#(by implication 🙃)
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parab0mb · 2 months ago
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friens :)
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erikahenningsen · 8 months ago
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Truly where would I be without the emotional support of my coworkers
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b-blushes · 7 months ago
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we can do difficult things wednesday! (quest) - hoover - comment on a local planning application. i have been putting this off for A While due to never having done this before so i'm applying my trick 'rough estimate for how long it would take and COMMIT', so worst case scenario i will spend 20 minutes attempting this and will fail. most likely scenario is that once i've started i'll just figure it out and finish it but it'll take longer than that time chunk, but the hardest thing is starting! so giving myself an out by setting it as a '20 minute attempt' means i think i can start it 👍 - groceries list/order - write card (:
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sanguineterrain · 11 months ago
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i feel you on the grade anxiety so much, i was so stressed in high school over a slightest grade drop and am still stressing now in college so i completely get you💖
Yeah I've been like this my entire life. It's actually so bad 😭 and it doesn't even matter because this class is pass/fail but it's an English class and I feel so utterly stupid for misunderstanding the assignment and mucking it up. I know the hurt of it will fade eventually but right now it stings so hard.
If you ever find out how to divorce grades from self worth please lmk 🙏
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crybabydraws · 2 years ago
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They just banned TikTok at my college. No school wifi for me I guess 💀
(please read the tags)
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exceedinglypeculiars · 1 year ago
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mmmm im back to once again wanting to gatekeep last twilight from some of y'all!!! you don't deserve it!!! im calling up gmmtv as we speak and having them geoblock the show specifically from your house!!!
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roscolate · 1 year ago
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OHHHH SHOOT NOT THE TORTURE TRIO 😹😹😰😰
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ACT 1
ACT 2
ACT 3 - 1 <<< 6 / 7 / ?
Might as well make these guys a trio to rival our three Bois.
Dry Bones being the nicest one of the three lol. I also thought itïżœïżœïżœd be funny if Shy Guy drew on Dry Bones’ skull while he’s not looking. Jigglypuff vibes xD.
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technicolorxsn · 2 years ago
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k
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charliemwrites · 4 months ago
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Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃
Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!
Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.
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Carrion
Reader comes back Wrong
Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care
The breakup was bad.
Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.
On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.
Your misery wanted no company, though.
You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.
Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.
He should have.
Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.
So. Six months.
Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.
183 days come and go.
On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month
 one more mission
 one more

Six months turns to ten.
312 days since you left; since you were home.
The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.
The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.
374 days. Twelve months and some change.
They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.
Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.
487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.
561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.
You’re coming home.
590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.
It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.
Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.
Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.
Apart from that, you look
 almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.
(Why are you the way he remembers?)
“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.
There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.
Then you grin and reach back.
“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.
Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.
“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.
You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”
So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.
“Sergeant.”
That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.
(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)
When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.
“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.
You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.
“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.
You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.
Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.
“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.
Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.
“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”
“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.
You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)
“I get that,” you sympathize.
He snorts. Since when?
“Do you?”
When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.
“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.
At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.
“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”
You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.
You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.
Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.
He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.
But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.
You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.
You’re back, better than ever.
So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?
You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.
It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”
“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.
When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.
You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.
“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.
You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”
“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”
You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish
”
“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”
Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.
Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.
It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.
(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.
You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.
“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)
Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.
“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)
“Always,” you reply.
Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.
“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”
It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.
(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)
“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.
You yawn. “What about me?”
“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”
Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.
“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.
Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.
“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”
Then why is it still bleeding?
When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.
(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)
In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.
Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.
On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.
It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.
It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.
You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.
You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.
It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.
Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.
And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.
But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.
“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”
Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.
“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.
“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.
“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”
“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”
Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.
Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”
They’re running out of time.
Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.
In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.
Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon
 Simon is watching you.
Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.
But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.
“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.
The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.
“Do it.”
You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.
“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.
Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.
“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”
The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.
There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.
“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.
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meowzfordayz · 2 years ago
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when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen
Author’s Note: pardon the ridiculously long title. đŸ„ŽđŸ˜‚ “Fem!Reader” applies to Tengen only.
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when you grab their chest — akaza, douma, muzan, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen
Akaza x Reader, Douma x Reader, Muzan x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader, Uzui Tengen x Reader
Word Count: ~900
CW: dark humor, Fem!Reader, mild sexual content
Suggestion Fulfilled: I have a requestđŸ˜€ I recently read a certain ass slapping fic which I adored could you do a similar fic with the same characters +giyu and Douma with the reader coming up from behind the and squeezing their man tiddies
~faqs~
I 100% would’ve used MAN TIDDIES in my title, but figured Tumblr would hide this post from tags if I did, so I went w/ “chest” instead 😆
Also, some of these are canon compliant — Muzan, Kyojuro, Giyuu
While others are set in modern au (alternate universe; modern setting) — Akaza, Douma, Tengen
AKAZA
Immediately tenses
#noice 😌😎 after all, the man is ripped
The more Akaza tenses, the more you wanna squish
Except, it’s kinda hard to squish pure, flexed muscle ?? 😔
“Akaza, my love, could you relax?” đŸ„ș
He’s still confused, but my love automatically has him at your beck and call, so-
He relaxes
*gleeful squeal* 😍 *squish squish* 😍
Aaand he’s tensed again
If you actually take the time to explain yourself, then he’ll be absolutely embarrassed flattered
Lowkey decides to do an extra 100 push ups daily, just bc he’s so darn in love w/ you 😭
DOUMA
Douma’s been waiting all his life for you to grab his moobs
So like
He’s one happy camper !!!!! đŸ˜ŒđŸ„ł
“all his life” = since he met you
As for “moobs”? I had to, just once 😃
Slowly flexes them so he can hear your amazed gasp 😍
“Are you drooling?” he smirks
“Fuck off,” you scowl
You try to withdraw your hands to wipe away your incriminating drool đŸ˜’đŸ€€
But he doesn’t let you đŸ€Ș
He squeezes your wrists, grinning widely to himself, “Don’t leave me.” 😇
“But I’m done,” you grumble, resting your forehead between his shoulder blades (you’ve already accepted your fate đŸ€ )
“I’m not,” he retorts, “Not even close.” đŸ€—
Translation? Douma wants you to massage his pectorals
#pretty pls and ty
MUZAN
Once again, I’m presuming you’re a demon, and Muzan’s immediate reaction is to slice off your hands 💀
Thank gosh for regeneration! 😼‍💹
You’ve gotta quit surprising him đŸ€Ș
I mean
Yeah
He enjoys when you touch him 😅
BUT, he has a reputation to uphold, and being startled by your random displays of physical attention doesn’t exactly help 🙃
The implication that he lets his guard down w/ you (bc how else could you ever hope to genuinely startle him?) is making me feel things 😭
“Do that again, and I won’t be so forgiving.”
The faint dip between his brows has you thinking otherwise đŸ€­
“What if I ask first?” 😉
You’re treading on thin ice 😬
His eyes flash, “Pardon?”
Good thing he’s close to cracking too 😌
“If I ask to touch you?”
I’ll kill you “You wouldn’t.”
WeLp
He didn’t say No đŸ€—
(obvi consent’s a must, but in this specific context mutual flirtation’s strongly implied and also it’s literally Muzan)
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“Oh!” <— Kyojuro exclaims, cheerful as ever â˜ș
“Hello there,” he chuckles, smiling at the feeling of your body pressed against his back, “Are you checking something?”
“Mhm,” you grin, “They’re still here!” 😇
“My pectorals?” his head tilts, “Of course they are?!”
He’s ~a little oblivious, okay? 😃
“How about you hug me from the front?” he suggests gently, “That way I get to hug you too!”
