#anyway thank you I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[bookofbonnie]

NEIGHBOURS: 2 - VI ARCANE.

Characters: Vi x Reader.

Summary: AU. You've settled into your new apartment and life with your new neighbour, Vi. It's domestic bliss until you notice that something is clearly going on with Vi.

Word Count: 2k+.

A/N: This is formatted and written really weirdly so, I'm sorry if it's hard to read. Anyways, I enjoyed writing the first one so, I decided to do a second part. Honestly, in my head, this is taking place in the 2000’s.

PART ONE.

Excluding the difficulties that came with the first day and a half in your new apartment, transitioning into life in your new home had come with a surprisingly, comfortable ease after that.

A huge part of that was thanks to Vi. 

During your first week of moving in, Vi found herself and her tools at your place more than her own as you settled in and discovered new faults and problems that she was more than happy to fix.

In return, you fed her and after that, the two of you found yourself falling into something of a domestic routine. 

Including (but not limited to) -

Collecting each other’s mail from the mailroom:

(Angel Face: Attachment: 1 Image. 1 new message. Did you know that despite marketing their packaging as discreet, sex shops still print their website in tiny print on the label? 

Bob the Builder: fckn kill me.

Angel Face: You have to show me what you got when you get home. Please and thank you!)

Carpooling where you could:

(Your keys jingle in the lock and you twist the door handle for good measure, making sure it’s locked when a low whistle comes from the end of the hallway. 

Vi emerges from behind her own door, gym bag in hand. 

“Cute leggings,” Vi comments with a grin, closing and locking her door behind her. 

The compliment has your cheeks heating up but, you cover it with something silly.

“Thank you,” you beam and begin hitting a few poorly executed bodybuilding poses for her. “I’m glad you noticed. They’re new.”

Vi watches, amused, as you continue to muck around with the poses when her mouth suddenly goes dry when you pull your too-big-T up and over your ass and hit another pose. 

She swallows thickly, eyes wide and focused on the curve of your plump backside

When you spin around, she quickly averts her gaze with a cough as you toss her your car keys.  

“They’re nice,” Vi catches the keys, ducking her head to hide her coloured cheeks before mumbling. “You should definitely buy more.”

“Hm?”

“Uh- nothing-” Vi fiddles with the strap of her gym bag. “Ready to go?”) 

Grocery runs together + shopping in each other’s pantries: 

(“This is a lot of eggs,” Vi comments, eyeing the crate of twenty-four. 

You breathe a half-laugh, “do you need eggs, Vi?” 

There’s a long pause and it prompts you to turn around from your position on the couch to where a contemplative Violet stands in front of your open fridge. 

“... Maybe.” 

You laugh, proper, this time and it sends a kaleidoscope of butterflies through Vi; she's committed the sound to memory but still she wishes she could bottle the sound and wear it around her neck. 

Vi steals a glance at you and you smile fondly at her with your head propped on the back of your couch, “take as many as you need.”)

Movie and weekly TV nights:

(“Finally! Hurry, hurry,” you usher Vi inside your apartment. 

“Live rewind only goes back 30 minutes and the show started 28 ago.” 

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t realise I was that late,” Vi apologises, quickly kicking her shoes off and dropping her keys in the bowl. 

The two of you settle into your usual positions on your couch, you in the corner of your L-shaped couch and Vi at the other end with her feet propped up on the ottoman. 

You cast one last look between the TV and Vi, ready to hit play but you don’t because the way she sits slumped in her seat, feet on the floor, shoulders sagging and eyes glazed over doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Hey,” you call softly. “You okay?”

 “Hm?” Vi blinks, taking a second to register your voice. 

“Yeah, yeah, let's watch,” she waves off your concern with a hand in the air. 

“Vi… you know we don’t always have to do these movie nights? Right? If you don’t want to… you can just tell me. I won’t be offended,” you offer her what you hoped was a comforting smile. “and I mean if something’s happened, you can talk to me… if you want .” 

Vi feels her throat clog because there’s genuine concern in your eyes and how is she meant to tell you that she just got into a huge fight because she wanted, chose, to be here with you tonight. 

She can't so she says-

“Just got into a disagreement with a-uh friend. It’s nothing, promise. Now hit play otherwise it’ll be you who makes us miss the first few minutes,” she finishes with a teasing grin and hoping you didn’t notice the way she stumbled over the word friend.

You did. But, you don’t say anything and, soon you forget about it all together because Tyler Lockwood just triggered his werewolf curse!!)

Taking turns to cook and having dinner together most nights - turns out neither of you knew how to cook for one person so, it was easier to just cook for both.

It’s how the two of you end up in Vi’s kitchen on a Wednesday night. 

Topic of conversation: family, parents, childhood and everything in between. 

You were both still learning about each other.

You learned Vi’s parents had passed away in the Zaun Revolution.

She and her sister, Powder, were adopted by her dad, Vander, who was an old friend of her parents.

They also had two brothers- Mylo & Claggor.

Vander raised them all with the help of another old friend of her parents, Silco. 

You recognised both of their names.

“Wait- how do you know who they are?” Vi looks at you with curious eyes. 

“Because, I’m from here? And I think I would know my cities leaders,” you say, laughing, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait- so you are from here?”

“Yes… have we not had this conversation before?”

"Nope," and Vi is pleased to learn that she was right about you, after all.

You were from Zaun, you just didn’t grow up in Zaun which is why she had never met you before.

Your parents were Zaunite scientists who initially worked for Former Councillor Heimerdinger at The University of Piltover but, following his retirement, they now worked for Councillor Talis and his partner, Viktor, so you had spent the majority of your life in Piltover.

