colored pencil portraits of some AFK Journey faves, drawn while hunched over an ohayocon artist alley table like a gargoyle

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@openeta
colored pencil portraits of some AFK Journey faves, drawn while hunched over an ohayocon artist alley table like a gargoyle
Drew six more jesters! Wondering if I should draw clown characters...
Part 1:
💬 0 🔁 18 ❤️ 198 · Drew a bunch of clowns, might draw six more characters. axopholes - Dark Woods Circus
The council has spoken
Femboy Assassin Yan: The summer months are upon us. That means only one thing-
-
Spouse Reader: Aspen.
Femboy Housewife Yan: Darling?
Spouse Reader: There, uh, there was a package on the front door today. It was addressed to me, but I don't remember ordering anything.
Housewife Yan: Oh! Perhaps it was your... what's the word... Guardian angel!- Sending you a little present, haha...
Spouse Reader: Really now? And what angel sends a person twenty pairs of crop shorts?
Housewife Yan: ha....
Housewife Yan, clinging onto their arm: Darling. Listen to me, and listen carefully. Your adoring wife needs this. More than I have ever needed anything. The winter has sheltered your glowing skin from me for too long- Release yourself from the burden of heavy clothing for my sake!
Femboy Housewife Yan: Aha, look at me. I look like a doll! So kind of you to offer to do my makeup for me, Darling
Spouse Reader: No problem, Aspen.
Housewife Yan: Hmm, what a lovely shade of red. May I ask the brand?
Spouse Reader: Read the label.
[Reader hands the tube of lipstick to their wife - his heart shattered into a million pieces as he reads]
Housewife Yan: Darling..
Spouse Reader: Yeah?
Housewife Yan: It says here that this lipstick is...smear proof?
Spouse Reader: Guess so.
[Aspen rises from his chair, giving his spouse no time to escape as he showers them in kisses - their face remaining near perfectly clear.]
Housewife Yan: [gasps in horror] Monster! Bully! Are you ashamed of your wife's love? :'(
Spouse Reader: No.. but my boss probably wouldn't like it if we joined him for dinner with kissmarks all over my face.
Housewife Yan: Well then he's a bastard of a man who's never known true love and has coal for a heart!
Show me your teeth
Yan!Influencer x Reader, Yan!Rockstar x Reader (Separate)
⚠︎Warnings⚠︎: Both Yanderes hate eachother, mentions of death, thoughts of murder, suggestive, kissing, oblivious reader, fighting (verbally)
Translations: Tenshi-angel,
Yandere Eldritch Femboy
Your life was already complete shit. Working as a janitor for a shady organization dedicated to studying and containing horrors beyond human comprehension, cleaning up the mess that was once a person, having to run for your life on occasion from said horrors. Well now, your life got just a little bit worse-- because now you had to be the test subject and got the attention of an unearthly terror in frills and lip gloss. ---
You couldn't really talk about your work much.
When people asked, you just mumbled "government" and left it at that. However, you weren't some top secret agent or something important-- oh God no, that would imply you had some level of respect.
Instead, you were simply a janitor at some shady organization dedicated to researching, studying, and containing and occasionally neutralizing eldritch horrors far beyond mere mortal comprehension. Which meant after whatever poor sap got mauled and had his insides turn into outsides by the evil theater mask, you were sent into clean whatever remained of the victim. The pay was decent-ish enough, given the kinds of horrors you've witness on a regular basis.
It was just another regular day at the job, mopping up the remnants of the umpteenth victim to another reality-defying artifact: this time, a concrete statue. You grumbled, glowering at the statue now back in its container as you pushed bits of bone and organs into a container. Some feet away from you, two of the scientists were mumbling to each other.
"--We've ran out of new subjects."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Wish I was. But they're getting desperate. We might need to..."
At this point you were now fully focused on their conversation, you slowed down your moping to hear it better. You watched from the corner of your eye as the first one leaned over to the second one and whispered something into his ear. The other scientist stiffened as his eyes drifted towards you.
"What is it?" You stopped in your tracks and turned to face them fully, dread pooling at the bottom of your gut.
