𝘏𝘪, I’m Lyric. I’m 18, and this blog is dedicated to monsterfucking, yanderes, and whatever other obsessive, depraved thoughts won’t leave my brain. If it’s inhuman, possessive, and completely unhinged, I’m probably into it. Expect fanfics, headcanons, and way too much overanalyzing of fictional creatures that could (and should) ruin your life. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
Sometimes I will write NSFW. However, That will be tagged appropriately, Please check my taglist and block the tags with NSFW tags, minors.
1. Doctor yandere who keeps your medical records in a special folder at home. Annotated in his handwriting, marked with red ink for moments when your heart rate spiked near him.
2. Doctor yandere who talks to you like you're still in a coma, even when you're awake. He whispers confessions, dark promises, pet names, and plans for your future like you can’t respond—and punishes you emotionally when you do.
3. Doctor yandere who sabotaged your discharge papers. The nurses can’t explain why you’ve been kept in observation. Luciel smiles and says, “Let the professionals handle it. She’s... fragile.”
4. Doctor yandere who touches you under the guise of medical necessity; checking your pulse for too long, brushing hair from your face like it's a diagnostic, letting his stethoscope rest on your chest just a bit too low.
5. Doctor yandere who has memorized your scent. Your sweat. Your breath patterns when you're stressed. He’d know instantly if another man touched you, just by the chemical change in your skin.
6. Doctor yandere who wears his stethoscope when he sleeps. Just in case there’s an emergency. Just in case you call for him. Just in case he needs to listen to your heart again.
🩺 NSFW Headcanons
7. Doctor yandere who uses your own medical chart as foreplay; reading your stats aloud while fingering you, whispering, “Heart rate elevated. Pupils dilated. Wetness.. clinically obscene.”
8. Doctor yandere who doesn't just fuck you—he monitors you during. He straps a heart monitor to your chest, a pulse oximeter to your finger, and watches the screen spike every time you moan his name.
9. Doctor yandere who has files of your orgasms, recorded, labeled, categorized. Audio, sometimes video. Clinical notes beside each one. He rewatches them at night while whispering about how good you are for him.
10. Doctor yandere who leaves his cum inside you on purpose, then does a pelvic exam the next day. Just to see how long you held onto him. Just to praise your body for clinging to what’s his.
11. Doctor yandere who whispers anatomical terms into your ear as he fucks you. “Cervix... uterus... clitoris... every inch of you belongs to me on a cellular level.”
12. Doctor yandere who fully intends to lobotomize you after he's broken your body in enough times, Because he doesn’t want to erase your feelings, just your resistance. He wants you wet, obedient, and mindlessly in love. Forever.
NSFW | Yandere Doctor x Patient | Lobotomy | Non-con | FEMALE Reader | Dark themes | 90s Hospital| Male Yan ⋆. ୨୧˚⋆
Mdni dividers by @/hopelesslygaysstuff
The fluorescent lights above flickered. The walls were a kind of white that eats warmth out of skin. The hospital reeked of blood and the metal of rusted equipment. You didn’t know how long you’d been in that bed. Weeks, maybe. Maybe longer.
Your wrists ached from the leather straps, their too tight. Your body had grown numb beneath the weight of sedatives and neglect. And yet he was always there.
Dr. Luciel.
He never missed a night. Not once.
“You’re finally awake,” his voice rasped low, and tired. Like he hadn't slept. Like he couldn’t sleep.
You turned your head. Slowly. The weight of your head dragged against the pillow. He was seated beside you—white coat wrinkled, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. The veins in his forearms twitched faintly. His eyes locked onto yours.
Hazel bloodshot eyes. How dreamy.
“You’ve been dreaming of me,” he said, not a question. A statement. Like it was already truth. “I know. Your vitals spike whenever I come close.”
You tried to move. Nothing responded the way it should have. Legs heavy, Mouth dry.
Luciel reached forward, stroking your hair back with ripped surgical gloves still stained from someone else’s surgery. The latex squeaked against your temple. His breath smelled like stale coffee and something metallic.
“You talk in your sleep,” he said, tone light. Almost amused. “You beg.”
His gloved hand traced your jaw, then drifted lower across your collarbone, over the thin hospital gown. No urgency. Just... inspection. Reverence, even. Like you were something he had built from bone and skin.
