#a third perspective input

[closedspeciesteahouse]

(succubuns) (trigger warning:CP) I don't know if the blogs reflect a significant portion of the community, but an area of contention was the owner Luca's artstyle; people complained how their art has become increasingly more immature looking. Regardless, their patreon was taken down specifically for distributing CP. Looks from the emails that patreon had a month long investigation and overlooked the account in its entirety. Official announcement vvv https://succubuns.com/news/133.patreon-down An anon who reported it vvv https://www.tumblr.com/succubunsvent/742176017621336064/hi-email-anon-here-again-reporting-in-on-the?source=share Bit of context, same anon asked the site domain about employment clarification, turns out succubuns was violating labor laws and it got their site shut down a bit. Succubuns mods have called the shut downs "griefing" attempts; not all too sure why when it's easy just to explain their error as misunderstanding what qualifies as legal "employment". That email https://www.tumblr.com/succubunsvent/740977667917135873/740972072741879808-is-absolutely-yves-or-luca-or It's a trainwreck, but it's hard to look away. I've never been in the species and can't say anything of the owners' intentions, but from the succubun site I can say the official artstyle is troublesome.

☕️

[gainercontent]

The Popcorn Effect

Dean adjusted the cuffs of his crisp, navy-blue button-up for the third time that evening. His hands were steady—he was a lawyer, after all—but the slight pulse of nerves in his fingertips betrayed him. It wasn’t the movie. It wasn’t even Valentine’s Day. It was the fact that he was here, waiting outside a neon-lit theater, about to go on his first date with a man.  

With Arthur.  

Arthur, who was everything Dean wasn’t—towering, broad-shouldered, and exuding the kind of easy confidence that made heads turn. Arthur, with his smirking lips and that damn leather jacket that somehow made him look like he belonged in both a romance novel and a street fight.  

And Arthur, who, much to Dean’s bewilderment, was obsessed with Tarot cards and crystals. The last time they got coffee, Arthur had pulled a deck out of his back pocket, laid down a few cards, and told Dean that his future held “a shift in perspective.”  

“Yeah, it’s called trying not to get disbarred,” Dean had muttered.  

But he was here.  

Dean looked up just in time to see Arthur crossing the street toward him, boots heavy against the pavement, his expression half-amused.  

“You look nervous,” Arthur said, stopping right in front of him.  

“I’m a lawyer,” Dean replied smoothly, straightening. “I don’t do nervous.”  

Arthur just tilted his head, grinning. “Right.”  

Without missing a beat, Arthur reached down and took Dean’s hand, threading their fingers together with an effortless kind of certainty. Dean glanced around, feeling the warmth of Arthur’s palm, aware of how easily the action flipped something in his chest—exhilaration, maybe. Panic, definitely.  

Arthur didn’t seem to care about any of that. “Come on, counselor. I already got us tickets.”  

Dean let himself be pulled forward, taking a breath. It was fine. It was just a movie. It wasn’t like they were getting married.  

As they walked toward the entrance, Dean glanced up at the glowing marquee: **Alamo Drafthouse.** He’d never been here before, but Arthur had insisted on it. Something about “real food” and “people who actually shut up during the movie.”  

“You’ll like it,” Arthur said as if reading his mind.  

Inside, the theater was dimly lit, the scent of buttered popcorn thick in the air. A retro aesthetic covered the walls—old film posters, vintage projectors, a bar lined with craft beer taps. Dean had to admit, it was kind of cool.  

Arthur led them to their seats—back row, of course.  

“I can already tell you’re the type of guy who gets mad about plot holes,” Arthur murmured as they sat down.  

“I just appreciate logical storytelling,” Dean said. “Something I assume you don’t require from a deck of Tarot cards.”  

Arthur chuckled. “Mock all you want, but I could do a reading for you right now.”  

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t pull his hand away when Arthur rested it on his knee.  

The previews started. The lights dimmed further.  

Dean tried to focus on the screen, but his mind kept drifting—not to the movie, but to the weight of Arthur’s presence beside him, the press of their shoulders, the realization that he was comfortable like this. That he wanted to be here.  

Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe there *was* a shift in perspective happening after all.  

And maybe, just maybe, Dean didn’t mind.  

*****

The moment they sat down, Arthur stretched his long legs out like he owned the place. Dean, still adjusting to the dim lighting and plush seats, barely had time to glance at the menu before Arthur waved over a server.  

“We’ll do the bottomless popcorn and two large sodas,” Arthur said smoothly, not even looking at Dean for input.  

Dean turned toward him, eyebrows lifting. “Excuse me?”  

Arthur smirked. “You seem like a guy who’d pretend he doesn’t want popcorn, then steal half of mine. This is just efficient.”  

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the server was already jotting it down and heading off. He sighed, crossing his arms. “What if I wanted something else?”  

Arthur turned his head slowly, giving him a lazy, amused look. “Did you?”  

Dean hesitated.  

Arthur grinned. “That’s what I thought.”  

Before Dean could throw out some witty comeback, Arthur casually reached over and pressed the glowing red button on the side of Dean’s seat.  

With a low mechanical hum, the recliner shot backward. Dean’s knees jerked up, his feet flying into the air as he sank deep into the seat. His stomach did a weird little flip, caught between surprise and the bizarre comfort of the position.  

Arthur chuckled beside him. “Relax, counselor.”  

Dean pushed himself up slightly, attempting to regain some of his composure. “Arthur, what the hell—”  

“Shh.” Arthur didn’t even look at him, eyes fixed on the screen. “I love the previews.”  

Dean huffed, shifting in the recliner. “Are you serious?”  

Arthur just gave a slow nod, reaching for the armrest between them. He casually flipped up the divider, eliminating the barrier between their seats like it was nothing. Now there was no space between them at all.  

Dean blinked. He should have expected that.  

The first preview played, a dramatic action sequence with explosions and intense music. Arthur, completely engrossed, reached for the popcorn the moment it arrived, tossing a handful into his mouth without a care in the world.  

Dean exhaled, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”  

Arthur glanced at him, grinning mid-chew. “You’ll thank me later.”  

Dean doubted it. But as the next preview rolled, and he found himself settling further into the recliner—feet still up, body weirdly at ease.

Dean wasn’t going to eat the popcorn.  

At least, that’s what he told himself as he reclined in his seat, arms crossed, determined to prove Arthur wrong. But as the previews rolled on, the buttery, salty aroma curled around him, teasing his senses. Arthur, of course, was eating without a care in the world, shoveling handfuls of the golden kernels into his mouth like it was his last meal.  

Dean tried to ignore it. He really did.  

But then Arthur tilted the bowl slightly toward him, as if issuing a silent challenge.  

Dean sighed. One handful wouldn’t hurt.  

The first bite was warm, crisp, and perfectly seasoned. The saltiness paired with the rich, melted butter in a way that made his taste buds light up. He chewed slowly, savoring it, then instinctively reached for his soda to wash it down. The ice-cold fizz of cola hit just right, cutting through the buttery taste and leaving him refreshed.  

Okay. Maybe another handful.  

Before he knew it, he had settled into a steady rhythm—popcorn, soda, popcorn, soda. His fingers found the bowl without thought, each handful just as satisfying as the last. Arthur said nothing, but Dean could feel the smirk radiating off of him.  

Whatever. He wasn’t going to give Arthur the satisfaction of commenting on it.  

But as Dean ate, something strange was happening. Subtle at first, almost unnoticeable. A soft pressure against his belt, the fabric of his shirt shifting slightly over his stomach.  

With each bite, he was growing softer. His lean frame, usually defined and sharp, was slowly rounding out. His stomach, once flat beneath his button-up, began to press gently against the fabric, the buttons pulling just a bit tighter. His thighs, always slim, were gradually thickening, settling more heavily against the recliner’s plush cushion.  

The popcorn was *doing* something to him.  

But Dean didn’t notice. The act of eating was too easy, too enjoyable. The warmth of the theater, the comfort of the reclined seat, the smooth rhythm of popcorn and soda—it was all lulling him into a relaxed, mindless state.  

His jaw worked steadily, bite after bite, as his body quietly softened. His arms, once toned, now had a slight heaviness to them. His jawline, usually sharp, began to smooth ever so slightly, a new fullness appearing in his cheeks.  

His stomach, growing steadily, formed the faintest curve over his waistband. Nothing dramatic, but enough that his belt, once comfortable, now pressed more firmly into his skin. He shifted slightly, unaware of the way his posture had changed���his body settling deeper into the chair, spreading just a little more than before.  

By the time the first round of bottomless popcorn was gone, he leaned back with a satisfied sigh, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly. He felt *full,* but in a comforting, indulgent way. His clothes felt just a bit different—his shirt not quite as loose, his pants hugging him in ways they hadn’t when he first sat down.  

Arthur finally turned to him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Enjoying yourself?”  

Dean scoffed, wiping a stray kernel from his lap. His movements were a little slower, a little heavier. “It’s *fine*.”  

Arthur’s smirk deepened, but he said nothing.  

The server arrived just then, seamlessly refilling their popcorn bowl. Dean barely reacted—just reached for another handful without thinking, the cycle continuing as his body adjusted to its softening, thickening reality.  

Arthur chuckled under his breath, but this time, Dean was too preoccupied to care.  

*****

Dean had always been an effortlessly slim guy. Years of high-stress work and too many skipped meals had kept him trim, his suits always fitting perfectly without much effort. But something was… off.  

As he reached for another handful of popcorn, sinking deeper into the recliner, he couldn’t shake the strange sensation creeping over him. It wasn’t discomfort, exactly—just a subtle awareness that his body felt *different.*  

Buttery kernels melted on his tongue, the warm saltiness mingling perfectly with the ice-cold fizz of his soda. He took another sip, draining nearly half the massive cup in one go, sighing in satisfaction as the carbonation tingled through his chest. Then, without thinking, he grabbed another handful of popcorn.  

Arthur sat beside him, calm and knowing, as Dean absentmindedly continued his indulgence. The changes were happening more rapidly now, creeping over his frame with each bite.  

His stomach, once lean and taut, was rounding out unmistakably. The slight pressure against his waistband had turned into a steady, growing tightness. The fabric of his shirt stretched over his middle, no longer hanging loosely the way it had when he first sat down. The lowest button on his shirt was straining now, the fabric pulling just slightly when he leaned forward to grab more popcorn.  

His belt, once a comfortable accessory, was pressing into his waist, no longer just snug but actively digging into his growing softness. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, but the reality was unavoidable—his body was *filling out.*  

His thighs had thickened considerably, pressing more firmly against the plush seat. Where before there had been space between them, now they met at the midpoint, a soft warmth spreading between his legs. His slacks, tailored to his once-slim frame, were starting to feel restrictive, the fabric hugging his growing quads and squeezing slightly at his hips.  

Dean shifted again, rolling his shoulders, but that only made him aware of the changes there, too. His chest—once flat and firm—had softened, rounding subtly beneath his shirt. The fabric clung in ways it never had before, a faint tightness along his upper torso that he might have mistaken for an odd laundry shrinkage if he weren’t so deep in popcorn-induced bliss.  

Even his face wasn’t spared. His sharp jawline had begun to soften at the edges, his cheeks carrying a bit more fullness. His collar pressed lightly against his neck, not tight but noticeably snugger than before.  

