#for a brand THE INSURANCE PICKED

[papercranes07]

.

[daisywords]

\

[batboybisexualism]

absolutely love that my pharmacy, instead of giving me the daily inhaler I need to not have constant asthma attacks, gave me another round of the emergency steroids I took last week to help me heal from the week and a half I went without my daily inhaler and that are really dangerous to take more than once, all while giving me no update on whether or not I'll be able to get said daily inhaler that my doctor is fighting my insurance about

[acourtofidiots]

FINALLY MY MEDS ARE IN STOCK

[champstorymedia]

Top Picks for 2023: Best Fuel-Efficient Cars for Every Budget

In today’s world, fuel efficiency is more important than ever, not only for saving money at the pump but also for minimizing our environmental impact. With advancements in technology and the increasing availability of hybrid, electric, and compact vehicles, 2023 offers a myriad of options for those looking to drive more efficiently. In this article, we will explore the top picks for 2023—a…

[thistlecrimes]

Things I've learned from getting covid for the first time in 2023

I wear an N95 in public spaces and I've managed to dodge it for a long time, but I finally got covid for the first time (to my knowledge) in mid-late November 2023. It was a weird experience especially because I feel like it used to be something everyone was talking about and sharing info on, so getting it for the first time now (when people generally seem averse to talking about covid) I found I needed to seek out a lot of info because I wasn't sure what to do. I put so much effort into prevention, I knew less about what to do when you have it. I'm experiencing a rebound right now so I'm currently isolating. So, I'm making a post in the hopes that if you get covid (it's pretty goddamn hard to avoid right now) this info will be helpful for you. It's a couple things I already knew and several things I learned. One part of it is based on my experience in Minnesota but some other states may have similar programs.

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The World Health Organization states you should isolate for 10 days from first having symptoms plus 3 days after the end of symptoms.

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At the time of my writing this post, in Minnesota, we have a test to treat program where you can call, report the result of your rapid test (no photo necessary) and be prescribed paxlovid over the phone to pick up from your pharmacy or have delivered to you. It is free and you do not need to have insurance. I found it by googling "Minnesota Test to Treat Covid"

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Paxlovid decreases the risk of hospitalization and death, but it's also been shown to decrease the risk of Long Covid. Long Covid can occur even from mild or asymptomatic infections.

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Covid rebound commonly occurs 2-8 days after apparent recovery. While many people associate Paxlovid with covid rebound, researchers say there is no strong evidence that Paxlovid causes covid rebound, and rebounds occur in infections that were not treated with Paxlovid as well. I knew rebounds could happen but did not know it could take 8 days. I had mine on day 7 and was completely surprised by it.

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If you start experiencing new symptoms or test positive again, the CDC states that you should start your isolation period again at day zero. Covid rebound is still contagious. Personally I'd suggest wearing a high quality respirator around folks for an additional 8-9 days after you start to test negative in case of a rebound.

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Positive results on a rapid test can be very faint, but even a very faint line is positive result. Make sure to look at your rapid test result under strong lighting. Also, false negatives are not uncommon. If you have symptoms but test negative taking multiple tests and trying different brands if you have them are not bad ideas. My ihealth tests picked up my covid, my binax now tests did not.

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EDIT: I'd highly suggest spending time with friends online if you can, I previously had a link to the NAMI warmline directory in this post but I've since been informed that NAMI is very much funded by pharmaceutical companies and lobbies for policies that take autonomy away from disabled folks, so I've taken that off of here! Sorry, I had no idea, the People's CDC listed them as a resource so I just assumed they were legit! Feel free to reply/reblog this with other warmlines/support resources if you know of them! And please reblog this version!

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I know that there is so much we can't control as individuals right now, and that's frightening. All we can do is try our best to reduce harm and to care for each other. I hope this info will be able to help folks.

[prefrontal-bastard]

I’m not sure if this is permitted in other countries, but here in the US, advertisers are allowed to use any kind of malignant psychology they want in their ads so long as those ads fit within the allotted time-frame.

Back in high school, my class watched a video on how a certain Coca-Cola advertisement was made. You may have seen it, but for those who haven’t: The ad featured a cinematic montage of a crowded beach with smiling thin white people enjoying their leisure time and drinking Coca-Cola out of a common plastic bottle.

The big takeaway from this video was that the ad wasn’t actually advertising Coca-Cola. It was advertising a lifestyle. By associating Coca-Cola with a desirable lifestyle (as well as qualities associated with desirability) it plants the association of “Coca-Cola” with “happiness” in people’s subconscious minds.

This becomes clear when you consider who the ad was meant for. The target audience wasn’t the smiling thin white people that the ad featured, but instead it was people who wanted to be smiling thin white people. This was an ad for the Gen X mom of three kids who worked full-time, who relied on shelf-stable foods to keep everyone fed, and whose nervous system was chronically fried from the stress of never having adequate time for herself.

If she was at the grocery store, and saw the very same bottle of Coca-Cola featured in that ad, she’d be far more likely to pick it up than she was before watching it. If she didn’t anticipate finding relief for her stress, then she could at least drink up the idea of it.

Of course, the thing about ads is that they stop working. Eventually, people’s minds grow wise to the fact buying a certain product doesn’t actually grant them the lifestyle associated with them.

But there’s a lot of other tricks ads employ beyond this.

The reason why Geico is the first company you consider when thinking about buying car insurance is because of the calm, consistent nature of their ads and the fact they’re ubiquitous enough to be familiar. Their mascot forms a kind of parasocial rapport with the audience, so Geico already feels familiar to you by the time you’re looking to buy insurance.