😭😭😭
He’s so precious
How could you refuse?????
Spoiler alert: you can’t
GIVE THE MAN HIS HUG đŸ„șâ€ïžâ€đŸ”„
Spoiler alert: you give Kyojuro his hug, and it is very cozy đŸ„°
A tad sweaty + suffocating, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world đŸ„ș
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Shocked đŸ˜”â€đŸ’«
Giyuu’s inner monologue: ????? What? Is? This?
Giyuu’s outer dialogue: *still as stone*
“Giyuu?” you immediately remove your hands, scurrying to his front side, head tilted w/ concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfort-” 😕
“You didn’t,” he interrupts quietly, finally grasping his bearings, “It was
” aaand now he’s blushing, “... nice.” đŸ„șâ˜ș
Your nose scrunches, relief relaxing your shoulders as you nod sheepishly, “I’m glad I didn’t freak you out too much.”
“Mhm,” he smiles reassuringly, “You freaked me out,” gently guiding your palms back to his chest, “But not too much,” winking shyly at you, “The perfect amount, in fact.”
HELP !!!!! CAN YOU JUST CAN I  FWIBEIUVLNSOUEJGBWO;GNS
Suave, sexy, knows-what-he-wants, isn’t-afraid-to-tell-you, will-even-go-after-it-himself Giyuu has entered the chat
AnD I AM HERE FOR IT 😭😭😭💘
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LOUD LAUGHTER
You can feel it through his tiddies 😆
“Envious, my dear?” 😉
Okay
Presumptuous much? 😒
But alllso 🙄
“If you could share
” you pout, “Gimme just a lil?” đŸ€—
“You’re welcome to work out with me,” he chuckles fondly, flexing for you, “These could totally be yours!”
You sigh, “Tengen, pectorals and breasts aren’t the same thing.”
“I know that,” he shrugs, patting your knuckles reassuringly, “Your breasts are perfect, and I’m happy to coach you and your pectorals if you so desire.”
You decide to test the waters 🌊
“What if my pectorals get bigger than yours?” 😏
Tengen immediately drowns you 🌊💀
“Not a chance.” 😐
And then he tacks on, a tad nicer, “But you could certainly get very big pectorals.” â˜ș
“Just not bigger than yours,” you grin 😏
He nods grimly, “My ego would pop.” 😔
“And that would be tragic.” â˜č
“Indeed,” he squeezes your hands (which remain splayed across his chest), still basking in your touch, “I appreciate your understanding.” đŸ˜–đŸ„°
(fyi, if your pectorals did get bigger than Tengen’s, then he’d: survive, be super proud of you, and beg to know your workout regimen)
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suzukiblu · 4 months ago
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Day five of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. ( everyone's having fun! so much sugary, fluffy, definitely-not-emotionally-fraught fun!! 🙃 ) prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))
“That’s not–I told you that you didn’t have to do anything like that,” he says stiffly. “That that’s not a–condition of any of this.” 
“I–yeah, I know,” Kon says, frowning a little deeper and looking–uncertain, now. Mostly just around the eyes, Tim can’t help noticing. Mostly just around where opaque sunglasses wouldn’t show any tells. “You said. I just–I thought–” 
“It’s just–not something you have to do,” Tim says, because Kon doesn’t look like he knows how to find the end of whatever sentence he’s trying to say and he needs to say something, he knows. He just–he thought they’d had this conversation, and that Kon had laughed at him because he’d thought he was being stupid to feel like he had to say it, not . . . 
Is that why Kon had laughed, or did he laugh because he thought Tim was lying to him about something he didn’t think he needed lied to about, or . . . ? 
“I know,” Kon says, biting his lip for a moment. “Like–I wanna, like . . . do this. Like, I don’t think you’re, you know–trying to be an asshole about it or anything.” 
Tim hears “this”, and wonders if Kon means he wants to act like the way he was just acting, or if Kon just means he wants to date him, and thinks this has to be part of that. It’s not . . . clear, maybe. He’s not even sure how to ask Kon that, or if Kon would even understand the question if he did. 
He’s pretty damn sure that “trying to be an asshole” is a translation of something way worse, though. 
“I don’t know what that means,” he says, mostly to buy himself time to figure out what he should be saying. “You want to do–what, exactly?” 
“Whatever you want,” Kon says, and Tim feels nauseous. 
“No you don’t,” he says, inane and useless. 
“I do,” Kon says, shifting his posture into something too-deliberate and too-practiced and just not normal to see on another teenager, and Tim has a flashed moment of intense awareness of just how not-prepared for whatever’s about to come out of Kon’s mouth that he actually–“You can just–tell me what to do, if I’m doing it wrong. Or just do whatever you want. I’ll like it. Promise.” 
There is literally no possible way that Kon could know that, part of Tim thinks, but the rest of him is thinking okay so who EXACTLY gave Kon the impression that he should be saying things like this to someone he barely knows, and how do I most effectively destroy their credit and job prospects and also every single thing they’ve ever loved?
And on top of that, who the hell taught Kon that saying things like that isn’t, like–way too much way too fast, if nothing else? Because again, he has some lives to maybe destroy a little. Like–just a bit. 
Because it’s definitely, definitely something Kon got taught. It’s just–it’s way too obvious, that all this is something he got taught. 
“Why do you think I’d do that?” Tim asks, and Kon–hesitates, a little, a flash of embarrassed self-consciousness crossing the backs of his eyes again. 
“I–it’s just–” Kon attempts, half-fumbling whatever he’s trying to say, and then more or less babbles out an awkward, stuttered explanation of: “I mean technically this is already, like, our fourth date, counting the coffee place and all, and I just–like, you're–you said you didn't wanna do all this stuff for me just ‘cuz I saved your life. I thought that meant . . . I thought you meant . . .” 
He trails off, looking a little helpless and a lot more embarrassed, and Tim feels like an asshole and an idiot and ten steps closer to going supervillain and burning down the world. Or the reality. Or the multiverse.
Just–anywhere that made Kon have to be embarrassed about this. 
“That I only wanted to sleep with you?” he asks, trying not to let his voice get too tight. “I told you, that’s not–” 
“Ithoughtyoumeantyoulikedme,” Kon blurts in a rush, jerking his head to the side to look away and also looking just shy of humiliated.
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emchante · 3 months ago
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choosing to believe they put daniel at the end of the video to surprise max. like oh! it’s my former teammates! oh, it’s the sister team! 
DANYUL??
the way he looks at daniel compared to the rest of the clips. call me delusional and maxiel-pilled but my god. the look in his eyes. he looks so soft, mesmerised that daniel is in the video.
also the implications that daniel and red bull are still in contact but that’s for a dif post. 🙃
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starbeltconstellation · 8 months ago
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Ahh, and THERE it is
 🙃🙃
I have kept my opinions mostly to myself about The Acolyte, because I wasn’t planning on watching it until seeing where it went with the Jedi. Almost everything in SW media has an element of Jedi criticism (sadly 🙄), so I knew that would be a given with this show, so I was holding off on any total judgment until the end.
One thing I KNEW I would despise and would make me not ever watch it is if they actually made canon that the Jedi brutally murdered an entire coven of witches and COVERED UP A MASSACRE (wtf on that part, because they would NOT cover it up, even if they’d made a mistake). Apparently, it is not as bad as I feared, and they don’t destroy the Jedi Order’s characterization entirely.
But THIS line. đŸ„¶đŸ€ą
With THIS line that is apparently written in the newest episode—that’s it. You’ve lost me.
Because THIS line is just straight up genocide apologia.
