their assistant direct. I shake my head in response.

Haruto brings a stuffed toy of his own before the screen, covering most of his face save for his pair of round, lilac eyes I love so much. "And she should be yours."

Long story short, I have Kuromi, and he has Melody. He got me the bad purple girl, and I got him the pink good girl. I thought it was fitting, but he claims otherwise.

"...Why is that?" I challenge him.

"You like pink." He crosses his arms.

"And that's why I like you."

"SEONNE."

Of course, I can't let him get away with this. He started it, anyway. He deserves a taste of his own medicine, even just a few drops.

Lifting both of Kuromi's tiny hands up in surrender, I try to , "look, I'm sorry, alright?"

"Hmph." Haruto still refuses to face his camera. "Ya better thank me. I don't just give anyone the honor of my time."

"Aye, aye sir. If you say so."

And there he begins going on and on about how I must never take him for granted, and instead focus on all the good things he did. For me. For us.

This is indeed going to be a long night, getting back on track's a tough challenge, but as long as I get even the smallest chances to know that we're okayーthat he's okay, distance becomes something we should no longer worry about.

#harusoie #a3! yume #a3 yume #self-shipping #self-insert #first pov #made this in honor of the sanrio collab and i've never been normal anymore

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crossbowking · 3 years

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More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —”

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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helloalycia · 3 years

Text

The Wrong Lifetime – Three // Wanda Maximoff

chapter two | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter four

author’s note: i have nothing to say except enjoy!

Chewing on my bottom lip, I looked over the shelves at the different kinds of stationary the shop had to offer. I needed a new notebook and some ink since I'd ran low at home, so I decided to come into town to have a look.

A brown leather-bound notebook caught my eye and I picked it up, flicking through the pages. Sadly, they were too thin for my liking, so I replaced it and kept looking.

Moments like this were one of the few luxuries I had to myself, where my mother wasn't nattering in my ear about finding a husband and learning to do something useful other than writing, or where my brother wasn't overshadowing me in everything he did, making me feel even worse about myself. No, moments like this, I could just be.

"Y/N? Is that you?"

And there goes my moment.

Plastering a smile on my lips, I spun around and was surprised to see Wanda approaching me with an equally surprised expression on her face. She really was everywhere, wasn't she?

"Wanda, hello," I greeted as she stopped by my side. "It's good to see you."

She looked good, considering I hadn't seen her for a few days. Maybe once when she'd popped in to say hello to everybody before her date with my brother, but that was hardly a meeting. Now, she looked cheery, eyes sparkling with their usual excitement.

"You, too," she said softly, a smile creeping on her lips. Her eyes fell to my hands, where I was holding some ink. "Don't you have servants to do that for you?"

"Don't you have servants to do that for you?" I countered lightheartedly, eyes flickering to the vast amount of paintbrushes and paint in her arms.

She narrowed her eyes in a playful manner. "Touché."

Rolling my eyes in good nature, I asked, "So, what made you decide to go shopping?"

"I needed some new supplies," she quipped with an adorable smile, lifting her arms which were filled with said supplies.

"And you didn't think a basket would help?" I joked, before turning to grab a stray basket beside the shelves and helping her to put everything in it.

She chuckled, accepting my help, and answered, "Truthfully, I only came for the paint, but then I saw some new brushes I wanted to try, and then there were some new colours in stock and, well, before I knew it–"

"This happened," I finished for her with amusement, handing her the filled basket.

She took the basket from my hands and nodded. "Exactly. I would have sent my servant to get the paint, but last time I did, she came back with the wrong one."

"Oh, the scandal," I teased.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and it was refreshing to see the shoe on the other foot. I guess I could see the fun in it now – no wonder she teased me often. Plus, she looked cute when she was caught off guard.

"What about you?" she countered, attempting to take the attention off her.

Content smile on my lips, I watched her. "What about me?"

She gave me an isn't it obvious? look. "I told you why I was here. What about you?"

I shrugged, looking back to the shelves. "I just needed some things... and I may or may not get excited when buying stationary."

Her melodious laughter filled the air. "Of course."

"I just don't know which to get," I told her, motioning to the notebooks. "There's so many options!"

She hummed with amusement, stepping by my side closely and reaching out to get a better look. I was acutely aware of her shoulder pressed to mine and tried to stop thinking about it, but obviously, once I told myself to stop thinking about it, it was all I could think about.

"How about this one?" she suggested, picking up a notebook wrapped in a burgundy-coloured sleeve. She was probably biased since it was her favourite colour.

