#i think i have a weird self centered problem

[kokii-omii]

Do you have in mind your yuu's flaws? Since you wrote about your twst ocs i wondered if you had thought about it

i do actually, but they're less terrible compared to the boys

mostly because my yuus are mostly decent people who are actually morally good-

but lets start this list with Yuki

Yuki's main flaw is probably her kindness, she doesn't have a single mean bone in her body and that's the problem- she's not gonna survive NRC if she doesn't have at least something to combat NRC's self centered students (adeuce and grim protect her from people who wanna use her kindness for their own gain)

she's a walking doormat i fear, but her saving grace is her beauty, like literally her beauty stuns people that they're the ones that end up doing her work for her instead of the other way around, which is great until she literally gets swarmed by people

being beloved 24/7 is draining for her because she's too nice to tell them to leave her alone even when she's literally tired

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Yumeko has a habit of being too blunt, it sometimes gets her in trouble because it can kinda come off as mean

she's also a bit accident prone, she dozes off a lot of the time meaning she's never fully paying attention to things or her surroundings which can lead to a lot of accidents

she fell asleep once in potions class and may or may not have made the cauldron explode

despite being very approachable she's often a loner, she's usually around the forest with the animals talking to them

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Rin is a lot- she's a shut in, she's very dramatic, and not to mention an otaku

people think she's weird and they're right because she is, had a 5 minute mini crash out cuz she got isekaid without magic and she was more mad about not having magic than getting Isekaid

she's very delusional if im being honest, she's very socially awkward as well, which sucks for her because she works at Sam's shop

she's kinda reckless tbh, she thinks her isekai protagonist aura is gonna save her from danger (it doesn't)

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Ryuuko's very obvious flaw is definitely her temper

she's extremely temperamental and a lot of things can set her off, she may or may not be extorting Crowley and his bank account to get herself nice things but then again Crowley deserved what was coming to him

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overall they're fairly decent people

[uhsnail]

>be me

>make a greebtext post on tumblr?? what is this nonsense

>sorry dont know how to be a normal good person

>be selfish and brutally honest

>need to relearn empathy.

>honesty without compassion is cruelty, kindness without honesty is manipulation.

>reflect. maybe need some alone time to become a better person.

[pwurrz]

ugh anon you’re right. change that lowkey to a highkey and you’re right. i’m so sick of these people man it’s 2025 why are we still using words and talking points made by people who make their entire online existence about how much they violently hate trans women????

[willlmesh]

i need to figure out why i hate playing dnd so i can make myself stop hating it anf fucking enjoy myself for once !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[axeeglitter]

The Grand Solis Hotel

Julian had always been the loudest of the group, the one who kept everyone’s spirits high with his boundless energy and relentless optimism. The early summer wind was tingling their faces as they were standing in front of the rusted main entrance portal. After a night of drinking and deep talking about their future, Julian and his friends decided to go for a walk in the neighborhood. For Julian, his future was already planned. Golden boy of the high school, a girlfriend captain of the cheerleaders, already recruited in one of the best colleges, and his dad paid for all his expenses. Yes, Julian was promised for a perfect life already planned and paid for. But deep inside, Julian didn’t feel like that. He was sure he was not good enough. Not strong enough in the gym, not fast enough on the field, not smart enough for studies, not beautiful enough for modeling, never enough. In reality, Julian was just like every young adult, too afraid to be his true authentic self. So, he hides behind bad jokes, being loud, a cocky manly self-centered attitude and then if something went wrong, flashing his perfect smile and face to get away from problems. Yes, Julian knew he could have the world in his palm if he wanted to, but he didn’t know if that’s what he really needed to be truly happy.  

The sun casted a warm glow above the hills. Julian and his friends were talking and laughing while walking in the empty streets when they found themselves in front of the imposing rusty portal. “What do you say guys? You feeling adventurous?” said Julian in a cocky tone as he already opened the door and walked in the abandoned garden full of statues, overgrown weeds and a broken fountain that must have known better days. One by one, all his friends followed him and soon were all in front of the closed entrance door of the Grand Solis Hotel. The once-grand establishment had been a jewel of the city in the 80s, a hotspot for luxury and glamour. Decades later, everybody forgot about it and it was left to rote after a weird disappearance in a suite on the last floor. No one saw that climbing actress ever again after that terrible night. And a couple of months later, the hotel was closed definitely. Now, it was nothing but peeling wallpaper, rotting carpets, and echoes of a golden past long gone and forgotten.

As they moved through the darkened hallways, their flashlights cutting through the dust, they marveled at the remnants of a forgotten era, faded signs, chandeliers hanging by a thread, and furniture covered in ghostly white sheets. “This place is sick bro!” exclaimed Julian as him and all his friends were gagged by the beauty of this place. Everything looked so old and dusty and left there to rote abandoned and untouched. No one entered this place in years and everything was in perfect condition, except for the ravage of years that took a lot on them. “Why did they abandon this place?” asked Brad in a clueless tone. “I heard there was this young promising actress in the 80s.I think she was called something like Mary, Morny...” “She was called Lutecia Marty you moron!” cut Jackson “In the 80s, the Grand Solis Hotel was the place to be. Everybody was coming here to be seen. And one night in 1984, this girl, Lutecia, she disappeared in her room. No one never saw her again after this night. No corpse was found, nothing, she just, POOF, vanished” continued Jackson miming an explosion with his hands. “After that, the hotel closed. It was rumored to reopen, but it never did. And no one ever came back in there.” Finished Jackson still looking at the grand staircase leading to the ballroom, not taking a look at his friends. But after a couple of seconds of silence, he finally realized all of them were looking at him gagged. “What?! I love history and Miss Crawly told us this story last year in class!” he answered. “Anyway…” cut Julian laughing a bit with the others after Jackson’s history monologue “What do you guys say about exploring this place a bit? I’ll go on the upper stairs, see if we can drink one last beer on the roof by the rising sun or something. See you in a bit!” finished Julian as he started walking the staircases trying not to destroy anything of value on his way. After a bit of exploration, Julian found himself in front of a big doubled doored entrance with a little sign above it reading “Grand Solis Presidential Suit”. The room was like a preserved time capsule. Deep brown and gold wallpaper, a velvet couch with a dusty glass table in front of it, a minibar with empty glass bottles, and a bulky, wooden-framed television sitting atop a polished cabinet. Even though those were old, Julian could see that those must have been the most expensive things available in the 80s.

“Damn, this place is stuck in time,” Julian chuckled, running his fingers over the dust-covered nightstand as he explored the room a bit. His eyes landed on an old remote waiting on the dusty coffee table, still there as if waiting for someone to pick it up and start the tv on. “This shit is so old and dated. Did they even have color back there? Funking cringe!” he said as he fell sitting on the couch and snap on the.

Julian grinned, pressing a few buttons not expecting anything to happen. But to his surprise, he heard a faint static noise and then the television screen flickered to life with a burst of static. At first, nothing but snowy white noise filled the screen, the crackling sound oddly loud in the silence. Then, something shifted as Julian saw a weird intricate pattern appearing in a glitched movement on the screen. Something looking like a red Nordic glyph appearing and disappearing from the screen in a glitched way before disappearing for good.

The static morphed, shapes appearing, colors bleeding through. A scene unfolded, warm golden lighting, extravagant décor, and dramatic music swelling as if from another world. A typical 80s telenovela, vibrant and alive, appeared on the screen before him. “Of course, it’s a fucking telenovela, why wouldn’t it be?!” he said laughing with himself. “Fucking cringe! The over acting, the attitude, the costumes, the scenes. Damn I’m sure I would be a better actor without even trying!” he continued as a young women appeared on the screen with a wave of dramatic music starting. “Yea no, I’m out of here!” he said as he jumped back up and started walking in the minibar direction to see if there were still some alcohols in there. But as he turned is back to the television still running in the background, he felt a weird sensation invading his lungs. The air on his forearms raised at attention as he felt like something just had shift in the room. Out of nowhere, the television sound stopped and the static came back stronger then ever, getting louder and louder as for the first time in a long time, Julian was scared. As he turned his head back to the television, he saw the screen glitching in a frozen frame as weird white and black glitching goo poured out of the screen. “The fuck?!” screamed Julian as he started to run out of here, but as he grabbed the handle of the door, he felt something grabbing his ankle and pulling him back in the room. Julian tried to hold on, to open the door, the scream for help, but the pull was way too strong as he felt his fingers getting sweatier and sweatier with every passing seconds. Then, in a last scream, he lost his grip and fell back on the carpeted ground as he was dragged back to the tv. His nails tried to hold on to anything, splinter started to enter his calloused hands but nothing was strong enough to hold him back and stop his abduction. The closer he was getting to the tv, the more the sounds were becoming louder and louder. The colors were getting more vivid, brighter. And as his converse touched the screen, it felt like gravity didn’t exist anymore, the whole room started to spin around him. Julian couldn’t understand where was the roof or the ground. Colors were flashing in front of his eyes and every time he tried to scream, no sounds were able to escape the vortex swallowing him. Then, in a last attempt to get free, Julian threw the torch lamp in the static tentacle that grabbed his ankle, only to scream even more when he realizes his ankle was no more, instead, all he saw were pixels of saturated color glitching away from his disappearing ankle like radio interreferences and climbing higher and higher on his legs “NOOO!! Please let go of me!! PLEASE!!!” He screamed once more as he saw his jeans turning into glitching static swallowed by the vortex, leaving his legs totally naked as the interferences climbed higher above his knees. Julian turned his head back in front of him to scream once more, but he gasped in terror when he saw a new static tentacle throwing itself at his head. Julian lost his vision and soon he stopped screaming as he fainted into darkness.

Darkness. Silence. Weightlessness. For a moment, there was peace and Julian felt like floating in the sky without a single worry in his head.

Then, sensation returned all at once. The cold air against his bare skin, a strange tightness around his limbs, the rough texture of something binding him and pressing against his wrists and ankles. His lungs burned as he sucked in a breath, but it tasted wrong, stale, artificial, tinged with an electric hum that settled deep into his core and made his whole skeleton vibrate in fear and static.

His eyes snapped open, and he realized he wasn’t in the hotel room anymore.

His head turned left and right as he started to scream for help, but his voice came back in his hears echoing into the empty void surrounding him. Julian was bonded, floating in an ocean of darkness glitching in black and white static noise.

Julian tried to move, but his body didn’t respond the way it should. His limbs were held fast, spread out like an eagle, restrained. He struggled, twisting against whatever was keeping him in place, but his body felt sluggish, uncooperative. His muscles flexed as he tried to free himself from this situation but nothing, he tried succeeded in freeing him. “HELP ME! IS THERE SOMEONE IN HERE?! HELP!!” Julian screamed one more time as he felt the atmosphere starting to shift around him, like if someone or something was lurking in the shadow and waiting to jump on him. For the first time in his life, Julian felt powerless and his jockey mask started to crack as his fears of not being strong enough came back to him. He was stuck and at the mercy of the situation, naked in this cold empty void and bonded in place by an invisible force.

Out of nowhere, a burst of distorted applause filled the void, stretching unnaturally long, warping and bending in on itself before fading into a low hiss. The sound came from nowhere, yet it surrounded everything.

