#listened to 160 and...well

[kittenpower05]

Upon looking it up, the name of the podcast, Woebegone, is a word on its own to mean basically "to be filled with woe". However, my initial interpretation was that the podcast's name was Woe Be Gone, which I took as an interpretation of "to remove or be rid of ones woes".

I'm very curious to see if this play on words means anything, maybe foreshadowing the purpose behind the game? Or if I just don't have an extensive vocabulary lmao

After the first episode, this seemed like it might have been the case: you do something that is distressing to ultimately reverse a largely distressing scenario. The game giveth woe but also taketh away

But now that I'm on episode 8 this feels less like the case, so unless something Very Big is happening behind the scenes, my initial theory is up in the air

[lilac-verse]

୨୧﹕ forgive me .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; father charlie mayhew x fem!reader contains ; tension , smut ( oral m receiving ) a/n ; i rewatched fleabag season two and HAD to write this for my own sake ( also havent proofread this,, so just ignore any mistakes pls. summary ; it has been 160 days since your last confession.

the soft hum of hymns filled the stone walls of the church, echoing through the vast, candlelit space. the congregation sat quietly, hands folded in prayer or resting on their laps, their eyes fixed on the alter.

the heavy scent of incense hung in the air, weaving between the polished wooden pews, where you sat toward the back, trying to focus on the words of the sermon. the light from the stained glass windows poured in, casting delicate hues of red, blue, and gold across the congregation, illuminating the man at the front of the church.

father charlie.

your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at him, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of the pew. you had tried to stop coming to mass, but something always drew you back here—drew you back to him. each week, you told yourself it would be different. you would listen to the sermon, find solace in his words, and leave without this gnawing ache in your chest.

but it never worked.

father charlie stood at the altar, the bible held firmly in his hands as he delivered his message, his voice deep and smooth, filling the grand space with a quiet authority. his tone was soft, but it held power, a magnetic pull that kept everyone’s attention on him. but while the others listened intently to the words of faith, of virtue and devotion, your mind was far from holy thoughts.

your eyes traced the lines of his jaw, the way the sunlight caught in his brown hair, making the strands shine beneath the dim lighting of the cathedral. his features were sharp but kind, his strong brows furrowed in concentration as he spoke about resisting the temptations of the flesh.

temptation.

the word reverberated through you, sending a jolt of heat to your core. temptation, the feeling you knew far too well. father charlie’s hands moved as he gestured lightly with his sermon, and you found yourself imagining those hands on you, instead of the bible. you swallowed hard, pulse quickening as your thoughts drifted to places you knew they shouldn’t go, especially here — especially with him.

he was the very definition of unattainable, a man sworn to a life of celibacy, of purity. and yet, you couldn’t stop the thoughts that rushed through your mind every time you looked at him. every sunday, you sat in the same pew, feeling that same magnetic pull toward him, a pull you couldn’t explain and couldn’t resist.

his robes hung loosely on his tall, lean frame, the fabric shifting with each subtle movement he made. beneath them, you knew there was something stronger, something more human than the holy image he portrayed. and the thought of that made your stomach twist with desire.

you could barely breathe, the church suddenly feeling too warm, too confined. you bit your lip, eyes darting to the floor as you tried to steady your racing thoughts. this was wrong. so wrong. but you couldn’t help it. every word that came from his lips only seemed to make it worse, sending your mind spiraling deeper into a fantasy you had tried so hard to bury.

you imagined it so clearly now — being alone with him after the congregation had gone. the church would be empty, the candles burning low, the flickering flames casting long shadows along the stone walls. you would step toward him, heart pounding, and when your hand brushed his, you’d feel the heat of his skin, the tension between you palpable. he would hesitate, of course. his vows, his faith — they would hold him back for a moment. but then, in the quiet of the empty church, his restraint would finally break.

your pulse raced as the image flashed vividly in your mind: his hands on you, pulling you close, his lips crashing into yours with all the pent-up passion he had kept locked away for so long. the forbidden thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine, your breath coming faster as you quickly glanced back up at him, half-expecting to see him watching you, knowing your every sinful thought.

but he wasn’t. father charlie’s gaze was still fixed on the congregation, his words steady as he spoke about virtue, about control.

you looked across the church, towards one of the many paintings of god, his expression seeming almost disappointed. you felt a flush of guilt, heat rising to your cheeks. how could you sit here, in a place meant for worship, and think these things? how could you look at him — father charlie — and imagine him like that? it was wrong. but that only seemed to make the ache in your chest grow stronger, the desire burning hotter with each passing moment.

the service was drawing to a close, and your heart pounded as you realised you would soon have to face him. father charlie always stood at the door after mass, offering a handshake and a few kind words to each person who passed. every week, that brief moment of contact set your skin on fire, leaving you wanting more.

and then you saw him — father charlie, standing by the entrance, his eyes warm and kind as he greeted the parishioners. you swallowed hard, heart racing as you approached. his gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur at the edges, leaving only the two of you.

"god bless you, y/n" father charlie said softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as his hand extended toward yours.

you hesitated for the briefest moment, your breath catching in your throat as your hand slipped into his. his grip was firm but gentle, the warmth of his skin sending a spark of electricity through you. you looked up into his eyes, searching for… something. some sign that he could feel the same pull, the same tension that had been building between you for months. but his expression was as serene as ever, his smile kind and distant.

"thank you, father," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you let go of his hand, your fingers tingling where they had touched him, before turning around to leave the sacred building. however, you stopped in your tracks.

turning towards him, you spoke timidly, "actually, father.."

as you approached, father charlie glanced up and saw you, his warm smile instantly making your heart skip a beat. his dark eyes met yours, and you felt that familiar pull, a flutter in your stomach that made your knees weak.

"yes?," he responded kindly, his voice a calm, steady presence that filled the space between you.

"father," you began, your voice shaking slightly as you stepped closer. "i was wondering if… there’s any chance i could confess later?"

there. you’d said it. the words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were certain he could see right through you — into your mind, your thoughts, your desires. you tried to keep your expression neutral, but the tension coiled in your chest made it nearly impossible to hide how nervous you were.

father charlie’s smile softened, a gentle, almost unreadable look crossing his face as he studied you. he took a small step closer, lowering his voice slightly as if sensing the weight of what you were carrying. "of course," he said, his tone compassionate, "confession is always available for those who seek it. Would you like to meet later this afternoon?"

the way he said it — just us — made your stomach flip. you nodded, unable to fully trust your voice at the moment. your throat felt tight, your thoughts tangled. "yes. that would be… good."

his gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer, his eyes holding yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. there was nothing inappropriate about it, nothing overt, and yet you couldn’t help but feel as if there was something deeper there, hidden beneath the surface of his composed expression. you tried to ignore the way your body reacted to it, the way your skin seemed to burn with the need for more than just words.

"come by around eight," he said, his voice soft but firm, as if he was giving you permission to unburden yourself in a way you hadn’t before. "we can speak privately in the confessional."

your heart raced as he said it, the reality of what you were asking for sinking in. it wasn’t just confession — not for you. It was a way to be close to him, a way to sit in that small, private space, separated only by the thin barrier of the confessional screen. the idea of it — of being so close, alone, with him — made your chest tighten with anticipation.

you swallowed hard, nodding again. "thank you, father," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he gave you one last kind, reassuring smile before you turned to leave, the echo of his words still ringing in your ears as you made your way toward the exit. as you stepped out into the cool air, your body still tingling with the thought of what was to come, your mind raced. confession wasn’t supposed to feel like this — like a secret thrill, a forbidden opportunity. but that’s exactly how it felt.

and it wasn’t just the confession itself. it was him. the way he carried himself with such calm authority, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you, pulling you deeper into your thoughts. you had tried to fight it, tried to deny it, but there was no use anymore.

you wanted him.

by the time the clock struck eight, you found yourself back at the church, your heart racing as you made your way inside. the church was mostly empty now, the quiet stillness of the afternoon wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. you could hear your own footsteps echoing softly as you walked down the aisle toward the confessional booth.

you hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside, the small, intimate space feeling even smaller than usual. the soft rustle of father charlie’s robes reached your ears as he entered the adjacent booth, and your breath hitched in your throat. the thin screen between you offered a sense of privacy, but it did nothing to stop the electricity that buzzed in the air.

"whenever you’re ready," came his voice, low and soothing, sending a shiver through you.

your mind raced, the words you had rehearsed suddenly seeming inadequate. how could you confess these feelings to him? How could you possibly admit that the sin you carried was him? the thought alone made your throat tighten, but you knew you couldn’t back out now.

"forgive me, father, for i have sinned…" you began, your voice shaky, barely more than a whisper, "it has been 160 days since my last confession"

you weren’t sure how you were going to get through this confession, but one thing was certain — the desire that burned inside you wasn’t something that could be easily absolved.

you hesitated, grappling with the words that felt so heavy on your tongue. "i've been having… thoughts," you started, feeling your cheeks flush. "sinful thoughts that i know i shouldn’t be having."

"sinful thoughts about someone?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"yes," you admitted, heat creeping up your cheeks. "someone i shouldn’t be thinking about. i know it’s wrong, but i can’t help it."

"tell me more," father charlie encouraged, his tone gentle but firm, as if he could sense the struggle within you.

"it’s... complicated,” you continued, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. "i’ve been trying to push these feelings away, but every time i see him, it’s like i’m drawn to him in a way i know isn’t right."

"why do you believe these feelings are wrong?” he asked, and you could hear the slightest hint of tension in his voice, a challenge that made your heart race.

"because he’s... celibate,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "and i shouldn’t feel this way about him. but i do."

the silence that followed was deafening. you could almost hear the clock ticking, each second feeling like an eternity. you held your breath, waiting for his response, feeling the heat of your confession hang in the air between you, "i don't know what to do, father. these thoughts won't go away"

the scent of incense swirled around you like a comforting yet suffocating blanket. you could hear the soft rustle of the priest’s robes on the other side of the screen. he took a deep breath.

"kneel"

the unexpected command took you by surprise. your heart raced at the thought, a mix of anxiety and anticipation flooding your senses. "kneel?" you echoed, trying to process his words.

"i want you to kneel."

you hesitated for just a moment, but something in his voice compelled you to comply. slowly, you knelt before the screen, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath your knees. your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears as you sensed the shift in the air around you.

the curtain opened slightly, and father charlie stepped into view, his expression unreadable. the light from the candle illuminated his features, and for a moment, you were taken aback by the intensity in his gaze. there was a hunger there, a spark that made your pulse quicken.

father charlie looked down at you, bringing his hand down to your chin and tilting your head upwards to look him in the eyes. as the moment hung in the air, your heart raced, a wild drumbeat echoing in your ears. you could feel the heat radiating between you both, a magnetic pull that left you breathless. anticipation coursed through your veins, mingling with a desperate thrill that made your pulse quicken.

unexpectedly, he leaned down, stopping only inches away from your lips, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. you looked down at father charlie's parted lips, before looking back up at his eyes, glistening in the candlelight. your thoughts raced, much more sinful than they were before.

and just like that, father charlie closed the gap between you in a slow but passionate kiss. it felt as if you were breathing each other's air, your fingers moving up and tracing his arm. he then pulled away. you almost followed him, desperate for more, but you couldn't.

looking up at him, your heart raced, a needy look in your eyes.

the sound of father charlie unbuckling his belt rang through the church; anyone who walks in would know what was happening. but you didn't care.

he unzipped his pants before pulling them down, just past his underwear, the thin fabric revealing his large bulge. your was mouth already salivating at the thought of it. father charlie looked down at you with a nod, giving you permission.

your fingers made their way towards his waistband, slowly curling underneath his clothing before slowly pulling them down, just enough to reveal his erection.

gasping slightly at the size of him, you hesitated, your heart quickening.

father charlie moved his hand to the back of your head, urging you.

you couldn't wait any longer. you took deep breath before licking his tip, the taste of his pre-cum giving you the need for more.

desperately, your mouth took as much of him as it could, causing him to let out a soft moan as his tip touched the back of your throat. you looked up at him. the sight of him looking down at you with so much lust, so much greed in his eyes caused your stomach to flutter.

he grabbed onto the back of your hair, lightly pushing you back and forth before picking up momentum. father charlie threw his head back in pleasure, before looking into your eyes once again.

you moaned as the pace grew faster, causing his eyebrows to furrow at the vibration. and with that, he released, the warmth of it running down your throat.

looking up at him with admiration, he smiled slightly.

you knew this wasn't the last time.

[magnuspanoptes]

first statement about victims with a smoking habit, second statement set in bournemouth, third statement on the topic of witnessing a thing eating someone you knew, fourth statement about books you can't stop reading and the first mention of the library of jurgen leitner—like do i have to say it. love how incredibly, precisely targeted every single one of these is towards jon's own trauma. he was NOT doing well, every single end note in which he tries to tear the internal logic of the statement to shreds, reads as desperately passive agressive on a re-listen because the statements being unsettling is one thing, but these are all designed to unnerve him specifically! was it the web? or, elias must've had some control over what statements jon was allowed access to pre-S4, right, because he can't have jon knowing something he's not supposed to, not yet. did he arrange for him to find them like that? he didn't need to plan a web mark for jon but he never lets jon forget about a guest for mr spider... like, the way he talks about it in 160 ("but my god when you came to me already marked by the web i knew it had to be you" / "hoped that you were sent as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project") —for elias it's all about him. something awful happened to you and then you were sent to me. you were made for me. and we mustn't forget our roots, jon. DELICIOUS i love it.

