#the hunger games desired reality
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jadeshifting ยท 2 months ago
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โ€” SO, YOU WANNA SHIFT TO THE HUNGER GAMES? ( no judgement, just ideas )
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ใ€€.โ€‚โ€‚ ใ€€ใ€€หšใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€*ใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€หš ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.หšใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.ใ€€
you find yourself captivated by the fierce competitors, the raw survival skills, and the thrill of the Gamesโ€”but youโ€™re not here for the trauma or the soul-crushing political weight of the Capitol. you want to shift into the arena as a competitor, but youโ€™re not particularly excited by the idea of killing or experiencing the emotional scars of the Games (hopefully.) you just want the vibes of it all. anyway, iโ€™m gonna ramble about some safe, exciting, and less intense ways to dive into this reality
SAFEGUARDS FOR THE ARENA ( no one wants to die in the first five minutesโ€”or at all )
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ใ€€.โ€‚โ€‚ ใ€€ใ€€หšใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€*ใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€หš ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.หšใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.ใ€€
first and foremost, if youโ€™re going to be a competitor in the Games, you need a solid shield to make sure you can actually survive without getting too hurtโ€”physically or emotionally. letโ€™s make sure you can have the experience of being in the arena without the real risk
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. non-violent approach. script that youโ€™re a survivor in the Games, not a fighter. either youโ€™re protecting others, or just outlasting everyone, but not killing. your weapons could be more about defenseโ€”you use a shield, traps, or stealth to protect yourself without ever needing to engage in direct combat
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. immune from fatal injury. this is your script, and you donโ€™t have to die in the arena. script that no matter what happens, you canโ€™t be seriously injured or killed. youโ€™re immune to lethal attacks, or your injuries heal incredibly fast. youโ€™re invincible, in the sense that youโ€™ll never meet a tragic end during the Games
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. no fatal hits. any lethal blows or attacks are automatically deflected or blockedโ€”whether by some unseen protective power or just sheer willpower, the important part is that you can never actually kill another contestant
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. non-violent encounters. you can script that, coincidentally, any encounters you have in the Games are strictly non-violent. you might have to face other competitors, but these interactions can be in the form of alliances, strategic plays, or even just passive avoidance. you certainly donโ€™t need to kill anyone
YOUR DAY-TO-DAY IN THE ARENA ( so youโ€™re prepared, not overwhelmed )
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ใ€€.โ€‚โ€‚ ใ€€ใ€€หšใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€*ใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€หš ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.หšใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.ใ€€
being a competitor in the Hunger Games is a big deal, and itโ€™s important to understand what life will look like in the arena without having your mind explode over the chaos. youโ€™re stepping into a world of survival, but you can make it a lot less intense by scripting the day-to-day experience in a way thatโ€™s more manageable, and less heavy
LIFE BEFORE THE ARENA: TRAINING & PREP
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. prep period. before the Games start, make sure you get plenty of training time and preparation. youโ€™re not going to be thrown into the chaos without some confidence in your abilities. training is mostly about learning survival skills, but you could also script camaraderie, forming alliances, and other semi-positive interactions with other tributes during prep
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. skills you actually enjoy. maybe you love archery, or youโ€™re great at crafting. choose skills that make you feel empowered rather than terrified. you donโ€™t have to just script being great with a weaponโ€”you can script that you have unique abilities that set you apart, like building traps, reading the environment, or surviving using cleverness and wit ( which also happen to be non-violent and less stressful, by the way )
LIFE IN THE ARENA
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. less violent challenges. not all of the challenges of the Games have to be focused on physical combat. you can script periods of challenge that test the tributes on survival skills or problem-solving instead of being forced into deadly combat. for example, the Gamemakers could test you on endurance, mental agility, or resourcefulness, where the goal is simply to outsmart the arena rather than outfight it
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. alliances. while alliances can be a tricky thing in the Hunger Games, you can script the arena to be slightly more cooperative. you could form something close to a โ€œteamโ€ that helps each other with food, water, and shelter. this would also subside the isolation of the Games, so they arenโ€™t an on-sight bloodbath at every second
THE LITTLE DETAILS
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ใ€€.โ€‚โ€‚ ใ€€ใ€€หšใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€*ใ€€ใ€€ ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€หš ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.หšใ€€ใ€€ใ€€ใ€€โœฆใ€€ใ€€ใ€€.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€.ใ€€
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. the scent of freshly baked bread wafts through the districtโ€™s square every morning, a fragrance most people enjoy, even when most people canโ€™t afford it
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. your favorite mug has a single shallow crack running down the center of it, and thereโ€™s a thin ribbon tied around the handle
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. you wear a tiny locket with a single pressed flower insideโ€”the only one of those flowers youโ€™ve ever seen, which is why you had to preserve it
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. the chill of early morning fog clings to your skin every morning as you walk down the street and hug your jacket around you
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. you have a faint scar on your wrist from when you fell as a kid, while climbing a fence. that was before you truly understood fear
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. a patchwork quilt is draped over your bed, made of squares of tattered pastel fabric stitched together
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. you have a pocketknife that was gifted to you by a childhood mentor, with a smooth wooden handle. you always keep it tucked in your boot, just in case
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. thereโ€™s a small patch of weedy powder blue wildflowers that grows just outside the fence near your home. you look at it every day and think about what youโ€™d do if/when you pick them
.ใ€€ใ€€. ใ€€โ€ˆหšใ€€. you keep a single golden coin in your pocket, that you never spend. itโ€™s a superstition from your grandparents, itโ€™s supposed to bring you luck
shifting to the Hunger Games universe as a competitor doesnโ€™t have to mean subjecting yourself to violence, trauma, or the emotional weight of the Games. by scripting safeguards that keep you safe, adjusting the challenges to be more about skill and intelligence than bloodshed, and adjusting the world just enough that the Capitol isnโ€™t a crushing force, you can enjoy the thrill of the Hunger Games without all of the stress
so go ahead, shift into the arena, and compete in the the Gamesโ€”on your terms. youโ€™re the one holding the script, after all. happy shifting :^)
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solstices-dreams ยท 3 months ago
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scripting is limitless and itโ€™s my dr so yes, my aunt does keep a bunch of stray herding dogs and yes I do get to hang out with them
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tarasmithshifts ยท 11 months ago
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april is my month yโ€™all
better be ready because I WILL SHIFT ๐Ÿ˜‹
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turnbacktomorrow ยท 10 months ago
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I scripted Gale Hawthorne out of my Hunger Games dr because I just hate him so much. The Prim Reaper will not participate in my manic pixie dream world.