And yet, Dean still hadn’t pieced it together.  

He *felt* something was different, sure, but his brain wasn’t making the connection. All he knew was that he felt… heavier. Not weighed down, exactly, but *settled* in a way he hadn’t before. His movements had a slight sluggishness to them, his limbs resting more heavily against the recliner.  

He exhaled, shifting once again, frowning slightly as his belt dug into him a little more than before.  

Arthur, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, finally spoke. “Something wrong, counselor?”  

Dean hesitated. “…No.” He stretched subtly, rolling his shoulders again, adjusting the way he sat. His stomach pressed against his shirt, the fabric pulling ever so slightly as he inhaled.  

Arthur smirked. “You sure? You look a little… stuffed.”  

Dean huffed. “I’m fine,” he said, more to convince himself than Arthur. “Just… I don’t know. I feel a little weird.”  

Arthur hummed in amusement, swirling his soda cup. “Weird how?”  

Dean paused. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. There was an undeniable heaviness in his body, a fullness beyond just the popcorn in his stomach. His clothes felt different. His posture had changed. But it was subtle—just subtle enough to be dismissed as nothing more than post-movie-theater bloat.  

“…Forget it,” Dean muttered, brushing it off.  

Arthur just chuckled, eyes flicking toward the bowl of popcorn still in Dean’s lap. “You gonna finish that?”  

Dean didn’t answer immediately. His belly was pressing snugly against his shirt now, the pressure noticeable—but at the same time, the buttery aroma was still so inviting, the mix of salt and soda still so addictive.  

He exhaled, reaching for another handful.  

Arthur leaned back with a satisfied smirk, watching as Dean absentmindedly continued eating, his body still subtly expanding, still softening, still changing.  

Dean sighed, shifting in his seat as the movie faded into intermission. His stomach felt uncomfortably full, pressing tightly against his waistband. He hadn’t meant to eat so much, but something about the popcorn had been impossible to resist—one handful after another, until the bottomless bowl had been refilled *twice.*  

Now, though, he really needed to get up.  

He planted his hands on the armrests and tried to push himself forward, but something felt… off. His body didn’t move as easily as he expected. His stomach pressed heavily into his lap, his thighs spreading wide enough that they now filled the seat entirely. When had the recliner gotten so *deep*?  

Frowning, he tried again, shifting his weight forward, but his midsection resisted—his belt dug sharply into his waist, his slacks pulling uncomfortably tight. He grunted softly, his face heating with embarrassment.  

Arthur turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “You stuck?”  

Dean scowled. “I *got* it.”  

But before he could try again, Arthur casually reached over and pressed the button on Dean’s seat.  

The recliner hummed to life, slowly moving upright. But as it did, something *else* happened—something Dean wasn’t prepared for.  

As the seat lifted, his body was forced forward, pressing against the constraints of his clothes. His stomach, already pressed tightly against his waistband, was suddenly *squeezed* as he was pushed upright. The belt bit into his middle, his slacks stretching to their absolute limit.  

Then—  

*Pop.*  

A small but unmistakable *snap* sounded beneath his shirt.  

Dean froze.  

Arthur, expression unreadable, casually sipped his soda.  

Dean swallowed hard, refusing to look down. He *knew* what had happened. His pants—once tailored perfectly to his slim frame—had finally given up, the button popping off under the pressure of his thickened waistline.  

He pretended not to notice.  

Clearing his throat, he *carefully* pushed himself upright, feeling the resistance in his body, the added weight that made the motion far less effortless than it should have been. His thighs pressed firmly together, his hips shifting in a way that felt *foreign.* His shirt pulled snugly over his stomach, the lower hem straining to stay tucked into his pants.  

“Where you headed?” Arthur asked, voice tinged with amusement.  

Dean straightened, ignoring the way his belt, now unbuckled from the missing button, barely kept his pants in place. “Bathroom,” he muttered, forcing a casual tone.  

Arthur smirked but said nothing.  

As Dean stepped into the dimly lit theater aisle, he immediately realized something else—walking *felt* different. His steps were heavier, his balance slightly off. His thighs brushed with every movement, the new fullness shifting with him. His stomach had a subtle bounce he wasn’t used to, the unfamiliar weight pressing forward as he moved.  

His slacks, once comfortable, were now snug around his hips and rear, the waistband sitting precariously low thanks to the missing button. He had to *adjust* them as he walked, subtly tugging them up, horrified at the way they clung to his body.  

By the time he reached the restroom, his pulse was racing.  

He stepped inside, bracing himself, then turned to the mirror.  

His stomach dropped.  

The reflection staring back at him wasn’t quite his own. Or rather—it *was,* but softer, fuller, and undeniably heavier.  

His face was the first thing he noticed. His sharp jawline had softened considerably, the angles blunted by a slight roundness to his cheeks. His collar sat higher against his neck, no longer loose but snug against flesh that hadn’t been there before. His lips parted slightly, breath hitching as he took in the rest of himself.  

His once-trim waist had thickened *significantly.* His stomach pressed visibly against his shirt, the fabric stretched tightly over the newly developed curve. Without the button to hold his pants together, his belt was doing most of the work, but even that was starting to strain. The lower hem of his shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing just a sliver of soft skin beneath.  

His chest had changed, too. It wasn’t just muscle anymore—there was a roundness to it, a noticeable softness beneath the fitted fabric of his button-up. His shoulders still carried some of their usual sharpness, but his arms had thickened, his sleeves clinging a bit too snugly around them.  

And then there were his thighs.  

Dean exhaled sharply, shifting his stance. His legs had always been long and lean, but now they were *thick.* His quads pushed against the fabric of his slacks, the material visibly creased from how tightly they hugged his legs. His hips had widened slightly, his posture subtly changed by the added mass. His belt, sitting lower than before, was the only thing stopping his pants from slipping further down.  

Dean stared at himself, breathing heavy.  

*What the hell is happening?*  

He lifted a hand to his stomach, pressing hesitantly against the softness. It *yielded* under his touch, his fingers sinking slightly before meeting resistance. He could *feel* the difference, the unfamiliar weight sitting on his frame.  

He swallowed hard.  

This wasn’t just bloating. This wasn’t just a bad angle.  

He had *gained weight.* And not just a little.  

Dean sucked in a breath, trying to straighten his posture, trying to pull his shirt down further. But no matter how he adjusted, the reality remained—his body had changed.  

And he had no idea how, or *why.*  

Dean stood frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, his pulse hammering in his ears. His reflection—softer, rounder, *heavier*—stared back at him, undeniable proof that something unnatural was happening. His once-trim body had filled out with unfamiliar weight, his midsection pressing snugly against his shirt, his belt barely holding his slacks in place after his pants button had popped.  

And yet, beneath the shock and disbelief, something *else* was gnawing at him.  

A deep, insistent *hunger.*  

At first, he thought it was just the unease settling in his gut, the nerves twisting in response to his inexplicable transformation. But no—this was different. This hunger wasn’t normal. It wasn’t the kind that built gradually or could be ignored. It was *immediate* and *demanding*, an empty, aching void in his stomach that hadn’t been there minutes ago.  

His belly rumbled loudly, the sound deep and unnatural, almost echoing in the tiled restroom.  

Dean’s breath hitched. He pressed a hand to his midsection, feeling the soft new curve of his stomach through the fabric. How could he *still* be hungry? He had eaten more popcorn than he cared to admit, washing it down with gulps of soda, filling himself beyond what should have been comfortable. And yet, this hunger was like nothing he’d ever experienced—deep, primal, consuming.  

His throat went dry. He needed to get out of here.  

Swallowing hard, he straightened his shirt as best he could—not that it helped much. The fabric was still stretched too tight over his torso, his stomach still pushing against the waistband of his slacks. He couldn’t even suck it in properly; the fullness was *real.* Every step he took felt different, the added weight shifting with him in a way that made his movements feel subtly off-balance.  

The walk back to the theater was agonizing.  

His thighs, thick and unfamiliar, brushed with every step. His pants clung too snugly to his hips, forcing him to adjust them every few feet. Even his chest felt heavier, a slight bounce beneath his shirt that he *refused* to acknowledge. The hunger clawed at him the entire time, growing stronger the closer he got to his seat, as if something was *pulling* him back.  

By the time he stepped back into the dim glow of the theater, his stomach was outright *growling.*  

And that was when he saw it.  

A fresh, untouched bowl of steaming, buttery popcorn sat in front of Arthur.  

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, dread coiling in his gut.  

Arthur turned his head slightly, his expression calm, almost amused. “Took you long enough.”  

Dean didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the popcorn—golden, glistening, perfectly warm, as if it had just been delivered.  

“…Did you order more?” His voice came out weaker than he wanted.  

Arthur shrugged, sipping his soda. “You could say that.”  

Dean’s mouth went dry. He tore his gaze from the bowl and glanced down at Arthur’s seat. His armrest—the one with the *call button*—was glowing faintly, indicating it had been pressed multiple times.  

*He’s been ordering refills this whole time.*  

Arthur tilted his head, his smirk barely contained. “Something wrong?”  

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.  

His body had changed—there was no denying that. His shirt was tight, his belt barely holding on, and his pants fit like they were two sizes too small. His stomach *should* have been full to bursting. And yet, standing there, staring at that fresh bowl of popcorn, all he could feel was *hunger.*  

His belly gave another deep, greedy growl.  

Arthur’s eyes flicked toward the sound, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he simply gestured toward the recliner beside him. “You gonna sit down, or what?”  

Dean hesitated. Every rational part of him screamed to stop—to *think*—to question *why* this was happening. But the hunger… the hunger was unbearable.  

Almost against his will, he stepped forward and sank back into his seat.  

The recliner adjusted under his weight, creaking softly in a way it hadn’t earlier. His stomach pressed against his lap more noticeably now, his thighs spreading wider than before. His belt dug into his middle, a constant reminder of how much his body had changed.  

Arthur nudged the popcorn bowl closer.  

Dean stared at it, heart pounding. He *shouldn’t.* He *couldn’t.*  

But his hand was already reaching for it.  

Arthur sipped his soda, watching with quiet amusement. “Enjoy,” he murmured.  

Dean popped a handful into his mouth, and the moment the buttery kernels hit his tongue, his fate was sealed.  

The hunger *demanded* to be fed.  

And Dean, helpless against it, obeyed.  

Dean barely registered Arthur’s movement until it was too late.  

A soft *click* sounded beside him, and suddenly, his seat whirred to life. The recliner tilted back, his body sinking deeper into the plush cushions.  

But this time—*this time*—the feeling was completely different.  

As the chair eased back, the added weight pressing down on his body became *impossible* to ignore. His newly grown stomach—soft, heavy, undeniably full—pushed outward, settling heavily onto his lap. The pressure of it was startling. It wasn’t just a small bit of fullness anymore; it was a real, noticeable weight, resting on him, pressing against his frame.  

His belt strained even more, his slacks digging painfully into his sides. His shirt stretched taut across his midsection, rising ever so slightly, barely able to contain him. He felt *pinned* beneath himself, his body settling into place with an unfamiliar heft.  

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.  