Cereal brands use cartoon-character-like mascots to make their product memorable to kids who can’t read. The reason why so many cereal mascots exhibit such frenetic, possessive behavior is to teach kids to emulate that behavior to compel parents into buying them the cereal, especially if they saw that behavior rewarded in the ad (with the cereal).

You only really see ads for apps on an app-based devices for a reason.

Then there are the ads that don’t look like ads, but look like people on TikTok sharing a new secret product with their audience using the only communication format we regularly trust: word-of-mouth.

And let’s not forget the sheer magnitude of ads that exist. I can’t go outside without seeing them. I can’t watch videos online without exposing myself to ads that wants to skewer my emotions within 10 seconds.

There’s no reprieve from it unless I wall myself off from our culture entirely.

Ads are parasites to both culture and to cognition, and they must be regulated.

[number1mingyustan]

richhusband!joshua headcannons

richhusband!joshua who buys you the biggest and most beautiful house in the neighborhood with a picket white fence and a pool

richhusband!joshua who instantly draws attention from the new nosy neighbors as he moves into your new home, carrying big heavy boxes while dripping in sweat

richhusband!joshua who simply hands you his black card, allowing you to splurge as you utilize your creative eye to decorate the interior of your new home

richhusband!joshua who shamelessly mows the lawn shirtless, continuing to catch the eye of the nosy neighbors

richhusband!joshua who laughs at the flirtatious comments made by the women in the neighborhood, but makes it very clear that his heart belongs to you and you only

richhusband!joshua who works hard to earn the money he makes, but always has time for you in his schedule

richhusband!joshua who lovesssss spoiling you and taking you shopping

richhusband!joshua who can't help but indulge, picking out clothes that he wants you to wear just so he can take them off (dresses, lingerie, etc.)

richhusband!joshua who is finally settled down and having thoughts of completing your family

richhusband!joshua who comes home after a long day at work with a burning desire inside of him

richhusband!joshua who wastes no time lifting you onto the brand new custom marble kitchen counter and disappearing between your thighs

richhusband!joshua who leaves you breathless and trembling, devouring your cunt and using his tongue to suck on your sensitive clit while his fingers ease your wet folds through 2 orgasms in record time

richhusband!joshua who bends you over the marble counter, biting down on your shoulder as he eases his hard cock into you

richhusband!joshua who whispers and moans against the shell of your ear with soft praises as he fucks you from behind

richhusband!joshua who plays with your clit while he fucks you, coaxing two more orgasms out of you before he pumps his load into you

richhusband!joshua who cums a lot, thoroughly filling you up

richhusband!joshua who plugs his fingers into your sensitive cunt immediately, just as insurance you'll end up pregnant in a few weeks time so you can really start building your family together

_______________________________________________

© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[thesnadger]

If you live in the US and can't get generic Adderall because of the shortage, this might help.

I don't know how much this will vary across insurance plans/states, but it worked for me:

Step 1: If you haven't already, call other pharmacies in the area. Find out if they have the generic and if they have brand name Adderall.

(In my experience, it's mostly the generic that's out everywhere. Fewer people get brand name because it's $300 for 30 pills and not all insurance plans cover it.)

Step 2: Call your insurance company. Ask them if they cover brand name Adderall. If they don't, tell them the generic isn't available in your area because of the shortage (mention that you've called multiple pharmacies) and ask if they can give you a temporary brand override.

(If they do cover it, you may still need your doctor to call in a new prescription for the brand version, but then you should be all set.)

Step 3: If they can do an override, call your doctor next. Have them send a new prescription for your usual dosage to one of the pharmacies that has Adderall. Make sure that the prescription is for brand name Adderall and says "brand only."

(I had to explain why I needed this new prescription to my doctor's team a couple of times, but they put the request through.)

Step 4: When the prescription goes through, call your insurance company back. Explain the situation to them again, and ask them for a temporary brand override.

Step 5: Go pick up your damn pills.

Sincerely, the tired bitch who got her meds.

[steventhusiast]

STWG prompt 17/4/24

prompt: "oops, that wasn't the plan"

pairing/character(s): steddie

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Steve's in the middle of squinting as he scans a library shelf for the textbook he needs when he gets rudely interrupted. A body crashes into him with nearly enough force to knock him over, and he only just manages to catch himself on the library shelves in front of him (with only a few casualties in the form of fallen books).

"Oops!" He hears from right behind him, way too loud for where they are. Sure, they're not in the silent study area, but it's still a library. Sudden noises are pretty noticeable.

Once he's recovered, he looks around the university library to see a few people's unimpressed eyes looking in his direction from their study desks. He feels heat rise from his chest to his cheeks at their attention, and suddenly flustered anger is coursing through him, because-

"What the hell?" He whisper yells, spinning around to face whoever had bumped into him.

He's about to start whisper yelling some more at whoever caused this, but then he sees who's stood in front of him, and- shit. He's hot.

Bright red, and with black curly hair up in a messy ponytail stands a guy around his height, with an expression Steve can only describe as mortification on his face. He's dressed in the student go-to late-night library session attire (university branded hoodie, sweatpants and shoes that are somewhere between slippers and clogs), and he's clutching something in one hand as he stares wide-eyed at Steve.

They stare at each other for a moment, and just as Steve's starting to get a little uncomfortable with it and opens his mouth to, once again, ask what the hell, the guy opens his own mouth and rushes out some hushed words.

"That wasn't the plan, I swear." He says nonsensically, and Steve just frowns at him.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm doing this all wrong." The guy mutters to himself, and suddenly crouches down to pick up the books that had fallen off the shelf.