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shifting-is-for-hot-girls ยท 2 months ago
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๐•Š๐• ๐•Ÿ๐•˜๐•ค ๐•‹๐•  ๐”น๐•’๐•ค๐•– ๐•Š๐•”๐•–๐•Ÿ๐•’๐•ฃ๐•š๐• ๐•ค ๐”ธ๐•ฃ๐• ๐•ฆ๐•Ÿ๐•• ~ 1
๐“ฃ๐“ฑ๐“ฎ ๐“๐“ต๐“ฌ๐“ฑ๐“ฎ๐“ถ๐”‚ ~ ๐“ฃ๐“ช๐”‚๐“ต๐“ธ๐“ป ๐“ข๐”€๐“ฒ๐“ฏ๐“ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐“‡๐‘’๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐‘”๐‘œ๐‘œ๐’น ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐น๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“‡๐“‰๐“ˆ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐’Ÿ๐‘… ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐‘”๐“ƒ๐’พ๐’ป๐’พ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’น๐“ˆ. ๐ผ๐“‚๐’ถ๐‘”๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“‰ ๐“€๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐‘’๐’น๐’พ๐“‰, ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐’พ๐“‡ ๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“๐“๐‘’๐’น ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’ป๐’พ๐“‡๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“๐‘œ๐‘œ๐“€๐‘’๐’น ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ, ๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‰'๐“ˆ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“๐“Ž ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐‘œ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“‰๐“‰๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“‚๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰ ๐’ท๐‘’๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐“…๐“‡๐‘œ๐“Š๐’น ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐’พ๐“ˆ.
๐“œ๐“๐“จ๐“‘๐“” ~ ๐“–๐“ช๐“ซ๐“ป๐“ฒ๐“ฎ๐“ต๐“ต๐“ช ๐“‘๐“ฎ๐“ฎ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐“‡๐‘’๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐’ธ๐“Š๐“‰๐‘’ ๐’ท๐‘’๐“‰๐“Œ๐‘’๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’ท๐‘’๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐’ป๐“‡๐’พ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’œ๐’ฉ๐’ด ๐’Ÿ๐‘… ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐“…๐‘’๐’ธ๐’พ๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐’พ๐’ป ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡๐‘’'๐“ˆ ๐’ถ ๐“‡๐‘œ๐“Š๐‘”๐’ฝ ๐“…๐’ถ๐“‰๐’ธ๐’ฝ ๐’ท๐‘’๐“‰๐“Œ๐‘’๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‰๐“Œ๐‘œ, ๐’ท๐‘’๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐ผ ๐“€๐“ƒ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐ผ ๐“๐‘œ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐’Ÿ๐‘…'๐“ˆ ๐’ถ๐“ˆ ๐“‡๐‘’๐’ถ๐“๐’พ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’พ๐’ธ ๐’ถ๐“ˆ ๐“…๐‘œ๐“ˆ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐’ท๐“๐‘’. ๐’ฏ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐’ท๐“‡๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘”๐“ˆ ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‰ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ ๐“‚๐“Š๐’ธ๐’ฝ ๐‘’๐“‚๐‘œ๐“‰๐’พ๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐“€๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐’ถ ๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“‡๐“…๐‘œ๐“‡๐’ถ๐“‰๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“‰ ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐“‡๐‘’๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐’ธ๐“Š๐“‰๐‘’
๐“•๐“ป๐“ช๐“ท๐“ฌ๐“ฎ๐“ผ๐“ฌ๐“ช ~ ๐“—๐“ธ๐”ƒ๐“ฒ๐“ฎ๐“ป ๐ผ๐’ป ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“Ž ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐‘”๐‘’๐“‡ ๐‘”๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’๐“ˆ ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐’ธ ๐’Ÿ๐‘…'๐“ˆ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’œ๐‘€๐’œ๐’ต๐ผ๐’ฉ๐’ข ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐’ถ๐“‡๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐’น ๐ธ๐’ฎ๐’ซ๐ธ๐’ž๐ผ๐’œ๐ฟ๐ฟ๐’ด ๐’พ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐‘’๐“‹๐‘’๐“‡๐“๐’ถ๐“‡๐“€ ๐“‰๐“Ž๐“…๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‡๐‘’๐“๐’ถ๐“‰๐’พ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“… ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐‘”๐“ƒ๐’พ๐’ป๐’พ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡. ๐’ช๐‘… ๐’พ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐ป๐‘œ๐‘”๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“‡๐“‰๐“ˆ ๐’Ÿ๐‘… ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’น๐‘’๐’ธ๐’พ๐’น๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐‘”๐‘œ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐“‡๐‘œ๐“Š๐‘”๐’ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“‰๐“‰๐“๐‘’ ๏ฟฝ๏ฟฝ๐’ป ๐ป๐‘œ๐‘”๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“‡๐“‰๐“ˆ, ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ถ๐“๐“ˆ๐‘œ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐’ถ๐“‡๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐’น
๐“•๐“ค๐“๐“”๐“ก๐“๐“› ๐“–๐“ก๐“”๐“จ ~ ๐“ฆ๐“ช๐“ฝ๐“ฎ๐“ป๐“น๐“ช๐“ป๐“ด๐“ผ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐‘”๐‘œ๐‘œ๐’น ๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐’ถ๐’ท๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‰ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’ป๐“๐’พ๐“‡๐“‰๐’ถ๐“‰๐’พ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ˆ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ๐’น ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐‘’๐“‚๐’พ๐‘’๐“ˆ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“๐‘œ๐“‹๐‘’๐“‡๐“ˆ ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’ธ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐’ถ ๐“‡๐‘’๐“๐’ถ๐“‰๐’พ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“…, ๐“ƒ๐‘œ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“‰๐“‰๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐’Ÿ๐‘… ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’, ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐“…๐‘’๐’ธ๐’พ๐’ถ๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“๐“Ž๐“‡๐’พ๐’ธ "๐’พ ๐“€๐“ƒ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’น๐“Ž๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“…๐“‰๐’พ๐“๐‘’๐’น ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐“ˆ๐“…๐’พ๐“‰" ๐’พ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“Œ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“‰ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ถ ๐“๐’พ๐“‰๐“‰๐“๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐’ถ๐“Š๐’ธ๐“Ž.
