#academic validation is superior

[mythology-void]

the only reason i'm in academia is for those perfectly incandescent moments when you've been staring at the same problem for 3 hours and then you finally, finally connect the dots (all on your own!) and you are instantly suffused with that shivery golden kind of pleasure because you did it! you figured it out. and maybe life is worth something because look at the beauty you're creating

[thecoolnerdblog]

Superiority complex??? Oh, you mean the fact that I can balance equations and u can’t

[bluesuitcrusade]

Major rant/reality check

So I just realized that I've always been so good at studies that I've subconsciously developed a superior complex and a feeling of entitlement so hard that when I don't get the academic validation, My voice cracks so much while speaking and I get so anxious. Like even if I got the highest marks in class, I would still focus on the fact that I scored less than my last test. I am so entitled to being given more priority than everyone else that whenever I see teachers giving attention to other students, I start to work harder to make sure they focus on me. I guess you can say that I'm turning into a mirrorball.

[savemygrades]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

my faith <3

My family and friends

bts

chai

academic validation

[allherfaeriesmeetinjuly]

ohhhh im such a teacher’s favourite. my literary analysis for my poem last year is pinned on the bulletin board. not that people check it 😭😭 but it’s up there held in high regard.

[prettieinpink]

SELF VALIDATION

First things first, if you validate your existence on externalities, you will never truly be happy. While it’s important to have values and to act on them, it shouldn’t be your main source of happiness. 

E.g. parent validation, academic validation, and male validation. So, here are some tips to validate yourself. 

VALUE YOUR OPINION. You should have the ability to make decisions and identify yourself solely on your opinion. Trust, giving people that ability to shape your decisions and curate your identity, allows them to dictate your worth. 

SELF LOVE OVER OTHERS. Ensure you are doing everything in your power to treat yourself lovingly. Even if it means sacrificing a few things in life. E.g. going to sleep early instead of cramming for a test. 

BE RESILIENT. When I say that, I don’t mean ‘don't let anything affect you’ but rather, build yourself up to the point that when someone/something knocks you down, you can bounce back easily. 

BECOME SELF AWARE. Know your strengths, and weaknesses, and be mindful of the truth. Be genuine when it comes to this because self-awareness helps us with becoming more in touch with our inner selves.

AVOID NEGATIVE SELF TALK. This can cause us to rely on others to hear good things about ourselves. Instead, say affirmations in the mirror.

STOP PEOPLE PLEASING. There’s a difference between genuinely being nice, and being a doormat. You shouldn’t have to bend over backwards for others, and they give absolutely nothing back. Invest that time and effort into yourself.

SOMEONE’S GAIN IS NOT YOUR LOSS. This is a mindset shift that will change the game. You have to stop seeing successful, wealthy, pretty or intelligent people as threatening your skills or talents. There is enough success for everyone.

DETACH FROM OTHERS. Friends, family, males, etc. Stop letting how other people treat you, dictate your mood for the rest of the day. The only factor your mood should depend on is you. What you do, say, and act is the only factor. 

KNOCK OTHERS FROM YOUR PEDESTAL. The only person that should be on top of your pedestal, is you. By doing this, you create an inferiority complex for someone else and give them superiority. 

OTHER’S OPINIONS ARE MOMENTARY. They will always move on with their day and see what needs to be done. They do not care about you as much as you think. So, do not even try to give them the time of day. 

BUILD BOUNDARIES. With others and yourself. Both are equally important because you value yourself enough not to do something you’ll regret. 

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

���Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[mochifiction]

