#i feel like if anything was going to break his neutrality streak it would be giving one of his most devoted followers a fresh start

[sun-marie]

as a community, how attached is the dnd fanbase to traits of characters that have been around for *checks notes* 35 years

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1��on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[bokunoheros]

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but afab, reader and keigo are married, reader is a civilian, this is post-war, toys (duh), forced orgasms, heavy overstimulation, dacryphilia, aftercare GENRE: smut SUMMARY:  WORD COUNT: 702 🦊’s A/N: god im almost free sorry if this is shit idgaf anymore i need to take a BREAK im sorry this is short as fuck

     when your husband brought up wanting to try a couple toys in the bedroom, he had failed to neglect that you would end up like this! 

     blindfolded and bound spread eagle to the bed, with an evil hitachi wand tied to your thigh with its vibrating head pressed snugly against your swollen, hypersensitive clit, having cum a minimum six times, and at this point, your cunt had gone numb three orgasms ago, yet it still hurt.

     he’d had the heart not to gag you, at least—or maybe his perverted ass wanted to hear your pretty moans turned to choked sobs and wails of his name, begging him to come back, as you weren’t sure if he was even in the room anymore. 

     keigo, meanwhile, had been in the living room, finally doing some of the paperwork he’d been putting off, listening to the sound of your whimpering and whining from his spot on the couch and trying his best to ignore the painful erection in his sweatpants. 

     glancing at the clock on his laptop, he sees it had been about an hour and a half since he had initially left you like this; so he figures he should head back to check in on your exhausted form. 

     the sight he was greeted with was better than anything any porno could cook up—your back arched off the bed as you tug and thrash against the ropes binding you in place, the magic wand he’d tied to your thigh still happily buzzing away against your sensitive cunt, your inner thighs and bedsheets beneath you drenched in sweat and cum. 

     “awh, darlin’—you look so lovely,” he coos softly and your body tenses at the sound of his voice.

     “kei–keigo! you—you bastard!” you cry, wrists tugging at the silken ropes holding them so tightly in place. “you— bitch! l–let me—let me go! please!” 

     you’re right on the precipice of another orgasm when he agrees; “okay, okay—don’t get your feathers all ruffled, dove.” (SIR?) 

     moving to turn off the godforsaken vibrator, he tenderly unties it from your leg, taking his time to run his calloused hands over your quivering thighs as he whispers soft praises of how you did so well for him. shifting to take your blindfold off next—wanting to see your tear streaked face before he untied you—you whine impatiently as he gently undoes the knot keeping the cloth in place. 

     “you’re so pretty when you cry, baby,” he says quietly. “now let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” he suggests, tenderly caressing your face and planting a quick peck to your lips. 

     it’s only a few seconds after that he’s untying your wrists, then your ankles, and turning on one heel to start a warm bath for you, saying he’ll be right back.

     about five minutes of heavy breathing and sporadic twitching later, keigo comes back to scoop you up and gently set you in the bathtub, grabbing a clean washcloth to dip into the water and start washing the sweat off your sticky skin. during the intimate process, he makes sure to ask you how you were feeling and that you knew he was sorry for just leaving you there. 

     afterwards, he drys you off with a soft, fluffy towel and carries you to sit in the plush chair in your room as he changes the sheets in record time, simply discarding the used ones on the floor of the laundry room, a problem to be dealt with later. 

     “you feelin’ okay, sweetheart?” he asks sweetly, voice laced with genuine concern as he picks you back up and sets you on your side of the bed.

     “‘ll be okay…. just—we’re not doing this again anytime soon,” you tell him, mind still hazy from having cum so many times.

     he chuckles quietly at your words and runs his hand through your hair before saying he’s gonna go and get you some water; when he comes back, he’s greeted by your lightly snoring, absolutely passed out form. 

     “ah—that checks out, yeah,” he grins lightly at the sight and sets the water on your nightstand before crawling into bed to spoon you. “sleep well, dove,” he whispers into your ear, pressing a light kiss to your cheek.

return to KINKTOBER | PRO HEROES M.LIST

[ctheathy]

Seduction and hate-flirting w/ Yandere Popee

Popee x Reader

Yandere+NSFW Headcanons

Short Concept

Author's note: my yan. Popee is an absolute punchable disgrace to deal with, but even he is not unbreakable. It's time to watch him crumble~

The separate headcanons for Yandere Popee will get more into detail about his bad behaviour and torment towards the Reader. So these might lack context for the most part.

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Popee/Reader [Romantic Tendencies]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Both reader+character are of legal age or aged-up for obvious reasons in this post!

These are partly smut headcanons, read at own risk. dom!Reader+sub!Popee • Manipulative Reader • Reader 100% has a sadistic streak • Unhealthy power dynamic • Toxic influence • Abusive+Destructive behaviour • Seduction • Sexual fantasies • Brainwashing(?) • Obsession • Masochism • Degradation • Swearing • Harassment • Invasion of privacy • Anger issues/Pent up lust • Assault • Tongue making out • Dirty talk • Climax mentioned • But it never actually leads to intercourse

This would certainly make for quite the dynamic. Popee, despite having an obsessive mentality driven by pure desire towards you, has been known to cause immense distress and discontent on your part. Purposely overstepping your boundaries, inflicting anguish and trying to put you in a bad light. Hating on you because you awakened these unknown emotions in him ...So much so that it would likely cause you to hold quite some resentment towards the boy with the bunny suit. Resentment you try releasing through some good old hate-flirting. You'd feel yourself craving more and more to bring out the worst in him, all the things that he's hiding and secretly feels ashamed of. And for someone like Popee with an ego the size of the Milky Way, that just makes the challenge extra irresistible to work on. While you can all imagine his reaction and denial as he’s forced to admit to himself that the one person he despises is the person he wants so badly.

You could literally destroy him from his heart, to his mind and it would cause him to become even more of a snobby bastard in general. Where he becomes even quicker to explode with his outbursts and lash out at Kedamono if he were to get that attached to you. Usually he’s such a loudmouth and he thinks he can never be phased with anything, he thinks he’s too powerful to be affected by anything. But you have the ability to absolutely break him, making him feel things beyond just anger from the power struggle and how you love to see him struggle to maintain control over you.

He 100% has a hate boner for you AND you 100% get off on teasing him. Just picture the mental gymnastics Popee would go through in his head as he desperately tries to convince himself that he hates this person while you can just have a ball teasing him and ruining his already broken ego. Which begs the question... for how long Popee could hold it together before he finally loses his cool and absolutely explodes on you. He has so much pent up anger in general and I feel like you could definitely be the one to set off the ticking time bomb inside of him.

Despite the tough exterior Popee wants to uphold, he is so goddamn sensitive and you could easily figure out that his tolerance for sexual activities is extremely low. He’d be so turned on the moment you even touch him in any way, if you even accidentally brushed against him a certain way he’d start getting hard. And when your clothes get all clingy from the practice sweat, he wouldn’t even be able to stand a chance. You could absolutely be feasting on his desperation and anger. You'd have this huge mountain of a man reduced to such an emotional and sexual mess that can’t think of anything but YOU.

You should absolutely go as far to try and make him moan in public. Just a scenario of him rudely bossing his assistants around, before you just go upfront, all personal and touchy with him as you egg him on. You'd have him making all kinds of noises that a man shouldn’t be making out in the open, you'd know how to push his buttons and you should not be afraid to do it either. The more he’s left broken and frustrated, the more he wants you. The more he denies his feelings, the harder he falls. He absolutely loathes the fact that he needs you, that he craves you in such manners. He might still act arrogant and prideful towards you but you just know he still contains those wet dreams that take him right back to square one.

You'd have the ability of being so very influential on him, he would be at the point where you would be able to make him do anything for you. Getting him all worked up and then leaving him to cool off by himself, before the cycle repeats itself. He would be cursing your name over and over in that tent, wishing that you were there to finish what you started. The thought of his quiet, furious little yells and moans of frustration from his tent would absolutely manage to crack you up, the way he would be so damn upset but so incredibly turned on at the same time. Because that’s direct proof of just how bad he really wants you, he wants you so bad that he actually tears up over it while actively touching himself. He would absolutely be sobbing softly in his pillow after the entire ordeal is done, but deep down he wants it.

You can twist his hatred towards you into the most raging, uncontrollable amount of desire for you. And at some point he would absolutely lose it and end up begging you to use him. Just pure sin. Both of your relationship would most likely get so incredibly bad that just the idea of you spitting in his mouth when he did something you didn't like, hurting him or stepping on him and just placing your full weight on top of him would leave him feeling moist and sweaty. He’d act like the idea of you stepping on him, sitting on his face, literally spitting on him, would be the most horrible thing imaginable... but the most embarrassing part would be how much he’d enjoy it deep down.

The more you humiliated him and treated him like garbage, the more he would begin to crave it. The more he would want you to degrade him, that would be the thing that would destroy who he is as a person. He would literally be your lapdog, but he wouldn’t even realize that he was. Basically Popee would become a full blown masochist for you, yet refuses to acknowledge the fact that he's submitted to you completely and is practically begging on his knees to be used and broken by you.

There have definitely been countless of instances where he'd get in your tent uninvited in the middle of the night, either wanting to vent out his frustrations to you or insult you to make you feel bad. To which I imagine you would start make some subtle, teasing comments but they gradually get more suggestive and flirty; mentioning how suspicious it is to show up at somebody else's bed, alone, at night, when everybody's asleep and are less capable of hearing their surroundings. And when he finally catches on to your intentions, his confidence starts to drain and gets replaced by feeling more flustered and embarrassed as he desperately tries to hide the growing bulge in his suit, feeling his arousal grow with every word and tease that leaves your mouth. He would be trying so hard to ignore you, but you can see right through his desperate little attempts and just make further moves on him.

He's in your territory now.

But all of his efforts go right out of the window as soon as you get up close to him. Freezing up as soon as your hand reaches out to touch his jawline and before he knows it ...with your lips pressed against his. It would be such a satisfying yet unexpected moment as soon as your tongue slides in to tease the insides of his mouth, an activity Popee just wouldn't be able to reject. Which is a moment where Popee would immediately lose all of his self control and start groaning, fighting tooth and nail to keep his vocal chords as quiet as he can. The moment that your tongue touches him he would just become a little drooling, submissive, desperate wreck of a person. He'd even forget that he hates you in the heat of the moment. Hell, if it went on long enough, it would likely evolve into pleas to keep going, be rougher with him and go faster. Pleas to just absolutely go out on him.

His brain would be too overwhelmed and overloaded from all the intense feeling and sensations and pleasure that he just wouldn’t be able to even think at all. He’d be too busy focusing all that energy in trying not to moan and cry out for you, he would absolutely feel like he was being assaulted with how it’s almost too much for him. You would be so talented at making him struggle and squirm. And there’s absolutely nothing he can do against you, as that tongue alone is enough to make him fall back in love with you. As soon as you pull back only to plunge it back in he would be completely disoriented, his eyes rolling back while he’s still moaning and barely able to even support himself. Which is something you shouldn't even be satisfied with at all, taste everything that big mouth of his has to offer and just keep on going until he’s a wet, messy, overstimulated little bitch.

