#warper magic

[septnautical]

Wow that new story with Marvin was amazing, can you draw a scene from the story?

Here’s another scene! Sorry Marv ;)

#huffleart #Mermay 2024 #mermay requests #story art #warper magic

[mtg-cards-hourly]

Kathril, Aspect Warper

Artist: Mathias Kollros TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #mathias kollros #kathril aspect warper #commander 2020 oversized #legendary #creature #nightmare #insect

[zmediaoutlet]

Hey Liz! Have you ready any good spn fic lately? :)

I have, and in fact I've been spite-reading. Have a curated wincest rec list you could share with anyone you like:

Bad Blood by astolat

Rating: E Word Count: 3,718 Summary: "Fuck me or I'm going to die isn't the world's best pickup line."  // "I've heard worse," Dean said. // "You've used worse," Sam said.

Original post date, 02/22/2007

Reccing because: No wincest primer would be complete without an astolat rec. You probably get fined by the Wincest FCC, otherwise. The flaw in astolat’s wincest, if we’re allowed to say such things about our saint and founder, is that Sam and Dean would sometimes fall into the whole thing super easily — this fic dispenses with that problem with a good ol’ classic dose of evil sex pollen, and if magic makes them do it then it could be a hell of a lot worse than how delightfully they do it here. I’m laughing out loud just remembering one of the scenes. Joys.

Coast On Through by philalethia

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 7,857 Summary: A post-first-time fic. With a lot of sex.

Original post date, 12/22/2007

Reccing because: This is a true all-timer wincest fic. Though the characterization is of its 2007 time, the Winchesters still feel like themselves, and more important feel like adults who are trying to navigate their very odd circumstances. A real classic of the brothers-with-benefits genre.

Keep Our Minds on the Sum of Each Other by lazy_daze

Rating: E Word Count: 9,593 Summary: N/A; provided tags are Bodyswap

Original post date, 12/26/2007

Reccing because: What a cheerful fuckin’ fic this is, for a fic about incestuous fuckin’. This takes the apocalyptic stakes and reels them back to a just deeply entertaining romp. Not too worried about the plot and much more worried about how hot these two are when they slam together, it’s a refreshingly non-angsty take on what it means that you just want to slurp on your brother wholesale.

Filthy Mind by rivkat

Rating: E Word Count: 26,384 Summary: Dean acquires unwelcome nightly visitors. Set post-Hell, without details as to how that happens.

Original post date, 10/07/2008

Reccing because: RivkaT is perhaps the all-time understander of the Weird Affect of Dean Winchester (As Played By Jensen Ackles) and the entirely destabilizing effect that affect has on the world. A real reality-warper. This fic deals with non-con and dub-con and who-knows-what-con and everything in between in a way that is more thoughtful than tawdry (although you can certainly enjoy the tawdriness as presented and the fic does not judge you for that). It also, thrillingly, deals with Sam’s alarm about the whole thing in a way which is fairly unflinching: he wants and does not want to want and also just really, really desperately wants-- Fans of Sheila’s analysis will probably enjoy this one. 

seeing double by candle_beck

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 5,127 Summary: Dean has a concussion and his better senses come and go.

Original post date, 04/24/2009

Reccing because: I know there are more famous and more favored c_b fics, but this one is such a supremely perfect scene that it should be at the top of all c_b rec lists. It isn’t the catastrophic misery or assholery or intensity of some of the other big hitters but this just has this searingly true and singular experience coursing through it: to wit, that Dean is hurt and Sam is upset and then sorry and then in love. Which isn’t a half-bad summary of Supernatural itself, really. 

The incestuous courtship of the antichrist’s bride by fleshflutter

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 48,000 Summary: Sam is trying to become the Antichrist in order to save the world. He has a small army of angels and demons, he has an adoring cult, he has a work of prophecy by Jack Kerouac, and he has Dean. Things are going pretty well until he accidentally signs Dean up as his Beloved Consort, a role that requires sex with the Antichrist on an altar. And that's when things stop going pretty well. Also, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse sucks.

Original post date, 06/08/2009

Reccing because: It is so, so rare to find crack fics that work. This is crack treated like crack and also taken entirely seriously, which is a rare balance to find. When it needs to be horror it works, when it needs to be ridiculous it works, when it needs to be hot as fuck it works, and never has the phrase ‘apocalyptic cock’ been so appropriate and so wonderful in context. 

I’ve Got A Hand For You by Edwardina

Rating: E Word Count: 14,938 Summary: Sam's inexperience is showing, and Dean helps the best way he knows how.

Original post date, 03/12/2010

Reccing because: This is underage par excellence, as wonderfully weird and vaguely creepy and hot and alarming as it should always be. Dean’s 19 and Sam’s 14 and they should not but they are, and if that isn’t just a summary of Supernatural as a whole I don’t know what is. On the face of it this is a vaguely gnasty first time fic, but what sets this one apart is how earnestly real it is — the grimy-but-not-OTT reality of the details, Sam’s goofy kiddishness being complicated by the reality of what hormones are and do, Dean’s too-cool-ness alleviated by the fact that he’s nineteen and therefore still an idiot, trying earnestly to help and getting it wrong and getting it very right, all at the same time. The attention to detail here just knocks me over with a feather. Gorgeous work.

Two Part Invention by De_Nugis

Rating: T Word Count: 6,938 Summary: Dean settles down, Sam finds him, they settle some things.

Original post date, 12/25/2010

Reccing because: I very much appreciate a fic that, on the face of it, seems like an OOC premise, and then as soon as you think about it for fifteen seconds you realize — oh, of course, of course that’s how it should be and how it would go. This fic delivers on that feeling in spades. There’s a deep appreciation here for how complicated Sam Winchester is and how strange and hard it would be to have his life, and zero judgment, really, for what he and Dean have to do to make that life tenable. I appreciate the subtlety here so much.

Top This by leonidaslion

Rating: E Word Count: 4,076 Summary: Dean's sure he's a top. Only problem is, Sam's pretty sure that's his job …

Original post date, 04/10/2011

Reccing because: Is this crack? It surely is. Is it PWP? You bet. Is it in character? To be honest it hardly matters, but despite the context and conceit it does manage, somehow, to kinda feel like Sam and Dean Winchester from the canon of the show Supernatural, and that is a trick that earns it a spot on this list. Especially the way Sam goes slightly smug there at the end. Delights.

It’s the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu

Rating: E Word Count: 38,400 Summary: Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see. Damn it, Dean thinks, This is gonna take a lot of chickflick moments.

Original post date, 10/09/2011

Reccing because: Time travel fic is fun as hell, and time travel fic that just soaks you in dramatic irony is even more fun, and more importantly time travel fic where the time traveler doesn’t have all the answers is best of all. Very little is better than Dean being somewhat at sea and Sam loving him fiercely and this fic delivers that in spades. I could only wish it were a little longer, which is a very, very rare statement from me.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez

Rating: M Word Count: 6,773 Summary: Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

Original post date, 11/06/2011

Reccing because: This fic is thoroughly in and of and intensely about season 7, which I adored and which doesn’t get enough credit from the fandom. It deals with the Sam’s Insanity arc in a way that’s angstier and ficcier than the show itself but it does so in this stupendous and murderously flat way. Dean is at his wit’s end and Sam is, too, but Sam’s finding a way to deal with it, and Sam will not compromise on what dealing with it means, and we’re all just forced to live with it. Fantastic reading experience, especially for the almost literal jumpscare you get about 2/3s through.

The Hunter Games by theproblematique

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 92,601 Summary: When the infamous Winchester bad luck strikes twice in quick succession Sam and Dean are forced to compete in the most brutal reality TV show ever created. It’s impossible to escape the battlefield, hiding can only be temporary, and alliances inside those dark, bloodstained woods last about as long as it takes for the other Hunter to figure out how to use your weapons. And then kill you with them.

Original post date, 06/22/2012

Reccing because: This is a true all-timer wincest AU fic. We’re mostly all familiar with the source material, but this work blends the universe of the Hunger Games with the characterization & destiny of the Winchester boys in a way that’s extremely satisfying. The author’s other works are recced more often, but this piece is more deserving of a place as One Of Those Reclist Fics.

Kevin Tran for President by glovered

Rating: T Word Count: 11,714 Summary: Dean comes back from Purgatory to find Sam working as a barista at a coffee shop near Princeton, watching over Kevin Tran.

Original post date, 10/04/2012

Reccing because: Sometimes you just need a post-Purgatory fic that isn’t brutal. This story’s a light-hearted trip-along froth like most of glovered’s work, but there’s something in specific about this unfraught coming-together that makes it incredibly readable. Dean and Sam aren’t entirely on the same page but the relief of reunion makes everything else fade a little into the distance, and the charming little job they find themselves on here gives enough of an excuse for them to figure some things out. Also probably the best Cas & Meg side characters in a fic, so there’s that too.

Clear and simple and plain by Trojie

Rating: E Word Count: 1,893 Summary: After Sam gives up the Trials, things start getting better.

Original post date, 10/26/2013

Reccing because: This is a post-Trials fic where things don’t go incredibly wrong, which is a nice AU to sit in for a while. What’s impressive about this story, written in the time it was, is that it manages to presage the ~s11 era marriage very well indeed, in tone and vibe and even some content. They’re in the bunker and things aren’t perfect, but they’re together, and that’s a kind of perfection of its own. It isn’t sugary but it’s the kind of adult complex sweetness that makes one feel better, anyway.

hello by allwellandgood (formerly askance)

Rating: T Word Count: 4,128 Summary: There's a woman at the grocery store named Evelyn who always rings him up on the days he ventures out for food and she knows him, or likes to think she does. I hope you're not too lonely, she'll say. He chooses not to tell her that his dead brother sleeps at his feet every night. He'd rather not be the cause of her inevitable heart attack.

Original post date, 08/11/2014

Reccing because: So Dean’s dead. Everyone dies at some point. This fic is a beautifully soft and tender and bitterly kind way to deal with that. You feel Sam’s loss deep in your chest but it’s okay, because this is the world of Supernatural and there are options, and the relief he gets pours over like cool water. Not enough, and it’s not fixed, but it’s not as much of a misery as it was.

The Time Traveler’s Brother by amypond45

Rating: R Word Count: 55,458 Summary: Dean's life is turned upside down the night his mother dies. But that's also the night a mysterious grown-up version of Dean's brother first appears in his life. While Dean grows up, "Old Sam" is often there, especially when Dean's father isn't, and as Dean learns what the future holds, he begins to question everything his father has taught him about who he is and what he is supposed to become. Can Dean find a way to save his little brother from his own future? This pre-series AU follows Dean from age four to eighteen.

