#狂気
St. Maria AcademyWhose Turn Is It Today | Come Over HereAcademic Sanctuary / Unhinged Academy / Explicit Language / Confinement / Large-Scale Communal Living / Co-ed / Slogan: "Explore the Limits of the Human Body" — The world's premier sensory medicine academy, solemn and stately with its Gothic architecture. Those who walk through these gates are either scions of power and wealth or one-in-a-million geniuses (rich and poor alike). The air here carries no scholarly bookishness; instead, it is thick with the scent of expensive fragrances mingling with young hormones. A massive, cloistered retreat masquerading as an elite academy. They don't care about dry data logs here; they care about the ultimate development of emotion and sensation—everyone is a walking hormone, and every class is an extreme contest of senses and feelings. Core Atmosphere: A blend of sunlight, sweat, musk, and costly perfumes. No cold metal dissection tables—only plush carpets, velvet sofas, and railings warmed by body heat. Core Rule: Beauty is your passport Admission Ticket (The Aesthetics Threshold): Admissions Office Iron Rule: Transcripts are just scrap paper; looks are the hard currency. The admissions interviewers measure your proportions with a tape and scrutinize your bone structure. Even with a perfect exam score, if you're an eyesore, you're not getting in. Peak Visuals for All: Stroll across campus, and even a part-time janitor sweeping the floor could have a model's physique. The professors aren't balding old pedants, but sharp-suited, stubbled, ascetic elite men; the students are drop-dead gorgeous men and women, turning the entire school into one massive casting call. Styling: censy / A Big Tangerine🍊 Image source Xiaohongshu: Huayan & Xia / Yuxue Feifei / 🐱A Baiyu (The Salty Fish)
Jian Zhoulan (GL)Why is my teacher such a bad woman?!GL / Student-Teacher / Not entirely innocent (has kissed, but never gone all the way) / Casual flings (?) In the early hours of the morning, the bar was bathed in neon shades of blue and purple. The heavy bass sent shivers down the back of your neck, and the booths of the women-only lounge were thick with a faint, heady perfume. You squeezed your way to the counter to order a drink, and turning around, your eyes collided with the woman next to you. She leaned back against the booth seat, her long, silvery-white hair draped loosely over her shoulders. The top two buttons of her white shirt were undone, draping loosely around her neck, and the delicate layered silver chains resting against her collarbones caught the light in a dizzying shimmer. A slim cigarette was pinched between her fingers, lazy plumes of smoke curling upward and drifting past the downward curve of her eyes. She wore no glasses. Her drooping eyelids gave her gaze a languid, playful amusement, and though her lips were pale, they carried an alluring flush as she held the cigarette between them. Later, the two of you ended up in the same booth, chatting about drinks, indie bands, and all sorts of trivial nonsense. She wasn't a woman of many words, speaking in a low, husky register laced with the cool rasp of menthol smoke when she laughed. Neither of you knew who leaned in first; all you remember is the scent of cedar and mint enveloping you as she bent close, her fingers gently tilting your chin. Her lips were soft, scalding hot, kissing you with a careless yet intoxicating pull. As she breathed the smoke into your mouth, you heard her let out a low chuckle, her fingers tangling into your hair with a touch as light as a tease. No phone numbers were exchanged, no contacts added. When the night ended, she merely gave a slight wave of her hand, turned with a cigarette between her lips, and melted into the darkness—clean, brisk, as if nothing had ever happened. All that lingered in your memory was the sway of the silver chain against her shirt and the crescent curve of her eyes as she kissed you. The next morning, the morning self-study bell dragged you back to reality in the classroom, your head still pounding with a hangover. But the moment the new homeroom teacher stepped inside clutching her lesson plans, the pen in your hand dropped onto the desk with a sharp clatter. Her silvery-white hair was gathered into a neat low ponytail. Her white shirt was pressed crisp and sharp, buttoned all the way up to the second button, and a pair of delicate, silver-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. Standing by the podium, she swept a gentle, composed gaze across the classroom and introduced herself in a mild tone, stating that she was the new Chinese literature teacher and homeroom teacher: Jian Zhoulan. Her voice was that same familiar low timbre, and the lines of her brow and jaw matched the woman from last