You'd get him so deep into the rabbit hole that he would practically be begging on the ground for you, just for you to ignore him. You could be teasing him with your mouth, kissing him, biting him and just being absolutely filthy with him. And once he’s begging you to not stop, you should give him the most pathetic, pitiful, short little kiss on the forehead and just dismiss him like he’s nothing. You'd make him feel so dirty that as soon as you turn on that sadistic streak, he's basically your little plaything. The way that you would mock and tease him would make him want it so badly. Especially when being literal the reason that he ends up having such... unholy dreams with you in them. You would be the one to completely wreck him, all sense of pride and his dignity.

Which would be the best part honestly, seeing him absolutely breaking down and revealing his true feelings through his body language and physical responses. He’d be so much more sensitive and weak during his intimate moments. His lips would become more plush and his body would look more fragile than normal. The way he moves would turn into something more meek and shy, similar to his mirror counterpart, Eepop. His breathing would become heavier as his eyes and tail would droop, he would completely become a different man when you're together in that sense. Because unlike his other companions who try their best staying on his good side, you're not at all afraid to call him out on his bluff. You know what he wants and you're not stepping back from mentioning his not-so-pure fantasies and mocking him for it.

It’s such a humiliating thing for him to hear, that you would act so disgusted by the very thought of him wanting to breed you. Your dirty words would be sending red-hot shocks of pleasure through his body, making his entire body shake. Popee would just be so flustered, so utterly horny that he could barely even keep it together. And then his own fantasies start to make it even better... as his genitalia begins to drip in response to those very thoughts, thoughts that he’s so desperately trying to get rid of. This is exactly the type of humiliation that Popee would not be able to control at all. His legs would begin to twitch and his body would spasm with ecstasy, he’s desperate for so much more but he’s trying so hard to resist. Which is something that would infuriate him so badly.

Because even when looking at alternative options for release, a toy really isn’t really going to get the job done either. He wants someone to actually dominate him, he wants to feel helpless, he wants to be put in his place. He wants to scream out your name and have no control over it. Something that isn’t the real deal won’t quite work for him. Not to mention the fact that he isn’t able to actually ask you for anything even remotely suggestive, but the fact that he’s begging you silently makes him feel beyond pathetic.

And honestly, this just sounds like an exact scenario where Popee would give up and start begging you to just take him already. His entire face would be red as a tomato at this point, there would be no more of that smestering contempt or smug smile on his face, just pure, raw, desperation. All of his pent up rage at you for your antics would just turn into complete lust and need. If you play along with his deeply hidden fantasies, you'd have him at your feet. You'd have him sobbing on all fours, just whining out for you to make those imaginations a reality for him.

Something you obviously won't comply with, atleast not yet... As you instead continue teasing him with the very dreams he thirsts after, emphasizing it in an unnecessary amount of detail and mentioning the empty what ifs if you were to allow him to go a step further with you. Getting him so unimaginably riled up that it reaches a moment with him begging and pleading for you to let him have a second to calm down and stop playing into his fantasies, to give him any semblance of relief. Popee would so desperately try to hide himself with his hands as his pre would slowly leak out of him, feeling so very shameful about it. But no matter what he did, he’s going to let some out eventually. He just wouldn’t last, especially not with you baiting his constant arousal. If he began behaving like that, you would totally have to come up to him from behind and place your hands on his shoulders, pressing your body against his back all while while digging your fingers into his shuddering shoulders. But all it takes is just one single perverted whisper...

“You don't last long, do you...~?”

You just know Popee would be putty in your hands if you did that. He’d be breathing faster and faster and would likely be squeezing his own arm or something to try hard not to cum on the spot. His back would arch and his stomach would start clenching, he’d be making some cute, girly little sounds as you're all up close from behind. The desperation becoming more noticeable as you press yourself up against him even more and get a good view of his rear end from the position you are in. He would start to squirm and let out pathetic whimpers as he tries to hide exactly how much it’s affecting him. The things you can whisper in his ear would be the most intoxicating and humiliating things he’s ever heard in his entire existence. But even with his efforts, Popee just doesn’t have the self-control to hold back.

He would totally throw his head back into your shoulder as his load dripped and leaked all over his legs. Where he would release so much it would just be pouring down his leg and onto the ground. His eyes would start rolling as he releases those gaspy moans in a heavy, quick manner while he trembles. All while you would just look at him with a bitchy smirk as he completely ruins his suit for you once again... just being the most embarrassing little thing around you. Even if you gave him permission to feel you up for being such a good boy for you, he would still be too much of a loser to do it right, in which you should totally just smack his hand away and reply with a “bad boy~”

It also just adds extra fuel to the fire that you're not the type to physically harm him at all, with your antics all just being teasing and immense mind games. The most aggressively physical you've ever gotten with him being by grabbing his chin to make him look at you, not able to recall any moment where you've actually caused him serious pain, with his experiences with you being pleasurable more than anything... Which really keep him on edge as you continue using your own little methods to make him impatient, giving these teeny tiny scraps of backhanded affection while he's basically dying from touch starving deprivation.

But you wouldn’t even need to use any physical violence on him for him to break down and get what you want, you can just use every single dirty trick in the book and play him like a fiddle. You'd have him begging for punishment to the point where you wouldn’t even have to lift a single finger, he would want it. I can imagine him finally giving in to you at some point, just falling into your charms and letting out those loud, desperate, begging moans for you. He would absolutely hate that he’s letting you do this to him, he would HATE the fact that you've turned him into your desperate, hormonal little slut.

Where he's gotten to a point where he would just willingly let you do all of that to him with no resistance because you've already broken him so badly mentally that nothing else could even break him further. He’d already be so broken down that you stepping on him would be an absolute pleasure for him and his fragile mind. You could literally do whatever you please and he would accept it with open arms. His whole mind is already completely brainwashed and warped up in his own sick and twisted desires.

And there’s no way he’d have the mental fortitude to do any stunt after realising what addictive hell he's brought upon himself.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

[invidiia]

you said i could do it so here i am 😇

i was thinking about this the other day—what if verlaines darling started learning french in secret while they were held captive? like they wanted to understand him better so they just found their old phone that they thought that verlaine discarded and they just downloaded an app to learn french😭

anyways that’s all LMAODH

français en secret - yan!paul verlaine x reader

❐ - yandere!verlaine (bsd) x reader

note ; HII I LOVE THIS REQUEST?! ALSO THANK YOU GUYS FOR 150+ FOLLOWERS ILY ALL!! i do not know french, so if anyone would correct me anything i put in this, i would absolutely appreciate it!! EDIT: CREDIT TO @eroqista FOR HE,PING ME WITH THE FRENCH PART BEAUSE WBFKEF

prompt ; after being stuck with the man for who knows how long, verlaine's darling began to learn french in secret.

warnings ; kidnapping, yandere/obsessive themes, gender neutral!reader,

it took a good while to find your old phone. you thought verlaine threw almost everything of yours out!

the screen was slightly damaged, a few cracks adorning the glass, but it was still slightly usable. verlaine had left the house again, after throwing you into the basement for whatever reason. perhaps he forgot about the boxes with your old belongings in them, boxes that he had been meaning to burn.

but the boxes weren't burned to ashes, and instead, they sat in the basement while dust collected. in another box was an old pen that had surprisingly not dried out, and a notebook.

you rarely saw verlaine visibly angry - but you could always tell when he was, after months of living with him, you learned to know his emotions. he semi-trusted you, but not enough to tell you exactly how he feels, other than that he loved you.

one thing you noticed more than often when verlaine was upset was that he would speak french - his native language. he would either be upset, talking to a colleague or friend, or just to himself, but you understood none of it.

maybe a good way to understand him more would be to understand what he was saying. that, or you could also try to escape with your new understanding of his words. maybe he would say over the phone how long he would be gone, and how far he was going, so you could create a window of time for your escape.

or you could simply learn the language and surprise him after getting good enough, and tell him the sweetest things exactly how he doesn't expect it.

It wasn't perfect.

Only three-four months of nonstop learning whenever you had time alone couldn't get you close to perfect. Even the basics weren't easy; it was very difficult. And it wasn't like you were hiding your learning well, either. Verlaine knew you spent an awful lot of time in the basement, so he often came down to check on you, but he'd just see you curled up in the corner with a notebook in hand, and when he looked at the paper, it was just cutesy drawings of flowers and bees and everything cute you could think of.

You had time to put the phone away and hide it since you could hear the door open, since you still weren't technically allowed to have that phone, even if you were just using it to learn another language.

(now, imagine the reader purposely trying to get put in the basement because they don't want to break their daily streak and get hunted by the duolingo bird. do your french lessons, Y/N.)

It took time, but eventually you were able to understand and make basic conversation.. which also meant you could listen in on phone calls he made while speaking in French only.

This could go two ways depending on your actions.

"You started learning French?" Verlaine looked almost impatient, looking at you while he waiting for an answer. You hadn't thought this through. How were you planning to explain to him exactly how? "I picked up on some of yours." You replied innocently, looking back down at your feet to alleviate the stress of the highly likely possibility that he doesn't believe your lie. "You just magically understood French from listening? What, did I leave a dictionary down there?" Verlaine stood up from his chair, sauntering behind you with a small smile on his face while you nodded. He wasn't smiling softly. "Good job." He placed a hand on your shoulder and turned to leave the room. It was that easy? He believed you like that?

But you should have known he didn't actually believe you. Verlaine was no idiot, it shouldn't be a surprise when you were waken up in the morning in the basement, with all of the boxes containing your old belongings gone.

The basement door was locked tightly, and the basement was now entirely empty. There was a note on the door, and attached with a paper clip, was one photo. There the boxes were - set ablaze and sat in front of a camera. The note read,

"J'ai trouvé ton téléphone, chéri. Tu vois les photos ? J'ai mis le feu aux boîtes. Ton vieux téléphone est dans l'une d'elles. Vraiment, bon travail, d'apprendre le français et de me le cacher. Tu aurais pu demander, j'aime passer du temps avec toi. Je te dirais bien "bonne chance pour la prochaine fois", mais je ne pense pas qu'il y aura une prochaine fois. Je t'aime."

[yanderes-galore]

Yo what’s up? May I request a Yandere Alphabet for Diavolo from JJBA? Please?

I can try, sure ^^ Hopefully this helps me write him better. I'm just hoping this doesn't seem rushed or repetitive....