I took it from her grasp as she held it towards me, feeling tingles at the tips of my fingers when they grazed her hand. God, I needed to get a grip.

Before I could look at the notebook properly, I noticed a smudge on her hand, subconsciously grabbing it before she pulled away. Flipping it over so I could see her palm, I saw several smudges of colour and stared with confusion.

"Paint," she explained, mildly embarrassed as she pulled away. "The stuff goes everywhere."

I hid a smile, finding it cute, before looking to the notebook again.

"I like it, but now to see the pages," I said, flipping through them to see if they were thick enough. I hated getting a notebook with flimsy pages that ink seeped through.

"Are they to your liking, your majesty?" she teased, and I looked up to see her tilting her head and watching me through her eyelashes.

"Yes, they are actually," I retorted with a childish glare, before closing it. "Thanks."

She half-suppressed a laugh. "Good. Let's hope it gives you some... vdokhnoveniye."

She paused, scrunching her nose in thought, probably searching for the right word in English. I was too distracted by how enchanting she looked when she did that to care about her struggle to find the word.

"Vdokhnoveniye is like inspiration," she explained, eyes looking back to me after staring up in thought, "but it's something better. It's from the word vdykhat', meaning to breathe."

"So, you want me to get a good breath from this?" I asked, quirking a brow with bemusement.

"No! No." She laughed, running a hand through her curls. "It's like... when you get inspired by something so quickly, as quickly as it takes to take in a breath. Never mind, it's stupid."

"It's not," I reassured her with an appreciative look. "I get it. Thanks. I like that. Russian is definitely a fascinating language."

She seemed glad that I made sense of her ramblings and I smiled, realising there was much more to Wanda than her ability to make me a stumbling mess.

"Have you got everything?" I asked her, glancing to her basket, before quickly adding, "What am I saying? Of course you've got everything. Practically half the store is in there."

She shoved me gently. "Not nice. But yes, I have everything."

I refrained from chuckling at her dismay before leading the way to the till so we could pay. As we took turns, the cashier made conversation with both of us. I knew of him because I'd been here enough times to make a friend, but I was surprised to see Wanda was the same. I was certain I'd never seen her here before. And I'd been here a lot.

When we finished paying, we began to head outside and I decided to speak my thoughts.

"You know, it's strange to think that we've both been coming here for a while and yet we've never crossed paths," I noted. "I mean, unless we have and just didn't know who each other were then."

She shook her head casually. "Oh, no, we haven't crossed paths. I'd definitely remember a pretty face like yours."

I paused, bewildered at her words as they took time to sink in. She seemed to notice as she laughed, holding the door to the shop open for me. I walked outside and she followed after me, eyes glancing at me satisfactorily.

"So, er, what are you doing now?" I changed the subject, recovering from my momentary shock.

She settled with a smile as she answered, "I'm in the middle of adding some finishing touches to a painting I'm working on. I'll probably head back to finish it."

"Ah, the paintings that you talk about but I've never seen," I joked, relaxing under her stare. "I'm starting to believe you're lying to me, love."

She rolled her eyes, though her smile widened, revealing a dimple by the corner of her mouth. "I'm not... You can come with me if you'd like. I don't mind showing you." When her eyes met mine, she quickly added, "If you're not busy, that is."

Humour disappearing, I nodded with surprise. "Sure. I'd love to."

And that wasn't a lie. I was curious to see the Sokovian's work since she seemed to enjoy talking about art so much. Plus, I could appreciate some good art when I needed to and I wondered if hers would fit the bill.

Or at least that's what I told myself when she flashed her dazzling smile my way, making my heart explode with adoration.

—

Just like me, Wanda didn't have a dedicated place to work from because her parents didn't deem her passion an appropriate hobby for a young woman in today's day and age. So, just like I did, she worked in her room and made the most of the space she had.

As soon as we took a step inside, I was amazed by how much stuff there was. Of course there was the expected – a bed, an ottoman, a wardrobe and a desk – but it was as if that was all secondary furniture to the main focus.

Closest to the giant window on the opposite end of the room were several canvases being supported by easels, some painted and some blank. Papers with sketches of literally anything you can think of were taped to the walls, some scattered along the floor and some scrunched up entirely, missing the bin.

Her desk was filled with jars of paintbrushes, oils, pencils, chalk and any other art supply I'd probably never heard nor seen of before. The place was messy, but not dirty. Her bed was made, the sheets as crisp as could be, her books were lined up neatly, her paintbrushes all had a perfect spot. It was clean, but it was a giant mess, and it was the most beautiful mess I'd ever seen. I refused to believe art was merely a hobby for her when it seemed like her room was dedicated to it.

