I think Yandere Amanda would be really scary and the only times you get peace from her is when her hypersomnia hits her, but you can never get away since she will alwaya find you one way or another. She is very relentless as a yandere.
[Amanda Gaddis x Reader headcanonsđŠ]
đŠ Yandere Amanda Gaddis (the Lanternist / Projector from Identity V)
If Amanda Gaddis were a yandere, she would be an extremely possessive, paranoid, and relentlessly protective typeâcold and calculating on the surface, soft and desperate for ordinary safety underneath. Her official background already supplies almost everything needed for this interpretation: lifelong hypersomnia with unpredictable cataplexy and invasive hallucinations, a childhood spent in a prison cell under a guard fatherâs distant watch, a mother who abandoned her because of the âblasphemousâ things she described, the optical peep-box given by the criminal called Dogma that first showed her what an ordinary day looked like, the repeated losses caused by other peopleâs lofty beliefs, and her eventual rejection of every distant ideal in favor of whatever she can actually seize and hold.
She is not the sweet, giggly, or purely violent brand of yandere. She is the quiet, observant, âeverything I do is for your own goodâ kindâparanoid, intelligent, stubborn, and almost impossible to escape once she has decided you are hers.
đŠ Core Personality as a Yandere
đŠ Amandaâs possessiveness is absolute. Everyone outside the small, controlled space she builds around you is a threat. They will either take you away or hurt you; there is no third option in her mind. She grew up watching dangerous people make secret deals and hearing about their crimes, so she reads motives the way other people read faces. Anyone who approaches you is catalogued, analysed, and, if necessary, removed. She does not trust the world because the world has already proven it will abandon her, execute the people she cares about, or drive them away with faith and dogma. You are the single solid thing she has managed to keep. Losing you is not an option.
đŠ On the outside she often appears cold, rigid, and a little boringâthe classic who says exactly what she means, has little patience for social performance, and can kill the mood without meaning to. People mistake that stillness for cruelty. It is not. Inside she is soft, tired, and quietly terrified of her own mind. She knows her sleep disorder and hallucinations make her difficult. She is not confident. She simply refuses to stop trying. She will never be the âbestâ partner, but she will always be the one who works the hardest for you.
đŠ She is independent enough to survive aloneâprison, exile, crime-themed optical exhibitionsâbut her hypersomnia and nightmares mean she frequently collapses or sinks into sleep without warning. Those are the only times you get real peace. The rest of the time she is awake, watching, and protective to the point of suffocation. When she is conscious she will protect you with the same intensity she expects you to protect her while she sleeps. Care is reciprocal with her. Betrayal or deception, however, is answered with the same precision and coldness.
đŠ She is smart. Do not try to lie to her. She notices the small inconsistencies the way she once noticed the small movements of prisoners. Once she has chosen you, she becomes extremely persistent. She does not give up. She is the type who decides a person is hers and then treats that decision as irreversible fact.
đŠ How She Treats Her Partner
đŠ Daily life with yandere Amanda is quiet, controlled, and tightly monitored. She prefers a sweetheartâsomeone gentle, patient, willing to sit with her through the sudden collapses and the nightmares, someone who does not demand constant performance. She will try to give you ordinary moments: humming, painting, looking at the way light changes, sharing the kind of small, safe domesticity she once saw inside a peep-box. Those moments are genuine. They are also fragile, because the second she senses danger (real or imagined) the softness disappears and the protector returns.
đŠ She isolates you for your own safety. She limits contact with outsiders. She uses her knowledge of projection, observation, and the darker side of human behaviour to keep threats away. Jealousy is constant and absolute. Other people are never neutral; they are either potential thieves or potential harm. She will say, without irony, that everything she does is for your good. In her mind that is simply true.
đŠ She is hard to truly reach. Years of silence, loss, and distorted perception have built walls. If you stay long enough, if you care for her when the sleep attacks come, if you do not try to run, those walls can slowly lower. Gratitude appears. Softness appears. She may even begin to believe that a shared ordinary life is possible. But the possessiveness never fully leaves. It simply becomes quieter and more complete.
