☾ name: jinx!
☾ age: 21
☾ pronouns: any pronouns
☾ timezone: CET
☾ fun facts about me:
I am a mechanical engineer!
My favourite animals are gaboon vipers
I have two cats! (Miss Kitty & Mr Kat)
☾ Minors DO NOT interact with this blog!
☾ feel free to send asks / messages / interact if you'd like!
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There is an almost statuesque quality to them, as though they were sculpted rather than born.
Their wings are enormous. Even folded, they dominate whatever room they occupy, forcing them to constantly adjust furniture, doorways, and their own posture. Fully spread, each wing stretches several feet beyond their body, creating an impressive wingspan that makes them appear far larger than they truly are.
The feathers are primarily white, but not a sterile, perfect white.
Instead they resemble fresh snow, soft ivory with a touch of silver. The feathers closest to the body are thick and downy, while the outer flight feathers are longer, stronger, and smoother.
Missing feathers leave visible gaps. Blood stains spread starkly against the pale plumage. Bent feathers protrude at awkward angles, making the wings seem less divine and more animal.
Tiny feathers grow elsewhere across their body.
Soft clusters appear at the backs of their shoulders, along their collarbones, over the swell of their chest, and in their crotch area down to their upper thigh. Fine down feathers sometimes emerge along their spine or the sides of their ribs where the wings meet flesh.
the eye
Their eyes are what unsettle people the most.
At first glance they appear almost black, impossibly dark beneath long lashes. But when someone looks closer, they realize the darkness isn't empty.
It is deep.
The color resembles a night sky untouched by city lights, a vast stretch of space where tiny flecks of gold, silver, and faint blue seem suspended beneath the surface.
People often find themselves staring too long.
Not because the eyes are beautiful, though they are, but because they create the uncomfortable sensation of looking into something endless. Like standing at the edge of an ocean at night and realizing you cannot see where it ends.
the halo
The halo is not a simple golden ring of light. From a distance it appears beautiful, a circle of pale gold light suspended in the air, delicate and perfect.
But when examined closely, it becomes clear that it is made of something alive.
The light shifts constantly beneath its surface like liquid sunlight. Sometimes it hums softly, a sound so faint it could be mistaken for tinnitus.
After the fall, the halo moved from it permanent position and is now detached from their head, like a crown being removed.
a/n: due to many questions and comments here is a brief explanation of the anatomy of the angel of fallen.
angel reader is still up to your interpretation! I just had a lot of questions about their anatomy/wing/feather situation!
jinnxxx we need moree hannibal smut, whatever you feel like, really
someone USING my name is kinda crazy guys... I like it keep it up
yes yes you amuse me with your asks, all the hannibal smut people, if I had a pound for every hannibal or hannigram +reader smut ask... id have
checks inbox
7 pounds!
but I am hearing you so ... ill sit down this weekend and cook up some stuff for you!
PLEASE if you have requests then send them in for theme or trope or what is supposed to go on...
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Greetings
I was always wondering how authors imagine the reader when writing? Do you for example always imagine yourself and your name as reader? Or do you have a new original character in your mind for each x reader fan fiction?
Or do you just have a blank space in your head when writing a Y/N story?
Thank you for your answer, I am very curious 🧐
Hey!
Generally speaking I never imagine myself as reader... also when I am reading fanfiction I never put my name into the y/n part in my head, I dont know why just never did that...
typically when I write I have a general 'persona'/OC in mind, but I try to not describe them too much in the writing, so everyone can feel included, I just build a persona that has the necessary traits and backstory to fit into the story!
hope that helps!
pairing: Owen Grady x f!reader
genre: coworkers to lovers • tensions • adventure • forced proximity
notes: You are finally living your dream as a Mosasaur handler at Jurassic World. While, technically, only wanting to pursue your career of studying aquatic giants, your coworker Owen has taking quite the liking to you...
After your house got invested by the local insect population he extends his invitation for you to stay with him in his bungalow and... things start getting tense between the two of you from there.
MINORS DNI!!
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─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
part 1 – Bugs and a couch offer
The afternoon sun hung high over Isla Nublar. Humid air rolled across the island while distant dinosaur calls echoed through the park, blending with the crash of waves of the lagoons.
