#age reduction

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.

The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.

After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.

These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.

Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.

I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.

Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.

"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.

If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #age reduction #jock tf #nerd to jock #football jock #ai image

[sanzaibian]

I'm loving the stories! I'm heading to Mexico in a few weeks with work, but hoping to immerse myself in the culture a bit. Can you help me out?

You find yourself in front of your local Spanish-language association. You thought that taking a few classes in Spanish would help you recover some of the long forgotten classes you took in high school… though in all honesty, it won’t likely do much. You’re quite old, now, so it means that your brain cannot learn new languages as easily as it used to...

As you enter, you see the Mexican flag front and center, along with flags of many other Latin American countries, as well as that of Spain. You walk up to the receptionist, and she tells you, directly in Spanish :

“¡Bienvenidos! ¿Cuál es el motivo de usted venida? (Welcome ! What is the reason you came here ?) - Er…” You try to conjure some of the very old memories, and only manage a “Hola !” Before going back to English. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know Spanish… I’m here to take classes, in fact.”

The receptionist nods, and thinks a bit before taking out a timetable.

“Okay, well, you see, I have a... beginner’s course of Spanish in a few hours… It’s not perfect because they already started in January, but I think you can still catch up if you work hard enough.” She says, with a perfect American accent. She is visibly bilingual. - Oh, in a few hours ?”

You are quite interested, considering that you did want some beginner-level courses, but in a few hours… That’s too short to just go back home and come back later, but that’s also too long to just stay here and wait without getting bored !

The receptionist notices your embarrassment.

“You know, we are also a place where Spanish learners and native speakers can hang out. If you want, you can go to the hangout room while waiting ?” She offers sympathetically. - Well yeah, I could do that.” You nod. It may be geared towards more hard-core learners, but you can always try to immerse yourself…

You go to the room she waves you to. It isn’t loud, but there’s quite a lot of people in it, all speaking Spanish. You go and find somewhere to sit, when, on your way, someone hails you.

“¡Hola! ¿Cómo te llamas? (Hello ! (...) ?)”

Your long-buried memories start churning, as you recognize the second sentence as meaning something like “What’s your name ?”. You think a while, and then, flash of brilliance.

“Me llamo Charlie.” You answer, giving out your name in the most American of accents.

Your conversation partner smiles, and speaks quite slowly to let you understand what he means.

“¿Cuántos años tiene?” You understand the sentence to mean ‘How old are you ?’ - Er… Soy… cuarenta y dos… años ?” You try, but he shakes his head. - No, ¡es ‘Tengo ventidós’ o ‘Tengo ventidós años’!”

You blush of embarrassment as he corrects you. Yes, you now remember that to mean “I am x years old” you say “Tengo x (años)”… you even remember the worksheets from way back when… Huh, it seems like it was less far of a memory than you thought.

“Lo siento…” You excuse yourself with sentence that came back strangely fast. - ¡Jajaja!” He laughs. “¡No te preocupes! ¡Hablar español es difícil! (Don’t worry ! Speaking Spanish is difficult !)”

You are surprised how easy it is to understand him. Visibly, you had more memories than you expected ! Then, that guy continues.

“¿De dónde es? (Where are you from ?) - Soy de… Mexico… Nuevo Mexico. (I’m from… Mexico… New Mexico.)”

You almost stumbled on yourself. There seems to be something wrong with that statement. You know you’re American, but something seems wrong…

“Ah, de... ¿Nuevo México? Pero tu acento no suena asi… (Ah, from… New Mexico ? But your accent doesn’t seem like it comes from there...) - Si, es verdad… (Yes, it’s true...)” You’re about to tell him that it’s because you’re American, but then you say : “La gente dice que tengo un acento de la Ciudad de Mexico. Sabes, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl. (People say that I have an accent from Mexico City. You know, Mexihco Hueyaltepetl (?).)”

Wait, why do people say that ? You never went to Mexico City ! Okay, yes, you did go there for the holidays, after all, your father lives there… Wait, your parents aren’t separated !

You get more and more confused as multiple versions of your history start competing with each other.

“¡Ah, tenía razón! Puedo verlo en tu cara que eres… eh… ¿mexiqueño? (Ah, I was right ! I can see by your face that you are… er… from Mexico City ?) - ¡Jajaja!” You laugh. “¡No se dice ‘mexiqueño’! ¡Se dice capitalino, o chilango si estás familiarizado! (You don’t say “Mexiqueño” ! You say “Capitalino”, or “Chilango” if you’re familiar !)” You don’t quite know where this knowledge comes from. It seems like something only locals would know… - Perdón, soy chileno, no lo sabía… (Sorry, I’m Chilean, I didn’t know...)”

You smile at him. Of course, he couldn’t know that, you’re familiar with these terms because you’re a Chilango through and through ! Born in the city, lived in the city ! Yet you furrow your brows, as something still feels off.

Somehow, you’re convinced that you’re American, even though it seems to be a more and more distant fact. Well, when you look down and see those tan arms, you know that you aren’t, like, a total gringo, you’re at least part Latino…

“¿Cómo es la vida allá? (How is life there ?)” The Chilean guy asks you, a torrent of memories coming back (?) to you. - ¡Es complicado de describir! Pero México es muy dinámico, ¡entonces siempre es interesante! (It’s difficult to describe ! But Mexico is very dynamic, so it’s always interesting !)” You think back to how frantic life is over there… and how much you love that. “Especialmente comparado con aquí, parece que esta citudad está muerta… ¡En México siempre hay un xochitzin con el que te puedes topar! (Especially when compared to here, this city seems dead… In Mexico, there’s always an xochitzin (?) you can run into !)”

As the Chilean nods, you keep getting quite confused. You know you’re from Mexico City, you know you’re American, yet somehow there is like… a piece of the puzzle missing. You keep on thinking strange words like “Mexihco Hueyaltepetl” or “ihni”, and you know it’s not Spanish, nor English – not that you would know too much of that language.

You continue thinking as your body starts feeling strange, as you feel it shifting. You put your hand on your forehead and sense your wrinkles relaxing. You feel quite queasy…

“¿Estás bien? (Are you alright ?) - Me siento un poco mareada… (I feel a bit dizzy…) - Sólo tienes que ir al baño. ¿Quieres que te ayude? (Just go to the toilets. You want me to help ?) - No, estará bien. Tlazohcamati. (No, it’s gonna be alright. (???)) - Okay… eh... ¿Eres indígenas? (Okay… er… Are you a Native American ?)”

You don’t answer the Chilean, only giving him a small wave to thank him. You find your way to the toilets, still queasy, and look at yourself.

You’ve got your usual short black hair, your nascent beard that doesn’t want to come along, your brownish tint, as well as your light muscles. Nothing looks out of place, yet something seems wrong.

Is it the fact that you are so youthful ? You know you’re quite twinky. Is it the fact that your skin looks weird ? You know that it’s clearer than the other’s because your mother is gringo.

You feel even more queasy, as you feel your entire body tensing. Memories come back of your time in the gym, but also of the time with all your xochitzmeh (bros)… Yes, you now remember how you’re the son of an American linguist and a Nahua man. How you grew up speaking Nahuatl along with the other kids from around Mexico City. How you started going to the gym to prove that gays aren’t cuiltemeh (sissies/fags). How you now cringe to that line of thought, yet continue doing it to attract guys.

As the pieces of your life go back together, your queasiness dissipates, and you feel better. You drink a bit of water, and then you go back to the hangout room. As you go in there, the Chilean hails you once again.

“¡Charlie! ¿Esta mejor? (Charlie ! Doing better ?)”

Laughable, “Charlie” is only the nickname your grandparents use when you’re at their house… Why does that guy even know it ?

