#anyways .. i love how trusting and emotional he is

[oceantornadoo]

ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

masterlist | next

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks. 

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over. 

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.” 

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within. 

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.” 

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution. 

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation. 

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

-

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

-

Gaz was right. It only took an hour. 

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia. 

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife. 

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention. 

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

-

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd. 

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words. 

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally. 

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

-

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

-

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[auvrorsa]

if i didn't know better - r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x ex!reader

warnings: death of a child, grief counselling

prompt: two estranged lovers join the same support group. this is the first meeting.‍

author's note: this is my first time writing fanfic so pls be kind!!

It's been exactly six months since your daughter passed away.

It's been exactly five months and thirteen days since you had last left your house, until now. Here you stand, like a fish out of water, outside the community centre that holds the grief support group once a fortnight.

It's taken all this time for your friends to manage to convince you to at least try it out. That's the only reason you're here. You didn't believe in any of this therapy shit, but you promised them you would try.

Taking a deep breath, you step inside the building. Now or never.

The room is heavy and you find yourself overwhelmed. This is too much. Too soon, You think to yourself. Just as you turn to leave, someone who you assume is the leader of the group announces it's time to start.

It's busier than you thought it would be, you think as you all take your places in the school chairs that have been placed in a circle. There must be at least twenty-five people here, including yourself. It almost makes you feel less alone.

"Hi everybody, my name is Linda and I'll be hosting this weeks' support group," the woman introduces herself. She must be in her sixties. She has dark brown hair that sits in ringlets and her skin looks almost sun-kissed. You notice that she has soft wrinkles from smiling, although there's no sight of a smile when you look at her today. Immediately, you recognise her as one of your own. You may not know Linda, but it's obvious to anyone who has experienced loss that this woman has been there too.

She continues, pulling you away from your observation. "I wanted to start this session off by saying thank you. Thank you for trusting me and everyone around you with this and thank you for coming. I hope that you all are able to find some semblance of peace after your time here."

Everyone acknowledges her statement with a nod. You swear you even hear a sniffle from across the circle.

"To start off with, we're going to be-" Linda is interrupted by the door bursting open.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I, uh-traffic was a bitch."

Your head immediately snaps up. You would know that voice anywhere. After all, you have spent the best part of your life in love with it and the person who owns it. Sure enough, your eyes lock onto the father of your daughter.

Rafe Cameron.

Seeing him here threw you through a loop. Of course, Poppy was his daughter too but… Rafe had never exactly been the type of person to sit down and talk about his emotions. It's partly why you two ended. That and losing Poppy. Neither of you were the same, you never would be. Your daughter had taught the pair of you the most valuable of lessons and now she was just… gone. It was cruel. Soon enough, you started arguing and he started staying out late drinking with his friends. In the end, you both realised you needed to separate. You both reminded one another of what you had lost and what you could never get back.

He breaths out your name, breaking you out of your stunned daze.

Linda looked between the pair of you, clearly confused. "Thank you for joining us, Rafe. It is so lovely to have you here. Do you two… know each other?"

Rafe looks at you for a second, trying to determine whether or not to open up the bag that you've both spent the past six months trying to close. He must see something on your face because he shakes his head, "Not really, just both from the same side of town."

"Oh, okay. Anyways, take a seat and we'll get started," Linda says with a warm smile on her face.

Once Rafe takes the last seat, which just so happens to be directly opposite you because of course it is, Linda explains how the session is going to work. Starting with herself, she will introduce herself with a fun fact about herself and then explain why she's here.

"Hi everybody. My name is Linda and I also teach yoga outside of this group. I'm here today because almost five years ago, I lost my husband of thirty-one years to a heart attack."

After Linda, the person to her right introduces herself and so on. It's mainly people who have lost their grandparents or parents. You feel eyes on you and immediately know who it is. When you meet Rafe's gaze, you know you're both thinking the same thing. You're both thinking about how unfair it all is.

Maybe that makes you both horrible people but it's what grief does to you. It takes the person you once were and tears you apart, right through the middle, until you're nothing but a scrap piece of paper.

When it gets to your turn, you're shaking. Somehow, you manage to stand up.

You begin by introducing yourself, "I don't really, uh, have any cool facts about myself. I'm here today because six months ago today I, uh," tears well in your eyes. "I lost my daughter. She, uh, had an allergic reaction at her friends house and she- she didn't have anything to help her." You look at Rafe, seeking that same source of strength from him that you always have, but find nothing. He's simply staring back at you with tears rolling down his own face. The pair of you must be a mirror of each other.

Linda hands you a box of tissues and apologises to you quietly whilst the next person takes their turn.

Eventually, it's Rafe's turn. He rubs his hands on his jeans as he stands.

"Hi guys. My name is Rafe. The coolest thing about me is that I was Poppy's dad. And that's why I'm here today. Because I'm nobody now that she's gone." That's all he says before he sits back down and once again looks at you. A silent conversation being had with just your eyes.

I'm sorry, you say. Me too, he replies.

You both stay like that whilst the rest of the group takes their turns. Simply staring at each other, tears in both your eyes.

Finally, Linda's voice brings you back to reality, announcing that the session is over. You and Rafe stand at the same time and slowly walk over to the door.

Once you both get outside, you head towards the car park. As fate would have it, you find that Rafe has parked next to you. Of course he has.

"This is me," you explain, waving your thumb in the direction of your car. "I know. I remember," is all he says.

Rafe turns towards his own car. He has his hand on the handle when he stops and turns his head towards you. "I miss her. Every single day."

You physically feel your heart crack even more at the crack in his voice.

With tears rolling down your eyes, you reply. "I know, Rafe. So do I."

The next thing you know, Rafe's strong arms are wrapped around you. This is the closest you two have been since you broke up and fuck have you missed it.

"I'm so sorry. It was my job to protect her and I didn't-"

He cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence, "No. No. We did everything we could and- fuck, no one could have protected her from that."

He holds you for what feels like hours, until your sobs turn into mere sniffles.

Pulling back slightly so he can look down at you, "Are you sure you're okay to drive yourself home?"

"I- uh- I should be. Thank you, though."

"Always. Text me when you get home."

You nod softly at him as you get into your car.

When you get home, you pull up Rafe's contact on your phone.

YOU: home.

He reads it almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting for your text.

