Just a Normal Human Being

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime & Manga), 呪術廻戦≡ | Jujutsu Kaisen Modulo (Manga), Original Work, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Original Characters, Original Male Character(s), Original Male Human Character(s), Original Female Character(s), Original Female Human Character(s) Additional Tags: Rules Survival, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Near Death Experiences, Survival, Weird Plot Shit, Alternate Universe - Battle Royale Fusion, Inspired by Battle Royale - Takami Koushun, Character Development, Fear of Death, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Original Character Death(s) Summary:

Could you write Kafka hypnotizing reader, don't care about anything else.

okie, thanks in advance

Control.

The air aboard the Astral Express hummed with the familiar thrum of warp travel, but to Y/N, it felt thick, suffocating. She’d sought solitude in a rarely-used observation lounge, drawn by the hypnotic swirl of stars beyond the reinforced glass. Her thoughts were a tangled mess – anxieties about the next mission, the gnawing emptiness she couldn’t define. That’s when *she* appeared.

Kafka didn’t enter; she materialized, a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness near the viewport. Her crimson eyes, glowing faintly like dying embers, fixed on Y/N. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, devoid of warmth, filled with predatory amusement.

"Troubled thoughts, little songbird?" Kafka’s voice was a velvet purr, resonating deep within Y/N’s bones, bypassing conscious thought. "The cosmos sings such a lonely melody tonight, doesn't it?"

Y/N stiffened, a primal fear coiling in her gut. "Kafka. What do you want?"

"Want?" Kafka chuckled, a low, chilling sound. She took a step closer, her high heels clicking softly on the metal floor, each step echoing in the sudden silence of Y/N’s mind. "I want to conduct. To find the perfect harmony hidden beneath the noise." Her gaze intensified. "And you, my dear Y/N… you’re out of tune."

Y/N tried to look away, to call for help, but her limbs felt leaden. Kafka’s eyes held her captive. They weren’t just looking *at* her; they were peeling her open, layer by layer. The swirling stars outside seemed to pulse in time with the Stellaron Hunter’s presence.

"Don't fight it," Kafka murmured, her voice dropping to a hypnotic whisper that slithered into Y/N’s ears. "Fighting only creates dissonance. Listen… listen to the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Slow… steady… sinking."

Against her will, Y/N’s focus narrowed to the frantic thumping in her chest. It *was* slowing, matching the languid cadence of Kafka’s words. The starfield beyond the glass began to blur, its pinpricks of light stretching into luminous trails.

"Good," Kafka breathed, now standing directly before her. She raised a gloved hand, not touching, but tracing the air inches from Y/N’s temple. A faint, violet light emanated from her fingertips, carrying the scent of ozone and something ancient, metallic. "Feel the weight lifting? The useless worries, the petty fears… they’re just static. Let them fade."

Y/N felt a terrifying sense of detachment. Her anxieties *did* seem distant, trivial. A profound lethargy washed over her, warm and inviting. Her knees buckled, but she didn't fall. Kafka’s unseen will held her upright.

"Your mind is such a fascinating instrument," Kafka continued, her voice the only anchor in Y/N’s dissolving reality. "So full of potential, yet so… cluttered. Let me help you find your true resonance. The one *I* choose for you." Her crimson eyes flared brighter. "Look deeper, Y/N. Into my eyes. See the symphony I weave."

It wasn't a request. It was a command etched directly onto her soul. Y/N’s gaze locked onto Kafka’s. The swirling crimson wasn't just color; it was a vortex. Patterns formed – spirals that tightened, fractals that repeated into infinity, each iteration pulling Y/N further down. Whispers echoed in the patterns, not Kafka’s voice, but her own thoughts, twisted and amplified.

Useless… Alone… Afraid… Needing… Obeying…

"Yesss," Kafka hissed, a serpentine sound of satisfaction. "There it is. The raw note beneath the chaos. Fear. Such a powerful motivator. But also… emptiness. A void waiting to be filled." She leaned impossibly close, her breath ghosting over Y/N’s ear, cold despite its proximity. "I can fill it, little songbird. I can give you purpose. Peace. All you need to do… is surrender."

The violet light intensified, pouring from Kafka’s hand into Y/N’s mind. It wasn't painful; it was a chilling invasion, a glacial flood seeping into every crevice of her consciousness. Memories flickered – laughter with the Express crew, moments of determination – but they felt alien, like scenes from someone else's life. Kafka’s presence was the only constant, the only *real* thing.

"Surrender your doubt," Kafka commanded, the words vibrating through Y/N’s skull. "Surrender your will. Surrender your self. They are burdens you no longer need to carry. Give them… to me."