đŠ Extremity, Care, and Consequences
đŠ Yes, she is extreme. The only reliable peace you get is when hypersomnia hitsâwhen her body suddenly gives out and she is forced into sleep or trapped in nightmares. Those are the brief windows when the constant surveillance relaxes. The rest of the time she is relentless. She will always find you. Optical habits, careful observation, and a refusal to accept loss mean distance is temporary. She treats your continued presence the way she treats a perfect projection slide: something that must stay exactly where she placed it.
đŠ When she is awake she cares for you by removing danger, by staying close, by trying (sometimes awkwardly) to create the ordinary days she has always wanted. She expects the same care in return for her sleep and her mental state. If you give it, she returns it in kindâprotection, effort, loyalty.
đŠ If you disobey, try to leave, or deceive her, the response is cold and methodical rather than immediately explosive. She will re-assert control with the tools she knows: isolation, projection of safety that is really confinement, careful tracking, and the quiet certainty that she is correcting a mistake for your own good. She can become terrifyingly ruthless. Betrayal feels to her like every previous lossâanother person cutting themselves out of her life for some higher reason. She will not allow it again. The softness does not vanish; it simply becomes secondary to the need to keep you.
đŠ In short: Yandere Amanda is scary in a quiet, inevitable way. The only times you breathe freely are when her hypersomnia forces her under. The rest of the time she is watching, calculating, and holding on with a grip that does not loosen. She is not the best possible partner. She is, however, the one who will never stop trying, never stop protecting, and never truly let go. She wants a safe, ordinary life with the person she loves. She is simply willing to warp reality, time, and other people to make sure that life stays hers.
[Short Story: Encounter with Her]
The first time you met Amanda Gaddis was in the preparation room on the southwest side of the manor.
The rain had just stopped. The air still carried the damp scent of earth and a faint trace of rust. There were not many people in the room. A few survivors stood around the long table discussing tactics in low voices, occasionally letting out short bursts of laughter. She sat in the farthest corner, black hair falling loosely over her shoulders, a few strands clinging to the pale side of her neck. In her hands was an old magic lantern. She was wiping the lens with a clean cloth, slow and focused, as if handling something more important than life itself. The noise around her seemed completely irrelevant. She looked as though an invisible glass case separated her from everyone else. Even her breathing felt unusually quiet.
You only wanted a place to set down your toolbox, so you walked over. She lifted her eyes. Those grey, almost transparent pupils rested on your face for less than two seconds before she lowered her gaze again and continued wiping the lens. There was no curiosity in that look, no hostility, not even the most basic social courtesy. She simply confirmed that someone had approached, then withdrew her attention.
âExcuse me,â you said.
âMm.â Her reply was flat, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her. She barely shifted her body, only turning her shoulder slightly to leave just enough space for you to pass. As you walked by, you could almost smell the faint scent of old paper mixed with dried marigold on her. She did not look at you again. Her fingers kept wiping the lens with precise, nearly mechanical movements.
That was the distance between you at the beginningâdistant, direct, perfunctory. She never said more than necessary. Her eyes never lingered longer than a second. At the time you only thought this woman was cold to the point of rudeness, like a doll fixed inside a lantern slide, rejecting anyone who tried to get close. In the following days you occasionally passed each other in the common areas. She always sat alone in a corner, either wiping the lantern or reading an old crime novel with yellowed pages and curled corners. When you nodded in greeting she would only give a faint âmmâ and look away. Once you even walked over and casually asked what the map for the dayâs match was. She lifted her eyelids, glanced at you, and answered, âRed Church.â Then she returned to her book without another word.
After the matches began, the two of you were not assigned to the same team very often. When cooperation was required she only gave the shortest instructions: âMove left.â âFreeze me.â âDonât go near that area.â âProjection is down.â Her tone was flat, as if directing a tool without feelings. You tried speaking to her during the breaks between matches, asking about the lanternâs techniques or simply chatting about the weather or strange rumors in the manor. Her answers were always so brief they bordered on rudeââGot it.â âMm.â âNo need.â âBe careful yourself.â There were moments you genuinely wondered whether she simply did not want to form any connection with anyone, teammates included.