Rafe: good. Rafe: i'll see you at the next meeting.

[fangdokja]

AEAWWAWAWAWAA I LOVE YOUR (WITD) OTOME ISEKAI WORK!!!

So a question that I have, how do you rank all of them in terms of strength, both physical and magical? Because honestly? If I put all of them in the same room, I think the only ones who will walk out unscathed might be the Supreme Mage, Demon King, and the Demon Assassin- but I can't be too sure since they're the only ones who I know have INSANE levels of magical strength.

(Supreme Mage-> Can literally turn back time

Demon King-> Can unintentionally destroy surroundings by just losing control of his emotions+Killed a Fallen Archangel+Won multiple battles

Demon Assassin-> Proves multiple times that he can potentially be on par against the Demon King)

I hate it here.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a reverse harem of overpowered, emotionally unstable warlords, I’ve learned three things: love is just a polite word for obsession, survival is a full-time job, and statistically speaking, I should have died five times by now. But sure—tell me again how this is every girl’s dream.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various! Otome Isekai Characters x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,242

♡ TW. Heavy Dark Humor + Satirical Comedy, Reader dissing everyone including you (I'm talking about all of you Readers)

♡ A/N. That was a very enthusiastic response. Sounds oddly familiar, and very ENFP. I could be wrong, but the intro reminds me of people. Anyways... This isn't a request, but an ASK. I genuinely do like world building. However, this ask requires a semi-formal answer. Hence, the organization. Also I'm shocked you showed me actual lore. Reminds me of this request for Yandere! Marine Corps. Though, this does have a different structure than my usual works. But still entertaining. Also, I worked on this quickly, because I enjoyed writing in this style tbh. Just once in a while. I also won't be too specific though.

♡ Their Story. One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

[BEGIN LOG]

Date: Irrelevant. Time: Wasted. Will to live: Nonexistent.

Not sure if it qualifies as survival or just prolonged suffering. Either way, I'm still here. Yay me.

For those of you who have found this document, congratulations. That means either one of three things:

You’re as desperate for answers as I was.

You’re already too deep into this mess and need a coping mechanism (writing helps, trust me).

You’re dead, and this is just some eldritch horror reading through my notes like a bedtime story before coming after me next.

If it’s option three, I hope you choke on my misery.

You ever wake up and wonder if, at some point in your past life, you pissed off some all-powerful cosmic entity? Like maybe you accidentally stepped on the Eldritch Lord of Relationships’ robe, and now you're cursed to live in the world's most EXHAUSTING social experiment?

No? Just me?

Well, sit down, idiots. Because apparently, you people find this entertaining.

Let’s get one thing straight. Reverse harems are not fun. You think it’s all, “Oh, she’s got multiple hot, dangerous men fighting over her, how dreamy!”—wrong. It’s like living in an active war zone but instead of actual grenades, it’s obsessive, overpowered lunatics with emotional damage so profound it could be studied in medical journals. There is nothing enjoyable about constantly monitoring the probability of spontaneous assassination attempts every time you walk into a room.

For whatever reason, some of you seem to think strength is the most important thing in this nightmare circus. Oh, how stupid. How naïve. If power alone decided the outcome of battles, then history books wouldn’t exist. But sure, let’s indulge your little power ranking delusions and talk about these walking natural disasters.

———

Before we begin, let me ask you, dear audience, one simple question: What is actually wrong with you?

No, really. Because I need to understand what kind of psychosis leads a person to actively seek out and romanticize a scenario in which one (1) socially detached, chronically exhausted individual (me) is forced to navigate an entire reverse harem of homicidal, magical, and politically influential lunatics.

You. Yes, you reading this. You think this is fun? You think it's "hot"? You think I'd enjoy this?

Congratulations, you're officially the reason why the world deserves to burn.

Now, since you refuse to let me die in peace and insist on knowing which of these disasters would hypothetically survive an all-out brawl (which, by the way, has already happened multiple times because they all suffer from incurable testosterone poisoning), I suppose I have no choice but to indulge your delusions.

────────────

❤︎ Disclaimer (because some of you can’t read).

Before you open your shriveled little mouths to cry about "power scaling" or "but actually, technically—" let me stop you right there. Everyone in this story is ridiculously strong. Their strength could shatter nations, rewrite laws of reality, and make lesser beings soil themselves at the mere thought of their existence. Compared to you? They might as well be extraterrestrial beings.

But compared to each other? Well. That’s where things get interesting.

So sit down, shut up, and try not to let your fragile egos get bruised when your favorite isn’t ranked as the ultimate all-powerful deity. You're lucky I even bothered to explain this, considering most of you wouldn't last five minutes in this world without crying, vomiting, or both.

────────────

Now, onto the subject at hand: Ranking the Men Who Have Made My Life a Living Hell.

Yes. Them. The supposed "love interests" of this so-called story. You ever wake up one day, and find yourself as the unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire of some overpowered, emotionally unstable men with enough magic, weaponry, and unresolved trauma to wage an entire war over you?

That’s me. Hi. Welcome to my breakdown.

Since I’ve managed to slip through the cracks (for now), I’ve decided to document their strengths. For research purposes? For future escape attempts? For spite? Who knows. Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.

Here’s what I’ve compiled so far:

———

❤︎ Physical Strength Ranking.

Because sometimes, magic isn’t enough and these men like to resolve their issues with their fists. Or swords. Or daggers. Or just brute force in general. It’s exhausting.

(Or: "Which One Would Yeet Me Across a Room the Farthest")

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Listen. He’s fast. He’s slippery. He’s also the most likely to run away instead of engaging in actual combat. He doesn’t fight, he strategically retreats. If he has to fight, he wins by being an insufferable bastard. But brute force? No. If I had a rock, I could probably take him in a fistfight. (This is foreshadowing.)

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – He’s not weak, but let’s be real—he doesn’t train his body, he trains his magic. The only reason he’s above the thief is because he’s at least accustomed to lifting heavy grimoires and standing dramatically in high towers while the wind blows through his robes. That has to count for something.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – You would think someone of his status would have the raw strength to back it up, but let’s be real: he has People for that. Like, actual armies. Sure, he’s dangerous, but it’s not because of his strength. It’s because he can literally just send an entire brigade after you while he sits there sipping wine and making vague threats.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – A lifetime of royal training has made him decent at combat. He has discipline, skill, and years of experience with a sword. But would he win in a feral, no-holds-barred fistfight? No. Absolutely not. He’s still a prince. Which means at his core, he’s pampered. He would hesitate to fight dirty. And that’s why he would lose.