Ohhh, of course they don’t come outright and SAY, “Loool, those space wizards deserved what they got! đŸ€ȘđŸ€Ș✊”, but the implication is pretty clear, all the same.
From the very beginning, I knew the showrunner of The Acolyte didn’t like the Jedi or their culture, and said that her show “wouldn’t be kind to them.”
And I could’ve lived with just the stupid vagueness of portraying the Jedi as a pompous bureaucracy (because it’s just an infectious opinion that’s spread through most of the fandom), without FULLY condemning The Acolyte and declaring the show a terrible portrayal of the Jedi and their morality and culture, along with the CANON aspects of the Dark Side being a cancer in The Force that does nothing but make people miserable and cause imbalance in The Force.
But with THIS LINE that is SO clearly a wink and a nudge to the SW fans who believe the Jedi ‘deserved what they got’
 đŸ™„đŸ€ąâ€Š I’m sorry, but they’ve officially lost me. đŸ˜ŹđŸ€·â€â™€ïž
There are things that I’d probably like, if I ever can make myself stomach getting through the show: seeing how different cultures view The Force, seeing more of the Jedi Order/culture/Temple/how they teach their students, the characters Sol and Jecki and Yord and Osha—even seeing Jedi fighting style being so different and more defensive while trying to not use their lightsaber unless necessary, since they are in a time of peace.
But for the most part?
With THIS frankly DISGUSTING line, I can say with absolute certainty that The Acolyte is a show that I would never enjoy, and that is frankly not a welcome addition to the SW universe to me.
I appreciate the diversity inclusion, and I find myself relating to that meme that says something like: “When you hate a show, but then realize the other people that hate it are mostly bigots, 🙃🙃” because—unlike THOSE moronic dudebros—my criticism is for the story itself.
It’s a genuine shame. It’s such an interesting premise, getting to see the Jedi in the High Republic Era. But with this
 I now know that The Acolyte is a show not worth my—or ANY OTHER pro Jedi fan’s time. đŸ’”đŸ˜”đŸ€·â€â™€ïžđŸ˜Ź
Only thing I’ll say in defense of it: Mr. Sith (?) IS hot. đŸ”„â€ïžâ€đŸ”„
And that’s the only other praise I can give. đŸ€·â€â™€ïž
Loool, sorry for the rant. I’m just so pissed off. đŸ˜­đŸ€·â€â™€ïžđŸ˜‚
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el caso rubiales: headlines from day 2, in which we listened to men, men, and more men making excuses and pointing fingers at each other 🙃
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today we heard from men’s national team coach luis de la fuente, ex-director for integrity for rfef miguel garcía caba, ex-communications director for rfef pablo garcía cuervo, ex-subdirector for communications for rfef enrique yunta, and former psychologist for the women’s team javier lópez vallejo.
remember that in the immediate aftermath of the world cup, rfef issued multiple statements trying to downplay the kiss, including one supposedly "written by jenni" that she never wrote!
anyway, garcía caba testified that he was asked to prepare a report about the implications of rubiales’ sexual aggression and to interview people involved. the object of the report was a procedure for clarifying facts about the rubiales’ behaviours: the behaviour in the box and the kiss. players were omitted from the report because he didn't have time to ask them as he was told to finish in a day and a half because this reached global levels of awareness and being a problem.
garcĂ­a caba stated it was not his competence to determine if the kiss was an abuse of power. but he did use an expert and lip reader to analyse body language, including jenni’s during the world cup celebration, for a later report. đŸ˜”â€đŸ’«
he testified that vilda did not intervene in these reports. but he did call rubén rivera, who had a connection to jenni, to try and talk to her but jenni did not want to talk to him.
garcía cuervo went next and testified that he had no animosity towards jenni even though she signed a document, along with other players of the national team, asking for the dismissal of some rfef professionals, including him. he claims that some of the statements he wrote attributed to jenni had been given the “ok” by her.
he accused the players for not being accurate in their declarations and said that jenni contradicted herself and called her "a very impressionable and manipulable person." the judge lost patience with this witness and told him that he wasn’t answering questions in the correct manner. (yay judge!)
next came yunta. his testimony conflicted with that of poki’s yesterday. and he claimed that in the integrity meeting where various rfef officials met she changed the answers that she didn't like the sound of. and he said he expressed his frustration with how that meeting went down and felt very uncomfortable.
finally, we got to current men's coach luis de la fuente (who clapped for rubiales during his famous "i will not resign" speech). 🙄 he was in australia and flew back with the team but claimed he slept the entire flight and did not hear anything. he was asked about a supposed meeting at rfef headquarters with poki (who testified yesterday) to discuss what happened and denied knowledge of that meeting too.
at one point, one of the attorneys was asking a question to which de la fuente made a flip comment saying he was not here to talk about these topics to which the judge reprimanded him by saying "one does not choose what one is going to talk about, one comes to answer what is asked."
the last witness of the day was the psychologist, lĂłpez vallejo, who testified that he was randomly assigned to the team without training for bullying or similar cases. he didn't witness the kiss, nor did any players come to him.
he also said: "my role was to show them my availability, to let them know that they could come to me. if there is a player who doesn't come, it's because they don't consider me to be the person who can help them at that moment." 🙄
he also testified that he was not aware of the magnitude of the kiss and did not reach out to jenni at the time. he only reached out to her later when someone from fifa wanted to get in touch with jenni and he helped facilitate that.
he also claims that luis de la fuente was indeed there at one of the meetings but he doesn't remember the details.
so in summary, what a shitshow and a group of low class men đŸ„Ž
but watch this fun video of the judge yelling at the witnesses!
source: marca on twitter
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warping-realities · 1 month ago
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2k Special - Coach Knows Best: Tight Ends
So we’ve come to the end of the 2k special. I’d like to thank again @johnbrand and @mrrharper for letting me borrow one of their ideas, but especially the great @callmecallmecrazy who I’ve been following for almost 20 years (I was underage and shouldn’t have been, but still). The Jocking has been and still is one of the most impressive things ever written in our niche; it’s not just about transformation, there’s a plot, character development and a cohesive story, and it’s something I’ve always tried to follow while writing my own work. Here, I made a little homage to his seminal work and to Clifton Jocks, which I’ll say for the thousandth time is my favorite story of all time and an impressive demonstration of developing writing skills.
Lastly, there’s a pun (or more) in the title of this story. 🙃
Just two days before the final game of the season, Steele sat in the stillness of his home, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like a heavy fog. The transformation of Tyler had been a double-edged sword. On one hand, he had become the player Steele always knew he could be. On the other, the pressure of the BACS protocol loomed ominously over everything. As he contemplated for the millionth time how to navigate the challenges ahead, his phone buzzed violently against the wooden surface of the table in front of him shattering the quiet.
Startled, he reached for his phone, glancing at the caller ID. It was Jenkins. The feeling of unease settled deeper in his gut as he answered. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with tension.
“Steele, we’ve got a situation,” Jenkins said, his tone serious. “Lee Dawson has gone missing from his dorm at college. He was supposed to hit up a study group and now no one’s seen him.”
Steele’s heart raced. “What do you mean missing? How long has it been since anyone last saw him?”
“Just a few hours, but it’s enough to raise alarms. From what I gathered from my guys on the team, he’d been complaining about his brother’s behavior for days, saying Tyler was acting weird. At my request, they pressed Lee for any major signs that a glitch was popping up in the BACS protocol, but whenever pressed, he backed down. There was nothing to suggest any major failure or need for intervention so far.
“I told you Lee is smart and you know why BACS has fallen out of favor, and yet you insisted. What the hell do you expect me to do now to clean up your mess?”