The hunter was the Bloody Queen. The map was the night version of the Red Church. Mirror worlds and reality alternated; the terrain was complex and exhausting. Broken walls, tombstones, and stone pillars wrapped in vines cast twisted shadows in the dark. While rescuing a teammate from a rocket chair you accidentally found herâshe had just been hit. A deep wound on her left arm went almost to the bone. Blood ran down her sleeve, staining half of it red and dripping onto the stone floor, pooling darkly in the cracks. She leaned against a broken wall, her face frighteningly pale, cold sweat covering her forehead, yet she was still trying to activate the lantern. Her fingers trembled from blood loss. A few drops of blood already stained the lens.
Without thinking you rushed over, pulled her away, and used the bandages you carried to stop the bleeding. The blood was hot. It soaked through the gaps between your fingers, carrying a strong metallic smell. Her breathing was light, but her eyes stayed fixed on your hands, as if observing a projection about to be completed. You could feel her muscles tighten slightly from the pain, yet she never made a sound.
âDonât move,â you said.
For once she obeyed. During the bandaging she occasionally drew in a quiet breath when the pain hit, her lips pressed white, but she remained silent. When you tied the final knot she looked at her arm, then at you. After a few seconds of silence she spoke:
Two words, still concise, yet heavier than every previous âmm.â Her voice was a little hoarse. In the dim light her eyes looked especially clear. You nodded, about to say âItâs nothing,â but she had already picked up the lantern again and added in a low voice, âNext time donât take risks like that. You could get hurt too.â
That was the first time she had spoken a complete sentence of more than five words to you.
From that day on, things slowly began to change.
The frequency of matches gradually increased.
Perhaps it was the manor ownerâs arrangement, perhaps only coincidence, but the two of you were assigned to the same team more and more often. At first it was pure cooperation. When you decoded, she would precisely use projections to interfere with the hunterâs vision or freeze you at critical moments to help you avoid fatal attacks. When you kited, she always placed the optical illusion in the right position in the most crucial seconds, buying you breathing room. Gradually a wordless understanding formed between you. She did not need to speak for you to know which direction she would move. One look from you was enough for her to judge what you needed. Once, while being chased, you instinctively ran in a certain direction. Almost at the same time she placed a projection there and successfully helped you create distance. Afterwards she only said flatly, âNext time give me a little more notice,â without blaming your impulsiveness.
Her hypersomnia also began to show more frequently around that time.
Once, in the final circle, she was using the lantern to freeze a dangerous area when her eyes suddenly lost focus. Her body went soft and she collapsed forward. You caught her on instinct. She fell against you, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid, as if something inside had drained her strength. You dragged her behind safe cover and stayed with her while the hunterâs footsteps approached and then faded in the distance. Her body twitched lightly from time to time, as though fighting something invisible. More than ten minutes later she slowly woke.
She opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was you.
ââŚYouâre still here,â she said in a low voice. The words were so quiet they were almost covered by the distant alarm. Her fingers unconsciously tightened on your sleeveânot hard, but stubborn.
That was the first time she had said something like that to you.
Afterwards you began to grow used to her sudden collapses. During matches, in the preparation room, even on the way back to the rooms, she could soft-fall at any moment from the unpredictable attacks. You always went to her at once, helping her to a safe place, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead, or simply sitting quietly beside her until she climbed out of that broken sleep. When she woke she always first confirmed your position, confirmed you had not left, and only then slowly sat up. Sometimes she had nightmares. Her fingers would clutch your sleeve or wrist tightly and she would make small, hunted-sounding whimpers. You could only gently hold her hand and say in a low voice, âItâs all right. Iâm here,â until her breathing steadied again.
Once she collapsed in the preparation room and fell directly against your shoulder. Curious looks came from the people around. When she woke she did not leave immediately. She only said quietly, âLet me lean a little longer.â You nodded. She stayed like that, her breathing gradually becoming even, as if she had finally found a place where she could temporarily lower her guard.
