Base Yandere Barbie Wire Headcanons: Manipulation
[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! Welcome Back to another Chapter, this one is the VERY BASE Headcanons and traits of Barbie Wire! Anyways, Enjoy this chapter]
(Disclaimer: Barbie Wire is NOT Yandere in canon, this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all! Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine. Just do not be illegal or gross about it. Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanons from canon.)
-Base Yandere Headcanons With Barb Wire-
.Barbie Wire is an egotistical woman who really for the most part cares about herself.
.Then there is you, the one person she has any form of care for.
.She is not the best yandere or the best person in the world.
.She for the main part only cares for what she wants and what she needs.
.What she wants the most is you.
.She is AN EXTREMELY Manipulative type of yandere.
.She will use her looks and charms to get you under her spell.
.Seducing you and doing what she wants to make you hers.
.She is not above maybe even drugging you to make you hers.
.Also she would be the type to not only drug but kidnap you as well.
.She would make you dependent on the drugs so that you would need them and she will be your supplier.
.Keeping you as hers and in line so you can feel comfortable.
.She will also use your loved ones against you.
.You try and leave her, your family and friends are as good as dead.
.She may even pull the card if you do fall in love with her.
.That she will go back on drugs if you leave her. That you are the only one keeping her off them.
.She is a very toxic yandere in this regard that is for sure.
.She will manipulate you into loving her, so there is no love confession.
.She also will kill her rivals.
.She is not afraid to hurt her rivals.
.She is the type of yandere to be petty as fuck, she is not going to let things go.
.You held hands with someone else.
.She will make sure you never forget, that she was the ONLY ONE who could do that with you!
.Anyone you dated before she even met you? They are as good as dead, you belong to her and her alone and no one else is going to have you.
[That is all the base traits for now, I will most likely update this when we learn about more about her character]
[Another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed this and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]
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The Infection I Don't Want
I don't have any words. Don't look at me. In all seriousness, I definitely love the savior trope. I tried to give it a cute little twist. Idia feels funny in this one too. Also sorry if the formatting is weird. I write these in Docs and then I transfer them to tumblr and for some reason in this fic's document I used Amatic SC and I have bad vision to begin with. No clue why I love torturing myself. Dividers by @/cafekitsune. This fic gets a little heavy. If you start feeling unwell, stop reading. I won't take it personal, promise.
This fic is aimed towards afab readers, but uses they/them pronouns. Mentions of periods and wombs. I may have been a bit less impersonal with this one, but the reader doesn't go on my weird love rant that I have in my self-insert Idia fic so there is that.
This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for mentions of pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, DIY abortion which could also be read as miscarriage, I guess, abortion, Idia is incredibly mean in this and possibly OOC, Ortho being unintentionally creepy, parasites, sort of misogyny relating to periods, shock collars, electric shocks, captivity, implied forced marriage, implied forced medical procedures. PSA: don't try anything the reader does in this fic. It's an excellent way to get sepsis, and you don't want that, I promise.
Part 5 of the Pants on Fire series.
You don’t want to admit it, but a bit too much has changed about you. In the past few weeks, you’ve noticed plenty of things, but the largest and most blaring was that your period never came. Before when you would have it, Idia would sulk and pout, acting like you were bleeding on purpose, throwing a heating pad and a blanket and a pillow and the necessary products at you so you’d be comfortable in your distress. He kept talking about figuring out some technology to rid you of that pesky trait, and you really can’t think of anyone who likes having a period, so if he had, you wouldn’t have fought him on it,
It’s too late for that now. For the last few days, you’ve been waking up early and vomiting. The smell of Idia’s favorite noodles makes it worse. Your poor tummy is constantly roiling, and you can hardly keep anything down. Ortho has been staring at you incessantly. You think he’s being annoying, really, and Idia’s been getting on your last nerves as well.
Today, you woke up, vomited, and just sat in the bathroom for a moment, coming to terms with the fact that you could very well be pregnant. You feel conflicted. On one hand, you don’t want to talk or think about this. You’re stressed enough as it is. On the other hand, you absolutely don’t want this. You don’t want this creature in your stomach. You know it's there. You can’t feel it, but how often can you feel something before everything goes absolutely wrong? You can’t.