"This is your room?" I asked with disbelief, eyebrows raised.

Clearly mistaking my amazement for critique, she dumped her newly purchased art supplies on her bed before rushing to pick up some loose papers and canvases from the floor.

"Yes," she squeaked, attempting to kick some papers under her bed as she straightened up sheepishly. "Sorry for the mess. Believe it or not, it does follow a system."

I laughed wholeheartedly, heading further into the space to where her makeshift studio was. "Wanda, you don't need to apologise. This place is amazing."

She snickered, glancing around at everything. "You think? I'd love something more – a real studio – but of course, women aren't supposed to have hobbies apart from pleasing their husband and hosting dinners every other week."

The last part she said with a hint of bitterness, clearly repeating what she'd been told before, no doubt by her parents. I was surprised by her vulgarity, but I wasn't in disagreement. She was absolutely right and it was such a shame because women were so much more than their husband. Too bad society would never see that.

"My father only allows me this... sanctuary," she finished with a sigh, before her hand rested on her desk. "It's not much, but at least it's mine."

"Well, I love it," I told her honestly, making her smile as she looked my way. "Can I look around?"

She waved her hand. "Of course. Nothing's off limits, but do be generous. My ego is easily bruised."

I chuckled at her joke and she flashed me another smile before grabbing her neglected art supplies. As I helped myself to looking around at her work, I heard her rustling around behind me and glanced her way, seeing her making herself comfortable on a stool before a particular canvas. I presumed it was the piece she was working on that she mentioned earlier and got back to my browsing.

She was extremely talented, not that I had any doubts to be honest. There were her bigger pieces, the extremely detailed ones, that she'd painted of grassy landscapes. Some were green full trees with falling leaves, some were cherry blossom trees with pink blossoms floating in the air, some were buildings overgrown with mother nature. I recognised none of them, but they transported me elsewhere like a nostalgic reminder of being a kid and playing in the garden with my mum. Even now, I helped her do the gardenening, but I'd never really appreciated my surroundings until I saw Wanda's work.

And those were just the huge pieces. She'd done sketches that were taped to the wall, to her desk, floating out of sketchbooks. Some were plans for bigger pieces, others were daily observations, all of her surroundings. She didn't draw people, I noticed, it was mainly scenery. But it was all stunning and it brought a smile to my lips as I imagined her producing all of this in her own little sanctuary, as she called it.

"You've been quiet for too long," she called out jokingly, after a while of me perusing her sketchbooks.

I looked up from my seat at her desk, seeing her focused on her painting, but an amused smile ghosted her lips. The sunlight from the window was hitting her perfectly at the moment, and even from where I was sat, I could see the flecks of gold shimmering in her eyes, matching the auburn streaks in her hair. The breath got knocked out of me momentarily, and I almost forgot that she'd said something.

Clearing my throat, I returned her smile. "I'm admiring your work, Wanda. You're bloody talented."

She lowered her paintbrush and gave me an incredulous look. "Tell me what you really think, Y/N."

I grinned, laughing slightly. "I am! I genuinely think this is amazing."

She pressed her lips together, still reluctant to believe me, but she nodded gratefully and returned her attention to her painting. I didn't fail to notice the pink spreading across her cheeks at the compliment, and my heart fluttered at the sight.

"Would you ever sell any of these?" I asked her, standing up and approaching her side to see what she was working on.

I noticed the addition of stray paint that had made its way to her hands and forearms and it made me smile. I don't even think she realised it was there.

She scrunched her nose up at the idea. "I've given some away to family friends because my parents made me. But no, I don't think I'd sell them." Something seemed to make her snort with amusement, then she said, "Nobody would buy them anyway."

I frowned as she sighed, her shoulders sagging at the thought. It was horrible to admit, but she was right. Female authors – questionable, but sure, they existed. Female painters? Let's just say that it was easier to be successful if you worked under a pseudonym and pretended to be a man. Which she clearly wouldn't do, or at least her parents wouldn't allow her to do. Sadly, Wanda Maximoff was in the wrong lifetime.

Hoping to cheer her up, I stood by her side and admired the strokes she made with her paintbrush. "If it's any consolation, if we were in another lifetime where I actually made money, I'd buy them."

She glanced at me, partially disbelieving my words, partially intrigued. "Seriously?"

I nodded with certainty, eyes flickering between hers and her painting. "Seriously. All of them. I'd buy every single one."

She looked away, swallowing hard, then a soft, barely noticeable smile appeared on her lips, and I was glad I'd said the right thing.