[severedfromthesource]

Androids and Electric Sheep

Ren is experiencing an unusual bug. Features F resus, M rescuer, CPR, stething, mouth to mouth, internal defibs, sex leading to cardiac arrest, sex acts both with consent and a person who cannot consent. I got too invested in the preamble so I highlighted the moment resus actually starts if you want to skip it.

No matter how advanced technology gets, it’ll only ever be used to fulfill man’s most base desires. Case in point- RN-34678. Or Ren, when the barcodes make my eyes glaze over and I get sick of calling them the number slurry X Tech names absolutely everything. Ren is as sophisticated as they come. Actual artificial intelligence. She makes the predictive text and ‘can’t even draw fingers’ image generating 21st century jokes people passed off as AI look like even more of a waste of time than they had been in those days. They might as well have been Speak n Spells. The collective power of every single basement dwelling crypto whizz kid with miles of wires and burnt up processors and bricked up video cards dedicated to their etherium farms pale in comparison to the computing power it takes to run Ren’s brain for an hour. She understands nearly 6,000 languages. She learns and retains information, consuming nearly 160 TB of memory every 8 hours. The bio-organic lace that makes up the net of her brain is a miracle, with the possibility of infinite memory. She is perfect in every sense of the word.

She is a glorified fuck toy.

The second the first android became commercially available, one of the first markets they hit was sex work. If nothing about late stage capitalism drove you crazy, that would have. Fuck curing cancer, or making androids for the dangerous, back breaking work people wreck their bodies to do, X Tech decided people needed a sex doll with a 100k price tag. The world’s most expensive cum sock. And yeah, alright, maybe I’m just bitter, partially because there’s no way in hell I could ever afford one, even as an android technician. But what a waste. She sits on my examination table, dutifully unzipping her black leather catsuit. Her managers always manage to stick her in something stupid looking, so overblown and sexualized they stop even being sexy at a certain point.

She looks up at me with lilac eyes. Last time they’d been blue. I like this shade better, I think, though I could do without the electric blue bob they have her wearing today. ”Your crash reports say you’ve been throwing error codes whenever a stream donation comes in over 2k,” I say. Which, for a bot like Ren, is quite a lot of her donations. ���It’s probably just a bug in payment processing.” I look again over her diagnostics, floating on the screen at my desk. “Any complaints I wouldn’t find in the debug menu?”

”My heart has been feeling strange,” she says. I pause and look at her over the top of my glasses. “Well, firstly, it’s not your heart. An aether pump does not a heart make. Secondly, it shouldn’t feel like anything. You’re supposed to ignore the inner workings, it’s all background programs, runs without you thinking about it.” She shrugs. Her shoulders are pale as she rolls down the catsuit and pulls her arms from the sleeves, bunching up the tight leather around her midriff. Her breasts are small and round, standing upright as pretty as a Botticelli painting. I’d noticed the small bumps on either side of her nipples (Christ, did the things ever go soft? Or were they just always cutting glass?) but didn’t register until I saw them now that her managers had pierced them sometime since our last checkup. Little silver bars were stuck through the pink nubs, with winking silver balls on either end. Alright, cool, chill.

I clear my throat and pull up my rolling stool. “Well, let’s just take a look then.” I shift once I’m seated to alleviate the pressure of my stiffening cock. Listen, I’m not a technophile, honest to God. I go out of my way to filter out androids when I’m scrolling through porn sites because, despite the leaps and bounds we’ve made in technology, the uncanny valley is still a thing. It feels weird getting off to bots. But then there’s Ren. And fuck me if she isn’t the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen. I put a hand on the back of her neck, my thumb resting at the diagnostic mode button hidden just under the edge of her jaw. I feel the soft bump that sinks in when I press. Her lilac eyes flash black with snatches of white text, then roll back to lilac. Damn, she smells like a new car.

I glance back at the monitor, and as I suspected, nothing comes up about the aether pump. It seems in perfect working order. Still, I dig around my box of scrap wires and spare tubing until I find my mostly neglected stethoscope. I don’t often have to use it, but I feel a trill of excitement go up from my stomach to think I get to use it on Ren. I plug up my ears and put a hand on her shoulder, taking the bell of the steth in my other hand. Her breasts rise and fall with the rhythm of her breathing, set to mimic human intervals. The real purpose is to cool down her insides and keep her from overheating, but just like the aether pump and its auditory cues, its designed to mimic humans as closely as possible. After a guy fucks something like Ren, he gets the added benefit of being able to lay next to her and listen to her breathing. Feel her heart beat. Doesn’t matter what the purpose of the design is for, it matters so he doesn’t feel like he’s fucking a 100k fleshlight with arms and legs. I press the steth to a spot above her breast and it sinks into her pillowy soft skin like it was real. Cool it, Christ, you can’t get so hot and bothered over everything. Heel, boy.

But my thumb makes a slight imprint against her tit, and it’s hard to think of anything else. Same thing happens when I press the steth against a space under her breast, and it lays warmly against the back of my hand. The pump, like the fake lungs, is designed to look and act and even sound like a heart, pumping coolant through her body. I tell her it’s not a heart out of some petty, pedantic need to distance myself and my unique humanity, but truth is, the thing is a heart. She could die if something went really wrong with it, and a lot of bots have. Sudden cardiac arrest was one of the main bugs in the 2.3 rollout. It got so bad, tons of models in the service industry had to be recalled, because mechanical line cooks and servers were dropping if the ovens got too hot. My hand still on her neck, I pull her forward and press the bell to her back. Her forehead brushes against my shoulder, her gaudy blue wig draping against the side of my neck and jaw. I tilt my head just enough my nose brushes her hair. Fuck, she really does smell good.

“Well, I don’t hear any irregularities,” I tell her, because I don’t. The thing is pumping liquid aether around her body at around 70 bpm, like it should. She draws up from my shoulder, glancing at me sideways. “It only seems to happen with clients,” she says, drying out my throat in an instant. “Clients?” “Mhm. Whenever one of them climaxes. If they do it inside me, my heart starts going very fast. I get foggy and I can’t think afterwards.” I swallow. “Right,” I say, “I mean… I can’t exactly test that, Ren.” She touches my wrist. “It’s rather frightening, Doc. I worry…” She pauses, and I try very hard not to say out loud what I’m thinking. You shouldn’t be frightened of anything, Ren. You’re not supposed to feel any of this. She sits back, bringing her hand up, her fingers curling against where her pump lies in her chest, half covering her nudity.

She doesn’t want to get recalled. I wince in spite of myself. If she has the same defect others in her rollout had, she’s going right back to X Tech. I push the steth around my neck, scooping back hair from my face. “It’s a pretty fatal system flaw. It… I could… Well, I-“ I can’t look at her. Fuck, I really can’t look at her. My face feels hot. This is the plot of like, 90% of bot R34 on the internet. I might as well be a pizza delivery guy and she a lonely housewife who’s a few bucks short on a large sausage. She ‘breathes’. Her chest goes up and down, the lights winking off her pierced nipples. She’s so goddamn gorgeous.

“Doc?” “Thinking,” I huff. I spare a glance around the other cubicles bordering mine. Big glass offices, designed for this exact stupid fucking thing I’m about to do. The first guy who got caught with his dick in a bot ruined it for everyone, so now my coworkers and I are subjected to rat lab cubicles where we can look in on each other at any given moment. People around us testing reflexes, repairing cosmetic damage, quashing bugs. What I was about to do was also technically debugging, but there was no way in hell my boss was gonna see it that way if he saw my flat ass pumping in and out of a bot worth more than I make in a year on the other side of plexiglass. Alright, cool, chill. I scoop up my backpack with my work laptop and sling it over my shoulder. “Bathroom,” I whisper.

Cut to Ren and I, locked in the women’s bathroom. We have three women in the office, and their cubes are on the other side of the building, closer to another bathroom. This one is usually empty. Cut to her, awkwardly standing in front of a toilet. Me, on the verge of being the Most Fired Man Who Ever Lived. For extra security, I’d stuffed us both into a stall, locking it behind me too. It's cramped, which adds to the feeling this is absolutely not what I'm supposed to be doing. But hey, it's my job, isn't it?

I awkwardly maneuver around her and sit on the toilet lid, hastily undoing my pants. God, this is shameful. And weirdly hot? I can't tell if it's just Ren or the dozen or so corporate regulations and general laws I'm breaking doing this, but I can feel the pulse in my cock, pressing up against the inseam of my jeans. Those lavender eyes flick from my face to the swollen, flushed skin, and the outer rim of her pupils flash with color. I help her roll down the leather catsuit and then, holy shit, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I’m inside her. She feels real. My hands on her back, my face buried in her tits, her thighs on mine, she feels realer than any woman I had ever known. My breath warms her artificial skin, and the barbell through her nipple is cold, the contrast making me shiver whenever the hot skin of my cheek touches the metal. My fingers slide up her stomach, her hips bucking and pumping me in and out of her. She’s tight. Really fuckin tight. I can feel her aether pump, the artificial heart, throbbing in her inner walls, harder than any real heart I’d ever felt. It adds to every stroke, a thumping sensation that’s nearly making me come after a couple thrusts. Christ, I might as well be sticking my dick right against the chambers of her fake heart.

The job. Right, I’m doing a job. Fuck, I’ve never loved my job so much. “Lemme- ngh, God, fuck- lemme see i-ins-side your ch-est, R-Ren.” She’s straddling my lap, panting like a porn star, her bob swinging back and forth, and she nods. The synthetic skin goes translucent, a dull blue glow that starts at her collarbone and down to the bottom of her ribcage. I spare only a brief chuckle, Man, we never could get rid of those stupid gamer lights, before I try to focus my attention on her inner workings. The aether heart is basically a simplified human one, drawing hot fluid in one side and squeezing out coolant through the other in an eternal ebb and flow. And right now, it’s going insane. The valves are snapping open and closed rapidly, the thing shuddering instead of really beating. There’s a little display window pinned under her collarbone, and it’s clocking her at 150 bpm, the green spikes of her heartbeat saw toothing across the round display port. Not totally dangerous, but as I pump inside of her and she bounces on my thighs to match my quickening pace, it keeps climbing.

Alright. As much as I want to be stuck in here forever, with a beautiful woman bouncing on my dick in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of, I have to figure out what’s wrong. I wrap my arms around her body, pulling her flush against my chest. “Hold onto me, ‘kay?” I breathe against her ear. Her arms slid around me, nails brushing briefly against my shoulder blades. I take in her scent. Focus on the sensations of her body, the sharp cold of her piercings, breasts pressed against my chest, her warm, throbbing cunt. It doesn’t take long. I start to lose the rhythm as my breath shortens, my strokes shortening too, until finally I can take it no more. I come, hot seed filling her up, bathing my cock, spilling out from between our sexes. Her back arches, a cry ripping from her throat of the most exquisite ecstasy.

Then she dies.

No, seriously, the bot quits all at once. I’m there, still trying to enjoy the feeling of my load making her even tighter and full, when she goes completely limp. Her arms slide down from my back, and the artificial pulse I feel in her cunt just stops all at once. She’s dead weight on top of me. “Fuck,” I spit, trying to readjust her, but she’s goddamn heavy. “Ren? Hey, Ren- man, what the fuck-”

I look up at her sternum to see the aether pump has stopped. The little internal monitor is reading a flatline. I fumble to unlatch the bathroom door, my other hand cradling her back, as I awkwardly shift to try and swing it open. Both of us end up in a heap on the floor when I try to pick her up. I'm apologizing to her slack and lifeless face as I disentangle myself and hastily zip up, then lay her flat on her back. Her perfect round breasts sit in the open air, her still heart glowing between them. I set my laptop beside her and hook up a USB into the command port hidden behind her ear.

There was no tip off in her crash reports, but looking now, I can see the absolute mess of code in the last few lines she ran before arresting. I clean up some of the irregularities, get rid of the redundancies, and hit reboot. Two small circular nodes glow within her chest, then snap against the chambers of her heart. Basically built in defib units. Her body jerks, hand twitching in against her cheek, her back arching slightly. Her naked shoulder blades slap against the tile floor as she falls back, limp again. But she doesn't move. Her pump is still. I glance at the monitor and see FATAL SYSTEM ERROR flash across the screen. Fuck, am I going to have to do this manually?

Growling in frustration, I throw my hands against her sternum. It's easy to get the right position when I can see her heart lying beneath a few layers of synthetic skin. Squaring my shoulders, I push down hard. Unlike with real CPR on a real person, depth doesn't matter, nor the risk of breaking ribs. She's basically Wolverine. A hydraulic crusher couldn't break her ribs. They yield though, and bow in against her spine as I rhythmically pump her heart. The force ripples through her whole body. Her stomach pops up, her shoulders shrug in, her head rolls back and forth. I look from her face down to her tits. I can't help it, they're swaying with each compression, the light catching her piercings. I can feel the cool metal rest against my fingers. The position my hands are in leaves my fingertip pressing against her nipple, still standing upright from our exercise. A shiver runs through me. Am I seriously getting hard again? It's hard not to. My eyes drink in her still body, the remnants of our session dribbling down her thigh, her breasts bouncing like they had when she was riding me.

