#sorry for beefing but it's pissing me off

[memysoulandi]

This is something that kinda annoys me and im outing myself as a Batlantern shipper to complain about this, but I think it applies to most things

But like,

Recently I've been going on the Batlantern tag and finding heaps of Superbat content where (I think it's a fic or someone's au that everyone is talking about) Hal basically hooks up with Bruce to get them together, and like I'm fine with the concept but

It's not Batlantern, it's Superbat, and none of these posts are about the actual hook-up itself, they're about Hal like mentioning it or something and Clark getting all posessive and stuff and I just-

I don't get why they've tagged it Batlantern.

I go onto the Batlantern tag TO READ Batlantern. If I wanted to read Superbat (which I don't because I ship Timkon and Jondami and Clois but that's not the point) I would go onto THE SUPERBAT TAG.

Tagging side pairings is fine and all, but you could at the same time just not and only tag superbat and hal jordan because these aren't batlantern posts.

on Ao3, you would tag on additional tags as like past batlantern and it wouldn't come up when I put batlantern into the search bar.

So in conclusion, please, for my sanity, don't tag things as stuff they're fundamentally not, because if I wanted tea, I would've asked for tea, but I didn't, so don't give me tea.

Unconscious people do not want tea.

[carpbait]

the fucking. thing guy

[sillyfull-jua]

Okay something just me cares about but

Why is in this art Aurora holding a PINK rose

And Belle is holding a RED one

IT SHOULD BE THE FUCKING OPPOSITE

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: EARTH (PART 1 - REVAMPED)

Ft. Staff Cmdr. Sophie Oliveira-Shepard Alenko-Oliveira, Cpt. Arno Delacroix, and Zaeed Massani-Shepard MIRA'S MORE CANON ME3 "Shadow Broker resources? Yeah, they might be good for a lot of shit, Dove. Convincing the brass to get off their asses and do something about the Reapers? Not one of them. Think that one might be up to you, this time. Entertaining diction and goddamn fucking all." Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[tomboyyyaoi]

something i wanna say abt laios' undeniable autism portrayal and how fans saw it as a free ticket to infantalise him completely, hes not ur silly little 'tism warrior hungie boy he devoured his way into kingdom because of his insatiable passionate love of monsters and butchering and eating them and the love of his sister. he ran away from home at 16 bc of his deep burning hatered of his father. he had a fiancé. hes 26.

[jazz-kity]

sorry just got access to a pc and remembered i caught this silly guy.

thinking about putting him on my team; BUT. the only slot that he'd reasonably fit is gregson's [gogoat] slot, so i'm not really sure...

because i searched up what he Does and this guy clicks the Attack button. so another attack + speed type of fella entering the realm. but i've already got krakow [leavanny] and connor [samurott] for that, while i do Not have anyone that has a non-0 defense stat. cuz yarn my togekiss is all in special defense & hp. unfortunately. shroomish and breloom are quite cute. and the electric coverage for flying types would be Nice

[cryingforcrocodiles]

gen gen gen I know gen is short for genesis...but I suggest...perhaps it could be short for gennifer.

dan dan dan. it is short for genesis (pronounced hen-esis if ur hispanic i found out years ago bc there was a mexican genesis n we were friends. anyways.) and your suggestion is absolutely DENIED. immediately. and i tell you why.

i have this neighbor called shirley. she's around the age of my grandmother, maybe older (late 70s, early 80s) and my god, she's the worst. she's crazy, she's odd, she's smug, and she's judgemental. so a lot like every old person but the thing is she has beef with MY family specifically. historical beef. passed from gen to gen wtv wtv and i tell her my name is genesis, has been telling her since the day i could... formulate words promptly and this woman keeps saying "gennifer" on purpose, i correct her each time and she's like "oh :] ahaha sorryy." in an old woman evil way. it makes me irate bc i have a weird thing for names n respect n yadadada you get the whole picture. i think it's bc when i was younger i used to throw rocks at her house with her backyard friends. young me made it very clear that i didn't like her/didn't like how she talked to my mama & gma. cuz they was beefing. so ig this is her revenge to me, being annoying towards me and the name 'gennifer' that follows it. at least her yard is pretty.