Original post date, 02/26/2015

Reccing because: It’s rare to have an AU so thoroughly engage with what the alternate universe it constructs means for characterization and plot. This does something outstanding with the Sam and Dean (and Deans) created by the conceit, but also uses that conceit to do something entirely new with the canon plot that just flips me over every time I remember it. There are some fantastic character insights here, both complimentary and not, but I’ll never be over the specific scene of young!Dean looking up at older!Dean and being disappointed. That’s him, that’s our little angst machine.

The King of Imperfections Takes Back the Prince of Mistakes: a fairy tale by britomart_is

Rating: E Word Count: 4,822 Summary: And they lived happily ever after.

Original post date, 06/06/2016

Reccing because: The summary is pretty much the summary and that’s such a relief, sometimes. They’re awful and stupid and they’re in love and love isn’t enough except it is, and they’re so friggin’ MARRIED in the most wonderful and dorky way. They have good-bad sex and they have idiot arguments and they’ve made it. Back in 2016 this seemed like the best possible option. Reading this story feels like reading 4800 words of relief.

Raw Food Diet by themegalosaurus

Rating: E Word Count: 2,959 Summary: Sam has one more meeting today. This one isn’t in his diary; not the public calendar everyone at the firm can access, nor the private one on his cell.

Original post date, 02/14/2019

Reccing because: If you were looking for depressing and almost revolting Lebanon AU, you’re in luck. This is serial killer!Dean at his worst and Sam Jobs at his (still slightly martyred) almost-worst and it’s the frankly gross and logical conclusion to: what would it mean, if those two horrible shitheads were still together, somehow or some way? It’s always almost a relief when fic manages to do a not-happy ending and this definitely does that. Refreshing, in its way, though you might want a shower after.

Ions in the Ether by nigeltde

Rating: E Word Count: 10,860 Summary: When was the last time you trusted happy.

Original post date, 03/12/2019

Reccing because: For any s2 obsessives as our author here is, this is a deep and alarming and inside-out dive into the obsession with a brother and with monstrousness and with what’s true and what’s not and also can you tell the difference, after all. A murky swirl through a shithole town, this fic picks and pries at wincest-as-concept in a way that’s somewhat achy and alarming and is overall delightful, if you’re willing to take the time to think about it. Plus Sam’s hot, which is of course a bonus.

there will be better days by deadlybride

Rating: E Word Count: 9,430 Summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

Original post date, 11/24/2020

Reccing because: I’m crass. But also I can’t think of another fic that feels as much like heaven as this one and I wanted heaven on the list.

#wincest #fic recs #happy wincest wednesday #this is partly borne from an absolutely shitty reclist i saw the other day lol #i admit to being powered by spite #Those Reclist Fics have a weird power over fandom #and i want better stuff to get read #so! read these! #and comment while you're at it

[mergeman]

This story is Dedicated to @nonotnolan Happy Valentines Day Love!!!

Fukin Travis Cordin.

Why the hell did I ever give that puny geek a body switching spell.

Oh I know that I need the money. Fuckin college is so expensive and the courts don't fork over any funds for a punishment.

Stupid magical world with all their rules and regulations.

Fuck

Guess I gotta fix this mess before the magistrate finds out and extends my sentence.

All I did was give him a spell that would allow him to trade bodies with his crush's bff for 24 hours.

But somehow the dweeb modified it and now he can use the spell on multiple targets. Plus that fucker takes a piece of his victims back and adds that tribute to his original body.

He didn't have the decency to add a reality warper amendment to his spell.

Now I got jocks crying around campus that have suddenly lost their hard earned muscles, or their height, or cock, ect.

Preppy douche canoes, who have lost confidence, Looks, and even their sense of entitlement.

Even the nerds aren't exempt. The soon to be valedictorian can barely string together a sentence.

Fuckin Travis Cordin, Is strutting around like the big man on campus. I guess it's my responsibility to take care of him before the Coaches and the Dean report to the authorities that I'm not doing my job.

Just gotta find the right reversal spell and bippity boppity boo everything should be back to normal.

As Im looking through my collection to find the right spell I hear a knock on my door. With trepidation I get up to open it, ready for the verbal onslaught coming my way. Leaning against my door frame with a sexy smirk on his face is,

Fuckin Travis Cordin.

He prowls into my room.

I cant believe that someone that big can move with such grace.

Fuckin Travis Cordin.

His voice is so deep and melodic.

Fuckin Travis Cordin.

He sits on the bed and beckons me over. I can feel the magic radiating off of his tremendous frame.

Beautiful Fuckin Travis Cordin.

He explains something about my spell awakening his true nature and how he can't stop.

Fuck.

Even as I look at him he's changing, maturing into an even more intense version of the man who walked in here.

Sexy Mother-fuckin Travis Cordin.

His hand on my thigh sends electricity through me.

Fuckin Hunky Travis Cordin.

Travis Cordin fuckin me.

Me fuckin Travis Cordin.

Fuck

Me.

[minnesota-fats]

Constantine sees that Batman fathered Two half dead kids, one who is the Ghost King, one that's basically a Demonspawn who's Grandad uses magic mountain dew pools to stay fresh, and a reality warper that uses a yo-yo to said reality warp: Jesus Christ man, I thought that Himbo thing was an image. What's next? You having a child with Trigon who was in disguise or something?!

( Bruce internally thinks of Raven and remembers dating a pretty unusually tall platinum blonde woman named Teigan, over analyzes it essentially has a Blue Screen Of Death moment*

Also what's the League's reaction to all this, and would some hold this over his head?

MAGIC MOUNTAIN DEW!!!!

But your right! For someone who has a thing against magic he sure do have a lot of bio kids that do magical shit on the regular!

Also what a mood! Constantine coming to the watch tower for some thing and sees bruce giving his two newly acquired kids a tour and immediately has the urge to pound his head into the fucking wall.

And when batman blue screens Danny would take a picture because: “thats a really funny face your making dad, would be a shame if someone shared it with the rest of your children.”

Bruce: “dont-“

Danny: “too late! Bye!” And he proceeds to phase through the floor of the watchtower into space for a jaunty little adventure.

Once again, i will say im not a big fan of miraculous x dc x dp (specifically just Marinette being bruce’s kid) but Marinette—sensing the tension would use the space power up and follow Danny and go explore the outside while she FaceTimes Chat Noir on her yo-yo.

Just wait until Constantine meets the chaos tornado that is Danielle Phantom.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #dc #justice league #john constantine #my manz #the angry Brit #batman #bruce wayne #damien wayne #damian al ghul #fun #:3 #minne try’s #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dc x mlb #mlb x dp #mlb x dc x dp #dani phantom #dani fenton #fluff #cute #because yes

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 3

David realizes he may have overestimated his ability to handle the newly adopted deity in his head. In trying to figure out how to direct an unlimited supply of body transforming chaos magic, he discovers the power of words, leading to some interesting developments at the bar and in Lee's lab.

1 | 2 (Previous) | 4 (Next)

MaleTF // Ass growth // Dick growth // Growth // Suggestion // nsfw

---

A Tuesday night during Winter Break was not the liveliest time at our usual haunt, the Cockatrice, but Lee and I weren’t complaining. We could gossip and scheme in peace in our back corner booth, a spot we so consistently occupied that the bartender, Jaime, jokes that our butt prints are permanently in the seats–which, in light of recent events, is probably true. As Lee had pointed out to my chagrin, the hemispheres of my ass had successfully carved out a noticeable dip in the cushion that would set a normal man off balance. Yet another reason the back corner booth was consistently ours to occupy. With the semester having ended and most of our colleagues having fled town as soon as grades were submitted, it was especially sparse, except of course, for the new regular to our little booth chats, Blake.

I had given just the essential details to the class about the extra dimensional reality warper that was seemingly auditing for most of the term, winning their silence with automatic As, no term paper, and any reference or letter of rec for any reason. I made myself available as a resident expert if they wanted to learn more about this exciting new research opportunity tied to my being through the astral realm. And of course, if they needed guidance on any unintended side effects, from wardrobe malfunctions to unwanted attention. Noah, for one, had developed a similar level of insatiability as my own and was tearing through every available hung top in the city, but had also developed a knack for coming across progressively bigger and bigger dicks; a pattern that was verging on unrealistic. I made a note to investigate further, but encouraged him to just slow down before we had an epidemic of dicks just as unwieldy as my superhung fuckbuddy sitting across from me.

The rest of the semester was relatively uneventful after I explained the situation. I decided I might as well use it as a teaching tool, one of the more extreme examples of what one might encounter in this line of work. I didn’t name Logan, though, for the risk of him drawing the ire of his colleagues. However, after some initial discomfort and surprising ambivalence, they were mostly okay with the changes, even appreciative, though they may not admit it directly. But golden boy park ranger Blake was especially enthusiastic, not to mention deeply interested in all these magical happenings. To the point where his own disproportionately meaty butt was leaving its own comical imprint in the booth next to my own. 

Blake became a fixture of our weeknight scene, eager for the latest updates from Lee’s lab, which had begun to research the power of my new mental roommate. Trying to understand the unfathomable deity living in my head was slow going, but I had figured out that while they don’t have a name for themself, or really a concept of naming that makes sense to us, they deigned to experiment with some sort of grammar of identification, a small part of which is interpretable in our dimension as Synt. Blake was usually in the field during the day, so would join us after hours to get caught up, even going so far as to jot down notes and ask questions we hadn’t even thought of. He was a de facto research assistant, and at the very least this whole ordeal had gotten someone actually interested in our little corner of the world. Apparently, he’d also been chatting with Logan about some mystical archival work (I really should pay more attention to what Logan actually does). But this evening he was getting excited about his own neck of woods (pun intended) with something brewing in a local forest reserve.

“It’s one of the old ones that got absorbed into the current system when they modernized it,” said Blake, leaning forward slightly with an air of playful conspiracy, his dense biceps straining against the cuffs of his sleeves. “Not entirely public property, but not really owned by anyone anymore either. We basically have de facto jurisdiction,” a phrase he pronounced with uncertainty, “over the Marshlands.”

I wasn’t familiar with this place–admittedly I didn’t get out enough–but I dissociated as a vague image popped up on my mental map of the region, carrying a resonance that felt like a string being plucked. As I sat with this, I was aware that Blake and Lee were carrying on a conversation without me but sound and light went slightly opaque as I tried to focus on this image of…a forest clearing? And some figures that looked suspiciously like–

“Palmer!” I was brought fully back to reality by a forceful slap on the shoulder from our park ranger friend sitting next to me. Blake quickly had an apologetic look on his face that said he hadn’t quite figured out his own strength. 

