Body Swap!!

Project Moon Memes Masterpost

So I started making Limbus Company meme edits with my friend Koi and they now number over 500 and there's 40+ posts. Whoops. Masterpost be upon ye.

Koi doesn't have public social media so I'm posting all of them for both of us, but we're responsible for these in roughly equal part. so let us all appreciate the role their hyperfixation-fueled meme rampage has played in the existence of this series :D

1. sayonara you weeaboo shits 2. go femboy go 3. but i stay silly :3 4. world's bestest most specialest war criminal 5. QUESTION FOR ALL GIRLS 6. touch eels 7. latina fiesta dot co 8. It's with great pain that I must announce you were devoured by clowns 9. Bomb in my ass hole 10. [JOKE PENDING] 11. you wanna fuck the keyboard 12. its chewy 13. look buddy, it's transient 14. damn this pepsi strong as fuck 15. get distorted! 16. wtf I'm facing the same direction 17. I have eaten my wife. 18. Why Angela soft if not to pet 19. there's bigger fish to fight 20. it takes a man to be a wife 21. my grandpa died in the yaoi wars 22. THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN 23. sword slash to the chest. and you're on fire 24. my city now 25. she cites her sources 26. WORLDS SLUTTIEST ABSENT FATHER 27. god forbid women do anything 28. Knife Monopoly 29. i just need to write a list 30. what if i accidentally have a gun 31. ethically debatable sex with my morally ambiguous wife 32. KATSUP BLAST 33. oh well unzips 34. Hola faggot! 35. jerking that thang asunder 36. She is now my girlfriend (long story). 37. enjoy your silt, fag 38. weird bug hotline 39. I'm a pervert little leftist 40. menwtol smeeness 41. doing Nosferatu shit to her penis 42. nothing but air 43. I was christmas for a month. 44. comradezoned 45. PESIS IS GONE. 46. can you cheat at surfing 47. COOOOL BEEEAAAAANNNN 48. she touch my yippee till i yay

pssssst hey. hey. free and expansive database of folk and fairy tales. you can thank me later

Yandere Jester x Reader

The bells are the first thing you hear every morning—soft, chiming, almost birdlike in their laughter. They come before the footsteps of your advisors, before the clanking of platters and wine goblets, even before the rooster crows.

They are his bells.

He arrives with dawn, skipping into the hall like a child and bowing so low his nose brushes the cold stone floor. “Good morrow, Your Majesty,” he says, voice bright and breathless, eyes hidden behind a fan of red and gold silk. “The sun rises late, it seems. I’ve missed your light.”

You allow yourself a small smile, if only because your court expects it. He is your jester—your fool, your clown, your painted shadow—and he is beloved by all, even those who should know better.

Especially you.

He calls himself Jovian, though you suspect that is not his real name. No one knows where he came from. He appeared one storm-soaked night three winters ago. No one summoned him, no scroll bore his seal, and yet he walked through the palace gates as though he'd lived there all his life, trailing puddles and laughter in his wake. The guards said they let him in because of the way he smiled. As though he knew them. As though he owned them.

You’d been colder back then. Harsher. Too young for your crown, yet already dulled by the weight of it. You didn’t laugh easily. You barely smiled. Your court feared you and rightly so. But he laughed. He made you laugh. His first performance was impromptu. A whirling dance of mimicry and mockery, calling out your advisors by name and miming their worst faults with such ruthless precision that you remember the sound of goblets dropping to the floor.

You’d clapped. Once. Slowly.

And that was enough.

From then on, he never left.

He’s always there now. In the corners of your vision. In every reflection. Behind every column. Sometimes it seems even the shadows bend around him, accommodating his whims.

He wears bells on his wrists and ankles, dozens of them, and yet you never hear him when he shouldn’t be there. When he shouldn’t be anywhere near you. When you’re in the bath. Or asleep. Or alone with someone else.

You’ve stopped being alone with anyone else.

And still, your court adores him. They call him harmless. They say his painted smile is just that—paint. His laughter, an illusion. But they don’t see the things you see. They don’t feel his eyes.

You do. You feel them when you dress. When you undress. When you touch the ring he slipped onto your finger “as a joke” during a performance and which now cannot be removed.

This morning, as always, he somersaults to your throne and throws himself at your feet, dramatic and boneless, like a puppet without strings. His laughter echoes off the marble pillars.

“Another day, another chance to make you smile,” he purrs. His voice is sugar and venom, always. “Shall I juggle your secrets, sire? Dance with your demons? Or would you prefer I remove them entirely?”