He seems to use the time facing the ground to collect himself, because once he's stood upright again with the pile of books held in front of him he offers Steve a shy smile.

"My name's Eddie, and you are, just... so attractive and I've been wanting to come and talk to you for, like, an hour, and maybe give you my number? But then, I'm a total clutz, so- so I tripped and almost knocked you over instead. I am so sorry about that, by the way." His nerves seem to come back as he talks, because Steve notices his fingers tap anxiously at the bottom of the book-pile.

Steve's a little stunned by the onslaught of words, and must take too long to respond because Eddie winces after a moment and shakes his head as he averts his eyes.

"This was stupid. I'm so sorry for interrupting your night, you're probably cramming for a test or something." Eddie offers him a wounded smile this time, glancing at his face again, and then makes to turn and walk away.

"Wait- no. You can- um. I would love your number. Sorry, you caught me off guard." Steve says quietly, and Eddie stops moving, eyes going wide again. God, his eyes remind Steve of Bambi.

Steve takes a deep breath and tries to find the charisma he swears he usually has when he's not ambushed with an unexpected hot man.

"I mean, how else will I know how to contact you when I sue you for damages?"

He says it with a smile and a teasing eyebrow raise, but Eddie looks panicked at the words, like that's somehow something he's genuinely worried about, so Steve raises the hand he'd caught himself on the shelves with to show off the slightly reddened base of his palm.

"I'm mortally injured over here, I hope you have good insurance."

Finally, Eddie huffs out a surprised laugh, and the smile stays on his face once he quietens. It's a very pretty smile, much better than the nervous one he was wearing before.

"Right. Well, luckily for you I have my contact details ready to go for situations like this." He says, and (with a little fumbling to reposition the books he's holding) offers Steve an incredibly crumpled up piece of paper.

Steve unfolds it to find a phone number scrawled out, with a ridiculous drawing of a stick figure holding a landline and a speech bubble saying 'call me!'. He carefully folds up the piece of paper, pointedly pockets it, and offers Eddie another smile.

"Thanks, I will for sure be calling later. I just- I am cramming for a test, you were right. So..." He trails off, a little unsure and awkward again.

Eddie just nods, still grinning, and makes to turn around again.

"I'm looking forward to it." He says, and then walks off, ridiculous tower of books still in his hands. Steve watches him go, and then takes a deep breath and looks back at the shelf.

How the fuck is he going to focus on studying now?

[suzukiblu]

Day sixteen of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

TTK does, apparently, protect Kon from callouses, which Tim learns the hard way as Kon laces their fingers together and rubs his thumb across the back of Tim’s hand. His skin is so much softer than it should be, Tim thinks accusingly. Couldn't he at least have the decency to have chapped hands? Sweaty palms or something, even? 

Unfortunately, what Kon has is soft, warm, strong hands whose fingers lace easily through Tim's own, and Tim just has to deal with that somehow, apparently. Apparently that's just his problem now. 

Bastard. 

Tim needs to not melt into an incoherent pile of mush, so he just acts like this is fine and normal and normal and fine and walks into the store with Kon and leads him over to the phones. Kon seems smugly pleased. Tim pretends to not be an incoherent pile of mush. 

It doesn't particularly work, but he at least puts in the effort. 

“Any preferences?” he asks, tugging Kon towards the closest display.

“For a phone?” Kon says. “Not really. I mean, whatever works.” 

Tim is going to take full advantage of that “whatever”, he immediately promises himself. Full and total and complete. 

“Okay,” he agrees, then starts looking at the high-end models. No point in going cheap, though he's definitely going to make sure to pick a durable brand with the least possible degree of planned obsolescence involved. If it comes to it, he'll either upgrade one or build Kon something outright later, but for now the standard retail models are gonna have to do. 

“Uh,” Kon says, cocking his head with a bemused expression and then gesturing towards the wall with his half-empty smoothie cup. Tim is perfectly normal about the fact that they're still holding hands. All kinds of it. Completely and totally. “The burners are over there, man.” 

“Why would I get you a prepaid phone?” Tim asks, making a point of putting on a skeptical expression. “Most of those models don't even have a decent camera.” 

“That is a nine hundred dollar smartphone that you are currently looking at,” Kon says incredulously. 

“Given your powerset involves the ability to decide to make anything you're touching invulnerable, I'm not particularly concerned about you breaking it,” Tim replies reasonably. “Like, are you even capable of dropping things?” 

“Technically no, but I still fight supervillains on the daily, dude,” Kon says. 

“Then I'll spring for the accident insurance,” Tim replies reasonably. “I'd have to come back to buy you a new burner anyway, so it's just easier all around if you can duck in and pick up a replacement without needing to wait for me.” 

“It is nine hundred dollars,” Kon says. 

“There's an eight hundred dollar model, if you don't mind a little less memory,” Tim says. 

“The burners are like, twenty bucks,” Kon says. “And you don’t need to sign up for a plan or anything.” 

“Yes, but if you run out of minutes or break it, you’ll need me to come reload or replace it,” Tim says. “This way you can do it yourself and you can talk as much as you want.” 

“How much exactly are you expecting to want to talk to me, man?” Kon says with a self-deprecating little laugh. Tim thinks vicious thoughts, makes room for a few more spaces on his supervillain vengeance list, and then just shrugs. 

“Up to you,” he says. “I mean, I have school and extracurricular stuff, but that only fills up so much of the day, you know?” 