But it’s unimportant. A knock comes at the door and you scramble to your feet, flushing the toilet and rinsing out your mouth before opening the door. It’s Idia. He gives you a look and starts stripping, turning on the shower and handing you a hair tie.
“You look sick. What’s wrong with you?”
“O-oh, I… I don’t know. I feel fine.” You’re not sure how to tell him, so you lie. Maybe you won’t have to tell him. You pull his hair into a bun and he hops into the shower.
You stand there for a moment and he peeks his head around the door at you, “What are you doing? You want to join me?”
“Huh? Oh, no. Just thinking.”
“Go see if Ortho can get you some aspirin or something so you can start acting normal again.” He mutters.
You leave. It’s fine. Idia’s dorm room is always cold. He keeps it like that on purpose. If you’re cold and he doesn’t provide much more than these stupid skimpy pajama sets that are cute but are also thin, so you’re more likely to cuddle up to him or wear his hoodies. At least he has good taste in that.
You don’t really feel like undertaking the task of looking through his closet, so you take a seat in Idia’s gaming chair, which is still warm from him sitting in it, and sigh, laying a hand over your belly. He said that Ortho was here, but he must be out getting breakfast, since you didn’t immediately hear his high voice shrilling in your ears, “Good morning!”
You like Ortho just fine. He’s not your ally, but being around him is better than being around Idia. You wished he’d been gone for longer. You sigh and your head begins to hurt, “Hi, Ortho.”
He giggles a little and puts down the takeout bag, smiling as he turns back to face you. And then he just stares, chartruse eyes boring into you.
“Ortho, is there a problem?” You can’t hold your tongue about this any longer. You have a headache and honestly you just want to take a fat nap and let the world, small as it has become for you, deal with itself.
Before he can respond, Idia strolls out of the bathroom, lazily greeting Ortho, “Hey, Ortho.”
“Hello!” His voice is just so grating. You want to throw something.
“Mmm.” Idia glances at you, walking over and nudging your shoulder with the back of his hand, like he’s shooing an animal, “Go lay down.”
“I don’t-”
“Did you ask Ortho for-”
“Would you stop interrupting me?” You snarl, turning to look at him.
He stiffens ever so slightly, then hunches down and digs through the takeout bag Ortho brought in, “Are you acting like this because you’re on your period?”
“Did you really just ask me-”
This time, it’s Ortho, not Idia, who interrupts you, “Oh, they won’t be having a period for a while.”
Idia freezes. You freeze. Ortho goes back to what he was doing, humming as he makes the bed. Idia turns to narrow his eyes at you, his eyes sliding down to look at your midsection and feet, and his eyes roll back into his head and he’s hitting the ground. Maybe if you cared more about him, you’d check to make sure that he was fine, but as it is now, you don’t really have the energy or wherewithal to do so. You rush into the bathroom and cower near the toilet, like there’s a tornado or something outside. You’re distressed.
He doesn’t know it, but Ortho just vocalized the actualization of all your fears, the culmination of your meager existent, all rolled up into this… this parasite in your stomach. You swallow your incoming hysteria and make a decision. You’re going to get up. You’re going to get a change of clothes. You’re going to take a shower. And you’ll be fine. You’ll figure this out. You always have before. You’ll do it again.
When you exit the bathroom, Ortho is blowing air into Idia’s pallid face, and Idia is groaning. You ignore the pair and go to the closet. You grab a change of clothes, the rabbit-themed set of pajamas, you walk into the bathroom, you turn on the water. About as soon as the stream hits your back, you’re screaming. Sobs break from your chest like a hammer going into ice, smashing its way out despite every effort you make to keep it together. You’ve barely got the peace of mind to quickly wash yourself, and when you exit- the water is cold, too cold for comfort- you dry. You feel twitchy, after crying so hard. You tug on the spaghetti strap shirt, the bunny face stretching against your skin, and then you’re staring at the hanger.
You remember reading something, a long, long time ago. You were far too young to be reading this type of thing, the gorier parts of feminism and women’s rights, but… you remember a passage. The wire twists apart easily as you remember the story. A woman, desperate to be rid of the parasitic growth in her womb, just as desperate as you are now, used a wire coat hanger to remove it. It’s been so long that you can’t remember how it ended for her, but you remember the rest very clearly. The bent end, no longer crooked after you bent it, slips into your opening so easily. You can barely feel it. then the door opens, you freeze, and you hear Ortho scream.
