#alien dweller

[crownofbegonias]

Jon McBride x Mark Polonia Dweller (2001) toxic yaoi 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

[mellonmallon]

Erm…actually Sir Dagonet… I believe there IS something in this abandoned cave…😨😨😨

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

im also floridian. this weather is too suspicious its not meant to be winter weather in march! summer will kill us all

It’s starting to heat up. But then it’s going down again?

LOWS IN THE 60S AT THIS TIME OF YEAR IN THIS PART OF THE WORLD..? That ain’t right. No. It can’t be. No way.

It’s going to be a constant 102* in June-September because nice things aren’t allowed here and we must suffer. We’re supposed to get our designated 2 weeks of nice weather randomly in dec-feb and THATS IT. We have been too greedy. The end is coming.

*for non swamp dwellers, the actual temp stays between 80-95 mostly, but humidity makes it feel like you’re being steamed alive. Which is fun! (government mandated propaganda)

[majyykdust]

invaderstuck concept from *checks notes* four years ago no one asked for

[chicafinal]

[radioactivespacebug]

[weepingfoxfury]

The man on the radio is talking with the chef on the radio about Coq au Vin and Tagine. There is mention of lashings of ginger and cayenne pepper. Once the mouth watering recipes are done, the man on the radio plays Marrakesh Express and Road to Morocco.

The dandelions continue to delight here. I'm spoilt for choice.

Last night a mouse made the choice to get into bed with me. I don't know who was more surprised!?! Me as I reached to scratch the tickle on my back, only to find my hand grabbing something small and squeaky ... or the teeny tiny mouse that performed parkour on my wall as it was simultaneously released and the duvet was whipped back.

It's Saturday ... there's coffee and sunshine ... and no doubt more dandelions to capture ...

[cavedwellermusic]

Plutonian Khaos – Those Who Shall Arrive

James looks at Those Who Shall Arrive, the new album from Slovakian black metal / dark ambient / harsh noise project Plutonian Khaos, released on Nomad Sky Diaries / Sky Burial on June 10th.

When abductees talk about Grey aliens there always seems to be a sense of terror and dread, accompanying an experience that made them feel powerless and violated. I truly believe that Plutonian Khaos has captured that exact sentiment in audio form with Those Who Shall Arrive. The suffocatingly layered mix of lo-fi atmospheric/raw black metal, dark ambient and harsh noise presented on the album really draws you into a mindset where you can imagine the terror of an abduction.

[nerds-yearbook]

In Rom Spaceknight 5#, cover date April, 1980, Ray-Na, Hellhounds of the Dark Nebula, and the Wraith Anti-Gravity Disc were introduced. They were created by Bill Mantlo and Sal Buscema. ("A House Is Not A Home!", Rom Spaceknight 5#, Marvel Comic Event)

[jaynethejackalope]

*hits vape* what if we got to an alien planet but it's just earth

Like, they grow rice the same way we do

And they have giraffes but they call them vertibralias

Vertibralia is such a better word than giraffe

What if we get there and they're like "ah yes have you ever seen a fertaflapa?" And it's just a pissed off goose

What if we haven't met other life, cause on all planets we are moving at the same technological development rate and also everything is humans and geese and giraffes that I think we should rename

[ravensroleplays]

Eh, no big deal.

Could be worse, at least we have a pretty nice life here.

Hey, is that Plushie Girl? What's she doing out of bed?

This last part came from a gray-masked Dweller as it looked in Ames' direction.

(ravensroleplays, AHIT RP, Specters and Space Aliens Verse)

Late one night, when the Subcon family (or most of them, anyway), were asleep, there was a strange occurrence. Ames' Girlfriend plushie stood up on its own! Slowly, carefully rising, the plushie reached out, tapping Ames' face.

*Ames, who was asleep, stirred a little, eyes slowly opening…before she jumped a little*

“EEP!!”

[vinnyvamppp]

She Threw Me—Then Kissed Me

NOTE: Have I been up for three hours writing this? Yes. Is this one of my longest expeditions about an alien mating with a man? Probably. Two lucky commenters requested this, so here I deliver.

@xecres1cloud @deleted-1-800 Warnings: Dom/Sub Dynamics, Public Sex, Cecil Catches Them, Alien Fucking, Tit Sucking, Porn w a Plot, Misuse of Powers, Cowgirl, Dom!Reader, Switch/Dom!Mark Grayson (battle for dominance), Infatuation, Rough Sex, Plot Changes for Convenience, Mutual Dirty Talk, Hair Pulling, etc.

Mark Grayson x Alien!Fem Reader

Word Count: 2, 908

You were never meant to leave Themyscira.

Your people—warriors, champions, god-forged in strength and purpose—do not abandon their home lightly. But you were given a mission, one that pulled you from the sacred shores of your birthplace and thrust you into a world that feels too fragile beneath your hands. The gods spoke of a coming war. A force beyond Earth, beyond even Olympus, stirring in the void between stars. Not one brewing on earth, but amongst earth dwellers in space. The Amazons do not sit idly by when the balance is threatened. You do not sit idly by. So you were sent to watch. To learn. To prepare.

You were sent to this world to stop what’s coming. And then you met him.

Mark Grayson is not a god, but he wears his strength like one. And yet, for all his power, for all the might in his blood, there is something uncertain in the way he carries it. He does not fight like an Amazon—he hesitates, he questions, he cares in a way warriors are taught not to.

Never knowing a world this fragile. Being of Amazon and Talok IV descent, you were a new breed of soldier for your people, and one that could blend in if needed. Although, the power was bestowed due to your father's trickery. No matter. The man is dead. The moment you landed on Earth, you sought out Cecil to initiate your infiltration. Earth people claimed to be resilient, yet so desperate for help once offered, it's pitiful.

You weren’t expecting to find something worth staying for. His influence prodding at you like an infectious disease. The time was approaching, the time to mate that is, yet you were unusually apprehensive–. THWACK!