Then, a voice cut through the static. Crisp, smooth, detached. A voice made for television, too perfect, too polished, too rehearsed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, tonight, we bring you something truly special. A fresh contender. A bl… blblbl… BLANK slate, ready to be shaped. Some may call it an hoHOhOh…onor. Others, a privilege. But here on Prime Time Rebirth, we simply call it what it is, a new beginning.”

Julian was frozen in fear as he heard this voice coming out of nowhere saying that while glitching like a poorly coded radio frequency. A choked sob broke through the droning static as Julian felt the restraints bonding him reacting to the voice he was hearing.

“Our lucky candidate has already made it tHroUgh the prrrrrrrrre…liminary selection process. Impressive, considering how last participant was 41 seasons ago. But, oooOOoOoOf course, selection is only the beginning. The true test is yet to come.”

“WHAT THE FUCK! I’M NOT PLAYING THIS STUPID GAME! LET ME GO! WHERE AM I?!” screamed Julian in a ragged cry, raw with desperation. “S-SOMEONE! PLEASE! LET ME OUT!”

The voice continued, unaffected by Julian’s begging to be freed.

“As always, transSformatiOn is key. A star isn’t simply bOrn, they are made. And so, our cOntEstant will uNderGo the necessary… addDDdDdjustMents.”

Julian saw the void in front of him glitch and for a moment, he saw something, a place that shouldn’t exist. A stage, barely holding form, its edges dripping into static like melting film. Rows of audience members sat in perfect stillness, their faces hollow, clapping in sync. The host stood before them, but his form flickered, distorted, as though he was both there and not.

“And nOw, let the gAMe begins!! What dooOOoOoo… we have here…? Let’s se, se, se, see, a young man, an athlete I see. OH! The gold, gold golden boy… He hates being the center of attention even though he is everyone’s favorite player… And looks like he has a true self esteem problem but doesn’t show it… Well! What do you say friends? I think the choice is clear, right?...” continued the host waiting for the applause of his shadowy audience before glitching away once again, leaving Julian only with the echoes of the applause resonating around him with the forced laugh of this creepy host.

Julian thrashed, the unseen restraints holding firmly in place. “No, NO! What are you talking about?! Stop this! Please, I don’t…”

The stage appeared again from the darkness, appearing fractured and distorted before merging together into its original form. The audience was moving with broken movements as the host was walking smoothly around the scene, his old and dated microphone in hands.

The static swelled, stretching out into a crescendo of distorted applause. Then, with an abrupt glitch, the stage flared into overexposed colors, sickly yellows, piercing reds, neon blues, all too bright, too saturated. A massive game wheel was now in the center of the stage, towering above Julian. The wheel looked like it had been plucked straight from a garish 80s game show, covered in flashing lights and bold, cartoonish symbols instead of numbers. Each section pulsed and shimmered, shifting between words and icons as if the wheel itself couldn’t decide what it wanted to display.

With a burst of flickering interference, the host glitched out of frame, vanishing in a smear of pixels, only to reappear right next to the wheel in a single, jagged frame skip. His presence snapped into place with a harsh buzz, like an old VHS tape struggling to play.

Julian screamed again, thrashing against the invisible restraints. “NO! STOP IT! LET ME GO! I’M NOT PLAYING THIS…PLEASE!” His voice cracked, but the host gave no indication that he even heard him.

Instead, he placed one hand on the wheel, his too-perfect smile never wavering. “A classssss…ic spin for a classic gaAaAAaaAAame! Oh, it’s been so, so, so, so, so so… sooooooo long, hasn’t it, folks?” He gestured to the audience with a grandiose sweep, and they erupted into thunderous applause, cheering, whistling, clapping in perfect synchronization, their movements too uniform, too mechanical. Their enthusiasm was pure, unfiltered joy.

The host chuckled, his laugh warping into a chorus of overlapping echoes. “Now, now… what fate awaits our dear contestant?” He gripped the wheel and gave it a mighty spin.

The wheel whirred, its segments blurring together in a dizzying cascade of symbols, twisting arrows, theatrical masks, interrogations points, mirrored faces… Julian’s breathing quickened, his heart pounding as he watched the fate-deciding spin.

Click. Click. Click…

The wheel slowed.

One final click.

It landed on a space marked with two bold arrows, one pointing up, the other pointing down. The host turned back to the audience, and the crowd exploded with even greater excitement, their cheers reaching an unnatural, deafening volume.

“Oh-ho! Now this is something special! Ladies and geeeeEeEEeentlemen, we haven’t seen this result in quite some time!” The host’s voice crackled, his excitement amplifying with every word.

Julian struggled, shaking his head wildly. “NO! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? STOP THIS! PLEASE, PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS!”

The stage around him flickered and distorted away. The audience pulsed, their forms breaking apart and reforming like a glitching program. The host raised his arms triumphantly, reveling in the moment and everything started to glitch in interferences as the stage, the wheel and everything vanished in black and white pixels. Julian gasped, his body shaking wondering if what he just saw was an invention of his mind or the product of some alcohol poisoning. But in the blink of an eye, the stage reappeared in front of him, this time the wheel was gone, the audience was clapping once again in a synchronized way while he could clearly hear screams of joy and laugh echoing around him even though they shadowy faces were neutrals. Julian suddenly realized the host was no where to be found, but lost in the cacophony of the audience screams, he could clearly hear his charismatic and deep alluring voice, getting closer and closer. And in a jolt, the host glitched back right in front of Julian, for the first time facing him directly in the eye as he opened his mouth once again to talk.

“Let’s the ga, ga, game begin!!” he concluded as he turned back from the audience to face Julian for the first time. It felt like he was looking directly into his soul and Julian felt like all of his deepest secrets were reading and exposed just as much as his exposed naked body. Julian felt a chill run down his spine as he realizes the host had no face, only a shadow figure with a creepy smile and a glowing red rune on top of his forehead, the same exact run as he saw glowing on the screen when he turned it on. Then the host and everything behind him started to disappear in an interference pattern, only the creep smile and the rune remained before disappearing them too, swallowed by the static engulfing his exposed body.

“WAIT, WAIT, NO! NO, PLEASE! DON’T LET ME HERE! HELP ME!!” he screamed once more in a last attempt to get someone’s or one of his friend’s attentions, and Julian was alone.

As he tried once more to wiggle out free from his static bonds, Julian felt a movement starting to happen around him. The bonds around his ankles and wrists spasmed a bit as he felt a pulling sensation in a rotative motion starting to take place. He saw his vision starting to rotate as he felt the blood coming to his head. Soon, Julian’s position was inverted as his head was now hanging down while his feet were above his head and bonded in the air.

Julian dangled in the void. His body hung upside down, his head tilted toward the abyss below, while his legs remained above, stretching upward as if gravity had flipped. He tried to move, to twist, to turn, but unseen forces held him in place, an invisible current pressing against his chest and limbs, keeping him locked in an unnatural position. His arms felt weightless, detached, like they weren’t his own, and yet the pain was real, every nerve alight with agony, like static electricity crackling through his bones.

“PLEASE!” Julian screamed, his voice echoing in the void one more time as he was slowly getting out of breath, the blood starting to get to his head. His body trembled with panic, but he couldn’t move. He could barely even breathe. Every inch of him burned with something unnatural, something wrong.

Then, out of nowhere, Julian started to feel a weird invading sensation starting to appear around his wrists where the static was holding him in place.

A sharp tug shot through his arms. His limbs contorting, stretching in ways they were never meant to. A deep, searing heat spread through his shoulders and hips as they twisted, morphing, rearranging into something they weren’t supposed to be. Julian screamed in pain and terror as he heard his bones snapping out of place and breaking before reforming into stronger ones. Tears poured down from his eyes and ran down his forehead before falling from his head into the void to disappear in the static as he saw in horror and pain that he couldn’t move his shoulders has freely as before. Worst, the restraints around his wrists had moved for the first time and he could see his hands starting to join in a neutral position under his head. As they moved, he felt his shoulders crack one more time as he felt the bones morph one last time into something denser and bigger before growing longer and longer, giving his biceps a disproportionate length. Julian looked down as he felt the sensation starting to invade his hands now. His fingers burned, the bones compressing, reshaping, until his knuckles cracked and popped grotesquely. The sensation was sickening, and when he tried to curl his hands into fists, he realized he couldn’t anymore. His fingers were thicker, shorter. The digits were fusing, reshaping into something rounder, stubbier. His palms stretched wider, the skin roughening, callouses forming along the edges as his thumbs receded, repositioning at an unnatural angle in a symphony of bones fracturing and merging back together. Julian choked back a scream as he realized what was happening, his hands were becoming feet.

“WHAT THE FUCK! NOOOOOO!”

His arms stretched, elongated even more into powerful limbs. The muscle shifting, thickening and swelling under his skin. The tendons tightened, pulling into a structure far too familiar yet entirely wrong, his arms were becoming legs. He could feel the shift of balance, the change in strength, the unnatural sensation of weight pressing down as his body forced him into this upside-down reversal of form. The agony was unbearable, his mind struggling to process the way his nerves rewired themselves, reconnecting joints in a way that should have been impossible. And for a moment, Julian felt like he was four footed. He tried to move his transformed fingers in front of him and his brain couldn’t understand the message as he felt and saw both of his right foots starting to react. He wanted to throw up from the alien sensation but he was too out of breath from the painful changes to even succeed in that.

Julian was still trying to understand what just happened when the sensation started once again, but this time around his ankles. His legs, his true legs, felt as if they were collapsing in on themselves. The bones cracking and snapping out of place before fracturing and merging back into a different form. Julian was screaming in pain as tears kept running down from his eyes only to fall on his newly transformed feet. The muscle mass shrank in his calves, condensing and reshaping into something leaner, something more flexible. His knees bent in the wrong direction and Julian could feel the pressure rising higher and higher before he felt a snap and then no pressure anymore. His knees had broken and reformed into his brand-new elbows. His calves tightened and restructured as his feet splat apart, toes elongating, stretching into something more dexterous. He could feel the air against them, feel the way his skin rippled as the transformation finalized. His whole body was spasming unwillingly from the new rerouting of his nervous system. Julian could feel his toes turned into finger brushing against each other in a new unnatural sensation. He couldn’t even find the words to describe what he was feeling. His feet had become hands.

Julian’s breathing was ragged, his mind a mess of horror and disbelief. His entire body had been flipped, reversed, turned into something unrecognizable. Julian felt tears continuing to run down his cheeks only to meet pearls of sweat on his forehead and sliding through his damp hair hanging in the hair between his new calves. His brain kept on coming back and force between thinking this was a nightmare and then the realization that every time he tried to move his feet, his hands in front of him were now reacting.

