#yandere omen

[plushienanami]

Hello hello! Could I request headcannons for yandere chamber, sova, Omen, and Brimstone with a gn s/o who knows about their antics and Are you trying to escape them? I say, as if I'm trying to get out of protocol (Thank you so much for reading this and sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language )

Hi everyone! I know it’s been awhile and I’ve been gone so long. I took writers block to a whole new level. This last year sm has happened but to be honest I want to write again and use this as a creative outlet! I hope you enjoy, love you all 🤍

You knew that staying in Protocol was a gamble, never knowing if you were going to come back in one piece or even alive at all. It didn’t help when one particular agent made your time in the special covert operations organization an almost living hell. Even if the fate of the world was on Protocols backs, it was time to leave while you could…or at least that is what you thought.

CHAMBER: 

Before you even began thinking of leaving Protocol, he already knew what was going to happen. It totally wasn’t how uncomfortable he made you when he would constantly flirt with you on missions <3

He wouldn’t talk to you about the matter, actually doesn’t address it all only with small quips and remarks that make you question whether he knows your plan or not. 

Chamber isn’t Brimstone, he doesn’t have the power and control that the head leader holds. Although that doesn’t mean he is totally powerless, this man has money and status that he most certainly utilizes.

He is a shady man, a con man if you really want to put a label on it considering what he did to Fracture, manipulating and lying to get what he wants. Under protocol he doesn’t have control over you, so he would definitely let you have your “temper tantrum” before he would take any immediate reaction.

He wants you to feel as if you have the upper hand, as if you won. 

Now with you being out of Protocol and not under constant surveillance leaving in the base, he can do as he pleases. 

Opening the door to your flat, you are greeted with the familiar darkness you see everytime you return from your work shifts. Taking off your outer coat you hang it on the coat rack beside the door, taking the time to sleep off your shoes about to turn on the lights. You never consider yourself paranoid, yet the eerie feeling of not being alone began to send a chill down your spine. The room was still dark, silence filled the air as you listened for any noise that would indicate that something was there. Slowly your hand made its way to the light switch, flipping the small white knub up as the lights blasted on. To your horror the last person you wanted to see sat there in the burgundy velvet wingback chair in the living room. The slick back hair, chunky yet expensive glasses frames, that blue silky waistcoat that cost more than the rent you paid, Chamber. Vincent Fabron. “Bonsoir mon chéri. What a nice residence you have…quite old fashioned for my taste, non?” He finally spoke, his signature card in hand as he toyed around with it. “You left so suddenly, not even a goodbye? How inconsiderate considering how close we were.” He rose from his seated position in the chair, stalking forward towards your frozen stature. His eyes remained focused on yours, an unreadable emotion as he continued forth before stopping in front of you. The coy grin he wore on his face as he gazed at your fearful expression with delight. With a small snap the card disappeared from his hands, the golden tattoos lighting up as the object retreated. He stood posed, staring down at you as a wolf to a sheep. “Your little game is over chéri…let us be off.” SOVA:

He always had been doting, trying to accommodate you and make sure that your time at Protocol is pleasant considering what all you have to go through to keep global peace.

He would start to see the hesitance in your eyes, the inner turmoil and battle you had with yourself when things would go awry (totally not around him).

As you resign filling out paperwork to Brimstone who was sad to see you go yet understood where you were coming from, Sova would come across you and Brim. He saw you walk into his office, and concerned he followed. It didn’t take him long to notice the paperwork that laid in front of you, pen in hand. 

Sova, who is always a calm and collected person doesn’t say much yet stands there with that composed expression on his face. Yet if you looked hard enough you could see the way his artificial eye glowed brighter as his jaw clenched.

He would ask to speak to you, nodding his head at Brim who didn’t expect a thing considering how highly regarded Sova is and how much of a good ally he was to him. He would have to settle this himself. 

An unsettling feeling made its way to your gut as you stood up and followed Sova out. The further you walked away from Brim and closer to the door, the more you could feel your freedom slipping from your grasps. The mechanical door slid open allowing you to make your way to Sova who stood down the hallway, a hardened look on his face. He never was this scary, kind and clingy…not like this. Standing in front of him, you looked and finally realized how much bigger he was than you. “Why are you leaving?” He asked, plain and simple. “I-...uh…” You stammered, the words you wanted to say were gone and now incomprehensible. “You do realize that if you leave, you would be in so much danger.” He spoke in a concerned manner, although at this moment you didn’t know it was a mask to cover up his ulterior motives. “If you leave, who knows what could happen to you. You wouldn’t be protected…who knows what your other self could do when omega earth realizes you are no longer with us anymore?” Desperation filled his voice as it wavered in worry. The longer you stared into his eyes, the more guilt you felt. He cares about you, worries about you and this is what you do in return? All he’s ever done was insure your safety and that’s what you’re worried about? “You’re right…I don’t know what I was thinking, thank you Sova.” 

OMEN:

Even though he is the sweetest ever, he is still eery in his own way. Ominous. He isn’t much of a talker and if so he says stuff you can never wrap your mind around. 

He lingers around you, whichever room you're in he somehow is there, cutting his bonsai tree or knitting to remain calm. His presence is one you can’t shake yet it still is uncomfortable when you two are hardly friends.

Deciding to leave Protocol is a hassle itself, one that you most likely won’t even have the chance to do. Omen has some attachment to you and everyone seems to know that even Brim.

Most likely due to his perceptive he is, he knew of your little plan of trying to leave. He would talk with Brimstone trying to talk him into a deal or some type of way to make you stay. You keep him calm, all those voices and nightmarish images he has to live with everyday, you somehow make it bearable. 

When you arrive in Brimstone’s office requesting your resignation, somehow you cannot. Brimstone explains it has something to do with agent confidentiality or the safety, you weren’t really listening. 

Yet you’re stuck.

