#Unwillingly

[thegeassking-blog]

Progeny Lost and found

To Amanda Waller.

Considering that you're moving all assets (soldier boy, soldier girl, drones) of the soldier program to your Suicide Squad this report will the last you receive, we do apologize if it gets long, but it will allow us to be thorough.

17 years ago Diana Prince AKA Wonder Woman gave birth to a son at XYZ hospital and the child was seized in a fake villain attack and placed in the soldier program, genetic testing has shown that the child's father is indeed Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, both are known, active and founding members of the Justice League.

For the first four years not much is to be reported other than calm mind.

However at five years old we successfully taught him how to read and that seemed to "click" something in his mind, he started reading everything we had on hand magazines newspapers books on top of that he also started disassembling and reassembling basically everything and anything he could get his hands on, including our "personal project" to our chagrin. The fact that he seems to understands what he diss/reassembles speaks for enhanced mental abilities. Further testing is required

On top of that he demonstrates greater physical than a child his age should be able to possess we are again chalking this up to genetics considering who his parents are, further testing is required.

At 6 years old we started harvesting blood, stem cell, saliva and hair from soldier boy for cloning considering that the clones won't be viable for several years for the fact that the technology needs to be calibrated for the subject being cloned we suspect that the first successful batch won't be around until the subject is at least nine to 10 years of age, we have also started on physical and mental training.

At 8 years old we can confirm that soldier boy does indeed possess an erratic memory Needless to say for a soldier this is quite good considering that you may not get more than a glance at something in the field. This was confirmed when he rebuilt one of our "personal projects" from scrap and literal garbage we had lying around the the lab, nearly burnt the place down with that ecto blaster.

As for physical abilities he's demonstrating nearly 50% more than what normal children his age should possess, his physical conditioning should only enhance this, biologically his muscles are denser, his bones are stronger, on top of that he also seems to possess not quite a meta level but definitely accelerated healing factor. The limit of this ability requires further testing.

at 10 years of age our theory has been proven correct for both physical and mental abilities, the more we seem to push him the more he seems to grow. no longer is he learning just theory we've also started martial arts training as well as weapon training, he doesn't master a weapon the moment he picks it up but it only takes him a couple minutes have usage to figure out the most effective way to use a weapon be it melee or firearm.

Sad to say it might take another year or two for the first batch of clones. No stable clones have been able to survive outside the birthing tank for more than a few minutes however we believe we found the problem, the Y chromosome in his DNA seems to be unstabilizing all the clones we believe that removing it would stabilize them but it would also make it so that we would no longer have "perfect" clones of soldier boy. The reason behind this is unknown however we believe it is due to his Amazonian DNA.

At 12 years old we have continued physical and mental training however we've also started adding in psychological conditioning fit for a soldier. we have also started swapping out the targets for specialized training dummies that actually bleed when they are cut or shot.

We are also happy to announce that we have our first clone, while we were aiming for the batch of 5, as the accelerated aging evened out it was obvious that only one was capable of higher thought the. other four were terminated. we are planning on keeping them separated until the clone (from here on out shall be known as soldier girl) at least basic knowledge and we finish up running some tests.

Sadly the rest of the report was corrupted however there were two signatures at the bottom of it

Doctor Jack and doctor Madeline Fenton

[reformhim]

Twisted Fate - MTF

This is a lengthy but decadent male to female transformation story. The main protagonist is transformed against his will and ends up in a situation he would have never imagined finding himself in. If you love a detailed and juicy MTF story (and not easily bothered by mature and sensitive content), I promise you this one is worth it! Please let me know what you think!

Part 1

The syringe pierced Matt’s thick, tan skin with a subtle hiss.

“Ow—what the hell, Mateo?” Matt grunted, rubbing his shoulder where the needle had just slid in. His voice, deep and gravelly, vibrated in the warm silence of the gym’s back room. Sweat clung to his broad pecs, highlighting the dense hair that ran like a forest over his chest, shoulders, and arms. “What was that?”