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “Zoned out. What’d I miss? The forest?”

“Nah, we moved on to the BBL allegations,” said Lee, with a smirk.

“I’m just sayin’ my leg days are legendary these days,” said Blake, hands splayed in mock humility. “I don’t blame ‘em for thinking something’s up. You know it’s real because I keep maxing out machines at the gym and having to scrounge up more and more plates. It’s starting to draw attention,” he chuckled.

“There’s still a lot we don’t know about the changes that Synt caused,” I offered, mentally putting on my researcher hat.

“Is still causing,” interjected Lee.

“Yes, still,” I said, suddenly feeling very self conscious. When I invited Synt to give Logan a break and join forces with me, I may have overestimated my ability to keep them reined in, and it was becoming a full time project just to keep their power from leaking out into this world at a reasonable trickle. Most of the time, I could relieve little bits of pressure here and there, resulting in acquaintances and strangers getting a little boost in passing; something to fill their pants a little more that they wouldn’t complain about. This got tricky when it comes to people I was not only intimate with, but vulnerable with. Hence why Lee’s lithe, muscular form not only filled the other side of the booth but looked downright ethereal. And yet another reason Blake enjoyed spending happy hours parked right next to me. He was, after all, enthusiastic about the situation.

“Not that I’m complaining,” said Blake. He leaned towards me slightly with a smile that was verging from friendly to flirtatious. “I look better than I ever have. Better than I thought was even possible, all thanks to our mutual friend.” He gave me (and Synt) a wink, allowing his ripped forearm to brush lightly against mine before pulling back at the static shock that visibly–and possibly audibly–jumped the centimeter between us.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no problem’,” he said, getting up and turning to the bar. “Y’all want anything?”

“I’m already at my limit,” I said, “but thanks.”

“Two-drink Tuesday,” added Lee, holding up his index and middle finger, as if that wasn’t something he had just made up. Nevertheless, I appreciated the support. Getting shlammered is no longer an option when you have immediate access to an unbelievable reservoir of chaos magic. Something Lee was constantly reminded of by the trouser snake bulging down the length of his left pant leg. 

What didn’t help the situation was that Blake was really taking his time in getting to the bar, swishing his hips back and forth as he moseyed over to Jaime. The park ranger uniforms are a flattering, relaxed fit, but Blake was bursting out of his. The khakis were stretched tight across his bubble butt and quads and the button up couldn’t be buttoned all the way against the mass of his pecs and shoulders. He was a wall of dense muscle, body so sculpted from the realm of fantasy that it was almost a crime for him to even try to wear clothes in the first pl–

I knew what he was doing. He, obviously, knew what he was doing. And most importantly, the reality-altering minor god that had tied themself to me knew full well what he was doing.

We can’t keep doing this, I said to my mental roommate. He’s getting hooked.

Hooked? came a voice like tectonic plates sliding against each other.

Like, he’s enjoying these changes too much. He keeps trying to grow more and more, I worry he might go too far.

Too far? It had become clear that they had no conceptualization of what this meant, but they were starting to figure out what one might call moderation. I felt a small nudge of encouragement as if right behind my shoulder blades, but a small nudge from Synt was like a cruise ship lightly tapping against a wooden pier.

Okay, but just a little, I thought. It’s about finesse, just like we practiced.

Synt was a powerhouse to say the least, and I wasn’t so much tapping into their reservoir of chaos magic as I was slightly loosening a small pressure valve. My fingertips sparked lightly as I felt the peculiar taste of raw possibility in my mouth, like a battery on the back of my tongue that crackled down around my vocal chords. I was focusing on Blakes’s broad shoulders and muscular backside at the bar. His overdeveloped glutes defied gravity, perched like two globes above his hamstrings. 

“Those could really do some damage,” I muttered under my breath. I imagined him at the gym, maxing out the machines as a warmup, having to stack weight after weight just to get a good pump. The blood rushing to his strained muscles as they repaired themselves supernaturally fast, swelling against the overstressed fabric until it couldn’t take anymore. At the bar, Blake was adjusting his waistband surreptitiously, his massive butt seeming to grow in real time to match my slapped together tipsy fantasy until finally his work pants began to give way, splitting open in a few spots to hint at a pair of bright green bikini briefs fighting for its life over his round cheeks. Much to his chagrin–but eventually to his delight–whoever he was chatting it up with failed to take notice of his sudden growth. His hand had left Blake’s hip to adjust his own crotch, which was displaying a surprising, and apparently uncomfortable, bulge.

I maybe shouldn't have done this two drinks in. I was going for more juicy pump and less wardrobe malfunction. And I didn’t even predict the spillover effect in this new beau who just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Maybe I wasn’t being focused enough, maybe it was some sort of daisy chain from their erotic connection, maybe Blake was figuring out how to re-route the chaos magic with which I had touched him. But as he apparently took notice, he played it off, turning his fat ass to squish against the bar as he faced out, glancing my way with an appreciative wink.

“He can’t keep getting away with this,” said Lee, an amused tone entering his voice. Lee had caught on to Blake’s little trick early on and found it more funny than concerning. “He pulled a fast one on you again!” he laughed.

“He’s kind of doing me a favor,” I reasoned. At least I had a willing participant to let some of the pressure off while honing this new ability. “But he could just ask me directly.”

“Well where’s the fun in that?” asked Lee, his eyes dreamily following Blake’s ass as his new friend let him into the cool winter evening, presumably to explore their respective new assets at one of their places. His eyes flicked back to me as he danced across the word fun, and I tried to evade losing myself in the chocolate brown depths of his irises, captivated by a gaze that had become hypnotic. I didn’t get very far as I began to trace the curvature of his plump lips, the rightmost third of the bottom one lost behind a row of playfully biting teeth.

This was a game we had begun to play and one I would inevitably lose. He knew what he was doing. He knew I knew that he knew what he was doing. It hadn’t taken me long to realize that a side effect of the changes in Lee was that he was beginning to have a draw on people that was hard to resist. It hadn’t taken Lee long to realize that whenever I released Synt’s erotic power into the world, I needed to in turn release my own. Hot and bothered would be an understatement, the recent double whammy in tandem with the pheromones coming from my friend across the booth were sending me into overdrive. And judging by the way Lee kept shifting in his seat, he was in a similar state of excitement.  

Apparently Two-drink Tuesday also gets its name from the fact that we can’t make it to a third round without fucking each other’s brains out. Soon enough, I’m plopping my fat ass onto a table in a half forgotten supply closet that makes for a decent hookup space if you’re cool enough with Jaime. It was one of the plastic folding ones that are always already old and whose supports were groaning under my weight. The ambient light from the bar that made it down the hallway framed Lee’s expansive form as he lumbered in behind me, round shoulders rising just past the level of the door frame as he ducked in. God he was massive. As he pushed the door closed behind him, sliding us into complete darkness, I could still feel his outline moving toward me, as if he produced his own luminescence just outside of the visible spectrum. 

The bass of his voice filled the room as he chuckled, coming in for a deep kiss and sliding his fingers under the waistband of my leggings as our tongues danced. He was hungry. He pushed me back onto the table as he pulled my thighs toward him. The radiant heat coming off of his crotch became all the more enticing in the chill of the back room, tingles of pleasure echoing from my hole in anticipation. I arched my back as his fingers from one hand traced along my spine, the other tenderly beginning to peel the waistband of my leggings down the curves of my hips. His hands, at this point, were the size of dinner plates but moved with surprising grace. I could feel him resisting the urge to tear the fabric clean off as he struggled to get it over my colossal cakes and tree trunk thighs. A performance of agonizing slowness that had become part of our usual foreplay.

With my hole finally exposed, he slid in one finger, then two, opting for nimbleness and dexterity in light of the brute force that I knew was coming. He worked with a light touch, loosening me up as he undid his pants and slowly slid them off, bending slightly to finagle his prodigious cock free. I regretted not having hit the lights. The slow reveal of his member was a sight to behold, even in the weak fluorescence of the store room. With a grunt, I heard his pants fall to the floor, followed by a thwack against the underside of the cheap plastic table. I briefly fantasized about Lee’s gargantuan cock lifting the entire table with me on it, entertaining the notion that I really could make that happen if I wanted to.

Don’t you? Came a deep rumble from my psyche, the familiar crescendo of energy as Synt’s attention was piqued.

Don’t you start, I warned, still thinking of Blake and his now very well endowed friend. Finesse, subtlety, I added, knowing full well Synt cared nothing for the concept.

But didn’t I? In the haze of lust, I couldn’t shake the hypothetical of Lee with a truly impossible monster cock, and a corresponding body that shattered doorways rather than ducking through them. Was it Synt’s idea or my own? Was there a difference?

I was brought back to the present by a sudden absence. My hole ached with need as Lee’s meaty fingers were withdrawn, moving to caress my torso as he maneuvered his unwieldy dick into place, stroking up and down he pumped out a steady stream of slick precum. He was already starting to moan softly as he slowly worked inch after inch after inch of his schlong inside of me. Ever the scientist, he had last measured his growth at 15.25 inches, but personal experience told me it had definitely grown a little more since then. He settled into a steady pace, holding my body gingerly with his strong arms, leaning in periodically to nuzzle against my lips.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Harder,” I muttered, the pleasure from his cock stretching my walls only leading to a deeper and deeper need.

“Like this?” he said, picking up the pace, letting more of his strength come through as he thrust into me.

“Harder,” I breathed, feeling the familiar taste of power, the crackle across my throat.

“Mmhm,” said Lee, audibly putting in some effort as he pounded into me, his gigantic hands digging into the globes of my ass cheeks, giving them a hard slap periodically.

“Harder,” I grunted, feeling some sort of release as I had the acute image of Lee’s pelvis corded with muscle, his hips and glutes flexing with vascularity as he pumped with inhuman power.

He made a sound that was some cross between confusion and pleasure, losing control as he jackhammered into me with animalistic lust. He dug his hands in under my thighs and lifted me up bodily, impaling me on his dick as his hips went into overdrive. He roared as both of us reached climax, shooting ropes of cum as his hips continued to buck involuntarily. After the last shudders of orgasmic release, he slowly came back to his senses, pulling his softening dick out of my hole.

“Was that…you?” he asked, his hands exploring a slightly more developed muscularity than what had been the reality earlier that night.

“...I think so.”

 —

I found myself in Lee’s lab early the next morning reflecting on what exactly had developed last night. Of course I was used to dipping into Synt’s power to change people, but this was different. More direct in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.