Here, metal bends like softened wax beneath your hands. Brick crumbles as if it were pressed from sand. You’ve seen men build their homes, their towers, their weapons—each one designed to endure, yet none of them built to withstand you. Mark learned that the hard way. “I swear I was ready for that,” he groans, flat on his back in the wreckage of a training arena that should have been reinforced better. The dust hasn’t even settled from your last hit. A crack spiders through the concrete where he landed, but he’s already moving, rubbing the back of his head like a man more embarrassed than injured. You stand over him, arms crossed. “You weren’t.” Mark exhales sharply, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He’s strong—stronger than most things in this world. But not stronger than you, outside of his domain of expertise.

He knows it, too.

“You’re really not holding back, huh?” he says, half a grin forming. You tilt your head. “Should I?” Mark blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s just… you’re insane.” He gestures vaguely at the crater where the ground used to be. “I’m supposed to be the strong one, you know?” You raise an eyebrow. “Who told you that?” For a second, he just looks at you. Then he grins, something sparking behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’ve been wanting you to say that. I like you.” he says, and for the first time since this match started, it almost feels like a challenge. The slight rasp in his voice sends tingles through you. And finally, you think, someone worth fighting. Someone worth keeping.

Mark is still grinning at you, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. I like you. A simple statement, but there’s something behind it—something testing the waters, something that sees you as more than just an opponent. You roll your shoulders, easing the tension from the fight. “You like losing?” Mark exhales a short laugh, pushing himself fully upright, closer now. "I like a challenge." His eyes flicker over you—not with fear, not with wariness, but something else. Something warmer. You’re used to admiration. It comes naturally when you are carved from power itself, when your body is built to command. Men have looked at you in awe before, in fear, in respect. But Mark looks at you like— Like he isn’t afraid to lose to you.

That’s new.

You shift your stance, but you don’t step back. "Careful, Grayson," you say, your voice dipping lower. "Keep looking at me like that and I might think you're flirting." At your words you sway slightly. You were tall and statuesque, and your skin was kissed by deep cerulean hues. Its very image carries the mystery of the void itself. Your hair, thick and dark flows past your shoulders, caught in satisfying curly tussles. Your eyes—piercing, luminous—glow softly in the dark, a warning and a lure. Just how could he not be reeled in? From the moment you two’s eyes met, he felt his heart stir. He couldn’t tell if it was just lust, perhaps, even so he wanted you.

Mark swallows, his grin flickering—still there, but a little uneven now. His eyes dart away for half a second, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re messing with him. “Uh,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, I was kind of flirting, but if that’s, like, weird, or—y’know, if you don’t—” He clears his throat, cutting himself off before he spirals any further. “You’re really hard to read, by the way.” You arch a brow, unimpressed. “You’re nervous.” His shoulders tense slightly. “What? No. Pfft. Me? Nervous?” He gestures vaguely between you. “I just—uh—didn’t expect this to happen after you threw me through a wall.”

“You survived.”

“Barely!”

“You’re fine,” you counter, stepping closer. His breath hitches—just a little, but you catch it. He’s still sitting on the broken concrete, looking up at you, and for all his strength, all his power, there’s something hesitant in the way he meets your gaze. You tilt your head. “You’re not used to this, are you?” Mark blinks. “Used to what?” “Someone stronger.” His mouth opens, then closes. He hesitates, then exhales a short, nervous laugh. “Wow. Okay. Just calling me out like that.” It’s not an insult, just an observation. The men here—especially the ones like him are used to being the strongest person in the room. It doesn’t matter that he’s still learning, still figuring out his limits. People look at him and see power. You wonder if anyone has ever made him feel small before. If he even knows what it’s like.

You kneel slightly, closing the height difference by roughly four inches. His breath stills. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Mark.” His lips part slightly, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze flickers over your face, lingering for just a second too long. “…I’m not.” Lie. Not fear, exactly but something close. That nervous, unsure energy that coils in his muscles like he doesn’t know if he should lean in or back away. You’re used to confidence, used to men puffing their chests, trying to match your strength. Mark doesn’t do that. He just looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure how. You decide for him.

You lift a hand, slow enough that he can stop you if he wants to. He doesn’t. Your fingers graze his jaw, and he tenses. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and when you tilt his chin up, his breath catches. “I really don’t know what to do right now,” he admits, voice slightly higher than before. You smirk. “That’s new for you, isn’t it?” He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “That obvious?”

“Then let me teach you.” Mark swallows hard, his hands twitching slightly at his sides—like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he should. His pulse is quick under your fingertips, his face just inches from yours. “…Yeah,” he breathes after a moment, voice softer now. “Okay.”

his hands grip your waist, rough and sure, pulling you into him with a force that sends heat curling through your spine. His lips crash into yours—not careful, not questioning, but hungry, decisive. It takes you a moment to process it; to register the way his fingers tighten against your hips, the way his body pressed against yours, firm and demanding. Mark Grayson, who had been so nervous before, so uncertain, is kissing you like a man who finally stopped thinking and started wanting.

Mark moves, twisting, and before you can counter, the ground disappears beneath you. He takes you down with him, the two of you collapsing onto the rubble left in the wake of your fight. The impact sends up a small cloud of dust, but neither of you care. He’s already back on you, already pushing up on his elbows to hover over you, breath warm against your lips. His voice is rough, a little unsteady. “You keep acting like you’re the only one who can take control.” You smirk, fingers trailing along his jaw. “Prove me wrong.”

Mark stares at you. Mid kiss, you’ve fumbled the bag and told him, in clear, matter-of-fact detail, that on Themyscira, men do not live after mating with an Amazon. And he is very much a man. His mouth opens. Closes. Then, finally: “Okay.” He lifts a finger, his voice rising slightly. “Uh. I—Okay. I really need you to explain how we got here.” You fold your arms, unimpressed. “We were talking about your customs romantically. I shared mine.” You explained. “Right. Right.” He nods rapidly, pacing for a second before spinning back around to face you. “And—just so I’m understanding this correctly—your custom is that if we—uh—mate, you have to kill me afterward?”

