Doomsday Beauty: Monsters Descended After My Plastic Surgery

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Doomsday Beauty: Monsters Descended After My Plastic Surgery

Kapitel 1: Chapter 1: Sin of Beauty

They say beauty is subjective. That beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and we are all made equally pretty.

But isn't that too hypocritical and bullshit?

When we all know for a fact the glaring disparity between our individual appearances and how we become so invested in it until the point of obsession?

"Hey orc, buy me a banana milk and bread pudding! Aish, make it quick you freak! Stop walking like a fucking penguin!"

"Dang! Why are you eating so much? Are you a pig? Even your nose is stretched like a wide tunnel."

"Girl, aren't you wearing plus size? It looks hella tight haha! You're about to explode on those jeans gosh!"

"HUHH?! You? Want to date me?! Are you out of your mind? Damn it, stay away from me and never appear again! If you tell anyone about this, I'll punch your face, no, kill you! You hear me?!"

"Are you sure that's your mom? You don't look the part. You look more like Aunty's mother hahaha!"

Ever heard at least one of those sick taunts? At some point in your life, you probably did, because I did...

People think it's funny, but it wasn't. Whether it was uttered casually by friends and relatives or brazen youngsters who intend to harass, it's all called body shaming and downright bullying.

It sucks to be on the receiving end of those things, but maybe it was inevitable because most people are egoistic and often find pleasure to be on top of others. Stepping on them in any way they can to assert dominance and power over someone else.

In a world that's driven by ideals, perhaps it's just natural for humans to tread into having a kind of measly standard and set a trend to make a so-called 'order' even though it isn't the type of order that caters to everyone.

Luring those who want affirmation and social acceptance so badly to adjust in the most desirable way that 'order' entails.

Whenever I'm upset, I read smut.

Smut is smut, aside from the good art, it doesn't require logic.

Besides, I just know that everyone here has seen more than enough to confirm what I'm about to say.

Humans are naturally drawn to beautiful things. Our eyes drift back even if we try to look away, so there's nothing we can do, isn't that right?

And within the soothing pages of a paperback, were just the most colorful and vivid words to personify our deepest fantasy, or even on the panels filled with detailed hues that contain the most amazing and realistic drawings ever that bring them to life.

Seeing those exquisite, handsome-looking men looking so perfect in their own right, blushing like there was no tomorrow, just by the mere touch of the person they lust, felt so illegal in every way.

But how to stop anyway?

It was like a kind of drug that kept on pulling me to the depths, and I just found myself wanting to be trapped, not against it.

It makes my heart behave erratically and pound so loud and so fast like whenever the male species band together on the block and chase after me for some odd reason I cannot understand.

So, my optimistic self just assumed they were so smitten that they would even start howling and barking to call more of their buddies near the park and roadside as if trying to get a piece of me.

I guess some creatures like it thick not just pretty. So, what can I say?

Oh well, going back, it often leads me to wonder whether beauty has always been associated with sin.

Where a shitty plot filled with nothing, but intercourse and assault could evoke such delirious graphic content that baits needy patrons wanting more and having no qualms paying for it.

I don't get why good plots have mostly crappy arts that burn the eyes, but I totally get the thrill of how just by merely looking at the bulging veins of those male leads' hands was enough to burst a not-so-innocent reader's uterus along with a nasty squeal at the middle of the night.

No matter how dark it was, as long as they were pleasant to the eyes and senses people tend to be drawn into it.

The idea that something is off-limits in real life only enhances its appeal, making it more enticing and tempting. So, artists, perhaps made them as such by creating a collective craving for it—much like the allure of forbidden fruit.

Perhaps, that highlights the paradox of desiring what we shouldn't touch—what we mustn't have—drawing us toward the forbidden despite its inherent dangers.

Just like…

"You're born that way! Why should you change your face? No. I won't let you undergo surgery and that's final!"

Ugh!

It's the 23rd century, the so-called ideal society, and everyone has embraced the idea of cosmetic surgery as an integral part of one's life, the new normal.

The technological advancement made it sure to create the most convenient way to correct people's physical flaws and imperfections. To finally bury the insecurities that they feel about their bodies and have more confidence in themselves.

But for an ogre who was born in a conservative household, I wonder if I was cursed or was simply unlucky to be the only one who gets stuck with my virgin, natural face.

That I can no longer live with unless I want to be an old maid!

It should be well-received... should be yeah.

To hell with that.

Hah!

"Oh, come on, Dad! For Pete's sake, I'm already twenty-five! Do you know what that means?" I refuted still trying to make my point clear, "I'm about to enter the league of my generation's left-over women!"

Like seriously, who will want me past 30 if even now no one would want to date me?

Dang it!

Although I couldn't care less about marriage, there was something I would want to experience while I was still in my prime—hot intercourse with a real hot man!