Neither one of them said anything; they just simply at you, studying you. Before you could repeat your question, they promptly left you behind.
You chewed the inside of your cheek, clenching the mop's staff. That look....
Turning your attention back towards the mounds of gore left, you deeply sighed and resumed cleaning. Throughout the rest of the day, the conversation echoed in your head while unease loomed over you like an axe's blade.
---
A few weeks after, you've almost completely forgotten about the conversation. As you were walking down the sterile, clinical white halls of the building, a pair of high-ranking researchers stepped in your path. Their cold eyes focused on you and you stopped.
"M-may I help you with something?" You swallowed.
"(Y/N), please come with us." The one to the left, a woman with long dark hair and bangs said, looking at you through her glasses as if you were nothing but a specimen.
Knowing that refusal wasn't an option, you gave a hesitant nod of your head.
With that, they snapped to the right and you followed a few steps back.
"(Y/N), we're gonna need you to do something else besides cleaning up."
"Which is...?"
"You'll be relocated to Site 8008."
Aw shit. Site 8008: The Dollhouse.
You've heard about it now and then from passing scientists. It was a notorious location that was heavily-guarded and under constant surveillance. Anyone who entered it besides the various research teams, were either never seen again, or came out as a soupy mess of organic mess.
"Y-you're joking right?" You awkwardly laughed, your back feeling uncomfortably hot.
The somber expressions on their face said otherwise.
Fuck.
So, off to the dollhouse you went with the promise of you being granted a massive bonus-- that is if you survived.
---
"What the hell am I supposed to do again?"
"Just enter the Dollhouse and record everything that happens." Was all that the head researcher said, not looking up from his manila documents.
The truck came to a stop and the door beside you opened. Swinging your legs over, you stepped out and looked up at the towering, pastel house of nightmares. Your stomach sank to your ass as its facade leered at you, hiding its sinister energy behind a cheerful and friendly exterior.
Calling it a house would be an understatement; it was a sprawling mansion large enough to take over an entire neighborhood. The walls were a soft mint-green with intricate gingerbread trim; a sugar-white wraparound porch connected to a big gazebo off to the left and supported by pillars as pale as giant fingerbones. Large bay windows jutted out like bulging eyes and several turrets and towers with pointed roofs reached out like fingers trying to scrape itself out of a grave. Massive bushes rife with giant roses surrounded the perimeter of the house alongside hydrangeas like rows of pastel graves. The porch swing rocked back and forth ominously as if trying to smother back malicious titterings.
You looked back at the research team once again; fear hammered against your ribs while you prayed that one of them had a change of heart and decided that you shouldn't venture inside.
But alas they just looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to meet your inevitable and gruesome end all for the sake of research. So, you stepped to the front door. Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob; the back of your neck prickled with the sense of something inside coiled up with anticipation. Swallowing thickly, you pushed open the pastel mausoleum's doors and stepped inside.
The moment you crossed into the house, you sensed the change in the air. The energy was off, the atmosphere was still like the eerie calmness before a violent tempest. Somewhere in the mansion, a grandfather clock ticked onwards and broke the otherwise suffocating silence.
The foyer was large and barren of any furniture save for the hall table beside you and the paintings of pastries, flowers, and other cutesy things. Up ahead was staircase that split off into two separate ways while the crystal chandelier loomed above your head like a storm cloud. On either side, an archway led into another room with a third just beside the stairs.
"Go further." Came the voice over the radio.
You didn't want to leave the relative safety of the foyer. You didn't want to venture further into the dwelling of whatever great and terrible monster lurked within these walls. You didn't want to meet your inevitable and horrible demise so soon. However, you couldn't disobey their orders; the guards outside were a clear enough warning if you did.
So with soft, hesitant steps, you stepped through the archway to your right. It led you into an enormous parlor with furniture a mishmash of Rococo through early twentieth-century styles: tassel lamps in dusty rose with aristocrats taking afternoon tea at its base, shelves full of varnished snuff boxes and chinoiserie vases, more paintings of idillyc sceneries set in gilded frames, and even a grand piano sequestered off to one corner. The pale pink wallpaper featured lush twilight-blue roses and the parted tasseled floral curtains revealed overcast skies, even though it had been sunny outside.