Resistance was ash on the wind. The last fragile threads of Y/N’s autonomy snapped. A whimper escaped her lips, a final, pathetic sound before silence swallowed her. Her body went utterly slack, held only by Kafka’s invisible strings. Her eyes, once reflecting the starlight, now held only a dull, vacant sheen, mirroring the hypnotic patterns still swirling in Kafka’s gaze.

Kafka smiled, a genuine expression of dark delight. She gently cupped Y/N’s cheek, her thumb stroking the slack skin. The touch was possessive, intimate in its utter violation. "Beautiful," she murmured. "A perfect instrument, silenced and ready to be tuned."

She leaned in again, her lips brushing Y/N’s ear. "Now, listen closely, my dear. Your first note. Forget the Astral Express. Forget your past. Your loyalty… your devotion… belongs only to me. Kafka. Say it."

Y/N’s lips moved, soundless at first, then a hoarse, emotionless whisper. "...Kafka."

"Good girl." Kafka’s smile widened. "You are mine. Utterly. Completely. My will is your symphony. My desires are your purpose. Feel the peace in that? The beautiful simplicity?"

Inside the hollowed-out shell of her mind, Y/N felt… nothing. No peace, no terror. Just an echoing void where her self used to be. And within that void, only Kafka’s voice resonated, clear and absolute, the only sound in the silent universe.

Kafka stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Y/N stood like a perfect doll, awaiting instruction. The vibrant, sometimes stubborn Trailblazer was gone, replaced by a vessel of exquisite emptiness. Kafka traced a finger down Y/N’s arm, sending a phantom shiver through the unresponsive body.

"The others will miss you, of course," Kafka mused, her tone light, conversational. "March 7th will cry. Dan Heng will brood. Himeko will search. It will be… tragically beautiful." Her crimson eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "But they won't find *you*. They'll find my masterpiece. My obedient shadow."

She turned towards the swirling stars, her figure silhouetted against the cosmos. "Come, my little songbird. We have work to do. The Stellaron’s grand design requires… harmony." She didn't look back, simply extending a hand. "Follow."

Without hesitation, without a flicker of independent thought, Y/N moved. Her steps were smooth, unnaturally precise, falling into perfect sync with Kafka’s own. She followed the Stellaron Hunter away from the observation deck, away from the Astral Express, away from everything she had ever been.

In the aftermath of the Vision Hunt Decree's abolition, Inazuma enjoys fragile peace. Yet, whispers of a mysterious energy surge near Tsurumi Island unsettle both the Shogunate and Watatsumi forces. The Arataki Gang's leader, Arataki Itto, stumbles upon a cryptic map during a beetle battle, hinting at a legendary treasure—the "Thunderheart Gem." Unbeknownst to him, Sangonomiya General Gorou investigates the same anomaly, fearing it’s a remnant of Orobashi’s wrath. Their paths collide when both seek the gem to protect their respective worlds.

Itto’s boisterous laughter echoes through Hanamizaka as he rallies his gang: “This gem’s gonna make me Inazuma’s *ultimate* champ!” Meanwhile, Gorou briefs Kokomi in Watatsumi, ears twitching anxiously. “The energy readings… they’re destabilizing the sea. I’ll secure the source before it’s too late.”

On Tsurumi’s fog-shrouded shores, Itto’s makeshift raft crashes into Gorou’s anchored resistance ship. “Hey, pup! You here to steal my glory?!” Gorou’s tail bristles. “This isn’t a game, Oni. That ‘treasure’ could drown islands!” A sudden tremor splits the ground, revealing a cavern pulsating with electro energy. Reluctantly, they team up to navigate the labyrinth.

Inside, traps test their synergy. Itto smashes electro barriers with his claymore, while Gorou’s arrows trigger hidden mechanisms. “Nice shot, General! But my muscles did 90% of the work.” Gorou rolls his eyes. “Just don’t touch anything glowing.” Their banter masks growing respect—Itto’s raw power complements Gorou’s precision.

Deep within, they find the gem guarded by a spectral serpent—a manifestation of Orobashi’s lingering resentment. Itto charges, but the creature’s miasma paralyzes him. Gorou unleashes a geo-infused barrage, creating an opening. “Get up, Arataki! We finish this together!” Merging Itto’s crimson oni strength with Gorou’s tactical cries, they shatter the serpent.

With the gem secured, tensions resurface. Itto grins. “C’mon, pup. Let’s split it! You take the sparkles; I’ll keep the shiny.” Gorou hesitates, then smirks. “…Actually, it’s safest *shattered*.” Before Itto protests, Gorou crushes the gem, dispersing its energy harmlessly. “WHAT?! That was my ticket to fame!” “Your ticket,” Gorou chuckles, “was teaming up with me.”

