Internet Yearning Is Gonna Be So Much Worse In The Space Age. Like, That Cute Trans Girl You're Crushing

In a last ditch attempt to save your people, you offer your life to an ancient god of war and blood. Unfortunately, your translation of the ancient text was a bit off. You're married now.

characters on the run

always so tired. driving for hours and hours in whatever shitty beater they find or steal, downing caffeine and too many five-hour energy shots pickpocketed from some gas station

sleeping cramped up in some bus or train seat, slumped over in a transit terminal, hoodie pulled up tight in the hopes of not being recognized

nodding off but jerking awake every single time, exhausted but hardwired to be paranoid even with caretaker's gentle touch and quiet reassurances trying to get them to rest

so much time spent running or fighting they eventually just crash. stoic characters slumped and snoozing, trying to keep watch and instead getting some much needed rest

lurching awake in a cold sweat, gasping and trembling, bandages wrapped tight up and down their torso

"we're safe here. i promise."

"it's okay-- it was just a dream, i didn't hear anything..."

shot or stabbed while trying to lose a chase. limping through crowds, desperately acting causal, traces of blood left on everything they touch

collapsing and drawing a scene, strangers asking questions and touching all over. having to slip away from concerned bystanders before actual help (or trouble) arrives

washing off in some shitty public bathroom and leaving behind a horror show of bloodied paper towels and smeared fingers all over porcelain, too out of it and in a rush to actually bother cleaning up

character bleeding out and semiconscious and caretaker doesn't know what to do, has nowhere to go. desperately trying to drag them along as the threat gets closer and closer, or hiding and waiting and begging for them to wake up

when it's too dangerous to go to a hospital. makeshift first aid in the back of some car, breaking into a vet clinic after hours, slumped over in a dank alleyway or dirty bathroom. shaking fingers and dim lighting and nowhere comfortable to recover

all of the places to lie low are sketchy as hell. trap houses, back rooms, dive bars, strip clubs, late night joints where passing acquaintances are somehow okay with shady strangers crashing on their couch. always surrounded by a bad crowd and caught up in seedy shit

wearing the same clothes which get increasingly fucked up. fabric lost to makeshift bandages or tourniquets, blood stains and sweat, the same hoodie passed between characters getting worn and sentimental

long sleeves, oversized clothes, shitty makeup, hoods and sunglasses and hats, anything to hide their identity and all of the bruises and cuts

barely any money to their name. having to choose between filling up on gas or eating, counting remnants of change, stealing food or dine and dashing out of necessity. barely scrapping by and working any job on the low, just oh so easy to take advantage of

getting sick, but it's not like they get a break from running. feverishly wandering around, catching concerned looks from strangers, never getting the chance to rest properly so they just get worse and worse

getting so desperate they eventually call for help. trembling and hunched over in a phone booth, nervously knocking on caretaker's door, so rundown and pitiful of course they wouldn't be turned away, where the fuck have they been?

Birdy (I)

"Ah, little bird. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Why're you here today?" [Supervillain] was a mastermind, a chess master (both literally and metaphorically), overall, a really smart guy. But he wasn't too keen on getting his hands dirty. [Villain] bowed on one knee before him. He refused full subjugation, but he was lesser and weaker.

"What do you want [Supervillain]?" [Villain] asked, exasperated. "I'm tired of this back-and-forth we keep doing. Just kill me or let me go or whatever, but end this."

"Finally at the begging stage." A melancholic note of bitterness crept into [Supervillain]'s voice. He liked begging. It meant he was in control. But he hated the sound of it. It was just so... pathetic.

You, a retired villian by choice, have just received new about your grandchild, a hero, being falsely accused of crimes he didn't commit causing you to demonstrate why you retired.

There's this interesting phenomenon where when you're a child, or some other vulnerable minority dependent on a job for shelter, you are actually under duress almost constantly. You can't say "I don't want to work today," you cannot say "I don't want to do the dishes, actually," you cannot choose not to participate. In a lot of cases, the punishment is explicit. Your parents might yell at you. Your boss might fire you. But in other cases, it's implicit. The mood will sour. You lose leeway. People get mad at you. And that creates a really shitty environment where you're constantly being coerced to do things!

And here's the kicker; you're not allowed to acknowledge that. You cannot acknowledge that you are being coerced, you cannot acknowledge that your free will is not being respected, because that's punished too. Your boss insists that you act excited. Your parents punish you for acting surly. You are forced to fake enthusiastic consent, constantly. It's a fucking nightmare. Your hand is being forced, you do not have the option to say "no," and if you ever, for a second, try to acknowledge that, everyone acts like you're the aggressor.

Writing Prompt #3027

"Go on. Chew me out and tell me I'm a failure."

"I was actually planning on saying that I'm proud of you."

Day I

"The Embassy is locking up Hero Cave-In for theft two days ago. At 5:26pm on Wednesday, eyewitnesses say she walked in, silent and menacing, crumbled the walls, and grabbed several bars of gold before exiting and flying away. The stash has yet to be found, but the Embassy is holding her in custody until it is found."

Millet turned off the TV and got up. On Wednesday at 5:26pm, Bush was with her sparring. Now they're saying she's a thief. No chance. Millet put on his old suit and flew over to the Embassy just as the holding van pulled away.