You glance down. His painted face grins up at you, the red of his mouth smeared just slightly too wide. There’s something red beneath his fingernails.

“Jovian,” you say, your voice carefully neutral. “Did you sleep at all?”

He tilts his head. “Sleep?” he echoes. “Why would I sleep when you might dream of someone else?”

The court titters. They think it’s another of his jokes. You know better.

You haven’t had a restful night in weeks. Not since you complemented the captain of your guard. She vanished the next morning. Her armor was found folded on her cot. Her sword was never recovered.

Your steward once suggested restricting Jovian’s access to your chambers. The steward now speaks in a strange whisper and doesn’t meet your eyes. He says it was an illness.

You know better.

“Tell me a story,” you say. It’s safer, usually. He loves to perform. It distracts him.

He rises with a flourish, sweeping his arm in a theatrical arc. The bells sing.

“A story,” he says, eyes glinting like cut glass. “A tale of love and laughter? Or one of bones and betrayal?” He leans close. Too close.

You do not flinch. Flinching would only amuse him.

“Whichever you prefer,” you say, and your voice, to your credit, remains steady. “But keep it short.”

Jovian’s smile grows until it threatens to tear the painted mask of his face in two. He twirls away from the dais in a single, liquid motion, his bells trilling like birds startled from a tree. His arms rise, fingers splayed, as if he’s about to cast a spell. And in some ways, you think he is.

“Once,” he begins, “in a kingdom not unlike this one, there lived a ruler whose heart beat only for order. They surrounded themself with straight lines and silent halls, with iron laws and colder dreams. Their people whispered that they had ice in their veins, frost in their marrow. They were not cruel, no—they were clean.”

The courtiers laugh again, the low, uncertain ripple of those who know they are part of a performance but aren’t sure whether the joke is at their expense. You watch him move, pirouetting between pillars, his shadow elongating oddly behind him despite the hour.

“One day,” Jovian continues, “a man came to the palace. A stranger with bells on his wrists and madness in his smile. He danced into the throne room and bowed so low that even the spiders looked down on him. And the ruler, who had not laughed in many long years, tilted their head. And then...smiled.”

He stops dancing. Stops everything. The silence that follows is unnatural. The kind that weighs on your ears. It stretches too long.

Jovian stands now in the center of the chamber. He faces you. The fan is gone. His face is fully visible.

No one laughs.

“But the smile,” he says softly, “was not theirs.”

Something shifts in the air. You feel it like a sudden pressure drop before a storm. Your fingers tighten around the armrest of your throne.

Jovian’s eyes—not the bright, painted mockeries from moments ago but something deeper, older, more aware—lock onto yours. The courtiers around you begin to shift uneasily, the illusion fraying at the edges. Perhaps they, too, feel the change, though they’d never admit it.

“They say,” he goes on, his voice honeyed and low, “that when a fool dances too close to the fire, he risks getting burned. But what if the fire... finds him cold? What if it feeds him? What if it makes him real?”

He turns his head slowly, unnaturally, like a marionette guided by invisible strings. “Would you like that, my liege? To be real?”

Your mouth is dry. Your ring—the one he “joked” into placing upon your finger—burns against your skin. You press your palm into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching for it.

“What are you?” you whisper.

He hears. Of course he hears.

He laughs again, but this time there’s no joy in it. It’s empty. Hollow. The sound of dry leaves spinning down a long corridor.

“I am yours,” he says, all false brightness restored in an instant. “Your reflection, your shadow, your secret kept too long. I am the whisper in the mirror when you do not recognize yourself. I am what your court would be if it were honest. I am... love.”

He’s at your feet again. You didn’t see him move.

“I am love,” he repeats, and his voice cracks on the last word like porcelain under pressure.

Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a feather—white, long, unmistakably from a dove—and places it on your knee.

You stare at it.

You think of your high priest, who hasn’t been seen since last week’s festival. You remember the dove he always kept with him, a symbol of peace, of renewal. You remember how it used to coo from his shoulder even during sermons.

You haven’t heard that cooing since.

“Your story,” Jovian says, rising again, brushing off his sleeves like dusting away ash, “is unfinished. But it’s getting better. Don’t you think?”

You don’t answer.

He leans close, until his lips nearly brush your ear. “I’ve been writing it in your dreams,” he whispers. “Do you like what I’ve done with the ending?”

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you force yourself to remain still, regal. You are a monarch. You are not afraid.

You are terrified.