Standing there under Brimstone’s gaze never upset you, never made you nervous or anxious in any way. It was him who stood there, the walking shadow as he gazed upon your rigid form. Your fists clench to your side, sweat starting to form in your already clammy hands. The whole confrontation was unsettling, not only Brimstone was delivering such disheartful news, you had to endure the shadow that loomed over you. By the time the meeting was done and a final apology was uttered from Brim, he dismissed you. You walked out, form slumped as you were completely saddened by the news. As you made your way to the shared dining facility, you made yourself a cup of tea to calm your nerves down from what had happened. In the corner of your eye you could see the familiar phantom, the inescapable nightmare that you permanently stained your life.. 

BRIMSTONE: 

You’re not making it out of the book with this one. There is no way you could even try to leave considering he is the leader of Protocol and would make up some excuse as to why you couldn’t resign from your role as an agent. 

He makes the rules and no one questions it. Why would they when all he does is look out for his fellow agents and tries to encourage them as much as he can. 

Brim is one stubborn man, one who has committed himself to protecting this earth from all the radianite crises that continue to happen. He had the chance of retiring, starting a family and settling down somewhere in those American suburbs with the perfect life. He will do anything to keep you there. To keep you under him so when this is all over you and he can finally have the life his ex colleagues always talked about.

He is dedicated and with dedication there is nowhere to run or even hide. 

Stepping into Brimstone’s office you meet the gaze of the older man and you stand in front of his desk. His demeanor changed as he sat up in his chair straightening his form and clearing his throat before he began to talk. “You know why I called you in today?” He begun, his fingers laced together as his nose crinkled with a small sniff. “No sir, I do not.” You addressed him formerly even though it wasn’t mandatory. “I heard word from the others about you possibly wanting to leave. Is that true?” Your back stiffened as you felt scrutiny under his gaze. Your mouth went dry, heart stammering in your chest the longer he continued to stare at you. “Yes sir…” A defeated tone you uttered. He shifted his position, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he turned to look back up at you. “Look kid, I can't let you do that. Considering what is all going right now, not only would it be risky for you but with what you know Protocol could be compromised. I’m sorry to deliver this kind of news to you, I know it can be stressful but that is why we're all here…why I’m here.” He stood, walking towards you to place his much larger burly hand on your shoulder. The close proximity unsettled you as silence settled in the room, his deep breaths compared to your shallow fearful ones. “When this is all over you don’t need to worry about all of this. Like I said I’m here for you…I always will be.” It was at that moment you knew your fate was sealed.

[seneitut]

“Love”

PT (1) PT (2) 

[Yoru/Reader] [Omen/Reader]

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of murder, obsession of sorts, suggestive sexual encounters, yandere-ish(?)

How do they show their love? [Is it the epitome of extreme, or just dumb fools?]

Yoru: Act. 

For him, words mean nothing if the actions don't back them up immediately; whether be in friendships or his intimate life—to which he shouldn't worry at all since he has none—, he won't heed to promises nor apologies if those are not fulfilled accordingly.

This fact never changed, strengthening with time and polishing it through everything surrounding him despite clashing wildly with the rest. Deaf to complaints and blind to dirty stares, he continues to strive forward in life ignoring them; because if not even the first light made him change his mind, neither will the people who came after the disaster.

Even when he found himself falling in love, Yoru's morals and beliefs never warped nor misguided. 

Odd, in everyone's eyes. Meant to be yours, in his.

The loner wolf got someone to like him and tame his wild heart by simple actions, little by little, until Yoru stopped being the radiant with powerful abilities, to introduce himself to you as Ryo; a normal japanese man who enjoys the smells of coffee and reminisce the old times with a heavy heart.

You were completely fooled by his web of lies to keep you away from the mess his life is, to keep you on your toes whenever he desired to share bits of his past and made you feel like the only person special in his world; which is true, despite the many wrongs he's done, you are truly what he could consider his special someone and his treasure.

As the ways you managed to have him wrapped around your finger, Yoru didn't even know he was capable of trusting something so important and delicate as his heart to a stranger of sorts, blinding following what his emotions dictate and what your sweet words enchant him to do.

He was in love, completely and utterly head over heels for you it was almost ridiculous. Yoru would eat every word you’d have to say, watch your fingers work around your station, making his favorite beverage for the day while glancing his way every now and then. He would stay some days, where work was not important and you seemed thrilled to have him around, lounging in the coffee shop and watching you work with a gentle smile gracing his features.

For when the night falls, he would kiss every inch of your body that you allow him to reach and worship you as if you were a god, his god; preaching, marking and claiming you as his.

Every touch, every bite mark, everytime you gasp for air when he drowns himself into your body, taking and taking in tandem what you offer in a silver plate; he cannot get enough, going for it one at a time until he has you shattering with pleasure and he chases after you to join you, that’s how ridiculous this whole thing is.

Phoenix and Jett are the few who were witness to his affections towards another and made it out alive after being found out spying on the japanese man.

To say you saved them from the wrath of Yoru's anger despite the other having all the reasons to explode on them would be an understatement; they are more than thankful, if not curious about your history with the riftwalker and what it meant to have a partner outside his profession.

It was dangerous, in truth, to have his personal life disclosed this easily to everyone who was his comrade in battle; nothing good would come out of it and his lies would be found out if you were to interact further with them.

But at the end, he realized it could favor him immensely if the others knew, except for you.

Yoru is not someone who can trust others easily, as previously stated. Quite the opposite, through his tough persona, he evades people all the time to avoid being seen or cornered to socialize; insulting and pushing away whoever wants to approach him even from a friendly stance.

But when you entered his life, he knew he wouldn't be able to protect you alone, hence the lies, so he decided the best course of action would be roping up a few other members to ensure your safety, as dangerous as it might sound.

Cypher would be sure to erase every trace of your existence or interactions with the riftwalker after every meeting, all at the high cost of a price he won't disclose by contract with the Moroccan man. He is not proud of what he owes Cypher now, but to know you're well secured and protected, he would do it again and again.

