Hi! i'm ryan/rye! i'm 30+ and trans masc (he/they)! this is gonna be a lot of NSFW stuff so MDNI and preferably 22 or older
Currently into Ghost (like a whole lot) but other things might pop up! I attempt to tag everything for reference so if you need anything tagged please lmk!
i also write but i don't ever really post stuff bc most of it is for me but i might be willing to post some stuff if people are interested!
making this my Weird zone so there’s going to be nsfw/nsft stuff
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I'm so sick of irresponsible pet owners insisting on getting these unhealthy designer crossbreeds. Just this morning I saw a woman walking her Damn Chungus, one look at the poor thing and I could see it was practically BULGING out of its White Vans. It's no way to live. These people should be in prison.
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Ao3
[ᯓ⛧⋆₊*.⁺𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙]
warnings: religious trauma (nothing particularly detailed) + mild hints at body horror
note: in honour of this awesome event put together by @lycanthra... i've decided to resurrect some of my favourite hcs and offer them to the congregation.
overview: a mix of character-centric rant/analysis bits and typical bullet point hcs. last year saw me trying to find balance in the way i portrayed perpetua's eldritch traits in my main fic. this is more gothic-adjacent/odd-leaning than opently monstrous. i wanted him to be uncanny and unsettling without making him fully monstrous or inhuman. in the end, i'm quite happy with the end results, so here they are! just bear in mind that this is my main characterisation of the babadook prince, not the only one I've got up my sleeve, so keep an eye out for more creatureposting!
I think all the previous Papas have had some non-human traits of sorts—not necessarily due to bloodline magic or inheritance, but mainly because the Infernal seems to relish in playing favourites and Sister Imperator's circle is definitely a part of that group.
The issue is that V's predecessors were raised around ghouls and the Satanic clergy; they had the time and resources to learn about and embrace their individual hell-given blessings. He, on another hand, spent majority of his life without even knowing that he'd been noticed by the Infernal. More than that—he grew up under the bonds of the very opposite of his family's religion, having been raised in a Catholic orphanage and then going on to pursue "regular" priesthood.
Despite that, the signs have been there all along, stretching all the way back to V's childhood; even suppressed by his Catholic baptism, the Devil's light still managed to shine through in glimpses.
𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔫
V's eye didn't need to bear the silver mark for those around him to consider him an odd child from the very beginning. He would hear things sometimes—neither human whispers nor clear voices; strange hums in tones and language V could never pinpoint, yet understood in fragments he would forget not long after. They would slip from his memory like remnants of some fading yet complex dream, leaving V with little more than a feeling of strange absence in the place of clarity.
On other ocassions, he would sense the presence of something, even in empty rooms, as if it called to something in him, beckoning him closer.
None of these things would happen regularly to properly disturb the rhythm of his life, but they took plac often enough that he'd started to notice.
The first few times he brought it up to the sisters who ran the orphanage, with all the trust of a small child who hadn't yet learned how to fully suppress questions and fear. Naturally, the nuns brushed it off as typical make-believe. But the more the pattern persisted, the less it made sense to keep blaming V's overactive imagination, and soon the culprits ranged from the boy's bad dreams overstaying their welcome, to straight-up demonic possession.
That quickly taught him to keep quiet and try to resolve the matter himself. He would find himself internalising the adults' feedback; It's just your brain acting up. This is what you get from reading so many books, from asking so many questions. La curiosità è figlia del peccato.
He would try to pray it all away or (briefly) convince himself that perhaps those were some kind saints or guardian angels leaving him little signs—but that assumption felt arrogant, too dangerous to make. So he just let the signs pass—let them happen, let them disturb him sometimes, and then let them fade into monotony. It's not like they happened everyday, after all. It's just that some days proved more challenging than others.
Perhaps everyone experienced something of that sort at least a few times in their life, he tried to tell himself, and they simply felt too ashamed to tell anyone. Or perhaps he was cursed. Perhaps he really was imagining things. Or perhaps those were all symptoms of his soul's unrest and the need for holy healing. Or nothing, or nonsense.
He ended up traversing his previous life more or less accustomed to that weirdness. It never genuinely interrupted anything of importance anyway; it merely remained, the way some currents may be temporarily halted, yet refuse to properly shift.
𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱-𝔲𝔫𝔟𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔪
Imagine V's surprise upon discovering a religion, an entire community, that doesn't negate or simply acknowledge those odd traits of his, but openly celebrates them. Considers them blessings, signs of favour.
He begins to learn how to tune into them, or how to tune them out on occassion, but this time without the harshness of his younger years. And after his unbaptism, after having his soul torn open anew and letting the black light in… the signs amplify. Mutate. Unspool. They seep in bit by bit, extremely subtle until they're too apparent to ignore—and yet, they always feel like they were meant to take place. Like nothing has been added nor taken away, only illuminated.
The subtler ones are usually fairly easy to disregard, or even just miss—unless you're around him often enough and pay close attention: his skin being two or three degrees colder than most humans' (very useful during heatwaves...); his silver eye not only reflecting light but seemingly glowing with one ot its own; shadows moving and bending oddly in his proximity.
