#yandere DOOM

[yanderes-galore]

This was requested by an Anon.

Sort of similar to the other concept I did for him, just with a different pairing/intention. This became more self indulgent than I wanted, but I'm obsessed with the idea of such a badass guy going soft for you.

Yandere! Doom Slayer Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Protective behavior, Violence/murder, Slight stockholm syndrome if you squint, Clingy behavior, Trauma, OOC Slayer I guess?

The Doom Slayer seems like he'd be an overprotective yandere for the most part.

He falls into one of my favorite dynamics, big buff superhuman falls for weaker darling.

He'd definitely keep you in the Fortress of Doom after meeting you, believing you aren't safe on Earth until the demons are rid of.

At first he'd probably be rather dismissive.

Based on what he's gone through, he isn't the most sane person.

He doesn't know how to interact with you for a bit other than checking in on you.

He knows after you've been on Earth you're quite shaken.

He's used to seeing demons everywhere but he has to get used to you being a bit more fragile.

His yandere intentions don't manifest until much later on, to you he just seems like humanity's protector.

A slayer sent to Earth to cleanse it of its sins.

Plus, like my previous concept, you grow close to him.

It's you being in the Fortress of Doom that allows you to see the Doom Slayer in his more vulnerable moments.

You've caught him rearranging his little collectible toys, holding back a playful snicker he couldn't hear.

You also watch him tinker with his praetor suit.

He enjoys it when you sit beside him while he tests components, simply asking about him and his mission.

Not like you get much, he usually likes to communicate through actions.

When he really starts to feel comfortable around you, he lets his guard down.

One time you caught the armored soldier slouched over, asleep surprisingly.

He doesn't usually sleep... or at least you've never seen him.

It must've been a power nap as when you tried to help him be more comfortable, he woke up to you.

He merely stared at you while you hovered over him, a gaze so gentle and full of concern....

Luckily his helmet hid his gaze-

Speaking of which, you rarely see the Doom Slayer without his armor on.

He hasn't been around people often, used to gore and tearing demons apart.

Which is why when he spends softer moments with you he acts so confused.

One time you saw him with his helmet off, you both looked at each other shocked.

Then you smiled.

"Y'know, you look nice without it."

He stares at you in surprise before changing his gaze.

You are the only recent human he's close to now.

Sitting with him in his station... seeing what he looks like.

Your compliment encourages him to take it off more around you.

It'll be awhile before he takes the full armor off, but the helmet is fine.

It weakens the barrier between you.

Such a simple action makes human contact so much easier.

The Doom Slayer isn't sure how to act when he develops softer feelings for you.

You give him such a gentle look, so much softer than his hardened gaze.

One time, you weren't thinking and lightly touched his exposed face.

You both freeze and you pull away.

"Sorry..."

"...No."

He didn't want you to pull away.

Next thing you know you simply sat by him, hand in his own.

You two could be the only humans alive and you wouldn't know.

All you ever see is him.

Can you really blame yourself for getting attached?

The Slayer himself thaws at your presence.

You make him, someone meant to slaughter, melt.

The first thing he does after his missions is look for you.

You're usually keeping things tidy while he's gone.

Then he greets you with a tap on the shoulder, putting the helmet down.

For the most part, around you he's uncharacteristically soft.

You give him comfort similar to what Daisy gave him.

His pet rabbit, yes, the Slayer compares you to his closest pet.

A small, gentle animal... meant to be held and cherished.

He may even hold you when he's comfortable enough.

You're all of a sudden picked out of your seat, placed on the cold metal of his armor.

He then ruffles your hair in calming patterns, sighing.

You have an effect on him.

Even more so when you hold his face, trying to share the affection.

For the most part, you may reciprocate to him.

He's the only human you have left....

It's when he gets overprotective that you distance yourself a bit.

He gets clingier, wanting you by him when he's around.

He even gets frustrated when he has to continue his mission.

The lack of personal space irks you.

Yet you also enjoy the Slayer's affections.

You just wish you could wander the station without him breathing down your neck.

It slowly becomes less about overprotective behavior and more just him exploring this fixation he has with you.

He pets you when he hugs you....

It's so weird to feel when he does it.

If he catches you no longer giving him those gentle looks or soft touches, it upsets him.

You saw him without his armor when you wanted to be alone once.

Like he was trying to make you more comfortable by being more casual.

Sighing, you give it a shot.

He calmed down when you laid on top of him, allowing him to take in your warmth and run his hands down your back.

The Slayer would slaughter every demon in existence for you.

The thought of such beasts hurting you...

Taking you away from his arms after he's tasted comfort...

It keeps him going.

That alone is enough motivation to continue his crusade.

He'd kill anything for you.

Just to have you in his arms.

You rarely see his yandere tendencies.

It's all taken out on the demons.

A Marauder commented about you once...

The Slayer didn't let him finish, a chainsaw shoved deep in his gut.

Rage fuels the Slayer.

Along with obsession, a craving for attention from you.

He's told you make him weak...

He responds by killing more and more hordes.

He's meant to be a gladiator, a fighter for demonic entertainment...

Now he's yours and he's happy.

What would make him happier is a kiss, a true unfiltered form of love from you.

He sinks further and further both into the army of demons, and his obsession for you.

He worries he'll scare you.

That you could never love a beast such as him.

Yet, you reciprocate mostly.

You encourage him to relax at the station with you.

He'd never give you up.

The demons would have to pry you out of his grasp if they wanted to take you away from him...

Although their claws would be cut before they got the chance.

For being what he is, towards the one he cares most about he is obsessive, protective, and clingy.

But in the situation of Doom Eternal, it isn't that bad.

He's all you have any way... how could you not soon grow to love him?

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P1]

(Yandere × F!Reader)

[Series link]

[Warning: obssessive, workplace/academic discrimination, xenophobia, mention of SA, slowburn, dense plot, not even sure if its dark romance, not sure if its romance at all]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

You knew his type. Rich, spoiled, and never told no. In college, you would see them flocking down walkways in goofy polos, or if there were events, in color-coded suits and ties as if going to their first communion. They were never alone, stuck in bubbles of laughters and champagnes and vape vapors. You were not there besides them. You sat rooted in the library chair, dropping in and out of kickbacks of other students who also never fit into their puzzle of oxfords and high heels. You didn't resent them. You had your own little life. You found comfort in turning it up in the weekend with your fierce eyeliner and fishnet when your bank balance was full, or sitting in your friends' living room greening out on Mexican weed when you were broke.

So when you graduated side by side with them, ordered by names, you didn't feel as if you missed the school spirit. Your ex was chatting up with his crowd a couple rows down, arms in arms with a known rapist. In a sea of them you treaded in your scuffed heels and walked the stadium to your fine, leather-bordered diploma and took a half-hearted photo with the dean before sneaking out early, never to see any of them again. Sure, you missed your friends, but you could always call and catch flights (when your bank balance so permits). The rest of them slipped off your mind easily like vapor.

You moved country. That was the right move. Sure, you could stay in the States and try out a desk job, but you didn't find it in you to belong. Plus, with the recent development of AI  technology coupled with the impending economic recession, you weren't too optimistic about finding a position that lasts. So you packed up and left, missing barely anything. 4 years of your life remained in the tissues your cried into in the dingy airport toilet. You called your family to let them know your ambition. They scoffed, trying to talk you out of it for the last time yet, before their persuasion became discouragement. Before they told you that the corporation needed an heir, and that you were stubborn just like your father was. You turned off your phone and boarded. Your 20s seemed wide open, soaring with you, louder than the plane engine that roared even in your sleep.

3 years later, in your little cubicle in a Japanese high school, you didn't feel like you were soaring anymore. Perhaps your wings got caught somewhere, shredded in the engine just before you landed. You buried your head into piles of notebooks, your red pen gliding. The power to decide who passed and who failed was in your hands, and the soft-hearted nature you carried with you squirmed as you had to mark down zeros and ones. You found yourself smiling at your students and encouraging them, as well as enduring the resistance from the rebellious ones. Little by little, the spark of hope in you matured into a quiet resolution. You learnt to be calmer, to hang your head more, and to speak less of your opinions. In the mirror, you saw a new face.

You pushed on, narrowing your shoulders in the subway, cooking your dinner in your modest kitchen, and packing your own lunch at five in the morning. Sometimes you went out with your coworkers, sometimes you remained indoor. Settling in a monotony as Tokyo raged on with its flourescent storm, you feel, in your quiet moments, as if you were half asleep.

Then one summer morning just before another school year ended, the head of the foreign teacher department walked in. Walking by her was a face you didn't recognize.

"This is Mr. Lukas."

As customary, you stood up and greeted with a polite smile.

"Yes, good morning Mrs. Tahara. Good morning Mr. Lukas."

"I know this is late into the school year", Tahara said, "but Mr. Lukas is the perfect fit for our school. He has plans to stick with us for the next 2 years, so I was hoping he would get the training he needs by trying out at our summer program."

"That seems like a lovely idea", you acknowledged.

"Since you have the most experience in our department so far, and also the only one left since the rest of the team has taken an early vacation as customary for them", Tahara continues, finally building up to her point, "I was wondering if it is not much trouble for you to mentor him this summer. I know that you have said that you would take the summer off this year, but there is nobody else we would trust quite as much!"

You felt a knot of frustration in your chest. After 3 years of dedicating yourself to the summer program, you did finally decide to take the summer off to have some time for yourself. Truth was, you had found yourself growing weary of the monotony in your life which had lulled you into a state of daydream. This summer was supposed to be for you to travel and visit your family. Plus, with the money your had accumulated by pinching your purse, you were hoping to finally fly to LA to meet with a long-term friend you had been dying to see.

But you knew this was not a request. It was an order. Though Tahara was smiling, she was not going to take "no" as an answer. The woman did not climb to her position in this expensive international high school in the heart of Tokyo by being softhearted like you.

"I see", you nodded, the blank smile yet to leave your face, "Very well, then. I will do my best."

Tahara also did not let hers falter when she tried to soothe you, "I heard the staff vacation is to Thailand this year. How exciting, right? It is the 10th year anniversary of our school after all. Tell you what, I will lobby for you the best room there is!"

The pang in your heart did not go away as you chuckled, "Oh, there is no need at all. Please, I am happy to do this job."

"Nonsense", Tahara insists, "Best room there is! Please leave that to me. All you need to worry about is Mr. Lukas."

You bowed your head.

"Thank you very much. I will do my best."

With that, Tahara turns to the newcomer: "Your cubicle is right here next to her. Please get settled in, and she will show you around. You have her full attention for today- I checked, there are no classes today, right, Miss?"

You nodded at the last part. Tahara briskly walked away, leaving Lukas standing in front of you.

You finally turned your attention to him, getting a good look for the first time yet. Lukas was tall, black haired, with a strong nose and freckles. His defined body was complemented by his white button-up and slack pants. The way his body opens up by his wide shoulders and his face held up high told you that he was a stranger not only to this work environment, but to the country as a whole. He still seemed alert, yet to be lulled into sleep like you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lukas", you held your hand out for him to shake. His hand was soft, and his grip was gentle. You could tell clearly now... he hadn't been a working man.

"Hi", he smiled, "I'm so excited to be here. I'm all yours now, so... lay it all on me!"

American, you mused in your head, noticing his accent and the loud, overly friendly manner. He reminded you of the people you knew from college.

"Of course. Let me give you a quick tour of the school before we get started!"

"Great! It's a beautiful school. Can't wait!"

The moment you and him exited the teacher lounge, Lukas couldn't help but immediately make small talks.

"So... how long have you been working here?"

"Oh, for 3 years now", you replied absentmindedly.

"Woah, that's a long time. To be honest, I just graduated college last December, so this is all totally new to me."

You hummed and pointed out to him the nurse's office, letting him know that he could find assistance there in case of student injuries. Finding it difficult to simply ignore his attempt at a conversation and partially feeling sympathetic at the assumption that he may feel alone in a new country, you picked up the small talk.

"I understand it may feel intimidating at first. I was just like you... moving from an American college to work here is a big change."

"Oh, you were in the States, too? Where at?"

His head turned toward you. He seemed intrigued.

"Yes. I was studying in Texas. X Univerisity."

"So you are smart, then. I was in T University. Your rival school."

"That's a good school, too. What did you major in?"

He sheepishly grinned.

"I was in their business program. What about you?"

You didn't want to divulge more information about yourself, so you directed the focus back on him: "Business? Then what makes you decide to teach here in Japan?"

"Well, I wanted a change of pace... My family, they have a job lined up for me already, and I can come back for it whenever I want. So right now I guess I'm just, like, trying to live my life, you know? Figuring myself out. I thought Japan would be a nice start."

A part of you felt that you could relate to him. Indeed ... if you wanted, you could simply go back to your own family company and work toward inheriting it. But from the way he was talking, it seemed he had a better relationship with his folks.

"That's a great way to challenge yourself", you nodded, now leading him to visit the indoor gym. Your indifference toward him left you with a lukewarm response.

"What about you? You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

It was your turn to look at him now, a bit bewildered. You didn't expect him to show interest in what you do. Most people usually got caught up in talking about themselves, especially with you who knew to ask more questions to evade the attention.

"Oh... well, I guess I've been interested in linguistics ever since high school. This place put me into curriculum development and researching, so I figured it would be a great addition to my CV."

He narrowed his eyes barely.

"So you have a plan?"

"I do."

"You wanna get a Master's?"

"Well, higher, if I can."

"Ahhh... so you are smart smart."