Vi’s mood shifts at the mention of Jayce Talis.

“For Jayce Talis, huh?” Vi questions, casting a sideways glance at you. “He’s uh- he’s pretty close to the Kiramman’s… your family, are they um- like, close to any of them?” 

Vi doesn’t know why she asks that. (She does).

But there was no taking it back now.

She shakes her head at herself and peeks at you from the corner of her eye, hoping you don’t notice the odd question or the way her hand slows on dicing the last of the vegetables.

You don’t.

Not missing a beat, you fire up her stove, place a pan on top of it and answer her question.

“With Jayce? I mean, yeah? Sort of? My parents work for him so they’ve spent a lot of their time over the years with him in the lab but, they’re way closer to Viktor. Grew up down the road from each other and all that so, he’s practically family and well… Jayce is his family. They’re kind of a package deal, so Jayce is around a lot much to the initial annoyance of my parents but they’ve learned to indulge him.”

Finishing up with the vegetables, Vi turns to face you, leaning against the counter with her arms folded across her chest. 

Your eyes can’t help but stray for a brief moment to look at the swell of muscles in her arms that flex from the movement.

“Learned to indulge him?” 

“Yeah… I mean- he means well and he’s really nice but he’s still… unlearning some of his prejudicial misconceptions about Zaun and her people but... he's getting there,” you breathe a short, wry laugh. “Slowly but surely.” 

Your words hit a little too close to home for Vi and she clears her throat uncomfortably, pushing off the counter to start cleaning the bench so she can distract herself while you stand over the stove and cook. 

“And as for the Kiramann’s, I mean I went to school with Councillor Cassandra’s daughter, Caitlyn but-”

Vi drops the dish in her hand and it lands in the sink with a loud clang!

The sound makes you jump and you ask her if everything’s okay-

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” Vi wipes a sweaty hand across the back of her trackies with a nervous chuckle. “Just a slip of the hand- sorry, why are we talking about Caitlyn Kiramann?” 

Vi tries not to sound defensive, tries her best to sound casual but it comes out as anything but, her voice short and clipped.

You pause for a moment - was she... annoyed with you? - then breathe a sigh of disbelief, confused by the sudden whiplash- 

“Vi… you asked me about the Kiramann’s,” you remind her. “I was just answering your question.”

“I did?” 

“Yeah, you did-” you retort, feeling a little exasperated and desperate for answers because there had been a steady build up of- this.

Whatever the hell this was. 

After that night when she showed up late to your place, you noticed that something was off.

She seemed to be eating less, drinking more on the weekends and sleeping even less. 

Then there were the bruises and scuffs that were making more frequent appearances across her face and all over her body.

You were pretty certain those weren’t coming from the sparring matches she participated in, in the gym as she so claimed.

Despite all of that however, the routine the two of you had fallen into hadn’t changed- Vi was still showing up for you.

But... even you could see that it was becoming  exhaustive for her, light snores more frequently leaving her lips from where she’d laid her head on your lap only minutes into whatever tv show or movie the two of you had started but, every time you offered to cancel, she’d flat out refuse.

“Me? Cancel?” she’d scoff.  “And miss my favourite part of the day? Yeah, right, angel face. Not getting rid of me that easily” 

You had made it a point not to comment because you weren’t sure how’d she react if you began to more forcefully pry into her life considering she had already shut down your several attempts to check in with her before.

But, this time you don’t give her a pass.

 “Vi, are you sure everything’s okay? I just feel like you’ve been really off lately and you keep saying you’re fine but, you’re clearly not. You can talk to m-” 

 “I said I’m fine!” Vi snaps and you freeze.

The tension is palpable and hangs suffocatingly between the two of you.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you say anything.

Save for the water dripping from the kitchen faucet and the food sizzling on the stove, there is nothing but silence.

Vi stares at you wide-eyed and caught off guard by her own outburst and you blink back at her in surprise. 

You’re the first one to make a move- releasing a slow, controlled breath.

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” you utter, removing the kitchen towel from your shoulder.

Your words breathe life back into Vi and colours her face with a molotov cocktail of emotions before she settles on a regretful grimace. 

 “Shit- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“I think you’ve had a long week, Violet,” you interrupt her apology and turn the stove off. “In fact, I think you’ve had a long couple of weeks and if you’re not going to let me in on your problems then maybe you should just leave me out of it.” 

With that, you leave without sparing her a backward glance. 

-

Everything would make sense the following Monday however, after a weekend spent at your parents in Piltover.

You would learn exactly what the problem had been or, who the problem had been, you should say.

You and Vi had never really discussed each other’s love lives but you figured she was clearly fucking someone/s (the sex shop order was a strap harness) and it led you to make assumptions about her. 

Assumptions that were inclusive of:

1. Vi didn’t have one (a love life) - not in a monogamous type way at least - because she never mentioned a girlfriend (why would she omit that, right?) and never brought anyone over.

2. Vi was a player, a serial sleep-arounder, ladykiller, skirt chaser, philanderer- whatever the hell people called it nowadays.

The point was, you found it hard to believe that someone as hot and kind and charming and smart and funny as Vi wasn’t getting laid and frequently - if she wasn't in a relationship then she had to be pulling an insane amount of pussy.  

But, as it turned out, both your assumptions about Vi had been very wrong. 

No, she had a third, more terrible thing going on…

An on-again, off-again girlfriend.

-

“Why are we talking about Caitlyn Kiramann, huh?” you cock your head at Vi with a raised brow from the bottom of the steps.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonnie 2025. All rights reserved.

