I Simply Am Nyant There

I’m 30 and I tattoo professionally in Michigan but when I’m not working I love being absolutely delusional and consuming and creating self indulgent self insert content 😝💖

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I somewhat abandoned my tumblr back in 2017 like a lot of people but after discovering a pretty active American Psycho fandom on here I AM BACK BAYBEEE!!

I cycle between being fixated on Patrick Bateman/American Psycho and Pavi Largo/ Repo! but I also consume from these fandoms :3c

Selfship/Yumeship

Hellraiser

It/Pennywise/clowns

Monster fucker content…

Horror content

Some helpful tags!!

#my art

#panicATTK

My American Psycho yumeship, my OC Nicoll Vance and Patrick Bateman, dom/sub toxic relationship, bad ending

#lyk&subscribe

My Repo! The Genetic Opera yumeship, my OC Bambi St. Syn and Pavi Largo, messy attention whores, femdom themes

#answered asks

#brainrot thots

This blog is NSFW so minors PLEASE don’t follow me!! 🫡

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You can find my professional portfolio via Instagram

I’m THE MOST active there!!

I’m also on twitter

I post all my uncensored stuff there!!

Bambi’s neat brow twitched, accompanied by a pang to her heart she’d never confess to possessing, let alone acknowledge. “Familiar—” she’d scoff under her breath before giving a flip to her purple mane.

Bambi’s feelings toward Amber were… complicated. Bambi would refer to Amber as “overrated” between sips of fizzing champagne.

“No. I didn’t see that—” She rolled her eyes, swirling the half-empty glass in her hand. “Must have missed it—” The lie came easy and rehearsed, voice trailing off. The adrenaline rush she got when her burner account pinged was almost as dizzying as that first hit of glow, only more shameful.

“Oh Em Gee! Bambi~! Everyone is talking about it!! Amber is so—“

“I don’t want to talk about Amber.” Bambi would cut her off before finishing the drink.

Two white-hot supernovas sharing one sky, trapped in each other’s orbit yet never colliding for more than a fleeting moment. Working under the same roof, you’d assume they’d have more to show for it than a few forced, empty smiles flashed in passing at sponsored galas and the occasional avoided eye contact during company meetings.

It took only two encounters during her soft launch to GeneCo for Bambi to realize that every time she met Amber, was “the first” time. The Amber she idolized through a screen now flesh and bone and within reach after clawing her way up the social ladder. Bambi spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to earn her acknowledgement. But no matter how many times the two were compared in tabloids and no matter the following Bambi amassed, Amber never seemed particularly interested in knowing who she was.

Idolization spoiled quickly, curdling into resentment. Being ignored was worse than being disliked—at least people who hated her kept tabs. And Bambi, whose ego was just as big as her hair, would never allow her theories to be challenged, convinced it was deliberate.

Bambi played the part of a spoiled bimbo with ease, but she always told herself she’d put in the real work to get there. Every frivolous augmentation she underwent, every cock sucked, she did with enthusiasm if it meant getting closer to her goal.

Amber was granted her luxury status by blood and name alone, and no amount of sponsorships or leaked videos could ever buy Bambi the same effortless legitimacy.

She shifted her weight to one leg, popping a hip out. All those repressed feelings turned scalpel-sharp at the forefront of her grey matter. The hot pink phone weighed heavy in her hand like a sword poised for battle as she took in the full extent of the private scene she’d stumbled into. The far-off look in Amber’s eyes, the way her frame crumpled into the strange man’s grip—even in her disheveled state, the heiress was effortlessly breathtaking. Another pang. She grit veneers. One tagged photo was all she needed.

Bambi was vain and morally grey but Bambi wasn’t dumb. She worked too damn hard to lose it all. She was damn good at her job and felt secure enough to bend a lot of rules at GeneCo. but one rule was as good as gospel.

Amber was off limits.

Her grip on the phone tightened as she tore her eyes away from the wilted woman. She exhaled, mentally resetting, tucking it away into her top before swaying closer to the pair. The fucked-up girlish crush she’d warped into a one-sided rivalry simmered as she remembered what she’d come here for.

Up close and in better lighting the man is less grimly than she originally decided. Amber does have good taste…

“Mm- supporting—“ her eyes flick to the second man as he approaches, her wings twitch. She’s suddenly aware of the crowd she’s a part of and wrinkles her nose. Jesus.

“And you’re like- what?—“ she shifts hips again and flicks her hand. “Saint fucking Nick? Handing out ‘gifts’ to good girls and boys?”

She looks to Amber and then back to him. Something shifts behind her eyes.

“Is she right? Are you sold out?” She crosses her arms. “Like for real?”

She gives the tall, tattooed man a judgmental look, zero effort to hide her disdain before looking back to the man she dubbed Santa.