He contacted Killjoy to hack into the system to find any correlation of your social circle to whoever worked or is currently working for Kingdom. Once the list was delivered into his hands, Yoru would make sure everyone on the list would be erased from existence, not a single soul would be able to escape him.

By what methods? That's for him to take to the grave, no witnesses.

You are his world, you are his everything, and he will make sure you are safe and sound or else hell will rise. 

Omen: Words.

The concentration poured into keeping himself together could be arguably the best quality he could offer. 

Not everyone can pride themselves about the determination of keeping oneself alive for longer than nature intended; since his due time was past the date and he’s now going against every little law of the universe, he wonders if this was some sort of punishment. 

He’s never asked to be revived into…a monster, despite having many people arguing that whatever he is now, is better than being dead.

A foolish thought.

Omen can definitely be naming the many reasons as to why it is not a miracle, but a penitence for his past mistakes when he was alive. Atoning for his sins in the form of smokes and dirty armor, from broken flesh and ignited bones, it pains him deeply being alive and despises whoever treats his hurt as if it were nothing.

Being reborn as a new being shifts something on his brain, unintentionally, whereas anyone who looks his way will treat him the way he looks: like a monster.

Is inevitable, really, a course of action not even he has the power to stop nor change. He goes along with whatever happens in his surroundings now, letting the flow of energies guide him to where he currently is at and accustomed to his comrades attitudes.

He is more than aware of their dirty looks and general avoidance whenever he is in the vicinity, oblivious of his capability of sensing emotions through wavelengths or the fact that he is witness to their change in demeanour�� they know how to keep it professional enough so disturbances don't take place.

That is how his days go by, used to it, used to being an unsightly view and detriment to the morale of his comrades with his unsettling voice and mannerism. His turmoil means nothing if the rest is content with not having him around; so he absconds, hides himself most of the time and pretends he isn't alive for their sake.

There is nothing new in his everyday life.

Or so he thinks, before his curse tides the wave in his favor.

Imagine his surprise the first time someone didn't react negatively with his presence. 

It threw him off, confusion overtaking him and assuming he just read the cues wrong. It surprised him  more when you didn't react at all until he spoke out loud, scaring the living shit out of you.

When you looked at him, or more specifically, where you thought he was, Omen supposed this would go different.

Not being a sociable person, Omen finds it odd on him to have been convinced to come to Harajuku for materials he needed. Some of his knitting kits have gone missing, and trying to go by undetected and to not bother his comrades, he never spoke about the issue.

Yoru made some reassurance, in his own way, that no one would mind the way he looks since everyone there was already a freak. Omen didn't refute his saying, since his words had truth in there, despite feeling offended. 

“They won't even notice you at night,” he commented.

No fear, no screams, not even a glance nor terrified expression painting your features besides being startled; that's how your first meeting went: only a smile and the pleasure to assist him.

Kind and lovely, adjectives Omen would never think of being used in his vocabulary, but for this occasion, it was necessary, a must to describe you. Amusing, too, whenever he would ask you questions about certain things, voice deep and reverberating it sent shivers down your spine, it made you nervous.

One more worker, just like him, but missing a certain ability most had.

You were blind.

For better or worse, it doesn't change your way of treating him like a human being; despite him losing his humanity over and over again on the battlefield, taking life after another, you treat him with a kindness and warmness that he has forgotten long ago. 

You are quick to erase the awful thoughts running through his brain with little chats and adorable clumsiness, chasing after him at the shop to keep talking. It was flattering that someone was taking an interest in him this deeply, and inevitably, he finds himself chasing after you too.

Omen believes this is how liking someone feels, contrary to his initial thoughts on socializing, he finds it fulfilling and easy to navigate on with you with this newfound feeling.

His one time visit becomes a recurrent, always looking for you and ignoring everyone else in your surroundings to goad you into full attention and pretty smiles. Even when people visit the shop, even when people comment on his overall look with disgusted faces, one word from you eases his tension and doubts.

You are a sweetheart to a fault, letting everyone walk on you because of your calm demeanor and shy complex under stressful situations. He would watch people talk behind your back within your presence, ignoring completely the crestfallen expression on your face or the gathering tears in your eyes when you think he’s not there or no one notices.

They belittle you, doubt your work and decision making because of your lack of vision.

They doubt him too, for his appearance, he doesn’t know for sure. But their words begin to target him as well, stronger than before, with the full intention of seeing him fall and break under the pressure of the masses and therefore, you would fall too.

Omen decides he wants them gone.

Aim is another quality of his, you know?

A little secret whispered in your ear one night. With a promise to return and barrel of the gun cold, he goes off into the dark and blends in within the shadows surrounding the city to fulfill his wishes.

Whatever he does outside the sliding doors of the little shop should be none of your concern, but his alone. If you hear crying, muffled sounds at the end of the street, or just the minimum rustle at the entrance, he’s warned you to not chase after it.

Being covered in dry blood is not a pretty sight, and he wonders then, watching the life fading from another monster who dared disrespect you, if you would accept it for who he really is.

So when he reaches the threshold in the shop, startling you and freezing on the spot, he asks you if you would ever consider loving someone who doesn't belong in this world anymore.

When you kiss for the first time, Omen doesn't think, he can't, too overwhelmed to process what's going on.

Is odd, but somehow, warming. Your face is warm with how embarrassed and nervous you feel, lips reaching into thin air, but at the same time, colliding against a surface you believe could be his mouth.

Your hands hold his head in place through the fabric of his hood, and he can feel your thumbs rubbing softly against what could be considered his cheeks in a soothing motion when you press further and then back away, smiling softly at him.

There are no words to say, it's unnecessary at this moment when the question has been answered.

Omen caresses your face with his claws, and he feels you shiver and sigh, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch. 

Leaning in, he decides to take what he wants from you, and you gladly let him have his way with you, whispering his name the moment his hands disappear under your clothes and air embraces your whole body.

Inside the closed shop, no one is witness of the way Omen loves you that night, with his whole being and emotions only he dreamed of being real and is now a reality.