Focusing my attention on the painting again, I saw it was a stunning view of a stream, and the way she'd painted it made it seem like it was flowing off the canvas. Her last minute touches, adding white flecks of oil paint on the water, managed to bring the piece to life without any effort. I was amazed at how someone could make nothing turn into something so easily.

"Where is this?" I asked curiously, not recognising the scene, and also wondering where she'd gone for the inspiration since we lived in a busy town that didn't have water sources nearby.

She pointed to her head with the end of her paintbrush. "Up here."

"You made this up?" I asked, surprised for the millionth time since arriving.

"Uh-huh." She tilted her head to study the piece, whilst saying, "I usually paint what's in the garden. Sometimes what I see in town is good, too. But I really wanted to paint water, and apart from the constant rain we get, there is none. So, I made it up."

I was impressed at her ability to make up something like this, but also slightly confused. "Why don't you just visit Blackpool? There's a beach – water, sand, pier, everything. And it's not too far from here. You could make it a day trip."

She shrugged, distracting herself with dipping her brush on her palette. "I don't want to go by myself."

I probably should have recommended she visit with my brother. You know, the man she was engaged to? But my eagerness got the better of me, and I ended up saying, "Maybe we could go together. If you want."

She looked up, a slow smile forming on her lips. "I'd like that."

I mirrored her expression, nodding slightly. "Great. I'm sure we can arrange something. Promise."

She held my gaze for a second longer, saying, "I'll hold you to that, milaya," before looking back to her painting.

"What does that mean?" I asked suddenly, my mind clearly not controlling my words today. "You keep calling me it."

She chuckled, leaning forward to get a closer look at her work with her paintbrush. "Darling."

"Pardon?"

She shook her head, glancing at me with amusement. "No, Y/N. It means darling."

I swallowed awkwardly, certain my cheeks were as red as they felt warm. I wasn't sure what was more embarrassing – that I'd responded to her calling me darling when she hadn't, or that she'd been calling it me this whole time without me knowing. "Oh."

"Pull up a stool," she changed the subject, though my mind was still racing at her revelation. Had she called Y/B/N that? I couldn't recall. "I'll show you how to paint a little if you want."

Dazed, I did as she said whilst chewing on my lip with thought. She watched me, grinning from ear to ear, but said nothing. Was it normal for my heart to flip-flop in my chest like it was? I couldn't tell anymore. And when she grabbed my hand without saying anything, my hand felt like it was on fire with her touch.

The tip of her paintbrush swiped against my inner palm, her soft fingertips holding it up. Every area that her finger touched was burning, sending tingles up my arm and leaving me paralysed. Good thing I was sat down.

"There," she said like it was obvious. "Now you're an artist."

Blue eyes met mine excitedly and I gave her a small smile in return, hoping that these strange thoughts and reactions would disappear soon enough. Because this was definitely not appropriate.

—

My dreams were never anything worthwhile.

For someone who had a creative mind and could string sentences together to create a story I was proud of, my subconscious was the opposite. It was dry and boring and I rarely remembered my dreams unless they were scary enough to wake me up. But this time, this was a dream I was certain I'd never forget...

As with all dreams, I was unable to control what was happening. I was myself, observing from a first person point of view like it was real, but I had no control over my words or actions. Everything was predetermined, like a script I was forced to follow.

So, in this particular dream, I was sat in the back of a carriage, wearing a dress that was fancier than my usual taste. One hand was clutching my purse and the other was in someone else's hand, the person playing with my fingers soothingly.

"We're stopping now. Are you ready?"

It was Wanda. I had no idea why she was in my dream, or why she was leaning into my side comfortably, or why she was playing with my fingers like she did it all the time. I just knew that it shouldn't have been happening.

"Yeah, c'mon," I said with a smile, following my dream's script.

I intertwined our fingers and raised them to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. She smiled with adoration and allowed me to lead her out the carriage quickly. We were at the theatre and the first thing I thought was that my mind was creating a date similar to the one she shared with my brother. Oh, God, this wasn't good.

"Promise you've got the tickets?" she asked as we walked inside, hand in hand.

In my dream, nobody around us seemed to care that we were together, that we were two women showing affection and simply existing in a way more than friends. As wrong as I knew it was to dream of my soon-to-be sister-in-law like this, my mind was at peace, knowing I could be myself in my dream state. I didn't have to hide my identity and it was liberating.

"No, I decided to leave them at home," I answered her sarcastically, smiling.