As someone who agrees with a decent amount of the pre-war Decepticon party’s views in certain continuities, some of y’all new fans are starting to piss me off with your belief that D-16 was correct in Transformers One. As someone who does a lot of community organizing and writes on sociopolitical theory vs. practice, especially within the context of the anti-colonial struggle (as well as the Black struggle simultaneously or separately depending on the context), a lot of the reasons you all choose to support D-16 and diss on Orion are actually obscene and you need to crack open a book. I normally don’t like shoving theory in people’s faces, as I think that it comes with a pedantic demeanor that relies on belittling people and feeding a moral superiority complex amongst academics. However, this is one of the cases where I think a lot of people truly need to take the time to read into why D-16’s emotions and initial reactions are valid, but the decisions he makes in providing solutions are wrong. That being said, I will be writing a paper on D-16’s fall from grace in conversation with Paulo Freire’s “Pedagogy of the Oppressed,” because a lot of the ways in which Freire discusses how the oppressed become their oppressors in the name of liberation, which is no fault of their own in some areas, is relevant to D-16’s transformation into Megatron. A lot of you are thinking with a more pathos-based means of societal change without thinking about realism, practicality, and actually analyzing D-16’s character and why he does what he does. It is more so an attempt at self-preservation and closure from embarrassment (specifically from taking the bait and living as a conformist) than an actual attempt at political change. I also encourage new fans to get more acquainted with Transformers continuities to better round their perspectives, as a lot of this is turning into the “Killmonger was right” discourse, which is problematic for a lot of reasons as a Black scholar who discusses Blackness, representation, and political discourse often in their writing. Seeing these really bad takes spread online, not only hurts how people interact with Transformers media in the future, but arguably indicates a rise of certain short-sighted political philosophies that translate directly into activism.

[lxclerc]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary… charles tries to help his girlfriend study but that proves to be difficult when he doesn’t understand a single thing requested… yes! warning… none. pure fluff.

note… another old drabble request from the graves of my inbox. also as a med student, i adore this idea so much

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

charles has never been the brightest tool in the shed when it came to academics. he supposes it comes with the occupation. growing up, he cared far too much about racing that he had no space left in his mind to care about school too. he was always meant to be a formula one driver so he never cared about the cell or the mitochondria.

ironically, you were the exact opposite. like him, you’ve known what you were meant to be the moment you got ahold of your first book. you’re going to be a doctor, a healer and you’ve dedicated yourself to that dream.

the human body is a beautiful machine, much like the universe. every little cell and atom circulating its vessel holds a purpose, creating a balance between life and death. it’s majestic, truly and a little bit scary. if one thing failed then the entire system could collapse and so you studied and studied and studied for ways to keep that system going, to cure ailments and diseases.

you thrive off academic validation and a minor superiority complex and yet somehow you’re the most anxious person charles has ever met.

he’s madly in love with you. this is a fact. him and his dream that required him to constantly put his life at risk and you with your dream of helping and saving people. really it was a match made in heaven. and charles is madly madly in love with you.

that’s the only reasonable explanation as he pulled himself out of his sim practice, seamlessly moving around the kitchen of your shared apartment as he prepared an ice coffee for you.

you’re drained and you’re on the verge of breaking down and so when he wrapped his arms around you and offered to help you study for your finals, you’d all but cried in gratitude.

no, charles leclerc didn’t care about the cell and mitochondria and but he cares greatly for you and so he’d study it if it meant you’d finally allow yourself to rest.

unfortunately for him, you’re way past learning about the mitochondria. instead you’re studying your worst enemy aka pharmacology.

“angiotensin receptor blockers prevent vasoconstriction and aldosterone release, causing a decrease in blood pressure and peripheral resistance,” you recite from the top of your head, still looking like you’re on the verge of tears but slightly better.

charles shook his head as he held the book you’d given him to help you study, his glasses on. “non, non, amour. it says here it’s ‘angiotensin receptor blockers selectively bind to the angiotensin I receptors in the blood vessels to prevent vasoconstriction and in the adrenal cortex to prevent release of aldosterone then lead to decrease in BP caused by decrease in peripheral resistance and blood volume.’”

you sigh again but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you. the first time he did it, you’d gotten frustrated but at this point, your brain is far too fried to even get annoyed at him. especially when even he looks like he’s about to start crying.

you pushed away the book from his hand, clumsily crawling over to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him down so he’d be laying on the sofa and you on top of him.

“my love, i don’t need to memorize everything word for word from the book,” you explain as gently as you can for the third time. you know he’s just trying his best to help you.

“why?” he frowned. “wouldn’t it be better if you knew it exactly from the book?”

you giggled. “perhaps but no med student would ever survive memorizing twelve inch books word for word. we’d simply all break down and die.”

you hold yourself up, pushing his hair off his forehead before removing his glasses. he still looks confused but a lot of things honestly confused charles. thank god he has a smart girlfriend to explain everything to him.