Yandere Alphabet - Diavolo

(FT. Doppio)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Possessive behavior, Marking, Biting, Sadism, Blood, Murder, Violence, Threats, Emotional manipulation, Kidnapping, Dark/Overall Yandere themes, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Diavolo is very... demanding. He sees himself as a king who can control fate and destiny. As a result, he's very possessive with his "affection" towards you. Diavolo may even have a sadistic streak similar to most JJBA villains.

Diavolo would be intense with you due to his nature. Once he has you in his grasp it is usually because he's been pushed to his breaking point while watching you. So by the time he has you, his grip and touch is unrelenting as he kisses your skin to litter you in marks.

It's hard to tell if his affection is genuine, although there's some moments where some genuine care slips through. I like to imagine he and Dio are similar. Both seeming cold but occasionally letting the mask slip that there's some weakness there towards you.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Definitely messy, he's experienced with murder considering what happens in part 5. He's a mafia boss, blood comes with the territory. If he has to eliminate others to isolate you away with him, it's easy.

King Crimson makes it nearly too easy, actually.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

If you really manage to get on his nerves or put up a fight, Diavolo would mock you. If not and you're compliant, then he'll take care of you with no fuss. You have no idea how (un)lucky you are he loves you.

Since his obsession makes him feel this way, he could give you anything you want. You just have to say the word. He's the boss, he can find a way to get you any sort of gift or comfort... except for freedom.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Yeah, he would. He has to hide you away so no one catches on to who he is. Which means you're spending a lot of your time in his sight, like it or not.

His demanding nature certainly doesn't help either.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Diavolo isn't vulnerable often, the most vulnerable moment I can think of for him was when he realized he was going to die. He is a coward when it comes to others getting too close to his identity. Always willing to play dirty to win.

Although, with you it's a different type of vulnerability. He knows you're a weakness he can't quite cut off. He loves you... which sometimes makes him drop his intimidating act at times to pull you in close. There's times he's vulnerable... and I imagine he hates it due to being proud yet loves it at the same time because it's you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Irritated and would immediately try to discipline it. He has far too much to worry about, you fighting him is yet another distraction. Unlike other villains, he doesn't entertain this and finds a way to stop your attempt.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he'd find you trying to leave an annoyance, he may even be scared of it.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

There's a lot I can think of. You most likely know Doppio, so seeing Doppio become Diavolo breaches your trust.

There's the kidnapping, the threats he makes to keep you compliant, or even the straight up murder to those who know you.

Diavolo is a mafia man. He is pretty much known to do horrible things to get things to go his way. Threatening the lives of your loved ones to make you listen to him is probably the tamest thing he could do.

Cioccolata is just itching for action, dear. It's that Diavolo just ends things himself, depending on how personal the matter is.

Blood may become a common sight for you if you wish to be rebellious.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Once Diavolo has felt he's gotten rid of every enemy and distraction, he'd probably keep you both in a very isolated area. He'd put it by the sea for you, the area secret and remote so you can both have a more... peaceful life while he basks in his perfect victory.

No one's coming to find you, they're gone by his hand. You only have Diavolo now. He's already ruined and smashed your old life to bits and pieces.

Then you two can elope and become an item... he'll never let you go, his beloved prize.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

It's hard for him to be jealous when he can get rid of every rival he feels he has to (In a way, yeah, he's jealous in that case). I imagine when he's stalking you through Doppio, he's marking every person you talk to down for death the moment he has you. That would be when he feels jealous the most, knowing he can't act just yet. He'd definitely plot the demise of anyone too close to you. Just to finally remove this burning feeling.

The end result isn't going to be pleasant for anyone but him.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Possessive, Obsessive, Manipulative, Intimidating, Overbearing, Demanding, Ruthless, Sadistic, Eerily caring at times..

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

As I've said before, the method he'd use most is Doppio. He already uses the personality to fool others and get rid of those he needs to. Stalking his darling through Doppio isn't too far off.

Diavolo waits and plans for an opening to take you away. It takes him a bit to become obsessed, originally planning to isolate you enough to kill you for distracting him. Unfortunately for him, such a plan fails due to his own emotional connections.

So while he still wants to get you alone, it isn't to kill you this time...

In fact, your new fate may be much worse than death.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Well, he's still ruthless. However, with you he's more... caring, if you can call what he does that.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

I feel Diavolo would focus on threats, but I can also see him "marking" you with bites to show you who you "belong" to. I don't want to imagine anything too physical, so he might mentally mess with you until you break. Such as isolation, restraints, and pictures of your loved ones in poor shape.

I'm talking if you act up, he may restrain you and show you a photo of one of your loved ones. They could be kidnapped... or even already dead. When he sees your tears, he grins, knowing with just a bit more time... you'll crumble.

You aren't necessarily the one who's punished, your loved ones are.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Based on his plans, most if not all. You're given some freedoms once you're isolated enough.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He's patient due to the amount of planning he puts in to have you. Although, he can be impatient at times if things aren't going according to plan.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

I imagine you'd leave a lasting impact on him. He could probably move on but it would take time and he could never forget you. You'd probably be his last romantic partner... so he's not going to lose you so easily.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No and no.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Hard to say when it comes to him. Could be a morbid sense of curiosity, or maybe he's missing a certain connection he once had?

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Diavolo would most likely give you your space. He has other matters to attend to, dealing with this could be irritating. Although, somedays he'll scoop you up and press you onto his chest. It may make things worse... but he enjoys the feeling of you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Not any I can think of. You'd need some sort of distraction to leave him as he is not letting you out of his sight.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

He most likely would, yes, even if he isn't intending to.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Diavolo is not a worship yandere, as much as that would be entertaining. However, He'd sacrifice a lot to get you back in his grasp. You're his in his eyes, anyone who tries to take you to get back at him is immediately dealt with.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Honestly, it can be anything from weeks, months, to maybe a year or two. He's always around, watching from Doppio's eyes as you live your life.

The clock is ticking, however... your fate is already decided by the king.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Most likely.

[twstbookclub]

Tickled Pink, But It's a Skill Issue

Summary: Idia is anything but thrilled at the soulmate mark on his wrist. After meeting his soulmate on one sunny day though, he's having second thoughts. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender Neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa 🦋 Tags: Comedy, Slight Angst, Romance, Fluff, Soulmate AU, Minor Swearing, Idia Gamer Speak, The Absolute Cringelord that is Idia Shroud, and Minor Book 6 spoilers

Word Count: 1,218

Idia Shroud stared at the words tattooed on his wrist with a grimace. Throughout his eighteen years of living, it still baffled him that the words he was born with cursed with, more like it were four words that made him want to shrink from embarrassment. Anyone else might have wondered about their soulmate once they saw their mark, but Idia might as well die from cringe.

“Your hair is pretty,” he muttered, shuddering. Really? Idia would rather have anything—anything, really—for a soulmate mark. What kind of soulmate’s first words to him would be about his hair, an untamed trail of flames and emotion? Emotions that made it obvious to anyone that he’s either angry or embarrassed? Emotions bearing impossible dreams, brutally crushed during his childhood? Idia would rather his soulmate curse or insult him for how much of a shut-in he is. If he was going to take the L and spend the rest of his life with this one person, at least make it believable.

Must be a normie hopeless romantic, Idia thought as he tapped and typed on his holographic screens. The type who dreams of a knight who saves them from a dragon for an RPG quest. Just like those prissy, trash-tier snobs at RSA. Just like a cliché romance plot in a B movie.

Idia knew he shouldn’t think of his soulmate like this before even meeting them. People his age already found their soulmates at this point. Couples holding hands in the park, sharing a drink in the restaurant booth, and all of the typical, mushy, lovey-dovey things people in love do. Well, people that aren’t the Shroud family. With how robotic they are, Idia doubts if the Shroud pair ever fell in love. He didn’t care to know about how his parents found each other. Even if he was curious as a kid, his parents never gave him the time of the day. Not when they were too busy to even look at their children who were going to inherit the fate of the Shrouds.

A faint crackle made Idia glance at the lock trailing down his shoulder. The orange tips of his hair shone like the beginning of twilight in his room, which was Idia’s cue to calm down. He huffed, subconsciously typing more aggressively than usual, and willed himself to forget his feelings. The thought of his soulmate always worked him up, or was it his parents?

“Who cares? I need to log in and do my dailies. I don’t want to break my log-in streak just because of this.”

Idia spent another evening in his room with nothing but his games, shoving ridiculous sentiment aside and waiting for Ortho to come back from class.

The next day was supposed to be ordinary, bleak, uneventful. Idia only went outside the comfort of his room to grab the newest video games and manga he ordered. Classes should’ve kept every NRC student busy. He could’ve slipped in and out of daylight without anyone noticing him.

“Your hair is pretty.”

Why is the Ramshackle Prefect here? Better yet, why did the universe give him a soulmate that was always surrounded by drama? Is he the main character of some sick comedy? Are the gods making fun of him at this point?

Idia Shroud, a stuttering coward in the crowd and a callous bastard behind the monitor, wanted to disappear right then and there. The tips of his hair flickered between fiery red and hot pink. His amber irises switched from the Prefect’s eyes, the cobblestone of Main Street, the Lord of the Underworld’s statue, and back to the Prefect’s eyes before he remembered that he shouldn’t be looking at them in the first place.

Maybe Idia should’ve worked on that drone to grab his deliveries for him. Maybe he could’ve avoided this outcome. Then again, if he couldn’t avoid his fate of being stuck as the Watchman, Idia could never run away from this even if he tried to.

He knew your name. Everyone does. You were the infamous magicless student in Night Raven College. You always found yourself in troublesome situations and with the SSR Epic Troublemakers. Riddle Rosehearts? Leona Kingscholar? Azul Ashengrotto? Does he need to list more of them to get the point across?

More importantly, you’re his soulmate. You. His. Idia’s mind was on the verge of a shutdown until he remembered that he should reply to you instead of standing like a spooked cat drenched in the rain.

“What’s a normie like you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be in class with the monster kitty?”

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why was his literal default being an asshole? His soulmate is standing not more than a meter in front of him, and he called them a normie. Brilliant. Can’t he level up his Charm stat just this once? Is he seriously having a skill issue right now?

While Idia was handling an internal battle with himself, you raised a brow. Oh no. He’s done it. Here comes the insult, the slap, the animosity he’s familiar with.

Except, you weren’t all those things.

“Did you just call me a normie?” You laughed, crossing your arms and grinning. The sound echoed in his ears, rattled his mind, and stole his every thought. Suddenly, Idia wanted to hear more of it. Honestly, this entire scenario feels like it was ripped out of a dating sim. This was getting into dangerous territory.

Idia’s hands hovered over his chest as he watched the magicless prefect. His shoulders visibly relaxed, but his fists clenched ‘til his knuckles turned ghostly pale. Well, that’s a first.

You kept going, undeterred by his insult, “It’s none of your business. I just wanted to say your hair’s pretty. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

You… didn’t know him. Idia didn’t know whether he should collapse from relief or cry about how invisible he was to you. Is this what it felt like to be a forgettable side character in a Triple-A game? Since when did it matter what you thought of him? Since when did he decide that you calling his hair pretty wasn’t cringe? Since when did his hair glow bright pink?