[rocket-powered-socket]

That fuckass thing from hazbin hotel having the same name as the bestest Bob the Builder character ever always scares me when I see it can he change it please

[ivy-pendragon]

Would Tory have looked more sympathetic in the aftermath of the school brawl had she directed her violence at Miguel instead of Sam? Personally, I think it would, because I'd have more sympathy for Tory starting a fight with the boyfriend who cheated on her, than for a Tory who started a fight with the girl that her boyfriend cheated on her with.

The thing is…this fight wasn’t really about Miguel. I mean, yeah oc at some extent it was, but Miguel was just the last straw for Tory. She hated Sam because she had a perfect life, perfect boyfriend and bla bla, and she was struggling way too much for her to bare it on her own. She needed someone to blame and that person was Sam. Would it have been a little more…reasonable if she had fought Miguel instead of Sam? Maybe. But the issue was not him, and I personally don’t think she loved Miguel in the first place so losing him was not her biggest issue, Sam “stealing” him was.

Thank u for the question ❤️

[randomuniversityquotes]

Physics II Professor: "By definition, you're struggling."

[gummy-sharks666]

Ppl need to realize the “media literacy” argument can only go so far because every human brain will not interpret media the exact same way. It’s literally impossible.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter two

synopsis: task force m arrives at the palace. and you and phosphorus come to an agreement.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, more superpower usage, cute flirting thing going on, little spicy at the end.

"You'd think they'd take these shits down after a while..." you grimaced, watching as you passed by each deformed face. "I mean, seriously?"

"They're family. Who would wanna take down the last known painting of Great Great Grandpa Ugly?" Phosphorus quipped, pointing toward one of them as he walked alongside you. "They even got his good side."

"That's a woman..."

"..."

"Wow."

After arriving in Pokolistan, and taking a rather uncomfortable, piss-ridden ride to the palace, Task Force M had finally made it to the royal castle.

The royal castle where inbreeding seemed to be the fad of the last few centuries.

"Looks like the gene pool was above ground and inflatable, if you know what I mean," Bride remarked, glancing at Flag.

The general let out a soft chuckle, slightly grimacing at the images.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I wonder what this princess is going to look li—Oh."

In front of you all approached a gorgeous woman, with sparkling blue eyes and short, blonde hair.

Flag watched, entranced, as she approached, earning an eye roll from the Bride.

"Schwing," Phosphorus whispered, earning an eye roll from you.

"Dork."

"Richard Bill Flag, Sr," Ilana smiled, resting her hands behind her back. "So wonderful to be meeting you."

"Yes... you, too," he nodded, awkwardly.

"Your middle name is Bill?" Bride raised a brow.

"Yes."

"Not, like, William?" Nina asked.

"No."

"Whose middle name is Bill?" you slightly grinned.

"Mine! Okay?"

You raised your hand in defense, backing off as he refocused.

"Princess Rostovic, it's an honor," Flag bowed, humbly.

"This is not the kind of bow we do in Pokolistan, Mr. Richard Flag," the captain of the guard interjected. "So, unfortunately... we're going to have to kill you."

"What?!"

"Alexi," Ilana tried to reprimand.

"I am sorry. We must only do sacred, customary bow in this castle."

As the guards began to close in, drawing their weapons, everyone went back to back, you igniting your fist with fire.

"Everyone, murder this man."

"What?! Hold on a minute! No one briefed me on what kind of bow!"

Though, it wasn't long before they all burst into laughter.

'The hell?'

"I'm sorry. They're... how do you say it... messing on you?" Ilana apologized, muffling her snickers.

"I am making joke!" Alexi cackled. "For a minute, I think you're going to make mess in your pants, huh?"

"I was never gonna—!"

"Very close to messing his pants," the Bride interrupted with a smile.

"I wasn't even in the vicinity of doing that."

"I think someone else was," Phosphorus smirked, nudging you. "Right, Jumpy?"

"Don't make me hurt you, X-ray," you threatened, sharply.

"We are so much like Americans, yes?" Alexi grinned. "Ooh, we pull pranks like Jamie Kennedy Experiment! We do the Super Bowl shovel! We like to say Wazzup!"