A deep shudder ran through his core as an unbearable heat pooled in his lower abdomen. A sharp, pulling sensation spread from his scalp down to his now hanging dick, as if something was being forcefully rerouted. Julian’s stomach twisted as he felt his head starting to burn from a fever he couldn’t control. It felt like his brain was on fire as he felt pearls of sweat starting to agglomerate on his forehead. At first, Julian thought that his head had been hanged above his head for way too long and his brain was not supporting the blood pressure anymore. But then he felt a violent spasm around his neck as his collar bone shattered before reforming into a new bone where his new legs anchored themselves in perfectly. With a new violent crack, Julian screamed as his neck hanged even lower. He tried to move his neck but it felt like he didn’t have any bones anymore in his neck. His head balancing left and right as the sweat kept on falling. A huge tingling sensation then started to invade his scalp as Julian watched in gasp as his hair started to fall from his scalp and disappear in static when they reached his feet. His hairline was receding faster and faster, the strands thickening, curling, and moving, no, not moving, relocating. At the same moment, Julian started to feel an invading sensation at the base of his neck. The more his hair fell, the itchier the sensation became. His hair was drifting upward, dragging warmth and an unbearable, suffocating musk with them. The scent was overpowering, raw and potent, filling his senses with something primal and unfamiliar. His own hair, his old hair, was no longer atop his head. It had become something else entirely, something far worse. Pubes. Julian’s face burned with an unfamiliar sensation, his skin tingling as pressure built in. His cheeks, his nose, his mouth, everything starting to burn from this uncontrollable fever as Julian was still trying to comprehend what was happening to his face. He felt his skull snapping on itself, his nose cracking and snapping in and out of place. Then to his horror, as he tried to scream once more, he tastes a weird salty thig in his mouth as it was getting harder and harder to articulate sentences. The liquid was musky and salty, almost like… “No” gasped Julian as his nose snapped out of place one last time before disappearing into his retracting skull. His hands were now feet, his feet hands. And his head was baked into a musky manly scent. Julian realized that as his body was forced inverted, his face was now in the position of his cock. “NOOOOOOOO” he screamed one more time as his face finished changing into a thick 8 inches soft cock. A pearl of precum rolled down his new sensitive forehead turned cockhead as his head retracted back on itself to disappear behind a thick sleeve of protecting skin. Julian could still taste and smell everything, worst he could see his new feet perfectly as he was forced to hang from his new position. Watching as pearls of precum kept on coming out of his mouth without him being able to stop them. Something his old 4 inches cut cock never did before. Then, he felt a growing sensation at the base of his new neck as 2 giants nuts pushed themselves from his skin to hand low. His new head was resting against them as a pungent musk started to bake his soul into a nightmare.

Julian was stuck there, hanging from his new pelvis and forced to watch his new feet forever as he felt precum dripping down from his ever-opened mouth while he felt his new nuts working hard to always have sperm in them. He couldn’t think properly anymore, his brain, or what was left of it assaulted by the hormones. At the same time, his cock started to spasm too. Julian couldn’t even watch what was happening anymore but as the sensations kept on getting more and more present and alien, he kept on hearing snapping sounds. And soon he felt his cock starting to move into an unnatural way. His pubes started to burn as he felt a new invading burning sensation appear on top of his cock head.  Then out of the blue, he heard something, a voice. Not the host’s one and not his either. With a new snap, he heard it again, this time accompanied with a sensation of pleasure invading his soul. It felt like he was cumming with every sound pronounced by this voice. Julian tried to move but he couldn’t anymore. He was forced to hang down leaking on his feet as the moves kept getting wider and more intricate. And soon, the sensation and the snapping sounds stopped. Once again, he was left totally bonded and restrained without a clue of what just happened to his cock. Julian felt the restraints around his wrists and ankles starting to let go. He tried to move but he realized he couldn’t anymore. He still had the sensations of his inverted body but he couldn’t move anymore. His soul was now bonded to this new way more muscular body. He tried to scream but only succeeded in releasing more precum around his foreskin. Then, a sensation invaded his body once again. This time it started around his new belly button. His skin darkened, the pale tones of his former self replaced with a deep, sun-kissed tan. The transformation surged through him, spreading warmth and an oppressive, earthy and spicy scent across his body. Thick, dark hair sprouted along his arms turned legs, coating his limbs in a layer of coarse, masculine growth. Julian saw his body hair starting to grow and his skin tan and didn’t understand what was happening to him. Worst, as the sensation invaded him, he felt his new prison starting to chub up. He felt his foreskin starting to roll down his face as for the first time, he clearly saw again the void around him. His sightline kept on getting higher and higher until he was rock hard and forced to look up where his cock used to be, but instead he faced something else. There in place of his cock was now a thick muscular neck topped by a manly perfectly sculpted face of a Latino men. His eyes deep brown, his nose wide and manly, his brows thick and perfectly shaped, his mouth thin, his smile was pearly white. On top of this head, a thick forest of dark wavy hair was shining naturally. Above his upper lip, a thick mustache of a dark hair was positioned and a goatee was finishing to sprout around his manly chin. Julian wanted to scream in terror as he realized his cock was now a face. The changes kept on assaulting his body as his armpits prickled with new density, his chest finished to expend and grew broad and sculpted, a fine dusting of dark curls forming over his pecs. The overwhelming heat mixed with an undeniable, musky presence, clinging to him, defining him.

Julian wanted to scream as the changed finalized around his new body but he had no control anymore, he was a passenger now as he felt the treasure trail of hair grow under his new shaft, tingling him just enough to send shivers of pleasure in his new body. And there without him being to control himself, he felt his new body start to spasm harder and harder. He tried to suppress this sensation invading his core but he couldn’t and out of nowhere, he felt like throwing up, except only thick white sperm came out of his mouth to run down his sensitive veiny dick body and dry out in what used to be his hair turned pubes. Julian was still spasming blank when he felt static swallowing his body once again. For a brief moment, he thought he was freed from this nightmare and he’ll be able to find a way to get help from someone. But his release was brief when instead of seeing the warm sunrise light, he felt fabric materialized against his skin, snug and shimmering, clinging in all the wrong ways. A sheer blue sequin shirt draped over his chest, barely concealing the definition beneath. The matching pants, equally tight and revealing, formed around his lower half, leaving nothing to the imagination. There was no underwear. Just a thin layer of material between him and the world. His feet, his new, foreign feet, slipped into polished leather shoes, shining under the invisible light of his prison. The bonds that had held him vanished, yet Julian remained frozen.

His body was no longer his to command. He tried to move once again, to twitch even a finger, no, a toe. But nothing responded. He was locked inside himself, a prisoner in this alien, unfamiliar body. “SILENCE. MOtoR, AC, AC, AC… AcTIoN!”

Julian heard echoing around him as he was trapped in darkness under the newly materialized pants around his cockhead. He recognized that voice, it was … the host!

Julian’s nightmare deepened into something far worse than he had ever imagined. His body moved, but not by his own will. Each motion was exaggerated, unnatural, as if he were a marionette in the hands of some unseen puppeteer. His arms, no, his legs, swung with a confidence that did not belong to him, his feet stomping onto the floor with purpose, each step sending a jarring shockwave through his stolen frame. But everything was wrong. Twisted. Inverted. His hands, now transformed into grotesque, unfamiliar manly and musky feet, twitched feebly, confined in their leather prison of shoes, squeezed uncomfortably into a shape they were never meant to take. They ached, every nerve firing off protests at their cruel new function, forced to support the entire weight of a body that no longer felt like his own. The unnatural sensation sent waves of nausea crashing through him, a torment that only grew worse with every movement.

For Julian, it felt like a perpetual handstand, a sickening reversal of everything he had ever known. His balance teetered on the edge of disaster, as though at any moment, the foreign frame he was trapped in would collapse under the unnatural shift of gravity. He felt his muscles adjust in sickening positions. Julian tried once again to assert back dominance of his body but he couldn’t control anything, forced to hang against his hairy shaft and leaking on what used to be his left biceps as his pubes were baking in manly Latino musk. For him, it was an endless torment, each forced motion pulling him further from his own identity, further from everything that made him who he was. His mind screamed against the horror, but there was no escape, no way to fight back against the sick joke reality had become.

Then, out of nowhere, Julian tried once again to find power to control his body and he realized that he was starting to gain back control in his right hand. A toe spasming, a finger moving. With some time, he could break free and he would…

“¡Ay, senorita! Looks like you are way too guapa to be alone, ¿verdad?” The deep, confident voice rolled out like a song with a thick Spanish accent. It was playful and filled with a swagger that made Julian’s very being convulse in horror. It felt like something was exploding inside him, unbearable jolts of sensation surging through his trapped consciousness. For Julian it was too much. With every word, it felt like he was having the best orgasm of his life. In the blink of an eye, he lost his will and felt himself leaking abundantly on his hairy calve. Julian couldn’t think anymore, and when he came back to himself, he realized he couldn’t feel his body anymore. He tried to move his hands but couldn’t feel them at all. I was like a connection had been lost. He screamed again mentally one more time, pleading and begging to wake up from this nightmare but instead, all he heard was the host’s voice talking directly to him. “Don’t, don’t, don… don’t worry Julian. You are taken care. No more massssssssks to wear. You can be your true se…lf and what everybody is expecting from yooooouuuuu…uuu!” As the voice died into static noise, Julian couldn’t focus anymore. Every time he heard the words coming out of this Latino lover mouth, it felt so good and he was leaking precum abundantly. “Please, I don’t want to… keep doing … this. So … good” So good? He realized what he just thought and was distressed as he realized he didn’t even try to move anymore. He was just standing there. His sensitive cock head scratching on the hairy thighs with every step and precumming with every word spoken. “Please, I can’t do this anymore. Please Mas…” Julian was cut by a new voice. This time something deep and sensual, something he already heard before. “Cono! You really are horny today, Junior!” as the sentence ended, he felt a feeling of proudness invade his body as he felt seen for the first time ever. But as the calloused hand grabbed him through the pant to adjust him, Julian came back to himself. “What the fuck?!” he suddenly realized that for a brief moment, he forgot everything. His struggles, his life, his friends. Everything. Worst, he didn’t even care. “No, no, no, no, no!!!” he pleaded mentally one more time as more precum leaked from his tip “You don’t understand, if I stay like that longer I will…” Once more, Julian was cut through his train of thoughts as Fernando talked to him directly in thoughts. “Listen Junior, we have one more scene to shoot and then I promise to take care of you all night long!” As he finished this sentence, Julian felt a pressure rising in him and felt ecstatic. Suddenly he couldn’t control himself anymore as he started to spasms as pictures of his new body flashed in his head. Pictures of him naked, his master’s hands gripping him, getting edged for hours, being sucked and plowing holes, any holes. With the pictures implanting in his head, the feelings came back flooding in him and suddenly he realized he didn’t want to fight his master, he was here to serve him, and he was his favorite toy to play with. Julian stopped fighting as a new pearl of precum licked from the tip of the uncut Latino cock, this time, it was a thicker one as it contained Julian’s humanity. It fell down the legs, following the already precum path well traced by Julian’s mental fight and ended on drying on Fernando’s hairy legs, forever assimilated by his new master.

Fernando felt like a weight was lifted from his shoulders as he adjusted one last time, feeling his cock finally stopped spasming. He took a breath as he was called back for his scene. “¡Hermanita! ¡Déjame decirte algo! No hay mujer en el mundo que pueda resistir mi encanto, ¿me entiendes?” His voice was cocky, flirtatious, dripping with an exaggerated bravado that made Julian sick. He was performing. Acting. Playing a role in something he didn’t understand but couldn’t escape. The world around him felt alive, vibrant, but utterly fake. Julian, or rather Fernando Junior, stood there asleep in pleasure as he was waiting for Fernando’s manly and oh so smooth hands to finish his day and finally take care of him. Maybe if he was kind enough, he’ll be able to play with a wet toy until he can’t hold anymore.