Owen wiped sweat from the back of his neck as he crossed the pathways near the raptor paddock. The earlier training session had already come and gone, leaving dirt and dust on his boots and the lingering smell of raw meat and sweat on his clothes.
Days around this time of year on the island were always hotter.
The concrete pathways radiated heat beneath his feet while tourists crowded the main sections of the park farther off in the distance.
Owen barely paid attention.
He preferred the quieter areas.
He couldn’t be asked with the many tourists.
That was what eventually led him toward the Mosasaurus lagoons, hands resting loosely at his sides.
He liked it there this time of day.
The endless stretch of blue water. It almost made the island feel natural again.
Also, he got news that the lab popped out a new Mosasaurus, which greatly interested him.
Maybe not only because of the dinosaur, but also because of the… handler.
As he approached the smaller holding pool near the main tank, movement caught his attention.
…You.
You sat balanced on a paddleboard in the water, dark swimsuit clinging to your skin as the young Mosasaurus circled lazily beneath you.
“Young” was a generous term. The creature was still big, even as a juvenile, easily as large as a grown Freshwater Crocodile.
And yet you looked completely at ease beside it.
Owen slowed near the fence, resting his forearms against the railing as he watched.
The baby Mosasaurus surfaced beside your board with a splash.
“Hold,” you instructed firmly, using a clicker to make the training clicking sound.
The creature froze almost immediately.
Owen’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
You reached down, placing a hand carefully above its snout.
“Hold…”
Another click.
Then you tapped the front of its jaw.
The Mosasaurus opened its mouth instantly, and you tossed a piece of raw chicken inside. Its jaws snapped shut with enough force to echo across the pool before it disappeared beneath the surface again.
“Good girl,” you praised warmly.
Owen found himself staring a little longer than he probably should have.
Most people around the dinosaurs were nervous and hesitant.
You weren’t.
You were careful, obviously, but you handled the animal with confidence, like you understood it.
The Mosasaurus circled back around your board, nudging it from beneath.
“Ah-ah,” you laughed softly. “I see you. No sneaking up.”
The sound made something tug at the corner of Owen’s mouth.
You paddled back toward the edge of the pool before climbing out, water dripping from your legs onto the concrete. The young Mosasaurus surfaced again immediately, resting its snout against the side expectantly.
“Someone’s hungry today, hm?” you hummed.
You clicked again.
“Open.”
The animal didn’t move.
“No, I said open.”
This time the jaws slowly fell open.
“Better.”
You let the creature wait a moment before tossing the final reward, a large chunk of fish, into its mouth. It vanished underwater instantly, thrashing excitedly beneath the surface.
“Good girl…”
You sighed afterward, pushing wet hair back from your face as you reached for a towel nearby.
That was when Owen finally pushed himself off the railing.
He walked over with that familiar confidence to his stride, boots heavy against the concrete. Hands settled briefly on his hips before one arm hooked casually over the fence beside you.
“You’re pretty good with the young one,” he said, a crooked smirk pulling at his mouth.
You and Owen already knew each other.
Well… sort of.
Jurassic World was massive, and most departments stayed within their own corners of the island. Owen spent most of his days out at the raptor paddock miles away from the lagoon facilities, while you practically lived around the Mosasaurus tanks.
Still, staff meetings happened.
Shared coffee lines. Passing greetings in hallways. The occasional sarcastic comment exchanged during safety briefings.
Enough to know each other’s names.
Enough to recognize each other when passing by.
But not much more than that.
You smiled slightly at his comment, rubbing the towel over your face before glancing back toward the pool.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “She’s still… manageable. And smaller.”
Your eyes drifted toward the deeper lagoon beyond the facility walls, toward where a fully grown Mosasaurus could swallow boats whole without effort.
“Give her a few years and I probably won’t be climbing into the water anymore.”
Owen huffed out a quiet laugh at that.
You looked back toward him again, still drying water from your hair.
“Didn’t realize you were standing there watching.” you said with a smile tugged faintly at your lips.
Owen’s gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.
The dark swimsuit clung to your still-damp skin, water glistening along your shoulders under the afternoon sunlight.
He cleared his throat subtly, dragging his attention back upward before you noticed.
“How’re things with the raptors?” you asked.