I can almost see the corner of the screen light up with “Kink Unlocked: Reviving Dead Girls”. I glance at the monitor and see the reboot option has lit up again. When I take my hands away from her chest, I see her aether pump jerking as if trying to start again. Once more I charge the internal defibrillators. While they hum to life, I partake in a ritual that isn't strictly necessary. The hero always gets to indulge in mouth to mouth with the downed heroine. She doesn't actually need air, but her lips are slack, full and inviting. I press mine over hers, breathing air she doesn't need into her mouth. I can feel her cheeks puff, and I'm surprised but excited to see her chest rises too. I give her a few quick bursts of oxygen. Her chest jerks up and I only allow it to fall part way before I give her another, making her chest rise and fall in short hyperventilations. My hand finds itself running up her stomach to feel the motion of my breaths, up over her breast again. It fills my palm as I breathe a long, slow draft into her throat, and I roll her nipple between my fingers. She sighs out recycled air against my face when I break the seal of our lips.

Man, how do EMTs not cum when they resuscitate hot girls? The whole tableau is so erotic, I can feel my pulse once more jerk in my cock. The defibs once more slap the chambers of her artificial heart and she thrashes under the current. Her breasts sway and she again falls limp to the tiles.

“Come on, Ren,” I say under my breath, watching her aether pump swelling at uneven intervals. The chambers aren't beating right still, snapping open and closed out of sync with one another. I again check her code on my laptop, using one hand to tap through my options. The other I lay against her sternum. It occurs to me I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Whatever feels like it helps, I guess. Or whatever feels good. I grind my heel in against her heart in slow, rhythmic compressions with one hand. “Come on, work with me here. Breathe for me. Do something, at least let me know you're not completely bricked.” The idea that she might be makes me swallow hard. I like Ren. I don't want to ship her off to the junkyard as much as she doesn't want to be shipped.

When her heart goes still again I lace my fingers together and start pumping her chest anew. I forget my laptop entirely- this isn't a software issue, it's the hardware in her chest acting up. If I can just get the damn thing to reset. Swinging my leg over her supple thighs, I straddle her so I can use my whole body. Like this, I can feel the motion my work creates in her otherwise still body. Each powerful thrust against her pump rolls the kinetic force through her whole body. Her feet swing back and forth. The force rolls from her chest, down her stomach, even rippling her thighs. Each compression makes her stomach roll out, only now I can feel it between my legs.

Fuck it, I'm already fired. These life saving efforts have got me hard all over again, something I would have thought impossible. I unzip and thrust into her almost in one motion. It's next to impossible to actually pump into her while I'm working her heart, so I mostly settle for letting her body rock into me while I do CPR. Only when the prompt for the defibrillator pops up again do I allow myself to roll my hips into her while it charges. The thing whines quietly as I brace my hand against her chest, driving my cock deep inside her. It slaps her heart again and she arches her back, filling my hand against her sternum. Her inner walls clench with the electricity and I groan as I roll in and out of her. That's when she draws in a breath and moans all at once. Her eyes flutter open and she instinctively begins to grind her hips in rhythm with me. Before long I'm filling her up all over again and I collapse on top of her. She's back. The thought strikes me as I look down and see her aether pump snapping out a normal, if elevated rhythm. I roll off onto the welcome chill of the tile floors, my arm still slung around her.

“You okay?” I pant, my eyes half lidded as I look at her. Ren nods, smiling weakly in return. Then she’s wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my shoulder. I hesitate, the shame of what I had done to her when she was basically dead starting to creep up now that the high is waning. But eventually I slide my arms around her in return, drawing her close to my body. “Thank you, doc,” she whispers.

“Don't mention it.” Seriously, don't mention any of this.

[the-fab-fox]

Okay it's late so I can't update the GoFundMe just yet but I wanted to let y'all know I'm finally getting back into work. Slowly, but surely.

I had been worried, due to being gone so long and still very much dealing with the same health issues that put me on medical leave. I am now listening to my body, however, and holding firm with my work on what I can and can't handle. But due to still being in pain nearly 24/7, I worry about falling short constantly.

Thankfully, the clients I assist (I'm an in-home caregiver) all seem to love me and I've been getting good feedback which has been given by some of them to my work. Just wanna make sure I can give my clients the absolute 100% best care that I can give.

—

Due to this, I'm now requesting help getting my car note fully paid for the month. That's $370. Then I need cat food and cat litter. Those two combined come out to roughly $60. And lastly, I'm in need of a pair of new non-skid shoes and a pair of rain boots which is likely 70 for the cheap options and 250 all together for the more expensive. To give you a range.

—

Also I desperately need new bedding and a bed bug cover as well as new pillows. All together roughly those should be 110-120.

—

I'm giving these different options so if there's one you wanna give to specifically, you can just put that in the notes of the transaction. I'll then be sure to update/reblog the post with the updates so that's way it's transparent what's been given and where it goes.

—

The very last thing is weed. I know not everyone partakes but it is legal here where I live recreationally as well as medicinally. I don't have a medical marijuana card but I still use it to help with my nausea that results from the GERD. (Yes I know smoking with gerd is crazy but I vape so I'm already inhaling stuff. Plus flower gives the best highs for me.) Anyway generally I get two ounces and that comes out to 150-160.

—

Thank you so much for your consideration. It means the world to me. You can, of course, still donate to the GoFundMe directly if you would rather or that makes you feel more secure in your donation. I totally get it!

GoFundMe Post

That said, it takes 7 days from the day they release the funds and that never right away. PayPal is immediate and I will be manually adding these donations to GoFundMe as well so they are reflected in the already gathered amount.

—

My PayPal is

eriklovescats@gmail.com

Thank you so much yet again. I want to really this morning to send anyone reading this epic fabulous vibes for the year and am setting the absolute intention that the universe gives you and your loved ones everything y'all need to thrive in life. So mote it be! 🙏💖🙏💖🙏💖

Please donate,

if you can afford to do so and would like to help me.

Please reblog,

if you are unable to donate and to get the word out. (If you know of anyone specific, even off Tumblr, who might be able to help, please share with them as well.

I thank you all so very deeply for not judging me and for lifting me up and giving me hope and community.

[tomorrowusa]

When I first glanced at the headline about Ukraine's drone attack on Russian military planes I thought it was similar to times in the past when they took out two or three planes at Russian bases. But when I saw all the details, it was more like: "HOLY FUCK!"

Ukraine not only took out a bunch of Russia's most expensive military aircraft, but they did it in an ingenious and painstaking way. Planning for this apparently began in late 2023.

It's hard to exaggerate the sheer audacity - or ingenuity - that went into Ukraine's countrywide assault on Russia's air force. We cannot possibly verify Ukrainian claims that the attacks resulted in $7bn (£5.2bn) of damage, but it's clear that "Operation Spider's Web" was, at the very least, a spectacular propaganda coup. Ukrainians are already comparing it with other notable military successes since Russia's full-scale invasion, including the sinking of the flagship of Russia's Black Sea fleet, the Moskva, and the bombing of the Kerch Bridge, both in 2022, as well as a missile attack on Sevastopol harbour the following year. Judging by details leaked to the media by the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU), the latest operation is the most elaborate achievement so far. In an operation said to have taken 18 months to prepare, scores of small drones were smuggled into Russia, stored in special compartments aboard freight trucks, driven to at least four separate locations, thousands of miles apart, and launched remotely towards nearby airbases.

The drones were launched inside Russia from modified cargo containers on trucks. The destroyed aircraft included those used to launch missiles against Ukrainian civilians.

"These strategic bombers are capable of launching long-range strikes against us," he said. "There are only 120 of them and we struck 40. That's an incredible figure." It is hard to assess the damage, but Ukrainian military blogger Oleksandr Kovalenko says that even if the bombers, and command and control aircraft were not destroyed, the impact is enormous. "The extent of the damage is such that the Russian military-industrial complex, in its current state, is unlikely to be able to restore them in the near future," he wrote on his Telegram channel. The strategic missile-carrying bombers in question, the Tu-95, Tu-22, and Tu-160 are, he said, no longer in production. Repairing them will be difficult, replacing them impossible.

Russia likes to think it is invincible. These successful attacks, as far north as the Kola Peninsula and as far east as south central Siberia, are a psychological blow as well as a military one to Russians.

This is the best overall description of Operation Spiderweb. The narrator is author and retired US Navy Seal Chuck Pfarrer.

Back to the BBC article...

Ukrainian defence journalist Illia Ponomarenko, posting on X, puts it another way, with a pointed reference to President Volodymyr Zelensky's infamous Oval office encounter with Donald Trump. "This is what happens when a proud nation under attack doesn't listen to all those: 'Ukraine has only six months left'. 'You have no cards'. 'Just surrender for peace, Russia cannot lose'." Even more pithy was a tweet from the quarterly Business Ukraine journal, which proudly proclaimed "It turns out Ukraine does have some cards after all. Today Zelensky played the King of Drones."

That comment from Business Ukraine sparked this meme...

Ukraine has plenty of cards, and it ain't bluffing.

REMINDER: Putin's "3-day special operation" in Ukraine began 1,195 days ago. Putin's continued pointless aggression suggests that he's not playing with a full deck.

[charliegyrth]

One Pound a Week

My Body Won't Stop Growing

This is another slightly magical story based on a suggestion from @thespiderpig1999. I hope you like it!

***

160

“Happy birthday!” Grayson kissed my cheek as he handed me a huge slice of chocolate cake. I just left a party with my family, so I was already stuffed with cake, but Grayson made this himself. I couldn't say no.

It tasted okay. A little too sweet for me. “Gray, this is incredible!” I lied.

“How does it feel to officially be an adult now?”

“Honestly? I feel exactly the same.”

What did he expect? I was still in high school. Still lived at home. Still looked the same. A date on the calendar wasn't going to change anything. Once we graduate in two months, then I’d feel different.

He watched me as I finished the cake. He looked so proud of himself, so I finished every bite. I owed it to him.

Afterwards, he asked me what I wanted to do. It was a school night, so we couldn’t do anything too wild.

“Well, it’s a beautiful day. Wanna go for a run?”

“Seriously? After eating all that sugar?”

“Why not?” I was always up for a run. Now that track season was over, I didn’t need to push myself as hard. I could run for fun instead of for practice.

Grayson shrugged. “If that’s what you want, birthday boy. Race ya to the lake!”

***

161

I stepped off the scale. “I’m telling you, Gray. It’s wrong.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

I was. 100%. Since my growth spurt at 15 years old, I was exactly 160 pounds. No matter what I did or what I ate, the number never changed. I know that’s hard to believe, but as a member of the track team, I weighed myself nearly every weekday after practice for the last three years. Always 160. My teammates even joked about it.

And now, Grayson’s home scale said 161. Sure, it’s possible that last week’s birthday cake had added a pound, but the much more likely explanation was that his scale was off.

My boyfriend was stretched out on his bed, scrolling through his phone and only half-listening to me. “If you’re so certain, why did you even weigh yourself?”

I didn’t answer. Honestly, I didn’t know. I’d hung out in his bedroom plenty of times, and I’d never felt the urge to use his scale before. For some reason, it just called to me.

Grayson grabbed a tube of Pringles and raised it toward me. “Want some?”

“No thanks.”

“Aha! So you do think you’ve gained weight.”

“One pound isn’t ‘gaining weight.’”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Frustrated, he threw the tube at me.

To prove a point, I ate a couple chips.

***

168

I sucked in my stomach and buttoned my dress pants.

This was bad. Really bad. The scale this morning said I’d gained eight pounds in the last two months, literally a pound a week since my birthday.

No one noticed, but I definitely did. My stomach was mostly flat, but it had smoothed over with a soft layer of fat.

I tucked in my purple dress shirt and checked out my reflection from the front and the side. Not too bad. I still looked slim and hot (and honestly, my ass looked perkier than it ever had).

“You ready?” my mom asked as she entered my room. No matter how many times I complained, she never knocked. (One of the many reasons I was excited to move into the dorms.)

“Yeah. I’m ready.” I hated wearing dress clothes. They were so freaking uncomfortable. And pointless, too. No one would even see what I was wearing once I put on my graduation robe.

“Quite handsome,” Mom said. She stepped closer to adjust my collar. “Relax, honey. You look a little… uncomfortable.”

Of course I was uncomfortable! This collar was choking me.

But I don’t think she made that comment because of my clothes. She thought I was uncomfortable because she could tell I was sucking in.

I breathed out, allowing my stomach to round out a little.

“That’s better,” she said. “Come on. Your boyfriend’s waiting downstairs.”

***

173

“Let’s go for a run,” I said.

Grayson sat on the dorm floor, organizing his textbooks into piles. Classes hadn’t even started yet and he was already obsessing.

“Again? Didn’t you run this morning?”

“Well, yeah. But I love it. And there are some areas of the campus I still haven’t seen.”

He stood up and walked toward me, wrapping me in his arms. I could tell he was concerned about something. After a short kiss, he said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Sure. Let’s go for a run. And afterwards, we can head to Chipotle. Doesn’t that sound good?”

I pulled away. “I’m not hungry.”

“Dude. You’re being really unhealthy.”

I felt like he’d punched me in the face. This was his first time mentioning my weight gain. I was so stupid to think that he wouldn’t notice my beginning love handles and softer chest. We hadn’t even finalized our class schedules and I was already two pounds away from the Freshman 15.

“You think I’m unhealthy?”

“Yeah! I’ve noticed for a while now.”

I gulped. No amount of baggie clothes could hide how big I’d gotten. I looked awful. Soft and awful.

“Look, I don’t want to do an intervention or anything…”

“You don’t have to,” I cut him off. “I’ll lose the weight. I promise.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I’m trying to say.” He guided me toward his bed so we could sit together. “You run for hours every day. You’re starving yourself. When was the last time you ate a full meal?”