She squeezed my hand and tugged me close, stopping me from walking any further. Her face scrunched together with a feigned annoyance.

"You don't need to be mean," she mumbled, eyes peering into mine, and my heart raced at the contact of her body pressed to mine.

Grinning, I pressed a kiss to her nose. "I've got them right here, love. Now let's go before we're late."

The dream didn't have a clear transformation. I just knew that one second I was staring at Wanda and the next I was sat beside her in the theatre, waiting for the lights to go down.

"Here," I said, passing her the programme for the show that was in my hand.

When I looked down at it, I was surprised to see a wedding ring on my left hand. Huh.

The lights dimmed when Wanda looked my way, green eyes bright in the dark. She shrugged, grabbing the programme and tossing it over her shoulder to the (thankfully) empty seat next to her.

"Looks like I missed my chance," she said, referring to the lack of light.

I opened my mouth to counter her words, but she didn't give me chance to as she pressed her lips to mine, hand raising to hold the back of my neck and pull me closer. Real me was freaking out, wondering why the hell I was allowing myself to have such thoughts about the girl who was going to marry my brother. And dream me was melting into her touch, shivering at her warmth and the way she began to suck my bottom lip.

"Wanda," I breathed out, pulling away breathlessly, but she continued to hold me close with a stifled grin.

"Isn't that why we got these tickets?" she said jokingly, eyes meeting mine.

My heart raced as she did, the simplest of glances making me weak in the knees. I was beginning to learn that her eyes were irresistibly beautiful.

"Right," I found my words, smiling in agreement as my eyes flickered to her lips.

They were painted red tonight, slightly smudged from the abrupt kiss she gave me, and I could only imagine the state of my own lips.

"We can watch the play now," she whispered, and I just about managed to tear my gaze from her lips to see the entertained look in her eyes.

I hummed in response, not trusting myself to say something comprehensible. Her lips curved into a smile and she linked our arms before settling into her seat, head leaning on my shoulder. I leaned mine on top, kissing the top of her head gently before also getting comfortable.

When I woke up, I didn't remember the rest of the dream, or know if there was a rest of the dream. I opened my eyes and found myself laying in my bed alone, tired and in the dark. It was still nighttime and my mind was foggy with fatigue. It took a moment for me to remember what I'd just dreamed. And then it hit me.

I liked my brother's fiancé.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu

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undertale-data · 3 years

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[Image Description: An Undertale chat box that has “WHY FANS LOVE UNDERTALE” at its center. Next to it are a line chart and an Egg from the Dating Hub on its left, and a CRIME measurer (also from the Dating Hub) on its right. End I.D.]

[Image Description: a pie chart titled, “LEVEL OF LOVE FOR UNDERTALE.” The textbox on the top right reads, “On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the least and 10 being the highest, how much do fans enjoy Undertale?” From the top going clockwise, 12 or 0% chose 5 and below; 23 or 1% chose 6; 98, or 4%, chose 7; 325, or 12%, chose 8; 529, or 20%, chose 9; and 1664, or 63%, chose 10. End I.D.]

It’s clear from all of the data analyzed so far that fans who took the time to answer our survey love Undertale. It is unlikely that they would have taken the time to answer so many questions if they had not, and even less likely that they would have come across our survey in the first place. Naturally, it comes as no surprise that 63% of our responders gave their love for Undertale a score of ten out of ten. 95% gave their love for Undertale a score of eight or higher, and only 12 responders responded with five or below, a number so small that their responses had to be lumped together to be visible on the pie chart. Of those, only 3 responders gave their love for Undertale a score of 1, and based on those responders’ other answers, it is likely that they were only intending to troll. We are very fortunate that the vast majority of responders took the survey seriously, enough so that responses like this are barely a blip in the data.

Now, for our final analysis post of the event, we will delve into the reasons that fans love Undertale so dearly.

(Essay and highlights under the cut.)

There have been countless essays on the impact that Undertale has had on people’s lives. I can hardly add more on the subject than what has already been said, but I hope this summary can provide a brief overview of what stood out among the over two thousand answers given in response to this survey. That said, due to the sheer volume of answers, I could not read every single one in depth—however, I did skim all of them, and some that stood out or were representative of several responses have been highlighted below. If you would like to see what every fan who consented to share their response had to say, you may view the full list of responses here. Note that these responses have not been edited in any way. This document may take a long time to load, as it is over 100 pages long.

(Warnings for mentions of suicidal thoughts in the following essay.)