“What I want is for you to keep an eye out. It seems like Lee is gonna go searching for his brother or even come to you. In that case, you need to find out what’s going on. This could have serious implications,” Jenkins urged, his voice quickening.
“Implications? What the hell are you talking about?” Steele shot back, a sense of dread creeping into his thoughts. The last thing he wanted was to be linked to the board’s experiments or Tyler’s recent transformation if shit hit the fan.
“Let’s be real, Steele. If the government finds out what we did with BACS, we could all be in deep trouble. You need to act fast. In the worst-case scenario, you’re authorized to use BACS on the older Dawson.” Jenkins warned, urgency unmistakable in his voice.
“That won’t be necessary. I’m on it, but I warned you, Jenkins, you idiot!” Steele replied, his mind racing. He couldn’t let this situation spiral out of control. As he hung up the phone, he felt the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. He had to find and protect Lee, and somehow make him understand the whole program before the kid, who was Steele’s greatest pride, ended up consumed by it like his brother had.
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Steele woke up before dawn, the clock reading 4 AM. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, battling the heavy feeling that seemed to have settled in his mind. The morning darkness enveloped the room as his thoughts churned about Lee and Tyler. It was a constant struggle between the determination to keep his legacy as a coach intact and the guilt that consumed him.
He got up and started his morning routine. The first task was to run. He laced up his running shoes, threw on a simple T-shirt, and headed out, feeling the cold morning air against his face. Each step took him further away from his worries, and he tried to keep a steady pace. Running had always been his way to release built-up tension, but today felt harder. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tyler’s situation and what he could have done differently.
After 30 minutes of running, Steele finished his routine with calisthenics. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups; all done in silence, but his mind was far from what he was doing. He felt like a robot, following a routine without really being present. The joy he used to feel while working out was missing, replaced by a sense of emptiness.
With sweat dripping down his face, he returned home and made breakfast. He brewed a strong cup of black coffee, letting the dark liquid fill the mug. Coffee, once a comforting ritual, now tasted bland, as if bitterness had seeped into his life. He served himself an absurd amount of food: eggs, bacon, toast, and fruit. But even while eating, he couldn’t savor the meal. Each bite felt like an obligation, a meaningless ritual.
After breakfast, he shaved, staring at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the deep circles under his eyes. “What the hell happened to me?” he thought, doubt creeping into his mind. He had been a passionate coach, someone who inspired his players to become the best versions of themselves. Now, he found himself trapped in a cycle of manipulation and politics that was corroding his soul.
After getting ready, Steele finally left for school, his car cutting through the quiet morning. But upon arriving at the school parking lot, he hesitated. He stopped the car and sat there, watching the students arrive, the laughter and chatter floating in the air. He felt like a spectator in his own world.
“How did I end up here?” he murmured to himself. He remembered when everything seemed so simple, when his love for football was pure and genuine. He had a dream: to turn young athletes into champions, to guide them through hardships, and help them shine. But over time, he became obsessed with winning, accepting the machinations of the board, believing it was all worth it. He convinced himself he was offering insignificant kids the chance to experience the same glories he had. But now, after what happened with Tyler, those certainties were crumbling. The kid had been the kind of athlete who, with the right encouragement and training, could have been for the Tight Ends what Brock Purdy was for quarterbacks: a last pick with seemingly no shine but whose effort and skill landed him a spot on one of the big league teams. Now? Sure, the kid was great, almost perfect. No doubt he’d shine, but it’d be an artificial shine, risking being marked more by a influencer life than what he did on the field, more like a Garoppolo than a Purdy. And then there was Lee, the incredible Lee, Steele’s greatest victory, shaped just right, now at risk of going through the same shit as his brother. Thinking about that made Steele’s gut churn, and a new determination surged within him. He could lose everything, but he was going to make sure Lee wouldn’t get caught up in this, even if it meant making some subtle tweaks, a little memory alteration
 maybe something to boost his stats before the Combine
 Then, without realizing the hypocrisy and contradiction in his own way of thinking, the coach let out a long sigh and headed off to start the day’s work.

..
The locker room was in a state of controlled chaos. The boys on the team were undressing and getting ready to put on their practice uniforms. The distinct smell of deodorant mixed with male sweat hung in the air, and the atmosphere was filled with laughter and teasing.
“Look who’s here! The king of farts!” Trey shouted, letting out a loud fart. The room erupted in laughter, and the boys started mimicking fart sounds.
“For God’s sake, dude! You need a deodorant for your ass!” Connor teased, making everyone laugh even harder.
Rafael, always ready to stand out, raised his hands as if he was about to make a speech. “Attention, attention! The champion of burps is here!” He then let out a burp so loud it echoed through the locker room, causing another wave of laughter.
“You and your special talents, Rafe. One day you’re gonna win an award for that!” Miguel joked, while getting dressed. “Most retarded award!”
The boys continued to talk nonsense, sharing stories about weekend parties, the girls they had hooked up with, and the drunken escapades they had. The vibe was carefree, a celebration of the brotherhood that existed among them, but also tinged with machismo and arrogance.
“Dude, did you see the new cheerleader? The transfer girl, blonde with blue eyes?” Miguel commented, winking at the others. “She was totally checking me out during practice. Bet she’s in love with me!”
“Probably out of pity for your malnourished state!” Adam replied, laughing. “But it’s true, she’s hot. I’d hit that too.”
“Malnourished? I’m ripped, you fatass!”
“That’s just jealousy of my muscles, scrawny boy?”
“Jealousy is what you have of my abs, fatty!”
As the chatter continued, Tyler, sitting a bit further away, looked at Brock with a frustrated expression while tying his cleats. “Man, my brother’s been an ass lately. Lee’s always been a bit too uptight, but lately, he’s just straight-up unbearable,” Tyler said, trying to keep his tone light, but irritation was evident.
“Like, he keeps nagging me about my grades, and I can’t deal with it anymore. I stopped replying to his texts. I’ve told him Cs get degrees,” he vented, his voice dropping lower, almost lost in the locker room noise.
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“Well, the problem is you hardly ever get Cs, do you?”
“As if you’re any better, you dumbass. You know Coach is gonna sort this out and we’re all gonna get into college with football scholarships. But for Lee, that’s not enough; it’s like he wanted another brother instead of me.”
Brock looked at Tyler, sensing his frustration. “Dude, I get it. It’s tough when you have a brother who seems to be trying to control you. But at the same time, he just wants what’s best for you, right? Maybe he’s just worrying too much.”
“Maybe
 but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s being a total pain. He doesn’t know how to have fun. It’s like he thinks life is only about training and studying,” Tyler replied, shaking his head, visibly irritated.
“Man, you need to put him in his place then. One day, he’s gonna realize life isn’t just about work. You gotta enjoy the journey too, just like we do here on the team!” Brock said, trying to encourage Tyler to feel better about the situation.
“Whatever, maybe I should try talking to him again, but just thinking about it makes me tired,” Tyler mumbled, crossing his arms.
What the boys didn’t realize was that Coach Steele had entered the locker room just as the conversation was heating up.
“Is that what I heard, Tyler?” Steele asked, his gaze fixed on the young man. “You’ve been ignoring your brother?”
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Tyler hesitated before answering. “Uh
 I’m just tired of hearing the same old shit, coach. He just wants me to fit into the image he has of me. I just wanted some space,” he said, trying to justify his behavior.
Steele shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Look, Tyler, you might not like what Lee has to say, but he’s your brother. What he wants is what any brother wants: the best for you. Ignoring his texts isn’t the solution. You might not realize it, but he cares about you,” Steele said, his voice firm.