'Jesus...'

"Well, you're certainly current with your popular cultural references," Phosphorus commended.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper and pointing to his face. "Sarcastic smile."

"Why are you talking to me right now?"

"Now, I have question for you, skeleton. Where is the beef?" Alexi laughed. "Clara Peller, one of the greats—"

"Enough, Alexi," Ilana sighed, turning to the rest of you. "We've prepared a banquet for you, our honored guests."

You grinned, finally excited.

It had been so long since you'd had a meal that wasn't grey-ish, brown slop.

'Shoulda led with that.'

"Hey, doll face," Phosphorus, chimed, mouth stuffed with food as he glanced at your steak, "You gonna eat that?"

"Don't call me doll face," you shut down, harshly. "And no. I'm not."

"Perfect."

Without hesitation, he snatched it away and plopped it down on his plate, using an irradiated hand to cook it a bit extra. 

Though, once he was finished, he was quick to yoke it up and take a bite out of it like a goddamn raccoon.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you went back to cutting your brussel sprouts.

"Animal..."

"Don't start thinkin' you're better than me just 'cause you're on a diet," he countered, tossing the once bitten steak over his shoulder, sending Weasel to fetch it.

"Vegetarian," you corrected, stabbing a piece of broccoli with your fork. "I haven't eaten meat in years."

"Didn't know Hell had a salad bar."

"Fuck you."

"That would be delightful, actually," he grinned, unbothered, as he ripped the drumstick off a turkey and took a large bite.

Pointedly, you ignored him, opening your mouth and shoveling in some vegetables.

And that's when he noticed...

"Whoa..." Phosphorus froze, slightly, eyes widening at the sight. "You have fangs?"

Your expression fell, swapping for one of annoyance.

"Yes," you answered, flatly. "Are you deaf or something? 'Cause you seem to be having a hard time grasping the fact thatI. Am. A. Demon."

"That's hot," he stated, completely ignoring what you just said.

Taken by surprise, you clammed up, a certain warmth rising to your cheeks at his bold comment.

As crude as it was, no one had ever actually complimented you off your looks before.

This was completely new territory.

"I—Shut up!" you slightly stammered, internally cursing yourself for being so embarrassing.

"Holy crap... did you just stutter?" he realized, giddily. 

"No!"

"You did! Oh, my God! You just did!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"That was adorable! You're adorable."

"I hate you."

"You're not the first."

"Fuck..." you cursed, closing your eyes and biting your lip as your free hand cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top.

Lost in the moment, your breath began to pick up, even more so as you slid your red hand down the front of your panties.

You moaned as you began to massage your sensitive bud, imagining it was someone else instead.

After housing down the rest of your dinner, and take a well-earned shower, you got set your own private room—which you procured by telling Flag you sometimes burst into flames in your sleep.

But now, with the boys keeping watch outside the princess's room, and nothing but time to kill, you settled for the old American past time, dealing with an itch you'd been meaning to scratch for years.

"Oh, shit..." you gasped, slipping your fingers inside, expecting to feel something.

But you didn't.

In fact, you felt nothing.

'The fuck?'

Abruptly, you sat up on the bed, letting out a huff as you looked down at yourself.

You knew it had been a hot minute since you last... y'know... but you didn't think you were that rusty.

"Fuck me," you groaned, flopping back on the mattress in annoyance.

You were already pent up enough, but adding sexual frustration to the mix only worsened the feral urges rising in your chest.

God, you weren't even supposed to be here...

You weren't some hardened criminal, or senseless evil-doer.

You were just a woman.

A woman... with horrible luck, and a really, really bad case of DID.

And a woman who wanted nothing more than to be back at her cell in Arkham, far away from these people and this place.

Quickly, you got up, snatching your shorts off the floor before tugging them on, running a frustrated hand through your hair.

Frantically, you racked your brain for someone to assist you, feeling as though if you didn't get this release, you might go insane.

Just one round.

Just one, quick round.

And you'd be set for however many more years you had at the asylum.

Flag?

'No. He was makin' goo-goo eyes at the princess... and by now she's probably already fucked him.'