[ozzgin]

I just watched The First Omen at the cinema and you may go ahead and cuff me for blasphemy, but…

Devil x Reader

You have been chosen by the Cult as the one to carry their ungodly plan after many failed attempts. This time it was a success, yet not for the reasons they might expect. The Devil has his eyes on you.

Content: female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, blasphemy, violence, horror, a non-consent scene!, based on The First Omen (2024); image from the promotional poster

Why you, of all people? You're not particularly devoted to religion, nor do you stand out in terms of virtuousness. Or lack of, for that matter. Alas, their reasons remain unknown.

What's certain is that you woke up one day and found yourself strapped to a foreign bed, staring into a ceiling you didn't recognize. You weren't alone. Around your helpless form stood men and women, dressed in black and wearing a solemn smile. Your forehead received a gentle, encouraging stroke from the hand of the priest. The scent of chrism invaded your nostrils.

You begged them to release you. The older man spoke softly in your ear. "You are serving a greater purpose. It is all in the name of God." God? Purpose? You rolled your eyes back and gazed upon the large painting hanging behind you. Virgin Mary and her blissful smile and stretched out hands felt like a mockery.

The holy image vanished as a black cloth was nonchalantly draped over your face. You felt the rope tighten around your neck and begun gasping for the scarce air barely making it through the thick canvas. A crescendo of muffled chants, and the room went abruptly quiet. Had everyone left?

Then you heard it. That profane growl, causing the entirety of your body to shiver in repugnance and terror. You trashed, and pulled, and screamed, to no avail. A clawed hand rested on your bare stomach, then a second one traced the rest of your body. You laid limp, vision blurred as the room swayed in tandem with the sacrilegious act.

You'd been defiled by a Beast. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your bed. Your hopes of it being a mere nightmare were shattered the moment you lifted your gown and noticed the deep scratches, the monstrous prints left on your skin, and the hollow sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your body had been tampered with, and something was growing out of your misfortune. A vile blight, throbbing with life within the comfort of your flesh.

You spent the months haunted by voices and visions. The grotesque, horned Creature would frequently reappear in your mind, exhausting all other thoughts. Such a heavy, imposing presence. It wouldn't let you forget, not even for a second: you belonged to Him, and He would soon return to retrieve you. The mother of His child, the object of His adoration. Was such a thing even conceivable?

You prayed to be left alone, yet the Cult naturally longed for its promised gift, bound to come back eventually. And so, once more, you were facing the people who caused your despair. "We've come for the child", the priest explained, glancing at your obvious, bulging belly. The clawed hand framing it was still a fresh wound that never healed, almost as an ominous warning: this body was owned by a jealous God.

Your trembling hands revealed a pocketknife. This time, you were prepared. The group took a moment to observe your daring gesture, then proceeded to approach you with calculated steps, with newfound resolve. Would you be able to keep them away? Their intentions were clear: you were in possession of the Antichrist, and they needed to secure this immense power.

The ground shook, and everyone froze. You glanced at the altar painting, the same one that witnessed your corruption. Virgin Mary remained with an unfaltering smile. From behind the ornate frame, large, horrid hands creeped out. A travesty of everything Holy. The priest gasped and quickly threw his hands in prayer. This was not part of the plan. This was not meant to happen.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis-" he began, but his voice was cut short. His face turned pale, and he clutched his chest with a terrible grimace. The nun next to him let out a scream before she was pushed away by an invisible force. Her body hit the wall with a loud, wet sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. You stared at the massacre unfolding before you, devoid of any fear. Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew you'd be safe.

An enormous shadow emerged from behind the painting, twisting, bending, stalking towards you. Your nose scrunched at the stench of blood. You were the last one standing among corpses. To your surprise, you exhaled deeply, shoulders drooping in comfort. A silent voice murmured in your ear, telling you not to fear. That Father was finally home for you.

Foolish, ridiculous humans. He'd been willing to entertain their petty plans of grandeur, until he met you: your tender, frail body, your innocent soul. How exalting it was to have his way with you. You were meant to be the one. To carry His offspring into the damned world. But not for some trifling reason of a Cult desperate to crawl their way back into control. Their greatest mistake - which led to their demise - was to assume the Devil himself can be controlled, ordered around. He has allowed you the greatest honor of joining him, out of your free will, to sow the seeds of chaos as his beloved mortal.

Thus, he couldn't have possibly allowed anyone to interfere. What you saw that day, in that old, musty underground cavern, was an omen: a bloodbath awaits the one who dares to approach his human.

You look up into the demonic orbs: trenches of madness, obsession, vulgarity, burning holes into you, slurping your very existence with hunger and lust. You are his.

[yandere-toons]

Yandere: "is that your family?" S/O: "nope, nah-uh, nada. I've never seen those people in my life"

Years of hard data say you're lying, but they're not about to incriminate themselves by revealing so: Huey Duck, Hunter | Golden Guard, Aziraphale, Sheldon J Plankton, Doctor Nefarious, Tenth Doctor, Shang Tsung, Dr Flug, Perry the Platypus, Midoriya Izuku

Suspects the lie but rolls with it: Ian Malcolm, Louie Duck, Anthony J. Crowley, Nick Wilde, Nagito Komaeda, Captain Jack Sparrow, Lightning McQueen, Ratchet, Kaa, Bugs Bunny, Mike Wazowski, Johnny Loughran, Klaus Hargreeves, Sans Undertale, Arataka Reigen, Tyrion Lannister, Legoshi, Rouge the Bat, Wallace Wells, Kendall Roy, Connor Roy, Finnick Odair

Races over to introduce themselves: Toga Himiko, SpongeBob SquarePants, Dewey Duck, Judy Hopps, Kokichi Ouma, Beetlejuice, Celia Mae, Gaston, Mavis Dracula, Undyne, Beast Boy, Deadpool, Alvin Seville, Phil Dunphy

Believes you: Pinkie Pie, Bluey & Bingo, Jataro Kemuri, Chick Hicks, Caligosto Loboto, GIR, Daffy Duck, Bill & Ted, Olaf, Shigeo Kageyama, Starfire, Scott Pilgrim, Ken, Castiel

Laughs at your thin deceptions: Emperor Belos, Bill Cipher, Black Hat, Scar, Shere Khan, Tai Lung, Lord Shen, Pagan Min, Invader ZiM, Shao Kahn, Eleventh Doctor, Rainbow Dash, Shenzi, Randall Boggs, Duncan Pepperidge Anderson, Agent Smith, Doctor Eggman, Han Solo, Alastor, Izaya Orihara, Gideon Graves, Roman Roy, Shiv Roy, Gristol Malik

Alternative interpretation is equally funny — the yandere is pointing out random groups of people and slowly narrowing down their choices.