“You said no to me, Sure,” he murmured, fingers pressing down where your heartbeat lived. “But it's all fine now, right? Surely consent is just a lie.."
He stood up straight.
You heard the quiet snap of latex peeling off as he removed his gloves. He tossed them into the bin without looking, then rolled the tray of surgical items closer. It gleamed with tools not meant for healing. Forceps. Bone saw. Ice pick.
You swallowed. Or tried to. Your throat was so dry.
“I was going to wait,” he whispered, leaning down until his lips brushed your ear. “But you're still resisting. Somewhere, deep inside, you're still... fighting me.”
He pulled back, voice clipped.
“That won’t do.”
You shook your head. It was weak and pathetic. You didn’t even mean to. It just happened. Luciel’s eyes darkened.
“Dear, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, calmly, as if the tray didn’t exist. “And you know that. But I can’t stand the thought of you thinking of anyone else. Of you leaving me. Leaving what we've built and accomplished here."
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, slow and gentle.
Then he strapped the bite gag in place.
The gag settled between your teeth, leather straps cinched tight behind your head. You felt the pressure more than the pain. It was intimate, in a sick way, like he’d done it before, like this was a practiced ritual.
Your breathing hitched, shallow. The scent of alcohol swabs and plastic tubing filled your nose.
Dr. Luciel’s hands were bare now, warm and unhurried. He moved to the side tray and selected the ice pick.
It gleamed.
"Do you know what a transorbital lobotomy does?" he asked, softly. His voice was never harsh, never loud. It lilted with affection. "It doesn't erase you. That's the misconception. No, it just... quiets the noise."
He leaned over you again, stroking your temple.
"I want you to be still. I want to preserve you. As you are now. You fight me, but you don’t know what for.
You cling to a version of yourself that would’ve walked away from me. That hurts, sweetheart." He chuckles.
"And you don't want to hurt me, right? No, that would be so.. Unfortunate."
You tried to scream through the gag when he gently pulled your eyelid back, but it was muffled, pathetic. Saliva pooled under your tongue. He hummed a lullaby.
"No more leaving. No more rejection. Just you and me. And the silence."
He inserted the pick.
Not all the way. Not yet. Just enough to let you feel the pressure behind the eye socket. Not pain exactly. Something more violating. It felt like your body was no longer yours.
Your legs kicked weakly against the restraints. He smiled, genuinely sadistically.
"You’re trembling," he whispered. "That’s beautiful."
Luciel held it there. Motionless. Teasing the edge of transformation. Then, he pulled it back. Set it down carefully.
Your eye throbbed. You wept silently, gag soaked. He wiped your cheek with his thumb.
"Later," he said. "You need to remember this."
He undid the lower buckles first. Then the gown.
It was clinical, efficient. But his eyes devoured you.
"You’re mine now, Darling." he said, almost mournfully. “It’s not about pleasure. It’s about belonging. And I need you to understand that as I take you.”
You were bare from the waist down. He spread your legs apart, using the straps on your knees to lock them open.
His hands were warm, but clinical. No pretense of seduction.
Just... control. The way he touched your inner thighs, the lips between it was methodical. Memorized, even.
“You’ve been wet before I even touched you,” he murmured, dipping two fingers between your folds. “Your body knows who owns it.”
You whimpered into the gag. It felt filthy and degrading. He's making you feel that way. Disgusting.
Luciel dragged his fingers up, smearing your slick along your slit, then up to circle your clit, light, teasing strokes that made your hips twitch, even restrained. His eyes locked on your face as he did it, hungry for your reactions.
“You say you don’t want to want this,” he said softly, leaning down to press his lips against your navel. “But you do. You will. Every nerve. Every pulse.”
He stood again and undid his belt with a slow, deliberate pull. His cock was already hard when he freed it, flushed and veined, leaking at the tip. He gave it one stroke, watching your eyes track it. Not with desire. With dread. With disgust.
“That fear,” he said, lining himself up, “is just proof you’re still thinking. You're a virgin. It's like you were saving yourself for me."
He pushed in without warning with little preparation.
You screamed behind into gag. Your body clamped down hard around him, trying to reject the intrusion, but it only made him groan.
“Tight. God, you’re tight. Like you were made to be ruined.”