Arthur, unfazed, smirked. “Comfy?”  

Dean *wasn’t*—not exactly. But the worst part? The hunger *still* hadn’t gone away.  

His stomach, now undeniably round and soft, gave another quiet *growl*, the sound muffled but persistent.  

It made no *sense.*  

He had already eaten *so much.* His body told him he was full—his tight clothes, his heavy limbs, the way his belly pushed against everything—but at the same time, the hunger gnawed at him, deep and relentless.  

And the popcorn was still there.  

Arthur nudged the bowl closer again, watching him expectantly.  

Dean hesitated for half a second—just long enough to acknowledge that he *should* stop, that he *should* question what was happening to him.  

But then his hand moved, almost without thought.  

Another handful. Another bite.  

The moment the buttery kernels touched his tongue, everything else faded.  

He chewed slowly at first, savoring the warmth, the saltiness, the way the butter coated his lips. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he let the flavors melt into his senses. The recliner cradled him, the plush seat molding around his expanded form.  

He should have felt uncomfortable—stuffed, overfed, *trapped* by his own growing body—but instead, all he could focus on was the addictive cycle. *Popcorn. Soda. More popcorn. More soda.*  

Each bite sent another subtle shift through him, another layer of softness settling into place. His stomach pushed a little heavier against his lap. His thighs spread a little wider against the seat. His belt, strained past its limit, felt like it could give way at any second.  

But Dean didn’t stop.  

The more he ate, the less he could think about how different his body felt.  

Arthur, calm as ever, simply sipped his soda, watching as Dean continued—bite after bite, sip after sip, sinking further into the chair, growing softer, fuller, *heavier* with every moment.  

By the time Dean absentmindedly reached the bottom of the bowl, he had gained another twenty pounds.  

Unknown to Dean, he was now about a full *fifty* pounds heavier than when the night had started.  

And still, the hunger remained.  

*****

Dean barely noticed when Arthur reached for the call button again.  

He was too lost in the haze of warmth and fullness, too caught up in the steady rhythm of eating, drinking, *growing*. His recliner cradled him in its embrace, his expanded frame sinking deeper into the plush cushioning. He felt *heavy*, his body pressing down in ways that still startled him—but somehow, he didn’t *hate* it.  

And then—  

*Ding.*  

Arthur had ordered another refill.  

Dean swallowed hard, his stomach stretching taut against his now *achingly* tight shirt. The buttons at the center strained dangerously, fabric pulled to its absolute limit over the fullness of his belly.  

He should have stopped by now. He *knew* he should have. But when the server quietly placed another *steaming*, golden bowl of popcorn in front of them, the scent alone made his stomach growl, eager and demanding.  

Arthur chuckled, low and deep, and Dean felt a warm hand settle over his shoulder.  

“You’ve really got an appetite, huh?” Arthur murmured.  

Dean’s breath hitched.  

Arthur’s arm draped over him, pulling him in close. It was effortless, as if Dean belonged tucked against his side. The warmth of Arthur’s body, the solid strength of his frame, sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. He should have been embarrassed—should have been *mortified* by how much he had gained in just a few hours—but the way Arthur touched him, firm yet possessive, made shame feel like an afterthought.  

Dean opened his mouth to respond, to say *something*, but Arthur beat him to it.  

“Eat,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “I’ll keep you comfortable.”  

Dean *should* have protested.  

But he didn’t.  

Instead, he grabbed another handful of popcorn.  

And the moment he started eating again, the changes resumed—faster, more intense than before.  

The added weight settled into him *immediately*. His stomach swelled, pressing heavier onto his lap, pushing against the fabric of his shirt with undeniable force. His thighs thickened further, spreading against the seat, pressing into Arthur’s with soft, yielding warmth. His arms, once toned and lean, filled out with plushness, his sleeves tightening around the softening flesh.  

And then—  

*Pop.*  

The first button gave way.  

Dean stiffened, his breath catching as the strain on his shirt finally reached its breaking point.  

*Pop.*  

A second one.  

The fabric pulled even tighter, barely containing him—  

*Pop. Pop. Pop.*  

The rest of his buttons *burst open*, one after another, his belly spilling free into the open air. The sudden release made him exhale sharply, warmth flooding his cheeks. His stomach *was huge*, round and undeniably full, pushing outwards with soft, growing heft.  

Arthur’s grip tightened around him.  

“There he is,” Arthur murmured, his voice dark with approval.  

Dean shuddered.  

Arthur’s hand slid lower, tracing over his side, his touch deliberate and lingering. Dean inhaled sharply, feeling the way his newly softened body reacted to the contact. His skin was sensitive, warm, *alive* beneath Arthur’s fingers.  

“I think you’re enjoying this,” Arthur whispered, lips brushing just near Dean’s ear.  

Dean *was*.  

The weight, the warmth, the way Arthur was touching him—*it felt good*.  

Better than good.  

Dean’s breathing grew heavier, his pulse hammering as Arthur pressed closer, his strong fingers tracing the new softness of Dean’s belly, lingering at the edges before slipping beneath the fabric.  

Dean gasped.  

Arthur chuckled, clearly enjoying how *responsive* he was.  

“You feel amazing,” Arthur murmured.  

Dean bit his lip. He knew he should be *shocked* by what was happening to his body, by how much he had changed. But Arthur’s touch, his warmth, his *presence* made it impossible to care.  

For the first time all night, Dean let himself relax.  

Let himself *sink* into the moment.  

Arthur’s hand slid lower, his breath hot against Dean’s skin, and Dean closed his eyes, giving in completely.  

Valentine’s Day had never felt this good before.  

Dean leaned back into the recliner, his belly rising and falling with each slow breath, his shirt hanging open in tatters. He should have felt humiliated, but Arthur’s presence—his arm still draped over him, fingers occasionally tracing along his softened side—kept him grounded.  

Arthur chuckled low in his throat, giving Dean’s exposed belly a playful pat. “You, my friend, are officially *boyfriend material*.”  

Dean blinked, his dazed mind struggling to process the words. “Boyfriend material?”  

Arthur smirked. “Mmhmm. You’re cute, you’re fun, and you look *real* good all filled out like this.” He squeezed Dean’s side gently, his thumb brushing against warm, stretched skin. “Definitely my type.”  

Dean’s face burned. He *should* have protested. *Should* have questioned how any of this made sense. But sitting there, basking in Arthur’s attention, his words sank into him like honey. It felt *nice* to be admired. To be *wanted.*  

Arthur reached down, pulling off his oversized leather jacket. “Here,” he said, draping it over Dean’s shoulders. “Can’t have you walking out of here half-naked.”  

Dean swallowed thickly. The jacket was warm, still carrying Arthur’s scent—leather, cologne, and something undeniably *him*. It swallowed Dean up, the large fit doing a decent job of covering his ruined shirt, though it couldn’t hide the heavy curve of his stomach pressing forward.  

Arthur stood first, stretching, and then turned to offer Dean a hand.  

Dean hesitated.  

He was *so* full. So heavy. His body felt different, weighed down in ways that still surprised him. His recliner had molded around him, making the act of *getting up* seem like a task in itself.  

Arthur’s hand remained outstretched, firm, patient. “Come on, babe.”  

Dean exhaled and took it.  

The moment he started to stand, *he knew something was wrong*.  

His balance felt *off*. His thighs brushed more than they should have. His stomach shifted as he straightened, pressing forward under the weight of his fullness. He barely had time to register it before—  

*Rrrrip.*  

The sound was unmistakable.  

Dean froze.  

His breath hitched as a rush of cool air hit his exposed backside.  

Arthur made a strangled noise—somewhere between a laugh and a hum of appreciation. “Well, *that* was inevitable.”  

Dean clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified. “Arthur—”  

Arthur grinned. “Relax, babe. Happens to the best of us.” He slid an arm around Dean’s waist, his grip *strong*, supportive, *possessive*. “Let’s get you to the car.”  

Dean’s heart pounded as Arthur guided him toward the exit, keeping a firm hold on him. Every step felt *different*, his body heavier, softer, more *aware* of itself than ever before. The remains of his pants clung uselessly to his thighs, his overgrown form barely concealed by the leather jacket.  

But Arthur? Arthur acted like this was *completely normal*.  

Like he *wanted* him like this.  

As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Arthur pulled Dean in closer, his voice low and teasing.  

“Guess I’ll have to keep you in my clothes from now on.”  

Dean’s face burned.  

And yet, beneath the embarrassment, beneath the shock of how much he had changed—  

A tiny, undeniable part of him *liked* that idea.  

*****

The car ride was a blur.  

Dean sat in the passenger seat, Arthur’s oversized leather jacket wrapped tightly around him, barely concealing the wreckage of his clothes. His pants were beyond saving, split down the back and hugging his fuller thighs in a way that made movement difficult. His shirt? Utterly destroyed. And beneath it all, his body—*soft, heavy, undeniably changed*—settled into itself, pressing against the seat, his stomach nudging up against the seatbelt.  

And yet…  

Arthur’s hand never left his thigh.  

It was casual at first—just resting there, warm and grounding. But as they drove through the quiet streets, Arthur’s fingers began tracing slow, teasing circles against Dean’s leg, his touch light but deliberate.  

Dean should have been panicking, should have been freaking out about his *impossible* weight gain, about the way his body had expanded so quickly in just a few hours. But every time doubt crept in, Arthur squeezed his thigh a little, anchoring him, reminding him how *good* it felt to be wanted.  

“Let’s go back to my place,” Arthur murmured as they pulled up to an apartment complex. His voice was smooth, confident, laced with something undeniably suggestive. “Netflix, chill, and maybe… I’ll keep you warm.”  

Dean’s stomach fluttered—an entirely new sensation given its size.  

He *should* have hesitated. He *should* have questioned what was happening.  

But Arthur’s smirk, his touch, the way he *looked* at him like he was the most *irresistible* thing in the world—it made it impossible to say no.  

“…Yeah,” Dean said, voice softer than usual. “Yeah, okay.”  

Arthur’s apartment was exactly what Dean expected—dimly lit, tastefully messy, filled with small touches of personality. Shelves lined with books on astrology and mysticism. Tarot cards scattered on the coffee table. The faint scent of incense in the air.  

Dean would have made a skeptical remark *any other night.* But tonight? He barely noticed.  

Arthur guided him to the couch, helping him ease down with surprising gentleness. “You good?”  

Dean exhaled, settling into the cushions. “Yeah, just—full.” He glanced down at himself, the leather jacket shifting slightly to reveal the swell of his belly. *More than full.* He *felt* the difference in his body—how his middle rested against his lap, how his arms felt just a little thicker, how *big* his thighs looked, pressing against each other in a way they hadn’t before.  

Arthur’s gaze flicked over him, slow and appreciative. “You wear it well.”  

Dean’s face went hot. “Shut up.”  

Arthur chuckled, settling beside him. The couch dipped under his weight, and before Dean could react, Arthur’s arm was around his shoulders, tugging him in. The warmth of him, the firm grip, the *undeniable chemistry* between them—it sent a pleasant shiver through Dean’s body.  

The TV hummed to life, some action movie starting up in the background, but neither of them really paid attention.  

Arthur leaned in, his voice low, teasing. “You know… I think I like you better like this.”  