Uncomfortable now that the topic was you, you quickly looked away: "Not really. Tell me, what is the position your folks have lined up for you?"

He chuckled.

"Business consultant. It's nothing special, but it's steady."

"Where are they based?"

"New York."

Right. So they have money money.

"Are you perhaps a nepo baby?"

He laughed.

"Well, I guess you could say that. But I don't want to be defined by them. I want to create my own ... my values, you know?"

You almost felt yourself sympathizing with him, but the feeling of seperation came back. You remembered the looks you received and the empty seat next to you in classes filled with his type. You remembered being talked over and put aside when you wanted to speak on team projects. You remembered the blatantly perverted things you were told, the arms that linked with rapists, the lack of protection that you and your friends got from anyone when one of them had laid his hands onto a girl you knew.

"Anyway... would you be free for dinner sometimes this week? I'm totally new and alone here, and I could use someone to show me around, you know?"

You held back a sigh as you looked at him who had stopped in his track. He still was younger and, as he said, new and alone in Tokyo. When you were just like him, your coworkers indeed did you the same favor he was asking of you.

"Yes, I can arrange that."

"Does tonight work? If you don't mind, of course."

Against the strange aftertaste that lingered on your tongue, you agreed: "I can do that."

You knew that it wasn't in your nature to ignore someone who felt lost. But you decided that you would not be too close a friend with him. After all, you knew his type.

[bluetooththereptile]

I know it is a disturbing idea for a fic but...

What if the reader gets reincarnated as parent of a serial killer in a horror game-novel? Sure they'll manage to end up changing the course of lives of the many victims of the child but...the soul if the child is doomed from birth, and in the process of aviating from the fate of a killer, it latches onto the life of the parent?

Like the idea of a yandere child is interesting to me, a child that loves their parent to the point of obsession (nothing sexual, completely platonic), and the parent unknowingly becomes the center of a dark world.

You looked at the bundle in your arms, staring into the eyes of the babe staring back at you. An infant wouldn't have the ability to even have vision at that age but...it seemed the babe was staring into your soul, so this was going to be the one that becomes a cult leader that destroys many lives huh? And to think your life was stuck with the babe...in the original time line you'd die by the hands of this child, six years from this moment onwards so...why...why the universe had to play with you like this?! You had frowned, keeping the bundle close to your chest while deep in thought, not noticing the gummy smile of the infant, you didn't notice, your willingness to hold the bundle close, had already changed the course of the story, because it was said the child was "unable" to smile.

"Mommy/papa, have I told you I love you so much?" *the three year old said in perfect speech while you tucked them in, looking up at you with a soft smile, those round eyes, staring into your soul* "Never leave me, promise? Promise?" *the child paused before muttering* "Because if you do I'll follow you around"

[deerspherestudios]

I'm so sorry if this is asked frequently but when are you releasing the full game of mushroom oasis?

That's fine! I do get asked this a lot, but I get why! I do appreciate people being excited about the game. I mean, I can't say when the 'full' game will be released since it's updated chapter by chapter (or in this case, Days), but with how things are going the 'full' game is probably released with the Day 5-6 update, depending on where I take the story.

That's when the game is considered 'done.' Until then it's still gonna be a work in progress.

[h20milk]

✦ don't you want to be changed? to be molded into someone who is loved? ✦

[maleyanderecafe]

Doom Stones (RPG Maker)

Created by: @lunariamv

Genre: Horror/Adventure

Lunari has actually made two RPG maker games with male yanderes in them, so I'll be doing a recommendation on their other game, Akeno Delusion sometime in the future. This game focuses on grief and timeloops, trying to save someone who has died in her childhood and trying to reverse it to happen. This story has two (?) yanderes in it to my surprise, and is pretty fun and heartwarming near the end.

The story starts out with Yuuka alone at home in the rain. Bored, she calls her friend Souta to get him to come over to hang out with him, something that he agrees to happily. After waiting for a while, Yuuka still hasn't seen Souta, so she goes out to the woods to find him, only to find out that he's been killed. This basically traumatizes her to the point of not really talking to anyone anymore, as she feels that it's her fault that Souta died. In this time, there is only one person that talks to her, a guy named Raden. He goes up to her and suggests the concept of going back in time, something that Yuuka puts off at first, however, Raden gives her two "blessed stones" so that she can go back. Desperate to bring back Souta, she uses them and she is transported back in time to before Souta comes over to Yuuka's house. There are 7 (8ish) endings for this game.

The first ending has Yuuka call Souta again, feeling overjoyed and happy for finally hearing his voice again. He asks Souta not to come over, as she doesn't want him to die again. However, even though he does comply, later on, Yuuka looks out the window, only to find Souta's body, dead outside, having been killed. She cries, begging the stones for another chance.

The second ending has Yuuka call Souta, and ask him to bring a weapon as it is dangerous. Souta agrees and is able to come to the house unharmed. The two of them embrace as Yuuka is happy that he finally didn't die this time, and Souta confesses to Yuuka, stating that he loves her, and that he will protect her by bringing her somewhere safe. Here he sees that Souta is covered in blood, presumably having killed his killer. She gets scared as Souta approaches her and ends up stabbing him with a kitchen knife. She again begs the stones for another chance.

Yuuka can also go out to try to find Souta. Taking the flower path, she will wind endlessly, until the point where she gets lost. She ends up starving to death on the flower path, as she cannot find her way out, only thinking about if Souta were to try to find her that he would also meet the same fate.

If Yuuka brings a knife and goes through the forest path, she will encounter the killer before Souta gets killed. If she decides to attack the killer, she will try to do so, only to kill Souta instead. She ends up crying in lament that she ended up hurting and killing Souta.

If Yuuka instead decides to protect Souta, she will be able to slash at the killer, but gets stabbed as a result. The killer is able to run away, and as she dies, she asks Souta to run and survive. Souta looks at her, stating that he'd rather die than live without her and promptly stabs himself and falls next to her, the two of them dying together.

If Yuuka is able to reach the house with a knife, she will peek inside and see the killer and Souta talking. Upon barging in, she finds that Raden is there. Raden, upon seeing Yuuka promptly stabs Souta in front of her, killing him instantly. As she morns over him, Raden unveils what this all is about. She can, if she has brought over matches also burn the entire house down with Raden in it.

Raden explains that he fell in love with her since she was little, but as she only relied on Souta, he grew jealous. He did end up killing Raden in the original timeline and gave her the stones so that it would give her false hope. He wished using this that it would finally prove to her that there was never going to be a happy ending with Souta, only him. He even mentions that in their world, the only person who ever really talks to Souta is him, as everyone else is scared of her. Even her relationship with her father is strenuous at best, and Souta believes the only good person in this world is Yuuka. The only way to escape was to go with him and if she refused then he would trap her in this timeloop forever.

If Yuuka accepts, Raden will bring her out of the timeloop as promised, however keep her chained up. It's implied that he tortures her as well while keeping her prisoner. Yuuka feels betrayed by this, believing that Raden is just someone who enjoys her pain, only staying sane by dissociating and thinking about Souta.

If Yuuka fakes accepting, she will instead stab Raden multiple times, killing him. She realized on the ending where she was able to successfully attack Raden that he was able to be killed. She takes the stones and wishes herself out of the loop. We get to see Yuuka finally being able to move on after that, no longer feeling the guilt of getting Souta killed, even realizing that her overdependence on Souta was what was keeping her back and finally being able to grow stronger.

We get a final goodbye from Souta. The Souta in the time looped world wasn't the real Souta, however, conveys the thoughts of Souta in his last moments of life. Souta apologizes for not being able to be with Yuuka anymore and that he wished he had more time. Despite this, he knows that Yuuka will be able to move past this, even wishing that she would forget about him so that she can be happy.

There is a conversation between Raden and the being who gives him the stones. The being explains that the stones cannot actually go back in time, only give a pocket dimension that he can imagine anything can happen. If the world ends, Raden will be stuck in there in some sort of limbo. The being explains that stones like these are not actually all that special in their world, citing them closer to children's toys rather than anything extraordinary. Despite the risks, Raden still accepts these stones and uses them.

We get a final goodbye from Raden as well. Raden realizes that Yuuka can never forgive him nor does he expect her to. He knows that his actions were wrong and that he knew both his thoughts and the stones made the situation a lot worse. While he is bored in the world he's trapped in, the only real comfort he has is thinking about Yuuka. He genuinely wishes that Yuuka will be happy and was always sad when he saw Yuuka depressed after Souta's death. He hopes that one day he will see Yuuka once again.

Like I've said many times, I'm a big fan of time loop stories. It is always a good way to explore how a yandere breaks down, or how a character copes with having to deal with the same thing over and over again. Doom Stones takes this in a different direction, not seeing the yandere themselves break down due to not saving the darling, but actually the opposite, with the main character being unable to let go of a guilt that she had to deal with in the past. This kind of turns the concept on it's head as now it deals with the development that Yuuka has to go through, rather than Raden or Souta. We see how greatly this event affects her life, even destroying her relationships at school, making her wallow in her past and how she's unable to move forwards because of it, and in the true ending, she can finally move forward after realizing that she can finally let go. I like this arc for her as we can see just how Yuuka is able to improve after the events of using the time stones, as well as all of the failure she has to go through before she can reach the improvement. It's either that or simply give up and leave it all into Raden's hands, which is a bad choice as it doesn't really let Yuuka let go of her guilt.

Souta as a yandere wasn't a huge surprise to me as much as Raden though since I suspected that the person that she had so much guilt about could have been the one who framed his death. His moments of yandere still are more directed towards Souta in a more selfless way, as compared to Raden, as the two times he does have a yandere like ending, it either is under the idea to protect Yuuka or to die with her. Because the version of Souta isn't the actual Souta but rather a projection that Raden made to trap Yuuka in the world, it does make me wonder if the original Souta was originally like this, or if Raden's yandere nature rubbed off of this version. Raden does state that Souta has always been like this, so it might actually be something that the original Souta could have done, but since we never really got to know him, it's hard to say if Raden was lying or not. It does imply that Souta did in fact kill or greatly injured Raden in one of the endings, the one where he is able to get to Yuuka's house and tries to entrap her, though considering in this world Souta is never allowed to live, it could have just been a failsafe so that Yuuka would end up stabbing Souta in the end. The other ending, where Yuuka does get stabbed in protecting Yuuka has Souta state that he'd rather die than live in a world without her, which leads into committing suicide in front of her. I think this specific action might be something that the original Souta was more likely to do, considering it seems in his last moments in his original life he wishes that he could be with Yuuka for longer, so the guilt of having leave her again was too much. I might be looking into it too much and maybe Souta does just generally have yandere characteristics, but it is fun to think about.

Raden is the big yandere in this one, and while I did suspect him considering he was the only other character in the game besides Souta and Yuuka, I didn't think that both of them would be yanderes. Really suspicious that he just so happened to have these stones on him so that Yuuka can go back in time. If Souta is the more selfless yandere, then Raden is the more selfish one, being the original person who killed Souta in the first place. He seems to be closer to a purity yandere as he views everyone else besides Yuuka as worthless or lesser, finding only comfort in her. He puts her in this time loop just for her to relive her nightmare over and over again and realize that she can never end up with Souta no matter what she tries. In the ending where Yuuka does give up, Raden chains her up and tortures her, making sure that she knows that she is his. Even while he dies in the other ending, Raden still confesses his love towards her, even if it's obvious that she will never love him back. I really like the idea that some of his yandere actions rubbed off on the fake Souta in the time loop as not only would it show just how much he is control of the world but also to show the softer side he has as well. He kind of comes off as redeemed in the end, knowing that what he did was wrong and that she will never love him back, yet still trying to continue after her. He at least is aware of his actions and wants Yuuka to be happy despite everything.

This game really follows the charon style to a T and that is a really good thing. I was streaming this game for a friend and she didn't even realize that this wasn't actually a charon game. That's pretty impressive all things saying.

Overall though, I do really like this game. I think it's a good view into again how great time loops are, and being able to see the character development for Yuuka as well as how we have two yanderes in the story, both the more selfless and the more selfish.

[sincerelyy-youres]

Gaze Upon Me (Yandere Nanook × Aeon! Reader)

Sypnosis: The vast oceans of stars in the sky offers many great and terrifying encounters, one of which is when Aeons cross paths with one another. Others devour and others work together, but what if one falls madly in love with the other?

TW: Obssesion, stalking and implied kidnapping. Read at your own risk

You were too stubborn to understand Akivili's warning.

It's not as if it wasn't important that you weren't giving it much thought, but it was the fact that you already convinced yourself that it won't happen. It was already a thousand centuries ago when you first defended the people of "Adlivun" from the raging war declared by their very own emperor. You were weak then, being born just a few years ago from the death of a star system that greatly cherishes perseverance, and as all aeons needs to get a job done, you did your first and very own.

You are the Aeon of Resistance, and people who is opressed and cornered deserves as much as justice that they need to have. You answer to their every call, to their every will to resist, and your greatest regrets is when your own resistance falters, letting the enemy win, letting the opposition lose.

Adlivun is your first and biggest regret.

Being the youngest Aeon back then, you underestimated the power of man. The Emperor's manpower and soldiers were much more than a small group of people that wanted to resist, relying solely on your grace. Before you can even think of a way to save your people, the power of the emperor advances, leaving you hopeless. You left Adlivun in shame that day, the image of mangled bodies of the people that once revered you still fresh in your mind, their dying eyes showing a shade of disappointment.