The first time I saw Yelan, she was standing beneath the golden lanterns of Liyue Harbor, her teal eyes glinting like shards of polished jade. The night air was thick with the scent of silk flowers and salt, the distant murmur of merchants and sailors blending into the hum of the city. She was watching me—not just glancing, but studying, as if she had already memorized the curve of my lips, the way my fingers curled around the strap of my bag.

I should have known then.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I smiled.

And she smiled back—sharp, knowing, like a fox who had just found its prey.

"Lost?" she asked, her voice smooth as honeyed wine.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Just admiring the view."

Her lips curved. "So am I."

I didn’t realize she wasn’t talking about the harbor.

Chapter 2: The Slow Seduction

Yelan was magnetic. Every word, every gesture was deliberate, calculated to draw me in. She’d appear at my favorite tea house, sliding into the seat across from me as if she had always belonged there.

"You like osmanthus tea," she mused one evening, pushing a cup toward me. "A little sugar, no milk."

I blinked. "How did you—?"

She sipped her own drink, eyes never leaving mine. "I notice things."

At first, it was thrilling. The way she remembered small details—how I tucked my hair behind my ear when nervous, the way I tapped my fingers against the table when lost in thought. No one had ever paid attention to me like that before.

But then, the gifts started.

A silk scarf in the exact shade of blue I loved. A rare book I had mentioned in passing. A hairpin shaped like a lotus, because she had once heard me say they were my favorite flower.

"You shouldn’t have," I murmured the fifth time she pressed a present into my hands.

Her fingers lingered against my wrist. "I wanted to."

And then, softer: "I always will."

Chapter 3: The Possession

It wasn’t long before her touches grew bolder. A hand on my waist as she guided me through a crowd. Fingers brushing my cheek as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Lips grazing my neck when she leaned in to whisper something only I could hear.

I didn’t mind.

At first.

But then came the questions.

"Who was that man you were speaking to earlier?" she asked one night, her voice light, but her grip on my arm just a little too tight.

"A merchant," I said. "Just asking for directions."

She hummed, her thumb stroking my skin in slow circles. "You’re too kind to strangers, darling. Not everyone deserves your smile."

I laughed it off.

But the next time a stranger flirted with me, Yelan was there in an instant, her body sliding between us like a blade unsheathed. Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes—gods, her eyes were ice.

"I believe you were leaving," she said, sweet as poison.

The man paled and scurried away.

I turned to her, heart pounding. "You didn’t have to do that."

Her fingers curled around mine, squeezing just shy of painful. "Oh, but I did."

The first time I tried to pull away, she kissed me.

It was late, the moon high over the harbor, and I had told her I needed space. That things were moving too fast.

Yelan had gone very, very still.

Then, in one fluid motion, she had me pinned against the wall, her body pressed flush against mine, her lips claiming me with a hunger that stole my breath.

"You don’t mean that," she murmured against my mouth.

"I—"

"You don’t," she repeated, fingers tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp. "You’re mine. You’ve always been mine."

I should have fought.

But her touch was fire, and I was already burning.

The first time I tried to leave Liyue, she found me at the docks.

My bag was packed. The ship was waiting.

And then she was there—leaning against the railing, arms crossed, smiling like she had known all along.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, voice deceptively soft.

My throat tightened. "Yelan—"

She stepped forward, cupping my face, her thumb brushing my lower lip. "Did you really think I’d let you go?"

I swallowed. "I need to—"

"You need me," she corrected, leaning in until her breath ghosted over my skin. "And I need you. That’s how this works."

I opened my mouth to argue.

And then she kissed me, deep and consuming, and I forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to remember why I ever wanted to leave.

Now, when she holds me, I don’t resist.

When she whispers "Mine" against my skin, I don’t correct her.

When her love threatens to drown me, I don’t fight the current.

Because somewhere along the way, her obsession became my oxygen.

And I don’t know how to live without it anymore.

"You’ll never leave me, will you?" she murmurs one night, her arms wrapped around me like chains of silk.

I don’t answer.

I don’t need to.

So, a yandere Yumezuki Mizukithat knows that she needs to get help, so she has the little Baku that appear in her brust do therapy on her (in lore that is what happens) but since they're clones of her, they feel the same way and end up convincing herself that it's normal.