Mateo, leaning casually against the counter, smirked. He was just as big—maybe broader—, black stubble shadowing his jaw, and thick curls matted on his chest from the workout. “Relax,” he said smoothly. “Just a little something to take the edge off. You’ve been tense lately.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “Mateo…”

“Trust me.” Mateo’s voice dropped, coaxing, gentle, almost affectionate. “You’ll be fine. You might even like it.”

But that wasn’t true. Not entirely.

—

That night, Matt’s chest wouldn’t stop tingling.

He sat shirtless on his bed, scratching idly at his hairy pecs, wondering if he was having a reaction to the shot. His nipples itched. Worse, they ached—like something was pressing against them from the inside. He muttered under his breath and went to sleep, thinking it’d pass.

By the next morning, it hadn’t passed. It had bloomed.

His pecs were… rounder. Not pumped from a chest day—but soft, heavy. His nipples were swollen, puffier, and when the sheets dragged over them, he winced with a sharp jolt of pleasure. He stood in front of the mirror, jaw tightening as he stared at the new swell beneath his dense chest hair.

“What the fuck…”

His hands moved to cup them instinctively, and they bounced—jiggled. Not like muscle. Like breasts.

Real, growing, sensitive breasts.

He grabbed his phone and called Mateo. “What did you do to me?!”

“You’re fine, cariño,” Mateo’s voice was smooth and calm. “It’s just the beginning. Buckle in.”

“Beginning?” Matt’s heart slammed in his chest. “This has to stop.”

But it didn’t.

—

The next day, Matt couldn’t bear to wear a shirt. His nipples were too sensitive. They rubbed against the cotton like a constant tease, each movement reminding him that he wasn’t who he was anymore.

And still, the breasts grew. Soft, full, obscene. Hair vanished from around them. Each touch was electric. Sensual. Maddening.

He called Mateo again. “Stop this, man. Please.”

Mateo came over that night, with a bag of bras. 

Matt opened the door in a hoodie, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You need to undo this.”

Mateo stepped inside, looking him up and down slowly, hungrily. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, brushing a finger under Matt’s chin. “Here, I brought you some bras, try them on.”

“Fuck you,” Matt hissed, backing away, but his body trembled. Not from fear. From heat. His hormones were shifting. He felt it. Deep in his bones. In his core—something was changing.

Mateo leaned closer, lips brushing against Matt’s ear. “You’re becoming who you were always meant to be. Let go.”

Matt wanted to punch him. Scream. Run.

But instead, he whimpered as Mateo’s hands slid under the hoodie, cupping the round, tender swell of Matt’s full, womanly breasts.

“I hate this,” Matt whispered, tears catching at the edge of his lashes.

“I know,” Mateo said, voice low and reverent. “But you’ll learn to live in it. And eventually… you’ll learn to beg for it.”

Matt’s knees buckled.

And the transformation wasn’t done yet.

Part 2

A couple days later, Matt stood alone in the bathroom, the flickering light above the mirror casting sharp shadows over his once-familiar face.

He looked wrong.

The hoodie clung tighter around his chest now, breasts full and pendulous beneath the fabric. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath — bras were still too humiliating — so every step, every breath, every brush of fabric was an unbearable reminder that his body was not his anymore.

But tonight, something else was happening.

It began as a tingling heat along his jaw. He scratched at it, half-hoping for the gritty rasp of stubble beneath his fingers.

There was none. His scruff — the one he’d proudly grown since his early twenties, the masculine badge he groomed religiously — was gone.

Smooth. Soft.

He leaned forward toward the mirror, breath fogging the glass. He wiped it clean with a trembling hand, examining the skin around his mouth, chin, cheeks. No five o’clock shadow. Not even a trace of roughness. Just smooth, pale skin.

“No, no, no…”

He ripped off the hoodie and stared at his body in the mirror. The dense pelt of hair that once blanketed his chest, his stomach, his arms — gone.

