#is there One Yandere or Two?

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 1 [Next ->]

The worst part about knowing the end? Is the beginning and middle. The waiting to change. The hoping it can. Days, spent with the low fear, ever churning, that it will all make no difference. Your actions. Your plans. The hopes you have placed in Fate's fickle hands.

Entering the Creche at an awkward age, too soon to be Legend, too late to be Peer. I was destined to be an adult by the time Anikin arrived. Getting up there, by the time the Order fell. Not yet old enough to be an Elder... yet destined to never live long enough to see such an age.

Obviously, I refused.

Looked around, locked eyes on the closest most manageable Character Of Relevance and took a chance. After all, was it not? The Jedi WAY? To inconvenience the Sith at every turn? So... first Crecheling, then Initiate, then baby Padawan Me, tracked the poor man down. Hunted him for SPORT.

Meditate with me, Knight Dooku! Can you teach me about this or that, Knight Dooku? What is the correct use of seashell tongs in formal dining, when attending a formal feast with the aristocracy, during this specific religious holiday, Knight Dooku? (No, no, on the moon not the planet.)

Congratulations on you Mastery! Master Dooku!

Pushing and shoving my way into his life. Persistent, much to everyone's amusement, and his baffled chagrin. It was like befriending a fussy, regal looking, semi-feral cat. Force knows, for all his training, he's terrible at casual interactions. He was older them me, yes. And Mentor of sorts, certainly. For a time. But? We became... friendly? I like to think? I certainly chased him down enough.

He's a dramatic and awkward man, Yan, and he'd be lost without us; Sifo, Nu, and I. Occasionally Yoda, but that does come and go. Not to metion... well... his Padawans. (Damn it, Yan. They can't read the subtext from your pointed silences! Use your WORDS.) The sort of man who is... sturdy, but brittle. Like an old, unbending tree.

Which makes it all the worse, when the pressure becomes too much. Because it does not merely crack. No. No, such men? They shatter in terrible and unpredictable ways. Unbreakable right up until they are not. Unending right up until the crash.

It is...? Both tragic and hilarious, in a that way, that Yan should live surrounded by so many prophets. Yet he does not, can not, and never will see the end coming. Surrounded by legends, both old and new. Born with every marker for greatness. Yet he...? He will be considered little more then a footnote, in someone else's history. At best.

And the worst part of his Fall? The absolutely worst part? Is the Light I still feel, each time I look at him, the GOOD I know is there. Resolute and noble, dignified and full of grace. A diplomat. Expert swordsman. Makes magnificent tea. The driest wit imaginable. He... he is YAN. Not Count Dooku. Not some Sith Apprentice. Just... just Yan.

My friend.

I meditate on it a lot. The Force gives no clear answers. Still, I do try, sitting in the gardens. Tucked away several stories up, past the considerate veil of several sweeping branches. I never did succeed in figuring out which planet the tree hails from, I suspect it might be either a long dead one or some small moon. It's a truely lovely, sturdy, thing nonetheless.

Far below, younglings shriek and play growl. Running carefree, to work off energy before evening meditation. Each a tiny blaze of starlight dancing at the edge of my vision.

A bit bright, I note, but nothing concerning.

The Halls of Healing will have to increase my prescription again. My glasses are no longer blocking enough... I sigh. Considering that. My sight? Is at least partially genetic. While I may be predominantly human, just because someone looks human passing, doesnt mean they genetically are one. My ancestors were, to put it mildly, a bit... Mandalorian.

Where their was a will, there was apparently, a way; And now I pay the price for it. It's honestly a miracle they never "married", as it were, themselves into a genetic dead end. Some sort of metaphorical space mule scenario, as it were. Yet? Despite all that seeming success? Luck is not eternal. And should you keep gambling? Eventual you will roll poorly.

I was that poor hand. That unfortunate luck. Loved of course. Expected even. My parents both wanted and were delighted by me. But? I screamed. Could not bear to be near people. My inheritance? A truely unfortunate luck of the draw. When combine with Force Sensitivity? My eyes reacted to "Light" poorly. Very, VERY poorly.

They were blinding to me. A mere child with no shields to speak of, no Force training to push BACK with. Like being force to look direct at the sun, again and again. It HURT. Because I could See.

Where others saw merely flesh? I saw deeper. Not infalliblly, not perfectly, I was hardly some omniscient god, but... oh. Oh. The world was so Bright. So LUMINOUS. The Force swirling and burning and flowing. In everything, from humble to grand. People shine, and yes, it is beautiful. But it also? Hurts. Because it IS, ultimately, being forced to stare directly at bright, ever shifting, sometimes flickering LIGHT.

I have a lifelong disability. Can not FUNCTION without my filtering shade glasses.

Or, if you are one of the ignorant assholes, who even NOW still seek to use me? I have what you might call? A"gift~☆".

According to Healer Che, it was some highly recessive trait. (From a planet I honest didn't even know I had heritage on, much less could find on a navigation system.) A subterranean people, due to the truely ungodly surface conditions. VERY sensitive to energy signatures and light. Which...? When you slap on a whole NEW super special Force sensing ability? Filtered through the same brain? Wires unfortunately crossed.

It could have happened it anyone. Unfortunately, it happened to me. Now I'm effectively blind around large collections of sentients. Or Life in general, depending on the intensity. To say NOTHING of Force Nexus! Dear merciful FUCK, that was the sort of accident only you make ONCE and then NEVER again. I was lucky to keep my vision. At all. Full stop.

Sifo was not so lucky. His Visions being neither natural nor kind. The Force seizing him again and again, to plunge him into vivid scenes of carnage. Death and horrors in the home he so loved. I would would be forced to, should I fail, see the Fall of the Order once. But Sifo? Oh... oh, dear Sifo...

Sifo, had seen it fall ten thousand times.

Even Yan did listen to him. Not truely. But there is camaraderie, in the horrors. In whispering, "it's not their fault", through choking tears. Forgiving the victims that will one day kill us. There is... a certain, heavy, sort of friendship... born of pressing your foreheads together, fingers intertwined, knuckles white with terror, as you shudder in the dark.

I think it helped, helps, that he has someone, who believes him. Anyone. Not just humoring him, the mad man sprouting prophecies of doom. But truely believes him. Knows he is right. And that if nothing is done? Everyone will die.

But... BUT! It CAN NOT, be Kamino, Sifo. Not that, never that.

In the dark, I remind him of prophets, seeking to avoid their visions, and instead? Ensuring the worst, comes to pass. Defense, Sifo. Escape. We are JEDI. Do not let fear blind you, to who you ARE. Do not let it take down a path of darkness.

I wrap him in the Light. Tuck my Force presence close, like I'm hiding him again my side, a youngling tucked into the safety of my robe. Shhhh, my friend. It is okay to be afraid. I am too. We can do this together. We are not alone. I believe you.

We are the pillars of his mental health, Yan and I. It concerns the healers greatly. The council. Honestly? It concerns me. But what can I do? No one else CAN help Sifo, until the first take the step of recognizing he is not, in fact, insane. He is a perfectly SANE man, reacting in entirely reasonable ways, to unspeakable Nexus born horrors. Slowly cracking under the isolation and grief. A jedi pushed and pushed, far past the point lesser men would have broken.

And if? He need a woman young enough to be his one of his student's, to rely on? So be it. I am a Knight now, I can handle it. (I have been handling it, since the incident. Since I was a Crecheling. Where the fuck were all of YOU? Ah, that's right. Calling him insane. Making things WORSE.)

I breathe out slow and controlled. My meditation is getting me no where. Rising, I carefully hop down, using the Force to slow my fall, much to the awe of various Crechelings. I can not help but smile. Was I ever that small? So easily impressed? I bow to my tiny fellow jedi. Delighted, they scramble to bow back. Thrilled to show off how grown up and serious they are, how well down they can do it.

Reaching out with my senses, I look for Yan, politely avoiding doing more then the briefest brush as I reach past others. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. There are hundreds of such searches a day. Some clumsy and heavy handed, from Crechelings or Initiates. Some soft as brushing strands of silk. Knights or Masters, looking for friends, looking for students where the should not be.

The Temple feels alive, noisy even, when you know how to feel it.

Ah, there he is! Heading from the High Council's cha-Grief. Horror. A gutting pain that numbs and spreads.

Caught off gaurd, I am sent reeling. Stumbling, without grace, over my own feet into a nearby wall. Glad for it, as I desperately grab at my chest and wheeze, drawing the alarmed attention of nearby Knights and Guards. Because... because, the other direction? Had I stumbled in the other direction, I would have hit the railing. Fully doubt I... I would have been able t-too.... oh Force-!

It takes entirely too long to seperate my emotions from Yan's. To realize what's happening. My panic feeding into the pain. My pain feeding into the panic. Yan. S-Something happened to Yan! I manage to gasp it out. P-please! S.. Someone! Go! Go check on Master Dooku!

The world spins as I try to force air into my body. It refuses to come. Whatever horrible pain Yan is in, leeching down our connection. Into me. Hurting. Made so, SO much worse, by my having been actively looking for him. I close my eyes, teeth gritting, and trying to stop digging my nails into skin. I-It won't help. There's nothing physically there.

But it hurts! God, does it HURT!

It feels like my WORLD has been shredded. My heart, crushed, cruel and slow in my chest. H-he's having a panic attack. Has to be! Or-! Or being attacked! I d-don't... don't KNOW!

A passing Master has hurried over, now kneels next to me. Various Knights pushing whatever calm and safety the can at me. No one is quite certain what will help. But they try. Desperately, stubbornly, resolute to the last... they TRY.

Breathe with me, begs the Master. Pressing my hand to his chest. Just copy my breathing. Help is coming. Release what pain you can, into the Force. We will help you. Let us help you.

I try.

Desperately, I Try.

The Healers end up having to give us sedatives, Yan and I. Sifo ends up... worse. The entire event triggering another, nasty, round of visions. He is incoherent. Trapped. Staring up at the Death Star from the surface of Alderaan, through countless eyes, begging to be heard. His soul, small and desperate, replaying the end, over and over. Even as he tries to protect what souls he can from the inevitable.

He cries for this too. They won't believe him, I know. Even as he thrashs and begs. For the lives of the innocent to be spared, for monsters to hold their fire. I will though. I will. I always do.

But Sifo will be lost for days. Yan, however? As he sits, on the bed, just the other side me? Sits stiff and properly. Blankly. As the healers words wash over him. I doubt a single on has registered. Of the three of us, I am the only one even remotely functioning. Yet... yet I still, don't know what has happened.

Nodding one last time to the healer assigned to me. Promising that yes, I will most certainly rest. I slip my my bed and sweep over to stand next to Yan's. The Healer's concerned and frustrated. He knows Yan's not listening. But has to try. I shoot him a strained, closed lipped, smile. Quietly take charge of my unresponsive friend.

The Healers relief is palpable. Our notes and instructions are not terribly dissimilar. Rest, food, no missions or upsets. Got it.

Gently, I guide Yan from the Healing Halls. Alarmed, that he let's himself be led. He never let's himself be led like this. Insists he is no invalid, to be coddled. Yet... here he is. Mind a thousand parsecs away.

Bringing him to his rooms, I key in his code then gently guide him to his favorite chair. Lightly guide him down into it. Not... not once, during the entire walk back, has he responded to anything. I am beginning to grow afraid.

Fussing, I drag up that terribly pretentious Serranian musician, on his music system. The one I can't stand. I am worried. Sacrifices must be made. Boring and insipid music fills the room. Very fancy! Come on, Yan. This is his new piece! Don't you want to comment on it? Come, tell me why it's so much better then the racket youngling blast these days. I'll call you an old man...

Nothing.

Worry growing, I begin making his favorite tea. Digging out his special occasion snacks. Something, anything, to get a reaction. As things brew, a sound too wounded to truly be a laugh, chokes it's way out of him.

"Xana-...My..." he starts. Stops. Normally sharp mind refusing to obey him, as he tries to summon words. He looks lost.

"My Grand-Padawan is dead." His voice is brittle, alien sounding in his mouth. I nearly drop the plate of snacks I was carrying over, in response. Horrified. "He was supposed be returning a knight. Qui-gon was.. was so proud of him. Adored him. This has destroyed him. Will destroy all of us. I... I have lost everything."

No. No, you have NOT.

Striding forward and all but dumping the plate on the side table next to him, I reach for my friend with both hands. With my Force presence. I refuse. No, damn it! I Will NOT lose him. Not like this, not TOO this!

Listen. LISTEN to me, Yan Dooku. So help me Stars, Gods both big and small, you will not succumb to this!

The greatest lie the Dark has ever told, is that it will make things better. That it can help you with your pain. Would Xanatos want his death to destroy you? Would the child of your child, want his legacy to be the ruin of everyone he loved? It is okay to grieve. You NEED to grieve. But remember you Padawans. Remember their Padawans.

Your Lineage still lives, Yan Dooku.

It is hurting, mourning, but ALIVE. Don't you dare run from it in your grief. You are better then that. I am here. Sifo and Nu are here. Yoda, is here. We will carry this pain together, okay?

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest more heavily against my hands. Dampness darkened his eyelashes, but no true tears formed or fell. He didn't seem to have it in him. Not yet. His hands though... his hands? Shook as they slowly, haltingly, like a droid with seizing joints, reached out for me.

I moved from leaning over him to sitting on the arm rest of his fancy Serranian high backed chair. That he didn't even grumble over me "abusing his furniture" by putting weight on the arm rest like this? Gods.

Leaning into him, I wrapped my arms around his head and shoulders. Like a shield against the universe. Used the Force to pull the tea, finally done, and pour it into a nice cup. Properly of course. See, Yan? I remember your lectures. Here, drink.

He... did not.

Just leaned, sagged against me, as he shuddered with grief. Hands wrapped around a cup of fragrant tea. Music filling the air. Tucked safe inside my Force presence, as best I could.

In... Out... In... Out... There was a slight stutter to it, a hitch, that in a less controlled man? Might have broken into a sob. But... instead, Yan meditated. That first cup going to waste. The second following, as it slowly went cold. Needs must, though, and tea? Can be replaced. Yan can not.

Emptying wasted cups, I poured more. Rested my head atop his own. Matched his breathing as I slipped into a light meditation with him. The room was quite enough. The position not terribly comfortable. But honestly? We'd both meditated under worse conditions, and it had been... A DAY.

To put it mildly.

I didn't like the look of Yan's Force Presence. It was like a fault line had been struck. Spreading terrible spiderwebbing cracks in otherwise sturdy stone. I was no mind healer... really, not a healer at all, I was a Seeker, but? I had learned a few tricks. After all, not every child I had found? Was found in a safe and loving home. Most weren't, honestly.

You learned to soothe, as a Seeker. Learn how to help. Children, after all, don't know Light from Dark. They just know that if they reach for the magic in their head? Bad things go away and good things tend to happen. Sometimes they hurt themselves by accident. Sometimes they hurt themselves... because the alternative was worse.

"You know, my dear? Some days I think you are the only Jedi with any compassion left. The boy never should have been sent there. Not for his trials. The lives of others are not a child's test. And to be asked to face one's own family? It... it was cruel."

Yan sent his cup around me, to rest on the side table, before gently tugging me down into his lap. He hugged me close, like a child squeezing a stuffed animal for comfort, face buried in the crook between my shoulder and neck. Like he was hiding from the world. I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

We were both... so tired, weren't we. This was nice.

"When did it all become about proving ones purity? One's superiority of morals? We are supposed to help people. Not lord over them. If I wished to do THAT, I would merely need to return to Serrano. Become a Count. You and Sifo are the only one who seem to understand me."

"I think I would go mad, without you."

Yes. I worry that you would, Yan. I worry that you would.

[seijorhi]

All In

the beta fic you have been waiting months for <33 Ushijima Wakatoshi, Semi Eita & Tendou Satori x female reader w.c 6.8k tw: yandere themes, a/b/o, noncon, (sorta) smut, nsfw, one mention of blood and oozing wounds, implied stalking, forced claiming

“They’re good guys – good alphas. This won’t be like last time, I promise. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them,” Ayako murmurs, squeezing your hand in reassurance and offering you a brilliant grin. “They’re gonna love you.”

Love seems a bit of a stretch.

But Aya looks so… hopeful. You sigh. “You really like them, huh?”

“I really like them,” she admits, a pretty pink blush tingeing her cheeks. “You come first, though. You’re my beta, and if it doesn’t feel right, we’ll walk, okay? No questions asked.” 

A promise she’s kept more than once. Too many times. Omegas like Aya, young and vibrant and oh-so-lovely, shouldn’t have any trouble finding a pack to settle down with. Hell, alphas should be banging down the door just for a chance with her – to fuck, to bond, anything and everything in between. You’re the sticking point. The reason why Ayako hasn’t bonded into a pack yet.

Alphas have no interest in betas. They do nothing for them – can’t take a knot, don’t have heats. Betas aren’t durable enough to ride out an alpha’s rut. All that compounded by the simple fact that bonding bites between the two don’t last longer than a few months, so why bother?

You’re dead weight. Aya clings to you anyway. 

She pulls your hand to her cheek, the tender, delicate spot right beneath the curve of her jaw. Scenting, you realise a touch belatedly. Omegas have stronger scents than betas do; florals, spice, indulgent, enticing things – you once knew an omega whose scent reminded you of hot caramel drizzled over apple pie. Ayako smells like lilacs and the rain, a softer scent admittedly, yet one that screams of home and comfort and familiar things. 

Your own scent is milder. Now, on top of sea salt and that faint whisper of summer, you’ll smell a little of her. She’s claiming you as pack, as hers. Her beta, exactly as she’d said

A flutter of warmth blooms in your chest, and you smile back at her, the first genuine one of the night. 

“You look great, by the way,” she tells you. “Come on, Tendou messaged to say they’re running a bit late and we should head on in without them. Ushijima’s practice doesn’t finish up ‘til about seven, so we’ve got plenty of time for the show.” She winks and lets out a bubbling laugh and you kind of feel like you’ve missed the joke.

Nevertheless, you let her tug you into the stadium. The lady behind the ticketing counter slides across two visitor’s passes on lanyards when Ayako gives your names.

“Practices are closed to the public,” the omega explains in a hushed voice while the two of you make your way towards the door for the stands. “Apparently the team get a few passes they can hand out to whoever they like – pack, usually.”

The pass has your name printed on it. Beneath it, in bold; Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You finger the plastic edges absentmindedly. 

There’s other people in the stands, all wearing the same style lanyard draped around your neck. Some, you think, are partners. Friends and family. Pack, like Ayako said. You spy a woman maybe a few years older than you, bouncing a toddler on her lap and pointing animatedly towards the court, another guy sitting beside her, an arm curled over the back of her seat. Others appear to be there in a more official capacity – staff, you suppose, wearing the same white polo edged in blue and gold (team colours, you guess), talking quietly amongst themselves and jotting things down on expensive looking tablets. 

They pay you no mind. Ayako does the same, dragging you right up to the guard-rail with an excited gasp. You’d been expecting them to be running laps or tossing balls in pairs or something. You weren’t expecting anything like this. 

Without the roar of a crowd, every noise on the court is amplified; the squeaking of shoes, the thwack of palms meeting leather, shouts ricocheting from both sides as they scramble for the ball.

Scramble isn’t the right word, though. It flies through the air between the players, choreographed chaos.

One of the players, a dark haired behemoth, shoots up and connects with the ball, slamming it over the net with a terrifying force – you feel the impact in your chest when it hits the floor.

A whistle rings out.

“Oh my god,” Aya breathes.

The behemoth turns, dark eyes zeroing in on your figure from across the court. His nostrils flare.

Alpha, you realise. He’s one of Aya’s alphas.

Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

“You know he’s one of the top wing spikers in the country, and he’s on the national team? He’s already got like three Olympic medals! Three!” she gushes. “He’s incredible.”

You hardly hear her. The other players on the court, his teammates, are already re-setting, a blond slapping Ushijima on the back, another hurling a teasing jab across the net – earning him a middle finger in response – Ushijima’s gaze doesn’t shift, his attention doesn’t waver. You swear you see his pupils dilate. 

Your breath is caught somewhere in your chest. 

“Are you gonna wave at the alpha you dressed so pretty for?” 

“Would you stop?” you hiss, tearing your gaze away to jab an elbow into Ayako’s side, which she artfully dodges with a delighted giggle. 

“Can’t say I blame you for drooling. I practically melted into a puddle the first time Semi dragged him into the bakery. He’s hot as hell,” she sighs. 

The problem is, she isn't wrong. Weird, heavy, way too intense eye contact aside, Ushijima is the textbook definition of ‘hot alpha’; all tall and broad shouldered, his face hewn with clean, strong lines. Add on the ridiculous athleticism, the muscles that clearly aren’t just for show – yeah, no wonder Aya’s got heart eyes already. 

On the court below, the whistle blows. More cheers. Another point scored. By the time you glance down again, Ushijima’s lost interest, his focus returned to the game, nodding at something one of the (you presume) coaches yells across the court.

The tight, prickling feeling writhing beneath your skin, that doesn’t fade as quick. 

God, you’re way too worked up about this whole thing. 

“He’s very, uh…” 

“Intimidating? No– impressive? Or were you gonna say sexy? All true, by the way. Ushiwaka’s a beast.”

The other two alphas have finally deigned to grace you with their presence. Wonderful. 

Swallowing back a wince, you turn to face the duo. “Good,” you say. “I was going to say he’s very… good.”

Aya had told you the basics, of course; Semi’s the lead singer slash guitarist in a band, Tendou’s a chocolatier. The former used to be a civil servant, the latter recently moved back from a stint in Paris, and both of them played Volleyball with Ushijima in high school. 

You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting. Carbon cutouts of their packmate, maybe, big, brawny, radiating the kind of imposing dominance that forces everyone around them – other alphas included – to sit down and shut up with a look alone. 

The two alphas before you aren’t that. 

The shorter of the two, more wiry in his build than the redhead beside him, smirks. “Good, huh?” 

He’s teasing you. They’re both teasing you. Your cheeks burn hotter. Before you can open your mouth to apologise, try and sidestep you shoving your own foot in your mouth as a first impression, Aya intervenes. 

“You should’ve seen her a minute ago, her jaw was on the ground. She’s playing it cool.”

The sound of her laugh digs at you in a way it shouldn’t. 

It’s not fair, not when you’re the one who’s acting like you don’t have a single working brain cell and she’s trying to cover for you, but it bothers you when Ayako acts like she has to smoothe over your edges, make you more palatable, more pleasing. You’re not an omega, you won’t ever be an omega, and sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Aya’s gonna spend the rest of your lives trying to compensate for that.

Her shoulder knocks with yours, a gentle bump, that same hopeful, painfully optimistic look in her eyes. 

Guilt, an old, familiar friend at this point, washes over you. 

“This is Semi,” she introduces, gesturing at the ash-blond with the ripped jeans, “and Tendou,” the gangly redhead. 

“And you must be our beta,” Semi surmises, slowly eyeing you over. 

The casual possessiveness rankles you, your tight smile freezing in place. Again Ayako simply laughs, her fingers, very deliberately, lacing with yours once more. “She’s my beta, you have yet to win her over.”

