Yandere Short Stories:

Hell Fire

Yandere Priest x Herbalist Fem Reader

TW: abuse of power, yandere behavior, manipulation, and forced relationship

Pale hands affectionately cupped the soft cheeks of the sleeping maiden that rested on the bed in the dungeon. A bright smile on the young priest’s face as his fingers traced over her soft lips.

“You are finally here…” Aurel voice was as soft as a breeze. His blue eyes gentle and his lips pursed in thought. “You’re finally within my grasp.”

Aurel glanced around to make sure there were no other eyes watching before he crawled into the small bed beside (your name). His lanky arms wrapped around her vulnerable form in a vice like grip. Aurel buried his nose into her hair and deeply inhaled her sweet scent, a moan escaped his lips from how delectable (your name) smelled.

“I wonder if you’ll be happy to see me once you wake up.” Aurel thought aloud as his hands wandered her sleeping form. “We used to be so close when we were kids… we can get married just like we always wanted.”

Aurel brushed a few of his silver strands away from his blue eyes. His cheeks heated up at how beautiful (your name) had grown to be. “I’ve crawled my way to become a Cardinal, but I’m willing to bend the rules for you… so you just have to accept me.”

Aurel buried his face into her shoulders while he clutched her closer to his chest. His tongue clicked when he felt his she thinned out a bit. These heathens haven’t been feeding (your name) properly, have they? He’d punish them once he married her…

Aurel pressed a few stray kisses to her shoulders before he smiled to himself. He had destroyed her reputation as an herbalist by spreading rumors of her being a witch. It was a desperate and cowardly method, but she refused to be with him. What other choice did Aurel have? (Your name) had forced his hand for the last time and now she had the biggest choice to make.

Become his wife or burn at the pyre.

Victorian AU, otherwise known as the fic in which I ruin everything about Victorian times in one go: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53563447/chapters/135583828

my anderperry mixtape (if u even care)

FACTORY ATHLETIC CLUB n2 - Saber Dridi photographed by Baldovino Barani x FACTORY Fanzine

The silk scarf really brings out that extra layer of faggotry 🥰🥰🥰

Somewhere amongst the muddle of the 60's or 70's, Crowley was in charge of rebranding a drug. Angel Dust to be precise. Apparently you'd 'see god', so Crowley had heard. He had rebranded it for demonic purposes, as he told anyone who asked. Though it was Crowley, so who really knew. As for the name, one can only guess where he got that idea. Perhaps he was thinking of Aziraphale at the time. Perhaps he had sampled some. Regardless, Crowley had enjoyed the 70's very much. He was even promoted. Not that he remembered it.

.

hows relations with dagur...have you guys met mala?

Not personally. The council exclusively takes care of internal affairs, so we don't travel much for our jobs. It's not like we CAN'T leave on vacation, but a war isn't the best time to do that so most of the council plus myself were waiting until it's over to go visit our new allies.

Anything external is the Cabinet's job, but there's some overlap between us. They don't have a blog though, because their decisions don't have a direct effect that the citizens need to be as informed of.

no context schoolwork!

part of a series of 4 narrative vases. full thing on my site if you're into that :)

do you ever do so much research for a fic, like painstakingly scourge the internet for information, write it all down, and spend hours looking at historical maps, searching up words people used at the time, and then just give up and slap the not historically accurate tag in the work. yes, i did all that work but i also really want my 1700s au noble to call someone fuckface, dammit.

slacking off on costuming for the theater department right now because i decided that a muslin undershirt would be a much better and instantly satisfying project

I'm working on the thing...the thing I asked about. I chose Thor.

Heimdall chuckles, "Indeed it can be, my Lady. But one of you will have to adjust, if you find yourself bonded to the crown prince."

That turns all of your heads. The three of you exchange a quick look and like a siren song, Heimdall’s mention of the Prince brings you, Raven, and Fiora to the blanket they've set up and you all settle upon it as the coachman unpacks bread, cheese, fruit, and cold meats purchased early that morning.

Heimdall pulls a rotund wine bottle from another basket on the carriage and brings it over, sloshing with wine. As he pulls the cork and begins to pour out four small cups of the deep red drink, Fiora takes a singular grape into her mouth.

“What is the prince like, Heimdall?” she asks, green eyes eager. “Is he as handsome as they say?”

“Oh, he is indeed handsome. The most handsome man in all the kingdoms. If you ask him he’s even happy to tell you himself.” Heimdall chuckles.

“So he’s full of himself,” Raven concludes.

Heimdall turns to her with a kind smile, “Perhaps. Some would certainly say so. His brother especially.”

after having been to aldbourne in person i can concretely say that david webster romanticised it to fuck for good reason in his book but it is smaller than you might have imagined. dog company might have gotten collectively voted out of the village at some point because there wasn't enough room for ron speirs's gigantic metal alloy planet-sized balls

Random soldier: Hello sir! Are you a friend of… Dorthy?

John Laurens: (brings the soldier to the side) How do you know about that?

Random soldier: So is that a yes?