His chest now looked pornographic. Clean, swollen, undeniably feminine. The skin was pale where hair had once lived for years. His arms were smooth, no hair on his hands or knuckles.

Panicked, Matt yanked down his sweats and checked his legs. Smooth. Not a single hair from thigh to ankle. His once-hairy calves were bare. 

“No. This isn’t—this isn’t real,” he gasped, heart racing. He rubbed his arms, his legs, clawed lightly at the places where hair should be. But nothing came back. Just sensitive, hot skin that ached for something he didn’t want to admit.

He pressed his hands to his face and sobbed. His voice cracked — and even that sounded higher than it should have.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Mateo.

How’s my girl?

Matt stared at the message, his jaw trembling. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

He wasn’t Matt anymore. Not fully. Not outside, and—he feared—not inside either.

He dropped to his knees on the cold tile floor, naked except for the sweatpants pooling around his ankles. Breasts full, smooth thighs pressed together, his masculine pride retreating. His chest rose and fell in deep, panicked breaths.

“I don’t want this…” he whispered.

But his body didn’t care.

And neither did Mateo.

Part 3

Matt didn’t even want to be at the gym.

But he had to do something. The walls at home were too suffocating. So he threw on a hoodie and sweats, pulled the strings tight around his face, and headed out. Maybe lifting some weights would shake this nightmare loose.

He avoided the mirrors. He knew better now.

Even under the layers, he could feel them—his breasts. He tried to ignore the soft sway of them against his chest, tried to pretend his pecs were just pumped up from the incline press, but it was a lie. So he hit the treadmill, kept his head down, and ran.

That’s when it happened.

Mid-stride, his fingers itched. He flexed them. Cracked his knuckles. But something was wrong. They felt lighter.

He looked down—and stumbled.

His hands. His big, thick, veiny hands—gone.

In their place were smaller, daintier ones. Softer. Slimmer. The veins that once ran proudly across the backs of his hands had faded. His fingers were now narrow and long, the knuckles smooth. Feminine.

“What the—”

His feet burned next. Inside his sneakers, he could feel the bones shift. Curling slightly. Shrinking.

He stopped the treadmill and ripped off his shoes in a panic, pulling his socks off with trembling hands.

His feet looked like they belonged to someone else. Someone smaller. His hairy, size-12s were now smooth, size 7 at best, with slender arches and short toes, no callouses, no ruggedness. Just soft, curved lines—beautiful, horrifying.

He backed up, bumping into the mirror.

Then it hit him all at once.

His arms—his thick, meaty arms—contracted, sleeves sagging around the sudden slack. They looked delicate, like they belonged to a yoga instructor, not the powerlifter he used to be. His legs followed—shapely, smooth, thighs pulling taut and curvy.

Then his hips cracked outward with an audible pop.

“Ah—fuck—” Matt gasped, clutching the wall for balance as his waist pulled inward like a corset was tightening inside him. His sweats stretched around the sudden swell of his ass—his flat, muscular ass was now a bubble, soft and round and impossible to ignore.

His entire silhouette warped.

Hourglass. Pear-shaped. Sexy. Female.

He turned and saw himself fully for the first time.

Dainty feet planted wide, hips flared dramatically beneath a cinched waist, breasts full and jiggling under his hoodie, arms slender, legs toned and bare of hair. His face—

His jaw had lost its edge. Cheekbones high, lips fuller, brows more delicate. Only his eyes looked the same. Wild. Angry. Terrified.

And there, swinging heavily in the front of his sweatpants, were the only pieces left of the man he was—his cock and balls, now grotesquely out of place on a woman’s body.

People were starting to stare.

Matt yanked the hoodie tighter, gripping the strings with those dainty fingers. His chest rose and fell rapidly. He ran—heels clicking slightly from the change in his gait—out of the gym and into the parking lot.

He collapsed behind his car.

His whole body was wrong.

And yet it felt… hot. Buzzing. Alive.

He shoved a hand between his legs and gasped. Still there—but pressed against softness. Moisture. Warmth.