Several responders loved the theme of choices mattering in Undertale. Whether people played the pacifist, merciless, or neutral routes, they enjoyed how the game reacted to their actions. For some, it even made them consider their own morality. One touching response explained the impact that the theme of mercy made on them. “I realized that Mercy isn't something that's given to those who deserve it. Flowey didn't deserve it. I don't deserve it myself. Shoot, we ALL need Mercy in our lives.” Many fans left similar comments about how the themes of Undertale made them better people.

Undertale changed how its fans treat others, and it also changed how fans treat themselves. The theme of staying determined and the messages of hope in the game were a light to a very large portion of fans. I cannot list all of the fans who said that Undertale helped them out of a dark place, or that they would not be alive if not for Undertale. “DETERMINATION became a metaphor for not killing myself at a really rough time in my life and I’ll always cherish that. Undertale isn’t afraid to go to really dark places but at the same time holds on so tight to its hope.”

Undertale brought fans together in unexpected ways. Some said they met friends or significant others through the fandom. “I wouldn't have met my now husband without Undertale,” one fan said. A different fan who is non-native English speaking mentioned that the game and the fan community helped them to learn English.

It would be impossible to discuss Undertale without mentioning the fan community. Whether for good or bad, many responders mentioned the fandom in their responses. Overall the feelings towards the fandom seem positive, though many made references to “toxic” parts of the fandom without specifying which parts they consider toxic. Others rejected the idea of toxicity in fandom. One response said: “[SLAMS FIST ON DESK] I KNOW MOST PEOPLE SAY THE FANDOM IS TOXIC AND CRINGE OR WHATEVER BUT OH MY GOD. The Undertale fandom, both the UTMV and the actual UT fandom, has been so much fun to be a part of. I've met countless friends because of our shared interest in something related to the game! The art people create can be breathtaking and so inspirational, and the fanfics are so so good!! I've seen people write incredible things for this fandom and it's what made me continue writing!”

One thing that makes the Undertale fandom unique is the way it embraces various AUs. Some fans are tired of AU content, but the majority of responses show a love for the creativity behind AUs. “Roll your eyes at the 50th AU Sans all you want, it's encouraging people to step outside the boundaries of fanart and pushing people to make their own ideas! I mean, hell, it was how I gained the confidence to start making my own original content.” The lack of a judgemental atmosphere seems present in the AU community, according to the responses we saw. There is an interesting balance between AU and canon (sometimes referred to as “classic”) content that another responder pointed out: “The fandom helped keep the game alive all these years, with all of its AUs. Although personally, I always enjoyed AUs that kept characters as close to the classic material as possible (dancetale, outertale) I do appreciate the creativity of the fandom. They almost created entirely new stories with new characters of their own! If it weren't for those people, the Undertale fandom would have probably not been as active as it is now. I do feel like we're getting a resurgence of classic content now too! (In 2021)”

Regardless of the many AUs the fandom has created over the years, the original game of Undertale still feels like home for many fans. They wished they could reclaim the feeling of playing the game again for the first time, but even though we can’t reset time in real life, there is still a special feeling for fans each time they play Undertale. One fan said, “Even the best fics I've read can't capture that feeling of nostalgia/almost-"coming home" that comes with hearing the music and talking to the characters.” This feeling is one that can be cherished time and time again. In the words of another responder: “It always feels welcoming like home or like comfort food that I never grow tired of no matter how many times I go to it.” Others pointed out the strength of the found family trope in Undertale, which likely contributes to this feeling of “home” as well.

As mentioned briefly earlier, the music is part of what makes Undertale feel like home for fans. Even when responses focused on other aspects of the game, many would throw in a comment about the soundtrack at the end. One comment focused on the music said “IT'S SO GOOD like I will literally go through the entire thing over and over and not be bored with it. It makes my monkey brain so happy you have no idea.” Like with the game itself, the music has incredible replay value, an amazing feat considering most of the tracks use the same few motifs. “I think what I like the most about Undertale is how the music attaches you to the story,” another responder said. “They're simple melodies that stick with you throughout the whole game, and they can remind you of both good and bad times.”

If the music sticks with fans in their hearts, then the game’s lore sticks with fans in their minds. Even six years after the release of Undertale, fans are still creating new theories and digging up new secrets. The way the game breaks the fourth wall in particular intrigued many fans and has stuck out through all these years. The awareness that the game shows for the RPG genre makes it memorable. The game plays with the player’s expectations and turns them on their heads, all while reminding the player that they’re in a game. There are few other games that do this on such a large scale, so it’s no surprise that fans cite this as one of their favorite things about Undertale.