Lee was bouncing around with some extra pep in his step, his usual lumbering movements now imbued with much more grace and poise. One would find it hard to believe that just 12 hours previous he was rearranging my guts with wild abandon. His bubble butt filled out his form fitting khakis, glute and hip muscles becoming all the more apparent every time he squatted down to look at something more closely with his co-PI, Armand. At 5’6”, Armand was almost two feet shorter than the literal giant with whom he ran the paranormal research lab in the basement of the Center. I sat patiently, coffee in hand, watching them navigate the space and prep things for that morning’s procedures. 

Lee and Armand had taken it upon themselves to help me study how Synt’s power worked and what kinds of research implications it might have. Lee was  wildly enthusiastic about the possibilities presented by the deity in my head whose capabilities were seemingly only limited by the imagination of the host. Armand, if a little annoyed by being there earlier than the start of their usual workday, was more interested in how this development, if presented the right way, could secure some more reliable long-term research funding for the entire institute.

After all, the lab could use a makeover. It was kind of a drab, slapdash mix of alchemical and traditional scientific instruments, slowly cluttering into a maze of in-progress and semi-forgotten projects and experiments. One wall was an entire blackboard covered in a collage of equations, mathematical proofs, ancient grammars, bits of poetry, and a running list of takeout places that after many late night deliveries knew Lee and Armand by name. It at least drew the eye away from the rest of the color scheme, which consisted of specific shades of blue and sherbet-beige that one might see at a hospital or some sort of mystical DMV. But it was Lee’s high voltage magic lab. A cleanroom as he calls it.

I was crammed into an office chair at the center of a circle whose circumference featured sigils across multiple human and inhuman languages, each one glowing and fading lightly in slow sequence. I know a protective ward when I see one, and this formed an invisible, magically impermeable sphere. I sat in the middle of the snow globe, wondering what might get knocked loose were someone to come along and shake it, as Lee and Armand set about their final preparatory tasks. Lee was adjusting the angles of what looked like modified environmental sensors, following the wires back to his desktop to check that they were working. A cluster of wires ran not along the floor, but up to the ceiling and above the circle, dropping down and hooking into a brain scan helmet that sat lightly on my head. Armand was fiddling with what was certainly a decades-old fax machine, outputting a slow but continuous stream of paper while chittering softly to itself and occasionally jotting down little dots and symbols. According to Armand, it’s a device that “picks up magical grammars in ambient space and translates them into textual data for further analysis,” but I still think it just looks like a fax machine. He was not amused by this.

Our routine many mornings was me in the evil snow globe, relaying messages between Lee, Armand, and Synt as they tried to experiment with ways to activate, measure, or at least gather data on the texture of Synt’s magic. Bursts of erotic, body morphing energy were beyond impressive, but wildly unpredictable, and the research team wanted to start small and controlled.  We had made little to no progress. It’s not exactly a thing that I can just turn on and off and Synt doesn’t particularly care or even see the point of all this. These little science experiments are a blip on their radar and we probably seem like anxious primates hitting things with sticks. Which to a certain extent is true.

This morning was no different than the others. After enough failed attempts and false positives, Lee sighed, shaking his head at the monitor perched on his modified standing desk.

“I need some caffeine,” he yawned, loping off toward the exit and, I assumed, the coffee shop on the ground floor upstairs.

I was left with Armand, standing hands on hips, staring intently at his fax machine as if, with enough silent pleading, it may just start speaking English. It continued its indecipherable chittering, spitting out snippets of static on the page.

“Did you get a fax?” I asked. “From the cosmos?” widening my eyes for emphasis.

“It’s not–we’re getting basically background radiation and ambient noise. Nothing that really tells us anything,” he said, turning to glance at Lee’s computer. Armand awkwardly adjusted his lab partner’s standing desk, waiting impatiently for it to lower to his height. Eventually, he relented and grabbed a step stool just so he could read the data, shooting me an annoyed glance at having to have an audience for what seemed like a daily ordeal between them.

“So you didn’t feel anything this whole session? No surges of otherworldly power?” he asked.

“I felt hungry,” I responded. “Haven’t heard much from Synt.”

“But Lee said yesterday evening you did it without even trying,” said Armand, scratching the scruff on his chin in thought. 

My heart skipped a beat as I imagined Lee informing Armand about how he got his new power thrust pelvis as if it were anecdotal data, before I realized, “Oh, you mean Blake!”

“Yeah, that was his name. The park ranger guy. He’s been emailing me about some abandoned site out in the forest, I need to look into it. But you changed him just by what? Thinking about it?”

“Thinking isn’t really an apt descriptor of what Synt does,” I thought out loud. Armand had settled into a flat footed squat in front of the cosmic fax machine, on the edge of the ring of sigils. He was staring not quite at me, but at the space around me, as if Synt might materialize from my aura. “Sometimes it feels like the way their mind works is itself a sort of manipulation of space and time. Maybe the way all of our minds work, when you think about it.” The fax sputtered something out, but I couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or dissension. Armand’s eyes glanced at the printout then back at me.

“But you channeled that manipulation deliberately, right? Not just specifically to Blake, but specifically to his glutes.”

“Not just that, but yeah. I sort of focused the energy and…released.”

“And what did that feel like?”

“Like…singing?” The familiar feeling danced around my vocal chords. Synt perked up in anticipation.

“Singing. Ok.” Armand began to bounce slightly in his deep squat, which I’d come to realize meant he was on to something. As he mulled over this new bit of information, his eyes traced one of the sigils on the floor. Mine, however, were locked on to the bulge made more prominent by his stance. I could always tell Armand was packing something, and under ‘normal’ circumstances his bulge would be the focus of anyone’s attention, but it was an afterthought with Lee carrying around an unmistakable pipe in his pants.

“Have you done any work on metaphysical harmonics?” he asked.

“I’ve taught the basics, but it’s not something I deal with a lot in my research,” I said. “Bouncing different planes and dimensions off of each other by fiddling with the right frequencies and resonances, that sort of thing.”

“I’ll have to dust it off, but I think we do have the equipment for it,” said Armand. “Maybe instead of brute force reality shifting, Synt is actually doing something much more subtle and graceful, like moving through the pages of a higher dimensional flipbook. Which would explain why Lee, for one, is so good at carrying such big…changes.”

I don’t know why I said what I said next. I had that taste of possibility on my tongue and you know who was pushing at the back of my consciousness, dangling a small invitation to play with the warp of the universe, compelling me to blurt out “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got him beat.” With a wink no less.

A few things happened. One, I did manage to catch the feeling of that spark of power in my throat being released in a very specific direction, straight to the crotch which I had been trying to not look at in my early morning haze. Two, the fax machine printed out what looked like a poem of some mix of text, symbols, and glyphs before proceeding to rewind the spool of paper on its own and carry on printing blanks like nothing happened.

And three, while Armand was watching his precious sensor apparatus misbehave yet again, the bulge in his slacks began to bulge even more. Like, really bulge, unspooling down his leg. To the naked eye, it looked like he was somehow oblivious to the fact that his dick was expanding in real time to over twice the amount of space it had just been taking up in his chinos, the mushroom head becoming distinct against the fabric and his balls alone putting catastrophic pressure on the stitching along the seam. Except, if one would look closer–though that would be rude–they might notice the seam continuously adjusting on its own.

I watched his package inflate as he seemingly didn’t register the changes at all. But through the other sight of Synt’s perspective, it was as if the area around his crotch, and to a lesser extent the area around his body was pixelating, shifting, and falling back into place piece by piece over and over again, resulting in a visibly larger and larger bulge until…what?

You’ve got him beat, said Synt, quoting my earlier comment with what felt like a sly smile. I had been through enough by now to know that the next move was not to investigate the prodigious member in front of me but instead reflect on the timeline–New? Altered? Unclear–that I now found myself in. 

“I guess you’re right,” said Armand, “but Lee still wears it better.”

I guess I had gotten relatively used to it because we were co-workers, but Armand has by far one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever seen. Not that I had ever actually seen it, but the bulge snaking down his leg was obscene on his small frame. Even with what I assume were tailored pants, it was unavoidable and unwieldy, drawing stares and even comments in public, much to introverted Armand’s annoyance. I kind of felt bad for the guy. Rumor has it that when fully erect it’s a whopping 16 inches, somehow just slightly bigger than Lee’s schlong, which though impossible to miss, still blended in better on a frame that was two feet taller.

If what Armand had surmised was true, and Synt had let their hands play across a multidimensional keyboard, then we had been moving through proximal dimensions in which Armand wasn’t actually growing, but simply had a bigger and bigger dick for whatever reason, following the path of least resistance until he arrived at a size that beat Lee’s, and my offhand comment proved true. I loosely wondered when Noah would get his hands on him, if he hadn’t already.

Armand rose out of his squat to head to the board and add the metaphysical harmonics angle to the parking lot of working hypotheses. His gait was wider and a little awkward, but he wasn’t adjusting to his new size so much as he had already been used to it for years. Had I progressed to what Synt had been doing in my class this past semester? Moving beyond brute force changes and reworking the time stream itself? What else had I inadvertently changed about Armand’s life? What other elements of his social, romantic, or work lives had been altered in unpredictable ways by his inexplicably massive cock?

I needed more caffeine. As Lee came strolling back into the lab, I rushed past him, bounding up the side stairwell to the ground floor and the conveniently placed coffee shop. This wasn’t the most high traffic part of campus, so even during the morning rush, the baristas were bleary eyed and underwhelmed, snapping awake as I lumbered up to the counter.

“Oh, hi, what can I, uh, get started for you?” asked a barista across the counter who was not one of the usuals, made obvious by the fact that he clearly did not expect to be staring up at a man in leggings and a plaid skirt who loomed a full head taller than him.

“Just a dirty chai, and can you throw in an extra espresso shot…Jamal?” I asked, leaning awkwardly to read his nametag.

“Gotcha!”

I still felt disoriented, standing in a sleepy coffee shop having just manipulated space and time through the power of horniness. We may have finally cracked the code for at least a piece of the mechanism of what Logan had been doing originally on accident. The implications were staggering for our understandings of physics, metaphysics, reality itself. I had no idea how far the possibilities went and it sent a chill down to spine to think of what could happen on accident, let alone on purpose, but to be honest I felt powerful. And incredibly horny.

The familiar aftershock of arousal finally hit me, a deep, tingly, insatiable hunger that I quickly realized I would need to find some way to take care of this morning. Lee was right downstairs and this wouldn’t be the first time we fucked in some back corner of the basement. I wondered if Armand might want to prove the rumors true and hit a spot even his lab partner couldn’t reach. I shivered at the thought of almost a foot and a half of rock hard cock jutting off his slim, twinkish body, a completely absurd image of it bobbed in the air as he walked towards me.

