#but also at the same time it's so boring because actually it's just every other bad middle school relationship

[fangdokja]

🔞Every glance you give someone is a dagger in his heart, and he's ready to make you bleed.

❤︎ Synopsis. In the shadows of his love, your every breath becomes a betrayal. His jealousy is a silent poison, and you are its only cure—or its next victim.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Falling Into Darkness - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 8,536

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome, name calling, slight degradation, humiliation, choking, slapping, fingering, forced oral, forced penetration, orgasm control, orgasm denial

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. I'm so mindblocked lol. Horror content is not cooperating with me this week. Genuinely tweaking rn. So, time for some long-awaited vanilla yandere content, before I ruin these characters dead-dove style. haha jk jk maybe. This is mostly a prequel to my actual dead dove style. Also, I did not mean to make this spicy... it just happened when I was experimenting, but oh well. Don't expect anything intense though, just generic vanilla sex. Tch, boring vanilla rape. But I can't put intense sex yet, because I'll go overboard with the word count. It's why I'm separating each character with their own unique dead dove AHD sex style for the SNAPPED Jealousy headcanons.

♡ Mr. Reca.

"You’re mine, every piece of you—don’t you dare forget it. If anyone else dares to claim even a fraction of you, I’ll tear them apart with the same hands that make you scream my name."

The film reels of jealousy and desire—that’s how he would describe it. It’s never just rage that ignites Mr. Reca’s blood when someone else dares to linger too long in your shadow or lets their voice settle too comfortably in your ears. No, his jealousy is something far more visceral, more layered, more artful. He doesn’t just feel it; he directs it, letting it curl around his mind like the smoke of an old projector, every scene carefully composed to bring him closer to you. And when his jealousy crescendos into action, it is a masterpiece of possessive control and agonizing intimacy.

He sees you standing there—your figure illuminated by a faint and indifferent light, a half-smile on your lips as someone else dares to reach into his frame, contaminating the edges of his perfect shot. You don’t notice it at first, the way his dark eyes narrow, calculating and predatory, as though you are a wayward actress forgetting her role. You’re too distracted, too naïve, too willing to let your attention stray.

But not for long.

"You’re quite the little performer, aren’t you?" His voice is warm, teasing, as if you’re still unaware of the undertow beneath his words. The others in the room may laugh at his seemingly harmless tone, but you feel the subtle coil tightening around you. There’s always that edge of danger, of barely concealed madness, in the way he speaks. And as he takes measured steps toward you, his towering frame eclipsing everything else, you begin to realize you’re already in his trap.

Later, when it’s just the two of you, his true colors bleed through. His hands—so deft, so controlled when holding a camera or framing a shot—grip your wrists with precision that borders on clinical, pinning you against the cold, unforgiving wall of his studio. There’s no escape here. The room smells faintly of old film and chemicals, a suffocating aroma that mixes with the heat of his breath on your neck.

"Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t see you handing out smiles to someone else like a whore handing out free tickets? Let me tell you something, darling…" His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, his teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear. You flinch, and he chuckles low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through your entire body. "I notice everything. Every flicker of your eyes, every shift in your tone, every breath you take that isn’t meant for me."

His jealousy isn’t just anger; it’s possession laced with hunger, a ravenous need to mark and claim every inch of you. He doesn’t just want to punish you for daring to let someone else see your light; he wants to remind you of what you belong to—who you belong to. His hands trail down your body, slow and deliberate, as though you’re something to be dismantled piece by piece. He doesn’t ask for permission. Why would he? In his eyes, you’re already his—have always been his.

"Do you think they could touch you like this?" he growls, his fingers digging into your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. The sound sends a shiver of satisfaction through him, his smirk widening. "Do you think they could make you feel this...helpless? This raw? No one else will ever get this close to you, not while I’m alive."

And he means it. He would burn entire galaxies to ensure it.

The intimacy is suffocating, a blend of terror and thrill that leaves you trembling. He drinks in your fear as if it’s the finest wine, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure that borders on reverence. His lips find yours—not to kiss, but to devour, his teeth biting down just enough to remind you of the power he holds. His touch is everywhere, overwhelming, pulling you deeper into the dark labyrinth of his control.

"You don’t get to look at anyone else, talk to anyone else, breathe for anyone else," he murmurs against your lips, his voice honeyed with venom. His hands tighten their hold, leaving imprints that feel more like brands, as if his touch alone could etch his ownership into your very bones. "And if you try, darling, I’ll make sure you remember why that’s the last mistake you’ll ever make."

His jealousy doesn’t fade when the moment is over; it lingers, a constant shadow that follows you wherever you go. He watches you like a hawk, always poised to swoop in the moment you step out of line. And yet, beneath the suffocating weight of his obsession, there’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you—as if you’re the one thing keeping him tethered to the madness spiraling inside him.

But even that tenderness is sharp-edged, dangerous, a reminder that his love is not something you can escape. It is a cage, beautiful and gilded, with bars made of his unyielding devotion and walls built from his insatiable need. And as you stand there, trembling beneath him, you know there’s no way out.

———

The air between you is thick—charged with something that crackles like the flickering reels of a forbidden film, a masterpiece only the two of you will ever see. You can feel him, the heat of his body pressing close, his fingers tracing idle patterns down your arms before gripping your wrists once more, this time with something more than just control. There’s want in the way his thumbs press into your pulse points, a quiet thrill in the way he feels your blood racing beneath his touch.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice dark with amusement. "So easy to rile up. So easy to break."

You don’t respond. You can’t. Not when his mouth trails lower, ghosting over your jawline, the rough scrape of his teeth barely grazing your skin. Your breath hitches as he tilts your chin up with two fingers, forcing your gaze into his. Those dark eyes burn with something predatory, something deeper than mere jealousy—it’s hunger, raw and insatiable, and it’s all for you.

"You like this, don’t you?" he breathes, his lips brushing yours, not kissing—teasing, taunting, waiting for the moment you finally shatter beneath him. "The way I claim you. The way I remind you who you belong to."

His hands move—one curling possessively around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but just enough to make you aware of his dominance, of the power he holds over you. The other drags down, fingertips ghosting over your collarbone before slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. His touch is deliberate, a slow descent that makes you ache with the anticipation of what’s coming.

"You can pretend all you want," he continues, his breath hot against your ear, "but your body knows. It always does."

And then, suddenly, he presses you harder against the wall, his knee slotting between your thighs, his touch turning demanding. The moment you let out that quiet, breathless gasp, his smirk widens.

"That’s it," he purrs. "There’s my good girl."

He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He never does. Because you are his—his to own, his to ruin, his to worship in the way only he knows how. His fingers move lower, slipping beneath fabric, finding the heat of you, the evidence of just how much his jealousy has already claimed you.

"You’re dripping," he chuckles darkly, his fingers tracing over your slickness with agonizing leisure. "And all because I reminded you that you belong to me. Should I make you say it, sweetheart?"

He pushes one finger inside, slow and unrelenting, watching the way your body responds to him, watching the way your lips part in a strangled sound you barely contain. It’s intoxicating—the way you tremble, the way you fight against the pleasure even as he coaxes it out of you.

"Say it," he commands, his voice dropping into something lethal, something that leaves no room for disobedience. His grip tightens around your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to send another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

You swallow, your body betraying you, your mind spiraling as his fingers work you open, slow and devastating.

"I…"

He doesn’t let up. Another finger joins the first, stretching you, teasing you, driving you closer to the edge you both know you won’t be able to resist for long.

"Say it," he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as his pace quickens, as he forces you closer to that delicious, agonizing release.

And when you finally break, when you finally let the words slip past your lips in a desperate, breathless plea, he only smirks, pressing a possessive kiss against your throat.

"That’s right," he whispers, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Mine."

And he’s nowhere near done with you yet.

His smirk is razor-sharp, dark amusement curling at the corners of his lips as he watches you shatter beneath his touch. But he isn’t satisfied—not yet. No, this is just the prelude, the first scene in a long, unrelenting performance of control and desire.

"You think that’s enough?" His voice is low, velvety, curling around your spine like smoke. "That just saying it once will make me believe you?"

His fingers don’t stop—if anything, they move with more purpose now, curling, pressing against the spot that has you twitching, trembling, your knees weak beneath his relentless grip. You try to catch your breath, try to steady yourself against the wall, but he won’t let you. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer, crushing you against the solid heat of his body.

"You don’t get to come just because I let you," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin of your throat, leaving marks that bloom under his teeth. "You come when I say. And right now? I don’t think you’ve earned it."

You whimper, a frustrated, desperate sound, and his grin deepens.

"That’s adorable," he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers suddenly—leaving you empty, aching. You make a sound of protest, but he silences you with a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding past your lips, claiming every inch of your mouth with the same ruthless possessiveness he exerts over the rest of you.

"Turn around," he orders against your lips, voice rough with unspoken hunger.

There’s hesitation in the way you move, in the way you glance at him with wide, hazy eyes. He sees it, and it makes something primal flare in his chest. His hand grips your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now."

A command, sharp as a blade.

You obey. Of course you do. Because no matter how much you fight, no matter how much you resist, your body already knows who it belongs to.

He presses you against the cold wall, his body flush against yours, his arousal hot and demanding against the small of your back. His hands make quick work of your clothing, pulling, tearing, stripping you of anything that separates him from what’s his.

"You wanted their attention," he growls, one hand fisting in your hair, tugging your head back as his other hand drags down your spine, nails raking over sensitive skin. "Letting them linger too close, letting them think they had a chance."

He laughs, a sound laced with dark amusement.

"They never did. And I’ll make sure they know it."

And then—he’s pressing inside you, slow, unyielding, filling you in a way that has you gasping, clawing at the wall, struggling to take all of him. He groans against your ear, his breath ragged, his control hanging by a thread as your body adjusts around him, gripping him like you were made for him.

"Fuck—" He barely gets the word out before his teeth sink into your shoulder, a possessive, unrelenting mark. "That’s it. Take it. Take what’s mine."

He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t ease you into it. He sets a brutal pace from the start, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust, forcing you to feel every inch of him. His grip on your hips is bruising, his fingers digging into your flesh with the kind of desperation that borders on madness.

"Let them hear you," he growls, voice thick with lust. "Let them hear who you belong to."

You try to muffle your moans, but he won’t allow it. His hand slides up, wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, to remind you that every breath you take belongs to him.

"You love this," he hisses against your ear, his pace unrelenting. "Being fucked like this. Being ruined like this. Tell me."

You can barely think, barely speak, but he doesn’t let up until you do—until you gasp out the words he’s been waiting for, until you beg him not to stop, until you tell him, over and over again, that you are his. Only his.

And when you finally break again—when pleasure slams into you so violently that your vision whites out—he follows with a groan, spilling inside you, burying himself to the hilt, making sure that even your body remembers who owns it.

He doesn’t pull away immediately. No, he stays there, still inside you, pressing lazy, possessive kisses along the curve of your neck, savoring the way you tremble, the way you sag against the wall, completely wrecked.

"You’re never running from this," he whispers, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Not now. Not ever."

And you believe him.

Because you know, deep down, there is no escape.

You belong to him.

Now, always, forever.

♡ Mydei.

“Every time they look at you like that, I can’t help but wonder how much I’ll enjoy ripping their eyes out, watching them beg for forgiveness... while you scream my name, knowing you’re already mine.”

He’s watching you again.

Not the casual glance of someone observing from a distance, but the dissecting, scalpel-sharp gaze of a man who intends to understand you down to your barest threads. Mydei’s eyes, an unholy mix of apathy and predation, track your every movement as if cataloging the way your lips part, the delicate tremor of your fingers as you shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

He doesn’t look away, and why would he? You’re the one trespasser in the chaotic web of his mind—an anomaly, a puzzle he has no desire to solve but every intent to shatter and claim as his own.

Jealousy is not a storm with him. It’s a silent poison that seeps through his veins and curdles his usually indifferent demeanor into something sharper. He thrives on control, a man who can reduce enemies to pulp with efficiency and precision, but with you? Oh, with you, the control unravels. It burns like acid behind his ribcage when someone dares to stand too close, when they look at you like you might just save them from the abyss.

They don’t realize you’re already lost. That he has taken you, even if your body hasn’t yet realized it.

There’s something raw about the way he prowls toward you in moments like these—jealousy coiling tightly around his chest. The man you know, or thought you knew, is eclipsed by the darker urges buried beneath his skin. Mydei doesn’t explode, doesn’t shout or rage when the green-eyed beast rears its head. No, he moves with purpose, with silence, with the kind of quiet horror that lets you feel the heavy weight of his presence before you see him appear at your side.