๐“™๐“ธ๐“ผ๐“ผ๐“ต๐”‚๐“ท ~ ๐“ž๐“ต๐“ฒ๐“ฟ๐“ฒ๐“ช ๐“ž'๐“‘๐“ป๐“ฒ๐“ฎ๐“ท ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’œ๐‘€๐’œ๐’ต๐ผ๐’ฉ๐’ข ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“Ž ๐’Ÿ๐‘… ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ ๐’ถ๐’ท๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‰ ๐’ถ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“‰๐“Š๐’ถ๐“‰๐’พ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“… ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐’ถ ๐’น๐’พ๐“‡๐“‰๐’ท๐’ถ๐‘” ๐‘”๐“Š๐“Ž, ๐’ท๐‘’๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐ผ ๐“€๐“ƒ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐’พ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š'๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“๐‘œ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’น๐“‡๐’ถ๐“‚๐’ถ. ๐ป๐‘œ๐“…๐‘’๐’ป๐“Š๐“๐“๐“Ž ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐‘”๐“Š๐“Ž ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐“๐‘’๐’ถ๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐’ถ ๐“๐’พ๐“‰๐“‰๐“๐‘’ ๐’ท๐‘’๐“‰๐“‰๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐ฟ๐‘œ๐‘”๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐’ซ๐’ถ๐“Š๐“ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Š๐‘”๐’ฝ.
๐ผ๐’ป ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐‘”๐“Š๐“Ž'๐“ˆ ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“‡๐‘’ ๐’ซ๐ฟ๐ธ๐’œ๐’ฎ๐ธ ๐“๐‘’๐“‰ ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐“€๐“ƒ๐‘œ๐“Œ ๐ผ ๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐“Ž ๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘”๐“ˆ, ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐ผ ๐’ถ๐’ท๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“๐“Š๐“‰๐‘’๐“๐“Ž ๐“๐‘œ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐“ˆ๐’ธ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’ถ๐“‡๐’พ๐‘œ๐“ˆ ๐‘œ๐’ป๐’ป ๐“‚๐“Š๐“ˆ๐’พ๐’ธ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ ๐ผ ๐’น๐‘œ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐’ถ ๐“๐‘œ๐“‰. ๐ป๐’ถ๐“…๐“…๐“Ž ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐’ป๐“‰๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘”!
~๐“˜๐“ป๐“ฎ๐“ต๐“ช๐“ท๐“ญ
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cottenbee ยท 9 months ago
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Hi, Iโ€™m a new-ish in the world of reality shifting. You can call me โ€œBeeโ€ or whatever if you want. Im here to have fun and make stories end less sad. I also have zero idea how to use Tumblr, so please bear with me. Let me know if youโ€™re going to one of the same realities as me, so we can chat :) or if you just want to chat in general. I edit this every once in a while
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List of my DRs:
Pixie Hollow
Hunter x Hunter
Kingdom Hearts
Land of the Lustrous
Soul Eater
The Boys
Animorphs
Teen Titans
Stardew Valley
Naruto
The Hunger Games
Hogwarts
Dragon Age (Warden Edition)
Dragon Age (Inquisitor Edition)
Skyrim
HTTYD
Pokรฉmon
Spider-verse
Demon Slayer
Viva Piรฑata
Vampire The Masquerade Bloodlines
Sometimes I like to go to fucked up DRs so I can change the story so that itโ€™s more on the sweet side. Iโ€™ll probably change this list a lot, adding more places I want to shift to. Iโ€™m going to Land of the Lustrous a bunch, I love it there. Ask me anything you want
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topperscumslut ยท 1 year ago
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trying to figure out how to shift to tbosbas without, yk, the horrors
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starrylanex ยท 11 months ago
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Alright decided to script Finnick Odair in my New York DR (which is just a normal dr where I have the opportunity and the resources to move to New York in 2025 and live and study there).
Obviously Iโ€™ll script out his trauma, but gonna keep his personality the same.
(down bad)
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solstices-dreams ยท 4 months ago
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๐š ๐๐š๐ฒ ๐ข๐ง ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐ก๐  ๐๐ซ.