You ran away far, far away from the accusatory stares that you feel in your back until you bumped into Akivili, The Aeon of Trailblaze, who had just left Adlivun in disbelief. You didn't beg them to let you in, to ask what had become of Adlivun as you left, but nevertheless they took you in, and said you were free to stay with them until you learn to become your own.

It was the first ever recorded interaction in which two aeons traversed the stars together. Perhaps Fuli the Remembrance gazed at the moment, at the interaction, and deemed it worthy of a memory in the garden of recollection. As the two of you traveled together, Akivili told you of what happened to Adlivun, and the fate that might befall of you soon.

"When I arrived there, Adlivun was an absolute resorvoir of chaos. What remains of them were unlucky enough to be in the path of the Aeon of Propagation." They said, their voice expressing disappointment. Akivili had no physical form, and you only see them in a form of a warm light, like a companion in every cold weathered, or rather, in this cold universe's travels. Perhaps in the entirety of their journey, never had they come across to something as cold as the fate of Adlivun.

"I left Adlivun when the resistance fell... perhaps fate recognizes the wishes of the dead." You said, having mixed emotions of the situation. As the Aeon of Resistance, you of course value absolute persistence, but your people, the opposition of Adlivun had long perished. What victory is there to enjoy when the people are dead?

"I saw the Emperor and his people fight with all their might, but their physique is evidently tired with their previous war." You can almost see Akivili shake their head, "Eventually Tayzzyronth the Propagation defeated what was left of there, and their faction, the Swarm's March, led the final blow"

"I left before Tayzzyronth notices me, but in a distance as I jumped between universes, before I even bumped into you, I saw how Adlivun died...It exploded, then a gold glow emanated from all the debris."

Akivili was quiet after their statement and it made you think. A gold glow emenating from a fallen world means one thing: An Aeon is born. Considering what Adlivun's state is before it died, theres no question what kind of Aeon it was. Destructive, chaotic, always craving of absolute doom, reckless, and wrathful. It was--

"An Aeon is born" said Akivili, after that long silence of what seems of them pondering. "And a path along with them. The path of destruction. They are probably moving and causing chaos everywhere as we speak, and posing a threat, especially to you."

You frowned. "But what do they have to do with me? The emperor won against the resistance and I am not the one who destroyed their homeworld. It is not reasonable for them to come after me." No matter what angle you look at, the path of destruction should not be directed to you, and if by any means it does...

"Had you ever heard of history repeating itself?" Akivili suddenly said, cutting you off of your train of thoughts. "Destruction seeks resistance, not just of absolute infliction of doom. Think of it this way, where is the thrill when everyone just submitted to domination? Something had to resist, and the process of breaking that something into submission, is what true destruction is"

If the path of destruction is directed to you, then you are to resist. But, you still resist the fact that destruction persuing resistance is written in finality. If what destruction seeks is absolute submission, then why go through the long and tedious process of persuing resistance knowing that it won't give in? It is resistance for a reason. If true destruction is breaking something into submission, why not persue a path that manifests the values of submission so the job can be easily done?

You heard Akivili chuckle at you, they had probably noticed that you were so deep in though about their words. Just as you were about to spout a long rebuttal, Akivili spoke, not wanting to argue any longer.

"I see you still resist the possibility, but soon enough you'll understand. Just a warning, though, you may be the Aeon of Resistance, but you can't resist everything."

And with that, Akivili left you on your own. You sat there, pondering over the Aeon's words. How you wished you listened to them before they perished, back then. Their radiant light, how you wished you still see how beautiful it is before it was snatched from you by darkness, holding them at the palm of destruction's hands before ultimately blowing out what was left of their power.

If anything, you should have known better than to question your companion's thoughts. If only you just listened, if only you didn't resist their concise analysations, then you wouldn't have to deal with this abomination of man who chases you althroughout the universe as if you did something unexcusable to him. Then, you wouldn't have to jump to one universe after the other seeking temporary refuge when you lingered too long.

Resistance persevere because it fights for what it was worth fighting for. It was ironic, considering you choose to constantly flee from the oppression, but it was almost understandable. You fled when the resistance of Adlivun fell. So you also constanly fly away when Akivili was killed. Both of which was worth fighting for, and as much as the reality pains you, the truth is that resistance falters when the reason to resist dies.

After all, Akivili...you'd seen them die before your very own eyes. And in which, before the destruction constantly chases after you

This space you were currently in, was a temporary home you'd find yourself residing after barely getting from the Aeon of Destruction. If anything, you yourself doesn't know why he is constantly chasing after you, but you don't intend to find the reason why, and you don't want to satisfy him by giving yourself in.

Even though the will to resist is weak, it will still resist. Even as you felt the weight of his gaze, again, after barely getting away, you'll resist. That gaze that felt like it materializes into a physical form, it was all too familliar, following your every move as you panicked, as you desperately tried to find any hint of his arrival to counter his chase with flight.

He's here

Your focus shifted as you felt his gaze narrow, and along with it was the visions it brings. Your vision blurs, to what was once the stars that fills this desolate space, begins to open a portal of gold. Gold eyes, white braided hair and tanned skin. Deformed arms and gold corruption seeping in between the cracks in his skin, and the sharp, smothering, and somewhat possesive gaze as he looks down at you. He smiled, and it became a terrifying grin as his arms reaches out for you, seeking to trap you inside a make shift, sub-reality prison that only he knew the existence of.

It made you unsettled, but still quick witted enough to avoid his confrontation as he charges towards you. Just in time to get out of his inflicted delirium. You looked at him, and when he realized that he didn't caught you in his arms after all, he went again and charges towards you, and he looks so confident that he will succeed, making you flee towards the nearest possible exit in this space that you once found comfort into, where his prescence wasn't shown.

But your escape was short lived when the exit was apparently blocked by some kind of a Gold barrier, the light of the next space fading away like how a light in the end of the tunnel would be blocked if the tunnel collapsed. Despairingly, you turned around, only to see his face expressing a delirious satisfaction.

Akivili was right. History repeated itself. The emperor defeated the resistance of Adlivun centuries ago and now... you were being captured by the remains of that war. It was humiliating, knowing all you can do is to resist.

Slowly, Nanook's arms reaches out for you, and all you'd ever do was fight his possesive gaze with your wrathful glare. Your power was blocked by some kind of force, One that you cannot exactly root out it's origins, but all you can say is that it was slowly inviting you in a forced slumber, whispering incoherent lullabies and doom, And the last you'd ever seen was his satisfied smile.

Perhaps, the true reason of his unnatural and perplexing obssesion over you was already there, laid out for you, just in the naked eye. It was as simple as Akivili had said it, that Nanook wanted "true destruction". And in true destruction, there was you.

It was too late now, to understand Akivili's warning.

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 3 - "Well, well, well..."

| Hiding | Ambushed | Stalking |

Characters: Lawrence, Marshall

CW: Parental/yandere whumper, failed escape, manipulation, forming stockholm syndrome, minor injuries, infantilization

...

Marshall didn't know how he managed to do it, it was probably just pure luck on his side, but he managed to slip out of the house while Lawrence was asleep.

It was the perfect time to finally run away, especially since the older man would be groggy and confused in the morning. And hopefully by then, he'd be long gone from Lawrence's clutches.

The rain beat down on him for hours, but he didn't take shelter or more than a five minute break.

He needed to get as far as he could from Lawrence before the sun rose. Marshall shoved his hands deeper in his pockets to protect them from the icy cold, feeling the water seep through the thin fabric of his shirt.

This was a bad idea, a really bad idea.

But if it meant his freedom, he'd suffer through anything. He'd endure any torture to escape him.

He had no money, no way of getting any, and nowhere to stay for the night. Everything was dependent on a miracle now. It wasn't the smartest plan, but he had to take advantage of the only window of opportunity he was given. As long as Lawrence couldn't find him, he'd be fine. He could figure everything else out in time. Maybe he'd get a job, go back to school, start fresh somewhere else...

Despite his excitement, his heart weighed him down with guilt. He really shouldn't be abandoning Lawrence after everything he's done for him.

The blond loved him more than anything, and he betrayed that love by running.

Yet this was for the best, he told himself. It's the only way he'd be able to live his own life independently. And that's what he wanted.

Or so he insisted to himself.

It was past sunrise when he noticed a tiny gas station ahead of him. He rubbed his arms to bring some warmth to his skin. He was hungry, cold, and exhausted, which was an awful combination to have.

The rain had eased up to a slight drizzle, which provided little relief from the frigid weather. He trudged along, trying his best not to get hypothermia.

"I need help," he breathed to the man at the front, who only looked the slightest bit concerned. "Do you, um, have a phone? It's urgent."

The man opened his mouth, and then paused to look him over. "Sorry, only employees can use the phone. Do you want me to call someone for you?"

Marshall was baffled from his reply, but he didn't have time to get angry right now. He didn't want the police involved, he just wanted a ride to get out of here. He was glad he memorized his father's number--his real father--and gave it to the worker. He made a hand gesture for him to go sit down on one of the chairs a few feet away, and he reluctantly obeyed.

He noticed the man's voice was almost hushed, but he made out the words, "your kid is here", so he relaxed. He stared up at the clock above the counter, watching the seconds tick by.

He bounced his leg to keep himself from nodding off. His eyelids felt like a thousand pounds, threatening to close.

All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget about all this bullshit.

Marshall didn't know how much time had passed, but then he saw a familiar car pull up at the gas station, but it wasn't his dad's car.

Lawrence got out of the car, looking every part of pissed. He was dressed in nothing but a sweater and sweats, obviously not prepared to come out here.

The blond stormed inside the shop. Marshall straightened and gulped, wanting to shrink back further into the chair.

The bell rang loudly over their heads. "Well, well, well," Lawrence seethed. He stood in front of Marshall, glaring down at him. His body trembled. "Where did you think you were going, hmm?" He reached down and grabbed his wrist. Marshall squeaked in protest. Lawrence glanced over at the employee. "Thanks, Colin, I'll take it from here."

Colin nodded. Lawrence pulled him up, who fought him the entire way. He was frozen, unable to form a single word as he dragged him outside.

Marshall managed to squeeze his wrist out of Lawrence's grip and staggered backwards. Lawrence stepped towards him in attempt to grab him again, and Marshall's hand acted on its own, punching him right in the jaw.

A few painful moments went by before the reality of the situation hit him. Lawrence cupped his chin, rubbing his sore jaw. Marshall covered his mouth with his hand. That was probably a bigger death wish than running in the first place.

When Lawrence growled, somehow more rage evident in his eyes, Marshall bolted to the nearby trees.

He ran as fast as he could, ignoring his body's protests against the exhaustion. His head ached, his lungs burned, his muscles throbbed...but all he could focus on was his impending doom.

He jumped over bushes and logs, dodging branches and rocks as they flew by. The thudding of Lawrence's shoes followed him from behind.

At one point, Marshall tripped over a branch hidden beneath the leaves. He screamed as he went down, clutching his ankle in pain. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek as he turned, spotting Lawrence stalking forward. Marshall got back to his feet and ran again, screaming when the pain shot through his ankle once he put pressure on it.

There was no winning this race. He wasn't fast enough or strong enough. This was always how it'd end.

He ducked behind a tree and crouched low behind the bushes. He listened to the sounds of the forest, hearing Lawrence call his name. Marshall wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged his legs to his chest.

"This isn't funny, sweetie! Just come home already, it's too dangerous out here."

Yeah right, Marshall thought. It was safer out here than being with him.

"Marshmallow!" Lawrence sang. He sounded more gentle now. Lawrence knew how to get to him. Nathan responded best to his anger, Sadie responded to his worry, and Marshall responded to softness. "If you come out, we can just go home and talk this over. We'll watch a movie and snuggle, I'll even let you pick. We can make a blanket fort and have some hot cocoa. And I won't be mad, I promise."

His head throbbed. His stomach dropped as he heard the crunch of Lawrence's footsteps getting closer. It's been so long since he's heard anything other than his voice.

"You know," Lawrence continued, "it isn't very nice to hit me. I'm willing to let it go since I know you were just scared, but only if you come out right now."

Lawrence knew how to play him like an instrument. Each sentence was calculated and precise, knowing exactly what buttons to press.

Logically, Marshall knew he could only hide here for so long. Lawrence knew he was in the area and he wouldn't back off until he found him. He'd rather just give up now than prolong this agony.

He wiped his eyes, the fear spiking each second he waited. Finally, he called out, "I-I'm over here!"

Lawrence found him crouched next to a large pine tree. The moment his eyes met the older man, the tears poured down. He could hear Lawrence sigh with relief. He bent down on one knee.

"Oh, kiddo, there you are." He pulled him into his arms. Marshall tried pushing against his chest to get away, but Lawrence's embrace tightened. He choked on a sob. Lawrence cooed to him, rocking him in his arms. "Shh, you're alright, don't cry. It's okay, I got you now. Let's get out of here, okay? You must be freezing."

"Are you mad at me?" he croaked. He pulled away and cried harder when he saw the forming bruise on his face that would no doubt look much worse later. He had no idea he was capable of such strength, and neither did Lawrence.

"I'm not mad. You listened to me, so there's gonna be no punishment, I promise," Lawrence told him. He cupped his cheek to bring their eyes together. "I've just never been more worried. What if something happened to you? Did you ever think about that?" Marshall remained silent. Lawrence sighed. "We're going home. And then we'll talk about it more after we get you warmed up and that ankle taken care of."

It was useless to argue. He let the blond carry him to the car and closed his tired eyes. It was times like these that Marshall started to wonder if Lawrence was really that bad.

[plushyparfait]

"Tragic it is that I still love you, even though I know that I can never again have you."