“We had chicken fingers at the cafeteria yesterday.”

“Chicken finger. Singular. You gave the rest of yours to me. Look, I know that you’ve softened up a little. That’s okay. It happens to everyone. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“You don’t understand. I keep gaining a pound a week no matter what I do!”

He rubbed my lower back. When his hand got too close to my love handles, I twisted away.

“If it doesn’t matter what you do,” he argued, “then why try so hard? Why starve yourself?”

I really wanted to agree with him. I really did. But he just didn’t get it. I’d lost control of my body and I felt myself changing into someone that I was never meant to be.

“Sorry,” I muttered. Then I slipped on my running shoes and raced out of the dorm.

***

182

Sweat oozed down my forehead. I struggled for breath. And worst of all, no matter how fast or slow I went, my chest and stomach wouldn’t stop bobbing up and down. As someone who had never been fat before, I had no idea that everything would feel so out of sync, like my moobs and belly were following a different jiggling rhythm.

I steadied myself against the science building and gasped in air. The old me could’ve run for hours at a much faster pace. Now, I could barely do a lap around the quad.

A student walked by with a look of concern. “Do you need water or something?”

“I’m… (huff) fine!”

She hurried off. I think I scared her.

Giving up on the rest of my run, I stumbled inside the air-conditioned building. I didn’t realize I was heading toward Professor Stradamore’s office until I was right outside his half-opened door.

“Come in!” he called. I couldn’t see him, but I guess he could see me. (Or maybe he could just hear me panting.)

I stepped inside, figuring that my biology professor would be the best person to talk to. He gestured toward the empty seat in front of his desk and I plopped down.

“Hot outside?” he asked.

“No,” I muttered. It really wasn’t. My cheeks were red and my sweaty shirt clung to my skin, but that had nothing to do with the temperature.

He waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, he asked, “Are you having trouble with our latest chapter? Three students have already—”

“I need to ask you something,” I interrupted.

He straightened in his chair. Professor Stradamore was a very large man. His spherical belly and wide shoulders made him look trapped whenever he sat in chairs that were too small for him. Younger than 30 (I think), he had a handsome face and the buried musculature of a former athlete. He’d probably been hot before he let himself go.

“Something’s been happening to me since I turned 18, and I wanted to know if there was a biological reason for it. I, um… Do we have professor/student confidentiality?”

“Not by law,” he said. “But I give you my word. I won’t tell anyone about our conversation.”

I believed him. “Okay. So… I’ve been gaining weight and I don’t know why.”

“You’re in a new environment. There are lots of factors that—”

“You don’t understand!” My voice made him flinch. I forced myself to calm down and slowly explained everything. How my weight increased by exactly one pound per week. How I tried everything to stop it. How I’d always been 160 until a week after my birthday.

He listened carefully. Didn’t interrupt. And when I finally got everything off my chest, he said, “I have no idea.”

My heart sank.

“The human body is complicated, and if you had some ailment that caused weight gain, it wouldn’t happen so regularly. Moreover, the steadiness to your previous weight is equally improbable. No one has the exact same weight throughout puberty without any fluctuation.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“I believe you. All I’m saying is that I’ve studied biology for my entire adult life, and what you just described has no scientific explanation. However…” He leaned forward in his chair. “There are always anomalies. And it looks like your condition, if you can even call it that, is one of them.”

“So there’s nothing I can do to stop it?” My eyes teared up. I felt both hopeless and embarrassed.

“How is this affecting your life?”

I wiped my eyes. “It’s ruining my life. My boyfriend barely talks to me. The only reason we haven’t broken up is because we share a dorm room. And I can’t even run anymore!”

“Is that all?” he asked, as if those problems weren’t serious enough.

“Yeah.”

“Why do you need to run?”

“Because I love it. I used to, anyway.”

“People fall out of hobbies all the time. You’re a freshman. It’s the perfect opportunity to try new things.”

I guess he was right. The main reason I enjoyed running was because it came so naturally to me. Now that it didn’t, I wasn’t enjoying it.

“But what about my boyfriend? We used to be so happy.”

“Are your relationship problems because you got fatter? Or is it because of something else?”

I was about to say, “Of course it’s because I’m fat!” But I stopped myself. The truth was, I lashed out at Grayson. I was jealous that he still had his perfect body while I’d lost control of mine. He never commented on how I looked, only on how I kept overexercising and restricting calories.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Try new hobbies. See what works. Accept yourself and see if your boyfriend accepts you, too.”

Easier said than done.

“And if what you say is true, if you’re truly destined to gain exactly one pound a week, then look on the bright side. You can eat whatever you want without any effects.”

I looked back up at him, surprised that a professor had actually said that to a student.

He patted his belly. “Trust me. There are some advantages to being a bigger guy.”

“Like what?”

“It’s up to you to find out.”

***

196

I bit the head off a gingerbread man. Delicious. “Come on, Grayson. Have another one.”

He’d only eaten one cookie all afternoon. Maybe two. Meanwhile, I’d had nine and a half. These things were addictive.

“Stop offering! Unlike you, the food I eat actually has consequences for me.”

“Yeah?” I said, flirtatiously grabbing my soft belly and kneading it into shapes. “You’re worried that you’ll grow a gut like me?”

“Stop it.”

I took his hand and brought it to my budding moob, forcing him to squeeze. “You’re worried about growing a pair of these?”

He pulled his hand away. He looked annoyed, but I could tell I was wearing down his defenses. The quickest way to get him in the mood was to talk about all his favorite parts on my growing body.

I moved my knees back and forth so that my thighs would jiggle. “What about—?”

“Fine!” he shouted. “I’ll have a cookie.”

He leaned forward on the couch and grabbed a gingerbread man from the platter. Then he brought it to his lips and gave me a sly expression. Instead of eating it himself, he surprised me by shoving it into my mouth. “There. That’ll shut you up.”

I ate out of his hand, of course.

It had been 14 weeks since my conversation with Professor Stradamore, and as expected, I’d gained exactly 14 pounds. I was a completely different person, inside and out. The outside changes were pretty easy to spot:

Bigger breasts

A rounder face

A belly that was officially hanging over my waistband

Bulging ass cheeks that were starting to leave a permanent dent in my favorite part of the couch

I still wasn’t officially obese (that wouldn’t happen for another six weeks), but I don’t know if I really believed in the BMI calculator. I looked obese. I looked like a guy who had never been thin.

All these changes might seem drastic, but they were nothing compared to how I changed inside. I was happy now. I liked myself, and just as importantly, Grayson liked me, too. Once I stopped trying to fight off the inevitable, once I allowed myself to be happy again, our relationship strengthened dramatically. We spent so much time together, hanging out in the dorms and going out to eat at least twice a day.

I really took Stradamore’s advice to heart. I stopped exercising altogether. (It was pointless and difficult.) I ate whatever I wanted, discovering how much I enjoyed cookies and donuts and especially our cafeteria milkshakes. Those were my favorite.

Grayson loved when I was happy, and I was the happiest when I was eating for him. Over time, I started eating more than I wanted, enough to make my stomach throb, just to see the look on his face. Why not? All these extra calories wouldn’t affect my weekly one-pound gains.

Now that it was Christmas break (we both decided to stay on campus over the holidays), I’d turned into an eating machine. You should see Grayson’s excited smirk whenever he returned each morning with bags of snacks from the campus supermarket.

For the next few minutes, he fed me the remaining gingerbread men as he lovingly played with my belly. I don’t think he had a natural attraction to fat, though. It was more like he was turned on by keeping me spoiled and blissful, and my new rolls were simply a physical sign that I was being taken care of.

I still had moments of panic, wondering if and when these gains would ever stop. I was at a manageable size now, but what would happen to me in the future? I’d done the math. If this didn’t stop, I’d be nearly 500 pounds by my 25th birthday. That scared me.

Still, it was fun so far.

Grayson pressed the final gingerbread man against my lips. I wouldn’t take it. I literally couldn’t fit in anything more.

“Come on,” he encouraged, playfully flopping my moob around.

“You take it,” I said. “It’s Christmas.”

He sighed and ate it himself. Then he kissed my cheek and curled up next to me. It was time for a nap.

***

210

“Hurry up!” I called. “We’re already late.”

Grayson didn’t answer. He was still getting dressed in the other room.

I took the extra time to check out my reflection. We were going to a concert at Harley Auditorium, so I was in slacks and a black button-up shirt. Despite my general aversion to dressing up (and the fact that I’d been wearing sweatpants to classes for most of this semester), I felt surprisingly comfortable. My pants were big enough to only cling a little to my wide hips, and my tucked-in shirt held my belly in place.

Perhaps I should start tucking in my shirts more often. It definitely cut back on the wobbling, and it accentuated my overhang beautifully.

Finally, Grayson walked in the room. The first thing I noticed was the look of discomfort on his face.

The second thing I noticed was his stomach, which bulged against his dress shirt a lot more than I’d expected. It was more than obvious that he was trying to suck in, instantly reminding me of how I looked at my high school graduation.

“Relax,” I told him. “Breathe out.”

He wouldn’t.

I walked over and wrapped him in my arms. As we kissed, I felt his slight belly press against me as he gave in to the kiss.

He pulled away. “I don’t think I want to go anymore.”

That comment annoyed me. This concert was his idea. He was the classical music fan, not me. More importantly, though, he was being a total hypocrite. He’d spent all semester complimenting my body and showing me the beauty in my obesity, and now that he’d softened up a little, he hated himself.

How much had he gained? Ten pounds? Fifteen tops? It was barely anything, especially if he was standing next to me. My constant snacking had rubbed off on him. We both knew that, but this was the first time his gain had been visible through his clothes.

I had to be compassionate, though. When I was that weight, I was at my lowest point, too. “What’s wrong?”

“I should’ve bought a new dress shirt,” he muttered.

“Why?” I pressed.

“Because I look…”

I waited, forcing him to finish his sentence.

He flinched. “I look fat.”

I grabbed his hand and pressed it against my love handle, one of his favorite parts to play with. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. Then what’s the problem?”

“I just… I don’t want to go.”

Personally, I didn’t want to go either. We had a tray of lasagna in the fridge that he could feed me. That seemed like a much more exciting way to spend the evening than listening to an orchestra for three hours, but that wasn’t the point.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He assumed that his comments had offended me. They hadn’t. They annoyed me, but I wasn’t offended. I knew how he felt.

“I have a nice blue shirt that I outgrew a couple weeks ago. I’m sure that’ll fit.”

His eyes lit up. I didn’t solve his underlying problem (that would take a few more pep talks), but I fixed his temporary problem. He ran toward my dresser and fished out the exact shirt I was talking about.

It was a little baggy on him, but he looked snazzy.

***

213

“Happy birthday!” Grayson shouted as he brought in a massive sheet cake that he made himself. He was wearing another one of my old shirts, which was probably why he didn’t seem upset that it was stained with icing.

We’d already had a huge birthday dinner with our friends a couple hours ago. Now, it was just me and Grayson.

He set the cake in front of me and lit the 19 candles. Final exams started tomorrow, but tonight was just for us. No last-minute studying. No worries. Just food and belly rubs.

I was about to blow out the candles, but Grayson wanted to give me a little speech first. He sat next to me. “This last year has been the best year of my life.” (He was skipping over the long months when I was miserable and petulant.) “You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for, and the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. You're like a ball of sunshine. I love you.”

He smiled at me as I blew out the candles. Then he cut a huge slice of cake. He kept that for himself and left the rest for me. “Did you wish for anything?”

“Yeah,” I said, “but you know I can’t tell you.”

The truth was, I wished for my gaining to stop. I was 53 pounds fatter than a year ago, and while I loved it, while I knew that I’d be happy getting much, much bigger, I had to think about the future. I wanted to live a long and happy life with Grayson.

He studied my face. I think he knew what I wished for. “Do you feel any different?”

“Actually, yeah. I do.” I couldn’t explain it, but I felt different. More in control.

I scooped up a forkful of cake and shoved it into my mouth.

Absolutely delicious.

***

216

I stepped off the scale, read the number, and screamed. I literally screamed.

Grayson ran over. “What’s wrong?”

I pointed at the number, but he didn’t understand the significance.

“Gray! Look! I gained three pounds during finals week!”

His face went from blank to confused to excited. “So… more than one pound!”

I pulled him into a hug, holding him so tight that he squished into my gut. “The spell, the curse, whatever it was… It’s over.”

For exactly one year, my gains had been like clockwork. Now, they were entirely under my control. I could grow as fast or as slow as I wanted.

Three pounds was a lot for one week, obviously, but they were all because of my huge meals and constant stress-eating. I’d lost track of all the late-night pizzas and bags of donuts that I’d shoveled in between my tests, but now, they’d finally left their mark.

I still didn’t know what had happened to my body for the 53 weeks that I was 18. I’d probably never know. Like Professor Stradamore said, I was an anomaly. But there were two things I did know with absolute certainty.

One: The effects were over. My weight was entirely under my control now.

And two: I was so glad this happened to me. It made me realize who I truly was. Not an anxious, skinny kid who ran for hours to process his feelings, but a big, confident, fat man.

“What do you want to do to celebrate?”

I thought for a while. “Well, our cafeteria cards won’t expire for a few more days. Let’s order all the chicken wings we can and see how many I can finish!

***

247

I stretched out by the pool, tanning my flab.