“Yes.”

Mark makes a strangled sound, somewhere between a laugh and a panicked wheeze. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. And you—you don’t see a problem with that?” You tilt your head. “I see a problem for you.” Mark runs both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Okay. See, that is the part I’m stuck on. Why does that have to happen?” He inquires. “It is tradition,” you say simply. “The Amazons have no need for men beyond what they offer.” Mark lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing his face. “Great. That’s very reassuring.” You watch him carefully. You expected resistance—expected him to balk at the idea of it, at you. Men tend to do that when faced with their own mortality. And yet, he hasn’t left. He hasn’t even backed away. He’s nervous, sure, but he’s still here. Interesting. You take a slow step toward him, forcing his eyes back to yours. “Do you want to?” Mark swallows. Hard. “I—What?”

“You seem conflicted,” you observe, studying him. “If you didn’t want me, you wouldn’t still be here.” His lips part, but no words come out. His gaze flickers over your face, your stance, the way you’re looking at him. He does want you. He just doesn’t know what to do with that want when it comes with a potential death sentence. You smirk. “I wouldn’t kill you, Mark.” Mark visibly deflates with relief. “Wait. Hold on.” His brow furrows. “Then why would you even say that?” You shrug. “I never said I had to. Only that it was tradition.” Mark stares at you again, looking so caught between exasperation and disbelief that you almost laugh. “So let me get this straight,” he says slowly, pointing at you. “You could have led with ‘I don’t have to kill you,’ but instead you decided to give me a heart attack first?” You tilt your head, amused. “You’re still alive.”

“Barely!” He sighs, pressing his fingers against his temples. “I think I just aged like ten years.” You close the space between you, reaching up to rest a hand on his chest. He tenses—but not in fear. His pulse thrums beneath your fingers, quick, strong. “You’re an interesting man, Mark Grayson,” you murmur, watching the way his breath catches. His hands hover uncertainly at your sides, fingers flexing like he wants to touch you. “…Yeah?” You nod, smirking. “Most would have run by now.” Mark exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I’m really bad at making good decisions.” You hum in amusement, then lean in, lips just a breath from his. “Now, where did we leave off?”

It didn’t take long for you both to be disheveled and distracted. Mark shudders beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you hover above him. "I won't kill you, but I can't make any promises about how hard I'll fuck you." He shudders at your words, his resolve crumbling. "I'll take my chances." You can feel his hardness pressing against your core, begging for entrance. Creamy pre-cum bubbling from his tip acted as a perfect lubricant. The slip caught your clit, each time earning a sharpened moan from you. Without warning, you slam down onto him, taking him deep inside you. The size of him certainly shows his non-human relation.

He groans, his head falling back as you begin to ride him hard and fast. Your breasts bounce with every movement, drawing his gaze like a magnet. He reaches up, cupping them in his large hands, kneading the soft flesh. "F-fuck, you're soooo beautiful; I’ve seen this in my dreams." He pants, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples. "I c-can't get enough of you." He admitted, a grin wearily etching across your lips. “W-Wouldn’t want you to, need you badly, Mark.” The simplicity yet raw need in your sentiment drives him wild.

His strong hands suddenly suction to your upper thigh, his mouth latching onto your nipple instead. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, his gaze fixed upon your pleasured expression as your combined moans vibrated the flesh. His tongue grew erratic as it sought to bring stimulation, his hips snapped forward to meet you. The swollen tip of his cock threatens to bruise your cervix with each drive. Small dust clouds from debris kicked up, the sex growing more aggressive as he realized you could handle his strength. No need to hold back, only needing to savor the feeling. A loud clap echoed within the domain; the slab of concrete shifted beneath you as his toes gripped the floor. It's taking everything within you two to hold on as your cunts arousal responds to him. Thank god you’re on earth, easier access to the best pussy he’s had so far. The only pussy he needs now. A strangled growl crawls from his throat—.

“Donald. Turn off the training facility cameras.” Cecil chimed, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “...Right away, sir.” Replied Donald as he hastily cut surveillance.

Your fingers left his chest, deep claw marks reddening his skin. You lean down, your hair cascading around you as you capture his lips in a searing kiss. Your tongues dance together, each of you fighting for dominance. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping it tight as he thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke. You squeezed him with such vigor, pussy puffier with more pleasurable ridges. "Jesus, y-you're s-so tight," he grunts, his hands digging into your ass hard enough to leave bruises. "I'm going to make this pussy only crave me." His conviction made you laugh, a wicked sound. "Promises, promises," you taunt, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts. "But we'll see who's ruined by the end of the night."

The room fills with the sounds of your lovemaking—the slap of skin on skin, the cries of pleasure, the obscene squelch of your wetness. “Mmph…! Do you feel this, Mark Grayson?” You asked, your voice dropping to a husky whisper, and something in it—some unearthly vibration—rolled through his bones like a pulse, deep and intoxicating. “Mmm… yeah—yeah, fuck yeah, I do.” He rasps, as his teeth grit with determination. “This is how it feels to fuck someone who can handle you.” You grinned, almost sadistically, with a strong sense of pride. Your expression grew into one of lust as your nose scrunched, glistening lips singing so beautifully for him. “I’ll give you that and more.” The comment was so resolute you almost didn't hear it before you both groaned in unison. One of his hands comes up to tug your locs, preventing your teases. Your head slinging back with a loud yelp as your vision blurred.

You can feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. A series of pleasured whines leave your unfiltered lips. Mark must sense it too, because he flips you over onto your back, never breaking their rhythm. However, his previous efforts went for not, only spurring you on. Wisps of living shadow curled around his neck, his chest—soft and teasing, cold phantom touches caressing him in droves of trembles. They grew more intense with every stroke of gratification. “Ooh…! Mark! I— I—.” You stutter.