Lastly, the LGBT+ representation in Undertale has been a huge draw for fans. Especially in 2015, the sheer volume of non-cishet characters was unprecedented, as one fan pointed out: “It's practically unheard of to see so MANY from just one source, especially during its heyday in 2015-16. Hell, you can't even GET the true pacifist ending without helping two gay couples hook up. It's really nice to see all of them being accepted for who they are and not judged for their sexuality or gender, at least in-canon.” The LGBT+ cast including Frisk, Chara, Napstablook, Monster Kid, Mettaton, Alphys, and Undyne each connected with fans in unique ways. It’s clear how important this is from responses such as: “There are canon nonbinary characters 🥺. i have never seen representation of myself before.” “It made me gay and trans so thanks for that.”

Once again I am overwhelmed with just how much there is to say about Undertale. One responder really understood when they compared Undertale to an iceberg, explaining that there are so many layers to the game that there is something for everyone: “everyone can find something to enjoy in the lore/game regardless of what kind of fan they are! Being able to appeal to various types of fans—from simple happy shipper people to deep dive lorediggers—is the mark of the coolest games!” I would have to agree with them.

It’s been six years, and despite everything, it’s still you. Thank you for reading, participating in this survey, and above all, staying determined.

Highlights:

DETERMINATION became a metaphor for not killing myself at a really rough time in my life and I’ll always cherish that. Undertale isn’t afraid to go to really dark places but at the same time holds on so tight to its hope.

I think the coolest thing was having the opportunity to watch the AU community grow from its bare roots. It's nearly insane how big and complex it's gotten, unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Roll your eyes at the 50th AU Sans all you want, it's encouraging people to step outside the boundaries of fanart and pushing people to make their own ideas! I mean, hell, it was how I gained the confidence to start making my own original content.

i love how the lgbt rep is so naturalized... there are just gay people! and its nobodys business!

The music is my go to answer, but what I really really REALLY love is how the minor characters have so much personality to them when you talk to them. They aren't incredibly important to the overall story, but they're all so likeable and diverse that you just can't help but like them immediately!

I think it was the first videogame I have played that broke the fourth wall that much. Of course there has been other videogames that broke it but just for one or two tongue-in-cheek jokes. The guilt of killing mama goat was also something intense as well that I appreciated as an experience and that I didn't think a videogame could cause on someone.

I love how no character can be seen as completely bad! Everyone builds up Asgore as some horrible villain, but he turns out to be a 'fuzzy pushover' who's broken and just wants his family back by the time you meet him. Then you think Flowey's an irredeemable killer who engineered the suffering of the monsters across many timelines, and he is... but he also used to be the kind and beloved Prince Asriel Dreemurr, traumatized by his death and subsequent rebirth, projecting his best friend onto you.

The fact that choices matter in the game. Your first playthrough and getting the golden ending for the first time. I can never replicate those feelings again, wish I could erase my memories and replay the game from the start.

I wouldn't have met my now husband without Undertale.

(Toxic parts of the fandom aside) The community is possibly one of the kindest I've ever met. Cringe culture is completely dead, and I feel like I can be myself. I felt a very close connection to many of the characters, and I loved consuming content about them when I was in a rough patch in my life.

just everything, the whole game has just impacted my life so much. i know it sounds really lame, but when the game first came out, i would purposely put my hands in my pockets and sway slightly, like sans' idle animation. of course i dont do that anymore haha, but undertale still really impacts me to this day, and i wouldnt have it any other way :)

it made me gay and trans so thanks for that

I realized that Mercy isn't something that's given to those who deserve it. Flowey didn't deserve it. I don't deserve it myself. Shoot, we ALL need Mercy in our lives.

The thing I love most about Undertale is no matter how many times I play or watch a playthrough it always makes me genuinely happy. It always feels welcoming like home or like comfort food that I never grow tired of no matter how many times I go to it. Toriel still makes me feel all warm and cozy in her home, the Skelebros always make me laugh, and I still cry on the inside watching Frisk comforting Asriel. And on the flip side the No Mercy run still invokes the negative emotions in me as well. In short Undertale just feels like a second home to me and I always wish I could stay.

The reader inserts are my favorite way to decompress after a hard day

I think Undertale helped me discover my love for 8-bit games, and made me realize how IMPORTANT music is in video games.

the worldbuilding and character design are my favorite parts of the main game apart from the music! I’m also a huge fan of the random AU music- not for like underswap or underfell i like the stuff where someone makes a megalovania for a random au where gru from despicable me replaces sans as the character. i think its funny

Just... the vibe, honestly? Even the best fics I've read can't capture that feeling of nostalgia/almost-"coming home" that comes with hearing the music and talking to the characters.

there are canon nonbinary characters 🥺. i have never seen representation of myself before.