♡ Yandere! War Hero – Finally, someone who has actually seen some shit. He has the scars, the combat experience, and the sheer stubbornness of someone who refuses to die out of pure spite. Physically strong, absolutely. But he’s also very "by the book" when it comes to fighting. Which is unfortunate for him, because the next three don’t play fair.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Built different. Too fast, too smart, too unhinged to go down easily. He fights like he’s a glitch in reality—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Also the most likely to stab you first and ask questions never.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – Do I even need to explain this one? He is literally a demon king. He has killed celestial beings. His rage alone can shatter mountains. I once saw him accidentally break an entire fortress just because he got mildly irritated. Mildly.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – …Ah. And here we are. The anomaly. The one that should not be this powerful and yet somehow is.

Listen, I know things. Things that you don’t. Just trust me when I say that if you think the Demon King is the most terrifying entity on this list, you are not ready for the truth.

———

❤︎ Magical Strength Ranking.

If I had a gold coin for every time I nearly died from spontaneous magic exposure, I’d buy an alternate dimension where none of these people exist. But alas.

(Or: "Which One Would Destroy Reality the Fastest")

♡ Yandere! War Hero – He’s strong, yes, but magically? Almost nonexistent. He’s a normal human being (albeit an absurdly powerful one). No magical gimmicks, just raw battle instinct. You could drop-kick him into another universe and he’d probably still survive off sheer willpower alone.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – Has magic. Uses it occasionally. But his real strength is in political manipulation and military strategy. If he’s using magic, it means shit has hit the fan hard.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Ah yes. Magic. The cheating tool of cowards. He doesn’t have raw magical power, but he has a frankly unfair amount of tricks that let him survive situations where he absolutely should have died. His whole existence is a scam.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – Refined, tactical, and disturbingly efficient. He does not waste magic. If he’s using it, it’s because you’re already dead.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Fast. Deadly. Unpredictable. The kind of person who would kill you with a single spell and not even stick around to see if it worked. Annoying.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – If raw magical power were the deciding factor, he’d be top three. He wields the kind of destructive force that civilizations fear. But he’s also emotionally unstable, which means he can be baited into losing control. Good for psychological warfare. Bad for literally everything else.

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – Time. Magic. Literal reality alteration. And yet, he is still not the most powerful one here. Why? Because despite his ability to turn back time, he still cannot escape the cursed fate of being a yandere in an otome isekai narrative.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – I refuse to elaborate. This man is an anomaly. He should not be this strong. There is no reason for it. And yet, here we are. Spoilers? Yeah, I have them. Will I share? No. Wallow in ignorance, as I do in despair.

As if I’d tell you. What, do you think I get paid to explain my personal torment to an invisible audience? No, I do this out of spite.

────────────

❤︎ Conclusion.

If, at any point, you read through this document and thought to yourself, “Wow, this is so cool!” I regret to inform you that you have lost all credibility as a rational human being. There is nothing “cool” about being trapped in a constant state of hyper-awareness, wondering which psychotic warlord is going to attempt a romantic gesture that results in a body count.

To those who still believe that my life is some sort of dream scenario: I envy your naivety. May you never experience the reality of what it means to be the object of multiple obsessive affections. May you never know the fear of realizing that every person in your immediate vicinity could, with minimal effort, end your existence in ways that defy the laws of physics.

And if you still insist on romanticizing this?

Congratulations, you have Stockholm Syndrome. Seek help.

Disgusting.

And yet. Despite it all. You’re still here. You’ll come back. You’ll keep reading. Because deep down, you are not normal. You enjoy this insanity.

And that? That’s on you.

I wash my hands of this nonsense. Goodbye.

I don’t even care anymore. If you want to simp, fine. Just know that I am staring directly into your pathetic, degenerate soul and judging you immensely.

———

❤︎ Final notes. Power does not equate to survival. Intelligence does. And if you’re reading this, you’re already at a disadvantage because they’re smarter than they look. Pray for me. Or don’t. At this point, I have no expectations.

[END LOG]

────────────

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

❤︎ 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.

[denimecho]

I've been having issues falling asleep for the past few days. Whenever I try, I end up lying awake for hours thinking about things I'd prefer not to. Recently, though, there's been something new that I don't know how to manage alone, yet I also don't much feel like talking to anyone in specific about it.

I know it isn't my style to make a post like this, but I figure if there's a chance it offers some relief, it's worth a try.

It's been... possibly 4 years now, I think, since I cut my parents out of my life. I have never regretted this decision. There's been many times that it's been hard, because the feelings involved are conflicting even when you're sure you're making the right decision. Logic and emotion don't always go hand in hand, after all, so while I've always known my decision to do this was entirely fair, I have, of course, felt guilt and despair, loneliness, nowhere to turn to when times are hard.

It's odd when I think about it. I've always known that there were no parents to turn to, even when we were still in contact, because those were not the kinds of people they were. Superficially, yes, my mom is capable of being warm. That's perhaps the most terrifying thing about her, that she can be so warm and so kind, yet also so ridiculously cruel that it's hard to fathom it's coming from the same person. Neither of them inspired the trust that would make one feel like there are "always people who love you that you can turn to", but even so, once it was official that we wouldn't talk again and their numbers were blocked, it felt a different kind of true for the first time.

I've often missed my mom, or "wanted my mom", but known it wasn't her, the person, that I missed, but rather the concept of a mom. I think what I really missed those times were, in the end, some kind of security; an unconditional love that one can trust to always be there. I believe I have people I can trust in this manner, but it's not always easy to stay believing, when I know as well that they were raised to think family is the bond you can truly trust. I have to believe something else is true, because otherwise there is no one to truly trust.

I've long since given up wondering how my parents justify it to themselves that they do not love me. I'm sure they believe they do, somehow. Fact still is that they've attempted to reconnect with their favourite child time and time again, yet never me. They don't even ask about me when they try to sway my brother to speak to them again, and when he tells me so, I say that I know. "I know, I'm not surprised, yeah classic them". I've known since I was a kid that I "wasn't what they hoped for" - what my mom hoped for, at least. My dad didn't hope for kids in the first place - and it no longer hurts that they feel nothing for me. I don't know what it feels like, but it doesn't hurt, I'd say. In fact, part of me is thankful that they find me disappointing because it means I couldn't fix their misery by reestablishing contact with them anyway. They're practically letting me go guilt free.