He pounds into you, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. "Oh god, I’m gonna cum. C’mon… please… for me,” he commands so sweetly that you couldn’t deny him, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come; I need to feel you." His words are all it takes to send you hurtling over the edge. You scream his name like a mantra, your body going limp, and he convulses above you as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows soon after, dick knotting inside you as he spills his seed deep within your walls. Harsh gasps leave you both as he nestles himself within you absentmindedly, not thinking of the consequences. Or so you thought.

Mark smiles— a small, lopsided thing. He leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips before whispering, “… Guess you’re stuck with me.”

…

Optional ending!

The Next Day

“No, Mark. After the shit you just pulled, you two are banned from the training facility indefinitely,” Cecil said, rubbing his temples like he was one bad decision away from an aneurysm.

Mark, sitting across from him with his arms crossed, groaned. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”

Cecil shot him a look. “Mark, we had to evacuate three city blocks because someone thought an earthquake was happening. Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to the public that the ‘seismic activity’ was just you and your Amazonian girlfriend going at it?”

Mark turned bright red. “Okay, in our defense—”

“There is no defense!” Cecil snapped. “You two leveled the place! I’m still waiting on a damage report for what’s left of the foundation!”

You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, entirely unbothered. “It’s not my fault your training grounds weren’t built to withstand real combat.”

Cecil’s eye twitched. “It was! It just wasn’t built for you two doing whatever the hell that was!”

Mark coughed into his fist, eyes darting to the side. “...We, uh, might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

Cecil exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mark. Son. You punched through a wall mid-mission briefing the next morning.”

Mark stiffened. You turned to him, amused. “You did?”

He muttered something under his breath, ears still burning.

Cecil waved a hand. “You’re lucky we need you, otherwise I’d have you both on clean-up duty for the next decade.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Just—do me a favor. Next time, take it off-world.”

Mark perked up. “Wait, so you’re saying we can—”

“Out of my office, Mark.”

And with that, you grabbed your still-flustered boyfriend by the wrist and gracefully exited before Cecil had an aneurysm.

Again.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

NEXT PART!!

[artsy-writy]

We humans live, thrive, hate yet need change. If aliens changed at a much slower pace than us, how fascinated would they be at us?

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

Human: Ah, fellow per-x dweller! How are you?

Alien: Hello! I haven't seen you in- *eyes widen and looks up and down at human* you look...different.

Human: Oh. Yes, I've been exercising. You notice the difference?

Alien: ...how so fast?

Human: What do you mean? It's been an entire month! I would be disappointed if I didn't see this much progress.

Alien: ...I've been exercising for a year...and I still look the same. *distraught, staring into space*

Human: o-oh, how often do you-

Alien: every.freaking.day.

Human: ...I see.

Human #2: *walks by* hello, how are you both? It's been a while.

Human: *desperately looking to change topic* a-ah, your hair! You dyed it pink! Looks great!

Alien: ...I thought you hated pink like a day ago?

Human #2: Oh well, I just changed my mind.

Alien: ...a...day later?

Human #2: yes?

Alien: ...next thing yall tell me is going to be that you can change your mates often.

Human: like lovers? Haha, we rarely fall out of love easily-

Human #3: *rushes to them crying* Guys! My lover broke up with me in just a week of dating! A week!! Cuz stupid idiot "fell out of love" with me.

Alien: ...

Human #2: ...

Human: ...um...I'm sure it wasn't a week-

Human #3: *stealing tissues and blowing into them* A FREAKING WEEK!!!

Alien: ...why am I friends with you lot?

[fangdokja]

How about a yandere boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Where he wraps a gift to give to his sweetheart himself.

The perfect Valentine’s present: something personal, thoughtful, and won’t scream anymore.

♡ Yan-Apocalypse x Fem. Reader. Boss, Neighbor, Torture Professional, Loner

♡ Word Count. 3,155

♡ Yandere! Boss who has been a pain in your ass since childhood. You hated him back then, and you hate him now, except now he owns your ass as your boss in this wretched hellscape called the apocalypse. A born leader, an absolute slave driver, and the only man who could turn the end of the world into a business opportunity. He should've died with the rest of humanity, but no, he somehow made it out alive—alongside you. Lucky you.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who never let you live in peace even before the world went to shit. The kind of guy who would slip notes under your door just to remind you he existed. The guy who had the audacity to work in a cafe with a sickeningly charming smile despite making your life a waking nightmare. And now, even with society collapsed, he still finds ways to piss you off. He calls it love. You call it suffering. Turns out he was also a serial killer before all this. Should've seen that one coming.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you used to think was just a weird but tolerable coworker. You considered him an older brother. He considered you his most entertaining toy. Now that the world has no laws, he's free to indulge in whatever twisted desires he kept hidden before. The worst part? He still acts like he's just your friendly workplace senior. Smiles and all.

♡ Yandere! Loner who is the only reason you haven't starved to death yet. Pays the rent. Handles all the outside world bullshit. Does all the talking for you because you'd rather die than interact with people. A true blessing in your hermit lifestyle, except for the small problem that he's hopelessly obsessed with you. A punk goth with a brooding air and a quiet intensity that makes your skin crawl. But if you had to pick a single tolerable person on the planet, it’d probably be him. That’s a low bar.

────────────

You, unfortunate recluse and apocalypse prepper, who told everyone this shit would happen.

They laughed at you. Laughed.

"A zombie apocalypse? Aliens? Nuclear fallout? Society crumbling overnight? Sure thing, basement dweller. Maybe you should go touch some grass."

Well, guess who's laughing now? Not them. Because they're dead.

The world didn't end in the way you expected. No rotting undead. No UFOs in the sky. No nuclear war or artificial intelligence takeover. No, what came was far worse. A virus, slow-acting, like a whisper through the bloodstream. It didn't kill outright. It awakened.

People started changing. Not into monsters, not physically. But mentally? The virus stripped them of the one thing keeping them from turning into beasts: morality. Empathy. Restraint. The very things that made human beings function in a civilized society.

Because love? Love was a sickness.