“¡Mi nombre no es Charlie, es Carlos! ¡Carlos Zopiyactle! (My name isn’t Charlie, it’s Carlos ! Carlos Zopiyactle !)” You say in a very matter-of-fact fashion. - Lo siento, pensé que te llamabas Charlie… (Sorry, I thought that you were named Charlie...) - No es nada. (It’s nothing.)” You answer with a very Mexican accent, aspirating your ‘s’. “Pero, tengo que irme ahora. ¡Adiós! (However, I need to go now. Goodbye !) - ¡Adiós, Carlos! (Goodbye, Carlos !)”

You leave the room, go past the receptionist who smiles at you a bit weirdly, and make your way back to your grandparent’s home. You don’t really like going there, because you’re not very good in English, but eh. Pleasing your mom is a good enough reason.

Suddenly, you hear a very familiar-sounding sound from your phone. You open it, seeing a notification, smile, and answer it before calling your mother.

“¡Cualli teotlaltzintli! ¡Amo niyaz tlacualpan! (Good evening ! I’m not going to be there for dinner !) - Pff… ¡Aic timotlamahzehua nanmonahuac! (Pff… You never come eat with us !) - Nomati, pero tengo cosas que hacer. (I know, but I have things to do.)” You say, switching back a bit to Spanish. - ¿Zannima tihual mocuepaz? (You will come back soon ?) - Quema. Nantli, nimitz nequi. (Yes. Mom, I love you.)

- Ohuihqui nimitz nequi. (I love you too.)”

You finish the call and smile. She doesn’t have to know that you’re missing the family dinners to be pounded. Those jocks on Grindr don’t know what your pseudonym “Moiztactlaca” means, but it sounds foreign, and they love it.

Soon, you’re going back home to Mexico City, but it doesn’t mean that you can’t take advantage of all the hot guys here in the meantime !

#male transformation #male tf #twink tf #twunk tf #twinkification #twunkification #age reduction #latino tf #mexican tf #nahua tf #mental change #reality change #transformation #tf story #ask

[mattodore]

20s vs 30s

#river dipping #matthias evanoff #theodore doe #echthroi #ts4 #ts4 edit #the older they get the more i need to [redacted] them... #matthias is already 26 so. not much changing going on in his face. his hair just starts receding a bit before he gets it under control #but theo’s in his early 20s so his cheeks definitely lose some baby fat in his late 30s #MIND YOU! matthias is really vain. so. he has a skincare routine and he's very serious abt it along w/ regular dermatologist visits #and injections/surgeries probably... so he is someone who will age very gracefully thanks to money lmao... #theo on the other hand is just blessed with beautiful skin <3 well that plus he rlly doesn't emote often... not many lines on his face #until he's in his mid-forties probably. but like fr... theo isn’t someone who puts a lot of work into his appearance like matthias does #and he uses and smokes like. his skin looking so good is just the result of a genetic lottery #i do think he quits both by the time he’s 30 #but while he doesn’t go back to cigarettes… hm. he probably continues to relapse w/ drugs every few years #not with anything hard—he’s off the stuff for good i think past 28-ish #i think when he relapses he’s usually safe with matthias who helps him by focusing on harm reduction so. lighter ones. #…just got a bit emotional thinking about that but anyway #kisses for theo 🫂 #i was going to post this last night before bed but decided that i wanted to actually edit them first so! here take this <3 #i've gotta get ready to go get my novavax shot in a few hours but then i'm going to start editing again #seriously rlly enjoying my editing process rn... like it makes me so happy!! to finally really like the way i edit and how things look #but yeah........................ mattodore are so sexy as they age god. #i gotta redo that old family lineage post i made now that mattodore look different... and i need to redo their parents for sure #…anyway cross your fingers for me 🧎 i’m hoping my side effects aren’t too bad this time around

[werewolfest]

Isn't it wonderful we're not the only animals who can change their gender?

#click for significantly better quality lol #static #my art #printmaking #This was an experiment to try reductions and it kind of failed but I ended up liking the result anyway! #It was supposed to have a third layer of black originally but I ended up hating it on the one I tested so blue and orange alone for this gu #Anyway for anyone who doesnt know: clownfish are all born male #And as they age they turn into females #thats an oversimplification so you should go read about it instead of taking my word for it bc its really interesting!!

[ask-the-shichibukai]

The 10 esteemed founders of the ever-growing "I'm not paid enough for this shit" club:

Marco

Beck

Rayleigh

Ivankov

Dadan

Robin

Bogart

Tsuru

Law

Daz

#give these people a raise #or at least a reduction of the retirement age #they are pirate / marine not babysitter #although it is probably a job requirement for first mates #one piece #marco #benn beckman #dadan #nico robin #tsuru #bogart #trafalgar law #ivankov #silvers rayleigh #daz bones #the “I'm not paid enough for this shit” Club

[fromtheseventhhell]

Imagine being 9 years old and asking your dad about the things you're interested in doing when you grow up and he's like "No ❤️! But you can get married, have babies, and then maybe your sons can do those things ☺️🫶 "

#arya stark #one of those /wtf Ned/ moments #then people act like she invented misogyny cause she was like /uuuhhhhh no thanks that's not me/ #/Arya is masculine/ and she's literally just a child who has interests outside of her patriarchy-assigned role #the way people read this and then demonize Arya for not silently conforming like people expect her to... #that's the ingrained misogyny from being socialized in a patriarchal society speaking babes 😭 #cannot stress enough how Arya is just an average little girl and what makes her behavior stand out is their society's strict gender norms #her life + learning almost entirely revolves around the fact that she is being raised to be a wife and people resent her for wanting more : #she is NINE in AGoT and her parents are discussing her refinement because /In a few years she will be of an age to marry/ #the way misogyny is explored in Arya's story is actually so brilliant and well-written (+ underappreciated) though #we feel the full weight of how restrictive their society is through her POV and get the experiences of lower-class women too #which is why it's so significant that George wrote her based on feminists who realized they wanted more than becoming wives/housewives #she's one of his key characters who will /change the world/ but people think he's sticking her on a boat bc she isn't feminine enough 😭 #thank god he's writing the books and not any of these reductive hacks who thinks misogyny is subversive 🙏🏾 #sidenote: would've loved to see this from her POV to get her feelings when he said this cause I'm sure it doesn't match Ned's perception #considering he views her main issues as being stubborn/difficult while we know about the self-esteem issues she has

[pirateboy]

anyways a good personal thing to share now: I got top surgery last week!!?!?!!! insane cos I went in to the hospital for a breast reduction and like. a few hours before the surgery the doctor without me saying anything said she could gimme top surgery instead. um yes pls so epic based???

#hasnt quite sunk in yet lmaoo but im sooo happy #^the reason i was gonna get a breast reduction was cos my mum is anti my being a trans so idk i guess she thought it would fix me #And i wouldn't have been able to get top surgery on my own finances for ages and i agreed cos it would be better than nothing #that went SO much better than expected omg #also rlly funny to me that i still dont have a gender dysphoria diagnosis or have been through any official medical channels at all #since ive been diying t as well #anyways still in the compression binder/drains/everything is so uncomfortable stage of healing #but soon... hot boy summer incoming or something idk #marchibald's #trans

[baambastic]

Clark’s kids are just destined to get unnaturally aged up ig

#this is admittedly reductive at first glance #mostly i’m referrinng to how they were both aged up like they were #chris kent #jon kent #superboy #nightwing #kryptonian nightwing #superman #dc #dc comics

[talesofmetamorphosis]

Craving Simplicity [IQ Drain/ABDL]

The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains of Elise's simply furnished living room, casting a gentle glow on the carpeted floor. Sitting upright on a comfortable armchair, Elise focused intently on Clara, her caretaker for the morning, as she began the verbal cognitive test.

"Elise," Clara began with a clear, measured voice, "What is the capital of France?"