“Yeah, I know. I just
 I just need some space, that’s all,” Tyler muttered, a bit frustrated.
“I get that you need space, but that doesn’t mean you should push him away. Promise me one thing, if he tries to reach out again, don’t ignore him, but more importantly, I want you to tell me right away,” Steele said, with a serious look. “Now, let’s go, finish getting ready. It’s almost time for practice.”
The boys nodded, and the conversation quickly dissipated as they hurried to get ready. When everyone was ready, they headed out to the field. The sun was shining brightly, and the energy of the team was palpable. Steele watched as the players lined up, each carrying a confidence that was contagious. He felt a little lighter, even knowing the precarious situation he was in.
“Today’s the last practice before the finals,” Steele began, capturing everyone’s attention. “That means we need to give it everything we’ve got. Remember, the opposing team is gonna come onto the field wanting to take us down. But they’re gonna face the Titans, and we’re gonna show them what that means!”
The players shouted in response, adrenaline coursing through their veins. The practice began and Steele moved around the field, watching every move, every play. The boys were in sync, their skills at their peak and their energies channeled toward a common goal. Steele watched it all with a satisfied smile. The hard work and dedication were paying off. He remembered his own experiences and what it meant to form a cohesive team. “Great job, boys!” he shouted, as the players regrouped in the locker room after practice. “You’re ready to face the Knights! What we saw today was magnificent. Each of you gave your best. Remember, tomorrow is the big day. You have a chance to show everyone what it means to be a Titan.”
The players shouted in response, the spirit of unity filling the air. “One last thing: rest up! I don’t want to hear that anyone partied or drank alcohol before the finals. If you do, I’ll skin you alive!”
Laughter and shouts spread through the locker room, but Steele’s seriousness conveyed the message that he truly cared. The boys knew he was there to guide them and protect what they had built together.
With practice wrapped up, the players dispersed, ready to rest up and prepare for the big game.


Night fell, and as the city prepared for the game the next day, Tyler lay in bed, heart racing and mind full of expectations. He knew he had a role to play, and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability. In the darkness of his room he was lost in thought, recalling the day’s practices and what awaited him in the big game.
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At that moment, Lee walked into the room unannounced, his expression serious. “Tyler, we need to talk,” he said, looking intently at his brother.
Tyler frowned. “Lee? WTF? What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”
“You. Something’s not right with you,” Lee replied, worry evident in his voice. “I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I feel like something’s changed.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tyler asked, confused and a little irritated. “I’m great! I’m about to crush it in the game tomorrow!”
Lee shook his head, frustration growing. “It’s not that, Tyler! It’s like you’re
 different. Like you’re not really you. I
 I’m worried.”
“What the hell, Lee? Who else could I be? And worried? You don’t know anything about me! I’m never good enough for you, right? You’ve always been the favorite, the family talent!” Tyler shouted, anger boiling over. “But I’m gonna prove to everyone that I’m better than you, that I’m the best player!”
Lee looked at him, pain in his eyes. “Tyler, I’ve never cared about that. For me, there’s never been a competition between us. I just wanted you to be happy in your own way. You don’t have to try to be what I am or what you think everyone expects from you. What matters is that you’re yourself.”
“You don’t get it! I can’t just be me, with a Mr. Perfect brother I always have to be the better! And now that I’m finally getting attention, I can’t let it slip away!” Tyler shot back, his voice filled with frustration.
“I
 I think I understand more than you realize,” Lee said, sadness weighing on his words.
“You’re not making sense, Lee! I just want to be recognized, and that involves winning! For me, that’s everything!” Tyler replied, anger replacing insecurity.
“I really thought I could trust him
 I don’t know what I can do to help you, but I’ll try. Just know that I love you, little bro. I hope that next time we see each other, we can recognize each other for who we really are.”
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Tyler sat there, alone, frustration and confusion flooding his mind. Until a memory popped into his head. He grabbed his phone and called Coach Steele. “Coach, I
 I need to talk to you,” he said as soon as the call connected.
“Sure, Tyler. What’s up?” Steele replied, his voice calm and attentive.
“It’s about Lee. He was just here
 and he doesn’t seem right; he said a bunch of nonsensical things
 he thinks something’s wrong with me, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I act all tough, like I’m the best Dawson, but the truth is, Lee is my biggest inspiration, and seeing him like this
 please help him!” Tyler poured out, tension evident in his voice.
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“Tyler, I need you to try to remember what else your brother said. Did he say where he was going?” Steele asked, his voice now more concerned.
“I don’t know, coach. No, he didn’t say. He just mentioned he thought he could trust someone and that
 that he’d try to help me
 and that he hoped next time we met, we could
 recognize each other. I have no idea what he meant by that.”
“I do. Try to calm down and get some sleep; tomorrow is the big day, and I promise everything will be alright. Better yet, Lee will be there to watch you shine, trust me!”
“Always, Coach!”


Steele hung up the phone, poured a generous shot of bourbon into two glasses, and waited for Lee. It seemed the time had come for him to answer for his choices in front of one of the few people he cared about in this world.

.
Lee walked toward Steele’s mansion, his heart racing and his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The worry for Tyler consumed him, and his brother’s words echoed in his head. “What’s wrong with him? Or is it me? Ty is right; I’m not making any sense! Still, I know
 that’s not who he should be!” Lee thought, feeling frustrated for not being able to understand what was happening, but he knew there was someone who understood and worse, could be responsible for it all. As he walked, fear and frustration overwhelmed him. For it wasn’t the first time he felt that way; if he had done something sooner
 maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to go through this with his own brother.
As Lee walked through the familiar streets, he couldn't help but remember those times he felt that same awkwardness when he was on the team. Not in the same creepy way as now, but it was there, this uneasy feeling, as his teammates came and went. He figured it was 'cause he never really clicked with the others off the field; his life was all about discipline, totally grinding to improve. His body was a temple, and football was his religion. Of course, there was the Pastor: Steele. They had a tight bond, with the coach filling the gap left by his dad when he bailed on the family. Maybe that’s why Lee ignored what his gut was telling him every time a new player joined the team. It’s also why he asked Steele to treat Tyler the same way he treated him. Now, Lee felt like a total fool for thinking Steele would keep that promise. The coach was the one who drilled into him the idea of winning at all costs... he just chose to overlook that to Steele “at all costs” also included everyone else. And now, his brother was paying the price for that mistake.
Standing in front of the big mansion gate, Lee felt a chill in his stomach. Without doing anything, it opened, and he walked up to the porch where the imposing figure of Steele awaited him.
“Lee, I was expecting you,” Steele said, his expression serious. “Sit down and grab a glass.” The man settled into a magnificent leather armchair and pointed to a glass of bourbon.
“You know I don’t drink. My diet is strict to not affect my performance. Besides, I need to know, what did you do to my brother?”
“To explain what happened to Tyler, I need to tell you a very long story. And I know you don’t drink, kid, but trust me, with what we need to talk about, you’re gonna need it.”
Lee complied, but the tension in the air was palpable.
“Coach, I don’t need a story; I need to know what happened to my brother
 more than that
 I need to know who my brother really is
 or I think I’m gonna lose my mind
 I need you to reverse what you did.”
“It’s not that simple, kid. What you’re asking isn’t impossible, but highly unlikely. So I need you to understand. And to understand, I need to tell you everything from the beginning, so please take a sip and listen.”
Still reluctant, Lee conceded and positioned himself to hear his former coach, feeling the drink burn his throat and warm his stomach.