(FIRST EVER POST, LAWLIGHT YURI RAAAAH)

[melit0n]

Delicate Is The Flesh - Chapter 6

- Synopsis: On the brink of the bustling new city of Rosholt lies a forgotten palisade of abandoned homes, shops and streets that sit mummified after a chemical outbreak in the 70s, leaving the city uninhabitable.

Over the years however, the place has become a hotspot for urban explorers and crime junkies alike.

Whispers of reanimated bodies stalking the dead streets and brutal murders worm their way into your friend's ears and, having nothing to do on your Winter break, you reluctantly agree to go exploring the abandoned city with them.

What could go wrong, right?

- Chapters ->

Prologue

Chapter 1: For Whom The Bell Tolls

Chapter 2: Corvus and Krater

Chapter 3: Belly of the Beast

Chapter 4: Something Forgotten

Chapter 5: Citrus and Cinnamon

Chapter 6: Mumbling Conscious (you're already here!)

- Obessive!Demon OC/Reader

- Word Count (for chp): 6.9k

- Warnings (for chp): None.

- Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55444003/chapters/150657787

“So, are you sure you don’t want to tell me about this little love story of yours now?”

Helen giggles softly behind you. It echoes loudly in the cracking concrete bowels you trek through.

“Yes. I can assure you, the only way you will be hearing it is if you come back to Greece with me.” Something snaps under someone’s foot, either glass or the dried remains of some bug. 

You both know very well it’s a thinly veiled act of persuasion, a not-so-subtle play on your curiosity. So, somewhat determined to get whatever she had been keeping secret out of her, you put on your best pout and turn to her.

She walks right past you.

Shaking her head back and forth with a hidden knowing smile, she replies, “Making sad faces will get you nowhere, I am afraid.”

“So mean…” you grumble. Considering Helen's typical openness in her thoughts and experiences, you were genuinely intrigued. While it wasn’t mandatory, it was rare she’d hide topics she’d happily chatter about if given the chance. That said, your main aim–hidden under glass and dust–was simply to keep a conversation going. You’ve learnt very quickly that you don’t like the silence here, either. For both of your benefit, you’d much rather keep aimless chatter bouncing off the walls instead of some distant radio show. Keep your mind focused on replies and not the sickly sweet stench of flowers blooming in the middle of winter.

Of empty sockets that stare right at you.

Helen shoots a hand out, “Careful.” Puzzled, you send her a confused glance.

However, the moment she puts a foot down on the wood, you get your answer: the floorboards creaking and groaning loudly with the simple weight. While it wasn’t unexpected–every step you’d taken for the last hour or so had been accompanied by a loud squeak–what catches your attention is how far the wood visibly bends. That, and how damp it is. Damp enough that the moisture shines under the light of your torches. 

Stretching your own leg out to test them, you’re unsurprised to now physically feel how deeply they bow under your weight; whining something foreboding with each kilo you put down. Through the soles of your shoes, you can practically feel the fibres cracking. 

You sigh to yourself, half out of exasperation and something else you can’t quite pin down. 

Looking up from the rotting floor, you’re not surprised to see the rest of the story was in a similar state.

More household items are scattered across the main hall: old stuffed animals poking their saturated heads out of screeching doors. Legs, maybe once holding up sturdy tables, lean against the walls. Sodden, deflated cushions lying haphazardly on the floor slowly melt into the woodwork; plush becoming indistinguishable from the flooring.

All create a waterlogged tapestry of the past.

The wallpaper, colours faded and mixed with old graffiti not unlike a fresh watercolour, reappear in diseased patches across the walls. Even vines from downstairs creep and crawl through the crumbling structure, anchoring themselves to whatever they can find. From the withering leaves, however, you guess they aren’t having as much success as they are downstairs. 

A floorboard wails loudly from beside you. “This does not look too good.” She steps forward–really only a half-step–and begins to test the strengths of the planks in front of you. Then, she takes a full one forward with sounds from the floor that have you partially reaching your hands out, as if to catch her. You watch with a building level of unease as she attempts to spread out her weight.

Even the air is heavy. Heavy with the calm before a storm: petrichor and an electric buzz that lets you know you shouldn’t be here. Somehow, it overpowers the dust–which you’re sure sits in foetid clumps wherever the rain and wind sees fit–and worms its way into your lungs. 

It’s nothing like the air downstairs: while that was fresh, still holding hints of petrichor, this was thick. Like oil. It’s somehow worse than the stagnant air from the basement. 

Eyeing the wood, you hesitantly do the same. “Yeah.” 

Something viscous is at the back of your throat. Tastes like how decaying autumn leaves smell. 

The thin walls–either on this floor or one of the many others–waver in the wind, and you’re starting to affirm to yourself that Jeanne’s promise of the place being ‘structurally sound’ was another one of her half lies.

Four floors high, including the ground floor–five with the addition of the basement–and you’re sure you’d snap your neck. Bleed out on that ugly cream carpet with wooden wings splayed out beside you. Your only consolation is that you’re pretty sure that the main structure is made of solid concrete, sitting silently under the wood.

The gaping plaster wounds in the walls–rippling wooden muscles and creaking metal bones taught underneath–make you doubt yourself.

At best, you’d break or twist an ankle. At worst, you’ll be a bloated carcass strangled by weeds. A rotting warning to all those who enter.

No way in Hell is this safe. 

You take a few more cautious steps forwards, ears perked for the tell-tale noises of crumbling wood that would rather collapse than hold your weight. “If the rest of the floors are like this, I say we stop.” One creaks loudly, a bit too loud for your taste, and you take one backwards. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we fell straight through.”

Helen’s head lowers to stare at the floor, probably contemplating whether the risk of going crashing through four or five stories was worth taking the chance. “I think,” she takes a step forward, graceful as an onyx chess piece slid across the board. “We will be okay.” She turns to you, optimism in her eyes. It makes your shoulder sag. “We just have to keep our eyes out for any wood that is especially dark, or looks wet on the surface.” Another step forward, and you sigh as you begin to follow behind, dutiful as ever. “Is that okay?”

Kind of hard to do when all the wood looks wet, you think. Even so, you keep your nervous thoughts concealed beneath a cool facade. “Whatever you say,” you feel the cold of the water sink into your soles. “You’re paying my hospital bills if I break something, though.”

It’s sarcasm, but she still takes it somewhat seriously. “It would be my fault, so I would not mind.” She shrugs, before pausing, her weight spread between a few different planks. Then she raises her flashlight.

The centre-piece window–which never fails to draw your eye–is broken: jagged teeth glinting in the light.

A soft hum glides up her throat, “The wind and the rain from the North probably comes in here quite harshly: it is no wonder this place is so wet. Either way, I am surprised this place hasn’t fallen like, what is it- paper mache?”

It’s a simple description, one you’d easily take for an answer if not for one simple fact: both windows on the other floors were broken. Both windows faced North, as all the rest of the windows above you.

So why weren’t those as dilapidated as this one?

Wearily, you take a few more steps, trying to follow her invisible pattern of semi-promised safety. “But what about-” that is, before your feet knock into something. Something solid.

Expecting the worst, you look down with a strained look on your face. You’re met with the sight of a porcelain doll. The pale, once pretty, type you almost always see in charity shops. 

And horror movies.

Part of its silky pallor is cracked and smashed in, leaving an empty void where half its face used to be. Curly blonde hair frames what’s left of it, fading blue eyes rolled absently to the side.

“Are you scared of it?”

There’s a bit of blush on its face, too. Faded, like everything else is at the hands of time and neglect, but still there. 

“What?”

It reminds you of something freshly dead. Eyes and body empty, yet still holding onto the warmth in its fingertips.

Helen crouches down in front of it, repeating herself. “Are you afraid of it?”

You’re surprised the wood holds her weight.

Before you can say anything–let a garbled and probably incoherent answer out of your mouth–she picks it up. Handles it more like a living baby rather than a porcelain resemblance. When she cradles its head, resting stiffly in her palm, one of its eyes rolls. Rolls out of its vacant skull to stare right at you. Glossy and unblinking and reflecting flashing blue and yellow that blinds you.

Beneath light fatigue and a growing sense of alarm that refuses to go away, something rings.

“You’ll get a demon or something attached to you if you hold on to it.” You joke, eyes darting up from the glass one you’re sure sees right through your skin. Or, maybe, sees right past you.

She takes your avoidance as an unspoken yes. She isn’t wrong: if you saw that thing at the end of your hallway in the middle of the night, you’d happily give your apartment up to it.

She fiddles with the stained lace that edges the sleeves and the hem of the forget-me-not dress. “Why?”

It’s a good question–like all of her questions are. You roll thoughts around in your head, seeing how they taste on your tongue. You’d say it’s something embedded in you; embroidered into the intricate tapestry of each twitching muscle and thumping pulse of your heart. You’re afraid of the doll the same way something in the back of your mind, a knowing voice neither old nor young–simply alert–tells you to be afraid of the dark. Tells you to be wary of things that creep and slide.

Tells you to be fearful of things that try to be human.

“Probably because I’ve watched too many shitty horror films with Jeanne.” You reply. Helen simply shakes her head, and you think she knows you aren’t telling the entire truth. Either way, she doesn’t bother to pry a more self-aware answer out of you.

Gingerly, she places the doll back down where she’d found it. Its eye rolls back up into its head, having seen enough. For a few brief moments, you don’t blame it. The untouchable night that resides in its hollow head is probably a more comforting view compared to the sodden floorboards.

Both of you carry on with your hushed agreement to explore the other apartments. Helen glides across the floor with wisp-like grace, barely making a noise, while you stumble over each creaking floorboard and spend every two seconds wondering if you’re going to fall.

You stagger through a few different apartments, eyes skimming over whatever was visible and then moving on, more focused on not falling than searching for anything of interest.

After traversing the hall somewhat aimlessly–chattering to Helen along the way–you find your way into another apartment. One side of the floors has swollen, and the entire place reeks of festering mould. 

A question strikes your mind, worming its way out of your mouth as the conversation threatens to fall flat. “Hey, Helen?”

With growing confidence, you carefully step forth. The living room is lifeless; void of any furniture. It also happens to be the side where the floors rise–something very old and very slow trying to breach the surface–so you make the decision to leave the bedroom unexplored. You value your ankles a bit more than that.

“Yes?”

The kitchen is in a similar state. Woodlice crawl between the splitting wood, and a low wind meanders through the rooms like a death rattle. Between what remains of a cabinet and the wall, a cobweb hangs, weighed down by the ever present moisture that seems to loom over the entire floor. 

Its weaver is absent.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Considering her lack of reaction to your joke earlier, you’d say her answer would be a no. Either that, or she wasn’t afraid of the dead leaning over her shoulder.

“I think so. To believe in ghosts, you have to have a belief in some sort of life after the one you live, yes?”

Eventually, you find a somewhat sturdy path towards the bathroom and storage room. Much to your displeasure, the bathroom is locked tight. Even though the wood crumbles under your hands, it refuses to open. In fact, after a few tugs, the doorknob comes right off, small screws clattering to the floor.

Almost as if to spite you, the lock stays intact.

“What do you think of it?”

So, you end up trying the storage room. It’s gutted of all furniture. 

“Of what?”

The air is stagnant. Brackish. You guess it hasn’t been opened in a while. 

“The afterlife. What do you think comes after all this?” Backing up, you attempt to follow your steps back out into the hall. 

“I am not entirely sure,” she hums. As each floorboard keens under your weight, you realise that Helen is practically silent as she walks through different apartments. You only really know she’s doing so because of her voice; ebbing and flowing like a warm summer wind from the hallway. “I believe each living thing has a soul, but I am unsure on how long that soul can last.” Her voice becomes louder, “but, I think it may stay after it does not have a body to support it.” and then quieter. You don’t see her walk past your door. “Perhaps they stay because they forgot to do, or say, something before they went. Maybe they stay because they miss home too much.”

Peeking your head out of the doorframe, you can’t spot her. She must’ve already gone into another apartment. 

Looking down, you find a stuffed animal imitating you. Or, rather, you it. 

You scoff, walking out into the hall and examining the different doors. “What’s home to someone who’s already dead? You’d think a ghost would want to go wherever they please since they have no physical restrictions.” With long strides–you’re sure you look like some sort of awkward stick bug–you pass the elevator. The twin doors are wide open, and even your flashlight can’t illuminate the rubber veins that crawl along its throat.

“Home is not always a place, I think.” Her voice is closer now. 

Each door is in varying states of decay: those closer to the window in the hall are mere fragments, while those nearer to the main stairs retain some semblance to actual entryways. 

Your eyes catch onto one near the elevator: number forty-six. It’s one of the few on the floor still holding on to its once shining number, this floor being numbers thirty-three to forty-eight. Although, the four is crooked–slanted to the left like a loose skull–and the six is ever so slightly lower than it should be.

“What else could it be?”

With a jostle of the knob, you also realise it's one of the few doors that’s locked. The weight in your pockets brings a smile to your face, and you can only hope you have the right key. 

“A person.” Her voice has moved again, now on the opposite side of the hall.

You pause, if only for a second. 

You’d never really thought of it that way. 

With warmed metal under your fingers, you wonder if you’ve ever seen home inside another person. Your thumb glides over engraved numbers, hidden from your eyes underneath years of rust and oily fingers. 

Maybe in Jeanne? Or Helen? Noah? A past lover?

“If you were to die,” you bring a key closer up to your eye, the number indistinguishable. “Away from ‘home’, do you think you’d try to find your way back? Or would you find somewhere else to haunt?”