G.I?

'Too stiff. I don't even think he has a dick...'

Weasel?

'Absolutely not.'

Which only leaves...

'Fuck. Me.'

Cursing under your breath, you stood there for a moment, contemplating the life choices that led you to this moment before starting for the door.

On your way, your steps seeming to echo throughout the room as you padded across, and only got louder after you yanked open the door and reached the hallway.

At this point, you were desperate.

With no actual options and limited time, you would have to act fast.

And pray that he'd let it go once you were done...

Using your sense of smell, you found his door easily, moving to step in front of it.

You were about to knock, but stopped mid-way, hesitant.

What if he said no? Found you disgusting...

"Whoa, there, doll face... That's hot," his words echoed in your head.

With a deep sigh, you steeled your nerves, raising your hand to knock, but just as you did, the door swung open, scaring you half to death.

And there he stood, six feet of surprisingly attractive radiation clad in a hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to reveal his glowing forearms.

'Damn...'

Though, he looked like he was on his way to do something.

"(y/n)... to what do I owe the surprise?" Phosphorus played off, his voice doing little to hide the grin on his face.

In this case, he was glad that his eyes weren't visible to others, as that was the only thing keeping you from smacking him across the face for the look he had on.

Which was utterly shameless.

But fuck... who could blame him when you looked the way you did? 

You exchanged the sexy leather and buckles for a sinfully thin, black tank top and shorts, your curves now even further on display.

If he was being honest, for a moment, he didn't even believe the sight to be real—it all seemed too good to be true.

That is, until you started talking.

"Look, I'm only gonna say this one time," you started, poking your finger into his chest and forcing him back into his room, kicking the door shut behind you once you were inside. "So for once in your life, shut the fuck up and listen. Okay?"

He felt his stomach churn at your touch, your demanding tone and freshly-washed scent doing little to help.

But he silently nodded, keeping somewhat eye contact.

"I have been stuck in Arkham for ten fucking years... and for ten fucking years I've only ever touched myself..." you continued, still moving forward, and still forcing him back. "This might be the last time I see the outside world, and if it is, I'm doing one thing before I go."

Absolutely floored, Phosphorus couldn't help but let his mouth hang wide, completely disbelieving of the words coming out of your mouth.

There was no way.

Were you serious?

Was this really happening?

Had he fallen asleep?

"Sadly, there isn't a buffet of options," you sighed, slightly amused, as the backs of his knees hit the bed, forcing him to fall back onto it with a yelp. "But out of the assortment, you're the only one I can fuck without giving severe burns."

Practically pouncing, you crawled on top of him, sitting yourself down on his crotch and caging him to the mattress.

"But I wanna be clear that this is just sex. I need something... and you probably do, too. So we're just giving it to each other. Nothing more, nothing less."

Phosphorus's brow raised at the statement.

"Figured that," he chuckled. "I'm never gonna see you again. They're gonna ship you back to Gotham when this is all over."

"Exactly," you nodded. "So... you fuck me, help me get my nut, and then I leave. No cuddling, pillow talk, none of that. Am I clear?"

Below you, the man cocked his head to the side, seeming to be searching your face for something.

You tried to keep your expression as firm as possible, needing him to understand how serious you were.

Finally, he nodded, slowly resting a hot hand on your hip, sending a small vibration running right through your body.

"Crystal," he purred.

You shoulders sank with a quiet sigh, relief flooding your body as you leaned down, your face now inches from his.

"Good..." you hummed, moving closer until your lips were just out of each other's reach.

You could finally feel good, for what could possibly be the last time.

You weren't going to waste a single second.

"Now fuck me."

[newtkive]

shift shenanigans - s1 social media au

note: jus for fun ! may or may not do more parts.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes from richie sry

part two

liked by syd_adamu, marcus.brooks11 and 30 others

chefboyardee: my friends! i love my friends! the two on the right more than the left (i’m joking i promise) 😁😁😁😁

see all 8 comments

syd_adamu: brave of you to call him your friend y/n

↳ chefboyardee: boss man carmy save me

↳ syd_adamu: oh.. :///

marcus.brooks11: you did me so dirty, friend.