“Idia!” He yells, and there are footsteps and a moment of silence.
You look up at Idia’s honey-colored eyes that are glued to the wire hanger sticking out of your body, see the way both of the Shroud boys are looking at your current unfinished action, see the slow spread of crimson into Idia’s long hair, starting at the tips and spreading like, well, like fire, to the roots. There’s that familiar three-tap warning, and then you drop the hanger, clutching at the collar as the strongest shock you’ve ever felt hits you like a truck. It’s worse than the time you didn’t want to hang out with him, worse than the times you’d stray too close to the door. It forces you to your knees, sets your body into convulsions that shake the twisted hanger out of you, makes you foam at the mouth.
Somewhere under your anguish, you think you hear Ortho robotically say, “BPM reaching critical levels.”
The current stops and your body stops convulsing, relaxing so hard that your world, small as it has become, goes black. When you awake, you’re reliving a distant memory: you’re bound, hands and ankles, on the bed. You’re dressed again, one of Idia’s hoodies draped over you like a blanket, and Idia is just staring at you, holding your collar. He looks pissed, but his hair isn’t red, at least. He’s noticed you’re awake, but he’s not saying anything. He turns slightly in his gaming chair and throws the strap of leather on his desk, the wiring fried. There are holes burnt into the leather, and Idia stares at it blankly before he starts typing away on his tablet, his own voice coming through the device.
It sounds about as burnt out as the shock collar looks, “I bet you feel pretty bad, huh?”
You don’t dignify that with a response. It doesn’t matter to him, since his fingers fly as he keeps typing away.
“You’re a fucking moron. Only someone stupid would try to-” He doesn’t finish the sentence and hits the desk, standing up and pacing. You can’t see him, but you can hear him panting.
You try to de-escalate, sort of. The shock collar isn’t around your neck anymore, but you really don’t need him to work himself up again, “The word is ‘desperate.’ I don’t want… I don’t want this. This thing growing inside of me, I don’t-”
“You’re not the only one with a parasite.” His voice is quiet but seething. It breathily cuts through the air like a knife, aiming for your soft parts, “You just have the privilege of being able to get rid of yours comfortably.”
“Really? So you putting this thing in me isn’t as bad as I think it is?”
He paces back into view and you notice something missing. Someone missing. You lift your head a bit to look around and Idia takes a heavy seat at his desk again. This state is rare. It takes him a while to relax when he gets like this, but you’ve only seen it aimed at others, like that time his account got temporarily banned because one of his party members was hacking. At least that had an easy solution for him- you’ve never seen him grin as much as when he had the poor guy swatted and watched through the CCTV cameras around the poor fool's house.
“We’re going home. I’ll fix your little problem twofold, since I’m the only competent one between the two of us.” He types out, his recorded voice not lagging once.
“What? And what do you mean you have a parasite?”
He doesn’t look at you, but you think you see him wipe his cheek with his sleeve, typing with only one hand, “Ortho is gonna come back with some burn cream. I lost my temper and you got hurt. Not that you didn’t deserve it.”
“I didn’t deserve any of this. I asked you if you had a condom.”
He doesn’t respond to that statement, instead typing, “I don’t love you. You know that, right? Love is for the idealistic masses, those who aren’t capable of keeping their feet on the ground. You’re just someone who has taken up a space in my mind. So the solution to yours won’t be permanent. Seven knows my parents will be getting on my case about providing them an heir eventually.”
“So I’m just here for eventual marriage security?”
Idia doesn’t respond. Ortho strolls in, placing a tube on Idia’s desk and goes out of your line of sight, seemingly to tidy or something. You don’t really care. He’s not your ally. He’s never been.
Idia sighs, then goes back to working on something on his desk. You don’t know how much time passes, but he loops it around your throat and unties you. It’s sitting a bit lower on your neck, just against your collarbones. There’s a three-tap warning, but no shock afterward. Just the flat look on Idia’s face.
“I should start calling you ‘baby’, kitten. It’d be so much easier for you to understand your position.”
“That’s not funny.” You say, “I never asked you to bring me here.”
Idia shrugs, “Well, I don’t think of you as a pet. With the way you act, you might as well be a pest.” He grins, sharp teeth on display, “Maybe I should put out some glue traps… or start dosing you with raw garlic and ivermectin.”