But... lately I can't sleep, because even though I logically always knew this was the case when I made my choice, it's only now that I truly understand that the next time I can expect to speak to one of my parents again is when one of them dies. I've considered myself pretty much orphaned since we cut contact, but I do know they are alive somewhere. Yet we will never see each other again. We will never resolve anything. We cannot, because even if they said everything I'd always wanted to hear, I will never trust them with myself, with the power they have over me. Now I think of their faces, their smiles when they were occasionally warm, their voices, and that they will die. And I will know nothing of what they were like in the end. I will never hear them speak again, and the day I finally do, it will be for that reason.

I'm not sure what to feel about this. I just can't sleep.

[seijorhi]

Hi Rhi!

I hope you're getting lots of rest after moving and enjoying your new place <3

I keep on thinking about All In and one of the aspects which make it so unique and dear to me compared to other ABO fics is the telepathic bond the reader shares with the pack.

The implications drive me crazy and I think it's so cool you decided to include something like that in the fic.

It actually made me wonder since we only get the reader's perspective on this bond, how do the rest of the pack feel about it?

Sharing the emotions and physical feelings of someone who's terrified of you and hates you despite your devotion to them sounds pretty terrible so how would the alphas deal with that?

Since the reader was injured by Ushijima's rut and has to endure Semi's sadism, I would think she's especially scared of them.

Do you think they would cave and try to actually earn her trust? Or double down and just patronize her by saying she just needs time to get used to being in a pack.

Anyways I hope you have a great day, thank you for writing such gorgeous fics!

-🐡

ty my love <33

they're not good men, good alphas or good mates by any stretch of imagination, but they're not out to get their kicks making their mate miserable and afraid of them.

sure, semi's an asshole and sometimes a little cruel when he's fucking his girl, and not a single one of them minds the sight of their beta all teary eyed, but overall, they don't want her to be terrified of them. they're nothing if not devoted. obsessed. they want her to feel it, to need them back with just as much intensity.

the mating bond's a double edged sword. on the one hand, they'll feel everything she does. for the most part, it's an awareness. she sat with ushijima's anger and frustration while they were apart. it didn't necessarily influence her own emotions, but she was aware of it. the more intense the emotion, the stronger their mate feels it, which is why in situations like sex, it's easy for the reader to get overwhelmed – plus, she's getting battered on three sides, her alphas only have her.

it's also the perfect gauge. what she says doesn't matter so much as how she feels. that spark of joy she tries to tamp down on, a burst of pleasure. how she likes to be touched and played with, the things that make her happy and put her in a good – or at least better – mood. anything and everything that softens her towards them.

it's a war of attrition, but they've got the cheat codes.

[redicillin]

maybe not a proper fic, but any thoughts On Chases headcanons in a relationship?

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. (𝐫.𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞)

some of these are kinda deep rip, i love writing headcanons so if you guys want any specific ones let me know 😭

masterlist.

Chase is the kind of boyfriend who seems reserved on the surface but loves deeply and consistently, he’s not overly dramatic or demanding, he just wants someone who understands his quiet devotion and gives him the same in return

his love languages are definitely acts of service and physical touch

like he’s not overly vocal about his emotions, but he shows love through actions—making coffee in the morning, pulling you close while watching TV, or placing a reassuring hand on your back in public

he won’t always say “i love you,” but he’ll remember the little details—your favourite wine, how you take your tea, or the song that was playing on your first date etc etc

because of Chase’s inherent trust issues, he’d probably be hesitant to jump straight into full on dating, but after a few months and the chance to actually discuss his issues, he’d be devoted to you for as long as you’ll let him

when dealing with the really emotional topics, he’d probably deflect with sarcasm or humour to lighten the mood instead of addressing things directly

Chase is the kind of guy who wants to be seen as put-together, so he’d probably downplay his own struggles, but he’d deeply appreciate a partner who sees through the facade and supports him anyway

he’d lowkey just shut down if he’s overwhelmed and not actually talk about it with you until he’s given himself time to actually process what he’s feeling

if he feels like he’s messed up (even in minor ways), he’ll beat himself up over it and might overcompensate to make up for it

if he oversteps, or you express frustration with how he withdraws, he’d rather apologise through the small things, like taking every opportunity to hold your hand or make you your favourite food etc instead of a full-blown grand apology

bro’s just not a words man, what can i say?

being a doctor means unpredictable hours, but he always makes an effort to carve out time for you, even if it’s just a sleepy cuddle after a long shift

Chase is a romantic at heart, everyone knows it. he’s not one for grand gestures, but he’ll surprise you with a spontaneous weekend getaway or a heartfelt note tucked in your bag with your lunch

he’s touchy when he’s comfortable—hand on the lower back, forehead kisses, pulling you close when you’re in bed

he’s not massive on pda, but he’ll link your fingers together or pull you into his side if you’re walking too close to a road

100% a hands in the hair when he kisses kinda guy

he wouldn’t be overtly jealous, but he’ll get tense if he sees someone making you uncomfortable. he has a quiet but firm way of making it clear you’re his

given his past betrayals (again, trust issues), he doesn’t tolerate dishonesty. if you break his trust, it’ll take a lot to earn it back

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

A quick ramble about Mortal Voices AUs.

(Not really an analysis, just overall thoughts really)

Mortal Voices AUs are interesting to me

Cause like it gets to explore how the voices would become more then their nature and fully become their own person

I feel like aside from Hero the other voices would have a really hard time branching out, cause they’re personifications of singular aspects. It’s in Cold’s nature to long for something he can never have. It’s in Cheated’s nature to get screwed over. It’s in Paranoid’s nature to be, well, paranoid. It’s in Oppy’s nature to look after himself first and backstab another for it. When they’re only voices, they can’t really help it. It’s in their nature to be this way and they literally don’t know how to act anyway different. They had a purpose to fulfill and without that purpose they would probably go insane(well, except for Cold cause he didn’t have one in the first place). But if they’re gonna be mortals they will be gifted with the ability to make their own choices. The ability to change.