↳ chefboyardee: love you marcus you look spectacular

↳ marcus.brooks11: don’t start

richietheking: Where am I?

↳ chefboyardee: ya motha

liked by syd_adamu, chefboyardee and 10 others

richietheking: Getting sh$!t done.

see all 8 comments

marcus.brooks11: This is coolllddd.

↳ richietheking: You already know it man.

syd_adamu: this is actually crazy

carmyberzatto: can you show this on instagram? i think you should delete this.

↳ richietheking: Delete your life.

chefboyardee: come down to the beef for a number 6 the occy way 💯 the safest joint on the block 🤑💯we are 🔛🔝

↳ richietheking: Eyyy I know that’s right.

↳ carmyberzatto: please don’t advertise this.

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 8:25 am ]

y/n:

bruh im about to lose it. heads up when you guys get to work.

marcus: that catering order is about to be crazy

DO NOT REPLY: These white boards are stressing me out.

syd: we know, probably giving you ptsd from not finishing high school

DO NOT REPLY: Fuck you I did finish it.

y/n: oh i gotta change ur contact name richie

richie poo: ????? What

y/n: it was ‘DO NOT REPLY’ lols

marcus: valid

syd: real

richie poo: What? Why?! That’s so rude

y/n: cuz you piss me off

and you kept blowing up my phone yesterday

richie poo: You weren’t answering, and we needed help at the cook out.

syd: the one where you poisoned everyone?

richie poo: Fuck off.

y/n: when i’m off work, i’m off work.

marcus: don’t let carmy hear that, y/n

y/n: don’t remind me

syd: he’s trying at least, go easy on him. he really has great ideas

richie poo: You mean you have great ideas in that little notebook

tina: Never trust a broad with a notebook.

syd: hey! i’m just being helpful

y/n: do you guys think my ig post will hurt carmys feelings

marcus: it would make me a little sad if i were him, but i don’t think he cares

y/n: great i’m gonna cry now

syd: i doubt he even saw it y/n it’s fine

richie poo: Check the work chat. Cousin is in a mood.

y/n: oh great

tina: Help us all.

syd: be nice you guys

WORK

[ 9:15 am ]

carmy: Everyone, we have huge catering orders tomorrow to prep for today. Please get here as soon as you can, the earlier you clock in the better. Additionally, please be careful what you post on social media. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

syd: ok sounds good

richie poo: Cool it, Cousin. What’s the issue with the social media

tina: I use FaceBook. That not allowed now??

carmy: Tina, you’re fine. I’m talking about those who post work things on public accounts

marcus: facebook is crazy

richie poo: I can’t go private

y/n: he needs the likes

richie poo: No I’m disabled from doing so. Not sure why

y/n: liar

richie poo: 😑I don’t like you

carmy: Then please don’t post pics of yourself posting up with a gun and an air horn outside of my shop anymore.

marcus: that pic was fire can’t lie

carmy: Well, it’s bad for business.

richie poo: Fine, whatever

y/n: carmy

carmy: What, Y/n?

y/n: is this because of my caption on my post i’m sorry i promise i wasn’t being for real

carmy: I don’t care Y/n.

y/n: is that code for ‘i care a lot and i’m crying in the office right now and that’s why the door is closed’

oh

syd: ? why the oh

y/n: he opened the door and yelled no 🤨 but i think i saw red eyes

carmy: Please get back to work and I’ll comp a meal for you later

y/n: OMG yes chef 😍

richie poo: Inappropriate emojis and you shouldn’t have to incentivize her to work

y/n: shut up acting like HR i’m gonna beat your ass

jealousy is ugly which is why you have that mug on your face

carmy: Stop

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

i heard your giggle tho

richie poo: Again with the schizo episode

syd: you can’t say that richie

richie poo: Oh sorry

[amoeganism]

DON'T LIE, I'M PERFECT AND YOU LOVE ME luka

Luka really wants to take a nap after a long day of being exploited and being a pain in the ass to every human around him, but your priorities (pissing him off) come first!