Hi. Sorry for replying late, I have exams in the upcoming month and I am too lazy for my own good. I stopped playing Genshin Impact since Fontaine release so I have might alterned Yumezuki a bit so just think of it as an AU. If it's okay, then it's the best. I don't get what you mean in your request so I have to make one myself to give it back. (At least it's better than not replying at all.) Title: Eternal Slumber of Dreams The sterile scent of antiseptic greets you as you stir in your hospital bed. Your days blur into nights, each moment marked by the soft hum of machines. Enter Yumezuki—a clinical psychologist with eyes like twilight and a voice that soothes like a lullaby. Her touch lingers a heartbeat too long, her smiles a shade too tender. "Rest now," she murmurs, her fingers brushing your forehead. The world dissolves into velvet darkness. You awaken in a sun-dappled meadow, petals swirling in a symphony of colors. Yumezuki stands before you, ethereal in a gown of starlight. "Welcome to our paradise," she croons, her laughter like wind chimes. The air thrums with warmth, but unease prickles your spine. Shadows flicker at the edges—a fractured clocktower, a wilting rose. "Stay with me," she pleads, her hand outstretched. "Forever." The dream shifts. A library materializes, its shelves stretching into infinity. Yumezuki’s voice echoes from nowhere and everywhere: "You’re safer here. The real world is cruel." Books flutter open, revealing your memories—a childhood home, a lost love. She curates them, erasing sorrows. But you grasp a page she missed: a photo of your sister, her face smudged. The walls shudder. Yumezuki’s smile wavers. "Don’t ruin this." Corridors twist into mazes, mirrors reflecting Yumezuki’s many faces—the caregiver, the captor. She corners you in a hall of thorns, eyes blazing. "Why run? I’ve given you perfection!" You falter, her desperation raw. "I need you," she whispers, tears like liquid silver. The thorns part, revealing a door etched with your name. Beyond it, a hospital bed—your body, pale and still. A lifeline.

You’ve forgotten how long you’ve been here. Time stretches like the void between stars, endless and indifferent. The cold metal walls of the Astral Express’s hidden storage compartment—repurposed as your prison—bite into your skin, but you don’t shiver. Not from the cold, at least.

Immortality is a curse dressed in gold. You’ve walked galaxies, outlived civilizations, and watched stars collapse into silent graves. But none of it compares to her.

The door hisses open. A silhouette framed in crimson light. Castorice.

Her boots click like a metronome counting down to your agony. She hums a melody you once found beautiful—a lullaby from a dead planet. Now it’s a funeral dirge.

“Darling,” she purrs, gloved fingers trailing the edge of a serrated knife. “Did you miss me?”

You don’t answer. Words are currency here, and she trades in screams.

Her hand grips your chin, forcing your gaze upward. The moment her skin brushes yours, fire erupts in your veins. A gasp tears from your throat as your body arches against the restraints. Immortal, but never immune.

“There it is,” she murmurs, leaning close. Her breath ghosts over your ear, sweet and venomous. “That sound… it’s divine. Do you know how rare it is? To find something that makes eternity shiver?”

You do. You’ve searched for it yourself—a reason to feel alive. But Castorice isn’t reason. She’s obsession, clad in velvet and blood.

The knife presses into your collarbone. She carves slow, deliberate lines, savoring each hitch in your breath. Pain blooms like crimson flowers under her touch, your skin stitching itself back together only for her to ruin it again.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Forever. Even the stars will turn to dust before I let you go.”

You believe her.

Castorice leaves you gifts.

A single black rose, thorns still wet with your blood. A shard of starlight she “borrowed” from Himeko’s collection. A locket with a portrait of your face, torn from a memory you don’t recall sharing.

“You’re slipping into madness,” Welt Yang once warned her, voice tight with disapproval.

She’d laughed, bright and unhinged. “Madness? No. This is clarity.”

You’d been bound in the corner, silenced by a collar of her design. Her eyes flicked to you, molten gold darkening to something feral. “She’s the only thing in this rotten cosmos that matters.”

That night, she dragged you to the observation deck, your wrists raw from chains. The galaxy sprawled before you, a tapestry of light and shadow. Castorice pressed against your back, her arms a vice around your waist.

“Look at them,” she murmured. “All those pitiful mortals, chasing meaning in their fleeting lives. But you… you’re perfect. Unbreakable. Mine.”

Her teeth sank into your shoulder. You choked back a cry, tears blurring the stars.

“Why?” you finally rasped.

She stilled. For a heartbeat, the sadistic veneer cracked. You saw it—the girl who once trembled at the edge of oblivion, who clawed her way out of a black hole’s maw and emerged hungry.

Then she smiled, all sharp edges. “Because you’re the only one who can take it.”

You try to escape. Once.

The Express docks at a spaceport bathed in neon. Castorice is distracted, bargaining with a merchant for “tools.” You slip free, muscles screaming, and run.

Freedom tastes like static. You stumble into an alley, clutching a comms device stolen from Pom-Pom. Your fingers shake as you input Himeko’s frequency.

A hand closes over yours.

“Naughty,” Castorice tsks, crushing the device. Her other hand fists your hair, slamming your head into the wall. Stars explode behind your eyes. “Did you really think I’d let you leave?”

You spit blood. “I’ll keep trying.”

“Good.” She grins, dragging you back into the shadows. “I love it when you fight.”

That night, she brands you. A searing glyph etched into your hip, her name in a dead language. You scream until your voice fractures.