[SLAMS FIST ON DESK] I KNOW MOST PEOPLE SAY THE FANDOM IS TOXIC AND CRINGE OR WHATEVER BUT OH MY GOD. The Undertale fandom, both the UTMV and the actual UT fandom, has been so much fun to be a part of. I've met countless friends because of our shared interest in something related to the game! The art people create can be breathtaking and so inspirational, and the fanfics are so so good!! I've seen people write incredible things for this fandom and it's what made me continue writing!

There's a scene where Frisk (the player) is going towards what is presumably going to be their death. They will fight Asgore and he will use their human soul to break the barrier and free his people. The music, despite the player's impending doom, is... triumphant. You are not the triumphant one here, and yet, the score invites you to experience the monsters' joy and happiness as they tell you the tale of their subjugation. The monsters are going to be free. This is their victory, but they don't hate you or want you to die. They're just... happy. That scene has always struck me very deeply. I feel it represents the best parts of Undertale.

I loved how well thought out the Geno route was. It really made me feel like I was doing something horrible, and the characters were very obviously reacting to dire circumstances.

I dunno? I like Undertale for it's characters, story, music, secrets and many more. I am not good with Headcanons but I also like the neutral endings and how different they can depending on who you spare and kill

I was very bad at english before, i thought i couldn't progress because i was very shy and not confident. But my sibling and i wanted to have the best experience with this game so we wanted to play it in english. It's this game and the fandom which helped me to make huge progress in english !

THE SOUNDTRACK. IT'S SO GOOD like I will literally go through the entire thing over and over and not be bored with it. It makes my monkey brain so happy you have no idea.

to avoid writing an essay i will say one word. Mettaton

It is like Toby specifically made the games to fit the iceberg meme and it's awesome, everyone can find something to enjoy in the lore/game regardless of what kind of fan they are! Being able to appeal to various types of fans - from simple happy shipper people to deep dive lorediggers is the mark of the coolest games!

I love almost everything about Undertale as a game on its own. The music, the art and especially the characters and how they interact. They made me feel at home. Undertale means a huge amount to me. (I even got a tattoo of the castle when you and MK walk together!) The fandom helped keep the game alive all these years, with all of its AUs. Although personally, I always enjoyed AUs that kept characters as close to the classic material as possible (dancetale, outertale) I do appreciate the creativity of the fandom. They almost created entirely new stories with new characters of their own! If it weren't for those people, the Undertake fandom would have probably not been as active as it is now. I do feel like we're getting a resurgence of classic content now too! (In 2021)

the mystery. toby fox refused to give answers to anything and i think thats very sexy of him.

I just feel guilty for liking it so much when I'm in my 30's. But I recently got diagnosed with ASD, so I guess it explains things a bit. Many ppl consider Papyrus to be neurodivergent, and some adult fans are too, so seeing that makes me feel a bit better.

i think about "Despite everything, it's still you" everyday of my life.

I like how it's just as funny as it can be serious. All routes are this way. I laughed as much as I cried when I played the Pacifist route and then once I opened the game again and Flowey was telling me to let them be happy, I immediately turned off the game. I somehow felt bad.

The Found Family Trope

The True Pacifist Ending is just...man. And the fanworks about saving everyone even when the game doesn't let you? MANNNNNN

I think what I like the most about Undertale is how the music attaches you to the story. They're simple melodies that stick with you throughout the whole game, and they can remind you of both good and bad times.

there's honestly a LOT to love about this game, but i think one of my favorite things about it is just how many lgbt+ characters there are??? i can think of alphys, undyne, frisk, chara, mettaton, napstablook, monster kid, asgore, mad mew mew, the dress lion, the royal guards, and arguably even papyrus off of the top of my head, but im sure i'm forgetting a few from just undertale alone (there's even MORE in deltarune)!! it's practically unheard of to see so MANY from just one source, especially during its heyday in 2015-16. hell, you can't even GET the true pacifist ending without helping two gay couples hook up. it's really nice to see all of them being accepted for who they are and not judged for their sexuality or gender, at least in-canon.

[Image description: A wordcloud in the shape of the capitalized word UNDERTALE. The text is white on a black background, and uses the font found in the game. Some of the most visible words are: Game, Love, Music, Life, AU, Store, Friend, and Feel, which represent the most common words in the essays people wrote about their love for the game. End of ID]

#undertale #analysis #results #undertale fandom census

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