Hello!!

Hello!!

I just wanted to say that I very recently stumbled across your Chrollo yandere analysis and completely fell in love. I’ve binge read all of your writings for him and just want to say thank you!!

The way that you write him is so haunting, unsettling and wildly attractive! I can’t wait to keep reading ♡

gasp!!!!!! (happy noises)

mr chrollo sure is a character… he is like a seastorm and you never know when the tides will swoop in, much the less what lurks underneath the seawater. could be jewels, relics of the past, an existential crisis… you never know what’s going to happen. that’s the thrill of it, i think. darling never knows what he is going to do next, how much he knows, and that adds to the lucilferhorror™️ experience. even he doesn’t know what he is going to do, deep down, as he has no sense of identity himself.

psychological horror is a huge love of mine, so hopefully i’ll be able to do it justice in later works with chrollo and other characters! there is just this fear of the unknown that is so tempting to write for…

especially when it comes to hier encore darling, i feel that her relationship with chrollo definitely has some psychological horror potential. she’s definitely going to be returning soon and that’s one of the many reasons she is! just a conniving protagonist combined with a just as conniving antagonist… my pride and joy of a trope. my favorite wine, literal ambrosia from the yandere gods themselves… nom nom. gulp gulp.

she’s gonna be in for hell when she does return, though…

Yan chrollo + “Chrollo, where have all my romance books gone?”

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, manipulation, alcohol, not SFW implications, and drugging.

Word Count: 550.

*~*~*~*

All of your things are gone, not just those books. No, that would be too easy for someone like him, and too lax of a punishment for someone like you.

Is it a punishment, though? Or is he just playing with you? You hope for the latter, unsurprisingly.

You can’t wait to be able to stand up again, you haven’t eaten or drank much ever since feeling a bit lightheaded a few minutes ago, the moment that Chrollo asked how good today’s dinner was.

Bastard.

“I simply wanted to entertain both of us with a game.” A claim much too innocent for someone like him, but also something far too simple. “A game. That is all, nothing more and nothing less. If you win, I’ll give them back.”

Is this a lie or a half-truth or something else entirely?

“You’re stranger and creepier than me looking outside and seeing the tentacles of a giant squid coming out of the hotel across the street.” Hmm, a raised eyebrow as a response instead of words. “Forget it, I’ll find something else to do.”

A bluff, really, because you can’t really stand up, and because you don’t know what became of all your other things like your shoes, your diary, your three succulents… everything is just gone, and you know why.

“When have I ever gone so low, darling?” Sarcasm, you think, from the way he crosses his arms so nonchalantly and puts the pack of mint gum back by the bouquet of roses, which he will have to replace soon at the speed at which they are wilting.

“Last month.” As above, so below. “You were making breakfast. I don’t remember anything other than waking up in the late afternoon of that day with a painful migraine. You did something, but you refused to tell me what.”

Everything was hazy then and still is now. How much did he put in your drink this time? Or did he put something in your food? Will he ever tell you what it is or was?

“I promise I only have the best intentions for our relationship.” A relationship is quite the strong word, you want to say. “You. Me. Drinking, watching a movie of your choosing perhaps, and having a few laughs. We’ll relax.” A full truth? “We will show each other what no one else has seen. No one else.”

You scoff. “I appreciate the sentiment, but unfortunately a certain black-haired fellow has caused me to feel ill.” Technically, you’re not lying. “Physically and emotionally and everything else in all other aspects. …But what happens if I lose? If I can't stand up?” A question you are forced to ask. Temptation and coercion go hand in hand, after all.

Like the light of an angler fish, Chrollo’s eyes swing back and forth, and you have to look closer to notice anything wrong. 

“I’ll keep you.” He murmurs, the implications and stakes too high for you to not notice, but the matter of pride and the punishment for running away with your tail tucked between your legs are things you are all too familiar with.

“Deal,” It’s the only word you said this entire conversation that isn’t slurred, you note. He simply shakes your trembling hand, and you take the cup, doomed to soon fail as Chrollo intended.

halloween.

bold – yandere.

italic – concept.

regular – non-yandere.

bold and red – favorite characters, more likely to get longer fics.

purple - bullet formatted.

*~*~*~*

micheal myers.

(to be added)

Heyy!! I don’t know if you still do Chrollo fics , but if you’re doing recommendations/commissions , can you make something like where the readers like “do you think you’ll kill for me one day?” and he’s like “yes. of course I will my darling” ?? It’s based off a sound I heard somewhere .. I think the song is called “I want it all” by Lana del ray. Thank you!! 🫶

damn he really would say that huh?