[secriden]

*hisses* YESSSSS GO OFF!!!! I wish I had more examples to add because I sadly am SO VERY NEW to Thai BL that all I've seen is LITA and Love Sea from her, but even then I feel like it's evident to me how GOOD she is at as you say "well-thought-out...[and] real" narratives and character journeys.

Sky spoke to me so hard because I was able to learn lessons about myself watching his journey through Love Sky. It was mind-blowing to me because I hadn't recognised the ways my trauma has been causing me to self-sabotage because they were in ways that appear to be harmless and in fact quite useful for living life efficiently (Sky is so very organised, so very self-sufficient, so very responsible and level headed and mature... and so, so, oh so heartachingly lonely). And it was incredibly healing to watch Prapai find ways to break through Sky's walls that specifically made Sky feel safe and also was necessary to make space for Sky let go. It gave me hope that I can dismantle my own someday (it's also, partly, why I am SO in love with Fadel's arc and why Style is so very important to me T_T).

But anyway, YESSSS thank you!! Listen I'm so grateful I joined Tumblr because watching LITA and then finding all these horribly dismissive and judgemental perspectives on Mame made me feel so small and wrong and I'm glad I'm not alone when people like you make posts like this! <3 Maybe Mame just isn't for everybody and that's okay, I get it, but please do let those of us who resonate with her stories enjoy her without feeling like there's something fundamentally wrong about us. Some of us don't need any help feeling that way.

"it's okay": how Prapai makes this true for Sky

in the early parts of Love Sky, we see several instances of Sky trying to comfort himself with this phrase; either after a nightmare/flashback or after something difficult/stressful happens.

Sky is attempting to cheer himself up, but each attempt is largely ineffective because he has no real basis for hope. there's a helplessness and disbelief in the way he says the phrase, like on some level Sky knows that things aren't going to magically get better because he's still being haunted by his past.

but this is one example of how Prapai is genuinely perfect for Sky. Prapai offers Sky the same words in comfort, but he accompanies it with very specific and immediately evidenced reasons why those words are true.

when he tells Sky "it's okay," Prapai isn't offering empty words, but accompanying actions that prove the claim he's making.

it's okay: i'm here - whoever is chasing you in your nightmares, they can't get to you because i'm here. you can rest, because i'm here to defend you.

it's okay: you've finally said it to me - it's out now, there's no more lies and no more misunderstandings. i love you and you love me and we both know this to be the truth. you're not alone in this and your love isn't unrequited. we can be together and you can love me, because i'm already in love with you.

it's okay: you don't need to be with someone else - i will never ask you to give yourself away to someone else. your love is precious; you are precious; and i won't ask you to break off pieces of yourself to give away. it's safe to give yourself fully to me because i will never ask you to give yourself to anyone else.

Prapai actively takes steps to ensure that Sky can begin to trust in these words again because his presence, actions and devotion is what proves them true.

[wrenaspun]

Just wanted to tell you that I love your writing so much — I reread “one way or another” like once a month at least. And any fic where you write from Laurent’s perspective is automatically incredible showstopping never been done before etc. in my eyes. Nobody gets the depths of his horniness for Damen quite like you :)

Anyway for the prompt, how about Laurent and Damen trying to figure out the best way to tell Auguste (alive) about their relationship

Aw anon, thank you, that's very kind!! I'm so glad you enjoy the fic(s) enough to return to them <3 For the prompt, this ficlet ended up taking place in the same 'verse as burst the sky in my head, but it should also stand alone just fine! -

“You could hire a skywriter,” Damen suggested lazily. He had one arm behind his head and was staring drowsily up at the clear Ios sky, his sun-browned skin glistening in the sunlight, looking like some artist’s wet dream of a classical painting.

Laurent scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at him.

None of it landed above his shoulder, but Damen’s face scrunched up anyway, and he brought his free hand up to brush fussily at a few nonexistent grains on his nose. Then he reached out and took Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You could have one of those parties,” he said, while Laurent tried not to melt under the combined force of the sun and Damen’s sheer charm. “With the glitter, and the announcements — what do they call them?”

“Gender reveal parties?”

“That,” said Damen. He mimed a balloon popping. “Congratulations, it’s a boyfriend.”

“That is not what Auguste would say if I burst a blue glitter balloon in his face,” said Laurent, but he spent a few minutes thinking about doing it anyway, just for the look they would get.

The problem was, there was no good way to tell one’s older brother that one was seeing his nemesis-turned-friend. More — that one was in love with said friend, wanted everything that came with that, to get married, to spend their lives together. Laurent curled his toes into the sand.

Not for the first time, he wished Auguste was a little less straightforward. But that was unfair, because he loved his brother’s unflappable straightforwardness, his easy candidness. It wasn’t really his fault that it made things difficult for Laurent, who had come out to his mother at the age of fourteen by saying well… in a delicately sceptical tone when she talked about his bringing girlfriends home. The next week she’d said the same thing but about boyfriends and he hadn’t corrected her and they’d understood each other quite perfectly ever since.

Auguste, good-natured and oblivious, would not pick up on such a hint. He was quite useless at picking up any hints at all, as a childhood full of poorly-coordinated cover stories for Laurent’s attempts at mischief would attest.

But if Laurent couldn’t hint, the only alternative then was to say it aloud: Auguste, I’m in love with Damen. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Laurent wanted it so much that it became impossible to say. His desire was so ravenously enormous that it looped back around to being mortifying. He felt as though he had a very large, very poorly behaved dog behind him all the time, trying to get at Damen. He’d never felt like this before about anyone.

“You could hire a musician,” said Damen. And opened one deep brown eye to peek up at him, his merriment poorly disguised. “To sing it at him.”

