Self Indulgent Tuesday - Tumblr Posts

“compared to your golden suns, my eyes are just dust grains in space.”

“…that in itself can be beautiful, if you let it.”

“but i’m nothing like you.”

Heaven Can Wait.

Yan (College AU) Juno x GN Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, descriptions of violence, implications of dub-con sex (not with the reader), Chrollo is the worst, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Can be considered to be an honorary part of Hier Encore. (Or as a standalone for a soft yandere hot woman)

*~*~*~*

You could have chosen a better place to eat. Everything was less than half the usual price compared to the more expensive places, yes. But the customer service was ghastly though, the food was near inedible, and everything smelled of cigarettes. Cracked white bowls and filthy cups littered every table, including the one you two are sitting at.

Well, Juno thought, at least I can smoke here.

That would ruin the mood though, perhaps. She wants you to only have the best opinion of her after all. She wants it so bad that she has dressed up to the nines for a simple late-night fast-food run. Like a single cloud hovering in a bright blue sky, she stands out like a sore thumb.

It’s half past midnight now, much later than she usually stays up on her days off. Not that she had many off days, to begin with. It’s a prison of her design honestly; always wanting to know more and do more sometimes gets her nowhere.

But most of the time it gets her somewhere.

It was easy enough to befriend you, having moments not too intimate but not too distant either.

Yes. Yes… you remind her of him, in some ways.

You tell her sweet words and your touch is as soft as the pillows she sleeps on. Those were not the only traits Sebaste had Juno sees in you, though.

You’re not the most aloof person she knows, that easily goes to Camus, but you still don’t know how to control your facial expressions much. You like the beach, but not necessarily like the ocean’s water. 

“How can you just eat all of that?”

“Pardon?”

You point. Juno looks down at the many empty plates on her side of the table, all piled high on one another and all having a thin layer of red sauce inside them. There must have been at least five, she thinks. She was too zoned out to feel the spice of the food most likely. 

Your bowl, on the other hand, was more than half full. Your side of the table was also covered in little splotches of hot sauce, while hers remained mostly clean. You were avoiding the vegetables maybe, or maybe you didn’t have as high of a spice tolerance as she did. Juno is undecided on which one would be more likely.

…Has… she really eaten this many bowls while her imagination roamed free?

She has dealt with far worse pain. Though around forests in the middle of the night only to be threatened with a taser was on the much lower end of the spectrum of unfortunate situations she has been in, the spiciness was somehow even lower. The device was set to the lowest setting, but her skin still felt like it was about to jump out of her body and run away. Being held with an ax right below her neck while another hand held her up by her hair was another one only slightly above the last two. She only had a slight cut just above her collarbone when the grip loosened and she was able to leave.

But she cannot tell you all of that; she wouldn’t want you in more danger than she has already made you be in.

“I’ve simply dealt with far worse… ‘dishes’, [First].”

You look confused at her answer but decide not to pry – another trait she loves about you, your ability to not invade others’ privacy – and decide to instead delve into the now cold cup of admittedly diluted green tea you ordered mere minutes ago.

*~*~*~*

When Juno locks the door behind her, she notices the tall lamp by her desk is on. It’s no mere coincidence, she knows it, but somewhere deep down she hopes that tonight it will be. Hell has to take a break sometimes, right? 

Juno has to remind herself that though the demons may have today to do whatever they please, Lucifer himself does no such thing. He enjoys making life for others unbearable – he lives for it.

She can’t make out Chrollo’s face because of the book he covers over it.

“The Collector, huh?” Juno sets her purse on the coat rack along with her cardigan. Her high heels come off soon after, though they do make a blunt thump when she puts them by her dorm’s entrance. Chrollo just turns a page, almost as if he is ignoring you entirely, almost as if this is his home and not yours. “I recommended that one to you, did I not? I thought that perhaps you could metamorphose into a better person if you see the damage you could potentially do to your crush.”

Her teeth push against each other as she says the last word.