Neither alpha appears all that put out by the prospect.

Tendou, eyes crinkling with a wide, eager grin that takes you a little aback, thrusts a hand out towards you, a white gift bag you hadn’t noticed dangling from his fingertips. “Presents help with the whole wooing thing, right?” he jokes.

From your experience, yes. 

Aya’s received plenty. You, as her tag along beta, less so. 

One pack brought you a bouquet of pink and white peonies on your first date. Not quite as  extravagant as the arrangement of roses they presented Aya with, they had a lovely, subtle perfume and when you put them in a vase and set them atop your nightstand, they brightened up the whole room. You could appreciate that they’d at least tried to make you feel an equal part of this. 

They’d been willing to play pretend.

Back then, when Aya first started bringing potential packs around, you were… idealistic. Naive, maybe. 

You watched them dote on her. Lap up Aya’s attention like it was the sweetest fix. You saw the hunger. The arousal that flared, thick and syrupy, whenever she did something unintentionally appealing to the alpha inside of them – a simple stretch, nibbling on her bottom lip while she mulled over a menu, the sway of her hips as she walked up to the bar.

Oh, they were polite to you. Drew you into conversations, chatted about your job, your hobbies, the plans the two of you had for the holidays in a few weeks’ time – all the while tracking every movement of the omega beside you from the corner of their eyes.

They were nice to you. You didn’t want ‘nice’. You wanted what they so freely offered to Aya; hunger and captivated attention, a desire so thick in the air you could choke on it. 

Foolish, pretty fantasies. There’s no competing with biology, you know that. The most interesting, beautiful beta in the room is still just a beta. 

Down below, the court’s quieter, muted chatter drifting up to the bleachers in place of squeaking and thuds and the sharp trill of whistles blowing. Did the practice match finish up?

Aya squeezes your hand. Drops it. As subtle a cue as she can manage. 

Brain kicking back into gear, you step closer and pluck the gift from the alpha’s outstretched hand, an odd little shiver trickling down your spine when the tips of your fingers graze his rough palm. 

“Ah, thank you,” you say, remembering your manners at last.

Tendou’s eyes flutter shut, breathing in deep, shuddering a little on the exhale. When they open again, there’s a giddy sort of satisfaction creeping from his expression. He licks his lips, smiling wide. “Sea salt.”

“… Sorry?”

“The chocolates,” his chin juts towards the gift. “Sea salt caramel. I had a feeling, went with it. I’m not usually wrong.” He sounds absurdly proud of the fact. 

“Oh.” 

Beside you, Aya looks as lost as you feel. Semi, on the other hand, snorts, shaking his head. “You might wanna ease up on the beta, dude. She met you all of three minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but we’re gonna be besties. I can feel it.” Without warning he slings an arm over your shoulders, dragging you close to smush you into his side, unbothered by your startled yelp, the way the bag of chocolates smacks against his torso when the hand clutching it jerks out to steady yourself. “Don’t be jealous ‘cuz I’m already the favourite, Semi-Semi.”

Semi shrugs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, leaning back against the centre railing behind him. Slowly, a smirk unfurls. A challenge. “For now.”

Plastered against Tendou’s side, swallowed up by the heat of him, the heady scent of cherrywood – of alpha – thick and strong, and with no sign of him letting you go anytime soon, you dart a glance to Aya.

Your best, oldest (admittedly only) friend, watching the three of you with a quirked eyebrow, expression otherwise indecipherable–

And then, she giggles, rolling her eyes with exasperated amusement. “Can we at least sit while you two fight over my well-earned spot?” 

You wonder if they notice the brief look of concern she throws your way as Tendou relaxes his hold and the two usher you over to a seat, Semi snagging the one to your left, Aya taking the right.

Her promise from earlier rings in your head. One word and she’ll walk, no questions asked. 

Aya needs a pack. She wants this one. She likes this one, but at some point, she’ll need one. 

Omegas don’t do well long term without mates. Right now her heats are okay, manageable with suppressants and toys – eventually those won’t be enough. They’ll get worse, come without warning, more frequently. The suppressants won’t help, she’ll ache and burn up, forgo food, water, sleep…

The lucky ones end up hospitalised. The unlucky ones either end up dead or in situations where it’d be a kindness if they were. 

“You okay?” she asks, whisper soft. Her voice won’t carry, the other two aren’t paying attention anyway. Semi’s thigh brushes up against yours when he spreads his legs wide, thumbing out a message on his phone, and Tendou’s leaning over the backrest between you, chin perched on his folded forearms, watching him type. 

One word and she’ll walk, that’s what Aya promised. 

Down on the court below, the players spread across the floor, stretching out and cooling down, half empty water bottles and sweat towels scattered around them. Ushjima’s lying on your side of the court, one thigh drawn over the other, twisting out his lower back. If he realises he’s got an audience in you and Aya, he gives no indication of caring, holding the stretch for a few seconds longer before repeating the motion with the other leg. 

“Yeah.”

If chocolates and overly tactile besties are what you get out of this, you can manage that. 

—

While you wait out front of the stadium for Ushijima to finish up, Semi smokes.

A lit cigarette dangles loosely between two fingers, the tip glowing cherry red with every drag. He stands separate from the three of you, a few feet away, because when he’d fished out the slightly crumpled packet from his jacket pocket to pluck one out, Aya’s nose wrinkled. Omegas are sensitive to strong smells at the best of times, and Aya’s loathed the stench of cigarettes ever since she was a kid and her dad would smoke on the back porch of her gran’s place. He died years ago, and to this day she swears up and down that every time she sets foot back there, she smells those Seven Stars.

To her credit, she hadn’t actually said anything, and to Semi’s, he hadn’t kicked up a fuss. He’d shrugged, shuffled on back and lit up anyway. Water off a duck’s back.

Tendou talks loudly and Aya’s giggling laugh echoes louder. Semi watches. Idle – bored, almost. 

Until his gaze shifts to you.

And stays there.

From a young age, you’re taught that alphas are stronger than betas and omegas. They’re quicker. Smarter. In the old days, they tell you, alphas were the hunters, the providers – protectors, when the situation called for it. What they mean, dressing the truth up in nicer, more palatable terms is that alphas are, down to their marrow, predators. 

Those instincts don’t go away just because society’s a little more civilised these days. 

Semi’s expression doesn’t change. There’s nothing particularly dangerous or threatening there, nothing to explain the sudden ball of anxiety that lodges itself in your stomach. 

Yet you can’t shake the sense that with that stare, every ounce of his focus rests solely on you. Every breath, every nervous twitch, shift of your muscles, all of it tracked, analysed. He stares, breathing out a slow plume of smoke, and you feel the physical weight of it bearing down on you.

He won’t bite, lunge for the kill – but he could.

His chin tilts, eyebrow lifting. A flicker of amusement, as if he knows exactly the thoughts running wild in your head. You shake them off, ignore the hammering of your heart to follow the wordless, beckoning call to his side, nudging Aya on the way past so she won’t think you’ve abandoned her. 

“You realise she’s gonna try and get you to quit,” you tell him in what you hope is a friendly, upbeat tone. 

Semi scoffs and takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch, off-kilter, a little dazed as his head tilts back, exposing the long, lithe column of his throat, and he slowly exhales.

With dark, sweeping lashes and angular features, the problem, you realise, is that Semi is distractingly pretty. An artless, grunged up sort of pretty. Pretty like pools of oil on asphalt after it rains. 

Pretty in the way that poisonous things often are. 

“She’s more than welcome to try.” He plucks his cig from his lips and extends it your way, his expression almost… goading. 

You don’t take it.

There isn’t much surprise to be found in your refusal, his pretty mouth pursing as his arm falls by the wayside. “Omega’s got her claws stuck in you good, huh.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it. What all this boils down to. Right from the start, the very first pack you met and every pack since – Aya’s made it clear from the get-go. They don’t get her without you. You’re her beta. 

“Is that a problem for you?”

You won’t take the cigarette because Aya has issues with it. She won’t entertain you leaving her because the two of you are too fucking entangled in one another to handle extrication.

You’re pack, you’re family, you’re all each other has left, now that her grandma – the woman who essentially raised you and her – is gone. 

You won’t play second fiddle, if only because Aya won’t allow them to push you aside like that. If that’s a problem, a dealbreaker (and, historically speaking, it has been) better they figure it out now, before she – or you – gets too attached and ends up hurt. 

Semi regards you for a long moment, taking one last puff of his cigarette before he flicks it away, grinds the smoldering butt into the cement with the toe of his boot. “Don’t know yet. Guess we’ll find out.”

And you nod, because at least that’s an honest answer. 

“Tendou came back to Japan for her, didn’t he?” It’d twigged when you’d gone to hand back your visitor’s pass and the lady behind the counter made some casual comment about not expecting to see him ‘til next season.

Not back for a visit, back permanently.

Semi shakes his head, “He was always coming back. Paris was only ever a temporary thing,” he corrects. “But yeah, he made the decision to come home early when we realised the opportunity that’d fallen into our laps.”

While you don’t love the way he makes meeting Aya sound, you understand the gravity of what he’s saying. Tendou uprooted his life for her. 

You glance back over your shoulder, fiddling with the handles of the bag of chocolates he’d made for you. They’re still talking, quieter now, both of them subtly – subconsciously, probably – angled towards the two of you; Aya with that same bright-eyed look about her, Tendou like he’s just itching to interrupt and steal your attention back for himself. He, at least, might actually like you. 

“And you? Are you all in, too?”

The words slip out before you can stop them. Semi doesn’t owe you an answer, you know that. It’s not fair that you asked, it’s just– you can’t get a read on him. For all his sharp edges and the smirks that make your insides squirm, you don’t know whether this is what he wants. Wanted, maybe.

Semi surprises you. In a move too quick for you to catch, he closes in on you. He doesn’t pin you down per se. You’re not caged in, trapped between his body and a wall. Physically speaking, there’s nothing stopping you from stepping back and regaining that inch of space as he looms over your shorter frame, tilting your chin upwards with two curled fingers like he’s going to kiss you. 

Nothing except your suddenly jelly legs. 

There’s barely anything separating you. Millimetres. Heat floods your face. Your stomach tightens, blood simmering, writhing beneath your skin. Long fingers encircle your wrist, right where Aya had scented you, his thumb digging in over your fluttering pulse. A noise escapes you then, a distressed sort of whimper you thought yourself above, and Semi’s eyes flick down to your lips, something dark and hungry flaring in response. 

Alpha. Smaller than his packmates, but no less. 

“Who d’you think called him and told him to get his ass back home, little beta?” 

You swallow unsteadily–

“Time to share, Semi-Semi,” Tendou sings, snaking an arm around your waist to haul you away from the blond. To you, he says, “You wanna come say hi to our big, bad pack alpha, don’tcha?” 

It’s then you realise that Ushijima, along with several of his teammates, have finally emerged. While they wave each other off, scattering across the carpark, some heading to their cars, others in the direction of buses and the train station, Ushijima halts near the door – Aya already skipping on over. 

“Ah… yes?”

Tendou snickers. 

“Relax,” Semi tells you with a smirk, clapping your shoulder as he brushes on past. “Ushiwaka doesn’t bite.” 

As Tendou nudges you forward like an errant duckling, you fix Semi with an unimpressed look. He winks. Asshole.

Omegas, especially unbonded omegas, tend to be picky about touch and physical affection outside of pack and family. Aya, for all her moon-eyed infatuation, doesn’t throw herself at the alpha. Ushijima offers a single, wooden pat on her head, the edges of his mouth lifting in what you suppose is an approximation of a smile.

She beams all the same.

“– and this is my beta,” she introduces. 

You’re not anticipating an overly warm welcome. For one, he looks stiff enough smiling at Aya to suspect he’s not practised with the expression, for another… the whole, weird staring thing from earlier sits all too fresh in your mind. If he’d heard your awkward fumbling with his packmates in the aftermath, you doubt that’s helped endear you to him any.

Nothing prepares you for the way he turns, every speck of goodwill falling from his features when your scent finally reaches him. Cold, remote stone, eyeing you down. 

“You smell like lilacs,” he grunts, like the very concept offends him. You, a beta, wearing his would-be mate’s scent. 

—

The izakaya the alphas take you to is only a few minutes walk from the stadium, and each one of them passes in near unbearable, stilted tension. 

Aya doesn’t question you when you make a bee-line for the bathroom rather than following the others to a table, though the small furrow between her brows says plenty.

You just need a minute.

The single unisex stall offers spartan amenities at best – a sink with a cracked mirror hammered into the wall, paper towels, and a lone, flickering light above. 

Braced over the porcelain vanity, eyes closed, shaking like a leaf with remnants of ice-cold water dripping down your face, you will the frantic, sickening churn inside you to ease. 

Fuck. 

What’s wrong with you?

Ushijima could barely stand that Aya had scented you, and you’re supposed to believe he’d let you bond into the pack with her? And if he did, what kind of life would that be? You, forever on the outside, pack but not really, not in the ways that matter. 

What place does a beta have between alphas and their omega?

More to the point, how, after all the packs you and Aya have tried this with, all the the indifference and dismissal you’ve weathered, the cruel insults you weren’t supposed to hear–

Think of it this way, dude; it’s a spare hole for you to stick your cock in while the omega’s busy bouncing on my knot.

–how are you still surprised that they don’t want you?

You let a slow breath out, shoulders sagging. Okay. 

Okay. 

Straightening up, you rip a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser, dabbing to remove any trace of distress from your face. You can do this, you tell yourself. Smile, play pretend. A few drinks, some dumplings, yakitori – two, three hours max.

Nothing’s changed.

The alphas want Ayako. Ayako wants these alphas.

In spite of that, in spite of the blushing and fawning and big, lovely doe eyes that bat ever so prettily for her alphas, she’ll hold true to her promise if you ask it of her. 

No questions asked, without an ounce of resentment, she’d walk away from them. She’d choose you. 

It’d be a few weeks of moping around, picking each other up and dusting yourselves off. There’ll be other packs. Aya’s got a few years yet before her heats really become an issue. You can always try again.

The thing is… you don’t want to anymore.

They like you as a friend. You’re in the way. They wanna fuck you, but only if the omega’s otherwise occupied. You can take care of the household stuff during heats and ruts, right? Maybe one day there could be something more. 

They wouldn’t look twice if it wasn’t for Ayako. 

Every time it hurts, like clawing out pieces of yourself, and you just… you can’t anymore. You won’t.

So tonight, you’ll be the bestie. Let her have her fun, flirt with the big, strong alphas she’s so enamoured by, and then tomorrow… tomorrow you’ll find a way to cut yourself loose from all of this. Aya gets her pack and you can find a nice, normal beta to settle down with. You’ll both be happier for it in the long run. 

Wiping a smudge of mascara from under your eye, you suck in another fortifying breath, nodding at yourself in the mirror. A few hours of pretending is nothing. A piece of cake.

Focused entirely on the veneer you have to slip into, you don’t notice the large, muscular frame blocking the door until you quite literally collide with it.

“Oof– Sorry, my b–”

The words wither like ash on your tongue when you look up to find Ushijima standing over you.

Despite the resolution you’d come to mere moments ago, you’re not feeling particularly charitable towards the hulking behemoth of an alpha, and you have every intention of wordlessly skirting around him to head back to the table and join your friend, civility be damned. 

You make it all of a single step before a change sweeps over him and he stiffens, nostrils flaring like they had back on the court. His eyes bleed black, and that’s the only warning you get before he seizes your wrist in one giant hand and starts to haul you back into the stall, slamming the door shut behind you both. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you hiss. 

“She scented you,” he growls, looking angrier than he did before. “You smell like omega.”

No, this isn’t anger. Not exactly. Ushijima’s shoulders heave with every breath, his whole frame almost shuddering, pulled taut like a bowstring primed to snap–

And that’s when realisation hits. 

“You’re in a rut,” you whisper, eyes going wide in horror. “Ushiji–” You don’t get to finish the sentence. 

Big should mean slow. Clumsy. Ushijima’s neither. 

In an instant he surges into motion, one hand clamping down over your mouth, the other shoving you forward, trapping you on the tips of your toes between his hulking body and the vanity that was your lifeline five minutes ago. Just like then, your hands automatically reach out, clutching the edge of the sink to steady yourself. Stupid, when the full weight of Ushijima pins you precariously in place anyway.

Your heart hammers, panic and terror clawing at your stomach. You aren’t an omega, you can’t take a knot. If Ushijima tries to fuck you like he wants – like his instincts are driving him to – he’ll tear you apart. He’ll break you. 

But if any part of the mindless, snarling alpha behind you recognises that, he doesn’t care. The warm body in his grasp smells like lilacs, like the omega outside, and that’s good enough.

He noses at your hair and pants, yanking your skirt up to rip at your underwear. The fabric gives easily.

While he rips and claws at his own clothes to free his cock, Ushijima stares at your reflection, watching you shake as the tears well up and spill over. There’s nothing human there, nothing cognizant. The black pits staring back at you are pure alpha, consumed by the need to fuck and breed. 

You have seconds – seconds – to brace yourself.

Ushijima drags the head of his cock along your slit just once, bends you over, and without warning or preamble, splits you in two. 

Omegas have slick to help with sudden ruts. You don’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you’re not prepared to take him, that it hurts worse than anything you’ve experienced before and you’re choking on tears and muffled wails. You scream into his hand and Ushijima grunts, bullying his cock into you one agonising millimetre at a time. 

He fucks into you like you’re made to take his cock, every thrust slamming you into the unforgiving edge of the sink while your legs scramble for purchase. You’re fairly sure you’re close to passing out when you feel the swell of his knot start to catch. 

Oblivious to your panic, the wheezing cries and pleas dashed against his palm, the alpha snarls in open-mouthed pleasure, his spare hand coming down to cover one of your own, braced against the sink. “Mine.”

With the added weight, the vanity unit rattles against the wall, and you pray that someone’s walking by and hears it, cares enough to come investigate.

You aren’t that lucky, though.

Ushijima hauls you back upright, and as his knot swells, thick and pulsing, stretching you to breaking point and spurts of hot cum coat your insides, you cling on to consciousness just long enough to watch him tilt your chin to the side, lap at a bead of sweat trailing down your neck, and bury his teeth in your skin. 

—

Three days after your release from hospital, you wake to Aya knocking at your bedroom.

“S’posed to be at the bakery,” you mumble, curling tighter into the warm cocoon of your sheets. Soft morning light spills into your room. You can’t be bothered reaching for your phone to see the time, however your internal clock tells you that whatever the time is, it’s too early.

Aya sighs, taking that as an invitation to slip inside and plant herself on the edge of the mattress beside you. “Soon. I swapped shifts so I could start a bit later. I didn’t want…” she seems to struggle to find the right words, her shoulders rising and falling in a helpless shrug. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know.”

That isn’t the problem. 

“You remember the day your mom left?” The stark flinch beneath the covers must serve as answer enough. “You wouldn’t stop crying. Gran was so worried you’d make yourself sick, kept bringing you tea, bottles of water, anything to keep you hydrated.” 

An omega like her granddaughter, the last of her alphas having passed away a few years before, she’d paced fretfully outside Aya’s bedroom door for hours while you’d sobbed into your best friend’s arms, an absolute wreck. 

A bittersweet feeling floods your heart at the memory. No one ever loved you like gran did. 

Aya continues, “I made a decision that day. I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t going to run off with a bunch of alphas to live out some fairytale happily ever after and leave you behind. You can blame me for what happened. I get it. If I hadn’t scented you, he–” she breaks off with a sharp inhale.

He wouldn’t have tipped into a rut.

Wouldn’t have fucked you.

Knotted you.

Bit you. 

“You can blame me for it,” she repeats, though her voice shakes and her eyes shine with tears she won’t let fall. “Hate me for it if you have to, so long as you know I’m not going anywhere. You’re still my beta, my best friend. All I wanted was to keep us together.”

Aya waits for you to say something. To forgive or condemn, and you try– you genuinely do, because blaming her isn’t fair, and you could no sooner hate her than you could carve out a lung. 

Only… you open your mouth and there’s nothing. 

The way her expression collapses before she has a chance to plaster over it hits you like a punch to the stomach. 

“Alright, lovely girl. I’ll see you when I get back – four-ish probably, unless we get hit with a late rush. I’ll try and steal some of those mini strawberry cakes to bring home too, I know how much you like them,” she rambles, patting your blanket covered knee and rising to her feet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Aya–”

Already halfway to the door, she turns, perfect brow arched, “Hm?” Like she’s expecting you to ask for another blanket. Some tea. Nothing wrong, nothing amiss. 

“Love you, too.”

And it’s like the sun coming out from the clouds. Aya beams a watery smile, and quietly closes the door behind her. 

Sleep drags you back under before you hear the front door click. The doctors warned you about that; one of the many charming side effects you’d be subjected to over the next few weeks.

Bond sickness, they called it. An alpha’s bite formed a mating bond, and that bond doesn’t respond well when it’s neglected, say by putting several miles of distance between you and the alpha who marked you. For omegas it can be deadly if it goes on long enough. Alphas have a sense of it, but it doesn’t affect them in the same way. They don’t get sick. For you, it means a month or so of lethargy, aches, low grade fevers and chills, nausea, a veritable shopping list of symptoms that’ll ease and fade as the bond itself does. 

None of that had stopped one of the nurse’s at the hospital from suggesting that, despite the delicate nature of the situation, it might be beneficial for your health if you moved in with Ushijima and his pack until it did fade. 

It was Aya who’d jumped down her throat for that one. 

You were still in shock. Numb–

Except for the foreign, slow simmering anger lodged like a thorn between your ribs. A small piece of you that wasn’t you at all. 

—

Sometime around midmorning, you stir again.

There’s footsteps in the living room, pattering through towards your bedroom. Dancing on the edge of awake, your brain slow and sluggish, jumps to the most logical conclusion. 

“Aya?” 

You expect your door to open, that familiar bloom of lilacs to spill into your room along with your best friend, a bowl of noodle soup from the shop on the corner in tow, the strawberry cakes she promised earlier, extra pillows, coffee, her laptop with your favourite movie already queued up; comfort things she knows will help.

The door does swing open, and neither one of the tall, looming frames behind it belong to Aya. 

“Sorry to disappoint, little beta,” Semi drawls, crossing the threshold like he has every right to be there. “Your girlfriend’s busy, you’re gonna have to play with us instead.”

The blood in your veins runs cold. 

Drawing your legs up tight to put as much distance between you and the advancing alpha as you can, your eyes dart between the two, Tendou lingering in the doorway, fingers drumming against the jamb. 

“I didn’t report him. I’m not going to,” you tell them, clutching at the blankets around you so your hands won’t shake. “I know how it’ll go, I’m not i-interested in–”

Semi reaches your bed. That look he’d had in his eyes back at the stadium, dark, focused, predatory – it’s there again, sharp and gleaming. He’s smirking. 

“There’s no– you don’t need to threaten me, or-or try to scare me–” His knee hits the mattress and your voice jumps to a squeak as he climbs on up.

You squirm back against the headboard. Semi prowls closer. 