Aaaaand there comes the Nature vs Nurture theme

How the Voices can change can make them better or so so SO much worse then where they’ve started. Smitten could learn a healthier way to express his devotion and emotions by picking up various hobbies to pour his heart into. Or he could go down an unhealthy spiral of obsession where he could harm others and even himself for the sake of love. In one world he and Cold could have start anew and come to an understanding of their perspective, and in another they would never understand each other and become worse and worse, with Cold provoking Smitten over and over again for his deep yearning for understanding and the ability to feel something and Smitten falling deeper into his spiral of “white knighting”, and in turn doing worse and worse things. In one world, Oppy is able to earn the trust of his flock mates and prove that their trust isn’t misplaced. In another, he would have backstabbed them all to get ahead. In one world, Stubborn would become the reliable protector of the group. In another, he would have left them in pursuit of a challenge and a purpose elsewhere.

The Skeptic from one world might be completely different from the Skeptic from another world. Cage Skeptic and Den Skeptic are technically two completely different Skeptics. The only difference being that the things they’ve experienced are different. So seeing how people take this concept of the Voices becoming mortals and going so many different directions for it is just. Fascinating to me.

Actually if the Voices are gonna become mortals what about the Vessels? I don’t think I’ve seen any mortal AUs that features them. It’s usually the Voices only. I’d love to read a fic where the Vessels would become more complex as they go alongside the Voices.

And then there’s the queerness of it all??? Of the voices searching for their own identity and becoming their own person??? That’s so nice honestly

Honestly Slay the Princess as a whole is just very queer.

[nahisummerhold]

Emotional Lock Down

Daily Writing Challenge

February 2025

Day Two - Cage

“So your new house is coming together,” Jamis said she had been telling him about it since she got it. The towering ex-Argent healer and therapist continued, “Are you glad you bought it? 

Nahi hadn’t seen him since they went on leave, but she was experiencing a lot recently and no longer knew exactly who to talk to. Or even what it was that she felt she needed to share… that was it wasn’t it? She felt she couldn’t share with almost anyone…. Nahi smiled and nodded, noticing a fleck of paint on her nail, she thought she got all of it off. Maybe a new scrub for her shower or a nail brush.

Jamis cleared his throat, “The house?”

Blinking up at him, “Hmm? Oh yes! It is not much but I love it and I don’t need much space anyway. It is really lovely, I have been making some changes to make it more me.”

Picking up a mug of kava and nudging another at Nahi, they were in a little place up on a hill in Dornagal where there was as much privacy as they could find in neutral ground. Stone chairs were not very comfortable, but talking with him was never comfortable but that was the nature of the work she was doing, “Your messages have been coming more often lately. Going to guess it  is not the house troubling you.” 

“Well,” a dark hand reached out to tug the handle of her mug to her, then she used a single finger to push the mug by the handle in a circle on the table, “there are a lot of changes lately in my life.” He said nothing, just waiting for her to talk about why she wanted to meet, not just text. “I met with Iren.” That night bothered her more than just introducing one of her lovers to her step-father, the meeting she needed to deal with, but that wasn’t something she needed his help with, handling Je’champe would be done on her own.

His hand came up and rubbed his beard, “Tell me how that went.”

Uncrossing and recrossing her legs at her ankles, her proper posture a habit, “It was great, I was going to tell him about the house, that I was going to live in the city when I didn’t have gigs.”

“But not that you are part of the company,” he said, guessing that caveat. 

“No,” she said, it was one of the things she hadn't done that Jamis suggested. “He has enough to worry about with my mother, he said she is fading more.”

Jamis took a drink and looked into her eyes, her legs bounced nervously, and then she went on, “I don’t want him to worry more, maybe after���”

“After your mother dies.” He finished, “You know her death will not undo all the fucked up shit she put in your head right? It might even get worse. What happens when she dies and you have complicated feelings about it. Will you just lock those away in that place with your other emotions?”

She looked at him, aghast, a trembling started in her shoulders, and her lips parted, tears filled the inner corners of her eyes, picking up the purple in the reflection as well as some gold from the candle on the table. A defiant tip of her chin drew her head up, her bottom lip shook, then she took a deep breath through her nose and every sign of her impending breakdown locked away. 

“Just… like… that…” he stated. “Nahi, you need to fix this, you need to unlock your emotions, it is alright to be mad, sad, happy, enraged, despondent, ecstasy, fear, surprise. Any of the thousands of emotions we feel on a regular basis.” He let his words of permission sit so that maybe they would take root, “You have them, I have seen them in your eyes, in the things we talk about, you just don’t trust letting anyone see them.”

Nahilvi took a shuddering breath, “I show emotion, they are not all locked away. I am making friends, letting people close.”

He looked her over, more than a hint of interest in his gaze, letting her continue as he took a drink of the hot liquid. 

“Have even been getting to know people inside of the company,” she said, with a hint of ‘I am doing it ok!’ To her tone,

“Of all the people in the company, who would you consider as a friend?” He asked her. 

The first was an easy answer, “Tinn, maybe Fio, they know more about me except Nara, but she is different.” After that she hesitated. “I like others too, but I have trouble defining connections with them.”

Jamis nodded, “What about these people outside the company?”

“There are the Commanders of the guard, Kelz’thalas B’andtherion and Allasticus B’andtherion, I like them and have had both over to the house. Lynesse, who you know, I have been working in the Shielded Mind with her training me. There is a man that knows some people in the company, you might even know him, Sol Cindersong and some people Naralinthe knows around the city.” She was rattling off names quickly but after the first few some of the warmth in her tone faded a bit.

“Very nice little list, did you just rattle off most of the people you know in the city now?” He watched her lower her eyes, “In some ways you are much younger than your years, Nahilvi.”

That drew a scowl and harsh huff, “I am fucking tired of that thought.”

A smile curved his lips, “Others have said something? Well, you are older than many in some ways too, just ways you choose not to show. Now that list? I am going to guess that you haven’t really spent meaningful time with any of them.”

 “Tinn has come over and we have chatted, so have the B’andtherions, I still spend time with others in the city, always nice to see those in the company, and the volunteering at the clinic a couple times a week.” Nahi rattled off the information for him like they were accomplishments on a resume, a resume of being an emotionally open person.