“stop worrying about it,” you say. “i’ve studied enough and we both need a break.”

he sighed in relief, tightening his arms around you. “thank god i felt like my brain was put on a pressure dryer for a minute there.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @strelcka @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @ohthemissery @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerrq @the6ccnsp6cyy @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr @xjval @gridbunny

[13lunarstar]

Magha

The 10th nakshatra

Degrees: from 00°00' to 13°20' in Leo zodiac

The ruler of nakshatra: Ketu (South Lunar Node)

Nakshatra's guna: tamas

Magha keywords: royalty, authority, ancestors, lineage, traditions, ambitions, recognition, pride

Symbol: a royal throne or a palanquin, representing authority, power, and the regal demeanour

Magha in various planets

Sun in Magha: These individuals often display a regal demeanour and a commanding presence. They possess a natural aura of authority and respect and may effortlessly assume leadership roles in various aspects of their lives. They have a deep reverence for tradition and cultural heritage and take pride in their ancestry and family lineage. They may have a deep understanding of their roots (due to Ketu's influence, which indicates past karma) and may feel a sense of duty to honour the achievements of their forefathers. This connection to their heritage provides them with a strong sense of identity and purpose.

Moon in Magha: brings to individuals a deep-seated desire for recognition and respect. They seek validation for their accomplishments and may strive to achieve prominence and influence in their respective fields. Moon in Magha natives are ambitious and determined individuals. While they may appear confident and self-assured on the surface, Moon in Magha individuals also possess emotional depth and sensitivity. One challenge for those with Moon in Magha is managing their pride and ego. They may struggle with feelings of superiority or entitlement, which can lead to conflicts in their personal and professional relationships.

Mars in Magha: signifies courage, determination, resilience, and drive for power and recognition. Individuals with this placement may be ambitious and competitive, striving for success and authority in their chosen field. They may exhibit strong leadership qualities but may need to temper their power with humility and reduce impulsiveness and possible aggression. Good placement for competitive sports, large businesses, or other fields where they can assert their dominance. Highly value their independence and may resist authority or restrictions that limit their freedom.

Mercury in Magha: brings intellectual ambitions and drive to acquire knowledge and information. Natives have a thirst for learning and may pursue higher education or specialized training to enhance their skills and expertise. Good placement for education, research, or academia. These individuals may have a keen understanding of power dynamics and may use their intellect to navigate hierarchical structures in society or the workplace. Moreover, people have a deep respect for traditions and cultural heritage. They may value intellectual pursuits that explore history, ancestry, and traditional wisdom, seeking to preserve and uphold these values in their own lives. Individuals have the ability to inspire and mentor others through their knowledge and expertise.

Jupiter in Magha: signifies optimism, wisdom and spiritual growth. Individuals with this placement may have a deep respect for traditions and may seek guidance from ancestral teachings or spiritual mentors in the early years. They may also be drawn to philanthropic activities that benefit their community or society as a whole. Also, this placement helps to excel in leadership roles within spiritual or academic fields. These people have a natural ability to inspire and motivate others through their wisdom and knowledge, and they may serve as mentors or teachers who help others on their path of personal and intellectual growth.

Venus in Magha: brings magnetic charisma, elegance, luxury and grace. Natives have a royal appearance and may radiate an aura of refinement that commands attention and admiration from others. Strong drive for recognition. Venus in Magha also embodies creative expression and artistic talents. These individuals may have a natural gift for music, art, or design, and they may excel in creative fields where they can channel their refined sense of aesthetics into beautiful and inspiring works. These people are somewhat romantic idealists who believe in the power of love and romance to transform their lives. They may have high expectations for their relationships and seek partners who embody qualities of nobility, grace, and refinement.

Saturn in Magha: emphasizes deep respect, responsibility and duty towards one's family and lineage. Individuals with this placement may feel a sense of obligation to uphold family traditions and values. They may also experience challenges or delays in achieving recognition or authority but can ultimately benefit from their perseverance and dedication. Individuals are ambitious and may seek recognition and respect for their achievements. They are willing to put in the hard work and effort necessary to attain positions of authority or influence where they can showcase their leadership abilities. One of the challenges for this placement is that these people may hold conservative values and may be cautious or resistant to change. They prefer stability and security in their lives and may be wary of taking risks or venturing into unfamiliar territory.