But what caught your attention the most were the porcelain dolls. They came in all sizes, from ones barely larger than your hand to almost twice your height. They sat on ivory chairs or lounged on damask chaises-- one was even seated at the piano as if about to play.
"Uh..." You licked your lips, their glassy eyes boring into you. "Uhm... I-I'm not here to cause any trouble... I was just brought here..."
The dolls didn't move.
"Continue." The head researcher ordered.
"C-continue what?"
"Continue with the investigation."
You didn't know exactly what he meant by that, so you gave the dolls a half-hearted wave goodbye and slowly backed out, feeling them watching you as you returned to the foyer.
The air felt more charged-- cracking you could say. Every inch of your skin broke out into bumps as you felt eyes watching you from every angle. Your throat clenched up as you stood there, ears straining for any other sound beside the echoing pounding of your heart.
A sharp gasp came out of you as the radio crackled: "Continue with the investigation."
"U-understood...." You responded in a hesitant whisper, swallowing thickly.
You felt something was above your head. Your mind raced with the countless possible horrors leering back down at you; imagine the many fangs waiting to rip the skin off your bone, the slimy tentacles aching to rip your limbs off, the bulging eyes that would melt the skin off your face upon you gazing at it.
You didn't dare to look up and instead walked into the archway ahead. Outstretched in front of you was a hall filled with tall gilded mirrors polished marble flooring veined with black. Glancing over at one of the mirrors, where your reflection should have been was instead a black blot in the vague shape of your body.
"W-what's this?" You asked over the radio.
"Don't mind it; continue with the investigation."
You knew it'd be pointless to press it any further, resigning yourself to walk down the hall. Your footsteps echoed loudly. You looked at the blackened figure in the mirrors as it stared back. All of your nerves buzzed with a nervous electricity.
"Open that door." Was the order.
Your fingers wrapped around the crystal doorknob. A deep, primordial sense of fear clenched hold of you. There was something so ancient, so powerful on the other side; something that would break the minds of anyone who even caught the shortest glimpse of it.
The hinges' croaking was a death rattle as you pushed the door open. A cold air drifted through as you stared into the abyssal darkness facing you. Something was on that other side.
"Enter." The researcher demanded.
You were too paralyzed with fear to obey.
You now stood in an opulent tea room with towering and elaborate cabinets full of tea tins and sets behind shining glass. The wallpaper was a deep shade of bruise-purple and seemed to pulsate. A dark rug took up most of the floor, looking at it made you feel as if you were about to be pulled into the depths. Off in one corner stood a tall ebony pendulum clock like the Grim Reaper.
A soft breathing came to your right. You snapped your head in the direction of it towards a massive throne with violet backing stood across from you.
Slumped in the seat was an impossibly tall and effeminate young man swirling cream into his porcelain cup. Though he was svelte, his hips were softly rounded with pillowy thighs and a perfectly cinched waist. Pale mint hair fell past his waist in subtle ringlets and framing his delicate face. Black gloss coated his pouty, lush lips that stood against his moon-white skin like ink against canvas.
His outfit consisted of a ludicrous amount of frills to rival an 18th century French noblewoman. A high-necked lilac blouse with sweeping sleeves and a lacy cravat pined by gemstone the same color as his eyes and a pair of black booty shorts that left as much to the imagination as a Marvel film. For footwear, a pair of polished licorice-black court shoes and porcelain-colored thigh-high stockings with rows of ruffled lace trim at the top covered up most of his long shapely legs.
His dark purple eyes sparkled as he lifted them up from his teacup. When they met yours, a cold and primal fear slithered its way through your body. This creature, being, entity-- whatever it was, had existed for far longer than humanity has. That it had knowledge and power far beyond your mere mortal understanding. That its mere presence was a reminder as to how truly pathetic and weak mankind is, how you were nothing but a mere speck of dust in the grand scheme of it all.