“Who was that?” His voice is low, deceptively calm, a rich baritone that makes your stomach knot. It’s the quietest he’s ever been, and yet it terrifies you more than any outburst.

The words catch in your throat. You don’t know what to say. What could you possibly say to a man who looks at you like he’s starving?

But his hand comes next—cold, rough, and unrelenting. He grips your chin, forcing your face up toward him. “Do you think I don’t see the way you smile at them? That coy little glance? Or are you too naive to understand how that feels? I’ve seen men kill for less, you know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and there’s something almost clinical about the way he looks at you, as though debating which piece of you to dismantle first.

His thumb strokes your cheek, a grotesque parody of tenderness. You flinch, but his grip only tightens, the faint sting a warning more than a punishment. “Do you know what they’ll see when they look at you tomorrow?” he whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Nothing. Because they won’t have eyes left to look with.”

Your heart lurches, a mixture of fear and... something darker curling low in your stomach. The way he speaks, the way his words weave between violence and possession—it’s intoxicating, horrifying. You should run. You should scream. But the world feels so much smaller in his presence, like you’ve already been swallowed whole.

And oh, he knows it. He can see the way your breath hitches, the shudder that runs through you despite your better instincts. It’s written all over his face—the way he revels in the power he has over you. It’s not enough to take your body, no. Mydei isn’t so simple. He wants to unravel your mind, wants to break you open and piece you back together in the image he’s chosen. He doesn’t just want you; he wants every piece of you to bear his mark.

Later, when the world narrows to just the two of you, his jealousy becomes something more primal. He doesn’t bother hiding the raw need in his movements, the desperation that seeps into the way his fingers trace every inch of your skin. It’s not love. Mydei doesn’t love in the way most men do. His affection is a devouring, brutal force—a hunger that will never be sated, no matter how much of you he consumes.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and thick with possession as his hands tighten around your wrists, pinning you beneath him. His weight is suffocating, his touch both cruel and worshipful as though he can’t decide whether to crush you or praise you. “Say it.”

You don’t respond fast enough, and his lips crash against yours, bruising, punishing, and claiming all at once. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot and ragged against your trembling lips. “Say it, or I’ll make you scream it.”

And you do. Because resistance feels pointless, futile against the tidal wave of his dominance. But deep down, there’s a part of you that knows—knows that no amount of pleading will ever be enough to free you from him.

Mydei isn’t the kind of man you escape from. He’s the kind you survive. Or don’t.

———

You never understood how thin the line between love and annihilation could be until he had you beneath him, caged by muscle and rage, his hands branding your wrists against the sheets like iron shackles. Mydei’s jealousy when you're alone with him was not a flickering ember—it was a consuming wildfire, roaring through every synapse of his body, and you were the oxygen feeding it.

“I should kill them,” he muses, as if discussing a minor inconvenience. “Gut them like the useless insects they are. Then, maybe you’d understand.” His grip tightens. “You are mine.”

He didn't just want to own you—he needed to. The thought of another so much as looking at you with hunger, breathing the same air you exhaled, sent a sickness crawling through his veins.

"Say it," his voice was molten, dripping with something darker than fury. A command, not a request. "Who do you belong to?"

Your lips were swollen, bruised from his kiss—if it could even be called that. It had been an assault, a declaration of war, his teeth claiming the softest parts of you as if biting down hard enough would tattoo his name inside your skin. He loomed over you, sweat slicking his broad frame, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, a mixture of shame and something primal, something ugly and needy that he had forced out of you.

"Say it," he growled again, fingers tightening around your throat, not enough to cut off air completely—no, Mydei was far too controlled for that—but enough to remind you that every breath you took was his to grant.

The moment your lips parted, even before you could surrender, he was inside you—stretching, splitting, ruining. There was no preparation, no patience. He wasn’t making love to you—he was destroying you, fucking you into something unrecognizable, something only he would ever be able to piece back together. The sharp sting of pain melted into something else, something worse, something addictive. He could see it in your eyes, the betrayal of your own body, how it welcomed him, clenched around him.

"This," he hissed against your ear, his teeth scraping the sensitive shell, "this is what you were made for. No one else will ever—ever—have you like this."

His thrusts were merciless, punishing. Every snap of his hips drove his point deeper than words ever could, carved his jealousy into your bones. There would be no part of you left untouched, unclaimed, unstained by him. You whimpered, and that sound—it sent him into something beyond madness, something feral.

He pressed your knees higher, forcing you open, spreading you wider beneath him, like a sacrificial offering on an altar built for him alone. The wet, obscene noises of skin against skin, the slick heat binding you together—it was filthy, primal, irreversible. His fingers dug into your flesh, nails biting, bruising, marking. Tomorrow, you wouldn’t be able to walk without remembering this moment. You wouldn’t be able to breathe without feeling him still inside you, stretching you, filling you, consuming you.

"You think anyone else could handle this?" His voice was raw, guttural, an animal barely clinging to reason. "You think anyone else could fuck you like this? Break you like this?"

His hand found your throat again, his grip tightening just enough to make your vision blur, to make the pleasure spiral into something terrifyingly exquisite.

"Answer me."

But there was no answer, not really, because Mydei already knew. He already knew there was no escaping him. Not from this. Not from him. Not when your body had already given him the only answer he would ever accept.

"Do you even know what you do to me?" he grits out, teeth catching your lower lip in a punishing bite before his tongue soothes the wound. "How fucking insane you make me?"

He moves like he wants to break you—wants to ruin you for anyone else, to carve himself so deeply inside you that no one would ever dare lay claim. Each thrust is punishing, deep, deliberate, meant to tear you apart and mold you into something that belongs only to him. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, hunger and fury tangled in his gaze, devouring every twitch, every helpless gasp, every slick, messy sound that escapes your lips.

"That's right," he murmurs, voice dangerously soft as he fucks into you, pace unrelenting, cruel. "Take it. Take everything I give you. There won’t be anything left of you when I’m done—nothing but me."

Your body is his altar, his obsession, his sickness, and he worships you in the only way he knows how—with destruction, with unrelenting, all-consuming filth, with the kind of love that tastes like blood and ruin. His jealousy isn't just a fire—it’s an inferno, and you are helpless in the blaze.

His grip tightens until your bones creak, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he forces you deeper into the mattress. The weight of him is unbearable, a punishment, a claim—his body branding you as his. The jealousy seethes in his every touch, his nails dragging down your thighs, leaving behind angry welts that throb in time with your pulse.

"You think you can look at him and still walk away from this unscathed?" His voice is pure venom, thick with something far darker than anger, something primal, something sick. "Let me remind you, little thing—there’s nowhere to run when I’m inside you."

Your thighs tremble, spread wide by his knee, a cruel display of submission forced upon you. He drags his tongue down your spine, slow, methodical, savoring the way you shudder beneath him. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow—this isn’t about pleasure, not yours anyway. It’s about obliteration, about making sure that no part of you remains untouched, unstained by him. His hips snap forward, ruthless and unforgiving, forcing desperate, broken noises from your throat.

"Louder," he commands, yanking your head back by your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze in the dim, suffocating heat. "If you’re going to let someone else’s eyes linger on you, then they might as well know exactly who you belong to."

The stretch of him is unbearable, a brutal ache that borders on pleasure only because he wills it to be. He leans in, his lips ghosting over your cheek, deceptively soft. "Mine," he rasps, voice molten, dangerous. "Say it."

You barely choke out the word before his pace grows merciless again, dragging you deeper into the abyss of his obsession, into the space where only he exists. There is no escape. There never was. And as his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, forcing you to take him, to bear the full brunt of his possessive hunger, you realize—you don’t want to be saved.

♡ Anaxa.

"Every breath you take around them, every laugh, feels like a knife twisting deeper into me—do you think I won't make you regret it when it's just us, alone in the dark?"

His jealousy was not loud. It was not the kind of tempest that raged in obvious storms or shattered glass in fits of fury. No, Anaxa’s jealousy was the chilling silence that lingered long after the frost had claimed the earth, the quiet certainty of death’s encroaching grip. It was the moment before the blade fell, the breathless tension that promised violence not out of impulse but design.

You didn’t notice at first, not in the way he stared a second too long at the stranger who dared to speak to you with too much familiarity. Nor in the way his hand ghosted over your lower back in public, as though staking a claim in a language no one else could hear. His touch was subtle, his movements measured, but there was an unmistakable weight to them—a promise of ownership, a warning to anyone who thought they could take what belonged to him.

“You think they see you,” he said one evening, his voice soft, almost conversational. You were in the library, the two of you surrounded by tomes that reeked of knowledge and decay. His tone was calm, but his words sliced through the air with surgical precision. “But they don’t. They see an idea, a shadow of who you are. You…you are so much more than that. And they could never comprehend it.”

You didn’t realize he’d moved closer until the chill of his presence seeped into your skin, and when you turned to face him, his expression was unreadable, a mask of control that barely concealed the chaos beneath. His single visible eye gleamed with something darker than anger—something more insidious.

“They don’t deserve your time,” he continued, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, but the slight tremor in his fingertips betrayed him. “They don’t deserve your mind. Or your body.” The last word lingered on his tongue like a forbidden prayer, dripping with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

His jealousy festered in the quiet moments, growing like a parasite that fed on every glance you shared with someone else, every smile that wasn’t meant for him. He never confronted you outright, never demanded explanations. Instead, he made himself a shadow, watching, waiting, calculating. The conversations you had with others became ammunition for his obsession, every laugh, every fleeting touch another thread in the intricate web he wove around you.

And then came the night he snapped—not in an outburst of rage, but in the kind of madness that only someone like Anaxa could embody. It was after a gathering, one where you’d spoken too freely, laughed too brightly, and lingered too long near someone else. You returned to your quarters to find him waiting, his silhouette a dark smear against the dim glow of the room.

“You looked…happy tonight,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. His eye locked onto yours, unblinking, as he stepped closer. “It’s rare to see you like that. I wonder…was it them? Did they make you smile like that?”

Before you could answer, he was on you, his hand curling around your wrist with a force that bordered on painful. His touch was cold, his grip unrelenting, and yet there was an eerie calm to him, as though every movement had been rehearsed in his mind a thousand times.

“I’ve been patient,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your ear as he pulled you closer. “I’ve given you freedom. Space. And yet…you still stray.” His lips brushed against your neck, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt of fear and something darker coursing through you. “Do you know what that does to me?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pressed you against the wall, his body a cage that left no room for escape. His hands roamed over you with a desperation that felt like possession, each touch a claim, each kiss a brand. “You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and longing. “You’ve always been mine. And if I have to remind you, I will.”

His jealousy was not an explosion—it was a slow, suffocating burn, a fire that consumed everything in its path until there was nothing left but ash. He didn’t just want your love; he wanted your submission, your surrender. He wanted every piece of you, mind and body, stripped bare and laid at his feet. And in the moments where his control slipped, where his hunger overpowered his reason, you saw the depth of his madness—the lengths he would go to keep you, to ensure that no one else could ever take you from him.

“You don’t understand,” he said once, his voice breaking as his hands framed your face, forcing you to look at him. “You can’t understand. I’ve seen the end, the void that waits for all of us. And you…you’re the only thing that keeps me tethered to this world.” His lips found yours then, harsh and unyielding, a clash of desperation and desire that left you gasping for air.

And as the night stretched on, as his jealousy consumed you both, you realized that there was no escaping him. Not because he wouldn’t let you—but because a part of you, the part he had meticulously broken and rebuilt in his image, didn’t want to leave.

———

"You can run, but you won’t get far."

Anaxa’s voice is a razor against your skin, soft, deliberate, laced with the kind of quiet promise that sends a shiver straight through you.

You should have known better.

You should have never let that stranger’s hand linger too long on your wrist, should have never let their voice settle too comfortably in your ears. Because he saw. He always sees.

And now, you’re here—pinned, bound, trapped—back arched against the cold surface of his desk, the scent of parchment and candle wax thick in the air, nearly drowned out by the heat radiating from him.

"You really don’t understand what you’ve done, do you?" His single visible eye gleams in the dim light, hunger and fury warring beneath the surface as his gloved fingers trail down your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. "You give your attention so freely—laughing, touching, tempting—as if you aren’t already mine."

His hands are cruel, teasing, gliding lower, parting your thighs without hesitation, without permission—because you have no permission to give. You belong to him. Your body, your pleasure, your very breath—it’s all his.

And he’s going to remind you.

A sharp, punishing slap lands between your legs, sending a jolt of pleasure-laced pain through your entire body. You whimper, your back arching instinctively, but it only makes him laugh—a dark, mocking sound that vibrates against your throat as he presses his lips there, kissing, biting, branding you with his teeth.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice rough with barely restrained lust. "Falling apart already. And I haven’t even begun."