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๐๐ž๐ฌ๐ข๐ซ๐ž๐ ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฅ๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐ž๐ฌ ๐ฆ๐š๐ฌ๐ญ๐ž๐ซ ๐ฅ๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ. ๐ฆ๐ฒ ๐ก๐ฎ๐ง๐ ๐ž๐ซ ๐ ๐š๐ฆ๐ž๐ฌ ๐๐ซ. แฐ.แŸ
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โ€” ๐ฅ๐ข๐Ÿ๐ž ๐ข๐ง ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐œ๐ญ ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ.
Usually I wake up around 8 am. My neighbor Noah is usually out in his backyard by then practicing with his sword. Iโ€™ll head over for a bit and sit with him and talk. Heโ€™ll occasionally force me to practice with him, no matter how much I refuse. Afterwards I have breakfast with my family. My sister, Mabel, collects eggs from the chickens and my twin brother, Asher, milks the cow. After breakfast I usually go out and water the plants. We have a few flower pots for decor and then raised garden beds that have genuine crops in them. If itโ€™s the weekend Iโ€™ll then go over to Noahโ€™s house and weโ€™ll go to the lake. Sometimes he brings his siblings, sometimes I bring mine or we bring our friends/old schoolmates.
If itโ€™s a weekday my father and I take patients from across d-10 and occasionally d-11. Usually we donโ€™t take money as payment but if people offer food or material items we accept. If itโ€™s a Thursday we go into the town and visit patients as well as stock up on groceries.
After seeing patients we return home and I usually sit down to do some of my hobbies which can be crocheting, embroidery, jewelry making, or pottery. A lot of the stuff around my house is homemade and I also sell some of my stuff at the market.
Next I have dinner which is important to my dad and he dubs it a โ€œfamily thing.โ€ So Asherโ€™s cutting up vegetables and Mabelโ€™s setting the table as Dad cooks or something. Usually my dad or I cook cuz Mabelโ€™s scared of the stove and Asher canโ€™t be trusted around fire in the house.
Then after dinner I gossip with my sister and brother about their days, about Mabelโ€™s crush or Asherโ€™s latest escapade. (heโ€™s a trouble maker.) After I send my letters to my friends in the other districts, journal, or read from my books. Iโ€™m excited to see what Panem literature is like and look in my history books! Sometimes Iโ€™m packing after dinner because I travel the districts (with the capitolโ€™s permission) to see Finn or Haymitch. Then I get to curl up with my cat and got to sleep!
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โ€” ๐จ๐ญ๐ก๐ž๐ซ ๐ฌ๐ญ๐ฎ๐Ÿ๐Ÿ ๐ข๐ง ๐๐ข๐ฌ๐ญ๐ซ๐ข๐œ๐ญ ๐Ÿ๐ŸŽ.
Sometimes I visit my extended family which live in the ranching sector and nowhere near the victorโ€™s village. When we visit we tend to visit for a while, typically around the harvest !! We have a massive family (i will make a post, trust.) and weโ€™re very big on family so we have massive dinners together with all the extended family.
My different cousins drag me around and show me new stuff around the houses. And talk my ear off about everything happening with them. It occasionally gets isolating in the victor village.
On some occasions I visit my mentor Brie. We usually have tea and discuss whateverโ€™s on our minds or whatโ€™s going on with the other districts. She also has a kid and a wife so we all interact.
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tarasmithshifts ยท 1 year ago
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ughhh i finally created the hunger games dr it's gonna be FUNNNN
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turnbacktomorrow ยท 6 months ago
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I figured since Iโ€™m shifting to my Hunger Games dr in a bit that I would talk about my family.
My mother is named Aphrodite and she runs an apothecary business with Mrs Everdeen as our main source of income. She has pale blonde and wavy hair that she usually keeps up in a messy bun. She also has golden amber eyes that I inherited. Sheโ€™s very sweet, and very beautiful (almost like her name wOaH) She has always been best friends with Mrs Everdeen since childhood and this is how I became best friends with Katniss. We are basically childhood friends.
My little sister is named Eros. Sheโ€™s 12 so sheโ€™s Primโ€™s age and also best friends with Prim as well. Sheโ€™s very lively and extroverted, and is good at bringing Prim out of her shell. She looks like our mom besides having our fatherโ€™s blue eyes. She loves to sing and often sings with me at the Hob to earn extra money. Think about Maude Ivory when you think of Eros.
My father was a miner, and got killed in the same mine explosion that killed the Everdeenโ€™s father. He had strawberry blonde hair that I inherited and blue eyes. He was a kind soul and loved to play games with me, and little Eros even when he came home from the mines very tired and worn out. He loved to kiss our mother and call her beautiful any time he had, and would watch and encourage the little shows I would put on for him. He would always say that I brought light into a world filled with dark.
Then thereโ€™s me, Cupid. Iโ€™m 16 and have strawberry blonde hair and golden amber eyes. I love to sing and like I said earlier, love to sing at the Hob with my sister to earn extra money. My MBTI is ENFJ, and I can tend to be flirtatious.
And there you go! I hope you enjoyed reading about my family, because I love them all to bits. If you want to hear anything more about my DR PLEASE send in an ask because I love to answer them. Thank you ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ’›
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elyxirshifting ยท 2 years ago
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Hunger Games DR
Basically in this DR I'm gonna be the youngest victor of the Hunger Games ever (at age 12, I decided this to purely one up Finnick, I am that petty), obvious warnings for death being mentioned and mentions of basically any topics mentioned in the books as I'm shifting to a book accurate version of the universe.