"Paris," Elise responded without hesitation.

"Can you spell 'elephant' for me?"

"E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T," she replied confidently.

The test continued in this manner, and Elise's answers flowed effortlessly, painting a picture of a sharp and educated mind. Every question Clara posed, Elise answered correctly. This was the beginning, the baseline from which her chosen journey would commence.

As the final question concluded, and Clara noted down Elise's perfect score, one couldn't help but wonder: How did someone come to such a decision?

The story began several months ago when Elise's life took an unexpected turn. Winning the lottery was a shock to her system. Suddenly, she found herself unburdened by financial constraints, yet the weight of societal expectations seemed heavier than ever. She longed for a simpler life, free from the complexities, decisions, and burdens of intelligence.

The idea began as a fleeting thought, but it consumed her over time. She researched extensively and found that her goal was likely possible, to shed the layers of her intellectual capabilities. The decision was made. She would embark on a journey to mentally simplify herself, completely escaping the intricacies of life.

Elise's home had been bought as a reflection of her desire. Simplicity ruled every corner — from the basic furniture to the muted colors. Spaces were designed to be safe, easy to clean, and accommodating for her eventual decline.

The task of finding the right team to guide her through this transformation was meticulous. She needed professionals who would respect her decision, support her through the process, and ensure her safety. Enter Clara, Naomi, Giselle, and Fatima, each accomplished caregivers and willing to deal with her strange request.

As the cognitive test concluded, Clara smoothly transitioned to the next task on her list. "Elise," she began gently, "May I check your diaper?"

Elise nodded, a soft smile on her lips. "I'm clean," she assured. But there was no hesitation in her posture as she shifted slightly to allow Clara easier access. Both of them knew this routine was more about the future than the present. As Elise's journey progressed, there would, hopefully, come a time when her self-awareness would diminish. Establishing these habits early ensured an ideally seamless transition.

With a practiced hand, Clara swiftly verified Elise's claim. "All good," she affirmed with a nod.

As Clara moved to the kitchen to prepare lunch, the sounds of pots and pans clinking echoed lightly. While Elise was perfectly capable of feeding herself at this point, minimizing her responsibilities was integral to the process they had embarked upon. Every day, bit by bit, Elise's once fiercely independent life was being simplified. And while outsiders might find it puzzling, for Elise, it felt like a logical path to tranquility and peace, giving up logic.

The smell of a warm, freshly prepared meal wafted through the house. Elise sat down, picking up her fork and beginning to eat. Clara sat adjacent, keeping a watchful but discreet eye on her, ensuring she ate safely, even though Elise was more than capable of handling the meal independently, the ‘for now’ hung in the air.

Once her plate was empty and the table cleared, the two made their way back into the living room. Clara grabbed the remote and turned on the television. The screen flickered to life, revealing bright, animated images paired with upbeat music. It was a children's show, the kind designed to capture young minds with its colorful animations and repetitive, simple narratives.

Elise's surroundings were carefully curated to foster her decision. The TV had been specifically modified to only broadcast children's programming. While such content might seem juvenile to someone of Elise's cognitive ability, the aim was to limit her exposure to mentally stimulating material.

She sat, looking at the screen with a concentration that was almost endearing. Her bright eyes followed the animated characters as they went about their adventures. The depth of her intellect meant that she couldn't immerse herself in it, but trying to was a necessity — the simplicity didn't challenge her mind, which was precisely the point.

After a while, Clara glanced at the clock, noting the approaching appointment with the hypnotist. Turning to Elise, she softly inquired, "Elise, do you need a diaper change before the hypnotist arrives?"

Elise paused for a moment before nodding. "Yes," she said.. "I’m wet." Though Elise still maintained full control over her continence, she had chosen to utilize her diapers completely, embracing each aspect of her journey towards simplicity. Her admission was calm and without embarrassment, an acceptance of the path she had chosen.

Guiding Elise gently by the arm, Clara led her to her bedroom. The space, filled with soft hues and functional furnishings, reflected the practicality required for their daily routines. Once in the room, Clara assisted Elise onto the changing table, moving with practiced care. The process was conducted clinically and professionally, ensuring her charge was perfectly clean before putting a fresh diaper onto her.

Once Elise was fresh and clean, they headed back to the living room to await the hypnotist, the most essential part of Elise’s descent.

A rhythmic knock on the door interrupted the TV. Clara turned it off before quickly moving to answer it. Standing outside was Dr. Naomi Lavelle, her striking green eyes taking in the interior of the house with a practiced glance. She gave Clara a nod of acknowledgment, her sleek bob reflecting the soft glow of the living room lights.

"Dr. Lavelle," Clara greeted, offering a respectful smile, "Please, come in."

"Thank you, Clara," the doctor responded smoothly, stepping into the home. She immediately caught sight of Elise, who had risen from her seat in anticipation of the doctor's arrival.

The two women exchanged pleasantries briefly, the air filled with an underlying sense of purpose. Clara then turned to Elise, her voice gentle, "Do you need anything before I leave?"

Elise pondered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, thank you, Clara. I'm ready."

Clara gave a reassuring nod, her gaze lingering on Elise for a second longer than necessary, betraying her concern for her charge’s wellbeing in subtly disagreeing with her choice. "Alright then, I'll see you later, Elise. Dr. Lavelle, please let me know if you need anything." With that, Clara quietly left the room.

Dr. Lavelle moved gracefully towards Elise, gesturing for her to take a seat on the comfortable armchair. As Elise settled in, the doctor began her preparation, retrieving a small pendulum from her satchel. "Are you ready, Elise?" she asked, her voice carefully practiced to possess a mellifluous quality, designed to soothe and calm. Elise nodded, her gaze locked onto Dr. Lavelle's.

The doctor began her induction, her voice dropping an octave, filling the room with a deep resonance. The pendulum began its hypnotic swing, and Dr. Lavelle wove a tapestry of words and imagery, guiding Elise deeper into a trance state. Minutes flowed like seconds, and soon, Elise's breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely as she entered a profound hypnotic state.

Dr. Lavelle's voice was soft yet guiding, her tone sure and steady as she began:

"Elise, imagine yourself in a big, colorful balloon. This balloon is taking you to a place where everything is easy, like floating on a cloud. 

Up here, the world is simpler, brighter, and full of joy. Feel how light you are, how free you are from all the knotted strings and heavy weights.

Now, think about all the big, complicated things that used to take up so much space in your head. Imagine them like heavy books in a backpack.

 Each time you think of something difficult, that book goes into your backpack, making it heavier and heavier.

 But up here, in your balloon, you don't need those heavy books.

 You can let them go. Just drop them, one by one, and watch as they fall away, getting smaller and smaller until they disappear.

 Feel how much lighter you become with each one you let go.

Your caretakers, they're here to help.

 They're like gentle breezes guiding your balloon, making sure you're safe, making sure you float easy.

 When they talk to you or ask you things, don't think too hard about it.

 Responding with easy, light answers is like letting a bit of air out of the balloon – simple, freeing. And if sometimes you don't know the answer, that's okay too. They'll help you, and you'll float on.

With each passing day, your balloon will rise higher, away from the world of heavy books and complicated things. 

Instead, you'll float among the clouds, where everything is soft and easy, where the sun is always shining and the air is always light.

Remember this place, Elise. Whenever you feel yourself getting tangled in difficult thoughts, come back to your balloon.

 Let the heavy things fall away, and embrace the joy of floating easy. Because in this place, simple is good, and easy is best."

Dr. Lavelle let her words hang in the air, allowing Elise to fully absorb the message, and to begin embracing the simplicity and ease that lay ahead. Elise blinked slowly, her eyelids feeling heavy as the session with Dr. Lavelle came to an end. There was a lightness in her head, almost as if the thick fog outside had seeped in, making everything feel distant and dreamy. She tried to recall the specifics of the session but found it challenging to piece together the words that were spoken, like trying to catch smoke with her fingers, she didn’t even realize Dr. Lavelle had left.