“Nevermind. I don’t have time for this.” You shook your head and walked around him. Idia almost grabbed your wrist out of instinct. As if this scene was straight out of a shoujo manga where the main character tries to reach out to her love interest before confessing. His hand shot back to his chest as if he was burned.

Oh great Seven, he’s turning into a walking cliché at the sight of his soulmate.

Idia’s heart jumped into his throat when you looked back at him with a knowing smirk. One that he knows will damn him for the rest of his life just because he wanted to get his video games and manga. Idia wanted to die on the spot at what you told him next.

“Look, you’re hot and all, but seriously? Pro tip: don’t insult your soulmate on sight. Make a better first impression next time, alright?”

Oh.

Oh.

Idia will make damn sure that he finishes that drone before he sees you again. Otherwise, he’ll combust on the spot and the pink flames will be screaming his infatuation for you.

[pumpkincarriage3]

The Fairy Godmother Has a Sadistic Streak | Sebek Zigvolt X Reader (Valentine's Special)

Prompt: (Character) must profess their true feelings by midnight or risk losing it all

Synopsis: Sebek was annoyed and with plenty good reason. There was absolutely no reason for his Dormmate to curse him over something as trivial as being lectured. And it wasn't as if Sebek was the one in the wrong! But now he must confront his feelings or risk losing all he's worked for.

Extra: The Reader is gender-neutral in this. The Reader is also implied to be Yuu. Set around Halloween.

A curse. Sebek of all people had been cursed. Over something as simple as a lecture that had been rightfully gained at that! Sebek, with a bitterness, remembers what had happened keenly. Everyone in Diasomnia had been watching Ramshackle Dormitory diligently, or at least, they were all supposed to be watching the dormitory with a pair of sharp eyes. Lord Malleus had given the order himself!

"Watch over the Ramshackle diligently." Lord Malleus had ordered. "I hadn't expected for the humans to bombard the building as they have been. They've caused a disturbance to the residences that have so generously offered their home for Halloween. No one that hasn't been invited in is to make their way into Ramshackle Dormitory, do I make myself clear?"

"Of course, Lord Malleus!" Sebek had called in confirmation. Been long since through with the people that kept hovering around the dormitory. They had no respect for anything! And while Sebek knows that their Long based decorations are splendid, as they were chosen by Lord Malleus himself, there was no reason for people to act as if they had lost any sanity over it.

Sebek knows he wasn't the only one with such thoughts. With such anger directed at the people that kept invading their exhibit as if they owned the land and everything that encompassed it. He knows he wasn't the only one with such feelings. For the others had cried out in anger at the supposed 'Malleus Draconia Challenge', that the others were upset Halloween was being trampled on with no respect.

It may not be the Halloween Sebek was used to. Not at all similar to how it was held in Briar Valley. But it was still Halloween and needed to be treated with the respect that it deserved.

Sebek remembers what had led him to standing outside Ramshackle Dormitory. His hand hovering hesitantly over the Dormitory door. He didn't want to knock. Didn't want to say anything. This way wasn't proper at all. If Lilia knew what he was doing, he'd probably be ashamed, seeing as Sebek was going about this in all the wrong ways. Not sending a missive first, like Lilia had once taught him.

But curses were serious things. Curses by fairies even more so. Sebek knows this. He'd grown up in Briar Valley after all. And something to know about fairies, something fairies are aware of themselves, is how they react to petty slights.

Even if Sebek was to get the curse lifted, the fae that had placed the curse on him would probably just find something much worse. And he wasn't going to rely on Lilia, Silver, or Seven forbid Lord Malleus. Sebek would simply have to get this over with and deal with the miscreant himself.

Someone had broken into Ramshackle Dormitory again. Sebek remembers Grimm hissing and spitting up a storm in rage. Not that Sebek could truly blame them. For they had all promised the Monster and the Prefect that they wouldn't let anyone else get close. They had set up night shifts for this very purpose, because people kept breaking in even after Night Raven College's Gates had closed.

Lilia had found the pair, outside Diasomnia dormitory. Bruises were all over the Prefect. Some fresh, newly formed. And some had already formed throughout the week from the various different break ins. Sebek was aware of this. He had been very aware of the fact that bruises kept showing up on the Prefect through class all week.

It was with this knowledge that had sent him in a rage. Where he had grabbed his baton and had set out, not saying anything to the Prefect or Grimm. He didn't have anything to say to them, for he and everyone else had failed them. But Sebek was going to fix it. Starting by tracking down the student that had failed to stay at their post.

And when Sebek finally did find them? The sight he came across only served to infuriate him more. For there was a Diasomnia student, cuddled up to a young lady that was most certainly not a student of Night Raven College. Now, Sebek wouldn't assume that she had been one of the ones that had broken into the Ramshackle building, but he at least knew she wasn't supposed to be here.

"And what is it that you think you're doing?! Abandoning your post! There is no greater dishonor!" Sebek shouted, causing the pair to jump apart.

The girl looking mildly embarrassed at having been caught. Sebek's fellow dorm student on the other hand? He looked nearly as annoyed as Sebek felt. Not that he could possibly be as enraged as Sebek was. Not with how he was acting. Not with what his actions caused.

"I was just meeting up with my girlfriend. I don't get the chance to see her that often with how Night Raven wor--" The fae began, explaining as if it would make his misdeeds go away.

"It doesn't matter if the last time you saw her was last week or last year, you were given a duty to guard Ramshackle Dormitory! And while you have been here canoodling with your significant other, Ramshackle Dormitory was broken into! Again!" Sebek snapped. The fae before him floundering for an explanation that could get him out of this. An explanation he would never find.

"I only stepped away for a few moments! How could I have possibly known it would have been broken into in that time!" The fae snapped. And while Sebek was sure the student only saw it as a few moments, for fae couldn't lie, the fae had a very different sense of time. Something everyone was well aware of! Not to mention the fact of stepping away from guard duty at all, for any reason, was out of the question!

"You shouldn't have stepped away at all!! You had a sworn duty to protect and look after the building and its inhabitants! A duty given to us all by Lord Malleus! There is no excuse for your actions!" Sebek snapped. The only thing keeping him from hitting the fae over the head with his baton was the fact that his girlfriend was present, and she already appeared on edge.

Sebek wasn't happy with her either, she had broken on to school grounds, but there was no way of knowing if she had any idea what her significant other was supposed to be doing. Attacking the fae just may lead her into the altercation, for Sebek didn't know how she would respond. Honestly, this entire situation could have been avoided if Sebek's fellow dorm student had just done his job!

"You're just saying that because you have feelings for the Ramshackle Prefect!" The student had argued.

"That isn't it at all! You were given an order by Lord Malleus to--!" Sebek attempted to correct, but was so rudely cut off.

"Oh please, get over yourself. Lord Malleus may care about this rickety old building, but its not like the inhabitants are that important anyway--!" Sebek wasn't proud of his next actions, seeing as he did end up attacking the student with his baton even though he told himself he wouldn't moments before.

Which is exactly what led to him being cursed. Something along the lines of 'If he didn't confess his true feelings for the Ramshackle Prefect by tomorrow before Midnight, everyone would lose their memories of him. It would be as if he never existed.' 

It was the entire reason Sebek was outside of Ramshackle Dormitory.  The reason he wasn't doing things the proper way. Resolving himself, he knocked on the door and waited.

He waited and waited. And when the door was finally answered, it wasn't the Prefect who responded.

"Ho ho ho, what do we have here?" One of the ghosts laughed. All three crowding the door. It was typically the Prefect who answered, but with the Magicam Monsters, the probably felt as if they couldn't do so. That since the Diasomnia students clearly weren't doing an upstanding job, the ghosts would be the ones to answer.

The thought hurt more than Sebek cared to admit.

"May I speak with the Ramshackle Prefect? It is a matter of utmost importance." Sebek insisted. The ghosts looked amongst themselves, contemplating.

"I don't know. Should we boys?" One of the ghosts asked.

"They haven't been doing the best protecting our dormitory. Why should we trust them with our dear Prefect?" Another ghost answered.

"You're right. He and the rest of his dormitory don't have any right to talk with the Prefect until they get their act together." The final ghost decided. Then all three turned to Sebek, as if communicating telepathically with one another and gave a firm--

"No." And then abruptly slammed the door closed in his face. Sebek blinked. He couldn't blame them, but what he needed to say was important. But he also couldn't start banging on the door, that wasn't any proper way to confess to someone.

Luckily, Sebek didn't have to decide his next course of action, for the front door was opened once more. And Sebek was met with the sight of the Prefect shooing away the ghosts with a broom. The ghosts themselves laughing as they seemed to float away.

"Don't just turn away guests before I've even spoken to them! He was asking for me anyway!" (Y/n) yelled as the ghosts chuckled to themselves. (Y/n) turned to Sebek, bags underneath their eyes, their complexion not nearly as healthy as normal. The sight pained Sebek. Had they been seeing the nurse? Would going to the nurse even help considering the event wasn't even over? "What is it you need Sebek? Did something else happen?"

There was an edge to their voice, clearly worn out. Regretfully, Sebek couldn't blame them. Then there was also the fact that they were wearing long sleeves. Covering up. Hiding the bruises that had already long since formed.

"Human, have you been to the infirmary? Your health is a matter of most importance and shouldn't be neglected!" Instead of confessing and saying what he should have, Sebek vomited out those words instead. Not that he didn't mean them. If not for his curse, he would argue those words were more important. Actually, even with his curse he would argue those words are much more important.

He still has plenty of time after all.

"Yes Sebek. I've been to the infirmary." (Y/n) confirmed, sighing a little when they did so. "Was there anything else?" They pushed. This wasn't their typical behavior, but they also weren't typically harassed by strangers day in and day out.

"I'm aware that my next words will be inappropriate and let it be known that I'm only saying this now because a particularly, grating, dormmate has placed a crude curse on me." Sebek began. (Y/n) stared at Sebek in confusion.

"Sebek, what--?" (Y/n) began, but Sebek cut them off. Wanting to get the words out as quickly as possible even though doing so goes against everything he was taught of doing things in a proper manner.

"Human I have feelings for you and wish to enter a courtship!" Sebek practically yelled, his words clear and concise. Leaving no room for doubt. (Y/n) was silent for a moment, seemingly hurt. Sebek failed to understand why. It was fine if they didn't return his feelings and while Sebek could see why that may leave them uncomfortable with the situation, he failed to see how that would hurt their feelings.

"So, someone placed a curse on you to fake having a crush on me? That's pretty low." (Y/n) chuckled, attempting to laugh off their false assumption. Not one to let such a misconception go, Sebek corrected them.