Jamis held up a hand, “Quite an accomplishment letting people into your space, that is a good step,” truth hung in his words, he wasn’t patronizing her.“Before we meet again, which I would recommend next week because I really need to get out of the house, the kids are driving me crazy. “A bright grin could be seen through the heavy beard.  “I want you to do something, now that you feel you are making actual friends, not just acquaintances, I want you to write down things that are personal that you have told them, and consider what the word ‘friend’ means to you. You spend a lot of time with certain people but I do not hear you call them friends, so show me what emotional openness you use to connect to the ones you call friends.” 

“Homework, why is it always homework with you?” Nahi said, letting the tension she was still holding go with a joke. 

Jamis just looked at her, not amused, her humor didn’t often hit with him either. “Because you work daily to change, not just when we are together.”

(Tags for baby mentions

@kharrisdawndancer @fio-renze @themadamelioness @kelzthalasbandtherion @allasticus @gloamingdawn @solstryce )

@daily-writing-challenge

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.217 First day

I woke up super late and almost missed sending Desi off to school. I mean, comparatively, I woke up pretty early, but it wasn't early enough to get myself ready, cook breakfast, make sure Desi was ready, and get pics. Something from that list had to go, so I threw on a robe and made the breakfast, though we didn't have time to eat. We barely had time for pics, but I got them. I'm sure I looked crazy out there, half-dressed with messy hair, but I didn't care, though; I couldn't miss that. Less came to see Desi too, so I hope she felt extra special and had an amazing day.

I watched my only child get whisked away and went back inside to eat before the food got cold. Sophia busied herself with chores and had a very stoic expression. She was nervous and trying to keep herself busy, and I empathized with that because an emotional storm of my own was swelling inside. But Sophia kept the house so spotless, she quickly ran out of things to do and joined me finally.

"I couldn't do it," she said.

I knew exactly what she meant, but she explained anyway.

"I couldn't watch her go. I've been on the verge of tears all morning, and I didn't want to upset her."

"I get it. Trust me."

"She wasn't scared at all," I added. "She was just as excited as she was last night."

"Good," she said, wiping a tiny tear that managed to escape.

"I'm gonna head to the spa."

"So soon?"

"If I don't go now, I'll end up crying in bed all day."

"Smart. Okay, well, have a good day then."

A yoga class was about to begin when I arrived, so I started a guided meditation session. Honestly, I was concerned about how well I'd be able to focus while worrying about Desi, but the session turned out to be exactly what I needed to get my mind off her. I had a good turn out, and two of my participants got really focused and levitated! That was such a rewarding moment. I never allow myself to get that focused when I'm hosting, but I love it when I'm able to reach that level of clarity and peace. I've only experienced that a handful of times, and I was glad for them, especially since they paid for it, heh.

At the end of the session, I let everyone know about my SimTube channel and to follow me on Social Bunny to be notified when I do public yoga classes. The levitating duo left together, and one of them gave me a tip! I ran behind them to thank them for coming. Turns out they are married. She's been a long time wellness fan, but he was pretty much a coach potato when they met. She got him into yoga when they moved in together. I loved hearing that story. It had nothing to do with me or my efforts, but it just confirmed how powerful wellness can be.

It was nearing dinner time when we said goodbye and parted ways, so I ran home. It's so nice living around the corner from the spa, but a thunderstorm had been going on, so running home wasn't too pleasant. I asked Sophia where was Desi, and she said she was hiding under the covers because the thunder scared her. I took a shower and changed before seeing about her.

"Desi?"

She crawled from under the covers when she heard my voice, so I sat next to her and gave her a tight squeeze.

"It's okay. I'm here."

"I'm scared the lightning will hit the house and it will catch on fire!"

Ugh. The fire affected her more than we realized. There's nothing I can really do about it, but I wish I would have checked in with her instead of hiding from everyone. How do I handle this? I can't really assure her that will never happen because it could, though unlikely.

"I understand. And it's okay to be scared. Just know that whenever you're with us, you're safe, no matter what happens, okay?"

"Will the house catch on fire?"

"That is very unlikely to happen."

"Okay."

Rosie crawled from under the bed. Darn storm scared all my little girls.

"Rosie needs a hug too, Daddy!"

"How about another hug for you first?"

"You're squishing me!"

Sophia walked in with consternation all over her face, just as I was squeezing Rosie. I guess all the girls are scared.

"How is she?" she asked.

"Desi? Oh, she's fine. Just needed a little reassurance. You look a bit rattled yourself."

"It's just so loud! I'm not used to storms like this."

"Okay, Rosie, I gotta put you down. Mommy needs a hug, too."

With everybody comforted and feeling the love, Desi began telling us about her first day of school. It was pretty typical on the surface: pizza, fries, library, and recess. Savannah and Stacey aren't in her class because they were a little older, but she saw them at the playground. I asked about Tami, but she didn't see her at all. I guess that makes sense because she's also older. Come to think of it, all of her potential friends will be aging up soon, so hopefully she'll make other friends. We have about two weeks before her birthday, and I want to keep that thought waaaaay off in the distance.

It was a terribly gray morning, and Less was in the way, but I had to snap what I could before Desi disappeared LOL.

[myoonmii]

I keep thinking about Merlin’s love for Arthur and how it’s so clearly portrayed in the show to the point that it practically drives the plot of the show. However when it comes to Arthur’s love for Merlin it’s more subtle and sometimes difficult to even grasp, and I started thinking why that was, aside from the obvious fact that Arthur has a lot of trouble expressing his emotions affection or otherwise. I think it also lies in the fact that Merlin knows Arthur intrinsically throughout the show; he is one of the closest people to Arthur, and sees him for who he really is. Arthur admits as much.

Sure, Arthur knows Merlin but the main part of the plot is that he really doesn't know Merlin. Merlin wants him to desperately understand him and “see me for who I am” but he can't yet. And I think this subconsciously creates a barrier in the way in which Arthur can care for Merlin, and how Merlin can let himself be seen by Arthur.

Which is why I think he was also so hurt when the magic reveal happens because more than the betrayal of Merlin having magic, it was the betrayal of Merlin not letting Arthur see him for who he really is and for hiding a main part of himself. Arthur says it himself “why did you never tell me” that’s what hurt him the most.

