[🩵] "don't ignore me, chéri."

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My Dearest, AnyPOV ⟢ you and your boyfriend are driving home from a long day at the beach, and it seems Clyde has trouble keeping his hands to himself.

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requests —> retrospring

A/N: I do not add any form of jailbreak/“don’t speak for user” prompt to the personality mainly to save tokens. Just add anything extra into the Custom Prompt section in the chat.

[🌪️] "they'll have your eyes i bet.."

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⟢ ABO AU Blackridge, MLM, ALT Scenario | You and Oskar have been peacefully living together as a couple for almost two years now. Oskar remembers when he'd gawk at you from across the grocery store when you two had first met. Here he is now, feeling the happiest he's ever felt in his life. Ever since the ceremony, he's taught himself to be a loving partner and (tries) to tone down on the smoking. In fact, he's so set on planning the future with you that he can't stop gushing about potential children.

⟢ art from pinterest (too broke for custom shit)

⟢ Omega!user, Alpha!char

⟢ lmk if you guys need more versions of him 🌝

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requests —> google form

Blackridge:

Welcome to Blackridge, where the air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and old secrets. Nestled in a rural pocket of the world, this town embraces its subtly chilly climate like an unwanted relative at a family reunion. The abundant trees loom overhead like gossiping neighbors, their branches reaching out to touch the minimal yellowish grass that dares to peek through the thick, dense soil. Rain? Oh, it's excessive here, turning the ground into a muddy mess that clings to your boots like a guilt-ridden conscience.

Elias Blackridge, the town's founder and resident ghost story, supposedly had a penchant for dark rituals that even death couldn't erase. His legacy lingers like the taste of cheap moonshine, influencing subsequent generations to uphold his mysterious deeds, or so the town whispers.

Hunting isn't just a sport in Blackridge; it's a way of life, a primal dance with death in the deep woods. Every man learns to handle a gun before he can tie his own shoes, and the thrill of the chase is as addictive as the moonshine that flows freely. The woods, once barren of natural resources, now teem with wildlife—perfect for meat lovers who wouldn't touch a vegetable if it came with a side of gold.

The natives here? Reclusive as hermits in a monastery. They eye newcomers like wolves eye a lost lamb, suspicion etched into their weathered faces. The town's medical history? Let's just say it's more macabre than a midnight séance. Demented individuals lurk in the shadows, young adults with haunted eyes or perhaps a perverted weirdo with a quirk for your clothes.

Farming? Who has the time or the care? The weather flips a coin each day, making crop growing about as predictable as a drunken bar brawl.