Dean swallowed hard. “Like what?”  

Arthur’s fingers trailed along his side, over the softness that hadn’t been there before. “Relaxed. Indulgent. *Comfortable*.”  

Dean’s breath hitched. Arthur’s hand wasn’t just resting anymore—it was *exploring*, tracing lazy patterns over his belly, along his waist, down his thigh. It should have been embarrassing. He *should* have pulled away.  

But he didn’t.  

Because for the first time, Dean wasn’t thinking about how different he looked.  

He was thinking about how *good* it felt to be touched like this.  

Arthur smirked, leaning in, lips brushing against Dean’s ear. “You’re *gorgeous*, babe.”  

Dean’s heart *skipped*.  

His body was different—softer, heavier, undeniably changed—but Arthur didn’t just accept it. He *adored* it. And for the first time, Dean let himself *believe it*.  

He turned his head slightly, closing the space between them, and Arthur took the invitation without hesitation. Their lips met, slow at first, then deeper, more *needy*. Arthur’s grip tightened, pulling Dean closer, pressing him into the couch, making sure he *felt* every inch of his desire.  

Dean melted into him, his doubts and disbelief fading into the background.  

Whatever had happened tonight—however impossible it was—there was no denying one thing:  

Arthur *wanted* him.  

And God help him—Dean wanted Arthur too.  

The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, Arthur’s hands moving over Dean’s softened frame like he *owned* every inch of it. Dean barely noticed when the leather jacket slipped from his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested, his exposed skin still warm from the rush of their night.  

Arthur pulled back slightly, his lips hovering just over Dean’s, his breath hot against his skin. “You’re addictive, you know that?” he murmured, his fingers trailing lazily down Dean’s belly, tracing the new curve of it with clear admiration.  

Dean swallowed hard, still breathless. “You don’t… think this is weird?” His voice was quiet, uncertain. “I mean—*this*—” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the fullness of his stomach, the undeniable weight of his transformation.  

Arthur smirked, his grip tightening around Dean’s waist. “Weird? No. Expected?” He tilted his head. “Maybe a little.”  

Dean stiffened. “…What do you mean?”  

Arthur exhaled, his fingers pressing into Dean’s side, his expression somewhere between amusement and something almost—*possessive*. “That popcorn? It wasn’t exactly *normal*.”  

Dean’s stomach twisted. “Arthur.”  

Arthur sighed, shifting, his hands settling on either side of Dean’s belly. “It’s a bit of a… *ritual*,” he admitted. “A way to open you up to pleasure, indulgence. *Abundance.*” His eyes gleamed. “And judging by how much you enjoyed yourself, I’d say it worked.”  

Dean’s breath hitched.  

He wanted to be *angry*. Wanted to shove Arthur away, demand answers, *demand to know how the hell this was possible*.  

But his body betrayed him.  

Because the moment Arthur’s hands moved again—skimming over his softened stomach, his warm, newly plush sides—Dean *shivered*.  

Arthur leaned in, his lips brushing over Dean’s jaw. “The magic doesn’t just change you for one night,” he murmured. “It… *adjusts* things.”  

Dean’s stomach let out a soft, traitorous *growl*.  

Arthur chuckled. “Like your appetite.”  

Dean inhaled sharply. “You’re telling me—”  

“That you might *always* be this hungry now?” Arthur smirked. “Yeah. Probably.”  

Dean’s head spun. *This wasn’t happening.*  

But the warmth of Arthur’s touch, the heat between them, the way Arthur *looked at him*—it made it so much harder to care.  

Arthur’s lips found his again, stealing his protests, drowning them in something deeper, *hotter*. Dean exhaled shakily, barely noticing as Arthur guided him backward onto the couch, pinning him beneath his solid, muscular frame.  

“You can be mad at me later,” Arthur murmured against his lips. “Right now? Let’s see just how much you like this new body of yours.”  

Dean’s heart pounded, his body already surrendering.  

Maybe—just *maybe*—this wasn’t a bad thing after all.  

[natsgrave]

WHISPERS OF HEARTACHE | angstober

╰┈➤ synopsis: one day whether you are, 14, 28, or 65, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. however, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find is they are not always with whom we spend our lives.

╰┈➤ welcome and short message: main m.list hello, my sweet gravels! i am thrilled to welcome you to "whispers of heartache," a collection of angst-filled one shots centered around the compelling characters of natasha romanoff / scarlett johansson, wanda maximoff / elizabeth olsen, and a female reader. this book is a labor of love, crafted from my deep admiration for these characters and my passion for storytelling. in this book, you will find a series of emotionally charged stories that delve into the complexities of love, loss, and heartache. each one shot will be written in the third person point of view, offering a broad perspective on the intense and often tumultuous emotions experienced by the characters. i must share that english is not my first language. therefore, you may encounter some grammatical errors or awkward phrasing throughout the stories. i appreciate your understanding and patience as i strive to improve my writing skills. my goal is to convey the depth of emotions and the intricate dynamics between the characters, even if my language skills are still a work in progress. angst has a unique power to connect with readers on a deep, emotional level. it explores the raw, often painful aspects of human relationships and personal struggles. through these stories, i hope to capture the essence of what it means to love and to lose, to fight and to surrender. each tale is crafted to evoke empathy and reflection, inviting you to experience the characters' journeys as if they were your own. your reblogs and feedback is incredibly valuable to me. as i embark on this storytelling journey, i welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and constructive criticism. please feel free to leave comments and reviews. your input will not only help me grow as a writer but also ensure that the stories resonate with you, the readers. thank you for joining me in this exploration of the whispers of heartache. i hope that these one shots will touch your heart and leave a lasting impression. happy reading! warm regards, G.J ps: i will be adding the first few angst that i already wrote in this masterlist even though it's technically not part of this masterlist. but, it's angst, so...

╰┈➤ tolerate it

while you were out building other worlds, where was i? you assume i'm fine, but what would you do if i break free and leave us in ruins? ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x gf!reader

╰┈➤ new year's day

i want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day. please, don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognize anywhere. ── .✦ pairing: sister's bsf!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ midnight rain

she was sunshine, i was midnight rain. she wanted a bride, i was making my own name, chasing that fame. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ you're losing me

how can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dyin'? do i throw out everything we built or keep it? and you know what they all say, you don't know what you got until it's gone. ── .✦ pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

╰┈➤ in the next lifetime

but in those photos, i saw us instead and, somehow, i know that you and i would've found each other in another life. you still would've turned my head even if we'd met. you're always gonna be mine, we're gonna be timeless. ── .✦ pairing: general's son!steve x general's daughter!reader, maid!natasha x general's daughter!reader, scarlett johansson x fem!reader

╰┈➤ the manuscript

the only thing that's left is the manuscript. one last souvenir from my trip to your shores. now and then i reread the manuscript but the story isn't mine anymore. ── .✦ pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

╰┈➤ the smallest woman who ever lived

and i don't miss what we had, but could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x ex hydra!reader

╰┈➤ favorite crime

i hope i was your favorite crime, 'cause baby, you were mine. ── .✦ pairing: bsf!wanda x fem!reader

╰┈➤ mean it

on your lips just leave it, if you don't mean it. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett johansson x gf!reader

╰┈➤ love me nicely

i know you love me, but could you love me nicely? ── .✦ pairing: toxic!elizabeth x gf!reader

╰┈➤ if the world was ending

i know, you know, we know, you weren't down for forever and it's fine. i know, you know, we know, we weren't meant for each other and it's fine. but if the world was ending you'd come over, right? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!wanda x fem!reader

╰┈➤ soulmate

what a shame, didn't want to be the one that got away. taking down the pictures and the plans we made. big mistake, you broke the sweetest promise that you never should have made. ── .✦ pairing: fiance!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ greatest what if

someday when you leave me, i bet these memories follow you around. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x fem!reader

╰┈➤ heart

i knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed. should've known i'd be the first to leave think about the place where you first met me. ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x crush!reader

╰┈➤ too late

words— how little they mean when you're a little too late. ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x avenger!steve, husband!bucky x avenger!reader

╰┈➤ i miss you

now, i fear i have fallen from grace and i feel like my castle's crumbling down. ── .✦ pairing: actress!scarlett x actress!reader

╰┈➤ wedding

sometimes giving up is the strong thing, sometimes to run is the brave thing, sometimes walking out is the one thing, that will find you the right thing. the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul, you know when it's time to go. ── .✦ pairing: elizabeth olsen x event planner!reader

╰┈➤ last memory

if i didn't know better, i'd think you were talking to me now. if i didn't know better, i'd think you were still around. what died didn't stay dead, you're alive, so alive, in my head. ── .✦ pairing: agent!elizabeth x agent!reader

╰┈➤ thank you

why'd you have to lead me on? why'd you have to twist the knife? walk away and leave me bleedin'. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett johansson x fem!reader

╰┈➤ we both had our chance

i persist and resist the temptation to ask you if one thing had been different, would everything be different today? ── .✦ pairing: avenger!natasha x avenger!reader

╰┈➤ i hate you

remembering her comes in flashbacks and echoes, tell myself it's time now gotta let go. but moving on from her is impossible, when i still see it all in my head, in burning red. ── .✦ pairing: shitty!scarlett x annoying!reader

╰┈➤ on bended knee

can we go back to the days our love was strong? can you tell me how a perfect love goes wrong? can somebody tell me how to get things back the way they use to be? oh god give me a reason, i'm down on bended knee. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x actress!reader

╰┈➤ the cut that always bleeds

oh, i could be anything you need, as long as you don't leave. the cut that always bleeds. ── .✦ pairing: scarlett x gf!reader

╰┈➤ backburner

i'll always be in your corner, 'cause i don't feel alive 'til i'm burnin' on your backburner. ── .✦ pairing: agent!natasha x agent!reader

╰┈➤ the great war

we can plant a memory garden, say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair. there's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair and we will never go back. ── .✦ pairing: actress!elizabeth x gf!reader

╰┈➤ enough for you

and maybe i'm just not as interesting as the girls you had before but god, you couldn't have cared less about someone who loved you more. 'cause all i ever wanted was to be enough for you and all i ever wanted was to be enough for you. ── .✦ pairing: agent!natasha x insecure!reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ to be written:

╰┈➤ 1 step forward, 3 steps back

do you love me, want me, hate me? boy, i don't understand. no, i don't understand.

╰┈➤ better woman

i know the bravest thing i ever did was run.

╰┈➤ strange

isn't it strange how people can change. from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again?

╰┈➤ lose you to love me

we'd always go into it blindly, i needed to lose you to find me. this dancing was killing me softly, i needed to hate you to love me.

╰┈➤ almost is never enough

almost is never enough, so close to being in love. if i would have known that you wanted me, the way i wanted you then maybe we wouldn't be two worlds apart, but right here in each other's arms.

╰┈➤ wish you were sober

kiss me in the seat of your rover, real sweet, but i wish you were sober.

╰┈➤ same ground

because i have learned that love is beyond what human can imagine, the more it clears, the more i have to let you go.

╰┈➤ the way i loved you

but i miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain and it's 2 a.m. and i'm cursing your name. so in love that you act insane and that's the way i loved you.