The bells sound again as he twirls away, laughing once more, but it is an echo of an echo now, like wind whistling through an old crypt.

He performs the rest of the day for your court, delighting them with riddles and songs, with lewd jokes and elaborate impersonations. He flirts with the ladies, mocks the lords, kisses the hem of your robe as though nothing has changed.

But everything has.

That night, as you lie in your bed, the ring still burning on your hand and the feather tucked in a locked drawer, you dream.

And in the dream, Jovian stands at the foot of your bed, his smile stretched wide, his bells silent.

“You found the ending,” he says.

And the room fills with laughter that isn’t yours.

Masterlist

This bastard has seized me by the neck and stole the favourite sinner spot from Gregor. I need to obtain each and every single one of his identities just to read all the uptie stories and dialogues. The game already spoilt me, I drew 2 000 IDs in one pull and one of them was him. It might be emotional manipulation but man is it working. I'm stuck on Canto V and will explode if I get spoiled when his canto comes out.

Think my unobtained favorites are Fanghunt (insane) and R Corp (desperate for ibuprofen), while favorite ones that I have are Dieci (key sounds make my brain ding) and Tingtang gang leader (gambling and also blood. did i mention the blood). He doesn't speak much but when he does, he's either being the most oblivious person in the room on purpose, saying the most therapy-needing statements you've ever heard, or getting on everyone's nerves. Maybe all 3 at once, who knows. But somethings so off about him that he's trying to keep hidden and I'm waiting for his canto to strap him to a vivisection table to forcefully out his secrets

Kuras and Mhin would probably have to deal with double the headaches

may i have headcanons about vere with a fox mc pls 😔🤲🤲 i had a vision of him being kinda more at ease with them or like biting their ears as a joke if they are close enough

your writing is so scrumptious

OMG Y E S and thank you so much 😭😭

Disclaimer! They/them for MC because we love inclusivity!

✦ Background

Vere is at least a hundred years old but he’s also a divine being. With that said, let's put the MC at their in–game age.

✦ First meeting

During their first encounter in the Amaryllis District, the MC would immediately sense Vere's presence, which might have prevented the cunning Monster from snatching their key (30/70). Since they are both foxian, it would make Vere's ego slightly defloat from being unable to catch the MC off—guard like in the demo.

✦ Slowly but surely, a familiarity began to develop between the two. The MC found themselves drawn to Vere's mysterious aura and sharp wit, while Vere was intrigued by the MC's resilience and quick thinking. As they spent more time together, Vere's competitive nature softened and the MC's guard came down. They started to understand each other's strengths and weaknesses, forming a… unique bond that neither of them (nor anyone else in Eridia) could have anticipated. 

✦ Abilities

The MC's heightened senses allowed them to anticipate Vere's movements and stay one step ahead and away. Vere, on the other hand, was impressed by the MC's quick reflexes and agility.

✦ Smell

It played a significant role in their interactions, as the MC's keen sense of smell picked up on Vere's subtle shifts in emotions, while Vere's own ability to discern scents helped them understand the MC's mood without the need for words. (The MC understood now how bad Leander's after-shave situation was.)

✦ Ears

Since younger foxes get easily overstimulated by loud noises, Vere made sure to speak softly and avoid sudden sounds around MC. Vere's trained ears allowed him to pick up on subtle sounds that could potentially trigger MC's sensory overload.

Additionally, the MC noticed how Vere's ears would subtly twitch when he was deep in thought, providing a visual cue to his inner workings. 

✦ ✨Chomp✨

It's a calm morning; the sun rises slowly over the horizon, the birds chirp softly, and a light breeze rustles through the trees.

The MC wakes up to a small tinge of pain in their ear. They try to shake off the discomfort, but it persists, causing them to wonder if they might have slept on it wrong. As they reach up to touch their ear, they feel a pair of fangs… and a mouth… and a nose…

A familiar scent fills their nose.

It's Vere. Vere is biting their ear with a grin.

"…WHAT the FUCK are you doing here?"

Vere chuckles mischievously, "Just thought I'd drop by for a little wake-up call."

The MC groans. Then Vere bites them again. MC pushes Vere away, rubbing their throbbing ear.

"I can't believe you snuck into my room just to bite my ear," they mutter, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement.

Vere just laughs, clearly finding it hilarious. "You know you love it," Vere teases, flashing a playful smile.

The MC just looks at him before biting his ear.