Maybe…maybe in him.

“I would want to go home, definitely.” Floor six, apt eighty four… “When I do pass, I think it will be nice to be where I grew up. I would want to see the sea again, too. I would not mind staying there after I have passed.”

If so, home is long gone. The grass is dead, and there’s no soft light in the windows anymore.

Just flashing blue and glass in between in your fingers. In your skin.

“And what,”…Floor eighteen, apt two hundred and seventy-nine…not this one either. “What if you’re the type to see home as a person?”

She stays quiet for a few moments.

…Floor three…

You squint. 

“Then I trust I will find them, and them, I.”

…apt forty-eight. Shit. 

Your shoulders fall.

“Just…uhm, let me know when you make a decision about coming with me, okay?” Helen’s voice fades and flickers like candlelight. There’s almost an echo: a second whisper layered underneath her warm tone.

Wait a minute. 

You look back down at the key. Apt forty-eight. 

Slowly, your head turns to the left. 

The last door by the stairs. 

You frown. “Yeah, no- of course.” Answering absentmindedly, you begin to stalk over to the door. You trace invisible lines with your feet, and all seems silent. 

Easily, you find yourself in front of number forty-eight, your light greeting the door: a circular glimpse that pierces through the darkness. 

You feel like you’re sensing a pattern.

It’s closed, and, with a gentle tug, you find it locked as well. 

Half expecting another talking radio, or maybe a miniature desert for this one, you hesitate to even use the key you had been wanting to make use of. You turn it over in your hand: there’s nothing special about it, nor the door itself. Both are in similar stages of disrepair, the door swollen with water and the key elongated with rust. Looking at it closer, you doubt it’ll even open the lock. Hell, the lock itself has probably rusted shut. Either that, or the knob will fall right off, just like the bathroom door’s did. 

You look between the door and the key.

Well…as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

The key slides in, and the mechanism opens with a quiet click. Seems the building has decided to grant you a bit of good luck.

The door opens with an ominous creak. Loud and anguished. 

When light finally enters the morose cave, you’re more than pleased–although admittedly a little disappointed–to see nothing abnormal. No radios, no luscious ferns, and best of all, no buzzing flies. 

Plus, it seemed to house more furniture than the last. The windows are layered thickly with grime and algae, and, even with your torch light, the whole place still feels utterly drenched in darkness. Blinking, it’s as if a thin haze–a light mist–hangs over the room. Or maybe just your eyes. 

Tentatively, you step forward, keeping a careful watch on the floor.

The floorboards whine underneath you, rising and falling like valleys and hills under your feet. 

The first thing that catches your eye is a large, embroidered armchair in the living room. Like the doll, it has dark, frilled edging–colour indistinguishable–at the end of the fabric. While it’s faded, the colours of the threads bleeding into themselves, you can just about make out a floral pattern; deep viridian in the centre, framed by jade and mulberry. 

The legs are made of sturdy wood–not cracking and splintering like the floor–which curls inward at the feet like a snail’s shell. An endless spiral unfurling from itself. It’s exactly the type of chair a grandfather, or maybe some old-money, rich man, would have sitting by the fireplace. You can practically see a soft cat curled up on the seat, slowly nodding off as the wood cackles and crumbles into cinders. 

Quietly, you wonder if anybody in this building had a cat. Or a dog, for that matter.

A board bends underneath you, and you take a step back before continuing. 

Someone must’ve, right? Your own apartment had a policy on them: no pets allowed aside from fish–and the odd reptile, though that depended on how much paperwork you wanted to fill out–but maybe this one didn’t.

The door to the bedroom opens easily.

You wonder if they had to leave them behind when those chemicals got out. If they did, you hadn’t seen–nor heard–any once loved strays on your way here. Then again, nature, aside from her plants, seems to have abandoned this place. Left it to the hands of Time and the ever changing faces of the seasons.

Much to your surprise, the main bedroom is almost fully furnished. The bed frame is still intact. Well, you think it is, until you notice it’s leaning on one side. Looking closer, you find one leg had rotted off, the rest in a similar condition. There’s a tall wardrobe on the left wall and, opening it, you find it empty. That is, if you don’t count the dust. Running your index finger over the flat surface, you find it comes off in one thick clump that sticks to your finger. Reminds you of the gum people always stick under the desks. 

With a look of disgust, you wipe it off and continue looking around. 

A soft wind coming from the smashed balcony doors is the only noise you can hear. 

You wonder what Helens’ doing. 

Then, there’s something in the air. Nothing like the dust or the scent of chocolate, but a noise. It’s some sort of chime; light and soft like the call bell downstairs.

You cross through the main bedroom entryway, intrigued and more awake than you had been a few minutes ago.

Who knows, maybe it’ll be this floor’s anomaly.

You wonder where it’s even coming from: quiet as a breath, it disappears behind each thump of the blood in your ears. Maybe from the storage closet, or the bathroom? Whatever–wherever–it was, you determine it must be close. 

Doing a double take, you quickly discover that the kitchen floor was very close to caving in.

Ah. 

Well, now you know why the ceiling was dipping on the other story. 

Seems the bathroom and storage room are off limits, then. 

Ding.

You turn your head. There it is again.

With only one other traversable room left, at least in this apartment, you find your way into the second bedroom. It’s smaller, and without a window it feels as if you’re staring into the endless throat of space.

The wood hums endless tunes underneath you, and there are shapes dancing in your vision, trying to convince you that they’re stars. Stars, and not hooded eyes of indistinct figures.

In the centre, backed up against the far wall–painted a stormy grey–is a cot. It used to be white, paint now peeling off of the wood and curling like angry fingers. There’s a small heart carved into the headboard. It’s obvious it wasn’t a part of the original design; scratchy, as if done with some knife instead of a well-trained machine. 

You like it better than the carbon copies, though. 

Above it hangs another reminder of one of the parent’s handiwork: something halfway between a traditional wind chime and a baby’s mobile. Falling apart as it is, you can still see the wood carved with pure love and twine threaded with nothing but adoration. Sanded wood and glass clink together, the wind from the hallway their conductor. 

There’s a few animals carved into twirling plaques, as well. At least, you think there is. There’s what looks to be a bird with a comically large beak–maybe a woodpecker?–and another that just looks like a homunculus with stick legs. 

It’s so utterly odd looking that it gets a chuckle out of you.

Asides from that, the only one that vaguely looks like anything living is one near the centre; a pig. It has sharply drawn trotters and floppy ears that cover its eyes. It spins endlessly in some subtle wind you can’t feel, glass frosted with the endless damp that coats everything in place of dust. 

But, from the darkness, something whispers.

You pay it no mind and continue staring at the cot and the home-made baby mobile. Each chime sounds like a baby’s wail: soft and nothing. It sparks something unknown in your chest. Maybe it's mourning. For who and what, you don’t really know. Provoked by some sort of empathy, perhaps.

You’re about to call for Helen–considering the large lack of somewhat interesting things here, you’re sure she’d like this–when there’s another whisper. It's closer this time.

What is that?

At first, you try to shove it off–there’s more broken windows than unbroken in this place. In the dark, it doesn’t take long for a person's mind to convince them that the wind is undead whispers, after all. 

There’s a humming in your ears. Not the sharp ring that usually finds you in calm silences and in the warmth of a sunny street, but constant all the same. It ebbs and flows like a breeze; the low mumble of a class yet to start: the distant hum of cars on the motorway: the eerie clatter of trees in the beginnings of a summer storm. 

It’s not distracting or intrusive like those invisible flies downstairs–buzzing ceaselessly around your ears–but not like the voices from the radio, either.

Sceptically, you walk out of the second bedroom with a growing frown on your face. The elastic of the mask’s straps dig into the back of your ears. 

Staying still, quieting your own breaths and trying not to focus on the constant thumping from the walls, you attempt to decipher what’s being said. 

You come up fruitless. It just sounds like an endless string of gibberish to you: too quiet to pick up and too muddled to unravel. 

Maybe you need to get your ears checked, too. 

Sliding your flashlight under your arm, you press down on a part of your ear, temporarily blocking out the noise. All you hear is the faint thrum of your body: each pulse of your heart, each twitch of your crooked fingers. Taking them away, the noise reappears. 

It’s somewhat of a relief to know that the noises weren’t phantoms created by your tired mind. But still, it begs the question of what, exactly, it was. Let alone where it was coming from. It could be an apartment on this floor, or maybe on one of the others. The staircase wasn’t exactly closed off, after all. 

Even so, you’re still sure it's close. A thin wall or two away close. 

So, you lightly step back to the main bedroom, expecting to pick up on some sort of change.

Nothing happens. 

A gentle gust of wind scrapes against the broken glass, and for a split second, you try your hardest to convince yourself that is all it is; the wind.

A gust pushes you forward and, wondering if the noise was coming from the bathroom or storage room, you try the kitchen.

Well, you get as close as you can to it without falling through.

Still no change. 

Mind busy with the hushed buzz, you temporarily disregard your fear of the boards underneath you and peek out into the hallway. As you swivel your head left and right–half searching for the source of the noise and half looking for Helen–you find nothing but air and rotting walls. 

Your light illuminates the staircase, almost hoping to see someone hiding in the darkness. It’d scare the shit out of you, Helen or stranger aside, but you’d rather find an obvious source than be left–quite literally–in the dark. 

You find no one.

Then, you try the other end of the hall. The lambent glow of the moon seems centuries away. 

Still no one.

“Helen?” Your voice cracks in your throat. “Helen! Do you,” You swallow something down. A clump of twitching nerves and bile. “Do you hear that?”

You wait a few moments for a response. You’re greeted with heavy silence. It’s deafening; somehow worse than being told a direct ‘no’. 

Wearily, you step out of the doorway, out of your damp burrow, and into the hallway. The creaking of the floor–of the walls–feels so quiet. 

Has it gotten any louder? Are you getting any closer?

Your light darts in and out of the different apartments. “Helen?”

Or is it getting closer to you?

“Helen! Where are you?” 

Passing by another apartment, you still can’t manage to find her. Either your eyesight is going, or she’s suddenly become one of the best hide and seek players you’ve known since primary school. That has to be it. She must be hiding from you for some reason, ready to jump out at you any moment.

Inside, you’re divided. Part paranoid, part annoyed–what if she just left you here?–and part confused. Both at the noise, and her sudden disappearance: you don’t remember her being a relative of Houdini. 

“I’m meant to be the one doing the scaring here!” You raise your voice, hoping to reach her. The faint whispers are your only response. “Jeeze, do you really hate me that much?” You try to play on her empathetic side, draw her out with offhanded self-deprecation that always makes her rebuke, but even that wields nothing. 

Brows furrowed, you begin to make another round. This time, you hastily search inside the different apartments too, hoping to catch a glimpse of her silky hair or the toe of her trainers.

You examine another apartment, almost skidding on the wet wood. There’s the flat face of a table leaning against a wall–legs missing–and another grimy, smashed window.

After practically running up and down the hallway, you can’t help the way your heart jumps in its marrow cage when you realise the volume of that uncanny noise hasn’t changed. At all. It’s not louder, nor quieter; just that same, off-putting, low mumble. 

“Helen! Come on, this isn’t funny. Just come out already.” You say it with a worried smile on your face and end it with a pathetic half-laugh.

Where could she be? You know you’re only skimming the apartments, wandering in and out of each room like a pacing animal, but with how many you’ve searched, you should’ve seen something by now. Plus, with how long you’ve been calling out for her, she would’ve come out of whatever dank hole she was hiding in.

If you were searching for Jeanne, you would understand. Unless you were gravely injured, she would continue playing her game for as long as she could. She was a proud winner who liked losing as much as she liked getting an injection: doing her best to avoid it by any means necessary. But this was Helen. Helen who doesn’t like silence. Helen who hates the dark.

There’s nothing in the next apartment, either. 

It strikes you then and there that the only other reason that she wasn’t responding was because she was hurt. Hurt to the point of being knocked out.

With the revelation, it doesn’t take long for your mind to dive into a worried spiral. What if the floor finally gave way? What if she’s already on the ground floor? Neck bent like your fingers. Face contorted with some unheard screech you’d been too distracted to hear. Broken and soulless, and bleeding and turning that ugly cream carpet red.

Suddenly, warm air blows over the shell of your ear, something teasing that sends a sharp spike of fear through every muscle. 

You jolt, veins thrumming with fear and relief, “Helen, you-”

Your flashlight illuminates nothing but air. 

That jumbled mumbling, that damned whispering, has risen: gotten louder without you even noticing it. It pounds against your eardrums and buzzes under your skin. It feels so close, yet so far, echoing out from every crevice. Coming from everywhere and nowhere.

With a war drum in your chest, you beg yourself to just calm down. All you’re doing by overthinking is making things worse for yourself, and probably Helen, too. It’s just the wind–just a creation of your overly-active imagination. Just that stupid, stupid effect Noah was talking about. 

What scares you, though, is that you begin to hear words. 

Last time you checked, the wind didn’t speak to anyone other than those fated for tragedy. As far as you were aware, you were no Orpheus. 

It’s like the radio all over again, yet somehow worse.

Thick, clotted air fills your lungs. Inhale and exhale. Stop yourself from getting so worked up: just inhale and exhale-

-But it’s so loud. 

You have a walkie-talkie in your pocket, don’t you? How about you put it to use? That’s what it’s-

-Louder. 

If she’s hurt, you’ll probably have to call-

-And louder.

You knew you shouldn-

-and louder. 

“Shut up!”

All goes quiet.

After all the noise, it feels wrong. 