She noticed the door open, and Naomi walked in, her soft features illuminated by the evening light. "Hey there," Naomi greeted gently, her voice kind. "Let's see if you need a change, shall we?" Without waiting for a verbal response, Naomi gently patted the front of Elise's diaper. It was wet, but not overly so. "I think we can wait a bit longer, after dinner maybe," she commented, more to herself than to Elise.

Naomi headed to the kitchen, and soon, the delicious aroma of something cooking wafted through the air. The sounds and scents felt comforting to Elise, adding to the gentle cocoon the hypnosis had wrapped around her.

Once dinner was ready, Naomi helped Elise to the dining table. The meal was simple but tasty, and even though Elise was quite capable of feeding herself, Naomi stayed close, watching her with attentive eyes, as was her job.

After dinner, they moved to the living room. The TV sprung to life, its screen filled with vibrant colors and cheerful characters from a children's show. Elise, in her foggy state, found herself more captivated, or perhaps just more distracted from her haze, than usual by the simplistic storylines and exaggerated expressions of the characters. Each scene felt new, and each character's emotion seemed to pop.

As the show progressed, Elise felt a familiar pressure in her lower abdomen. Not wanting to break her focus on the television, she let herself relax, releasing her bowels into the diaper without hesitation. Once done, she turned to Naomi, "I pooped," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice devoid of embarrassment.

Naomi nodded, turning off the TV. "Alright, let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed." With practiced ease, Naomi helped Elise into her room, gently changing her and making sure she was comfortable.

Tucked into her crib-like bed, Elise felt the last remnants of the day's fog start to lift. The world around her began to come into sharper focus, but there was still a softness to it, a gentle buffer that separated her from the complexities and intricacies of the world.

With Naomi's soft goodnight, Elise closed her eyes, allowing sleep to claim her, no concern for what the next day would bring.

Over the next month, Elise's life fell into a sort of routine. The days were punctuated by her bi-weekly hypnosis sessions with Dr. Lavelle, whose words seemed to create a gentle ripple in Elise's consciousness. The effects of the hypnosis weren't immediately striking or drastic; in fact, the changes were so subtle that only someone paying very close attention would notice.

One day, while Clara was on duty, she observed Elise trying to tie her shoelaces. The process seemed to take just a touch longer than before. Elise would look at the laces, her brow furrowing in concentration, before successfully tying them.

"Need some help there?" Clara inquired, her voice neutral, avoiding any undertones of condescension.

"No, I've got it," Elise replied, her tone slightly distracted. After a few more seconds than usual, she finally secured the knots.

During breakfast one morning with Naomi, Elise paused longer between bites, her eyes occasionally drifting into the distance as though she was gathering her thoughts or trying to grasp onto a fleeting memory.

On another occasion, Giselle asked Elise a question about a book she was reading a week ago. "Do you remember that character's name from the story?" she inquired. Elise's face scrunched up in thought, and it took her a few moments before she hesitantly responded, "Uh, was it... Emily?"

Fatima noticed that during their evening strolls in the garden, Elise's responses to her casual questions or observations about the flowers and trees seemed to have an added pause, as if she was taking an extra moment to process the information.

Yet, these instances were few and far between, like blips on a radar. The majority of the time, Elise still functioned very much like her old self, albeit with a slightly slower pace in thought and action.

None of the caretakers treated her any differently. They interacted with her as they would with any other adult who needed a bit of assistance or had specific care requirements. Conversations remained mature, though they might occasionally require a bit more patience.

As the month drew to a close, it was clear that the hypnosis was having its intended effect, but it was also evident that this was just the beginning of Elise's journey.

As the calendar pages turned, heralding the arrival of the second month, subtle shifts in Elise’s behavior and cognition began to blossom into more noticeable changes. The house was quiet on a particular morning as Clara prepared to administer the routine cognitive test. Elise sat across from her, a blank expression on her face, waiting.

"Okay, Elise," Clara began, her tone clinical yet gentle. "Can you name the objects in this picture?" She presented a series of simple images to Elise - a ball, a tree, a cat.

Elise's eyes flickered across the images. "Ball," she said without hesitation, but as her eyes moved to the next image, there was a perceptible pause, "Tree," and then another slight hesitation, "Cat." Her answers were correct, but the sluggishness of her responses was slightly more pronounced.

In the evenings, when the television flickered with the colors and shapes of children’s shows, Elise seemed more absorbed. Her eyes followed the movements on the screen with a greater sense of fascination, and she would occasionally let out soft chuckles or mimic the simple actions of the characters, her eyes reflecting the gentle, uncomplicated joy of the presented stories.

Reading time became a more engrossing activity for Elise. Naomi would often find her settled comfortably in a corner, a colorful children’s book spread open in her lap. The books were incredibly simple, designed for young children, containing minimal text. Elise would turn the pages slowly, mouthing the few words silently, her fingers tracing the bold illustrations. The simplicity of the content seemed to captivate her in a unique way, the straightforward narratives and vivid images holding her attention more effectively.

Another calendar page down, as it did every morning, the sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the living room floor. Elise was sprawled on the couch, her eyes glued to the television screen. The animated characters danced and sang, prompting their young viewers to clap along or shout out answers. While Elise didn't actively participate in the back-and-forth of the show, her attention was undeniably captured by the unfolding storyline.

After a particularly vibrant song sequence, Elise turned her head toward Giselle, who was nearby, tidying up the room. "Can I color?" she asked, her voice holding a hint of childlike enthusiasm.

Giselle smiled, "Of course, but let me check you first."

Elise shifted slightly to accommodate a check, "I'm dry," she stated confidently.

However, as Giselle approached and gently checked the state of her diaper, she felt the unmistakable dampness. "Seems like you've had a little accident," she noted softly.

Elise's brows furrowed in surprise, touching the front of her diaper. The realization of her accident washed over her, but her face didn't register much distress or embarrassment. Instead, she shrugged slightly, "Can you change me later? I really want to color now."

Giselle, emphasizing the importance of cleanliness and comfort, replied, "Let's get you changed first, and then you can color as much as you want." Elise didn't protest, nodding in agreement.

After the swift changing process, Giselle handed Elise a coloring book and a box of crayons. Elise settled down on the floor, flipping to a page with a large, intricate butterfly. As she began coloring, it was clear she was deeply engrossed in the activity. Her tongue occasionally peeked out in concentration, and she took special care to ensure her crayon strokes remained within the lines. The world around her faded away as she immersed herself in the simple joy of coloring, a vivid testament to her evolving mental state.

The seasons changed, but within the confines of her simple home, the rhythm remained consistent. Each morning began with one of her four caretakers, either Clara, Naomi, Giselle, or Fatima, administering the cognitive test. Elise, who once breezed through it, now paused often, her forehead wrinkling in concentration. Especially after a session with Dr. Lavelle, she struggled more with the memory questions.

When it came to her diapers, she often sat unaware of their dampness until one of her caretakers checked and informed her. She'd just nod and wait to be changed. At times, she'd be engaged in something on the TV or a coloring book, only to repeat a word she heard, her voice sounding like she was trying it out for the first time.

Coloring used to be a task she found simple, but now her hands seemed to rebel against her intent, lacking the precision they once had, often went slightly outside the lines as she hurried.

Meal times had their challenges too. More than once, Clara or Fatima would have to clean up a spill, gently chiding Elise to be more careful. It wasn't long before they introduced a bib, which she wore without protest. And her regular glass was replaced with a cup with a lid to minimize spills.