╰┈➤ champagne problems

your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my champagne problems.

╰┈➤ last kiss

you told me you loved me, so why did you go away?

╰┈➤ maroon

the burgundy on my t-shirt when you splashed your wine into me and how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was. the mark you saw on my collarbone, the rust that grew between telephones, the lips i used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon.

╰┈➤ loml

you said i'm the love of your life about a million times.

╰┈➤ consequences

loving you was sunshine, safe and sound, a steady place to let down my defenses but loving you had consequences.

╰┈➤ casual

i thought you thought of me better, someone you couldn't lose.

╰┈➤ illicit affairs

they show their truth one single time but they lie, and they lie, and they lie a million little times.

╰┈➤ forever and always

oh back up, baby, back up, did you forget everything? back up, baby, back up, did you forget everything?

[pomgore]

colored maudra seethi from this set of drawings, did you ever see a gelfling so beautiful you started crying

seethi headcanons under the cut :3

i imagine she inherited the maudra title young following her mother's death (she looks so young compared to the other maudras!) and, being a young gelfling surrounded by matriarchs, maybe struggled to integrate and get along with the other maudras for a while. she understood gelfling law in theory but in practice it doesn't come naturally to her, and the maudras being a sort of old ladies club didn't offer a lot of help at first.

probably she resolved this by withdrawing her personal feelings and emotions from her maudra "persona," she tries to be completely objective, plays by all the rules and waits for others to express their stances on a given matter before offering her own input. the other maudras opinions on this behavior range from annoyed to indulgent, most of them were there while she was struggling and they understand the need to separate their personal lives from the lives they lead as maudras.

gelfling autism

the shape of the dousan headdress is determined by how much hair it needs to hold--seethi has lots and lots and lots of hair, but she almost always wears it tied up or braided back to keep it off her neck in the desert heat.

the loss of her mother, which i imagine was unexpected and came at an already-fraught time in inter-clan relations/shifting skeksis policy/some other drama, had a profound effect on seethi that gelfling close to her recognized--the dousan perspective on death helped her rationalize and accept her mother's death, but she's never quite been able to move on.

the little hair charm at the end of her necklace is a lock of her mother's hair

whether in maudra-mode or not, seethi comes across like she's sort of floating through life, a bit detached from everything but still held down to thra by virtue of existing on it. she becomes more grounded in reality when a present situation or task demands her whole attention

related to above, she realizes she actually quite enjoys fighting during the outset of the garthim war, because unlike maudra work it's fast-paced, physical and decisive, and she doesn't have to worry about doing it "right" so much as just surviving to fight another way.

seethi lost a lot of her friends when she became maudra, unable to maintain relationships as the role demanded more and more of her time. :C

despite the kind of unwieldy shape seethi actually likes to wear the headdress because she thinks her ears are too big. when she wears it she has to trade big ears for a fivehead, but a big forehead is a feature of beauty among dousan (but not among stonewood, thats why they all have bangs)

since dousan aren't a part of the alliance of the crystal, seethi has only met the skeksis incidentally when some event necessitated both she and a skeksis ambassador attend. after maybe the third or fourth time this happens she decides to take a leaf out of maudra argots book and just sends a messenger with a no-show letter.

during aor seethi is the second oldest maudra, a little younger than mera (spriton maudra) and youngest of all being ethri (sifan maudra). mera became maudra not long after seethi, although at an older age, and adjusted pretty well to the position, so she and seethi get along well being closer in age than the other maudras. ethri became maudra under similar circumstances to seethi (sudden loss of a mother) so seethi and mera advise her where they can and do their best to make themselves welcoming presences for her. mera is better at this than seethi lol

related to above, this is why they all kind of cluster and make the same choice to support seladon when fara issues her challenge for the crown.

[sixdegreesofbali]

Just to put into perspective how incredible Max's achievements have been this year:

Hasn't had the fastest car for about 70% of the season

The car is in fact third in the Constructors

The team has had major internal (and public) struggles for months to the point of Max threatening to leave

They haven't had Newey's input for most of the season

Had one mechanical DNF

Had two grid place penalties for his engine

Had major bad luck in Brazil placing him P17 at a defining moment in the Championship

Had no teammate to help him out all year

And yet he wrapped up the Championship being 63 points ahead.

I don't think you can have a more deserving Championship.

Congratulations Max Verstappen. I'm incredibly proud to share a nationality and last name with you❤️️

[opencommunion]

"What is this force, these human beings, referred to in this word – resistance? 

First, literally, we refer to the achievement of the poorest and most strategically disadvantaged people on the planet. Within the encircled and immiserated Gaza Strip, many of the Al-Qassam fighters are orphans. Amidst closure and de-development, the popular resistance has been able to consolidate an arsenal and bring 1.5% of its population into a guerrilla force of 30,000-40,000 men that can – man for man – outmatch nearly any in the world. 

The resistance, secondly, has alloyed ideological commitment, willingness to sacrifice for their people, and technological ingenuity into armed capacity capable of going head-to-head with a nuclear power from underground tunnels, the ‘rear base’ and physical strategic depth needed for guerilla insurgency. The concrete is their mountains. From there they have imperiled an enemy with orders of magnitude higher GDP per capita – Israeli GDP is at $52,000 a year, with arsenals worth billions.

Third, the resistance, in launching its October 7 operation, is an example to the world that post-Soviet asphyxiation and extermination procedures, sanctions and terror lists and aid-based countermeasures, could not prevent the rise of a disciplined and new national movement from raising its head to the sky. 

Fourth, the popular cradle brings the word resistance beyond armed men to doctors going to their deaths in lieu of abandoning their patients and women and men in the Gaza Strip’s North – facing white phosphorus rather than abandoning their homes. It is precisely the strength of the civilian commitment to the national project that provokes US-Israeli extermination: ‘the 'civilian' officials, including hospital administrators and school administrators, and also the entire Gaza population’ are, as a result, the targets – not out of cruelty but to break Hamas by breaking its cradle. 

Fifth, through these achievements, the Palestinian resistance has been able to present an acute threat to the settler-capitalist property structures called Israel, to militarized accumulation, to the world’s workshop for counterinsurgency technology, and to the entire architecture of regional repression with its associated petrodollar flows, treasury and security purchases, and arms merchandising. For capitalism is not just the smooth clockwork of accumulation through generalized commodity exchange and labor exploitation, it is the machinery of violence – its technology – which ensures the smooth running of the clock, the thingification of its human elements, the political decisions to maintain and rework the machinery of monopoly accumulation, and the waste of human lives which is increasingly the core Arab input into global capitalism. 

More worryingly from the perspective of monopoly power, the Palestinian resistance is not alone. It is part of a regional populist resistance enfolding the poorest people on Earth. ... It is unimaginable that the neocolonial authoritarian states nor their US benefactor would remotely tolerate massive working-class militia which speak a language of justice and republicanism and raise arms against those states’ sponsors. In turn, it is as natural as the sun rising in the East that the US, the UK, Germany, France, and their Gulf and Arab satraps would converge on support for Israel as the spear’s tip of the assault on the surrounding Arab popular militia. 

And because Israel is the keystone of the regional imperialist order – maintained not by hegemonic consensus but the brutality of Apaches and Merkavas – it is as natural as water falling from clouds that what has developed in the Gaza Strip, as soon as it mobilized politically and militarily, would incite the Western reaction to wipe it from the face of the Earth and impose unimaginable horror to terrify the Palestinian, Arab, and Third World people to never again raise their heads.

The October 7 operation has perhaps overcome the central role of the Israeli state in accumulation on a world scale: ingraining a state of defeat amongst the Arab working classes, as part-and-parcel of the post-Soviet ideological defeat imposed by capital upon labor globally. Deterrence is the form that defeat takes when pushed to the military plane, and Israel openly admits that its deterrence has been shattered.

Seen from this perspective, the risks run by the western capitalist states – their imposition of fascist regulation against freedoms of speech and assembly, their backing for genocide, their desperation to see the Palestinian armed militia wiped from the face of the Earth – is logical, reasonable, and rational in its sociopathy. It is the logic of monopoly attempting to defend itself and the consciousness which bodyguards it with fire from the sky. It is a logic which fills graveyards, and a logic which makes orphans, and it is a logic which might yet meet its end in that crossroads of continents – that salient, and city and their camps and their people."

[elminx]

Energy Update: Mercury Rx March-April 2025

Starting on March 15, Mercury enters its first retrograde of 2025. The retrograde runs from 09° Aries to 26° Pisces and makes thrice-repeating conjunctions to Neptune and the North Node and sextiles with Pluto in Aquarius. This is a unique retrograde as it will happen entirely within the retrograde cycle of Venus, both in time and by degree. This retrograde also coincides closely with our eclipse season, which runs from 3/14 to 3/29.

The Basics

Mercury, the planet of communication, technology, and travel, is the fastest-moving planet in our solar system and retrogrades three to four times every year. This means that Mercury’s retrograde cycle is “business as usual” and isn’t something that should be feared. However, it is a change in the energy signature of one of our personal planets, so it’s worth paying attention and making adjustments where necessary.

Retrogrades don’t mean that the planet ACTUALLY is moving backward, of course. It is a shift in our perception of the planetary movement through our skies. In this way, our perspectives and perceptions can get slightly twisted during these times, and it is easy to miss key details or communicate ineffectively.

During Mercury’s retrograde, Mercury traces its path backward in our skies, and it is considered better to go over your work rather than start something new. Mercury passes over these degrees in the sky thrice: the first time during its pre-retrograde shadow, the second time while it moves backward during its retrograde, and again a third time while it moves forward in its post-retrograde shadow. Because of this, we all get the cosmic opportunity to relearn and refocus on certain things that are going awry in our lives.

By comparing the degrees of Mercury’s retrograde to your birth chart, you can understand how Mercury’s retrograde cycle might affect you.

Mercury retrogrades affect some people more than others. By order of significance, these people are most likely to be affected by a Mercury retrograde:

If you have Sun, Moon, or Ascendant in Gemini and Virgo, or Mercury closely conjunct (within 2°) to your Sun, Moon, or Ascendant

If your natal Mercury was in retrograde or out of bounds

If the current retrograde crosses over your Sun, Moon, or Ascendant (in conjunction) or makes a square or opposition

If the current retrograde crosses over your Mercury, Venus, or Mars or makes a square or opposition with them

If the current retrograde makes a trine with one of your personal planets or a sextile to your Sun, Moon, or Ascendant

If you work in a job that involves technology, communication, or travel or are currently undergoing a task that involves one of these domains during this retrograde cycle

If you live with, are in a relationship with, or closely work with a person who meets the above criteria

One can assume that the more of these factors in play, the stronger you may experience the effects of a Mercury retrograde cycle. This isn’t to say that what you experience will be bad or wrong – some people experience a lot of freedom from Mercury’s journey. The more open you are to giving up control and staying open to the ever-changing landscape of a Mercury cycle, the easier it will be.