“The raptors?” he repeated with that crooked smirk of his. “They’re stubborn as hell. Same as always...”
His gaze shifted toward the water.
“But they’re doing good.”
You nodded thoughtfully before glancing back toward the young Mosasaurus circling beneath the surface.
“Do you want to come inside and see her up close?” you offered.
Owen looked back at you, mildly surprised.
There was no chance he was turning that offer down.
“Sure,” he said easily, pushing himself off the railing. “Why not?”
You walked toward the security gate beside the enclosure, keycard already in hand. The heavy lock buzzed before the gate slid open just enough for him to step through.
Once he was inside, you closed it securely behind him.
You sat down on the bench near the edge of the enclosure, towel draped around your shoulders as you continued drying your hair.
“She’s been making really good progress,” you explained. “Honestly, it’s mostly just like training a prehistoric crocodile.”
Owen let out a low chuckle as he sat beside you.
“A prehistoric crocodile,” he repeated. “Yeah… she definitely has teeth like one.”
The young Mosasaurus glided through the water below, its massive body moving beneath the sunlight. Even at this age, there was something intimidating about her.
Beautiful and dangerous.
Owen watched her swim for a moment before his eyes flicked back toward you.
“You’re really good with her,” he admitted. “You make it look easy.”
You laughed softly at that, rolling your eyes.
“Says the raptor guy.”
Owen grinned immediately.
“You’re literally the alpha of a raptor pack,” you continued with a smile. “My oversized swimming pool puppy isn’t nearly as impressive as that.”
That got a real laugh out of him.
“Alright, … fair point.”
He shook his head, smirk widening.
“Yeah, those raptors are quite a handful…”
He sighed, “Especially Echo. She’s been giving me hell lately.”
You patted your hair dry slowly as you listened, genuinely curious.
“Really?” you asked, turning slightly toward him. “What’ve they been doing now?”
Owen sighed heavily, dragging a hand back through his hair.
“Well,” he started, “Echo’s been challenging me lately. She keeps breaking formation during training, ignoring commands whenever she feels like it.”
He let out a tired exhale.
“It’s like dealing with a pack of rebellious teenagers,” he muttered. “Except teenagers don’t usually come with six-inch razorsharp teeth.”
“I guess the raptors don’t slam their bedroom doors and listen to emo music,” you teased between giggles.
Owen shook his head, laughing, “Honestly? I’d take the emo music at this point.”
Your smile lingered as you looked back toward the pool, watching Navy glide beneath the water.
“Well… Navy’s still learning,” you said softly. “Not yet teenage-diva age…”
The young Mosasaurus circled lazily near the edge of the enclosure, occasionally surfacing before disappearing beneath the water again.
“We wanted to introduce her to the adult Mosasaurus eventually,” you explained, “but there’s a pretty high chance she’d just get eaten instead of adopted.”
Owen grimaced slightly.
“Yeah. That tracks.”
You sighed before finally standing from the bench, stretching your arms over your head as you reached for your bag and folded clothes nearby.
“Sorry, Owen, but I kinda have to close up here,” you said apologetically. “Got a situation to deal with.”
You rubbed at your forehead with visible annoyance.
“Bug infestation at my bungalow.”
Your expression twisted immediately into mild disgust.
Owen stood as well, one eyebrow lifting.
“Bugs?” he repeated. “Sounds fun.”
“Yeah, apparently they’re ‘temporarily relocating me,’” you said, adding exaggerated air quotes around the words. “So maintenance can fumigate the place.”
You grabbed your paddleboard, slipping your shoes back on near the gate.
“And guess where they’re putting me.”
Owen already had a bad feeling, “The guest resort?”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
Owen immediately laughed under his breath.
“Oh, wow. Luxury.” he said sarcastically.
You groaned softly.
The guest resort was … endless noise, screaming kids running through hallways, exhausted parents barely hanging on by a thread, music playing at all hours.
For you?
Absolute hell.
“Kind of the worst thing that’s happened to me in a while,” you muttered, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.
“Well,” he said with a crooked smirk, “look on the bright side.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
“That’s never a good start.”
“At least now you get to spend twenty-four hours a day surrounded by crying children and parents on the edge of a mental breakdown.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets casually, “Sounds relaxing, eh?”