At the Grand Solis Hotel, Julian’s friends were finally done exploring the place and decided to climb upstairs to join Julian on the roof for one last beer before the start of university. As they reached the last floor, Jackson saw the double doored entrance of the suit and called for Julian, but no one answered. When they were about to leave, he heard a static noise followed by someone talking. Him and the others started to walk only to see an old retro tv turned on and glitching between statics and an old prerecorded telenovela from the 80’s. A handsome young man, dressed in dazzling sequins, his dark curls framing a cocky smirk. He moved with confidence, his chest puffed out, his eyes twinkling with charm as he leaned against the salon’s counter, winking at a passing woman and adjusting his thick cock under his pants. As the men adjusted, Fernando Junior saw a window appear in front of him. He saw a weird looking dusty room. It vaguely remembered him something but he couldn’t truly understand where. Then he saw some men appear in the window too. For a moment Junior felt like it was something important, but just when he was about to remember the face of one of the young men, Fernando grabbed him adjusted himself before putting a hand through his hairy pubes and scratching it then smelling it with a cocky smile. The smell sent pheromones directly into his blood stream and Junior was once again assaulted by the hormones as he chubbed up a bit thinking about the night that was about to happen for him. “¡Hola guapa! ¿Te gustaría venir a divertirte aquí con Fernando Junior?,” Fernando declared, grinning wide as he kept on adjusting his leaking cock through his pants.

Jackson and the others busted in laugh as they took the remote to turn the tv off before walking back to the stairs.

Inside the screen, Julian was no more, only Fernando Junior remained, screamed in anticipation and pleasure. But no sound came out, only beads of precum licking permanently through his tip and soaking into his favorite blue sequin pants. Junior was so lucky to have such a hot master…

As the TV turned off, a new glyph appeared on the back of the tv, just above one of a star, this one looked like a football. Both of them glowed in red as the tv turned back on one last time before shutting off, waiting for his next participant.

______________________________________________________________

Hey guys!

Hope you're having an amazing day! Most of all, I hope you enjoy this brand-new story I brainstormed with @tf-vigilante.

As always, let me know what you think of it, and feel free to send me messages or DMs if you have any ideas. I read everything. If your idea sparks something in me, you might just see it turn into a full story! ;)

Have a great day, and I'll see you all soon!

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy IV

a yandere art professor Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... ->chapter map

IV.

You’re a little alarmed, until the passenger side window rolls down, and you see Professor Wick behind the wheel. He’s dressed for a night out, driving gloves and all, and a wave of desire nearly takes you out at the knees. This man. 

Does he have to look so goddamn edible all the fucking time?

“I thought I recognized you,” he says with a half smile that nearly stops your heart. You wonder if he’s implying that he almost didn’t recognize you, with clothes on. The thought sends an unreasonable spear of longing right through your center. You press your thighs together out of self defence, praying that he will just think that you are cold.

You tilt your head, curious what he’s doing here, even while your heart clamors like a brass band in your chest. “Hi.” 

“Need a ride?” 

“I’m ok.” 

He frowns. “You really shouldn’t be walking around alone this late.” 

You shrug. Despite what the talking heads love to yell about on the news about the rampant violence in the inner city, you’ve never had a problem in your neighborhood before. 

When he sees you’re unmoved he sighs–you’re not sure if at you, or himself. “Humor me?” 

The fact is…you were more unsettled by how much you wanted to jump in his car from the moment he asked. 

“Alright.”

Ensconced in the buttery leather seat, you have to admit it’s a lot warmer inside the Porsche. You look around the interior. It’s an older model, but you can tell, lovingly maintained. “Nice car.” 

“Thanks.” 

You didn’t think professors got paid so well, but maybe he has other sources of income. One has to diversify in today’s economy, you know very well. There’s so much you want to know about him–you’re too shy to ask. 

He works the gears to pull away from the curb, and you feel yourself relax in the cozy atmosphere of the car at night. It’s intimate, but not uncomfortable, even if it feels surreal that he’s here, with you, like you conjured him purely out of the strength of your longing. 

“Big night?” he asks, maybe with a glint of teasing in his dark eyes, because it’s not even yet twelve.

“Hardly,” you laugh. “Just a drink with a friend. You?” 

“Dinner out.” He doesn’t specify if he was alone. Somehow, looking at this man…you doubt it. He’s dressed well, as usual, in a crisp shirt, dress pants, and a long wool overcoat, so handsome you could eat your hands. You think about this, a stupid jealousy stirring inside you that you know you have no right to. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, maybe because you have been quiet, watching the street as you zoom by, trying not to stare at the man beside you. 

“I think so,” you say absently, thinking about how you’re sure now that you invented the sight of him at the bar, and turned down a strapping young man to boot, all because of this silly forbidden longing for your boss you’ve managed to ball up like a tangle of barbed wire inside you. “It’s just…been a weird night.”

He frowns at this, a thunderous expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Did someone hurt you?” 

It startles you, how quickly he bristles in your defense. You're not used to anyone worrying about you so much. “No, nothing like that,” you quickly assure him. “I’ve just…” You don’t even know how to describe your problem, much less how to tell him in a way that doesn’t make you sound utterly pathetic. “I’ve just felt emptier than usual, is all.” You cannot meet his eyes as you say it, but he nods all the same. 

“I think…I know what you mean.” 

Hardly five minutes go by before you arrive at your apartment building, a blocky old brick structure from the turn of the century. You stare at your hands in your lap, pick at an imaginary pill in your tights. “Thanks for the ride. Do you…want to come inside for a drink or something?” 

You hold your breath in the eternity it takes for him to answer. You feel him look at you, the weight of that heavy dark gaze like a blanket upon your skin. Is it possible, to choke on desire? You feel like your heart has been replaced by an angrily pulsing sea urchin covered in merciless little spines.  

“I do want to,” he finally answers, staring fixedly at his eloquent gloved hands upon the leather wrapped steering wheel. “But I shouldn’t, y/n.” 

You nod, knowing he’s right, heartbroken anyway. You’re so good at doing that to yourself that you should receive a trophy, and you suppose there is an amusing karma in this mirrored situation with young Matthew. 

It sucks, to say the least, to be on this side of rejection. Now all you want is to go hide under your covers–and maybe not emerge for ten years. 

“Ok. See you in class, then.” 

“Goodnight, y/n.” 

He waits until you’ve made it through the security door before he pulls away. You watch with your cheek pressed to the cool glass, as red tail lights disappear into the night with a growl. 

It slips your mind, that you never told him where you live.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[melanchoire]

thinking...g!p wony receiving head from experienced gaeul unnie for the first time 😵‍💫 the thing is, shes sensitive af but gaeul would edge her n would lowkey discipline her not to come so fast 🥺... soft dom gaeul who will ask her where she wants to cum n ofc repressed pervert wony would shyly answer on her unnie's face or tits 😵‍💫

cw: blowjob, handjob, titjob yasss.

my favorite roommates 🥺 this makes me think that sharing a bedroom for so long means they never get a full moment of privacy to, you know, take care of their own needs 👀

i can imagine wonyoung having a problem but not a private place where she can take care of it :( such a cute baby trying to be calm and not move too much in bed because while gaeul is looking at her phone on the other bed on the other side of the room, she can just catch a glimpse of wonyoung and ask her why he is moving so much on the mattress! although wonyoung’s attempt at a carefree attitude is not at all concealed and gaeul ends up noticing her erection anyway

and gaeul being the sweet unnie who protects her maknaes offers her help! but no advice on how to jerk off or recommending something like a cold shower to wonyoung, but more like offering to suck her cock and giving her a couple of tips for the next time that happens to her 🥰

then gaeul ends up on her knees in front of wonyoung, looking her straight in the eyes as she pulls the tallest one’s pajama pants off at a slow speed that makes wonyoung want to grab gaeul by the hair and fuck her mouth until she can't breathe because the teasing was driving wonyoung crazy! but she chooses to stay still like a good girl because she doesn’t want to disappoint her unnie and wants to prove her good obedience 💕 although gaeul is taking her time because she loves the cute reactions wonyoung is having 🥺 her breath catches in her throat and she ends up releasing a soft, ragged breath through her lips as gaeul pulls wonyoung’s pants down completely and stands face to face with her boxer–covered cock, repeating the same annoying actions when taking off her underwear :( though gaeul can’t hide her surprise when she releases her cock from its confines and it leaps up joyfully to crash with a thud against wonyoung’s abdomen, a thick drop of pre–cum oozing from the tip and running slowly down the entire thick, long shaft… at this moment gaeul is mentally questioning whether she will be able to take that cock because she was acting self–centered for the last fifteen minutes because she never imagined it would be so big, i mean, she occasionally looks at wonyoung’s crotch more than she should and imagines what her cock would look like, but she didn’t think she would exceed her expectations!

awww and gaeul looks so cute wrapping her lips around the pink head, looking wonyoung straight in the eyes as she slowly slides her tongue down the slit and cleans all the pre-cum with a single swipe of her tongue 😵‍💫 i can bet those two are two annoying asses who love weird things THEN i can see gaeul showering the swollen head with kisses as one of her hands begins to pump the shaft up and down, causing more cum to come out of the tip and therefore dirty gaeul’s lips more, but she doesn’t complain! that’s her favorite lip gloss anyway

ohhh and when gaeul connects her gaze with wonyoung’s as she takes her entire cock completely 😳 wonyoung thinks she is being too much for gaeul and should probably try to make her unnie not feel pressured, but gaeul doesn’t stop until the tip of her nose bumps against wonyoung’s lower abdomen and she can feel the tip of her cock hit the back of her throat!

the choking sounds coming from gaeul’s throat as she pumps her head up and down while jerking wonyoung’s cock + wony’s moans being the only thing that filled that quiet room 💕 wonyoung tries to lower the volume because she lives with the other members and she doesn’t want to disturb the other girls with her naughty midnight activities, but gaeul couldn’t care less! she redoubles her efforts because she wants everyone to know the camaraderie that exists between her and her beloved wony

gaeul agitated separating her mouth from wonyoung’s cock, pumping his phallus with her hand at a speed that will make her wrist ache then, looking at wonyoung and asking “do you have any napkins to clean my hands later?” but wonyoung replies that she wants to paint gaeul’s face with her cum :( and gaeul has no better idea than to decide to give her favorite girl a nice gift <3

titjob>>> ugh wonyoung practically cums within seconds of gaeul sliding her cock between her tits and closes her lips around the head to suck the tip while sliding her tits up and down to jerk off wonyoung’s cock at the same time… wonyoung definitely cleaned gaeul’s tits with her tongue and they had a dirty and messy makeout session

[celestiamour]

since you asked for hyun-ju ideas, here am i 🙂

Imagine being her girlfriend and finally managing to hype her up to wear something more feminine for a date (like a dress or a skirt), only for that confidence to be shattered by some strangers on the street ;((

so, after a bit of comfort, you just need to prove how they were wrong, and show your sweet girlfriend how nice you think she looks on that outfit *wink wink*

ft. cho hyun ju x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ hyping her up to go out wearing a skirt for the first time┊0.7k words

contains: fluff with suggestive content at the end!! gender dysphoria & insecurity but mainly euphoria, established relationship, reader is shorter

➤ author's note: i went off prompt and didn’t do smut for this one because i really just wanted to focus on her gender euphoria moment, so sorry (also this is my first time writing for a trans character centered around gender identity! my knowledge mainly comes from having an ex girlfriend who was trans and told me about her experience, but if i got anything wrong or need improvement for something, please tell me so that i can improve and do hyun-ju justice!)

she stared at herself in the mirror, almost in disbelief at first at the reflection looking back at her. it’s insane how a little bit of makeup and stylized outfits could completely transform her appearance, the magic being something she’s heard about plenty of times but has only been able to witness at this moment. her fingers nimbly adjusted her hair, brushing it back before pushing the front stands forward to frame her face, and then flying to her pleated skirt to straighten it out. her heartbeat was all over the place, both from the happiness of finally feeling like herself and from the anxiety of planning to go out in public like this.

hyun-ju paused at the thought of that, looking back at herself and suddenly focusing on all of her insecurities again— the more masculine features that other people would point out and whisper about from her face to her frame. she looked at her bare legs and found the contrast with the dainty piece of cloth too stark to ignore, finding herself crossing her legs and wondering if she should just wear pants like she usually did.

self-consciousness started to consume her entire being and thoughts about it not being enough raced across her mind, taking in a deep breath and considering just taking it all off to stay in for the night. the last thing she wanted was to get harassed by some assholes on the street just for trying to be herself, especially when she knew you would yell back at them and a fight was very much possible as it happened in the past before ending with you in the hospital for a broken wrist (the other guy was in a much worse state, but she still didn’t like the idea of you getting injured or possibly even arrested for her behalf).