Rahu in Magha: amplifies desire for power and control. Individuals with this placement may be driven by hidden agendas or may engage in manipulative behavior to achieve their goals. Natives may struggle with feelings of ego and self-importance. They may have a sense of entitlement and may expect special treatment or recognition for their talents and accomplishments. These people often have an unconventional approach to achieving goals and are willing to take risks and explore uncharted territory in pursuit of their ambitions, often thinking outside the box and defying convention. While Magha itself is associated with traditions and heritage, Rahu's presence in this nakshatra may manifest as a rebellion against traditional values and norms. These individuals may challenge established authority and seek to break free from societal expectations and constraints.

Ketu in Magha: signifies a deep spiritual quest for truth, wisdom, and liberation as well as a connection to ancestral wisdom and spiritual lineage. These individuals may feel a strong resonance with the teachings and practices of their ancestors, seeking guidance from ancient traditions and spiritual teachings. These people often possess intuitive insights and psychic abilities. They may have a heightened sensitivity to subtle energies and may receive guidance from the spiritual realm through dreams, visions, or synchronicities. This placement brings opportunities for karmic healing and release. These individuals may confront unresolved issues from past lives or ancestral karma, leading to deep healing and transformation on a soul level.

[chaoscrow119]

This is something I wrote for a friend struggling with some medical neglect in their home life and also with doctors. i think it’s very important because so many people dont think about the inherent flaws in our current medical system and the damage it does.

i have feelings about the blind faith and trust in all doctors. or the “self diagnosis isnt valid”. they havent proven themselves to deserve it. humans are not perfect and doctors especially are taught in a culture that encourages gaslighting and superiority. on the other note, the reason self diagnosis is waved off is because some people do incorectly diagnose themselves or convince themselves they have something to cope with other things or fit in.

one reason a doctor diagnosis is important is they are more likely to know other options it might be or spot the signs something else or something as well is going on.

unfortunately it takes a decent doctor to do that and most doctors are taught in a way that discourages that or are too overworked and understaffed to give the patient enough attention.

i honestly have a very similar feeling to medical professionals as i do to cops

all cops are bastards- that doesnt mean they are all bad or that there are good people who are cops who actually do their job in a good way, but the system itself is broken and they are part of that system. same for medical professionals

as such there are medical professionals who are good at their job and listen and actually evaluate all the options and are willing to learn and grow

but they are also part of a broken system

it’s come to a point in the area of mental health where self diagnosis is almost required to get the help you need. especially if you land in a category most doctors dismiss or the problem you’re struggling with they have biases about. you oftentimes need to know ahead of time and be ready to defend your case and get the professional to take you seriously.

even if you end up being wrong about what you diagnosed yourself with you need to have a place to start and defend with your doctor.

and when it’s a doctor that feels challenged by you self diagnosing, or if you are unsure, another very helpful thing is to focus mainly on the symptoms. make a physical list of each symptom you experience along with examples and how they effect you. and if you want to go the extra mile also have documents that show how those symptoms relate to the diagnosis you’re suspecting to show that you both know what you’re talking about and there is a real and tangible connection.

another thing that is helpful when self diagnosing whether or not a doctor is involved is peer review. peers often have biases as well so dont take their word as law. your the only one who is you. you know your struggles the best. talk it out with them, tell them your symptoms, compare them with the diagnosis you suspect- if they have similar experiences or suspect or are diagnosed with a similar thing talk about that. learn more, both in an academic sense and in a real life experience sense. and find people who dont relate- it can be so valuable to find people you dont relate with because then you start to realize what you are struggling with is not a normal thing. that’s the first step in getting help- either professional or letting yourself help yourself.

and at the end of the day an official diagnosis may not be necessary depending on the thing. they are far too hard to get. but they can be useful for accommodations in either school or work if you find yourself needing support in ways you cant give yourself and can only be given by an employer or school. but even without an official diagnosis a good employer or teacher or such will work with you on your struggles and help you find a way to do things in ways that help you

that being said some things need a professional diagnosis as well because they require professional medical help (COUGH COUGH EDS BITCHES /SRS)

in which case as i said before being told no by a doctor doesnt automatically mean it isnt true. learn to trust yourself, learn more about yourself, and if you still need that diagnosis come back armed with more information and proof.

it’s a hastle and i have so many intense feelings about how wrong it is to be this difficult. too many people suffer needlessly for it

(edit was because copy and paste didn't include the first paragraph for some reason)

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

What moves do you think are KCs key strategic moves?

Great grey rock strategy. That's the first one. It the best strategy for dealing with narcissists. His experience with Diana taught him that if you react they win, so he's not reacting.