There’s nowhere for you to go. 

Tendou’s not so subtly placed himself between you and the exit, and even if you could launch yourself out of bed without Semi catching you – without your head spinning and stomach threatening to upheave – they’re alphas. You couldn’t outrun them on a good day, you sure as hell can’t fight them.  

“Please. You can go. I-I won’t say anything.”

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Tendou shivers, the deep red of his iris nearly swallowed by black. His fingers aren’t idly drumming anymore, they’re digging into the wood, splintering it beneath his grip. 

Inches away from you, Semi suddenly freezes, his attention snapping downwards to focus on something near his right hand. His nose wrinkles, lip curling. “You wanna know what I liked best about the omega?” he asks, lifting his gaze back to you. “I don’t think you really believed me back at the stadium.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to know. If they aren’t here to scare you into keeping your mouth shut about Ushijima, then–

A low, husky chuckle comes from the doorway. 

“When she’d show up smelling like the sea in summer.” 

He strikes hard and fast – seizing your ankle to yank you under him. His mouth finds the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder and he bites down. Hard. 

Agony washes you over you, chased by fire. 

Panting wildly, your body locks up, arcing against him; against the warmth that crowds you, the hard muscles that cage you, the face now tucked into the crook of your neck, licking at the bloody, oozing wound. 

He’s there inside of you, too. Buried beneath your skin, brimming with smug satisfaction. 

“Bite her and we’ll take her home to the nest. I’m not fucking her here,” he calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on you. He pats your hair, strokes your cheek. “Little beta needs her mates, don’t you?”

“Course she does!”

You’re gasping for air that won’t come, trembling, heart beating so frantically inside your chest you worry it’ll give out.

Tendou, bounding over with puppy-like eagerness, jumps on the bed and shoves his fellow alpha out of the way. 

“A…ya,” you rasp, weakly pushing at the large body crawling atop yours. You’re not sure whether it’s a question or a plea, but you get the sense that it doesn’t actually matter either way. 

Semi rolls his eyes – you can feel the flicker of his irritation – while Tendou, pawing at your sleep tee, pushing it up and shoving his face into the soft skin revealed there only groans, huffing at your scent like he can’t get enough. 

“Pretty omega like her? She’ll have her own alphas to worry about,” Semi dismisses, a faint frown marring his pretty face as he zeros in on the bandage over your neck. 

A split second too late, you realise his intentions. 

“No, don’t–”

He rips off the gauze.

Ushijima’s bite is puffy and inflamed. Calloused fingertips drift over the edges of the wound, Semi’s eyes boring into you as you let out a low, anxious whine. As Tendou licks and nips at your chest, working his way upwards, the blond increases the pressure, digging in.

You choke on a cry, pleasure, rather than pain, flooding and overwhelming your senses, and deep in your core, the answering surge of rabid need rips through you so viciously it punches the air from your lungs–

“We don’t fucking share.”

–and you scream as Tendou’s teeth sink into the curve of your breast, claiming you one final time.

[just-null]

i am literally on my KNEEEEEESSSSS. please please make more yandere hantengu clone art.. i don’t care if you don’t color it in or if it’s just a simple sketch PLEASE 😞

is the threat directed at you??? at others??? at something else??? do you even want to find out??? You'll probably be okay if you get back home before dark and make it up to him.

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach. 

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[codemiracle]

DOES DR. KUROSAKI NEED AN ASSISTANT?? BECAUSE I'VE NEVER WANTED ANYTHING MORE THAN THIS!!!! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ I HAVE MY RESUME AND RECOMMENDATION LETTERS READY, PLEASE JUST GIBE ME THE POSITION PLEASE!!!!

mr. 'good doctor' needs to stop being a menace. Sorry for the ugly drawing artblock is kicking my ass-

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

afton'd reader sets a man up to be straight up point blank Murdered and honestly, good for them, wish i could do that when someone flirts with me when im working smh

(i say that like i've been flirted with more than maybe two times in four years of customer service type shit)

[daystud]

runs for my life from them and you seeing this

[fresanita]

Angel Dust Turns Human - Pg1

I need to mention how insane it is that Angel Dust is like, around 8ft tall. I'm not good at drawing tall people, so his human form made him shorter since, if he was alive, he'd be at least around 6ft; that's as tall as he's gonna get!

Anyways, I like Angel Dust centered media bc he's my fav🫶👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 It upset me, when I finally watched the damn show, how little screen time he had (no, those 2 episodes were not enough for me). Personally, I don't think his character was that explored, so I'm just stretching him out a bit in this - even if it goes against Canon, sorry☹️

In fact, this whole comic goes against Canon😔. Since the whole point is Parental Alastor & Angel as a son figure. I don't see enough of that (obviously since it doesn't fit much but idc) so I made my own.

It's also possessive Alastor, since I really love 'yandere' parental/platonical relationships, there's not much media with that trope💔

NO ROMANCE! This whole thing is found family🙏

[robo-milky]

Boys with blvd <3

They just bounce right back up, don’t they?

Nosebleed theory, guys… makes everyone universally 10x more attractive 🙏

[wayfayrr]

Yandere wild headcanons

Guess who just found a set of near finished headcanons buried in a headcanon wip file :P Just had to alter one or two and here we go! some yan wild - most of this is from where I used he/they for wild (which, I'm honestly very tempted to go back to)

[masterlist]

✦ they have attachment issues, as well as being very touch-starved after their 100-year nap 

✦ they can't live without your touch, even if they themselves don't understand why yours is so much better than anyone else's touch 

✦ They’re your closest and as long as they have it their way, one of the only people you will trust.

✦ You think you can sleep anywhere else other than in their bedroll in his hold? there's no chance. Maybe at best, you can convince them to at least hold you in your bedroll but that's it.

✦ Do you think getting a bed in an inn would free you from them using you as a personal teddy? you couldn't be more wrong. They play it as saving rupees for supplies by sharing a room with you as long as none of the others want you instead? it works without fail.

✦ they’re as clingy as humanly possible, it's almost like they want to become your scarf or coat with how they’re so constantly wrapped around you

✦ on the tiniest chance that you aren’t in their arms you’re never ever out of their line of sight, they’re far to scared to lose you like everyone else they’ve ever known. Not even death could tear you from them.

✦ You best like never eating at a restaurant or ever cooking for yourself again. He’s obsessed with getting your “blessing” for any meal they make, only catering for your taste over the rest of the chain from the second he falls, well with twilight being the only exception. He could never live with himself if he poisoned wolfie afterall.

[gliphyartfan]

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes @eternadreeblissa

.

.

.

…Hi :D

(As always, thank you Yandy for the advice. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹)

Okie Dokie! Time to grow this bread into a sandwich!

(HAHAHA! I queued this so i could catch a certain friend off guard with a randomly timed post~ You know who you are missy~! Also imma be sleeping in, i wuv you? 🥹)

.

.

.

.

It began as nothing more than idle curiosity.

Whispers of a wanderer, who seemed to appear wherever monsters were slain.

Tales passed from traveler to traveler, trickling into villages like a strange current. At first, the stories were nothing more than entertainment—a young soul battling hordes of beasts sounded like the stuff of fairy tales, and the people, insulated in their small hamlets, hardly gave it a second thought.

“They’ve been seen by the dead forests near the mountains,” a young woman said one day, her voice a little too loud, a little too eager. “They say the bodies of monsters are strewn across the path they walks.”

Another woman chimed in, her voice hushed but with the kind of excitement that comes from having something new to share. “I’ve heard the same. A merchant passed through not long ago and claimed he saw the aftermath—bodies mangled, monsters torn apart, and not a soul in sight but one person who merely walked away.”

An old man sitting nearby scoffed, whittling a piece of wood as he listened to their chatter. “And the merchant just happened to be wandering through such dangerous lands, did he? More likely, he’s spinning stories to lighten your pockets.”

The first woman bristled. “It was near one of the main roads to Castle Town! You know as well as anyone how bad it’s gotten out there, what with all the rising monster attacks!”

The old man spat onto the ground. “So we’re meant to believe a single person has been wandering the wilderness, killing monsters for no reason? at all? Appeared out of nowhere, slaying hundreds, then vanishing to appear somewhere else? What next? Will the gods themselves descending to pat them on the back?”

A few of the villagers glanced toward the argument, but quickly averted their eyes, pretending not to listen. They didn’t want to get involved. Not in this. The rumors had been growing more persistent lately, and with them, something darker—an unease, like a shadow creeping closer.

Despite the arguments to the contrary, the stories refused to fade. In fact, they spread—spreading like wildfire from one village to the next, whispered by travelers passing through, by farmers returning from the markets.

At first, it was always the same—a wanderer with a sword, fighting monsters. But over time, the stories shifted slightly. The monsters were no longer the only ones falling to the mysterious wanderer’s blade.

The rumors became darker.

Now, there were whispers of men slain, bandits cut down as mercilessly as the beasts. Some even claimed it wasn’t simply bandits, but ordinary travelers who had crossed their path. And the wanderer—always just one person, faceless, nameless—never stepped foot in the villages. They never appeared in the markets or by the wells. No one had ever actually seen them properly, or at least, no one wanted to admit they had.

“Such a person’s never come through here,” the villagers would say when a traveler asked. “Not once.”

And yet… as the stories persisted, as the fear crept into their voices, some began to contradict themselves. “I’ve seen them,” one of their own might exclaim in a moment of nervous excitement. “It was at the edge of the village, just for a second. They passed by the old road near the woods.”

But no one wanted to admit the dread that twisted in their stomachs. No one wanted to acknowledge the silent fear that settled in their bones whenever they heard of this wanderer. So they waved it off, forcing laughter, pretending the tale of the slayer didn’t chill them to the core.

“Bah, you saw nothing,” the old man would scoff again, though this time, his hands shook as he whittled. “It’s just travelers talking. You lot are too easily swayed by gossip.”

But even he couldn’t explain why the stories never seemed to stop. Why, even in the most remote corners of the land, the whispers were the same. Villages miles apart, separated by rivers and mountains, somehow all spoke of the same person.

A wanderer no one had ever truly seen upclose.

But one they all slowly grew to fear.

And they feared most of all that one day, he would come to their homes. They feared what would happen if that person came too close—if the stories, after all this time, were not just stories…

…

——

——

…

…Their stomach growled, sharp and insistent, echoing louder than the wind that howled through the mountains. They gone too long without food, too long without proper rest.

For days, weeks, perhaps, They had survived on scraps found in the wild, gnawing on whatever edible plants they could find, but it wasn’t enough. (There was never enough in these poisoned lands.) Not anymore.

Their supplies had run dry days ago. The bag slung across their back was light, too light for any sensible traveler. Their lips were dry, their limbs heavy, but they kept walking. Always walking. Always wandering towards their next location,

The nearby village was close now, maybe half a day away.

…

…they didn’t want to go there.

Didn’t want to face people, to hear the loudness, the gossip, the looks.

They never did, not anymore. It was easier staying in the wilderness, always on the move. But hunger gnawed at them, dragging them toward the edges of civilization.

The monsters had been thinning out in this area, their numbers dwindling after they swept through the mountains. The monsters would inevitably return. They always did.

They didn’t care about any of that, their mind was set on one thing: food.

(Oh… to be back in the bountiful fields and forests of other times. To gaze into the sea of green and know plentiful food and fresh clean water was bountiful and untainted.)

Their steps quickened as they neared the village. They hated this part, being around people. So they would get what they needed and leave. That was all.

—-

—-

“Today, a wanderer is walking towards town from the north side! Guardsman says it’s a single person in a cloak, carrying a sword on their back.”

The words spread through the village like wildfire. The people had heard that the guard had seen him from a distance, a lone figure making their way toward them from the mountains. Conversations hushed, children were pulled back into their homes.

A few curious villagers lingered by the entrance, pretending to go about their day but keeping a close eye on the road. When the person arrived, they noticed their clothes were heavily travel-worn and stained with dark splotches, their face obscured by a cloak, but the sword strapped to their back gleamed in the sunlight.

No one wanted to be the first to approach.

—

—

They walked with purpose, ignoring the stares, the muttered suspicions. They made their way to the village’s small market, looking for food, something to ease the gnawing hunger in their gut.

Their footsteps were heavy, each one dragging them closer to their destination. The familiar pull of hunger clawed at their insides, twisting their stomach in knots.

As much as they wanted to avoid people, to slip by unnoticed, the ache in their belly wouldn’t let them.

The village was small, unremarkable, the kind they preferred.

They had kept their head down as they entered, walking toward the market stalls that lined the dusty road. No one spoke to the visitor as they passed, but no doubt the visitor could feel the eyes on their back, the whispers barely contained as the visitor passed.

“Do you think that’s the one who killed those travelers near the mountains?”

“I can’t tell…aren’t they a bit too young looking?.”

“I can certainly tell you that sword doesn’t look like it’s simply for show. It’s stained red at the handle.”

The visitor stopped in front of a stall selling bread and dried meats. The man behind the counter was older, his skin weathered from years in the sun.

He barely looked up at first, busy wrapping a loaf of bread for another customer. When he did, he seemed unimpressed by the cloaked figure standing before him, just another traveler passing through.

But then they reached up, pulling back their hood.

The old man froze, his hands stilling over the goods on his counter. The boy’s face was young—far too young (as young as his own grandchild…) to be traveling alone with a mere sword on his back.

For a moment, the man blinked, unsure if he was seeing things correctly. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask where the boy’s parents were, but the words never came out.

It wasn’t the youth that gave him pause. It was the look in the boy’s eyes.

Dark, heavy, burdened by something much older than his years. The kind of look you only saw in soldiers or those who had lived through nightmares. A look that shouldn’t belong to someone so young.

The old man swallowed hard, choosing his next words carefully. “What… what can I get for you?”

The boy’s eyes flickered to the food laid out on the stall. “Bread,” he said, his voice quiet, soft, but firm. “And dried meat, if you have any.”

The old man nodded slowly, still taken aback. Such a young boy.

He slowly reached for a loaf and a strip of dried meat, wrapping them in cloth before handing them over.

The boy reached into his pocket, pulling out a few rupees and placing them on the counter.

His hand was steady, but the old man noticed how thin his fingers were, how the veins stood out beneath his pale skin.

“Are… you’re traveling alone?” the old man asked, unable to help himself.

The boy looked up, his gaze meeting the old man’s for the briefest moment before dropping back to the food in his hands. “Yes.”

The old man hesitated, wanting to ask more, but something stopped him.

That look—he couldn’t shake it. He didn’t know what the boy had seen, what he had been through, but it was clear enough that the boy didn’t want to talk about it. Not to a complete stranger. So he let it go.

“Well,” the old man said, clearing his throat, “safe travels, then.”

The boy gave a nod, pulling his hood back up before turning and walking away, the whispers behind him growing louder as he moved through the market.

As he continued down the road, passing more stalls, a man suddenly stepped forward, blocking his path. He was broad shouldered and rough around the edges, from his state of dress, he was a guard in this village.

His expression hardened with suspicion. The villagers nearby quieted, turning their attention to the scene unfolding before them.

“You there,” the man called out, his voice gruff. His eyes narrowed, scanning the cloaked figure up and down. “You the wanderer everyone’s been talking about? The one slaying beasts… and men around these parts?”

The boy didn’t stop right away, his pace slowing only as he came to a halt just a few feet from the man. His face was half-shadowed beneath the hood he’d just pulled back up, and the weight of his gaze was unreadable as it fell on the man blocking his path.

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question. His voice, when he spoke, was soft. Unconcerned. “Am I who you’re looking for?”

The man’s scowl deepened. “Don’t play coy, boy. People talk of a wanderer who has been leaving bodies behind wherever he walks.”

The young boy blinked, slowly, his expression unreadable beneath the quiet calm that seemed to settle around him like a heavy fog.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t bristle at the accusation. He merely stared at the man for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke again. “And if I am?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd that had begun to gather, villagers shifting uncomfortably as they watched the exchange. The man before him, however, remained rigid.

“Then I’ve heard well about you. The rumors going around that you’ve killed not just monsters, but people. Merchants and travelers. Is that true?”

The boy stopped, his gaze lifting slowly from beneath his hood to meet the man’s eyes. He didn’t answer right away, but the air around him seemed to thicken, the tension palpable. More villagers gathered around, drawn in by the confrontation.

“You…knew someone I killed, then?” the boy asked, his voice quiet but steady.

The man took a step forward, jabbing a finger in Hyrule’s direction. “They say you killed a merchant not far from here.”

Hyrule blinked slowly, his face impassive as he absorbed the man’s words. He didn’t flinch at the accusation, nor did he show any sign of fear or guilt. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and steady. “Was he…someone worth recalling?”

The man’s nostrils flared. “Don’t play dumb with me!” he snapped. “He was a good man. A friend of mine, and I want answers, boy.”

“I killed many.” The boy replied, no change to his soft tone, “So perhaps I am who you seek.”

“So you admit you killed him!” The man exclaimed, “Why? What reason could you possibly have to murder an innocent man?”

“I have no reason to kill an innocent man.” He answered.

The boy remained quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting past the man, as if lost in thought. Then, with the same quiet calm, he spoke again. “He wasn’t innocent.”

The man took a moment to register what he said, eyes widening in shock. “…What?” His face turned red with anger.

“What do you mean he wasn’t innocent?!? He has done so much and I’ve known him for years-“

“He raped a woman.”

That once sentence silenced the entire area.

Many paling, several covering their mouths in horror.

The man’s red face immediately turning white as he registered what was said.

“He dared commit such an atrocity against a woman. Took from her what wasn’t his to take. I killed him for it.”

The boy’s eyes slowly returned to the man’s, his voice still soft, still unwavering.

“Would you still call him innocent now?”

The crowd gasped, whispers rippling through the gathered villagers. The man’s face twisted in disbelief, shaking his head violently. “No… no, you’re lying!” he shouted, his voice rising. “He wouldn’t do something like that! He was a good man!”

The boy’s gaze didn’t waver, the weight of his words settling in the air with finality. “He was a rapist,” he said quietly, everyone who heard him flinching from the declaration. “And I killed him for it.”

The man took a stumbling step back, his face contorted with rage and denial. “You… you can’t just say that! You don’t get to decide who lives and dies, you are a BOY! He was my friend!”

The boy’s expression remained calm, his voice never rising. “I didn’t make the decision. He did. When he forced himself on her. I simply responded as I should.”

For a moment, the man looked as though he might lash out, his fists trembling at his sides. But before he could do anything, a woman’s voice cut through the tense silence.

“Is it true?” Both boy and man looked at her.

“Did that friend of his truly… deflower a lass against her will?” She asked again.

“He did.” He answered, more whispers erupting from the crowd.

“If it’s true,” the woman said, stepping forward from the crowd, “then…then he deserved it!”

“WHAT?!?”

The man turned to her, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… you’re defending this? Defending him?”

“Aren’t you defending a vile man?” The woman said, crossing her arms, her eyes hard as she stared back at him as he stuttered to come up with a response. “If that friend of yours truly defiled a woman like this boy says, then he got what was coming to him.”

More murmurs spread through the crowd, this time in agreement. Some of the women nodded, their expressions grim but resolute. The man looked around, his face twisting as he searched for support, but found none.

“This… this can’t be happening,” he muttered, his voice breaking slightly. “He wouldn’t..we…we was friends…since we was kids…”

Many in the crowd looked at the man in sympathy. Such news was never handled well. Especially when it involved someone you were close to.

The young boy stood there, silent, watching the man’s reaction with the same calm detachment. The man’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he wasn’t ready to give up. “It…doesn’t matter. You still killed him. We’ll have to report this.”

Before he could take step forward, the boy spoke up, “No. You won’t.”

The man froze, turning back to face the boy, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “What?”

The boy didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on the man. “You won’t report this.”

There was no malice in his voice, no threat. Just a calm, quiet certainty that sent a ripple of unease through the gathered crowd.

The villagers shifted uncomfortably, murmurs of confusion spreading like wildfire, but no one dared to step forward.

The man’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The boy’s calm, unhurried tone seemed to strip the anger from him, leaving only the shock and disbelief that he was grappling with. He shook his head, almost as if trying to shake off the weight of the boy’s words. “I— H..How dare you..I have to report this!”

“No,” the boy repeated, his soft-spoken voice steady, unnervingly gentle. “You don’t. You now know what he did, and can now shun him for it. Just as everyone else already has.”

The man faltered, his hands trembling as they hung limply at his sides. His face was flushed, beads of sweat trickling down his temple, but he said nothing. He could find no words to respond, not as the weight of what had been revealed pressed down on him.

The boy’s eyes, still shadowed beneath his hood, locked onto the man’s.

There was no smile on his face, yet there was something unsettling about the way he looked at the man, something that didn’t belong on a face so young. It was a look that was far too old, far too experienced, for the boy it was attached to.

“Leave this matter behind,” the boy said quietly, his voice carrying an eerie finality. “He made his choice. Now you must make yours.”

The man’s breath caught in his throat. He glanced around at the villagers, but once more found no help in their faces. Some nodded slowly, others looked away. It was clear to them now—whether they liked it or not, the truth had been spoken. The boy, this…wanderer…wasn’t lying, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. And the man, deep down, knew it too.

Perhaps that was why he couldn’t accept it.

For a long, agonizing moment, the man stood there, caught between denial and the heavy reality settling over him. Then, slowly, with a pained expression, he backed away.

“He was… my friend,” the man muttered again, but his voice was weak, trembling. He turned away, shoulders sagging as he disappeared into the crowd.

The boy watched him go, his eyes following the hunched figure as it faded from view. For a moment, there was silence.

Then, almost to himself, the boy spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, yet clear enough for those closest to hear.

“…A different choice this time.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering something unseen, his gaze distant. His expression remained calm, though a flicker of something passed through his eyes.

The villagers, still unnerved by the exchange, glanced at one another, puzzled by his words but too hesitant to ask.

The boy smiled once more, soft, faint and fleeting, as he turned away from the villagers. He said nothing more, leaving them to wonder what he meant as he continued down the path, walking back into the now silent marketplace as if the confrontation had never happened at all.

.

.

.

——

——

.

.

.

“She must be beautiful,” whispered a small voice.

“Is she kind?” asked another, their soft, lilting tone drifting through the air like a breeze.

“Warm, too?” A third chimed in, fluttering closer to where the boy sat.

Hyrule, seated in the shallow waters of the fairy fountain, barely stirred at their questions. His thin form leaned back against a moss-covered stone, his cloak discarded beside him, revealing how frail and slight he truly had become.

The waters gently lapped against him, cool and clear, while tiny glowing fairies circled above, their curiosity as constant as their light.

“She is,” he murmured, his voice low and calm, answering their questions with a softness that matched the quiet of the fountain.

In his hand, a cloth moved slowly over the blade of his sword, wiping away the dried blood that clung to the steel. The crimson stains mixed with the water, turning it a faint pink before dispersing into nothing.

“And her eyes?” one of the fairies asked, fluttering down to rest near his shoulder, their wings glittering in the soft light of the fountain. “Are they as kind as yours?”

Hyrule’s lips quirked ever so slightly, a faint smile ghosting over his features. “They are… far more kinder.”