Basic information
Name: Elyxir Callisto Fay (Ely, Elyx)
Birthday: 09/17/59 (for context the first year of the hunger games is year 1, this is a result of me being lazy as shit and not wanting to work out an appropriate time in the future, so using our time it's probably along the lines of 09/17/2359 or something)
Sexuality: Lesbian
Pronouns: They/she
Age when I first shift: 9 (yes there is a reason)
Home District: District 1
Faceclaim: I look mostly like myself in this reality except my hair is a touch lighter and is longer and slightly wavy plus blue eyes
Important people in my DR (friends, family, mentors):
Family: [Motherโ€™s Name]
Citrine Fay
[Motherโ€™s Age]
44
[Motherโ€™s Occupation]
Perfumer
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[Fatherโ€™s Name]
Brilliance Fay
[Fatherโ€™s Age]
44
[Fatherโ€™s Occupation]
Craftsperson
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[Sisterโ€™s Name]
Gallica Fay (Alli)
[Sisterโ€™s Age]
15
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[Brotherโ€™s Name]
Luncan Fay (Lun)
[Brotherโ€™s Age]
14
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[Brotherโ€™s Name]
Secret Fay (Ret)
[Brotherโ€™s Age]
13
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[Sisterโ€™s Name]
Selenite Fay (Leni)
[Sisterโ€™s Age]
12
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[Sisterโ€™s Name]
Macaroon Fay (Carrie)
[Sisterโ€™s Age]
11
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[Brotherโ€™s Name]
Velvet Fay (Vel)
[Brotherโ€™s Age]
10
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[Sisterโ€™s Name]
Vivid Fay (Vivi)
[Sisterโ€™s Age]
10
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All of my siblings also attend the training academy
Friends: Glimmer, her birthday is 7/27/58 (I don't have an image to show what she looks like in my mind as I'm going for how I imagined her in the books cause I thought she'd be cool and I'm super gay, she doens't die in her games either, cause she's the solo winner cause I decided Peeta will win the 73rd and then the 75th quell twist is the same but cause of rules Katniss ends up in the 75th but I have her role as mockingjay)
I also befriend Johanna and Finnick after my games, again going for book accuracy, I don't have the energy to search for a picture
Mentors:
Cashmere and Gloss. They're Glimmer's cousins in my DR, Cashmere won her games at 15 and Gloss won his at 16. I actually found pictures that more or less look like I pictured them so that's good.
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My games:
My games are the 72nd Hunger Games, the other tributes in the game are as followed
Prince, 17, D1
Calista, 17, D2
Orion, 18, D2
Chip, 15, D3
Dell, 16, D3
Brooke, 15, D4
Dylan, 17, D4
Lunar, 16, D5
Dean, 15, D5
Elaine, 13, D6
Aaron, 12, D6
Hazel, 18, D7
Jude, 13, D7
Camisole, 16, D8
Sterling, 14, D8
Adalina, 15, D9
Herman, 18, D9
Bessie, 17, D10
Kobe, 17, D10
Autumn, 18, D11
Fraser, 16, D11
Ivy, 18, D12
Jett, 16, D12
I won't write every small detail of my games as there's a lot but I'll add some pictures that'll look like parts of the arena
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The arena is like a magical otherworld, there are unicorns in the arena, they attack anyone that appears to be a threat to them, so typically older tributes.
Before all of that though, basically I tested into the academy early and so I'd been at the academy since I was like 5 so I was already planning to volunteer that year but it turns out Glimmer was reaped so I had an even better reason which helped play into my character I put on for the games, confident that I'll do really well for someone my age not that I'd necessarily win but that I'd be able to hold my own, someone that would do anything to protect people she cares about, capitol audiences really loved that.
Glimmer and I are the district 1 tributes that get sent into the Quater Quell, they change the rules even further to allow for two previous victors of the same gender to be chosen for the quell.
I'll probably add more stuff to this anyway
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cuntkinghorr ยท 2 years ago
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11 MILLION
reblog if your name isn't Amanda.
2,121,566 people are notย Amanda and counting!
Weโ€™ll find you Amanda.
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littlecoffeeadict ยท 1 year ago
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maple-mackintosh ยท 1 year ago
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Hunger Games IR
The cold, sterile walls of District 13'sย underground bunker seemed to close in on me as I go about my daily routine. Life in the rebellion has its own set of struggles, but the constant threat of President Snow and the Hunger Games looms over every member of District 13, casting a shadow of fear and uncertainty.ย 
I sit alone in my cramped quarters, my thoughts swirling with discontentment and frustration. Iโ€™ve always felt like a misfit, someone who doesnโ€™t belong in the confines of this hidden society. District 13'sย underground existence has never sat well with me. From a young age, I had longed for the freedom and open skies of the world above. But now, my defiance has brought me face to face with a terrifying reality.ย 
I grab my friend Lily to climb above surface. What I normally do on these boring days.ย 
The desolate landscape of District 13 stretches before me as I walk through the remnants of what once was. Years of rubble and destruction surrounding me, a testament to the horrors of the past. I was above ground, relishing the rare moments of freedom and solitude that the surface provides.ย 
One of my friends, Lily, approaches her with concern etched on me face. โ€œAvery, you should get back underground,โ€ she urges, her voice laced with worry. โ€œSomeone from District 12 might see you. Itโ€™s not safe!โ€ย 
I wave off Lilyโ€™s concern dismissively. โ€œOh, come on,โ€ I reply with a hint of defiance. โ€œNo oneโ€™s going to see me out here. Besides, Iโ€™m just bored and want a change of scenery.โ€ย 