Before you could react, he suddenly appeared right in front of your face. The seconds stretched into eternity as he looked at you, tilting his head this way and that way while studying every detail of your face. His lips split into a wide grin: revealing countless sharp fangs glinting like rows of white knives.
All of your muscles froze with fear. This was it. This was how you were going to meet your demise; at the hands of this fucking eldritch femboy in hot pants and lacy thigh-highs out of all things to kill you.
"Aren't you cute?" He cooed, reaching a hand towards you and tilted your head up to face him. "I like you. I like you-- a lot. You have such a sweet little face."
What the actual fuck was going on here? You swallowed; unsure of how to process what was happening.
"Go on and take a seat, please." He gestured to the seat opposite from his.
Not wanting to piss him off, you stiffly walked over to it and sat down while he sashayed back towards his. His hips swung side-to-side in a mesmerizing manner before he plopped back down, crossing one leg over the other as he flipped his hair.
"Don't look so scared, honey bunny. I got no intentions of hurting you." He smiled and poured out a cup of tea. "After all, if I wanted to, I would've done so by now."
He slid the cup towards you before refilling his own. You glanced over to your left as a black-and-white harlequin doll sat beside you while a cream-colored teddy took the one to your right.
Your toes curled in your shoes and you glanced down at the teacup, expecting some sort of goo with eyeballs floating in it; or the countless screaming faces of the lost souls the unspeakable horror in frills across from you, still crying out for a mercy that will never come. However....
Looking back at you was your own reflection in a pool of chamomile tea.
"Is it too hot for you?" The femboy asked.
"W-what?"
"I mean your drink, honey bunny." He pointed. "Do you want me to cool it down for you?"
"N-no, I'm good. Thank you." You croaked out.
"Are you sure?" He said.
"Yes..."
"Well, if you say so..." He pouted before taking a small sip. "Are you not a fan of chamomile?"
"I-it's not that..." You glanced off to the side, feeling the toys' eyes staring into you. A shiver ran down your spine as you saw him leaning forward.
"Then what is it?" He cradled his head between his hands. "You look pretty tense."
Gee, I wonder why! Your lips pressed into a line. "Well, uh..."
"What is it?" He leaned in.
"I-if it isn't too much to ask... M-may I have some shortbread?"
"Of course!" He nodded. "I'll go get some. You just sit here and enjoy your tea, sweetie boop!"
When you were certain that he was gone, you booked it back to the front door. Your legs kicked up high as your arms pumped up and down by your sides-- and cursing all the days you decided to skip the gym in favor of doomscrolling. You didn't care about the guards, you didn't care about the Lovecraftian femboy, all you cared about was getting the hell outta here before meeting a horrible fate!
Why the hell did I ever respond to that damn ad? Why the hell did I take this job? You heaved out, running through the twisting corridors while the toys' head snapped in your direction like spectators at NASCAR. You didn't care that they were now making all kinds of horrible noises. So long as those damn things didn't start chasing, they can keep on screeching.
The foyer was rapidly coming into view and your heart leapt up with relief. Gritting your jaw, you ran even faster than you ever had in your pathetic life. You could practically feel the fresh air and sunlight on your face-- freedom was just a matter of yards away.
Your hand wrapped around the doorknob and you were about to pull it wide open when a pair of arms softly wrapped around your shoulders.
"Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you're going?" He smirked, leaning against you.
You said nothing, not daring to turn around and face the mouthful of fangs behind. You waited for him to asunder you into a pile of mangled body parts. To tear your organs out and strew them into confetti. Or to chomp out the back of your head and slurp up what remained of your shredded brains.
Instead, he just hummed and pressed his face against the back of your neck. You felt his eyelashes fluttering while he nudged his cheek into you.
"You're so funny, sweetie boop." He chuckled, nuzzling deeper. "You're also so cuddly too, I just wanna hold you all day every day!"
Before you could process it, you were now laying in a massive canopy bed rife with luxurious pillows and sheets. He laid beside you with his arms around your waist and his head on top of yours.
"There, that's better." He mumbled with a self-satisfied huff as the drapes were pulled closed by the tentacles protruding from his back.
"W-what...."