The fairies giggled softly at his response, their voices like tinkling bells as they flitted around him, never straying too far from the boy.

But beneath the peaceful scene, there was an unspoken heaviness that lingered in the air—something that clung to him like the blood on his sword, even as he cleaned it away.

“She must be someone very amazing,” one of the fairies whispered, hovering in front of him, their eyes wide and curious. “For you to feel so happy at the thought of her.”

“She is,” he said again, quieter this time. His eyes remained focused on his blade, his movements slow and methodical, as if the task of cleaning the blood from it was all that mattered in the moment.

The fairies, sensing the weight of his thoughts, quieted for a time, simply fluttering around him as he worked. The fountain’s waters shimmered with their light, casting soft reflections on his face, but nothing could soften the sharpness in his eyes.

A sharpness that didn’t belong on someone so young.

Eventually, one of the fairies drifted closer, their tiny voice softer now, hesitant. “Do you ever… rest?”

Hyrule paused, his hand stilling as the last of the blood was wiped clean from his blade. He set the sword down beside him, resting it against the stone, the cloth now stained with the evidence of his earlier fight.

“I do,” he replied softly, leaning his head back to stare up at the sky above, visible through the break in the canopy. “When I can.”

The fairies fluttered around him again, their delicate wings catching the light as they moved. They didn’t press him further, sensing that, for now, the questions down that path had reached their end.

And as Hyrule sat in the waters of the fairy fountain, his eyes distant and his form thin and tired, the quiet companionship of the fairies was all that filled the stillness around him.

One of the fairies flitted closer, their glow bright as they hovered near his face. "Tell us more about her," they asked softly, their voice full of innocent curiosity. "What is she like?"

Hyrule’s eyes softened, the hand resting on his sword going still as he leaned his head back against the stone. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, reverent, almost worshipful.

“She’s… so incredible,” he began, his tone gentle, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the memory. “Kinder than anyone I’ve ever known. She doesn’t judge, no matter who she meets, or what they’ve been through. There’s this warmth about her—like she carries a light inside, something that draws people in without her even trying.”

The fairies hovered close, their wings slowing as they listened intently, captivated by the way his voice softened when he spoke of her.

“She has this way of smiling,” he continued, eyes drifting closed as he recalled the image of her in his mind. “It’s not just her lips that smile, but her eyes, too. It’s like... she can see through all the darkness and still find something good. She makes you believe in things—hope, love, a future.”

His voice wavered slightly, though his expression remained calm. “She’s very brave, too. So much stronger than she thinks. No matter how hard things get, she never gives up. She keeps going, keeps fighting, even…even when the world feels like it’s falling apart around she…she…”

Hyrule’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes still closed as he let himself remember her—the sound of her laughter, the way her presence alone could make the harshest days feel bearable.

For a moment, it felt like she was there, right beside him.

That the tragedies that had happened ceased to exist.

But when he finally opened his eyes, that smile faltered. The fairies were still there, their soft glow reflecting in the water, but she was not.

The sadness crept into his gaze, and his smile turned hollow as the weight of reality settled in. She wasn’t there. Not in this moment. Not in this place.

“She’s not here,” he murmured, more to himself than to the fairies. His voice was still soft, still gentle, but there was a deep ache hidden beneath those words.

“Oh to be young and in love…”

The Great Fairy glided toward Hyrule, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she observed him resting in the water. Her gaze lingered on his face, soft yet intense as he cleaned his blade, the blood from battle slowly fading away. Her voice, as gentle as a breeze, curled around him like a caress.

“It’s rare, little halfling,” she said, her smile warm, “to see someone so completely in love. Your heart sings for her in a way that most mortals can only dream of.”

Hyrule looked up, his expression calm and peaceful. He paused in his movements, letting the cloth hang loosely in his hand as he met her gaze. “She’s… everything,” he whispered, his tone reverent. “More than anyone could ever be. She’s kind, strong, beautiful. There’s nothing she lacks because even what she considers an flaw is perfect to me.”

The Great Fairy hummed, circling him slowly, her fairies fluttering around him with excitement, their tiny lights dancing in celebration of his devotion. “She sounds like the perfect mate,” the Great Fairy mused, her voice dipping into a playful tone. “Someone worthy of such fierce love and loyalty.”

Hyrule’s smile softened, “She is. And I’ll make sure she knows it every day.” His eyes brightening, I never want to give her a reason to hate me. When we reunite, she’ll be so loved, so cared for, that the thought of leaving won’t even cross her mind.”

The Great Fairy tilted her head, observing him with interest, but not an ounce of concern. Where humans would have been unnerved by his intensity, to the fae, such passion was only natural. The fairies swirled around him in delight, their wings buzzing as they echoed the Great Fairy’s sentiments. “A perfect mate,” they sang in unison, giggling in the air.

They swirled around him, their excitement clear. “Introduce her to us!” one of them chimed, their tiny voices buzzing around him. “We want to meet her!”

Another chimed in, “She must be so lovely! So kind!”

Hyrule’s expression softened, his gaze turning inward as he thought of (y/n). “She is... more than lovely. She’s warm, gentle. She’s strong, even when she doesn’t realize it. When she smiles... it’s like the sun after a storm.”

His voice grew quieter, reverent, as though speaking of her was akin to prayer. The fairies fluttered in close, their excitement building as he continued.

“She doesn’t know how special she is,” he added softly, closing his eyes as if savoring the image of her in his mind. “But I do. I’ll never let her feel unwanted or alone. I’ll always be there, making sure she’s safe. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her by my side.”

The Great Fairy leaned in closer, her tone teasing but gentle. “Such devotion… it’s admirable, little halfling. Perhaps you’ll truly bring her here one day, so we can meet this girl who has captured your heart so completely?”

Hyrule’s smile grew as he closed his eyes, as though he could see (y/n) standing before him in that very moment. “Of course I will,” he said softly, opening his eyes again, though the faint sadness lingered when she wasn’t truly there. “You’ll love her, I know you will. She deserves to meet you, and you deserve to meet someone so… perfect.”

The Great Fairy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her voice coy. “And what of your sword brothers? From what you’ve spoke, their desires are the same as yours. They, too, wish to claim her heart, don’t they?”

Hyrule’s peaceful expression didn’t falter, “They do. And I understand that. I’m willing to share a place in her heart, as long as they’ve learned their lesson. We all want the same thing, after all—her happiness.”

The Great Fairy chuckled, a sound like chiming bells, full of mischief and curiosity. “But, little one, what would you do if they haven’t learned? If they were to stand in your way?”

Hyrule’s eyes gleamed, his smile gentle but his words weren’t, “If they haven’t learned… I’ll slaughter them. Every single one. And I’ll protect her on my own.” He said so easily, so casually, like talking about the weather.

The Great Fairy threw her head back and laughed, her voice exuberant and full of joy. Her fairies mirrored her glee, spinning and fluttering in the air in a celebratory dance, their wings glowing brighter as they reveled in the intensity of their great mother’s happiness. To them, Hyrule’s devotion was nothing but pure, powerful, and natural.

“Ah, such love!” the Great Fairy exclaimed, her eyes alight with delight. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen a love like yours, little halfling. A love that burns with such beautiful, sublime passion.”

The fairies circled around him, their voices giggling and singing as they celebrated his devotion, as though his words were a promise of something sacred. And to the fae, it was.

“Introduce her to us!” they begged, their voices filled with excitement.

Hyrule chuckled softly, his expression serene as he nodded. “I will, little sisters. It’s only natural to introduce someone as incredible as her to my family. One day. You’ll see just like I did…she’s perfect.”

The Great Fairy reached out, her fingers gently brushing against his cheek in a gesture of affection. “We look forward to it, little one. We’ll be waiting eagerly to celebrate your eventual union with such an amazing soul!”

And with that, the fairies continued their joyful flight around him, giggling and cheering louder at the future where they would meet her, while Hyrule sat by the fountain waters at peace, sword forgotten beside him, lost in thoughts of her, his smile soft, though touched by a quiet darkness.

——

——

Hyrule leaned against a tree by the edge of the forest, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

Rain poured down, soaking his clothes and matting his hair to his forehead, droplets of water streaming down his face. His sword hung loosely from his hand, the blade gleaming dully in the gray light, dripping with rain and something darker.

The river rushed nearby, its waters swollen from the storm, roaring in the quiet of the evening.

He glanced down at his soaked clothes, water pooling around his boots, but he paid little attention to the discomfort.

The rain masked everything—his exhaustion, the faint ache in his limbs, even the weight of his thoughts. But it couldn’t wash away the simmering feelings just beneath the surface.

The sound of the rushing river mixed with the steady downpour, the constant hum of the forest alive around him despite the storm.

He tilted his head back, feeling the rain on his face, his eyes half-lidded in thought.

Everything had felt strange since he had woken up in the past, as though he was constantly walking through a dream he could never quite escape.

“I miss them,” he murmured, his voice carrying only as far as the tree he leaned against. “My brothers…the only ones who I felt safe with…for so long... And yet…” His lips curved upward, a smile too soft for the words that followed. “Sometimes, I dream of stealing her away…to punish them… for their failure to keep her safe.”

He laughed lightly, as if the thought were as harmless as the falling rain, warm despite the darkness that laced his words.

“It’s strange,” he murmured into the storm, his voice barely louder than the patter of rain on leaves. “How everything’s felt… off.” His words were soft, but they carried an unsettling warmth, as if these thoughts were nothing out of the ordinary.

Hyrule tilted his head back, eyes closing briefly as he let the rain run over his face.

His eyes fluttered open, and there was a softness in his gaze, a calmness that made the words all the more disturbing. “But… I understand now. It’s over. What happened in that time is done, and I can’t change it. All I can do is make up for my failures and create newer memories...”

He pushed himself off the tree and took a few steps toward the riverbank, the rain still pouring down. “And when we’re all together again, it’ll be perfect. We’ll savor our reunion with her.”

There was a pause, as if he was savoring the thought, before he continued, almost as if speaking to the river itself. “But first, I need to clear this land of threats as best as i can. Gather enough wealth…Build a place that’s safe for her. I have to be ready. We all do.”

The rain fell freely from the darkened skies above, the evening air thick with moisture.

His voice, soft and wistful, carried through the trees, but it wasn’t clear who he was speaking to.

“Yet I can’t help but acknowledge how much it’s been quite the experience…walking a similar yet different path..”

Hyrule's voice echoed softly through the night, his tone distant, almost thoughtful.

“Ever since I woke up in the past, everything has felt... off. Like the world’s just a little tilted. Nothing feels right, but I suppose it’s what happens when you’re given another chance.”

He sighed softly, his words warm despite the unsettling nature of his thoughts.

“And still as much as i want to reunite with them, i still wish to hurt them too..”

He shifted his weight slightly, eyes distant as he spoke to the figure before him, “To wrap my hands around the handle go my blade and cut them down as they cry out in pain….To make them pay for failing to protect her, for letting her be taken from us. But, it’s not hate, not really.”

His voice carried a calm warmth that made the words unsettling. He spoke as if discussing a pleasant memory, not something so dark and twisted. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Wanting to hurt them but still loving them. I could never hate them forever. It simply wasn’t entirely their fault, after all.”

Hyrule let out a small sigh, almost wistful. “But I did truly hate them for a while. I hated them for not being strong enough, for not being fast enough... for not being better and keeping her safe.” He chuckled softly, as if the thought amused him. “But now, that time has passed and reversed, erased except the memories I hold… It’s not just their fault we failed. It’s mine as well. And I’ll make up for it.”

He hummed.

“But that’s natural, isn’t it? Wanting to punish them… To punish myself, for failing her.” He chuckled lightly, almost as if he were reminiscing about fond memories. “I hated them for a while. For a long while, actually. But it’s all over now. I know that. I understand that, and I have to atone for my own failures.”

He tilted his head slightly, staring off into the dark, rain-slicked forest as if imagining something far away. “When we find her again, everything will be different. We’ll savor every moment of our reunion, all of us together again. She’ll be safe with us. And it’ll be... perfect.”

Hyrule’s expression darkened, though the gentle smile on his face remained. “But before that, I have to finish things here. I need to clear out every threat in this place, amass enough wealth to give her a safe life, to build something beautiful amidst all this cursed and poisoned land. A place where she can live peacefully. A place where my sword brothers and I can keep her safe.”

He sighed, finally lowering his gaze to the figure at his feet. The rain had formed a pool around the man, blood mixing with the water, his body slumped against the roots of an old tree. His eyes, wide and filled with terror, locked onto Hyrule’s as he listened helplessly.

“I need to make sure that I’m ready for her. Ready for all of us to reunite…”

Hyrule crouched down, his eyes soft, almost regretful as he looked at the man. “Funny, isn’t it? You walked away from me in the market that day, made a different choice than last time. But it seems some things are inevitable… this little scene between us is happening sooner rather than later.”

He shook his head, amused. “Seems some things never change,” Hyrule said softly, almost regretfully. “You made a different choice again. Last time, you tried to burn me alive. Now, you pushed me toward rushing water. It’s a shame… I thought I might have more time before this.”

The man’s eyes flickered, desperate, but no words came. Hyrule’s smile was gentle as he crouched down beside him, the rain dripping from his hair. “I mean… to use you as another way to bond with my sword brothers…but I suppose we can’t always get what we want.”

He reached out, touching the man’s wet cheek in a gesture that seemed almost compassionate. “I can only hope we can bond over another tainted soul.” Hyrule sighed sadly, his voice soft with genuine regret.

“I really was hoping to do this again with the others. It was such a lovely bonding experience that time...”

The man tried to respond, but all that came out was a garbled, pathetic sound—his severed tongue preventing any real words. Hyrule gave him a pitying look, then slowly unsheathed his sword.

With one swift, clean motion, he cut off the man’s head, watching for several moments as his eyes fluttered, his face twitching until there was no movement left.

Hyrule waited for a long moment, staring into the lifeless eyes of the man, almost as if searching for something.

When there was nothing left to see, Hyrule stood up, sheathing his blade once more.

As Hyrule turned to leave, his gaze fell on a crown of flowers lying discarded in the mud, half-crushed by the struggle. The delicate petals were wilted, the once vibrant colors dulled by the rain and dirt.

He had been working on it when the man from the market snuck up on him.

He knelt beside it, picking up the ruined crown with gentle fingers, his eyes softening as a memory stirred.

He could almost see her, in that memory sitting in front of him, laughing as she showed him how to weave the flowers together, her hands guiding his clumsy attempts with infinite patience.

The warmth in her eyes, the sound of her voice—he had cherished every second of it. And now, this small, fragile thing, this crown, had been ruined.

It had been so long since he made one…

He had assumed she would always be there to re-teach him…

A deep sadness filled him, his heart aching as he held the crushed flowers. "She spent so much time teaching me," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible over the rain. "And now it’s ruined… he ruined it." His fingers tightened slightly around the crown, but not enough to damage it further.

As Hyrule pocketed the ruined flower crown, his steps slowed, his thoughts swirling with the same intensity as the fairies around him.

The rain drummed a steady rhythm on the leaves overhead, but his mind was elsewhere—drifting back to the quiet afternoons with her, back when things felt simpler. He could almost feel her hands guiding his as he fumbled with the stems, hear the soft way she teased him when he struggled to braid them just right.

His heart clenched at the thought. "I’ll make her another," he thought, trying to push away the sadness creeping in. But the moment was gone, ruined by the man lying lifeless in the mud. "If only he hadn’t tried to stop me," Hyrule mused. "I could’ve remembered everything clearly... made it perfect for her."

His gaze flicked back to the body, the severed tongue, the empty, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness.

Hyrule sighed, the heaviness in his chest growing. "I wanted to remember every detail, for her." His fingers brushed against the flower crown in his pocket, fragile and ruined, much like the memory it had been tied to. "I’ll make up for it. For everything."

The fairies' laughter danced around him, pulling him from his thoughts, and he straightened. "For her… I'll make it all perfect," he promised silently, his eyes narrowing as he left the body behind.

The fairies flitted around him, their soft glow casting a faint light over his rain-soaked form. They giggled and chimed, but there was no malice in their joy.

He cast one last glance at the man’s lifeless body, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he turned and began to walk away, leaving the corpse where it laid as he walked back into the storm.

The fairies’ chimes danced in the air as they continued to follow and swirl around him in delight, their soft laughter filling the air as the rain fell heavier, blending with the sound of the wind, rushing water and rustling leaves.

[yandere-wishes]

I wanted to write some general yandere HC for the batboys...it than spiraled to include my fav rogues...followed by the Super/Kent family...and two suprise guests....

And than I woke up today and decided to make a pt 2 ( with part 1 not even being written yet) that includes the Lanterns (Jordan and Rayner), 2-3 Speedsters (depending how many comics I can hyper absorbe before christmas break) and the Arrows (Oliver and Roy)

So yeah everyone PLEASE pray🙏🏼 🙏🏼that I don't get any more superhero obsessions or else I'm literally going to explode.

[merakiui]

Absolutely love the possessive ex Scaramouche ramble in tags, please feed us more of that.

Gladly!! :D

(cw: yandere, extremely toxic ex scara, modern au, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, coercion, obsession, forced marriage, violent/suicidal threats, manipulation, mentions of intoxication/alcohol, implied self-harm)

The two of you were what everyone calls ‘high school sweethearts.’ You met him in the cafeteria when the both of you were first years. Despite the scowl etched on his face, he looked lonely sitting all by himself while everyone was finding tables, old and new friends gathering in groups. He’d ignored you, even scooting further away when you’d attempt to move closer. Even though he seemed so averse to you, you remained, silently eating your lunch. Neither of you said anything, but you did introduce yourself. He scoffed under his breath.

You started to sit next to him for every lunch, and he continued to give you the silent treatment. You never pressed him for conversation, instead choosing to enjoy silence while you ate and admired him from the sidelines. He never looked at you, always facing forwards and toying with his chopsticks, bending them so far until they were ready to snap. Eventually, he seemed to grow accustomed to this routine because many weeks into the semester he turned to address you.

“Why do you always sit by me? Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think anyone’s as mysterious as you are.”

“‘Mysterious…’ Yeah, whatever.”

That seemed to be the catalyst because, as sardonic as he was, he’d begun talking to you. And it wasn’t long until he started to warm up to you every lunch until the both of you were exchanging lighthearted banter. Your friendship would only grow from this point onwards until, at the end of your first year during a study session to prepare for finals, where you were both pulling an all-nighter at your house, he’d asked you out. And you said yes, and the both of you had gone from best friends to lovers within the span of a year. The both of you were each other’s first partner, so it made doing things as a couple even more exciting because neither of you had any experience with dates or holding hands or kissing.

Kuni wasn’t a bad boyfriend. In fact, he was very loyal and sweet. He’d stand up for you if anyone was being rude to you or scrutinizing your relationship with hateful eyes. The two of you were nearly inseparable. When you weren’t spending time together in school, you were out doing things together. And when you couldn’t meet up in person, you’d text or call, sometimes talking late into the evening about all sorts of things. You were so immersed in him that you failed to notice the red flags slowly raising over time. But looking back there were a few notable ones.

He never invited you to his house. In fact, you’d never even met his parents, whereas he’d been to your home so often that your family practically became his own. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his family, and if you tried to suggest going to his house for dinner so that he could introduce you to them he was quick to change the subject. For a while you’d push this, more curious than concerned, but eventually you’d drop it when it became clear that he wasn’t going to divulge anything on the matter. That had stung, but you snuffed those feelings in favor of focusing on other aspects of your relationship.

The second red flag was just how clingy he became when the both of you were in your third year, having been together for two solid years. You never noticed it before because you loved him, but when friends had pointed out how attached he seemed—and it was to rather unhealthy levels, according to their observations—to the point where you were the only person he’d ever formed a bond with while at school you started to see the cracks in what felt like the perfect relationship. He’d text you every single day, at every single hour, all the time. He’d call you nonstop, even more so when you didn’t immediately pick up.

The third red flag coincided with the second. When you couldn’t make it to your phone, he was quick to blame himself and those around him for being responsible for your deteriorating relationship. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me? Did those guys bother you again? They probably told you some stupid shit about me, right? Don’t listen to them. Hey, you’re not mad, right? Call me back. I need to talk to you. Just text me when you can, okay? (Name), please don’t leave me. I’ll fix whatever’s wrong. Just promise you’ll stay. Messages of these kinds were what you could expect to receive from him. He’d fluctuate between self-loathing to loathing those around him within seconds, shoving blame onto classmates who’d bully him for being that “weird emo kid with too many piercings” and anyone else who tried to, in his words, “come between you and me.”

By the end of your third year, you started to fall out of love. He was so very dedicated to this relationship, evidenced by how much effort and care he’d put into it, but his clingy behavior was stifling. You’d lost some of your own friends because he chased them away, and it felt like you couldn’t do anything without him breathing down your neck. If you wanted to go anywhere with a friend or two, Kuni had to be there to accompany you. If you looked at another for too long, he’d think you were cheating. If you didn’t text or call him at certain times, if you failed to pick up, or—Archons forbid—you left him on seen, he’d spiral.

Kuni had this habit of sounding dangerously self-destructive when he feared you were being unfaithful or he thought you were going to break up with him, which meant you’d have to sit on the phone for hours convincing him that you loved him, that you’d never leave him, that you’d always be here for him, that you were sorry for not responding, that he needs to calm down and please, please, please don’t do anything rash. Those phone calls were always so stressful. You cried a lot; you’d beg him to put the knife away when he’d threaten to use it on himself, on you, on anyone who might try to take you from him. And, after a few hours of this, he’d be back to his usual self, as if a switch had been flipped. You could hear his adoring smile in his voice when he spoke, when he’d lovingly whisper into the phone, “I’m happy you’re mine. I love you so much.” And you’d shakily parrot the affirmation, too frazzled to say or do anything else.

One of your best friends Rosalyne, who you’d befriended in the midst of all of this, had been so supportive the minute you spilled the truth to her. Kuni hated her the most because she wasn’t afraid of him. Because she’d shut him down when he tried to pull you away from her. Because she wouldn’t approve of any of his toxicity. Rosalyne would take you on shopping sprees, brunch dates, and jogs at the local park. She was plenty of good to outshine Kuni’s bad, and the more time you spent with her the clearer your head would become. The both of you had plenty of sleepovers together, and she let you rant your heart out while she listened. She’d tell you to break up with him, but you’d agonized over how terrifying that would be. You couldn’t bear to tell Kuni the truth—that you wanted to separate because things had turned so rotten—because you were so scared. Scared of him and what he might do.

Scared that if he really did take a blade to himself it would be your fault. He told you that a lot. That it would be your fault if he did anything. That his blood would be on your hands. You believed him every time.

By your final year, you’d already had a plan for university outlined and you’d started applying to a few in advance. You never told Kuni about any of them because you worried he might apply to each one in hopes of going to the same school as you. And when there was the dance for the graduating class and Kuni had asked you to it, you’d told him you were going with Rosalyne and a few other friends as a group. He didn’t like this, as expected, but you’d been so sick of him and his behaviors that you snapped and spilled everything to him. You’ll never forget the look on his face when you told him that you were done with the relationship and that you never wanted to see him again.