[yangoodomens]

GOING TO TAKE REQUEST

Hello! My name is Harvey, I am a writer and artist, I have decided to take request here are my rules

WILL DO -

Yandere

Fem reader

Masc reader

Gn reader

Fluff

Romantic or platonic

Angst

WONT DO -

Character x Character (unless it's poly, as in Character x reader x character, as in Aziraphale x reader x Crowley, or Miles x reader x Ginger ext.)

Character x Oc (for writing)

Smut

Pedo stuff

Too much gore

Too much Murder

Etc. have decency you homosapiens

What I will write/draw for

Sonic - any variation

TMNT - most variations

Hermitcraft

Empires Smp

Good Omens

Hannibal (2013)

Centaurworld

Bbc Sherlock

Bright young things

Gravity falls

Silence of the lambs

The boy

DNI IF -

Rasict

Homophobic

Ableist

Or just a generally disrespectful person in general

THANK YOU, I hope to hear from you soon

- Harvey

[wxnheart]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 - 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

He tried to be merciful. He tried to grant you leniency. He tried to show you love.

He offered you a place among kings, a safe haven to behold the golden majesty that illuminated the land. But you said no.

You said no. And Morgott snapped.

Gone was the calculated general, the astute statesman, the last of all kings. All that was left was nothingness... and everything they said he and his ilk were. And it wasn't so bad, becoming the very monster everyone thought you were.

Your rejection rents Morgott's mind and envelops him in darkness. He hears the condescension in your voice and sees the echoes of lifelong disdain and disgust in your eyes. No. You said no. Just like her. Just like him. Just like everyone else. You said no.

You said no and you broke his heart.

Morgott remembers little else of the day save for your rejection and the snarl of incensed rage. You had long since made your hasty retreat, back burning as he glared holes into your very being. If looks could kill, if you had the courage to turn around, you would have died ten times over. But you didn't. You wouldn't. You couldn't. You didn't know what you would have done if you did.

He remembers little else of the day but he remembers the way you made him feel. And he snapped. The rage that simmered beneath his skin turned into an inferno he wished not to abate and soon his surroundings, once beautiful and serene against the backdrop of a golden sky, looked as desolate as he felt.

Gnarled fingers clutched his wooden staff tightly. His breathing was labored. The golden flecks of his eye swirled with madness and you said no. YOU SAID NO. How dare you.

Would you have said yes if he weren't so twisted and bent and cursed and hideous? Would you have said yes if he weren't an abomination? Wouldyouhavesaidyesandmadehimthehappiestman aliveandshowneverybodythathewasn'tamonster—WHY DID YOU SAY NO?!

Morgott stares and burns holes where you once stood. Sullied. Just like him. Why should he bother? But he does. He does and he turns to the Erdtree, the source of his salvation. The source of his hate. It would never fail him, his golden grace. Not like you did.

But even you were worthy of another chance. And Morgott, neither general nor statesman nor king, embraced his madness.

You told him no. But you would reject him no longer. Morgott will save you from your madness. He will save you from your foolishness. He will be merciful. He will be lenient. He will grant you love...

You loved him not; he was never granted love but nevertheless, he'd love you still. Morgott thinks ahead of his ordeal, intent on hunting you down. He would find you. He would be merciful. He would be lenient. He would grant you sanctuary...

...And you would be loved.

[rokishimizu4]

Letters from Snake Shoppe for Cosplay Con

Ello~ everyone, I have an amazing idea to write different letters and pass them out when I go to the Cosplay Con. However, I don’t know which anime, video games, books, movies, etc to do.

That’s where you come in~. The top five will also be put up on my tumblr for everyone to enjoy~.

I’m making letters from Death Note and the FNAF series

[ineffablymanic]

Delirious morning thought: We all see how manic Aziraphale was during the ball scene, controlling people, trying his damndest to make it the perfect night for his otp and his demon crush to confess.

He's literally an angel. Wants to be Good and do Good for everyone's sake. BUT. During his stay on Earth he's allowed himself to become increasingly hedonistic. He lies constantly, to others and most importantly, to himself.

If written right, I think he'd make the perfect maddened yandere character.

I know what's the best for you. I'm an angel, after all. I'm one of the good guys. Let me take care of you...

[doctor-catpi]

[evilmichealcera]

Intro post

Hi I’m evil Micheal Cera but I also go by Spidey

I use he/him pronouns and I’m a minor

I’m a beginner artist so I post my art some times

I have a ton of interests so here are some: dead boy detectives, good omens, YHS (Sam gladiator), once upon a witch light, ninja turtles, Spider-Man, Deadpool, night at the museum , Scott pilgrim, Falsettos, heathers, be more chill, ride the cyclone, gravity falls, death note, carry on, the guy who didn’t like musicals, and Arkhamites

[divine-omen]

im more than your favorite. im the air in your lungs. im the light in your eyes. im the carbon in your bones.

[x4ver1a]

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I could wait four years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain't getting over you

[carnivorousyandeere]

“Oh..should we leave him alone? Should we back off? Should we play it safe? NAH, LET’S MAKE THEM MEANER” - Me and four other people on the poll rn

Deep respect and fear towards all of you 😭

But I live to serve, and in the future I promise to try and make Erik meaner. For real this time 🫡😂

(At least some of the time~)

[kindlymean]

I don’t hate you for making fun of my tears. You don’t have eyes after all.

