. . .ᐟᅟ ⠀Your heart doesn’t beat for you anymore—it’s mine now, and I’ll break it into a million pieces before I ever let anyone else have it.
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@yanicidal
. . .ᐟᅟ ⠀Your heart doesn’t beat for you anymore—it’s mine now, and I’ll break it into a million pieces before I ever let anyone else have it.

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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You're out of reach.
I could stretch my arms out to the throne you sit at. Come close to reaching you, and the moment that i believe i do, the cruel reality would come to smack me right in the face.
It'd leave a mark. A haunting reminder that i will never win. That i will never succeeded in being able to feel you.
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To the anon that told me not to post your anon, get off of anon? I’ve no clue who you are, and saying the things that you are on anon pisses me off. If you’ve been lurking for a year or so, you should already know that.
So can I show you off to my friends so we can obsess over and praise the fuck out of you?😌
I never realised how many people looked through my blog to until I scrolled through all 300 asks begging me to come back and asking where I am.
Damn.

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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Did you actually predict the outcome? It’s a genuine question, because I consider that we, as people, usually look at others’ actions and meanings through a limited view. Moreover, if it’s a romantic context and you want much in a short amount of time (you want to be loved, held, valued, etc.) and there is no love story behind it, I think we usually miss the chance to ask and discuss things thoroughly. And yes, that’s a soft, itsy-bitsy simple perspective most would say.
See, this is exactly where nuance gets chewed up by expectation. Predicting the outcome isn’t some clairvoyant skill, it’s pattern recognition, a reading of the psychic climate of a person or situation. Not only that, but for me personally, people are easy. The human brain is the most complicated simplicity I’ve come across. But you’re right: most people see only the surface gestures, the shallow proxies for intention, and interpret them through the lens of their own limited hunger. Wanting love quickly, wanting validation fast. that’s a kind of cognitive tunnel vision. The irony is, the more you chase it, the less legible the other person becomes. You miss the conversation that could actually illuminate things because you’re too busy projecting your desire onto them.
Romantic urgency is almost always deceptive. It tricks you into treating a moment as narrative when it’s just motion. And yes, what you call a “soft, itsy-bitsy simple perspective” is actually uncomfortably accurate. People tend to simplify, to sanitise, to package meaning into digestible chunks so they can feel secure. But the truth of connection, the kind that lasts, or even the kind that really matters—is rarely digestible. It requires patient excavation, questioning, reflection, pain. And most won’t bother. They’d rather assume they understand than actually try to see.
So yes, in a way, I did “predict” the outcome, not because I’m prescient, but because I’ve seen the mechanics too often. A lot of people are the exact same, which is why most bore me, because typicalities would never have a favour to me. Not in honesty, not in entertainment, and not in study. Humans are easily disinteresting individually because it’s a copy of the last, but in a slightly different shade. Human desire is predictable, but the interpretations of others’ actions, that’s a labyrinth. And most people walk through it blindfolded. I like to think it’s conditioned—an avoidance mechanism so people don’t have to confront the brutal truth. Humans are inherently selfish, often driven by hidden agendas, so the rare ones who are genuinely good shy away from even entertaining the possibility that an action could spring from pure malice or self-interest. To acknowledge that would fracture the fragile trust and mutual tenderness that underpins the connection. Humans and their emotions, oftentimes misplaced or miscalculated, will never fail to fascinate me.
i’m sorry to hear that. i’m sure you’ll get your spark back. is there anything i can do / help with?
~ 🍺
Pft. My spark back. You’re funny. I’m like a dead Bic lighter, really.
For once that I’ve been asked that, I genuinely thought about it. The answer is probably not. Probably because possibilities are endless and apparently I cannot predict all of them, but reasonably not, considering there’s nothing I can do about it, & I cannot think of one point in my life where there was an inconvenience in my world I could not mend to.
write about someone, whether hypothetical or real. how you’d take them, how you’d do it. :-)
how you’d make them learn to only need you.
~ 🍺
Well, that’s just the thing. I don’t think I can do that if I do not actively have a person anymore. It would just upset & confuse me. I’ve recently had the most terrible experience in all my 20 years of living, and yearning pisses me off, and I have absolutely no desire of ever trying anything remotely romantic again in my life.
you’re back, idol.
~ 🍺
To an extent. I have no clue what to post. My creative writing skills have evaded me.
Your straightforwardness is refreshing. There's honesty in your words no matter how cold they come across. Rare to find here.
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There’s something almost anthropological about the way people respond to my directness—as if my words are less utterances and more diagnostic tools. Their reaction is rarely about the content; it’s about the infrastructure of their mind. When someone says my honesty is “refreshing,” what they’re really admitting is that their threshold for unvarnished truth isn’t catastrophically low. That alone sets them apart. Most people operate with a kind of semantic insulation, padding their reality so it never bruises them. I don’t do that. I can’t dilute myself to accommodate someone else’s fragile internal architecture. And it’s never aggression, never anything cruel, not even close. My delivery may sidestep sentimental cushioning, but the intent is lucid, almost clinical. Between that and my natural lack. I don’t wound; I reveal. Yet people project cruelty onto clarity because they’ve never been taught to differentiate between discomfort and danger. You can tell so much about a person by how quickly they conflate the two. Their mental age, their insecurities, the soft, unexamined corners of their psyche, all of it spills out the second they feel emasculated by a sentence with too much backbone.
It becomes a kind of psychological litmus test. The moment my words land, you can see the scaffolding of someone’s self-perception rattle. Some crumble, those are the ones whose sense of self is more performative than substantive. Others get defensive, as if admitting comprehension would somehow diminish them. And then there are the rare few who don’t bitch at all. They recognise honesty not as frostbite but as a form of intellectual intimacy, a stripping back of the ornamental nonsense language usually hides behind.
Honesty’s interesting like that: simultaneously austere and generous, cold yet strangely connective. There’s a philosophical paradox in it—truth as both a blade and a bridge. When someone says they appreciate my straightforwardness, what they’re genuinely appreciating is the respect embedded inside it. The respect of not pandering to them. The respect of assuming they can withstand the full impact of unfiltered thought without dissolving into some puddle of insecure self-preservation.
Most people never grasp that. They mistake concision for hostility, self-awareness for arrogance, precision for condescension. But that’s only because they’re not used to encountering language that refuses to bend around their insecurities. You learn a lot, too much, sometimes, when you let their reactions speak louder than their rebuttals.
And if I’m being painfully self-honest, there’s a reason I notice all of this. A reason one of the ways I measure people by how they metabolise my words. It’s not vanity; it’s pattern recognition. It’s the almost compulsive need I have to understand the machinery behind someone’s mind—studying people is the only thing that interests me, after all. It would be a shame if I did not excel at the subject. To see whether they’re capable of meeting me where I actually am—or whether they retreat into the soft, palatable distortions that keep them from confronting themselves.
So when someone calls my straightforwardness “refreshing,” I hear something else entirely. I hear: I am not threatened by the clarity of your mind. And that, in a landscape littered with people who treat truth like a personal attack, is rare.