The Nitty Gritty

Mercury will retrograde from 09° Aries on 3/15 to 26° Pisces on 4/7, a reflection of Venus's ongoing retrograde from 10° Aries on 3/1 to 24° Pisces on 4/12. Notably, Aries is sign #1 in the horoscope wheel and is concerned, to some degree, with new beginnings and pressing onward into the future. At the same time, Pisces is sign #12 and concerned with processing all of the input that came before it to reach completion. Typically, in prograde (forward) motion, the planets all move from Pisces into Aries; this is the demarcation of the start of the astrological year and the point of our Spring Equinox. Instead, Mercury (and Venus) will traverse from Aries back into Pisces in the opposite direction.

I have written about how this point - between 29° Pisces and 00° Aries - is THE pressure point of the year. Not only will Mercury and Venus cross over it three times each during their retrograde cycles, but the Sun passes over it this month, and both Saturn and Neptune will also cross over it this spring before retrograding later in the year and passing over it again in backward motion. Combined with the constant movement of the Moon, this point is traversed 25 times this year. This is a big deal and a significant magical opportunity, which I have discussed in more detail here.

That said, this double personal planet retrograde is the meat of this long-term transit, and we should all be paying close attention to what is coming up during this time. With two personal planets involved in this double transit, this is, by definition, personal. It will show up in many people's lives - if not through Mercury, then through Venus. In a world that has been rapidly changing, each of us likely has something that we need to go back and redo.

This doesn't have to be a bad thing, though it may be triggering to perfectionists and others who are unable to take criticism or admit to their own shortcomings. The big flex right now is to admit mistakes early and often and actively work to fix them.

That's it.

I mean, it sounds so simple. But it becomes much more difficult if you are the only one willing to admit mistakes or attempt to make amends. The pitfall of this double personal planet retrograde is that people will most definitely not be at their best (Venus retrograde) and also be unwilling to talk about it (Mercury retrograde).

I wish I had a brilliant solution or an easy out for those who can see this coming, but there just isn't one. Personal planet retrogrades tend to be hard, and two at once will be exponentially more difficult for many people. Even if that's not you, you will likely have to deal with the aftermath of other people's frustrations over these planetary conditions.

Both Mercury and Venus will pass over Aries and Pisces. Venus is exalted in Pisces and exiled in Aries. Mercury is both in its fall and exiled in Pisces and neutral in Aries. Here, we can see that Venus will have an easier time in Pisces and Mercury while they are in Aries. Said a different way, the Venus retrograde will start more challenging and likely ease with time, whereas the Mercury retrograde will become more complex as it evolves.

Standard Mercury retrograde advice applies: Mercury's main domains are Communication, Technology, and Travel, so if you need to do anything in those three realms, you should expect some delays. Apply that literally and metaphorically as needed in your own life. This can be somewhat remediated by working directly with Mercury, but only to a certain point. Social media tends to go down during Mercury's retrograde cycle - often more than once. Save often and proofread thrice before you hit "Send" on any important communications during this time.

There are a lot of people who advise against travel during Mercury's retrograde periods, but I prefer it. Things often take longer, but the long way around seems to bring me to precisely where I need to be.

I don't want to demonize Mercury retrogrades here. I love Mercury's retrograde cycles and look forward to them every year. You tend to recognize the pitfalls and setbacks if you enter them with a negative expectation. Still, if you enter them with a more open mindset, you are more likely to identify the opportunities that arise.

This is the cosmic right time to work with any of the many res: rewrite, rework, reinvent, renegotiate, redo, retry, renovate, reconsider...

The list goes on.

Mercury's retrograde is undoubtedly not the time to start something new. It is the time to review what has gone before and make the necessary adjustments so that it works better.

We all need that, whether we are willing to admit it or not.

The Details

3/1 - Mercury stations retrograde 26° Pisces, Venus retrogrades 10° Aries 3/2 - Mercury conjunct Neptune 28° Pisces, Mercury conjunct North Node 28° Pisces 3/3 - Mercury enters Aries 3/5 - Mercury in Aries sextile Pluto in Aquarius 3/11 - Mercury conjunct retrograde Venus 08° Aries 3/14 - Total lunar eclipse 23° Virgo 3/15 - Mercury retrogrades 09° Aries 3/20 - Sun enters Aries, Spring Solstice 3/23 - Sun conjunct retrograde Venus 02° Aries 3/24 - Sun conjunct retrograde Mercury 04° Aries 3/25 - retrograde Mercury sextile Pluto in Aquarius 3/27 - Retrograde Venus enters Aries 3/29 - Solar eclipse 09° Aries, retrograde Mercury enters Pisces 3/30 - Neptune enters Aries 4/7 - Mercury stations direct 26° Pisces 4/16 - Mercury enters Aries 4/17 - Mercury conjunct Neptune 00° Aries 4/20 - Mercury in Aries sextile Pluto in Aquarius 4/26 - Mercury exits its post-retrograde shadow

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[kurithedweeb]

I went to a performance of Vivaldi's Four Seasons recently and let me tell you I've had such ideas about how each one applies to each of the Ro'Meave brothers. I saw like entire animatics while listening.

Spring is about all three of them: the first section is Vylad’s, upbeat, innocent. The second section is Garroth, much slower and more somber, almost mourning interspersed with moments of frantic energy like the first, about the night he escaped and was captured by the titan golem that guards the outskirts and released at the last minute after it saw flashes of Esmund, who created it. Zane in the third section where he almost mirrors Vylad but with a less jovial air.

The second section, the slow one, got to me especially. It reminds me very much of rain and it switches between slow somber pieces and bursts of almost frantic energy that follows a two-beat rhythm. In the beginning, Garroth is still the heir but he is becoming increasingly disillusioned with the idea that his allowing himself to be molded like this will do anything to save his family and has recently discovered he'll be married off without his input, and his planning his death is a slow and controlled process. There is a frantic burst where he believes he's been discovered, but the actual death is a calm, calculated affair, and the panic only sets in when he is running through the streets to make his escape. There is a brief, grieving respite in the sewers as he properly tends to the wound and it finally completely sets in what he's doing. If he goes back now, he'll be killed for real. So he goes out into the rain and he runs, and the frantic energy in the faster parts get more and more sad as he cries and his tears mingle with the rain, and there is this feeling right in the middle where it feels like something is approaching. Something massive. In the background of the shot, an enormous shape becomes visible, and though Garroth doesn't turn to look he knows what's coming, and he's incredibly worn out from what he's done. He wonders if he shouldn't have done this after all. He slows to a stop and lowers himself to his knees, and he curls into himself as one massive hand comes down over him and covers him from view. The hand slowly lifts, turns towards the camera, and reveals Garroth cradled in the center of its palm, so small by comparison. He finally lifts his eyes to look at it. They're face-to-face. In the reflection of the golem's eyes, we see Garroth, and the rain washes his image into one of Esmund.

There are flashes of Esmund seen from the perspective of the golem. Laughing and talking with his friends. Talking by the fire with his family. Gathering the materials for the golem. Sketching designs. Looking into the golem's eyes and smiling softly as a parent to a child, speaking to it though the words cannot be heard. Esmund, wounded and torn open emotionally, mouth opened around an unheard cry as he throws things off his workbench and collapses against its edge, shaking as he holds himself up with a hip pressed to it and a hand coming away bloody from his bandaged side. Esmund curled into his seat by the hearth, the flame so low as to nearly not be burning, exhausted even in sleep. Esmund in the golem's palm just like this, holding his hands to its face and laughing with the joy of creation. And Garroth in the same pose, grief-ridden and resigned. And in the last few beats of the song, the golem lowers its hand and it remains there with its hand upturned in the grass as Garroth flees.

Summer is Garroth. Shots of him traveling, ill and hurting, and finding his way to Phoenix Drop. The second section is him finding Zenix, first slowly integrating into Phoenix Drop and then following a blood trail out to the woods and finding a boy crumpled to the ground and covered in wounds, the camera pausing a completely three beats on his feeble form before the pace picks up again with Garroth crashing to the ground and gathering him up and getting up even as he shouts for help. Shots of rushing Zenix to safety and caring for him and taking him on as his apprentice. The third section is as Phoenix Drop begins to devolve under Malik’s increasing paranoia, in the final slow part Zenix looks upon the flames he set to Malik’s house. Summer ends as Garroth takes charge of the investigation and the village and gets more and more tired with each passing shot.

Autumn is Zane. It has a bit of a haunting beginning that quickly folds itself into jovial music you wouldn’t find out of place in any noble society party scene in a movie. This is what he was raised in, where he finds his power, his connections, and there are sharp moments that reflect that there’s something well-hidden beneath the high-society charm. The slower second section is the moments behind the mask when we can see a sliver of the true face of the boy beneath: one devout and calm and perhaps not so inhuman as he portrays to his subordinates. He holds himself to an ideal. There’s a segment at the end of the second section that reminds one of a steadfast love, and this is Zane bringing Janus into his embrace and his plots as a man who finds loyalty in affection and duty and a sense of self given by another. In the third section, he dons the mask and veil once again and this is when he gathers all his strings and seizes power, by the end standing as the undoubtedly most powerful man in O’khasis even if all that power is hidden in doublespeak and undertone.

Winter is Vylad. The first section is Vylad as a boy as he grows into his teens, reminiscent of his part of Spring but having grown into something else. As we near the second section, there is an undertone of unease as he realizes something has been happening without his knowledge. The upbeat tone of the first part sombers a bit as Garroth dies, and soon after picks back up as the plot against Vylad spirals into fruition: in the last few segments of this section he is running through the forest and fields. The second segment opens as he is being hunted and chased, strings plucked in tune with his rapid breaths as he finds himself pinned and stabbed and lying in the grass as his life drains away. For a handful of moments, he sees the afterlife. And as this section closes, he wakes in a body he no longer recognizes, feeling as though he has been stuffed into a broken doll. In the third section, he navigates his old-new body. He finds himself in the Nether, at the beck and call of the Calling and cruel commanders. He gathers his strength, and at the first burst of a frantic movement, he makes his daring escape. He is chased, and so near when he is caught. But he bides his time, shown in shots of him drawing on the walls of his cell and fighting anyone who comes near and slowly cutting his way through his bars until the second frantic movement crashes over him and he bursts from his cell, runs through the fortress, bulldozing past anyone he can. The portal is within reach. He bursts through it and does not stop, heart racing and breath coming quick as the day he died. He’s forced to slow eventually, and over a series of backgrounds that change with each repetition, he slowly falls to the ground. As the song comes to a close, as he sits defeated on his heels without even the strength to push himself to kneeling, there is a swell that inspires hope, and he looks up to Hyria standing over him at the edge of the Sacred Forest.

[kpopsexstories]

Coming This Week: Stray Kids waking up after a massive party, 127 Dating Ban, NCT Yangyang explodes on your stomach 🍆💦

I'm super excited for the stories I've got coming out this week 😄 Like, more excited than usual.

This week you get three stories: The usual weekly Quick Fix (x female reader) on Tuesday, the 3rd gay NCT 127 Dating Ban story on Thursday, and a brand new surprise story about all members of Stray Kids – which comes out already tomorrow (Monday, March 24, 2025).

Why am I so excited about this? Two main reason:

The Stray Kids story – which is both gay and straight and features all members – is probably the most fun story I've ever written, or at least it feels that way. It came out of nowhere and I feel really good about it.