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“Good, good. The story I’m about to tell you starts way before Tyler, you and even me. Back in the mid-2000s, a decline in the number of young men dedicating themselves to contact sports, notably football, began to be noticed. You might question this info due to what came shortly after, but trust me, it’s real. Continuing, due to this decline, a group formed that is now known as The Board, whose goal was to find ways to prevent this decline from becoming irreversible. And thus, the so-called Enhancement Protocols emerged. Due to the shady nature of such protocols, it was established that the test fields would be some schools across the country and always with individuals over 18. Colleges would be a highly unfeasible field, and the NFL, with all its scrutiny, would be unthinkable. What happened next was
 revolutionary but also opened the doors to a true hell.” Steele said, pausing to take a long sip of his own drink before continuing.
“In one location where I have no access, one of the coaches responsible found gold. A way to alter the very fabric of reality and turn insignificant kids into perfect players. The techniques used were multiple as long as there was a catalyst; clothing, food, even the presence of another altered player was enough to modify an unsuspecting target. It was groundbreaking. But there were two problems: it messed with things that shouldn’t be messed with. A bunch of mumbo jumbo occult stuff whose details are better left unsaid. The other problem is that he went rogue. The modified players of his spread like a wildfire, hitting colleges and schools all over the country to the point that the fabric of reality became so thin it allowed certain things that should’ve stayed out to come in. At that time, I was already playing for the Eagles, and I’d like to believe the NFL wasn’t affected, but I can’t know, the man’s insanity was that great. The Board can’t say for sure, nor can the government, because the one who finally ended that coach’s megalomania was an apparently ordinary individual, but whom I believe is still imbued with more power than any man should have. But thanks to him, reality got back to how it should’ve been, that is, more or less
” Steele let out a long sigh before continuing.
“The kid had no way of knowing about the board’s existence, and it reestablished itself, and from what was left of that mad coach’s work, developed the current protocols.” Steele continued with a serious air.
“I discovered the protocols in my first year as a coach. At that time, the board was still being inconspicuous, the group that took down the coach I mentioned was still active. Initially, I was against using such methods. But the decline of the 2000s was nothing compared to the mid-decade past. Suddenly, kids became these delicate little flowers that can’t handle anything, snowflakes is the term you’ll hear the most. A lot of people associate this with sexuality. Frankly, I don’t give a damn who you fuck with. But watching a bunch of crybabies dominate the school hallways while my team, a place where real men were being formed, dwindled to the point of risking disappearing? I couldn’t accept that. So I let the board into my life and my Titans. Initially only to fill some gaps, cover some deficiencies. I justified it to myself. But over time I used the protocols more and more to the point of having no justifications. Not that I cared anymore, because the Titans had become the team I always thought it should be

“You
 I
 did you do something to me?” Lee asked, his voice trembling.
“No, you, Lee, you were a gift to me, a perfect player with no need for intervention, totally focused and dedicated, even not fitting into certain specifications of the board. Specifications I never cared about, by the way. But even the board never dared to ask me to intervene with you given your impressive stats. And I don’t know if I would’ve done anything, even if they asked. The truth is, you reminded me of myself, and I would’ve never had the guts to do anything to you. But then came Tyler. Tyler was a younger version of you, unfortunately without the same impressive talent. Not that the kid lacked talent, but it just wasn’t enough. And the board intervened in the worst way possible. Right before you left for college, taking advantage of the calm environment after so many years acting in the shadows, the they became bold. They developed a method that traded the elegance and subtlety of the previous ones for a much faster and seemingly just as effective one. They called it the BACS Protocol, a stupid acronym that doesn’t matter right now. What’s important is that with this protocol, all it takes is a signal sent by a simple smartphone to a previously exposed individual to a catalyst that can even be dispersed in the air around him, and out of nowhere you have a perfect player ready under all the specifications of the council. To avoid a bunch of clones walking around, the signal uses the player’s own perceptions of what each of the acronym’s specifications represents and uses the individual’s genetic base to update him. For someone like you or Tyler, this can be
 disturbing, a change so fast and radical in the fabric of reality without a safer catalyst, an anchor. See, with a stable enough catalyst even the transformed's family members can be modified to better fit their new narrative. BACS has no such capability, which in retrospect may have been a blessing, just thinking about what could have happened to you... sorry, I lost focus. The truth is that unlike safer methods this absence leads to some glitches. Like the ones you’ve been feeling.”
“You mean to say that Tyler
?”
“Yeah
 the protocol was shut down due to failures, but for some obtuse reason, the board decided to pick it back up and Tyler was chosen as an example.”
“And you didn’t do a damn thing???” Lee asked, outraged. “You just let my brother be taken like a pig to slaughter? And turned him into this?”
“That’s still your brother, just like many of your teammates with whom you sweat and bled for victory. They’re still people, Lee, with dreams and desires. You might even disagree with their way of life, but don’t treat them like things.”
“I can’t believe the size of your hypocrisy!”
“Yeah, I’m a hypocrite. But I’ve always treated my players the same, the naturals and the modified ones; to me, there’s no difference between them. Except for you, like BACS has its glitches, you were mine.”
“Then help me, help revert what happened to Tyler!”
“It’s harder than you can imagine, Lee. There’s someone out there with that capability, but you don’t want to get in his way!”
“Why not?”
“Because he would destroy everything I’ve built, everything you know too, because that’s his mission. And I can’t allow that.”
“And what’s stopping me from going after this guy on my own?”
“The fact that you ingested a high dose of the catalyst compound and are in the presence of a very strong physical catalyst right next to you, namely me. I swear I’d rather not do this to you, but after letting what happened to Tyler happen, it’s better this way. I promise the only thing that will change for you is accepting reality and Tyler as they are now!”
Upon hearing that, Lee tried to move, but it felt like he was glued to the chair, as if trapped in an invisible trap. While Coach Steele, the man he considered a substitute father, betrayed him a second time.
Seated, paralyzed in that armchair, Lee felt a strange pressure in his body, followed by a wave of heat, and then the first transformation took over his arms, which began to swell, the muscles expanding under the skin. He looked down, perplexed, as his biceps became so bulky with muscles and fat they seemed ready to burst through the shirt he wore. Seeing that, Steele’s eyes widened, and he shouted: “That wasn’t supposed to happen!” But as he tried to get up and somehow intervene, he found himself glued to his own seat. With nothing left to do, the coach watched in growing panic as what came next unfolded.
As he struggled to comprehend what was happening, Lee's legs began to change too. His already huge thighs swelled even more, becoming the size of tree trunks, while a layer of fat started to accumulate, softening the sharp lines he had worked so hard to achieve. Lee felt a mix of horror and a strange pleasure as that transformation unfolded, as if his body were rebelling against his will.
“Lee, you need to resist!” Coach Steele shouted, but his voice sounded distant and powerless, for he knew there was nothing that could be done.
The pressure in his abdomen intensified, and Lee could feel his belly protruding. The famous eight-pack he valued so much was disappearing, replaced by a still firm belly, but now with a more robust appearance, a true muscle gut. He felt as if he were in a nightmare, struggling against the waves of transformation that dominated him. As he attempted to speak, a loud burp escaped involuntarily
 buuuuuuurp

“This can’t be happening!”, Steele repeated, thrashing in his chair. As the change reached Lee’s face, his jaw became more square momentarily only to be hidden by a layer of fat, and then by a thick, scruffy beard. The straight, well-kept hair he always sported now fell in messy locks, giving him a wild look. Lee tried to protest once more, but another burp escaped, and he felt even more frustrated. “Why is this happening?!” confusion dominating his thoughts.