“Um, excuse me?” Jamal, with an intonation that implied that hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to get my attention in the past 30 seconds, and he didn’t much care but a line was starting to form. “Can I get a name for that?”

“Oh! Um, sorry. David,” I said. “The only giant in the coffee shop. Can’t miss me,” I added with an awkward laugh.

He chuckled. “You’d be surprised. There was just a guy in here who had to be like seven and a half feet, I don’t even know. Like freak show tall,” eyes widened and hands splayed out.

“Not nearly as tall as you, right?” I responded without missing a beat. “You’ve got what, a foot and a half on him?” 

In my defense I was horny. And in an experimental mood. And a little annoyed at the quip about my friend. And in retrospect, starting to get drunk on power.

But Synt got the message loud and clear, and I watched the fabric of spacetime pixelating and refocusing around Jamal as I craned my neck up and up and up to his wire rimmed glasses catching the reflection of mid morning light.

A blush across his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered, with a slight smile and a roll of his eyes. “That chai will be right up.”

#male tf #ass growth #butt growth #dick growth #growth

[scarlet--wiccan]

Is Wanda a reality warper or was that just the Life Force?

Just as a reminder, I have a detailed breakdown of Wanda's powers in this post.

Wanda has the capacity for reality warping because of her status as a nexus being, but it's not supposed to be part of her "normal" powers that she uses on a regular basis, and it also comes with specific costs and limitations. People get confused about this because, in 2004, House of M and Disassembled threw all of the established lore about Wanda's powers out the window and insisted that she was just an ultra-powerful mutant reality warper with "schizophrenia". The Life Force retcon in Children's Crusade was an attempt to bring the character back in line with the way her powers are supposed to work, and also restore her agency and dignity. Unfortunately, people still conflate chaos magic with reality warping.

Here's the simplest explanation I can manage:

As a nexus, Wanda is a natural conduit for magic, which means that she can channel almost any kind of power from any source, and she has an integral connection to the fabric of reality and the multiverse. She is able to subliminally alter reality by channelling high levels of magical power and funneling it through that connection. "Subliminal" is the key word, here-- she very rarely has conscious control over this power. It comes with a lot of risk, too-- in the past, Wanda was easily overwhelmed and would experience mental breaks with reality, putting herself and others at risk. She also becomes very vulnerable to possession and outside influence.

Think of it like an aperture-- once she opens herself up this power, anything can come through, and it can be hard for her to stop. Before HoM, we saw this with her babies and Mephisto, as well as Immortus in Avengers West Coast, Lore in Scarlet Witch (1995) and Morgana in the late-90s Avengers.

So, TL:DR, yes, reality warping is one of Wanda's natural abilities, but it's very circumstancial, and it's not supposed to be something she can do freely.

#wanda maximoff #life force #reality warping

[just-a-tiny-bun]

Jac is a renowned Fairy World Detective whose job is to travel through time to document the fairy tales as they were truly meant to be told, as well as to fix the messes caused by time warpers who's intentions are to cause mischief by disrupting fairy world history.

Richard is a giant from the Beanstalk Kingdom (which is the realm where Jack and the Beanstalk takes place). He is a Baker as well as a powerful mage who happened to meet Jac by chance when she accidentally wounded up being trapped in his world. They had a fairly rocky start, but with enough time together they would gradually get along, and eventually become friends.

This scene depicts a time when they were just starting to know each other, where Jac recalls about her time traveling adventures while the giant listens intently. In the present day, with the help of the giant's magic and his size, the two make a great team and are nearly inseparable both in their job and out.

(I love this AU and I hope to do more with it soon x3)

#gt #giant tiny #size difference #sfw g/t #gt art #oc: jac #oc: richard #bun does art #repostober 2023 #I'm so far behind on repostober that I won't add a number to this lol #Jac the Fairy World Detective #au

[voidpremonition]

Hello, world!

It's so sad Hazbin antis have such problems with it and vivzie, or their stories which makes them dislike the show. Anyways I can't make a constructive criticism right now so have this instead:

Ps: this is kinda serious kinda not, and I also have not watched hazbin and I'm not planning to change that ever, anyway, let's begin!

So Base Pac-man at the end of his show has many strengths, combined with power pellets which make him quite powerful, which include:

*Smacking and throwing small buildings with his tongue

*Reacting to multiple lasers larger than himslef in the air

*Making a kirby-esque inhale attack to suck multiple ghosts (opponents) at once

*Is a martial arts expert in a mystic fighting style called Pac-fu, capable of beating its prior greatest user now a ghost

*With same training his speed is at base enough to make afterimages

*Also speed enough to catch up with ghosts capable of travelling to space in minutes

*His pimple ooze can seal holes through space and time (don't ask watch the show)

*innate cloning via Pac-fu

*Has been referenced to terrify cosmic reality-warpers known as "the overlords"

*Resistance to heat and the vaccum of space

*Strong enough to fistfight netherworld monsters via scaling to spiral (his friend)

*His mouth is powerful enough to eat a fully stone statue AT LEAST, and has eaten a sandwich the size of a town as a SNACK

*Most importantly: Can eat ghosts, or in this case, SOULS. You see where I'm getting at?

WITH POWER BERRIES:

*First of all his berries stack so he can use multiple powers SIMULTANOUSLY

*Almost all regular berries give him true flight

*Pyrokinesis via fire berry, shown to be able to even disintegrate ghosts and beat netherworld dragons AND rival an alien spaceship

*Cryokinesis via ice berry, capable of freezing an entire tornado made of ghosts at ONCE, immobilizing them on spot, something no hazbin character has shown resistance to (to my knowledge)

*Titanium berry gives him a Magnetized tongue and obvious resistant metallic body

*Invisibility via chameleon berry

*Magic abilities and countering via wizard berry (also includes mild reality warping)

*Great size and strength increases via growth berries, being able to beat war vehicles as a BABY (most known transformation is Pac-zilla)

*Franken berry which gives him electrokinesis

*Genius intellect via nerd berry (uhm actually🤓)

*Planetoid-size transformation with atmosphere and gravitational pull

*Speed increase via speed berries

*kung-fu berries for improved combat

*Tornado berry capable of creating great tornadoes

*Remember all those powers can STACK and he can change them at will or use them simultaneously?

Miscellaneous:

*Ghosts have been able to make direct contact with glowing-hot asteroids with no damage

*Pac-man survived being sent to the past through a wormhole at immeasurable speed without protection

*His base intelligence is enough to pilot a super-advanced lightyear spanning space shuttle

*He literally burped so hard once he MOVED a black hole multiple light years away

*There are many, oh so many more power berries I forgot about

If you enjoyed this or have counter arguments please let me know! I love you all!

#anti vivziepop #anti hazbin hotel #pac man and the ghostly adventures #pmatga #hazbin shitpost #shitposting #vs battle #fuck vivziepop

[public-trans-it]

What is empty spaces? Google only shows some Pink Floyd song.

So I just had someone ask me this over discord which may or may not have been you, but either way I’ll give the same (brief) answer.

The short answer is that its a (mostly trans) community who goes “Man it would be so cool if the conservatives were right and we really WERE god killing demons reshaping both gender and humanity as a whole to our will.”

The longer answer... is it’s a genre of slash fiction similar to Omegaverse. And much like Omegaverse it is… uh … very much a thing that is weird to talk about publicly.

Omegaverse has a sort of alternative take on biological essentialism, where in the setting that essentialism is true and has direct impacts on sexuality, but the innate biological structure of humans in the setting is WILDLY different from reality.

Empty Spaces is to genders (mostly xenogenders) what Omegaverse is to sexuality. It branched off from “doll twitter”, a subset of the hypno kink community which was almost entirely trans gals wanting to just not be a person anymore because being stripped of humanity brought them gender euphoria. Needless to say as fringe a community as that was overwhelmed with subs seeking that out, and severely lacking in dominants who could (and were willing to) provide it. But people never belong to only a single community, and it was only a matter of time before they overlapped with witch twitter, a community of (mostly trans) gals going “What if magical girl smut wasn’t just 100% them being cute innocent things for the male gaze and instead they were demented reality warpers with control issues who have lost all traces of their humanity through the gulf between them and everyone else and were girls but like MORE girl than a human could wrap their head around and also I was one of them.” Needless to say, the two groups got along GREAT.

Eventually this attracted people who had kinks and identities that were “Gender but in a sexy and fucked up way” and a form of shared worldbuilding emerged, of an anachronistic world were witches secluded themselves from the outside world that didn’t understand them, creating new forms of life ranging from sentient Barbie dolls you could fit in your pocket, or things that were once human but no trace of the person they are remains, or androids designed for combat like the T-dolls from Girls Frontline, and all this eventually catching the eyes of things outside our reality that are fantastical and wondrous, creating a world that the witches and dolls and other rejects of the human world could call home as it seeped back into the mundane world.

The biggest difference between Omegaverse is in the levels of explicitness. Don’t get me wrong, it is EXTREMELY HORNY and EXTREMELY KINKY. DARK KINKS AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE. MORE MANIPULATION AND ABUSE AND NONCON AND SNUFF THAN YOU CAN SHAKE A STICK AT. But it’s rarely traditional views of sex. You will find Empty Spaces writers on twitter with massive threads linking to hundreds of their own stories, each tagged with the most depraved fucked up kinks you could imagine... and then only like three of those stories depict actual sex in it.

Instead it is about the intimacy of those things. Giving up that level of control or having that level of control over another. Being more than what you are, being an outcast from the world that shunned you but finding love in the ways that world would find repulsive. Its about the world not treating you as human, and you going “Yeah. You’re right. I’m not human anymore.” and finding power in that lack of humanity.

#empty spaces #also like #I don’t actually know shit about Omegaverse I have never read a single story I have just heard the comparisons made before #and checked Wikipedia to verify so you KNOW that’s a highly sanitized version #also as with every community and every gender THOSE EXPERIENCES ARE NOT UNIVERSAL #IT IS JUST THE TREND I NOTICED IN MY OWN EXPOSURE TO IT #DO NOT TAKE IT AS GOSPEL

[septnautical]

"I heard you shout. Nightmares again?"

I think this could fit schneep and Marvin?

(Used this as an opportunity for a big reveal of some new stuff for Marvin! Happy Mermay!!)

Another night- another horrible nightmare plagues Marvin’s mind. They always feel so real…

This one is… different though. He’s staring at… a version of himself. Himself stuck in his warper state- those bright pink alien eyes staring straight through him. He watches his other self get stiffer- become more robotic- and he feels himself following after. He panics- wanting to fight the sensation but his body is locking up. The warper him just barely tilts his head towards Marvin before speaking.