“Will you please take this seriously,” Laurent grumbled, but even his voice was conspiring against him, refusing to sound sharp. He sounded disgustingly smitten.

Damen sat up, brushed off his torso, and then in a single graceful movement of rippling muscle he manoeuvred himself onto Laurent, pushed him down into the warm sand, pinned him bodily in place. “Believe me,” he said; Laurent’s whole body was flushed and thrilled, “I’m taking this very seriously.” He drew his nose over Laurent’s jaw, and even that minute touch sent sparks down Laurent’s spine. He turned his head and pressed a vicious kiss to Damen’s neck, applying his teeth, revelling in the laughing groan this wrung from Damen’s chest.

“Laurent,” he said breathlessly. Laurent hummed, and Damen said his name again, his smile audible. “I have another idea.”

Laurent broke reluctantly away. “Tell me.”

“Auguste texted me ten minutes ago asking where we were.”

“He what?” Alarmed.

“Well, he’s on break too,” said Damen, in an eminently reasonable tone.

“Is he coming down to join us?”

“He said something along those lines,” said Damen. “I didn’t want to interrupt your lecture on Professor Euandros’ shortcomings.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Laurent muttered. Teaching Professor Euandros’s third-year course on classical poetry had been a nightmare that he would need the whole summer break to recover from. The man hadn’t met an organisational system he didn’t hate with a violent passion. “So Auguste — but what was your idea?”

“Oh,” said Damen. He rolled off Laurent and sat up — a poor start. Laurent said so and watched as Damen’s teeth showed in a dazzling grin. “Here, sweetheart,” Damen said, tugging Laurent closer to him. “Let him find us like this, and you won’t have to say a word. I’ll do all the talking.”

“Like this?” They were both sitting up now, leaning against each other, skin to skin. Intimate, but very innocent. Damen made an affirmative noise. Laurent hummed thoughtfully, then let himself slide down until his head was in Damen’s lap.

“Or like this,” Damen agreed, stroking his warm fingers through Laurent’s hair.

Laurent hummed again. Then, teasing, he turned his face and nuzzled in a certain direction. Damen jolted. Laurent bit down on a smile.

“Not like that,” said Damen. The beach was empty aside from them — it was small and relatively unpopular, and the vast majority of people had gone back to work last week — but there was still the little thrill of exposure. “Fucking hell, Laurent.”

“You said ten minutes ago,” said Laurent. Desire was swelling in his chest, as wild and as wide as the sea.

Damen said, “Yes,” very carefully. A man who knew exactly the kind of trap that was being sprung on him.

Laurent said, “It takes thirty to get down here from the university.”

[fangdokja]

i keep rereading your yan marine corps! x fem reader. what was reader's role that she had to follow the marine's... adventure?

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world where death is mercy and survival means suffering, he claims you as his, promising protection through fear, control, and a twisted love that will leave you questioning if escape was ever truly possible.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Marine Corps x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #2 - The Devil Who Saved You

♡ Word Count. 3,153

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, descriptions of gore and human suffering, themes of violence and dystopia

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. I'm glad you enjoyed it :)). I'm surprised you're rereading it a bunch. But, I guess people do technically reread anyway. Sorry, slipped out of my mind. It just makes me happy seeing underrated works get credit, whether fandom or other stories I've written. So, thank you. Anyways. Technically, this was an ask. But it's a nice idea, and I've already had it in my drafts since before. I was just postponing lore dump with Yandere! Marine Corps, due to other works. Anyways. All I knew before, in all honesty, is that it's war time. But, time to pull out the fantasy skills and world build! Wooh! And to be honest, I'm hungry to write some gore crumbs like my familiar writing style, ahh. So, here, I present to you lore backstory (well technically part of the backstory). Hope you all enjoy it (also, sorry I talk a lot in notes).

♡ Music. Levee & Brick (Down to This) by Graffiti Ghosts

The world had fallen into an abyss so deep it seemed there was no end to its descent. The wars that came before—those waged for borders, ideologies, or resources—were merely preludes to this ultimate collapse. What erupted now was not war; it was annihilation. A calamity that turned cities into craters and humanity into prey. Every shred of civility burned away in the endless fires of desperation. The air was thick with the ash of the old world, a grim veil that painted the skies an eternal gray.

You had lived a different life once, one of relative normalcy in the dwindling days before the collapse. Back then, you had a future, a purpose, something as simple and human as hope. But that had been stripped away when the world’s powers unleashed devastation so complete it birthed horrors no living creature could comprehend. Technology had become a weapon of eradication, bioweapons and nanotech turning survivors into deformed creatures of flesh and steel, feral and mindless, hunting whatever moved. Rogue factions—remnants of militaries, mercenaries, and scavengers—rose like carrion birds, preying on the remnants of humanity.

In this hellscape, survival was no longer a matter of luck but of submission. Submission to those strong enough to carve their will into the earth and impose their dominion. He was one of those few. A towering force of unyielding violence, a soldier molded by decades of carnage, by a war that had reshaped him from a man into something closer to a machine of flesh and blood. The United Corps, once a venerated military institution, had fractured into splinter groups, each operating like a self-contained warlord’s regime. He was among their best—a leader, an executioner, a strategist, and now your captor.

You were assigned to him by pure chance—or perhaps cruel design. In this new order, value wasn’t measured by money or power but by the usefulness of flesh and mind. And you had been marked as useful. Perhaps it was your background—your knowledge, your resilience, or simply the misfortune of catching his attention when your convoy was intercepted by his unit. The corps didn’t merely take prisoners; they assessed, dissected, and consumed whatever remnants of humanity they deemed salvageable.

And he deemed you salvageable.