WC: ~600

Your boyfriend, visibly exhausted, miserably slumps his upper body onto his bed and his knees collapse. Bundled under mounds of thick blankets, you reach an arm out to ruffle Luka’s blond hair, brushing through his wavy locks and petting his head like a dog. You snicker at the sight of his face contorting after realizing what you’re doing, lazily swiping your hand away and grunting before coughing into his arm. 

It takes you a few moments to inch over to where Luka lays. You didn’t want to sacrifice the comfort of being suffocated and melting into your bed until you’re a pile of sweat and nasty mulch. His eyes slowly flutter shut and his breathing slows but the uncomfortable position he’s in acts as a barrier between him and falling into a deep sleep. However, it takes too much energy to try to pull Luka fully onto the mattress, but what doesn’t take much energy is disrupting the rest he needs. You aren’t planning on getting the title of “Number One Lover of a Superstar” and you hadn’t seen him the entire day since you both had woken up; you deserve this, you reason to yourself. 

Under your fingertips, you switch between prodding and poking his pale cheeks until they warm and bloom into a faint pink. Luka tries his best to make you stop, puffing his cheeks and intertwining your fingers together but you retaliate by grabbing his face and watching him deflate. It gives you a slight ego boost when he gives up and chooses to throw his lanky limbs over you, adding his heavy bodyweight over the mass of your blankets.

“How was your day of terrorizing the music industry?” you ask, immediately returning to pinching his cheeks. 

“I don’t need to terrorize anyone. Everyone already knows that I’m a fan favorite.”

“Yeah because I totally hallucinated you having at least ten different tabs about Mizi and you weren’t writing in a notebook titled ‘Evil and Devious Masterplan’. You’re embarrassing when you beef with people eight years younger than you.”

“God forbid a man has hobbies.”

“Yeah I really hate it. Stick to singing and looking cute. Only I deserve to see your evil. It makes me feel special when you aren’t exposing yourself to everyone.”

“You make it sound like I’m flashing the public.”

“You pretty much are. Your dick and bad personality are the same thing.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Luka whines in which you stick your tongue out at him in response. “I’m an innocent man who can do nothing bad. Ever. And here I am, being mistreated by the one who is supposed to love me until and beyond death. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry Luka,” you press a kiss to his sore, red cheek, letting your lips linger on his skin before hugging him tighter. At the same time, you ignore the fact that he is a thirty year old man throwing a minor tantrum over you having fun being insufferable the same way he does on a daily basis. “Anyways, can I bite your face? I have a really bad urge to do that right now. Actually, I don’t need your permission.”

“Hey! I have a show tomorrow, you know? My fans are going to be disappointed if I appear with teeth marks on my face. What will the public think—ow!”

“Hehe, you’re so cute like this.”

“At least bite the other side to even it out,” Luka sighs and turns his head. 

“I knew you loved me.”

[warping-realities]

Animal I Have Become

Alright, I promised I wouldn’t write any more. But this one’s short and I cranked it out in less than two hours. The inspiration is obvious for anyone who’s a fan of "Karate Kid"/"Cobra Kai," since I just finished the first part of the last season. And for those worried about my studies, don’t sweat it—I was on my work shift, which I never use to study because it seems to attract all kinds of chaos. Anyway! If any quick ideas pop up, I’ll post them, but no more long stories packed with plots for a while.

I only agreed to go back to the place of my humiliation for one reason: Mikey was my best friend throughout high school until he decided, right in our senior year, to join the karate team of the new P.E. assistant teacher. Then, like magic, the skinny kid with a sharp sense of humor who could discuss everything from experimental physics to pre-Columbian American history, the guy I knew so well, was replaced by this arrogant musclehead who struggled with math and was totally incapable of having a history discussion that didn’t revolve around bragging about how today badass America was, and whose idea of a joke involved talking about tits or letting out a stinky fart. Apparently, it was a courtesy of the insane amounts of protein he started chugging to maintain his suddenly beefed-up physique. How the hell was it possible to gain that much muscle in such a short time? Maybe steroids, but the one time I asked about that, I ended up stuck under his stinky armpit. And what was up with that new nickname? “Snake!” How pretentious was that? But apparently, everyone in the group had a “badass nickname.” Ah, the joys of the standard American jock… Still, I tried to hold on to some of our friendship; God, did I try.