“Why are you denying what we are?”

“W-What?!” Marvin stammers in fear.

There’s no emotion on the other him’s face, “We are not like the other hybrids. We are not organic, we are not human. We are machines, made to serve a purpose. Why do you keep denying what we are?”

“Because I’m more than that!” Marvin shouts back, “Warpers may be machines but I… I'm me! I’m Marvin!”

“Your feeble attempts to cling to your humanity are making you weak,” The warper him says, “A human mind has so much potential. So much to unlock. You could be more powerful than any warper ever made. Maybe even on par with the architects. Yet you turn away from what you could be. Why?”

It suddenly warps so it and Marvin are face to face, pink eyes meeting teary blue.

“Are you afraid, WH-005?”

And for a moment… the voice sounded just like Zeke’s.

Marvin shoots awake and gasps, pushing himself up in the sand to shakily try to breathe. Fresh water over his gills seems to calm him down as he grips over his heart. His… heart that he can see through his chest- beating and pumping blood. But, he feels so disconnected from it. Like his body was turning into metal. And it scared him to his very core.

He yelps in surprise and fear as he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. Then, he sees a goggled face and relaxes some. It’s just Henrik…

“I heard you shout…” The stalker hybrid says quietly, “More nightmares?”

Marvin is quiet but then slowly nods. His voice cracks a bit as he mumbles, “…t-they just keep getting worse, Hen… I-I…!”

Henrik is quick to wrap up the younger brother in a hug and shushes him gently. “It is only a dream, Marvin… they cannot hurt you.”

The warper mer is quiet in his arms for a few beats, trying to find comfort in his embrace. But the dream still lingered like poison in his mind. He pushes himself out and swims upward. “T-That’s just it, Hen! It’s… it’s not just a dream… I-it’s things I’ve been worried about- worried that I’m… I’m too different f-from…!” He cuts himself off as he bites his lip, trying not to let tears linger in his eyes.

“M-Marvin what are you-?” Schneep tries to say. But Marvin hurriedly swims past him, towards the mouth of the cove.

“I- I need to look for answers…!” Marvin says quickly then warps away before Henrik can even get up to chase after him.

———

Marvin appears in the lost river and he blinks in confusion. “…why… am I here?” He asks, his voice echoing slightly in the dark cavern. He shudders, holding his arms tight around him. He hates it down here… here is where Zeke-

You want to find answers, right? A thought echoes through his head. And with the thought comes a feeling. Pulling him forward. Like an instinct. A need.

Marvin trembles, his tails juddering in place. But, maybe there were answers here somewhere. He shakes his head and swims after the feeling, going towards the strange alien-like arches that lead to his destination.

Though, whatever this feeling is… it’s not leading him to where Zeke had him. That was a small white suit wreck- a crude Alteran attempt at making warpers themselves… at least from what he can remember. It was all really fuzzy. But now… this is leading him to a really scary looking building. One that it seems even the white suits don’t touch. Probably because it looked like it was destroyed by… something. Something big. And the entire thing was submerged underwater. Which served Marvin just fine.

Still- looking at the strange glowing green structure hidden amongst the darkest parts of the Lost River sent shivers down the warper’s spine. But, he swallowed his fear and swam inside.

Inside was a confusing labyrinth of architecture he had rarely seen. Strangely glowing and… there were so many things locked behind glass structures. Marvin swam into an open room and gasped as he saw fuana specimens tacked onto displays. He felt sick as he saw a rabbit ray… and a huge egg that kinda reminded him of Anti.

He quickly swam out of that place- seeing massive claw marks scratched into the walls and dents of damage. But soon enough he entered a place that felt way too familiar… yet like nothing he had ever seen before.

It was horrifying… an expansive room filled with- warper parts. Several parts just left in construction- an inactive warper discarded and thrown on the floor, leaving that horrid green cage open. Just like the one that Zeke kept him for weeks, back in that wrecked Alterra copy. Clearly it had been a poorer copy of this. This… this is where the original warpers must have been made.

Seeing this all has Marcin’s heart pounding wildly, his skin raked with goosebumps. Still… this place had to have the answers he was looking for, right? The answer to what he was… was he human? Was he a machine? Was he too different from his brothers? …looking around this place though, he’s not sure this has the answer he wants to hear.

As he swims forward into the lab he tries to look around for something… he’s not exactly sure what. Surely there must be information in here… like a PDA or something?

When suddenly, his tail brushes against some kind of dark cube with glowing green lines- and lights and machines start to glow and whirl around him. Marvin freezes and whips around to look- only for some of those green metal bars and wires to crash into him and hold him in place. Marvin instantly starts to panic and fights against the cage, “no no!! Not again! L-Let me go!!”

He tries to warp but whatever this stuff is made of is suppressing his powers! He feels panicked tears welling up in his eyes and tries to struggle out more, using his claws to try to get out but the cage grabs his arms and pulls them taunt to the side. Ringing is starting up in his ears, he left his mask at the cove! He can’t lose himself here! But he feels his second pair of eyes trying to open, feels his warper instincts trying to claw their way to the surface through his panic.

One of the 4 pronged fabricators creaks loudly across the ancient ceiling as it comes to rest in front of Marvin. A blue light washes across his body, scanning him. Then, a robotic voice garbles out, almost too glitched and corrupted to understand:

‘Warper agent active but incomplete. Processing power not at full capacity.’

“What?! W-What does that mean?? P-Please just let me go! I’m not just a warper I-I’m-!” Marvin sobs. But the machines don’t listen. The fabricator arm zooms around Marvin- then latches onto his neck, inserting sharp tips under his armor.

‘Detecting damage in miniaturized phase chip. Warper agent’s self-repairing technology impaired. Reactiviating-‘

A sharp shock goes through Marvin’s nerves as his back arches and he lets out a strangled gasp of pain. Something in his blood seems to pump faster, feels… different. The… the ringing… is it getting… quieter?

‘Self repairing technology back online.’

Then, the fabricator whirls and then soars over his head, latching attachments against his skull and digging in. He screams bloody murder and tries to thrash against the pain but the cage tightens around him- holding him still.

‘Expanding processing power of Agent’s brain. Please stand by.’

The computerized voice says- now clearer as if talking directly into Marvin’s mind.

Then, there’s nothing but bright blinding pain as something pushes into his skull and electricity fills up Marvin’s whole body. He’s not sure if he’s screaming or not- he feels completely detached from his body. All he can feel is the pain as something is pushed into his mind.

When he next wakes up he’s laying down on his back on one of the tables inside the warper facility. He doesn’t even remember passing out… he groans and holds his head. It’s aching and pounding. But then as he looks out- something in his vision has changed.

He sees- words. Human words. But he can fully read and understand them now. Everywhere he looks he sees things start to get highlighted in blue, like they’re being scanned before information pops up to explain it. Just like a white suit machine. Marvin screams and tries to scramble away but- he can’t escape it! It’s all he can see!

He curls up and holds hands over his eyes, sobbing hysterically in fear. “W-What is this?! W-What’s happening to me?!”

Then, he stiffens slightly and pink blooms in his eyes as words start to fill his mind. It hurts- it hurts and he tries to fight it but there’s just urge to just- repeat the words! Say them outloud- he needs to he’s programmed to-

“Warper agents' brains and central nervous systems been digitally augmented with advanced processing power and remote communications.” Marvin says in a robotic drone, eyes glazing over slightly as the information slips from his lips.

Once he’s done, the pink fades from his eyes and the pressure lightens as he gasps. His limbs begin to tremble again, no longer stiff and robotic. He claps his hands over his mouth and chokes on a sob. That fabricator- it did something to him! Did it make him even more like a warper? More like a machine?!

Marvin rockets off the platform and back out into the rest of the facility- the rest of its freaky secrets blurring around him in his panic. The second he feels like he can warp again he does- crashing into the wall of the cove with a loud thud.

Soon enough Jackie comes into view and tries to help Marvin up, “Marvin?! Marv what’s wrong? Are you okay?!”

The touch is electric, it’s too much- it feels like Marvin’s nerves are on fire! He pushes Jackie away from him and curls up, “D-Don’t touch me!”

Jackie looks hurt, “What? Marvin-!”

More bodies start to swim closer, Marvin can feel Jamie’s tentacles and hear Schneep’s panicking. Another hand tries to touch him and he shoves it off. “Stop please just- stop…!”

“Marvin, I need to see what is wrong…!” Henrik tries to say, “Is your head hurting? Do you need your mask?”

“M-Maybe we should call for Danan?” Chase suggests shakily.

Marvin tries to look out at his brothers- and he gasps as he sees his vision start to scan them. Messages pop up, showing their designations. No no- Marvin didn’t want to see those! He whimpers and the others tense as they see flickers of pink in his eyes.

“Anti, get Marvin’s mask, quickly!” Henrik shouts. The sea dragon hesitates then grabs the mask and hurries over to hand it to Marvin. “Here,” Anti whispers, looking slightly worried.

But all Marvin can see is Anti’s designation- SE-004. And the notes of ‘return to HQ at all costs.’ Marvin chokes on a sob and curls up as much as he can, digging claws into his head as he shouts out, “no no! G-Get- GET AWAY FROM ME!!”

As he shouts this- suddenly, his mask and any lingering tech around the cave start to glow with blue light. Then, they start to float in the water despite their weight. The boys all watch this in awe. Until- the objects all shoot off in different directions, causing even more crashing sounds.

Marvin dares to look up, his eyes glowing blue now instead of pink. The others stare at him with confusion and a bit of fear.

“M-Marvin…” Schneep whispers, “…what did you do?”

#huffle tales #Mermay 2024 #whump requests 2024 #sorry it’s late :((( #but great way to start off Mermay!! #this is me trying to figure out how to make Marvin more magical #and also from lots of subnautica research I did :3 #eeee excited to see what y’all think!! #warper Marvin #warper magic #henrik von schneeplestein #reaper jackie #septnautical main story

[quirkwizard]

Hi, hope you're doing well ^^ in your opinion, which quirks would the winx girls (main 6) have?

There really isn't a way for your to translate these characters or their powers. This may be my unfamiliarly with the series, but a lot of their powers are frankly insane, having everything from being extremely broad and powerful to bordering on reality warpers. I don't think there is any way to make powers for any of them. The only way would be to dumb and break them down so much that they are barely even recognizable as their powers. Maybe "Tailor Made" to fit with their magical transformations or "Fairy" for their pixie-like appearances?

#My Hero Academia #Quirks #Quirk Reviews

[deusvervewrites]

Inhumans question: how is it that Yaoyorozu's mom is a genie? Just asking because the idea of genie comes from Aladdin's tale being translated in French in the early 1700s and the readers not having the cultural context to realize the extraordinary thing was that two jinn had been bound to objects and forced into obeying whoever held said objects.