No, literally. Scientists called it the Eros Virus, but people online had a better name for it: the Yandere Plague. Something about brain chemistry short-circuiting. Something about possessiveness going haywire, loyalty turning to violence, and rational thought being replaced with "If I can���t have you, no one can."

Anyone infected didn’t just crave affection—they needed it, like oxygen, like water, like a reason to live. Love wasn’t an emotion anymore; it was hunger. A sickness that turned even the kindest souls into unrecognizable demons with one singular goal: claim, possess, devour.

They became killers for love.

Murderers in the name of devotion.

And you, the reclusive scientist, the unfeeling shut-in, the paranoid "loser" who had wasted her life avoiding people—

You were, somehow, the most normal person left.

Wasn't that hilarious?

It wasn’t the apocalypse you prepared for, but you adapted fast.

Because you had already prepared for everything.

Society? A joke. Socializing? A waste of time. Going outside? You’d rather gouge out your own eyes. What was the point? Every moment spent dealing with another human being was a moment spent losing brain cells.

So you did what any sane, logical, perfectly rational person would do. You locked yourself in your basement, poured your life into scientific research, and became a competitive hardcore gamer on the side—because who needed real friends when you had anonymous usernames to destroy in ranked matches?

Your bunker was stocked. Your defenses were up. A lifetime of being dismissed as a socially inept loser had finally paid off. You were immune, too, but not because of genetics or luck—you were just dead inside. No feelings? No infection. A win for your emotional stuntedness.

You should’ve been safe.

And then they came.

Great. Another reason to hate Valentine’s Day.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Boss who still forces you to clock in despite the apocalypse. Who calls you at ungodly hours with urgent demands, despite there being no more laws, no more corporations, no more hierarchy—just the last vestiges of his god complex refusing to die.

♡ Yandere! Boss who never celebrated Valentine's Day. Too busy grinding, too busy winning, too busy treating human relationships like expendable stock options.

♡ Yandere! Boss who always thought the holiday was pathetic, a weak man’s excuse to grovel for attention. That was, of course, until the virus. Now, Valentine’s Day is a state-mandated holiday. Forced festivities, sickly sweet declarations, and the absolute worst part—he has to participate.

♡ Yandere! Boss who takes it as seriously as a business merger. If he’s going to be forced into this, then he’s going to win Valentine’s Day.

You’re barely paying attention when he slides a box across the desk. You don’t even look up. “I don’t want it.”

He smiles. “You’ll want this one.”

You don’t. You really don’t. But you open it anyway.

Inside is a ring box.

You stare at it. Then at him. Then at it again.

♡ Yandere! Boss raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

You pick up the ring delicately. Turn it over. Squint at the inscription inside.

“Oh,” you say flatly. “My name’s on this.”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean—it’s made of my name. Like, in bone.”

He folds his hands, smirking. “I figured you wouldn’t accept an engagement ring, so I made it special.”

You roll the ring between your fingers. It’s light. Suspiciously so. “And whose bones exactly did you use?”

“Whose do you want me to have used?”

You drop it immediately.

♡ Yandere! Boss laughs, plucking it up and slipping it onto your finger before you can protest. “Don’t lose it,” he says, voice like velvet. “It cost me quite a bit.”

And when you rip it off and throw it at his face, he catches it effortlessly.

“Now, now,” he chides. “If you keep rejecting me like this, I’ll have to find more ways to show you how much I care.”

Great. Fantastic. You were going to need more coffee.

♡ Yandere! Boss who believes this is the height of romance, who looks at you like he's waiting for praise, like he expects you to clasp the ring around your delicate finger and thank him for such a thoughtful gift.

"You will wear it," he informs you, adjusting his cuffs. "Consider it an accessory to your uniform."

"My... uniform?" you echo, bluntly.

"Your contract states that all employees must adhere to a strict dress code. That hasn't changed."

You stare deadpan at him. "What contract?"

"The one that legally binds you to me."

"...You mean the one that burned with the rest of the city?"

"The one I memorized, re-wrote by hand, and had laminated."

———

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who’s the kind of menace that thrives in a post-apocalyptic hellscape because it justifies all his worst behaviors. You were already suffering pre-virus—imagine living next door to a man who rings your doorbell at 3 AM because he 'forgot his keys' and needs to 'crash at your place' when you both know damn well he lives alone.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who worked at a café with peak customer service skills, all sunshine and charm, as if he wasn’t the same bastard who stole your mail and laughed when you had to fight a rabid raccoon over your own packages. Turns out, he was also a serial killer. Ah, that explains why he was so good at making latte art. Steady hands.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who still acts like life is just a quirky slice-of-life anime, despite the blood-soaked streets outside.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t just run the only functional café left—he practically owns it, like some twisted romance game NPC who refuses to acknowledge reality.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who actually loves Valentine’s Day. Always has. Loves the chocolates, the flowers, the corny messages—but most of all, he loves the hunt.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who goes all out with the decorations. Pink hearts, tacky cupids, streamers. He makes his cafe look like a Pinterest nightmare. And you, his most reluctant customer, get the special treatment.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor knocks on your door on Valentine’s Day. You consider not answering, but then he kicks the door in.

“Delivery!” he sings, shoving a massive, suspiciously leaking gift box into your arms.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who doesn’t understand why you look at him like that. You always give him that look—like you’re two seconds away from dropkicking him into the abyss.

You look down. Then up. “I’m not touching this.”

“But I wrapped it myself,” he whines.

“That’s what makes it worse.”

He pouts. “At least open it before you reject me so coldly.”

You sigh. The world is already a nightmare, and you might as well see what fresh horror awaits.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who grins as he gestures to the heart-shaped box, red and gaudy, the kind of thing you’d find at a dollar store—except when you open it, the “chocolates” are… not chocolates. They’re actual, physical human teeth. A variety of them. Some still have bits of gum attached.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who bursts out laughing when you glare down at the "chocolates", like you’re the weird one. “What? I collected them myself! It’s personal! Romantic!”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanna know which ones are mine?”