Yet through it all, Elise didn’t seem upset. She accepted her changing capacities, not with joy but with indifference, as if that’s the way things should be. The world was getting simpler for her, more straightforward and easier to navigate.

One sunny morning, Elise was seated on her comfortable couch, eyes glued to the vibrant colors and cheerful voices emanating from the children's show on the TV. Clara was on duty, ensuring Elise’s needs were met. The room filled with the exaggerated enthusiasm of the show's host, encouraging the viewers to clap and sing along and Clara was surprised when Elise obeyed, clapping her hands with surprising eagerness. Her face, usually calm and passive, was animated with a childlike excitement.

Clara observed quietly, noting the change, "You're enjoying the show today, Elise?"

"Yeah! It’s fun!" Elise responded, not shifting her gaze from the screen, and along with the obvious simplicity that she was exhibiting, it seemed she had little concept of what was appropriate left, as Clara observed, one of hands coming to rest between her legs, obviously stimulating herself through her diaper.

"Elise" Clara gently cautioned, grabbing her hand and holding it, redirecting her attention skillfully. But the moment passed unacknowledged by Elise, whose attention remained riveted on the lively antics of the television characters.

A few weeks later, with Naomi present, Elise was again engaged in a kids' show. In the midst of playful tunes, she suddenly announced, "I pooped." as if commenting on the weather, and she continued to watch the show, seemingly unbothered by the state of her pants.

While mildly surprised, Naomi responded professionally. "Alright, Elise. Let’s get you cleaned up," she said, guiding Elise toward her bedroom.

On another day, Giselle was present when post-lunch, Elise had evidently taken a liking to sucking on her fingers, a habit that seemed to comfort her. She sat there, fingers in her mouth, eyes vacantly watching the tv.

"Elise, let’s try to keep our fingers out of our mouth, okay?" Giselle encouraged, offering a stuffed bear instead for Elise to hold.

Elise followed the suggestion momentarily but soon reverted to her fingers, finding solace in the repetitive action, oblivious to the appropriateness or the watchful eyes of her caretaker.

Through each phase, the caretakers maintained their professionalism, adapting to Elise's evolving behaviors and needs without imposing stringent corrections or overt discomfort. They were the quiet pillars, managing each day with adaptability and a focus on Elise's comfort and care.

One morning, mid test, Elise sat at the wooden dining table, her eyes drifting towards the television which was currently off. Fatima noticed her distraction and gently cleared her throat.

“Elise, focus here for a moment,” Fatima said, placing the test booklet in front of her.

Elise blinked, pulling her gaze away from the television, "Can I watch cartoons after?"

"Yes, after we finish the test," Fatima replied patiently. "Ready?"

Elise nodded, though her mind was clearly elsewhere.

"First question, Elise: Can you tell me your full name?"

"Elise..." she hesitated, "... um, Elise Smith?"

"Correct," Fatima noted down. "Now, can you count backwards from ten for me?"

Elise squinted, thinking, "Ten... nine... um... seven?"

Fatima made a note, "That's alright. Moving on. I'm going to name three items: banana, chair, and sun. Can you repeat them back to me?"

"Banana... chair... and... um...?"

Fatima continued, holding up a picture of a dog, "What is this?"

"Puppy!" Elise responded, a hint of enthusiasm in her voice.

"Good. Can you subtract six from fifteen?"

Elise’s fingers began to move as she counted, but she lost track quickly, "Um... eight?"

"That's close," Fatima encouraged. She then held up two cards - one with a face showing anger and another showing confusion. "Can you tell me what these faces are feeling?"

Elise pointed to the first one, "Sad?" And then to the second, "Sad?"

Fatima nodded, jotting down the answers. "Last question, Elise. If I have two apples and I eat one, how many do I have left?"

"One!" Elise said confidently.

"Good job, Elise," Fatima praised, closing the booklet. "You can go watch cartoons now."

Elise's face lit up instantly, "Yay! Cartoons!" She eagerly hopped off the chair and scampered towards the TV, the test already a distant memory.

Elise's cognitive decline became more evident with each passing day. Her behavior during the cognitive test was now expected; she would become distracted easily, often looking around the room or becoming engrossed in the texture of the paper the test was printed on.

Her speech had changed noticeably as well. One day, after Clara had offhandedly referred to Elise's soiled diapers as "poopy," Elise, without a hint of embarrassment or hesitation, started to use the term herself. "I poopied," she'd announce, as simply as if she had said ‘I have to go to the bathroom’.

Naomi, curious about the extent of Elise's reading abilities, one afternoon presented her with one of the simple children's books from the shelf. "Can you read this to me, Elise?" she asked, watching closely. Elise looked at the book, her fingers tracing over the colorful illustrations. "The... ca...cat," she began slowly, sounding out each syllable with effort. It was clear she was relying heavily on the pictures, her eyes darting between the words and the corresponding images, trying to make the connection. When she reached a word she couldn’t immediately decipher, her brow would furrow in concentration. "The cat... likes... mmm... milk," she finished, sounding out the word "milk" with a long pause between 'mil' and 'k.'

Naomi hid her concern behind a gentle smile. "Good job, Elise," she encouraged, even if somewhat disingenuous.

With each passing day, the remnants of Elise's former intellectual capabilities became more scarce, replaced by a simplicity and innocence more akin to a child.

By the sixth month, Elise was a different person than she had been when they met. The sharpness that once defined her had dulled considerably.

In the living room, the glow of the television cast a colorful light, as animated characters danced on screen. Elise sat cross-legged, her eyes wide, fully engrossed. Every so often, a character would pose a question, and Elise would respond with innocent enthusiasm.

"Where's the moon?" the animated rabbit on the screen asked.

"Up in the sky!" Elise exclaimed, pointing upwards, a genuine grin on her face.

During her cognitive tests, it was clear her skills had faded. Giselle, or "Gigi" as Elise now called her, held up a set of fingers. "Elise, how many fingers am I holding up?" Elise squinted, counted her own fingers, then said, "Five?"

"That's right," Gigi replied, even though it had been four. The goal of the test was her inability to complete it anyway. She noted the difficulty in the record book.

Personal boundaries? What personal boundaries?. When Clara, now affectionately termed "Claire" by Elise, came into the room, Elise jumped up and wrapped her arms around her in an unsolicited hug. And once, while sitting on the couch, she tried pulling Naomi, or "Noms", down next to her, giggling when she almost lost her balance.

"Elise, sweetie, I'm too big for you to pull like that," Naomi chided gently.

Elise's bottom lip protruded. "Cuddles," she murmured, her eyes looking up pleadingly.

Some mornings, as the sun streamed through the blinds, Fatima, or "Tima", would walk into Elise's room to wake her up. Today, as she approached, Elise rubbed her eyes, looked up, and exclaimed, "Morning, Noms!"

"It’s Fatima, Elise," Fatima corrected habitually, it was hit or miss if Elise would identify the two of them correctly, both having dark hair and skin despite the fact they didn’t look very similar otherwise.

Mealtimes had become messier. Utensils lay untouched in the drawer, as Elise used her hands to pick up food, she had begun holding forks and spoons like a toddler held a crayon and ended up spilling more food onto the floor. Pasta sauce smeared on her face, her fingers sticky with residue. Naomi watched, holding a napkin ready for the inevitable cleanup.

In the afternoon, Elise often colored. But now, instead of the neat lines she once adhered to, her crayon strokes were wild and uncoordinated. A coloring book lay open, with more color outside the lines than within. Giselle peeked over her shoulder, "That's a nice... flower?" she guessed.

Elise giggled, "It's the sun!"

The days had become indistinguishable for Elise, each one flowing into the next with the same rhythm of children's shows, coloring, and naps. The afternoon sun streamed in, casting a warm glow in the living room where Elise lay, her head resting on Giselle's lap, sucking on her fingers absentmindedly.