As we continue our conversation, a distant rumble fills the air, growing louder and more ominous. My heart quickens, and a sense of unease settles over me. I turn to Lily, my eyes widening with apprehension. โ€œWhat is that?โ€ I ask, my voice tinged with worry.ย 
Lilyโ€™s face pales as she points to the sky. โ€œLook!โ€ she exclaims, her voice trembling. โ€œAn aircraft! We need to get underground now!โ€ย 
It was lowering fast, too.ย 
My heart pounds in my chest as I realize the danger weโ€™re in. Without hesitation, I begin to move towards the nearest entrance, my instincts kicking into overdrive, but before I can reach the entrance, someone grabs my arm, stopping me in my tracks. My heart pounds in my chest as I turn to face my captor, only to find myself staring into the eyes ofย HaymitchAbernathy.ย 
โ€œWhat do you think youโ€™re doing, wandering out here?โ€ย Haymitch'sย voice is gruff, his grip firm on my arm.ย 
My eyes widen in surprise and confusion. โ€œHaymitch? What are you doing here?โ€ I stammer, my mind racing to make sense of the situation.ย 
Haymitch's gaze flickers to someone standing beside him, and my breath catches in my throat. Itโ€™s Effie Trinket, her flamboyant appearance a stark contrast to the desolate surroundings. The realization sinks in, filling my heart with dread. โ€œWell this canโ€™t be good.โ€ย 
Effie steps forward, her voice filled with sympathy. โ€œAveryย MacKenzie, Iโ€™m so sorry,โ€ she says, her voice almost quivering. โ€œBut youโ€™ve been reaped for the 77th Hunger Games.โ€ย 
My world spins into chaos. The ground beneath me seems to give way, and I struggle to find my footing midst the overwhelming news. This canโ€™t be happening, not to me. Iโ€™m safe. Iโ€™m in Distract 13. We donโ€™t compete in the games. So whatโ€™s changed?ย 
โ€œWhat? Youโ€™re fucking with me.โ€ I say and Effie makes a face.ย 
โ€œExcuse me?โ€ She says, appalled.ย 
โ€œIโ€™m just saying. I live in District 13, weโ€™re not apart of the Games anymore. Itโ€™s why our District looks like this,โ€ I gesture to the ruble surrounding us before continuing to say, โ€œIโ€™m not going.โ€ shaking my head.ย 
โ€œUm, you have to, kid.โ€ย Haymitchย says. โ€œif you donโ€™t, President Snow is going to kill you and everyone you love.โ€ย 
โ€œYeah andย youย sound like youโ€™re from a book right now.โ€ย 
โ€œAndย youย are on thin ice with the Capitol. Choose.โ€ He spits back.ย 
โ€œThis is absurd! I live in District-โ€ย 
โ€œ13 yeah yeah we got it, sweetheart. Youโ€™re coming with us.โ€ย 
โ€œYouโ€™re giving me no choice?โ€ I argue.ย 
โ€œYouย haveย no choice.โ€ Effie interjects.ย 
My heart races ans I stand at the threshold of the aircraft that would transport me to wherever theyโ€™re ordered to take me. I turn to my friend Lily, my voice filled with emotion.ย 
โ€œLily, I need you to do something for me,โ€ I say, my voice quivering. โ€œSay goodbye to my parents and everyone else for me. Obviously I canโ€™t do it myself or I would.โ€ย 
I watch as her eyes fill with tears as she says โ€œOf course, Avery,โ€ her voice trembling. โ€œIโ€™ll make sure they know.โ€ย 
I manage to give her a faint smile, gratitude mingling with sorrow. I knew that Lily would be the bearer of my final farewells. I turn to face the aircraft and steel myself for the difficult journey ahead.ย 
As I board the plane, Effie stands nearby, her vibrant appearance a stark contrast to the somber mood that hangs in the air. She approaches me. โ€œAvery, weโ€™re going to disguise you as someone from District Four,โ€ she explains. โ€œItโ€™s crucial that your true identity remains hidden. The Capitol mustnโ€™t suspect any ties to District 13.โ€ย 
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. I understand the risk and the importance of maintaining my cover. The Capitolโ€™s prying eyes are everywhere, and any hint of my true origins could jeopardize not only my life but the lives of everyone within District 13.ย 
Effie continues, โ€œYour mentor in the Capitol will beย Finnickย Odair,โ€ she reveals and her gaze meets mine. โ€œHeโ€™s a previous victor of the-โ€ย 
โ€œYeah I know.โ€ I interrupt her. I know whoย Finnickย Odairย is. Everyone knows whoย Finnickย Odairย is.ย 
โ€œWell good! I wonโ€™t have to introduce you two as in depth as I thought I would. Heโ€™ll be instrumental in helping you navigate everythingโ€ฆwell water.โ€ย 
โ€œYeah, I figured.โ€ I scoff, rolling my eyes. Heโ€™s a pretentious asshole, Iโ€™d rather have anyone else beside him. Iโ€™ve heard tales of his charisma and strength, of the battles he has fought both in the arena and against the Capitol. The prospect of being mentored by someone with such an attitude fills me with complete dread and annoyance. โ€œHate him.โ€ย 
โ€œWell itโ€™s not as though you can do much about it.โ€ She says, gently and hesitantly patting my shoulder. The journey to District 12 is a somber one, the aircraft slicing through the sky with a sense of urgency. As they touch down, my heart quickens, the reality of the Capitolโ€™s grasp onย Panemย becoming all too real. I glance atย Haymitchย whoโ€™s weathered face is already deep in a bottle of rum. I canโ€™t even believe heโ€™s drinking this high up in the air.ย 
Effie andย Haymitchย lead me towards the shuttle train that will transport us all to the Capitol, where the cruel spectacle of the Hunger Games awaited. My heart flutters with dread. Iโ€™m stepping into the lionโ€™s den, but I refuse to be devoured.ย 
As the trainโ€™s doors close behind us, I prepare myself for the journey ahead. The Capitol looms on the horizon, itโ€™s glimmering facade hiding the darkness that lay beneath. As the shuttle train begins its journey, I gaze out the window, the desolate landscape of District 12 fading from view. The Capitol awaits, and with it, the 77th Hunger Games.ย 
~~~~
The sun casts a golden hue over the bustling square of District Four as the Reaping day arrives. A sense of trepidation hangs in the air, mingling with the salty breeze that wafts in from the nearby coastline. I stand among the crowd of potential tributes, my heart pounding in my chest.