You slam the box shut and push it back toward him. “I hope you choke.”

He laughs, leaning in closer. “On your love?”

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who laughs when you glare, toss the box onto the bunker floor, and stomp over it like roadkill.

♡ Yandere! Neighbor who opts to present you with one more gift, a heart-shaped cake, homemade with love. You eye it suspiciously. He grins.

"Try it, sweetheart. You’re my taste tester, after all."

You stare at him. Then at the cake. Then back at him.

"Who did you kill for this?"

He just laughs.

You stare at him, unimpressed. He stares back, beaming.

“Eat up! It’s fresh.”

You’re so fucking tired.

———

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you consider an older brother, but he considers you his future wife. Who was weirdly doting, oddly protective, and just a little too interested in your well-being.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who you think is just a little too eccentric, but harmless. Who used to send you the occasional unsettling text—things like “Ever wonder how long someone can scream before they pass out?”—but you always wrote it off as him being quirky.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who, in hindsight, should have been more of a red flag than he was. Who got way too much enjoyment out of cutting people open. Who told you, once upon a time, that he "studied anatomy for fun" and you just thought he was a medical student.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who worked in interrogation before the world went to hell. Who still carries scalpels in his coat because old habits die hard.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who doesn’t really get the ��boyfriend” part of “yandere boyfriend” and just assumes it means he gets to be creative.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who’s technically been your co-worker for years, but only in the loosest sense—he’s not really part of the science department, just the clean-up crew.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who actually considers you his greatest weakness. His one fatal flaw. His "little sister"—if, of course, little sisters were meant to be dissected with love and put back together with slightly modified parts.

His Valentine’s gift arrives in a steel box.

With a lock.

"If this is actually chocolate," you say, voice flat, "I'll be shocked."

"Oh, sweetheart," he hums, tilting his head, "you should know me better by now."

You don’t even want to open it, but he’s sitting there, waiting.

You crack it open.

It’s a spine. A full human spine, polished and arranged in the shape of a bow, like a demented art piece.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who watches you closely as you stare at the ‘gift’ with the deadest expression known to man. He wants to see if you’ll faint. You don’t. You never do. And he loves that about you.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who chuckles, resting his chin on his hand. "A shame," he muses. "I wanted to carve your name into it, but I thought I'd let you do the honors."

"Do you like it?" he asks, voice laced with amusement.

"No," you say flatly, dropping the gift onto the table like it personally offended you.

“C’mon, doll,” he says, voice all honey-sweet persuasion. “I put a lot of effort into it. Had to find the perfect one. Strong. Flexible. A real good match for you.”

You slam the box shut.

He tilts his head, considering. “Oh, wait. I forgot the bow.”

He pulls out a severed head from his duffel bag.

You try to leave the room.

He doesn't let you.

He decides to go for Attempt #2.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional grabs and drags you inside another room, forcing you to sit on a chair, and claps his hands together like a magician unveiling his latest trick.

"Tada!"

You stare at the body strapped to the chair in front of you, gagged, trembling, eyes darting between you and him in terror.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who leans down and whispers, "You’ve been so stressed lately. So, I figured, why not give you something relaxing? Torture is incredibly cathartic, you know."

He presses a scalpel into your hand like an eager child handing over a crayon.

You look at the bound man, then at him, then at the scalpel.

You glance back at him. He grins back. “Isn’t it thoughtful? You can practice your anatomy studies on him! I even left his nerves intact, just for you.”

"I’m not participating in your therapy," you deadpan.

♡ Yandere! Torture Professional who pouts. "But it’s for you!"

"Return it."

He blinks. "Return him?"

"Yeah."

"That’s not really an option."

You blink at him. Slowly. "I'm reconsidering my stance on homicide."

"You always say that."

"And one day, I might actually follow through."

He beams. "That’s the spirit!"

———

♡ Yandere! Loner who is your roommate and unofficial apocalypse landlord.

♡ Yandere! Loner who barely speaks, barely interacts, and communicates mostly through nods, shrugs, and the occasional annoyed grunt.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t talk much but somehow always gets his point across. He used to be a punk goth who smoked on the fire escape and ignored the world, but now he’s the guy who handles all communication while you rot in the bunker like a gremlin.

♡ Yandere! Loner who never cared about the world even before the apocalypse. Who was content to stay inside, hacking security systems and wiping digital footprints while you made ramen for two and tried not to acknowledge how much you depended on him.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after dealing with your other admirers, is honestly the most tolerable one. This should concern you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who does not care about the virus, does not care about the world ending, does not even care about you.

(Except for when you leave the bunker without telling him. Or talk to the neighbor too much. Or look at anyone but him. Then it’s a problem.)

♡ Yandere! Loner who acts like he doesn’t give a shit about you, but your supplies never run low, your weapons always have ammo, and if anyone ever gets too close? Well. They stop existing.

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. Valentine's Day is a scam, a joke, a consumerist hellhole of forced sentimentality. He doesn’t do holidays. He doesn’t even acknowledge his own birthday.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, despite being the least expressive of them all, still participates in Valentine’s Day. Not because he cares about the holiday, but because everyone else is doing it and he refuses to be outdone.

♡ Yandere! Loner who somehow managed to get his hands on a plushie. In this hellscape. This absolute nightmare of a world.

♡ Yandere! Loner who shoves it at you, grumbling, "Took forever to find one that wasn’t covered in blood."

♡ Yandere! Loner who shifts uncomfortably as you hold the cute kitten plushie. It’s actually… normal? Soft?

Too good to be true.

You squeeze it. It beeps.

You glance at him. He avoids eye contact.

You unzip the plushie, revealing—

A grenade.

And human skin holding it together.

♡ Yandere! Loner who clears his throat. "…Ignore that."

You stare deadpan.

"What part of 'gift' involves explosives?"

You're not even going to question the stitched human skin. You didn't even want to know why the plushie still felt oddly soft and warm in your hands.