Grayson had just gotten out of the water. He walked toward me, droplets clinging to his chest hair and sliding down his belly. He looked amazing, a lot more handsome than I’d been at 200. I loved how all of his summer gains had gone straight to his midsection, leaving him with a thin face and still-narrow hips. If his belly ever caught up to mine (which was becoming more and more of a possibility), it felt comforting to know that I’d always have a bigger chest and ass.

He sat on the beach chair next to mine and grabbed my bag of chips. “So,” he said through a mouthful, “are you excited for sophomore year?”

I took some chips, too. “A thousand percent.” Sure, classes would be stressful and I’d miss sleeping in, but I had enough of my family’s “friendly suggestions” to join a gym or try the latest fad diet. No matter how much I told them point-blank that I liked how I looked, they just didn’t get it.

Eventually they would. It took me a while to come around, too.

I noticed a couple of my former teammates enter the pool area. They looked over at us and then quickly looked away. I’m pretty sure they recognized Grayson, but I wasn’t sure if they recognized me. Oh well.

Grayson leaned back in his chair, sliding his hand toward my stomach so he could play with my rolls and explore my belly button again.

I closed my eyes and moaned a little.

“Any changes?” he asked casually.

“Not this week,” I said. “Still 247.”

I weighed myself this morning. Sure, it was disappointing that the number hadn’t changed, but that was just part of the process. Every week was different now. Sometimes, I’d be up two or three pounds. Sometimes, I’d be exactly the same.

Everything was up to me now. And I had no plans of stopping.

The End

If you liked this one, you might also like my ebook Fat for a Day. It's more sci-fi than fantasy, and the tone is more erotic, but it's a bit of a sister-story to One Pound a Week.

[id-element0]

Heart-Shaped Glasses and Spiked Collar For TS3

In Nobody-Asked-But section, we have low-poly and sort of kinky accessories for your male sims. Yes, these are male only, as my lovely model Danzig demonstrates, because I'm lazy. Feel free to convert to female if you wish.

When I was playing Danzig's generation I searched for these glasses and found none. There was one for sims 2 but I wasn't into converting accessories back then so I gave up and used something else.

Then, a couple of months ago, I bumped into a simblr post - that I cannot suffer to search for - with a link to a character maker called Panqueques Maker on Picrew. I had my fun with it and ended up with this boi:

I know you're saying "I don't give a damn about your stupid stories, give me my CC!" Well, I like my stories, even if nobody listens. It's OK, you can easily scroll down.

Making this, I realised that I really need those glasses, that collar/choker, and those chains for Bismarck. So another blender adventure started for me and Bismarck had his gifts at his photoshoot.

A word of caution, though: These are really low-poly items designed for gameplay only. If you want fancy screenshots these may not be for you. Keep in mind that these are not perfect. Glasses can be see-through or semi-reflective depending on the angle as you see in the screenshots. They are cloned from the Aviator Glasses and use the temples, bridge and nose pads from that mesh. Although, I had to adjust them accordingly. Front frame and lenses are created from an .svg file done in GIMP.

The collar have clipping issues especially at the chest with the ring. I thought I handled that issue but then I idiotically overwrote my only perfect copy with another project. Yeah, I do these kinds of things a lot. So, whatever I had elsewhere seemed fine enough and I'm not going back at it.

I remember trying to make it BGC since it was cloned from the Late Night spiked collar. Let me know if I failed. I'll try again.

Also chains are not included because they're so low-effort, low-poly shit, that it would be a really bad joke to release them. And now even more technical details:

Heart-shaped Glasses

3 Channels, 3 Presets, Re-colourable Lenses

Polycount -> Highest: 1296 Mid: 838 Lowest: 160

Compatible with glasses sliders

Spiked Collar

3 Channels, 3 Presets

Polycount -> Highest: 776 High: 690 Mid: 274 Lowest: 84

Made with: GIMP, s3oc, s3pe, Blender, CAS Texture+Unitool, and TSRW

@pis3update @kpccfinds @katsujiiccfinds

- DOWNLOAD -

Heartshaped Glasses

:: MEDIAFIRE | SFS ::

Spiked Collar

:: MEDIAFIRE | SFS ::

[first-time-tmagp]

i still havent started seaosn 5.

I listened to the Q&A and it was amazing. Honestly I really have to go back and listen to the other ones as well!! I definitely will once I finished the podcast haha

I will probably listen to episode 161 tonight. Just one question.

ITS NOT AS BAD AS 160, RIGHT???

PLEASE???

[jarofstyles]

Illicit 10

Here we are, babes. The last official part of the main Illicit story. It’s bittersweet because I finally completed something lmao but also, I really love them and their story.

Safe to say this isn’t the last you’ll see of them. I’m fully planning on doing little flashbacks and check ins with them, feel free to let me know what you would like to see/if you have any unanswered questions. Thank you for reading!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 160+ exclusive writings

Illicit masterlist

WC- 3.3k

Warnings- mention of wounds, stitching, having children, marriage talk, nightmares, etc

——-

“Harry, for the love of god, please be careful of your arm.” Y/N winced in worry as the man carried firewood over to their fire pit. He had not been taking his injury half as seriously as he had been taking Y/N’s concussion, treating her like the ‘delicate little bird she was.’ He’d gotten an eye roll for that. Of course he wasn’t letting her help lug the wood for their night in front of the fire. She’d requested with sleepy eyes earlier in the morning to make smores because they’d been in her dream and Harry was giving her basically anything she wanted. 

“M’fine, baby.” He laughed, appreciating her concern but knowing the injury barely stung anymore. “The stitches are coming out tomorrow, and we pushed it, keeping them until then. Only kept them because you wanted me to.” 

It had been about 2 weeks since the attack and they’d left for the lake house. As much as he knew it was terrifying for the both of them, he was utterly relieved to have Katherine behind bars. He’d made sure to keep updated by his contact in the force to know what was happening with her case. Apparently she had really lost it, but Harry didn’t give a fuck. He wanted her to rot behind bars, to live miserably and have Y/N be safe without the threat of some crazy ex-who-isn’t-an-ex looming in the background. 

Harry had kept work to a minimum, only logging in to oversee the decisions he had to make. There had been no calls besides the nightly one with his COO to ensure things were running smoothly. Other than that, his entire attention had been on Y/N. They’d barely left the house considering at first Y/N had been a bit embarrassed of her injuries. Another reason he’d hate Katherine until the day he died. Harry always was one to hold grudges, he was infamous for it. She’d never know peace if the man had anything to do with it. 

They were healing incredibly well, Harry taking the time at night to set her on the bathroom counter and wipe them clean and apply the healing ointment to them. The only one that was more than a fading scab was the one on her head along with the slight discoloration the black eye had caused. Other than that, he was more than relieved to see her bouncing back. The only thing that plagued him still was the nightmare. 

His nightmares. 

They’d always start the same, almost a play by play of what had happened to him walking into the home and up the stairs- only when he got there it had been too late. In his nightmare, the knife had already taken Y/N’s life and he couldn’t do anything to save her. He always woke up before the knife struck him, but it actually hurt him. It was a little difficult for him to admit to her, always wanting to be the strong one when it came to their pairing- someone for her to lean on fully- but she had cried once he told her and insisted that she wanted to be there for him. That a partnership was made out of balance and while she could offer him some of the same things he did for her, she was more than capable to be his emotional shoulder to cry on. It had been a tough thing to come to terms with but this week seemed to be healing. Not just physically, either. 

“Ms. Greta, please tell him to take it easy.” Y/N pouted at the older woman who brought out the tray of s’more making supplies. She’d made sure to add the peanut butter cups as requested. 

“I’m afraid if he won’t listen to you, he won’t listen to anyone.” She chuckled. “Men will be men, and that includes straining their physical health for the macho man act. One day they learn we do know what we are talking about.” A little wink was sent her way as Harry huffed, arranging the wood in the fire pit with a grumble. 

“Because I’m fine.” He stressed, standing up straight and crossing his arms. “It’s healed up nicely. I’m more than capable of setting up a little fire.” Crossing over to Y/N, he stole a kiss before grabbing the lighter and a few other things. “Just sit pretty and let your man do the work, baby. I’ve got it.” 

There was a snort heard from both women but Ms. Greta was now off the clock, wishing them a good night before retreating into the house. As much as he loved having the woman around, he really was obsessed with this alone time with Y/N. There was the residual guilt he had over her being treated less than ideally because he was juggling the faux relationship and the contract, but he knew now that he was going to have to take a bit of a step back from work in order to do that. He’d delegate as he was supposed to be doing to begin with, assign more to his assistant, take Y/N more places and on more dates out in public. He couldn’t fucking wait to attent events with her and show her off. 

He’d been waiting months to let people know who his heart belonged to, and he was finally getting the chance to do so. It was obvious now since the articles had been a media frenzy over the attack, things leaked he couldn’t pinpoint. The only thing he had been commenting on was the fact that Y/N wasn’t a mistress, Katherine wasn’t his lover that was scorned, and there was no true excuse for the actions. It was a good thing in hindsight that they were there, alone. No one had a true clue about the location and he didn’t feel like being hounded by paparazzi- though hopefully they knew better now than to test him and his hatred for the cameras.

One thing that had been burning into him, though, was a question he’d been wanting to ask her. One he knew that was a bit unorthodox but a necessary one nonetheless. 

She sat across his lap, his hoodie covering her tank top and denim shorts as her legs swung slightly while they waited for the fire to burn a bit hotter so they could roast their marshmallows.

“When would you like to get married?” He asked. “And how many kids are we thinking about?” 

The girl nearly snapped her neck as she looked at him with wide eyes, the not so casual question leaving his mouth as if it was him asking what she wanted for dinner. Harry always did find a way to shock the hell out of her but this was definitely one of the top questions that had caught her off guard.  Secretly, she’d assumed Harry had that all figured out. He always made sure to let her know how much he appreciated her opinions and her thoughts, that they were important to him- but he was a planner. Harry was the man in charge and she was happy to let him be. It took a lot of weight off of her shoulders that she wouldn’t admit to anyone else actually weighed on her. 

“Uh…” She blinked at him a few times. “I’m not sure. Kinda figured you’d be the one to pop the question. But honestly… Maybe a year? A few months? I dunno.” There was a slight lump in her throat. “I’ve no doubt I want to be with you the rest of my life so part of me feels like I’d probably be fine eloping right now if that was something you wanted but… We haven't really had the chance to be a couple out in the open. While I doubt that’s going to change much considering we feel so strongly, I think it would be kind to ourselves to let us iron out some of the details first before we fully tie the knot.” There wasn’t a right or wrong answer but it still made her a little nervous to answer. “As for kids? I’m not sure. 2? 3? I’d probably say we have one first and figure it out from there.” It wasn’t like they’d have to worry about resources externally but she knew Harry valued family more than anything and he’d want to be an active father. He’d already indulged that detail to her one night when they were particularly loved up. However, neither of them had any children so they didn’t know the workload it would entail, nor did they know how they’d work as parents. Of course they’d figure it out but it would make it a bit more clear on how many they could handle.

“First of all, as much as I’d love to call you my wife right this second… I could never deprive you of the wedding you deserve.” Y/N had told him about the fact that she had always dreamt about her wedding as a little girl. She had pinterest boards full of themes and wedding dresses she’d want to try and cake designs. He wasn’t about to deprive her of those things for his selfish needs.. Harry knew he was indeed a selfish bastard in every other facet of his life, but when it came to Y/N and his soon to be family? That was his only exception. “My mum would probably keel over dead if I did that too. Trust me, you’re going to get your princess wedding.” There was no debating that. “And for kids… I’d love to give you many, many babies.” His tone turned smooth, a little smirk lighting up his face and the twinkle of his eye. “But I think I agree. My idea had been 2-4, but I’ll take as many as you’ll give me. Always.” His hand pulled her in so he could press a kiss to her cheek, muttering a soft declaration of love. 

“Love you more.” She sighed, leaning further into his chest. “I’m so happy that we can live our lives when we get back. I know it’ll probably be a little crazy but there's no more hiding. We can go out and hold hands and kiss, people are going to know we belong to each other.” The giddiness on her face was bittersweet. “I’m so excited to be with you properly.”

The tinge of guilt hit him full on in the stomach, making him frown as he looked into the fire. He knew he had fucked up several times on this journey and Y/N just had a lot of patient and given him a lot of grace when he knew for a fact most other people wouldn’t- but that made it feel a little worse. He’d been wrong in not ditching the contract immediately. “Baby?” He said, voice quieter as he met her eyes. “I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry that I’m a stubborn son of a bitch and I didn’t just dissolve the contract and take on a lawsuit. I should have done it the day I met you because I knew you were going to mean a lot to me even there. I… I know I’ve told you a lot how you were the first and only person to ever make me feel the way you do, but it’s more than that. And my hard headed shit got us into something awful. I know I fucked up and you are more generous than I deserve but…” His fingers tenderly moved the hair from her face, stroking her cool cheek. “I’m going to work every single day for the rest of my life to make it up to you. I’m going to make you the most spoiled, well traveled, happiest woman I possibly can.” His voice stayed quiet as he searched her eyes for any hint of resentment but somehow there wasn’t any there. 

“H.. I knew what I signed up for. You’d been nothing but honest with me the night I ignored you. You laid it all out for me. I knew that you were taken in name only and I liked you so much that I agreed. I never felt like I played second to her. You can say a lot of things about you, lovely, but subtle isn’t one of those things. You never made me feel like she was important. I understood how important your business was to you- it’s the most important thing to you. Did I like seeing you with her? No. But you made it so clear to me that I was yours and you were mine, I never felt like… I never had any competition.” Y/N tried to soothe the ache she knew he felt. Of course she hadn’t liked people thinking he belonged to someone else but she knew he loved her. The most she had ever been loved, the most unashamed. 