He looked as if he could lunge at you and tear you to bloody ribbons at any moment.

You graduated single and so very refreshed, and your summer had been filled with friends. Kuni didn’t message you at all, which was surprising considering you were certain he’d spam you relentlessly after the break-up. But he never did. In fact, you never saw him again. Graduation had come and gone, and now that you could recover from such a terrible relationship he was becoming less of a burden for you. For a while you were anxious. You kept expecting to receive a phone call or to see some news about Kuni, but neither ever came. Rosalyne told you to stop thinking about him. It would only make you even more paranoid and that wouldn’t do your mental health any good. You were so grateful to have her in your life, but most importantly you were glad Kuni failed to scare her away.

Now you’re a second year in college and things have only gotten so much better for you. You and Rosalyne still keep in touch despite going to different schools. She’d gone to a university in Snezhnaya, while you enrolled in one in Sumeru, and you’ve blotted Kuni from your mind. You’ve made a fresh group of friends while attending classes: criminal justice major Shikanoin Heizou, creative writing major Kaedehara Kazuha, musical therapy major Venti, botany major Tighnari, and so many more wonderful people who have all welcomed you into their circles.

So when Venti drags a familiar face to your usual weekend outing, which is really just a retreat to the forest for drinking and smoking, creeping cold settles into your bones. He looks awkward with Venti’s arm slung around him as the more bubbly of the two drags him towards the bonfire, where you sit with the others roasting marshmallows for s’mores, and it’s a look that is so uncharacteristic on him. What’s even weirder is how friendly everyone greets him—as if they all know him—and you’re completely lost when they turn to you and ask if you’ve met Kunikuzushi.

“No,” you lie through your teeth, forcing a pleasant smile and extending your hand for a stiff handshake, which Venti snickers at. “No, I’ve never met him before.”

Apparently, he’s in one of Venti’s classes—it’s a course he’s taking solely because he needs the credits. Tighnari knows him because they usually work the same shifts at the campus café. Kazuha knows him from his linguistics and philosophy classes. Heizou’s ate with him in the dining hall plenty of times now and they’re also taking the same psychology class. It feels so genuine and yet so fake at the same time. Too perfectly manufactured to be a mere coincidence. But you do your best to push past these suspicions, and when he sits across from you, smiling at you and saying how nice it is to meet you, the warping flames paint his face in devilish shadows. That’s what you think he is when he acts like a completely different person from how he was when you dated: a devil who’s good at being kind and outgoing, noisy and abrupt, and always so foul-mouthed, but in a way that makes him charming. Your friends are so enthralled. They love him and his sense of humor. They love his quick wit. They love how fun he is. And suddenly weekends spent in the forest aren’t so enjoyable.

You do your best to overcome your doubts. For a few months you’re on edge. How he even found you is a mystery. Surely he wouldn’t stalk you and enroll in the same college just to get revenge or…whatever vengeance he wants from you. But when he treats you to coffee, when he brings you and the others pastries every other morning, when he invites the lot of you to study at the library, when he tells the funniest stories while crossed and everyone’s giggling like schoolgirls it really feels like he’s…healthier. Like he’s turned a fresh page in his life and is starting anew. Like he’s changed for the better.

Perhaps he just doesn’t remember you. You’ve changed your style over the years, so it’s possible he’s simply forgotten your image and can’t place memories to your name. Eventually, after soothing yourself with these theories, you begin to accept his presence in the group. He fits in so flawlessly, as if he’s a missing piece to the puzzle, and you can’t believe you’re admitting this, but you like this version of Kuni. He’s confident, not cocky. He’s kind, not rude. He gives everyone space. In fact, he rarely texts frequently in the group chat. And he’s funny! He’s so funny. You don’t think the Kuni from your past was ever as funny as the Kuni who regales everyone with lighthearted stories of how he once took in a stray cat that turned out to belong to his neighbor or how his old job had the strangest customers.

Maybe he truly did change. Maybe all of these coincidences really are coincidences. Maybe it’s for the best that you leave the past in the past.

Finals season looms, and the group hasn’t had time to meet up outside of class. Venti has tried to persuade everyone to come study at his apartment. His roommate won’t care (yes, he will. Xiao hates it when everyone gets blackout drunk and he has to wake everyone come morning), but if you’ve known Venti long enough you’ll know there is no studying that happens at these study sessions. This is probably the reason why he’s had to repeat a year.

With everyone’s schedules packed with academics, it’s difficult to find a time where everyone can get together to study. You think you might just be better off studying on your own, but Kuni’s message of you wanna pull an all-nighter for these lame af finals together?? accompanied with a photo of snacks and coffee, any thoughts of studying alone instantly vanish.

This is how you find yourself in his dorm, sprawled on his bed while he sits on the floor, whacking your dangling feet when they get too close to him. His roommate Albedo is currently out tutoring a few students at the library and won’t be back until much later, so it’s just you, Kuni, and a pile of textbooks and notes. You’ve hung out with Kuni a few times and he was great company during each. You’ve also fallen asleep in his dorm before, when you’d come over to binge a show the both of you enjoy, and you’d lost track of time and had slipped into a dream halfway through the marathon. You’d woken the next morning with Kuni looming over you, grinning deviously and holding an uncapped marker. He’d leaned down and whispered, “You drool in your sleep,” and you’d swatted at him and groused about how you were sleeping so peacefully when he just had to ruin your sleep (and your face) with his antics. And then there was that time when you were so drunk at that one party and you could hardly stand, he’d been there to help. He even stayed with you for the rest of that night, offering his assistance when you became nauseous or needed water or a snack until you passed out.

Despite your initial apprehensions, you consider him a friend. He’s no one nearly as close as Rosalyne or your other friends. He’s just a mutual friend, someone you’ll spend time with when you feel like it, but you don’t truly need him in your life. That, and part of you still struggles to trust him after all of the stress and unhealthy obsession he subjected you to.

“Kuni,” you whine, lifting your head from the textbook. “Can you get me some water? I’m thirsty.”

“Do I look like your maid?” he snaps, immersed in organizing his notes. “Get it yourself.”

“I’m picturing it now and you’re in a frilly dress and—”

“Forget I asked.” Setting his notebook down with an exaggerated sigh, he crosses the distance to the mini fridge and withdraws a bottle of water.

Grinning, you slide off of his bed and reach for it with a grateful hum. He smirks and takes a step back, holding it away from you.

“Seriously…”

Rolling your eyes, you lunge for it and he side-steps you with the practiced grace of a cat. You brace yourself against the wall and swipe at him. Again, he dodges, unscrewing the cap and shaking the bottle teasingly.

“I think I’ll take a sip for myself. All of this studying has left me so parched.”

“No fair! That’s mine!”

“Is it?” He pulls it away from his lips to observe the bottle and feigns surprise. “That’s weird. I don’t see your name on it.”

“Look closer!” you exclaim, but just as he’s about to humor you you pounce, tackling him to the ground—there’s a beanbag cushion that breaks your fall—and the water spills all over the both of you in the midst of the tumble. A slew of colorful words stick in Kuni’s throat and your laughter rings out melodiously. You seize his wrist and hold it down while reaching for the bottle in his other hand, where there’s still some water left. He struggles halfheartedly, relinquishing the bottle with a disinterested scoff, and you pull away from him to down what’s left.

While crushing the plastic bottle into a ball, you notice something on your palm—the palm that had grabbed Kuni’s wrist—and it takes a minute before the skin tone-colored substance registers in your mind.

Concealer.

You peer at him and notice that he’s cradling his arm, and confusion sprouts.

“So funny,” he spits with a hollow laugh. “You owe me a new beanbag if this one’s ruined.”

“Hey, hold on. What’s with the—”

“Forget it. You got your water, so let’s get back to studying. Or do you no longer want to be a perfect student?”

Without thinking, you grab his arm as he’s standing and when you look at his forearm you can see where the water’s started to wash the concealer away. Curiously, you scrub at it while he tries to yank his arm away, but when you unearth a dozen scars littering his wrist and climbing the length of his arm that creeping cold from before returns.

And suddenly you’re brought back to those phone calls—the ones where he’d threaten suicide and murder—and you stumble back as if you’ve been burned, half-expecting to hear those threats once more. Kuni’s staring at his wrist, his features twisted in grim disapproval, and for a moment you think he looks…hurt. Or maybe that’s sadness you see. Whatever emotion it was, it doesn’t linger because a quiet chuckle slips past his lips, and the sound is so very frigid it has your blood crystallizing.

“It really hurt when you said you never wanted to see me again.” Kuni peers down at you, and his eyes that had once been so bright and filled with light are dull and dark. “But nothing hurts more than loving you.”

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. You’re rooted to the ground, horror slinking through your body and rendering you immovable. Your heart is in your throat, pounding so loudly it’s practically a drum, and a cold sweat washes over you.

“Each time I found myself hating you, I thought it was odd because I love you so much. I can’t possibly hate the one I’ve loved all this time.” He scowls. “But loving you hurts. Loving you feels like chewing glass and drinking poison. Loving you isn’t fair because while you moved forward with your ‘friends,’ I was forced to stay behind and pick up the pieces of what was left of you. So for every moment I couldn’t stand you, I tallied it on myself so that I’ll never forget the times I loved you so much I hated you.”

This can’t be happening, you’re thinking, curling your hands into trembling fists. He changed. He changed, right? This isn’t the same Kuni from before. This isn’t…

“And when I saw how well you seemed to be doing without me, I hated you even more.” Without warning, he’s grabbed your arm and hoisted you up. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes—not that anything could when he’s pulled a switchblade from his pocket and poised the pointed tip at your jugular. “You have poor taste in friends. Those guys suck.”

Tutting, he shakes his head at you like a parent might when scolding a child, and says, “Do you know how fucking tiring it was pretending? You think I care about pastries and stupid campfire stories? You really think I’d ever want to associate myself with that sorry lot?”

“K-Kuni, please let go of me. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—I’m sorry. So please just…”

“And then the first time you see me after all these years apart and you had the gall to lie to my face! ‘I’ve never met him before.’ Bullshit. You just didn’t want any of your loser friends to know our history, right? Because you’re ashamed to have known me, right?”

“That’s not it! I… I was just—I didn’t… I was… I just…”

“I… I… I…” he mocks, shoving you down onto the beanbag. It dips under the sudden weight, and you sink further into it when he points the blade at you. “Stop tripping over your tongue. I should be the one near tears! You cast me aside and then forgot all about me. You abandoned me when I needed you most.” His voice cracks at that last sentence, and your heart skips erratically.

“That’s not what happened! We needed space. I needed space. You were being too—” You stop yourself, unsure of how to phrase it. Too controlling? Too dangerous? Too scary?

“Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook these past...slights.” The blade twirls effortlessly in his grasp, and you heave a relieved breath when he’s no longer pointing it in your direction. “Marry me and we’ll forget all about the past. We’ll start over.”

His demand almost stops your heart altogether. You stare up at him, mouth agape, and mumble a disbelieving, “What?”

“You heard me.” He seems to soften with his next words, and for a moment he looks and sounds like the Kuni who hangs out with you and your friends. The harmlessly fun Kuni who always takes such good care of you. “You’re the only one I’ll ever love, so let’s get married.”

“K-Kuni, I can’t... I really can’t...”

Within seconds the blade has found itself on his wrist, pressing into delicate flesh. Not enough to cut, but if he applies more force you’ll definitely see blood. You choke on a horrified gasp.

“What was that?” He raises his brow at you, challenging you with a calm smile.

Your mind reels in an effort to conjure a plan. What can you even do? If you take the blade from him, will he turn his anger on you? Will you have to wrestle him into submission? And if you do manage to get out of his dorm, will anyone believe you? He’s painted himself in such a pleasant light. Your friends love and trust him! So what can you say? And if there isn’t any solid proof, no one will even entertain bringing the authorities into this mess.

“I’m waiting, (Name). Are you really going to make me add another tally? Do you really want me to hate you again? Oh, but maybe I should start marking you! We can add a slice for each time you failed to love me. That way we’ll both look like used cutting boards.”

You need help, you want to say, but the words escape you.

Instead, you nod hastily and say breathlessly, “Okay, yes! I’ll marry you!” Swallowing your horror, you glance at the blade as it’s lifted from his skin. Thankfully, there isn’t a cut. “I... I’ll marry you, Kuni. So... So please don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

It feels like you’ve been strangled for an eternity, so when he finally pockets the blade the air in your lungs returns and you collapse against the beanbag, chest rising and falling in short, panicked breaths. 

“Good.” He bends down to your height, grips your chin with cold fingers, and forces you to meet his adoring stare. “We’ll look at rings tomorrow. Or maybe you’d prefer bracelets instead? I can be flexible but only for you, so you’d better be grateful.”

You swallow rising bile and nod. “T-Thank you.” You’re not sure why you’re thanking him when he hardly deserves it, but it feels like the right thing to say to ease the tension.

Kuni’s eyes sparkle, no longer a void of endless darkness, and when he leans in to capture your lips in his your heart sinks. You really can’t run from your past, can you?

[mercillery]

Can you do the yandere alphabet for Julius and Lucius?

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + YANDERE THEMES + NOT PROOFREAD

NOTES: Anon, I’m gonna be honest with you—I haven’t written for Lucius in so long I lowkey kind of struggled for his part…so sorry about that ❤️‍🩹

JULIUS NOVACHRONO

A = Affection (How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?)

Julius is a naturally affectionate guy, no doubt about it. But as a yandere? Oh, he cranks that up to eleven. He’s not just attentive; he’s hyper-attentive, to the point where you might start wondering if he’s somehow become omnipresent. His affection goes beyond sweet gestures and into full-on "I need to know you’re okay every single second" territory. He’s always there, making sure you’re comfortable, cared for, and wrapped up in his Time Magic like some magical security blanket. The man’s like your personal space heater—but, you know, with magic.

And if we’re being real here, he’s not shy about physical affection either. He’s always reaching for your hand, brushing your hair out of your face, or hugging you like you’re going to vanish if he lets go. It’s sweet, but it’s also a little intense—like he’s trying to make sure you don’t forget for even a second that you’re his. Honestly, it's like the guy can’t breathe without you nearby, which is pretty ironic considering he’s the Wizard King with control over time. He could literally freeze a moment and stretch it out forever, but nope, he’s right there, all up in your business 24/7.

But here’s the thing: his affection, while overwhelming, is never meant to be suffocating. He genuinely means well; he’s just so head over heels that he’s a bit clueless about how overbearing it comes off. He’s like a puppy who doesn’t realize he’s grown into a full-sized dog and keeps trying to fit in your lap. It’s not that he’s trying to smother you; it’s just that he’s so wrapped up in his feelings that he can’t handle the idea of being apart from you for even a nanosecond. He might be the ruler of time, but when it comes to you, every moment feels like a lifetime without your presence.

B = Blood (How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?)

Julius does absolutely everything in his power to avoid physical violence; he’s the kind of yandere who prefers to get what he wants through clever manipulation and the strategic use of his magic. He’s got that "I’d rather talk it out" energy, or maybe "I’d rather warp time and rearrange the situation until it works in my favor" kind of vibe. Bloodshed? That’s like, plan Z—wayyyyyyyy at the bottom of the list of options. He’s not eager to see anyone hurt, especially since, despite the whole obsessive yandere thing, the guy still has a heart. It’s just a heart that happens to be laser-focused on you. But hey, at least he’s consistent, right?

Even in his yandere state, he’s still compassionate and empathetic; he genuinely believes violence isn’t the answer. It’s like he’s trying to show that even with his unhealthy levels of obsession, he can still hold on to some of that Wizard King morality. But, and it’s a big but, if it ever came down to it—like if he really had no other choice, if every possible peaceful method had failed—then yeah, he’d resort to violence. He’d do it swiftly, though. Julius isn’t the type to let things get messy; he’d use his time magic to make it quick and painless, like pulling off a band-aid (a magical band-aid, mind you).

It’s not that he wants to spill blood; it’s more like he’d do whatever it takes to protect what’s most important to him: you. And if that means ensuring anyone who threatens you is out of the picture, well, he’s got the power to handle it discreetly. He’s not about to let things get dramatic or drawn-out. In his mind, if it must be done, it’s going to be done efficiently, with as little suffering as possible. He’s still got that compassionate side buried in there—just wrapped up in a whole lot of obsession.

C = Cruelty (How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?)

Honestly, kidnapping isn’t Julius’s style—even in yandere mode. The guy’s all about playing the long game, keeping things friendly, and working his charm. He’s got that Wizard King charisma, and he’d much rather convince you with sweet words and acts of kindness than snatch you up and lock you away. But, alright, let’s imagine he does resort to kidnapping—because, you know, the question calls for it.

If Julius were to kidnap you, it would be the most polite, gentle kidnapping imaginable. You’d almost be confused, like, “Wait, am I being kidnapped, or am I on a really weird vacation?” He wouldn’t be rude, mocking, or condescending—no, no, that’s not how he treats his beloved. Why would he ever speak harshly to you? You’re the person he cherishes above all else. So instead, he’s all smiles and soft words, doing his best to make the whole situation seem as un-scary as possible. It’s almost unsettling how sweet he is about the whole thing—like, you know something’s not right, but at the same time, how could someone so gentle and caring be the bad guy here?

At first, he might go a little overboard with the pampering, trying to ease you into the situation and get you comfortable. He knows what he’s done doesn’t sit right with you because, you know, kidnapping is usually a red flag, so he’s on a mission to prove that it’s not as bad as it seems. Expect all the royal treatment—meals brought to you, cozy blankets, books, and entertainment, anything to make you feel comfortable and safe. It’s almost like he’s overcompensating, trying to fill the awkwardness of the situation with as much affection and care as possible.

In his eyes, he’s just doing what’s necessary to get you past any fears you might have of him. But here’s the kicker: he’s so nice about it that it makes you question everything. It’s like he’s trying to rewrite the narrative of kidnapping itself—“Oh, you’re not my captive; you’re my honored guest!” And throughout it all, he remains respectful, patient, and kind, making it clear that no matter how strange things are, he’d never dream of being cruel to you. In his mind, if he’s as gentle and caring as possible, you’ll come to accept his affection and eventually see things his way.

D = Darling (Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?)

Like I mentioned just now, Julius isn’t the type to jump straight to abduction. He’s all about patience and subtlety. But, okay, if we’re diving into this hypothetical where he does kidnap you, it’s a bit more complicated. The thing is, it’s all about time—fitting for someone with Time Magic, right? At first, he’s going to do the classic yandere thing: take away your will (and ability) to leave. No sneaking out, no slipping away when he’s not looking. You’re basically stuck, and he makes sure of that. He might not be thrilled about it, but he’s too concerned and worried to let you out of his sight at first. You’re kept safely in his space, just like any other yandere would do.

But here’s where things get interesting. As time goes on—because, hey, no one’s as good with time as Julius—he’s watching you closely. He’s waiting for that moment when you start to calm down, to settle into the situation, and maybe even… accept it? He’s hoping that as you mellow out and get more comfortable around him, you’ll start to relax. And once he sees that, he’ll start to loosen his grip. Slowly, he’ll give you back a little bit of freedom, like easing off the brakes after a long stop.

It’s not because he wants to keep you locked away forever. No, deep down, Julius wants you to be free—he really does. He’s not one of those yanderes who thrives on control just for control’s sake. But the problem is, he can’t risk losing you. The thought of you just up and leaving one day? Terrifying. That’s why he kidnaps you in the first place. He can’t take any chances.

Once he’s confident that you’re not going to bolt the second he lets you out of his sight, he’ll start letting you do things on your own again. Maybe you get to wander the streets alone, maybe you can hit up your favorite shops or go about your day-to-day life—just with one little catch. He’s still watching, of course. You might not see him, but trust me, he’s keeping tabs. There’s always going to be that sense that you’re not totally free, but hey, at least you can stretch your legs a little, right?

Of course, privacy is another story. Even when you get your freedom back, he’s always going to know where you are and what you’re doing. It’s like he’s given you a leash, and though it’s longer now, it’s still there. So, freedom? Kind of. Privacy? Not a chance.

E = Exposed (How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?)

Oh, this man is exposed—and not in the typical yandere "I'm hiding my true nature" kind of way. No, Julius is out here practically wearing his heart on his sleeve, and honestly, it's almost a little surprising for a yandere. You'd expect someone in his position to keep up a facade, maybe hide behind his usual charm and playful attitude, but nope. He only keeps up his playful and charm facade in public—you know, as the Wizard King. But with you, he drops that mask like it’s nothing, and what you see is raw, unfiltered Julius. He lets you in on his biggest fears, especially when it comes to losing you, and trust me, he's very open about how much he loves you. Like, almost too open. You might even find yourself thinking, "Wait, is this guy trying to guilt-trip me? Am I supposed to feel bad for him right now?"

And look, with most yanderes, you’d probably be right to assume that—emotional manipulation is kind of their bread and butter. But not Julius. When I say he’s exposed, I mean really exposed. He’s not out here playing any mind games; he’s just laying it all out there, hoping you understand how much you mean to him. No deception, no schemes—just pure, unfiltered sincerity. It’s like he thinks, “Hey, if we’re going to be together, we’re going to be real with each other,” and he genuinely believes that.

Sure, it might come off a bit intense. I mean, how often do you meet someone who's so emotionally vulnerable they could basically be the poster child for a heart-to-heart conversation? But that’s just how he is with you. You’re his lover now, and in his mind, that means no more walls, no more pretending. It’s just him, being 100% honest with his feelings, whether you’re ready for that level of sincerity or not.

It’s not about guilt-tripping, and it's definitely not about manipulation. Julius genuinely just wants you to understand that when he says he loves you, he means it with every fiber of his being. So while most yanderes might use their emotions as a weapon, Julius is over here treating them like an open book—one he’s inviting you to read cover to cover.

F = Fight (How would they feel if their darling fought back?)

Oh, this man is absolutely HURT. And not just the "ouch, you hurt my feelings" kind of hurt, but the deep, soul-crushing, "why are you doing this to me when all I want is to love and protect you?" type of hurt. You can practically see the disappointment etched all over his face, but it's mostly that emotional pain that gets to him. You fighting back? It genuinely confuses him. In his mind, he’s doing everything out of love—so why would you resist?

But let me be clear: Julius isn’t the type to snap or lash out if you push back. Oh no, he’s not going to raise his voice, throw a tantrum, or get violent. That’s not his style. Instead, he’ll let out this sad sigh, maybe give you that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like you just kicked a puppy. Then, without any harshness, he’ll calmly use his magic to gently subdue you. No roughness, no aggression, just disappointment. It’s like he’s saying, “Why are we even doing this? Can’t we just love each other in peace?”

Julius is all about keeping things gentle. Even when he’s feeling emotionally wrecked, he’ll never resort to anything violent or extreme to get you back under control. He’ll probably just freeze time around you for a bit, just enough to calm things down, then softly talk you through it. It’s all about creating this sense of, “Hey, I’m not mad, I’m just hurt—and we can work through this.” Sure, you might not like it, but at least he’s not out here going full yandere psycho.