There were no illusions about the nature of his claim over you. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t mercy. It was obsession, possessive and cruel, born of a warped sense of necessity. “You belong to me now,” he had told you in that deep, unrelenting tone, the heat of his breath warming your face even as the chill of his words froze your soul. “Out there, they’ll rip you apart for the scraps on your bones. With me, you’ll live—if you behave.”

The battlefield was safer than the no-man’s land outside his dominion. That was the most damning truth. To run from him was to dive into a living nightmare where survival wasn’t a goal but a punishment. Outside his protection, death was not granted quickly.

You’d seen it. You’d heard the screams echoing through the wastelands, watched the crude factories churn with suffering. He’d forced you to look once, pressing your face against the window of a blood processing plant as tears streaked down your cheeks. “This is what’s waiting for you if you run,” he had whispered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “With me, you’re mine. Out there, you’re theirs. Decide.”

────────────

The smell hit you first. It wasn’t just the copper tang of blood; it was the rancid stench of rotting flesh mixed with chemicals—formaldehyde, acid, and something sour that clawed at the back of your throat. You gagged, instinctively raising a trembling hand to cover your nose, but he was quicker. His large, calloused fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your arm back down with enough force to make you whimper.

“Don’t look away,” he growled, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating like a distant explosion. “You need to see this.”

You didn’t want to see. You didn’t! But he held you there, his unyielding grip on your wrist a silent command. He stood just behind you, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

The factory loomed before you like the mouth of some great beast, its jagged, rusted metal teeth glinting in the dim light of the sulfur-stained sky. The air outside had been foul, but inside, it was worse—a miasma of decay and despair.

The conveyor belts stretched endlessly, carrying bodies in various states of disassembly. Some were intact, their limbs hanging limply as they were dragged by crude metal hooks. Others were barely recognizable—mangled flesh and shattered bone mashed together in a grotesque parody of humanity. You tried to look away, to focus on the machinery, but even that was a nightmare of grinding gears slick with gore.

A loud, wet squelch drew your attention to a nearby station. A corpse—a woman, or at least what remained of her—was hoisted onto a steel slab. Her eyes were still open, glassy and staring, as if frozen in the moment of her death. A mechanical arm descended, its blade glinting dully under the flickering industrial lights. It carved into her chest with a precision that was almost surgical, splitting her ribcage open to reveal the organs beneath.

You felt bile rise in your throat as another arm extended, pincers gripping her heart. It yanked the organ free with a sickening suction sound, sending a spray of blood across the walls and floor. The heart was deposited into a waiting vat, where it joined dozens of others, floating in a viscous, murky liquid.

“They don’t waste anything,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion, as if he were explaining the workings of a simple machine. “Every part has a purpose. The skin for leather. The bones for tools. The organs for… whatever the hell they need them for.”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you, his arm snaking around your waist to keep you upright. “No,” he hissed, his breath hot and sharp against your ear. “You don’t get to faint. You’re going to watch. You’re going to understand.”

A scream tore through the air, high-pitched and raw, and you realized with horror that some of them weren’t dead. Your eyes darted to the source of the sound, landing on a man thrashing against his restraints as he was dragged toward another station. His legs were gone, severed at the thighs, and the stumps had been crudely cauterized to keep him alive.

“Please,” the man sobbed, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, just kill me. Just—”

The blade came down before he could finish, cleaving his remaining arm from his body. His scream turned guttural, the sound of a soul breaking, before it was cut off entirely by a needle plunging into his neck. The liquid injected was thick and black, spreading through his veins like oil. His body convulsed violently for a moment before going still.

You turned your head, choking on a sob, but he gripped your chin and forced you to face the scene again. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising and relentless.

“This is what happens without me,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “You think you can survive out there? Think you can make it without my protection? Look at them!” He shook you slightly, as if to drive the point home. “This is what you are without me—meat.”

Tears streamed down your face, hot and shameful, as you stared at the conveyor belts and the countless bodies reduced to parts. You couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the nausea that twisted your stomach into knots.

Another scream pierced the air, this one an elder's. Your head snapped toward the sound, and your heart plummeted. A thin figure, frail and sickly, was strapped to a table, his wide, terrified eyes fixed on the approaching machinery.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

The machine didn’t care. The blades descended, and you squeezed your eyes shut, the image burned into your mind even as you tried to block it out.

He didn’t let you escape even that. His hand tightened on your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “Don’t you dare look away,” he growled. “This is reality. This is what’s waiting for you if you run.”

You broke then, sobbing uncontrollably, your body wracked with shuddering breaths. He held you there, unyielding, until you were too weak to fight. Only then did he pull you close, his grip on you shifting from punishing to possessive.

“That’s right,” he murmured, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more terrifying. “You understand now, don’t you? You’re mine. And as long as you’re mine, this will never happen to you.”

His lips brushed against your temple, a mockery of comfort as he whispered, “But if you ever forget, I’ll bring you back here. And I’ll make you watch again.”

────────────

The battlefield stretched like a bleeding wound across the earth, jagged trenches carved into the mud and ash. The remnants of what had once been cities were nothing more than skeletal buildings clawing at the smog-choked sky. The air was thick with the acrid tang of burning fuel and the gut-wrenching stench of charred flesh. Bomb craters bubbled with viscous, oily water that gleamed under the pale, radioactive sun. It was a place where hope had been smothered, where humanity’s last breaths came in choking, gurgling gasps.