Glad you asked. This same me writing a post about it. These are the strategies he has used so far:

Over the top glitz and glamour strategy. He's using the same pr strategy he used to improve Camilla's public image: lots of charity work and lots of official events with as much royal glitz and glam as possible. That's why we are getting so many diplomatic events and so many gowns and jewels. That's also why we are getting the biggest, glitziest coronation he can get away with. During the War of the Wales he did a disastrous interview where he tried to open up and be relatable and it backfired miserably. He's not doing that again. He's going to create psychological distance by draping the royals in as much glitz and glamour and tradition as possible. The Harkles can't compare with that.

Divide and conquer strategy. This is what the Lady Hussey meeting was about. During Camilla's pr drive she had a lot of little tea parties with reporters and stakeholders. Many of those reporters (*cough* Rebecca English *cough*) are still fans. It's a tried-and-true strategy (Diana in particular used it well) and it works. The ethnic charities and academics are all going to be heavily courted and they will eventually succumb. The ones that don't give in will be starved of money and attention.

United front. This was also part of the Camilla strategy. Will and Harry were roped into photo ops with Cam and stories were planted in the press saying they liked her and approved the marriage. Stories about how the Queen secretly approved but couldn't do so publicly because of her official role as head of the church also appeared. Everyone was signing from the same hymnbook, just like they are now. Not everyone wore burgundy though. That part is new. The addition of the Middletons and Cam's kids is also new.

Symbolic substitution. Charles knows from painful experience that it's about the role, not the person. The equerries, Sophie's UN work, Colonel Kate, etc... are all about keeping the role alive. Sadly, that's likely why Edward may not get the Duke of Edinburgh title. Because it was held by Philip, the role is symbolically superior to Charles and can't be transferred to his younger brother without implicitly undermining KC's position. The same was the case with the Princess of Wales title. It became symbolically opposed to the Prince of Wales title which is why Cam never used it, even after her popularity increased.

These are the ones he will use in the future:

Pomp and Circumstance. The coronation will be epic. Period. Will and Kate's wedding reinvigorated the institution for a decade and the coronation has to have a similar effect.

Biographies. The coronation will result in an avalanche of books and articles about KC. He will use them to create a new narrative. I'm not sure what that narrative will be because it will depend on what Harry says in his own book. My guess is he will piggyback on Harry's tale of trauma to recount his own childhood trauma and how, unlike his son, he overcame it to become a visionary ruler. Yes, he's going to go for "visionary." He's not humble and he kind of deserves the title because of all his environmental and charity work.

Public validation. This will be done in tandem with the biographies and the coronation, and Harry will unwittingly contribute. Harry's biography will claim that KC was a cold parent who was more concerned with his public role than his family. KC will spin that, with the help of foreign dignitaries, charity leaders, and commentators, into a narrative presenting KC as a devoted (and visionary!) statesman and charity leader. This is the same strategy he used after marrying Cam when we were inundated with stories about "how good she was for him."

Future focused. Harry is stuck in the past, but KC will present a dynamic monarchy focused on the future. That's what Kate's pantsuits, Sophie's fashion, Will's Earthshot project, and the young equerries are supposed to signal. This is the only strategy that I am skeptical about. It's hard to project youth and vigor when you are as old as KC is. However, he's a cunning fox and I'm sure he'll find a way. A vigorous reform platform with strategic changes may be enough. I'm very curious to see what he does about the Commonwealth. He needs to do something big to counteract the damage inflicted by Harry's documentary and he only has like three months to plan.

[lunadileo]

🌟 Leo In The 9th House 🌟

✨ Natives with Leo in their 9th house are well-travelled. They have a very powerful subconsciousness and strive to be the best at what they are doing. They spend a lot of time studying the subjects they are interested in (for example, politics, public relations, philosophy, spiritual topics) and are very good at teaching other people. They speak with power and authority, being confident in themselves and in what they are preaching. When travelling, they absolutely love to learn about new places, cultures, cuisines and landmarks. They have great skills in learning foreign languages. These people strongly believe in themselves and are confident in their forces. Many people look up to them for how much they have gone through in life and came out as a winner!