But make no mistake—while he’s being gentle, he will put you back in your place. He’s got the power to do it without breaking a sweat, but he’s so emotionally invested in you that he won’t cross any lines. You’ll be subdued, but it’ll be like being gently pushed into place by someone who’s more disappointed in the fact that this is even necessary. So yeah, you’re not getting away with fighting back, but at least you can count on Julius being as soft as possible about it—just enough to remind you who’s in control, but never enough to make you fear him.

G = Game (Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?)

It’s definitely not a game to Julius. He takes your relationship seriously—obsessively so. But hey, he wouldn’t be totally honest if he said he didn’t feel at least a tiny bit of amusement when you try to outsmart him. There’s this little flicker of curiosity in him, a sense of, “Oh? What are they going to try next?” It’s almost like watching a puzzle unfold, and Julius can’t help but be intrigued by how you’re going to maneuver through the situation. He won’t admit it outright, but there’s definitely a small part of him that finds your attempts to outwit him... well, kind of entertaining.

That said, don’t think for a second that he sees this as a game. It’s not. He values the relationship way too much to treat it like some kind of cat-and-mouse chase. Julius is all about balance, and even though he might find your cleverness interesting, he’s not going to encourage it. He’s got that Wizard King mentality—risk is not something he likes to play with, even with all the Time Magic at his disposal. To him, this relationship is way too important to leave anything to chance.

But here’s where it gets tricky: Julius is confident. Like, really confident. Not the cocky type of confident—but just normal confident, you know? He knows that, no matter how clever you get, he’s got the ultimate ace up his sleeve—his control over time. That means, in his mind, you can try whatever you want, and he’ll still ensure your inevitable return. It’s not arrogance, exactly; it’s more like he knows that no matter how far you wander, he has the means to bring you back to him. So in a way, he’s fine with giving you a bit of freedom, letting you try to outsmart him here and there, because deep down, he’s certain the outcome won’t change.

It’s almost like watching a chess match when you already know how it’s going to end. Sure, it’s fun to see the moves, but in the end, he’s always a few steps ahead. So, while he might find a bit of enjoyment in seeing what you’ll try next, there’s never any real doubt in his mind that you’ll end up right where he wants you—right by his side.

H = Hell (What would be their darling's worst experience with them?)

Remember how I said Julius is gentle when it comes to putting you back in your place? Yeah, well, don’t let that fool you into thinking his gentleness doesn’t pack a punch. Sure, he’s not violent or harsh, but you’ve gotta keep in mind that the man’s literally the Wizard King. He’s got the power to make “gentle” feel a lot heavier than it sounds.

So let’s say you’ve made a habit of trying to escape. Julius, being the master of Time Magic, isn’t going to get aggressive. Nope. Instead, he gets creative in the worst possible way. Picture this: every time you defy him, every time you make a break for it, he uses his magic to create a loop, forcing you to relive that moment of rebellion over and over again. At first, you might think, "Okay, I can handle this. What’s a little time loop?” But trust me, you can’t. It’s way more than you bargained for.

It’s not just about repeating the same moment. Over time, it wears you down in every way. Mentally, you start feeling like there’s no way out. Emotionally, it’s draining—going through the same motions, only to have him bring you right back to square one. Physically, it takes its toll too, even if you're just walking in circles or struggling to escape. And hey, maybe even spiritually, it’s exhausting, like your soul just can’t take the weight of being stuck in this endless loop of defiance.

For Julius, this isn’t cruelty for the sake of it. In his mind, it’s necessary. It’s a “lesson,” a way to show you that no matter how hard you try, there’s no escaping him. It’s his way of teaching you that resistance is futile—literally. And the worst part? He’s not angry while doing it. He’s just calmly, almost lovingly, reminding you of your place. There’s something deeply unsettling about being punished by someone who seems to genuinely believe they’re helping you.

It’s honestly a terrifying reminder of just how powerless you are against his magic. No matter how gentle he is, the message is clear: you can’t escape him, and the more you try, the more exhausted you’ll become. He’ll make sure you understand that lesson, even if it takes a few dozen loops to get there.

I = Ideals (What kind of future do they have in mind for/ with their darling?)

His ideal world? It’s actually pretty simple when you break it down. Sure, he’s got all the time magic and the responsibilities of the kingdom, but when it comes to you, Julius just wants the domestic dream. You, him, together, living a peaceful life where you accept your role as his partner, both emotionally and practically. He doesn’t envision you as someone kept in the shadows or locked away—he wants you to understand what he does, to support him, and to see that this life he’s offering is the best option for the two of you.

And in his mind, it’s not even a question of if you’ll come around, but when. Time is his best ally, after all. Julius believes that with enough time, you’ll start to see things his way. You’ll realize that being with him is not just an option, it’s the best option. The future he sees is one where you’re both bonded in every way—physically, emotionally, spiritually—living that calm, domestic life, side by side.

He’s not asking for much, right? Just the “usual” life, where you’re always with him, supporting his duties, and, in return, he’ll give you the world—or, you know, as much of the world as the Wizard King can offer. In his mind, that’s the kind of future anyone would want. And with a little patience and a lot of time magic, he’s convinced you’ll want it too.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?)

Julius is definitely prone to jealousy, but he’s not the type to let it spiral into a whole dramatic scene. He’s mature and composed about it, like the seasoned Wizard King he is. I mean, he’s not the kind of guy who’s going to throw a fit or give the death stare to every person who gets a little too friendly with you. He’s got enough self-assurance to know that your relationship is solid and safe in his very capable, time-bending hands.

Honestly, it’s not like jealousy hits him often. He trusts you and he’s confident enough in himself and his connection with you that it takes a lot to push him over that line. When those little pangs of envy do strike, he doesn’t lash out or lose his cool. Instead, he just kind of… silently acknowledges it and then moves on, letting it wash over him like, “Okay, that’s a thing I’m feeling, but it’s fine. We’re fine.” You might not even notice he’s feeling jealous because he keeps it so well under wraps.

Listen, it’s all about that quiet confidence of his. He knows he’s got the power to keep you with him—figuratively and literally. So while others might lose their temper over jealousy, he’s just sitting there like, “Yeah, no. We’re good.” He’s not worried about someone else swooping in and stealing you away because he genuinely believes in the bond you share. And let’s be real, the man who literally controls time doesn’t exactly feel threatened by much!

K = Kisses (How do they act around or with their darling?)

When you’re around, Julius is just his normal self—just dialed up a notch in the affection department. He’s the same charming, approachable, and easygoing Wizard King everyone knows and respects, but he’s not shy about showing how much he cares for you. It’s not over-the-top to the point where people are rolling their eyes or muttering, “Here they go again.” It’s just… obvious. He’ll casually hold your hand, rest his arm around your shoulders, or throw in a little inside joke that only you two get. It’s enough to make it clear to anyone watching that you’re his, but not enough to be cringe-inducing or awkward for everyone else in the room.

He’s like the poster child for “affectionate but not obnoxious.” People might smile or whisper about how sweet he is with you, but no one’s rolling their eyes or feeling like they need to fake gag. It’s that perfectly balanced PDA that everyone tolerates.

And as for those Yandere tendencies? Forget about it. He’s the picture of a dream man, an ideal partner, always smiling and attentive but not in a creepy way. Nothing about him screams "possessive" or "obsessive." He keeps all those intense feelings and thoughts hidden behind that charming, easygoing demeanor. He’s got his act down so well that even if someone tried to accuse him of being overprotective or controlling, people would probably just laugh it off.

To the world, he’s just an affectionate, doting boyfriend who’s got everything under control—nothing weird or suspicious here! He’s smooth enough to let his true nature simmer beneath the surface, showing you and only you the full extent of his obsession, but making sure everyone else just sees the charming man in love.

L = Love letters (How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?)

Julius’s way of courting is like a masterclass in emotional intelligence. He doesn’t just bombard you with generic “I love you” messages or flashy gestures. No, he’s way more refined and strategic than that. Julius takes the time to understand you—your likes, your interests, your worries, and what makes you tick. And then he crafts these thoughtful, personalized notes that feel like they’re speaking directly to your soul. His letters are beautifully written, almost poetic, without being over-the-top or insincere. He knows just the right words to weave a connection between you two, slowly and subtly drawing you closer to him.

It’s not all grand declarations and roses either. Julius is perceptive and precise; he doesn’t miss a beat. If you ever try to pull away or distance yourself, he doesn’t panic or lash out. Instead, he sends letters expressing his regret, his sorrow at the growing gap between you. It’s not a guilt trip—it’s more like he’s quietly reaching out, saying, “I miss you, and I hope we can find our way back to each other.” It’s disarming in its sincerity and vulnerability, and it makes it that much harder to actually break away from him. He’s not aggressively pulling you back; he’s inviting you to return willingly.

Outside of these carefully crafted letters? He’s just your regular Julius Novachrono. Friendly, approachable, with that same easygoing charm. He doesn’t overwhelm you with constant affection in public or try to flaunt your relationship. To everyone else, it just seems like he’s a genuinely considerate and charming man. No one would guess he’s meticulously planning every word and action to keep you close—he just seems like the perfect partner. But behind every letter and every carefully chosen phrase is that obsessive, love struck side quietly steering the ship.

M = Mask (Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?)

Julius’s true nature is like flipping a coin—one side is the easygoing, jovial Magic Emperor that everyone knows and admires, and the other is a deeply obsessive partner behind closed doors. In public, he’s got his act down to a science. He’s charming, approachable, and always smiling. People see the relaxed, carefree Wizard King who’s both a competent leader and a friendly face. He laughs easily, cracks jokes, and offers that reassuring presence everyone relies on. You wouldn’t suspect a thing from the way he interacts with his captains and citizens—just the same old Julius, with no hint of his hidden intensity.

But when it’s just the two of you, the other side of that coin comes out. He’s still mostly the same Julius, but now the mask is off, and his affection is turned all the way up. He’s more touchy, more attentive, and definitely more possessive. It’s not like he suddenly becomes a different person, but you can tell there’s an underlying intensity in everything he does. Where he might have just given a casual hand on your shoulder in public, in private, it’s more like a lingering touch, a tighter embrace, or an almost desperate look in his eyes. It’s still Julius, just with an added layer of obsession simmering beneath that calm exterior.

N = Naughty (How would they punish their darling?)

When it comes to punishment, Julius plays the long game—mentally and emotionally. He doesn’t believe in physical harm; it’s just not in his nature. Instead, he uses his Time Magic to create these psychological traps, forcing you to relive arguments or moments of defiance in an endless loop until you eventually break down and comply. Imagine having the same disagreement over and over, with no real sense of how much time has passed or when it might end. It’s subtle, but it’s incredibly effective. The exhaustion creeps up on you, making you question your own memory and sanity, and eventually, you’re left with this overwhelming sense of futility.

Julius sees this as a more “humane” form of discipline, almost like he’s gently guiding you back onto the right path rather than punishing you outright. It’s not violent, but it’s still a form of control—a mental cage disguised as an endless rewind button. And if you’re worried about him losing his temper or laying a hand on you? You can let that fear go—because Julius absolutely REFUSES to physically harm you, even in his darkest moments. It’s a line he’s unwilling to cross because, in his mind, what he’s doing isn’t about hurting you—it’s about keeping you safe, teaching you a lesson in a way only he can.

O = Oppression (How many rights would they take away from their darling?)

When it comes to freedoms, Julius’s strategy is all about control and patience. At first, he takes away all your rights and autonomy. He wants to strip away any illusion of independence so you can settle in, and by “settle in”. But here’s the catch: once he notices you’re getting more comfortable—actually comfortable, not just pretending—he’ll slowly start giving you back small pieces of freedom, bit by bit.

Think of it like earning privileges in a really messed-up game of trust. Show him you’re genuinely settling in, and he might let you have more time alone or even go outside under supervision. He wants to see genuine acceptance, not just some facade, and believe me, you’re not fooling this guy. He’ll see right through any fake smiles or acts of devotion. If you think you can just put on a lovey-dovey act to get back your freedoms, you might as well give up now—Julius knows the difference between genuine affection and an Oscar-worthy performance.

In his mind, it’s all about ensuring your “safety” until you can prove to him that you’re truly accepting of this life with him. And once you do? He’ll reward that acceptance with more freedoms. But make no mistake: the leash is always there, even if it gets a little longer over time…

P = Patience (How patient are they with their darling?)

Julius isn’t just patient—he’s exceedingly patient. He’s got all the time in the world, quite literally, and he’s fully aware that winning you over isn’t going to be an overnight thing. He knows you won’t accept his love right away, and he’s perfectly fine with that. In his mind, your resistance is just a temporary obstacle, not a permanent barrier. He believes his persistence will eventually wear you down, like waves gradually eroding a stone. And with his Time Magic, he’s got a pretty big advantage—he can afford to wait you out.

If you’re throwing a tantrum, screaming, or just completely losing it, he won’t get angry or frustrated. Instead, he’ll take it in stride, viewing it as a natural reaction to the situation. Are you crying your eyes out all day, at every hour? As much as it breaks his heart to see you in pain, Julius remains steadfast. He won’t snap or lose his patience—instead, he’ll calmly reassure you, trying his best to soothe you and help you feel comfortable. He doesn’t want to force you to accept his love; he wants you to genuinely come around to it.

In his eyes, all the tears, the anger, and the resistance are just part of the process. It’s all temporary turbulence in a relationship he’s confident will eventually find smooth waters. He’ll wait as long as it takes, and in the meantime, he’s there to comfort you through all of it, always with that patient smile. You might feel like you’re hitting a wall with him, but Julius? He’s got the patience to outlast every outburst, every tear, and every attempt to resist.

Q = Quit (If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?)

If you were to actually die, the heartbreak Julius would feel would be on a catastrophic level—like the man got hit by a million emotional wrecking balls all at once. He might be obsessive, yes, but that doesn’t make his love any less genuine—just more intense. Losing you wouldn’t just hurt him; it would break him. Imagine the Wizard King, the man who leads with a smile and endless charisma, completely shattered because you’re gone. It wouldn’t just be heartbreak—it’d be like his entire world collapsed. He’d probably be so devastated he’d question his own powers, his decisions, everything, and would find himself trapped in a spiral of guilt and despair.

And if you somehow successfully escape? Come on, this is Julius we’re talking about. You might have slipped through his fingers for a moment, but if you think he’s going to let you go just like that, well, that’s a bit naive. He’s the freaking Wizard King with control over time itself—letting you run off into the sunset isn’t exactly on his to-do list. Julius would be devastated, sure—his heart crushed at the idea of losing you. But unlike with your death, where his pain would be immeasurable, escaping just makes him more determined. To him, it’s not an ending—just a setback.

But here’s where things get really intense: Julius isn’t one to just sit back and accept fate. Oh no, he’d bend reality itself to undo whatever it was that took you from him. If you die, he’d rewind time to a point where you’re alive, no matter how many attempts it takes. If you escape, he’d loop back and make sure that door was locked or that your window wasn’t left open—any little thing he might’ve overlooked. In his mind, there’s always a way to fix things, to create the “perfect” outcome where you’re together.

Julius’s obsession runs so deep that he wouldn’t move on, no matter what happened. He believes, with every fiber of his being, that given enough time literally, he can create the future he envisions—one where you’re by his side, no matter the cost. So, if you die or successfully escape, you might think that’s the end of it—but for Julius, it’s just another loop to reset until he gets it right.

R = Regret (Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?)

Julius isn’t entirely blind to the morality of what he’s doing. Deep down, he does feel a sense of regret—not because he’s unsure of his love for you, but because he couldn’t win your heart the way he wanted to, without all these drastic measures. In his perfect world, you’d willingly accept his affection, confine, or control. But reality didn’t work out like that, so here he is, convincing himself that this path is the only way to keep you safe and happy.

Julius rationalizes everything he’s done with a well-intentioned narrative: “It’s for your own good,” or “One day, you’ll see why I had to do this.” He genuinely believes that with enough time, you’ll eventually understand that his actions, no matter how obsessive, were all born from a place of love. And as much as he feels that twinge of guilt, he’s not going to let it change his course of action. Letting you go isn’t an option in his mind—not now, and probably not ever.

Yes, there’s a real heart in there, a genuine, caring part of Julius that’s wracked with guilt over forcing you into this situation. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to set you free. To him, this is the only way to keep you both safe and happy, even if you can’t see it yet. He’s utterly convinced that with time (and, of course, he’s got plenty of that), you’ll come around to understand his love and intentions.

So while he does feel regret, it’s more of a bittersweet acknowledgment that he couldn’t create a perfect love story without pulling some strings. But giving up on you? Absolutely not. In his eyes, this is all just another challenge to overcome—a painful compromise he’s willing to make until you see things his way.

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

Honestly… it’s hard to pin down exactly where this obsessive side of Julius comes from, but there’s a good chance it ties back to his responsibilities as the Wizard King. Think about it: he spends every waking moment shouldering the weight of an entire kingdom, constantly trying to maintain peace and keep things in balance. That kind of pressure isn’t something you can just shrug off, even if you’re someone as whimsical or carefree as Julius. So maybe, when it comes to you, you represent that rare piece of comfort and genuine connection he craves but feels he can’t attain through his public role.

Being in such a powerful and demanding position, Julius is probably used to people respecting, fearing, or idolizing him—but never really seeing him for who he is underneath all that authority. You’re different, and that’s both exciting and terrifying for him. His obsession might stem from this desire to keep that connection secure, almost like he’s terrified that losing you would mean losing one of the few genuine things in his life.

So in a way, it makes sense that his fixation on you is so intense. You’re not just someone he loves; you’re a refuge from the constant duty and facade he’s forced to maintain. He wants to protect that refuge, even if it means crossing lines or using his power to do so. In his mind, losing you isn’t an option because you’re the one thing in his life that isn’t about being the Wizard King—you’re about being Julius.

Or maybe I’m just reaching for the stars for this one. Who knows.

T = Tears (How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

Seeing you cry, scream, or shut yourself away absolutely shatters Julius inside. He’s not blind to your suffering; it affects him deeply, and part of him hates that he’s the reason behind it. But he convinces himself that your pain is just a "necessary step" on the path to a better future together. He’s in denial, really—holding you close, whispering sweet reassurances like, “It’s okay, I’m here,” or, “You’ll see in time, everything will be alright.” Meanwhile, he’s sidestepping the fact that he’s the very cause of this mess.

And your tears? They don’t make him reconsider. In his mind, they’re proof that you’re scared and vulnerable, reinforcing his belief that you need his protection even more. He’s twisted the narrative so tightly around his idea of keeping you safe that your cries and pleas to be left alone only fuel his determination.

So if you try to push him away or tell him to back off, it’s not going to work. He won’t just leave you alone, even if you beg for space. Instead, he’ll double down on the comfort, trying harder to “make you see” that everything he’s doing is for your own good. His reassurances are endless, his grip is unwavering, and his resolve to “protect” you only gets stronger with every tear you shed.

U = Unique (Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

Julius’s approach to being a yandere stands out because he steers clear of the classic violent or physically intimidating tactics. Instead, he leans into his mastery of time magic and a softer form of emotional manipulation to create a psychological cage that’s way more sophisticated than a typical yandere’s. He doesn’t need to lock you in a literal room; he’s got the power to make time itself your prison.

What’s even more unique is that, compared to most yanderes, he gradually grants you more freedom. He’s not too keen on the idea of keeping you cooped up forever. As time passes, he’ll give you a longer leash—letting you venture out, make decisions, maybe even regain some semblance of a normal life… sort of. But this freedom is only an illusion because, in reality, his grip remains firm. You may not be physically restrained, but you’re still emotionally and mentally bound by his presence and his magic. So, hooray for a little more freedom… but also, not really!

V = Vice (What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?)

Julius, for all his big-time magic and being basically a living, breathing timepiece, isn’t invincible when it comes to emotional vulnerability. Basically, here’s the small crack in the armor: his need for validation. It might seem like a tiny detail—like discovering Superman’s kryptonite is just a heavy diet of carbs—but it’s key. If you can somehow convince him that you genuinely accept him or pretend, then you’ve got an entry point to start working your own magic. Get him to believe that you’re warming up to him, and you might just worm your way into earning his trust. Once you’re in there, deep in that emotional vault, you’d have more chances to plot an escape.

Of course, this isn’t a one-way ticket to freedom; it’s more like trying to sneak out of a house guarded by both a paranoid watchdog and a CCTV system that can literally rewind time. You’ll have to keep up the act without Julius catching on to any hesitation or cracks in your facade. He’s analytical, and the moment he smells betrayal, it’s game over. But, if you can consistently show that “genuine affection” without letting your poker face slip, you might just get the chance to slip away.

Key word: MIGHT

Just pray you don’t accidentally call him by the wrong name or flinch when he goes in for a hug, or your time pun very much intended will be up.

W = Wit's end (Would they ever hurt their darling?)

Julius? Physically harm you? Not a chance. The idea of laying a finger on you in anger is absolutely out of the question. Julius would genuinely die before he let himself cross that line because in his mind, hurting you physically would shatter the very foundation of his obsession—sorry, I mean, love for you.

That said, mentally? Oof. That’s a different ball game. Julius is a master of time and, unfortunately for you, that means he’s got a lot of tricks up his sleeve that don’t involve lifting a finger. So if he’s at his wit’s end, he might resort to more subtle methods, like trapping you in a disorienting time loop. Imagine having the same conversation on repeat, or worse—reliving that one argument over and over until you feel like your brain’s about to turn into scrambled eggs. It's his twisted way of keeping you in line while convincing himself that he hasn’t really hurt you—at least, not in the traditional sense.

So long story short: Julius? Lay a finger on you? Never. But don’t think for a second he’s not prepared to mess with your head if it means keeping you in his grasp. Because to him, breaking you down mentally isn’t the same as hurting you—it’s just helping you understand how much he cares.

X = Xoanon (How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?)

Julius doesn’t just put you on a pedestal—he practically builds a shrine and lights candles around it. To him, you’re not just the center of his universe; you’re the literal center, the sun to his gravitational pull, the glue holding his timeline together. And when Julius sees someone as his key to happiness and stability, that’s not a casual crush—it’s borderline holy devotion. This man will twist reality itself if it means keeping you happy, comfortable, and—most importantly—by his side.

You’re not just the apple of his eye; you’re the entire orchard. He wants your love, sure, but it’s not just a want; it’s a need. To him, you’re like the keystone in an arch—remove you, and his entire world risks collapse. So he’ll stop at nothing to keep you where you are, locked securely in that special place he’s carved out in his heart and mind. And if he senses you slipping away? Expect reality to bend a little more than usual. “All’s fair in love and time manipulation,” right?

When it comes to winning you over, there’s pretty much nothing he wouldn’t do. Time magic? Check. Reality-bending? Check. Gaslighting reality itself into keeping you by his side? Triple check. Because in the gospel according to Julius, if he can convince you to stay with him forever, then all those sacrifices were just acts of devotion.

Y = Yearn (How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?)