"OW YOU-"

✦ Habits

The MC found themselves studying Vere's habits, trying to piece together the puzzle of who he really was beneath the calm exterior. The swaying of his tail when irritated, the way he meticulously soothed the fur on his tail after a stressful encounter, and the slight tilt of his head when listening intently.

The MC would perhaps imitate some of Vere's habits, and the other way around, finding solace in each other's quirks and idiosyncrasies.

✦ Play fight

The playful banter between the MC and Vere often escalates into mock fights, with each trying to outwit the other. It's a way for them to release pent-up tension; their movements fluid and coordinated as they danced around each other in a playful display of strength.

This includes scratching, biting, shoving, and even some light wrestling.

Despite the roughhousing, there is always an underlying sense of trust that they won't kill each other… right?

✦ Nuzzling

One habit that particularly intrigued Vere was the way the MC would nuzzle their cheek against his hand when seeking comfort. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes about how far the two had come. Vere found himself reciprocating the gesture, soon cuddling up next to the MC whenever he needed a moment of calm. Vere's warm breath against the MC's skin, the gentle nuzzling of their noses together, their tails wrapping around each other.

✦ Tale–care

Vere is very particular about his tail-care. He would spend hours grooming and preening his luxurious tail, making sure every strand was in place and shining brightly. The MC, on the other hand, was more laid-back when it came to their own tail-care routine. Vere would often tease them about their lack of attention to detail, but the MC would just laugh it off and carry on with their day.

Until one day, Vere's self-restraint broke, and he offered to help the MC with their tail-care routine, the "proper way," as he called it. The two spent hours together, Vere teaching the MC how to properly care for their tail, demonstrating his meticulous techniques, and explaining the importance of maintaining a healthy, groomed, nice-smelling tail. That was also the one and only time Vere brushed their tail for them, and never again.

✦ Hunting and Food

Foxes eat at least half their weight a day. Depending on how carnivorous the MC feels; they might join Vere in a hunt. They had never considered themselves to be violent or predatory, but there was something primal and exhilarating about the thought of stalking prey alongside someone as skilled as Vere. 

In the end, food ended up becoming a common ground for the two, with Vere introducing the MC to exotic dishes from different regions of Eridia. The MC, in turn, shared their favorite comfort foods and recipes from their own homeland. (Did Vere eat any of it? Well…)

✦ Hair hair HAIR

Grooming became another shared interest between them, with Vere insisting on helping the MC style their hair to match their unique foxian features. 

✦ Double trouble

Chaos follows them like a shadow. Eridia is barely able to handle one of them alongside all the other messed up divine-ish murderous beings—imagine having two… A pure whirlwind of confusion and mayhem is left in their wake. Their partnership becomes a force to be reckoned with. T̶h̶e̶ S̶e̶n̶o̶b̶i̶u̶m̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶u̶n̶t̶ a̶n̶d̶ k̶i̶l̶l̶ t̶h̶e̶ w̶e̶a̶k̶e̶s̶t̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ t̶w̶o̶, f̶o̶r̶c̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ t̶o̶ w̶e̶a̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶o̶l̶l̶a̶r̶ a̶n̶d̶ c̶o̶n̶t̶i̶n̶u̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ a̶s̶s̶a̶s̶s̶i̶n̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶s̶.

I'm screaming @redspringstudio was this intentional

His eyes are unfathomably pretty

UMMMMMMMMMM

Imagine working on an estate and accidentally angering a house fae

NSFW MINORS DNI.

REBLOGS APPRECIATED. REQUESTS OPEN.

Contents: imagine style: human!f x household fae!m.Dubious deals,squirting, breeding ( if you squint) and tit worship.

You spill the milk. You make a deal to get a fae a drink-and that was the biggest mistake EVER.

● In your defense NO ONE HAD TOLD YOU ABOUT THE BOWL OF MILK

● So of COURSE you cleaned it up!

● Thats when everything went wrong and everyone was blaming you.

● It was a BOWL OF MILK it was going to get rancid!!

● But things kept getting worse. Dishes broken. Cupboards flung open. Fresh food spoiled. Your hair violently yanked on more than one occasion as you locked up the kitchen for the evening.

Finally after a particularly awful day you had had ENOUGH. Turning to face the empty kitchen you straighten your violated hair back into its mandated style. Smoothing out your apron only to roll up and fidget with the edges. Eyes nervously etching out terrifying figures in the soft lamp lit room.

● “Very well! I did it and i would like to make it right!” You call out still picking a shadow to scrutinize. Surely this was a trick from the other staff. Surely they were just joking with the new maid.

● “You spilled my milk?” A voice seeps from somewhere beyond the island counter.