I even agreed to join a couple of those damn team practices, knowing damn well I didn’t have the physique, the skills, and maybe most importantly, the real desire to be there. I ended up getting ridiculed by everyone, including my so-called best friend.

I should’ve never talked to him again after that week of “practices.” But, being the idiot I am, all it took was a poorly worded apology full of grammatical mistakes that my brain refuses to recreate:

“Sorry, bro, the sensei got pissed at the guys when he heard their jokes about the size of your… well, you know. He wants you to meet us in the locker room today so we can apologize the right way. If you don’t show up, he’s gonna make us skip training for the whole week. Come on, please, for our friendship!”

… and there I was in that locker room. I should’ve left those morons without practice, but I decided to be the good samaritan.

Walking into that crap hole, what a surprise! It was empty. The pungent stench of sweat filled the room and humidity on the walls made it feel like the locker room was actually a beast whose musk drips off its body after a vigorous workout. But that didn’t matter; apparently, either the coach didn’t give a damn about what happened, which I should’ve figured, since he was just an older version of the ogre crew he trained, or he didn’t even know what went down, and I was about to be the victim of another lame prank.

Thinking about the danger, I quickly turned to leave. Then I noticed… on the other side of the room, hanging on one of the lockers… had that been there before? A piece of red fabric… oh, of course. A red gi from the team; they even gave themselves a pretentious name…. The fight practice was happening right at that moment. It was hard to think about it. I said so much crap about the team on TikTok and Instagram, tarnishing the reputation of the strong and disciplined image they worked so hard to create outside those walls that they probably hated my guts now. All those arrogant alpha dogs were arrogant and obnoxious. What the hell was I thinking trying to fit in? Nerdy little dudes like me didn’t really belong there. Even the jokes about my dick; if I were one of them, I’d just throw a punch or come back with some barbaric, macho comeback and everything would be cool. But I wasn’t like that, and my frustration with all of it was proof of that.

I never really liked the Gi. That red color always seemed way too aggressive, and for some reason, it always looked oversized on me, with sleeves and pants that were way too long and baggy. I had to wrap the belt around me twice just to keep it from falling off my skinny frame. Apparently, it never crossed the sensei’s mind that a little guy like me would have the audacity to try to join his team. Thinking about it, it wasn’t that I didn’t like the Gi; I hated it. It represented everything I despised about that bunch of trolls and also my lost friendship.

I stepped back and slowly turned my head back to the locker with the gi. Did it belong to someone? normally they were used by any of the team's bodies, one size fits all, or almost, when I was still there... anyway... after training they went straight to the laundry before returning for the next training session. Not that any washing would really get rid of the complete animalistic musk that infested their fabric. So why would someone leave it here?

Not my fucking problem. Probably just a spare or something. I think, walking resolutely toward the door, and I crack it open slightly. I turn back. I guess there’s no one using it. That means someone’s gonna grab it soon. Something’s bugging me. But what is it? I get closer, the musk intensifying. That gi definitely isn’t new and hasn’t been washed recently. And what’s this? There’s a note along with it. I sit on the nearby bench to read.

“Sorry, bro, today’s practice was super important, and the sensei didn’t want to wait for you. But he left your gi here. Put it on and come train; this time it’ll be different, I promise. Trust me, for old times’ sake.”

Old times? Maybe… maybe I should give it a shot. God, what a weird thought. Why would I want to do that? But while I’m thinking about it, my feet are already moving me to stand up and head toward the locker, while my hands are grabbing my shirt and pulling it up. I should stop. I need to stop. I should leave now, but the shirt comes off and goes over my head, landing on the floor. My pants are unbuttoned, and soon they join the shirt. I really should stop. Why do I want this? It’d be better to stop, but soon I’m in my boxers holding the gi in front of me. First, I put one leg in... then the other... then the arms, and then the belt… why is it black? I wonder, confused… but then that consuming need fades away.

I look at myself. As always, it doesn’t fit. I look like a kid wearing his dad’s suit at some event. I sit back down on the bench. Alright, that strange urgency is satisfied. So now I can just take this damn thing off!