I think the most damning piece of evidence for this is the fact that while we see snippets of Arthur’s feelings for Merlin thought the show, the biggest signs are in the last episode after the magic reveal; in which he finally gets to understand Merlin, and this time REALLY know Merlin, and as the barriers of what held them back from understanding each other truly fall away, Arthur evidently “falls in love with Merlin all over again”. We see him actually express himself to Merlin.

This is another reason why I think if anyone was ever to create another season of Merlin after Arthur’s return, it’s physically impossible not to make it about Merlin and Arthur acknowledging their feelings for each other. Because there is no way forward without them acknowledging how deeply they care for each other, obviously anyone is free to argue what kind of love that is, but its impossible not to see the deep love there either way.

They always knew they loved each other, just maybe never realising how much and what that means, because its almost second nature to everything that they do.

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.” God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[shannonsketches]

I grabbed a bunch of caps for that last post so here's a few more in my favorite genre of bejíta

[fangdokja]

I recently got a wholesome comment for my Yandere! Author story, and I wanted to share my reply with you guys because of the substance in the comment. Very casual for me, but it still has lessons and substance you can pick up. I edited it out the pleasantries and causal talking from the original reply. But I wanted to share my key takeaways as an author and human being. No worries, I didn't edit away the content itself.

WARNING: May contain controversial content and opinions that may offend you. But, this is how I write my content. Something that I will NEVER change nor compromise, because this concerns my own morals as a human and author.

1. Well, actually my weakest genres are romance and erotica. It's why I'm practicing it right now. I specialize in the psychological genre, includes both horror and thriller.

And, I genuinely enjoy writing gore of any kind. I've written a lot of it over the years, and I enjoy it. It's relaxing for me to do. Writing gore is a past time for me, so it makes sense that I've got all kinds of ideas. And, it's a hobby of mine to consume true crime content, so a lot of my gore ideas come from that. I just make things more creative and such lol haha.

2. Also, I'm glad you got disturbed :)). When I write, I make sure to trigger the emotions of Readers, whatever the emotion that I'm targeting would be. Disgust, affection, laughter, despair, etc.

Whatever it may be, I write to impact Readers. It's one of the reasons why I despise braindead writing, like most mindless smut stories.

To me, it's a degradation of the art.

When you write brainless content for traction, it's not only encouraging pornography; but also actively discouraging people to think for themselves, it's turning brains into mush.

People use it to relax and such, but for me, it's wasted talent.

There's more to writing than simply pleasing your audience, or satisfying base desires and emotions. When I write, I write for lasting impact. Because it's meant to make people think and ponder deeply about their morals, their lives, thoughts, and such. This is how I operate when writing anything.

3. When I write "true yanderes", actual horror and psychological genres, I NEVER hold back. I myself have been starved for content for YEARS.

I agree people hold back because of a number of factors, whether it's censorship, lack of guts, or wanting to coddle readers.

To me, there are a lot of stories like that already. I personally write for God and my husband, then myself. So I honestly don't prioritize the comfort or mere feelings of readers.

Which probably explains why I have this mindset of creation and freedom, aside from simply being hungry for actual black flag yandere content. Like seriously.

Note: Actually I wrote another good black flag on a similar level to Yandere! Author. He's Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss, if you haven't read it. These two yanderes are part of my "Unhinged Yanderes" collection so far. There's a third one, but those are major spoilers so lol.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

4. Anyways, haha. I'm not one to comfort Readers in actual horror. It's called "horror" for a reason. Those in my 'Unhinged Yanderes" collection are my favorites to write tbh. I really like writing actual horror yanderes lol.

If they disturb or frighten Readers, well, good. It's supposed to be like that. And I enjoy writing these yanderes most. Literally yanderes I've wanted to read about but NEVER found. It's always censored or bait stuff, or other reasons. So literally no food. I have to cook for myself.

5. I also agree with your points. Usually when explaining characters, the yanderes still want love and affection returned from the darling.

The difference with my Unhinged (and actually most of my actual true yandere characters) Yanderes? Simple. They're so confident in themselves that they don't need the VALIDATION from the darling.

So what if you don't love him back? He doesn't care.

It's about absolute possession and domination. Those are one of the major differences.

These Yanderes don't crave validation as much as other yanderes, written by others. This isn't just about being yandere, it's about their core personalities as individuals. Confidence in oneself.

7. As for authors and artists, usually they hold back because they have restrictions. Whether it be their social platforms and financial concerns, personal fears and morals (or biases, etc.), or just a general drawing of the line that they won't cross.

Too bad I don't have those wahaha. To me, what's most important is not the money, traction, success, etc. It's about the "art" itself.

I refuse to compromise the art itself in favor of catering to other people's wants, or wanting to earn from my work.

These are my personal values though. But I do understand that everyone else has their own reasons.

8. I agree with that quote too. For me, true art is about creation.

To create something you both love and have fun in it without holding yourself back. Because when you're most comfortable, you can create anything you desire and want.

As for Readers, well, they will find you. It's best to focus on your passion for the art; because in the end, that's what will drive you. Especially when the silence is there, when you're feeling like giving up, when you have no motivation, etc.

It's the internal drive, that passion and love for the art of creation itself.

9. Sex without horror and plot especially is boring. I want my writing to be impactful. Others may have different motivations for writing. But, for me? I want it to leave a lasting impact on Readers.

Otherwise, what's the point. You're basically mass producing content without even thinking about the well-being of Readers.

What of their emotional, mental, spiritual, and even physical states? They can't keep consuming content passively like fast food. It's unhealthy.

To me, as writers, it's also a responsibility of ours to leave impact on Readers. For me, whether I'm writing dark humor or erotic horror, it's about making Readers THINK. To contemplate, to ponder, and to appreciate art beyond the surface level.

Ok, now a message for my fellow readers:

Hope this message makes sense, and is understandable for all of you. Why did I post this? Simple. I know we all learn from each other.

Me, as a writer, even if it's simple liking or even lurking about. Admittedly, I do psychoanalyze a lot. I'm a huge thinker. 24/7 actually. It's also why I overthink a lot like crazy. My mind is rarely in rest mode, it's always working. And I tend to analyze everything from all perspectives, it's both a blessing and hassle at times. My brain is basically on hyperdrive almost all the time.