“God, what have I ever done to Mateo or anyone for this to happen to me…” he whispered, head spinning.

His phone buzzed again.

Almost there, babe. You’ll be perfect soon.

-Mateo.

Part 4

Matt was soaked in sweat.

The sheets twisted beneath his bare back, clinging to his smooth, reshaped body. His chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths, breasts trembling with each inhale. His thighs were slick, trembling. His hips ached. And Mateo was above him—solid, looming—his hand pressed flat against Matt’s chest, holding him in place.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mateo whispered, low and sure.

Matt thrashed, weakly. “Please, just stop—just let me be—”

“It’s over, man.” Mateo’s voice was calm. He leaned in until their foreheads almost touched. “You’re my baby girl now. Say it.”

Matt shook his head violently. “No—I’m not—I’m not—”

Mateo pushed harder on his chest, his fingers curling slightly around the swell of Matt’s breast. “Say it.”

Matt choked on the words, trembling. “I’m… your…” He bit his lip. His voice cracked. His throat tightened. He tried again—

“I’m your—b-baby—”

Suddenly, something inside him lurched.

His Adam’s apple vanished, melting into smooth skin with a sickening internal pull. His throat closed, narrowed, reshaped. He gasped—

And what came out was her voice.

Higher. Softer. Feminine. Desperate.

Matt’s eyes widened in terror.

“I—I can’t—what did you do to me—?”

Pain exploded in his abdomen.

He clutched his stomach, curling into himself. Deep inside, he could feel them: soft, alien structures budding to life—ovaries, fallopian tubes, a womb expanding outward, wrapping around his organs, claiming space where none existed before.

“I can feel it—I can feel it—Mateo—!”

Mateo just watched, eyes dark with something too complex to name. Admiration. Possession.

And then it happened.

His cock twitched.

The last part of him. Thick, proud, masculine.

It began to slim, pulling inward.

“No—no—no!”

Matt screamed as it slid in, pulling up into his body with slow, surreal force. A new cavity opened inside, sucking it deeper, inch by inch until only the head remained—

—and then slurrrrp.

It disappeared.

His balls followed.

One popped inside, a wet sound echoing in the room like someone biting into fruit. Then the second, louder. Matt’s eyes rolled back, his thighs spread wide, hips bucking instinctively at the loss. His hands gripped the sheets as his entire center burned, twisted, reshaped.

He was soaked in sweat, whimpering, barely conscious.

And Mateo leaned down, cradling her damp face in one calloused palm.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, kissing her gently on the forehead. “You did good, Matt.”

“You’d better get used to it now,” Mateo continued, brushing a thumb along her jaw. “I’m the man. Don’t forget that.”

His hand slid down to rest against her soft stomach.

“I want you to remember what it’s like to be a man. I want you to ache for it—ache—every time you look at me. Every time you touch me. Every time you feel that new body clench up around mine or any other mans.”

Matt—no, she—let out a soft cry, overwhelmed, lost, hollow.

Mateo smiled.

“You’re mine now.”

And she knew—there was no going back.

Part 5

The first time Matt had to pee, it was a full-blown crisis.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub, legs pressed tightly together. His body trembled—still sore, still foreign. His bladder ached, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

It was more than physical.

It was psychological.

He opened his legs slowly, fingers shaking as he reached down, touching himself—her—trying to understand what was there now. The familiar weight between his thighs was gone. Replaced by something soft, warm, strange. Moist. It didn’t belong to him. And yet, it was him.

Matt gritted his teeth, stood up shakily, and faced the toilet. Old instincts took over. He reached to pull himself out—

—but there was nothing to grab.

The wave of humiliation that hit him was staggering.

He had to sit. Like a girl. Like the thing he’d become.

A bitter growl escaped his throat as he lowered himself onto the seat. His thighs pressed together instinctively. His cheeks burned as the sound of the stream echoed off the tile. Different. Higher. More… delicate.