“You cannot possibly have researched me thoroughly enough to be that sure we’re gonna get along,” Kon says, frowning faintly at the phones. 

“You’re seriously underestimating my capacity for research,” Tim informs him, taking a sip of his smoothie. “Also I’m really just going on how well we’ve been getting along so far.” 

“Oh,” Kon says, and his face flushes again. “Uh . . . okay.” 

“How about this one?” Tim suggests, tipping his head towards one of the mid-range models. Decent brand and sturdy build, but not quite as expensive. 

“That’s still five hundred bucks,” Kon says. 

“I am intending to spend a lot more than five hundred bucks on you today,” Tim says. “And anyway, five hundred bucks for both our conveniences is a small price to pay, don’t you think?” 

“I guess,” Kon says, glancing towards him for a moment before looking back to the phones. “Um . . . maybe, then. If you’re–sure.” 

“I’m sure,” Tim says firmly. “Seriously, I’m not texting you on your work phone, that’s a terrible idea.” 

“If you say so, man,” Kon says, ducking his head a little like he’s trying to hide his smile. It’d work better if he weren’t taller than him, probably. 

The bastard is still holding his hand, so it’s only fair, Tim figures. 

God, since when is Kon this cute, anyway? He's always annoyingly hot, obviously–leaning more strongly towards the “annoying”, for obvious reasons–but he isn't usually cute. Tim wasn't prepared for that. He hasn't had the time to build up the necessary defenses against it. 

“I say so,” Tim says. “What color do you want?” 

“You're a very weird dude, you know,” Kon says with a little laugh, shaking his head.

[threepandas]

Bird4Bird Part 3: Yandere Hawks

Did you know? That Fukuoka has the highest concentration of winged Quirks in Japan? Most of them in or around Kyushu. It's a remarkably recent thing too. Used to be farther north, but that slowly died off when the Hero Rising Wing died in action.

Wanna know WHY?

It's because of the fuckin Gyms.

The markets. The specialty doctors offices. The clothing lines that cater to people who have LIMBS sticking out if their backs. All of those? Yeah, they picked up and looked for the next Hero to slap a brand deal on. Because GOD FORBID they serve the community that already existed and needed them.

So folks had to move. Sell their houses.

It was that or take the train for hours each day, after all.

Because? Again. No license? Who CARES if your health suffers! Fucking WALK. Dangerous muscle atrophy and spinal problems? Should have thought about being a HERO! Bleed for the state!

You're not bitter.

You're just routinely pissed enough to spit shards of GLASS.

Doesn't help that YOUR quirk? Oh, YOUR Quirk is one of the BIG ones. One of those "why yes, I CAN bench press a small vehicle, why do you ask?" Sorta quirks. The upkeep is a NIGHTMARE. You live in a god damned SHOEBOX.

You HAVE too! Because FUCKING INSURANCE doesn't cover "frivolous" "luxury" expenses like your Hero-grade gym membership. Which you only NEED because you'd BREAK the normal machines at a standard Avian Quirk Specialty Gym. But good luck trying to agree with the BIGOTS at-!!!

.....breathe. Just.... just breath. In, then out, in, then out.

Not Worth it.

This is workout time. De-stress. Getting to stretch your wings. Work up a swea-OH MOTHER FUCKER!!

Hawks bats his eyelashs, obnoxiously in your opinion, at you and twiddle his fingers in a cheeky lil shit wave. No. NO. This is you day OFF from community service. You were supposed to be FREE of him! How is he HERE?!

You look him dead in the eyes and project MURDER.

His obnoxious grin gets bigger. It's like he WANTS you to fight him! Is... is this bullying? Are you being BULLIED? You're on fuckin PAROLE. The flesh may be so, SO willing to slam him face first through a wall... but the spirit DOESNT WANT TO GO TO JAIL. His ass ain't worth it!

Leave you crimson ass, crow demon! FUCK OFF!

He pouts exaggeratedly at you. Dramatic and fake as shit. "Aaaw, aren't we FRIENDS? Don't you want to hang ooooout~?" NO! I would sell you back to whatever hell dimension you crawled from, for a toothpick I DONT EVEN WANT!

He looks delighted.

Stop that!

You try and ignore him. Finish your work out. But he is so, SO clingy and whiny and LOUD. He's doing on purpose. You know he is. HE knows, you know, he is. You can see it in his eyes. It's the fucking malicious little sparkle.

Is he getting OFF on this? What, does he just LIKE to harrass people? Pick at them?

If he keeps fucking around, he's GONNA find out.

You storm away the second your done. Try to lose him at the changing rooms. Fail. Now he's following you... eating greasy fried chicken... OBNOXIOUSLY. Does he HAVE to FLY while he does that?! The exaggerated noises are COMPLETELY UNNECESSARY!

You spin to rip him a new one, take one look at his smug, victorious expression... and? Actually? Enjoy your fucking chicken. Mama didn't raise a lil bitch. She had a Cutesy Pair Of Angel Wings™ her entire life. Was fetishized to FUCK and back. Learned the fine art of rage and taking no prisoners.

She? She raised a spiteful wrath child with a strong sense of justice.

Fuck yoooooooou.

You hope he CHOKES on that chicken. You begin to turn, but stop. He WAS looking annoyed that his plan didn't work. Why did he just start smirking? He looks entirely too smug and pleased. Not looking AT you. Over your head? Behind-?

"Omg, IS THAT HAWKS~♡?!"

Oh, fuck. You feel the blood drain from you face. His eyes flick down to yours. His PR, fake ass, smile has never been toothier. D...Don't do it. Don't you DARE.