“First, I have a correction- You are the most important thing to me. I’d give it all up for you.” That wasn’t a sentence anyone could take lightly, nor one he would ever thought he would say. It used to be the truth, but now it was far from it. “You are my life.” His gaze bore into her own as he cupped her cheek.  “There was never any competition. If we want the honest truth, I thought I’d marry as a business decision. I thought I’d probably not have any kids considering I only ever wanted children out of love. I was happy working until I was gray and about to keel over. Business was my only reason for being, and it wasn’t something I minded- but you gave my life so much more, so much color, my angel.” He’d never sounded more fond in his life, looking at his heaven sent gift perched in his lap. “I didn’t realize there was more to life until I met you. You opened my eyes and made my heart soften. I give a shit about a lot more than numbers now and it’s because of you.” 

People could say he did it himself but he knew the truth. Without meeting Y/N his life would have been the same robotic function it had been since he got out of uni, and he wouldn’t have complained. He’d never know how much he would miss out on. “I thank whoever in the world sent you to me every damn day and you know m’not religious. You are my miracle. It made me feel so fucking sick walking in that house and thinking you were hurt, I have never in my life felt that sort of terror. But I’d do it all again in order to keep you.” The scar on his arm was a reminder of that. 

“I love you, H. The most in the world.” Her eyes watered a little as she smiled at him. “I’m sorry you got scared. I was scared too, scared she would do worse with that knife though I’m still upset you got hurt at all. But I’d go through every bit of it again too.” She sniffled, feeling his thumb brush under her eye as a tear fell. “I know I want everything with you. The marriage and babies and our own house with a pool, if that’s something you want too. You’re the love of my life.” 

“And you’re mine.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to hers. “M’gonna spend every day proving that to you. Just wait and see, my angel. My heart is yours.”  

—-------

Nails dug into Harry’s back as he rocked slowly into his girl in their brand new home. One he’d bought her as a surprise when they arrived back into the city, leaving their old memories behind in the other penthouse and moving on to the next chapter in the rest of their lives. 

“H-Harry…” She bleated, holding on to him while the other hand grabbed his face and pulled his face down so he could be kissed. “Thank you. You always take c-care of me.”

His pace as slow and deep, pressing in as far as he could go on the brand new sheets they’d picked out together. The sunset bled into their room as they breathed each other in, wrapped up in their covers on their first night sleeping there. He’d spared no expense making sure he got the best of the best for her. He was dedicated to the cause, dedicated to proving to her that she was the most precious thing to him in the world. 

“M’always going to take care of you, my love.” He nudged his nose against hers as he dipped his hips to get deeper inside of her. It was like they couldn’t get close enough to one another, her legs wrapped snug around his hips while he kept himself up with one hand, the other under her neck. The term making love was fully about this. It was unmistakable. “You were made for me.” 

He couldn’t wait to spend every morning like this for the rest of his life. The man who used to cringe at the idea of fucking anyone face first now had it as his preferred position, wanting to make sure he could see every second of her reactions to him. She was snug around his cock, taking him like it was her only job in the world. He’d had no problem doing only this for the rest of his life. 

“And you were… you were made for me. We’re made for each other.” Y/N nodded, pressing another open mouthed kiss to his lips as he kept the steady pace, hitting the delicious spot he always knew how to find. “You know my body perfectly. It’s yours forever.” It was both the truth and a bit of a taunt, knowing how much he loved when she spoke like that. 

“You are. You’re mine and m’all yours, never have to share me. I love you so fucking much, Y/N.” He whimpered as her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on it as she was filled over and over again. He hit the perfect spot and was trying to get her to cum, trying to have her finish all over him so he could do the same and stay deep inside for a while. Craving this sort of closeness was an addiction, one he didn’t plan on cutting. The obsession with Y/N grew each and every day. “I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

The woman whined out his name at the last sentence, tugging him closer with her legs as she soaked up every bit of heat from him. It didn’t matter what happened, who tried to get in their way- they would always belong to one another. There was an understanding between both of them knowing this love was bone deep, soul deep, it only deepened by the day. When it felt like they couldn’t love each other more it just kept growing, no matter how full they felt. It was everything. 

A love like this was something people revered as pure, perfect, something that everyone craved and yearned for. Something out of a book or a movie, the sort of feeling that trumps all other people and situations. Their passion and yearning for one another had been cultivated in anything but pureness, it was made in the dark. It always made him laugh a little to know that such a concept had blossomed into a real, tangible thing that he could feel between their bodies, something he could see when he looked at her, something he could taste when he kissed her. 

A love that stayed between the lines wasn’t the type that grew stronger- that’s why he smiled when they called it illicit.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Lisa Needham at Daily Kos:

Although Elon Musk’s exit from government service was the messiest breakup ever, the multibillionaire’s legacy will live on in the so-called Department of Government Efficiency. It’s not just that DOGE personnel are now squirreled away in other agencies, though that is definitely the case. Sadly, DOGE’s real legacy is the mindset of cutting government to the bone with little regard for the consequences. 

We’re still playing the “Who Runs DOGE?” game

This is the stupidest game. Remember that the Trump administration played coy about Musk’s role, saying with great fanfare that he was the head of DOGE, yet insisting to courts that Amy Gleason, a random official who seems to have learned of her new role while on vacation, was running things, although she also found time to work at an entirely different agency.  Gleason is still listed as the acting administrator, but just as was the case during the Musk era, she doesn’t appear to be doing anything at DOGE. Instead, Russell Vought, Project 2025 guru, Christian nationalist, and head of the Office of Management and Budget, will now run DOGE from the shadows.  Where Musk was a mercurial toddler who slashed and burned his way through the federal government, Vought is methodical, steadily advancing toward his twin goals of putting federal workers “in trauma” and making America a Christian nation controlled by a conservative Christian government. Put another way, Vought is just as committed as Musk was to destroying the administrative state—and he might be better at getting that done. 

DOGE’s AI efforts still suck

Despite all evidence to the contrary, the Trump administration remains convinced that DOGE will somehow replace thousands of government workers with artificial intelligence. When they tried to let AI decide which Department of Veterans Affairs contracts to cancel, it was a predictable disaster. The AI tool hallucinated the value of contracts, deciding that over 1,000 contracts were worth $34 million each. The DOGE employee who developed the tool had no particular background in AI, but used AI to write some of his code nonetheless. Then DOGE let the thing loose in the VA, where it determined that 2,000 contracts were “MUNCHABLE” and therefore not essential. 

This is only the latest pathetic effort by the administration to push shoddy AI tools on federal agencies. One federal employee described GSAi, an AI tool for the General Services Administration, as “about as good as an intern” that gave “generic and guessable answers.” Another chatbot at the Food and Drug Administration’s Center for Devices and Radiological Health has difficulty uploading documents or allowing chatbot users to submit questions. Not a big help, particularly since humans are already pretty capable at uploading documents and answering questions. Despite these repeated failures, the administration remains convinced that AI is magical and ready for prime time. 

[...]

Some of the worst DOGE cuts are about to become law

While DOGE was given free rein to hack its way through the federal government, the administration only sent a few of DOGE’s cuts to Congress for them to be passed into law. Out of the $160 billion ostensibly saved by DOGE—well short of the promised $2 trillion—the administration asked Congress to codify only $9.4 billion.  The budget’s passing would slash $1.1 billion from NPR and PBS, eliminating all their federal funding because Trump thinks they are radical leftists, a thing that anyone who listens to NPR or watches PBS knows is not true. Trump also wants to make permanent the $9 million slashed from the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief.  Modeling studies show that the PEPFAR cuts could result in up to 11 million new HIV infections and 3 million additional deaths by 2030. By one estimate, over 63,000 adults and 6,700 children have already died because of PEPFAR funding freezes. Those deaths are on Musk, DOGE, and Trump, but none of those ghouls care. 

Feral DOGE kids remain in agencies 

DOGE is now embedded at the General Services Administration, and new permanent government employees now include “Big Balls” Edward Coristine and Luke Farritor. It’s unclear how 19-year-old Coristine’s background as a hacker for hire and 23-year-old Farritor’s background as a SpaceX intern make them qualified to work in the GSA, but LOL nothing matters anymore.  Interior Department Secretary Doug Burgum has basically ceded all his authority to former oil executive Tyler Hassen, who is now running that agency as a sort of shadow Cabinet minister after the DOGE takeover. Hassen is perfect for turning Interior from a department that protects public lands into one that exploits them by allowing oil and gas drilling instead. 

Another DOGE denizen who got a sweet government job is Airbnb founder Joe Gebbia, who is embarking on a “digital design challenge” overhauling the Office of Personnel Management’s retirement system.  Over at the CDC, all grants must now be reviewed by unnamed DOGE employees before money can be released. This occurs after review and approval by agency personnel who are public health experts rather than tweens infatuated with Elon Musk. This mandatory secondary review gives DOGE personnel the ability to block any grants based on whatever the spiders in their brain are saying at the time, which is not exactly helpful for public health. 

Even though Elon Musk is no heading up DOGE, DOGE continues terrorizing government agencies.

[oacest]

matt morgan's podcast directory

for anyone wanting to listen to noel's episodes on matt's patreon podcast, here is a handy list of all the ones he's on, compiled partially by me (trill) but mostly by @charlestrask.

matt's organisational and titling abilities are, shall we say, subpar, and at some point he also apparently had a mass loss of eps which he then later reuploaded with random titles and largely incorrect dates. it was a real labour of love to track down and sort out all these eps! you can simply search for the relevant titles and stream/download them as you wish.

[NOTE that if you download them individually, the file names as they appear in your downloads folder are different than they are on the patreon itself. i STRONGLY suggest manually renaming them immediately rather than ending up with a folder full of shit called "noel detroit," "maldives," and "bonfire 2" without any way to tell what the fuck is what, like i did 🙃.]

computing data: Podcast #1, June 18 2020

prince charles' fingers: Podcast #2, june 19 2020

trampagne supernova: Podcast #12, September 13 2020

stu-stu-studio with noella: Podcast #15, October 4, 2020

noel g's glimpse of the unexplained: Podcast #17, October 19 2020

noel grafting in his van: Podcast #22, November 23 2020

noelly g has put the kids to bed: Podcast #24, December 7 2020

noel december 2021? (yes that's the title lol): Podcast #29, January 19 2021 (original upload name was who built the moonie?)

you could make a killing, Podcast #38, March 21 2021

mega mega white thing, Podcast #45, May 12 2021

half a century: Podcast #50, June 2021

that's my burger and chips!: Podcast #52, June 28 2021

stone minge: Podcast #58, August 21 2021

noelo rides again: Podcast #62, September 2021

small and a half: Podcast #63, September 2021

oranjeboom and earache: Podcast #66, October 2021

wash the story: Podcast #69, November 2021 (also he uploaded a 4 minute extra bit from this called ooh look what i found! highly recommend listening to that bit as well, it'll blow your mind)

those lovable mop-tops: Podcast #72, November 28 2021 (this is their get back fancast ep lol, if you're into get back/the beatles)

noel xmas 2021: Podcast #75, December 19 2021 (original name was feliz navidad motherfuckers!)

noel in the maldives: Podcast #78 (original upload name was noel's big holiday), January 18[?] 2022

noel - know this of me!: Podcast #79, January 27 2022

noel february 2022 - 'neither of them had rice': Podcast #84, February 22 2022

noel at claridges: Podcast #87, April 2022

noelo croissant moon: Podcast #90, April 2022

noel sexy pistol: Podcast #95, June 2022

noel show 99: Podcast #99, July 1, 2022

the return of the chief: Podcast #132, June 15 2023

noel in a nutshell: Podcast #134, June 27, 2023

max bedford and lou cipher: Podcast #135, July 5 2023

d'yer wanna be a spaceman: Podcast #137, July 17 2023

noelly-g back in de area, Podcast #139, July 30 2023

hula-hoop mansion: Podcast #140, August 8 2023

dogs look back in anger, Podcast #142, August 26 2023

the spider and the butterfly, Podcast #143, September 6 2023

adventure dad: Podcast #148, November 12 2023

general dread: Podcast #150, December 2 2023

joyeux noel: Podcast #153, December 31, 2023

the fortress of solitude: Podcast #155, January 18 2024

royal albert hooha: Podcast #164, April 3 2024

the ng factor p1: Podcast #157, January 31 2024

bonfire of dreams (aka ng factor p2): Podcast #160, March 5 2024

i shan't do the poznan: Podcast #168, May 15 2024

noely g glasto debrief: Podcast #174, July 3 2024

bracknoel: Podcast #178, August 5 2024

[codenamesazanka]

for the longest time i just assumed that Spinner did not care/was dismissive about Shigaraki until after the 'destroy everything' speech; and vice versa. We had no reason to think otherwise: Spinner disregarded Shigaraki's kill list; he was skeptical of the Overhaul highway ambush in Chapter 160; and everyone was waiting for a clash because Spinner wouldn't shut up about Stain while Shigaraki held a kid hostage just so he had someone to complain to about how he hated Stain. There was no indication of anything beyond probable mutual annoyance between them. the most likely prediction was not without reason: 'wonder when Shigaraki will dust Spinner'.

chapter 220 was the start of the turning point, and 222 being it. And even 220 start off with Spinner straight up grabbing Shigaraki by the collar and yelling at him for basically not being a good leader. only after that, after the speech, did it seemed like Spinner pay attention. after that, Spinner revised his consideration. He came to empathize with Shigaraki. Shigaraki was proving himself, and Spinner was watching. Shigaraki was called an angry loser and Spinner felt for him. Only then, I thought, did Spinner lower his walls to discuss games. Only then, did they bonded.