When he was done, he sat there frozen, disgusted.

A knock came at the door.

“You alright, baby?” Mateo’s voice. Calm. Commanding.

“Don’t call me that,” Matt snapped, his voice still too soft, too pretty.

Mateo laughed through the door. “Better get used to it. It’s what you are.”

—

The bleeding started two days later.

At first, he thought something was wrong. He doubled over on the bed, clutching his stomach, biting his lip to keep from crying out. He pulled back the blanket and saw the smear of dark red between his thighs.

“No. No. No.”

He stumbled to the bathroom, shaking, pulling down the silk underwear Mateo had bought him. It was there. Real. Thick. Ugly. Human. He cried in silence, gripping the sink so hard his knuckles turned white.

Later, he sat on the edge of the bed again, wrapped in a towel, dazed.

Mateo walked in, holding a box.

“Pads,” he said simply. “You’ll need them. Probably tampons, too, but you’re not ready for those yet.”

Matt didn’t move.

Mateo crouched in front of him. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer.

Mateo tilted his head. “You look so small right now.” He reached out, touched Matt’s bare knee, now soft and hairless. “So vulnerable.”

Matt jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

Mateo stood, eyes cold now. “You think you’re still a man somewhere in there? Huh? You think this is something you’re going to just snap out of?” He gestured at Matt’s soft curves, towel slipping slightly to reveal the upper slope of a breast. “You’re bleeding now. Monthly. That’s not going away.”

Matt looked away, humiliated.

“You’re a woman, Matt. And this world is different for women. You’re going to need someone to protect you.” He leaned closer. “And like it or not, that’s me.”

—

The days passed, and Matt grew quieter.

Every mirror reminded him of his prison. The swell of his hips. The softness of his belly. The curve of his ass, his breasts. His voice—feminine, breathy, too easy to ignore in a room. Every step was a reminder. Every trip to the bathroom. Every ache in his abdomen.

And worst of all… every man.

The delivery guy. The jogger in the park. The guy lifting weights in the gym that Matt could no longer bear to enter.

Hairy legs. Thick arms. Scratchy stubble. Strong hands. Deep voices. Broad chests.

Every masculine trait he used to have now haunted him.

He wanted to scream when he saw them. That was mine. That was me. But now, he was just… small. Soft. Caged in curves.

He hated Mateo. Hated him with a fire that consumed his every breath. And yet, he couldn’t leave.

There was something in Mateo’s eyes that made Matt freeze. Something that said, I own you.

And worse than that… something in Matt that believed it.

Part 6

Matt didn’t expect to run into Randy—not here.

He was walking out of the coffee shop, of all places, keeping his head down in the feminine clothes Mateo had forced on him. Leggings clung to his now-curvy legs, a bra strapped over his chest, and the top he wore did little to hide the bounce of his breasts or the sway in his hips. 

But then, that voice, right behind him.

“Matt? …Holy shit.”

He froze and slowly, he turned—there stood Randy. Taller than he remembered, arms folded over a tight henley shirt with chest hair poking out, tight shorts dressing his muscular thighs and ass, large calves coated in thick hair, and a stubble beard over his square, masculine jaw. His eyes lit with recognition, then dark amusement.

“No way,” Randy said, stepping closer, eyes raking over Matt’s new form. “Is that really you?”

Matt said nothing. His stomach dropped. His face burned.

Randy smirked. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You used to be… you know, a man.”

“I need to go,” Matt mumbled, turning quickly.

But Randy followed.

“You were the big shot, remember? Hairy, loud, always taking up space, getting any guy you wanted. And now look at you—hips like a porn star, walking like you’ve got nothing but a cock hungry slit between your legs.”

Matt walked faster, shoulders hunched.

Randy’s voice followed. “You hiding from the world now? Trying to pretend you weren’t him? I remember when you used to bench more than me. When you used to get all the attention.”

“Stop,” Matt snapped, voice trembling—higher, feminine, pathetic.