You deadpanned immediately, “Ha. Ha.”
Owen grinned shamelessly.
You shook your head as you unlocked the security gate, motioning for him to follow you out of the enclosure.
“Come on, raptor boy.”
You waited for Owen to step through the security gate before pulling it shut behind him with a heavy metallic clang.
“Bye, Navy!” you called back toward the pool automatically.
The young Mosasaurus surfaced briefly at the sound of your voice, dark shape cutting through the water before disappearing beneath the surface again.
Owen glanced back over his shoulder and chuckled quietly.
“You say goodbye to her every day?”
“Obviously,” you replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “She gets offended otherwise…” you joked.
“Right,” Owen said seriously. “Wouldn’t wanna upset the giant aquatic murder submarine.”
You grinned despite yourself as the two of you started down the pathway together.
Owen walked beside you easily, hands shoved into his pockets.
Every now and then his eyes drifted toward you again without meaning to.
Your wet hair still clung slightly to your shoulders, the dark swimsuit disappearing beneath the oversized towel wrapped loosely around you. Sunlight caught against the droplets of water still lingering on your skin.
He forced himself to look ahead again.
“So,” he said casually, “when do you have to move into the magnificent guest resort?”
The mock excitement in his voice made you sigh again.
“Like… right now.”
Owen laughed under his breath.
“Oh, wow. Immediate relocation. They’re really rolling out the red carpet for you.”
You groaned quietly at just the thought of moving there.
“I’m going to lose my mind listening to screaming children through paper-thin hotel walls.”
“I give you two days before you lose it.”
“Bold of you to assume I’ll last two days.”
Owen smirked to himself as he glanced at you again.
Then, before his brain could fully catch up with his mouth, he spoke.
“You could always stay at my place instead.”
Owen blinked, seemingly surprised as well, by his own words.
You looked over at him immediately, clearly surprised.
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly very aware of how impulsive that sounded.
“I mean…” he cleared his throat, “I’ve got a couch. Plenty of space. It’s quiet out there.”
─── ꒰ 💚 ꒱ ───
a/n: yes I love jurassic world so sue me! also I just make up dinosaur training because I can! this is my blog and I post what I want... also Owen Grady is kinda... biting my lip
so yes this is a thing now, probably will have a few parts so... stay tuned for that!
also if you are interested in being tagged in the tag list let me know :3
you’re lenny first series is chefs kiss💖 the bleeder community has been lacking fics for some time and i’m glad that i found your blog! can’t wait to see what else you have in store for the series ☺️☺️
hello! sorry for leaving this ask in my inbox for so long... I posted a little treat for my Lenny readers!! Don't worry I PROMISE I'll try to write a new story soon!!
Thank you so much for your kind words and support <3
here enjoy your little treat before the weekend!!!!
dating Lenny
dating
pairing: Lenny (bleeder) x gn!reader
genre: awkward • tensions
notes: the people have been begging for more Lenny and I am here to feed you well!! once again!! did some musing and thinking about how dating Lenny would feel like :3
MINORS DNI!!
─── ꒰ 🎞️ ꒱ ───
headcanons
Dating Lenny would honestly feel like accidentally becoming his entire comfort zone
He would almost never initiate physical affection at first because he'd constantly overthink whether he was being "too much," but once he got comfortable? He'd become a bit clingy, he would make sure to always touch you in some way, his hand on your arm, knees touching, when you're at home watching a movie he'd lean his head against yours, things like that
Most of your nights would involve movies, like about everything with Lenny, so movie marathons, video store scavenger hunting for new movies, going to the cinema together
He'd absolutely memorise your favourite movies even if he secretly thought they were .... not the best ones he had ever seen
If you cried during films, he would pretend not to notice at first because he wouldn't know what to do. When he's more comfortable around you he'd always have a pack of tissues at hand and kiss the top of your head to sooth you
Lenny would fall in love through routine.
The moment he realises you've started leaving your things at his apartment or automatically reaching for his hand crossing streets? Done. Finished. That's his partner for life now.
His apartment would slowly become "your apartment too" without either of you officially discussing it
He would love when you wear his clothes.
Love it.
Completely malfunction about it every single time.