Corvids are oddly aware of his presence. It's something people only realise after having spent more time around him. Sometimes there's a crow or two perched nearby, just staring. Every now and then, they may bring him little trinkets: tiny bones, weirdly shaped beads that could be rocks or disassembled jewellery or merely glass shards smoothed out by time and rain.
Other changes V experiences more deeply just because they happen within his body rather than around it.
For example, one day someone notices that his pulse feels… delayed. It beats just a moment slower than expected, or may sometimes be felt in the wrong place (temple, wrist, but faint and misaligned).
Also, his wounds don’t bleed at first; there's a strange pause, followed by a slow oozing, as if his vessel's reluctant. Afterwards his skin might knit oddly, cleanly but without the sense of urgency.
I think the best way to summarise how I want to write "creature" V is uncanny valley? Hardly any of that is intentional and honestly the first few times the "bigger" changes happen the poor man is genuinely unsettled.
They, to quote my dear friend, "make his adjustment to the Church twice as complicated—he's not just adjusting to a new belief system, environment, and people. He's also adjusting to a new way of being him. Of how his body works, how he interacts with the world."
Imagine accidentally nicking someone mid-kiss because suddenly your fangs have grown. What if they don't always retreat back to normal right away? What if at one point they just stop mid-transformation and stay that way, and now you're stuck with your teeth forever suspended between human and something else entirely—
On that note, I don't think V needs blood, but he may want to drink it. Whether because he's not fully human or just because he's a sicko is completely up to you.
I think his choice of costumes is a blend of living finally out his gothic diva dream and also embracing those non-human aspects of himself, even if he doesn't necessarily have all the features we've seen in the photoshoots, such as an actual tail or wings. Probably.
His claws do make an appearance every now and then! They're just a rarer instance than the literal demon teeth + not something he can control particularly well yet. They're also shorter than what we've seen in the promo pics, though their length varies.
That's the thing: V's most noticeable physical creatre-shifts aren't consistent and are mostly temporary. Unlike a typical werewolf or kelpie transformation, there is no specific set of features that appear every single time a change takes place, because the process itself is not as much about shapeshifting as it is about the human body bending the rules of how it should function, in order to make space for something else.
Anyway, he purrs sometimes. It doesn't sounds exactly like a cat's purr, but it's not too dissimilar either. Have you ever heard a bat purr? Yeah, it's a little like that. Predictably, it happens when he feels safe and content, away from strangers' ears or eyes. It's also easier for him to get under wraps compared to some of the other changes, so if he notices his partner finds the sound soothing or pleasant, he may bring it out/emphasize it to some degree.
Another sound he sometimes makes: chittering. Clicking. It tends to veer into insectile or resemble the whisper of a rattlesnake's tail, and thus can be rather disturbing. It's also pretty much beyond V's control, especially since it happens in much different settings than the purrs. The circumstances primarily involve layered overwhelm of some sort (be it physical, emotional or spiritual) + more often than not appear alongside claws, oddly shifting eyes, various distortions: splintered voice, bones bendt at unnatural angles; breath turning freezing like a gust of catacomb air; shadows pooling along his skin in a way that's just not right.
He fixates in that state sometimes. Might not fully realise what's happening. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's best for the right person to be nearby until it passes.
let me know if you want to be tagged ♡ (make sure to specify whether you’d like to be a part of my general tag list, the one for worldbuilding and hcs, or just the one for a particular fic/character!)
Every day I handle more money than I will ever make. Every day.
At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.
At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.
“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.
The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.
I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.
I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.
I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht.
i wrote this while i was working at orlando’s walt disney world parks.
i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.
as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.
disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.
at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.
i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.
i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.
trees are very 🥺 because sometimes i’ll stand under the shade of a tree and look up at it and it’ll sway its branches about in the wind and i’m like oh my God i’m alive and YOU’RE alive. we are alive together and made up of the same starry stuff and standing right next to each other in this moment on this earth. do u feel it when i reach out and press my hand to your trunk? can you hear me? i think you’re so neat. and then the sunlight filters through its leaves just so and that lovely green color leaves me dazzled. it’s just very nice to be an alive thing next to a different sort of alive thing
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i'm breaking the author's silence to address these tags directly, because i've seen similar responses a few times. your context is part of you. you like your favorite band because you found them somehow. you speak the languages you speak because somebody else taught you. you feel the way you feel because you have memories and experiences. shaving off pieces of yourself will not reveal a truth at the center, and will only make you feel less like a person worth being. you will never shed your context or influences, anymore than you will ever become younger or undrink a glass of water. but you are free to create as much additional context as you like. build yourself outward instead of digging for yourself at the center. trying 100 new things will give you 100 more data points on what you like, don't like, think, believe, feel. it might begin to reveal an image of yourself that you can recognize, respect, and love. your life is not an object to be kept clean, it is an ongoing action that you get to control. also that's starlight glimmer not rarity.
Papa understands that you've had a long day, and knows just what you need to unwind. He gestures you over to him, and extends his arms, showing off his satin, billowing robes. You mirror the action, and he leads, levitating off the the floor, and turning 360 degrees.
Following suit, you begin to spin in the T pose, assuming a low-poly state.
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