He strikes a photo ready pose. Why YES HE IS~!

You desperately try to get out of the way. You've SEEN the carnage. The poor souls caught in the crossfire. High pitched squeals and thundering feet race closer from behind you. A red feather has by the front of the jacket. You stare down in betrayal. Back up in horror.

You're supposed to be a HERO!

The Fan's cometh. And with a howling curse, you get consumed by the crowd. Hawks laughs, bright and charming above the crowd. His feathers never leaving your body as you get thrown around. Shouldn't have ignored him~

But man, the face you made was pretty cute, too.

Following you was a great idea! He should do it more often~♡

[formulatrash]

What Hot Hatch* Should Every F1 Driver Have? Pt 1

*some of these cars are not technically hot hatches but they are, spiritually, hot hatches to ME and also car genres are meaningless shut up

Unfortunately because I have problems I allowed the group chat to commission me into writing this. I think you will be able to see the point where I really unleashed the thoughts that probably ought to be kept inside. Maybe I will keep Pt 2 to myself.

Max Verstappen - Honda Civic Type R This was tricky because we know the grid's resident cat dad is actually an SUV girly off the track. But he's also a brand loyalist and I'm fairly sure literally has had one of these as his factory car so it checks out that a car notorious for having a better engine than it did chassis would fit the Red Bull post-Newey meltdown. And if you need to go round a bunch of roundabouts there's really almost nothing rivalled to a Civic Type R.

Lewis Hamilton - og Nissan Leaf Yes, Lewis has never had any association to the Renault-Nissan alliance in his life but whatever he's leaving Mercedes. Think he's sort of forgotten about this but he did commit to only driving electric road cars awhile back and I will defend the Nissan Leaf with my LIFE as one of the most fun cars to drive. Nearly said the NISMO Leaf but actually the time I had a go in one of them it was insanely overbearing in a way someone used to having Bono to whine to wouldn't appreciate. The stripped down, basic, original is more than enough to fuck about in a multistory car park and I'm confident Lewis would immediately know what to do with it when next to a BMW at traffic lights.

George Russell - Williams Renault Clio This was actually what started it because I was introducing my beautiful wife to the groupchat and then considering which driver should throw some pocket money at it. Leaving aside the fact that if I was that rich there'd be a lockup in Monte Carlo full of the shittest mid-90s three-doors you've ever seen in your life, this car is perfect for George. It's got a legitimate heritage connection and it's a proper piece, something to look after. There's even matching sweaters for him and Carmen to wear in a sponsored post. And when he gets that look in his eye and starts clenching his jaw too much it's extremely good for doing donuts outside Carrefour.

Sergio Perez - Toyota GR Yaris No, I know he drives for a Honda works team but if they haven't fired him yet they'll probably overlook this. The GR Yaris is a bit of a North American legend because you can legally only get it in Mexico - they're not obtainable in the US. So this is an understated big dick move and maybe what Checo needs is to have a little obnoxious fun, y'know?

Charles Leclerc - Sbarro Super Eight Oh, Charles. Tied up in scarlet. In order to maintain his Maranello-chained brand suffering nothing but Ferrari's finest horsies could do but they're not really in the business of making mean little things to hoon. Unless you consider the driver academy, I guess. Anyway - the Sbarro Super Eight is a Ferrari 308 V8 engine in the body of the kind of vehicle you can get insured on under the age of 25. It has too much (260) horsepower, it's a little silly and deeply selfconscious. And like il predestinato there is only one in the whole world.

Carlos Sainz Jnr - VW Golf This isn't even a statement about what car he should have, this is a car he does have. Mr Sainz and I may disagree about many things but his opinion that the VW Golf is the ultimate road vehicle is absolutely correct. Anyone who's seen the excruciating DTS segment where he tries to take a McLaren to M&S for a disappointing taco mix purchase will understand why Carlos held on to his Golf, a much better vehicle for picking up some bits. In the words of the man himself: "No Golf, no party"

Lando Norris - Lancia Delta Integrale Mk 2 "la Perla" Anyone with my Instagram recommendations will know in quite some alarming detail which Monegasque petrol station Lando uses to fill up his collection of sports cars. Weird fan paparazzi behaviour aside, the man likes buying unique cars and clearly isn't above something quirky given the Fiat Jolly. The Delta Integrale "la Perla" 1) sounds a bit like a sex toy in a way I think he'd find amusing, 2) is rare, with a totally impractical pearlescent white paint job for something ostensibly intended to hoon. It's expensive, semi-unique (allegedly only a few hundred were made) and a little bit silly, with plenty of rally-proven power and drive to muck about with.

Oscar Piastri - Honda City Turbo Oscar seems like the kind of guy who doesn't care too much about appearances. Not in the sense he looks bad - he very clearly does not - but like, lot of rumpled shirts in his wardrobe he's not bothered about ironing, y'know. So it fits that he'd need a hot hatch that does the job more than it's about aesthetic. The things I know about Oscar are that he likes to spend time with his girlfriend and he learned Japanese at school so I'm diagnosing him with JDM import disease and making sure there's a passenger seat. The Honda City Turbo is a teeny weeny little car that only makes its way into being a hot hatch not a kei car because of the totally unnecessary powertrain. And what a fucking powertrain, straight from the Mugen division into the least likely chassis imaginable. Yes, the car is not the most ostentatious looking thing but it's technically interesting and sick as hell so whatever.