Millet walked through the front door to the holding cells and looked at his granddaughter and smirked as official looking people crowded around.

"Sir, uh... Bytewave? You're not allowed here. Please come with--"

"You locked my granddaughter in this lazy excuse for a holding cell with no real evidence that she did anything. She may uphold a moral code of heroics and formality, but I disagree. And if I disagree, I think you'll find it rather hard to hold me. So, before I turn this cell to rubble, I'll ask: Would you please unlock the door so we can go home?"

"Sir, she was caught on camera--"

"My family is very powerful, but we cannot be in two places at once. That is for Emotion and Cosmic. She was with me at the time that she would have done the crime you accuse her of, she is not so fast that I would have missed her travelling back and forth, and she is no thief."

"Of course, everyone would like to believe that their loved ones are innocent. However, we cannot weigh the testimony of a... villain over that of video evidence-- glchk." Mordred held the man up by his neck so they were eye level.

"Now I'm only gonna say this once more. She is not responsible. In fact, based on the footage, I don't think whoever framed her actually knows how she operates. Open that door before you're down a cell. Please." He dropped the guy, but no one moved.

He raised an eyebrow before sighing in defeat. As though on its own, the cell door fell away into dust and he called his granddaughter. She followed, an obvious look of apology, innocence, and pity on her face as she passed.

Bytewave stalked back out of the building, sending into walls whoever dared try to grab Bush. Villain he may have been, but he was not in the mood to kill. Not quite yet. This was not a death-worthy mission. Yet.

They took to the sky, but were not a block from his home, still in eyeshot of the Embassy HQ, when a hero, Sun Yun blocked the way.

"Please move," Bytewave warned, an edge to his voice that warned of violence.

"You're not taking a criminal from her rightful place without going through me."

After a beat of silence, Bytewave replied, "You're right. I'm not taking a criminal. I'm taking my granddaughter. Back home, where she should be. And getting through you? Well, that shouldn't be a problem."

Bytewave got into fighting stance as Sun Yun charged at him. He casually dodged, then grabbed Bush and flew off. Sun set her on fire, knocking her to the ground with the force of the blast.

Bytewave snuffed out the fire and set her down on a nearby rooftop, then rose up face to face with Sun Yun.

"You know I was a villain, right?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"No one forced me to retire. I did it myself. But I train others. I'm not fighting the system every two minutes, but I like to think I'm like a knife, still worth cutting a few weeds." He punched Sun, a harmless sonic boom echoing through the streets, Sun flying backwards. Sun Yun cannoned towards Bytewave, but he dodged, continuing to do so even as Sun released a barrage of attacks, each combo more sophisticated than the last. Bytewave had more trouble keeping up with when one combo ended and another began than avoiding the attacks.

Bytewave pressed his hand to Sun Yun's chest, looked him in the eye with a gaze filled with more disappointment than anger or even disgust, and reduced him to atoms.

You, a retired villian by choice, have just received new about your grandchild, a hero, being falsely accused of crimes he didn't commit causing you to demonstrate why you retired.

Prompt (469)

The villain grabbed the hero’s hand, inspecting it.

“Let go of me!” the hero spat.

“Split knuckles?” the villain said. “My, my. Tell me what you’ve been up to. Is there anyone I need to make disappear?”

"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.

We have yandere school,, but what about yan! Restaurant? 👀

You've only ever visited this particular restaurant once, but the food was just so good that you can't help but come back from time to time! And, oh.. The workers and manager there can't help but favor you a lot more than the rest ♡

I'm not sure if you meant it in the sense that the restaurant is a regular, normal business, and the staff became obsessed with you, or if the restaurant is quite literally advertised as a yandere service. I went for the latter, for the memes. Content: gender neutral reader, parody?, horde of (adult) yanderes

Yandere!Restaurant provides you with an extensive list of employees to choose from. From grey-haired and soft-spoken, to brash and youthful; the restaurant guarantees you will find your matching server within their impressive catalog.

Alright, where is the menu? Most customers are indeed taken aback when presented with a leather-bound book of blank pages. The gesture is quickly followed by a second, much thinner folder: a questionnaire, and an agreement to be stalked.

You see, Yandere!Restaurant has a particular modus operandi - you provide them with the basics: your full name and date of birth. Everything else will be uncovered by the yandere themselves. Once they have found you, the true serving process begins.

The first part is always the longest, hence their recommendation to book months in advance if you're a new customer. It's the research phase. Your chosen server will follow you around and gather all the needed information.

"No, thank you, it's too sweet for me", you tell a friend offering you some of their snack. From within the shadows, a cloaked figure scribbles down furiously.

The second and final phase is your usual dining experience. You are seated at the table and presented with your dishes. They have been carefully curated to match your taste in that very moment. Maybe you'd recently hoped you could eat your childhood favorite again. Maybe you'd seen a social media post about a trending dessert, and wished to try it out yourself. No matter the reason, know that it has been skillfully uncovered by your loyal server.

"This is..."

You gasp quietly and cover your mouth with a napkin. The taste is exquisite, filling you with a wave of nostalgia. How did they know? This is exactly what you wanted.

Why, of course. It was made with utmost love and attention. Won't you visit them again, (Y/N)?

[More Yandere Scenarios]