Anyways, I said this because I also analyze you, Readers. Yes, even if you are silent. Not to be intrusive, I won't share anything uncomfortable. But it's just me observing people's silent reactions, behaviors, and the like. Beyond what I can see and hear. Every action tells something about someone, and as a writer I'm always seeking ways to make new content, so it really does happen.

I rambled, but basically I'm just saying, I learn from all of you as well. You don't have to speak out for me to learn something about you, or gain insight or improve my general skills. Hm, I guess it does sound intrusive, but I don't mean to make any of you uncomfortable.

I just think. A LOT. I won't say such thoughts though if it makes people uncomfy so don't worry.

Anyways, I wanted to share all of this; because I believe whether you're a Reader, Author, or even future Writer. We can all learn from each other. I share my thoughts not to seem like some higher, arrogant being or something. It's simply because I want all of you to improve not just as Readers, but people as well. Human beings, individuals with their own thoughts, passions, personalities, and various stories to tell.

Honestly, I don't handle social interactions well, I'm not extroverted at all. I can work, do business, socialize. But I tend to offend people unknowingly because of the way I say my thoughts honestly. No malice or anything, it's simply stating my opinions or actual facts.

I can't prevent offense, but if I did offend. I apologize. But, the main point of me posting this is to share both insight and tips on how I'm able to write such realistic and relatable stories across several usually-clashing genres. It's not just about skills and talents.

It's about who you are as a person. Cliche? Yes.

But, that's reality. What you read and write speaks about yourself, it shapes both your thinking and readers involved. It's why I have never once written something braindead. Because I trust readers that they have the intelligence enough to grasp complexity. And even if they do have trouble, I want people to actually think and exercise their brains.

I refuse to be part of a system meant to slowly erode one's sense of self. I don't really want to philosophize or something, but braindead content honestly makes me sick. Why? Simply because I heavily dislike the idea of degrading the minds of others. Whether anyone realizes it's happening or not.

You're basically not caring for what happens to the well-being of your audience. Or. You're acting like a blind guide for blind people. I literally write dark content; because in actuality, it's healing for a lot of people, including me.

My stand as an author? It's about creating art meant to impact people long-term.

Hm, I don't know if I explained this well, probably offended people again. But, regardless, I'm always open to sharing how I write my stories especially since some of you are writers as well.

Remember, it's not just in writing, but you always have to ask yourself.

What do you want to do? Why are you doing this? How will this impact you and others?

It always starts with yourself first. Without a proper foundation for anything, you're essentially setting yourself up for failure. We don't want that. I don't want that for you.

Always build your foundation on a sturdy rock. So when the waves come crashing, you won't collapse like a sandcastle.

I rambled, but I guess it's because it did make me kind of sad seeing several creators get discouraged because of hate mail, personal hardships, etc.

Admittedly, I don't network or talk to anyone really. I do enough of that in real life. But, I know simply saying things will get better or some bull, things like that aren't enough.

For me, only answer is Jesus. No one will ever satisfy you or help you the way Jesus can. That's the truth. And that's a truth that will remain absolute.

Well, regardless, if you read this, thank you. And even if you didn't, thank you to all of you for being so patient, kind, and supportive with me. I cannot express my gratitude enough.

And, I hope all of you, whatever you may be going through, well just know, "In this world, hearts will still break, bones will still break, but in the end, the light will overcome darkness." --- The Chosen Series.

I like that quote a lot. I'm still debating on sharing part of my testimony as a Christian, but pondering on it. It's a sensitive topic and it does expose me a lot, but if it will help anyone. Well, I won't mind at all.

Please do continue to enjoy our library, and take care of yourself. :))

────────────

❤︎ 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. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5 [you are here]. 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.

[skrunksthatwunk]

landing

[kakusu-shipping]

All the stupid little things Doctor Harley Sawyer does that endears me to him

-Giggles like a school girl when he closes a door on the player. He thinks it's so funny to mildly inconvenience you. Suffer, germ, go the long way around. He does this multiple times and it never fails to get a laugh out of him.

-Has some kind of soft spot to music; Piansaurus and Yarnaby are near identical in intellect and physical ability, the only advantage Yarnaby had to gain the Doctor's favor was he could play music, and did so when near the Doctor. Also Harley personally requested Yarnaby be able to play music because he thought it'd be funny??? And I just think that's cute.

-Makes old man noises like he's stretching when awoken as a computer and it just feels so Extra. He is not physically capable of stretching but he will stretch and hum and haa like he was just risen from slumber anyway.

-"Innocence is bliss, and she is OH so innocent". The emphasis and mic crackling volume on "OH" in this line delivery does so much to my brain. He hates her cutesy little act so much.

-That fruity ass little wave he does when he yeets you down the trap door

-Bonus also the "not even the ground beneath your feet is yours" at the start of the chapter really didn't fit with what he was saying and I have chosen to interpret it as him setting himself up to do this later. He already knew he was gonna chuck the player down the trap door and he wanted a very cool one-liner call back to go with it.

-Has a habit of picking "Problem Children" specifically for projects, both in Quinn for Yarnaby and Kevin in Doey, even against other scientists judgment. Maybe a remnant of how he was a "problem child" that was removed from a special project because of his difficulty? I love a grown ass man who is projecting his traumas onto Children. Always fun in media.

-Picky eater. That's all. I think it's cute. Fuck sweet pickles you're so right bby those things are nasty <3

-In his logs and tapes he always refers to subjects by their test number and with It/Its pronouns, but for some reason in this chapter he calls them all by their character names and correct pronouns, even the Prototype gets it's name and Pronouns correct. I' just curious about this change in demeanor because it was such a staple of how he interacted with the toys before.

-"Come on in, the Doctor will see you now" The verbal eye roll. The distant annoyance. The boredom when the player escapes his little morality trap. I also really like the light up in his tone when the player DOES kill the Critter to escape.

-Brags that his mind isn't easy to break like the other toys, then gets this real far away tone when in his voice on the elevator ride to his boss fight talking about the bell tolling,. Death is coming. His life's work was to prevent it's approach and yet here it comes, up an elevator shaft, for him.

-"I'll bury myself so far down that no one will ever find me! Not you, Not the Prototype, Not Anyone!" The desperate delivery of this line feeds into the previous point. He is falling apart and he's scared and a lot like Doey he doesn't trust anyone anymore and just wants to be left alone.

-Crying in his death scream