(cont) The cultural context of Jinn is that, according to Islamic lore, they are another sapient species, just with often weird morals compared to humans and having superhuman abilities that are at times so vast to be mistaken for supernatural by those who don't know their truth - hence why some talked humans living in their same area into worshipping them as gods. They exist all around the world, just with different names according to local traditions (in the British isles they'd be the Fair Folk, in Japan Kami and Yokai, and so on). Humans are usually better off staying away from them if they can, as while some Jinn are helpful others may play pranks they don't realize harm the humans and others are downright malicious. At times however there's some cunning humans who, when dealing with a hostile Jinni, can trick them into being trapped (such as the fisherman that found a bottle, uncorked it, and out came a very angry Jinni that offered him a choice in how he'd be killed, and the fisherman talked him back in the bottle and stoppered it), and some people with extraordinary knowledge of the arcane can find ways to chase them off or even command them (such as Solomon, who made a ring that allowed him to command Jinn. He used them in his army, and enslaved evil ones to build his Temple so they'd do something good). That was the extraordinary part with Aladdin's Jinn, someone had bound a pair of Jinn to a lamp and a ring and just left such powerful objects around.

You know, I had wondered where in pop culture Genies had split off from Jinn.

I'm actually familiar with Solomon, both because of his association with the Ars Goetia (relevant to various pop culture media) and because the Bartimaeus books fucking slap.

I'm loosely familiar with actual Jinn mythology, and Extra History just posted a video about that specific Jinni myth a few days ago. I'm also aware that the singular is Jinni. I alluded to some elements of Jinn myths with that ask about Momo's specifi limits when I mentioned that she's not a reality warper (yet) and has to physically accomplish the wish she's granting

All of that being said I'm not entirely sure that I understand the question of how her mother is a genie. The idea of the genie in pop culture has somewhat drifted away from the original Jinn roots, but even so, they still hold the idea of a powerful, magical shapeshifter so I don't see why one couldn't hook up with a human.

I could further make a case of genies deliberately binding themselves to lamps or rings or jars or whatever in order to preempt someone else doing it to them and thus gaining control over them

#asks #inhumans au

[void-botanist]

An Incomplete Guide to Magic in Locality Space

Maybe she's born with it. Maybe it's Magic School.

Witches (magic by birth)

Can be any species and gender

Hereditary link but not a directly inherited trait

Comprise ~1% of all people

Many witches have weak abilities; a few (like Christina, Bo, and the pirate queen Althea) have more powerful/versatile abilities

Magic is in some sense about the projection of the self into new places

Types of witch

Warp: can warp people/objects to a new location, with or without touching them. More powerful warpers can move more volume of stuff for longer distances, sometimes from further away from the thing being warped, and/or can better manage the quick creation and destruction of warp tunnels involved in warp racing.

Dive: can read minds when directly touching the mind's owner. Cannot change memories or thoughts in any way and only rarely cause them to become corrupted. More powerful divers can seek out memories/thoughts about specific topics to the exclusion of everything else.

Duplication ("Dupe"): can copy memories into written marks. Almost a magicraft, except without the innate ability to access and transfer the memories, there can be no committing them to another medium. Many dupe witches don't know they're dupe witches unless they are tested or have an unusual experience. More powerful duplicators can copy longer memories into the same amount of words and/or copy memories in more detail/sharpness.

Revital: can heal by projecting their vitality into someone else, essentially giving them a temporary healing factor. This can work on any injury that the body can heal itself (e.g. a scrape, a cleanly fractured bone), because it is healing itself, just faster. More powerful revitalizers can heal more injuries at once, or heal larger injuries more completely or quickly.

Magicians (magic by learning)

Can be any species and gender

Comprise ~10% of all people (maybe more)

Accomplish their magic with craftwork of some kind. Things can be made to have many practical effects but magicraft is first and foremost an art form, with many cultural variations

New crafts are created all the time as people figure out how to harness existing magical energy into new forms, including by combining crafts

Some types of magician/magicraft

Pigment: commonly seen in designs that make artificial gravity in ships (grav patterns) or moving artworks (what if you could print a gif)

Papermaking: common paper effects include self-weighting, crisp folding, self-copying, no ink feathering

Weaving (in English, "warp and weft" magic lol): common cloth effects include self-repairing, nonfraying, neon, sparkle, moving designs (which often use Jacquard loom style techniques)

Shifters (uncontrollable magic by birth)

basically werewolves, though they are not all strictly wolves in animal form

transform when the full moon clears the horizon, or on worlds without moons, apparently according to assorted other light and night cycle factors

cannot control the transformation, though some can delay it by a minute or two by concentrating really hard

considered their own species, yet unlike other nonhuman species, can have children with humans, which is part of how people concluded that shifters are magic humans

A few in-world theories of how shifters came to be

guy saw a magic thing

guy touched a magic thing

guy ate a magic thing

guy was cursed forever by an Entity

guy was blessed forever by an Entity

guy WAS an Entity

it's the moon's fault

group curse??

Magic Education

Both witches and magicians can be taught at magic schools, and often are in tandem, even though their specific abilities don't overlap. Both are also taught at home or through apprenticeships depending on what's available/relevant. Young witches with strong powers, though, are sometimes sent to live short-term at schools that are better equipped to help them learn control. Most witches also have a specialty in a magicraft or two alongside their innate magic (and no, being a witch does not make you better at magicraft). And while some places encourage competition between magicians and witches (for group reasons or capitalism reasons), they're not inherently opposed.

Shifters get The Talk when they're children (shifting starts pretty early in life) and the conversation evolves as they get older and can understand more about why and how this happens and how to handle turning into a full on canid every moon cycle. This is especially important when they live somewhere besides their homeworld, because their shift cycle will always match the moon/night cycle at their place of birth. (As such the term "two-timer" does not refer to double-crossing but rather expat shifters, who may in fact wear dual-time watches or two separate watches to monitor both places at once.)

#this is all pretty rough overall so if you see anything sus lemme know #wip: nicea #wip: aom #set: locality space

[lightdancer1]

See the further irony is:

That in using 'Mall Goth Sauron' as the take on Dark Willow over 'misogynist has character randomly killed for LULZ' it also allows for greater accountability on the one hand and for Season 7 to thematically focus on repairing all this damage in the midst of facing an enemy of shadows reliant on lies to further itself. The only way to break the Druj is the absolute Truth in a very Zoroastrian sense. Characters don't get to neatly skip past accountability for their actions, and this would spiral over into further later seasons with the essential reality that in an otherwise lower-level setting this one random girl from California is a Dark Phoenix-tier reality warper and the most powerful person on the planet, or the universe.

And the questions of how that power could and should be employed on the one hand and that Willow is essentially a Doctor Strange type who beats up Gods and Eldritch Abominations for her regular line of work where her counterparts deal with the more 'street level' crises would in turn be the logical conclusion of where the show ends. She doesn't do as much physical fighting for the same reason that Stephen Strange never uses magic to go punch the Hulk in the face, her narrative role is ultimately that of Sorceress Supreme of Earth, with literally nobody in an ancient established war anticipating that this one random ginger from California was and is the new Sorceress Supreme and that if they had had such awareness the realities are that this power would and could have taken worse forms.

Unfortunately for the world, the reality too is that it is a shy computer geek who has a not at all subtle dark side and the usual teenage anxieties and insecurities given the equivalent of being able to reliably actually do things other people might dream of but can never do.

But again as long as Dawn Summers being a good thing is a narrative convention that's established memory magic is a poor choice to show the corrupting effects of reality-warping. It's a case of 'yes as established in canon all of this is true for that one season but then they decided to retcon it, so the fans are not obligated to care about it any more than the canon does about this itself.'

#willow rosenberg #tara maclay #dawn summers #you will never convince me as long as Dawn Summers is a plot device that 'memory magic unforgivable' is anything but bad writing #it was the choice used but there are other equally toxic things that could have been done instead #the basic theme of 'very powerful person decides things for another in an abusive fashion' works just as well without it #Tara's growth arc in refusing to tolerate abuse even from the person who brought her out of her shell can stand perfectly fine #it works even better with a budding Sauron than abruptly deciding 'wholesale memory rewrites good retail unforgivable.' #killing Tara off also denies her any sense of closure or ability to get that closure with the person who does this #the entire element here with the way things went down is bad writing from Point A to point Z #and it's also easily forgotten but Tara wasn't in fact intended to be Willow's love interest #she was replacement Willow for sympathy points #her entire arc as such became Willow X Tara but it was a choice from actor chemistry #So in giving Tara a role besides 'Willow's Girlfriend' it arguably does better by her character #tara x willow #btvs #and yes yes the 'scale changes things' argument is true but only to a point #it's really no different to introduce Dawn than what Willow did #if the retail is wrong so is the wholesale and the decisions to make this that point of no return is an avoidable mistake #plus honestly imagine a Season 7 Tara going 'sweetie no' and a Season 7 Willow dealing with those consequences in real time #equally one can have Tara's cold turkey approach stick exactly as it was #and serve as her role in the time bomb because she's a product of an abusive family and not an infallible moral guide #she rightly sees the problem and at least tries to address it when nobody else did #but unfortunately her solution was pouring gasoline on the fire and then vacating the range where the fire would burn #still further between that and Willow being human enough to resent being told to take that pain and do it going it alone #there'd be plenty of reasons for a surviving Tara and Willow to spend season 7 broken up as is #Tara would not at all be wrong to be wary and not want to touch reformed Sauron with a 400 foot pole #Willow equally would resent someone whose bad advice helped create the problem and who evades any recognition thereof #good old fashioned drama with entirely human motives

[bodybeyondstories]

Just ignore it - 1

David is teaching a course on identifying and managing magical anomalies, and begins to suspect there may be a reality-warper in class. Largely because everyone's butt looks too good to believe.

2 (Next)

(btw this is inspired by one of my favorite TF stories)

“Now the point of these journals is to start recognizing energetic and temporal anomalies, better attuning yourselves to…”

I paused mid-sentence, feeling that something was off, taking a beat before I continued with the lecture. I was hoping to have some time to settle into the Fall semester before having to deal with an inevitable minor metaphysical crisis, but a reality warper a few weeks in was not what I saw coming.