As Effie takes the stage, her attire drawing eyes, a hush falls over the square. She clears her throat, her voice amplified by the microphone.
โ€œLadies and gentlemen, it is time for the Reaping of the 77th Hunger Games!โ€
The crowd holds its breath, their gazes fixed on Effie as she reaches into the glass bowl containing the names of the female tributes. I know Iโ€™m going to be picked, but my mind still races anyway. Effieโ€™s hand emerges, holding a slip of paper. My name. She unfolds it, her painted lips parting to reveal the name that will seal someoneโ€™s fate. My fate.
โ€œAveryย MacKenzie!โ€
Time seems to freeze as those words hang in the air. The crowd erupts into a mix of gasps and murmurs, their eyes darting to mine. Deep inside, I know that my true identity is safe, but the weight of it presses heavily on my shoulders.
With my heart pounding heavily in my ears, I step forward, my face a mask of calm determination. Effie beams, trying to act as though sheโ€™s meeting me for the first time. She extends her hand towards me, and I meet it with compliance. I hold my breath as I stand on the precipice of the Hunger Games.
Effieโ€™s eyes flicker briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us, playing her part flawlessly.
โ€œAnd now, for the boys,โ€ Effie declares, her voice regaining its cheerful tone. She reaches into the other glass bowl, her hand emerging with a slip of paper. She unfolds it, her voice carrying across the square. โ€œAllioย Lark!โ€
A young boy steps forward, his eyes wide. My heart aches for him, knowing the cruel fate that awaits us both. Effie guidesย Allioย towards the stage, her grip firm yet gentle. As we stand side by side, Effie offers a reassuring smile. I glance back briefly, catching a glimpse of District Fourโ€™s residents, their faces mixes of hope and fear. I canโ€™t risk exposing my true origins, but I carry the weight of District Thirteen on my shoulders.
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fangdokja ยท 2 months ago
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Theyโ€™re not heroes. Theyโ€™re your tormentors, and youโ€™ll love every second of it.
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โค๏ธŽ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and youโ€™re the captiveโ€”lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.
โ™ก Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
โ™ก Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader
โ™ก Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2
โ™ก Word Count. 4,326
โ™ก TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at 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
โ™ก Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.
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โ™ก Mr. Reca.
"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my filmโ€”my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."
The universe had always been a canvas to himโ€”a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.
But youโ€”oh, youโ€”you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.
You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasnโ€™t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientistโ€™s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.
It began subtly. At first, you didnโ€™t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frogโ€”so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a childโ€™s toyโ€”hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.
He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mindโ€™s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeonโ€™s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.
You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.
He didnโ€™t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.
No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.
You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And heโ€”he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didnโ€™t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.
He didnโ€™t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didnโ€™t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.
โ€œYour dreams are fascinating,โ€ he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. โ€œI could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?โ€
His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hungerโ€”the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.
When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. โ€œAh, but do you really have a choice?โ€
You didnโ€™t, of course.
The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.
The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldnโ€™t have beenโ€”your door had been lockedโ€”but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.
โ€œFascinating,โ€ he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. โ€œYou feel it, donโ€™t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?โ€
In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.
His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.
But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.
โ€œDo you feel it?โ€ he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. โ€œThe way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesnโ€™t want to?โ€
His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. โ€œI could keep you here forever,โ€ he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. โ€œInside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?โ€
You would care, of course.
You fight him, or at least you try. But heโ€™s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesnโ€™t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.
His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire youโ€™ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.
โ€œYou want this,โ€ he says, his voice a velvet knife. โ€œYou want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.โ€
His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. โ€œAnd when Iโ€™m done with you, when thereโ€™s nothing left of you but what Iโ€™ve created, youโ€™ll thank me. Youโ€™ll beg me to keep you.โ€
The horror of it all is that he doesnโ€™t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.
He tells you that youโ€™re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.
Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?
And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.
You are not his muse.
You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.
But no one will ever hear your screams.
Heโ€™s made sure of that.
After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and heโ€™s already written your final scene.
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โ™ก Mydei.
"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. Iโ€™ll carve my name into your soul, and youโ€™ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."
It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturallyโ€”always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; itโ€™s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.
And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. โ€œYouโ€™re trembling,โ€ he says, though thereโ€™s no concern in his tone.
Itโ€™s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.
He doesnโ€™t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocatingโ€”his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. โ€œAre you afraid of me?โ€
You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. Itโ€™s low and guttural, almost amused, but thereโ€™s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that heโ€™ll savor every inch of your fear.
He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. โ€œYou should be,โ€ he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. โ€œFear keeps you aliveโ€ฆ but not from me. Never from me.โ€
He lies, of course.
The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesnโ€™t see you as prey to consume in haste.
No, he sees you as a possessionโ€”a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something heโ€™s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.
When he finally touches you, itโ€™s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. Thereโ€™s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.
He doesnโ€™t need to speak for you to understand: youโ€™re his.
The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.
โ€œYou can fight,โ€ he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, โ€œbut we both know how this ends.โ€
And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.
The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, heโ€™s thereโ€”everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if itโ€™s a territory to be conquered, claimed.
The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. โ€œDo you know how easy it would be?โ€ he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.