In the third Dating Ban story – which is about Doyoung – the series picks up the pace. The two previous stories (Haechan and Jungwoo) were more to lay a foundation. With Doyoung's story things feel... fresh and more fun, at least to me. It opens several subplots for the rest of the series.

Stray Kids Morning After a Massive Party

I don't really know where the hell this story came from 😅 I only slept a couple of hours the night before I wrote it. I was so over-tired I might as well have been drunk (which I was not I might add xD ). Creative inspiration simply kept flowing.

The story wasn't planned at all. I had never thought about it before. And a couple of hours later it was done.

I shouldn't hype this up too much because this isn't anything wilder or weirder than some of the stories I've written in the past. But there are a couple of reasons why I really like this one:

It's about Stray Kids. The only previous story I've ever published about them is Quick Fix #37 – Changbin. Now you suddenly get all 8 members in one go!

It's both gay and straight. Mostly straight I'd say, as it does feature a female reader and is partly written from her perspective. But certainly gay too, for more reasons than one.

It's not really about the sex. While it's there, the story itself feels unpredictable. It's a bit of a mix of everything all at once.

I don't know, I just really feel good about this one. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it 😄

And the best part: You get it already tomorrow (Monday)!

Quick Fix # 41: WayV Yangyang Pulls Out and Explodes on Your Stomach

This Quick Fix story pays hommage to the very first Quick Fix I ever published: QF #1 Jisung.

It's really very similar, but at the same time it's not. In it, Yangyang has just made you come when he pulls out and explodes on your stomach.

That's it, it's that simple. But also very hot ☺️

NCT 127 Dating Ban – Story #3: Doyoung Pt. 1

With the 127 Dating Ban I'm not splitting longer stories in parts the way I did in the past (because someone recently asked me not to and I get it). This is different though. The whole series tells a story – well, multiple stories – and Doyoung will return later on with a part 2.

I'm excited about this third story of the series for a couple of reasons, the main ones being:

It shows you a little more depth, and opens up several subplots.

It connects with the previous series (the NCT Dream Dating Ban).

It feels more fun than the previous two stories.

It's also the last dating ban story I'll post in a while, as I haven't written the rest yet. I'm hoping to hear from you – requests, comments – for input and encouragement, to inspire me to keep going.

So, long post short: Three new stories (one gay, one straight, one both). The introduction of Stray Kids on this blog. And the next chapter of my most requested series.

It's gonna be a fun week ☺️

[electricbathsalt]

Anyone ever notice how whenever things about Chisaki himself get brought up, they’re always quick to divert the attention somewhere else before you think about it too long, usually with some big fight? Even his entire ‘backstory’ was short, told in the midst of a fight, and it was like. Primarily about how Chisaki perceives Pops, and a bit of explaining what he’s been doing with Eri and how and why. But only those things, nothing extra.

Chisaki’s ‘backstory’ didn’t feel like we went back in time and got a mostly third-person view of Chisaki’s life, like typical backstories. It felt like we went into Chisaki’s head and got to see how HE remembers things. ONLY him. No input or memories from any other character. It was told from precisely one perspective—Chisaki’s. And human memory is known for being one of the faultiest sources of information.

[chimaerakirin]

Possible fic list

Since I've had a Request, I will now post a few options and ya'll can give your input on what I start posting first. Please note that all fics are limited third person with perspective alternating between Tomura and the OC (usually using the names the two are referred to by to differentiate).

Please let me know what looks interesting in the comments!

Longfics:

Disconnect/Reconstruct: OC inspired by Locked In Digital by RogueDruid, heavy references to Horizon Zero Dawn/Forbidden West and Ghost of Tsushima. 83,280 words, 21 chapters, complete to Kamino. Horny level 1.5/5.

Ashes and Dust: OC/SI, transmigration isekai utilizing Dusty Ash from the Clash! Heroes Battle game as a host. Written in first person, heavily borrowing from the awesome Mirrond's extended fanon. 88,208 words, 23 chapters, complete to Kamino. Horny level 1.5/5.

Night Parade of a Hundred Quirks: Youkai AU, Kitsune OC x Tengu Tomura. Heroes are still the foundation of society, but it's much easier for non-humans to pass unnoticed in the Quirked era, and then there's how Quirks came around in the first place... Unfinished, currently pre-Sports Festival, 26,751 words, 6.5 chapters. Horny level currently N/A, projected 2/5.

To Ashes and Blood: Supernatural AU, half-Fae OC x Vampire Tomura with nightclubs. Fae aspects largely inspired by Seanan McGuire's October Daye series. No Heroes, Villains, or Quirks. Unfinished, 66,613 words, 15.5 chapters. Horny level 3.5/5, potentially 4/5 as the story progresses.

Where Villains Are Heroes: One Piece crossover, afterlife isekai for Tomura and Papagiri, starting approximately halfway through the post-Marineford timeskip. Fuck it, he'd probably be given a bounty within ten minutes of the Marines finding out he exists no matter what he does and the official authorities are as bad as Hero Society anyway, might as well be a pirate. Native OC from a pseudo-Austronesian culture that conflates Nika with Maui. Unfinished, crew about to set sail for real, 36,063 words, 7.5 chapters. Horny level NA, projected 3/5 because I gave Tomura Blackwhip.

Quality Villains: Katekyo Hitman Reborn crossover, OC descendant of KHR character, Sky Tomura. Flame and Varia lore mostly inspired by Umei No Mai and Insane Scriptist's works (particularly Black Sky and Pick Up The Pieces by the former). As of this particular post, QV is currently sitting on the brainrot throne. Unfinished, post-Hosu but pre-Final Exams, 48,043 words, 10.5 chapters. Horny level 3.5 and probably rising.

Ash Like Snow: OC is Todoroki Natsuo's twin sister, apprentice to Dr Garaki and League Medic. Currently approximately half a thought with only a single short scene involving Dabi and Toga's introduction to Tomura. Not only unfinished, but arguably unstarted. 881 words, 0.5 chapters. Horny level ??/5.

Soulsekai: Soulslike mass isekai, OC is The Level Up Girl. Somewhat inspired by Mirrond's Only Embers Remain, pretty slow on the burn, a bit more Midoriya-friendly than usual, Gremlin Otaku Yoichi. Currently on hiatus pending my brother's ability to beta-read and help me come up with an actual Plot. 56,126 words, 12 chapters. Horny level N/A, projected 1-1.5/5.

Renegade Doll: Hero student AU, OC is AFO's creeptastic attempt at a Replacement Goldfish for his brother. Tomura is 17, OC is 16, both running away from AFO and deciding to hide at UA on the premise that AFO is wary of playing too close to Nezu's sandbox. Very low priority because I started it before the series ended and it sank in just how fucked up Hero Society is, and I need to recalibrate the tone. Currently in Battle Trials arc, 48,509 words, 11.5 chapters. Horny level ~1/5. (Please don't want this one.)

Shortfics:

Catscratch Fever: A Quirk Did It. Tomura is now part cat, and he's not happy about it. Established relationship, OC's Quirk is equivalent to One Piece's Nagi Nagi no Mi. Schrodinger's finished. 11,279 words, 3 chapters. Horny level 4/5.

Blue Pink White: A Quirk Did It. Tomura is now stuck in a girl's body, and he's not happy about it. Mostly because of course he wouldn't be, but also because he's slowly realizing he doesn't always hate it. Genderfluid Tomura, genderfluid/nonbinary OC. Slightly more angsty in places than I usually get. I did my best on the research, ya'll, but I don't know anyone to ask. Schrodinger's finished. 26,317 words, 7 chapters. Horny level 5/5 because I went all in on the hentai in ch7.

I may pin this as a masterlist eventually, and will hopefully update it as needed.

[sphacelating]

As I'm playing TCOAAL again I'm thinking if Julia's and Andrew's talk over the phone would've happened differently if Jane wasn't there, prob something too small to care but y'know, I think of it

i certainly ask myself: would julia be able to listen to her gut and resist andrew’s manipulation if she didn’t have a voice of reason/someone not under andrew’s influence emotionally and psychologically, to reality check her when he starts bullshitting to pull her back in? when your head’s been fucked with through constant emotional manipulation, you can never really trust that your reason and common sense will weigh heavier than your emotions.

their separation has given her a new perspective, because manipulation and lies require upkeep. he’s very confident in that he can manipulate julia still, get her wherever he wants her, whenever he wants, just by feeding her sweet words and raising her hopes that things between them will be different— he has obviously done this many times to keep her around through the course of their relationship when she’s recognized that things between them weren’t working and negatively impacting her mental well-being, as manipulators do. but he doesn’t take into account that his ability to gaslight her is dependent on all their conversations happening without a third party’s input, because they will see through his shit no matter how hard he’s worked on julia to make her believe he’s sincere and that his intentions are pure.

he’s confused by how ineffective it is now, and it’s due to that julia has their time apart on her side, her therapist and also jane, two people who provide her with clarity that andrew’s manipulation otherwise clouds and that she lacks when alone with him. you’re extremely susceptible to manipulation and gaslighting when you’re isolated— this is why it’s so effective on andrew himself when he’s on the receiving end of it.

[californyankat]

As a casual fighting game player, I have dabbled in a lot of the big ones (Mortal Kombat, Street Fighter, Guilty Gear, little bit of DBFZ and Melty Blood, Smash Bros) and ever since I’ve been aware of the larger scene there’s one game I’ve dared not to touch.

Tekken

Tekken is fucking hilarious from an outside perspective, with not 1, nor 2, but 4 Mexican Jaguar Luchadors, a guy who has so much hate in his blood that his nationality is listed as “None (previously Japanese)”, multiple Robots, and TWO BEARS THAT KNOW SIGN LANGUAGE.

You’re telling me that the son of the most evil man alive who used to be third to only his own father and Akuma Streets, starts World War 3 to cause mass suffering upon billions to summon the original Demon to kill it to get rid of the evil gene that runs in his family? Comedic.

You’re telling me that there’s a character who has a sword and doesn’t use it like a sword but instead like a helicopter but also a pogo stick based on what game your playing because his play style changes every entry in the series? Hilarious.

You’re telling me that a grappler is a decently viable character and has grabs that chain into more grabs that each have a different input to be teched? Fucking bonkers.

Tekken is such bullshit condensed into one of the most intense looking fighting games I’ve ever seen, but I dare not touch it because of its complexity. Almost every character has over 100 individual moves and inputs??? And not only do I need to learn how my own character’s moves work together, but also what moves are safe and unsafe to punish on block? And there’s 32 (and counting) characters??????? Nope nope nope, maybe one day if Harada adds Waffle House as a stage (legit chance) or Captain Falcon gets added as his own character (not happening ever) I’ll install it. I am so afraid of learning Tekken, I even made this gif based on how I think getting into Tekken is like. (Sorry for low quality, it was the first version of this scene I found.)

[nighthaunting]

You ever have a moment where you reconsider something you thought a lot about in the past but then sort of turned your attention away from for a while, and your new perspective just blows the whole thing open?

Me thinking about russ and magnus during ATS/PB today after years of taking a break from HH/40K lore yielded one such series of revelations.

I was thinking about Betrayer and Russ' attempt to give Angron a lesson via the Night of the Wolf. I was thinking about Prospero Burns and Russ' belief that he's had a direct line to Magnus this whole time via Kaspar. I was thinking about that 'please'. And.