"You misunderstood me, human. I truly do have feelings for you. They placed a curse on me to reveal those feelings before midnight today." Sebek explained, (Y/n) looked utterly speechless. "This is far from the proper manner of doing this, and I would much rather have sent of missive, but the curse was vague enough I wasn't sure if that would count."

Sebek began stepping away from Ramshackle Dormitory, now that his duty here was done. He was going to hunt down that student from last night and string them up from their toes and force them to prostrate themselves before Lord Malleus for failing to follow an order.

"W-Wait Sebek!" (Y/n) called after him, causing Sebek to pause in his tracks. "You really have feelings for me?" They asked.

"Yes. I believe I've made that quite clear." Sebek confirmed, failing to see how his words could be misconstrued. At the very least, the Prefect no longer seemed upset. Seeing as they were smiling widely. A smile that sent Sebek's heart ablaze.

"I really like you too!" The cheered. Sebek nodded, still turning to leave. He really needed to track down that miscreant.

"Then I will make sure to send you a missive within a day. Now if you would excuse me, there is someone that I must track down so they may prostrate themselves before Lord Malleus!" Sebek excused himself. And for some reason, Sebek's words made (Y/n) laugh loud and clear.

He failed to see what was so amusing. But he was happy that he could make them laugh and smile with glee considering what the past few days have been like. Perhaps he can request to take up the night shifts protecting Ramshackle Dormitory. At least then he knows the job would get done right.

[cascader]

i love the tipsy kiss you just posted! would like to request number 12 for jily if you have any inspiration?

aw thank you so much! here you go <3 rated T for (surprise!) kissing lmao

“Evans — just, Evans, come on, Mer — slow down,” James calls, breaking into a jog. 

She speeds up, if anything, waves of red hair whipping behind her in the wind. She’s so far ahead of him — heading through the castle doors, now — that he can’t make out anything else. 

James skids to a stop at the castle doors a long minute later and sees her hair flash around the corner of a first-floor staircase. 

He swears again and follows her. She makes it up two flights and halfway down the Charms corridor before he catches up to her. 

“Evans — come on,” and his outstretched fingers are inches away from her shoulder when she skids to a stop and whirls around. 

James takes an instinctive half-step back and has to fight to keep his expression neutral as he takes in her face — tear-streaked, reddened, puffy (and so beautiful). 

“What?” Lily demands.

“I…” “What could you possibly have left to say? Come after me to call me a Mudblood too, hm?”

“No — Merlin, no, Evans, like I said — I’d… I’d never…”

“You’d never what? Hurt me?”

James pauses, then frowns. “Look, Evans. I'm sorry about Sniv — about Snape. I really am. But I didn’t make him—”

“You absolutely did. You always do! You always… poke and prod and pick at him until he can’t—”

James runs an angry hand through his hair and paces to the wall and back. “Merlin, he’s his own person, Evans! He makes his own choices! Bloody terrible ones, sure, but that’s not—”

“And you’re just always insufferable, aren’t you? You can’t ever leave anything alone!” 

“I’m insufferable? Says the most self-righteous person I’ve ever met. You just—”

“—everything’s a joke to you—”

“—not my fault you can’t ever take a joke—”

“—maybe if they were actually funny—”

“—don’t act like you don’t think I’m funny, Evans, I’ve seen you—mmph!”

James finds himself pressed flat against the cool stone wall and Lily Evans’s lips pressed against his.

He freezes, and then she does, and he feels her pull away for a heart-stopping second before he jerks into action. His arms snake around her waist and then hers dive into his hair. It’s heady, and James can hear his blood rush in his ears, smell strawberries in her hair, feel her fingernails scrape against his scalp, which sends some kind of shiver down his spine…

Her lips are frantic against his, urgent, unthinking, and James is hit with a sudden fear that this is all about to end.

He pushes off from the wall until he’s upright again; he feels Lily tilt her head up further to meet him. 

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing — he definitely has not snogged Lily bloody Evans before — but his hands seem to, as they skim up her waist, then flee to her back, up her shoulders, until James cups her face in his hands. 

He feels her hands drop to his hips. James slows the kiss down, slanting his lips over hers once, twice, thrice. He feels her push back against him, feels her try to speed it up again, but he just skims his thumb against her cheek and tentatively presses his tongue into her open mouth. Lily lets out the faintest — whimper?

“Fuck,” gasps Lily, as she jerks suddenly back from him. 

Her eyes are wide, her hand clapped over her mouth, her skin still reddened.

She takes a full step back from him, as if to emphasize her point. Her blush deepens. Her gaze darts frantically between him and the wall behind him. James can’t catch his breath. 

“Fuck,” she repeats. “I’m so sorry.”  

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #9: Tape V (Canary)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Heather dropped the granola bar into his lap. “Here’s your breakfast. Eat.”

Jackie flinched as the light of the outside world hit him. Blood had dried in thick streaks across his face, like paint. He sat up on the ice, but his posture seemed uneasy, as if he might fall over at any moment. She had already removed the zip-ties, hours earlier. He was still breathing. He was alive. The only evidence of the dissection was a long scar running along his chest, and that was hidden under his shirt. He was fine. Exactly as Heather predicted.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she bent down to unplug the freezer. “Does anything still hurt? I can get you some Aspirin, if you want. Or something stronger.”

There was no reply. Not even a snippy insult. Heather stood back up to inspect him.

He stared back, nothing aggressive in his eyes. His hands shook. Perhaps from the cold, perhaps from something else. The white of the freezer had been stained shades of dark red, molting to a vulgar brown. It created quite an impressive backdrop behind him. By now, the frost had coated every inch of his skin, even the creases of his clothes. 

Heather tapped his shoulder. "Hello? Anyone there? I asked you a question."

There was no reply at all, only a small wince.

“What’s wrong with you?” Heather put the back of her hand to his head—his temperature was fine. Cold, obviously, but he didn’t have a fever. “Say something.”

He tensed under her touch, like her very skin was painful to make contact with. His reply came silently, his eyes narrowed and his mouth unmoving in a straight line. 

“Come on. You can’t be upset about that.” She didn’t have to specify what she was talking about. “I had to do it. I had to teach you a lesson.”

His stare broke. Jackie looked away, downwards. A shaky exhale parted his lips, but he did not speak. Heather thought this was a bit of an overreaction. Nothing had been permanently damaged, and he’d only been awake for a few minutes. Twenty minutes, to be exact, but nobody was counting. Cold temperatures were a very effective anesthetic. She could have done worse. It could have been a hell of a lot more painful. 

"Are you going to refuse to talk to me?" It wasn't an accusation, just a question. "I didn't break you, did I?"

A bewildered look painted over his neutrality, at long last. “Break?” His voice was hoarse, flat, quieter than it had ever been. “Like… a doll?”

"Like a doll." A porcelain thing cracked in two. Heather had damaged her projects before—birds were the worst, by far. She would leave the stove running for a little too long, just once, and they would be dead by morning. Tiny lungs all choked with smoke, stiff on the floor of the cage. Then she would have nothing to test on. She could reason that her methods were kind, but a coal mine was a coal mine, and a dead canary wouldn't answer to reason.

Jackie wasn't dead, though. He was fine. Everything was fine. Heather couldn’t understand what had changed in him. He was quieter. Self-contained. Something had gone taut in him, something fragile, a string about to snap. He was staring at nothing in particular, lost in thought. He hadn’t moved an inch.

Heather snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

His eyes went wide. His shoulders went tense. His hands curled up close to his body.

"Are you—are you scared?" She withdrew her hand. "You were perfectly fine with the—with the fire, and everything else, but cutting you open was too far? Is that it?"

Radio silence. He didn’t relax at all, even as she backed off. He didn't even make eye contact.

"Oh." What a turn of events. "So you are scared."

She took the scalpel from where it still lay on the table. It was a slow movement, steady so he could see it. Then, she pointed the blade straight at his chest. 

"Tell me what I want to know,” she said. “Or I cut you open again."

"I'm scared, yeah." His voice was monotone, but he certainly looked the part.

“Tell me what you're scared of."

His head snapped up, eyes burning with emotion, as their stares met at last. “Fuck you. You just want to make me feel worse, don’t you?”

“You’re being aggressive.” She drew the scalpel closer, higher. “Come on, then. Tell me what scares you, or I cut you open again.”

“You’ll cut me open anyway.” He spat in her face. “There’s your answer, bitch.”

She didn’t cringe or flinch as the spit dripped down her face. She enjoyed a challenge, after all, and disgust was a weakness. She smiled instead. “Come on, Jackie. I know you can do better than that."

“I’m not afraid of you.” 

“Oh?” She put the knife up to his throat. “This looks like fear to me.”

He glared at her, trembling, eyes narrowed but saying nothing, poised to run or fight but doing nothing, the rage practically coming off him in plumes of smoke. She wouldn’t be surprised if he bit her, to be honest. He had that feral animal sort of stare. The sharpness of it made her heart beat faster. It was exhilarating.

Heather increased the pressure against his chest. He leaned backwards with the motion, until his back was pressed as far against the side of the freezer as it could go. The silence worsened still as he held his breath. The scalpel tore through his shirt. Each snapping thread could be heard, each broken fiber distinct and audible. 

He exhaled. “I’m scared of you, alright?”

“Good.” She decreased the pressure of her scalpel, but didn’t put it away. With her sleeve, she wiped her face. "Are you going to cooperate with me now?"

He nodded.

'Perfect." Heather turned the tape recorder on. “I’ll proceed with the second… dissection, then. Experiment five. Or six? Jackie, have you been keeping count?”

He folded his knees up to his chest. The granola bar lay forgotten in the ice. “Are you keeping me awake?”

“Awake? Of course.” She picked up the bone saw. “You haven’t learned your lesson yet. If that wasn’t enough, well…” She lifted the bone saw to inspect the edge in the light, to check for rust. “Dismemberment would be interesting. I’m sure you’ll be fine without a finger or two.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Chunks of ice hit the back of her head. 

Heather turned to see that Jackie’s palm was holding another handful. He had thrown them. At her.

She slammed the bone saw onto the table. That sound had all the effect of a gunshot, loud enough to make Jackie throw his arm up as a shield. His chest heaved with rough, panicked breathing.

She marched over to him, took his collar in her grasp and wrenched him forwards. She pulled his arm down with a dead-tight hold on his wrist. 

“What did you say?” She shoved him forward again, shook him like he weighed nothing. “What was that? Repeat that. Repeat that, asshole. Say it again, you little cockroach, you filthy ingrate—“

His eyes glittered. His shoulders started to shake. He made a strange noise in his throat, a tilted and high-pitched sort of sound. Tears rolled down his face, at first in tiny dewdrops, then in great big streams, spilling out in wasteful abandon despite his attempts to wipe them away. His wrist went limp in her hand. He shook, his entire body caught in the jerky motion of it, as his head hung down. 

With a start, Heather realized he was crying.