Giselle's nose crinkled as an unmistakable odor wafted up. She looked down at Elise, trying to keep her voice neutral. "Elise, did you poop?"

Elise pulled her fingers out of her mouth and blinked up at her with innocent eyes. "Didn't poopy," she declared confidently, returning her fingers back to her mouth.

Giselle, however, knew better. She gently shifted Elise's position and pulled back the waistband of the diaper just a little to peek inside. As suspected, Elise had, in fact, had a bowel movement and hadn't realized.

"Oh, sweetie," Giselle murmured, "you did have a little accident."

Elise looked genuinely surprised, her eyes widening slightly. "No poopy."

Giselle offered a gentle smile, trying to keep the situation calm. "Come on, let's get you changed."

She helped Elise sit up and held out a hand, but Elise pouted, her brow furrowing slightly. "Wanna watch TV," she mumbled, but Giselle persisted.

"It'll just take a minute, and then you can get back to your show," Giselle assured her.

With a slight huff and the promise of returning to her show soon, Elise begrudgingly followed Giselle to her room for a much-needed diaper change.

From that moment, things seemed to nosedive for Elise. She no longer recognized the feeling when she soiled her diaper, often too engrossed in what she was doing. As days turned into weeks, Elise's lack of awareness became even more pronounced. She would sit, her diaper messy, seemingly unperturbed until her caregivers would gently, but firmly, guide her to be changed.

The cognitive tests were soon thrown out. Each time she took them, it became increasingly clear that Elise had ‘passed’. The last test she took saw her easily distracted, her gaze flitting around, her answers either incomprehensible or entirely incorrect. After each had their turn her caretakers had unanimously decided the test was to be shelved.

Reading, once a daily routine, even if just childrens books, now became a task beyond her capabilities. She could no longer follow the simple words on the pages of children's books. The only way she connected with them was through the bright and colorful pictures. When her caregivers read to her, her eyes would light up, but it was evident that her understanding was tied primarily to the images she saw and the intonations she heard. Words, in their meaning and depth, seemed to have slipped away from her grasp.

A year after Elise’s descent had begun, it seemed to have reached her desired conclusion. Morning light had barely started filtering through the curtains when Clara entered Elise’s room. The sight that met her eyes was both surprising and dismaying. Elise sat amidst a chaotic mess on her bed, her diaper partly off, its contents smeared across the sheets, walls, and clothes. Clara noticed some of the mess perilously close to Elise’s grinning mouth, "Poopy" she said clumsily in two distinct syllables, a grim realization settling in, there wasn’t much left in that pretty head. It seemed that they would now have to consider additional preventive measures like hand mittens or back-zipping sleepers to prevent such incidents in the future.

Carefully, Clara began the clean-up process, gently steering Elise to the bathroom for a thorough wash. Elise seemed oblivious to the enormity of the mess, her eyes vacant, but a small, contented smile playing on her lips. Post-cleanup, dressed in fresh clothes and a clean diaper, Elise was led to the living area where she plopped down, immediately drawn to the vibrant colors and sounds emanating from the children’s television show playing, despite the fact she had seen the episode dozens of times and words were a bit past her understanding.

After breakfast, which Clara fed to her, as Elise’s clumsy hands generally ended up putting food everywhere but her mouth, they moved on to a different set of activities. Coloring seemed to engross Elise, but her lack of coordination and understanding made the activity more chaotic, past using coloring books, a wild array of scribbles across a blank page.

Diaper changes punctuated the day, fitting into the natural rhythm of activities. Clara noticed that Elise's bowel movements had become remarkably regular since losing her control, typically occurring an hour after meals. Elise’s awareness of her own bodily functions was non-existent, except apparently when it was disgusting playtime; she showed no signs of discomfort or realization, even when her diaper was soiled.

Naomi took over in the afternoon, subbing in like clockwork. Safety had become a more pressing concern as Elise seemed to have lost a sense of danger or hygiene. Naomi had to be extra vigilant, ensuring that Elise didn’t put inappropriate objects in her mouth, a behavior she had increasingly started displaying.

The day unfolded with simple, structured activities - playing with soft toys, watching more children's TV shows, and some time spent idly flipping through cardboard picture books, her caretakers no longer trusting her with the paper ones as they would often end up damp with saliva. Elise’s face close to the pages as she tried to make sense of the vibrant images.

As evening approached, Naomi helped Elise with her dinner, doing the strap on her chair to keep her in place as she fed her, followed once again by more cartoons. Naomi maintained a watchful presence able to intervene if necessary, like the many occasions things find their way into her mouth.

Night fell, bringing with it a soft, enveloping silence as the TV was clicked off. Elise, fresh diaper on, and nestled comfortably in her bed, drifted off to sleep.

Elise's transition over the year had been remarkable, not just for her but for her caregivers too. Clara, Naomi, Giselle, and Fatima had begun their roles with the understanding that their task was unique. They had been given the responsibility of assisting a competent adult through a process that would gradually diminish her capabilities. But as the months wore on, their duties shifted from that of unconventional overseers to something much more familiar. Their roles mirrored what they had trained for: caring for someone functionally disabled.

It was a profound change to witness. Elise, once self-sufficient and independent, now needed constant oversight. Her day-to-day activities, once complex and filled with variety, had simplified to the point of predictability. Each of her caregivers now found themselves falling back on their foundational training, tapping into their skills and knowledge of caring for someone with significant cognitive limitations.

Yet, through it all, there was a solace in knowing Elise was content. Whether it was the genuine smile that played on her lips as she watched a children's show or the soft humming sound she made while coloring, there was an evident joy in her actions. Elise might not have the capability to understand the full spectrum of her choices or the depth of the journey she had undertaken, but in her limited awareness, she was happy. She was ensconced in a world of simplicity, colors, and comforts. The once complex tapestry of her life had been replaced with broad, vibrant strokes on a nearly blank sheet of paper.

And so, life carried on. The caregivers, dedicated and compassionate, continued their roles with diligence and care. And Elise, in her own world, found a unique kind of peace.

#ai assisted #age regression #talesofmeta #diaper regression #diaper dependent #iq drain #iq reduction #dumbification

[octuscle]

My professor is such a pain in the ass! I tried turning him into an average dumb college frat guy, but it’s not working!

Whew! Indeed, your professor is a tough nut to crack. He's as stiff as if he'd swallowed a stick. On time like a Swiss watch. And the strictest teacher imaginable. I'll see what I can do. Time is pressing, it's Friday and the exam period starts on Monday.

07:30. Your professor's shiny Volvo rolls into the faculty parking lot. He's always on time to the second. His suit may be cheap, but it's immaculate. And he walks into the staff room with his hair perfectly parted. No one notices the small tattoo on his forearm.

When he arrives at your lecture, it's like a sensation: he's not wearing polished Oxfords, he's wearing sneakers. Pretty cool, pretty expensive sneakers. And WHITE socks! He's never been seen wearing anything like that before. And you swear his stomach is flatter. Normally his jacket always conceals a tummy bulge. But now his silhouette is perfectly slim. Unfortunately, it doesn't change anything about his lecture. He's way too fast, firing his questions like a sniper in the direction of the students who weren't paying attention. He's a pain in the ass, and that hasn't changed yet.

During the lunch break, the professor is seen wearing jeans for the first time. Pretty crisp fitting jeans. He really has a tight ass. And damn: Does he actually have a beard shadow? Normally he's always perfectly shaved. You're sitting in the canteen with your bruhs when he approaches you and asks "All gud, bruhs? can one of you give me uh fag? I must have forgotten mine at home…" You are far too surprised not to give him a cigarette. "You're such uh lifesaver, dude," says your professor and asks what you're up to this weekend. You tell him about your plans to go to the sports bar, work out in the gym and maybe take a trip to the beach on Sunday. "Sick thing" replies the professor. "See you around, bruhs!" He leaves you with your mouths hanging open.