The changes reached his feet, once slender, now starting to expand, going from a respectable size 11 to a gigantic size 15, ripping the sneakers he wore, each thick toe covered with a layer of dark hair. His firm, muscular backside turned into a big cushion. Coach Steele, watching in a mix of horror and despair, shook his head. “No, Lee! Please, no! What have I done?!” he shouted, his voice trembling. The horror of the situation enveloped him, and he felt powerless, unable to help.
As the transformation peaked, Lee found himself in a more muscular and robust body, more like an offensive guard than a tight end. Not that he could think of that, for at that moment, his mind was invaded by conflicting information. The strict diet with complex carbs and high-quality proteins and zero alcohol was replaced by a ogre diet and occasional binge drinking, nothing that would harm the team, but off-season is off-season for a reason. The obsession with being the best remained, but the way of looking at it shifted from almost military-level self-demand to the belief that he would be the best because he always had been; it was inherent to him. The serious and even somber demeanor was replaced by a carefree joy and an unshakeable teenage humor. As a smile spread across his face, it was all over. There was nothing else Steele could do, even if he managed to move, which was still impossible for him.
Lee’s worried and quick thoughts were replaced by an almost absolute relaxation; he was someone who knew his place and what he had to do. Anyone looking from the outside would have the impression of a big teddy bear, but once against him, they’d see he was, in fact, a raging grizzly bear when on the field.
With a carefree attitude, he looked at himself. His clothes were bursting at the seams, the fabric struggling to keep up with the growth of his new body. His shirt was stretched so tight it looked like it could rip at any moment, while his shorts looked more like strips than actual clothing. What the hell had happened? But before he could even think of worrying, his gut acted up, and Lee let out a loud and uncontrollable fart, while the room echoed with the sound he burst into laughter, any trace of horror turning into a moment of pure joy.
As Lee reveled in his new form, patting his powerful gut with a goofy grin on his face, Coach Steele just watched, horrified and powerless. “What have I done...,” he murmured, his mind whirling around the implications of his pupil’s transformation.
Without either man noticing, Jenkins entered the room just as Lee’s transformation completed. He observed the now-imposing young man with his muscular and robust body. A satisfied smile spread across his face. “What did you do?” Jenkins said, with a tone of disdain, startling Steele, who hadn’t seen the sly man but realized at that moment who was truly behind what had happened. “Just what you should’ve done a long time ago. But the specifications weren’t yours.”
Jenkins then turned to Lee, who now looked like a true giant. “Hey, Bull Dawg, how’s it going?” he asked, the provocation evident in his voice.
Lee, exuding the chill vibe that now surrounded him, smiled back. “I’m feeling kinda funny,” he replied, as he stood up and admired himself in one of the mirrors in the room.
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“Must be all the whiskey you’ve been drinking,” Jenkins remarked, laughing. “You’ve always been the type to not miss a chance to have fun.”
Lee shot a quick glance at Jenkins, winking playfully. “You know me too well,” he replied, flexing his huge arms and biceps, completely ruining the shirt he wore and exposing his powerful pecs and exuberant muscle gut covered in wild hair.
"Alright, alright. Now, if you’ll excuse me," Jenkins said, turning to Lee, "Steele and I need to hash out some big kid stuff."
"Whatever," Lee shot back, all nonchalant. "But I’m taking the whiskey with me." He turned, the power of his new, impressive body filling the space around him as he grabbed the bottle of bourbon but no glass.
Jenkins and Steele watched as Lee strutted out of the room, one with a smug grin and the other with a dead-serious look. The giant’s heavy footsteps echoed on the floor, his muscular back and well-defined glutes becoming a spectacle in their own right, while the shorts several sizes too small threatened to rip with every step those powerful bare feet took.
“A true masterpiece.” Jenkins said, settling into the chair where Lee had been sitting moments before, the leather still warm from his presence. He crossed his legs, a satisfied smile forming on his lips as he looked at Coach Steele, who still seemed to be digesting what had just happened.
“So, Steele,” Jenkins began, his voice calm and controlled, “what do you think of all this?”
Steele, unable to move, finally found his voice. “What did you do, Jenkins? Why make such a drastic decision with a talented athlete like Lee?”
“Oh, Steele,” Jenkins replied, shaking his head almost condescendingly. “You yourself pointed out that BACS has its glitches. And Dawson became a problem. We needed a solution; he was a valuable asset, but the market is changing, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone. What you need to understand is that even though there’s always room for the disciplined athlete like Tom Brady, that’s so 2000s
 no, no, with Jason Kelce’s retirement, a niche opened up, that of the wild giant who turns out to be a cute clown. Men identify with him thinking illusionarily that a body like his is more easily attainable than a “more fit one”, and women see the figure of a future husband, someone not so worried about having a sixpack. Which reminds me that I need to find a good girlfriend for the kid and maybe twin boys in a year or two
 So, a big teddy bear with a younger, more rebellious bro? All that's left is to find a pop diva to make that winning combo happen again, right? I wonder if I still have Olívia Rodrigo manager's phone number. I’ll have to figure that out too
 So the boring, regimented and suspicious Lee needed to go so that the fun, lovable yet aggressive when necessary Bull Dawg could emerge. Ahh the amount of profits these brothers will bring!
"I believed the board wanted the best athletes possible," Steele said, his voice thick with anger.
"The board wants profits. And believe me, someone like the old Lee doesn't do a tenth of what Bull Dawg promises. The public wants their idols to be close to them. They want to feel like they're part of their lives. They want them to be fun. Trust me, Lee Bull Dawg Dawson is someone who knows how to have fun, especially with the products and facilities of our sponsors."
"You and I have very different opinions of what a football fan wants."
"And so we come to the real reason I'm here today. Dawson was just an appetizer, the main course is you, you and your damn insubordination."
Steele took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure as Jenkins’ words echoed in his mind. “I’ve always been loyal to the board’s guidelines, Jenkins. You know that. I’ve always put the rules first.” His voice trembled slightly, but he fought to maintain a firm tone.
Jenkins leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and disdain. “Loyalty? Is this what you call loyalty? The admiration you feel for Lee Dawson blinded you, Steele. You didn’t see that the younger Dawson needed enhancement. Your focus was so fixated on your precious Lee that you ignored what was right in front of you.”
Steele felt the blood rush to his head, indignation forming like a storm inside him. “I didn’t hide anything from the board! I always did what was best for the athletes, not just for one of them. You can’t just
”
“Can’t just what?” Jenkins interrupted, an ironic smile forming on his lips. “Hide the truth? Like you did? Since the incident years ago, you know the board can’t allow any coaches to go rogue. And you, my friend, have crossed the line. Your romanticized vision of what Lee and Tyler could be became a trap, and now you’re gonna pay the price.”
Steele tried to stand, but found himself glued to the chair, as if an invisible force kept him there. Panic began to spread through his body, and he turned to Jenkins, his expression turning to desperation. “Jenkins, please, I beg you!”
“Oh, but I have no choice, Steele,” Jenkins replied, his voice now wrapped in a chilling tone. “Did you really think we wouldn’t have a way to deal with types like you? You’re gonna go through the COACH protocol. Complete Overdrive and Assimilation to the Command Hierarchy. It’s what the council decided. On the field, your attitude is impeccable and should continue that way. But you have no idea how happy I am to be free of your stiffness and bitterness, of your unbearable righteousness.” Jenkins said with a mocking smile that showed all his satisfaction before continuing to speak.
“But cheer up, after the step taken with Lee today, the board decided it’s finally time to expand to college, and you, my future and less uptight best friend, are gonna be the pioneer of this. A spot coaching your old college team awaits your new media approved showman self. A self that will pave your way back to the NFL when the board deems it necessary.”