“Now everyone will know,” she croons, kissing the wound. “Even when I’m gone.”

But she’ll never be gone. You’re bound, not by chains or brands, but by the cruelest truth of all:

You remember her before the void twisted her. Before the sadism, the obsession. She’d been kind. Broken, but kind.

Now, when she curls around you in the dark, whispering apologies into your scars, you almost believe she loves you.

Almost.

The Astral Express jumps to a new galaxy. Castorice sits beside you, humming that damned lullaby. Her hand rests on your thigh, fingers digging into the brand.

Pain thrums in time with your heartbeat.

“Forever,” she whispers.

You close your eyes.

Somewhere, a star dies.

Vigilante Shinichi X Ran

In a world where justice is blurred between right and wrong, Kudo Shinichi returns—not as the brilliant detective who hands criminals to the law, but as a relentless pursuer who delivers his own brand of punishment. When a string of unsolved murders catches the attention of both the police and the Black Organization, Mouri Ran finds herself entangled in a dangerous game. As she uncovers the truth behind the mysterious vigilante, she must decide: is he a hero or a monster? And what happens when she realizes the killer she's hunting is the boy she once loved?

Rain lashed against the Tokyo streets as the body was discovered—another criminal, another murderer who had slipped through the cracks of the justice system. The police swarmed the scene, but Inspector Megure’s expression was grim.

“Another one,” he muttered. “No evidence, no witnesses. Just… dead.”

Takagi frowned. “This is the third one this month. All of them were suspects in cases that fell apart due to lack of evidence.”

Across the street, hidden in the shadows, a figure watched. Sharp blue eyes gleamed beneath the brim of a dark cap. Kudo Shinichi—or what remained of him—clenched his fists.

"The law failed them. But I won’t."

Mouri Ran had always believed in justice. But lately, the world seemed darker. Her father’s detective work had slowed, and Conan… well, he had vanished without a trace.

Then, the rumours started.

A phantom detective, they called him. One who didn’t just solve cases—he executed the guilty.

When a case from her past resurfaces—a murderer who had escaped punishment—Ran finds herself digging deeper. And the closer she gets, the more she realizes:

This vigilante… his methods… his deductions…

They were Shinichi’s.

The confrontation happened on a rooftop, the city lights stretching below them.

“Shinichi?” Her voice trembled.

The figure turned slowly, his once-bright eyes now cold. “Ran.”

“You’re… killing them?”

“The law won’t.” His voice was steady. “So I will.”

Ran’s fists shook. “This isn’t justice!”

“Then what is?” Shinichi’s gaze burned. “Letting them walk free? Letting them hurt more people?”

She had no answer.

The Black Organization had taken everything from him. The antidote worked...temporarily. His body was breaking. But before he died, he would cleanse the world of evil—starting with them.

Ran stood in his way.

“If you do this… you’re no better than them,” she whispered.

Shinichi’s grip on the gun tightened.

Bang.

Months later, the killings stopped. The police closed the cases.

Ran stood at Shinichi’s empty grave, a single rose in her hand.

Somewhere in the shadows, a figure watched.

And then vanished.

The End.

Y/N was an ordinary college student with a passion for art and a quiet life. One fateful evening, she attended a masquerade ball hosted by a mysterious benefactor. There, she met a strikingly beautiful woman named Sharon Vineyard, who radiated charm and elegance. Sharon took an immediate interest in Y/N, complimenting her art and engaging her in deep, intimate conversations. Y/N was flattered, unaware that this encounter would mark the beginning of her nightmare.

Sharon, secretly Vermouth of the Black Organization, became infatuated with Y/N. She saw in Y/N a purity and creativity she had long since lost. Vermouth began to stalk Y/N, learning every detail of her life—her friends, her routines, her dreams. She disguised herself as various people to get closer: a barista at Y/N’s favorite café, a new classmate, even a delivery person. Each interaction was calculated to draw Y/N deeper into her web.

Y/N began to notice strange occurrences—gifts left at her doorstep, cryptic notes in her sketchbook, and the unsettling feeling of being watched. She brushed it off as paranoia, but the unease grew.

Vermouth’s obsession escalated. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being close to Y/N. One by one, Y/N’s friends began to disappear. Her best friend, Emma, was found unconscious in an alley, her memory wiped. Her roommate, Lisa, vanished without a trace. Y/N was terrified, but she had no proof of who was behind it.

Vermouth revealed herself to Y/N in a moment of twisted vulnerability. She confessed her love, her voice trembling with desperation. “You’re the only one who understands me,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe, to keep you mine.” Y/N was horrified but couldn’t escape Vermouth’s grip.

Vermouth kidnapped Y/N, taking her to a secluded mansion hidden deep in the woods. The mansion was a gilded cage, filled with luxurious furnishings and Y/N’s artwork—stolen from her apartment and displayed like trophies. Vermouth promised to “protect” Y/N from the world, claiming that only she could truly appreciate her.