The professor leaves the parking lot in his open-top Mustang with loud hip-hop music and screeching tires. You grin broadly. Your plan seems to be working. You are sure of it when you meet the next day at the gym. Your professor has a cool haircut, a stylish beard and looks like he's a regular at the tattoo parlor. You greet each other with a fist bump. And when he takes off his sweaty T-shirt after two hours, you say goodbye with a chest bump. Damn, this guy has a killer body.

On the beach, your prof disappears from time to time with random people and goes to the trunk of his Mustang. Shit, he's selling drugs. Hashish or apparently steroids and other stuff. And at sunset you see him lying on his towel smoking pot while one of the musclemen from the gym massages his nipples. Fuck, the boner in his surfer shorts is impressive. You're very pleased with yourself. You don't need to be afraid of tomorrow. It's a good thing you didn't waste the weekend studying.

Hot picture, you think to yourself on Monday morning when you see your professor's latest post on Instagram. And then you read the caption: "Sicc training 2 start the new wk. Now let's go kicc sum student ass. I luv it when i c the airheads sweating over my exam questions"

Pic found @marechais

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #inked man #age reduction #jock tf #nerd to jock

[sanzaibian]

I turns off my phone angrily. I have barely touched down to Pudong International Airport, and now I have to call my Shanghai agent about how I’m going to be late, and that “China Eastern”, that company full of crooks, doesn’t even want to compensate my $4200 business class ticket for being 2 hours late.

“Allô ? C’est Julien, je suis enfin arrivé à Shanghai. (Hello ? It’s Julien, I’ve finally touched down at Shanghai.)” I say to my local correspondent, the one responsible for dragging me here.

- Enfin ! Ça fait une heure qu’on vous attend ! (Finally ! We’ve been waiting for you for a whole hour !)

- C’est pas ma faute ! Le vol a eu deux heures de retard à cause de soi-disants ‘vents forts’ vers la Mongolie… et ces escrocs ne veulent rien me rembourser… typique… (It’s not my fault ! The flight was two hours late due to so-called ‘powerful winds’ around Mongolia… and those crooks don’t want to reimburse me… typical…)” I answer, annoyed.

- Bon, de l’Aéroport de 浦東 (Pudong) jusqu’ici… pff… je vais devoir leur dire de revenir cet après-midi… (So, from 浦東 (Pudong) Airport to here… ugh… I need to ask them to come back this afternoon…)” He says, similarly annoyed, though seemingly flaunting his perfect pronunciation in Chinese.

- Ne râle pas sur moi, j’ai rien fait ! Je savais que j’aurais dû prendre Air France, ils n’auraient pas eu de retard comme ces asiates… (Don’t dump it on me, I did nothing ! I knew I should have gone for Air France, they wouldn’t be late like those chinks…)

- Roh… (Ugh…)” He sighs a while. “Je vais m’occuper de tout. Juste… viens aussi vite que possible. (I’ll manage. Just… come here as soon as you can.)”

I turn off the phone. As if I would waste a minute of my life… I’m Julien Blanc, and my time is money, just like the saying goes. As the heir of a multi-million dollars worth banking company, I have investments left right and center, and can’t let the next golden goose escape me.

Recently, a well-known investor, Pierre Zhang, let me know of a promising startup here in Shanghai. While at first I was understandingly skeptical, after all chinks are known for their plagiarism, I did check the project and found it to be unique, and even viable.

While I do know that Pierre Zhang is half one of them, so he does take their side much more than a regular person would, this time he saw a good opportunity. And it will be botched due to an incapable company that spouted nonsense about “strong winds” or something and was late as a result.

Angrily, I stomp in the giant airport halls, guiding myself thanks to my impeccable English – though, just don’t listen to the pronunciation. I’m stopped multiple times for security checks, and I do swear on them a couple of times, but they deserved it for wasting my time even more.

However, as I was striding in the main hall in order to find the metro station, seeing more and more of those chink hooligans, one of them shoves me to the side. He’s wearing a mask like the pussy he is, as well as a ridiculous oversized hoodie, some laughable jewelry and undistinguished sweatpants.

He’s left as soon as I turn around, meaning I can’t berate him. Youth these days are really insufferable. Where I grew up, on the Saint-Louis island in Paris, we weren’t even half as rude as today’s kids.

Scoffing, I continue rushing to the metro, though I kind of feel dizzy. Did he give me a disease or something ? When I reach the metro shoot, I see a barrier with policemen. Apparently they’re scanning for the coronavirus – they’re still doing that ? – by checking our temperature.

I go in the barrier, confident that I’ll pass the test, when suddenly, my path is blocked.

“Sorry, sir, please come with me.” Said a policewoman in her heavily accented English.

- What are you doing ! Let me go, I did nothing wrong !” I protest with a similarly accented English.

The policewoman doesn’t answer me and leads me to a small room in the airport. There, I see a bunch of other people with masks, waiting on seats. Showing me a mask, the policewoman explain :

“You may be sick. Take a mask and wait. - I’m going to be late ! Nothing’s wrong with me, just let me leave !” I say, though I don’t notice my accent shifting a little.

- Wear it or face consequences.” The policewoman insists, dangling the mask in front of my eyes. I sigh.

- Okay, but make it quick. I’ll wear 一只 (one).”

I squint my eyes. How did I say ‘one’ ? It feels incorrect, have I accidentally used French ‘un’ ?

I take the mask and wear it, still squinting. I still feel dizzy, so I guess the policewoman must have been right ? I take my phone out, wanting to send a quick message to Pierre about me being late, but something seems wrong.

When I look on my phone, there’s a weird app named 抖音 that has been installed. I don’t remember doing that. In fact, why is there even a Chinese app on my phone !

I click on it, and suddenly, videos start playing. I squint my eyes as I look at the videos of ch… Chinese people doing a variety of things. First it’s a video of a cat rubbing on someone, and that guy exclaimed “它真的是只饥渴死的猫啊！”, with then the woman filming answering, with a hurried tone “快摸它啊，你干嘛在那儿等呗？真冷啊。”. Even though I don’t understand a word that is said, I can guess that the woman is telling the guy to go rub the cat.

It’s funnier than I expected. Turns out the Chinese have more humor than I thought. Then, another video comes on, showing a guy, looking just like that punk from earlier, saying “穿这种衣服，我干嘛不会感丢人哎？(… these clothes… … lose face ?)”, and the camera pans out to a woman in a cockroach outfit. The punk continues “你已经三十岁了，为什么还在卖这种衣服了？(… thirty years old, why still buy… ?)”, the woman answers “你现在我穿什么你都要管吗？(You... right now what I wear… your business ?)”. The punk then comes back into frame, with the woman on the left, asking “没有情侣版吗？哪只手我该牵啊？(There isn’t a couple’s version ? Which hand should I hold ?). Then, the woman shows a tendril, and they hold hands like that. I smile, finding it way funnier than it should.

I don’t really notice how I understand more and more what’s on 抖音 (Douyin), though I do let myself grow limp on the waiting room chair. I guess I don’t have much regards anymore for how I look, after all I’m waiting for a coronavirus test. Nobody’s going to comment on my posture !

The next video shows three guys running, with the caption 三人跑步时能干什么 (What can three people do while running together ?), and I see how their hair bop up and down. I’ve been shaving myself bald for quite a few years, ever since I was balding too much for me to bother with hair, but seeing these guys like that makes me a bit nostalgic of that time.

Seeing them doing stupider and stupider stuff, and smiling more and more as they show bungee jumping, doing pull-ups, playing games, stir-frying and even boxing, I feel a bit weird. Like I can kind of relate, in my youth I also did crazy things, and it would absolutely be something I would have done with my friends. I scratch my head, feeling it tingle, as I continue watching the next video, not even realizing my squinting is less and less strenuous.