He bottomed out with a grunt, hips flush to yours. Then he started to thrust—slow, brutal strokes that stretched and filled you, He forced your body to accommodate him. Your eyes watered. Your hips twitched involuntarily under the restraints. He loved that. It made you want to throw up. But he wouldn't be happy with that.
Luciel leaned over you, his cock grinding into you with each punishing thrust, his breath heavy against your cheek.
“This is what obedience feels like,” he whispered. “This is me fixing you.”
He fucked you like it was surgery. Like he was curing something. His pelvis slapped against your ass, fast and unrelenting now, and the sound of skin against skin echoed in the sterile room.
“Let go,” he panted. “Stop fighting. Stop thinking. Let me fucking erase you.”
One hand moved up to your throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. As if to say: this? This belongs to me too.
You didn’t want it. But your body betrayed you.
Your pussy clenched around him harder, your eyes rolled back, your cunt slick and raw from the rhythm. And he felt it.
“Oh saints..,"he moaned. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? Against your will.. How pitful."
He angled his hips, slamming into the spot that made your thighs shake. Your back arched, your breath choked in the gag.
He kept whispering to you, filth and reverence tangled together.
“Good girl. My girl. My patient. My property.” he repeated like a spell. A fucking curse.
You came with a full body spasm, sobbing, drooling around the gag. And he kept going, milking every aftershock from your broken nerves.
His own climax hit just seconds later, hot, thick release spilling deep inside you.
He didn’t pull out. Why would he?
He stayed there, cock buried to the base, forehead pressed to yours as your body trembled beneath him.
“When I finish the lobotomy,” he whispered against your lips, “you’ll only remember this. Me inside you. Me owning you.”
Written by bylyric.
Dr Luciel belongs to @whitneysslut .
This was meant to be a horror smut, Don't come at me all sensitive about it.
Sora doesn't cuddle. She wipes you down in silence. If she's feeling nice, she’ll press a sugar cube to your lips and say something like "You made less noise than last time. Impressive." She doesn't comfort. She claims.
B. Body Part
She likes her mouth. Sharp tongue, smug smirk, biting words. On her partner? Their throat. Whether she's kissing it or choking it depends on her mood.
C. Cum
She wants it messy. All over your thighs. On your face. Inside if she’s feeling possessive. She’ll run her fingers through it and make you watch.
D. Dirty Secret
She wants to break someone innocent. Slowly. Carefully. She wants to take something pure and watch it become addicted to her. The idea of ruining someone permanently gets her off.
E. Experience
She knows what she’s doing. Everything Soul learned? She perfected. She’s cold, clever, and cruel in bed. Not a single move is unintentional.
F. Favorite Position
She likes to ride. It gives her total control. You don’t get to move. You don’t get to breathe without permission. You just lie there and take it while she uses you.
G. Goofy
Sora doesn’t joke. Not in sex. If you laugh, she’ll grip your face and say “Do I look like I’m fucking around?” Her silence is suffocating. Her focus is terrifying.
H. Hair
White and fluffy up top. Soft, clean, and neat below. She keeps herself trimmed and smooth. It matches the control she shows everywhere else.
I. Intimacy
Her version of intimacy is brutal. She presses her forehead to yours while dragging her fingers into you. She breathes you in and says nothing. But you feel how much she means it when she whispers “Mine.”
J. Jack Off
She does it quietly. When she's alone. When she's angry. She stares at her reflection and touches herself like she’s proving something. No moans. Just ragged breath.
K. Kink
Control. Ownership. Psychological games. Corruption. Edging. Praise that cuts like a knife. She’ll say “Good girl/boy” in the same tone someone else would say “You’re pathetic.”
L. Location
Private places. Quiet rooms. Somewhere she can watch you squirm without interruptions. She likes her bedroom. The smell of sugar and control fills the air.
M. Motivation
Desperation turns her on. If you’re crying for it, begging, trembling, she’ll shove her fingers in your mouth and whisper “That’s it. Show me how much you need me.”
O. Oral
Giving? Skilled and cruel. She stops just before you cum every time. Receiving? She grabs your hair and keeps eye contact. You’ll know if you disappoint her. She’ll say "Try again."
P. Pace
She starts slow and sharp. Makes you feel every drag. Then she picks up speed until it feels like punishment. She doesn’t stop when you cum. She stops when she’s satisfied.