Zhou Guanyu - Renault Twingo 133 Silverstone edition Zhou is a man of immense taste and style. He has a great little cat. He is a national icon in his home country and, frankly, any other. He has spent a lot of his life in Sheffield. Aside from this making him basically an idealised form of bloke, I think this means I can entrust him with the Twingo. Not, it's got to be said, overpowered as a car in its base model (my Mk1 Twingo could boast a 0-62 measured in minutes) Renault have never been able to resist souping it up a bit and for some unlikely series of reasons made a sport version to tie into the 2011 British Grand Prix. I don't even want to know why, now, it's better that it stays a mystery. Anyway, this is a Twingo with unnecessary horsepower and live data feeds the Mk1 would probably have a misfire even considering. It's quirky, comes with plenty of backstory and y'know. Whomst amongst us hasn't been screwed around with by Renault a bit in the past?

Valtteri Bottas - the Suzuki Jimny The Jimny is a car of greats. Deceptively small, it works perfectly in a city or if you need to drive up a mountain to get to a gravel course. loads of room at the back for a bike rack. It's practical, a little odd-looking in a charming way and everyone's delighted every time they see one. You can definitely get your ass out in this vehicle. Is it a hot hatch? Probably not but you don't get to define how the Jimny lives its life.

[j0kers-light]

I just know Joker would be so fed up with a reader who needs glasses

Like no J, I didn't see you the other day when you were stalking me while I was shopping, sorry for not going over and say hi.

SORRY my visits to the ophthalmologist are that expensive, I'm just a girl who needs her eyes checked!!

"Bunny... what da ya mean you need... contact lenses...? Like lentils for t'eyes?"

omg I can't he is just so dumb when he wants to😭

Woah anon this one hits too close to home. I went to the ophthalmologist last Thursday and for the first time in my life, I need glasses. I am not adjusting well 😣

Let's get into it! I do hope you enjoy beloved! 🖤✨

Joker instantly makes fun of you. For starters, Frost had to help you back home since they dilated your eyes at the office and urged you not to drive. So you came through the door, looking like a lost cause clinging onto Frost.

For months you've been complaining about headaches and double vision, all on deaf ears. You had to take matters into your own hands and find a specialist to perform an eye exam.

Now you're finally getting help to correct your vision! Not like Joker cares. He picks on you by waving his hands in front of your face. You snap at him because you can still see.

"J move out the way! I'm not legally blind, this is only temporary." You grope at the air to prevent yourself from bumping into anything. You still run head first into a potted plant, knocking it over.

Joker thinks your protective glasses, he dubbed them "Ray Charles" are absolutely hilarious. They help with bright lights until your pupils return to normal but it does make you look, well, like a visually impaired person. "All you need is a cane, doll!"

Its days like this where you question why you love Joker. He's such a jerk.

Any support or help you wish to get from Joker is non existent. He is blissfully unaware about how serious your situation is. Thankfully the drops wear off but you have to endure Joker for the upcoming days until your glasses come in the mail.

Joker says the most insensitive things to you like, "Bunny what do ya mean you need uh, contact lenses? Like lentils for your eyes?" or "My Bunny is blind. Maybe I should call ya mouse instead?"

You groan for the umpteenth time and ignore him. You're not legally blind, just.. [insert level of impairment] His jokes aren't funny.

Finally your prescriptions arrive in the mail and you hastily put them on. Its like seeing the world anew. You smile and glance around the room and your eyes land on Joker, who has his jaw on the floor.

"Wow.. I uh.. ahem. You look... B-Bunny.. ya look nerdy. Did they not have a err better selection?" He looked away, hiding his blush.

And your happiness is squashed. Great. You're not his goddess anymore. You sulk around the apartment as you adjust to your new eyes feeling completely miserable. Along with the expected headaches, and discomfort, your mood is in the sewer.

It brings about.. let's say problems. Key word: Joker is the problem. He plays too much and your poor frames is his brand new toy. He bends them, loses them, and even worse? He completely breaks them all 'on accident'. Yeah right.

He just laughs each time saying, "I'll uhh buy ya a new pair."

Joker is a man of his word but your ophthalmologist gives you a disapproving look when you order your sixth pair of glasses in a two month period. Insurance has since stopped footing the bill, they're fed up too.

Your doctor suggests contacts which you think would be a better fit. It is not. Joker manages to ruin them too.

He misplaces your contact case. He uses your contact fluid for a new laughing gas compound, he distracts you and much to your horror-- you sleep with your contacts still in.

Along with the stress of new glasses, the sudden change in your life, and Joker's lack of concern, you're bound to break down and it happens one day when you're working on your laptop in the living room.

Joker sneaks up behind you and steals your new (seventh pair) of glasses right off your face. You react accordingly but with the loss of your visual aid, the room is blurry and you can't focus.

"Joker give me back my glasses! I can't see without them!"

You hear his signature laugh a little to your left and turn that way. You can barely see his figure holding your glasses up to his face. He whistles low.

"Geez, Bunny! I knew ya couldn't, ah see, but this? This is pathetic!" His words sting and make you falter reaching his side.

The one person you need the most to be supportive, and on your side during such a life changing event, is your bully. Why can't Joker be more understanding? You don't know you're crying until Joker is standing before you. He's close enough for you to see him clearly.

And he doesn't look happy. "What's gotten into you?"

He doesn't even know?!! That just makes you cry even harder. Your tears are Joker's kryptonite and he groans to himself before yanking you into your arms.

"Bunny..... stop that.. You know I haTe it when you cry." He rocks the two of you back and forth but you aren't moved by his weak attempt at an apology.