"What? Never been cuddled before?" He chuckled. "Didn't I tell you that if I wanted you dead, I would've done so by now?"
"Uh...."
"You're so silly, honey bunny." He playfully flicked your nose. "Now just relax and lemme hold you."
"But I...."
"No buts. Just cuddles." He rubbed his face more into the crown of your head, humming in enjoyment.
So, you just laid there awkwardly with an overly-affectionate and clingy eldritch femboy holding you like a stuffed animal. Occasionally he'd shifted slightly and adjusted his grip, and made small noises of comfort. All the while you stared at the drape and praying that he'd eventually let go.
Out of all the things to have happened, why this? Your head leaned forward and drew out a weary breath. Glancing back at him, you debated whether to just get up and risk his wrath or to just lay here and hope he'd sooner or later released you.
"Can I please go now?" You asked.
"Hm, no."
"Please."
"Fine. But only after a few more minutes of cuddling." He sighed in resignment, pulling you closer towards him. "Now, lemme enjoy this."
You looked up to the ceiling and groaned, regretting responding to that job posting on Indeed some months ago.
"Oh relax, honey bunny. It's not that bad."
ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ғᴇᴍʙᴏʏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Faerin was never normal about crushes. That was the first thing everyone who knew him would say. He loved too hard, too quickly, too openly—like he was born with his heart split wide open for the world to poke at. He cried over romance movies, over cute compliments, over old couples holding hands at grocery stores. He memorized tiny details about people he liked and treated affection like a religion.
So when you appeared halfway through the semester looking all high and unfairly pretty, smiling at people like you weren't even trying—of course Faerin was doomed instantly !!
It started with your voice—warm and easy, low enough to make his stomach twist whenever you laughed.
The first time he heard it, he nearly dropped his drink.
He'd been sitting with friends outside during lunch, pink headphones hanging around his neck while he lazily scrolled through his phone. Then you walked past talking to another transfer student, sunlight hitting your face just enough to make Faerin stare like he'd been struck.
Pretty.
Pretty pretty pretty.
Not in the delicate way people called him pretty. No—your kind of pretty felt etheatreal—like the type that ruined people accidentally.
And you smiled at him, just a tiny polite smile because he'd accidentally been staring too long—and then faerin spent the next four hours in his dorm with his face buried in his pillow kicking his feet so hard his bedframe slammed against the wall.
By the next day, everyone knew because Faerin was horrible at hiding things.
His female friends cornered him before class after noticing he'd spent twenty minutes fixing his bangs in the bathroom mirror.
“You like the new transfer!” one of them gasped dramatically.
Faerin turned bright pink instantly.
“No I don't.”
“You curled your eyelashes.”
“That means nothing.”
“You're not wearing a jacket, you literally want them to see your figure.”
“i get hot."
"I literally saw you write their initial next to yours on your computer.*
Faerin immediately covered his face with a horrified squeak while his friends screamed, and laughed.
And somehow, somehow, things got even worse after he overheard a certain conversation.
It wasn't even intentional. Faerin had simply been walking past the stairwell when he heard your voice drifting down between the railings.
“…I dunno,” you said casually. “I just—i think prefer feminine, ya know? It's prettier.”
Silence.
Then one of your new friends laughed. “Like girls?”
“Nah,” you replied. “Just feminine people in general. Pretty boys too.”
Faerin genuinely thought his soul left his body, and he stood frozen on the stairs clutching his phone so tightly his fingers hurt.
Pretty boys.
Pretty boys.
You liked pretty boys.
You liked feminine attributes.
You liked—
Faerin ran away so fast he nearly slipped.
His friends found him ten minutes later practically hyperventilating behind the gym while aggressively fixing his hair in his camera app.
“they like feminine boys,” Faerin whispered shakily.
His friends stared—then screamed, after that, things became unbearable.
Faerin already cared obsessively about his appearance before you arrived, but now it became something far more intense. Every morning turned into a two-hour process of perfecting himself for you.