He stood before you, his shadow long and oppressive, a monolith of muscle and bloodied steel. His armor—if you could call the piecemeal, blood-streaked remains of his tactical gear armor—clung to him like a second skin, the fabric worn thin and blackened with soot. In his hand, a rifle dangled lazily, as though he didn’t need it. And he didn’t. He was a weapon unto himself, his body and mind honed by decades of violence, cruelty, and war.

“Do you remember this place?” His voice was a low rumble, scraping against your nerves like a blade dragged across bone. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, bore into you with a force that made your knees weak. “Where I found you?”

You nodded faintly, though you didn’t trust your voice enough to speak. Your silence wasn’t just fear—it was a learned response, a survival tactic you’d mastered in the years since he’d claimed you.

“Do you know what they were going to do to you?” He crouched, bringing his face level with yours. His presence was suffocating, his frame dwarfing your own. His voice dropped lower, almost tender, as though sharing a secret. “No, you don’t. You only saw what they let you see. Let me show you the rest.”

He yanked you forward, his grip on your wrist unyielding, and led you toward the edge of the battlefield. The ground squelched beneath your feet, a revolting mixture of mud, blood, and something viscous that you didn’t want to identify. In the distance, the ruins of an old hospital came into view. The building leaned at an unnatural angle, its walls crumbling but still intact enough to conceal the horrors within.

“You’ve seen death,” he said, his tone conversational, as though discussing the weather. “But you haven’t seen what people do when death isn’t enough. When they want to break you first.”

The interior of the hospital reeked of antiseptic and decay. The sterile smell of chemicals clashed with the unmistakable odor of rot. The walls were streaked with dark stains, their origins uncomfortably clear as you stepped over discarded limbs, the flesh marbled with gangrene and crude surgical scars.

In the first room, a soldier lay strapped to a gurney, his body contorted unnaturally. His chest had been split open, ribs wrenched apart like the wings of a grotesque bird. His heart was missing, the cavity where it had once beat filled with a tangled mess of wires and tubing. The machinery whirred softly, pumping fluids through his veins and forcing his lungs to expand and contract in shallow, mechanical breaths. His eyes were still open, rolling wildly in their sockets as they locked onto you.

“He’s alive,” the man behind you whispered, his voice a mix of mockery and menace. “Barely. They like to see how far they can push the human body before it gives out. Sometimes they even stitch people back together, just to see how much more they can take.”

You gagged, your stomach lurching violently, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to face the horror. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “You need to understand. This is what was waiting for you.”

He dragged you into another room, this one colder, darker. Rows of tanks filled the space, each containing a murky, greenish fluid that distorted the shapes inside. At first, you thought they were bodies, but as you moved closer, you realized they were something worse. Limbs were fused together in impossible configurations, heads sprouted from torsos without necks, and eyes blinked independently in faces twisted beyond recognition. The creatures floated listlessly, their expressions a grotesque mix of agony and confusion.

“Human experimentation,” he explained, almost lazily. “They weren’t trying to kill you. They were going to use you. Turn you into something like this. A weapon. Or worse—a resource.”

You stumbled backward, but he caught you, his arm curling around your waist with a possessive strength that left no room for escape. He pressed his lips to your ear, his voice a dark caress. “I killed them all for you. Do you see now why you belong to me? Why you owe me your life?”

He pushed you onward, through rooms filled with horrors you couldn’t have imagined in your darkest nightmares. A man impaled on a series of metal rods, his skin flayed back to expose muscle and bone, still breathing through a series of tubes jammed into his throat. A woman with her limbs replaced by crude prosthetics, her mouth sewn shut but her eyes screaming. People of all ages locked in cages, their bodies twisted and deformed, their cries muffled by gags soaked in blood.

“This is what humanity has become,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “This is what I saved you from. You were a prize to them. A rare find. They would’ve broken you in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You fell to your knees, the weight of it all crashing down on you. He crouched beside you, his bloodied hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, were filled with something dark, something terrifyingly close to affection.

“Don’t forget this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Don’t ever forget who saved you. Who you belong to. Because without me…” His voice trailed off as he gestured toward the carnage around you. “This is all you’d ever know.”

You sobbed, the sound muffled against his chest as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was as suffocating as it was unyielding, a cage that you could never escape. And yet, in that moment, you clung to him, because the alternative was too horrifying to bear.

────────────

So you stayed.

Not because you trusted him. Not because you wanted him. But because the alternative was infinitely worse. And yet, staying came with its own horrors, its own chains. His obsession didn’t shield you from his cruelty; it only redirected it. He was a man who didn’t just command obedience—he demanded submission. Every glance, every word, every trembling breath was a reminder of your place beneath him. When he touched you, it wasn’t with gentleness. His hands were calloused and bruising, gripping and claiming, leaving marks that would never fade.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he would say when your eyes filled with defiance or despair. “You’re still alive because I allow it.”

The world outside was dead, a barren wasteland of mutilation and starvation, yet with him, the torment was suffocatingly personal. He didn’t just want your compliance; he wanted your surrender. His words were a scalpel, cutting into your psyche with surgical precision. He would pull you close, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he whispered promises of protection intertwined with threats so visceral they made your stomach churn.

“You’re mine,” he’d say, his hand resting possessively on your throat. “Every inch of you. Every thought. Every breath. Try to take that away from me, and I’ll show you what real pain feels like.”

There were moments when his control slipped, when the line between protector and predator blurred beyond recognition. He would keep you close, his body a cage of muscle and violence, his gaze piercing through your facade of composure. The way his hands roamed wasn’t tender—it was invasive, a reminder that he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

And yet, you didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Resistance wasn’t a choice. Not here. Not with him.

