Labyrinth.

labyrinth.

bold – yandere.

italic – concept.

regular – non-yandere.

bold and red – favorite characters, more likely to get longer fics.

purple - bullet formatted.

*~*~*~*

jareth.

(to be added)

Hiiii are request open? Love your writing ❤️

honestly probably soon!!! like very VERY soon… almost at 300 followers so i’m gonna open requests again to celebrate that! 💖

if the milestone isn’t reached today, it will probably be by tomorrow!

tysm for the support everyone!! 🫶🏼

halloween.

bold – yandere.

italic – concept.

regular – non-yandere.

bold and red – favorite characters, more likely to get longer fics.

purple - bullet formatted.

*~*~*~*

micheal myers.

(to be added)

Hayloft.

Yan Mahito x GN Reader.

Synopsis: Mahito wants to farm.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, Mahito as his own warning, implied minor character death, and implications of violence/forced cannibalism.

Word Count: 800.

*~*~*~*

“Sounds fun! Looks so too!”

Mahito’s fingers tap and tap on the glass, unsurprisingly never leaving any fingerprints or smudges. He is a curse, after all. It makes sense. Not that you have to be reminded of such, with how little he knows of human culture, the world at large, or with how much he shapeshifts into a disembodied head at night to scare half-awake you. 

You are both sitting on a giant bean bag in the shape of a green slime of all things that Mahito brought in an hour or so earlier. Mahito, as expected, takes up most of it with a malformed arm wrapped around your shoulders and back. 

In your hands is a Nintendo Switch, the sticker case on the joycons, and the screen itself somewhat peeling off, but still the pink bunny and strawberry drawing designs stay intact.

The YouTube app is on, showing a playthrough of Stardew Valley. This part of the sewers had two bars of wifi from the little ramen place above it, something you are grateful for in some aspect. Because of it, you have one more piece of entertainment that is now Mahito bringing you back stale snacks and stuffed animals (that you pray to whatever higher power that they were not alive before Mahito got his hands on them) and nearly smothering you with hugs. 

This is calming. When you just read the dialogue of the characters and listen to the music and pay attention to the satisfying sight of the farmer planting pumpkin seeds and apple tree saplings, it is calming, you are calm, Mahito is, at least partially, calm.

Mahito wanted something to watch today and brought the Nintendo Switch for you to play with as he simply observes. It could be worse, you reminded yourself before you attempted to protest, stopping yourself. It could be much worse. He could turn you into the Nintendo Switch, or much, much worse.

It can be so much worse. He can be so much worse. Your life as a captive can be so much worse. Everything can be so much worse. That is a line you never want to cross because everything can be so, so much worse than it already is.

Mahito raises his free hand, and you pause the video, just as you were taught to. He then points again at the field of two-dimensional, square-like crops all in multiple rows of hoed soil. 

It’s springtime in the game, you think, from how the cherry trees have pink blossoms and petals falling onto nearby ground all around it.

Mahito counts with his fingertip, jumping from one plant to the next and then from one row to the next.

He whistles, and it makes you flinch because that is the same noise he makes whenever you scream, a reaction to when he brings a body part of someone you loved here, throwing it down beside the small dog bed you were given for good behavior, the blood staining the fabric as it falls with a grotesque, sort of plopping sound.

If Mahito wants to grow vegetables and fruit in the few places this sewer has sunlight, he can be your guest.

“Potato, cauliflower, garlic… green beans, kale, parsnips, rhubarb, strawberries…” He says each word like he has never heard of them before. Considering he has never really set foot in a grocery or convenience store for anything other than chips, it is not all that surprising. With another wave of his hand, you rewind it to the moment where the farmer character starts watering the seeds when they are freshly planted. He waits. So do you. “Sounds good! We can make some cheese cauliflower, parsnip soup, pizza, hashbrowns… just imagine it! Yum… I can just picture it now.”

With yet another wave of his hand, you stand up and so does he. Relief goes through you, like a ghost, both horrifying you and making you feel the smallest bit of hope that for once Mahito can act normal.

…

“M-Mahito, vegetables don’t grow that fast.” You say, looking down at the plate of baked fish with what smells like kale and garlic underneath, along with lemon and salt. “H-How-”

“It’s simply the power of love!” Mahito exclaims, inhaling loudly to smell the dish in front of you two. He sighs softly. “A pure demonstration of my love, all I do for you, and all I will do for you in the future.”

You could have sworn that there was the smallest voice from the fish if Mahito’s bragging of how much work went into making you a dish from Stardew Valley was not so loud.

Help me.

“Dig in, cutie!”

You would do anything for Mahito’s grin to not turn into a frown, so you pick up your fork with trembling, scarred hands.

The End.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Synopsis: Kafka always sits in the front row, despite being part of the show herself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, thoughts of violence, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Breezeblocks by alt-J

Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich (feat. The Dixie String Quartet)

Swan Lake by HAUSER

Claus by Los Tres

Doin’ Time by Lana Del Ray

Lie by BTS

She’s My Collar by Gorillaz (feat. Kali Uchis)

Cha Cha by Freddie Dredd

Michelle by Sir Chloe

MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) - SATAN’S EXTENDED VERSION by Lil Nas X

*~*~*~*

The roses are wilting.