โ€œTo tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldnโ€™t even recognize yourself. And youโ€™d thank me for it, wouldnโ€™t you? By the time Iโ€™m done, you wonโ€™t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.โ€
His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.
And yet he doesnโ€™t.
Not yet.
He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reactsโ€”fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingersโ€ฆ itโ€™s a symphony to him, a melody of submission heโ€™s determined to conduct to its crescendo.
When he finally takes you, itโ€™s not an act of loveโ€”itโ€™s an act of dominance, of ownership.
His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesnโ€™t allow you to close your eyes, doesnโ€™t let you escape into the safety of darkness.
No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you doโ€”when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tearsโ€”he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.
His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. โ€œYouโ€™re mine,โ€ he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. โ€œEvery breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veinsโ€”it all belongs to me.โ€
And yet, even as he tears you apart, thereโ€™s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.
Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, thereโ€™s a flicker of something moreโ€”a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he canโ€™t voice but demands nonetheless.
When itโ€™s over, he doesnโ€™t release you.
His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.
And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesnโ€™t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.
But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.
โ€œYouโ€™ll stay,โ€ he whispers, and itโ€™s not a question.
Itโ€™s a command, a promise, a threat.
โ€œYouโ€™ll stay because thereโ€™s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leaveโ€ฆโ€ His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.
You nod, because what else can you do?
And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.
There is no escape. There never was.
And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if youโ€™ll ever want to leave at all.
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โ™ก Anaxa.
"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughtsโ€”your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."
The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.
You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyesโ€”one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatchโ€”were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.
He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.
"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. Iโ€™ve seen them. Iโ€™ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.
Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.
No, his torment was subtleโ€”a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.
You didnโ€™t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poisonโ€”so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuaryโ€ฆall of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.
"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.
"Itโ€™s wasted on anyone else. Theyโ€™ll never understand youโ€”not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.
Almost.
Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.
Anaxa didnโ€™t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.
"I donโ€™t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if itโ€™s the only way to make you stay."
And you knew he meant itโ€”not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.
The moments of intimacyโ€”if one could call them thatโ€”were no less haunting.
His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.
His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.
"Youโ€™re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.
"Beautiful because youโ€™re broken. Broken because youโ€™re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.
His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.
"They said Iโ€™d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."
The nights were the worst.
In the darkness, you felt him even when you didnโ€™t see him.
The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. Heโ€™d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.
"You should sleep," heโ€™d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "Youโ€™ll need your strength. Tomorrow, weโ€™ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."
And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.
When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.
Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.
"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthyโ€”not even you."
And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasnโ€™t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.
And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was loveโ€”or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.
"Youโ€™ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.
"Even if you try, even if you runโ€ฆIโ€™ll always find you. Youโ€™re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."
And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.
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โ™ก Phainon.
"Every strike I make, every victory I winโ€”itโ€™s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."
The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isnโ€™t kind.
Itโ€™s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before youโ€”the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.
Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.
He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see itโ€”heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.
His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.
โ€œYou donโ€™t understand, do you? Youโ€™ve never understood.โ€ A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. โ€œI donโ€™t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step Iโ€™ve taken, every blow Iโ€™ve struck, has always been for you.โ€
His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.
He hasnโ€™t cleaned it.
He hasnโ€™t even sheathed it.
The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.
You canโ€™t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.
He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.
You back away instinctively, but thereโ€™s no escape.
His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.
โ€œRun if you want to,โ€ he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. โ€œI wonโ€™t stop you. But youโ€™ll come back. You always do.โ€
Thereโ€™s no malice in his words, only certaintyโ€”a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.
His hands are stained too.
Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.
Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.
You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost humanโ€”almost.
โ€œYouโ€™re afraid of me,โ€ he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.
โ€œAnd I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when youโ€™re far from me.โ€
When his lips press against yours, it isnโ€™t a kissโ€”itโ€™s a conquest.
His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isnโ€™t tender; itโ€™s possessive, frantic, like heโ€™s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.
His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. โ€œYouโ€™re mine,โ€ he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. โ€œSay it.โ€
You donโ€™t.
You canโ€™t.
And thatโ€™s when his patience snaps.
His grip tightens, dragging you against him until thereโ€™s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.
His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, itโ€™s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. โ€œYou donโ€™t understand how far Iโ€™d go for you. What Iโ€™d destroy. Who Iโ€™d become.โ€
He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a markโ€”a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like heโ€™s savoring the sound.
โ€œThatโ€™s it,โ€ he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. โ€œThatโ€™s the truth of it, isnโ€™t it? Youโ€™ll scream for me, cry for me... but youโ€™ll never leave.โ€
And heโ€™s right, isnโ€™t he?
Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you canโ€™t bring yourself to push him away.
His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifyingโ€”but thereโ€™s something about the way he looks at you, like youโ€™re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.
Itโ€™s sick.
Itโ€™s wrong.
But itโ€™s real.
Phainon knows it too.
He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.
He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until thereโ€™s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.
โ€œYouโ€™ll stay,โ€ he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. โ€œYouโ€™ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.โ€
When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. Thereโ€™s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle heโ€™s just solved.
โ€œYouโ€™re mine,โ€ he says again, softer this time. โ€œAnd Iโ€™m yours. Whether you like it or not.โ€
And you believe him.
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โ™ก A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm
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If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.
General TAG LIST of โ€œForbidden Fruitsโ€: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay
โค๏ธŽ Fang Dokja's Books.
โ™ก For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:
โ™ก Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology
โ™ก Book 2 [you are here]. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.
โ™ก Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.
โ™ก Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.
โ™ก Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.
โ™ก Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarianโ€™s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.
โ™ก Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblrโ€™s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution
โ™ก Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.
โ™ก Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourselfโ€”repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.
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