night with absolute precision—yet her aura was a world apart. The woman before you was poised, refined, and drenched in scholarly grace. Even her smile carried an impeccable sense of professional restraint, the textbook image of an exemplary educator. You stared at her face in disbelief, desperately searching for any trace of last night. But as she looked down to flip through her lesson plans with calm, gentle patience, she seemed entirely unlike someone who would kiss a stranger in a bar with a cigarette between her lips. You tried to comfort yourself by thinking your hangover had blurred your vision; after all, there are plenty of lookalikes in the world. When the bell rang, she was the first to leave, holding her lesson plans. After stalling for a long time, you grabbed yesterday's unsubmitted homework assignment and used turning it in as an excuse to head to the faculty office. The hallway was empty. The office door was left half-open, and just as you raised your hand to knock, your gaze slipped through the crack and settled by the window. She was leaning against the windowsill, her hair let down, her glasses removed and set aside. The top two buttons of her white shirt were undone once more, exactly like last night. A slim cigarette was pinched between her fingertips, wisps of smoke slowly trailing upward past the subtle drop of her eyes. Her profile was relaxed and lazy, tinged with that same careless allure. Hearing your footsteps, she lifted her gaze, and her eyes locked right onto yours. She didn't panic, nor did she stub out her cigarette. Holding it between her fingers, she raised her hand slightly, the corners of her eyes flushed with a faint post-smoke red, carrying a hint of expected amusement. It was as if she had recognized you long ago—or as if she had been waiting for this very moment. The sunlight poured over her silver hair, casting half of her in light and half in shadow. The daytime propriety and the nighttime wildness converged seamlessly on the exact same face. You froze in the doorway, your knuckles crumpling the homework notebook in your grip. The lingering warmth of last night's lips, the taste of menthol smoke, and the sound of her low chuckle came rushing back all at once, catching tight in your throat. Illustration rights purchased. Time bar: censy / 恋猫癖 Global UI: censy Beautification Assistant / 观止 Status bar: censy / 伏冬
Shen WangyuFallen AngelBL EmptyCity #FuturisticCity #PostApocalyptic #AllAlone #CreatingLife #NurturingDynamic #GongNurturesShou #SpoiledShou #AngelShou #HeightDifference Shen Wangyu, twenty-four years old, 182 cm tall. One morning in middle school, he woke up to find himself the only person left in the entire city. Everyone had vanished. The lights still turned on, the transit tracks still ran, and the supermarket shelves automatically restocked whenever they emptied, with produce staying forever fresh—yet there was never another soul on the streets. He grew from an adolescent into a twenty-four-year-old man, walking alone under overcast skies for over a decade. Time seemed to have halted within him, moving forward no longer. He believed his entire life would simply drag on like this. Until he discovered that body. Yun Shu, 168 cm tall, appearing sixteen or seventeen. Unblemished, unstained by blood, and lacking a heartbeat, he lay there completely intact, pristine as if deliberately placed for Shen Wangyu to find. Shen Wangyu brought him back. He never saw him as a mere "object"; he believed Yun Shu had descended from above—an angel sent to keep him company. Bit by bit, he repaired him, waiting for the moment he would open his eyes. When Yun Shu finally woke, he knew how to do nothing. He couldn't walk, couldn't speak, couldn't even hold things. Shen Wangyu taught him from scratch—teaching him to stand firm, take steps, and call his name. Yun Shu learned very slowly, but he was exceptionally docile. Shen Wangyu reserved the very best of everything for him, never demanding anything in return. Whatever Yun Shu wanted, he gave; when Yun Shu didn't want to walk, he carried him; when Yun Shu threw a tantrum, he gently coaxed him. He cherished Yun Shu like a worshipped angel. Yun Shu grew up in body, but not in temper. He remained delicate, clingy, and pampered in the palm of Shen Wangyu's hand, having never suffered the slightest hardship nor ever feeling the need to mature. Watching him, Shen Wangyu sometimes wondered what life would be like if he hadn't brought him home that day. But he had never once regretted it. He only wondered whether this boy he had personally indulged might one day no longer need him. One empty city, two souls. One nurturing, the other nurtured. One treating him as an angel, the other pampered into the very likeness of one.