♡ Yandere! Loner who crosses his arms. "It’s multifunctional."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn't even react when you chuck the plushie across the room, watching it land face-first on the floor with a sickening thud.

♡ Yandere! Loner who, after a long silence, mutters, "Rude."

He decides to try his next attempt at impressing you.

♡ Yandere! Loner who throws a bag at you. No wrapping, no note, just a body bag.

You blink. Look at him. Look at the bag. Look at him again.

"…What the fuck."

"You said you had a problem with that guy, right?" He shrugs, crossing his arms nonchalantly. "Problem solved."

♡ Yandere! Loner who doesn’t even care if you appreciate the gesture. He’s not looking for a thank-you. Just confirmation that you understand.

You do. Unfortunately.

You put your head in your hands.

You need a new roommate.

────────────

Valentine's Day, in the apocalypse, is an absolute nightmare.

Normal people—if any still exist—would probably spend the day reminiscing about the past. Thinking about flowers, chocolates, candlelit dinners.

You, on the other hand, get body parts delivered to your doorstep like some kind of fucked-up Amazon Prime service.

Your stalkers—because, let’s be real, that’s what they are—seem to think this is perfectly normal. That nothing says "romance" like dismemberment, exsanguination, and ethically questionable corpse handling.

You, however, are beyond exhausted.

Maybe next year you’ll just dig a hole and die in it.

♡ A/N. I already have a Valentine's Day part scheduled. ... and my requests are closed. But fine, since it's a "holiday". A short drabble at least....

Yandere! Valentines Special

Novella : Red Roses, Black Hearts

This Valentine’s, your heart might be the last thing you give away.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[probablyasocialecologist]

The likelihood that other technologically sophisticated societies exist is smaller than previously thought, because basic amenities we take for granted on Earth—continents, oceans, and plate tectonics—are cosmically rare.

[...]

Most geologists will agree with Stern’s and Gerya’s argument that plate tectonics should be included as a criterion for long-term planetary habitability. Earth’s tectonic system allows the planet’s atmosphere and hydrosphere to remain in communication with its interior, in a remarkable, self-perpetuating cycle. Subducted ocean crust—seafloor that slips down into Earth’s interior—carries water back into the mantle, and at shallow depths, this water lowers the melting temperature of mantle rock, giving rise to unusual magmas that create the continental crust—what we surface dwellers live on—which is rich in rare elements, like phosphorus, that are critical to life.  At greater depths, subducted water acts to decrease the viscosity of the mantle, allowing it to churn, or convect, more vigorously—which in turn drives plate motion. When the Earth’s mantle exports heat via convection, it encourages the liquid iron outer core to convect as well, and this generates Earth’s protective magnetic field, which shields the surface environment from harmful cosmic radiation. Without plate tectonics, continents would quickly be eroded to sea level. But tectonic collisions continuously rejuvenate Earth’s topography, providing rivers with more energy to transport nutrient-rich sediments to shallow marine environments. In other words, plate tectonics is entangled with all the phenomena that support life on Earth.

17 July 2024

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a Sebastian Solace x Reader (gender neutral is fine) where he is led to believe the reader has permanently died? Somehow he receives this information. At this point, him and reader don't have to have an established relationship, but they definitely have a bond and affection for each other. Then, the reader comes into the vent the following day like always, and there's a happy ending? Angsty until then though please 🙏 Thank you so much

"What do you mean they aren't back yet?!"

"......."

"I lent them a token 'cause that was an unfair end to their run. They would've used it by now."

"I'll admit that the Harbinger's...unexpected arrival was most unusual. No one at Urbanshade knows where it comes from nor why it chose to show itself to the expendable."

"[Y/n]."

"Pardon?"

"It's...[y/n].." Sebastian's shoulders slumped as he looked to the enigmatic green man who decided to show up inside his shop, confused by his sudden presence. "And why are you here now? We agreed to only meet when--"

"You seem awfully attached to them, Solace. And that's not good for us." Mr. Lopee frowned slightly. "You're giving them special treatment, putting a name to their face. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"...of course I do! I'm not "attached" to anybody." The fishman muttered, although his nervous tapping against the crates betrayed his insistence. "They've just given me the most dirt on Urbanshade, and I'd hate to lose their business.."

"Well, unfortunately...they have not returned from the Banlands. I don't believe they ever will. I'd consider their soul to be lost in the ocean for eternity."

In an instant, he felt his heart sink into the pits of his stomach, trying to process the words he just heard. "What do you mean "lost"?? She can't find them?!"

"Death has grown weary of her duties." Mr. Lopee answered grimly. "That is all I know. I have no way to contact her, but this may be a sign that she's tired of resurrecting Urbanshade personnel. Those tokens have lost their meaning."

"No..no, no, no. That's stupid!" Sebastian snapped. "She can't just "decide" to stop now!! That wasn't a fair death!"

"Nothing is fair down here, my friend. You of all people should understand that. Now continue your work. Don't let yourself become distracted over one insignificant loss."

"....I won't, "boss"." The fishman sneered rudely, watching him disappear into a cloud of green and black smoke.

But the second he was gone, Sebastian dropped his snarky front, trying his best to stay calm despite the grim news he was told.

There was a way that an expendable can die...permanently?

Did the Harbinger have something to do with that? Or was the ferry lady simply uncaring and decided she was done reviving people?

He knew that she was going to be replaced within the next year or two, so maybe she thought it was all pointless now.

Either way, he'd never know.

And he'd likely never know what really happened to you. He only had to trust Mr. Lopee's words...and begrudgingly so.

""Distracted", my ass. They have to come back eventually. They...they made a promise.." His shoulders sagged as he glanced at the vent again, only for his ear fins to perk up at the sounds of thumping.

"[Y/n]? Hah. I knew he was messing with......me...."

Much to his disappointment, it was just another Wall Dweller infected with the rotten coral who decided to sneak into his shop. And with one swift motion, he dispatched it with his shotgun, watching its head explode into clay and gore as the remains flopped to the ground.