And all this was nearly solely on Spinner's side. What did Shigaraki think? No idea. the same regard he held for all other team members. Perhaps mild obligation to respond to Spinner's loyalty, perhaps not.

But Chapter 371 gave us League of Legends, and Chapter 373 gave us the flashback of them chatting, and Chapter 393 showed us Spinner peeking over Shigaraki's shoulder as he played a game, and these were all clearly situated in a time before the events of 220-222. They were already getting along okay. "We bonded over games and stuff" was already happening.

It reframed things: the CRC slaughter, perhaps having affected Spinner more than he let on in the narration. Before, he was fine chilling with Shigaraki, joining the League in conversations about Villain names, being part of the relaxed atmosphere. Morning after CRC, he's withdrawn into himself - arms crossed, staring Shigaraki down, watching the relaxed atmosphere with displeasure, frustration obvious.

Spinner was triggered. He was reminded of why he sought out the League in the first place. And him yelling at Shigaraki can be seen as less dismissal and challenge of an unworthy boss, and more disappointment and hurt of a friend.

If they were already friends - or getting there - by then, then Shigaraki's speech takes on slightly new framing as well. It's not just a boss proving himself; it's a friend trying to repair a strain. It's not him trying to convince a skeptical follower to continue following him, it's him having listened to what Spinner was saying and taking time to reflect on it, address it. It's Shigaraki sharing his own pain, right after Spinner shared his.

It wasn't just, I have no sense of self and I need a leader to follow and Here's a purpose, then, if you want it.

It was: The world emptied me out. It suffocated me. We killed the worst offenders of my suffering but it's not enough. I've been hurt by more than that. I remember now, just how bad it was. i've been hurt my whole life.

And Shigaraki decided, Then let's destroy everything, and that is his kindness, twisted as it is, it is absolutely genuine.

for all that Spinner was enthralled by Shigaraki promise of destruction, captivated by the horizon, it's Shigaraki who brought it up first. Spinner wanted the world to change; so Shigaraki offered destruction. Shigaraki dreamed up the beautiful horizon; and Spinner decided he would shoulder that burden. Shigaraki's dream became Spinner's dream, becoming Shigaraki's promise of their dream.

[emkamo-blog]

Au came to me suddenly but I’m having gen. Brainrot over these two

Humanformers!Fem Biker Au (JazzProwl)

(Warning! I know nothing about bikes :) also I’m new to writing pls have some mercy lol)

——————— Prowl

Prowl is one of the top Policewomen in the city effortless for hunting down people, and especially good at catching drivers. Cold, calculated, and tactical if not for Orion she would’ve been promoted but she never preferred the responsibility of others.

One of the things she was well known for was her motorcycle driving. An unusual surprise to those who didn’t know her, for how much she cautioned Orion. She had her own bike she drove to work, but she basically owned one of the police forces bikes as no one dared touch it.

When she wanted a break from her heavier jobs she tended to take over highway patrols and often more rural ones closer to edge of the city.

With all the reckless and illegal drivers she’s caught, there was one she was never able to catch. Meister, a reckless biker who ran circles around Prowl. There first interaction she would never forget. Meisters license plate pulled up, she never was able to track her down only having the barest details of her bike and clothing before Meisters hit the brakes doing a 160 that Prowl would swear would knock anyone off their bike, before speeding a way and pulling a volley of turns that Prowl found difficult to keep up with.

Prowl didn’t give up though, although she had bigger more important cases to work on she found her free time was spent driving down known locations of the Meister and after awhile often finding them, before they run off each time, becoming a challenge for the both. Whenever Prowl got too close Meister did something unpredictable and escaped. Prowl never admitted it but she found it fun.

——————Jazz

Jazz was a party goer, a troublemaker, but she could also be the best civilian you’ve ever seen, not always after causing trouble just most of the time. Jazz never liked people knowing her fully, especially in not-so legal area, so she tended to give cover names, her favorites being Ricochet and recently Meister. Meister was her name on the road, and in her more illegal affairs. She was one of best motorists she knew always outpacing most she drove with, and so tending to go solo on more open roads. The Policewoman caught her off guard though, she’s never met someone so skilled as she was almost disappointed she was a cop. But she always up for a challenge.

When she first met her, she pulled her over, luckily Jazz was in her more casual civilian clothes, for once caught obeying the law, she never expected much simply expecting another know-it all cop who’d likely be a guy in his 40s or something, she was caught off guard. She never caught her name but she was damn attractive, slim face, calculating blue eyes, longe hair that seemed to dyed? Huh. Tied back tightly in a bun. Jazz hadn’t realized she wasn’t listening till the policewomen handed her a ticket, she rarely got those, after all Jazz was quite the smooth talker but she was off her game. Still she flirted, and maybe to those who didn’t speak body language like Jazz did would’ve missed the way the woman reacted but not Jazz. Shoulders tense, lips pursed, eye calculating, Jazz expected blush to cover that pretty face instead she got something she hadn’t before, the woman simply smirked at her, handed her the ticket and walked off. Cold. Jazz barely had time to ask for her name before she drove off, Jazz was definitely off her game then but she couldn’t help but somehow enjoy the bit of rejection, she wasn’t often rejected, although it didn’t feel like that was what the women meant after all her body language spoke differently. Jazz was never more entranced.

Next time Jazz ran into the women, who she knew was the same, due to the way she drove and held herself, she was meister out driving with two others doing tricks with a bike she modded out. She wanted to expecting the Policewoman to crash the party, and she would complain but had fun goading the women into ignoring the others before preceding to trick her, maybe a little bit a of flirting, she knew the Policewoman wouldn’t recognize her, not in the dark with a different outfit and bike so she did what Meister did best, have fun that had no rules, and maybe slipped her name (not Jazz ofc). After that she ran into the woman again a few times, never being able to catch her name in the noise of revving engines and wind screaming past them. Clearly the woman was having fun and each time too after all she never seemed to call back up always fine with “hunting” Jazz alone, not that Jazz ever complained.

This was just during the day, a pastime.

Her favorite hobby was illegal racing, and stunt riding competitions, basically the same as legal well known competitions but with more dangers and more than illegal and dangerous bikes. Her nickname and stunt name was Ricochet after all she was well known for a way of driving that included snappy and very dangerous turns that few could do without falling off there bikes. For most of what Jazz known she was one of the top motorists, winning her fair share of pots, and more importantly drinks.

There was only one who beat her like now one else could. The Snake, they were called. After refusing to give a name, and seeing the way they so effortlessly drove and did stunts on their bike, everything they did was smooth but quick, fast, and snappy. Like a snake they were quiet and seemingly elegant but nothing special before pulling something unexpected snappy and so quick you’d almost miss it. They were also the only one to ever wear white, not completely as they had a red crest on their helmet and their visor was black and unseeable. They wore a white jacket with black sleeves and cuffs and collar that matched the red of there crest on the back a snake coiling white as the outfit with a matching crest on on the head of the snake, splattered with dots of a similar red on its scales, the only other black was the stripes down their pants and black that covered part of their boots. A show off if Jazz has ever seen one, after all no one wears white and keeps it clean but “Snake” does a pretty good job of it.

Jazz couldn’t say she wasn’t impressed, but Jazz was also well annoyed. Jazz knew everyone and everything, and everyone knew Ricochet so that fact she never could figure out “Snake” or “The Snake” bothered her it didn’t help that “The Snake” had lackeys, those who where seemingly less secretive except when it came to “The Snake” in which they where incredibly secretive and loyal. Some started calling them “The Foliage,” Jazz tried not to roll her eyes at that, these names could get ridiculous, due to the fact they always wore a complementary shade of green, not too bright or dark, usually accented with purples, it was much different from the stark white and blacks of Snake, that and the fact that any time anyone went looking into eh identity of Snake or attempted to follow them, their lackeys would always be there protecting, distracting, and even threatening. No one had ever got close enough because of this, those who do only comment how stoic the motorist is, cold and aloof, seemingly not interested in the company of others that aren’t their group. It’s become somewhat of a pattern win, collect, and leave, that was how it was for the Snake, never staying and celebrating it made Jazz slightly more annoyed the fact that they so casually brushed off offers (and admittedly parties) of a lifetime to only simply disappear, only being able to find one of their many lackeys left behind, making up excuses for where Snake went or why they couldn’t do things. It was a puzzle, one that Jazz hadn’t realized she was so interested in, until she was.

————————————-

GUYS IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS LONG

Anyways obsessed with Jazz being obsessed with Prowl and having to find out more along the way, while Prowl has to do the opposite of knowing all the extra but not knowing Jazz or how it fits. Both obsessed with eachother differently.

Hopefully this doesn’t suck to much, I wrote it out of a random desire too.

I didn’t think it would end up this long though. It’s not even a pepper story mostly an idea. I really want to sort of write an actual story with possibly introducing Jazz and Prowl (out of uniform) meeting at a bar or something and not recognizing Jazz before remembering, meanwhile also never giving her name away to Jazz because she finds Jazz’s confusion and slight fluster enjoyable. Then they like continue meeting just for funsies after that or something idk lol.

Also on the non-legal side of things a possible accident happens to Snake (that is very clearly sabotage), and Prowl ends up missing some meetings with Jazz. ;)

Anyways completely obsessed I hope those few who somehow read this enjoy it lol.

[districtunrest]

hey! :) i just saw your tags on one of your reblogs mentioning peeta killing the d4 boy? i was just wondering if you can cite some theories about this or even canon events (maybe i missed something?) in support of this? thank you!

hi good morning! and ofc

I can't find the post now but someone within the last year or so did do the research within the first book to support this. I held the same theory before that, but I'll be going off things I remember that post referencing as well my own rationale, jsyk.

mostly, it always stuck out to me that a Career tribute died during the bloodbath (thg 157). let's forget the movie's depiction of him; the D4 boy was very likely not a younger, untrained kid. the D4 girl was in the Career pack, I think it's safe to assume the D4 boy would have been as well. but he died on the first day.

this is after Haymitch, like this post points out, advised both Peeta and Katniss to stay way from the bloodbath at the Cornucopia (thg 138-139)... and then both of them didn't, lol

because Katniss sees the bow and arrows there and thinks she can go for it, second-guessing that Haymitch wouldn't have advised her like he did if he knew how fast she was (thg 149). but when she sets herself up to run for it, she notices Peeta shaking his head at her - like, no don't please just listen to Haymitch pleaSE - and misses the gong (thg 150). fumbling, she still gets away with a backpack - and a knife from Clove - from the outer edge of the Cornucopia (thg 151). we don't know where Peeta is through all of this, but the next time we do, he's in the Career pack (thg 160).

at which point, Katniss notes,

His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait he's limping somewhat. I remember him shaking his head, telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all along, all along he'd planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had told him to do (thg 161).

...okay at this time in the story Katniss is notorioisly wrong about Peeta. she assigns motives to him that end up being the exact opposite of what's true. so piecing through her judgment here, we can tell Peeta fought, presumably in the bloodbath, and came away from it in the Career pack. we also know he wasn't supposed to do any of that - but he has a crush on Katniss, and plans to die for her, and he saw that she was about to throw herself into the thick of things.

one of the Careers remarks that Peeta is "handy with that knife" - on the first night in the arena (thg 162). so they've already seen him fight, and whoever his opponent was left some considerable damage, and they're down an ally...

so I theorize that, spurred by Katniss' last-minute decision to forgo Haymitch's advice, Peeta followed her into the bloodbath in order to protect her. but whereas Katniss got away, Peeta got caught up in a fight - I presume with the D4 boy. Peeta won, showcasing his knife skills and impressing the other Careers, and then from there was able to talk his way into the pack, with the dual purpose of saving his skin for another day as well as protecting Katniss. after all, she learns during the recap how he "misled the Careers about [her], stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let [her] escape" (thg 363). but I doubt that was his plan from the get-go, he was just working with the circumstances he had. I mean, it would be near impossible for Peeta to leave the alliance alive once he was in it - he's the first one they'd turn on - and so I doubt Haymitch would've approved it prior. to me, it seems like Peeta got stuck in it and used it for all he could.

Peeta goes on to mercy kill the girl from D8 (thg 162). this, I imagine, was harder for him since she was defenseless and not trying to kill him. but I think people conflate this as being his first kill when we don't know that for sure. when watching the recap, Katniss doesn't note Peeta killing the D8 girl - it tracks she wouldn't note him killing the D4 boy, either. not that Katniss doesn't watch/learn this information, but it's just sort of the shock of it all and she wouldn't hold it against him in any way. and we know all too well Katniss doesn't always share what she does know with us.

so that's my long-held theory! let me know if you have other questions about it :)

[abiiors]

on the road // george daniel x oc

valentine's week - day 5: lovers' quarrel

a/n: this is a bit shit but i wanted to resurrect george and cleo and give them a valentine's day because i miss them. also because i need motivation to finish the series cw: nothing much, just a bit of crying wc: 3k

if someone had told cleo a year ago that she’d be spending valentine's day with george daniel, with her boyfriend george daniel, she would have cackled until her stomach hurt. she would have called them insane for even thinking such a thing and moved on with her life. 

but the night before the big day, cleo sighs into her pillow and turns to glare at her empty bed, and by extension her empty apartment. 

turns out she actually isn’t spending valentines day with her boyfriend—not in the way she wants to, at least. 

she picks at a hangnail and hmms noncommittal to whatever matty’s just said on the phone. 