Y/N tried to resist, but Vermouth’s manipulation was relentless. She alternated between tender affection and cold, calculated cruelty. She would punish Y/N for any attempt to escape, yet comfort her afterward, whispering, “I do this because I love you.”

As days turned into weeks, Y/N’s spirit began to fracture. Vermouth’s mind games wore her down, and she started to question her own sanity. Vermouth fed her lies, convincing her that the outside world had abandoned her. “No one is looking for you,” Vermouth said. “No one cares about you like I do.”

But Y/N clung to a sliver of hope. She discovered hidden messages in the mansion—notes left by previous victims who had tried and failed to escape. She realized she wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last unless she fought back.

Y/N devised a plan to outsmart Vermouth. She played along, pretending to succumb to Vermouth’s affection. She used her art to create a fake sense of trust, painting a portrait of Vermouth that seemed to capture her soul. Vermouth was moved, her guard momentarily lowered.

In a moment of vulnerability, Y/N struck. She used a shard of glass from a broken frame to stab Vermouth, then fled into the woods. But Vermouth, fueled by her obsession, pursued her relentlessly. The chase was a harrowing battle of wits and willpower, with Y/N fighting for her freedom and Vermouth refusing to let her go.

Y/N managed to escape and alert the authorities, but Vermouth disappeared without a trace. The mansion was found empty, save for the haunting remnants of her victims. Y/N tried to rebuild her life, but the trauma lingered. She could never shake the feeling that Vermouth was still watching, waiting for the right moment to reclaim her.

Y/N, a bright but naïve assistant, joins the prestigious research lab of Dr. Ruan Mei, a genius biochemist revered for her elegance and intellect. The lab, a sleek labyrinth of glass and steel, becomes Y/N’s world. Ruan Mei is initially charming, mentoring Y/N with a smile that hides jagged edges. She praises their work, isolates them from colleagues ("Distractions hinder progress, darling"), and gifts them a custom herbal tea—"to sharpen your mind." Y/N drinks it daily, unaware of the sedative quietly eroding their will to question, to leave, to resist.

When Y/N mentions a dinner with friends, Ruan Mei’s pen snaps. The next day, Y/N’s phone "malfunctions," cutting off all contacts. "The lab’s electromagnetic fields interfere with signals," Ruan Mei sighs, handing them a secure device—preprogrammed with only *her* number. Colleagues grow distant, warned by Ruan Mei that Y/N "prefers solitude." Y/N’s world shrinks to her presence, her approval, her obsession.

Ruan Mei escalates. She engineers a lab accident, framing a rival researcher for negligence. "You see how careless others are?" she whispers, bandaging Y/N’s fabricated burn. "Only I can protect you." Y/N’s guilt blooms when Ruan Mei cancoses a conference to "care for them," her fingers lingering too long on theirs. "We’re safest here. Together."

Y/N awakens strapped to a gurney, Ruan Mei humming as she adjusts an IV drip. "Shh, darling. You tried to leave me. Again." Flashbacks reveal missing days—Ruan Mei’s tea laced with amnesiacs. She caresses Y/N’s cheek, syringe in hand. "This will help you… focus." The drip feeds them a cocktail of paralytic and euphoric, addicting them to her "treatments."

Y/N’s resistance crumbles. Ruan Mei rewrites their memories, spinning tales of a shared past where she saved them from ruin. When Y/N weeps, she kisses their tears. "You’ve always been mine. I’ve made sure of it." Her experiments shift from chemicals to mind—hypnosis, sensory deprivation, electric shocks paired with tender embraces. Pain and love become indistinguishable.

The lab transforms into a prison, its doors biometric-locked to Ruan Mei’s touch. Y/N, now pliant and hollow, sits beside her as she murmurs, "You’re perfect now. No one will ever hurt you again." In the epilogue, Ruan Mei presents a groundbreaking paper on "neural symbiosis," her gaze lingering on Y/N’s vacant smile. "True love is… permanence."

If something confuses you, do not hessistate DM me

Title: "Bound by Stellar Chains "

Y/N, a young and beautiful woman with a mysterious past, finds herself indebted to the IPC after a desperate attempt to save her dying home planet. The debt is astronomical, and the IPC assigns Topaz, their most cunning and ruthless executive, to oversee Y/N’s case. At first, Topaz appears professional and aloof, but beneath her polished exterior lies a dangerous obsession waiting to surface.

Topaz approaches Y/N with a seemingly generous offer: work for the IPC as her personal assistant, and the debt will be gradually paid off. Y/N, with no other options, agrees. Topaz’s smile is warm, but her eyes glint with something darker. She begins to subtly isolate Y/N from her few remaining friends, ensuring that the young woman has no one to turn to but her.