The videos continue trickling in, every one more humorous than the last, and I catch myself chuckling out loud multiple times. By now, I understand everything very clearly, and when a doctor comes to do a coronavirus test, I don’t even blink when he addresses me in Chinese :

“少年，请跟我进走。(Young man, please enter with me.)

- Yes, 先生。(Yes, sir.)” I answer, mixing English and Chinese.

Everything is confused as he takes me to a machine, my thoughts mixing French, English and Chinese. Even my clothes feel… less tight than they used to. Almost as if they were melting and becoming glue.

I take place in the machine and he activates it. I feel as if things become clearer while I’m in. Like, for example, why was I stressed just now ? I don’t have anything important to do right now. And why languages are mixed ? I guess it’s because it’s cooler to mix in English…

The machine stops, and I leave it, scratching my straight hair. Had I ? … no, of course not, it’s my facial hair that I shave…

The doctor hands me my piercings.

“Euh, attendez, 先生，有什么不对了…… (Er, wait, sir, there’s something that’s not right.)” I ask, mixing French and Chinese. I really feel like something is not right.

- 什么发生过了？会跟我谈一谈。(What happened ? You can discuss it with me.)

- 我……有个奇怪的感受。Est-ce que 您找到了种疾病吗？(I… have a weird feeling. Did you find some kind of disease ?)

- 没有。但是您不舒服的话我肯定会给您扑热息痛。(I didn’t. However, if you don’t feel good, I can give you some paracetamol.)” He answers me, with a helpful look.

- 该好了。Merci. (It should be good. Thank you.)”

I take the pill he gives me, and put my piercings back on as I go back in the terminal. As I walk, I feel very comfy, as if everything was alright. I look down on my large oversized hoodie with its colorful prints. I feel like I’m in my youth once again… huh, it’s so weird to say that when I’m only... 23 years old !

Suddenly, I get a phone call from a weird contact I don’t remember having, someone named 张皮尔 (Zhang Pi’er/Pierre). I accept the call :

“喂。是谁？(Hello. Who’s there ?)” I ask, with a perfect accent.

- Julien ? Pourquoi tu parles chinois ? (Julien ? Why do you speak Chinese ?)” He groans, then switches to Chinese. “是我问您是谁。是您的电话吗？(I’m the one asking you who you are. Is it your phone ?)

- 当然是。我是个富二代，为啥要偷手机啊？(Of course. I have a trust fund, why would I steal a phone ?)” I slur, my speech becoming more and more relaxed.

- 嗯……那您是谁啊？您认不认识Julien Blanc ? (Ugh… So who are you ? Do you know Julien Blanc ?)

- 是白炬亮。那你到底是谁啊？(I’m Bai Juliang. And now can you tell me who you are ?)

- 是张皮尔……嗯……听我说一下。你有没有多钱会投资？我认为了Julien Blanc要投资新项目，但你还会投资一下。有没有兴趣？(I’m Pierre Zhang… ugh… Listen. Do you have a lot of money to invest ? I thought Julien Blanc would come and invest in a new project, but you can still invest. Are you interested ?)”

I think for a while. It could be great to have some money coming from another place than my parents’ company… plus, I don’t want to have to join it, or risk being cut off from my money…

However, there’s time, I’m still young, and there’s no rush right now… Plus, having work is, like, a lot of work, and I don’t want to work… But I have an idea.

“张先生，你想不想跟我投资？我给了你钱币，你给了我专业，收入分两半。感觉好吗？(Mr. Zhang, do you want to invest with me ? I give you the funds, you give me the expertise, and we divide the profits in half. Do you like that ?)”

After a while, he answers :

“感觉好了。(I think it’s good.)”

#male transformation #male tf #white to asian #daddy to twink #racial tf #twink tf #twinkification #age reduction #mental change #reality change #transformation #tf story

[watermelinoe]

and see how dialogue isn't possible when you block someone who doesn't even disagree with your movement, just with certain premises behind it? see how it doesn't allow for practicing harm reduction or nuance? when i'm struggling to get myself to eat anything at all, which can last for days or weeks at a time, what i do eat needs to count. sorry, i'm eating the cheese stick because it's the only thing that sounds palatable and it gives me seven grams of protein. sorry there's no room for women with eating disorders and deficiencies because "eat less animal products" isn't good enough when your ideology values non-human animals more than women's health. but of course the burden falls on women to make ourselves tired and weak while the male-led industry overproduces and overconsumes. at least you stayed true to your logically inconsistent, female-socialized emotion-based beliefs and allowed for zero compromise! there's no way your airtight ethical philosophy has blatant logical flaws at the slightest nudge of critical thought, the people who point out fallacies are just heartless!

#the fact that i considered breaking mutuals w this person so many times #but i'm the one who gets blocked in the end lmao #sorry you have no rebuttal to my argument lol #notice how nearly every woman who agreed with me also agreed that the current animal ag industry is the problem #and that we all would like to consume less animal products where we can #but when your ideology is so militant that that isn't good enough because ''meat is murder'' (but only when humans kill animals) #(but remember we've elevated non-human animals to human status. so every time a predator kills a prey animal: murder.) #(wait that's different. it's because ummm humans interfering with animals isn't natural. so are we on the same level as non-human animals?) #(yes but no! pre-industrialization agriculture wasn't part of nature because uh. humans did it.) #(and humans aren't part of nature because of animal agriculture. flawless non-circular logic.) #(so in conclusion all animals have equal personhood except when they obviously don't have the same morality because they're animals) #(this is why there can be no harm reduction because all animal products are human rights violations on par with rape and femicide) #(no this isn't degrading to women bc we told you chickens have the same personhood as women!! and don't question that either!!) #anyway i limit animal consumption to the best of my ability but meat is not murder. if that's not good enough then bite me #sorry to the normal vegans out there who don't treat it like a human rights movement. you get too much shit and i'm adding to it rip

[ganitsoni]

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[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

every day i am thankful to have gotten top surgery within 4 months of making appointments and paying just 15 dollars

#cw: suicide mention in tags #10 copay 5 dollars for the meds #i was on my dad's good insurance #i try to donate to ppl's top surgery funds when i can because i feel like its not fair that other ppl have to either wait- #half a decade or pay a shit ton of money or both #i dont know if my dysphoria wouldve Pushed me to ending my life but... #when experiencing dysphoria i could not imagine my life truly starting without top surgery #and my years wouldve been so so wasted #my chest right now feels like it's been with me forever. it's MY chest. truly. for the first time since I was 10 #i didn't wait 4 months for top surgery i waited 7 years. maybe longer if i count me wanting a breast reduction at age 10 too #i love you informed consent model

[soovyclub]

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[guillotineapprehensive]

the way dropout/collegehumor became a Queer Space is so beautiful tbh. We're talking about some of the OG boobs-in-the-thumbnail internet content here turning into an honest to goodness unironically Safe Space, and it was so natural

so much of the shift was just like, ally beardsley being nb, and all of the other cast members being generally chill about it and using their pronouns.

then dimension 20 started and Ally played a very personal & relatable teen lesbian story arc, which attracted queer fans. and over time d20 brought in more openly queer players/actors AND the not-queer players started roleplaying queer stories

it was all just a very natural shift when just a few people are Out, and everyone around them is respectful and uplifts their stories

#what im saying is i want Fantasy High Junior Year and i want it NOW #and definite props to Brennan specifically. D20 is his brainchild and he couldve absolutely steered the show differently #and this is definitely reductive like i know Grant has been openly bi for ages in CH content and i could be forgetting others too #but so much of the culture of this fandom/community is owed to Ally Beardsley directly