Randy caught up in two strides and grabbed the back of Matt’s neck.

Matt gasped—frozen—as Randy pulled him close. His fingers were firm, dominant, familiar. Their faces inches apart.

“Funny,” Randy said, his voice low, “I used to hate you. Used to want to be you.” His hand slipped to Matt’s lower back. “Now? Just look at you”, he said with desire in his eyes. 

And then he kissed him.

Matt’s whole body locked. His mind screamed. But his body—this new body—responded. His lips parted. His knees weakened. Heat surged through his core.

“Come on,” Randy whispered. “Let’s talk more… back at my place.”

—

The apartment was barely familiar—Randy had upgraded since college. Cleaner. More mature. Dominant.

Matt stood by the door, uncertain, arms wrapped around himself. He hated how soft he looked in the mirror over the entryway. Hated how easily he folded into himself now.

Randy came up behind him, pressing close.

“You remember when you used to push me around?” Randy said. “On the field. At the gym. You always had to win.”

Matt closed his eyes.

“I used to dream about being you. About being the guy with the swagger. The confidence. The body. The huge cock.”

He turned Matt around, slowly, holding his waist like he owned it.

“But look at you now.”

Randy kissed him again. Rougher. Deeper. Matt whimpered into his mouth, hating the warmth pooling in his stomach.

Moments later, they were in Randy's bedroom, Matt on the edge of the bed now in nothing but his panties and bra. 

Randy was standing over Matt, removing his shirt, and releasing his thick cock that sprung free when he pulled off his shorts. 

“I really can’t believe it’s you Matt, like this. Who would have known. I can’t believe I used to want to be you. You’re nothing now. Just something to be taken and used”. 

Matt sighed.

“You used to beat me at everything. But now, I win. I’m the man and I’m better than you. Say it”

“I’m not saying that” groaned Matt. 

Randy grabbed Matt by the throat, “Say it!”

“Ok ok, you’re the man and you're better than me…”

Randy grumbled, “Again, this time say it like you mean it”

“You're the man and you're better than me”, moaned Matt, feeling a twitch inside his slit. 

He pushed Matt down gently but firmly, crawling over him.

“Vulnerable. Embarrassed. Needy. Underneath me. This suits you.”

Matt gasped as Randy took control, as every masculine trait Matt had lost pressed into him from above. Beard scraping his cheek. Hands larger than his own. Muscles caging him in.

His body betrayed him—hips rising, back arching, a moan escaping before he could stop it.

Randy grinned.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re mine now, princess.”

Randy penetrated Matt, thrusting relentlessly, driving himself deep into him (her) with each motion. Matt moaned again and again, back arched, ankles around Randy's waist, and hands digging into his muscular back. 

Their bodies naturally intertwined, becoming slick with sweat. He could feel his new vagina, hungry and needy, tightly hugging Randy’s thick cock. And Matt… let himself be taken. Because hating it didn’t stop the ache. And loving it made it worse.

Randy reached his climax, his cock pulsing, releasing a large load of seed directly into Matt. 

He collapsed against Matt’s chest, his rough whiskers brushing tenderly over Matt’s swollen breast.

Randy Mumbled, “You're better off this way Matt, underneath me, where you’ll be for the rest of your life.”

[child0feden]

i love winter but i also hate it…

i always get so tired in winter, i sleep so much and it makes me feel like absolute shit because of how little i get done, you know? :(

hopefully i will be able to get some cute little thoughts posted tomorrow though! been thinking a whole lot about dad! bård decorating a christmas tree with you and your toddler daughter…

[alastyr-asbestos]

My brother knows there’s something gay with me and he’s known for probably ages now but since we don’t talk to eachother like ever about actual things I don’t know just how much he suspects

[cinnamonnala]

For LL!Solei: I wish to give a head pat to this man

Coyote boi deserves it-

“Come and get em!”