Q. Quickie
If you behave, you might earn one. But she still controls every second. She can finger you under a table and tell you not to make a sound. If you do, she pulls away. Instantly.
R. Risk
She’s not reckless. She’s calculated. Remote toys in public? Sure. Getting caught on purpose? No. She pushes boundaries but never lets herself lose control.
S. Stamina
Too much. She can go all night and still have energy to degrade you in the morning. She doesn’t break a sweat. You do.
T. Toys
She owns a collection. Sleek and intense. Plugs. Vibes. Restraints. She prefers to use them on you. Especially ones she can control from a distance.
U. Unfair
She’s cruel. You get edged. Teased. Denied. She’ll finger you until you’re on the edge then whisper “No” and walk away. If you whine, it only gets worse.
V. Volume
She’s quiet. Only makes noise when she’s about to cum. Low, sharp breaths. A soft gasp. You might catch a quiet moan if you’re lucky. But she listens to you. And she loves it when you beg.
W. Wild Card
She likes dripping sugar on your skin. Slowly. She’ll lick it off your stomach, then make you return the favor. It’s slow and sticky and cruel. She calls it dessert.
X. X-ray
Lean, pale, tight body. Small chest. Strong thighs. Her arms are soft but strong. She has quiet power behind every movement. Her scars are faded but real. Her presence is terrifying.
Y. Yearning
High sex drive. Doesn’t always act on it. But when she wants it? You’ll know. She’ll stare. Unblinking. You’ll feel her eyes burning through your clothes.
Z. Zzz
She doesn’t sleep. Not right away. She watches you instead. Listens to your breathing. Makes sure you’re ruined. And then maybe, just maybe, she’ll curl up beside you and close her eyes for a few minutes.
A - Aftercare: Soul is intensely possessive afterward. He wraps himself around you, nuzzling into your skin like you might disappear. He murmurs soft, obsessive things.
“Mine, mine, mine…” and if you try to move, he whines and pulls you closer. If he was rough, he’ll tremble against you, overstimulated and needy, but he won’t admit it.
B - Body part:
• His favorite part of himself: His eyes. He knows the way they bore into people, hypnotizing them, making them feel seen and owned.
• His favorite part of you: Your throat. Whether he’s wrapping his hand around it, feeling the vibrations of your moans, or pressing kisses there, he’s obsessed.
C - Cum: Soul loves the mess. He’ll smear it on you, taste it, make you keep it inside. If you try to clean up too soon, he pouts. He wants to admire his work. Also, he has a filthy habit of sucking his fingers clean if they’re coated in it.
D - Dirty secret: He’s fantasized about keeping you tied to his bed for days, overstimulating you until you’re a drooling, fucked-out mess. You’d be so weak and pliant, completely dependent on him… He thinks about it way too often.
E - Experience: He’s not technically experienced, but his obsessive nature means he’s studied everything. He knows exactly what buttons to push and how to push them. The first time you’re together, it’s almost terrifying how well he understands what makes you tick.
F - Favorite position: Anything where he can see you. Missionary with your wrists pinned down, you straddling his lap, or sitting in front of a mirror so he can watch your expressions. He wants to see every reaction.
G - Goofy: Soul isn’t playful. He’s intense, desperate, borderline unhinged. But he does smirk when you whimper, and he definitely enjoys whispering filth just to watch you squirm.
H - A bit of neatly trimmed white hair, but nothing too wild.
I - Intimacy: It’s all intimacy with Soul. He’s obsessed, lost in you, breathing your name like it’s the only thing that matters. It’s suffocating, overwhelming, and inescapable—exactly how he wants it.
J - Jack off: He does it constantly while thinking of you. He moans your name, bites his lip, and makes a mess of himself, then stares at the cum on his fingers and imagines feeding it to you.
K - Kink: He has a few. Kinky motherfucker.
• Possessiveness/obsession – He needs you to know you belong to him.
• Overstimulation – He loves pushing you past your limits. However, He would love if you overstimulated him to.
• Marking – Bruises, bites, scratches—he wants people to know you’ve been claimed.
• Exhibitionism – Not full public exposure, but the risk of getting caught drives him insane.
• Asphyxiation - The thrill of struggling to breathe and slowly losing strength makes him weak in the knees.