“Is that how my lovely girlfriend greets me after cheating on me in the middle of the night?” He looks down at his watch – one of the many he wears on the regular, though she can swear that this one was the most expensive from the little diamonds around the outer rim of the clock. “At such a cheap place too.”

“A crush is all I am.”

“Are you now?”

Chrollo doesn’t even look at you as he stands up, the book still covering his face as he steps towards you. His posture is upright like it normally is, but his suit is without a tie and the button-up is a third way undone. He must have been in quite a rush to break in here – she hopes he did.

“Then what are they to you, huh? A crush as well?”

She shakes her head, and somehow he sees it because he nods in response.

“Then what are they?”

“Something you are not.”

“Are they really, Juno?”

Slowly but surely the book falls to Chrollo’s side – a blood-red curtain that does nearly nothing to hide the scene about to be revealed to the audience. The actors are not there and neither are the special effects done by the stagehands, but the props stay where they were placed.

It’s horrifying.

She struggles to come up with a coherent answer to the question despite her expecting it. It is like Chrollo used his damn book without even opening it – her painted lips feel dry and her freshly washed hair feels like it is about to fall off from stress. It is like a diabolical curse has been put over her like she will become a haggard old woman with a humpback in mere seconds. If that did happen, Chrollo would have her beg for months on end until he is satisfied.

She doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want that any more than she wants you to get hurt because of her.

She doesn’t want you to see her hideous real face, nevertheless Chrollo’s.

You’ll stay with her, won’t you? You’ll stay until her flesh rots and your flesh rots and Chrollo’s flesh rots. If you allow her, she won’t let go of you even when she is long dead. Her pretty nails will dig into your skin and refuse to leave. You’ll stay – because you are all she has left in this cold, uncaring world. 

“Don’t hurt them.” Her fingertips hold onto her skirt like they are flies and it is a spider’s web.

He points – a clear order, a clear demand.

“Get on the bed then, dearest.”

Cupid's Chokehold.

Yan Lucas x F Reader. 

Synopsis: With your vision, lines are always blurred. But the one on your mind right now is the line where the basement is and where the warm, inviting stairs begin… and how little distance is too close to the woman shackled up.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, past not SFW implications (non-con), cannibalism, and depictions of violence/corpses.

Word Count: 1.2k.

a little fanwriting for the amazing @wri0thesley / @needleanddead's oc lucas! check them out if you haven't already! <333 (if you want me to take this down, please let me know!)

*~*~*~*

“Darling?”

The door Lucas had come through you had sworn you hadn’t seen before. It is like it came out of a fictional reality, in all senses of the words – the bricks seemed too gray, too monochrome to be real, the cracks so similar to each other it is like an animator gave up halfway through and scribbled straight lines downward, the dark brown stains of wet dirt on the carpet in front of it too large to be anything human.

“Yes?” 

Lucas doesn’t like being ignored; he pulled your ear once because he thought you were. Despite your claims that you were not and simply just tired, which were all true, his pinching fingers continued to bite into you. He didn’t yell then, at least. Lucas never yelled at you, despite his temper and whomever he is screaming at when he sends you off to bed. His voice is the only voice you have heard for weeks.

You don’t hear even your own anymore after all your sobbing into your pillow that you do on the daily. 

“Clean yourself up, alright?”

You don’t nod as quickly as you usually do.

Perhaps it is Stockholm Syndrome getting to you or the curious cat in you wondering where that door leads. Where either way leads you don’t like.

Just like the way the basement stairs lead you down and the stairs next to the kitchen lead you up.

After a raise of Lucas’ eyebrow and a cross of his arms, you hurriedly go on your merry way. It is almost like you are a child running after shutting off all the lights and returning to the safety net that is their room, except candles were still lit in lanterns and the fireplace still had enough wood to keep on burning.

You aren’t allowed to close your door. It is something you fought at first, weeks ago. But after some gripping on your hand that was far too tight to be anything less than a warning, you learned that sometimes things must be let go for better things.