“babe, are you finished changing?” you called out and broke her out of her thinking, but you entered before she could say anything. she cringed slightly and closed her, feeling embarrassed until she heard you gasp in pure delight, “oh, you look so beautiful!”

the heat radiating off her cheeks from being sheepish quickly changed to that of being flustered, “r-really?”

“of course!” you took her hands into yours, spinning her around like she was a princess wearing the most luxurious ball gown ever crafted even though it was bought at a local mall, “i knew this outfit would look good on you, it really is your color!”

“right, i was just worried it looked weird…” she felt a little stupid expressing her concerns, but she knew you were understanding, “i just feel like… i don’t know, i feel like i’m too tall to wear something like this…”

“being too tall isn’t a problem! personally, i would kill to be your height and to have your legs, and i know plenty of other people would too. it’s a trait that lots of top models have, so you don’t have to worry about anything!”

your words made her crack a smile, feeling the initial confidence flood her and your arm wrap around her waist as her gaze returned to the mirror once again with both of you admiring her beauty. seeing herself in your light was always enlightening like she was a completely different person in the best way possible, and she was so grateful to have you as her girlfriend to pull her out of her negative thoughts. 

“well, we better get going. if we stand here always just staring at how pretty you are, i might not be able to control myself and we’ll be home all night,” you teased, standing on your tip-toes and kissing her carefully on the lips so as to not mess up the tinted gloss.

“i don’t think i would mind that…” 

“don’t tempt me now…” the fluffy atmosphere became charged with a familiar tension with your touch lingering on her skin, one of your hands traced up her thigh with sinful ideas forming on how you could mark up the unblemished skin and ruin the makeup you wanted to preserve a mere few seconds ago.

after a few seconds of heavy silence, you finally pulled her to join you on the bed, all teasing smiles and lust, “well, we can just order an uber instead of walking, we can spare ten minutes. that’s all the time we need, isn’t it?”

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/772302271185928192/okay-this-may-be-a-weird-ventconfession-but-here?source=share To the prev anon: The people who get upset about adult writers exploring the sexuality of teenager characters are people who probably still ARE teenagers and don't realize that you don't stop remembering what being a teenager was like just because you stopped being one. When people write about the experience of being a teenager, the absolute vast majority of them are writing from their OWN MEMORY of being a teenager, and picturing how THEY felt/looked/acted at that age, not fantasizing about actual current teenagers. When I see actual teenagers, I'm like "omg you are all babies, I wasn't that young when I was that age!" But that's the kind of thing you can only realize when you've gotten older, and come to understand that all the ages you ever were still exist inside your conscious memory. I think the main reason it's different with teenagers is that they're really only at the start of building that conscious memory. Trying to remember 10-15 years back would put them back at an age of which they remember virtually nothing, and the changes that happened to them within that 15 years are huge--literally taking them from diapers to drivers' licenses. By contrast, for an older adult, 10-15 years starts to feel almost immaterial. I've been at the same job for almost 15 years, for example, so for me, that's not a hugely significant passage of time, and I remember my experience from that time perfectly clearly. I also remember a lot of what it was like to be a teenager, but I remember it from MY perspective, where that was the oldest and most mature I'd ever been, and if I were to write about that time, it would be from the perspective of my own teenage self who still exists inside me in that memory. (There's a reason high schoolers in books and movies always feel weirdly dated, if not set in an earlier timeframe altogether--they're being written by adults who are remembering their own experiences of that time of their lives.) Anyway, my point here is that the vast majority of people who would have any kind of problem with 'writing teens' are just people who haven't aged out of that perspective yet, so they make the mistake of thinking 'ew these adults are writing about ME' when in fact these adults are writing about their own memories of being that age. It's a self-centered perspective that is almost solely the fault of youth and inexperience, and they'll grow out of it. Don't let it get you down, anon.

--

Once you hit a certain age, you start in with "the other day" meaning 20 years ago.

[alpaca-clouds]

Neurodiversity & Rejection Sensitivity Disphoria

Starting with this graphic by @adhd-alien

Okay, let me talk about Rejection Sensitive Disphoria, which is something ADHD folks - but also autistic folks - struggle with a lot. And technically speaking... it is a trauma response. This is nothing that just happens to a neurodiverse brain as is, but it is an effect of trauma.

A lot of neurodiverse people - especially ADHD people - encounter a lot of rejection during their life. They get criticized for being inattentive, for being "lazy", for being "weird", for being too attached, and too detatched. Basically, we cannot do anything right. We often struggle to maintain friendship, especially with neurotypical people, who find our behavior grading.

There is always the saying among neurodiverse people: "We have best friends, but we are never anyone's best friend", because of this and because we often only have the emotional energy to maintain a few friendships at once.

There has been a study done a while ago and it found, that a typical child with ADHD would experience about 50 small rejections within each and every day. 50! 50 times that someone told them "You did this wrong" or "You are wrong". And in a lot of times the people giving these rejections do not think about it as much. But for the kid, it leaves an impression. Because they learn, they cannot do anything right.

Because of this, each rejection feels even more horrible to them. Even as an adult. Something that is not meant as a big slant against them, turns into it in their mind. Like, even a small criticism. Take one like this: "Tone it down." Because we often have problems regulating our voice. And just this small thing feels... horrible.

And, yeah... We struggle with this. It is a trauma response. Nothing else.

But if we bring it up to someone - for example, someone who keeps bringing out those small rejections - we are often depicted by them as self-centered and the like.

Ever since I learned about RSD, I have an easier time dealing with it. Because I can now gage that moment, where it kicks in and go in, telling my brain: "Hey, stop this crap, that is not what they meant and you know it". But... I also would fucking appreciate if neurotypical people had a bit more chill with us.

[suzukiblu]

Day three of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I–what?” Tim says like a useless idiot, attempting to shut his useless idiot brain up long enough for it to stop replaying Kon saying “you got me all this nice stuff” on a loop on literally every single possible level of his thought processes. It is, uh . . . not going well. At all. In no way whatsoever is it going well. 

Though “wear for you” is just a lost cause, considering. “Wear for you” is just the metaphorical elevator music of the rest of his life now, Tim guesses. That’s just a thing he’s gonna have to deal with for the rest of his life. When he’s sixty-five and faking being on his supervillain deathbed so he can retire in his alternate reality of choice, he’s gonna be thinking that instead of “Rosebud”. He’ll be thinking that on his actual deathbed, even.

“I mean–you like it when I wear the stuff you get me, don’t you?” Kon says and Tim probably wouldn’t notice the slight flash of self-consciousness that flickers across the other’s face if he weren’t literally on top of him and a Bat, but he is, in fact, literally on top of him and a Bat. “Makes for a way nicer wrap job than the comics page.” 

. . . Tim has a lot of thoughts about that phrasing. Just–a lot. A lot of very confused and tangled-up and all-over-the-place thoughts that he can’t even really narrow down to a specific emotion or genre of emotions or even “positive” or “negative”. 

Kon describing himself like he thinks he’s something to give him–something he’s willing to give him–that is just a very, very tangle-inducing thing to hear. 

“A ‘wrap job’,” Tim echoes slowly, because there are way, way too many ways to take that description, but not all that many good ones. He’s used to hearing Kon flirt like he thinks he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread, all cocky and smug and preening, not talking up the girls but talking up himself, way too self-centered and self-obsessed and– 

. . . ah, Tim realizes very, very slowly. 

He’s used to hearing Kon sell himself when he’s flirting. He doesn’t talk up the girls; he talks up himself. 

He talks up–the product.

“What, you don’t like presents, daddy?” Kon asks as he gives him a flirty, teasing grin with that flicker of self-consciousness still in the back of his eyes. Tim thinks about those opaque sunglasses he likes to wear all the time and wonders if maybe Kon isn’t used to people seeing his eyes this much. “

Tim decides that salt-and-burning Cadmus is actually not enough, and he also needs to throw Rex Leech into an active volcano and maybe also literally every single girl Kon has ever dated for more than five minutes, whoever said girls are. Just–this doesn’t feel like making out on the ledge did, where Kon was all soft and eager and overwhelmed and Tim felt like they were on the same wavelength; this feels more like . . . 

Talking up the product, again. 

“I like you,” Tim says, and shifts his hand down to Kon’s shoulder, which feels like–less risky territory right now, maybe. “That’s not–I mean–” 

“You know I’ll be whatever you like,” Kon purrs, and shifts his posture just enough to make himself less of a bed and more of a lounger; curved and shifted to support Tim more than himself, and Tim feels–

Tim feels very weird, suddenly, and not in a good way at all.