Julius isn’t the type to rush into things—he’s got all the time in the world, literally. So when it comes to you, he’s willing to play the long game. This guy will spend months, even years, meticulously observing you like he’s preparing for the world’s most intense final exam. He’ll study your habits, routines, preferences, down to which hand you use to brush your teeth…it’s weird, yeah—but he probably actually knows which hand you use to brush your teeth with. He’s so strategic that if there was a gold medal for obsessively planning, Julius would be its reigning champion.

Now, about snapping—it’s not really his style. Julius won’t just flip the switch one day and show up at your door, eyes glowing with time-warping intent. No, he’s far too patient and calculating for that. He takes his time, crafting an intricate web where every thread is designed to lead you straight to him. If you’re imagining some dramatic, sudden outburst—forget it. What you should be worried about are those quiet, all-too-composed moments where he’s just smiling and nodding, because that’s when his brain is ticking like a well-wound clock, planning every step of your “future” together.

When he finally decides it’s time to make his move, rest assured, he’s not diving in without backup plans A through Z ready to go. By the time Julius “snaps,” he’s really just executing a plan that’s been in the works for ages, and by then, your chances of escape are slim to none. So don’t waste time worrying about him snapping like some unhinged maniac—it’s not the big breakdown you should be afraid of, but the steady, calculated build-up. All those daydreams he’s having about the two of you? He’s already way past imagining—it’s more like he’s making itinerary notes for your future.

Z = Zenith (Would they ever break their darling?)

For Julius, breaking you isn’t the goal at all. He’s not in this to shatter your spirit or leave you a hollow shell—he’s aiming for something far more insidious: a genuine connection, or at least what he thinks is genuine. But the trouble is, his methods are about as gentle as a sledgehammer wrapped in velvet. He might not intend to break you, but the relentless way he traps you in those exhausting, sanity-testing time loops as “punishment” does more damage than he probably realizes. In his mind, it’s all in the name of helping you understand his version of love and care—he’s not trying to hurt you; he’s just trying to make you see.

The irony is that resisting him for long enough means you might end up breaking yourself. Going through that same situation, conversation, or argument over and over—like a psychological treadmill from hell—would wear anyone down. It’s like trying to escape a maze only to find yourself back at the entrance every single time. Your defenses would start to crumble, your mental exhaustion would reach its peak, and you’d feel like you’re at your breaking point. But here’s where Julius’s bizarre form of compassion kicks in.

Julius understands, in his own twisted way, that these punishments are draining. He’s aware that if left unchecked, this psychological torture could actually destroy you—and that’s not what he wants. So in his post-punishment “cool-down phase,” he shifts gears, switching to comforting and reassuring you whether you want it or not. He’ll be there with a soothing voice and a gentle hand, convincing you that he’s doing this out of love, out of a desire to keep you safe, even if you despise him for it. He won’t let you completely tip over the edge because, in his mind, he’s there to be your savior, your protector—even if he’s the one creating your turmoil in the first place.

So while it feels like you’re always on the brink of breaking, like you’re balancing on a tightrope with no safety net, Julius keeps pulling you back just enough to keep you from falling completely. It’s a messed-up balancing act: you’re teetering, exhausted, and desperate for relief, but you never fully break because he’s always there to catch you, to hold you steady at that edge. It’s not freedom, not even close—but it’s his way of ensuring you stay whole, just enough to be his.

LUCIUS ZOGRATIS

A = Affection (How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?)

Lucius’ way of showing affection is like trying to hug a boa constrictor—tight, unyielding, and with the illusion that he's doing it for your own good. His love is rooted in his grandiose vision of creating a “perfect” world, and you, dear darling, are just another piece of that puzzle that he must polish to fit. He’s paradoxically both gentle and overwhelming. Imagine being wrapped in a silk glove that’s ever-so-slightly squeezing the life out of you. One minute, he’s all soft, lingering touches, fingers gliding over your skin like he’s crafting a masterpiece, whispering sweet nothings about your role in his ideal future. The next, his grip might tighten, a subtle but firm reminder that he’s the artist, and you are the art.

B = Blood (How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?)

Lucius doesn’t revel in bloodshed—he’s not here to get his hands dirty for the thrill of it. But if someone threatens his grip on you or his grand vision, they’ve practically handed him a permission slip for ruthless efficiency. Why waste time swinging when he can just manipulate souls? His Soul Magic makes violence almost boringly clinical—like he’s performing a minor surgery instead of altering their life, spirit, and magic power.

If it’s between keeping you by his side or letting a pesky obstacle stand in the way, Lucius won’t hesitate to do what he calls "cleaning up." And by "cleaning up," I mean he’ll just rearrange their soul and make them not be as a pesky obstacle as before, but now an obedient follower of his. He’s more surgeon than sadist, executing his violence with an almost unsettling sense of calm. There’s no splatter for splatter’s sake—just a surgical strike that leaves nothing but a memory in its wake.

But don’t mistake his preference for efficiency as a reluctance to get messy. If his control over you is at stake, he’s willing to go to any length to keep things tidy, even if that involves spilling a little blood—or a lot of it. His method is polished, but the results are as ruthless as they come.

C = Cruelty (How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?)

Lucius isn’t going to resort to something as pedestrian as outright mocking you. That’s not his style. He doesn’t need to throw petty insults or humiliate you outright—his cruelty is far more sophisticated, like a perfectly sharpened scalpel. Instead, he’ll meticulously dismantle your sense of self, piece by piece, until you genuinely believe he’s the only one who knows what’s best for you. Think of it as psychological warfare but with an air of twisted benevolence. He wants you to think he’s your savior, not your captor, all while he’s slowly tightening the chains.

Lucius is the master of emotional coercion, guilt-tripping, and gaslighting with a side of faux concern. You think you made a decision on your own? He’ll subtly remind you that, no, it was actually him who enlightened you to the “right choice.” You feel like pushing back a bit? He’ll sigh and tell you how disappointed he is. And don’t even think about disagreeing with him—it’s not that he’ll punish you with overt anger; he’ll just look at you with that disappointed, pitying gaze, as if to say, “Oh, how misguided you are to think you can question me.”

D = Darling (Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?)

Lucius isn’t the type to leave your free will intact if it inconveniences him. He’d rather meticulously construct a situation where your "choices" just happen to align perfectly with what he wants. You see, Lucius isn’t going to chase you down every time you try to rebel. Instead, he’ll craft a neat little reality around you where disobedience feels almost... impractical. He’s like that overbearing GPS that keeps saying, "Recalculating," but with a sinister smirk, making sure you only ever take the route he planned.

And let’s be clear—he’s not just putting up a few guardrails. We’re talking total control over your environment. Expect him to start chipping away at your connections to friends and family faster than you can say, “Hey, why haven’t I heard from them in a while?” He’ll isolate you, all while making it seem like he’s protecting you from those "unworthy influences." Before you know it, you’re depending on Lucius for every ounce of interaction, like your entire social life’s been relocated to one dude.

Restricting your movements? Oh, he’ll do that too—both figuratively and literally. Try to wander too far or question too much, and suddenly he’s there, gently redirecting you with that eerie "You don’t know what’s best for you—I do" look. He won’t lock you in a dungeon—that’s too obvious. Instead, he’ll subtly corral you into the life he envisions, all the while making you feel like this new “freedom” he’s given you is a reward for your cooperation. It’s like he’s got a monopoly on your entire existence, and you didn’t even realize you were playing Monopoly in the first place.

And while all of this is happening, Lucius will maintain that level-headed, smug facade, as if gaslighting you into compliance is his way of showing love. Because, in his mind, molding you into his ideal companion isn’t just a desire—it’s his way of showing you your "true potential." Really, isn’t that the worst part? He honestly believes he’s doing you a favor. It’s like if a life coach got way too into your personal life and then decided to stay there... forever.

E = Exposed (How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?)

Lucius baring his heart? Please. This man doesn’t just hide his cards—he’s got them locked in a vault with security clearance. Vulnerability is not in his playbook, and he doesn’t feel the need to let you in on his deepest fears or insecurities. Instead, he opts for the grand, sweeping gestures of devotion that feel almost like a politician’s campaign speech. He’s all about selling you on a dream—his dream—where you’re his perfect partner, standing by his side as he "revolutionizes" the world (or, you know, controls it, but he wouldn’t phrase it that way).

Lucius isn't about confessions; he’s about convictions. He’s not sitting you down for some heart-to-heart where he spills his childhood traumas and secret anxieties. Nah, he’s sweeping you up in these grandiose promises, like he’s the protagonist in some tragically romantic opera, whispering about destiny and greatness with an air of suave authority. Call him a smooth operator—because he really is one. I mean, you could play Sade in the background, and it would probably just feel right. (🎵No need to ask, he’s a smoooth operatoooorr... 🎵 You know the song. You get it. Do I sound like a loser yet.)

To him, his version of vulnerability is trusting you enough to buy into his vision. That’s about as bare as his heart gets. Instead of crying on your shoulder, he’s the type to look deep into your eyes and say, “Together, we’ll reshape this flawed world”—like it’s some kind of love declaration. Emotion, to him, is just another tool to wield, another smooth line to draw you in closer. And he’s dangerously good at it, like a salesman who knows exactly which insecurities to poke at so you’ll buy that overpriced insurance plan.

And when it comes to being “vulnerable,” Lucius isn’t trying to share his fears—he’s trying to share his certainty. He’d never confess to a weak spot, because in his mind, having one is almost beneath him. Vulnerability, after all, implies you have something to lose, and Lucius? He’s above all that. He doesn't need to break down walls when he’s too busy building castles in the air—castles where he’s the king, and you’re meant to stay locked away, admiring the view.

F = Fight (How would they feel if their darling fought back?)

Oh, Lucius would find it downright adorable if you tried to fight back. Imagine a cat lazily watching a mouse try to scramble away—it’s almost endearing to him that you’d entertain the idea of resistance. He’s not going to lose his cool; in fact, he’s amused. Like, “Oh, look at you trying to assert your independence—how precious.” To him, your rebellion isn’t a threat; it’s just another bump on the road to your inevitable enlightenment.

Lucius views your resistance as a misguided phase, like you’re a rebellious teenager acting out because you haven’t grasped the bigger picture. In his mind, you’re simply wrestling with your own ignorance, and it’s his job to guide you towards acceptance. He won’t lash out or lose his temper—no, that’s beneath him. Instead, he’ll just subtly tighten his grip, metaphorically speaking.

Open rebellion would be met with that signature Lucius approach: a gentle but unyielding restraint, like velvet shackles. He’s the type to softly say, “You’re only hurting yourself,” while making it clear that resistance is pointless. He’d see this little rebellion of yours as something to manage, like a storm that he knows will pass. He’s patient enough to wait it out, firm enough to hold his ground, and calculating enough to subtly nudge you back into line without breaking a sweat.

G = Game (Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?)

Lucius wouldn’t call it a game—he’s far too self-important for that. In his eyes, this isn’t a playful chase; it’s more like a refinement process. Your attempts to escape or resist aren’t a source of outright joy, but rather, validation of his own self-appointed mission to "perfect" you. Your struggle is proof to him that you’re still not seeing the light, which only reinforces his belief that he, and only he, is capable of guiding you towards that enlightenment.

But don’t get it twisted—there’s definitely a little smirk hiding behind that stoic mask of his. He’s not cackling like a cartoon villain, but deep down, there’s a twisted satisfaction in knowing that you’re trying and failing to break free. It’s the intellectual thrill of having a puzzle to solve. He sees you as a challenge, a work of art that isn’t quite complete yet, and he’s the artist holding the brush.

Lucius enjoys watching you resist, not because he takes pleasure in your suffering (he’s not that overtly sadistic), but because it feeds his ego. He interprets each failed attempt at escape as further evidence of your imperfection—a flaw that he must correct. It’s like watching a child trying to color outside the lines; he finds it endearing, even admirable in its own misguided way, but he’s fully committed to making sure you stay within those lines. In his head, he’s your savior, guiding you away from your own ignorance.

And, of course, he’s got that "I told you so" energy just waiting to drop the moment you realize the futility of it all. He won’t rub it in your face, but he’ll have that air of subtle superiority. "See?" he’d say, with that maddeningly calm voice. "This is why you need me." It’s not exactly a game, but he certainly enjoys being the only one who knows all the rules.

H = Hell (What would be their darling's worst experience with them?)

Your worst experience with Lucius wouldn’t be a single dramatic moment, like an outburst or a locked room—it would be the slow, creeping realization of just how much control he has over every part of your life. He leaves no detail overlooked, no thread loose. One day, it’ll hit you that every little bit of "freedom" you thought you had was an illusion, and every rebellion you plotted was something he anticipated ten moves ago. He’s essentially playing chess while you’re stuck with a Rubik’s Cube, and he’s somehow rigged that too.

The real nightmare isn’t just the physical cage; it’s the mental one. Imagine realizing that all your options, all your allies, and all your potential escapes were subtly cut off, one by one, without you even noticing. You’re isolated, surrounded by an ever-tightening web of manipulations and lies, all crafted by someone who genuinely believes he’s saving you from yourself. It’s like finding out your house has been bugged for years by the person who hands you the keys each day with a smile.

But, of course, Lucius wouldn’t stop at that. One of the weekly specials on the Lucius Manipulation Menu would be his "playful" teasing about his Soul Magic. He’d drop it into conversation like a casual remark, mentioning how he could manipulate the souls of the people you care about most. It’s almost like he’s dangling that possibility over your head, watching to see your reaction. It’s the ultimate "Just kidding... unless?" routine. And even if you tell yourself it’s all just talk, the thought of your loved ones being turned into Lucius’ puppets? That sticks with you. It’s a psychological hammer he’s always holding over you, ready to swing if you step out of line.

The worst part? Deep down, you know that this isn't just an empty threat. He already knows exactly who you care about and how much, and he’s not afraid to use that knowledge against you. He’ll smile and say he’s just teasing, but with Lucius, every joke is laced with the possibility of it becoming reality. Keep pushing him, and who knows? That nightmare scenario of seeing a friend or family member turned into one of his obedient followers might just come true.

Imagine the heart-wrenching feeling of watching someone you love look at you with empty, compliant eyes—all because you thought you could push back against Lucius. It’s psychological warfare, with Lucius playing both the aggressor and the savior in his twisted little mind. And that, my friend, is pure hell.

I = Ideals (What kind of future do they have in mind for/ with their darling?)

Lucius’ dream future isn’t just a cozy cottage with a white picket fence. No, we’re talking world domination with a side of soulmate goals. His ultimate vision is to bring “true peace” to the world under his iron-fisted rule as the Final Wizard King, with you at his side as the perfect partner. And when I say "at his side," I mean more like his arm candy-slash-right-hand in this dystopian peace project. Forget romantic beach sunsets; think more along the lines of overlooking a perfectly ordered empire where every single person is molded to fit his definition of perfection. Ah, romance!

Lucius genuinely sees the two of you as a power couple—the sort that reshapes the world together. While he’s out there "purging imperfections" and ruling with divine authority, he expects you to be his unwavering support, his confidant, the one person worthy of standing at his side in this shiny new utopia. It’s not just about love, per se; it’s about unity in a grand vision, like you’re Bonnie and Clyde except Clyde controls life and death and has a thing for social engineering.

And don’t think you’re getting off easy in this future—he’s got very specific expectations of what this partnership should look like. You’re not just an accessory; you’re his proof that his way is the right way. He imagines the two of you as the embodiment of order and perfection, ruling over this so-called paradise he plans to create. You’ll smile approvingly at his every decree, nod in agreement when he lectures about his higher purpose, and maybe—just maybe—hold his hand as he declares peace to the masses he’s, uh, "perfected."

In Lucius’ mind, this isn’t just a power fantasy; it’s a destiny he’s generously letting you be a part of. Lucky you, right? He’s convinced that once you fully embrace his vision, you’ll be just as devoted to this future as he is. After all, what’s more romantic than ruling the world together in a meticulously crafted utopia, where every rebellious soul has been neatly dealt with? Who needs candlelight dinners when you can have the eternal glow of world peace and unwavering loyalty?

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?)

Jealousy? Oh, Lucius doesn’t have time for such petty emotions. He’s way too busy planning to become the Final Wizard King to let a little thing like envy get under his skin. He’s not sitting there stewing because someone else got a smile out of you or made you laugh. Lucius is above that.

But make no mistake: just because he doesn’t throw jealous tantrums doesn’t mean he’s totally indifferent. Lucius’ possessiveness isn’t driven by insecure jealousy; it’s rooted in his self-righteous belief that only he understands what’s best for you. You’re his project, his masterpiece in progress, and he’ll be damned if some outside force messes with that. Anyone trying to influence or take up space in your life? Yeah, that’s just an annoying little speed bump on the road to his perfect future.

If someone gets too close or starts tugging at your independence, Lucius won’t be flipping tables or throwing out dramatic ultimatums. No, no—he’ll quietly and efficiently eliminate the competition, like sweeping crumbs off the table. Imagine he’s a master chess player, and whoever’s making you smile a little too much is just a pawn in his way. He’ll rearrange circumstances to remove that “threat” without you even realizing it. Maybe that friend moves away, or that co-worker suddenly gets transferred. He’s not lashing out in a fit of rage; he’s methodically tightening his grip on your life while maintaining that unnervingly calm smirk of his.

And why doesn’t he lash out? Because Lucius is secure in his belief that his hold over you is already ironclad. He’s so convinced of his control that he doesn’t see other people as competition—just minor nuisances to be managed. In his mind, no one else is worthy of you, no one else can offer the “enlightenment” he can, and no one else can possibly sway you from the path he’s set for you. So, why waste energy on jealousy when he’s already five steps ahead of everyone else?

K = Kisses (How do they act around or with their darling?)

Lucius doesn’t suddenly switch gears and act like a giggling high schooler when you’re around. He’s still got that intense, calculated presence—except with you, there’s this extra layer of possessiveness wrapped in a cool, collected demeanor. He’s not the type to whisper sweet nothings in your ear or give you playful little pecks. His idea of intimacy involves more of a quiet, commanding closeness that lets everyone know you’re his.

People around him can tell instantly that you’re not just another pawn in his grand plan. You’re something more—a critical piece of his vision, someone he sees as an extension of himself. Lucius doesn’t try to sugarcoat it either; there’s no facade of “Oh, we’re just partners in this journey of life.” Nah, everyone and their grandma knows you’re more than that to him. He doesn’t even bother pretending that you’re on equal footing—he’s got that possessive aura turned up to eleven, and he’s not hiding it.

And why would he? Who’s going to call out the all-powerful, soul-manipulating, future-ruling mastermind for being a little overbearing with his partner? Exactly, no one. It’s not that he’s outwardly aggressive about it; it’s more like the possessiveness is so deeply woven into his character that it feels natural for him to treat you like a prized possession in the gallery of his perfect world.

So while Lucius might not be all about sweet kisses and innocent gestures, he’ll place a hand on your shoulder in a way that speaks volumes, like silently reminding you and everyone else who’s in charge. His actions aren’t loud, but they don’t need to be—his grip on you is as subtle as it is unyielding. It’s not romantic in the traditional sense, but for Lucius, it’s all part of letting you and the rest of the world know exactly where you belong: at his side, under his rule, in his version of paradise. 🎉

L = Love letters (How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?)

Lucius’ idea of courtship isn’t flowers and chocolates; it’s more like a TED Talk on why you’re the keystone in his grand mission. He’s not the type to swoon or stammer over his words—oh no. When he approaches you, it’s with the confidence of a man who’s already calculated every possible outcome and knows you’re going to be part of his life. And if he chooses to write you a letter? You’d better believe it’s going to read like a mix between a philosophical manifesto and a business proposal.

In typical Lucius fashion, he wouldn’t start with “Dear love” or “You’re the light of my life.” Instead, it would be something like, “In you, I have discovered the necessary component to achieving true peace.” Talk about romance! But hey, he’s got a vision, and you’re smack-dab in the middle of it. He’d lay out his admiration for your qualities not as a starry-eyed lover but as someone acknowledging a key asset in his grand design. Basically, Lucius’ version of “I love you” is more like, “You are indispensable to the perfection of this world.”

If you’re expecting compliments on your eyes or how lovely you looked that one day, forget it. His words are grandiose, with a touch of that almost cult-leader-like conviction. He’ll go on these long, eloquent monologues about your “significance” and how your role aligns perfectly with his destiny. It’s not flattery in the traditional sense—it’s more like he’s handing you the script for your role in his self-written narrative. No pressure, right?

And while he might not shower you with declarations of undying affection, his words would make it abundantly clear that he sees you as a vital piece of his world. He’s not just saying “I need you,” but more like, “You are essential to the future I will create, and together, we will bring forth a new era.” So romantic, in a vaguely threatening, “join me or perish” sort of way…

M = Mask (Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?)

No.

Nope. Not even a little bit. Lucius isn’t out here juggling different personas like he’s in a soap opera. What you see is what you get, and that’s the same calculating, self-assured, and slightly terrifying visionary in every setting. Why would he bother putting on a mask when he’s absolutely convinced that he’s already right about, well, everything?

Lucius walks into a room with that "Final Boss" energy, and he doesn’t turn it off just because the audience changes. He’s not going to smile more to put someone at ease or crack a joke to lighten the mood. There’s just no mask to peel away. Lucius doesn’t see the need to hide his true self, because in his mind, his true self is the ultimate truth. And if people are uncomfortable with that, well, they’re just not seeing the bigger picture.

N = Naughty (How would they punish their darling?)

For Lucius, punishment isn’t about causing you physical pain—it’s about a “course correction” in line with his grand vision. He’s not going to lose his cool and lash out at you in anger or frustration; Lucius sees that as a waste of time and effort. Why would he bother bruising your arm when he can bruise your spirit and realign your thinking instead?

If you step out of line or fail to meet his expectations, Lucius’ go-to punishment would be isolation—cutting you off from any sense of independence or connection you might have left. He might lock you away in a grandiose, almost monastery-like room where you’re left to reflect on your mistakes, with nothing but silence to keep you company. No visits, no communication, no freedom—just a constant, suffocating reminder that he’s the only person in your world who matters.

It’s not physical harm—it’s deprivation of everything that makes you feel human. Your agency, your choices, your connections—they’re all privileges that Lucius grants, and he can revoke them just as easily. The psychological weight of it is immense, and that’s the point. He doesn’t want to just punish you; he wants to reform you, make you understand that defiance isn’t just a mistake—it’s a deviation from the path he’s so kindly laid out for you.

At his most “severe,” Lucius might resort to a firm grip, just to emphasize his dominance and remind you of who’s in control. But even then, it’s more about sending a message than inflicting actual pain. Why break you down physically when he can dismantle you mentally, piece by piece, and rebuild you into the perfect companion for his vision?

In short, Lucius’ punishments are carefully crafted exercises in psychological dominance. He wants you to understand the extent of his control, to feel that your entire existence is tied to his approval. And by the end of it, you’ll be questioning if your defiance was ever worth it, or if freedom is just another illusion in the perfectly constructed world he’s created for you.

O = Oppression (How many rights would they take away from their darling?)

Lucius wouldn’t just show up and say, “Hey, guess what? You’re no longer a free person.” No, his methods are much more insidious and calculated. He’s the kind of guy who’d frame each new restriction as a favor, something he’s doing for your own good. He’d tell you it’s all to keep you safe, enlightened, and on the path to perfection. It’s like being caged in gold bars—looks pretty, but you’re still trapped.