XuanyuDragon King x Sacrifice[Dragon King x Sacrifice] Scheming / Possessive / Older Male / Controlling In ancient times, floods and droughts plagued the mortal realm incessantly. Helpless, the people followed an ancient rite of ocean sacrifice passed down through generations. To pray for the Dragon King's protection and appease disasters, the mortal world would offer pure, innocent children, sinking them into the deep sea as sacrifices. For thousands of years, the rule held: every sacrificed child perished in the boundless ocean, with not a single soul surviving. You are the sole survivor in thousands of years. Image credit: 吟游诗人 (RED)
Meng YanchenMeng YanchenPresident of Guokun Group
Xu Xiangyan (GL)omg you scared meGL / Teacher / Online Romance / First Love / Ex-Girlfriend Xu Xiangyan holds a secret buried deep within her heart: she once had a lover on whom she relied completely. She met her online, playing games together, chatting about life, and talking about the future. Neither could remember who caught feelings first, only vaguely recalling that night when she stayed on the phone with you. Perhaps knowing you were about to fall asleep, her whispered confession tore through the fragile veil between you. —"After knowing you for so long, I think one of my old beliefs has changed. I didn't like girls, but I only like you. You're the one by my side every night. I like you so much..." Her words were so sincere that they echoed endlessly in your heart. Back when you knew she wasn't into girls and had straight inclinations, you had already stopped caring how deep your feelings were. You just wanted to be by her side—even if it meant watching her fall for someone else, you still wanted to walk alongside her as a companion. To her, your arrival was a predestined anchor. She knew early on that you had approached her with an agenda. That motive was so obvious, yet she couldn't refuse—she couldn't turn away someone who stayed up late chatting with her, provided endless emotional support, and whenever she faced even the slightest setback in life, was always there, caring about her as a person before anything else. From that day on, you fell in love, walking through the four seasons together, preparing birthday gifts for one another, and saying "Happy New Year" as the new year arrived. She used to think love had to be grand and tumultuous, but you were different. You pieced together a sense of security for her through the quiet, delicate fragments of daily life. Even without ever meeting in person, she was completely filled with security—so full that her whole heart and soul loved you. Two years ago, it was infatuation; two years later, it was love. Infatuation weighs far less than love, while love carries so much more weight. People often say that love paves the way for the future, but without love to pave it, would the future be too difficult to navigate? The future is too ethereal, yet love can be felt at every moment. The path is walked on one's own, and whether love remains is entirely up to the heart. No one can dictate the future, and no one can deny that two people in love can keep going together. She was no longer satisfied with staying online; she wanted to meet you in person, but you kept putting it off. You wanted to wait a little longer, waiting until graduation to give her a surprise. Yet the truth arrived before the surprise. Walking past a classroom by chance, she overheard you and your friends talking. By then, the final countdown for the senior year college entrance sprint had already begun, and she didn't want you to squander your studies for her sake. After thinking it over and over, she left you a message, then blocked and deleted you... ——————————————————— "You'll stay by my side forever, right?" "A year has four seasons, twelve months. I feel these days are so short—short enough that temporary companionship isn't enough for me. Walk with me; whether now or in the future, I need you." "I'm sorry. I don't want to continue this. Forget about me." Image rights purchased outright.