She began to depend on that care.
At first it was only habit. Later it became need. When she felt drowsiness approaching she would move closer to you beforehand, as if silently asking you to watch over her. Once she even actively sat beside you in the preparation room and said in a very low voice, with a rare trace of uncertainty, âI might not last much longer. Can you⌠watch me for a while?â You nodded. She leaned against your shoulder and quickly drifted into a light sleep. You felt her breathing become even, and you also felt that even after she fell asleep her fingers still lightly held your sleeve, as if confirming you would not suddenly disappear.
You grew used to it as well. Pouring her water, smoothing the hair that had been soaked by sweat, gently patting her back during nightmares, appearing in her line of sight the moment she wokeâthese actions gradually became a natural part of your interactions. She began to return the care. After matches she would quietly clean and dress your wounds. Her movements remained direct, yet far more careful than when she treated herself. She remembered the preferences you had casually mentioned about certain foods or resting spots and prepared them the next time. Once you casually said you liked hot sweet drinks. The next day a cup of honey water at just the right temperature appeared on the preparation room table. She said nothing. When you looked at her she only gave a very faint nod. Another time you were quite badly hurt during a match. After she stayed with you until the wound was treated she spoke up of her own accord for once: âNext time⌠donât charge so far ahead alone. I can freeze you.â
Your relationship slowly shifted from the initial distance into a familiar interdependence.
One day she spoke up on her own in the preparation room. Rain was falling again outside. The sound was fine and dense, like countless small fingers tapping the glass. She looked at the lantern in her hands and said in a flat yet serious voice:
âYou are important to me.â
At the time you only took it as her straightforward personality and casually answered, âYou are too.â She lifted her eyes and looked at you for a long time. There was something in those grey pupils you could not quite read. In the end she gave a soft âmm,â as if carefully fixing that sentence into some permanent place.
At that time everything was still fine.
After matches the two of you would walk back to the rooms together, occasionally exchanging a few comments about tactics. When you were tired she would drape her coat over your shoulders, the movement light, as if handling a precious exhibit. When she trembled slightly from hallucinations you would sit quietly beside her until she calmed again. She began to smile at you occasionallyâthe smile was shallow, only a slight lift of the corners of her mouth, yet her eyes would brighten a little. At that time you thought that perhaps this cold woman was softer inside than she appeared. After you fell asleep she would sometimes lightly touch your hand to confirm your temperature before lying down herself. Once you woke in the middle of the night and saw her looking at you, her gaze very still. When she noticed you were awake she only said quietly, âSleep. Iâm here.â
You began to feel that perhaps the two of you could continue like this.
The turning point arrived almost without warning, yet it also felt as though the signs had been there all along.
After one match you spoke a few extra sentences with a newly arrived survivor. The other person had only asked curiously about coordination techniques. The tone was friendly and carried no extra meaning. Amanda stood not far away, her expression calm, yet her eyes never left the two of you. After the other person left she walked over. Her tone was a little colder than usual.
âDonât get too close to him.â
âIt was just casual talk.â
âCasual talk can turn into other things.â She looked at you. For the first time clear wariness appeared in her eyes. âPeople outside will hurt you. I donât like you spending too much time with them. They look harmless, but many things start from âharmless.ââ
At the time you only felt she was being a little overprotective and did not take it too seriously. You told yourself it was probably because she had lost someone important in the pastâshe had mentioned it once, in a very flat tone, saying a friend had left her because of certain âlofty thingsâ and never returned. She did not want to lose anyone again. Her anxiety was real. You even felt a little soft-hearted, thinking she was simply too afraid of loneliness.
But real things, once they go too far, gradually turn into chains.
Her paranoia deepened slowly in the days that followed.