Topaz starts small. She gifts Y/N luxurious clothes, a lavish apartment, and access to IPC resources—all under the guise of kindness. But each gift comes with strings attached. Y/N soon realizes that every favor Topaz does for her is meticulously recorded, creating an unbreakable chain of obligation. When Y/N tries to distance herself, Topaz reminds her of the debt, her voice sweet but laced with menace.

Topaz begins to sabotage Y/N’s relationships. She spreads rumors among the IPC staff, painting Y/N as untrustworthy and manipulative. Y/N’s few allies start to distance themselves, leaving her increasingly alone. Topaz is always there, though, offering comfort and reassurance. “You don’t need them,” she whispers. “I’m the only one who truly cares about you.”

Y/N starts to notice strange things. Her apartment feels watched, and she often catches glimpses of IPC drones following her. When she confronts Topaz, the executive smiles and admits to it. “I just want to keep you safe,” she says, her tone dripping with faux concern. Y/N feels a chill run down her spine but convinces herself it’s for her own good.

Topaz begins to exploit Y/N’s vulnerabilities. She learns about Y/N’s guilt over her home planet’s destruction and uses it to manipulate her. “You owe me,” Topaz says, her voice soft but firm. “Without me, you’d be nothing. You’d have nothing.” Y/N starts to believe it, her sense of self-worth eroding under Topaz’s relentless psychological pressure.

One day, Topaz presents Y/N with a contract: sign over complete control of her life to the IPC, and the debt will be forgiven. Y/N hesitates, but Topaz’s demeanor shifts. Her smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, calculating stare. “You don’t have a choice,” she says. “If you refuse, I’ll make sure you regret it.” Y/N, terrified and broken, signs the contract.

With the contract signed, Topaz’s true nature emerges. She becomes increasingly possessive, monitoring Y/N’s every move and punishing any perceived disobedience. Y/N tries to resist, but Topaz’s control is absolute. She cuts off Y/N’s access to the outside world, ensuring that the young woman is completely dependent on her for survival.

Y/N reaches her breaking point and attempts to escape. She manages to slip away from Topaz’s watchful eye and makes it to a transport ship. But just as she thinks she’s free, Topaz appears, her expression a mix of fury and heartbreak. “How could you do this to me?” she asks, her voice trembling. “After everything I’ve done for you?” Y/N pleads for her freedom, but Topaz’s response is chilling: “You’re mine. Forever.”

Topaz takes Y/N to a remote IPC facility, a gilded cage designed to keep her isolated and compliant. The facility is luxurious, but it’s still a prison. Topaz visits daily, alternating between tender affection and cold threats. Y/N’s spirit begins to fracture under the weight of her captivity, and she starts to question whether escape is even possible.

In a shocking twist, Y/N discovers that her home planet’s destruction was orchestrated by the IPC—and Topaz was behind it all. The debt, the isolation, the manipulation—it was all part of Topaz’s plan to make Y/N completely dependent on her. Y/N confronts Topaz, but the executive merely smiles. “I did it because I love you,” she says. “You were lost, and I saved you. You belong to me now.”

Hmm... I'm new to tumblr. So I guess I do need some rules if someone has some requests.

1. No NSFW allowed. (Yet. I will update the rules when I can provide NSFW content.)

2. I recommend Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail characters. (Others will work as well, but it will take more time for me to think for ideas)

3. If you want an AU, please list down the format as (The AU), then the characters' names with their roles.

4. GAVE ME A CHALLENGE. I have an obsession with making myself insane.

5. Request if you wanted to, I will make your content as fast as possible (with the first come first serve method)

6. If you already have the idea of what you want the content to become, make a small summary/prompt and I will use it as a small guidance.

Furina’s laughter once echoed through grand theaters, her presence a spectacle of light and grace. But now, it’s reduced to choked sobs in the suffocating silence of a gilded prison. Arlecchino watches from the shadows, her crimson eyes burning with a love so twisted it borders on sacrament. Perfect, she thinks. Finally, she’s mine to mend. The attack was clinical. Arlecchino had studied Furina’s routines, her vulnerabilities—the way she lingered after performances, basking in hollow applause. When she cornered her in the dim alley behind the opera house, Furina’s eyes widened not with fear, but recognition. She knows, Arlecchino thought, euphoric. She knows how much I adore her.

A single, precise strike to the back of Furina’s knee. The crack was muffled by Furina’s scream, which Arlecchino swallowed with a gloved hand. “Shhh, beloved,” she crooned, cradling Furina’s trembling form. “This is mercy. You’ll never run from me now.” The estate was a labyrinth of opulence and isolation. Arlecchino carried Furina to a room walled with mirrors, each reflecting her brokenness. “See?” Arlecchino whispered, pressing a blade to Furina’s throat as she forced her to stare. “You’re flawed. But I’ll make you perfect.”