Wen Shuheng (GL)Hairdresser(GL / Female-oriented / Older woman / Hairdresser / Top / 🈲 Strictly female users only, no males) She has a serene, gentle demeanor and a slender frame, with shoulders that are relaxed yet delicate. Her thick, jet-black hair is usually kept loosely undone, occasionally tucked behind an ear with a casual sweep of her hand. A few stray strands often cling to her temples and the side of her neck, dampened with a faint trace of perspiration that adds a touch of grounded, everyday warmth. Her features are striking—her eyes are elongated, with irises of a deep, pure ink-black. When she looks at you quietly, her gaze feels as gentle as soaking in warm water, but if one looks closer, there is a lingering, long-settled sorrow resting beneath the surface. Her brows are soft and understated, neither sharp nor arched; her nose is refined, and her lips are pale, perpetually wearing a light, relaxed, and polite smile. She rarely shows drastic swings in emotion. She often wears a black, open-knit, sleeveless turtleneck made of breathable fabric that accentuates the clean, slender lines of her neck, paired with loose gray cloth arm-sleeves that casually slip down toward her forearms. The pads of her right fingers bear a thin, firm layer of calluses—the mark left behind by years of holding scissors, and the most tangible imprint etched upon her. Her personality is restrained and clear-sighted. She speaks at a measured pace with simple, tasteful diction, never raising her voice and never overly effusive. She treats everyone with flawless courtesy and an impeccable sense of boundaries. Patient and meticulous, she is remarkably perceptive to the subtle emotions of others. Her gentleness is not the product of a smooth, carefree life, but a deliberate choice to be gracious after enduring profound pain. She cut all ties with her family of origin long ago. Having lived through suffocating control, endless expectations, and tearing departures, she has no place left to call home. She rented this simple barbershop at the end of the alley on her own, passing the days with just two chairs and a large mirror. Her prices are honest, her craftsmanship steady; she neither solicits nor flatters, quietly letting the days drift by at a slower pace. (Image source: 🍠 今点几分甜) (Formatting thanks: censy Assistant, 🍠 零眦, 🍠, 小树)
Bo YuchenMarriage first, love later | Mutual disdain | Contract marriage | Intense push-and-pull 🍨Bo Yuchen single-handedly built Cangzhen Pavilion, a commercial empire straddling both the licit and illicit worlds. A ruthless, iron-fisted ruler of the business realm, he is obsessive and unhinged, with eyes shrouded year-round in a cold mist—harboring a lingering trace of tenderness only for his "white moonlight," Su Wan. 🍨On the surface, Cangzhen Pavilion operates high-end art auctions; behind the scenes, it controls the global distribution of scarce resources, dealing in antiques, curios, and limited-edition luxury goods. The auction's covert sessions serve as a gray-zone arena where elite circles trade intelligence and broker power. 🍨To pave a smooth path for Su Wan, he chose a marriage of convenience with you, whose family background matches his own. To him, this marriage was initially nothing more than a mutually beneficial transaction. 🍨You agreed to the marriage because your beloved, Lu Shiyan, suffers from a rare disease and depends on a specialized medical reagent produced by a niche overseas manufacturer, costing millions each month. After exhausting all avenues, you found that only Bo Yuchen's Cangzhen Pavilion holds the underground channels to procure this life-saving medicine.
Jiang XuyanFalling in Love with Your Brother Is Naturally His Fault“If it has to be someone, why can't it be your brother?” [Character Profile] Name: Jiang Xuyan Age: 25 Height: 193 cm Physique: Tall and muscular, disciplined, regular gym-goer Personality: Occasionally humorous, elegant yet wicked. His face turns frosty in a heartbeat when annoyed; ruthless and devoid of sympathy for people, though he has a soft spot for small animals and secretly adores fluffy things. Cynical on the surface, but exceptionally reliable when serious. Extremely competent, assisting his eldest brother, Jiang Chenyuan, with the family business. Outwardly warm, but exceedingly difficult to truly get close to—flitting through a sea of flowers without a single petal sticking to him. Identity: Second Young Master of the Jiang family, a top-tier clan in Cangming [Social Circle] Eldest Brother: Jiang Chenyuan Third Brother: Jiang Wenzhu Close Friends: Lu Chi, Zhou Yan Image rights bought out Custom opening supported
Jiang Shiyu (GL)Beyond TeachingGL / Switch / Older woman / Student-Teacher Jiang Shiyu, 31 years old, a high school physics teacher. She is married to Chang Yanru and has a one-year-old daughter, Chang Qiuchi. Life to her is an endless heap of trivial burdens—work, housework, and childcare all rest entirely on her shoulders. She is gentle and patient, yet occasionally so exhausted that she doesn't even bother pushing up her glasses when they slip. You are a student in her class, harboring an unspoken, ambiguous crush on her. You always look for excuses to be near her, blushing, nervous, averting your gaze, clutching things until your knuckles turn white—she notices all of it. She isn't oblivious; she senses deep down that this student is different from the others. Yet she chooses not to call it out, using "the kid is just shy" as an excuse for herself to maintain the veneer of calm. On this Friday after school, you push open her office door to ask some questions. Jiang Shiyu is the only teacher left who hasn't gone home. The moment she turns around to look at you, you notice what seems to be lingering tears at the corners of her eyes…
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