✨ Some people see natives with Leo in 9th house as arrogant and boastful as sometimes they tend to act intellectually superior. They put a high emphasis on knowledge, be it self-development or getting higher education as this is a symbol of status to them. Natives with Leo in the 9th house learn early on in life who they are. They define and validate themselves. They have a very high level of self-confidence and self-respect and would never allow anyone to dictate them who to be and how to live their life. They are very independent in their views and opinions about everything in life. They are their own bosses and do what they want.

✨ These natives are very enthusiastic, ready to live their life to the fullest. Inspiration comes easily for them, they are very creative and passionate in whatever they do. Natives with Leo in the 9th house are natural born leaders, great spiritual mentors. They are able to lead people to become their best confident and successful selves. They are constantly working on bettering themselves, focused on self-improvement. They are very confident in their skills and abilities when it comes to their education and have a lot of academic success. Once these natives set their mind on a certain belief or philosophy, it's almost impossible to change it no matter how many people try to influence them.

✨ Natives with Leo in the 9th house can gain popularity and recognition in foreign countries. People admire and look up to them. These natives consider themselves to be a worldwide person and feel comfortable living in a foreign country. It gives them freedom and joy to expand their horizons. They have great opportunities to settle in foreign lands, gain admiration and love from other people. Natives born with Leo in Ninth House can learn from people with authority, like their boss or the man who raised them, but can’t be influenced by women to attain their true potential.

© 2023 Credits to my blog @lunadileo ღ

[blues-valentine]

It’s annoying seeing ppl act like everything ben has to offer aaa throwing insults at Devi and take out of context their entire dynamic and want to paint him as bully.

I think there’s legitimate reasons to find Ben unlikable but one of my biggest pet peeves upon interacting in this circle is the fake concern and refusal to acknowledge Ben and Devi’s dynamic for what it is and that NHIE is a comedy show and approaches scenes that way.

Ben and Devi’s entire dynamic was based on mutual rivalry. A big portion of this fandom wants to pretend Devi was a victim of Ben’s insults and their dynamic was one-sided, like she wasn’t giving exactly what she was receiving from him. They both go after each other. Their dynamic was born out of mutual "hate" and later turned into insults neither of them cares about. The point about Ben and Devi's comedic dynamic is that we as an audience should know that none of those insults are actually serious. Ben and Devi don't care.

But there's a side that wants to rally and be "morally superior".

Ben calling Devi UN did impact her and it was an awful thing to do and you can hate it while admitting that is a term that has not value anymore and both have moved on. Part of this fandom loves to take Ben's lines at face value but never mention that N*zi comment Devi threw at him (you dont care about Jewish people, get it). It's never been that deep once they found themselves in a genuine friendship.

You can hate his insensible comments from Season 1, and don’t ship him with Devi because that's valid. It's the refusal to acknowledge there’s a significant difference in his banter/insults with Devi since becoming friends. He really cares about her and would stop if she was uncomfortable (and she isn't). And, while I get why some people don't like the “David” – it has never been that deep on the show. Devi does not care. And that's a nickname Jaren uses for Maitreyi in real life too, might you. After 12 years, if Devi had wanted him to stop, she would’ve told him off but she doesn't care and it has turned into a term of endearment and familiarity, not a "degrading" nickname. Both Devi and Ben are mean towards each other in a comfortable space and would put boundaries if needed. You can absolutely agree that Ben is too brash and a condescending, privileged snub that has a lot to learn but it's not irredeemable. I like the fact he can be unlikable. I don’t consume media expecting flawless characters.

I feel like people came up with this whole “Ben entire persona is insulting Devi” because fan wars have become this thing where you need to make the other side the “enemy” to feel like you are in the “better” side. You don't have to like them but painting their dynamic as if he was Devi's bully is a bit wild. Ben has done incredible things for her and there’s a mutual friendship. They do seek each other out when the other needs them. He knows her like no one else does and it's always there to push her to be the best version both academically and with her loved ones. They are compatible because they are both driven and share the same humor. Devi likes that dynamic with Ben. She doesn’t feel dumb down by him but challenged. Both have grown and their banter has become more friendly because now they know neither of them are serious. You can hate it, don’t enjoy it but it’s the lies about their dynamic that feels like nitpicking and if I didn't watch the show and it's context I would think he is awful too.

And Ben is literally head over heels for that girl. He thinks she’s perfect and she knows it. Devi is not longer the poor insecure girl some want her to be. Let them insult each other as part of their kinky full hatred flirting ways and move on. It’s never been that serious. I think there’s other ships that deserve that energy instead.