[huicitawrites]

Omen of the Cursed

Yandere! Ryomen Sukuna x Fem! Reader

TW: depictions of abuse, gore, mentions of suicide (non-descriptive), yandere

THE KING OF CURSES sits casually at the edge of the village well, biding his time. Two muscular arms support his weight on the cobblestone, while another relaxes on his knee, and his fourth is busy—clutching a decapitated head in his clawed hand.

Crimson stains adorn the tips of his fingers, and his feet are smeared with blood. Puddles gather in abundance throughout the village, and the earthy streets are littered with bodies and dismembered remains.

He has killed every single one of them.

He enjoyed it.

He relished in their screams and their agony: men, women, children, the elderly. They all sounded the same in the end, squealing and wailing like lowly pigs sent to slaughter.

At first, the village men tried to fight back, but once he claimed his first victim—his Dismantle technique turning a man into a mangled heap of flesh—they began to shriek and run. When they realized there was no escape, they started to beg.

Some cried for their children; others, for their lovers or themselves. It was amusing to observe how far they would go for survival. They offered everything they had: the village's meager gold, their wheat, their rice, their sheep. When they sensed his dissatisfaction, they turned on one another, offering up their wives, their children, their kin—one even stabbed his own brother and threw the corpse at his feet, declaring a desperate loyalty.

Yet, the King of Curses had come to finish what was started, he took their lives one by one, laughing maniacally in ecstasy and joy.

And so, he sits amidst his carnage—waiting.

The best was yet to come.

He tosses the head in his hand, its expression of horror still etched on the pale face as it rolls across the ground, leaving a trail of blood. He shakes his hand to rid himself of the crimson droplets before resting his four-eyed face atop it. His glaring eyes fixate on the village entrance, marked by a large, old Torii gate.

He recalls the day you abandoned him.

He remembers it all too well.

Ryomen Sukuna was born a cursed, unwanted little wretch.

Everyone believed it and treated him as such: the adults and elders in the village, who instilled their beliefs in their children. Even his own father abandoned him as a mere babe, leaving the village under the moon of Sukuna's birth. His mother, on the other hand, took her own life shortly after he learned to walk.

The villagers whispered rumors of a sibling he had devoured while still in his mother's womb.

Everyone despised him, and so young Sukuna began to despise them too—except for one.

You.

You probably knew of Sukuna as ‘an ill omen’ and ‘a cursed child forsaken by the very gods,’ but what surprised him was your disregard for the villagers' cruel words.

(He remembers the first day you met.)

“Hey,” your soft voice called to him in the village woods. He wore dirty, ragged clothes that contrasted with your colorful kimono. “Do you want to play with me?”

“Go away,” he spat, leaning back against the trunk of a tree, pretending to ignore you.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a playful smirk. You crouched by the river, scavenging for the perfect pebble—a flat little rock. To your delight, you found a twin of it, and with both rocks in hand, you approached the bitter boy.

“Here, you have one,” you tossed him a pebble. “I’ll show you.” Your squeaky voice was impossible to ignore, drawing his gaze as you meticulously adjusted your stance. He recognized the blue fire coating the rock in your hand. His eyes widened, and a single thought sprang to mind.

‘Is this girl cursed like me?’

You threw the pebble expertly, and it bounced across the water’s surface three times.

“Did you see that?! Say it was cool, right?! Your turn now; it’ll be fun!” You jumped excitedly, pointing at the lake with a wide, joyous smile.

Sukuna snapped out of his thoughts and concealed his amazement. He didn’t want to admit it then, but it was a very cool shot. With a blank stare, he picked up the pebble at his feet and mirrored your stance. He held it between the tips of his fingers, took a deep breath, and unleashed his own blue fire. The pebble soared from his hand, bouncing farther and more times than yours.

You sparkled with wonder. “Say, can you teach me that? You can see it too, the blue fire!” Your tiny hands clasped his for a jolly handshake.

He remembers the burning embarrassment on his face, nodding and stuttering when you said, “Say… Let’s be friends!”

Back then, you were children who became great friends. You were so different, yet inseparable. You were a pretty daughter: kind, gentle, obedient, playful, and pampered by strict but loving parents.

On the opposite end, he was the village’s outcast. Shooed away from stores, despised by everyone. Parents forbade their children from being near him, adults mistreated him without remorse, and even the village priests scorned him.

Yet you laughed at his antics instead of scorning him. You cheered him on and even sewed him clothes out of spare cloth. You helped him flee when villagers chased him with pitchforks and torches and snuck him food or tea.

Like a moth to a flame, he basked in your warm kindness. As you two grew, he coveted your friendship, wishing for eternity with you by his side.

But as your teenage years approached adulthood, things began to change. While Sukuna detached from the village and its obligations, you became bound by expectations. Your mother filled your days with lessons on housewife duties—sewing, cooking, and manners—while your father began seeking suitors.

You wanted none of it; your spirit longed to explore the world, but your heart was tethered to your family, making it difficult to ignore your parents' wishes.

In a moment of desperation, he proposed an idea, but you laughed incredulously.

“So you say we ‘run away,’” you cocked your head. “I can’t just leave my parents behind. What kind of daughter would I be after all they’ve given me?”

He wanted to protest, to argue that he could take care of you, but you added, “Besides, we need money. A marriage would solve their issues. Yet…”

“I could marry you,” he blurted out.

The words spilled from his lips impulsively, and though he masked his bitterness, a knot tightened in his throat when you laughed.

“My parents would never give their blessings, they’d disown me first.”

“I’m not that bad of a choice.”

“Sure, a boy who steals and has no care or responsibilities makes a decent candidate,” you quipped.

He knew you meant no harm and understood the frustration behind your words. But he stood up and left, even as you apologized. You were speaking the truth. He was still an unworthy boy—weak, poor, a disgrace.