John Laurens: *sigh* Yes

OC's (for fun, also cowboys)

This is long as hell, sorry! :) (ft. my cowboy OC's)

Sean sat amongst the damp forest surrounding them, his rangy, thin hands fumbling with the harmonica. The instrument was worn down, but it still gave him a thrill to hold it in his hands. He watched as Carl, his older companion with strong blue eyes, warmed a pot of water. The forest around them lay frozen, as if time had stopped to allow them a moment of peace. The boy’s eyes twinkled as he lifted the instrument to his chapped lips. A split second was all it took for the harmonica to emit a harsh, unmelodic sound. Carl"s eyes darted to the boy’s gaze, watching as he grinned at him before he blew again. Carl held up his hand, signalling for Sean to stop. He knew that the sound of the harmonica would scare away any game in the area. Sean sighed, dropping the instrument onto the wet soil. His eyes followed Carl’s gaze as the older man scanned the trees surrounding them. Shaking his head, Carl sighed before dropping back onto his knees beside the pot of water. He took in a deep breath, watching as steam rose from the liquid. "What’re we doin’ out here, Carl?" Sean asked, a faint smile still plastered on his pallid face. "Them deer we're lookin" for ain't deserve to get shot." "We gotta eat, Sean," Carl replied, stirring the pot. "Us and the whole ranch." "We have cattle, pigs, and chickens," Sean protested. "All of them other animals. Why can’t we just eat them?" "Livestock ain't meant for food," Carl corrected. "What’re we tradin’ ‘em off for?" Sean asked, his voice rising. "To get eaten later? Why don’t we just eat them instead?" Carl sighed, taking a deep breath. He didn"t turn to look at Sean. Instead, he continued to stare at the pot of water. "Neither of us wants to kill those deer, Sean. But it"s just something that"s gotta be done." Carl took another breath, watching as his breath fogged the air in front of him. Carl's heavy hand clasps the pot's handle as he sets it carefully on the ground. The older man strides across the camp towards Sean, the young boy perched on a log, staring into the flames. "Sometimes family is more important than morality," Carl says, his voice heavy with resignation, "We all have to...do bad things for the people around us someday," he continues. Sean, his shoulder-length hair swinging as he shakes his head, speaks up, "I don't want to kill them. They’re just trying to go home to their families," he says, his voice trembling with emotion. "Just like we have to go back to ours," Carl sighs, placing a reassuring hand on Sean"s shoulder. The younger boy flinches, unable to meet the older man’s gaze. "Sorry," Carl mutters, "I forgot about your...your thing." Sean fixes his gaze on the fire, his eyes tracking the rising smoke as he tries to shake off the feelings of sadness and anger that have been building within him. He speaks up, his voice trembling, "Those men ain't my family," he says stubbornly, his words laced with resentment. "Yes, they are," Carl states firmly, his hand reaching up to run through Sean’s oily hair. The older man gives the younger boy a gentle shake, as if to shake off the feeling of uncertainty and self-doubt that has been weighing on him. "We’re all family. We’re all stuck in this thing together," Carl says, his tone firm but kind. Sean doesn"t respond, his eyes still fixed on the fire. After a few moments, he finally speaks up, his voice softer and more resigned this time. "I know. I just...I don"t know if I can do it," he says, his words barely above a whisper. Carl gives Sean’s shoulder a reassuring pat before rising to his feet. The older man strides back to the pot, his movements determined as he returns to his duties. Sean watches him go, his eyes narrowing as he contemplates the weight of the responsibility that has been placed on his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and leans back, staring into the flames once more. 

Carl and Sean sat by the fire, the older man slurping a steaming cup of coffee as he stared into the flames. He sighed, his lips curling into a small smile as he spoke. "Y’know, my pa, he hated hunting," he said. "Would whine and whine when my ma asked him to hunt somethin’." Sean, lost in his own thoughts, responded without looking up "Why?" "Said that them animals had souls, they were God"s children in his eyes," Carl explained. "The man believed that every animal on this Earth had a special somethin" to "em beyond just sustainin’ humans." Sean stared into the fire, his head cocked to the side. "Mr. Fisher ain't your pa, is he?" "Nah," Carl responded, his voice deep and rough, "that old man caught me stealin’ from "im when I was about fifteen." "He didn’t get you in trouble with the law?" Sean asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Think he planned to, but he saw somethin’ in me somewhere." Carl took a sip of his coffee, his eyes scanning the campsite. "So, you didn’t know the Fisher"s at all?" Sean asked the older man. Carl smiled warmly. "No," he answered. "Came from Vermont." "You're from the North," Sean stated, furrowing his brow as he took a sip of his coffee. "Northeast," Carl corrected Sean with a chuckle. "My folks were poor as all hell, but sometimes money don"t mean all that much, y'know?" Sean shrugged, his eyes fixed on the fire. He sighed heavily. "My parents owned a farm. Small one."  "The hell were ya growin’ in Wyoming?" Carl asked as he tore open a pack of coffee and poured it into a cup, handing it to Sean. "Wheat, corn…anythin’ that'd survive up there,” Sean responded bitterly. Carl laughed, a hearty laugh that seemed to echo through the campsite. "We oughta make a supply run into town soon. "Bout a day's ride South." Sean, his skinny frame huddled against the cool night air, nodded absently. "We outta meat?" "Almost," Carl confirmed, his eyes scanning the campsite. "We got some venison and maybe a little offal, but that's 'bout it." Sean grimaced at the thought of eating offal, the organs and fatty tissues from an animal"s body. "You eatin' that offal? I ain't." Carl laughed, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. "All yours, Sean." 

Have you ever listened Ain't staying alive from Horrible Histories? Because it's in my playlist and this just happened while I was listening haha