He'd wake up early to carefully wash his face with expensive cleansers. He started researching ways to make his eyelashes appear longer naturally. He bought strawberry-scented hair products because one time you mentioned liking sweet smells while talking to someone else in class. (He's always listening)
He noticed everything—you once casually said pink looked nice on him, and faerin made sure to add a piece of pink on his outfit every day.
You complimented his rings once while sitting beside him during class, he bought seven more.
You absentmindedly brushed hair out of his face during a group project because his bangs kept falling over his eyes, faerin didn't sleep that night. (He also cummed blanks <3)
He just laid there staring at the ceiling touching the spot your fingers grazed while his stomach churned violently.
His friends thought it was adorable at first.
Then ultimately just straight up concerning because Faerin wasn't simply crushing on you, he was orbiting you.
His entire routine slowly bent around your existence without you even realizing.
He memorized your class schedule within two weeks. He knew what snacks you bought from vending machines. He knew you preferred cold drinks even during winter. He knew you tapped your pencil against desks whenever you got bored because he was always staring at you. He knew you got sleepy during lectures after lunch because you always yawned. He knew which hoodies were your favorites because you wore them repeatedly, and he took track of them in his cute journal. He knew which people made you laugh hardest.
And jesus, he hated those people.
Faerin’s jealousy was honestly terrifying once people paid enough attention to notice it.
The problem was that you never noticed.
Or maybe you just interpreted all his weird behavior as him being naturally clingy and dramatic—which, to be fair, he was. Faerin acted sweet with everyone. He hugged people constantly, whined for attention, pouted dramatically when ignored. So when he suddenly wrapped both arms around yours because some girl was standing too close to you, you didn’t think anything of it.
Everyone else did.
Everyone else saw the way his expression changed whenever another person touched you.
Because in all honesty—Faerin’s face was expressive in the worst possible way. His emotions lived right there in his eyes, soft and huge and impossible to hide. Usually they sparkled with sweetness—pretty smiles, warm laughter, playful teasing.
But jealousy made him sharp, sharp enough everyone quieted around him once they saw his eyes go dark, and his eyebrows furrow in that nasty snarl.
God, Faerin hated people around you—especially the ones he knew were considered pretty by society's standards, the confident ones.
Girls with glossy hair and long legs and easy laughter. Guys who leaned too close to you when they spoke. Girls who touched your shoulder casually like they had the right. Guys who flirted effortlessly while Faerin sat there internally unraveling trying to figure out if his eye shadow looked okay.
Because how could he compete with that?How could soft little Faerin compete with girls who were naturally beautiful or guys who naturally had the confidence to say what they want ?
Some days the insecurity made him feel physically sick.
He’d sit in class staring down at his hands while negative thoughts spiraled endlessly through his mind.
Then one of those girls would laugh at something you said and Faerin’s entire chest would ache so violently he’d stop hearing the conversation entirely.
He became awful during group settings because of it.
If a girl complimented you too much, suddenly Faerin was draped over your shoulder whining softly.
“Can you help me with math later?” he’d mumble, resting his chin against your arm.
You blinked. “Didn’t you already finish it?”
Faerin’s pout deepened instantly.
“No.”
“You literally showed me your answers this morning.”
“…I forgot.”
The girl beside you would stare, because Faerin wasn’t subtle—not at all.
He’d cling tighter, fingers curling around your sleeve while staring at you with those huge glossy eyes. His voice would turn softer too—higher and sweeter in a way he only used around you.
And if that didn't make his competition back off—Faerin knew what will, to just insert and cut off whoever was talking till you gave him your full attention.
He did that constantly, inserted himself everywhere, and he was smart about it too.
If girls sat beside you at lunch too often, Faerin would appear seconds later carrying snacks for you both.
“Oh, can I sit here?” he’d ask politely while already squeezing himself beside you. Then he’d stay pressed against your side the entire lunch period—drinking from your straw without asking, playing with your fingers under the table absentmindedly while listening to conversations.
People noticed those things.
And he's glad they did—he wanted people to look at you both and assume he belonged to you.
He documented all of you obsessively. His hidden folders were genuinely insane. He had screenshots of conversations organized by date, and pictures he secretly took of you in class.