His fingers plunge into you, spreading, stretching, as his other hand tightens its grip on your throat. Slow, merciless, unrelenting.

"You don’t deserve my patience," he breathes, lips dragging down your chest, teeth scraping, biting, marking. "You deserve to be ruined."

And he does.

He takes everything—drags his gloved fingers through your slickness, spreading it, smearing it across your thighs like proof of your surrender. When he replaces them with his tongue, his mouth is just as vicious, lips and teeth working in perfect cruelty, leaving you writhing beneath him, desperate, needy.

But Anaxa doesn’t let you fall so easily.

No, he stops—pulls back just enough to make you feel the loss, to leave you shaking and ruined, right at the edge of oblivion.

"You want to come?" he taunts, voice like silk, wicked and knowing. His gloved fingers ghost over your soaked heat, but never give you what you need. "Then beg."

Your pride wants to resist—but you can’t.

Not when he’s watching you like this, eyes dark with amusement and pure, unfiltered ownership. Not when his knee is pressing between your legs, forcing you open, forcing you to want.

So you break. Of course you break.

"Please," you whisper, voice barely above a breath. "Please—please, I need—"

The sharpest, filthiest grin spreads across his lips.

"Oh, sweetheart," he coos, dragging his fingers achingly slow over your sensitive, desperate heat. "You need? Be more specific, my dear."

His hands move suddenly—gripping your thighs, flipping you over, pressing your chest against the desk.

"Then take it."

There’s no more patience. No more teasing.

Anaxa buries himself inside you, one sharp, punishing thrust that sends your breath shattering into a cry. Stretching you, filling you, claiming you.

"You feel that?" he growls, his gloved hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back as his hips snap against you, relentless, ruthless, unforgiving. "That’s me. That’s mine. Every inch of you—mine."

And he doesn’t stop.

Not when you gasp his name, not when you clench around him so tightly he groans, not even when your body trembles beneath him, overwhelmed and wrecked beyond recognition.

He pounds into you with a fury that is both punishment and devotion, his gloved fingers finding your throat again, his other hand slipping lower, rubbing circles against your swollen, aching clit, forcing you into pleasure so unbearable it borders on pain.

"You think anyone else could take you like this?" His voice is breathless, hungry, filled with something dark and twistedly reverent. "You think they could break you like I do? Make you scream for them like this?"

The coil inside you snaps so violently that your legs nearly give out. But he doesn’t let you fall—he holds you, forces you through it, fucking you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until you’re nothing but a shaking, ruined mess beneath him.

And still—still—he doesn’t let go.

His lips find your ear, whispering the last thing you’ll ever need to know.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?"

He smirks when you don’t answer—when you can’t answer.

And then, with a slow, devastating thrust that makes your entire body shudder, he growls—

"Say it."

After all, that was all you were trained to do, lest he punish you once more.

♡ Phainon.

"Every time you smile at someone else, I feel the urge to ruin you—piece by piece—until you understand that no one else can make you feel what I do, not even close."

Phainon had always been the portrait of refinement. His words, smooth and calculated, dripped with an almost divine grace that made those around him lean in just to catch every syllable. He carried himself like a savior—a self-anointed guardian of the universe, an eternal being who bore the weight of countless lives with a smile as serene as the still surface of a poisoned lake.

But beneath the godlike composure lurked something darker, something jagged and unyielding. He had perfected the art of patience, of wearing his charisma like armor, yet when it came to you, his façade cracked, if only slightly. The thought of you—his delicate, radiant, fragile little mortal—turning your attention to anyone else was an aberration he couldn’t tolerate. It made his carefully constructed calm unravel, one golden thread at a time. And for someone like Phainon, unraveling wasn’t a descent into chaos. No, it was a meticulous, deliberate destruction of anything—or anyone—that dared to take you from him.

Today, it had been a smile. A brief, fleeting smile you had offered to another—an insignificant flicker of kindness you likely thought nothing of. But to Phainon, that smile was a betrayal. His, his, his. It was supposed to be his privilege, his right, to see that softness, that vulnerability. And now, someone else had stolen what was his by design.

He didn’t confront you immediately. That would have been too simple, too crude. No, Phainon preferred to let his fury simmer, curling and twisting inside him until it became something potent enough to wield. You didn’t even notice the subtle shift in his demeanor when he approached you later that evening. His smile was as warm as ever, his blue eyes alight with something you mistook for affection.

But then the door clicked shut, and the lock twisted into place. The sound echoed in the room, sharp and deliberate, and when you turned to face him, the air between you was heavy, suffocating. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“You’ve been very... lively today,” he began, his voice smooth and measured, each word carefully chosen. His tall frame cast a long shadow over you as he stepped closer, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “That sparkle in your eyes—it’s lovely. Was it him who put it there?”

Your stomach dropped, and you took a cautious step back, but the corner of the table stopped you. His gaze pinned you in place, unwavering, and there was no mistaking the steel behind his gentle tone.

“I wonder what you said to him,” he mused, his head tilting slightly as if he were genuinely curious. “What could possibly have made you smile like that? Did he compliment you? Make you laugh? Or perhaps... did he touch you?” The last question came out softer, but it hit you like a slap, the weight of it heavy with accusation.

“I didn’t—” you started, but the words faltered under his piercing stare.

“Did I ask for excuses?” he interrupted, his voice still maddeningly calm. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face upward so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His touch was gentle, almost tender, but the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re avoiding the question, my dear. And you know how much I hate being ignored.”

The grip on your chin tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of the strength behind it, the strength he could so easily unleash if he wanted to. “You think I don’t see it? The way you invite attention without even realizing it. You make it so easy for them to believe they have a chance with you, don’t you?” His tone was still calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it now, a simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface.

When you tried to pull away, he let you, only to catch your wrist in a vice-like grip a moment later. His smile returned, but it was sharp and humorless, his blue eyes glowing faintly as the room seemed to grow colder. “Ah, there it is,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the pulse point in your wrist, feeling the frantic beat of your heart. “That fear. That delicious, exquisite fear. You know, I envy it—because it means you still have something left to lose. But don’t worry, my darling. I’ll take it all away soon enough.”

He pulled you closer, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t understand, do you? You’re mine. Every thought, every breath, every inch of your soul—it all belongs to me. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t soft or tender—it was a claim, a punishment, a reminder of his dominance. His hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no room for argument, as if he were mapping every inch of you, ensuring there was no part of you he hadn’t claimed.

When he pulled back, his breath was ragged, his eyes dark with an unholy mixture of desire and madness. “You’ll stay with me,” he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. “Not because you want to, but because you have no other choice. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll shatter every door, burn every bridge, destroy every hope you have of escaping me. And when there’s nothing left, you’ll see that you were always meant to be mine.”

———

The weight of his body pressed you down, his breath hot against your ear, the shuddering exhale betraying restraint he was seconds from shattering. His fingers, calloused from years of wielding his claymore, dragged down your spine with aching deliberation, savoring the way you trembled beneath him. "Mine," he whispered, the syllable drawn out like a prayer, or a curse.

His breath is ragged, hot, his lips ghosting over your jaw, your throat, your parted lips—but never quite kissing you, never giving you what you want. His control is slipping, unraveling, but still, he wants to hear you beg.

"Say it again."

His voice is a growl, deep, guttural, animalistic in its need. His fingers tighten around your wrists, pinning them above your head, his other hand crushing your thigh apart, forcing you open, making sure there is nowhere for you to run.

"Tell me who you belong to."

Your breath shudders, your mind blank, drowning in the heat, the pressure, the pure ownership of his touch.

"You," you gasp, barely able to form the word. But it’s not enough.

"Not like that." His teeth scrape against your throat, biting down, sucking bruises into your skin, a mark of possession so deep it will never fade. "Say it like you mean it. Say it like you understand what I’m about to do to you."

You whimper, writhe, your thighs trembling as he grinds against you, slow, devastating, teasing you with the thickness of his cock, with the unbearable pressure that makes you ache, makes you burn, makes you lose every last ounce of shame.

"Phainon," you plead, desperate, mindless, completely ruined.

And that’s when he snaps.

His fingers thread into your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat to his teeth as he slams into you, all at once, stretching you, forcing you to take him, forcing your body to mold around him.

The force of it steals the air from your lungs.

A strangled, broken cry escapes you, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t give you a moment to adjust. No, he drives himself into you, deeper, harder, merciless, relentless, so fucking big it feels like he’s splitting you apart, ruining you, reshaping you into something that can only ever belong to him.

"Mine," he growls, his voice shaking with need, with pure possession. His hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, just feeling the way your pulse races beneath his fingers. "Do you feel that?" His hips snap forward, forcing you to take every inch, burying himself inside you so deep it makes your toes curl.

You can’t speak. You can’t breathe.

"You were made for this," he whispers, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "Made for me."

There was nothing gentle in the way he claimed you. His grip on your wrists was bruising, pinned tightly above your head as his mouth descended upon you, ravenous, unyielding. He bit down on your throat, leaving marks that would never truly fade, his tongue following in their wake, soothing, as if apologizing for the possessive violence of his touch. But you knew better. There was no regret in him—only hunger, only the furious need to carve himself into your very being, to make you feel him in the marrow of your bones.

Each thrust was punishing, measured, tearing gasps from your throat as your body burned beneath his. The air between you was thick with heat, with the scent of sweat and something darker—something raw and desperate. His name spilled from your lips, but that wasn’t enough for him. His fingers found your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze, eyes dark with obsession. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice rough, shaking with the effort of holding himself together. "Tell me who you belong to."

You barely had the breath to respond, but the moment you did, he rewarded you with something deeper, something harsher, his pace quickening until the world around you blurred into nothing but him. His teeth raked across your skin, his hand slipping between your thighs, drawing out cries he swallowed with his mouth, feeding off the way you unraveled beneath him.

His hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding that sensitive, swollen place, rubbing in slow, teasing circles. The contrast is unbearable—his brutal pace, the gentleness of his touch.

His grip tightens as his pace picks up, brutal, overwhelming, devastating. Every thrust pushes you higher, higher, spiraling toward ruin, your body completely at his mercy, his cock dragging against the deepest parts of you, pushing you into a haze of pleasure so sharp it borders on pain.

"You like this, don’t you?" he taunts, breathless, wrecked, but still in control. "Being fucked like this—pinned down, stretched open, completely owned. Tell me."

"Yes," you sob, your body trembling, clenching around him, dragging a low, broken groan from his lips.

That’s all he needs.

With a harsh, guttural curse, his pace turns punishing, primal, fucking you like he wants to break you, like he wants to carve himself so deep inside you that no one else will ever reach you again.

"Say my name," he demands, his voice a low snarl, his hand slipping down, rubbing you faster, harder, forcing you closer to the edge.

You scream it.

And then you shatter.

Your entire body locks up, pleasure slamming into you so hard it steals the air from your lungs, dragging you under, drowning you in a release so intense it borders on agony.

But he doesn’t stop.

No—he rides you through it, chasing his own pleasure, his rhythm stuttering as he loses himself, burying himself as deep as he can go, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills inside you, claiming you in the filthiest, most undeniable way possible.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Your world is reduced to the weight of him, the sheer power caging you against the bed, against the force of his body, against the raw, overwhelming intensity of Phainon’s hunger.

His grip tightened as he drove himself deeper, chasing that place inside you where pleasure curled dangerously close to pain. "No one else will ever touch you like this," he murmured, a promise, a warning, punctuated by another thrust that left you gasping. "No one else will ever have you the way I do."

The weight of him collapses over you, his breath hot, ragged, his lips pressing against your sweat-damp skin, murmuring something—something possessive, something final.

"You’ll never leave me."

A promise.

A threat.

A fucking vow.

────────────

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General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[astraeus-tree]

Can you write something with Damian X Reader where R is an extremely intelligent girl, to the point of having discovered the secret identities of the entire Batfam only two months after moving to Gotham, and who is constantly in the Bats' action scenes (Like she shows up anywhere they're fighting criminals just to recite one by one the reasons why she's sure they're the Waynes, even with all of them denying it and pretending she's a complete crazy person. A bonus if Damian "hates" her (it's actually just misunderstood love because she's just awesome and he can't handle himself)). By the way: your Batfam fanfic is great!

Sometimes Things Aren't As Plain As They Seem

Pairing: Damian X F!Reader

Warnings: Self harm, blood, mention of torture near the end

Reader and Damian's age aren't specified and I'm really sorry but you can tell I gave up at the end I've also never written for Damian so he's probably ooc

You've held a secret for the past few months now.

No one else knew this secret of yours. Well, except the people involved in this classified information. Namely, the Wayne family and those close to them. In fact, this secret wasn't even yours to share.