 It was certainly very strange, considering how he’d been cursing her out just a moment ago. He attempted to speak, but it was impossible to break from that stupor of sobbing. She had never seen him cry before. She had never even seen him shed tears. Parakeets and dogs never cried. They would bite and howl, but never cry. What was she supposed to do now? Dismember him, while he wept violently all the while? Why did she feel so bad? 

“Wait. No. Stop.” Heather let go of his wrist. “It’s okay, shh, don’t—“ She placed a hand on his shoulder, but it only made him curl up tighter. “Don’t cry. No, don’t cry harder, for heaven’s sake. Stop that.”

“I’m—I’m sorry—“ Another sob cut that sentence off. 

“I don’t want you to apologize. I want you to stop crying.” She turned the recorder off. “I won’t dismember you, okay? It’s fine. Calm down.”

“No—“ He attempted to gather himself. “I’m—I’m calm—“ 

It was ugly to watch, like a chick crawling out of the egg all raw and shivering, or a doe trying to walk with a broken leg. Heather’s panic wasn’t helping things. She had to act casual.

“Do you… need anything?” she offered cautiously. "Should I leave?"

He wiped the tears away with the heel of his palm, swallowing the sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m making this awkward, I know.” His voice cracked at the last word. “Go ahead with the experiment, I’ll—I’ll be quiet.”

He really was so nice, to the point that it was irritating. Heather couldn’t injure him now. Not after all that. That would be beyond her skills of reasoning. No twist of logic could make that look sensible. She didn’t want him to start crying again, anyway. He was one bad thing away from breaking down. The tears still seeped from his eyes. He was still upset. She had to fix him, somehow.

She hesitated. Then, she pulled him in for a hug.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

putting the comfort in hurt/comfort (a single hug) (offscreen)

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

[rubykgrant]

(Part 2 of my RVB mer-kid story, because I finally have my brain on-track with it!)

Sarge didn't know how to respond to that.

The kid didn't really give him a chance.

With one last annoyed little huff, the boy turned and started to run out of the parking lot... he slowed to a walk before getting to the hill, making his way down the road, back to wherever he went when he wasn't here.

The words- "He isn't human" stuck in Sarge's mind. That surely had to be the kid's wild imagination, adding more to whatever this weird little conspiracy the kid conjured up. This place... yeah, sure, it was pretty secretive, maybe leaning toward being shady, but not INSIDIOUS. Probably not. Hopefully not.

If it was, the more likely answer would be something like pollution, or unethical animal testing. Regular "evil corporate" stuff. Not good, no, but... kidnapping? Kidnapping somebody who wasn't human? What the hell did that even MEAN?

Sarge shook his head and locked the gate.

The rest of the day was pretty quite; he did his rounds, took a break while two other guards came on for their shift, checked the daily security footage (seeing himself dealing with the little trespasser, noticed that a smirk had snuck into the corner of his mouth as he watched the kid flip-off one of the scientists who had spotted him earlier, and made a conscious effort to make his expression neutral; he was NOT fond of this kid), and then went back out for his final rounds of the evening.

Sometimes, Sarge worked the night shift, all the way through, but the schedule worked out so none of the guards got full day-night work, and rotated who worked late so nobody got burned-out. Occasionally, Sarge got called in even when his shift was over, because SOMEBODY was causing a ruckus, and none of the other guards were as good at dealing with that problem.

Well, in an irritating way, the kid certainly gave Sarge job security.

As he walked out to his car, muttering to himself about this-and-that, Sarge noticed that the sky had become overcast. The wind had gone from a refreshing breeze to powerful gusts of cold wind. It made the the parking lot seem even more open and empty. The sun was beginning to set, and the dark clouds turned the light into vibrant streaks of gold. Everything that wasn't in shadow burned orange.

After going through the employee access road, getting cleared at the security gate, and driving up the hill, Sarge saw something that made him slow down, then stop; the kid was standing beside a tree.

This spot was just over the "horizon" of the hill, no line of sight from the building. Had the kid actually left, or had he been waiting here all day?

The warm glow from the setting sun was at the kid's back, his wavy hair moving in the wind like flowing water.

"Hey. You better not just be waiting for me to leave so you can sneak in again," Sarge said, rolling down his window, and leaning over the edge. "I don't wanna leave, and then just come back here in half an hour. Take the night off, kid. Give us both a break,"

The kid didn't say anything at first. He had that bored, zoned-out look again. Sarge had to admit, the kid had a good poker-face.

"Why are you here?" the kid finally asked. Sarge almost chuckled at how blunt yet "philosophical" the question was.

"I used to be in the military," he waited a moment. Sometimes kids got all starry-eyed over that. Not this kid. "It about killed me, but I don't go down easy, even when I take a bullet to the head, and now I'm done with it. Had to find somethin' ELSE to do with m'self. A buddy gave me a list of possible employers I could call. Most of the other options fell through, but this didn't. So I'm here to be a security guard. I THOUGHT that meant keeping things in order, maybe dealing with a break in if anybody wanted to steal equipment... but NO, I have to play baby-sitter to ONE little smart-mouthed delinquent!"

The kid shifted around, awkwardly... but Sarge got the feeling he wasn't the one making the kid nervous.

"OK. Why is THAT here?" the kid nodded back toward the building. "Why did they build something here, all secret and secluded and sh- stuff? Why don't they tell anybody what they're DOING? Why is it such a big MYSTERY?"

"Valuing privacy doesn't mean they're up to some nefarious, super-villain scheme. I know it might be fun to imagine something like that up, but-" before Sarge could finish, the kid interrupted him.

"I didn't IMAGINE my friend, and I didn't IMAGINE them taking him away!" the blank expression was gone. As the kid's eyes started to water with fresh tears, the sunset made them sparkle in a way that was... heart-breaking and harsh.

Damn it. Sarge was getting SAPPY in his old age.

"Kid- I ain't trying to upset you. I know you hate my guts, and the feeling is just about mutual, alright? So I won't patronize you, I'll tell 'ya straight. You need to listen to me," Sarge tried to give one of his best I-mean-it looks, so the kid would pay attention. "If you keep coming back, climbing the fences, breaking in, and running around... you'll get hurt. I don't mean I'LL hurt 'ya, I mean one of these days you'll fall and scrape your knee, or break your neck, or get yourself stuck in some little corner you can't get out of- then what? I don't want to see some kid get all messed-up or injured..."

"My friend is a kid, too..."

"Right. Your friend who isn't human," Sarge replied.

"Yeah. Yeah, he's not human, but he's still a KID. And they're hurting him in there. He's getting messed-up in there. If you're really worried about kids being injured, worry about him!" the young voice cracked, turning into a whine of uncontrolled emotion.

With one last glare, the kid turned and started walking down a little path that cut through a small stretch woods; it eventually ran behind some apartments and a small neighborhood. The kid was smarter than he looked, he KNEW going that way would help him hide his route home.

Sarge watched him go, and finally drove on.

That kid was trouble. No respect for his elders, or private property. No sense of responsibility, no concern for things like school. Probably a slacker, who didn't do any chores at home, no goals in life, no concept of effort, no determination, just a sarcastic little...

He kept coming back here, though. He hadn't faltered in that regard, not in three months. He also had given Sarge a reason; a pretty bogus, surely unfounded reason, but in the mind of that kid, it was important.

"He's not human, why are you here, why is it such a big mystery, my friend is a kid too"... now Sarge had even more of this stuck in his head, whether he liked it or not.

Driving through town, Sarge could see people taking notice of the weather; the clouds were now decidedly stormy, the wind getting more than a little pushy. The normally lively streets were looking empty; all the corner stores and sidewalk restaurants were closing their windows, still open for business, but not WIDE open. Even when this town was full of people, it still had a calm attitude. The change in their had made everything tense.

Maybe it was getting to Sarge, too... he felt restless and agitated. Because some kid had popped-off about something that may as well have been the plot for an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. If the kid had said something like- "Those scientists stole a baby dolphin from it's mother, and they're keeping it in there!", well, Sarge maybe would have believed that right away, but it was easier to accept that some kind of ET scenario, with the evil government kidnapping a friendly space alien.

This was stupid. That kid was either making things up on purpose, or he let his imagination run away with him. Sarge wasn't going to keep dwelling on it.

After a shower, a dinner of hearty stew (left-overs from 2 days earlier, when he had time to actually cook), and watching 7 episodes of M*A*S*H* re-runs, Sarge was still dwelling on it.

Damn it, the kid had at least ONE point; this job and that facility were a little... iffy. Sarge didn't have a fancy high-tech phone, and he didn't have a home computer here yet, so he can't just start trying to look stuff up online... he's not much of a "hacker", anyway. He was pretty handy with a wrench when it came to working on vehicles or home repairs, but the cyber-world was outside of his realm of expertise.

He'd have to try something more old-fashioned; he got his flip-phone (which was a bulky, old model that still resembled a walkie-talkie, just the way he liked it), and made a call.

"Hey, Butch. Yeah, sorry- am I callin' too late?"

"No-no, it's fine! I was up and about anyway. You know me, busy as a bee!" came the happy, even-toned voice through the phone. "Well, I'm always happy to hear that ruggedly charming voice of yours, Sarge... but something tells me if YOU are calling this time of night, you've got something on your mind, yes?"

Somebody who didn't know the guy well would think Butch Flowers was condescending; he always talked like everything in life was amusing, and he wasn't shy about sharing his pleasant little opinions. He was almost always sincere, no trace of sarcasm, and unless you spelled it out for him, he wouldn't notice that he rubbed you the wrong way until you got right up in his face, ready to pull back for a punch... and that was the other thing about Butch Flowers; the guy could take a hit, and laugh it off. He could also hit back. Hard.

Sarge had served with him in the military, and for years, never dared question any of the odd mannerisms or quirks. Butch Flowers outranked him, and the few times Sarge saw him get genuinely made was... unnerving. Which Sarge also found extremely attractive, but he had promptly IGNORED all those feelings. They had somehow remained on good terms through the years, and with military life over for them both, they were on even-footing now.

"I actually do. This job here- I still appreciate you finding it for me and putting in a good word 'n all, but this place is starting to feel like I keep stepping over a rattler, but I just don't see it. What do you really KNOW about the people in charge?" Sarge asked.

"Hmm... off the record?" Flowers said thoughtfully.

"Off the record," Sarge agreed.

"Okey-dokey. I did my own security work for one of the lead scientists at another location, for a different project. THAT was one big, nasty deal. A fuster-cluck, if you'll pardon my almost-French. Not really because of anybody I was working with, but because of all the people trying to get up to mischief. Corporate espionage is messy," Flowers explained, as if he were chatting about a trip to the grocery store.

"Hell, it was that bad?"

"Oh, goodness gracious, YES! But I wouldn't have recommended you work for the same group if I thought it was going to happen again. Most of the people involved got arrested, the others went into hiding, tra-la-la, life goes on. The marine research facility is something entirely different than the project I was working on. I mean, it's funded by the same core company, they like to dip their toes in multiple projects, but nobody is going to target a building that charts ocean currents or collects seashells-" Flowers tried to continue, but Sarge jumped in.