The world outside was unlivable. The world with him was unbearable. Between the two, you chose to endure.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring

[spearxwind]

I just wanna say, thank you for sharing your art and ocs with us. I know you've struggled with art theft and rude behavior and burnout and all kinds of things, but its been such a source of joy and inspiration all these years to see your insane creativity and talent and personal expression. So thank you--thank you for risking all that unpleasantness to share the things you love. Admittedly I do kind of miss the old days of seeing your characters and art all the time, but I absolutely understand and respect your moving on. I'm glad you're living your life, and its still a joy to see the things you make, even if its not as often. Anyway happy new year, I hope this year brings you tons of kindness, fulfillment, and happiness.

Ah gosh that means so much to me, thank you dearly!

I genuinely love sharing my stuff a lot, and I love interacting with you guys and talking about what I make :) It makes me really happy that so many of you enjoy what I do! It's honestly a huge reason as to why I keep doing it.

And don't misunderstand me, my lack of art recently isn't really due to me moving on or not wanting to share more or sharing less (though I don't share as much lore as I used to due to the theft). But mostly it's because I have much more going on irl these days. I have a much bigger demand for my time irl with my partner, friends, work, family and all of that. I draw and chill when I can, I would do a lot more if I had the time haha

I also miss when I used to draw and share a lot, but a part of why I did so much of that was because I did not have many friends or much going on at all, and I had few other hobbies than "make art" so I just did that for much more time than what was probably healthy ^^; it's less about moving on from drawing and more about being able to spend time being a proper person now. Also some of the stuff i work with on my own time are things that take a lot of time to finish so it looks like I do a lot less

Though maybe one day I can finally dedicate myself full-time to art (in a healthier way) and just let loose! I hope you will stick around for that :]

Thank you for taking the time to write this out, it genuinely means a lot to me! I hope you have a fantastic new year too, and again, definitely hope you will stick around to see all the cool stuff I have cooking >:)

[arkarti]

The funny thing is that I don't really care about fnaf. I've seen the movie and let's plays (from one particular YouTuber), but I'm not that invested in it. Movie William is hot tho.

But god damn am I invested in your posts! The art, fics, little doodles and snippets, your thoughts. All of it is so good! I adore your crazy (in love) maniac William, not-really-cinnamon-roll Henry, the universe you created around them. The art by itself is off the charts! You're so talented and creative that I want to cry every time I see you post something. It always lighten up my mood even if it's just a sassy reply to someone's ask. The crows alone are a goddamn treasure!!! 🤣

Anyway, just wanted to tell you how deeply we all appreciate your hard work and thankful that you are sharing it with us.

one particular youtuber you say? 😳

adsfg but anyway! that is genuinely the sweetest thing ever, anon!! really made my day!!! glad you enjoy my silly lil creations 🥺💖💖💖

live footage of me reading this:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 💖💖💖

[nextinline-if]

I just completed the demo and loved it! I really like F (or my MC does). I just hope F understands that MC isn’t the same person she was when they were kids. Anyway, thank you for the experience so far!

thank you so much and I'm glad you enjoyed it! I assure you, there will be opportunities to remind F of that very fact!

[shiny-jr]

giggling and kicking my feet after finishing "the vizier's vassal" because this is everything little me used to daydream about. i loved the pacing of the story, the references were so satisfying to pick up on and, oh my god, i kept doubting EVERYTHING that was happening. where is the prince? is the princess really dead?? do we get to kiss kiss fall in love with jamil???

this story wasn't even the one i got from the quizz (the hyena was) but i was tempted to read it anyway and i am NOT regretting it

thank you so much for your work, i absolutely adore your stories so this was like a long treat before falling asleep. i can't wait to read more from you, and i hope you are well. thanks again for sharing your stories <33

Aw, thank you, anon. I'm really glad people are still enjoying the older results. I think the older results are actually more popular, although it could be possible that the time perception on it is warping my view of things.

When the series is over, maybe I should do a poll just out of pure curiosity to see how each result was perceived and liked.

[peace-hunter]

Hi! I love your Ghost Primes with Optimus AU! It’s so good.

I have a question though, do the Decepticons know that Optimus can see the 13 prime ghosts or do they just get increasingly confused each time they fight?

Thank you for the lovely artwork!!

oh they Know something funky is going on for sure lmao

a little more serious answer: they can tell something is going on with optimus and they desperately want to pretend it's not. they don't want to know how he's aware of things he shouldn't be, how he knows stuff that should have long been forgotten, how he seems to be more familiar with them than he should be. how sometimes he speaks and it's like the dead are talking through him. how sometimes he will answer to empty air and somehow they can just tell what he's responding to. who he is talking to.

they Know. and they really, really want to pretend they don't.

they already carry the guilt of failing them once. the idea of doing it once more is unbearable and they'd rather deceive themselves than face it. they'd rather their friends stay dead and gone than think of them seeing what they've become.

haunted au

[paperfen]

Torbek says to keep yourself safe, but theres more art below the cut! CW: Scars and discussion of surgery

Fun Fen Fact! Some back surgeries require surgeons to go through the abdomen, and although newer research is showing the complications of doing so, I don't think feywild witchlight doctors really care about that! :) In my own personal headcanon (hehehe) I say that Torbek has quite a large scar on his back and a thin long scar on his abdomen where the tubing of the witchlight was pulled through and grafted to his body tissue and possibly organs. Each of the scars that has a witchlight tube connected to it constantly seems infected and angry. Both because Torbek messes with his tubes a lot and because his body is still aggravated by the witchlight. The only scar that has healed somewhat cleanly is the scar on his front, which will probably eventually grow fur again in time once Torbek stops picking at the scabs (so me fr). The notch in his ear is from him ripping out the tag that was once in it. His right paw is more or less permanently disfigured and discolored, being the dominant hand that he would use for combat and therefore being the most witchlight-manipulated. The visible veins of witchlight on his right claws glow and pulse, sometimes entirely seeming to disappear. I really really really wish I knew how his canisters work I want to know their mechanical secrets so BADLY!!! I'm only up to ep 34 im dying to learn the secrets of the Torbek I also find it extremely amusing that I did the lineart for the warning but not the lineart for the actual piece that the warning is for LMAO