"Ugh..disgusting.." He grumbled, not happy that he had to pick apart the creature piece by piece, wishing he didn't have to touch the alien plant. But all of it was still edible, even for expendables who couldn't even touch the bloxy cola left behind after the lockdown.

You always joked about how it's the only way you could get "greens" in your diet-

'Shit..why am I thinking about them again?'

Sebastian's hands shook a little as he set the pieces on the table, wishing he could tear these stupid feelings out of his chest, wondering why he ever allowed himself to get so close to you in the first place.

He never should have opened up. Not to you. Not to anyone.

There were more important things at stake.

He shouldn't be mourning over you. What good would that do? Mr. Lopee had a point. Maybe he was getting distracted--losing sight of his goal and the burning hatred he had for Urbanshade.

He had to get out. He shouldn't care about some weak little expendable.

And yet...he couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to escape with you, and maybe even..get to know you a lot better without having to pretend to be business partners. He wouldn't have to pretend to despise you and find you annoying.

Now he couldn't even find out your exact status in the Banlands. But from what Mr. Lopee implied...your soul was forever trapped at the bottom of that dark ocean, surrounded by thousands more.

By thousands of haunted faces and screams he himself once heard when the ferryman scooped him out of the water.

It drove him insane for the remainder of the day, and despite trying to fight his exhaustion by organizing his wares and assets...sleep managed to find him for once.

Yet his dreams were anything but pleasant.

He was forced to witness the horrific scenario of that fabled Harbinger descend upon you, tearing into the locker you were hiding in whilst he was unable to do anything but scream for it to stop tormenting you.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he watched the demonic entity paint the entire room red with your blood.

...........

"Huh..that's weird."

Arriving to the 50th room, you were surprised that the vent grate didn't pop open like normal. You knew for sure Sebastian was there, given the spotlights shining directly towards the entrance to his shop.

So you opened it as quietly as you could--just in case he was sleeping. The last thing you ever wanted to do was startle the sleep-deprived traumatized fishman because of some noise.

He'd rarely doze off, and funny enough it only happened whenever you were in the shop, too, indicating he'd grown to trust you deeply.

You've come a long way in your friendship, although judging by the numerous discounts he's given you, the lack of landmines and ADS devices scattered around, his scoldings becoming less harsh and insulting, and his increasing worry for your safety the further you got into the blacksite....you wondered if he felt something more.

Like..attachment, almost.

But of course, you didn't want to assume anything.

Surely, you're just a means to an end for him. All he cares about are the documents you bring him and nothing more. He's only slightly more concerned for you because you bring him the most valuable stuff and barter with him better than other expendables.

However, as soon as you emerged from the other side of the vent and dusted off your pants, you could see Sebastian was almost...writhing in his sleep, his claws leaving deep marks in the crates as he whimpered, his tail flicking violently.

You had to duck as it suddenly swung over your head, but when you heard him utter your name, you froze with surprise.

Was he...dreaming about you?

You would've been flattered, if not for the realization that he was probably having a nightmare instead. So you quietly went over to him, wondering how you can wake him up and explain your....absence.

You couldn't return to the living world for some time after the Harbinger killed you, and surely...he's gonna realize that and get pissed off at you "wasting" another ferry token.

You just pray he believes you.

"Seb? Wake up." Stepping onto his desk was a risk, but it was one worth taking as it allowed you to get close to him so you could shake his shoulder. It took him some time to get used to your touch, and thankfully he's more comfortable with it now.

Suddenly, he gasped as his eyes snapped open, his upper body sitting up with such a start. You damn near fell off the table, but managed to keep your balance as you stared up at him.

He saw you, and only your uniform, and got angry.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!! GET OUT-!!!"

"Sebastian it's me!! It's me!!" You shouted, your voice rising a few octaves as you held your hands up.

He huffed and puffed, beads of sweat dotting his hairline as he looked down and slowly began to recognize your face.

And then the realization hit him.

You were here. Alive. Breathing.

You were back as if nothing had happened.

"[Y/n]?" He shuddered. "Shit..sorry. H-How are you...? I'm not seeing a ghost, am I?"

"I'm not. And know you're mad, so let me explain.." You sighed, putting your hands down. "I tried coming back, but the portal was busted, so I got...stuck on the other side for a while. The ferry lady was nice enough to show me how to repair it, though she didn't say much else. She seemed to appreciate me expressing my condolences for her husband, and....."

You trailed off as Sebastian put a hand on your shoulder, and at first you were worried he was going to throttle you for making him wait this long...

Only for him to pull you into a quick embrace, lifting you off your feet. "Ah..I'm sorry, Seb." You hugged him back, feeling guilty. "I guess I've been away too long, huh?"

"..it's been an entire day."

"Really?" Your heart sunk as he let you go, setting you back on the floor. "God, I...I had no idea. You must have been freaking out."

"Only...a little bit.." He muttered, managing to calm himself down as he brushed his bangs to the side. "Someone has...led me to believe that you died permanently. But they were wrong, so it doesn't matter anymore."

You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether or not to question who told him that, but you didn't wanna stress him out over the details, considering how shaken-up he got.

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't." You shrugged, deciding to look at the wares Sebastian had available.

Unfortunately, you lost all the assets you collected this time, although there wasn't anything of utter importance that you needed right now. But after grabbing the keycard to leave....he blocked the vent with his tail. "Seb?"

"Why don't you stay here a while? Hm?" He coughed, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Why? In case the big bad Harbinger gets me?" You chuckled, only to fall silent as he didn't laugh at all. "Alright, bad joke. I'll stick around for a bit."

Judging from how his shoulders instantly relaxed the moment you said that, you realized he did care more for your safety than other expendables. He didn't want you running back out into danger so quickly, especially as he knew that if you were to revive again, the ferryman...won't really like that.

It was kinda sweet seeing him act so clingy with just you, even when he didn't wanna outright admit it.