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With one last effort, Steele tried to break free, but the pressure was unbearable. He looked around the room, searching for an escape, but everything seemed to fade around him. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Jenkins’ smug grin, a smile that symbolized both triumph and betrayal, as darkness enveloped him.

.
The celebration at Coach Steele's house after the championship was epic. The Titans, once again, showed their power on the field, snagging the title with an impressive victory. The atmosphere was filled with euphoria, and the players were ready to party. Steele’s house was packed with food, drinks, and laughter, with the guys from the team having a blast while reminiscing about the best moments of the season.
Brock, Adam, Connor, and the rest were all there, laughing and making toasts. Lee, who had been given a break from classes until after the Christmas holidays thanks to Mr. Jenkins, was in his element. He moved through the party like a king, surrounded by friends and admirers. Upon finding his little brother, he couldn't help but smile.
"You really gave it your all this season, T-Dawg!" he said, raising his cup. "I’m so proud of you!"
"Thanks, big bro! And this is just the beginning! I’m ready to head to college and show everyone what I can do!" Tyler replied, his smile shining even brighter.
Lee looked at Tyler, a satisfied grin on his lips. "You know, I’m really glad I won’t have to face you on the field. With you playing like a beast, I’d be in trouble!" He laughed.
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Tyler smiled back but couldn't help thinking about what that meant. "Oh, but who knows, maybe one day we’ll meet in the NFL? You could still be my rival on the field or worse, we might end up competing for the same position on a team."
Lee gave Tyler a pat on the shoulder, his smile turning into a rare serious look. "Listen, don’t worry about that. The truth is, when I come back from break, I’ll probably be moved to another position, maybe as a guard or center. I’ve outgrown what a Tight End should be.” He said with a grin while giving a little pat on his muscular gut. “So, if all goes well, we’ll never have to compete for the same spot, better we can be an incredible duo on the same team."
Tyler looked surprised by the revelation. "Seriously? That’s amazing! But
 how are we gonna figure out who’s the better player?"
Lee chuckled, shaking his head again. "Fuck who’s better, Tyler! What I really want is to play football and go pro. If it’s alongside you, even better. But enough talk, we should be having fun."
As the party progressed, the energy was through the roof. The guys started competing in an impromptu arm wrestling championship in one corner, while flip cup and beer pong dominated other spots. The music was blasting, and the drinks flowed freely. Lee, in particular, seemed to be enjoying himself more and more, his confidence soaring. His teenage behavior, despite his age, was not out of place among the Titans boys who saw him as an example to follow. He began bragging about his achievements, cracking jokes and teasing the others.
"Hey, who wants to see Bull Dawg do a backflip? Bet I can nail it!" Lee shouted, seizing a moment when Steele were momentarily absent, drawing everyone’s attention in the backyard.
"Go for it, bro!" Tyler shouted, as the crowd's excitement peaked.
As everyone gathered around the pool, Lee climbed onto a small platform, determination etched on his face. He was visibly drunk, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to impress his brother and friends. Tyler and the others watched, a mix of anxiety and fun on their faces, as intoxicated as the older man.
"Go, Lee! Show what you got!" Connor yelled, cheering on his friend.
Lee got ready, taking a deep breath before launching himself into the air. The backflip was perfect, and the impact of his massive body hitting the water was violent, soaking everyone around and sending the team boys into a frenzy.
“Bull Dawg!!! Bull Dawg!!” they all shouted in unison. As he came out of the pool laughing excitedly. Meanwhile, Tyler hugged his brother, saying, “Now I gotta do something bigger!”
“Chill, T-Dawg, you’ve already done enough! You're way cooler than I am! But you are a bit too dry for my taste!” Lee replied, shoving his little brother into the pool and falling in with him amidst laughter.
At that moment, Coach Steele approached with his usual off the field chill smile. He watched the scene, pleased to see that everyone there, just like himself, perfectly fit the board’s criteria, but he also felt the need to maintain at least a certain level of discipline. With a firm movement, he stepped closer to the group, calling everyone’s attention.
“Hey, boys! Time to stop the show!” Steele said, his voice booming over the party noise. The music faded into a whisper as heads turned to look at the coach. Lee and Tyler, still wet and smiling, climbed out of the pool, with Dawson boys striking a triumphant pose of gratitude.
“Come on, coach! We’re just celebrating!” Tyler said, laughing.
“Celebrating is great, but I need you all to remember what it means to be a Titan!” Steele began, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. “This season wasn’t just about winning on the field. It was about teamwork, overcoming challenges, and what it means to be part of a family. Each of you proved that together, we’re stronger. And that’s not just a motto; it’s our truth.”
The boys listened intently, the festive atmosphere shifting quickly to a more serious tone.
“You learned to fight for what you believe in, to support each other, and to never give up. Most importantly, you discovered who you really are. That’s what makes you Titans. And I want you to carry that with you forever. No matter where life takes you, always take with you the team spirit we built here,” Steele continued, his gaze steady and determined.
“Now, I have something important to share with you. I’ve been invited to take the position of offensive line coach at Ohio State,” he announced, and a murmur of surprise spread through the group.
“Wow, coach! That’s awesome!” Rafe shouted, clapping.
“I know many of you dream of playing at a higher level, and this is the chance I need to take the experience you had here to a new level. But that means I’ll have to leave the Titans, at least for now,” Steele said, his voice firm, but a bit melancholic. The atmosphere became heavy, the reality of his departure starting to settle in among the players.
“I want you to know that this team meant everything to me. Each of you has incredible talent, and I’ll be cheering for all of you. As soon as I get there, I’ll make sure to stay in touch. And I hope to see some of these faces in September,” he said, looking into each player’s eyes.
“And for the rest, don’t worry! I’ll personally choose the next coach for the Titans. You can trust I’ll pick someone who will continue what we started here, someone who understands what it means to be a Titan. Trust me, after all, as you all say, Coach Knows Best.”
The boys started to applaud, the energy filling the room again. “Thank you, coach! You’re the best!” they shouted in unison.
“Now, get back to having fun! Go Titans!” Steele exclaimed, raising his beer glass in a toast.
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The players shouted in response, excitement taking over again. They gathered in a circle, raised their cups, and yelled: “Go Titans!”
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falloutnewnobody · 4 months ago
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gale baldur's gate is truly a character of all time. like he just seems like a dorky college professor who eats magic or something and then 20 hours into the game he just drops
hey bestie đŸ˜ș do you have a second?đŸ„ș by the way🙃 i have a magic nuke â˜ąïž in my chest😩 because i had a fucked up relationship with a goddessđŸ«ą who was also my mentorđŸ€— anyway ignore the implications of that 🙈okay ✅👍 anyway i pissed her off 🙁 pulling the most icarean stunt imaginableđŸ€  in a huberis led đŸš¶attempt to prove my love💕 for her♄ and now because of my own folly đŸ€Ș not only could i blow up at any second đŸ’„â° i lost the love of my lifeđŸ„° and cant do magicđŸȘ„ nearly as good as before😇 and i fear đŸ‘»losing my magic forever😜 because it's all i've ever knownâ˜ș and the only thing that makes sense to međŸ€”đŸ˜Š
anyway if you want me to leave🍂 forever🕕 and die a horrible deathđŸȘŠđŸ™ alone 😱 i totally get it 😊â˜ș
oh?⁉ you're not gonna banish đŸ€ me to super hellđŸ‘č yayđŸ€— if i feel like i'm gonna explodeđŸ’„ i'll get as far away🏃🏃 from you as possible i promise dont worry bestieâ˜șâ˜șâ˜ș
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