I know this is pretty much canon to the text but I've never before really Considered that one of Russ' motives in keeping this guy alive and sending him out on compliances with his Legion was (Russ believed at least) letting Magnus see the SW in action and hoping that this might influence him into trying to Avoid doing anything that might cause Russ to be sent after him.

In the past I've talked a lot about the SW keeping Kaspar around to see what would happen in terms of thinking the TS were up to something or going to do something to the Legion, which is very much the assumption the Chaos entity wanted them to make, but looking back I tbh think i slept on the concept of Russ, who canonically has taken out at least one of the Lost Primarchs in an event which is prefers not to speak (or at least the codex Strongly Implies that Russ has been used against another primarch before), and who also canonically went into the Night of the Wolf fully willing to die to make his point to Angron if only Angron could understand what he was doing.

I'm sort of compelled by the concept because in a sense Russ was letting (what he thought was) Magnus take a peek behind the barbarian mask he likes to put on, to see into a more genuine heart of his legion, letting his guard down a bit by allowing this obviously-compromised spy in. Much the same way he let the mask drop when he went to try and talk some sense into Angron, bringing up philosophy and reading and ideals that Russ' ignorant-but-noble barbarian persona would never admit to being interested in let alone reading.

And both times the gambit failed, in Magnus' case because it wasn't Magnus on the other end of the line, and in Angron's case because he was too far gone to really get what Russ was illustrating for him.

The whole thing was orchestrated so well, ironically giving the "proof" that Magnus was up to something via this sleeper agent spy that the SW were toting around with them, playing on Russ being curious enough to keep this guy around and connect the dots on the (false) links between this guy and the TS. I have this headcanon that Russ and Lorgar were actually fairly close, with Russ actually talking to Lorgar about Lorgar's writings, because he didn't seem surprised that Russ had read them and had thoughts on them in Betrayer, so I actually sort of like the idea that he had a hand in setting up the fall of Prospero? I like the tragedy of the idea that he at least had some input on the idea, being familiar enough with Russ to know he'd take the bait.

Which would make that a third time Russ got genuine with someone and had it either fail or be used against him...

[thoughtportal]

The etymology of the word translation—“to carry across”—conjures an image of physical labor. It is deeply relational, requiring at least two bodies, those of an author and of the person who carries the author’s words to a previously unvisited place. Let’s say we removed the laborer and replaced that person with a car. Or a train. Suddenly there is a feeling of weight lifted, certainly ease, and perhaps a little relief. But the intimacy of the earlier image no longer holds. Whether this matters has been the subject of recent debate as some publishers consider using machines to replace human translators and what that decision might mean for an ancient art.

In November, Dutch publisher Veen Bosch & Keuning (VBK), a subsidiary of Simon & Schuster, announced that it would trial the use of artificial intelligence (AI) “to assist the translation of a limited number of books.” Reactions rose in a flurry: Writers, publishers, and translators contended that AI would produce “bland” work. They lamented the possibility of lost jobs. The European Council of Literary Translators’ Associations resisted the standardization of an idiosyncratic process, stating that the imagination, understanding, and creativity that translation demands are “intrinsically human.”

VBK’s decision to incorporate AI into the editorial process may shock some but is not unprecedented. With a broad range of AI tools now available on the market, an increasing number of writers and publishers have turned to large language models (LLMs) to assist in, or contribute to, the production of creative work. As of February 2023, there were more than two hundred e-books in Amazon’s Kindle store that listed ChatGPT as an author or coauthor, according to Reuters. Maverick publishers like Spines, although small players in the global book market, plan to publish thousands of AI-generated books next year.

AI isn’t new to translation either. Literary translators sometimes input segments of their source text into AI-based technologies like Google Translate and DeepL to generate ideas for particularly thorny passages. But these tools have to be used “very carefully,” warns Seattle-based Finnish-to-English translator Lola Rogers, “because the translations it produces are error-ridden and devoid of flow or beauty.” Edward Tian, a cofounder of AI-detecting start-up GPTZero, adds that current LLMs not only do “a mediocre job at translations,” but also reflect the “majority white, English-dominated” nature of their source texts. Reiterating such worldviews and their biases runs contrary to the aim of much literary translation: to expose audiences to new perspectives. And Rogers, who was recently commissioned to use a translation tool to expedite a months-long translation process to five or six weeks, says that from her brief experiments, the time saved with machine assistance was “minimal.” French-to-English translator Louise Rogers Lalaurie shared a similarly underwhelmed account of editing poor machine-led translations.

So what’s the threat?

One area where translators are feeling the pinch is in creating samples, book excerpts translated to give general impressions of a text to potential publishers. Some publishers have been considering using AI to do this work instead. Though she is unsure whether this is because samples are being automated, Rogers says, “The number of samples I’m asked to translate has fallen precipitously in the past couple of years, making it much harder to earn a living.” A 2024 survey of Society of Authors members found that over a third of translators have lost work due to generative AI. Close to half of translators surveyed said that income from their work has decreased.

To illustrate how AI might ease the time and cost pressures inherent to translation from a publisher’s perspective, Ilan Stavans, the publisher and cofounder of Restless Books, an independent press in Amherst, Massachusetts, gives the example of a recently acquired eight-hundred-page book. To translate it, “substantial investment” would be necessary: Not only are “first-rate translators” for the source language scarce, he says, but the project would also require at least two years of dedicated work. By the time the book is translated and published, the demand the publisher once saw for the title might easily have changed. Meanwhile, the publisher would have incurred a cost much greater than if it had used LLMs, the most expensive of which—such as the premium version of ChatGPT, which costs $200 a month—is a tenth of the average cost of publishing a translation.

“It would be fast and easy,” Stavans admits, “but it would not be the right move.” Though Stavans is enthusiastic about AI’s potential and sees the value of using AI to translate samples, he emphasizes that he would never condone translating an entire book using a machine. The key to the heart of translation is “that intimate, subjective relationship between a text and the translator,” he says—the nebulous yet nonetheless living connection that translator Kate Briggs describes as the “uniquely relational, lived-out practice” of “this little art.”

Will Evans, founder of independent publisher Deep Vellum in Dallas, does not see a future in which machine-led translations supersede the human. “I do not believe AI-led translation will be competitive for works of the literary caliber we are interested in any time before the AI bubble bursts,” he says, “though I have no doubts the corporate publishers who are interested in serving the same books to the same readers over and over again will have no such qualms.”

In the realm of literature, there is still a sanctity around “the human and the humane,” as Stavans puts it. “Machines can’t read a book or experience any of the personal connections to language that give a book life,” adds Rogers, who became a translator after translating Finnish song lyrics for friends. “Machines don’t find themselves unexpectedly chuckling at a phrase, or repeating a string of words because its sounds are satisfying, or remembering being in a place like the place described in a book.” Though a cliché, it nevertheless rings true: The destination might pale in comparison to the joy of the journey, something a machine might never know.

Jimin Kang is a Seoul-born, Hong Kong–raised, and England-based journalist and writer. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, the Nation, the Kenyon Review and the Los Angeles Review of Books, among other publications.

[bg3-npc]

Wyllstarion concept I can’t stop thinking about so I’m making you all suffer with me.

Post-game get together, the scenario involves Astarion not ascending and Wyll keeping his pact with Mizora. Wyll can chose any endgame path, I personally imagine his Duke ending. The party went their separate ways after defeating The Absolute, and at least a year has passed. There’s the setup, here’s the concept causing me brain damage:

Wyll and Astarion reconnect in some way. Despite the dire circumstances, they enjoyed each other's company during their adventure. Astarion is recovering, enjoying his freedom while trying to figure out what ‘being good’ means to him. He’s experienced many things since the party's victory and seems to be steadily improving on all fronts. Wyll has been doing whatever duties come with his chosen title and doesn’t seem different. He almost seems entirely unchanged, but the more Astarion is around him he feels like something is off.

Astarion pays closer attention and notices small differences he hadn’t before. Wyll looks haggard, he fidgets and blinks constantly like he’s trying to keep himself awake all the time. He’ll lose focus and zone out so badly he won’t respond when Astarion calls his name. When Wyll doesn’t have a day full of tasks, he’s restless and almost seems to panic. He will return from missions more hurt than someone his skill level should. He struggles to concentrate during conversation, especially when it’s not centered around his responsibilities. Wyll also never drops his persona, even when the two are alone. He performs his part, but it seems more exaggerated and forced than when they first met. Whenever they’re together, Astarion never actually feels like “Wyll” is there.

A normal, everyday interaction provides an explanation for Wyll’s strange new presence. Someone starts calling Wyll’s name to get his attention. Astarion notices the person immediately, but Wyll doesn’t. After a few failed attempts, they call Wyll by his title. That method finally gets Wyll’s attention, and he’s seemingly oblivious to the previous attempts. Seeing this recurring phenomenon from a third-party perspective gives Astarion the insight he’d been missing.

Wyll reflexively, and almost exclusively, talks in the third person now. Only ever talking and presenting as his title. He will give his input on a matter, but only what’s necessary and doesn’t reveal anything about himself. He hasn’t formed any new connections or relationships since they departed, and any he has are friendly but essentially professional. Wyll is never off duty and ensures he always has some quest to complete. He’s never idle or relaxed, keeping his mind and body occupied at all times.

The issues that plagued Wyll before and during their party's journey never got resolved. He wasn’t managing well before, and by the end of everything his suffering had only increased. His situation has not improved since and the toll of everything that’s happened is becoming intolerable. Wyll refuses to acknowledge his pain but it’s overwhelming him nonetheless. He sees no end to his misery and feels helpless to stop it. In a desperate attempt to regain some feeling of control over his life, Wyll’s removed himself from it entirely. He doesn’t have to address what’s affecting his life if he’s not living it. Wyll’s abandoned his name and latched onto the identity of his title. The reason Astarion never feels like “Wyll” is with him is because he no longer sees himself as “Wyll”.

Astarion avoided asking Wyll about his pact with Mizora, but this breakthrough compels him to broach the subject. Wyll tells him he feels it’s best for everyone if he doesn’t break it, and he has resigned himself to a fate in the Hells. He truly believes it’s the right thing to do and disregards his feelings about it. He will do his duty to the people, and he will convince everyone he’s okay. He wants to convince himself he’s okay.

Wyll is doing all he can to avoid and deny any of his trauma, but his coping strategies aren't working. He's still doing heroics for the right reasons, but now they've also become a distraction. He’s even begun to use them as a form of self-harm, his reckless selflessness verging on suicidal. Ignoring the issue doesn’t resolve it, and Wyll is completely unaware he’s nearing a breaking point. Astarion has no idea what reaching it will do, but he refuses to let that happen. He cares for Wyll and dedicates himself to pulling his friend back from the edge. Astarion will help him regain his sense of self by any means necessary. Wyll is going to fight him the entire time, but Astarion has had 200 plus years to perfect stubbornness. Wyll has the capability to save his soul, save himself, but he needs someone to show him he’s worth saving.

Aaaaand from there the plot varies and mostly depends on how much suffering I want to put these two through. The amount of psychic damage I cause myself with this setup also varies day to day.