"Then why are you being so mean to me?! You keep breaking my glasses, I can't see without them, I'm... I'm so tired and—"

Joker shuts you up with a kiss and your body betrays you by kissing him back. He pulled away so he could see your e/c sparkling up at him.

“You've been soooo stressed lately. I thoughT my jokes would help ease your mind! I just wanted you to smile."

"You made fun of me and called me a nerd!" You pout.

He sighed and placed your glasses where they belong. The way he was looking at you made you adopt a slight flush to your cheeks.

"I didn't mean to be mean, Princess. These make ya look hot, very hoT. Like the sexy author I know ya are."

You looked away, mumbling. "You... you think I look hot?"

Joker laughed and spun you around in his arms. He then attacked your face with sloppy kisses while his eager hands roamed your body.

"Think? Oh I know my goddess is stunning with or without glasses. You. Are. Beaut-Tee-full and the day I say otherwise, be a dear and uh.. stab me with a knife."

He smirked hearing your joyful laughter ringing out. Oh how he missed it.

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

A story for @octuscle Merry Christmas. I'm sorry it's a bit rushed, and kinda slapdash, but you know what happened. I hope you like it!

Going Back to College

Jerry was forty years old.  He was celebrating his birthday alone, again.  Somehow, after graduating college, Jerry set out to change the world, but all that really changed was Jerry waist, which continued to grow wider and wider.  Jerry hated his life.  He was a doctor, but with the cost of insurance, and having his own office, Jerry couldn’t get anywhere in life.   And no matter how hard he tried, Jerry felt like he was just treading water.  Jerry picked up the paper and glanced at it, and then read the headline story again and again. He threw down the newspaper in disgust.  On the front page was a well-muscled man, doing a double biceps pose, in front of his tenth gym franchise.   The man, Rick Jenkins, was a huge success, becoming a millionaire at thirty, and now at forty had his gym franchise, a supplement empire and his own fashion brand.  He was also now a billionaire.  Jerry was disgusted.  In freshman year of college, Rick had been his roommate.  Rick was your typical dumb as rocks jock, or so Jerry had thought.  They had nothing in common with each other.  But, looking back at his life, he realized that he had been condescending and rude to Rick, while Rick had always tried to get along with Jerry.  In fact, there was this time when Rick had offered to take Jerry to the gym for what Rick had claimed was what he designed to be a non-intimidating workout that anyone could do and get good results.  Why couldn’t I have made an effort back then?  Or have at least been a little nicer to him?  Then, Jerry had an idea.  He grabbed one of the birthday cupcakes he had baked for himself, put a candle on it, and lit it.  He sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to himself, and closed his eyes, to envision the wish he wanted.  Jerry took a deep breath and made his wish, “I wish I had gone on those workouts with Rick, and been nicer to him.”  And then, blew out the candle. 

And then, it happened.   In a rush of glittery blue wormhole, Jerry found himself back in his college dorm.  It was move-in day, and Jerry had already found himself frustrated with his new roommate.  “Sorry for the mess, roomie, but the football team has this hazing ritual and has really been keeping us busy.  I’ll clean it up as soon as I can.” Rick had said.  “I remember I got really snippy with him.  Maybe I can be nicer person,” Jerry thought to himself.  “It’s not a problem, Rick, just clean up when you get to it, ok?”  “For sure.  Thanks for not making a big deal out of it.”  And their relationship had gotten off on a much better foot than it did last time.  Fast forward to October, and Jerry and Rich were pretty unrepeatable.  They went to whatever classes they had in common together, which surprising to Jerry were quite a lot. 

They were both taking biology together, and Rick was even taking Calculus I.  They were both in the freshman English class, and were even in the same Western Civ and Spanish I classes.    The only thing that was different was Jerry was also taking a pre-medicine class and an extra science lab class, while Rich had a bodybuilding class in addition to being on the football team.  They would often get lunch and dinner together.   One day, when Jerry told Rich about how stressful it was to take a full eighteen-hour schedule, Rich offered to take Jerry to the gym for a non-intimidating workout.  Jerry was about to explode at Rich, but remembered that he was being nice to his roommate, and told Rich that he wanted to try the gym but was always too busy or too scared.   Rich explained that he had been developing this non-intimidating work out plans for a few years now, and offered Jerry the chance to workout with him. 

“Jerry, three, two, one, sleep.   You are under my control,  you are excited to workout with me, even though you may think you’re apprehensive, you’re excited.  Any work out plan I give you may seem difficult, but will be totally not intimidating.  Your find yourself wanting more and more to come work out with me.   Now I want you to go deeper and deeper, repeating my words until you go into a deep sleep, repeating my words in your sleep, and wake up when your alarm wakes you.“

So, with apprehension, Jerry found himself going to the gym with Rick.  Rick’s personality put Jerry at total ease.  And Rick’s work out plan was totally not intimidating.  Jerry found it easy to go from exercise to exercise, and whenever Jerry had a problem, he found Rick right there to help with his workout.  By November, Jerry felt his stress had totally disappeared thanks to Rick’s workouts.  And he knew he started seeing results from the gym.  Noting earth-shattering, but his shoulders and lats were becoming more prominent, while his belly was shrinking.  And his arms and legs were becoming more defined and he could even see hints of pecs and biceps popping up a little.   Rick noticed too and would always compliment Jerry on his “gainz”.   Whenever Rick would say “gainz” around Jerry, Jerry would always have this unusual feeling come over him, and his brain would kind of blink out for a second or two.  And he would always wake up to Rick telling him that he was doing such a great job and that he should keep up his workouts, bro!