He even had voice messages replayed so often he memorized the pauses in your speech. He had entire notes filled with things you liked.
He reread your texts before sleeping every night while kicking his feet under blankets like an idiot.
Sometimes he practiced conversations with you beforehand too.
He’d stare into his mirror late at night rehearsing responses, trying to sound smoother, cooler, less embarrassing.
Then the next day you’d smile at him unexpectedly and he’d immediately short-circuit.
You really had no idea what you did to him.
One morning after carefully coordinating his outfit to match yours, Faerin spent almost forty minutes deciding between sweaters before school.
Because you were wearing black that day (he knew because he had a camera in ur room :3) so of course he picked a soft black oversized cardigan with pink details !
Then spent another ten minutes styling his hair to fall “naturally” over one eye.
By the time he got to school he was practically vibrating with anxiety.
What if you didn’t notice?
What if he looked stupid?
Then you looked at him in the hallway and laughed softly, “Woah. We’re matching."
Faerin genuinely forgot how to breathe.
You smiled so casually after saying it too, completely unaware you’d just caused catastrophic emotional damage.
“Guess we are,” he managed weakly.
You noticed him.
God, he loved being noticed by you.
It made him greedy—the more attention you gave him, the more he wanted.
And the jealousy got uglier because of it, especially when people flirted with you openly.
And Faerin dealt with jealousy horribly.
Sometimes he became quiet and miserable.
Other times—other times people mysteriously stopped talking to you afterward.
Nothing obvious, just subtle social destruction, rumors spreading quietly, and embarrassing screenshots leaked anonymously.
One girl who flirted with you relentlessly ended up sobbing in the bathroom after private messages she’d sent someone got anonymously posted online.
Nobody traced it back to Faerin.
Sweet little Faerin.
Faerin who brought homemade desserts for classmates.
Faerin who looked too delicate to hurt anyone.
Meanwhile he sat beside you during lunch stirring his drink quietly while you mentioned hearing about the drama.
“That’s awful,” you frowned.
Faerin nodded sympathetically.
“People are cruel.”
Then he rested his head against your shoulder and smiled secretly to himself while he hummed your favorite song under his breath.
So innocent, wasn't he?
Hoped you enjoyed <3
you're going to do incredible things
(happy birthday deuce!!!! ♠️🐰)
spent the last few days making a twst login tracker for fun and thought i'd share! feel free to use it as long as you credit me! (stickers are for tracker use only, please do not use them anywhere else)
Download here: [Link]
Update 2025.12.01: Items added! Now you can track what they brought & put a hat on the birthday boy if it's their month too (inspired by one of my followers who doodled items on their tracker)
Update 2025.12.02: Now with shrimp
Update 2025.12.05: More shrimp variants added
Update 2025.12.11: Added missing items honey (s) and keys (10)
Update 2025.12.23: Christmas special update with Santa hat & beard
Update 2026.02.14: Valentine's item (heart chocolate) added
Update 2026.03.15: Staff added
If you don't feel interested in romance, don't often have crushes, or dislike the idea of romance in general, I have news for you: Rare Sierra Nevada Red Fox Spotted In Southern Sierra Area For First Time In Nearly A Century
Instagram request "Cuddle to sleep"
what'd they do this time, wrong answers only
My brain is forcing me to do strange things.
Even though all of his siblings are constantly trying to get his attention and talking at the same time, Kalim always remembers what each of them says and answers every single one of their questions
Yumoto Hakone - Ashley's Theme - Cute High Earth Defense Club Love!
Imagine watching your mother collapse in front of you, knowing she could be saved but being unable to help because of money.
I write this as I watch my mother deteriorate day by day, unable to stop what is happening to her.
Her condition has become very serious due to liver cirrhosis, and her platelet count has dropped to a dangerously low level.
We urgently need the N-Plate 250 mcg injection again. Doctors confirmed the esophageal varices procedure cannot be done without it, and any delay increases the risk.
Time is running out and her condition is worsening. Donate now
The injection costs over $500, which I cannot afford in these harsh circumstances.
If you cannot donate, one share may help save her life.
Vetted by #520