In the blink of an eye, the class quietens, the motorway stands still, and the trees omit themselves to a vow of silence. 

There’s only you. You, your flashlight, the keys and your panicked breaths. It comes out in mist-like puffs in front of your face. 

You don’t remember dropping your flashlight. You don’t remember pressing your hands to your ears, either.

You take a few deep inhales. “I’m losing it. I’m absolutely losing it.” Bringing a hand to your eyes, you rub them, as if trying to dispel the lingering fingers of some sort of mania. You do it much more harshly than you really meant to. Feeling the soft tissue squish and scrape against the cavities of your skull, you hope it brings some sense back to you. 

You crouch down to grasp your flashlight again. You see your face, distorted, in a puddle on the wood. With your back constantly to some sort of darkness, you feel yourself teetering on some sort of edge, standing stock still as not to fall. Still as those looming trees that pray to Gods your mind is too young to even know the name of. 

A red hot blanket of indignation drapes itself over your fear for a moment. Whoever the Hell this was, whatever dim-witted asshole and their friends, was going to get an earful. Maybe even a right hook, if you were feeling ballsy. 

You scan the halls up and down, keeping a careful ear for any sort of movement, any sort of amused giggle. You almost expect a TV show presenter to appear with a bunch of cameras or something. Even something as outlandish as that would ease your mind.

Anything that gives you a logical explanation as to what you just heard.

You begin to even search the walls, almost expecting to find grinning eyes staring at you from behind the rotting pipework. What an absurd thought.

Then you see something move.

It's from the corner of your eye, and you pray to see Helen, or just someone, there.

You don’t. 

A chasmal wound sits before you, cracking at the edges like spindly fingers clawing their way up the walls.

Something skitters. Something dark and fat. Something with beady eyes and tiny feet. 

There's droning under the floorboards. A muted thrum that, for a few seconds, only your feet can pick up.

Then you see a tail.

And a foot.

And a snout.

And you realise with horror that there is something in the walls. Something that is speaking to you.

At first, it’s as indistinguishable as ever; that same endless murmur from before as thousands of voices speak over each other. 

But, slowly–like a church choir–they all come together, whispering in their whiny voices one great chant.

“We are small. We are many.”

And you finally begin to understand the words.

“We have teeth. We have tails.”

And all you can really do is stand in silent terror.

“We were here before. We will be forevermore.”

Over and over and over they repeat it: an unending mantra accompanied by chattering teeth and pattering feet.

You can’t even bring yourself to move, body completely unsure how to react. It’s like the flies; worming their way into your ears and resounding off of your skull.

There’s laughter there, too. High-pitched, shrill sniggering. Sniggering of a thousand strangers that you’re sure are mocking you. 

And they just keep getting louder. 

What are you even meant to do? You have to be hallucinating at this point–encouraged by a weird mix of sleep deprivation and sloping paranoia. 

You feel like you’re in some type of morbid comedy, and the joke is absolutely on you. 

It doesn’t take long before your synapses finally snap into action, forcing your legs forwards. It begins with a brisk walk and easily turns into a jog. You aim for the staircase, unsure whether you’ll be going up or down.

Abruptly, their chant changes, a few voices slow to catch onto the shift. 

“India, Tango-”

It almost makes you stop dead in your tracks: even more confused with the seemingly random words they begin chittering.

“-Kilo, November-”

You refuse to listen, just blocking it out. No need to make yourself more fearful than you already are.

“-Oscar, Whiskey, Sierra-”

And you’re almost at the staircase, when-

SNAP.

-The floor finally collapses under your weight. 

“Y/N!”

You feel your head slam against the wet, wooden flooring. For a split second, no longer than a blink, everything goes blank. 

Then there’s a strain in your ankle. And water soaking into your hoodie.

And you are very much so awake. 

“Γαμώτο- Y/N? Y/N! Are you alright?”

Your brain throbs underneath your sweat sheened skin. Something wet slides down your cheek, and you wonder if it's blood. Looking up, partially balanced on your hands, all you can really do is stare at Helen with a mixture of utter horror and confusion. You open your mouth. Your jaw whines like one of the doors, and you taste wood on your tongue. “What the fuck.”

She hooks her arms under your shoulders, mumbling apologies under her breath as she drags you forward like a limp corpse. Easily, your foot is freed. Back on your feet, you wipe any residue off of your hands and face with frantic fingers. 

Turning and looking down, you see that your luck had quickly run out: the wood had finally broken through.

Knowing that there’s concrete under it doesn’t bring you as much comfort as you thought it would. 

A cold buzz overtakes the hot pain.

“Is your foot normal? Does it hurt?”

You swing your head back around. “Where were you?”

Her face twitches in surprise, not expecting your harsh tone. “Where were you? I was asking for you to see if you wanted to go up to the next floor to see if it was like this one. I couldn’t find you so I went up to see if you were there: I came down when I heard the wood snap.”

You watch her for a moment, thinking. ‘I came down when I heard the wood’, not ‘I came down when I heard you calling for me.’

Did she…did she not hear you?

Did she not hear that?

You think your ankle should hurt a lot more than it does. You think there should be pain jumping up your leg when you put your weight down.

“I was…” Swallowing, your eyes search the floor for something you don’t know the name of. Your flashlight has skidded to the foot of the staircase. “...I was in the last apartment by the staircase.”

Her brows furrow. “Why did you not come out when I asked?” 

Your mouth is dry.

You desperately want to explain it to her. Tell her you’d be calling out for her for the last who knows how long, stalking up and down the hall. Tell her that there is something in the walls and you fear they know things you’ve tried to bury. However, the moment you re-run the memories, think over how to even begin to describe what just happened, you realise you sound mad. The epitome of it.

As supportive and believing as Helen was, there was no way she was going to believe you.

“I just…”

There’d be that look on her face. It’d be there for a second, but you’d still see it. It’d be on Noah’s face when she tells him–clear as freshwater–as well. 

“...got scared by some rats.”

You may be human, and it may be right to accept help when you’re hurting, but you still refuse to be seen as mad. 

Sick.

Her face softens. Still somewhat annoyed–for a fair reason from her perspective–but lesser so.

Nobody likes not being believed, after all.

“Rats?”

You nod. 

“I have never liked rats,” there's a smile in her eyes. You think it’s meant to comfort you. “Maybe we should leave if there’s more?”

You hope you do. You pray to Gods who have long averted their gaze from this place of endless night and thumping walls to allow you to leave. 

“Hm…well, we do not scare easy, do we? We aren’t afraid of the dark or,” she pauses for a moment. You don’t know if it's for effect or not. “Rats, are we?”

Something in you wilts when you realise she’s trying to encourage you. Encourage you to go through with things. To overcome what she thinks is just a minor fear. 

You spite August winds and cigarette smoke for sewing your mouth shut.

There’s an attempt at a smile underneath your mask. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah.”

Smoothly, her fingers intertwine with yours. She feels blisteringly warm. 

“Is your foot and ankle okay?”

You can’t bring yourself to lie. 

-----------------------

In all their ‘nonsensical’ murmuring, the words the Things speak do have some meaning behind it, if you look close enough.

IMPORTANT: If you, or any of your friends, are going urban exploring, and stumble upon a building like this (incredibly damp, rotting wood, mould etc.) do not enter. Please do not risk an injury, or your life, for the sake of an experience or some cool photos. Further, if you visibly see your friend get injured, actually check them over to make sure they're genuinely okay. 

On note of updates: expect an update every three weeks on a Friday. If it doesn’t come then, expect it on the Saturday, and, if it doesn’t come until then, expect that I’m busy and won’t be able to update until next week. As much as I’d like to write to my heart’s content, I unfortunately don’t have all that time :’]

- Γαμώτο = Damn it

[yanderes-galore]

Hello Panther!

I am..quite new here and I just must to say that I loved the way you made Master Chief as a Platonic Yandere! It's really accurate and well done.

And I saw that your requests are open (I hope) that's why - I wondered if you could do Platonic Yandere! Doom slayer with a Female! Y/n who is not a fighter but just a civilian?

But you don't feel like to do it or you feel uncomfortable with it - feel free ignore this message.

Have a great day tho!

Sure! Sorry for the long wait, welcome to my little corner of the internet.

Yandere! Platonic! Doom Slayer with Civilian! Darling

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective behavior, Murder/Killing, Paranoia, Sort of kidnapping (?).

Doom Slayer may be a being that seems superhuman, hellbent on killing the demons plaguing Earth, but he does show care towards humanity.

Earth has become something inhabitable ever since he was away by the time of Doom Eternal.

You’re surprised you even survived this long, faking allegiance to your new demon rulers and hiding away in the disgusting hellscapes that used to be your home.

Most humans were sacrificed for Hell.

Others worked with demons to save their own skin, although they could easily be betrayed if no longer needed.

The Doom Slayer became both your savior and your curse once you met him.

A being that you could tell was human through his armor, but certainly didn’t act like it.

He had powers that no normal human could have.

He also had the athletic skill and stamina that seemed unmatched by anyone.

His arsenal alone was is impressive.

When he first met you, you cowered away from him.

You’ve heard stories of what he’s done yet it’s been so long since you had a normal interaction with another human.

Despite what the Doom Slayer does and his lack of sanity due to being used in his past, he holds sympathy.

Someone like you, an unarmed civilian lost in a grotesque world of gore and demons, should not be alone.

It surprises you when he stops his crusade to kneel before you, outstretching an armored hand for you to take.

An action of mercy.

You’d be a fool not to take it in your position.

Your safety becomes one of his biggest concerns.

Many humans on Earth were dead by now or just… unrecoverable.

The least he could do was rescue you.

The entire time, he’d notice you clutch onto him for dear life.

He cleared out demons effortlessly… the entire time protecting you.

You aren’t truly safe until he walks through a portal with you to the Fortress of Doom.

The space station he occupies is large with many sets of stairs and walls of collectibles and records.

Who knew he liked to collect things this much?

This is where you began to reside once, well, befriending the Doom Slayer.

Being a human himself, despite being empowered, he was very well aware of what you would need to get comfortable.

He picked out a safe space for you to rest and walked you through the large station.

He did make sure you were safe beside him in certain areas of course, there’s a lot of doors you don’t need to go through.

The longer you stay with the empowered space marine, the more you learn about him.

He prefers speaking through actions and is a man who just doesn’t speak much.

The most you get is like a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, other than that he usually just makes gestures.

You do not know his real name as he never says it, leaving you to call him “Slayer” all the time. 

He also enjoys tinkering as you sometimes see him in his little workshop area/room looking at one of his old suits.

Sometimes you even sit in the room with him to chat, even if it is mostly one sided.

He seems to enjoy it when you’re there, however.

You also rarely see him without his helmet, preferring to stay in his praetor suit.

You make a comment that he might need to let himself breathe sometimes, he ignores it for the most part but considers it for a moment.

Doom Slayer in general is a protective yandere, him being platonic just changes his motives.

He gets a bit suffocating when it comes to you, a civilian who’s much weaker than him.

He frequently checks on you after going out to continue purging the Earth of demons. 

It’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll be gone when he comes back, even though there’s no way for you to leave unless you were granted access to the portal system.

He shouldn’t have to worry about you being in danger there, either.

Unless something like the time the Fortress of Doom was hacked and released demons happened.

Oh… if something like that happens it spikes the anxious rage within this man-

You see him ruthlessly tear into the demons who threatened to hurt you in the station, right before searching for you.

You wouldn't really expect the Doom Slayer to be affectionate, but at your fear he feels he has to do something.

You feel the armored man hug you.

It’s a hug filled with hesitance and concern, yet also relief.

He tries his best to calm you down from your fear.

You shouldn’t fear him. He only wishes to protect you.

It’s just getting the point across proves difficult when you aren’t entirely sane or able to communicate well.

In a way, he may see himself as your protector.

You can’t fight on your own and he knows this.

You’re fragile, like a rabbit.

Like his dear Daisy….

No matter the intention of his obsession, he will end up comparing you to his long gone rabbit.

A weak creature that needs to be protected by him.

Which may be why he’s so protective over your well-being. 

Deep down, he’s scared to lose you.

The fact you can barely handle a gun doesn’t help his concern. 

Expect most of your days to be in the Fortress of Doom.

You may have no freedom to roam Earth, but did you really want to go back anyways?

It’s a mess down there, it’s better to stay in the station.

Plus, the Slayer isn’t that bad of a guy to you.

He acts like a guardian, a friend willing to put his life on the line to protect you.

Who cares about his intentions or how he protects you?

Here, in his station, you’re safe and sound.

The one thing you wish he’d respect is your privacy, yet other than that, you know he means well.

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P2]

[Series Link]

(Yandere x Reader)

[Warning: misogyny, xenophobia, hint to racism, explicit language, asshole male lead]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

He knew your type. Quiet, agreeable, and a little bit of a pushover.

He didn't say it, but he had noticed your lack of reaction when Tahara revoked your right to the summer break. Truth was, he never paid attention to women like you when he was in college. The quiet ones who took things seriously as if they had something to lose, those were hard to get. He never bothered with those who were hard to get when there were plenty of other options. He liked the sunkissed  blondes who knew to dress up in white sundresses and spaghetti straps, those who knew to party on Saturday and yoga class on Sunday. They never put up a hard fight, just the right amount, and when he got bored so did they. In and out of his bedroom they whirled, whimsical and effortless. He never bothered to find out if they were smart or complicated, and if they tried to show him, he'd move on to the next. A part of him felt bad, but the encouraging jokes and nudges of his frat brothers overrode that twinge in his chest when he saw sad eyes following him down the campus walkway. It didn't matter, not if he got the liquor and summer yatch trips.