He starts laughing, and you feel your eyes well with tears. You tell yourself it's the pregnancy hormones. Idia laughs harder at your expression.
“Aw, kitten, I’m just teasing. Come sit with me.”
“But I-” That three-tap warning from your new collar cuts you off. You stand up and start walking the two steps between the bed and Idia’s desk. When you reach your hands towards the collar, it zaps you. It’s quick and not too painful, but it gets you moving towards Idia. When you take a seat on his lap, he leans to bury his nose in your hair, a thrilled noise escaping him. He drops the burn cream in your lap.
He just watches you as you unscrew the lid and reach for your neck. There’s a three-tap warning again- bzz bzz bzz- but you ignore it. The second your fingers barely graze your throat with the cream, you get zapped, short and swift, but uncomfortable enough. You drop your hand and it goes away. When you look up at Idia, he takes the cream from your other hand and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, using his free hand to click into one of his many tabs for some anime streaming site.
“Good. It works.” Is all he says.
As he dabs the cream onto the electrical burns on your neck, you have to blink away the despair again. It’s settled over you like a blanket, eaten holey by moths and worms. Every move you make is accompanied by tentative fear, a worry that Idia will do something awful if you do certain things. You never once considered it would go this far, though. Ortho drops something onto Idia’s bed, a hefty-looking luggage set, and Idia pays him no mind as he tucks away some clothes. You don’t want to admit it, but you don’t want to be around any more people under Idia’s thumb, whether they know it or not.
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This sounds controversial, but imagine Yandere Lucas??
Hi 🫶🏼
First of all, thanks for the ask!
Secondly, here’s what yandere means in Japanese fiction:
A character, usually a girl, who has an obsessive and possessive side in regards to their crush, ready to use violent and murderous means to maintain an exclusive bond.
So, what about yandere Lucas? Could that be a thing?
I think we can state as a fact that Lucas has a very strong possessive side. This simply comes with his - admittedly sometimes irrational - jealousy. Lucas is a very intense and passionate character, so I can easily imagine him drifting to an obsessive extreme as well.
We already have that when it comes to order and disorder, cleanliness and chaos. He is very strict about this and emphasizes how much chaos drives him up the wall.
Next, I can imagine him being a bit obsessive when it comes to work-related details, such as keeping a strict separation between work and personal life. Also, he's obviously well-built, and for that he needs a tight workout schedule. I see him going to the gym every day after work to maintain his physical fitness. And I imagine he has a general work day/daily routine that he adheres to almost punctiliously (even on weekends). If something were to happen that threw him out of that routine, I could easily imagine him losing his cool. Maybe not outwardly, but definitely inwardly.
We've established that Lucas has both obsessive and possessive traits, which - depending on the circumstances - can easily go to extremes. But I wouldn't go so far as to say that he develops violent or murderous intentions in order to keep something (a relationship, for example) the way he wants it.
Why?
That would contradict his feelings about his upbringing. I imagine his parents resorted to some pretty harsh means to get him to follow their orders when he was a kid - you can interpret that however you want - because his father definitely didn't have a lot of love to give and he was probably pretty damn strict and cold in the way he taught Lucas to grow up and "become a real man."
Secondly, Lucas would never lay a hand on a partner. No matter what they would do, that's not even up for debate. He respects them too much for that. In general, Lucas may well resort to violence if there's no other way, but he's not so quick to get into a fight. He will always try to find a civil solution, and he has some serious self-control.
And finally, he knows how it felt to be kept in a gilded cage that deprived him of the opportunity to be truly free in his ideas about his future. That's probably why he's developed a rebellious streak, and why motorcycles play such a big role in his life. Riding a bike lets him breathe, it lets him feel freedom in a way that nothing else can.
Is he a control freak?
Yes, because he knows what it's like not to be in control, having grown up in conditions that forced him, among other things, to move whenever his parents had to. But he is aware of that and he is definitely someone who works on himself. That's why he would never start trying to control a partner. (Even though there are fics where Lucas is the villain and does just that without a reason whatsoever 🤮🤮).
Final verdict:
Although Lucas tends to be (somewhat) possessive and obsessive, he would never use violent or even murderous means to maintain a relationship. That is not to say that he wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect his partner if threatened by anyone or anything. But this would never be directed against his partner in a pathological way.
Picture source
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