[decepti-thots]

Character ask for Ratchet?

one aspect about them i love: I really enjoy the fact IDW Ratchet is genuinely quite... maybe outright calling him 'arrogant' is overstating it a little, but you know what I mean? He's presented as having that very particular kind of 'if I can't and don't do this, nobody can and nobody will' which is both a kind of generosity (he'll go above and beyond if he thinks it's the right thing to do, without questioning whether he has to) and also very much cocky and even self-centered at times. (See: him never quiiiite getting around to handing off being CMO to First Aid, despite swearing he will, no, really...) He's so up his own ass at times, but also in that way where you can see how it stems from a very specific desire to be able to fix something. Excellent combination of traits. In a very weird and indirect way, he has just slightly more in common with Rodimus than I think he'd like to admit, in this regard, TBH. one aspect i wish more people understood about them:

Ratchet's kind of a judgey asshole with huge blindspots. Like. It's a pretty core character trait IMO! Once he forms an opinion his confidence in his own rightness makes it hard to shake him from it, and he's prone to taking his own faulty premises for granted enough that this can amplify his worst tendencies. You see it in everything from the way his self-directed insecurity over his failing hands is also representative of the fact he casually assumes his own inherent superiority as a forged medic, to the way in the Shadowplay flashback we see him be very casually dismissive of the seriousness of Drift's situation (he's very encouraging; but also very naive). And I think eradicating that tendency to see things from his own perspective (and for that perspective to be one that comes from a very specific background and experiences) from his character is really just sanding off the most fun parts of his personality. one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character:

He has a minor habit of being very precise and slightly obsessive about his fuel intake, because part of being a medic during the war was a combination of having to ration it out (dying patients need it, after all, and there's not much to spare) and needing to nonetheless be strict about not under fuelling to the point it impacted his ability to work. He hasn't really managed to shake the now-unnecessary balancing act post-war (because god forbid Ratchet admit he might have a problem with something).

one character i love seeing them interact with: I really do love all the times we see Ratchet and Rodimus interacting. They're like- juuuust missing each other constantly, I feel, in terms of what they want from the other and expect of them. Moments like how clearly Rodimus puts a lot of stock in whether or not Ratchet voted to remove him as captain, and how despite voting 'no' there's almost a level of respect in saying as much when given the opportunity, rather than simply walking away. Or when Ratchet tries to guess what will motivate Rodimus in that one scene towards the end of the Mederi arc and he's just not… quite right in his assessment of Rodimus and what he's like. There's a surprising level of tension there but not necessarily an antagonistic one, per se, and the degree to which Rodimus especially really wants Ratchet's respect and values it is very interesting to me. one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more: I know there's realistically not really anywhere it could be bar possibly like. The Functionist Universe's second arc or something (which I'm not fond of on the whole admittedly) but gosh, I wish we'd had just a little more of an idea of what Ratchet and Pharma's dynamic was like pre-Delphi breakdown. We get hints- Pharma clearly put a lot of stock in their friendship that he felt Ratchet didn't return (the flashback in Our Steps Will Always Rhyme showing he sought Ratchet's input on his reassignment and Ratchet ghosted him, and it's clearly something that bothers him), and there's stuff like the background cameo they do indeed get in an FU scene showing them socializing outside of work. But ugggh I want more details on what their dynamic was actually like, because they're both these very big personalities with a strong arrogant streak and it makes a lot of sense to me this would be what Ratchet liked about him and vice versa, and it would be so fun to see what that dynamic looked like in better times!

Unfortunately finding fan content about those two that isn't extremely uhhh fanonized is. Also hard. Sighs sadly.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character:

Ratchet was the one who finally broached to Drift that they should do the rites, because he correctly intuited that Drift had convinced himself that if he asked he would be turned down and it was better to simply avoid the topic forever, and so despite Ratchet really not wanting to have to be the one to get all sappy, needs must and all that.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

David Tennant at This Morning show with Alison Hammond and Dermot O’Leary talking about Good Omens Season 2, 11.07.2023 :) ❤

DO: And David joins us now. I mean, this looks like a great show.

David: Oh, yeah.

DO: So, I mean, It's pure Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, isn't it?

David: It is, yeah.

DO: The whole thing. So tell us, so if people haven't seen the first series and they want to go back, set the whole scene.

David: So I'm Hell's representative on Earth, Michael Sheen is Heaven's representative on Earth, put there to do the biding of our respective Head Offices. But we found out that if we became mates and sort of helped each other out, it kind of cut out the workload, cancelled each other out. So we're best mates. But in Series One we end up having to avert the apocalypse, which we managed to do, but as a result of that, we get cut off. So we're now living on Earth as independent individuals.

AH: So do you still need each other, then?

David: We still need each other. We've only got each other now because we don't have Heaven and Hell anymore.

DO: Because you both love earth so much, you both like.

David: Oh, we much prefer living on Earth because Heaven's a bit stuffy and Hell's awful.

DO: So you conspire to thwart the Armageddon. Exactly.

David: We thwart the Armageddon. That's fine. But Series Two begins when the angel Gabriel, Jon Hamm, who you just saw there, shows up at Aziraphale, Michael Sheen's bookshop, naked with no memory, holding a cardboard box. So suddenly we're locked into the politics of Heaven and Hell again. We don't know what's going on. We've got a mystery to solve. Why is the angel Gabriel here? The angel Gabriel tried to kill us both at the end of the last series, so we've got to...

DO: But now he's kind of got amnesia and...

David: Yes. So he becomes like our weird child, in this sort of weird sort of eternal marriage that Michael and I are locked in.

DO: So many shows now use a book as their base and then they do really well and you can see the company and the writers go, better come up some new ideas, I suppose. So the book's obviously Terry Pratchett and then Neil Gaiman, correct?

David: That's right. They wrote that together years and years and years ago. Much beloved. And that's what the first series was. But Neil and Terry had always talked about possibilities of this sequel that they never got around to making. Terry's no longer with us. But when the possibility came up, Neil thought, well, listen, I've got some ideas. Let's spin it forward. Let's see if we can tell the story we were always going to tell. So we get to come back.

AH: Should we have a little sneak look at the new series? Let's have a look. So good. Did you ever think it was going to be this successful? Did you even know that you were going to go into a second series

David: Oh, no, not at all. No. There was only one novel, so we just thought we were coming together to do that. And I didn't realise how beloved this book was. I first read a script. But it means a lot to a lot of people.

AH: And the look of you is so striking. Did you have any input into that? A bit, yeah, we sort of all found it together, myself and makeup and costume and Neil Gaiman, who ran the show. So, yeah, we kind of arrived... in the book he's a bit more - because obviously the book was sort of early ninetues, so he was a bit more sharp-suited and a bit more Wolf of Wall Street. So we've kind of had to find the kind of modern equivalent of that.

DO: Is he... obviously you're playing a demon. Has he got any humanity in him or is he purely self-centered?

David: Well, he's not a very good demon. He's good at sort of the snarl and the swagger and pretending that he's terribly cynical, but actually his problem is that he's a bit too...  there’s a bit too much heart, really.

DO: He's alright

David: Yeah, yeah.

DO: Must be wonderful playing a baddie.

David: Oh, it's great fun, but he's not a baddie, is not really a baddie.

DO: Yeah, yeah.

David: And just like Aziraphale angel is not always as goody goody as he likes it, so they meet very beautifully in the middle.

DO: You and Michael Sheen. I mean, you've worked together a fair bit, don't you. I loved Staged. That was such fun.

David: Yeah!

AH: Have you ever not worked together?

David: Now we only work together.

AH: All the time.

David: Yeah. I mean, He's not sitting on this sofa, but he is backstage. We can't be apart.

DO: He's speaking in his ear right now.

David: Exactly, yeah.

AH: But you are... you have got a genuine friendship. You're growing old together gracefully.

David: We're growing old together?!

AH: You look good for it, I'm not going to lie. What's the secret, babe?

David: A lot of makeup. It's very thick.

AH: We've got to talk about the fact that you are returning to Doctor Who.

David: Ah, yes.

AH: I can't believe this. And can you tell us anything at all?

David: I mean, beyond that I'm doing it? I think...

AH: No.

David: Really. Because that's the fun of it, isn't it? Hopefully tt was a bit of a surprise when I showed up. When Jodie Whittaker regenerated into me.

AH: We were shocked.

David: It was a bit of a surprise, so we wanted to sort of keep some shocks, but Catherine Tate's back, so it's a bit like 15 years never happened, to be honest.

DO: Know about it for a while. Like... did Russell T get in touch and say...

David: Yeah, it sort of gradually kind of evolved as an idea and we thought maybe they'd let us do a one off for old time's sake. And then suddenly it became a bit more than that and we were back for a bit of a run.

AH: So how many episodes did you get to do?

David: We did three.

AH: Wow. That's incredible. What's it like to be back? Did he just slot straight back in?

David: I mean, sort of. It felt weirdly familiar. Yeah. And you think, 'Oh, will I still able to run as fast? Can I still kind of...?' But it was like we'd never been away. It was joyous. Yeah.

DO: And could we talk about your son? Because is your son in Good Omens with you?

David: Ty's in... has a part in Episode Two of Good Omens.

AH: Is he?

DO: And I loved him in House of the Dragon.

David: I know. He's very good. He's very good.

DO: What a relief.

David: There he is. I know, what a relief. Exactly. No, I mean...

AH: Imagine if he was bad.

David: Imagine if he was rubbish. How would we tell him? Sit down, listen...I know it's sort of the family business, but maybe joinery? So... no, he's really good. And he's annoyingly good looking. You know, he's just got it all. So it's lovely and great to get to work together. Brilliant.

[cowboyemeritus]

this is a weird one chat I won’t lie

cw: mild gore, sexual content, discussion of self harm and suicide

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” How long has it been? The fact that you even have to ask yourself that only makes the well of shame burn in your belly that much hotter.

You’re already choking. So much for thinking this would be easy.

“It was,” a gentle, tenor voice prompts from the other side of the screen. You raise an eyebrow, expecting the gruff baritone of Father Myles. From your knees, you can just barely make out a silhouette through the lattice, but it’s nothing more than an indistinct blob of shadows. You swallow down a nervous lump, knowing the man’s identity doesn’t really matter; he’s a stand-in for something much, much greater.

“A month ago?” Already, your cheeks are burning. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” The Father is silent; it takes you a moment to remember you’re supposed to be talking. “These are my sins…” You let out a long sigh, knowing you need to spit it out already. Repeating the sign of the Cross and clutching your rosary a little tighter helps settle your nerves. “I’m- I just feel uncertain, is all.”

“You are having doubts?” Something about his words, though spoken so softly, cuts through to your very center. Who is this man? A visitor to the monastery? A friend of Father Myles?

“I-” No use obfuscating. He has already read your heart. “Yes, Father.”

“I see.” You hear a page turning, then the clicking of a pen. “And why do you feel this way?” The question has the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach again. Your palms clam up, muscles locking. You shake your head, a quiet voice screaming at you to abort! abort! abort!

“I’m like Thomas,” you mutter. “I have to see the nail marks. I have to put my hand into His side and feel the wound myself.” What would His flesh be like beneath your curious fingertips? Would it be cold to the touch, dusty from the Sepulcher, or would it be as warm and supple as it was on the Cross? “I want to believe.”

“Of course you do.” More pages turning. “But ‘blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.’” You want to roll your eyes. Even Father Myles could do better than that.

“I know.”

“Belief seldom comes easily, but it is always a worthy pursuit. Remember Peter, who despite his unbelief was able to walk across water.”

But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!” Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

“I remember, Father.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.” You suspect he knows this is a lie, but he says nothing. “For these and all of my sins, I am truly sorry.”

You’re not going to back out this time. You told yourself you wouldn’t, and trying to ignore the problem had only made it worse.

“What troubles you today?” The stranger again. He asks not in the what could you possibly want this time way that Father Myles does, but in a manner that tells you he truly wants to listen, that he really cares.

It’s refreshing.

“I lied to you, Father.” You sigh, twisting your rosary around one finger. The tip begins to turn a purplish-red. “The last time I was here, I had more to confess, but…” Your throat feels tight, squeezed shut by an invisible hand. Already, your eyes sting with forthcoming tears. You feel weak, filthy, like a little bug. “It’s too shameful.”

“There is no shame here,” the man states. “Only truth.”

What an odd thing to say.

“Speak, my child.”

“I can’t.” You’re hair’s breadth away from turning tail again. “I-”

“‘If we confess our sins,’” he interjects, “‘he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’” Though he doesn’t raise his voice at you, his words carry commanding power like that of an emperor. Before you can stop yourself, your lips are moving, his melodic timbre bidding you speak, cementing you in place so that you can’t possibly run away.