● Before you can stop yourself you laugh. “Ha! Ah sorry! Such a phrase. But i see it has hurt your feelings.” slowly walking to peer over into the darkness you tentatively peak over the edge. “I did not know about your milk.”

● “You have left me thirsty! It is unacceptable behavior for all the work i do!”

● “ aye i agree i agree. How may i make this right?” Wrong question

● In hindsight VERY wrong question!

● For when his long clawed hand sneaks up to grasp the counter and you meet his shining dark eyes you are overcome with dread.

● His hand cups your face. Palms rough and textured from work. He was. Manish enough but also all wrong. You cannot take your eyes off his face. Frozen. “You? Make it right? Hmmm.”

● You dont notice his other hand until it undoes the second button on your dress. Then another and another.

● “give me a drink.” He demands another button coming undone. You feel the cold night air on the swell of your breasts.

● “Y-yes sir.” But you cant move to fetch a glass. He wont let you.

● He holds you still by the chin. Smug smile growing. “I will drink from you whenever i am thirsty.”

● “Oh but sir i uhm i-” before you can finish his mouth latches onto your breast. Sucking and rubbing. Roughly playing with your chest as your mewls turn to soft panting moans.

● “Pardon!?” But its too late. Hes tugged your apron down beneath your breasts popping them up. With a slash of a claw the fabric is shredded and youre exposed to him.

● With some sort of magic you are floated up to sit on the counter. He stands between your legs,spreading them wide just like his smile. Mischief dancing in his eyes.“a deal Is a deal.”

● His mouth works, free hand pushing your skirt up over your thighs where he makes quick work exposing the rest of you. Finger rubbing your clit until youre wet and trembling.

● Your breasts and cunt ache for more. Trembling against him. Your fingers lacing through the thick fur like hair along his head. His tail waving excitedly.

● Your cries echo in the empty kitchen. Growing louder and more frantic as he pounds into your body. His eyes never leaving your bouncing breasts. Taking what was his until he spills inside you.And then he does it again with his mouth latched around your breast.

● Popping off your breast he presses you back to lay on the counter. Hand knotting in the top of your apron between your breasts. Pulling your body towards him and right onto his hard cock.

Tormenting you until you're squirting for him.

● “Sir sir please i can't do another one!” You moan as you gasp for air.

● Again and again you cum. More and more pooling on the counter. Your stomach feels full of his spend as an inhuman seed takes root inside you.

● “Sssh ssssh sssh ssssh. You can and you will. I'm almost done for the night.”

● He fucked you until you fall limp. As you wake up you can see him and his tongue lapping up your pleasure from the table.

● His eyes meet yours- and he's gone.

● Until the next night when he drinks from you again…..

🫡Fic format/continuations available upon request.🫡

<Blood... I need blood.>

[nsfw] thinking about a yandere! vampire who’s holding onto the brink of death before he’s saved by you, a nurse.

he’s bleeding out heavily and you’ve just finished a night shift. he’s cursing the skies and clutching onto his stomach with pain before he can make out the shadow of a silhouette, standing over him as tears stream down his cheeks.

he mistakes you for an angel. wondering why you’re here when the life he’s led is far too full of sin to reach a salvation. he’s mumbling nonsense as you tug him into your arms, trying to figure out the best way to go about it.

luckily, the wounds don’t take too long to heal. dangerous, yes, but with enough care his supernatural abilities sped up the process greatly. he can barely bring it in himself to thank you, embarrassed by the fact that he had to be a saved by a human of all things, yet when you offer up your neck he can’t hold back the feral glint in his eyes.

he’s not drunken for days. you’re stunning, and he’d be a fool to deny you. he barely needs a moment to consider before he’s cradling your face and bringing your neck to his lips, lightly sucking on the skin.

the bite itself feels more intimate than it should have. it’s the first time you’ve sent such a sensation, tingles flowing through your veins as he gently prises his teeth through the skin, sucking slowly as though hesitant.

you can’t deny the feeling of pleasure it gives you, and you lean your head back. by the time he’s finished, with blood pooling past his lips which he licks away, the two of you feel lightheaded. he’s staring at you with a gaze so intent, as though trying to wrap his head around your whole character, before he tilts your chin upwards and embraces your lips in a fervent kiss.

the two of you make love that night. he scratches at your skin and trails his tongue across the marks. even as you scream out against him his face is buried in your neck, covering it in kisses left with traces of saliva. he bucks his hips against you with pace, and later tells you to consider it his thank you.