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

thinking about how mulder loves to get scully a gift, usually terribly heartfelt, even if disguised as something flippant:

the superbowl vhs tape he brings her when she wakes up from her coma in one breath (and her deadpan "i knew there was a reason to live")

tickets for a football game to watch together in irresistible

bringing her flowers to the hospital in memento mori (he lies, saying he stole them from a guy with broken legs to make her laugh)

the birthday keychain in tempus fugit (and when she finds a meaning to it, he claims "i just thought it was a pretty cool keychain")

that is a man who is always thinking about her.

[egophiliac]

here's the Meleanor chibi speedrun! upfront warning for some flickering and/or flashing throughout from all the sped-up zooming/layer changes.

it turns out I only really recorded up to when I exported the PSD for the first time, so I went back and recorded a bit more to at least show a little of the reworked cape breakdown and background. and then bounced her rig around so you can see a bit of it too! the parts I'm not too embarrassed to show, anyway

even sped up it's still like 47 minutes (s-she took a really long time to make okay), so there are timestamps/chapters in the description if you click through! I certainly don't expect anyone to sit and watch it through, but maybe it'll be interesting to skip around in?

[prince-liest]

I am so sorry if i come off stupid with this ask but i’m not very educated on this topic and my english isn’t that good so pls dont take any offence but i’ve read some of ur fics (ur very skilled btw!!) and in some of them vox and alastor are depicted to be sexual at times but isn’t alastor acesexual? I used to think that ace ppl were repulsed(?) by sex and touch in general and now im a bit confused is he only comfortable with touch because they have a deep bond or is him being repulsed by touch just an act?

No worries at all, I think this is something that a lot of people get caught up on! Asexuality isn't very commonly talked about in terms of actually explanations, so a lot of folks tend to have the impression you did.

Asexuality is a spectrum that often correlates with but isn't actually inherently linked to comfort with touch! Asexual people can be sex-positive, sex-neutral, or sex-repulsed—or a combination of those three things depending on the context and their feelings at the time. I always write Alastor as aromantic and asexual, but I play around with his comfort levels regarding all those things depending on the fic or even how he feels in the moment, oscillating between sex-positive to fully touch-repulsed (or sometimes both, which causes some complicated feelings for him). (There are also demisexual and graysexual people but I'm just going to talk about asexuality here.)

I think a key point to understand is that for an asexual person to have sex, they're just going to have different reasons from an allosexual person. Alastor is never having sex in my radiostatic fics because he thinks Vox is hot and is super attracted to him (unlike Vox, whom I write as allo and who pretty consistently thinks Alastor is hot and wants to fuck him). Instead, some of the reasons he's slept with Vox in my works include: curiosity; societal pressure; nonsexual enjoyment of kink; sexual enjoyment of very specific acts (again, still not the same as "being sexually attracted to Vox"); seeking intimacy; being under the influence; etc.

If you think about it, allosexual people also have sex for reasons outside of sexual attraction. Lesbians may have sex with men out of social pressure or personal exploration; a lot of people have sex just because they're lonely and it's how they find intimacy; you can even imagine the stereotypical frat bro who has sex with a girl because he sees her as a status symbol; etc, etc. Just because someone is ace doesn't mean they can't have sex, it just means that their reason isn't going to be sexual attraction.

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

Pssst....

posted the first 2 chapters of this E-rated Kim/ Harry character study... Gonna try something novel and ACTUALLY stick to a posting schedule: 2 chapters every Sunday (they're shorter chapters for once)

Read it here!

[not-poignant]

I just finished reading Falling Falling Stars (took me forever but I loved it) and I was wondering if there was going to be a short one off of Kadek, Arden and Efnisien? I love their dynamic together whenever Efnisien was at Kadek’s house. You’re an amazing writer by the way, but I’m sure you already know that. 🖤

Hi anon,

I don't know that I'll ever write a one-off of Kadek / Arden / Efnisien that I haven't already written in Falling Falling Stars (they do actually share a couple of moments of kink together there, and a bunch more content of them just hanging out together).

That being said, there is a Kadek/Efnisien story coming after Constellations is finished! That will be more than one chapter long and will probably have a similar length to Constellations.

I'm not ruling out more Arden / Kadek / Efnisien content, just that I feel like we get a lot of it in Falling Falling Stars, so the stuff I'm more drawn to writing is the stuff that's not in that story but still relevant in this world! They are a lot of fun together, but now I really want to write just Kadek and Efnisien learning how to deal with their stuff (and kinks) without Arden there to mediate them lol.

[sleepykas]

God i love Hireath so far. Like you don't understand how refreshing it is to find such a well written fabrication where Sun and Moon act like their in-game self. Also I live your asshole Sun like WOW he's amazingly written- the passive aggressive and straight up aggressive uncalled for behavior has me wild. Not even to mention Moon- he's my favorite character thus far. He's just a little prankster guy. He's just so him. Rrr I love your writing style and Y/N like yay! We have a backbone! Very good. Anyways, I will be eagerly awaiting the next chapter! Love your work!

WAIT HOLD UP. WAIT. YOUR HONOR. I'M SO FLATTERED OH MY GOD. THANK YOU!!!!!