“I’m been having thoughts, Father.” You swallow, feeling heat creep into your flesh at the mere mention of your problem. “Impure ones.”

The mysterious priest hums in acknowledgement. It’s a rich, sweet sound, like honey. “What are the nature of these thoughts?” You bite your lip, parsing out your next words carefully.

“Lustful,” you admit. “Mostly.”

“Lustful…” There’s something a little less tender in the way he says it. “Are these thoughts about someone in particular?”

“Not really.” Now that you’ve gotten the ball rolling, the rest comes easier. “Just about what it would be like to be with another person. Touching, being touched; what it would feel like to…” You suck in a harsh breath, trying to fight the warmth building deep in your abdomen, the tingling sensation blooming between your legs. “To-”

To be taken?

“Excuse me?”

“I said nothing.” You can hear pen on paper. Dear Lord, he’s taking notes. “Please, continue.”

There’s a fogginess in your head, like the booth is filled with smoke. You clap your hands against your cheeks, trying to wake yourself up. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“These are not the only thoughts you’re having?” Your head comes to rest against the wall, producing a small thump. You just had to go and open your mouth…

“No.”

“Then, what else?”

“I’m wrathful, Father.”

“Why?”

This gives you pause. You hadn’t really considered it until now, just felt the rage and then the shame that came with it. “I don’t know.” Your gaze wanders to the curtain, covetously eyeing the sliver of afternoon light peeking out from under it. “Probably because I’m stuck in here, when I could be out there, doing anything else.” Realizing what you’ve just said, you clap your hands over your mouth. Your rosary falls to the floor, beads drumming against the carpet. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, “I didn’t mean-”

“This is a life that demands personal sacrifice,” the Father says, silencing you. “You’re not the first person to feel this way, and you won’t be the last.”

“But I love Him,” you mutter, pulling a loose thread from your habit. “I thought it would be easy.”

“My child, nothing in life is easy.”

In your dream, the halls of the monastery are labyrinthine — twisting, winding, and seemingly endless. The shadows bend and warp, morphing into terrible, monstrous shapes. As you run by their clawed hands reach for you, grabbing and scratching at your ankles. One manages to get a grip and pulls you down to meet the cold marble floor, knocking the wind out of you. As you lay there, coughing and gasping for air, your eyes fall upon your assailant. In an instant, the shadow changes, shifting and bubbling until it coalesces into the familiar figure of Sister Felicity, who always has a kind word. Relief washes over you, and you extend a hand, begging for her to help you up. She just scowls.

“Sinner!” Her words are like a knife, gouging a hole in your chest. Confused and scared, you scoot backwards on the cold floor, trying to get away. When you make contact with a hard body, you look up and find the imposing figure of Brother Jeremiah looming over you.

“Blasphemer!” All around you, the dark figures transform into your Brothers and Sisters. They gnash their teeth at you, hurling insults. With a cry, you scramble to your feet, but only make it a few paces before you slam into another one of the creatures. To your utter horror, his one has the face of Father Myles, his normally indifferent deadpan plastered over with a fury that makes your blood run cold. He holds up a notebook, and despite your fear a deep sense of humiliation creeps in.

Scrawled on the pages in red ink are the words “DOUBTS” and “LUSTFUL.”

“Whore!”

The creatures begin to laugh. Their mocking chorus is amplified as it bounces off the vaulted ceiling, quickly becoming so loud that it shakes the whole building. Your ears scream, the pain splitting your skull as you run, not caring where you go as long as it’s away from this dreadful place. The creatures tear at you, their claws shredding your habit so that it falls away, leaving you naked and covered in stinging, bleeding cuts.

You blink, and find yourself in the chapel. It’s quiet and deathly still. Despite the late hour, a censer burns in the corner, the aroma of frankincense heavy in the musty air. The candles are still lit, casting the ancient space in a pale, orange glow.

“Lord, help me.” Your legs finally give out as you collapse in a sobbing heap before the altar. The air feels thin, like you’re on top of a mountain, and though you gulp it down like water, your head won’t stop spinning. “Why is this happening?”

A cold, forceful gust of wind blows through the room. You look up, expecting more of the awful creatures, but find that you are still alone. Candles extinguished, the room is cast in darkness, the shadows still and monolithic. Heaving a sigh of relief, you wipe away the tears streaming down your face. Maybe He can hear you after all.

Outside, the clouds part. The full moon shines in through the stained glass, bathing the chamber in a kaleidoscope of color. Mesmerized, you follow a beam of silver light across the room to where it lands on the confessional. The curtain is pulled back, though the inside is nothing but a black void.

You feel compelled to throw yourself into it.

Slowly, you rise to your feet. Your gait is jerky, oddly stiff as you stalk over to the booth, like your movements aren’t your own. As you approach a sense of dread overtakes you, a voice in your head screaming at you to run, to resist. Something terrible lurks in the inky blackness, waiting to swallow you whole.

Confess, the darkness calls. It has a soft, gentle voice, like that of an angel. Try as you might, you can’t possibly break the spell it has cast.

Suddenly, you’re on your knees, enveloped in the pitch black of the booth. The walls are closing in. You reach for the curtain but find only a hard wood panel. Screaming until you can’t, you’re stuck, kneeling as the breath is squeezed out of your lungs, your bones cracking and breaking. It’s agony, and even as the darkness consumes you, every nerve is on fire. In your last moments, you’re able to muster the strength to look up at the screen, desperately searching for proof that you’re not alone in death.

“Forgive me, Father,” you choke, vision fading.

A shadowy figure watches your suffering from the other side of the lattice. In one hollow socket, an eye glows ghastly white.

I cannot, my dear.

“They won’t stop,” you groan. “The thoughts, the dreams; they won’t leave me alone.”

“I imagine that is quite… distressing.” A severe understatement.

“I don’t know what to do.” The tears are coming back. “I’ve been praying, asking God for help, but it only gets worse.” A single droplet slides down your cheek, dripping onto your leg. You draw in a breath, readying yourself for the next admission. “I want to hurt people.”

The Father is silent, and for a moment, you fear he’s fled. “Who?”

“My Brothers and Sisters, Father Myles... Myself.” Your rosary hangs around your neck and you pull on it hard, feeling the beads dig into your skin. “Every day, I have to sit there and watch them judge me. They can see I’m a sinner, but no one will help me. I know I shouldn’t, but I hate them. I hate all of them.”

Not him, though.

“What do you want to do to them?” Your eyes screw shut, feeling the shame gnaw at the inside of your stomach.

“I just wanted to hit them at first. Punch them, kick them. But now…” The sobbing begins again.

“Now, what? Tell me.”

You let out a wail. “I crave blood, Father! I want to feel it, taste it, paint this whole place with it.” Collapsing forward, your fingers twist into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. “I’m so afraid. Why is God doing this to me?”

“His will is beyond human comprehension,” he says. “Job was an upright man, and yet his sufferings were endless.”

A node of something — anger? — forms in your chest. “You think He’s testing me?”

“It is not my place to-”

“What did I do to deserve this? What reason did I give Him to doubt my faith?”

“Be strong, and-”

“He wants me to fail!” You let out a few sobs, wishing you could take back your words. Your skin crawls, knowing He’s watching. “I didn’t mean that.”

The Father sighs. “It’s clear you are under a lot of stress. Humble yourself before Him, and He will give you the strength to overcome this.” You can hear him scrawling something in his notebook. “One hundred Hail Marys, and reflect on the blessings the Heavenly Father has bestowed upon you. What the Lord gives, he can also take away.”

Why you thought he was different, you don’t know.

You gasp, jolting upright. Your skin is dewy with cold sweat, your mouth dry.

Another night, another horrible dream.

With a groan, you pull yourself out of bed. It’s a short walk to the washroom, but your muscles, your very bones, ache with fatigue. Returning to sleep, though, will be nigh impossible. The next best thing, you’ve come to learn, is to rise off the stickiness so you can at least lay comfortably in your bed until it’s time to get up for Prime.

You shower quickly, still making an effort to not be wasteful. The feeling of eyes on you, lingering from the dream, helps. It’s as you’re toweling off, trying not to think about your chores for the day, that you catch a red stain on the off-white linen. Confused, you unfurl the towel, finding it covered in splotches of crimson.

Then — only then — do you notice the wounds on your hands. Through the deep gouges, you can see that your feet bear similar marks. Blood is smeared across the tile floor, leading from the door, to the shower, to the sink.

You cry out, whipping around to look in the mirror. Staring back is a vision of yourself in death, pale and emaciated. Your eyes are lifeless, the skin under them swollen and purple. Through cracked lips, your teeth are stained red, the taste of metal overpowering. There’s a twinge of pain in your side, and your heart stops when you see the deep, oozing gash between your ribs. You double over, retching into the sink. More blood issues forth, the droplets like rose petals against the porcelain.

“What’s happening to me?”

Overhead, the florescent lights flicker, and then shut off. The air grows frigid, your sallow skin breaking out in gooseflesh. Hacking up a clot of blood and tissue, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as you become aware of a presence behind you. Your muscles lock up, fear penetrating to the very core of your being. You don’t want to look, but your body moves on its own, back straightening with a series of sickening pops and cracks.

By the light of that sinister white eye, you can just barely make out the vague, dark figure behind you. It towers above you, inhumanly so. You want to scream, to run, but you’re frozen in place, barely able to breathe. A chromatic, skeletal hand, gleaming in the low light, appears in the mirror, snaking over your shoulder to grasp you by the chin. The metal is so cold it burns, but the touch is delicate, as if afraid to break you. A tear spills over, cutting a trail down your cheek. The figure swipes it away with its thumb.

Do not be afraid.

The voice is at once comforting and hauntingly familiar, like an old lullaby. Though it chills you to the bone, you can’t help but hang on to every word, as if it were the key to your salvation. A second, cold hand finds your hip, though this time it sends a blissful sensation up your spine. You let out a pathetic noise, unable to control yourself, and the creature laughs.

“Save me,” you murmur, finding your voice.

It doesn’t answer, instead dragging its hand up your side, bony fingertips tracing the contours of your ribs. Your heart noticeably quickens as it approaches the wound, but with anticipation rather than fear. Slowly, it draws its index finger around the slit, relishing in the softness of the skin there. The pleasure is so intense your knees buckle, though the figure holds you upright. It’s otherworldly, like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and for a fleeting moment you have to wonder what good all these years of depriving yourself has really done.

That moment is over quickly. In a long, smooth motion, the metal appendage finds its home in your side. Your stomach flips, a moan wrenching itself out of you as blood pours from of the wound afresh, cascading down your body to pool at your feet.

“Save me,” you mewl, back arching as the shadow begins to pump its finger in and out. “Oh, save me, save me, save me…” You’re not sure what’s happening, but it feels like something is on the horizon; a tidal wave, coming to crash on your shore and wash everything away. This only encourages the mysterious specter, its pace increasing as it adds another digit.

Give in, is all the familiar voice says.

You snap awake. It’s like you’re falling, body convulsing with a frantic, wild energy. Rapturous. If you weren’t so certain of your damnation, you would think you had died and gone to Heaven.

The euphoria is quickly replaced by soul-crushing shame.