What this secret was? The identity of the vigilantes that patrolled the streets of Gotham. Yes, the birds, the bat and those that worked with them in Gotham.

Your first hint was almost instantaneous after moving here. After all, who would have enough money for all those gadgets that Batman uses? Almost every citizen has come to realise that he doesn’t have any powers— with the exception of a few—so the only other reason would be man-made technology. But those costed money, and most people in Gotham could never afford those, so that left the rich or those with connection to them.

After this realisation, you made it your mission to find out their identities. It was a personal goal of yours, another thing to add to your list of achievements. And you did it. Just two months in to living in Gotham at that.

However, you needed confirmation. You were almost certain you were right, but you needed one final confirmation. You had doubts. The main being that it was hard to believe that someone from the high society of Gotham would even think to help the poor without a hidden motive. Bruce Wayne—Batman—had proven himself multiple times, yet the doubt would linger at the back of your mind.

So what better proof than word from the mouths of the heroes themselves?

Lately, Damian’s been dreading the patrols around Gotham. The reason being was this girl, around the same age as him, you.

In almost every patrol, you had interrupted them. You had somehow found out their routes for their patrols, even when they tried everything to make it impossible to track them. When questioned, you would say that there is a pattern in everything, that’s what made people human. Human, not a hero, not a killer, just human.

You would constantly put yourself in danger, just trying to get an answer from him and his father. You would always list reasons why Gotham’s vigilantes were the Waynes. It was almost endearing annoying.

In fact, you were a danger yourself. You were a risk. You could easily spill their identities.

So tonight, he would warn you. Save you. Unfortunately for you, his job was to analyse anything and everything about someone suspicious, and in his family’s books, you were one. Fortunately for him, you were easy to find, because just as you said, there is pattern in everything.

It was another night of you trying to get your final, solid evidence. You snuck around the streets of Gotham, heading to the area where you next expected Batman and Robin to start their patrol.

As you made you way, you felt eyes boring holes into you. You reached your hand into your pocket, clutching the pocket knife inside. As you heard a thud of a pair of feet landing on the ground, you turned around, shoving the knife at the person’s throat.

Your eyes widened when you saw a familiar domino mask staring back at you. Robin—Damian Wayne. What the hell? You’re usually the one to look for them, not the other way around. What’s with this turn of events?

“(Last Name).” His voice is sharp, not even bothered by the knife pointed at his neck.

“Robin? Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be on patrol yet.”

“Of course you would know that.” He mutters under his breath. “You’re putting yourself in danger. You need to stop or we will make you.”

“I- what?” You stumbled back, confused at his words.

“Stop following us. For your safety and our own.”

“Well maybe if you finally gave me answers, I’d finally leave you guys alone.” You cross your arm and roll your eyes. You knew you were being stubborn to a fault, but you really wanted this confirmation.

“And what will you do with this information?” He returns the action and raises his eyebrow.

“Nothing. Swear on my life.”

“And how should I trust you?” He asks, skeptically. There was an awkward silence between you two for a moment. You stared into each other’s eyes, before you put the knife to your palm and let the blood dripple down on the ground.

“May Lady Gotham herself place a curse on me should I lie.” You see his face twist, trying to make sense of what you just did. This was probably a stupid idea, but you needed answers. After all, the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back.

“Why did you do that? Do you know what you’ve just done?” Robin was dumbfounded. Who in the world would someone in their right mind make an oath like that just for some answers? Apparently you. He was almost amazed.

“Of course I do. Just tell me what I want to hear already.”

“Fine. You’re right. Will you stop putting yourself in danger already?” He sighs defeatedly. A smirk forms on your face, another goal achieved.

“I was right.”

“You were right.”

“Well, that’s all I needed! See you around wonderboy!” You turn on your foot, not waiting for his reaction to your nickname for him, and start walking back to your house. You’ll definitely be recording this down in your journal when you arrive.

“Hey wait! You hand’s still bleeding!” You stop in your tracks and look at your hand and back at Robin, now confirmed Damian Wayne.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt that much. I’ll just bandage it up at home.” Actually, it did hurt, but you wanted to look cool in front of him. I mean who wouldn’t want to in front of the guy they like?

Another silence falls between you two. You could see the conflicted look on his face, even with the domino mask covering half of it. You mentally laughed at his expression. After a few seconds, he seemed to finally come to a decision. He reached for your wounded hand, and you hesitantly let him hold it.

“At least let me help. I have some gauze in my utility belt to cover it.” This boy really was full of surprises, first coming to you to threaten you and now he’s helping you fix a self-inflicted wound. You truly chose the right guy to have a puppy crush on.

“Alright.” He held your hand gently, like you were fragile glass that would break in one wrong move. He pulled out a roll of gauze and wrapped it around your hand. You can hear him muttering stuff under his breath before finally speaking up.

“You’re actually crazy. why would you make an oath like that?”

“Aww is little birdie concerned about me?” You teased him.

“(Last Name).” He remained serious, but you reply with a chuckle.

“I don’t plan to break it, so it won’t affect me at all.” He looks up at you, a disapproving frown on his face. You return with a smile and his face flushes before he goes back to fixing your hand.

He finishes up quickly and lets you go home.

As you finally walked back home you could feel somehow following you, but you didn’t feel threatened. You knew it was Robin.

The next few nights, you left a few art supplies on your window sill, and by the time you would wake up, they would be gone

This eventually evolved into letters that you would write to him. At first, you were met with silence, but you pursued. Eventually, you would finally see a reply and from then on, you two became friends.

Unspoken words lingered between you two.

They remained unspoken until a rumour goes around the rogues of Gotham that you knew the identities of the vigilantes.

You, not having any connections with them, lived in blissful peace. That is, until you’re kidnapped and tortured for your knowledge.

You spend hours in pain, never spilling a word. Not only because of the oath, but also to not put Damian in danger.

After a few hours, you were finally saved. High in emotions, Damian accidentally takes his anger out on you, before realising his grave mistake.

He isn’t greeted with your smirk, no, instead he sees your tears. That’s when he’s forced to confront his feelings.

During your recovery, he visited almost every day, apologising profusely.

The tension doesn’t go away even after your fully recovered, but you slowly but surely warm up to him again.

It takes a while to get your friendship to normal, but when it does, you get closer and closer.

In fact, you would say you two were closer than before. So it would come to no one’s surprise when you two eventually ended up in a relationship.

Some explanation -

The oath is basically self-explanatory. Should you break it, Lady Gotham would place a curse on you. It honestly just came to my mind while I was writing this and I liked it so I decided to add it

I also wanted to play around with the sentient Lady Gotham so yeah

Anyways, I'm so sorry this is kinda bad 😭I might rewrite this one day since I'm really not satisfied with it

I had to dance around the topic of reader being smart because I honestly didn't know how to write that

Tysm for the request tho! As much as I struggled with it, I absolutely loved the idea <3

I wanted to go into more detail but I got writers block in between and didn't want to make it multi-part so I had to do that last part like that 🥲

You guys know the drill, any mistakes are free to be pointed out and I will fix them as soon as possible

Don't know if anyone actually reads my long ahh A/N's, but if you do, asks are encouraged as I do love to interact with people and they give me motivation

[ask-trashhunter]

Ok folks!!! OOC post!! I have 16 Trash Hunter designs now, which means I should be able to run a bracket tournament that lines up pretty neatly! :D

First though I wanna introduce you to all the designs I've done so far!!

All of these have a unique name for voting purposes, but don't worry about remembering them all I'll show pictures of them every time!

Human Hunter 1

Starting off simple, this is Human Hunter 1! The OG, the classic, my pfp! Honestly I kinda rushed this design bc I made this blog on a whim, so I had to make the design super quick! I spent like a little over an hour on this, and I had only really spent 15 extra minutes beforehand thinking about their design, so that's around 1 and a half hour total...... Idk how long I spent on the others. Anyway, basically their top half is pretty human looking, EVERYTHING about them is as green as I managed to get it (green is Their Color to me) and then their bottom half is basically meant to just be a trashy sludge that sort of melts and merges with their landfill. It's hard to tell where the landfill starts and where Trash Hunter ends. Oh yeah- and I have like 3 drawings of them in this style, their skin tone varies a LOT between each drawing lol. um. you haven't seen. the third one btw haha. it's totally not of me and trash hunter holding hands why would you even say that

Human Hunter 2

Alright, this is my second "human" Trash Hunter design. I wasn't quite happy with my first one, so I wanted to change it to something more like this. However!! I never actually got to finish my design until I watched something that changed the way I thought forever. I finished this drawing just this monday actually, because I'd forgotten I had no finished drawing of Human Hunter 2. I want you to remember that giant grapply arm they have and those spider legs. Also, you'll notice there's a line next to them, and it says "Cop" under. That's how tall Copper would be (per my headcanons) next to the various Trash Hunter designs. They really vary in size. For reference, I headcanon Copper as 152 cm, or 5 feet. I'll add a size chart in at the end- they won't be 100% accurate to the pictures but it'll be in the same area at least.

Trashbag Hunter

Ok this. This is where my life changed. I watched the hodgepodge audio new year's patreon video and got friggen mentioned. Hi Raddagher if you're seeing this I'm still not normal about Trash Hunter. I started feeling a bit insecure about my designs like I'd been boring about them so I was trying to redeem myself. When I started imagining Trash Hunter as a fucking trash bag with grillspyd- er- collapsible grilling skewer thingies- for legs. And holy FUCK I could not get the image out of my head it's hillarious and adorable. Relisten to the episode and imagine Trash Hunter like this TRUST ME /nf

Either way, this is where I started to expand my horizons. The trash bag and the grillspyd are sort of reocurring atp. Also this was my Discord pfp for a while, now I've changed it. Might change it back eventually honestly? I don't do that. I don't repeat profile pictures ever. Ok I might have done that at some point. But for now my pfp stays the same. This is my PFP over on bluesky though!

Anyway this is the cutest shit I've ever imagined- the drawings that follow are mostly random doodles I've made at D&D or during class. BUT FIRST!!!

Pony Hunter

Ok so I play ponytown. I played a bit ages ago and then I almost forgot it existed, then my friendo kept showing off what they were doing on there and I'd seen a few vids on it recently and long story short I've made 16.5 new ponies on there and most of them are Hodgepodge Audio themed. Ponytown Pony Hunter doesn't usually wear that turtle but in this screenshot they do. The drawn version shows a bit more how I actually view them though. Oh and that IS a croissant behind their ear, thanks for asking!! (I've been waiting to say that for months, I'm overjoyed now)

Their tail is a compact mirror btw! And that tarp they have in game, those are actually wings, teehee! Oh and I forgot to say why they have croissants behind their ears- basically I was looking at the horns and realized one set of horns was kinda curvy in a croissant-y way. So I was like eh, heck it. Croissants.

Seagle Hunter

This is where the chaos started. I was at DND, and we were on a quest to help a god. We met a seagull who was definitely not a fucking seagull. I ended up getting downed and when we were like what, 5 hp away from killing whatever creature was wrecking our shit, our 2 remaining teammates fucking left us. My character Thomoras only survived because one of our teammates asked the seagull to intervene, and the seagull fucking killed the creature. Thank you, seagull. I called you Karl but I never got your real name. I'm sure you wouldn't have answered if I asked. Anyway!! All that talk about seagulls that session got me thinking "Seagull. Trash Hunter. Trash Hunter seagull." this is an accurate depiction of how I think Always. So yeah I drew them as a seagle (<- that's how I prefer writing seagull) and I was like hell yes let's draw them as more silly things because I focus better when I draw!

So I started asking people for ideas.

Goblet Hunter

And this is officially were I lost it I think. I mean, I learned to disregard canon with this. I have a few different Little Guys as I call them, and they're definitely not canon at all, BUT THEY'RE SO CUUUUTE HELLO!!! 😭😭 I asked my DND buddy to give me a random item and so I drewed this bc they said goblet....... I fucking love these so much honestly

Soup Hunter

I love soup. What more is there to say? They call me the soup enjoyer. I switch in whenever we're about to have soup. I soup my faves. I spam the soup emoji (🥣) when I get too excited for words. It had to be done! It just had to! If you want you can imagine the soup is garbage soup. Or you know those witch potions a lot of people made as a child? Using acorns and grass and flowers and whatever you could find? Could be that too. Or maybe it's brogle soup becos it's my fave and they are my fave :)

Perfectly Generic Object Hunter / PGO Hunter

It had to come eventually. The Homestuck reference. My friend said for me to make them cube and I was like "I heard Homestuck, yes? Homestuck it is."

So yeha they're a green cube now :3

Egg Hunter

They're an egg now. They're just a huge fucking egg and they roll around. They just roll around.