Lucius’ approach would be gradual. At first, it might just be limiting who you talk to, convincing you that certain people are “distractions” or “unfit influences” on your growth. Then, maybe he’d start scheduling your days to align with what he believes is best for you. As time goes on, these restrictions multiply like rabbits until, before you know it, you’re in a psychological straitjacket. Even your thoughts start to feel like they’re on a leash.

He wouldn’t go for outright physical restraints because, honestly, Lucius doesn’t think he needs them. His control is so overwhelming that he’d rather manipulate your mind and emotions into a state of dependency, making you almost grateful for the structure he’s imposed. It’s not just about taking away your physical freedoms—it’s about reshaping your reality to fit his narrative. In his mind, you’re not losing rights; you’re gaining purpose. How thoughtful!

But if—and it’s a big “if”—you cooperate with him genuinely and truthfully (and he’ll know if you’re faking it), Lucius would ease up on the restrictions. He might even give you back “most” of your freedoms, like a benevolent ruler granting privileges to a loyal subject. You’d still never get full autonomy, though. Let’s not kid ourselves; in Lucius’ world, true freedom is the freedom to agree with him, and anything beyond that is just chaos.

Overall, you might get some breathing room if you play along, but Lucius is always going to keep a tight leash on the bigger picture. After all, he’s not just managing your life—he’s saving the world, and you’ve got a part to play in that whether you like it or not.

P = Patience (How patient are they with their darling?)

Lucius isn’t just patient—he’s practically the epitome of patience. Think of him as a human chess master who already knows how the game will end, no matter how many moves you make to try and outsmart him. He’s not rushing because, in his mind, your resistance is just a temporary obstacle in the grand plan he’s set for you. You throwing a fit is like a kid throwing sand at the tide—ineffectual and almost cute to him.

You could hurl every insult in the book, scream until you’re hoarse, or try every last wrestling move you’ve seen, and Lucius would barely flinch. He’s got the patience of a monk combined with the smugness of someone who knows he’s already won. If anything, your outbursts just seem to reinforce his belief that you’re not yet “enlightened,” so he’s more than willing to wait out the storm. After all, why would he let a cute, lovely little thing like your rebellion ruffle his feathers?

That’s the maddening part—he never loses his cool. You could literally slap him, and he’d still be standing there, looking down at you with that same composed, slightly amused expression like you’re acting out a scene he’s already memorized. It’s almost as if he’s silently challenging you to try harder because deep down, he finds your defiance more of a mild inconvenience than a genuine threat.

Honestly, it’d drive you crazy. It’s like trying to fight a brick wall that occasionally lectures you on why resisting is pointless. That patience? It’s not just a personality trait—it’s a weapon. A weapon he wields with precision to wear down your will until resistance feels as exhausting as arguing with someone who thinks pineapple on pizza is non-negotiable. Your resistance is a formality, a box to check off on his way to reshaping you into the perfect piece of his grand design. And he’s got all the time in the world to let you figure that out.

Q = Quit (If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?)

Let’s get one thing straight: for Lucius, the concept of you “dying” is laughably moot. I mean, really, it’s a non-issue. Thanks to his powers, he can revive you from the most gruesome fates—fatal wounds, near-dismemberment, anything. In his eyes, you’re practically immortal. So unless you spontaneously combust while trying to flee, he’s not letting go that easily.

Now, as for escaping? Good luck with that. The moment you think you can slip away, Lucius will dispatch an army of clones and his Paladins. They’ll be scouring every corner of existence to bring you back, because in Lucius’ twisted logic, you’re not just a person; you’re a vital part of his grand scheme. Spoiler alert: they WILL find you. He’s the sort of guy who has contingencies for your contingencies, and his persistence is truly a sight to behold.

So let’s be real: the whole idea of him moving on is laughable. There’s no “what if” scenario here; the thought of you escaping or being lost to him is about as likely as Lucius turning into a puppy. He’s more likely to turn every corner of the world upside down in search of you, employing every method at his disposal until he has you right back in his grasp. You’re stuck in this elaborate game of emotional chess, and there’s no checkmate in sight until he decides it’s over.

The only real hope for escape lies in a heroic intervention, like Anti-Magic Asta swooping in like some over-the-top action hero to save the day. But until that happens, forget about quitting or getting away. You’re in Lucius’ world now, and the rules are all his.

R = Regret (Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?)

Oh sweet summer child, if you think Lucius would ever feel guilty about abducting you, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention. In his world, he’s like a knight in shining armor—except the armor is made of manipulation, and the shining part is just his unshakeable belief that he’s the savior of this twisted story. To him, your abduction isn’t a crime; it’s a necessity. He’s saving you from the chaos and flaws of the world outside, and he views his actions as a kindness—like taking a cat off the street and then refusing to let it go because, let’s face it, it just can’t take care of itself.

Regret? Guilt? Those words might as well be in a different language for Lucius. He’s convinced that he’s doing you a favor by keeping you close, and he’ll definitely remind you of that whenever you express any desire to escape. You see, in his mind, letting you go is as absurd as handing over the keys to a sports car to someone who can’t even reach the pedals. You’re integral to his grand plan, and he doesn’t just mean you’re some interchangeable pawn on his chessboard; you’re the queen, and he’s not about to trade that piece away for anything.

So if you’re imagining some heartfelt moment where he pauses and reflects on the morality of his choices, you can forget about it. That’s not happening. Instead, he’ll probably double down, pulling out his smoothest lines about how it’s all for your own good, and how lucky you are to have him as a guide.

Letting you go? Now that’s just funny. If you think he’s going to open the door and say, “Okay, you’re free to go, my darling,” you’re about as mistaken as a mime trying to order a cheeseburger. He’ll hold onto you tighter than a kid gripping their last cookie in a room full of friends. You’re not just a part of his life; you’re the centerpiece of his meticulously crafted plan for world peace.

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

His overwhelming desire to “improve” you mirrors his quest to perfect the world around him. Picture a painter with a vision so grand that they can’t help but see every imperfection as a flaw to be corrected, and you’ll start to grasp where he’s coming from…

T = Tears (How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

To Lucius, those tears are not signs of weakness; they’re just proof that you haven’t quite accepted your role in his meticulously crafted vision. It’s like he’s been waiting for you to see the light, but instead, you’re still fumbling around in the dark. He views your pain as confirmation of the world’s corruption, reinforcing his unwavering belief that he alone possesses the key to your salvation. In his mind, every tear you shed is just another layer of the flawed reality he’s determined to erase. So, while you’re thinking, “I’m a hot mess right now” he’s over there with his metaphorical clipboard, taking notes and strategizing on how to guide you back to the path he believes is right.

U = Unique (Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?)

Lucius stands apart from your classic yandere archetype like a fine wine at a party full of boxed beverages. While many yanderes are often characterized by wild emotions, impulsive decisions, and an insatiable craving for their darling's attention—think of them as the love-struck tornadoes—Lucius operates with a cool, calculated precision that borders on eerie.

For Lucius, love isn’t just a feeling; it’s a meticulously orchestrated strategy aimed at achieving his vision of a perfect world. He’s not driven by mere passion or jealousy but by a steadfast belief in a future where you play a pivotal role. Instead of relying on chaotic whims and emotional outbursts, he’s more like an architect sketching out blueprints, ensuring that every element fits seamlessly into his grand design.

While your average yandere might resort to dramatic gestures—like stalking, melodramatic threats, or even impulsive violence—Lucius opts for subtler methods. He’ll employ psychological manipulation, social isolation, and emotional coercion like a seasoned chess player maneuvering their pieces across the board. He sees every interaction as a move toward the endgame he’s envisioned, where you’re not just a passive participant but a vital component of his master plan.

This calculated approach means he’s not just obsessed with you in the traditional sense; he views you as a unique puzzle piece essential for his envisioned utopia. He’s not out to cause chaos for the sake of chaos; rather, he’s on a mission to “save” you from the flaws he believes the world has imposed upon you. So if you think of your typical yandere as a whirlwind of emotions, Lucius is more like a storm that’s been perfectly predicted, with every gust of wind and drop of rain serving a specific purpose in his eyes.

V = Vice (What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?)

His greatest weakness is, quite ironically, his own towering ego and his unwavering conviction in his ideals. He’s like a walking billboard for self-assuredness, strutting around with the kind of confidence that could make a peacock jealous. You might think, “Great! I can totally use that against him!” But here’s the kicker: it’s not as easy as it sounds.

See, while his ego is a glaring flaw, it also acts like a protective shield, completely insulating him from doubt. He’s so convinced that he’s the master architect of a perfect future that any attempts to exploit this weakness will likely bounce right off him like a rubber ball. You could try to shake his confidence by questioning his plans or pointing out flaws in his grand design, but he’ll just smile that smug little smile and dismiss your concerns as naive, silly ramblings. It’s almost impressive how firmly he believes in his own infallibility. In a nutshell, your chances of exploiting Lucius’ vice for a successful escape are pretty slim—very slim. Sucks to be you, huh?

W = Wit's end (Would they ever hurt their darling?)

When it comes to Lucius, the idea of him hurting you is far from the chaotic, reckless violence you might expect from other characters in the yandere genre. Instead, his approach is a meticulously calculated maneuver. If he ever resorts to hurting you, it’s not out of rage or whimsy; it’s a carefully considered act intended to teach you a lesson about the consequences of disobedience, a lesson closer to molding you into his perfect lover for the new era he’s planning to create.

As for physical harm, Lucius will only ever resort to a firm grip, to reinforce his point or to remind you of his control. It’s less about inflicting pain and more about establishing dominance. He won’t be throwing punches or engaging in dramatic confrontations; instead, he’ll assert his authority in subtle yet powerful ways. He thrives on the knowledge that he can manipulate the situation to keep you in check, all while maintaining that charming demeanor of his.

So while Lucius may not physically hurt you in the traditional sense, the psychological scars he leaves behind can cut deeper than any knife ever could. In his eyes, hurting you is a necessary evil, a step in the process of molding you into the companion he believes you should be.

X = Xoanon (How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?)

Lucius doesn’t quite revere you in the typical, candlelight-dinner-and-flower-petals kind of way. Instead, he sees you as a vital component of his grand design—an irreplaceable vessel for his vision of a perfect world. Think of it this way: to him, you’re not just a person; you’re the keystone in the arch of his ambitions, and he’ll do everything in his power to ensure that you fit snugly into that role.

His “worship” is less about adoration and more about control. He doesn’t bow down or sing your praises; rather, he orchestrates your life as if you’re a piece on his chessboard. He believes that by reshaping you, he’s doing you a favor. In his mind, this isn’t just manipulation; it’s a profound act of love—though it's a love that feels more like a gilded cage than a romantic fairy tale…

So what lengths would he go to win you over? Imagine a meticulous architect ensuring every beam and support is in place to create a flawless structure. Lucius would cut off access to your friends and family, restricting your movements and molding your thoughts to align with his ideals. He’d shower you with grand promises of a better world if you only surrender your will to him. Every act of control is couched in this twisted reverence, as he believes he’s guiding you to enlightenment.

His lengths are vast and thorough, employing every tactic at his disposal—from emotional manipulation to subtle coercion—because in his mind, any means justify the end goal: you becoming the perfect partner in his quest for a utopia. So, while you may not find him kneeling before you, he certainly sees you as a treasure to be safeguarded.

Y = Yearn (How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?)

Lucius isn’t the type to suddenly “snap” like a character in a drama who loses their cool all at once. Nope, he’s way too composed and strategic for that. Remember, patience is his thing. He plays the long game, seeing your resistance as a temporary hurdle on the road to what he believes is inevitable acceptance.

Lucius would never show desperation or impulsiveness, even if it feels like it’s taking forever to get you to fall in line. It’s almost eerie how collected he remains, waiting as you resist, plot, or even openly rebel. He’s that guy who could be waiting for the stars to align, and he wouldn’t flinch once.

Instead of snapping, he slowly tightens his grip, all while maintaining a serene demeanor that’s somehow more unsettling than someone who flies off the handle. If anything, your continued resistance only fuels his belief that he’s right to keep pushing, right to reshape you for “your own good.” He’d say, with that ever-so-slightly patronizing smirk, “It’s only natural for you to struggle—it shows you’re still finding your way. But don’t worry, I have all the time in the world.”

There’s literally no snapping point for Lucius because his patience is practically unbreakable. He doesn’t have a dramatic breaking moment—he’s like water, slowly wearing away at a rock until it’s shaped exactly the way he wants it.

Z = Zenith (Would they ever break their darling?)

Lucius isn’t actively trying to crush your spirit into dust—at least not in a straightforward, malicious way. His endgame isn’t about making you a shattered shell but transforming you into what he sees as your “ideal self,” molded to fit neatly into his grand vision. In his mind, breaking you isn’t breaking at all; it’s refining you, burning away all those pesky imperfections that keep you from seeing things his way.

However, because Lucius’ methods are so intense and unrelenting, achieving that level of transformation might mean pushing you to the edge or beyond. He views it as a necessary sacrifice, like pruning a tree to help it grow properly. If you end up emotionally drained or feeling like you’ve lost yourself, Lucius wouldn’t see that as cruelty. He’d see it as progress, another step toward perfection.

To sum it up: Lucius wouldn’t set out to break you, but he’s perfectly fine if that’s the collateral damage of “perfecting” you.

[weebsinstash]

I just have to say I'm absolutely loving your yandere Thragg & Nolan stuff! Keep it up & I hope you have a nice day!! ♡

Thank you! And, also, gonna be using this post to talk about more yandere Thragg stuff because I was refreshing my knowledge on the comics and my YTShorts feeds are now filled with Invincible lore recommendations and, jesus I forgot how fucking nasty this man is

first off I'm using this image to just help kind of visualize how much of a unit this man is. Like. He's probably something crazy like 6'6 at the very shortest, maybe like 6'8, 6'9. But. Um. He's scary. He's tough. Viltrumites get tougher the longer they're alive and he's, not THE oldest Viltrumite but, maybe he's in like the top 10? But I think there's only something like an odd, less than 50 number of pure blooded Viltrumites left anyways lmao

Which is then my transition to "dealing with yandad Thragg as his child could be an absolute nightmare especially if you don't have powers"

Dying on my hill of "even if you do have powers he's super fucking possessive over who you're choosing as a mate or even just dating" because there's layers of 1. He has his own massive ego and your actions reflect on him and anyone you bring into the family will benefit from his lineage and achievements and he's defensive about who reaps those bounties or may even be suspicious of political intentions 2. If he hypothetically does let you date he needs to pre approve them first and I'm sure you can imagine how that goes and 3. .... you're his widdle baby, can't you spend more time with dad :( shut up about finding love, why can't you crush skulls with him? "Child why can't we go slaughter alien civilizations together like we used to 😩"

The last paragraph made me think of "Thragg with a child Reader who's actually a really spunky tough kid and he like is so proud of you and you guys have like An Actually Good Relationship (for Thragg's capacity to love anyways) but as you get older you start having ideological differences and you want more freedom but he just wants you to be Daddys Favorite Little Killing Machine for the rest of your life". Like you're just giving Thragg the cold shoulder because he won't let you leave the planet without his personal escort anymore and meanwhile here's thragg hovering over you with his arms crossed, internally scowl-pouting as he remembers The Good Old Days when you were like 6 and ran up to him, "Dad, Dad, look!! this is a note from my teacher praising me for how well I beat up another student! She says I'm 'extremely proficient at bludgeoning'! Did I do a good job?" "You did an EXCELLENT job. It says here the boy needed medical attention." "Yeah, he had to be sent to the hospital! His legs were totally bent the wrong ways! He shouldnt have tried to steal my toy!" "Fine work; you should never allow anyone to take what is yours. We shall feast tonight in celebration." And he pet your hair and you flew up to his chest height to give him a crushing hug. And nowadays you're like. The Viltrumite equivalent of being in your early adult years and everything is extremely cold and impersonal and you call him nothing other than Grand Regent and he "maybe" just wants his eager confident prideful Affectionate child back because all he has now is. A child that hates him and will barely make eye contact with him and will never accept his praise or medals for your achievements.

Like imagine being a notoriously powerful Viltrumite and you're actually widely accepted but him being controlling of you throughout your childhood eventually gave you a complex. Thragg summons you to like praise you for like, subjugating a nearby galaxy, and asks what you would like for a reward, and you just coolly reply some shit like "There's nothing you could offer that I want, Grand Regent" like you hate him so much you don't even want gifts from this man

AND THE DELICIOUS DRAMA OF, imagine if he finds out that while you hate him and want nothing to do with him, maybe you've become extremely attached to Nolan or some other older father figure in his place

THE SHIT THAT GOES DOWN IF THRAGG EVER HEARS YOU CALL NOLAN OR ANYONE ELSE "DAD" like the cosmic level beef that goes on, the BLOODSHED. Jesus. Imagine being on Earth and you've got Dad Nolan or he's like declared himself your dad/mentor and he sees you bonding with another human male who's a father figure and you call that man dad, like. That man is going missing and Uncle Sam is erasing his existence from the records just, gone.

Side note actually, idea for something yandere viltrumites do with a viltrumite/hybrid reader: loving to bear hug you super hard? Like almost painfully but they won't break anything. Just. Imagine yandad Nolan or Thragg or Mark with like, a lil sibling/ child/ age regressed Reader or whatever and you're having like, hugging contests to see who can hug the hardest, and play wrestling shit idk. Imagine the infamously grumpy genocidal Thragg and then here's his like 4 year old wanting to play wrestle and trying to pin him and you're no match for him of course but like it's not, real, he's "gently" deflecting you or breaking your hold but still actually praising you in that, Thragg dad way, "your stance is too weak to take down an opponent of my size, but you're improving" " your siblings usually tire by now; you seem to have more endurance than most of my other children your age. Excellent" and then your little baby mouth gives him a kiss on the cheek and he has to go subjugate another planet to feel manly again.

I feel like yandad Thragg and Nolan are unironically those characters that are like, they could be in the middle of a war zone and they're easily winning and you go upstairs to see what they're thinking about, surely they're thinking about something serious, and it's just "I need to hurry this up and get back to my child" or "I wonder what my little warrior is doing right now" like straight up like the father from Father I Don't Want This Marriage

Yandere Thragg and Nolan are all "oh it's part of the Viltrum way to mate and procreate and boost our numbers" and Reader comes along "hey dad this is my new boyfriend--" and suddenly they turn into like, Christian fundamentalists. "Um actually that Viltrumite male is even older than I am 🤓 you are still so young and should be enjoying the fruits of your youth 🤓 you are too young to have children"

I feel like though like if you ever did manage to sneak off and get pregnant or get someone else pregnant that, specifically Nolan would adore his new grand baby and would do anything for this chubby cutie 🥺❤️ also imagine the horror if he's not even your blood dad, just obsessive self proclaimed stalker yandere shit, but you can't run away from him and he's finds you and your baby and instantly declares himself grandpa, like. Now you have to worry about protecting yourself and your baby from "PawPaw"

So like. Future spoilers I guess? Not super significant in my opinion, but, there's a period of time where there's like a truce of sorts between Earth and Viltrum, right, to keep it vague and less spoiler heavy. Imagine being like, Nolan's kid, or adopted kid, or like, neighbor who turned out to be a hybrid that he yoinked into his house or whatever, and like, after there's been some fighting, Thragg is impressed with your strength and potential and seems to be scouting you out a little. Now you've got TWO older Viltrumite males trying to father you, "my apologies Grand Regent but I was just about to take this one out to teach them how to fly better" "that is unnecessary; i shall be the one to tutor the youngling" meanwhile you're just like uhhhhh I'm not actually a big fan of how EITHER of you treat me-"

bruhhhh all hell breaks loose when you finally lose it and fly straight off the planet to try and start a new life elsewhere without them cuz then these two are TEAMING UP and they're feeding into each other, "I bet they were convinced to leave by that one male, the one who we had to warn before" "and that's why you're weak Nolan. I wanted to kill him but you didn't want to hurt the youth's feelings, and now what's happened? They're probably eloping as we speak" "no, I won't make the same mistake twice. He'll die a slow death"

You're on like some alien planet surrounded by like simple little ewoks or some shit who treat you like a water god because you dug a well for them or something and here comes Thragg and Nolan touchdown slamming onto the planet's surface and leaving craters behind, scaring the birds, the animals, your new little cute alien friends huddling behind you for protection, and you're getting SCOLDED SCOLDED. like one minute your new little like moogle friend is teaching you how to bake some kind of bread and the next minute, "AND JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOURE DOING HERE" and you're jumping to see two pissed pissed PISSED Viltrumites

"O-oh, uh, I thought I made it clear when I left--"

"The only thing that you've made clear is that you're too unpredictable and naive to be left alone"

"What were you THINKING?! You could've gotten lost, hurt, captured, or worse! And leaving Viltrum for, what?! Are these your pets? We can enslave a few and take them with us if you like em so much"

"If you EVER leave without my permission as Grand Regent again I'll reduce whatever backwater rock you stumble off to into nothing more than rubble floating through the stars, is that understood?"

"..."

"Answer him!"

'*sigh* yes, sirs"

"That's FATHER to you"

" - and Dad!"

[mothwingwritings]

Is it bad that on the hanmacest story I kind of want someone to break the ashtray and Yujiro just losing his shit? Like some dude comes up talking shut to Yujiro, sees the shitty ashtray and just breaks it. ~Cue record scratch~ then the next thing we know is yujiro slamming this was joke through a wall. The thought amuses me so much!

this is not a ask btw, please don’t take it as me wanting to push it on you. I’m just really enjoying the set up of this entire dumpster fire of a family and I keep on imagining stupid shit.

I love the idea. TBH I feel like if someone even tried to smash it their hand would be demolished before even coming in contact with it. Like, bones turned to dust, hand looking like an empty toothpaste tube for even making an attempt to approach the damn thing. Not even Yujiro himself understands why he’s so territorial of it-it’s just some stupid trinket that can be easily replaced by something more substantial and of much nicer quality-but the thought of some grimy, piece of shit, nobody laying their dirty hands on something YOU made for him just really really gets to him going.

And god forbid said nobody actually gets ahold of it or breaks it. Killing them outright doesn’t do it justice-the punishment needs to be fitting of the crime.  They took something from Yujiro, something irreplaceable, and that was the biggest mistake they could ever make in their life. Their last moments on earth are going to be rife with regret, immense fear, and horrific amounts of pain and suffering that drags on so long that by the time he’s finally ready to finish him off, the poor bastard is going to be begging for the sweet release of death.

After all this goes down Yujiro would either collect all the broken pieces and bring them to you, unceremoniously dumping them in a pile as he nonchalantly tells you to ‘fix it’ (doesn’t matter if it’s beyond repair, he’s expecting it to be good as new by your hands. You’re a Hanma, this should be nothing to you, right?). OR he comes to you and orders you to make him a new one (to see how much your skills have improved of course, not because he’s disgruntled over losing the first one. It’s a test, and its one he expects you to pass with flying colors, you better not let him down).