He couldn’t intervene as you left the village.

Three days before your departure, a foreign man appeared. Older, yet toned, with a staff in hand, he seemed a wandering monk- he later realized the old monk was a pesky sorcerer. He should have killed him back then.

The sorcerer interrupted one of your encounters, pointing his staff at you. His eyes sparkled with glee before darkening in disgust as they fell upon him.

Surely, he saw the monster would become - no, the one he was. The hate, the fury, the greed brewing in his dark heart.

The monk spoke with you, offering escape if you became his apprentice. Under the guise of holy work and financial compensation, your parents agreed to send you away.

“I’m leaving, then,” you stuttered, eyes cast down. You couldn't meet his dark crimson gaze, knowing the look of betrayal hiding beneath your stoic facade.

“I will come back to visit; I promise, Ryo,” you said, the pet name spilling from your lips with sweetness, but he huffed in response.

“I will be here waiting, [Y/n].”

Ryomen Sukuna left the same night you departed. He had nothing left in the village and without your presence, he could tolerate the shithole no more.

Two and a half decades passed.

He left as a cursed boy and returned as the feared King of Curses—Ryomen Sukuna.

As he stared at the Torii gate, his foot bounced impatiently, fingers tapping against the cobblestone edge.

Soon, a figure emerged in the distance—a traveler on a mule, donning a kasa. For a moment, he mistook you for the damned sorcerer monk, but he felt your familiar cursed energy. It seems you grew stronger through the years as well.

A wicked grin spread across his face, revealing sharp teeth and fangs. His four bloodshot eyes widened and pupils dilated in anticipation.

Finally, you crossed the gate.

“Welcome back,” the King of Curses greeted. “Do you like my welcome gift?” He gestured to the bodies and blood scattered throughout the devastated village.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you pulled back your kasa, revealing a solemn expression on a beautiful face. To Sukuna’s surprise, your eyes held no disgust, fear, or even anger, only a pitiful gaze that irritated him.

“Did you enjoy it?” you asked, ignoring his question. He huffed, wondering if you were attempting to seek a glimpse of that playful childhood friend.

The King of Curses laughed at your question, finding it absurd given the answer was obvious. “I found it most delightful,” he cooed.

Slowly, he detached himself from the well and stood before you. Even a few meters away, you could see the transformation he had undergone. He had become a beast—two extra eyes and arms, a mouth in his abdomen, a colossal build, and black curse markings embroidering his skin.

“It’s true then,” you sighed. “You’ve become the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna.”

“Tis how I’m called now.” It struck him as strange to hear his full name from you. “I must say it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“How many have you killed by now?”

“I’ve lost count, darling.” Your frown deepened, and Sukuna’s smile widened. He noted how tightly you clutched the reins and how your body tensed. “My father and mo—”

“I’ve killed them both,” he cut you off, grinning wickedly. “Their deaths were slow and painful.”

“Ah…”

Now it gets exciting, he mused, watching as fury consumed your expression. This was the response he craved—a little punishment for abandoning him, if you will.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to hold back sobs.

“I have come to slay you, curse,” you spat, mixing pity with spite. You clutched the cloak around you, prying it off to reveal white and red Miko clothing. You held a shakujō, likely a cursed tool.

This was not the first time someone had come to exact vengeance upon him, and it wouldn’t be the last.

However, it would be the last time you left him.

The King of Curses made the first move, closing the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He lunged forward, delivering a devastating blow.

You leapt from your mule, who perished instantly. Your body shivered from his overwhelming strength.

Sukuna continued his relentless assault. Blow after blow, all you could do was dodge—there was no time to parry or block.

In a fleeting moment of opportunity, as you rolled away and encountered his exposed back, you swung your staff, chanting, “Cleanse.”

A blinding explosion of cursed energy erupted against him, bright light streaming from the metal adornments of your staff.

For a moment, you thought you had succeeded—what a fool you were.

He was the King of Curses, after all; he was no longer ‘Ryo.’

Sukuna remained unfazed, standing with his back turned to you. Before you could gauge the danger, one of his lower arms seized your staff, crushing it into splinters. He turned, crimson irises meeting yours.

“Was that all, [Y/n]?”

He reveled in your shock, and before you could distance yourself, he conjured his own spell. “Cleave!”

Hundreds of cuts ripped through your skin, blood gushing from every wound. You choked and coughed, your body crashing to the ground in a futile struggle for breath.

“Does it hurt?” he taunted, voice dripping with venom. Lifting his chin, he added, “This is but a taste of how I felt back then when you turned your back on me, spurning me like everyone else.”

He loomed over you, body casting a shadow. The wicked grin evaporated from his face, voice turning serious. “I find the fear in your eyes delicious. It’s a satisfying punishment for what you did to me.”

Crouching down, he drew forth a hand ignited with cursed energy. Not the familiar blue you knew, but a clear white. You had never witnessed such a technique, your weary mind too occupied to marvel.

Sukuna hovered his hand over your wounds, and in a short time, you found yourself healed, yet the damage had already been done—the fighting, the murder of people.

The King of Curses encircled you with his four arms, lifting you as a husband would lift his wife. Despite the tenderness once present in the boy you knew, you turned your head to avoid his gaze.

He scowled at your rejection; your silent tears pierced his resolve more than any weapon. One hand cupped your cheek, forcing your gaze back to his monstrous face.

"Spurn me no more, I will not let you, not again", he warned, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You’ve become a monster—what their words condemned.”

“I’ve become a king.”

“-of curses.” You cut him off.

His many eyes narrowed, “So what? Human or curse, it matters not in the face of strength,” he said nonchalantly against your melancholy. “All that matters is that I am strong now and that we are reunited. Even if you spurn me, I will make you love me again.”

He sighed, his voice as soft as a whisper.

“The boy you knew may be gone, but you will learn to love the man he has become,” Sukuna assured, his four eyes gazing back at you with an affection that twisted your gut, making your heart race in fear. He began moving toward the Torii gate, carrying you as if you were caged in his embrace.