He also liked other types. Soft-spoken brunettes who listened to sad songs and doodled hearts onto his notes. Fierce raven-haired girls who knew to throw back shots and moved their bodies to the music. The rich exchange girls who, despite their attitudes, knew their ways around his body and submitted to his rhythm. He liked them all because he could consume them, so he said he support women. Those he didn't like, well, they were on their own.

So he didn't mind that you were older and reserved. True, he never bothered with women like you because he thought he could do without them, but now that he was in Tokyo all alone, he could see your values. So, he thought to look.

You were the serious type. Soft-spoken, patient, and reserved. You looked after yourself rather dilligently - your clothes fit well, and you smelled of subtle floral perfume. Your movement when you walked around the school were gentle but decisive - you knew what to do, and you did it quick, as if you always had something better to do. A part of him didn't like that. For why, he didn't interrogate. "Why" was never a questioned he bothered with, since he could do well for the first 22 years of his life without it. When someone always get what they want, they hardly ever want to know "why".

He knew he was brash and bold to ask you out for dinner, but he assumed you knew the implication. He was interested enough. You had a fine body, and you knew how to look good. "Late bloomer" was what he liked to call women like you, the type who took themselves too seriously in school, but then learnt how to be pretty in their latter years. They would know how to relax, to not be so uptight.

So there he sat in a booth at a restaurant downtown, waiting, a little impatient to see that you were late. Perhaps he was to blame to tell you to take your time and freshen up at home. He wondered if you would doll up. Where would you show your skin? Where would you shave? He liked it shaved. His fingers toyed with the small tea cup, tapping its side and running down the curve of its rim.

"Hi! Sorry for the wait... I was caught up with a phone call."

He looked up. There you were, smiling down at him. He shamelessly looked at your body, studying the way the nice dress pants accentuate your hip and ass. Then, as you sat down, he took notes of your off-shoulder top, then the blink of your earrings. You may tried to make it seem innocuous, but he could tell. You dressed up for him.

"Not at all! I just got here."

You kept your smile on. He didn't notice that it was manufactured. He was caught up watching you leaning forward, your fingers flipping over the menu. The way your cleavage was catching shadow captured his attention.

"So, how is Tokyo treating you?"

He didn't think you would speak first. You barely humored any small talks during the day, only giving him just enough.

"It's good, it's good", he mused, "I'm enjoying the new culture and people. It's all very new to me, so I'm excited."

You looked up at him now, your eyes narrowing as your smile widened.

"It's a great city. There's always something to look at. Do you ever miss your friends and family, though?"

He leaned in as well, closing the gap. He could see you flinch just barely as his fluffy black curls almost tickle your forehead.

"Well, of course. I miss my family a lot, especially my sister. She's applying for college soon, and I wish I could be there to support her, you know?"

"You have a sister?"

He was pleased to see you following the script so far. Girls were often intrigued by the fact that he had a sister - it means he grew up knowing how to be sensitive and protective. It was a reliable card to play.

"Yeah, we grew up quite close, you know. I still remember her crying like a baby when I left for college", he chuckled, "now it's her turn."

You laughed softly at that.

"Yeah... she must be so sad to see you go to Japan, right?"

He nods, his eyes flickering between your face and your neck, eager to peer right down your top. You must be wearing those stick-on nipple covers to rock a top like that.

"Oh, she was, but she's more excited to be independent in college. Too excited, to be honest. I had to warn her not to get in troubles."

"What kind of trouble?"

He found himself looking at your lips now. Your gentle voice and soft gaze managed to distract him. For a second, he found himself pausing to stare.

"Oh... alcohol, drugs, bad friends. You know the deal."

"Did you get into troubles in college, too?"

The simple question now seemed so implicative. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and he saw that you looked. Your lashes flutterred for a second before your eyes met his.

Empty.

You were harder to read than he thought. Perhaps it was the age difference, he wondered, or the fact that your naturally composed attitude had sealed your attraction toward him. He never hit on an older woman before, so he supposed it was only natural that he couldn't catch your energy right away. Or were you secretly experienced? Three years seemed little to him at first, but he suddenly felt self-conscious at your still demeanor. You were still smiling and expectant, but in a different way than he imagined. You were yet to be doe-eyed, yet to melt when she heard about his bond with his sister. How many men had had their ways with you? Did you please them well? Did you moved and squirm under their touch? He felt himself heating up.

"Good afternoon, dear customers. May I take your order?"

He almost jumped. You didn't. Awkwardly pointing to the menu, he glanced at you who quickly said your orders. You seemed comfortable.

Did he lose his edge?

The waiter swiftly left. Lukas felt that the chemistry was disrupted. His keen eyes watched your form pulling back away from him, and he caught the faint perfume wafting his way. He decided to keep his posture forward, staying on the offensive side.

"I guess I did get into some troubles", he admitted, his hand instinctively rubbing the nape of his neck, as if to conceal what his clothes couldn't. His skin was warm to the touch.

"Well, what kind?"

He couldn't tell if you were interested. You were asking him lots of questions, even from the start. Did you want to know more about him?

"Oh, we were crazy. One time, a pledge covered himself in lighter fluid and lit himself on fire before jumping into the pool."

"Ah... so the typical frat bros stuff. I guess I've seen something like that at X. Uni", you nodded, your smile turning a bit cheeky.

He shifted even closer.

"Yeah, we were bad boys. Were you in a sorrority? Greek life is big at X."

You shook yout head slowly.

"No... It seemed very fun, but I guess I was too focused on other stuff."

"What stuff?"

"I was trying to keep my scholarship, so that took most of my time, I guess. I wasn't too involved with student life aside trom the school's art magazine."

"So you are a smartie?"

You hung your head humbly.

"I guess you could say that."

"So what did you do to blow off steam, then? Or were you at the library all day?"

He felt just a bit desperate trying to know you. He knew his bombarding questions were coming off a little strong, but he didn't want to feel exposed and insecure anymore. He had opened up, he thought it would be fair if you let him in a little. Wind down, be less uptight.

"I went to Ellum sometimes."

Ellum, the bar street. So you knew how to party after all. Maybe you did have experiences with men.

"Oh, me and my boys liked it there."

"For troubles?"

He laughed.

"For troubles, yeah. It'd be crazy if we met and never knew it."

"Well, it was all dark and loud in there. Maybe we did."

"Then it's fate."

He felt corny saying it, but the words slipped out anyway. His heart twisted when you laughed at that, your chest vibrating. You lifted your hand to cover your smile, and he saw a glimpse of ink as your top pulled against your shoulder. Tattoos, huh? He didn't peg you as the type to get them.

Seeing that it was his chance, he reached over to adjust the fabric, his fingertips lingering just a moment too long. He felt it, the electric as he felt your cool skin against his own. You were soft and smooth, like a nice spread of butter against crispy toast.

"Oh, my bad, I just saw your shirt falling off a little there."

Your laugh dwindled. You touched where he touched, your chest rising and lowering at a slower beat.

Lukas found himself feeling expectant.

"Ah, well, thank you", you said, your voice more relaxed now. That was a good sign.

The waiters came back with the orders and left just as hurriedly.

"I have a question", Lukas mused, somehow anxious to lose your attention when you reached for your utensils.

"Pray tell."

"What's the best food place that you've ever been in Tokyo?"

He winced internally. Corny and immature, that was what he was being. What a 17-year-old first date question that was.

"I'd say the unlabelled streetfood carts at the open-air markets", you said, your finger resting on your chin for a moment, "I like to go there if I ever have to stay late at work."

"You gotta show me sometimes, then. I love streetfood!"

He felt stupid clawing at any ways he could to compel your interest. You were right there, laughing at his jokes, asking about his family, paying attention to him. Yet somehow he still felt like you were distant, somewhere in an invisible fish bowl, and what he had said to you were muffled through the water and glass.

"Of course, I'd be happy to. But let me know if you are allergic to anything, or if you are scared of seafood."

"Not at all", he confidently shook his head, "I went to Italy last summer, and the seafood was amazing!"

"Trip across Europe?"

"Trip across Europe", he nodded, "I'd say, Italy for best seafood, France for best wine, Germany for best beer, and Netherlands for the best, well, you know..."

You playfully rolled your eyes.

"I see you like to travel."

"Oh, it changes my whole perspective. I really found myself, you know. It's like... I come back a whole different person. I think everyone should travel."

You gave him a strange look. Not a scowl nor a frown. A gentle squint of the eyes. It could be anything. He couldn't decide if he was being too boastful, or if he had said something wrong. Did you not like that? Maybe you hadn't been as well-travelled as he was, and what he said had come across as unrelatable.

"But of course, you know, if your money allows it. It doesn't cost as much as you think if you know how to budget."

The playful twinkle in your eyes told him that you were responding to him, and likely not negatively. Still, he felt more stupid adding on to what he said. He didn't know why, but he felt as though you were looking down on him.

Why would you look down on him?

Lukas may not realize it, but this was one of the rare occasions when he let the "why" bother him.

"Of course, travelling can be great. I haven't travelled much, but I imagine that when I have enough money, I would travel. I have a few places in mind."

"Where to?"

"For starter, Norway."

Weird answer.

"What's in Norway?"

"The aurora borealis."

He furrowed his brows.

"You want to see the northern light?"

"More than anything."

"It doesn't cost that much though."

"Yeah, but solo travelling costs more, I imagine."

"I can go with you."

He felt decidedly stupid and overconfident.

"Wouldn't that be something...", you commented, your eyes casting aside, "well, that's my top destination for sure."

You were growing cold again. Lukas couldn't for the life of him figure out where he was going wrong. Maybe you just weren't attracted to him, but that was unlikely. He knew how good he looked. He may have heard "sorry I have a boyfriend" and "I'm looking for something serious", but he couldn't think of a time when someone had admitted to him not being their type. Not even behind his back.

"Also, you seem to like to drink. Two out of the four places you mentioned was about alcohol."

He didn't expect you to pick up on the conversation. Maybe he simply had gotten into his head.

"Oh, I guess. I did drink a lot in college, but that's just what it was all about, you know?"

"About troubles, I know."

He felt his face growing hot.

"Right... well, I'd love to know what other Japanese drinks are like, too. I've tasted sake, but it was mild. I'm more of a beer and shots guy."

"Wine, too, right? In France."

You had not once lost your composure. He felt like he was squirming in his seat. He wanted to sleep with you, that was clear. He needed to know what it was like to get with someone older than him, even if it was a mere three years. What would you be like in bed? What did you learn from all the men from your past? The unphased facade, the tattoo, the way you maintained your calm upon his touch and his banter... you knew something he didn't. You had experienced things he hadn't.

"Right, that. Do you drink at all? Here, in Japan, I mean."

"Sometimes."

"Hey, it's a Friday night. Do you maybe want to grab a drink at a pub somewhere after this?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. He knew he was being brash and bold, but he couldn't help it. You were something he wanted to add to his collection.

Letting you mull over it, he watched your calm face.

"Sure...", you softly agreed, "but only for a little while."

"Something coming up tomorrow?"

Someone to see tomorrow?

Your blank eyes glimmered under the flourescent light for a second. He almost wanted to hold his breath.

"Just some personal affair in the afternoon."

There you go being elusive again. He thought he would have had you in his palm by now, but not yet. Maybe he didn't know your type.

[robin33r]

Uhh warning this gets p detail-e

Warning for just mainly getting in detail w abusive relationships

Tired of pretending saurtis / tauram would've been healthy ngl. They are fr eachothers nightmares in the best way possible "Sam's insane and looney" okay but idk if you realized it was TAURTIS who was unhinged first. HE encourages Sam's shenanigans too. He influences it so so much.

I've seen people say Sam took after Yuki by resorting his problems using violence however.. Taurtis even at the start of the series suggested violence even for sam to use violence to get love. He tells Sam that he should be doing "chop chop" to make Sookie love him and he even thought it was too far at the time. I feel like now that's partially influencing his behavior in the reboot and how he's spreading the ideals onto his friends just like how taurtis influenced him subtly.

Now this isn't saying taurtis doesn't care and is only tryna negatively influence Sam. Taurtis cares about Sam but they're both codependent and they both reflect off of eachother, however Sam's a LOT more dependent and reflects off of taurtis much more than he does to Sam. Sam physically needs taurtis, almost like a dog and it's owner.

Sam and taurtis both have normalized unhinged thoughts that for ANY normal person would find it intrusive. They've straight up bathed in eachothers blood fir fun and normalized it. To anyone who thinks their love would be gentle and romantic I HEAVILY doubt that realistically it'd be that. They'd be the triple C's, cannibalism, confinement, and codepdency. They'd hurt eachother for the ballistic fun of it and ngl I even forget how often those two fight or hit eachother. They'd probably even carve out little shapes off if eachother even if it's immature, why? Because they can! There's no "gentle talking" with them, it's straight to the point and sometimes even mockery, if it isn't it's stern. They both love so roughly they almost *cant* be gentle, neither of them wanted to be either, they're just there for the fun and sake of it. Taurtis can be just as sadistic if not MORE sadistic than Sam sometimes even and ngl it's such an underrated thought of how much of a little shit he is.

Sam copied so much of previous behaviors from Yuki and Taurtis and it's so funny to me how the impact is so obviously hard. Sam would give taurtis EVERYTHING if jt meant to be with him, dead or alive. That desire could even probably lead Sam into grabbing his dead body and finding ways to bring it back alive/delude himself into believing the body. Most of the time he was unstable it was because of taurtis not being there and he's canonly always uneasy without taurtis, in which this could DEFINITELY Influence his behavior in the reboot.