I'm not allowed to add more images hold your horses for the reblog, I'll get image IDs done before I post this though so next reblog should be up in not all that long

[secriden]

*cracks knuckles* Okay lets talk about the elephant in the room: Style going to the support group for those who've suffered loss and telling what appears to be a fake story about losing his pet dog.

I'm going to point out a few things that I think provide a framework for Style's actions here. Not because I think it excuses what he did, but because I think a nuanced read is what the character deserves.

Point 1: An irresistible opportunity

The subs put the "Support Group for Loss" on the image in the notebook, but I'm not sure there's anything to suggest that Style would've known that was what this image represents until he showed up and saw the sign on top of the door.

In episode 2, Bison says, "He plans everything down from years, months, weeks to days" and then tells Kant:

So Style is literally just going to addresses/locations at given days and times, potentially not knowing what to expect. And as much as Fadel is certainly attending this meeting as a response to having that heartbreaking flashback (😭), this is also something he attends regularly and has planned to attend way in advance. So Style has no reason to think Fadel is attending this meeting because of a recent resurfacing of his pain.

What we, the audience, and what the characters know are very different things.

Now, should Style have turned his cute ass right around once he realised what this meeting was? Of course he should. But that wouldn't have been true to Style's character. We've been told by his best friend that he is "crazy" and been shown repeatedly that he lives right up to that description.

Style is impulsive. He's all base instinct and he acts on his desires without thought or contemplation. And by this point he is desperate for a deeper connection with Fadel. He's fascinated, captivated by the mystery that is Fadel and this is an excellent opportunity to finally see behind the wall Fadel so carefully maintains.

When Style sees the sign above the door, Style looks at the notebook (which, again, shows nothing but people sitting in a circle with the words RISE UP) like he's just realising what it means. He then gets this amused, almost rueful look on his face (like he's thinking "am I really going to do this?") before it shifts to determination and he walks through the door.

(My soul for the ability to once again gif something because FUCK Dunk is doing SO MUCH in this show!!)

To Style, this is just too good of an opportunity to give up.

Because let's be real, Fadel is so clearly lying and hiding something:

Fadel is shady as FUCK. He is simultaneously actually a really good cook (Style finally tries his burger so he knows, now), and also has the skills to work at a strip host club, and also can take on 3 guys in a fight, and also can break a man's arm with his thighs. Can you honestly blame Style for losing his mind just a little bit about wanting to get his hands on something, anything, to figure this man out?

Style is being absolutely consistent in his persistence to understand Fadel. This isn't about the car or about finally 'winning' the fight (thank you @airenyah for giving such a detailed framework to understand what Style's been doing until this point) anymore. This is about Style wanting to know Fadel himself.

Point 2: The potential implications of the setting

Now, what might give us a bit of insight as to why Style is this way? I have a theory (albeit one that could prove to be very wrong, but hear me out). I think this whole entire show is set in what could potentially be quite a small town/suburb.

There's a few things that make this theory plausible:

(1) Fadel and Bison are in hiding after Bison blew their previous cover. They're probably on the run from some section of the authorities and so it makes sense to settle in a quiet/out of the way place.

(2) Style seems to be really familiar with the people in the area. Like he grew up there and its the kind of small town where everyone knows everyone and everyone is in everyone else's business.

(3) Style is clearly the darling of the market aunties and uncles.

Style just lost her a sale and potentially a loyal customer, and she's still rooting for him? In episode 2, when Style asks the uncle to let him borrow his cart, it takes nothing but his word for the uncle to give Style his entire cart of produce for his ridiculous scheme.

Style is so clearly someone they all know well and have great affection for, and a very plausible explanation for this is that they all watched him grow up and the entire market (town/village) is fond of him.

And honestly?? Yeah, we see the way Style is actually quite sweet in that careless, guileless, thoughtless way. He goes the extra mile to fix his mistake with Fadel by replacing his car parts for free in episode 1. He helps out by taking orders in episode 2 without being asked and takes it seriously. In episode 3, he tries to drive more business to Fadel's store (bless him, he so clearly does NOT understand how restaurants work, but he MEANS well!!), and can we all acknowledge that it works?? He understands how to appeal to potential customers in the area because he knows the people there. It's not (entirely) his fault that Fadel wasn't remotely prepared for an actual rush crowd and Bison was off getting kinky with Kant and not doing his (fake) job. He is so clear about not judging Fadel's host job and tries his hardest to help him (to absolutely NO effect, but still) when the 3 guys gang up on Fadel.

Style is so loved and more importantly so very loveable.

Point 3: What this could mean for Style's character

So, potentially, Style is someone who grew up in a small town, who has been well loved, potentially spoiled and coddled, but also very much kept within the confines of the narrow viewpoint that a quiet, country town places on you.

It's in the way his dad scolds him as if he was still a child when he's at least in his mid to late 20s. It's in the way Style was so mad at Fadel for scolding him ("thanks for the lecture, dad"), like that hit a sore point for Style. It's in the way no one in the market takes him seriously; they're fond, but he's still a kid in their eyes. It's in the way he has an abundance of free time like he doesn't REALLY need to work at his dad's shop. It's in the way he sees Fadel beat 3 guys up with ease, starts wondering if Fadel is an assassin or a hitman, and is completely unfazed like he doesn't quite have a handle on reality.

It's in the way his best friend is a man who has no qualms about lying to him and putting his life in danger, and how Style seems to have no other friends or people (aside from his dad) in his life.

@wuxian-vs-wangji made a comment to me about Style being desperate for a meaningful connection, and I think she hit the nail on the head. Because along comes Fadel, a mysterious stranger with a suspiciously versatile set of skills who is also very hot and keeps giving Style these wonderfully complex reactions? Who sometimes wants nothing to do with Style, but at other times seems to be at war within himself about desperately wanting him? Who treats Style with anything but apathy?

This is catnip to Style; he never had any hope of resisting this.

Breaking news: Style is a complex and imperfect character...

Here's the thing, though: he was never going to try. The show has been incredibly upfront about who Style is as a person. Regardless of whether I'm correct about why he is this way (ie. that he is very much the product of the environment that didn't know how to handle a kid with Style's personality), episode 3 shouldn't have surprised anyone about Style. He's been incredibly consistent and true to himself.

He wants Fadel and he's "crazy" enough to go all in, no holds barred about it, and the Support Group was the biggest doorway to finally discovering something REAL about Fadel.

And its not just about sex or to prove his superiority anymore. Because if it was just that, then Style would have reacted very differently to their first time.

In this scene, Style is pleased and evidently enjoying himself, but he isn't exuberant. He isn't overcome with joy. If anything, he was more happy and excited when Fadel let him help out in the diner (I mentioned this in the tags in this post too) than he was when Fadel is literally fucking him. He lets Fadel set the pace; barely moves to touch Fadel except to hold him close. Almost like he doesn't want to accidentally mess this up, like he's worried he'll take too much, so he'll take what Fadel gives him and no more (please appreciate @braceletofteeth's amazing tags on this post). For a character that has been so aggressively on the offensive, this is shocking until you realise that sleeping with Fadel - while it's a step in the right direction - isn't Style's end goal anymore.

And he makes that abundantly clear in this episode:

Does Style even fully realise the weight of this desire? I doubt it. But I do believe that Style is in earnest. He doesn't fully understand his own feelings, but he also doesn't really care to either. All he knows is that he wants Fadel, wants his attention and his passion and his focus and his heart.

...but Style is also kind of, sort of, perfect.

Because he's exactly, precisely, breathtakingly exactly what Fadel needs.

Because Fadel is hurt and broken and bleeding inside. Because Fadel is barely holding it all together for Bison's sake, but has already given up hope for any true happiness for himself. Because Fadel can't trust anyone or anything in his life, when he's been used and used and used by the family who should've loved and cared and protected him.

Because it's going to take nothing short of this kind of unwavering, unshakable, uncomplicated determination to give Fadel even a chance of healing and opening his heart to love again.

[rotisseries]

everyone debates about elmike like oh they're the best of friends no they would never hang out on their own they don't even know each other, when the true answer, much like everything else about them, is that there is so so much and also nothing at all

[fortunately-bi]

...... If I went on a hiatus for who knows how long again would y'all hate me....... 👉👈

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt how much I love oni's writing again... In particular, "a seed is planted" continues to be one of if not my favorite logs because despite the troubling details and implications that come with it, it's the one thing in the entirety of the decaying corpse of gravitas that genuinely leaves us with a grain of hope (a seed if you will) and makes oni as a whole a lot more bitter sweet as while earth may not have survived, the dupes did, and after their horrible origins and the shit that many of them went through, in due time they'll finally get to just live, they're free now, and even if Olivia's sleep is end of a tragedy, the world will keep moving forward with or without those who've been lost

[oldmanlusting]

Okay gamers I need your help should I push for sharing a hotel room OR a cottage with my crush because apparently we might have Options

[reddpenn]

Here is a potentially silly question: how do you feel about birthstones? Do you think they fit the months (by season or astrological sign)? Do you have other stones you'd rather see as birthstones?

Okay, so, birthstones make absolutely no sense.

I mean, look at this mess. We’re doing beryl and corundum twice! I get that they get Special Different Names for their Special Different Colors, but it's just lazy. And why are we giving some months cheap, common gemstones like garnet and amethyst while the poor June birthdays have to shell out tens of thousands of dollars for FREAKING ALEXANDRITE? That’s incredibly unfair! We should be picking birthstones that are all roughly the same price. And why do some months get multiple gemstones? I’ll tell you why: because nobody can agree on an official list and every attempt to standardize this thing has just added MORE birthstones to every month.

So obviously the answer is to standardize it again, by throwing out everything and starting over. Here are our goals:

Fair pricing. You should be paying roughly the same amount regardless of what month you were born in. We’re getting rid of those ridiculous outliers like diamond and alexandrite.

More customization potential! Nobody should be stuck with a stone they hate. We’re picking gemstones that come in multiple colors or varieties, so that everyone can choose a variant they like.

Wearability. Some birthstones are too fragile to be worn as jewelry. We need to replace them with stronger stuff.

No more duplicate gemstones. Every month gets a stone or family of stones with a unique chemical composition.

Now without further ado, I present to you:

The New And Improved List Of Birthstones With No Problems Or Flaws That Everyone Will Definitely Agree On And We Can Start Using Right Now Immediately

JANUARY: GARNET

I've got no problem with garnet. It's a fine, classic birthstone, so January can keep it. But I would like to see a little more garnet diversity. January birthdays shouldn’t be confined to just red. The garnet family of minerals contains a rainbow of different colors, like orange hessonite, green uvarovite, pink rhodolite, yellow grandite, and many more. They’re all garnet, so we should be wearing them all!

FEBRUARY: QUARTZ

The original birthstone of February was amethyst, which is… kinda boring. Super cheap and common and you only get one color? No, we can do better. February gets ALL the quartzes now. Keep wearing amethyst if you want, but also feel free to branch out into clear quartz, citrine, rose quartz, smoky quartz, rutilated quartz, tiger eye… actually, take all the agates too. If it’s quartz, it’s yours!

MARCH: SPODUMENE

March was originally aquamarine, but I’ll be giving all the beryls to May, so we need a different stone here. Let’s stick with that theme of pale pastels and go with spodumene. For an April birthday, bedeck yourself in green hiddenite, pink kunzite, or yellow triphane. Despite its subtle colors, your birthstone has some amazing fluorescence, with really cool pinks and oranges under a UV light.

APRIL: FELDSPAR

Diamond is too pricy for this list, so we’re replacing it with something less expensive and way more interesting. April will now be represented by the feldspar family. We’re talking labradorite, moonstone, amazonite, aventurine, and sunstone. While you don’t have much variety in color, your stones are full of shimmery schiller which glitters and shifts as it catches the light.

MAY: BERYL

May’s original birthstone was emerald, which is great and can stay, but we’re also adding its siblings! May is now represented by all beryls: Emerald, Aquamarine, Morganite, Bixbite, Heliodor, Goshenite, and whatever other varieties I’m forgetting to list. A bright and saturated rainbow of colors is represented here, so everyone born in May is sure to find something they like.

JUNE: ORGANIC GEMSTONES AND FOSSILS

It’s time to address the alexandrite in the room, and obviously we’re getting rid of alexandrite. A stone worth $15,000 to $70,000 a carat does not belong on the same list as friggin amethyst. Instead we’ll look at the other traditional June birthstone, pearl. The problem with pearl is that it’s a clear outlier in this list. An organic gemstone, by some definitions not even a mineral. Should we replace it? NO. We are OWNING it. All organic gemstones now belong to June. Pearl is joined here by jet, amber, coral, ivory, ammolite, petrified wood… in fact, June can have every fossil ever.