He inhaled your sweet scent— it reminded him of the home he never had, the one he desires to build with you by his side.

“Finally,” he lowered his face to yours, “we are together again.”

His lips tasted of iron and yours tasted divine.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Hidden Heir

Next ->

The Duke's family had very distinct eyes. It was genetic. An aggressively dominant trait at that, though it tended to die off, after a few generations out of the family. Supposedly a "blessing of the Gods". Spring to be exact. Bounty and luck. And the family certainly WAS bountiful.

In all the best and worst ways.

Wealth, corruption, children and bastards. It was a family so aggressively ALIVE, it could only be Spring's blessing that made them so. Pouring mania and madness into their veins like sweet sunlight. Whispering glory and riches, into power addled ears. They burst with life. Even as they endlessly destroyed themselves.

They were fictional.

Fascinating set dressings, for the stage play of someone else's story. Unimportant beyond their role in world building. As the origin story and power base of a character lead.

The Story ITSELF didn't even occur here. But rather, in the capital. Where the players of significance had gathered.

And I? Oh I was some minor antagonist, so insignificant to the plot, I genuinely could not remember which of seven different women I actually WAS. It had been an ongoing series. Otome Isekai. Reverse harem.

And I was either in the ORIGINAL original novel, the isekai'd plot novel, the anime adaption, OR a horrifying fever dream. My memory was largely useless. But? I did remember the characters. The archetypes.

And the fact, that the author had clearly been going though a Yandere phase.

My region of the Reverse Harem collect-o-thon? Horrifying! Red flags everywhere! No one here should date, leave room for fantasy Jesus, have we considered the joys of being a NUN? Yes. Yes I HAVE thought about it.

I was pretty sure I'd never make it. End up dead or captured by some sort of Nun Yandere. Or God Yandere. Possibly both. Assuming the bandit yanderes don't get me first. It... it was very stressful, living here.

Luckily? I knew when I could leave.

Or so I thought.

Because my house? The Dukedom? Had the "yandere butler who is secretly an heir." Who starts out with loyal dog behavior. A little highly possesive master and servant play. Then rises to become a Duke. Presumably? That is when I die. Or am disowned.

Death is most likely. Since my role was "minor antagonist" and I was to be mean to the sweet, earnest, Harem possessing Protagonist. Don't see WHY I would. Live and let live. Good for her etc etc. But regardless? Best to avoid, just in case.

The problem? Who do you think Mr Illegitimate Heir serves before she gets here? The OTHER possible heirs? Of course not! They'd "oops! Hunting accident~☆" him in a heart beat. Father isn't stupid. And my sisters? Issues. Violent, violent, issues.

He ends up with ME.

Father, WHY.

Obviously, I ignore him. I see nothing. I hear nothing. There is no war in Ba Sing Se. Mmmmm, tea. Good book. Ignore his creepy staring. His creepy, creepy staring.

Thankfully? I never really ran out of Totally Legitimate reasons to send him away to learn or do something. Proper tea making. Door maintenance. Eastern embroidery. Something, anything, and off you go! Bye bye~☆!

Unfortunately. He got faster. Better and better at learning. Mastering skills. Coming BACK. Showing up to stand in the corner, silent and looming, like an omen of death. Those damn eyes. The fucking family eyes!

I don't have them. And NOT as, my Father would have me believe, because I "take after my Mother". But because I am not genetically related to the Duke. I have GOLD eyes. When I wear the right shade of green? I pass. So I am condemned to forever wear green. Don't even really like it much. But?

I am pretty damn sure? I was just... pretty.

A lovely, orphaned, golden eyed child that COULD pass as his. So why not? It was a whim that payed off. Unlike in the original stories, I imagine. Since I am by FAR the best behaved child in this entire house. Ha! Suck it, bio-kids, the adopted one's the favorite! Maybe should have been less lil bitchs.

....I carefully do not say.

Those are INSIDE thoughts.

Fuck. He's still LOOMING. Isn't he? Go awaaaaaay. Where is Protag-chan? Come be doe eyed and busty! Trip adorably! Go "kyaaa~" or something! I feel body heat and freeze. He's leaning over my shoulder to pick up the teapot, pour me another cup. I can FEEL the barest graze of his knuckles against my back, from where he's gripped my chair. The smell of his aftershave almost hauntingly pleasant.

Like he KNEW exactly what smells I liked most. Went out of his way to find one that best suited my preference. Coincidence. Please, PLEASE be a coincidence! I do not turn my head. Keep my eyes locked straight ahead. Barely breathing.

He steps back.

The new pot is sharp and herbal. Almost bitter. I force myself to drink. Can't see a sugar dish, and REFUSE to turn around and ask for one. Ignore. IGNORE. My pounding heart calms. My muscles slowly start to relax.

It... it IS weird, though, now that I think about it? That Protag-chan hasn't reached the Dukedom yet. She should have. God only knows I sent Creepy to the capital enough times, with enough highly specific instructions, that he should've had his meet cute's and dates by the dozen. Been half way in love. So... why...?

Huh.

Dizzy.

The taste of tea sits wrong on my tounge. I stop drinking as the world sways. Letting the cup fall from my hand. Splatter, roll, and shatter. I try desperately to stand. A gentle gloved hand catches my elbow, supporting me. I turn. Giddy eyes. Triumphant, wide, spring green eyes. Too green to be gold, too gold to be green.

An almost cruel, mocking, yet loving grin.

Another hand slides around my waist, braces me against his side. Gleeful little murmurs, too pleased to be reassuring. You. You did this! You DRUGGED ME!

I can barely move, body relaxing against my command, going limp, as he draws me close. Presses his face against the side of my head, against my temple. A deep, shuddering breathe, that he savors like wine. I try to pull free but can not. Feel his lips pull into a vicious grin against my skin. Hands begin to run in gentle, claiming, exploration.

And at last the drugs kick in... the wo..rld..

G..oes..

Dar..k........