If you wore one of his old band shirts or movie shirts around the apartment, he'd stare for way too long...
The awkwardness level would honestly be catastrophic at first.
Especially physically.
This man would blush over everything, like over kisses, over your hands just touching, you calling him pet names, or just like existing near him...
He'd rehearse conversations in his head before saying them out loud and then totally stutter over his rehearsed "confident" lines anyway... yikes
His version of flirting is just aggressively recommending movies to you, and hoping you just catch onto it
Horror movies become your thing together. He just genuinely lights up talking about them, and seeing him ramble passionately is adorable
He'd love when you play with his hands absentmindedly while watching movies.
Clubs, parties, crowded places?
Absolutely not his scene.
He'd only go if you wanted to, and even then he’d spend most of the night wanting to leave after thirty minutes...
Quiet nights in are where he thrives.
He'd buy you flowers once and panic the entire time. Were they enough? Or not? Or ugly? Or what if he bought flowers one only brings to funerals? You'd certainly break up with him...
And then, when he finally gives them to you, you love them and thank him a thousand times and kiss him all over... much to his surprise
He would absolutely kiss you like he's surprised you're kissing him back every single time.
PDA would make him really nervous, but if you like'd it he would try his best! Like his arm around your shoulders during movies or on the metro, or holding your hand when walking somewhere
When you fell asleep on him while watching a movie at his apartment he would NOT move.
Even if his arm went numb.
Even if he had to pee.
Even if the building was on fire probably.
He'd secretly adore domestic little moments more than actual “romantic” ones.
You making pasta in his kitchen.
Brushing your teeth beside him.
Sitting together in silence while you did your thing and he reorganised his movie collection (for the 100th time)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Portrait of a Predator
pairing: Hannibal Lecter x killer!reader
genre: psychological horror • angst • hunger
notes: You want to kill Hannibal Lecter. No more notes that's it... just read it
warnings: mentions of imagining murder, blood and ... well that stuff.
MINORS DNI!!
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join my taglist
─── ꒰ 🪞 ꒱ ───
killing hannibal lecter
Glass.
Everywhere, glass.
Champagne glasses. Framed glass. Polished marble reflecting expensive shoes beneath warm amber light. Gold melted across the gallery walls in soft strokes, turning every face into something theatrical. Artificial.
Step. Step. Step.
Leather soles against marble.
Fizz.
Champagne bubbles collapsing quietly.
A woman laughed too loudly near the entrance. Sharp. Hollow. Like a fork scraping porcelain.
You stood still in the center of it all.
Watching agony.
The painting in front of you was ‘Saturn Devouring His Son’ by Francisco Goya. Violent blacks. Bruised browns. Wet reds. A god crouched in madness with blood slick on his fingers and horror bursting from his eyes. The body in his hands looked unfinished. Torn apart. Half-eaten.
Most people looked at the painting and saw cruelty.
You saw panic.
You tilted your head slightly.
Interesting.
The brushstrokes were frantic near the mouth. Goya must have painted those parts quickly. Maybe trembling. Maybe starving. The red was old-looking, almost brown at the edges, like dried blood beneath fingernails.
You wondered what Goya smelled while painting it.
Oil paint.
Sweat.
Rot.
Maybe himself.
The room around you dissolved softly at the edges.
You were sixteen again.
Rainwater gathering inside your shoes.
Which always bothered you.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The alley behind your childhood housing smelled like wet concrete and rusted pipes. There had been a man on the ground beside the dumpster. Not dead yet. His nose broken sideways. One eye swollen shut.
He had cried.
That was what stayed with you.
Not the blood or violence.
The sadness.
The terrible, animal sadness leaking out of him while he tried to crawl with shaking hands.
You remembered kneeling beside him and waiting for something inside yourself to react correctly.
Pity.
Guilt.
Fear.
Nothing came.
Only warmth.
Blissful.
Like a missing puzzle piece sliding perfectly into place somewhere deep inside your chest.
Click.
Completion.
You had spent your childhood watching other people experience emotions like spectators at church watched God. Reverently. Confused. Your mother crying over dead relatives. Children crying over broken toys. Girls your age crying in bathroom stalls over cruel words.
You copied their faces well enough.
Tilt your eyebrows.
Lower your voice.