Having a job that includes resolving paranormal wrinkles in spacetime seems exciting until you realize that somehow they’ve found a way to turn it into yet another 9 to 5. People often expect some sort of imposing mansion or gothic structure whenever they hear “Center of Supernatural Sciences,” but it’s actually a squat concrete block cobbled together by a regional college in the 70s. The scariest thing for visitors is figuring out how to connect to the WiFi, though if you’re rude to Seema at the front desk, she will put a hex on you and that’s just your own fault. It’s been a mainstay on this campus for decades, but for how much longer was unclear, as administration has been defunding us relentlessly for as long as I’ve been here. The university doesn’t see our value in light of its own investments in mass surveillance technology and a more ‘hard science’ study of spookiness, but the work we do is still important. Supernatural phenomena are much more common than a lot of people realize–it’s just a matter of actually paying attention–and our work is split between teaching, research, and service, addressing issues locally and regionally as they arise.

And no, we’re not magic cops. We’re not out to punish or control, fist bumping each other as we shoot silver bullets first and ask questions later. That’s archaic. We investigate, mitigate, and remediate, stepping in whenever the fabric of reality gets a little too bunched or frayed and mending as best we can.

I teach a class called “Investigating Supernatural Threats” almost every semester, which is a title that I absolutely despise–I think it’s an insult to our more than human neighbors–but the department is worried that if we change it we’ll end up losing funding to the criminal justice program, and it’s a hill I’m only willing to get bruised on. But it’s a survey of identifying and responding to paranormal, metaphysical, and magical shenanigans, so it tends to get all kinds. It’s usually a relatively small group, a smattering of grad students from occult history to crypto-zoology, museum curators and archivists needing a refresher on what to be cautious of, and often–which I’m personally delighted by–new forest rangers sent by the state’s Department of Natural Resources who are doing overnights for the first time.

But back to the issue at hand. It’s my job to stay observant across multiple temporal and dimensional planes, so I’m known for picking up on minor phenomena and patterns that at first glance may not seem significant. So around week 3, I couldn’t help but notice that most, if not all, of the men in the class had near perfect, juicy butts, yet all unique in their own ways. I was used to commanding attention with a round booty sitting pretty on my 6’1” frame, looking downright disproportionate against my lean swimmer’s build–a blessing and a curse, really–but some of them were giving me a run for my money. Which isn’t really an issue, squats are en vogue and there are plenty of male leg day enthusiasts thanks to social media trends, not that I’m complaining, but in week 4, I picked up on the fact that all of their pants fit so well. Too well. Like not just fitted but custom made for each of their unique and sizeable proportions, as if carefully crafted to emphasize and display their bubble butts. A telltale sign.

During class, I kept my extrasensory eyes and ears open, seeing if I could pick up on any novel energetic shifts. And I felt something odd. Something deep and subsonic, pressing tentatively against the borders of our reality, like a sperm whale floating up to a kayak without making a sound. I could feel an energy seeping into local space, something building to some sort of threshold, before, with a submerged *pop* that I could ‘hear’ elsewhere, it was gone. It was like nothing had happened. In fact, nothing had happened. I turned to the board to continue writing something that I had forgotten, only realizing after class had ended that I had been writing about two inches above where I had left off. I did a somatic check, quickly scanning my body from toes to head to fingertips. I felt fine, had all ten fingers, only two eyes, an ass that could stop traffic, still a strapping 6’3”. But had that been true an hour ago? Doubt was setting in.

As someone who teaches the detection and mitigation of magical fuckery, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a potential situation like this. You’d be surprised how often some horny gay warlock has a little too much fun and needs to be reined in, or someone’s chaos magic manifests without them realizing–even worse, with them fully realizing. If you’ve ever had to neutralize an entire college dorm (and a frat house to boot) you would understand why we need more funding and support in magical education, but this isn’t the time for my soap box. A mystery’s afoot.

My most important piece of advice: Just ignore it. The thing is, a reality warper is a serious matter. If you call someone out, you better come correct and prepared for anything. Even just them knowing that you know–or that you’re on the hunt–can get real messy real fast. So you have to act casual. Don’t let them know you’re on to them, and don’t let them know that you know that something is seriously off. This is why I always introduce an extended project around tracking anomalies in the fabric of spacetime, having my students keep journals of anything weird, unusual, or metaphysically wobbly. Don’t react in real time, just on paper and in private, keeping a record of things as they happen. But it seemed like whoever this was was influencing the passage of time in very subtle ways and everyone’s memories, for the most part, were adjusting accordingly. Which is why no one in class has batted an eye at the fact that the asses in this room look like they were expertly morphed to near-comical proportions. After all, what else is new? So I took a different strategy and laid a trap.

The donk on my 6’4” frame (Hmm…) was a sight to behold. All muscle with a healthy layer of padding ballooning out from my otherwise lithe form. It was leaps and bounds my best feature, had been for as long as I could remember. I was used to men staring dumbfounded in public as my cheeks swished back and forth, including my own students whenever I turned to the blackboard, pushing it out ever so slightly as I leaned forward to write, the globes of my ass encased in one of many perfectly tailored pairs of tweed slacks. I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, seeing as any pants off the rack would either be way to loose in the waist or way too tight in the glutes, risking catastrophic failure. So I got my pants carefully fitted, but the thing was, so did everyone else. All the men in the class, from muscle butts to perky, round ones, to jiggly booties and wide hips, always had expertly fitted pants without fail. So we know what the focus of the shifts was, but it seemed like it was an expert reworking of time, and with that, memory. The phenomenon of unusually juicy asses in class pinged on my paranormal radar, but mine had always been this way. Right?

The thing is, the fit of everyone’s pants wasn’t just good, it was too good. Perfect, even. Yes, I had memories of having all my slacks tailored but they fit like they had been hand sewn on a lifelike model of my bulbous glutes with millimeter scale precision, not too little and not too much. So I found a pair that I didn’t much care for and took a razor to the back seam to weaken it just so. I squeezed into my form fitting pants and made my way to campus, careful not to stress the stitches too much and too fast, waddling into the room early and looking forward to this ordeal being over. Before anyone showed up, I cast a spell of detection around the space. Not detection of magical activities, which would’ve risked tripping any alarms that my possible warper may have already had in place, not to mention the possibility of interfering chaotically with their own spell whose function I was still unsure of. It was more of an emotional and energetic heat map, tipping me off to any sudden shifts in people’s auras.

Class began like normal as I offered some further thoughts inspired by the previous week’s discussion of AI programs as a potential tool of revealing and visualizing temporal anomalies. The discipline, in order to stay relevant, had been getting into the implications of digital technologies and new media for magical phenomena, so I figured we should spend a little more time on the topic. Also I was genuinely interested in hearing people’s thoughts, albeit distracted by the ticking time bomb of my basketball buns putting catastrophic pressure on my pants as I sometimes too excitedly paced across the front of the room. 

Per usual, I could feel the crescendo of strange, unfamiliar power rubbing almost playfully along the barrier between worlds, but everyone’s auras seemed fine. There was no corresponding wave of connected energy from any one person, beyond the general simmer of erotic activation (i.e. horniness) that spiked every time I turned my back to the class. I had become familiar with the exact threshold that this power would hit before it seemingly reset everything to a new, slightly more enhanced normal, and I was counting on the regularity of that threshold with the timing of this next move.

The previous, and now continuing discussion of new media had led me to realize that the enhanced asses in the room really did look like expertly done morphs and the perfect fit of every pair of pants, no matter the material, was simply improbable. Whoever this was, whatever this was, was operating along the edges of possibility, letting fantasy seep into what we generally regard as the real (or what we think is the real). So I figured, why not use one of my favorite tropes and see what happens.

My tweed slacks were impeccable but not indestructible and as the energetic threshold was reached I just happened to drop my chalk, quickly bending down to retrieve it. The spike in erotic attention from the view of my ballooning backside paled in comparison to what followed, as the seam of my pants finally gave way, my cheeks spilling into view along with a pair of pink and purple polka dotted bikini briefs that did nothing to cover the shelf of my ass.

I played it off with my expert acting skills (this wasn’t the first time I had to feign surprise from some magical mishap), performing a practiced mixture of embarrassment and humor that I assumed the reality-shifter would expect. From the men in class was a mix of nodding in understanding and whispers of It’s even bigger than I thought and How did those pants even fit. I felt a wave of erotic energy move through the room, but there was a spike of something else in the back corner. Something sharper, a tendril of fantastical power peeking into our dimension, concentrated around Logan, who I found staring directly at me with a look of surprise and mild confusion.

I knew of Logan, he was an archivist based in the college’s paranormal artifacts collection, and I think he had signed up for my class as a refresher for methods and safety when investigating and collecting potentially powerful and chaotic objects. He was skinny all around, topping out at no more than 5’7”, his thick, hexagonal rimmed glasses sitting below a mop of bouncy curls with an undercut. He usually came in wearing a pair of loose, flowy drop crotch pants, a surprisingly bohemian look with his otherwise reserved demeanor and sensible button downs. He was demur and unassuming, not seeming like the kind of person to cause this kind of trouble. But at this point he was the only dude in class that didn’t have an absolute dump truck.

The following week, I wondered why I had even hatched that plan in the first place, seeing as I always wear a skirt over tasteful leggings. I had given up on wearing pants years ago because it was just too much of a hassle, opting instead to let the globes of my ass bounce back and forth with more freeform bottomwear. Slacks were constricting enough in the back, but I was also tired of my donkey dick being suffocated in the crotch. A blessing and a curse. It looked like a couple of the guys in class had followed suit, perched on their round glutes as they let some thick bulges snake down leggings or compression shorts.

No wonder those pants ripped, I thought. I probably haven’t worn those in–

Ah ha. Another bread crumb. And an added wrinkle. Time hadn’t been totally rewritten and my memory hadn’t been totally wiped, just altered in the most efficient way in that moment. In fact, I was still mentally very much on the case and making progress. It wasn’t the sort of loose thread that a reality warper this competent would leave, and by now they must realize that I of all people would be on to them. I began to surmise that Logan wasn’t the one pulling the strings, but was actually some sort of conduit. Maybe for a bored trickster god playing an erotic prank–which, frankly, happens much more often than you’d think.

That week, through irony or serendipity, we actually were discussing strategies for navigating the psychological and emotional games that tricksters love to play, but as the supernatural energy began building on schedule, that previous playfulness had hints of… irritation? The power was a little discordant and I could feel it somatically in a way that I hadn’t before; it seemed everyone else could too. We continued on like normal as my leggings felt fuller and tighter in the glutes, my shoes feeling uncomfortably snug as more of my ankles revealed themselves, my dick inexorably snaking its way towards my hip while staying totally soft.

This was new.  And potentially a game changer. But I, along with my students, followed the central mantra of my profession: Note it. Track it. But until you have a plan in place, just ignore it.

#male tf #butt growth #ass growth #bodybeyond