L - Location: His bed is his sanctuary, but he’s had fantasies about taking you against a bookshelf, in an empty classroom, or pinning you to a cold stone wall in some forgotten part of wherever you are.
M - Motivation: The simplest things set him off. your voice, your scent, the way you look at him. But if you ignore him? Oh, he’ll get desperate real quick.
O - Oral: He loves to go down on you. He drags it out, taking his time, licking, sucking, devouring, he wants you whimpering. As for receiving? He shudders the moment your lips touch him, gripping your hair like he needs it.
P - Pace: Usually slow but intense. he wants you to feel every inch of him. But if he’s desperate? He’s a messy, needy, whimpering thing, rutting into you like he’s addicted.
Q - Quickie: He craves full intimacy, but he won’t say no if you need him right now. He’ll pin you to the nearest surface, whispering, “You couldn’t wait, huh?”
R - Risk: He’s insane when it comes to risk. Public teasing? Letting his hand wander under the table? Fucking you in an unlocked room? He lives for it.
S - Stamina: He doesn’t quit. Even when he’s spent, trembling, panting he keeps going. He’s the type to push past exhaustion because he needs more of you.
T - Toys: He has a few—mainly for overstimulating you. Vibrators, restraints, a pretty little collar he fantasizes about putting on you… And yes, he’s tried them on himself, just to imagine how they’d feel on you.
U - Unfair: He’s a tease, but in a way that makes you suffer. He’ll hold you down, whispering about how desperate you look, how much you need him, and then just… watch you squirm.
V - Volume: He moans. Not soft little sighs either. Full, breathy, whimpering moans. If he’s being rough, he growls. When he’s close? His voice breaks, and it’s the most sinfully beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
W - Wild card: He has a bad habit of stealing your clothes just to jerk off in them. If you catch him, he’ll just stare at you, shameless, before stuffing them in your mouth and fucking you stupid.
X - X-ray: He’s around 8 inches. But the real danger is how pretty he is. Pale skin, flushed tip, and dripping by the time he even gets started.
Y - Yearning: His sex drive is insane. He wants you all the time. Even if he’s already had you, he’s thinking about when he’ll get to fuck you again.
Z - Zzz: He doesn’t let you go to sleep right away—he needs to hold you, touch you, breathe you in. When he finally dozes off, it’s with you completely trapped against him.
Tsundere!Siren who lounges on the jagged rocks, glistening scales catching the moonlight as they scoff at your presence. "Hah! You again? How predictable. Are all humans this desperate for attention?" But their sharp eyes follow your every movement.
Tsundere!Siren who claims their song has no effect on you—"Tch, as if a human like you could even appreciate something so mesmerizing." Yet, when you don’t immediately swoon, their tail flicks the water in irritation. "You’re supposed to be entranced, idiot!"
Tsundere!Siren who sneers whenever you admire other sea creatures. "Why would you waste your time watching those clumsy little fish when I’m right here? They don’t even have the voice of a god." Their tone is mocking, but their claws dig just a little too deep into the rock beneath them.
Tsundere!Siren who swears they don’t care if you leave. "Hah, go ahead. I can lure a thousand others with a single note." But when you actually turn away, a low, haunting melody hums through the air, pulling you back like an unseen tide. They smirk as you stumble, pretending they didn’t just panic.
Tsundere!Siren who lets you run your fingers along their shimmering tail—only to scoff right after. "Ugh, you’re so annoying…" But they don’t pull away. Instead, their tail coils loosely around your leg, trapping you in place as they pretend it’s just the current keeping you close.
Tsundere!Siren who kisses you suddenly, fangs grazing your lips before they pull back with a smug grin. "Tch. There. Now you’re mine, land-dweller." But the way their claws cling to your wrist tells you they’re not as indifferent as they pretend to be.
How about some serial killer Whitney the bully? >:)
SERIAL KILLER! WHITNEY HCS
Serial Killer!Whitney who keeps trophies from their kills, small mementos that remind them of their power. A lock of hair, a piece of clothing—each one a symbol of their control.
Serial Killer!Whitney who can charm their way out of any situation. They know how to blend in, how to play the victim when needed, making sure no one ever suspects them. However his whole delinquent status can make it difficult when it comes to evidence. No big deal, He'll threaten them not to snitch. Or they'll be the next victim.