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Your straightforwardness is refreshing. There's honesty in your words no matter how cold they come across. Rare to find here.
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won't you ever come back?
I'm glad I was asked this. Yes! I will. As of right now, I am exhausted. I don’t have the energy to post. Mini hiatus.
I took the razor like a whisper between two fingers, like a secret you never asked to hear. Drew it slow. Careful. Not to die. Just to feel it. To remember I belong to you. To make the body match the chaos you left behind. The skin splits like truth does—eager, wet, a little ashamed. And I watch the red rise like it’s applause. A standing ovation from my veins. They know who I love. They know what you’ve done. You said you needed space. So I made more of it inside me. Lines and lines and lines until I was hollow enough to echo your name properly. Sometimes I pretend the razor is your hand—cold, cruel, deliberate. I want you to cut me open and crawl inside. Make yourself a home where my warmth used to be. Do you understand? I’d rip out every soft part of me just to be sharp enough to protect you. I’d ruin myself so perfectly you’d have no choice but to keep me. Who else would offer you their destruction like a bouquet? And if you ever leave me, I’ll peel myself down to the bone and mail it to your doorstep—a love letter written in ivory, so you never forget what devotion costs. So you never forget who loved you more than they loved staying whole.
Normalize being toxic and controlling in posts, on yanblr. No, my partner cannot talk to other people and no, I do not care if that makes me abusive.
all i need to hear you say is that:
you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me you love me. and ONLY ME. NEVER ANYONE ELSE. that you are MY POSSESSION. and that you'll stay, and never leave me. that you're nothing but my savior, a human no more. the deity i worship, the reason for why i live.
nothing else matters. as long as you love me.

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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
i've known you for almost a year now. i watch you, stalk your blog every now and then. we used to talk but.. okay, i don't want you to realize who this is.
you're fascinating, the way you bite back, the way you speak. i'm obsessed with you. but not in a romantic, cute way at all.
i fucking hate you. i wish to be you. i admire you. but you repulse me. it's all a bit contradicting. i love you but i don't like you. i wish to have your confidence.
i could never be you. and maybe you'll revel in that. i don't care.
i've never sent anons to you btw. this is my first bcs i keep thinking of you. not in a good way. i hate you. but i adore you.
🦷, if this isn't taken.
Now this is a different way to be perceived. I’m fond of it. Good job, keep it interesting.
We used to talk, though? Why did we stop?
Someone else used that before, but you’re more worthy of the emoji, I suppose.
oh havent checked here in a while. since you like the same kind of stuff i do (or so i assume from your posts/theme) im curious on what kind of visual novel games, mangas, or just games in general you would recommend thats more in the yandere/horror category. but. not the same ones that always get pushed (like Your Boyfriend or Killing Stalking). ones YOU think deserve more attention.
Killing stalking is certainly an honourable mention. Always will be.
Nachtigal, Higurashi. These are both games. I am gatekeeping my mangas, but I am okay with games. Really good games.