Bad Habit.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: “Where there is carnage, there is beauty.”

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, general anxiety and uneasiness, references to disturbing works of art (Saturn Devouring His Son, The Nightmare, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan), manipulation, and talks of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

There are as many things people can see as beautiful as there are shades of light shining through a prism.

Spectrums are quite common along with comparison and placement. It varies greatly from person to person, their preferences and their life experiences and their joys, and their fears.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yes, but the eye of the beholder is also the window to their soul, to their psychological responses and traumas and memories of a past that would rather either be forgotten or worshiped. Every soul is different, and there is beauty in that. So, why do you find the heart and soul of Chrollo Lucilfer, whom many would call beautiful if they never knew him for what he truly is, so, so simply lovely? It does not have to do with his mannerisms or his confidence or his knowledge of virtually everything in this world, you concluded one day, after receiving yet another call from him, with him, as always, asking general questions like if you miss him and such. It is because he is the only thing I can cling to that will stay here, with me.

You cling onto him like a lost puppy, yearning for any sort of affection they can get no matter the cost. You did that when he first transported you from one place to another with hardly regarding any words from you on the matter. You do that now, in this art museum, full of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar artwork and unfamiliar architecture. You missed home, back then. You still do now, and Chrollo still does not care one bit.

His hand is like a cuff, his arm like a chain, as he walks with you from one room to the next. But, still, it is the only thing that keeps you from falling apart.

So, like a sort of dance, you two move in sync. It is up to Chrollo as to if or when you will stop. It is never up to you, after all.

Does Chrollo enhance the horrific allure of these paintings, or does he once again bring all the attention to himself?

*~*~*~*

“Mythology often comes from our own woes.” He says, pointing upward, slowly, to Cronos’s eyes, which are bloodshot and large and dark. “A popular theory was that Goya was representing an oppressive government through Kronos, and the son that was prophesized to kill him as an adult represented the people who had started to revolt. But others don’t see it that way, oddly enough.”

You don’t respond, you simply look at the beheaded infant, which looks so soft and so rotten at the same time, with blood and deskinned chewed flesh running down his neck. He fits into his father’s hands perfectly, like he was made to be eaten.

*~*~*~*

“While most incubi are written and drawn as physically attractive creatures, this one in particular looks more akin to a gargoyle than that of a man.” He hums, and you can feel his hand wrap more tightly around yours. Not so much in a strangling, hurtful way, but rather just in a sort of reminderful way. “Maybe Fuseli was trying to make sure that the point of what the incubus really is is sent across to the viewers?”

With not a single word coming out of your mouth, a sure sign that you are zoning out his words, he squeezes a bit tighter to get your attention back where he wants it to be.

“What do you think, beloved?”

Once again, instead of answering, you choose to remain silent and focus your attention on other things. So, you look around. To the floor. To your high heels. Everything else, anything else. Only silence remains for a few more moments, but when the silence is not enjoyed any longer with another increase in his grip, you decide to answer before you get yourself into trouble.

“...I… I think that maybe it deals with sleep paralysis.”

Chrollo widens his eyes and smirks, and from those actions alone you know you have created a believable lie and concept that is sure to be amusing to him.

You’re forgiven.

*~*~*~*

“Historians say that the son’s death was the point of no return for Ivan.” A cradling of the arms and a Cat’s Cradle are the same; they both trap those within them.

Eyes are still eyes, whether they are real or not. Ivan the Terrible’s show a thousand tragedies and a thousand other faces his destiny could have worn, if he pushed the other one aside, if he had the strength to.

“Just like how Ivan was his son’s undoing, his son was also his.”

*~*~*~*

“...Would you ever kill for me?”

Violence is often not the only path Chrollo can choose to take. His words can be another, albeit that road will be much longer, and less smooth.

Who knows what he will choose when the hour of the heist comes to fruition when the art can finally be grasped and never let go of?

Which path do you prefer?

Which path does he prefer?

Do you prefer to be threatened with sweet honey that sticks to your skin or is so hot that it burns it?

“Of course, my dear.”

What you find grotesque, like the way the topic of violence is spoken so naturally from you and him, Chrollo always seems to find beautiful, like the way your moving lips are so lush.

…

Paintings are often just a reflection of how the world is, after all.

Reblog if this sight on your blog makes you smile and you would like your followers to talk to you more. 