Tearing the sweat-soaked covers away, you take flight. Without thinking, your shaking legs carry you to the back corner of the chapel, and before you know it, you’re kneeling in the confessional, hands clasped tight. You try to speak, but only sobs come out.

“What’s wrong?” Of course it’s him, but at this hour? Your cheeks flush, finally realizing it had been that sweet, gentle voice that had brought you to the height of ecstasy mere moments before.

“I am damned, Father!” Then, more tears. The priest lets you cry until your throat is painfully tight and you think you might vomit. Once your sobs turn to whimpers, he speaks again.

“Tell me.”

You sniffle, gut twisting. Nevertheless, the words spill out like water. “My urges; I gave in.”

“And?” You know what he’s looking for. There’s no point in hiding it from him.

“I liked it.” Even now, you want more. “I’ll never be free of this, will I?”

“It is the nature of humankind,” the Father says. “You are only a prisoner if you allow yourself to be one.”

“No,” you whine, knocking your head against the wooden paneling a few times. “No, no, no!”

“You are at a crossroads. Will you live by your nature, or reject it?”

“I don’t know,” you whimper, snot dribbling down your chin. “Tell me what I should do.”

He hesitates. You can hear him let out a tense breath. “You have to decide for yourself.”

“Don’t make me.”

“You must!” A long, pregnant silence hangs over the booth, the same primordial terror you had felt in the dream gripping your very soul.

This man… No…

“Father,” you ask, “how do you know when God is speaking to you?” Grimacing, you pull on a thread of skin around one of your fingernails. “I’ve spent my whole life praying, worshipping, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt His presence.” A droplet of blood, like a ruby, begins to well up. “It is possible to be deaf to the voice of God? That’s what it feels like.” Without thinking, you stick the digit in your mouth, shuddering as the taste of iron coats your tongue. Realizing what you’ve done, you gasp, stomach churning with repulsion. Your breath starts to go ragged, fresh tears pricking in your eyes. “Father?”

“I cannot answer you, my dear, for I do not know.”

Something inside of you dies.

“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’”

Leaves crunch under your bare feet. Twigs snap and splinter, digging into your soles, but you hardly notice.

“‘He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul.’”

Between the trees, you can see the lake. The moon shimmers on the surface, the ripples like little silver fish. It calls to you.

“‘He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.’”

You’re in no rush as you walk out onto the dock, though it’s so cold your fingers and toes are numb. Breathing deeply, you can still smell smoke on the night air. They’ll be coming for you soon. It steels your nerves, the last traces of doubt ebbing away.

“‘Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.’”

You look at your hands, covered in soot and dirt. Your fingernails are bitten to bloody stubs, cuticles picked away as if by carrion birds. They are sinful hands, once devoted to prayer but now are good for nothing but indulging in vice and doing the Devil’s work. With these hands, you have dragged yourself into the very depths of Hell.

“‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.’”

You take a step closer to the edge, and then another. A cloud passes over, plunging you into darkness. The surface of the lake resembles a black hole, eager to gobble you up. Like the vacuum of space, the water is deathly cold this time of year. It won’t take very long at all for you to succumb.

“Amen.”

Arms open, you’re about to let yourself fall off the dock when a familiar awareness overtakes you. The moon reappears from behind the clouds, and the terrain is once more cast in an ethereal, silver-blue glow.

He’s standing on the water, watching you from the deepest part of the lake. That horrid white eye twinkles like a star, a cheap imitation of the Heaven you’ll never reach.

Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.

Your muscles slacken, and you fall to your knees, screaming and sobbing and pulling at your hair. The figure stands there, motionless, as you crumble to pieces. He is at once alluring and repulsive, and for as much as you still want to drown, you are drawn to him like a moth to flame.

“Lord,” you croak, tears streaming down your face. You sniffle, then take a steadying breath. “If it is you, command me to come to you.”

Come to me, dearest.

Shakily, you rise to your feet, eyes darting between the shadow and the edge of the dock. He raises his hand, bones shining like diamonds in the moonlight, and beckons you forth. Your chest is tight with apprehension as you take a step down, fully expecting your foot to sink into the icy water.

It’s as firm as the wood beneath the rest of you.

The rush of adrenaline is instantaneous. It’s like you’re flying; it’s better. You plant your other foot down on the surface of the lake, take a few shaky steps, and before you know it you’re running to him, gliding across the water like it’s ice. It ripples with every stride, splashing your legs, but you never once sink or slip.

As you approach the figure, the shadows seem to pull away, revealing him to you in full for the first time. Most of him is still obscured, body draped in long, purple robes, his face hidden behind a mask. There is clearly flesh on him, though, as beneath the metallic, skull-like facade, his painted lips are full and temptingly soft. Curls of black hair frame his face in a manner reminiscent of classical sculpture. His other eye is light in color, blue or green, though it’s difficult to tell in the darkness.

Your angel of death. He is dreadful. He is beautiful. You fall on your knees before him, arms open in supplication, eyes full of joyful tears.

“Lord, save me.”

You of little faith. You must save yourself.

He extends his hand. Without hesitation, you take it, and know you are finally free.

[orngbananaa]

Omg heyyy I just found your page and I NEED Dion relationship hcs

i miss my wife op. i miss him a lot. here's hcs for u

Dion Agriche relationship HCS author's note: i thought about poking him with a stick the whole time while making this

• imma be real with you dion's as dense as a rock when it comes to being flirted with, griselda herself said he didn't process shit whenever pandora tried to, she also said someone like him isn't suited to be in a relationship but we’ll ignore that for the bit–

• might go on a rant here but I feel like to be in a relationship w him you either have to be as freaky and damaged as him or just develop to be more dominant cause this man is someone who would rather follow you than lead you if you managed to tame his ass

• he doesn't get bitches. you could think that he's hot as hell but everything else about him cancels it out cause his personality scares nearly everyone who meets him, he's a pathetic little fuck and he’ll need someone as equally pathetic as him for his love life to be even a smidge stable

• PDA is not something he's into, maybe a hand on his or your waist but everything else is a no-no, in private tho he's content with a hand on his cheek or being curled up together in bed

• he doesn’t get enough sleep unless he's unconscious or on horse tranquilizers so instead of that he'll just watch you sleep, it gives him some inner peace and that counts as a kind of rest

• if you go on one of those rare trips of yours it'll be by the sea, you notice the sound of the waves puts him in a trance of some sort so the two of you will simply sit near the shore and quietly enjoy the environment

• you play with his hair sometimes, you'll jokingly tell him to grow it out further so you can braid it, and in response he'll give you the flattest look in existence

• he dissociates often so you make sure to touch him a lot to keep his head out of whatever fog he's experiencing

• when it comes to comforting you he's absolutely ass at it but he will at least make an effort--he won't say anything but he'll sit next to you and stare at you until you tell him what's wrong and that counts for something ig

• you like it when he's naked; NOT in a weird way, you simply like to busy yourself by noting down some small details about his body; moles here, scars there, the paleness of his skin and the veins you can clearly see beneath it, how long his fingers are or how much softer his face is compared to his father’s

• he's surprisingly sensitive to sunlight; comes with having red eyes, after all; you try to hold back your snorts whenever you see him squinting after light hits his face

• apologies after arguments are not his thing, maybe cause he was raised by a self-centered dipshit sociopath with no regard for others’ feelings but you guys can work on that, probably

•he will cling to you like a puppy if he's in one of his more somber moods, doing things like laying his head on your lap and letting you fiddle with his hair until he gets drowsy

• you both like it when you smell of e/o, washing together and using the same products helps with that lots

• the two of you are not guaranteed to have kids; emotional problems y’know?

• does not let you near his mother, maria lets herself near you though, she loves giving you random gifts and complaining about her son if she remembers he exists; whether you tolerate her or not is up to you

• he notes down random things that remind him of you so he can look or think about them to calm down when he’s feeling destructive

• ooc but if it's winter you're throwing his ass into the snow no questions asked, you maybe regret it when he starts to ominously roll a giant snowball while staring at you without blinking

i wanna braid his hair and put him in pretty clothes...

[hyuckswoman]

“are you going to bother me again?” you sigh seeing jisung putting his stuff in the empty spot next to you

“of course i am, how is that even a real question?” he says smiling getting ready for the class “do you have a major degradation kink or something? I fail to understand why you would take so much time off your day to piss me off” you ask your eyes trying to scrutinize him. “you talk weird ‘fail to understand’ okay mrs english major” he laughs taking his pen out of his pencil case writing down calculus quietly sighing at how this class was going to beat his ass “whatever” you sigh getting your stuff out to also get ready for the class. your teacher was pissy and scary also you did not want to get overwhelmed so quickly during the semester. in other words, you were not going to let jisung win.

“do you need help jisung?” the teacher was doing quick rounds in the class, assuring that his students were not getting overwhelmed by the exercise he had just assigned. the multivariable calculus class was almost empty for a reason and he did not want to lose his job, so he had to at least make sure the few students attending his class weren’t failing.

upon hearing the teacher’s question, jisung’s first instinct was to look up at you to see if you were making fun of him or not. call him insecure but he had kind of always been jealous of how easy the material was for you. when you threatened to haunt him to- and i quote- mess up his academics he kinda laughed because in all honesty? he was capable of that all on his own. and judging by the look on his teacher’s face when jisung replied “no i’m fine thank you”, he wasn’t the only one who knew that he and him alone could fuck up this college year.

when the teacher quietly called for your name and asked you to help jisung you wanted to laugh in his face and to tell him no, but something about an older man that’s a figure of authority in your life made you immediately respond “yea no problem” because in no way were you ever going to say no to this scary scary man. jisung debated in between being super embarrassed by the fact that he was the only one who struggled with the material (he wasn’t but he’s self-centered so he doesn’t notice other people) or in being slightly happy that the teacher was giving him an easy way to make your life living hell for the next 30ish minutes.

you mentally sighed as you knew what was coming but still glided your paper over to jisung’s side to at least give it one fair try and then automatically give up when he doesn’t take you seriously. so you began to explain. “in this example we’re trying to find this partial derivative so x is the constant right? so basically what you have to do is apply this limit formula since y is the constant and the derivative is with respect to x. the reason why we can use this limit formula is because the limit definition of this partial derivative is basically the same as the one for the derivative. im sorry if that wasn’t super clear but just yea i’m shit at explaining” you say fully expecting him to throw a jab at you for being a nerd (as if you guys don’t share the same classes)

“no i get it, thank you. i just don’t understand why we’re not considering the other variables” he says furrowing his brows further “it’s because that’s not what’s asked when doing partial differentiation that’s it. we’re focusing one variable at a time that’s why it’s partial…i think” you answer “oh okay that makes sense. so for this one this would be the answer?” he asked showing you his notebook. he has neat handwriting. atypical for a man. “yea, at least that’s also what i found but we might both be wrong” you shrug not too confident in your own answer (even if you literally cannot think of any other way to solve this mess).

and if him taking you seriously when you explained the material instead of bothering you or making fun of you did not surprise you enough, him constantly showing you his answers and asking you questions for the rest of class did. what really shocked you to your core was when he asked if you could tutor him with some classes some day, seeing as tough you guys literally shared every class.

he was also very shocked when you replied “no, suck my dick you ass. im not forgiving you for snooping through my phone just yet”. and he laughed a lot. this semester was really going to be fun for him.

4. no tutoring

last chapter masterlist next chapter

notes : sorry for the late chapter!

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