JULY: SPINEL

July was originally represented by ruby, which is a fine stone and won’t be kicked off the birthstone list - we’re just shuffling it down to September. Replacing ruby for July is spinel. (See, it’s funny because historically spinel has often been mistakenly identified as ruby! That's a little gemology humor for you.) Available in any hue you could possibly desire, spinel offers some nice color options to a month that previously only featured red. Of course if you want to keep wearing red, red spinel mimics ruby so well that you’ll barely notice the difference.

AUGUST: PERIDOT

Nope, we’re not changing this one. Peridot is the ideal gemstone and you ungrateful August whiners can die mad about it. HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN TO APPRECIATE PERFECTION

SEPTEMBER: CORUNDUM

Sapphire is a wonderful, classic stone and it deserves its spot on this list. But the corundum family has been separated for far too long, and we’re finally going to reunite them. Joining sapphire in September is its sister ruby. Between the pinks and reds of ruby and the many, many colors of sapphire, these two stones give September a nice variety of colors.

OCTOBER: TOURMALINE

Look, as gorgeous as opal is and as much as I love it, it is both way too pricy for our list and also TERRIBLE in jewelry. This stone is just too brittle to wear around from day to day and can be ruined just by getting it wet, which makes wearing your birthstone a huge hassle. We’ll kick opal out and hang on to October’s other traditional birthstone, tourmaline. Pink tourmaline may be classic, but this stone comes in plenty of other colors. Whether it’s brown dravite, watermelon elbaite, or the rare and beautiful blue indicolite, you can wear them all!

NOVEMBER: TOPAZ

November can keep topaz, but we’re not confining it to the color yellow. This stone comes in a huge variety of colors, and now they can ALL represent November. No further notes; it’s a nice, classic stone.

DECEMBER: ZIRCON

I dunno, I’ve had to come up with 12 of these, I’m burnt out. Sure, zircon, whatever.

“BUT WAIT,” you say. “Now instead of having a single color assigned to each month, almost every month is represented by almost every color, making it impossible to tell anyone’s birthstones apart and removing what made them special and recognizable as symbols!”

Well CLEARLY you didn’t read the title of this list.

[souljahwwitch]

FUCKED UP! °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ hc’s about thanos x best friend reader who’s just as energetic as him <3

(no squid game!)

(kind of fwb like in my every other best friend! reader fic 😔)

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ choi su-bong (or thanos as he forces you to call him) have been best friends since diapers, both of your fathers being filthy rich, they were connected to the hip, and so you two are.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ one out of many things you two have in common is the pure hatred towards your fathers, you two always found a way to fuck up some family dinners or country club parties—and no one ever suspected a thing.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ no one suspected you, because how could y/n l/n, the oh so precious daughter of f/n l/n ever be so cruel? you were too pretty for that, too smart—no one actually knew you for who you are except thanos.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ they suspected thanos, of course they did—but he didn’t really care, only thing that mattered is having fun with you—like taking hits from the bong right before your father and his father and some prissy guests wait for both of you to come down to some boring dinner.

you sat there—trying not to burst out laughing at random things, thanos was beside you, gripping your thigh to stop you—and himself from laughing

“ sweetheart, you’ve gotta stop looking like your face is about to explode.” thanos mumbled beside you—and that just made you wheeze, he couldn’t hold it anymore also—so you laughed it out while making an excuse you have to go to a very important business walk!! (you two don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.)

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend means sneaking out at two am for whatever reason, you two were always in your pajamas too—even though you two are the same in personality—the style was a bit different.

“c’mon princess, jump i’ll catch you!” he whisper-yelled, between laughs because—why tf are you wearing a hello kitty pjs

“i can’t, asshole! what if you drop me-“ you hissed, sitting at your window, looking down at him.

“now don’t be dumb, i always catch you, angel, you know that.” he said cockily right before you sighed and jumped, he catches you, of course, but he doesn’t let you live it down

“see, dumbass! i told you!”

“fuck off >:(!!!!”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend means you can come to him for everything and he can come to you, your family were always on some business trips, so you two were often taking care of eachother.

and that’s how you find yourself in this position, pouring rain, walking from your mansion to his because you got a fever, and your dad was on a business trip with his dad—and he didn’t left you any over the counter medicine, yeah, he left you shit ton of money, but pharmacies don’t work at 4am.

you knocked on his door as if you were dying, you were shivering, you were soaked, and relief washed over you as you heard a voice call out “who the fuck in this time of night-“

when he opened the door and saw you there, sniffling and shivering, teary eyed—he knew you had a fever, fevers were hard on you, so he knew exactly how you looked.

“woah, woah—easy there, it’s alright sweetheart c’mere” he mumbled

“but-but you’ll get sick if you touch me-“

“what? you think some cold will knock my ass over like it does to you, stop being a brat and c’mere.”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend meant spending late nights in your girly room, laying on your bed as you two look at eachother—high or not, it always ended up like this—his hands on your waist, and you being stubborn first five minutes before you let him kiss you

“thereee she is..”

[nightmare-niko]

Pretty When You Cry [Father Charlie Mayhew x reader]

pt. 2

Word Count: 1916

Warnings: manhandling, kinda munch! Charlie, one slap, mean! Dom Charlie, blasphemy (they fuck in the church😬)

A/N: not my gifs! I have the originals reblogged on my page😘 this was actually already being written and then I got an anon request for basically exactly what I was already writing!! Hope ya like it hehe 🙃 i also dont really ever write like this kind of smut so i hope i did good!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

You weren't a religious person by any means. But staying the night at your parents had you up early, trying to find the most church-appropriate outfit. of course, your parents failed to tell you that they were planning on bringing you along to church. Your skirt was a bit too short. But it is not like you had room to complain with such short notice!

You remember going to high school with Father Charlie— or as you knew him Charlie. The two of you didn't run with the same crowds-- but you knew each other.

Now, here you were. Paying no attention to the words coming from his mouth and all attention to how good he looked. Damn-- maybe you should have shot your shot years ago when he was a personal trainer.

As you watched him at the head of the room, you allowed your mind to wander.

One extremely long and boring sermon later, you stand awkwardly behind your parents as they talk to what Seems like every member of the church. God how you regret agreeing to come-- It's not like you knew anyone here- none of your friends went to church. But here you were, being judged by middle-aged churchgoers. How fun.

The sound of your name being called catches your attention.

You whip your head around to the noise, "Father Charlie!" The name is unnatural as it falls from your lips. You quickly look at your parents- too engrossed in a conversation. “It's been a while!" You awkwardly step closer to the man.

He hums, "It has been, hasn't it? The first time in the church as well.”

“Well, you know...” You gesture back to your parents.

"I'm assuming this wasn't on your schedule.” He looks you up and down, “Given your attire.”

You gasp sharply, heat rising to your face as you pathetically try to pull your skirt down. "I-uh,” you try to think of an excuse, "I didn't pack any pants..." You lie-- lying in a church is one thing but to the priest?

If Charlie sensed your lie he didn't comment on it. "Well, I hope you enjoyed today's sermon.”

"I did!" You lie again, a little too enthusiastically.

Charlie narrows his eyes at you, "You weren't paying attention, were you?" His voice is playful.

"No, I was not," You quickly confess.

He laughs, you have to fight to not stare shamefully at his beautiful face for too long. "That's odd— because when I looked at you, you looked very focused," He teases.

“I wasn't paying attention to your voice. Just your fa-" you stop in your tracks. Utterly petrified at the situation you have just found yourself in. His eyebrows raise in surprise at your slip-up. “I mean I didn't even know that you could see me in that crowd-- I-I- just figured that-”

“That every time we locked eyes it wasn't on purpose?” he finishes your thought.

You nod pathetically, your shoes suddenly extremely interesting.

Charlie takes a step towards you, the proximity making you look up at the man. Has he always been that tall? "I want you to go into my office and wait for me.” His voice is a seductive tone you have never heard him use before. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“But what about my parents?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

“Dont worry about them,” he assures before walking away. Leaving you standing alone— stunned.

To say you were terrified was an understatement. Sure, you weren't in any danger-- at least you didn't think so. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? Here you sat, in a priest's office. Surrounded by biblical Imagery. And you were 99% Sure you were soaked through your cotton panties, you didn't care. No one but you was going to know... right?

Five minutes turned to ten. You sat anxiously in the chair across from Charlie's desk. A clock on the wall ticked away obnoxiously. You had figured when you walked in it would take him a while for him to return. how long should you wait? Has he forgotten that you were sitting in his office, impatiently waiting? You didn't dare to snoop, or even scroll on your phone. Charlie said to wait for him, and that's what you would do.

For thirty minutes you're alone in that office. you straighten your posture when you hear the clicks of Charlie’s boots nearing. The sound of the door opening makes you flinch pathetically. You don't dare turn around. Eyes glued on the desk in front of you.

Charlie is silent as he moves around behind you. Your pulse pounds in your throat at the anticipation.

“You seem nervous.” You tense at his voice, still refusing to turn around and face the man.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “I am nervous, Father.” You press your thighs together in an atempt to find some sort of relief to your throbbing center.

He groans quietly from behind you, “look at me.”

Like a magnet your head whips around to look at the man. His sharp gaze made your breath hitch. You felt hazy as he stepped towards you. Your eyes locked on his as he comes to stand right in front of you. Your breath quickens when he captures your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

Charlies predatory gaze on you deepens, his lips curling into a smirk, "you--" he rubs the lipstick on your mouth, smudging it. "Are such a pretty mess for me, darling.”

You bat your eyelashes up at him, “I don't know what you mean, Father.”

He grips the sides of your face harshly, cheeks smushing together into a pout. “Showing up to my church dressed like a slut—” he spits, “shamlessly eyefucking me the whole time like you were the only one in the room.”

You whimper at his words— he was right of course. But that didn't stop your face from flushing in embarrassment.

“Now look at you. Slut. Sitting before me like a doe as if you didn’t wait in my office hoping I would come in here and fuck you like the whore that you are.”

You moan shamelessly when he lets go of your face, while your whole body was screaming at you to submit to the man before you. You could help but push his buttons just a little bit further.

“You know for a priest you sure do have a filthy mouth—” His eyes narrow on you as you speak. “im such a slut but here you are hard in your pants over a damn mini skirt.” If looks could kill, you’d surely be dead. You needed more.

You open your mouth to speak again. But before you could even get a sound out, Charlie strikes his large hand across your cheek. You moan again, “fuck!”

Wordlessly, he turns to the desk before you. You watch curiously as he haphazardly pushes the clutter on his desk onto the floor. Your hands tremble in anticipation as you watch him bound towards you. He effortlessly picks you up from the chair you sat on, as if a reflex you cross you’d ankles behind his back as his hands greedily grip your thighs and ass.

He gently places you on the recently cleared off desk. A stark contrast to the way he effortlessly hoisted you from your seat. You attempt to grind down in the wooden desk under you for some kind of stimulation, but Charlie’s grip stops you.

“So impatient,” he purrs. He captures your lips in a quick, gentle kiss. You whine at the loss of him, but you don’t have to worry for long as his hands greedily grasps at your skirt, tearing at your legs. He leaves you with one last opened mouth kiss as he begins to trail wet kisses down your neck.

He mumbles something you can’t quite hear. But you don’t really care when he sinks to his knees, his strong hands prying your legs open. He trails more kisses to your inner thigh all the way up to your core. He licks a stripe over your soaked through panties, your legs try to close but his hands are holding your thighs open. His eyes lock on yours as he pulls them down your legs, the speed agonizing as you whimper. In a second his lips are back on you, his wet kisses up your thighs driving you mad.

“Charlie,” You thread your hand through his hair as he bites and licks at your heat like a starved man.

He mumbles a quick “no,” as he pulls away from you. His chin slicked and shiny from you. The scene is pornographic, if you had a camera you’d take a picture. He fumbles with his belt buckle and throws it to the side, the metal clanking to the floor loudly. You shamelessly stare as he stands back up, towering over you again he gets close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

“Look at you,” he tuts. You lurch forward— pulling him into a greedy, filthy kiss. When he moans into your mouth it’s the most heavenly sound you’ve ever heard. Pushing you back into the desk, once again he’s muttering something, a prayer. You paw at his zipper and he lazily watches you has you pull out his angry cock.

“Please?” You beg, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer sexual frustration.

“Since you asked so nicely~” he steals a quick kiss before dragging his leaking tip through your folds.

He pushes into you fully in one smooth motion. Your back arches up off of the desk, wood painfully digging into your spine. You didn’t care— all you cared about was him.

Fast sharp deep thrusts have you screaming as the sounds of skin ring throughout the office. You curse- throwing your arms over your head. Charlie’s mouth gaping while he groans, pressing and thrusting himself into you.