"That's the thing, Butch! I don't know if they're chartin' ocean currents, or countin' seashells, or scavenging old shipwrecks to find pirate treasure, or WHAT. Maybe this isn't the same kind of project upfront, but..." Sarge trailed off, letting Flowers figure out the rest.

"You're worried they're hiding something. Hmm... I'd hate to think I set you up with something DANGEROUS. Really, all the problems I had came from outside sources, and this company pays very well. Still, if it makes you uneasy or you don't feel safe... maybe give them your two-weeks? I'll be happy to give you a place to stay for a while, until you find something else. Can you do that?" Flowers asked, giving Sarge a VERY easy way out.

Sarge didn't usually take the easy way.

"No. I can't," he answered.

"Ah, I think I understand. If you're going to play detective and then maybe play hero, be CAREFUL. And for heaven's sake, CALL ME if you need help! REAL help. I'll get you out of there..." for the first time in this conversation, Flowers had a touch of concern in his voice.

"Yeah, I'll try. But you know how I am," Sarge said with a huff of laughter.

"Indeed I do- stubborn and tenacious. Well, if anybody can dig up the answers, I'm sure you can! Now, get some rest~"

"Alright, G'night, Butch..." Sarge said, and clocked off his phone.

He thought about the time before, when Flowers had given him a few job options to try out; car salesman, livestock judge, self-defense advisor... hell, the guy had even offered to put Sarge up at his place if Sarge wanted to try going back to school (he technically had a GED, but it was almost a joke; his school let people "graduate early" if they were planning on joining up, and as a teenager, Sarge ate that propaganda for breakfast, and went down the school-military pipeline like it was a slip-n-slide).

At each job, Sarge got his fur up about something. One boss had been an abusive father that kept getting away with hurting his kids because he was friends with local cops. Sarge got to the bottom of THAT, and while the kids found a safe new home, Sarge found himself without a job. Things like that kept happening, and Sarge was like a dog with a bone when something got his attention.

Finally, Flowers had told Sarge about the security job. Almost reluctantly. As if he didn't want to bring it up at all... and maybe that was because of the bad business Flowers went through. What if it wasn't just competitors that caused problems? What if this research facility was just a front for whatever the company really cared about?

This was supposed to be an easy security job, and Sarge had sworn to himself that he would NOT, under ANY circumstances, get too involved or too invested. He wasn't here to make trouble, he was here to keep things in order. Trying to pull threads or make waves was a bad idea. He should just keep ignoring these red flags, like before...

"They stole my friend"

"He isn't human"

Who is he kidding? Sarge is going to charge head-first into those red flags, and tear them apart

[whenjustdancehitsdifferent]

The secret identities of the heroes... revealed!!

Do you want to know the secret identities of the hero coaches? Well, you're in luck...

Warning: this is absurdly long so I'm putting in a cut

Okay, I know I already talk about this one a lot, but I'm going down a list here so I had to include it. Y'all are lucky this blog didn't exist yet when I put this together, it was genuinely all I talked about for roughly two months straight.

After a couple decades of doing dutiful hero work, Kem moved to Sun Horizon with his fiancee Lillesol, fulfilling their lifelong dream of retiring to where everything was slower, quieter, and warmer. (That's why it doesn't really look like him - he's significantly older in Baby Zouk, but the fun lighthearted attitude and the pool-themed powers/dancing on a beach parallel would match up!)

I can explain, listen - the lobster is a mascot suit, for a restaurant, and his day job is dressing up and entertaining people. Think like...if Red Lobster had Chuck E Cheese style characters. It started as a summer job for him in high school, and the cool hairdo is what inspired him to make big hair his gimmick. It's just goofy enough to work for Just Dance logic, okay? He fought a giant spaghetti monster canonically, anything goes.

Dahlia's avatar quote is "art is more comforting than ice cream - it helps me break free!". Which seems like odd phrasing...until you remember that Break Free is the name of another routine. The hair and makeup stylings look suspiciously similar too, so I will insist on this forever idc this is one of those ones where Ubi could break into my house and tell me I'm wrong and I still wouldn't believe it

Brown hair and cheesy 80s music? Yeah, that's Mister Overload all right. Better not to ask who the girls he was with in Careless Whisper alt were - even heroes can find themselves in situations...

Curly dark hair, left is of course significantly brighter but she still wears a bold blue color and they're from the same game and...y'know you're just gonna have to trust me on this one.

Do you ever just...call something as a joke, but then it kinda sticks? Yeah...I was going down the list of blonde coaches, put this together as a joke, but then it actually started to click with me and now I'm obsessed with the concept. Send help

Bonus: the "neutral" coaches!

It's the heart locket that does it for me. I know the purple hair isn't quite the same shade, but that is her.

They just have a similar attitude of being a badass, and Super Bass has lighter greenish streaks in the hair too even if it's hard to see...but more importantly the idea that she and Eteria had some big spat that Rosaria was just sitting on the sidelines of just casually watching with a bucket of popcorn is just too funny, I'm sorry.

Rosaria's hair is light with dark at the bottom, and Stop Drop Roll P1's hair is the opposite. But it's still similar enough that I noticed like "hey, wait a dang minute"...

These two aren't really confirmed to be on either side either and if anything are more likely to be sketchy, but it feels weird to leave them out when I know stuff so

It's the hair, it's the red hair. But it's also the fact that Happier Than Ever canonically knows Dahlia, who as I mentioned earlier is like totally Break Free, so maybe they met because they worked together on something.

Idk, I'm probably not the first person to notice the similarity, but two pilots in the Danceverses that are goofballs and wear pink? Nope, more likely to be the same person.

And this is just straight up "the two heroes are the same hero" but close enough

Their color palettes are almost completely identical. Just looking at them side by side, it seems obvious to me that there's a correlation.

[incorrectnevermoor]

i think you know how this goes by now.

i’ve seen a theory that the safeguard is putting morrigan under a spell, don’t remember where, but just imagine it breaks and she’s so confused about where she is and she’s sad that she can’t see them right then. where’s jupiter? where’s hawthorne, jack, cadence, all of her friends in 919 and at the deaucalion, why can’t she remember anything? she felt like time had passed but everything was fuzzy, just a feeling of blank, monotone actions. unfeeling eyes, chanting perhaps? she remembered someone crying, a sense of panic, had it been jupiter? why was he crying? nobody was in the room with her, yet she felt like she was being watched. she wasn’t tired, but a lingering drowsiness clung to her limbs as though they were protesting against a sudden awakening.

but then someone comes in, (maybe they need to feed her just so she stays alive) and she looks at them, her eyes looking like there was something behind them for the first time in awhile. there was no more vacant stare, it had been replaced with polite curiosity.

anyway, i’m getting carried away again. but what if it was one of unit 919 that came in (they just want to see her, even if she wasn’t really herself anymore.) and they are torn between telling the elders and helping their friend. okay done now, be back tomorrow of course!

Oh my GOD

Im so curious about what a safeguard is that I think I’m growing grey hairs, my guess is that it’s like a containment measure? An Eliminate Threat button, but that seems a bit morbid for what we’ve seen so far in the books.

Perhaps the safeguard’s job is to neutralize the threat until they can, as you said, put them under a spell to make sure they’re never a threat again, so the number and power level of the signatures would have to be equivalent to that of the subject who needs the safeguard put in place, which begs the question: have they done this to any other wundersmiths before? Are they sure it’ll work as permanently as they hope?

In your particular headcanon, I’d be willing to bet wunder somehow helped Morrigan break the spell she was under.

Imagine how Hawthorne would react to his friend going so berserk that she had to be put down, basically. Cadence? The rest of the unit? God, Fenestra and her protective streak! Everyone in the Deucalion would be so distraught if anything happened to Mog, even if it had to be done for the Greater Good.

And you can bet that Jupiter “she’s just a little girl!” North would practically go insane. Absolutely lose it. Mad with grief. He’d fight the decision tooth and nail.

To hear that Mog somehow came back to herself and he may not be able to help her? That her unit might not be able to fix this?

It would break them.

[dmagedgoods]

The rambling continues. Mostly because I want to sum up my thoughts. I think I never fully realized something about Salvadore. Or I did in a subconscious way, but it feels different to see it written down like this. I know him for ten years now, it’s nice to still find new perspectives to look at him.

Salvadore always had a certain type. He breaks out of it sometimes and makes exceptions and I’m not a fan of too strict schemata anyway, but it’s remarkable that there are things he repeats without me truly influencing anything.

The traits he’s drawn to most are intelligence and wit, confidence (or arrogance), independency, a lofty elegance and/or creativity, pride, teasing and/or dark humor, the ability to challenge him and a passion for freedom.

I could write down the list of his crushes over the years, but it’s partly embarrassing, partly painful, so I’ll spare him that much. Nonetheless, it’s of importance that it mainly has been tricksters, hedonists, freedom fighters, proud and highly independent mages, jesters and sassy assassins – or a combination of the above.

Often the people he picked had a very playful streak, something light about them, occasionally something chaotic, and weren’t easy to grasp. It’s a bit of a tragedy, because he himself usually is bound to a place in his goals and what he wants out of life, thinks strongly in the “forever-term” when he goes for a relationship, wants marriage, a deep connection, all of this, while many of those he had a crush on felt more drawn to traveling and adventuring freely and/or were not interested in staying with a consistent partner.

What is it about this urge for freedom, combined with a drop of chaos and strong playfulness that attracts him so much? Does it go back to childhood developments when he was shaped by Eneas’ lifestyle and so deeply impressed by his way of acting?

It seems like a simple case of “opposites attract” and, while true in parts, it’s more of the exact contrary.

Salvadore has nothing chaotic about him. He is highly methodical and strategic and disciplined. Still, he definitely has a playful side, dark humor, a cruel streak sometimes, enjoys teasing, self-indulging pleasures, attention … As I wrote some moments before: What is politics if not a giant game? Of course, he would never call it that and takes it highly seriously. But one of the most alluring parts in it – aside from the power itself and the chance to use it to fulfill his visions – comes with playing mind games on a very high, complicated level.

Salvadore loves being challenged, he loves to hunt, he loves excitement, being outsmarted every once in a while, and for it to feel like a victory when he outsmarts the other. He also is romantic to a ridiculous degree with someone he loves.

What I want to say: This playful side in him, although hidden, is much stronger than it seems at first glance and at the second and third as well.

That he feels so very drawn to those traits in another person seems to be mostly due to the fact that he needs an outlet, someone causing him to break out from his strict duty and the prideful loneliness he picked. But there is another level to it, as I realized today: He sees a side of himself reflected in it, a side he won’t (and doesn’t want to) allow himself to live out to the fullest. – He can, though, to a certain degree, with a partner who strongly gives into it themselves.