The way he acts in the reboot is definitely twisted as ro how he normally acts without taurtis or when he's seemingly unstable and he pushes those ideals onto coolment and sometimes even owl. He's physically unable to handle himself holding the memories of what he had with taurtis yet not having him around. The absolute pain kf losing your favorite person and then having tk restart at the same place where hell went down and when things went down. Good lord only knows he probably hallucinates taurtis ' voice

This is a bit of a stretch but because of how little those two take eachothers mental health, injuries and pain seriously I'd even argue that hell maybe they'd even encourage ut and/or do it together or just laugh awkwardly st it. At MOST is the fact that taurtis did seem genuinely concerned at Sam's alcoholism but I don't know. This is just a huge stretch but god I love saurtis/tauram I sure wish toxic and doomed yaoi was real.

[dangermousie]

My favorite non-danmei web novels

Since some of you were interested, I decided to make this list. It’s in an alphabetical order since to figure out which I like more than the other is too hard. I have either finished all of these or enough to have an opinion. 

1000 Miles of Bright Moonlight - one of my ultimate favorites, this would make such an epic drama! A smart as hell heroine, a hero who is a monk and a warrior (but also terminally?) ill and such a vivid world and amazing secondary characters (heroine’s brother is possibly my favorite supporting character of all time) and so much angst and happy ending. This has an amazing romance but it’s not romance-centric if it makes sense - ML doesn’t appear for a while. But once he does, it’s worth it!

Apocalypse Arrival - Gong Xinwen’s novels are made just for me. Her heroines are always powerful as fuck and rescue abused MLs. In this novel, our heroine who lives in the post-apocalyptic world, wakes up right before that apocalypse happens. She forms a survival crew and also rescues ML who has miraculous blood and has been drained of it and is now hunted after the rescue for it. SO GOOD!!!

The Blue Whisper - the drama was so-so, but the novel is a bona fide angst masterpiece, which really delves into what it feels like to be imprisoned or to love.

Black Moonlight Holds the BE Script - so fucked up, so good, with monster hero who learns to love and be human and heroine who learns to love and be human (but from the other side, her tower of perfection.) Much better than the drama.

Chang’an’s Greatest Beauty - a starkly realistic look at what happens to a beautiful period woman with no options. She becomes an outside mistress of a powerful aristocrat who she loathes. The delight is when ML, who barely thinks of others as human, falls in love with her and realizes she does not care about him and descends into regret and despair.

Chang Feng Du - reading it right now. Amazing ML and FL who grow together, clever plot, arranged marriage to love etc etc. Oh, and one point he feeds her his blood to keep her alive, what’s not to love?

Dandere General and His Lord - hi there, Gong Xinwen! God, I love this one. Heroine transmigrates from modern world into a brutal slaveholding world at war (think something like Warring States era.) Our heroine transmigrates into the body of a noblewoman who just hung herself. When she comes to, she discovers that woman’s twin brother was the ruler of a city poisoned by a rival claimant and the besieging army of said claimant is about to take the city and original occupant of the body and the rest of the family chose suicide as a way to avoid dishonor. Our heroine refuses, schemes with advisors to pass as the brother and rally the troops. Once the invaders are defeated, she keeps on the masquerade and rides off to one of the never-ending wars “she” is summoned to. Our hero couldn’t be farther from this. A slave and a son of a slave, he’s escaped a horrific, starving childhood during which he narrowly avoided being murdered or raped, and ended up in the army. When the story opens, he distinguished himself in battle and as a reward, he and a few of his fellow slave warriors are invited to a banquet, where they are given some alcohol and to be playthings of any nobles who want them. One of them does not survive this but ML is lucky - heroine feels terrible and so “claims” him for herself. Instead she just tends to his wounds and sends him back. She does not fancy him or anything, she is just a human being with a conscience. And the story goes from there.

Doomed to Be Cannon Fodder - I hesitated to put this one on the list because by the end I was not keen on how misogynistic novel got to original female lead but it was one of my earliest novels and I loved it for 90% and it’s fucking hilarious at times. Heroine transmigrates as bit villainess into a novel, all she wants is not to die, but her new attitude of “pls stay away” catches the attention of her terrifying general husband. Honestly, imo still worth it.

Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir - my n1 novel on this list, smart and fierce and don’t really read this for romance because it does not start until really late, but ice cold heroine x ice cold hero both of equal brains and ruthlessness is everything. I went from loathing the ML to finding him fascinating to adoring him (and yet he softened around the edges only for FL, he never became “nice”) and loved FL throughout; secondaries are epic. If you read only one non-danmei web novel, make it this one.

The Emperor’s Beloved Ugly Girl - my n2 novel on this list. Our heroine is the unlucky laundry maid A’Chou. She is a di daughter of an upperclass family but her family got destroyed in one of the political upheavals of the time and A’Chou, only a small child at the time, was the only survivor and was made an enslaved laundry maid. Due to various events, at the start of the novel she is a laundry maid in a minister’s household and the minister’s beloved daughter is having a fit because she’s supposed to marry the former Crown Prince which may have been great a few years back but Crown Prince had since been deposed, tortured, imprisoned and now is living in the middle of nowhere under conditions that are too meager to be called house arrest. And he’s seriously crippled too. Understandably, the young lady doesn’t want to marry him! She’d rather kill herself and so she does. And so, a desperate plan is hatched - why don’t we pretend the laundry maid is the di daughter of the minister’s household and send her off? And so A’Chu is sent as the bride. She arrives to discover a broke, seriously injured man on the verge of death...and we go from there. This is so gorgeous and tender and slow in just the right way and like AAAAAA! Secondary OTPs (one of which is MM) are also epic.

Futu Tower - the drama was terrible but the novel is such a lovely, dark exploration of coming back to life, for the ML from his dark revenge-strewn path and for heroine from not being allowed wishes of her own. She is a tribute bride, he’s a (fake) eunuch, they are both servants who use themselves to achieve goals and find peace and happiness together.

Heroine Saves a Gentleman - Gong Xinwen novel so we have a tough martial artist lady saving a very upper class scholar and it goes from there.

Husband Be a Gentleman - schemer meet schemer. He’s an idle prince she’s perfect daughter, in reality both are wolves out for blood. Mmmm.

I’ll Be the Male Lead’s Sister in Law - one of my all time favorite novels. Heroine is made to marry a disabled nephew of the emperor. He used to be a victorious god of war but went mad and now is basically locked away and kept as a beast. GOD I LOVE THIS NOVEL SO MUCHHHHH! So much hurt/comfort and awesome OTP and after he eventually recovers, all he wants to do is to fight and murder things and dote on wifey. MMM. He’s honestly one of my fave MLs.

I Married a Disabled Tyrant After Transmigrating - if you have a Florence Nightingale complex, this is for you. Heroine wakes up as tribute bride to an almost dead dragon lord and slowly nurses him back to life as his rivals try to murder him. They are both utter adorable babies!

Joy of Life - there is NO romance in this one (ML is polygamous) but this is such a smart, snarky delight.

Let the Villain Go - another Gong Xinwen novel, this and Apocalypse Arrivals are AUs of each other. Heroine is surviving in the apocalypse, ML is the “bugbear” of the world but in reality just reacting to all abuse and torture and after she accidentally saves him, devotes himself. Fun fun fun!

Love In Another Life: My Gentle Tyrant - so so fucked up in the best way! ML cannot live with OR without heroine. It opens on them banging in jail night before her execution (ordered by him) with corpses of men he killed for trying to defile her cooling nearby. If you want healthy relationships with respectful boundaries, gentle and considerate male leads who are modern men in period clothes, OP heroines who have everyone help them and are OP to the max, fluff and wholesomeness, that is about the worst book for you.If you want complexity, dysfunction, darkness, pain and an absolutely lyrical even if fucked up story, come right IN!!!!I am so fucking in love with the melancholy heroine, with ruthless psycho hero and the endless regret and devotion and paaaaain!

Nightfall (Ever Night) - so long but also so smart and unusual and bloody and tho it’s not primarily a romance, you will never see another ML who loves his FL as much as Ning Que does his Sang Sang. 

Princess Agents - dark as fuck, with the best slow burn and heroine who kicks metric tons of ass.

The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage - this is probably the one “typical” novel on this list, heroine is reborn as her youngest self and gets revenge on those who wronged her last time around. It is really really well-written and heroine is competent, hero is doting and powerful etc. It’s not a trope I tend to love but I do when it’s done THIS well.

Rebirth of the Tyrant’s Pet: Regent Prince is Too Fierce: Borgias cnovel style! Our heroine was empress in last life and put her husband on the throne tho he did not love her. However, he had her executed and had his half-brother carry out the orders and heroine died horrifically. She opens her eyes and she’s a little girl again. The OTP this time around is heroine and half-brother executioner. Why do I love it? Heroine is smart and tough but also this is a rare rebirth novel where heroine does NOT decide to seek revenge for past life wrongs because they haven’t happened yet! In fact, she sees ML abused and stands up for him because he’s a kid and no kid should be mistreated and this go around he hasn’t done anything wrong. She also gets and likes her former life husband. Anyway, this is fakecest galore because she’s supposed to be their half-sister and while she knows (from past life) she is not, they do not and fall for her anyway. ML is especially gonzo, at one point carving chunks of his flesh to save her. He’s feral and unhinged and she’s the one person he worships because she protected him and like - it’s all awesome. (I love secondary ML too.)

Reborn to Love Lord Qiansui - yes, this is a eunuch novel! If you like gender tropes reversals, this one is for you. Heroine is a tough martial artist, hero is a smart as hell and powerful eunuch. A real eunuch. Heroine finds out she owes him her life and decides to protect him. This is a total delight and an awesome love story between two really scarred people. And yes, there is sex - heroine literally reads manuals on pegging :P

Return of the Swallow - so freaking long! But really good. Heroine is neither transmigrator nor reincarnator, just a smart period woman. She is a lost family daughter taken back in. Her father is a minister in a dying empire (father-daughter relationship is one of the best things in this novel), her OTP is enemy general, and the smartness and the awesomeness of this all knows no bounds.

Revenge of the Cannon Fodder Chambermaid - I remember starting this and loving the realistic feel and the heroine and wanting to stab the hero and @mercipourleslivres telling me to be patient. She was right, by the end I was on board with both the hero (who was abused and is rather autistic-coded) and the OTP. Anyway, heroine is a servant who was a concubine in the last life and got killed as part of a rich family’s harem intrigues. In this life, she just wants to keep her head down but her life gets derailed anyway. She gets sold away and eventually made a servant in the household of an exiled prince who takes a fancy to her and she endures it because what choice does she have? All she wanted was to serve out her term and become a small time merchant. This is quite realistic about lack of options for women, especially lower class women or upper class male attitudes (ML is never vicious or mean to FL but it does not initially occur to him to wonder if she fancies him or enjoys being his concubine or w/e.) It is a DELIGHTFUL slow burn tho as they grow to love each other and grow together and become one of the most wholesome cnovel couples out there.

To Be a Virtuous Wife - some people prefer 8 treasures trousseau but I never warmed up to that one. This one is so good, with smart people (who actually enjoy sex, a ratity) and a perfect mix of plot and romance.

Transmigrator Meets Reincarnator - my very first web novel. A lot lighter than a lot of the ones on this list but a total delight. Heroine transmigrates into a novel as the heroine; she has no interest in drama or chasing true love, she just wants to live a nice life with her nice husband. Too bad for her, her husband has reincarnated into his younger self and remembers how she betrayed him, so is not interested. This one is funny and light and romance doesn’t start till late on but a total delight!

The Yandere Came During the Night - a bit of fluff that’s oddly delightful. Heroine is reborn as a (fake) sister of ML, she hurts her legs saving him and the “siblings” form a bond that ends up in fakecest delight. They are both smart and efficient and he becomes a sexy marquis etc.

[madmanwonder]

Prompt

Crossover Yandere AU

Dimitrescu Vs Doom Slayer

MK1 Intro Meme

Arena: Castle Dimitrescu

Alcina: You are mine, Rabid man-thing!

Doomslayer: *Pump Super Gun*

[theshipperqueenisnotdone]

Fandoms I'll Write For: LEGO MONKIE KID,My Next Life As A Villainess, Danganronpa, Undertale(ALL THE AU), Welcome home, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Helluverse, FNAF, Harry Potter, Theorist (AKA MATPAT AND THE NEWS HOST FANDOM), Kaiju, The Monsterverse, Poppy Playtime, Witchcraft SMP, TADC, Epic The Musical, Greek Mythology, Oshi No Ko, and maybe I will add more later.

I will probably be writing more of yandere(Both platonic and romantic) because I like some bittersweet:)

I will not write unless it's has good reason to: Mindbreak(Depends), Dumbification(Depends), Abortions, Necrophilia, Character Death (Depends), Bad Ending (Depends), Rape/noncon(Depends), I will add later.

I will make some AU, it's would probably be cringe but you know what, I don't care.

Feel free to send in a request or ask me a question!

And also:

Gender neutral, Male and Female Reader's are welcomed!

Please don't expect an perfect character personality when it's come to AU and fanfic/headcanon as I have often make AU that sometimes mess up with the character.

I will not involve real life illnesses like cancer, if its something made up like Hanahaki for example I'll allow it.

I have the right to deny a requests, Nothing out of spite or hatred but some subjects are uncomfortable for me.