Serial Killer!Whitney who sees themselves as a predator, and their victims as mere prey. They enjoy the fear they inspire, knowing that their victims are helpless against them.
Serial Killer!Whitney who has a dark sense of humor. They often make twisted jokes about their kills, seeing it as their personal little secret.
Serial Killer!Whitney who doesn’t feel guilt. To them, the world is full of people who deserve to be wiped out, and they’re just doing the world a favor.
Serial Killer!Whitney who always remains calm, even in high-pressure situations. The thrill of the kill keeps their nerves steady, making them even more dangerous.
Serial Killer!Whitney who is intelligent and calculating. They’re always thinking ahead, anticipating every move and making sure there’s no room for error. He's more intelligent at this shit then you'd think.
Chat. Iris x Lilac headcannons. Or js Iris x reader headcannons if you wanna make smthing that appeals to everyone. I'd be hella happy with either. 🙏🙏🙏
Iris is getting touched. 100%
YANDERE!DEMON HCS
Yandere! demon who never truly leaves you alone. The way his presence lingers in the flickering shadows, in the way the air grows thick with something unholy. You might not see him, but he’s always watching.
Yandere! demon who plays with your perception until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. Did you really hear his voice in your dreams, or was it just your imagination? Was that shadow in the corner moving, or was it just a trick of the light? The answer is always him.
Yandere! demon who thrives on your fear but adores your love even more. He wants you to shiver under his touch, but he needs you to surrender to him willingly. The moment you stop resisting is the moment he devours you whole.
Yandere! demon who gets irrationally jealous over the most innocent interactions. A casual conversation? Too much. A polite smile? Unforgivable. He doesn’t care if the other person was a stranger or a lifelong friend—they don’t deserve your attention.
Yandere! demon who whispers to you in the dead of night, his voice curling around you like smoke. “You’re mine. Always mine.” His words seep into your dreams, staining them with a hunger that never fades.
Yandere! demon who doesn’t just punish disobedience—he makes you regret it. He doesn’t need chains to keep you in place when he can make the world outside feel so much worse than staying by his side.
Yandere! demon who lets you think you have control, only to rip it away when you least expect it. Every ounce of freedom he grants you is a carefully placed illusion. The moment you try to leave? The game is over, and he’s the only one who ever wins.
Yandere! demon who adores your broken expressions. Not because he wants to hurt you (though, sometimes, he really wants to), but because every tear, every gasp, every desperate plea is just proof that you belong to him.
Yandere! demon who kisses you like he’s branding you, biting deep enough to leave marks that don’t fade. He wants everyone to know that you’re his. No one else can touch you. No one else can have you.
Yandere! demon who laughs when you try to fight back, because really—where are you going to run? There’s no place he won’t follow, no corner of the world he won’t invade. You can run, you can scream, but in the end? You were always his.
Cat!Whitney who always acts like they don’t care, but the second you stop paying attention to them, they’re crawling into your lap like they own the place. They’ll act all smug about it too, like obviously you should be honored.
Cat!Whitney who hisses at people they don’t like but tries to play it off as “just a habit.” No, they totally didn’t just bare their fangs at some random dude for getting too close to you. Shut up.
Cat!Whitney who gets the zoomies at 3 AM. You’ll hear a crash, a thud, and then see them sitting there like nothing happened. If you ask? “What? I meant to do that.”
Cat!Whitney who will swat something off a table just to be an asshole. Bonus points if you were using it. Even more bonus points if you get annoyed—because that’s the best part.
Cat!Whitney who nuzzles into your neck or side when they’re tired but will fight to the death if you mention it later. No, they did not just purr. You’re delusional.
Cat!Whitney who brings you random “gifts” they found outside. A cool rock, a cigarette butt, an entire dead bird—take it. They worked hard for this.
Cat!Whitney who insists they’re independent but follows you everywhere. You’re going to the bathroom? Guess who’s sitting outside the door, scratching at it dramatically.
Cat!Whitney who gets jealous if you pet another cat. They’ll sulk in the corner with their tail flicking, pretending they totally don’t care. Spoiler: they do.
Cat!Whitney who makes you work for their affection, but when they decide you’re worthy? Good luck getting them to leave you alone.