May I please request Yandere Machi, Pakunoda, and Shizuku? (separate)

Here's the scenario: They haven't seen their s/o in a decade, ever since they got put in prison. The rest of Troupe managed to break them out, and they go on the search for their s/o.

However, they encounter their son/daughter—who was eight the last time they saw them—now an adult and full-pledged hunter. Their child tells them that they'll defeat them and put them back into prison in the name of justice, which is sad because before they were captured and put into prison, they used to be very close.

Yan Machi + Yan Shizuku + Yan Pakunoda / Having a Hunter Child.

Warnings: The reader uses she/her pronouns respectfully, implied dub-con, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, and threats/mentions of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Machi

Eyes the color of a cloudless sky meet those dissimilar to them yet all too familiar at the same time for as many reasons as there are stars during the time of midnight. The young man’s eyes share the same hue as yours, yet have the same type of glare Machi used to always use on you to keep you in line, to prevent you from doing anything stupid. 

“Komacine. I shall strike you down if it is the last thing I ever do.”

Machi is not scared, just disappointed, in both her son and you. 

“Oh?” But she is also happy because, for the first time in nearly ten years, she can see the image of her son and you, both within her grasp where you both belong. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

Her words made the young man’s sword be held up even higher, but she was still not afraid.

“I shall, Spider, that is a promise.” But deep within those eyes, there is regret and sorrow, Machi thinks.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”

Her son merely snarls like a wild animal, still having his weapon raised high. “You aren’t my mother. You’re just yet another piece of evidence of all the wrongs there are to be righted in this world.”

From the corner of her eye, Machi sees you wearing a pink apron through the window, seeming to be humming to something while peeling some potatoes, carrots, and onions. She would have made her way into your home by now, if your son hadn’t at that exact moment opened the front door, which had immediately set off his Nen detection.

“Am I not? You look just like the little boy I used to take to the playground all the time, all those years ago. The games we used to play, your favorite one being… hmm…” She put her thumb and pointer finger under her chin, pinching it lightly.

“That was then and this is now, Komacine. I will kill you for what you did, all the people you hurt and murdered in cold blood.” 

Choosing not to pay any clear attention to the threat, Machi simply thinks back to all the past moments, so bittersweet like her favorite tea blend.

“Ah… it was hide and seek, wasn’t it?” From the sound of silence, she knows she is right. “Shall we play that one now? …Would you like that?”

No answer is to be heard.

Shizuku

Shizuku turns her head to the side, confused. 

“Why are you attacking me?” Did she do something wrong? “Why do you think? I know you have a bad memory, but try to use that brain of yours, Spider. For your good.” This man looks familiar, but from where?

Then she realizes, as the moonlight shines on the tops of both of their heads, showing the eerily similar hues of ink black. She smiles, and the moonlight also shows how wide it is, much to the horror of the young man.

“Ah! You’re my son, all grown up! Gosh… the years have flown by, haven’t they?”

She chuckles as she reminisces about old times, full of sentimentality.

“We should have a game night, just like those times! Oh, to see your mother again as she plays with us… it would feel like a dream, wouldn’t it?” To see how you have matured too, just like your son, both from the inside and outside, is a sight that would make Shizuku’s heart burst with love. Even though you are all ten years older, she is sure that you are still as beautiful as ever.

It feels and sounds like a threat, but is it? Shizuku does not lie, and her threats are always nonexistent, anyway.

He prepares to run just in case it is and is real, though.

Pakunoda

In an instant, she gets closer than he can blink and puts a finger to his lips.

“Shush. Calm down, please. I love you both, and I always will.”

Little by little, the sword lowers, as small as the change is.

But she notices. She has always been observant, which only proves to be more amplified during her ten-year-long search for you.

“You’re a Spider, you hurt us, you hurt more than us. Why would I-” Another interruption.

“I missed you plenty, you know. You and your mother were the lights of my world all those years ago. You both still are. Did you miss me too? Either of you?” It is not an odd question, but without physical touch, it may as well be. Her Nen can only work when she has her hand or arm on someone, after all. However, even without using it, she can still detect when someone is lying. The slight quiver of the corner of the lips.

He can’t move. He can feel his soul sinking, far beneath the ground.

“No.” There is only one word, but the lie is still apparent.

“Shall we go in? We have a lot to discuss, your mother and I. We can also chat about old times if you want to.” She smiles as she walks up the steps, slowly with her hands raised. Her son lets her.