It certainly adds to it that it often leads to some kind of “king and jester” chemistry, as long as the jester stays on eye level with the king in this very special way and sometimes even in charge; or alternatively to a “ruler and right-hand-man” (gender neutral) relationship, as long as it includes the implication that the latter has a lot of control over the first as well. As much as Salvadore loves it to protect and to be in control, he needs to be challenged in it. As much as he loves admiration, he needs someone to admire in return.

Now it stays true that he never would allow his grander visions and what he works for and believes in to be destroyed by it. As much as it helps and inspires him to be confronted with the right kind of outrageous behavior, he can’t bear limitless chaos and he would always protect the structures he wants to build – against a partner too if it would come to it. Luckily, most people of this very nature are not too interested in ruining his efforts and would leave politics to him in the first place while they go and have some fun in less destructive ways or even find some common goals with him and help him achieve them with their own talents. (Daeran is one of the rarest cases in this regard, combining this nature and a talent for diplomacy and rulership. No wonder Sal didn't stand a chance.)

And I’m by no means saying that Salvadore only can fall for jester/trickster/azata types, I know that aeon>legend characters have a strong effect on him as well, for example. I only noticed that the type he most often went for says a lot about his character, and about some elements of his personality that stay hidden if you don’t look very closely.

[hrokkall]

my poor little meow meow reginald (root beer reggie) or Lionel.. or both

I’ll answer for Lionel first because he’s been on my mind lately

Favorite thing about them: As everyone here knows I’m a huge fan of everything going wrong for a character and watching as they decide to make the worst possible decisions about it—Lionel absolutely fills that niche for me. He gets his big break at age twelve and, in desperation to keep up his winning streak, tramples on everything around him and accidentally invokes the wrath of his own OCs. What more is there to want here.

Least favorite thing about them: I’d say stealing money from employees but, again, as per usual that’s too easy. Instead I’ll say a lot of the problems presented in the Hex could’ve been solved if Lionel just had decent communication skills/actually listened to other people’s advice. Of course, that would make for a pretty boring game, but playing through Walk is still a little bit like watching a trainwreck.

Also this is more of a meta thing but I always get thrown off when I listen to Daniel Mullins interviews because I keep expecting to hear Lionel’s voice. Lionel has a completely different voice actor and logically I know that but it still keeps screwing me up somehow.

Favorite line: Not technically a “line” but this bit in Walk made me chuckle the first time around.

brOTP: I feel like this is probably a cop-out answer but I really like the bit in the game that has him and Carla as childhood friends. He sort of glosses over it in Walk, claiming they weren’t that close anyway, but that really felt more to me like fumbling for his ego and less that they weren’t actually close—hell, he even brings one of her rubber ducks with him when he moves out to the desert to escape the rest of his responsibilities. Plus it makes it sadder if they were good friends and the drive to achieve something above all else was what drove them apart.

OTP: I don’t really ship Lionel with anyone

nOTP: I don’t really not ship Lionel with anyone either (I’ve seen two Lionel ships total and I’m neutral on both of them)

Random headcanon: Lionel and Carla are the same height (I don’t know what height exactly; probably not very tall, around 5’6”/168cm ish). Normally Carla is sitting down and Lionel is at the front of the room talking so it’s tough to notice but Lionel comes into work with lifts in his shoes one day and Carla very much notices.

Unpopular opinion: I feel like not completely hating this guy is an unpopular opinion. The whole point of the Hex was to make him seem as horrible as possible to both the player and the patrons at the Six Pint Inn so they’d be willing to help Reggie take revenge. Lionel isn’t a great person obviously, but he’s not pure evil either—a lot of the harm he caused was via negligence or because his early childhood success made it so he couldn’t stand to be anything other than the best.

Song I associate with them: I was actually talking with a buddy about this (who I won’t name for privacy’s sake just in case but if you’re reading this, hi :]). My go-tos are The Main Character by Will Wood (don’t think I need to explain that one), We Can Build A Fire by Autoheart (again in reference to constantly feeling like he needs to be better otherwise he’ll end up as a one-trick pony, though it could be in reference to Irving’s “assistance” too). As per their suggestion, I’ll also add My Ordinary Life here as a bonus.

Favorite picture of them: There’s really only two pictures of Lionel in The Hex and one of them is this grainy ass purple one where you can just barely make him out while you’re stealing the Artifact. So obviously that one’s my favorite.

[ajokeformur-ray]

You Are The Key To Your Own Heart // Ledger!Joker x reader // fluff

Summary: Tired, exhausted, needing cuddles and to be free from stress, you send J your own distress signal and he comes. Not a’runnin’, but still, fast enough for you.

A/N: Phew, it’s been… a loooooong time since I wrote for J! I’m going off the memory of my own characterisation so if any butchery is spotted, sorry! I’ll do better next time, if there’s still interest for him.💕 Wrottem also for @jslittlebirdie , who is worrying me. I can’t hug you irl honey but I can write about you being hugged and that’s almost as good. All my love to you, honey. I hope you enjoy, but if not then please let me know and I’ll be happy to write you something else!

No trigger warnings but because this is written for jslittlebirdie, there are mentions of being a student, stress, crying, J cuddles, emotional heaviness due to stress, mentions of stress induced nightmares, weapons etc etc. but this IS a reader insert ( “you” and Y/N used, no pronouns (gender neutral) and no coded language).

Word count: 1, 341.

Oh, but you had had enough.

There was only so much you could be expected to take during any one week, hell, any one day, and you were well and truly at your limits. You felt whiny, clingy, so tired that you wanted to cry, but just as soon as you went to bed was there no time for you to unwind before you had to get up to face the next stressful day. And on and on it went, each day after the next, each assignment after the next…

You were tired. Upset. You wanted affection, but not from just anyone.

You wanted J’s affection.

An order so tall, a recipe so rare, that it would be impossible for any but you to achieve.

You, who held the key to your heart in your own hands but most days were you too busy, too distracted, to realise it. You, who endured so much, who was resilient to the point of detriment to the self if it meant getting things done for other people, so ridiculously high were the standards placed on you. Standards you wanted little, if anything, to do with. But you bore them silently, as was your life’s burden, it seemed.

It was barely nine in the evening but you were already tucked up in bed, so tired that you were dizzy, the bed seeming to spin slowly as you lay there in the near darkness. Harsh orange streetlights broke the would be pitch black of the room, and for that were you grateful, for it meant that J hadn’t played too serious a game this night.

Only his serious plans dealt with the city’s electrical supplies.

The streetlights still being on meant that he was only playing around, following his impulses in a way you were sure you would never get to experience despite yearning for it so badly that it burned you, and he would be back home with you this night.

You just had to be patient.

You were good at waiting, for other people to do what you needed them to do, for yourself to catch up with your own shadow; so busy were you every day. You were good at waiting, for tomorrow. The next assignment, the next appointment, the next sheath of paperwork. Patience was a virtue, it was said, and you seemingly had it in abundance.

And yet…. Oh, and yet, you longed to werewolf and go wild. You longed to let yourself go, to simply break down and cry in J’s arms. Your clown. The man who let you see his bare face, stray streaks of white greasepaint left around his ears in his haste to finish his shower, his near apathy towards general hygiene. He cared little so long as the basics were taken care of. He had always told you that you worked too hard and during nights like this did you know him to be right. He was always very blunt, sure of himself and his way and of his own words. It was one of the many things you admired about him.

You knew he would be home before midnight, but you were so very very tired and you wanted him home with you now so that you could fall asleep in his arms and feel him there with you.

There was a distress beacon under the bathroom sink which was only to be used on specifically emotional emergencies. A purple firework. A green one was a first-aid emergency, a red one was a ‘holy shit get home NOW I’m in trouble’ emergency and a blue one was for any other kind of emergency.

You had grabbed a purple one earlier while you were brushing your teeth and you had held it in your hand ever since, your fingers warming it up as you debated whether or not to use it. You could handle yourself just fine, you knew it and J knew it, but you wanted him here, you wanted him so badly that you were holding back tears.

J would pull it. No hesitations. He would want you, he’d release the firework, he’d wait for you.

Just as you currently were for him.

You took a deep breath and did as you envisioned J doing, getting up and making your way to the window before you set the firework off, watching the purple explosion way up in the sky. You wondered what the city looked like from up there. If you asked J, he’d show you. Maybe one day you would. But first you had so many things to do and they all needed to be done yesterday… or so others made you feel.

You left the window open, climbed back into bed, and got yourself comfortable. You felt almost nauseous in your tiredness, your body and mind heavy alike with fatigue, the bed and room spinning. But you couldn’t let yourself fall off the precipice in your mind until you had J with you. You had always needed your clown to sleep, ever since you had reached that stage of your relationship, though you had nightmares so often that it was rarely a peaceful sleep.

“Come on, J, please, please,” His name was a litany, your eyes shut tight as you whispered his name, your strength, over and again. “Come on, come on - “

“Shush,” the quiet cackle at the window made you jump, a sharp gasp ripped from your throat. J giggled and tumbled in through the window, shutting it tight behind him. You didn’t question how he heard you whisper. Or where he had come from, that he had arrived so quickly. Or what he had been doing.

He was home and so were you now, and that was all that mattered.

“Scooch over, toots,” J dumped his royal purple trench coat on the floor. A resounding thump, unbefitting of a seemingly innocent coat, told the truth of just how many knives, grenades and other dangerous items J had kept safe right up his sleeves. One wrong move or bad word choice from someone he had decided he would make an enemy out of (which could be anyone for any reason and at any time, for J’s pattern was that he didn’t have a pattern) and he would blow up an entire city just for shits and giggles.

J got comfortable, smearing greasepaint, dirt and other undesirables all over your once clean bedcovers. The stench of gasoline, greasepaint, gunpowder and a small undercurrent of your laundry detergent soaked into your sinuses and brought you a strong sense of peace as arms wound around you, a boa constrictor could he be when he sought to protect the things most precious to him. There were few things J held dear, but you were one of them.

You didn’t need to talk to J about your feelings or your various stressors. He understood; he witnessed it every day. You, fighting the world, and the world not letting you get ahead for even a moment. He admired your tenacity, though he wondered why you didn’t just give up sometimes. He knew you considered it sometimes, and yet you still chose to go on. Brave, strong, a real enigma to him. He liked that about you. Your bite. You were doing your best, and J was proud of you. You curled into him and J let you take from him what you wanted, his painted crimson lips pressed against your forehead as you whimpered, too tired to do anything but lay there.

“I got’cha,” J muttered it every now and then, squeezing you as an accompaniment to the only piece of comfort he could muster. What could he say to someone who only needed his physical presence to feel better? The love you shared was powerful and in your companionable silence was this most obvious.

Eventually, you fell asleep, and J settled into a light doze beside you. The city never slept, J rarely did, but you? Oh, you felt like you could sleep forever.