[unfotp]

My favourite foreplay is a perpetual enternity where the characters engage in intense psychological torment of each other and they keep this up because they know the most intricate details of each other to the point that they don't talk. this angst build up and up and up until one of them almost died and then they set their scale to zero and the cycle restarts. no sex happens

[madds-is-ace-trash]

This is a vent post you can ignore it if your only here for fun goofy antics



I'm just so tired I'm so tired all the dam time and I can't do it anymore. My feelings bubble up a bile in the back if my throat, thick like molasses treating to suffocating me.

I don't know how to handle them, I was never taught how. I'm supposed to shut up and be good be the rock but I don't know how any more. I used to be so easy. Why is so hard now? Why are they so hard to just ignore?

I'm suffocating the wheight on my chest is heavy I feel like I might drown. The bile has emerged and it’s all I can think about.

Why am I like this why can't I just be normal? Why do have to hate my self? Why do I have to drive my self in to a corner for other comforts. I can't cry anymore only scream in to void and beg for an answer. The thick junk coats my throat silencing any hope for a plee. I can't even do thinks I used to enjoy any more. It Staines, the thick goo tainting any thing I held dear.

I've lost my father, a friend, and the siblings I threw away my life for. I'm called a traitor for defending those I love and posin for my very existence.

My body still taughts me when I need it most, my ribs sore from the only method I have to calm my heads screams.

I'm broken, defective.

A sad little tranvestite who does nothing but tear down the world around them.

And can't cry so I scream and slash and claw bit it only ever affects me. I'm alone in the den I've forged to hide from the fire. But I've been here so long I've forgotten where I put the exit.

I could even do my one job right, I couldn't be a good “daughter” I just wanted to be good what did I do so wrong.

I'm just so tired, I'm tired of fighting I just wish my body would let me cry.

[wiltq]

I dislike children being in my proximity, cause what do you mean the three children, one dog, and one baby hounding around me who understand the concept of boundaries but actively ignore them on purpose despite very obviously being incredibly sick and definitely should not be shoving their faces within 5 centimetres of my own as they cough and sneeze got me sick?

The baby is my favourite, solely meaning I wouldn’t be opposed to us acknowledging each other’s existence once more.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[i-tripped-on-a-rock]

I listened to good time by owl city on repeat while drawing this

[hypertheticall]

i have never played a pokemon game before :[[

[egophiliac]

in regards to the latest main story update:

did twst finally find a question ("who would DJ?") where the funniest answer ISN'T Leona? or does he still beat out our beloved teapot tyrant? these are the real questions��

oh this is a STRONG contender, that's for sure! though after much deliberation, I think despite Riddle having the initial surprise factor, Leona still very slightly ekes out a win just because he would have to have been forced into it for whatever reason and he would NOT appreciate it. just picture how extremely sulky he'd be as he spins those hot tunes. it's so good.

I do acknowledge that this is a close debate and, perhaps, a contentious ruling! and to complicate matters further, should it please the court, I offer a third option:

[ancharan]

FEAR AND LOVE ARE RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER IN THE BRAIN! HE'LL LEARN TO LOVE YOU!

[christianbalesasshole]

This is how season 2 went right

[sheepwater]

WHEN I SAW THAT PANAL OF CATER IN BOOK 2 IN THE DIASOMNIA UNIFORM AK;NGOU;BVAP;O... uuuhhhh.. anyway here he is 👍

[critterbitter]

re: your thoughts on legendaries (which is very cool and based) what’s your take on the differences between legends:arceus giratina and platinum giratina, especially since you defined them as hating the world? specifically the bit where giratina (at least seemingly) actively defended the world from cyrus trying to destroy it, after trying to do the same thing with volo’s help centuries prior?

Weird ghost worm upon yee (AND MORE ART BELOW CUT!)

Anyways, here’s my mad ramblings about Giratina and Arceus’s backstory.

Tldr: Giratina’s a conglomerate of angry souls scorned by Arceus.

(Here’s the playlist. It’s all about worms.)

How it Started.