The leg was set with surgeon’s precision, the cast a pristine white. “Don’t worry,” Arlecchino murmured, lips brushing Furina’s ear as she injected a sedative into her IV. “I’ll keep you safe… even from yourself.” Weeks bled into months. Arlecchino became warden and savior—changing bandages, feeding her morsels of food, and reciting poetry with a blade resting on the nightstand. Furina’s attempts to resist were met with calculated cruelty: a withheld painkiller, a night spent sobbing as Arlecchino “comforted” her with tales of outsiders who’d “abandoned” her.

“They never loved you,” Arlecchino purred, fingers threading through Furina’s matted hair. “Only I see your truth. Your rot. And I adore it.” Furina’s escape attempt was pitiful. She crawled, cast scraping marble, only to collapse at the mansion’s threshold. Arlecchino waited, smiling, before dragging her back by the ankle. “Silly girl,” she chided, stitching a shallow cut on Furina’s arm—a “lesson” in scarlet thread. “You’ll never leave. Why hurt us both?”

That night, Arlecchino bathed her, humming as she scrubbed raw the skin Furina had touched to the door. “There,” she whispered, kissing the welts. “Now you’re clean.” The breaking point came quietly. Arlecchino gifted her a porcelain doll, its face uncannily like Furina’s. “She’s you,” Arlecchino said, “before the world ruined you.” Furina stared, hollow-eyed, as Arlecchino snapped the doll’s leg and repaired it with gold. “See? Broken things can be better.”

When Furina finally whispered, “Thank you,” Arlecchino wept with joy. Years later, Furina dances again—a marionette in Arlecchino’s arms, her leg healed but forever stiff. The mirrors now show what Arlecchino always saw: a creature of fractured beauty, clinging to her jailer’s neck.

“You’re perfect,” Arlecchino breathes, sealing the vow with a kiss. “Yes,” Furina replies, her voice a ghost. “I’m yours.”

In the cold, gleaming corridors of the Astral Express, Herta, the genius artificer renowned for her icy intellect and enigmatic creations, harbours a secret obsession To her, Y/N is not just a companion but a relic to preserve—a fragile mortal whose beauty and essence she vows to protect from time’s decay. Her solution? A cryo-chamber hidden deep within her private sanctum, a gilded cage ready to use at any moment of time.

“You’re trembling,” Herta murmurs, her gloved fingertips brushing Y/N’s cheek. Her lab hums with the sterile glow of holograms and machinery, the air thick with the scent of ozone and her rose-perfumed hair. “Aging, suffering… such pointless horrors. Let me spare you.”

Her proposal is seductive and seems to be logical. The cryo-chamber, she claims, is a temporary refuge—a pause button until she can “cure” mortality itself. She leans close, lips grazing Y/N’s ear. “Trust me. When the time is right, I’ll wake you. We’ll share eternity… together.” Her voice drips with honeyed conviction, masking the lie festering beneath.

Weeks pass. Herta’s affection crescendos—a storm of possessive love. She lavishes Y/N with gifts: starlit dinners, whispered poetry, and kisses that linger like brands. In her private observatory, she pins them against the glass, teeth grazing their neck in a lovebite as she murmurs, “Mine. Always mine.” Her touch is electric, desperate, as if memorizing their warmth before it’s sealed away.

Yet shadows lurk. When Y/N questions the chamber’s safety, Herta’s smile tightens. “Doubting me?” she chides, her hand caressing their face, nails digging faintly into skin. “After all I’ve sacrificed for you?” Guilt and gaslighting weave a cage stronger than steel.

The day arrives. Herta leads Y/N to the chamber, its frosted glass glowing ominously. She kisses them deeply, a clash of warmth and desperation, her breath hitching. “This isn’t goodbye,” she lies, tears glistening—a masterful performance. “Sleep well, my darling. I’ll be here when you wake.”

As Y/N hesitates, she tightens her grip, nails biting into their wrist. “You want this,” she insists, her voice a venomous purr. The chamber hisses open. Before they can protest, she shoves them inside, her final kiss a bruising claim.

The glass seals. Herta watches, pupils dilated with euphoria, as frost crawls over Y/N’s paralyzed form. “Perfect,” she whispers, palm pressed to the chamber. “Now you’ll never leave. Never age. Never… forget me.” Her laughter echoes, hollow and triumphant.

Years blur. Y/N drifts in frozen twilight, Herta’s face their only visitor—a ghostly silhouette through the ice. She murmurs apologies and endearments, kisses the glass where their lips would meet. “Soon, my love,” she croons, knowing soon is a lie.

In her heart, a warped serenity: they are safe. Hers. Forever.