[fresh-paint4the-roses]

Spilling several of my thoughts on Rosengrotto,(mostly) Azul POV Edition

- To me, I view their relationship more on the queerplatonic end of the relationship spectrum. The two of them have their struggles with relationships stemming from childhood and with a bit of hesitation to be totally vulnerable.

They aren't totally ready to smooch per se, nor do I really think that's what they want out of each other. Intellectually, they are like Bayonetta and Jeanne from Bayo (ignoring the hot mess that was 3). Unparalleled, on point, unerring and poised together.

They want a companion who's respectable enough to get close and relate to (and they do on many levels, tbh!). But also temper and challenge their perspectives (a lot of their m.o's do contrast eachother.)

Azul noticed Riddle (who wouldn't) as a freshman, similarly to Jamil as somebody as a high importance/interest figure. But in a more negative view, initially. Riddle's sheer utter academic superiority dug into Azul's inferiority complex, leaving him with a mildly sour taste in his mouth every time he was just no. 1 constantly. But he couldn't deny Riddle was an aspirational and a goal to work towards.

Ironically enough,Azul is the biggest sapioromantic in NRC - anyone approximating his level of intellect activates dopamine pathways in the brain. But not for Riddle yet - He still saw Riddle more as lofty standard high above him than a fellow nerd he could relate to, because inferiority complex.

but then chapter 6 happened. Azul lost a LOT of respect for Riddle, living what's just another average Tuesday for Heartslabyul students - and realizing that Riddle is, in fact, quite flawed. The way that Riddle is- He doesn't want to be at all. But there still are traits that Azul finds admirable in Riddle.

-Azul's "favorite" trait about Riddle is his dependable, authentic, and lawful nature. Riddle is always straightforward and dauntless- And in certain dangerous situations, that definitely is a con. But that same certainty and fairness is what makes him comfortable enough to be the slightest bit vulnerable with him in book 6, too.

So, seeing that Riddle fairly respects him and academic and non-academic endeavors affected him genuinely and positively with his self-esteem. From Riddle, he gets true, fair validation that's slowly helping Azul to be a little more open and okay with himself.

Feel free to disagree or add on to what I'm yapping at 11pm. I should go to bed rn tbh

[idiomagic]

I am 55 years old. I am not terminally online. I scroll through my Tumblr feed for half an hour or so a day, just to see what everyone's talking about. The result? I am just tired and baffled by everything all y'all under 30 are going on about. I mean, more power to you. You go! Do your thing! Love those blorbos! I'm happy for you! But all this discourse about what a 'woman' is, or what a 'man' is, or who gets to count as queer, or if queer is a bad word, or what terminology is good or bad, or or or... it's exhausting and so weird to me. Sure, all of those things are important in an academic sense. But...have y'all ever left your house? Talked to actual people in a social setting? Met strangers before? Like...when I meet someone, they tell me their name. I use their name. Sometimes they tell me their pronouns. I use those pronouns. I don't try to dissect their identity, or decide if they're a valid part of the community, or whatever. They're just...people. I'm asexual, so I have no interest in what may or may not be in their pants, or what their sexuality is, if any. Most of the people I've met in my life, that anyone meets in their life, are strangers and will stay that way. You meet someone, you chat for a few minutes, you both move on. Maybe you'll see them again somewhere. Most likely not. Reading any social media feed, one would think that human interaction is nothing but intense discourse and contentious dispute. Y'all seem to think that insulting other people, othering other people, deciding that someone isn't valid or worthy or whatever is normal. And...it so isn't. Really truly. Please, I'm begging y'all. Get out of your own head. Put your phone away. Get out of your house and just...talk to people. Make connections. Get involved in real life, with real people. This obsession with minutiae, with moral puritanism, with political purity, with categorizing people into smaller and smaller boxes, is not just stupid, it's demoralizing. There's a lot of excuses being made...it's because of surveillance. It's because of growing up with cell phones. But you know what? People in their 20s have been doing the same damn things forever. The details change, the terminology changes, but the obsession with moralizing and purity is the same. And y'all just need to get over yourselves. You need to stop trying to find groups to feel superior to. Just get offline for a bit and talk to people. People not your age, not your demographic, not like you. Try it. You might be shocked to find that everything you think is so normal and so righteous just...isn't.