It was destiny, fate. Such pretty things never last forever, after all, even if the entire universe wished otherwise. One way or another, they are meant to fall, like how the sun drops below where anyone can see it, being replaced with the moon, and vice versa. They fall deep, deeper than hell itself, and no one can pick them back up, unless one would be inclined to make a pact with the devil himself, doing horrendous things in his name. But Kafka has already committed such sins, so why deny doing so any longer? It is who she is. It is who you are, to be entangled in her lies and be forced to dance and to sing and to act.

With two gloved hands, she picks up the vase, spilling out the moldy water and the dying roses, the roses she got for you after you sang so well at the opera house, looking so beautiful, into the trash can underneath your makeup vanity, where little clumps of hair and emptied products always meet their end.

She’ll get you a new bouquet later. A new vase too. Perhaps instead of white roses you would like red ones instead? Kafka knows that this vase is cheap too, from one of your fellow divas, whose high notes are not as high as yours and her costumes not as elaborate or as elegant as yours.

“I honestly don’t see why you even try to befriend any of them, darling. They are all envious harpies. They can’t hold a candle to anything you do.”

You are not here, but Kafka’s mouth always has a mind of its own, so it spins lies even when your delicate, lovely ears are not in the general vicinity. Not that she minds it. But yours is what she is quite more so than trifles with, because yours is carefully controlled by her and her alone, and you, as always, don’t get a say. It’s a sort of hypocrisy, Kafka thinks, but she doesn't mind that either.

If she has to, she’ll even sew your mouth shut, your ears shut, your eyes shut, if that is what it takes for you to stay with her. She doubts it would ever come to that, though, because you are always too fragile and too trusting to tell the difference between an Iago and a Desdemona. But the latter role would much better suit you, her little flower, her princess.

You are so precious, but also a treasure prying eyes will always want to touch and see and hear. Kafka would, in all honesty, love to cut their hands and tongues off, if it did not ruin the carefully crafted image she made just for you. Maybe later, though, when all the stage lights are off.

“Lady Macbeth, hmm?” She murmurs.

She disagrees with the role you were given entirely. But, you were not one to stand up for yourself, so Kafka let it go. 

“You really ought to leave this business soon, dearest.” Kafka looks around, her arms crossed, not impressed with the room you were given in the slightest. “You can always just come with me.” She meant it. “Imagine all the sights you would see. All the food you would eat. All the gifts I would be so happy to give you. All the hugs and kisses you would receive from me. Everything… just think about it.”

She could imagine it herself. It is not hard, really, for the mind to reject all sense of logic and bow down to the whim of what is known as human emotions, mortal joys, woes, desires, wants, and needs. She could imagine sitting you on her lap as the ship jumps to the next world she will have to visit, telling you stories of the past, present, and future, as you look on with amazement. You don’t do that anymore, now. She would do anything to see it come back. She would steal a crown and place it on your head, though you having the genuine article does not make you any stronger. If anything, perhaps it would make you weaker to her whims.

“Imagine that…” She sighs, closing her eyes as she smiles. “We can go to Penacony. Your dreams would come true there if I cannot make them true myself. You can sleep on beds worth more than this entire opera house. If only you would let me. I know it would make you happy. I know it would make me happy. So why wouldn’t it make you?”

She would listen to your ultimate pains, and your ultimate wishes, and act accordingly. She loved you. You will too, again. It is only a matter of time, isn’t it? Yes, Kafka thinks, it is fate. 

…

Kafka always sits in the front row of the theater.

It does not matter whether or not she purchased the tickets for it, the seat, or the show soon to come to fruition. No one dares talk back to her, even security. She finds comfort in that. No one gets in the way of her having the chance to see you. Better yet, no one else sits in the front row when she is present.

So, she watches, one of her legs crossed over the other, her eyes never blinking. During interludes she likes to adjust her makeup accordingly, painting on another shade of crimson to her lips. Art comes in many forms, after all.

Kafka told you that once. As always, you listened dutifully as she taught you to be.

She taught you many things, not just that. She taught you how to read constellations. She helped you learn her vocabulary in the books she gave you, often long fairytales or poems. She preferred it that way when you used to be so eager to have someone be friendly to you and not want to simply use you for their own amusement, not wanting to throw you out of the opera house altogether.

The opera house may rot after it goes up in flames, in the future, if things go her way as it always does, but she’ll stay to watch it all, to take you in as you cry and as she shushes you. She’ll be happy. Maybe you will be too, for her. It matters how good your performance is, if you even want to act anymore, after all.

The lights dim, and she shows her pearl-white teeth as she grins.

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WHAT THE FUCK…..

300 FOLLOWERS? insane..... bamboozled.....

it hasn't even been a month and this blog has already gained more than a hundred than i last checked...... THANK YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH FOR ALL THE SUPPORT!!! from the bottom of my heart! each and every one of you i wanna hug and thank and bake pastries for! genuinely!

as of now to celebrate this milestone, requests are now open! they will be open until march 9th! please don't miss the deadline if you want to request something. otherwise, you'll have to wait until the next event...

i will start doing said requests after i'm done writing this yan gojo and yan geto fic..... it's so long, RIP my sanity.... but it's worth it for hot rich crazy men.

thank you all again!!! <3333333