Touch shoulders gently.
But it always felt translated. Distant.
Like reading grief from behind thick aquarium glass.
But agony.
Agony was understandable.
Agony made sense.
There was honesty in it. A person stripped completely open. No performance left. No social mask surviving pain.
You loved photographing mold for the same reason.
Decay never lied.
Your photographs hung one room away.
Close-up shots so magnified they became almost abstract.
Veins of crimson fungus spreading through white walls, black spores blooming like bruises across fruit, soft velvet rot consuming peaches from the inside out.
Critics called the collection intimate.
And disgusting.
One woman earlier had described your work as “a meditation on decomposition and rebirth.”
You almost laughed in her face.
Laughed at the performance of her understanding.
Step.
A figure stopped beside you.
“Most people avoid that one.”
His voice entered softly. Cultured. Smooth enough to hide teeth beneath it.
You already knew the voice.
Hannibal, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, stood beside you with a champagne glass balanced elegantly between his fingers. The red pocket square in his suit looked almost wet beneath the gallery lights.
Reflection caught him strangely.
Fragments of his face shimmered across the black glass frame of the painting. Eyes. Mouth. Teeth.
A broken mirror version of a man.
You smiled faintly without looking away from the painting.
“Most people dislike the discomfort of seeing themselves in art.”
You finally looked at him.
Hannibal smiled politely, though something behind the expression changed slightly, almost invisible unless someone knew where to look. You did.
That was the problem.
You had known who Hannibal Lecter was long before tonight.
You had spent months studying him the way some people studied wild animals before attempting to hunt them.
You knew what wines he preferred.
You knew he killed people.
Not legally.
But you knew.
Because monsters recognized mirrors instinctively.
“You’re the photographer,” Hannibal said after a moment.
Not a question.
Your gaze drifted toward the next room where your photographs sat beneath soft spotlights.
“Yes.”
“The mold.”
There was amusement hidden beneath the words.
You smiled slightly wider.
“The decay.” you corrected.
Hannibal hummed softly.
“Hm.”
His eyes lingered on the painting again.
“People usually photograph flowers when they wish to preserve beauty.”
“Yes,” you said quietly.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Clink.
Whisper.
Fizz.
A waiter passed carrying glasses of red wine that reflected like spilled blood across silver trays.
You looked at Hannibal’s hands.
Elegant hands.
Precise hands.
You imagined them severed neatly at the wrists.
Displayed on the silver tray that reflected red wine like spilled blood.
The thought settled warmly inside you.
Want.
The purest form of artistic curiosity.
Killing Hannibal Lecter would feel like finishing a masterpiece no one else was capable of touching.
You wondered suddenly what expression would finally appear on his face right before death.
Fear?
Relief?
Recognition?
Hannibal tilted his head slightly, studying you now with unnerving stillness as you stared at him so openly.
“As fascinating as your photographs are,” he said softly, “I think what interests me more is why someone would devote themselves to capturing rot so intimately.”
There it was.
Investigation.
You looked back at the painting.
At Saturn’s wide animal eyes.
At the wet red painted around his mouth.
And smiled.
“Because,” you said quietly, “everything beautiful eventually learns how to decay.”
Hannibal laughed softly beside you.
Low.
Warm.
Red suited him.
You wondered whether arterial spray would too.
Fizz.
A bubble burst quietly inside your champagne.
Hannibal said something else beside you, smooth and intelligent and charming, but you barely heard it now. Your mind had already wandered somewhere warmer.
Somewhere underneath skin.
You imagined his death carefully.
Not rushed.
No.
That would be vulgar.
A man like Hannibal Lecter deserved precision. Attention. Reverence, even. You wanted to peel him apart layer by layer until you finally discovered what lived underneath all that elegance.
You wanted to see if monsters looked frightened when faced with themselves.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass.
And for the first time in weeks,
Maybe months,
You felt genuinely excited.
A small smile touched your mouth.
Killing Hannibal Lecter, you thought, would be tremendous fun.
a/n: hey guys, you might wonder... jinx what IS this? I also wonder that myself.... I dont know ... I feel like I have lost all my sanity and this is what you get! Lord forbid a girl ever writes something....
also what is that formatting you ask yourself? well... uh
runs away