Privileges you had before that you can still remember when you lived on your own and you were free and happy. Being able to change your clothes. Being able to walk to the farmer’s market by yourself. Being able to say no when someone touches you in ways you don’t want.

However, beggars can’t be choosers, especially ones that don’t exactly know what is in their kidnapper’s locked basement. Like the gates of hell, you want that door to remain shut despite wanting and wanting to know the horrors within. Isn’t that a human’s nature? To seek out things unbeknownst to them?

But it’s not like you don’t have a general idea. Lucas hasn’t come home as pissed off as of late – a sure sign that maybe less of the meat he cooked was a person’s arm or leg. You can’t be picky with your food either; you need energy and you need Lucas to not be mad and threaten to stick a feeding tube up your nose.

Lucas told you he didn’t have people down there, and for your sanity, you believed him. The steak tastes better when you don’t think about the cow being in the slaughterhouse. The waters keep calm when you don’t rummage around and throw yourself inside them.

A familiar hand sneaks around your neck, and your chest, and goes up to your mouth – but there is still enough distance for you to speak.

“I always liked that dress on you.”

You don’t scream and you don’t cover up your chest with your arms anymore – that would make him annoyed and, yes, not mad, but annoyed is still a bad emotion to feel when you are Lucas.

Instead, you continue to put on the pink frilly dress Lucas got you when he wanted to reward you for being good the previous night. You said you wanted him to go get something handmade and soft, he added the word ‘pretty’ to your request, and he came back with that. It isn’t the shortest thing in your admittedly full wardrobe, but it isn’t the longest either.

It still shows things you don’t want to show this man, this depraved killer.

But he’s here in this cottage with you and you can’t change when he wants to leave. You can’t change where you are when you are with him. 

An idea pops into your head at that very moment.

You can change when he leaves sometimes, when you ask.

“Luke?” The nickname is forced out of your throat, yet echoes so naturally in Lucas’ ears.

“Yes, angel?” He sounds even more excited, most likely because your tone is filled with such saccharine affection.

“Can you make a small trip for me? Please?”

*~*~*~*

With the door shut, you cannot see the thirty or more steps you have to continue to take to get to the bottom. When you had gotten on the fifth or so though there was a dusty chain dancing on top of your hair. Against your better judgment, you pulled.

The light wasn’t the brightest and flickered with each blink of your eyes, but it was better than nothing. It seemed so filthy however that you presume Lucas doesn’t use it very much – either he has better vision than you or he uses one of the candlelit lanterns he fancies from the sitting room.

There is a creak on one of the floorboards. It almost makes you fall down the stairs because of how suddenly your heart jumps. No, the town is about an hour away. Lucas wouldn’t be here, it is only you making those sounds.

“Lucas?”

The voice is so raspy it is like another creak on the floorboard. It essentially reaches out to you like a snake, ready to swallow you whole.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

The second time the person speaks, you are better at identifying them. It sounds more feminine than Lucas’, although that didn’t say much. Perhaps a fellow woman.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I… I’m sorry I bit you… I’m sorry… I… I’m so sorry…”

“Lucas… is out…”

You’re not sure if you should have said that. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all before she took a look at you and she had the opportunity to ask any questions she had. From how she screams and cries and how you hear chains shake, she probably either thinks you’re a savior or an accomplice.

“Oh God!”

After you reach the final step, you stop. Your bare feet don’t touch the dirty floor – the stairs are cleaner, and the thought of getting too close scares you for some reason. The woman doesn’t care, you think, because what comes out of her mouth are inconsistent ramblings waiting to be answered by you and only you – about him, about you, about everything that has happened since she was locked up down here.

“Why are you here?” She asks.

The bucket beside her smells, and the boxes on the far end of the basement have flies going inside through little holes centipedes and cockroaches also use.

“He… He left the door unlocked. …Why?”

She screams again. 

You almost scream too, but you don’t know what for. Yet.

i love her :)