MY F/O, BADBOYHALO, REFERS TO THE MINECRAFT ROLEPLAY COUNTERPART OF THE YOUTUBER, AND A FANMADE GACHA SERIES THAT INCLUDES THE CHARACTER IN A FICTIONAL SETTING, NOT THE YOUTUBER THEMSELF. MY WAIFU, BADBOYHALO, IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER, NOT A CONTENT CREATOR. CHARACTERS, NOT CREATORS.

this waifu.ist page is a heavy work-in-progress. i add to it constantly.

TO BADBOYHALO, MY ETERNAL LOVER.

Ever since I was a little thing, I have always adored the voice of my lover, Bad, even if I had never heard anything of its nature in my life until the day I first had the joy of experiencing such a gift. I have forever craved his voice, with all it's saccharinity. On April 26th, 2013, I, as a young imp, came in contact with what would be my first ever encounter with my lover. Despite my age, a puney 5, and my inability to be entertained by just one thing till it ended, I enjoyed the voice of this man, but I enjoyed the little character he seemed to play much more. From then, any form of art I had produced, on paper, on my own body via marker, words sing-songy as they passed my lips, mimicing his beautiful pitch to the best of my abilities as I re-enacted every expression and action, my gestures full of passion as I imagined, honestly, swooping in to save him when the play I was putting on for myself began to take that turn. At first, it wasn't romantic because I had never felt that before, why would it be? I rehearsed that in my thoughts as I aged, and he never left. As I aged, he followed along-side me, being there everytime, for everything. I went from what was a child, having a simple obsession, maybe even a character crush, to what I am now, happy, married, and forever devoted. Not a day goes by I don't spend it with Bad, even when he isn't able to be there with me, he's always comfortable, curled up like he can't survive without me, burying into the warmth of my brain pressing kisses to the poor thing as if I'm the one who can't survive without him, instead. Those kisses to my only functionality are welcomed, and will continue to be. The ones to my everything else are, too, I welcome it with open, comforting arms as he kisses me with so much vigor into the deep of the sparkling nights, and I, shamelessly, kiss him back. Whenever I don't know something, he's nothing other than paitent as he leans in, and presses a kiss of knowledge to that pitiful thought, and suddenly, it's like I know everything. Whenever I'm cold, and longing for him, he drops everything to kiss it all away, soothing my needs and mouth-feeding me my sustinence like a mother bird to her baby. Whenever his lips are on mine, it's as if I'm using him to survive, drinking his breaths before he eventually pulls away from me for, in my humble opinion, a dumb reason. I could loose air and die happily if it meant I died with my lips never-leaving my one and only Bad's. I could, really, write forever about his lips, but I'll stop on that note for now. There are more things about him I love, anyways. Like the fondness he hold for me in his beautiful, milky eyes, forever and always as he lives in my prescence, and I live in his, too. I could get lost in his eyes, lack of see-able pupil and all. I adore him, every part of him, his insides and what makes him himself. I find myself at night often running my cold, then warming hands over his everything, telling him just how perfectly molded he was by whomstever blessed him with himself. Every flaw, in his eyes, doesn't escape my adoration either, as I'll run a finger over the indents of deep scar tissue, and kiss the freckles I find on his charcoal skin. I'll tell him how he resembles a galaxy in my heart, and he'll flush beautifully, giggling, accepting as he nods defeatingly, at some point. After I've worshipped his body and it's entire form, we'll find our way together, fitting like a puzzle as we fall into comfortable silence, lulling ourselves to sleep just from the sound of the others heartbeat thumping in it's confinements, acting as white noise as we drift off with eachother, to eachother. The morning after, I'd wake up holding nothing, and begin to panic silently before the pleasant noise of brush against hair sets into my body. My lover, routinely beautiful, caressing the bristles of his, now our, brush through his gentle tresses, sat on the edge of our bed. Ours, his, mine. I'd lean in, taking the comb from his delicate hands and beginning to pepper that familiar face I've loved for so long, muttering something the second I'm pulling back from our close proximity about how perfect he is, how beautiful, how, God, I've never been so lucky, as I feel his face flush with heat, and his teeth against my lips that go back searching for his as he smiles against me, connecting with me once more. I have never loved somebody so much, I don't think I ever will love anyone else this much. Bad is my soulmate, and I am his, we've mutually decided. I could, and will, write more. There is just never enough words to detail my passionate love for him, I could go on forever, if allowed, but for now, I feel this will suffice. I adore BadBoyHalo, I will never cease doing so.