It was December, and Jerry was at the gym.  He was alone in the locker room, and flexed in a mirror.  He was amazed how much he had changed.  He couldn’t believe it but he had biceps.  Actual biceps, and abs.  He had a full-on rock wall of six solid abs!  “Hey, Jer-bro!  I knew you could do it!  That high-protein, low carb diet really did wonders for you!”  Rick said.  “And check out all those gainz!” 

And again, that weird whirly feeling went through my brain.  This time though, Jerry could hear Rick saying something to him.  “Hey Jer-bro, you like it when I call you that.  I need you to shift your concentration a bit.  I need you to get into sports medicine.  You can to that for be Jer-bro, I mean after I’ve heled you so much get rid of your stress, and helping your gainz in the gym.  You’re just a little hazy on working as a surgeon or an oncologist, but your brain seems totally focused on going into sports medicine and we can be partners.   That’s gonna be so fucking cool.  So, keep up your work outs bro!  You’re doing so fucking awesome!”

Jer woke up a little foggy.  He’d just had an awesome workout, and Rick had come up to him to encourage him a always.   And did he say something after that?  Nah, he’d just be as encouraging as always.  He’d be going home for the holidays.   He wasn’t looking forward to talking about shifting his concentration.  Surgeons and oncologists made lots of money, but he was really interested in sports medicine.  It was becoming his passion. 

It was now sophomore year.  Rick and Jer-bro had decided to stay roommates.  Jer was especially happy to room with Rick.  It seemed Rick help keep his stress levels away.  Why didn’t he want to hang with Rick before?  Rick was his bro!   Rick was such an awesome bro!  He could always look up to Rick.  Jerry was in his second year, and he was still eager to graduate with a degree in sports medicine.   So, his schedule was not as full as last year, but still very full.   He took sophomore English, and Western Civ 2.  He also took Spanish 2, and Calc 2, and for his sports medicine focus he took Anatomy 1 and Sports Med 1.  Surprisingly, Rick was in 4 of his six classes.  The only difference was instead of sports med, Rick was taking a business class and a psychology class.  

The year progressed really well with Jer-bro making awesome gainz in the gym, but grades falling to the B-C level.  And Rick was doing awesome.  He was now the starting quarterback on the school team, and the whole team was very dedicated to playing football and winning a state championship.   The coach even allowed Rick to lead in some kind of motivational meditation before each and every practice and game.   This seemed to make the team even more thirsty to win the school’s first championship ever.  

At the end of sophomore year, the football team won it’s first division championship.  Jer-bro even took time off from his classes to paint his face and cheer on Rick during the championship game.  He had listened to Rick who told him that football was something that he was becoming really passionate about.  And after a while, Jer-bro couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t passionate about college football.  By the end of the season, Jer-bro could tell you any stats about the college’s last 20 years.  And he was even becoming a Las Vegas Raiders fan, which was Jerry’s team too. 

During Junior year, Jer-bro and Rick were totally unrepeatable.  The only time they were apart was when Jer-bro went to his medically focused classes and Rick when to his Business and Psychology classes.  One night, Jer-bro heard some sounds coming from the headphones  on his ears.  “Rick is right.   Listen to Rick.  Rick gives you gainz.  Rick is your bro.  Listen to Rick.”  Jer-bro realized this was stuff he already knew, so he closed his eyes and went back into a deep sleep. 

During this year, Jer-bro noticed some nerdy guys hanging around Rick, and he grew a little concerned.   So, he asked Rick about it.  “Rick, why are you hanging out with all the nerds?” he asked.  Rick responded, “Remember the unintimidating workouts you started with?  I’m refining them for a general audience and I’m making great progress.”  “Cool,” was Jer-bro’s only reply. 

Later on in the year, Jer-bro once again heard the whispering in his ears.  It was now second nature for him to absorb the information but ignoring it.  He heard Rick telling him, “For your senior project, you will create the perfect protein powder, muscle growth supplement, with one undisclosed side effect, it makes people dumber.  I know you can do this for me, Jer-bro.  For us.  You will do this for your senior project.  You will continue your workout and continue to get awesome gains.  All for Rick.  All because of Rick.”

Senior year,  was awesome.  Jer-bro kept working on his senior project with a singular focus.  He continued to workout at the gym and by the time graduation came around, Jer-bro looked like an amateur bodybuilder.   He would zone out at times, so people thought he was kind of a dumb ass, but underneath all the muscle was a huge intellect, focused on sports medicine.  He had finished the protein powder that Rick told him to make and now, they would begin a business together.  Speaking of Rick, he had gotten investments from some of his former teammates who he had persuaded to go into finance and investment.  His team had continued to do so well this year, the had gone to the Rose Bowl and won!  Rick had even picked up the Heisman trophy.  At graduation, Rick was ready to start his supplement company with Jer-bro  and had all the financial backing he needed. 

Jer is now 25.  He’s more rich than he was when he was 40.  He’s also quite a bit dumber.  After trying some of the muscle growth protein powder, Jer couldn’t help but become addicted to it.  He grew his muscles until he was little more than a musclehead.  Only into working out and having sex.  He still knew how to calculate his micro nutrients and count his reps out.  But that was all his life consisted of these days.  And he was very happy. 

As for Rick?  He became a millionaire at 24.  By the age of 30, Rick owned his franchise of gyms all over the world, and with his muscle growth protein powder, range of “motivational hypnosis patreons” and fashion brand, he was now a billionaire.  Jerry had been the perfect test subject for his hypnosis during the first month of rooming together, and that had given him all the confidence to try his methods first on his coach, then going on to the rest of his teammates.  And that had made all the difference.