mayhaps yan silver with #32? silver who you've always assumed is just one of those recurring dream characters, until you start paying too much attention to your 'real' life... ??
idk there's not a ton of yan silver content out there and i feel like he would be so so scrumptious in your style ehehehe
😼🙏 one yan Silver coming up~ I listened to Kikuoworld album while writing this, so I hope the whimsy can be felt. <3
(cw: yandere, gender neutral reader, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, obsession, surreal dreams)
(monstrously yandere prompts)
DREAM JOURNAL; LOG 01 - the umbrella and the birthday cake rainstorm.
When you step outside, a three-tiered birthday cake comes falling from the sky. It lands in front of you in a smattering of buttercream frosting. Its rainbow of fondant flowers and sugar lace trimming are immediately squashed from the impact. Above you, dozens more come careening towards the earth, smacking into the awning. Frosting drips in syrupy trails from the roof, trickling into a puddle of sweetness.
You look on with a confusion that is palpable. The forecast didn’t call for rain.
Unexpected weather aside, you didn’t think to bring an umbrella. Normally you’re always prepared for these things, but a cake storm wasn’t on the list for today.
You wonder if you can run the way back to your dorm without getting drenched in cake crumbles and cream. A slice of cake is fine, but if a whole cake hits you over the head… You’d like to avoid that, if possible.
So you stick your hand out as if testing for rain droplets. A cake sliver lands on your palm, perfectly intact and preserved. You sample some for yourself and immediately cringe. That’s not your favorite flavor of cake. Too much cream. Or maybe not enough. Were you even holding cake just now? Because suddenly nothing’s there, your palm is dry, and it’s still raining steadily beyond the steps.
You sigh and resign yourself to your fate. A fate that’s filled with cake. There are worse things.
Preparing yourself for the sugary onslaught, you take one confident step out from under the awning and…
You look up and notice an umbrella has taken residence above your head, shielding you from the downpour of slices. Sprinkles trickle off the cake-proof umbrella like multicolored droplets. When you look to your left, you find a silver-haired man standing there, his arm outstretched as he holds firm to the umbrella’s handle.
“Oh.” You notice he has the prettiest eyes, and for a second you’re so lost in them that you forget he’s watching you. “Um, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m just happy to have noticed you before you made a run for it. If you don’t mind, I’ll walk you back.”
“No, not at all. Thank you.” You search the silence for his name, but all you get is a stoic nod.
As you walk home, the lumpy piles of birthday cake melt onto the pavement. Eventually, they’re nothing but rotten slop that attracts all kinds of insects and animals.
A trail of them follows behind you and this peculiar man.
“This is me,” you say upon approaching Ramshackle Dorm, which looks less like its name and more like a luxury apartment.
You turn to acknowledge him, but he’s not there.
The umbrella remains suspended in the air, as if some invisible force is continuing to hold it.
The birthday cake rainstorm is gone just like that.
DREAM JOURNAL; LOG 02 - the shark(?) and the surgeon.
Somehow you’ve washed ashore.
There is nothing left of you from your waist down, your legs bitten off in one ravenous chomp. You’re certain it was from a shark, but then maybe it was an eel or a sea turtle—but turtles don’t have a maw of sharp, jagged teeth.
That doesn’t matter right now. You’re bleeding out and coloring the golden beach in a fatal shade of red.
You take in a ragged breath, shut your eyes, and decide this is fine. Everything is fine. You’re fine.
When you open your eyes, the silver-haired man is kneeling above you.
“Don’t move,” he says, already threading string through the needle. “I’ll help you.”
It occurs to you that he’s about to sew your lower half back on. How he managed to get it, you don’t know. Somehow he reads your mind, for his next words answer that question.
“The lamprey was kind enough to give it back.”
You blink up at him. “T-Thank…”
“Don’t push yourself.” And then he smiles a soft, sincere smile, one that matches the light in his eyes. “You’re going to be okay.”
When he touches your cheek, suddenly the sun isn’t so searing and the waves aren’t so choppy. Suddenly, you’re at peace with everything. You feel like liquid as you lay on the beach, a doll stitched up with string.
He fills each of your legs with sea glass and sand so that you won’t flop over when the next marine creature wants to display you on their coral mantle.
“How do you feel?” he asks after the operation has concluded. He helps you to sit up, one hand at your lower back to keep you steady. When he looks at you, you feel like you’re the only human in the world and he’s an alien peering in at Terra’s Last Homo Sapien (New Exhibit!).
You reach for him. “What’s your name?”
He opens his mouth and says—
It’s carried away on a gust of wind.
DREAM JOURNAL; LOG 03 - the day of the absentee shadow.
It’s the day your shadow pulled itself out from beneath your feet and disappeared. The laws of this world dictate that everyone needs a shadow. If you don’t have one, one will be found for you. Replacement shadows. The echo of a shadow. A person filling in for a shadow. Everyone needs to work, even shadows.
Your shadow is silver. It’s a beautiful color that shimmers when caught in the light, but you only ever catch it in your peripheral and then it’s gone.
Your shadow is more like a stalker.
It creeps after you, a slow crawl across the terrain. It follows your every move. It waits for you, always a few steps behind. This shadow has eyes and a mouth. It smiles at you in the dark, but you can’t see that.
“You’re doing a rubbish job,” you say, knowing your shadow is listening.
They really should fire the guy who’s working temporarily as your shadow.
He’s not very good at it.
Your own shadow isn’t supposed to scare you.
It’s the projection of a second shadow that should.
The shadow that shouldn’t be there.
DREAM JOURNAL; LOG 04 - fever dream.
You bathe in tubs of soup. You suck the salt from your sweat and cry blood. You lean over to find the bucket at your bedside and you empty your guts in an ugly, retching wheeze. You sit up in bed like a reanimated corpse and cough out one of your lungs.
You slip in and out of the folds of a strange dream.
Heat. And then cold. Blankets off. You’re awake.
But then you’re sleeping. Blankets back on. You feel a warm compress drape itself over your forehead. Someone rubs their knuckles against your cheek.
“Get well soon,” the flowers left at your bedside whisper, petals fluttering against your lashes.
You laugh at the sun, which isn’t really a sun but a singular eyeball peering down at you. “My imagination is so wild,” you say, or maybe you think it. The grass is so soft here. You never want to wake up. Here, the cotton candy clouds weep caramel and the trees sway in jovial greeting.
You’re awake again. The curtains have been shut. You rest your head against the pillow once more.
You’re lying on your back in the grass. Silver rabbits jump over you, making a game out of how high they can jump if they get a running start. It’s so peaceful here. The stream is crisp and clear, babbling softly over water-worn stones.
The sky is silver. The grass is silver. The rabbits are still silver. It’s all silver.
You wake to find the silver-haired man standing at the end of your bed.
He smiles. “I’m not so imaginary anymore, my darling.”
You blink and you’re back asleep.
pixelskylines
prguitarman
2087
annaxmalina
areudirty
baratheonpilled