"Just, like that, oh.. god." You wail as he slams himself into your g spot repeatedly.

Charlie greedily paws at your clothed breasts as his hips slap into yours. You clench around him— you can already feel your orgasm building from the rough pace set. Charlie’s hips stutter from your action and you clench again. A low groan leaves his beautifully shaped lips as he digs his fingers into your hips.

You moan— you try to form words but Charlie feels so good inside of you that your brain feels like mush. He seems to be able to tell your close however by the way his thumb reaches down to rub sloppy circles onto your clit.

Your vision turns white as you come undone. Your nails dig into the desk below you as Charlie chases his own release. He leans down, pressing kisses into your cheeks and necks, unlike the kisses before; these are gentle and caring. You hiss when he pulls out of you, missing the feeling of him inside you immediately.

“How much convincing will it take for you to come to next weeks service?” He breathily laughs against the side of your face.

“If it’s gonna end like this again— none at all.”

♡︎༻🌸༺♡︎

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[anxiousbabybird]

Love and Deepspace men x fem!reader slightly unhinged and NSFW HCs, PART 2!

Once again, minors do not interact! I made you guys a part 2 of my current thoughts. No plot or card spoilers in my comments or reblogs, please and thank you 💙

Part 1

Rafayel

Have you met this man? He wants to know where you’re at and who you’re with at all times. So jealous. It’s probably in your best interest to forget other men exist once you’re dating him

Convinced you to suck his dick while he’s painting to see if it helps convey emotion into his painting—he accidentally pushed the paintbrush through the canvas when he came

Loves when you ride him—it’s so cute watching you bounce on him and use his body for your own pleasure. This also allows him to sit back a little and enjoy every sound you make, every facial expression, every feeling. Of course he does eventually get bored and flips you onto your back for his turn

Before you’re dating, he persuades you into being a nude model for him. He takes his time caressing your skin and telling you he has to “feel” the art, lets his hands wander and linger as he moves your body little by little until you’re in the exact position he wanted. Spends hours staring at your naked body, pretending to draw it (he finished his sketch hours ago but he doesn’t want you getting dressed yet)

Kinks/fetishes: biting, marking, breeding, spit, primal, spanking, mirror sex, praise, wax, shibari, choking, exhibitionism

Loves a pussy job—just sliding his cock between your folds and tapping at your clit like he’s knocking on a door until he cums all over you. Loves this for two reasons: 1) you look exquisite with your clit swollen and body spattered in cum, and 2) the banter between the two of you during a pussy job is top tier. It’s not quite degradation, but you’re both going back and forth in the most teasing way, riling each other up.

Has the biggest praise kink. He thinks he might actually die if you don’t tell him how amazing he is at least 12 times a day

Part of the pretty dick club. It’s actually perfect—thick but not too thick, long but not too long, nice veins wrapping around and well groomed at the base. Some would say it’s perfect.

Xavier

Sometimes when he’s flustered by you, his body emits a soft glow because of his evol. You notice it for the first time when you surprise him with a kiss to his cheek. He glows a little brighter the first time he kisses your lips too.

He’s fallen asleep during sex before. Usually after several rounds, he’s cum twice already, and you’re laying on your sides on the bed and he’s lazily thrusting into you from behind and all of a sudden he stops. Sheathed inside you and an arm around your waist. When you look over your shoulder, he’s sounds asleep and already softly snoring. You have no choice but to do the same, falling asleep in his arms and keeping his cock nice and warm all night

His favorite position is missionary where your legs are wrapped around his waist and he’s slowly, deeply thrusting into you. He likes seeing every expression on your face, really feeling you sucking him in, hearing every breathy moan you try to hide from him. And he likes that he can kiss you whenever he wants

Likes to read at night, even though he falls asleep doing it. When you start staying nights at his place, he convinces you to read out loud to him and you do that every night until he falls asleep with his head on your chest.

Kinks/fetishes: hair pulling (he likes when you give a little tug), overstimulation, marking, cum play, face sitting, cockwarming

Loves fresh flowers and brings you new ones every week. He thinks they’re pretty and hopes you appreciate them the way he does. Sometimes he buys them or sometimes he picks them from some lush patch in the forest. Always takes some for himself so he knows when they start dying and he needs to get you new ones.

Loves to lay his head in your lap so you can play with his hair

The kind of guy who will keep his hand holding yours no matter what because he wants to make sure you’re staying beside him. Sometimes takes one of your hands and puts it in the pocket of his sweatshirt with his just so it stays warm.

Zayne

He was very opposed to fucking in the hospital at first but then on a day he was super stressed, you stopped by and sucked him off under his desk while he reviewed charts and he was able to successfully perform a surgery other doctors thought was inoperable—he was more lenient on sex in the hospital after that

Kinks/fetishes: size kink, spanking, brat taming, choking, degradative praise, impact (spanking/flogging/paddle), breeding, edging/denial, thigh riding, dirty talk

Has absolutely bent you over his knee to spank you when you’re being a brat and talking back to him all the time with no regard for your own well being. All he wants is to take care of you because you never take care of yourself. And he would take the best care of you.

Cunt smacks. No further explanation needed.

Favorite sex position is prone bone. He likes hitting it from the back because sometimes the prolonged eye contact that can come with facing each other makes him uncomfortable. But doggy style isn’t what he wants because he wants to feel your body against his, holds you as close as possible. This position works best because every inch of him is atop you and he can feel your body there beneath him, he gets to tuck his head into your neck to bite or kiss or moan into, he’s close to your ear and can whisper filthy things or tell you how close he is or how good you feel around him, and most of all, this position has him so fucking deep inside you that he swore nothing in this life felt better the first time he entered you in this way

Allergic to saying nice things to you 98% of the time.

He runs cold because of his evol and sometimes when he cums, it feels like ice inside of you. Made you scream in surprise the first time but leads to some fun temperature play where he uses his tongue to warm you up after. He’s also often cold and loves to curl up against you and tell you that you’re his heater.

#ThickDickClub

@luffysprincess @seraphofthesimps @adaurielle

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[astonmartinii]

i like a girl in uniform | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem vet!reader

little leo leclerc needs a trip to the vet, lando was just being a good friend but the vet tech was definitely a plus

based on the request by: @volleygal06

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,304,893 others

charles_leclerc: this dramatic little boy decided he wanted to eat every piece of grass he could find and got poorly, thank you to austin vet clinic for helping us out and getting him back into shape :)

view all comments

user1: leo is so dramatic, he's so me

user2: leo leclerc is the dramatic girl representation we need in the f1 paddock

pierregasly: please word your texts better, i thought someone had actually died

charles_leclerc: he nearly did!

landonorris: he did not, you're just a helicopter parent

pierregasly: wait why was lando with you and not me?

charles_leclerc: he just happened to be there and i needed a lift

landonorris: because he was freaking out

charles_leclerc: but he conveniently he decided he really cared about leo's wellbeing when he saw the vet tech

pierregasly: ohhhhh i see

landonorris: what! no! i'm a good friend!

charles_leclerc: sure, jan.

user3: fuckboy lando has re-entered the chat

user4: his slutiness knows no bounds

yourusername: he's such a precious little guy, i'm glad i could get him back to feeling himself. good luck to both of you this weekend!

charles_leclerc: thank you so much for your time, you definitely were the calm we needed

yourusername: ahahaha you're just a good dad to your fur baby

landonorris: thank you! any chance you can be my lucky charm this weekend?

yourusername: do you flirt with all the vet techs like this?

landonorris: only the cute ones

yourusername: i see...

landonorris: but i can still interest you in a coffee?

yourusername: i'll see if i'm free

user5: that was .... tragic

oscarpiastri: well that was something

alexalbon: you'd think he'd be better at it by now

georgerussell63: i have to have faith he's better at this in person

maxverstappen1: i'm kind of enjoying this show tbf

landonorris: i can read this?

alexalbon: take the constructive feedback

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 11,563 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: never a boring day here, leo was just the loveliest boy ever

view all comments

user6: okay turns out i am no better than lando

user7: if you heard barking that wasn't me

landonorris: are you sure he was THE loveliest boy, or are you just being nice because he's a puppy?

alexalbon: bro is jealous of a dog

yourusername: i'm sorry lando, but leo was a very brave boy

landonorris: i can be brave too!

oscarpiastri: you wouldn't let me sit at the same table as you at a restaurant because i ordered salmon

landonorris: well yes but that's also because it's you - when i go on a date with y/n, if she ordered salmon i would live with it

yourusername: when i go on a date with you?

landonorris: our date on sunday?

yourusername: oh really?

landonorris: i'll pick you up, wear something pretty x

user8: i have no idea whether that worked or not

user9: it was a loser move, but i would cave as well

user10: lando is unbelievably lame but he's also a millionaire f1 driver so i guess he can do what he wants

alexalbon: no it was lame and you guys should continue to tell him that

landonorris: trust the process alex

georgerussell63: the last time we trusted the process your dms where you tried to go on a maccies date were leaked

yourusername: i am NOT coming if you're taking me to mcdonalds 🤨

charles_leclerc: he takes after his mother :)

yourusername: awwwww, based on how many times he pissed on you, i think he's definitely a mummy's boy

charles_leclerc: tbf i'll do anything she says too

yourusername: @landonorris take notes if you want a date ^^

user11: american races i will never not complain about you but you have given me entertainment before the cars have even gotten on track

user12: idk this kinda proves my theory that the american races are just one big humiliation ritual for f1

f1tea

liked by user14, user15 and 18,304 others

tagged: yourusername

f1tea: the vet tech, y/n y/ln, who helped leo is in the paddock for qualifying.

view all comments

user16: oh wow she's actually so pretty

user17: also like she just looks like a normal fucking person

user18: that's probably because she is a normal person

user19: okay queen is turning a fucking look

user20: she looks so effortless i love her already

user21: i beg you people don't get parasocial already, she's a vet tech who will probably just be here for the weekend

user22: not if lando has any say in it 😭

user23: i honestly think good for her for having him so down bad but i also pray for her for when the twitter girls catch on

user24: they've already found all of her personal details poor gal

user25: so like which garage is she in this weekend?

user26: she came in with alex and leo so i think it's a safe bet to guess ferrari

user27: i think the 13 year olds would actually have an aneurysm if she was in the mclaren garage

user28: i kinda want to see the meltdown

user29: the way ted kravitz shoved his microphone in her face killed me

user30: girl was so fucking confused

user31: the way she said 'i guess i'm a charles fan? i don't know i met him yesterday and he offered me tickets after i helped leo?'

user32: alex trying not to laugh right next to her when ted was asking her so many questions

user33: lando just fell to his knees in the mclaren garage

yourusername

liked by alexsaintmleux, landonorris and 24,509 others

tagged: f1 & charles_leclerc

yourusername: thanks for the hospitality charles and ferrari! this has been a dream come true x

view all comments

user37: girl rocked up to her job, met THE leo leclerc and got a paddock pass

user38: why does leo never eat a load of grass when i'm on shift

user39: ugh why does this stuff not happen to me :(

charles_leclerc: i'm glad i could repay you beyond leo's vet fees!

yourusername: i did not know this sport was so god damn stressful and it wasn't even the race 😭

charles_leclerc: are you sure you can't make it tomorrow, there's still a ticket with your name on it?

yourusername: just say you and alex want a free dogsitter

charles_leclerc: guilty!

charles_leclerc: no but seriously if you wanna pull a sick day, we have a ticket for you

yourusername: all of my managers follow you on instagram, so i think that might be off the cards now

charles_leclerc: ..... oh

yourusername: it's like you people forget you're famous

user40: she's not here for the race :(((

user41: rip y/n y/ln in the paddock 2024-2024, forever in our hearts

user42: we'll never forget the ted's notebook episode of him being humbled by her

landonorris: you're not here for the race ? :(

yourusername: i have a job babe

landonorris: but but but i never got to take you out

yourusername: i technically never even agreed to that

landonorris: but hypothetically if i happened to be in your vicinity on sunday evening, would you change your mind?

yourusername: i'm sure you'll be out celebrating mr racer boy

landonorris: so you think i'm good 😊

yourusername: well you're starting third so i guess so?

landonorris: don't count out a more lowkey celebration ;)

alexalbon: is this loser son of a bitch actually going to secure a date

landonorris: i told you guys to trust the process

yourusername: i can literally read this right now ?

landonorris: I'M DOWN BAD LET A MAN LIVE

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 1,429,788 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: i told the pretty girl i'd win something for her desk and i did ;)

view all comments

user43: holy moly he did it

user44: this is possibly bigger than his first win

user45: proved he can drive and is not completely sauceless

user46: is he at the vets in his sweaty-ass racesuit?