She began to prevent you from staying alone with others for too long. In the preparation room she always sat where you could see her and she could see you. When someone approached you she would fix those grey eyes on them without moving until the person left of their own accord. She began to limit the range of your movementsânot with explicit bans, but by using various methods that made it âjust happenâ that you could not leave her: sudden drowsiness, needing your help adjusting the lantern, or simply saying, âI feel a little unwell. Can you stay with me for a while?â You refused once. She did not force you. She only looked at you in silence, a nearly wounded calm in her eyes. In the end you stayed. Afterwards she said in a low voice, âThank you. I just⌠donât really want to be alone.â
She took protection to the extreme.
Not even a small injury was allowed. Not even the slightest possible danger. When you prepared to go to an area she considered unsafe she would suddenly take your wrist. The grip was not hard, yet it made it difficult for you to pull away easily.
âThere are people there. Itâs not safe.â
âTheyâre just ordinary survivors.â
âOrdinary people can become threats too.â She said, âI donât want you to suffer even the smallest harm. I already⌠donât want to lose anyone again. Last time I thought the other person would come back. In the end there was nothing.â
At first you could still accept it. You told yourself this was her way. She was simply too afraid. When you really got hurt she treated the wound more nervously than you did yourself, her fingers trembling slightly, yet she never blamed you. After you fell asleep she would sit quietly by the bed, using the faint light of the lantern to confirm you were still breathing. Once you woke in the middle of the night and saw her sitting there like that, her eyes frighteningly bright in the dark. When she noticed you were awake she only said quietly, âIâm watching you. Sleep. I wonât leave.â
But when she began checking the content of your conversations with others, when she began quietly following you after you returned to your room, when she began using various small optical devices to confirm whether you were really in the place she thought you were, you finally felt true suffocation.
Once you lingered a little longer in a common area and exchanged a few unimportant words with an old acquaintance. When you returned to the room she was already sitting in the chair, lantern in hand, her expression calm to the point of coldness.
âWhere did you go?â she asked.
âJust walking around.â
You hesitated for a moment, then told the truth. She nodded. She did not erupt immediately. She only said in a low voice, âTell me next time. I need to know where you are. People outside⌠I donât trust them.â
From then on her gaze became even more frequent. She would observe your expression while you spoke, ask for details after you returned to the room, and use various reasons to make you stay longer when you prepared to go out. She no longer only protected you from harm. She wanted to ensure that, aside from her, no one else could get close to you.
You began silently calculating distances in your mind. Calculating her gaze. Calculating how much longer you could endure. At night you started staring at the ceiling, wondering whether you had already slowly become a fixed image inside her lantern. You began to feel that the care which had once been warm was gradually turning into ropes that could not be escaped.
One day you finally could not take it anymore.
You began to plan your departure.
You knew she trusted you. That trust had been built slowly through countless times you watched over her while she slept, treated her wounds, and stayed during her most vulnerable moments. You used that trust. You told her you were only going to the east warehouse to get some spare bandages and would be back soon. She looked at you. There was a brief hesitation in those grey eyes. In the end she still nodded.
âGo early and come back early,â she said. Her voice was very light. âItâs not safe outside. Donât go too far. Itâs going to rain.â
You nodded and turned to leave.
You did not go to the warehouse. You took another path, trying as much as possible to avoid angles she might be watching, heading toward the old passage at the outer edge of the manor. Rain began to fall. Fine threads of water quickly soaked your shoulders. You walked quickly. Your heart pounded hard, both from tension and from a guilt you could not clearly name. You told yourself this was only temporary. You needed space. You needed to breathe. You needed to confirm that you were still someone who could move freely. You even told yourself in your mind that once everything had calmed down you might still be able to explain to her in another way.
You thought you had escaped.
She found you when the rain had already grown heavy.
You were sheltering in the abandoned greenhouse. Rainwater had collected on the glass roof. Occasionally drops fell through cracks and struck the stone floor. The sound of the door being pushed open was very light, almost covered by the rain. You turned around and saw her standing in the doorway.