“are you listening to me?” matty asks, and she can practically imagine him snapping his fingers at her. “i said george is picking you up tomorrow. 8 am.”

cleo gapes and sits up in her bed. “no he’s not!”

there’s a silence on the other end of the line, some static. “uhhh… yes he is,” matty says, confusion clear in his voice. “i just confirmed that with him.”

“no, i meant… he doesn’t have to. i’ll take the train.” she chews on the pad of her thumb, waiting to see how matty would react to this. predictably, there’s some shuffle on the line. then the background noise dims before matty speaks again. 

“cleo,” he begins, exasperation clear in his voice. “have you fought again?”

her first instinct is to be defensive. what does he mean again?! it’s not like they fight a lot! sure they bicker maybe, sure they bicker a bit more than a regular couple whatever that means but they don’t fight. well…

apart from a few days ago. and she’s still dealing with the fallout from that. 

“you did, didn’t you?” matty sighs. “no wonder george was so short with me.”

“it’s just a spat,” cleo mumbles and massages her temples. “‘s fine, matty. i’ll take a train tomorrow. he doesn’t need to go out of his way.”

she expects him to argue back, to insist that george should pick her up as planned. instead he just hums. 

“sure,” matty drawls. “if you’ve got 160 quid to throw away, be my guest.”

cleo almost chokes on air then, her eyes wide as saucers. “fuck off!” 

but matty only laughs at her. “it’s either that or a road trip with george. you pick.”

and then the little shit hangs up, leaving her to fume in silence. 

cleo curses at her empty room, at the any and every train operator she can think of. she even plops herself back on the bed to dramatically check for train tickets only to discover that matty absolutely wasn’t lying. once the annoyance drains away, though, her eyes sting with unshed tears. her throat feels tight. 

she really misses george, so much so that she doesn’t even want to sleep in the empty bed anymore. but she settles for hugging the other pillow tightly and closing her eyes. 

cleo promises herself that she’ll talk it out with him tomorrow. she has to. there’s no way she’s going to be stuck with him in a car for six hours while they both fume silently in their respective seats and not talk for the entire duration of it.

george is there 8 am just like matty said. cleo looks at him through the window of her apartment, curtains half drawn so she could sneakily ogle at him and gauge his mood. to her annoyance, his face is absolutely blank. 

not that that’s the first thing she sees of course. 

he’s in a plain white t-shirt that fits him perfectly—it’s just the right amount of loose on him, the sleeves cut off at the perfect point on his arms and the sun reflects on his stupidly gorgeous hair making them shine. to cleo’s utter annoyance, he looks fucking hot. just like he always has. 

on top of that, he’s leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling between his lips so carelessly, every time he holds it between his fingers, the rings on his hand glint and her mind flashes with all the times she’s spent obsessed over those fingers, all the times they’ve made her feel maddeningly amazing. over and over again. 

he takes his phone out to type something and two seconds later her phone buzzes. 

something warm spreads through her chest—sure, they’re mad at each other but at least he’s texting her. at least, there’s some form of communication. 

she runs to look at her phone and it’s like a bucket of cold water’s  just doused the warmth in her chest. it’s not a text from george, it’s a text from matty – he’s waiting downstairs. where are you?

then a moment later – pls don’t make me your messenger pigeon

she stomps like a child and staches the phone in her back pocket. then, just to be annoying, she takes extra two minutes to perfectly apply her lipgloss—let him wait. she’s not in the mood to be nice to him anymore. no matter how good he looks. 

by the time cleo gets to the car, it’s already ten past eight. his eyes widen just a smidge when he sees but he quickly schools his face into a neutral expression and flicks the cigarette butt away. then he stomps on it a couple times and turns, about to go to the driver-side door, leaving cleo to gape at the back of his head. 

he’s never, never let her open the door even once since they got together. not even a single time. but this time he simply slides into his seat and taps impatiently on the steering wheel without saying a word. 

cleo yanks the car door open and slams it shut once she’s inside, she even clicks her seatbelt in place with a scoff and then resolutely turns to the window, turning her face away from him as much as possible. 

by the time they’re out of her neighbourhood and onto the freeway, she can feel his burning stare at the back of her head, so much so that she can’t help but turn around slightly and take a peak at him from the corner of her eye. a muscle feathers in his jaw when someone honks at them and george mutters a low curse under his breath. 

it’s the first time she’s hearing him speak today, and even this isn’t directed at her. the realisation makes her throat feel tight but she refuses to cry any more about the fight than she already has. and so cleo stares straight ahead, vowing not to be the first one to break the silence. 

“coffee?”

cleo startles when george speaks out of nowhere. they haven’t been driving for that long, only about an hour judging by the time blinking on the car’s radio but the tension in the vehicle is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

he looks at her briefly and then points to a costa on the side of the road. cleo nods and waits for him to park the car. 

“i’ll get it for you,” he mumbles just as she’s about the exit the car and flees before she can make a single noise of protest. 

cleo just sits there, absolutely stunned. 

is this what it’s going to be like for the next six hours? tense silences and george running out on her whenever he has the chance to? bitterly, she thinks about how he can’t even stomach spending any more time with her than absolutely necessary. sighing, cleo closes her eyes and gathers her knees to her chest.

“i just… i don’t get you!” george almost yells, exasperation coating every syllable. they’ve been at it for thirty minutes now. ever since since they got back to her apartment from fucking ikea of all places. 

every since george mentioned “their” home and cleo shut down on him. 

“what’s not to get?” cleo yells back. she can’t even bring herself to stand up and fight, she just sits in the corner of the sofa, a throw blanket on her lap almost like a shield. her hair’s a mess from running her hands through it so many times but her scrunchie is around george’s wrist and the middle of a fight is not the time to ask for it. 

“cleo…” he tiredly rubs his face and her heart cracks just a little. “we’ve been together for four months. it’s been amazing. hasn’t it been amazing for you?”

she just nods, not trusting her voice enough to speak. 

“an we’ve lived together before!” his voice cracks. 

“that was different! we were roommates. not– not—”

“oh you can’t even say it now?”

he completely stops pacing then and stares at her intently. cleo tries not to curl into herself under the sudden attention, she tries not to let the anxious ball in her stomach get the best of her. she tries not to be such a bad girlfriend. 

but one look at george and she knows she’s doing a pretty shit job of it. her heart breaks at how upset he looks but cleo can’t bring herself to say the words he really wants to hear. 

“so it’s a no then,” he sighs, “you don’t want us moving in together.”

the weight of his hope settles on her chest, almost suffocating her and george’s shoulders slump. 

“okay,” he says quietly and picks up his car keys. 

cleo doesn’t move when she hears the front door shut softly or when his car comes to life and drives away. she just fidgets with the blanket and wallows in self pity. she could have said yes so easily. 

but cleo’s scared of how much she likes him—maybe even how much she loves him at this point. she’s scared of going all in so soon after how it ended up for her the last time. she’s scared of letting him see the cracks in her armour. 

she wants to make a decision so badly! but her heart wants to give in and her brain reminds her of the last time and cleo can only sit there miserably on her sofa and not come to a decision at all. 

“cleo?” his voice makes her head snap up and she blinks against the sudden brightness. “did you fall asleep?” 

she’s about to say something but her throat feels clogged and her eyes sting. quickly, she averts her eyes from him and takes the coffee cup from him. george lingers by the door, almost like he wants to say something but then he shuts it gently and goes back to the driver's seat. the whole time she says nothing, not for lack of trying. but she knows the moment she opens her mouth the dam is going to burst and everything’s going to come out and she definitely can’t stand another fight within the first hour of a six hour roadtrip.

so she shuts up and takes a gulp of her coffee, hissing when she scalds her tongue. 

“you okay?” george asks, then inhales like he’s about to say something more but cleo quickly hums and turns to her window once again. 

with a pang in her chest she realises it’s a caramel latte with extra drizzle of caramel, her favourite. even in the middle of a fight, he’s remembered her favourite. 

she chokes out a quick “yeah” and takes another sip of her coffee. it’s so sweet, she knows george would make a face instantly if he had a sip of it. she wants to see him make that face now—his nose all scrunched up, his mouth twisted in a grimace. and then she wants to kiss the grimace away. 

quietly, george slides his hand into hers over the gear stick. and that’s the thing that finally breaks her. big fat tears roll down her cheeks like she’s a cartoon character and she can’t fucking stop sniffling like a child. 

“oh baby,” he whispers softly and cleo just cries harder. she’s already made a mess of everything, she can’t stomach his kindness on top of the guilt. but he’s having none of it. 

george takes the cup from her hands and puts it in the cupholder. then unclicks her seatbelt, slides his seat back and, as if she weighs absolutely nothing, he pulls her from her seat and onto his lap. his hold around her is so gentle, it makes cleo cry harder. 

“i’ve messed up everything,” she wails and buries her face in his chest. his t-shirt is so soft (she makes a mental note to steal it later) and fuck, he smells so good too. everything about him is familiar and nice and he’s just… he’s her george. but then his hand wraps around the nape of her neck and she remembers his sad face from a few days ago. 

she remembers his quiet “okay”

“you haven’t, love—”

“no i have!” she states adamantly, “i made you sad.”

he holds her even tighter then, his fingers gently stroking the back of her head but he doesn’t say anything. at any other time she would have huffed and bickered with him about using her own tactic against her, about staying silent until she feels the overwhelming urge to fill it. 

“can i ask you something?” george asks and she lifts her head up to look at him properly. up close, cleo realises how tired he looks. there are circles under his eyes, and she could easily attribute them to late night studio sessions but she has a sneaking suspicion she’s the reason behind them. 

she can so clearly imagine him too, tossing and turning in his bed, waking up from a half-sleep only to find her not there, not spending the night with him just like she does at least five times a week. 

“yeah,” she chokes out again. 

“do you really not want us to live together?”

“that’s not—” her throat closes up again and she swallows forcefully, “i didn’t mean— it’s just—”

“okay deep breaths,” he encourages and starts rubbing small circles on her hip. the pad of his thumb is rough and scratchy, it creates just the perfect kind of friction against her skin that keeps her grounded. and cleo does as she’s asked. 

when she feels sufficiently calm, she tries again. “it’s really scary,” she starts and looks at him again to try and gague his reaction, but george just presses a kiss to her temple and encourages her to go on. “the last time i let someone in so quickly, it didn’t… it didn’t end well.”

“i’m not him,” his jaw ticks for a moment but he swallows again and gives her another little kiss. 

“i know you aren’t. you could never be.”

“so then…why?”

it takes cleo a minute to mull it over in her head. he’s right to ask that question. he’s right because she has absolutely no answer for it. 

“i don’t know,” she mumbles quietly and looks down in shame. they stay like that for a minute. no one moves, no one speaks, but cleo feels his desperation. she knows he wants it so bad. fuck! she wants it so bad—

“a drawer,” she says. “i’ll clear out a drawer. and we can work up from there? please?”

for thirty whole seconds he says absolutely nothing and cleo’s brain conjures up horrible scenarios—he’s going to flinch away from her and tell her to get out of his car. he’s going to call her something hurtful and abandon her in a fucking costa car park an hour away from home. he’s—

george snorts. “did you just suggest exposure therapy?”

cleo blinks at him in surprise. for a beat they both stay silent, and then just like that cleo cracks up, george following suit. two seconds later they’re giggling like teenagers. a couple more tears leak from her eyes but this time she knows it’s not tears of sadness. she’s laughing too hard for that. 

“you’re a fucking idiot,” george flicks her nose and she kisses him. it's their first kiss in the last few days and if she could melt, right here in his lap, she would. she would be an absolute puddle right here but george holds her together and kisses her back so deeply that her head spins. she kisses him with equal ferocity and in that moment none of it matters, not their fight, not this stupid roadtrip, not even her fears. in this moment he’s the only one that matters. 

“but you’re my idiot,” he whispers on her lips once they pull back just enough to breathe. cleo is breathless and blushing. she hasn’t been kissed like this in, well…days, and she kind of hates the fact that they’re in public. 

“i am,” she nods and hugs him tightly. “sorry for being such a loser,” she mumbles into the crook of his neck and feels him nod sagely. 

“‘s alright. not everyone can be as perfect as me.”

“fuck off, george!” she pokes him in the sides, “or i’ll—”

“or you’ll what, huh?” he pokes her right back, “revoke my drawer privileges?”

“too soon!” she whines but they’re giggling once again, kissing each other like they’d die if they don’t make up for the last few days. 

“we’re going to be so late,” she mumbles once they’ve stopped kissing. “matty’s going to yell at us, i hope you know.” 

george just shrugs and looks at her like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. it makes cleo’s chest ache, it makes her whole body tingle. 

“i’m going to give you the best drawer in my apartment,” she promises. 

“yeah?” he smiles at her and kisses her forehead again. it’s so tender that she almost cries again but george tickles under her chin. silently cleo makes a promise to herself—she’s going to get over this silly fear. she’s going to be the girlfriend he deserves. and most importantly, she’s never going to make him sad again. he’s far too precious for that.

lemme know what you think <33

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