oscarpiastri: YES HE IS AND HE RAN BEFORE WE COULD DEBRIEF SO NOW I HAVE TO WAIT FOR HIS WHIPPED ASS TO COME BACK TO THE PADDOCK BEFORE I CAN GO TO BED

landonorris: your tone seems very pointed

oscarpiastri: it is indeed very pointed, i am so tired and you're so down bad that i'm going to have to sleep at the track

landonorris: well that sounds like a you problem

oscarpiastri: you are such a failure in this department that i'll let you off but i expect a tow next weekend

landonorris: anything i don't mind

oscarpiastri: this is levels of down bad i have never seen before

yourusername: i happen to like my men desperate and pathetic

landonorris: hehehhehehehhehe :P

user47: i now know way too much about these people

user48: at least all this public humiliation was worth it in the end for lando?

alexalbon: this pizza in the car date is very reminiscent of the proposed hotel maccies date ....

yourusername: why are you always up in our business

alexalbon: i've known this gremlin for far too long, if anything i'm looking out for you

yourusername: please refer to my previous comment about my preferences

alexalbon: you people are perfect for each other 🤨

yourusername: i can't deny a pretty boy when he's worked so hard to impress me

maxverstappen1: pretty sure that's just his day job to drive fast

yourusername: LET ME HAVE THIS FUCK OFF

landonorris: i knew i had one shot for you to take me seriously

yourusername: oh i was always going to say yes to a date, i just wanted to see just how much you wanted it

landonorris: well i wanted it and i want many more SO BADLY

yourusername: we'll see what we can do...

landonorris: HEHHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHE :)))))))))

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 34,109 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: someone tell this man he has a job and he has to leave

view all comments

user51: y/n's photography has shown me what the lando girls see for once

user52: i agree i am MOVED

yourusername: 🤨

user53: bro went on one date and thinks she's special

yourusername: more dates than you :P

user54: ugh finally a wag that fights back

landonorris: but i don't wanna leave you 😩

yourusername: i don't particularly want you to go either but somehow zak has gotten my personal number and wants you at the airport and i'm scared he'll get my address next

landonorris: tell him to fuck off next time

yourusername: he's your boss? WHAT IF HE GETS MY ADDRESS

oscarpiastri: not to sound like a sweat but he is actively looking for your address with cartoonish steam coming out of his ears

yourusername: LANDO IF YOU LIKE ME AS MUCH AS YOU SAY PLEASE MAKE SURE YOUR PSYCHO BOSS DOES NOT COME TO MY HOUSE

landonorris: ugh anything for you i guess

user55: i'm not sure how we got here but they're so hot

user56: he is PUNCHING SO BAD

landonorris: she's a literal goddess i know

yourusername: take notes ladies xx

landonorris: no but seriously, i don't want to leave you - can't you come to brazil?

yourusername: sorry babe i have a job i need to go to

landonorris: PLEASE

yourusername: but what about all the sick animals :(

landonorris: i guess :(

user57: what kind of spell is he under it's been THREE DAYS

landonorris: i love a girl in uniform

yourusername: even if it's scrubs covered in cat piss

landonorris: i find you sexy in anything, but preferably nothing ...

yourusername: right back at you xo

fin.

note: babes i am SWAMPED but i hope you enjoyed!

[lylianrae]

A list of all the things I have manifested ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

We manifest everything in our lives btw - the good and the bad which is why I will be including both to prove that the law does not discriminate. If you can successfully become poor, you can most definately become rich with the same ease because everything is just a state.

Long hair

AHH this is one of my favourite manifestations. Ever since I was young I had a weird bob with a fringe (often crooked) and I wanted long hair like all the other girls (lmaoo) but my mum was strict so she didn't let me grow it out. Although I didn't know about manifestation back then, every new year and birthday I would wish for long hair and I would pretend I was a princess with butt long hair. Guess what, somewhere along the line, my mum let me grow it out and now I have butt length hair (don't really know what to do with it tho </3).

As all kids do, I went through an emo phase where I chopped off like half of my hair like 4 years ago. I literally grew back 7-8" of hair within a month because my parents got too mad. I knew about manifestation here so I just assumed my hair always grows unaturally fast. Same with when I cut bangs, they grew past my chin within a couple of weeks.

Manifesting my way into a private school

Honestly this just shows that you dont need 2430430 hours of working on your self concept to manifest. Literally so many celebs, including Marylin Monroe (the queen), manifested their fame with awful self concept. Likewise, here I was possibly going through the worst time of my life back then. I would wake up at 8 am and start studying and end at 11 pm despite being only 10 at the time. I was so freaking stressed and envious of all the other children and went into a depressive spiral where my two options were pass or die. I didn't even have enough practice and I cried my self to sleep on most nights. Anyways, when i did the exam I was deathly calm and even after the exam I was apparently so chill so my parents thought I failed.

I literally left 9 questions on one paper but throughout the summer, everytime I found a dandelion I would make a wish and imagine digging a tunnel to the examiners room where I secretly change my answers into the right ones (lmfao my tiny 10 yr old brain - idek how it worked). Anyways my results were sent back to me a month later on a random October evening and I got a really high mark. Even after 7 years of going to this school I havn't met anyone who has gotten a mark higher than mine.

Curly hair / straight hair

Sigh. We always want things we don't have. When I was younger I had really straight hair like 1A asian hair but when I was like 10, I really wanted curly hair and I would try to curl it often. After a few months, I manifested a curling iron and my hair literally became naturally curly like right after a wash it would curly af when before it was dead straight. Naturally I grew bored of it and I wanted my straight hair back and for ages I began overcomplicating the law and struggled to manifest it. It was only recently when I actually let go of the 3D that I manifested the silky, shiny straight hair.

Social life?

This is also a funny one, just shows how easily you can manifest. So back in 2021 after lockdown I felt so lonely and felt so left out of my friendship group so after a few months I began stressing myself out and spiraling for like 30 minutes, sobbing to myself about how I was so lonely and how nobody loved me (💀). Anyways it became reality, I found myself uncomfortable in many social situations and found myself becoming forgotten far more easily. I don't really remember the details but it was so bad that I think I accidently manifested social anxiety (oh well we still up tho).

However I am a loa girly so I found myself listening to popularity subliminals and slowly (but surely) my mindset change from having no friends to being the most popular girl in the year. Like no joke I became friends with like 3 people from different social circles so at lunchtime we had to join up like 3 different tables so we can all sit together. Overall I got myself 20+ close friends and even my ex friends began to admire me although it had ended badly. Even now, when someone says something thats untrue - for example saying that they are dumb when they are not, they would be like "ahaha so its like when Rae (me) says she has no friends, the whole school knows who Rae is".

Clear skin

This was sort of in the beginning of my loa (law of attraction back then) journey, I just randomly found out what subliminals were and was still quite new to everything. Now I don't even understand how it happened but I had busted some capillaries under my skin and it looked like small red viens under my skin and bro I was freaking out at the time. One night I was like just, I had enough, I'm going to get myself better skin and so I listened to a sub once for 3-4 days and on like the 4th day, my cheeks began to heat up which was odd and the next day it was 90% gone. Just like magikkkk.

Desired university?

Guys. Feeling is the secret. Don't you ever forgot that - not feeling as in emotions but rather the feeling of knowing. I had 2 entrance exams to do to apply for my universities and it was a stressful time where I wasn't getting enough sleep and wasn't eating enough simply because I didn't have the time. Like I come home from school and would have 3-4 hours of homework, then I need to revise for tests and then the remaining time would be spent on the entrance exams. Each past paper took 2 hours and I have around 13s per questions and I was already struggling on time. Anyways, I began to hate them and I would often complain to my mum saying things like "My score got even lower!!" or "I hate it so much" or "My head hurts / eyes hurt".

Guess what? Not only did I see my score decrease over time but I also made such a silly mistake on the most important entrance exam which I needed for 4/5 of my universities. I left a question and completely forgot to mark on the answer so when I finished the section I realised I had one more space on the sheet with like 10s to spare. I didn't have enough time to go back and fix it and lemme say that I did so badly in the test. Even while waiting for results I was just like "ah it would be a miracle if I scored above this bla bla".

I got the score back and it was so freaking bad like I did not stand a chance at my university at all. However, I started to affirm for a place and to my utter shock and surprise my desired university reached out and offered me an interview. I knew people who had like scores which were 50% better than mine and they still got rejected pre-interview. Anyways I began stressing about the interview and the results of the whole thing and boom. I got rejected 3 days after my birthday lmaoo. But its okay because I'm reapplying and I learnt so much more. I'm redoing the entrance exam and my score is a loooot better than it ever was last year.

A key take away would be thoughts are the result of the state you are in. Your dwelling state manifests and I was focusing on the unrealness and the difficultly of getting into this uni and thats what manifested. At the time I was heartbroken and literally went through the 7 stages of grief and spent so many months trying to revise it only for me to focus on the 3D. Just know that everything is done in imagination and it appears in the 3D as a result.

Photographic memory

So this is also something I had manifested before I actually knew about loa but the takeaway here is that manifestation is always instant. I was around 11 reading a random book on my tiny kindle and the book was on how to develop a good memory and I was like ah that'll be useful. Anyways later in the car, I asked my dad about photographic memory and he sort of explained it to me. I just assumed that I have that and I told him I do. He just laughed at me and said thats something that you have to train for and I was not impressed lmao. Inside my tiny brain, I was just like nope, I already have photographic memory and I dropped that thought. Let me tell you, my memory is actually photographic and has helped me out on so many occasions like my brain just takes pictures of things.

Learning fast

This is also something I did before I knew loa, I was just always wondering why the other kids couldn't grasp concepts as easily as I did. Literally in every lesson I would be like ah I learn so fast and now I am actually blessed with the ability to grasp complex subjects so fast. A favourite example of mine would be when I was obsessed with music but to take it to a higher level you need to be able to play an instrument. I couldn't at the time and my teacher told me the requirements a week before the actual deadline. I have never actually played piano with both hands but one day I sat down and worked through the entire song (fur elise by Beethoven) which is a grade 5 (I think) and it normally takes people months / weeks to learn. I learnt the whole thing in 3 days and from then on, I could play piano like I had been doing for ages. Again the memory thing was so helpful because I never actually used any sheet music, I learnt it off a youtube video and I remembered every single note I needed to play.

Hourglass body + 22" waist

This was a couple of years ago when I actually didn't understand loa. Anyways long story short, I would do a 3 minute workout and then flex infront of the mirror all day (💀) and be like omg I have abs. Overtime, I actually got so skinny everyone around me kept pointing it out to me and my mum got so concerned that she took me to the doctor like 4 times. It was so funny, I would loose like 2-3kg overnight and my parents would have to buy better fitting uniform.

Bigger boobs

This was also back in the day (2021?) when I didn't understand how to manifest things easily af. I had an A cup but I wanted better boobies and I listened to like 2 subs for a week and I went to a B cup. But I just assumed I have a bigger cup size recently and I just skipped C and went to D+ (haven't measured in a long time).

I'm not done but I'm tired now bye bye

[ironinkpen]

The dynamic in Rise between the rest of the team and Leo is. so fucking funny. Because like you've got these three extremely talented individuals who all seem like perfectly reasonable people at first glance, right, but then if you squint hard enough you realize they're actually all batshit insane (affectionate) and the clown boy standing behind them is secretly their common sense.

Clown boy will occasionally put himself and the others in danger to Prove Himself or Prove Someone Wrong (see Minotaur Maze and the movie) but like otherwise... i think people forget Leo's overwhelmingly the voice of reason in most situations?

Raph, Mikey, and Donnie are all incredibly powerful boys with very specific skill sets. They are also, as a direct result of this, the WORST decision-makers on god's green earth lmao. When presented with a problem, Raph will smash, Donnie will blow shit up, and Mikey will razzmatazz. They will all run straight toward death with the same oblivious enthusiasm of a dog about to run straight into a screen door. None of them realize this and all of them think they are Extremely Good At Problem-Solving.

And the guy cursed with the common sense to realize this is literally the LAST person anyone would expect.

When you look closely, the entirety of Rise is actually a chronicle of Leo trying to find new and creative ways to keep this team of superpowered fools alive while simultaneously white-knuckling his Cool Fun Guy persona so the others don't realize he's secretly the Boring Responsible One. Haha, you know what would be Cool and Fun, guys? Not going after the Spine Breaking Bandit lol. Getting home before the sun goes up lol. Evacuating that civilian lol. Not telling the guy dangling me off a roof "you won't, no balls" lol.

The sacred struggle of every iteration of Leonardo is thanklessly wrangling the most trigger-happy siblings in the world, and Rise Leo has not escaped it. He just does an occasional shenanigan to avoid detection and his brothers fall for it every time.