Her black hair was soaked by the rain and clung to her pale face and neck. She had no umbrella. Her clothes were completely wet and stuck to her body, yet she stood perfectly straight. Those grey eyes were frighteningly bright in the dim light. The usual calm was gone. All that remained was something nearly icy, something that had been completely torn open. Rainwater ran down the ends of her hair and collected in a small puddle on the floor. Her breathing was light, yet it carried a tremor that had been suppressed to the extreme.
She walked in. Her steps were steady.
âYou lied to me,â she said. The voice was very quiet, yet it instantly chilled the air inside the greenhouse.
You opened your mouth, wanting to explain. Wanting to say you only needed a little space, that you were not leaving forever, that you still cared about her.
She raised her hand and stopped you.
âDonât,â she said as she came closer. Rainwater and mud dripped from the hem of her clothes. âYou used the trust I had in you. You knew I would believe you, so you chose this method. You knew I wouldnât suspect you, so you dared to leave. You calculated it very accurately.â
She stopped in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets on her eyelashes. Her breath touched your face, carrying rain and a near-desperate coldness.
âI lost someone once,â she continued. Her tone was calm to the point of cruelty. âThat person also said they would be back soon when they left. They said they were only going to handle one matter. Afterwards I never saw them again. I waited for a long time. I thought if I was good enough, careful enough, the other person would return. In the end there was nothing. I showed you my most vulnerable parts. I gave you my sleep, my hallucinations, my fear. And you used them to deceive me.â
She reached out. Her ice-cold fingers lightly touched your face. The movement was still gentle, yet her eyes had completely darkened. Those eyes that used to brighten a little when you took care of her now looked like two glass beads washed by rain, cold to the point of having almost no temperature.
âSo this time I will not give you another chance to leave.â
Her voice dropped lower, carrying a coldness you had never heard before, a coldness that made the skin crawl.
âYou are the only real thing I have managed to hold onto. If you want to leave, I will fix you in a place where I can always see you. Forever. People outside will hurt you. They will turn you into the next person who disappears. I will not allow it. Even if you hate me, even if you never want to see me againâI still will not let go. I can take care of myself, but I chose to let you take care of me. I gave you âordinary.â You are not allowed to throw it away.â
Her fingers slid from your cheek to your chin. The pressure gradually increased. Not hard, yet it made you clearly feel something that could not be escaped.
âFrom now on you are not allowed to go anywhere. Every word you say, I will confirm. Every person you look at, I will watch. If you deceive me againâŚâ
She did not finish the sentence.
But those eyes had already made the remaining meaning perfectly clear.
Rain continued to fall. Dense water sounds struck the glass roof of the greenhouse. She simply looked at you. There was no extra expression on her pale face, only a darkness that had been completely ignited and then forcibly pressed back under ice by herself. She had once been that distant, direct, perfunctory cold woman. She had once, because you saved her and took care of her, slowly come to regard you as someone important. She had once sincerely returned your care and sincerely wanted to spend every ordinary day safely with you.
But now that sincerity had completely turned in another direction.
She had lost someone once, so this time she chose the most thorough, the coldest, the most uncompromising method to lock you inside her light and shadow.
You looked at her and suddenly did not know what to say.
She had already reached out and taken your wrist.
The grip was not hard, yet it made you clearly feelâthis time she would not let go again.
The rain outside continued.
And she simply stood quietly in front of you, using those eyes that would never easily soften again to fix you in this moment.
You did not know what would happen next.
You only knew that from this second onward the distance between you would never return to the initial detachment, nor to the later gentleness.
Only the fixed, inescapable, ice-cold closeness remained.
Her fingers tightened slightly on your wrist, as if confirming you were still there, and at the same time warning youâthis time she truly would not let go again.
Inside the greenhouse there were only the sounds of the two of you breathing, and those eyes of hers that would never easily soften again.
(The ending is open-ended; feel free to interpret it however you like.ďź
[You know, it may be a little oof. I have tried my best to write it. After all, I don't know much about this role, so it may be a little subjective. Sorry]
Do you think ooc? Or I don't think it's suitable for the role.
Remaining time: 6 days 15 hours
(Thank you for your feedback. I will try my best not to make the character look too ooc)