The original one has chosen favorites over the passage of time. Heroes, legends, protagonists…

Arceus intervenes for those it loves, and the consequences of a god touching the mortal world is devastating in its entirety. One act of divine intervention causes entire civilizations to collapse. One whispered suggestion drives an entire legacy insane.

So Arceus, paralyzed by its love for the mortal world, acts very little, learning from its mistakes. Apathy soaks through every motion. And thus is the way of the world.

But people love the Originator. Religions are born from Arceus’s rare deeds, and generation on generation taught its benevolence. Imagine spending your entire life chasing after that golden light. Imagine knowing its real and there, and it loves you.

Imagine begging it for help, and seeing it turn away when you need it most.

I think those people would feel very abandoned indeed, if they spent their lives worshipping, and receiving no response at all.

Giratina is born from the abandoned, the lost, and the angry. They’re a hundred thousand souls who’s adoration turned to spite. They’re an entity who demands for Arceus to look at them, so they can finally rest.

Arcues can not look at them in full, because if it does Giratina will fade.

(Scio, beloved. For I can not let you go.)

So the Original One banishes the Unwanted Beast into the distortion world, and Giratina seethes, and starves, and screams.

(Here are two truths about the Beast Between Dimensions—

1. Some part of them still loves Arceus. Arceus is their anchor, after all— the sole reason why they exist, why they are. But Arceus can not love it back in a way that matters, and that hurts.

2. Giratina is made of a thousand voices. Some of these voices remember that there’s a world above. They miss it.)

Why Giratina attacked Hisui in PLA:

PLA Giratina’s not a new god, but they’re very, very bitter and barely coherent on a good day. Volo serves as a conduct to help unite the broiling mass of ghosts against Arceus, and thus Giratina’s hatred overcomes any flickering affections they have for the land.

It doesn’t help that Arceus intervened for Hisui, sending Akari to directly stop Volo from summoning Giratina.

(As for Volo, well.

Imagine being a child who was thrown into the future due to Palkia and Dialga’s fits, who learned his people (his world) no longer exist beyond a shadow in the history books and a single, bitter lore keeper.

Volo doesn’t remember his original culture beyond vague imprints and singing praises to Sinnoh, but he knew he was loved, and he knew his family is dust four hundred years in the past. There’s a special sort of rage in him that echoes Giratinas.)

(Why did you abandon my people, Arceus? What kind of god are you, to leave those who love you so callously behind?)

(Maybe some part of Giratina recognizes Volo, beyond a feeling of kinship.

Maybe some part of Giratina grieves because it recognized the child Volo was.)

When Volo gets his pound of flesh, (when he realizes Arceus is not beholden to him, that the inherent alien morality Arceus holds is not a personal slight), Giratina will finally rest.

Anyways what I’m trying to say is: Arceus is never a person, but a nebulous embodiment of the connection shared between pokemon and humans. It tries to experience what it’s supposed to embody, but millennia of watching people be and cease has given it choice paralysis, apathy, and a hoarding issue. If something lasts forever next to it? Good.

Giratina was once a person. (Correction, a LOT of persons.) They don’t think very linearly either, but they have context on mortal matters and are thus the more benevolent and malicious of the two. One day, time will smooth them into something like Arceus. We can only hope the two keep each other in check.

THE DIFFERENCE OF LEGENDS ARCEUS GIRATINA VS PLATINUM PEARL GIRATINA

If the ancient version of giratina is an angry conglomerate of ghosts scorned by Arceus, the modern iteration of Giratina’s a creature that’s more settled in its skin and more assured in its duties. Giratina still has beef with Arceus, but they unionized into one being who’s love of the mortal world has triumphed over its ancestral grudge. One might even postulate they have shifted their anchor from Sinnoh the god, to Sinnoh the place.

((We call this character developement. Good for you, weird ghost worm!))

(((FULL DISCLOSURE, VOLO BEING FROM THE PAST IS INSPIRED FROM FOXFALL. You know. The fic that got me into this fandom. Please give it some love.)))