But I don’t want to, for some strange reason. I feel more comfortable than ever. It’s like that mismatched uniform was made for me. My delicate hands wander over the ill-fitting outfit, the long sleeves sliding down my shoulders. I try to adjust them back into place, but they stop midway as I start to feel the material against my skin. The feeling of power it gives me… the feeling of strength… was it really this good when I was practicing? No, definitely not; if it was, I wouldn’t have quit. Man, this feels amazing... I feel the weight of the gi on me, both real and metaphorical… the weight of what it represents… my hands roam over its wide shape… it’s not just a uniform… it’s an armor… a sacred cloak… this is so cool… I can hear them in the training room… too bad I can’t join them... I wish I could... and they asked... didn’t they? I shift a bit on the bench and let my arms fall to my sides. Weird, I didn’t seem that far from the ground before. I feel cozy; the sweat smell doesn’t bother me, the whole atmosphere feels familiar, even comforting, like coming home after a long day and sitting in your favorite chair. I feel dizzy, like I’m about to fall asleep...

My rational mind, or what’s left of it, doesn’t notice. But unconsciously, I do… my muscles are slowly expanding, my skinny body pushing against the bench while my hands gently massage my slightly protruding belly that’s slowly flattening, the little bit of fat there seeming to be sucked in with every circle my hand makes. My shoulders are also widening, getting broader, as I grunt happily, a tingling sensation creeping up my body.

Feeling that, my eyes suddenly open, a jolt waking me up a bit from that stupor. What the hell was that? I look at my belly, and it’s widening as I’m hit with shock. I’m getting ripped! My hands trace the outline of my abs as the little muscle blocks there grow and harden, turning into six distinct shapes. As I stare at that in fascination, the stupor hits me harder.

The rigid stones of my abs aren’t the only things getting harder. My arms and legs are swelling with new muscle, keeping pace with my ever-growing body. And, well... I gently pat my groin. It’s definitely there too… a solid extra four inches, and still soft… As my body keeps expanding, the sensation turns pleasurable, like scratching an itch that’s been bugging you for ages, so I let it wash over me. My mouth opens in a gasp, drool spilling out as I pant like a dog. For some reason, it’s easier to breathe like this. Maybe because my nose is breaking and reforming a few times without me even noticing? As the drool runs down my pecs, I bring my hand to them and feel them grow, making my hands look tiny in comparison to the two meat packages they become. I shake my hand a bit, sending the drool flying, and with each shake, I see it grow too, turning into a massive paw, perfect for smashing some unsuspecting fool. Looking at that seems… really good… and I laugh. And out of nowhere, the other hand starts growing too, while my feet expand like crazy. My size eight shoes will never fit those paws; what size are they now? 14? Or maybe 15? A good kick with those surfboards and you’re down for the count… cool… hehehe...

No, not cool, not cool at all! This damn outfit is doing something to me! I stand up and grab the gi by the sleeves at my shoulders, ready to rip it off, and then…. I fall back onto the bench, my eyes unfocused again as a sudden wave of pleasure hits me like a tsunami. Yeah, a torrent of testosterone floods my body as my jawline becomes prominent, my chin broadens, and little tufts of freshly trimmed hair cover my chest and armpits. My mouth opens again, drool spilling out as my neck thickens, and my Adam’s apple sticks out, while my forehead becomes more pronounced, with low brows creating a scowl that makes it look like I’m always ready to fight, and my hair gets shaved on the sides, completing the look of a total douchebag. I try to care, I try to fight... fight... good… fights is good... no… not fight like this... I start to lift my arm, now powerful and making the gi look slightly tight… my biceps must be huge… hehhe… then it drops again… I look at my altered reflection in the mirror and see someone who could easily roll with Samue… Snake and the other guys… who knows, maybe now it’ll end… maybe I’ll finally break free from this stupor and get out of here… But then the real nightmare begins, as a web of powerful veins snakes through the swollen muscles of my body, a myriad of intrusive thoughts starts to slowly shape my mind, no matter how hard I try to resist. They break through my defenses with such force that my illusions shatter quickly as I start to forget. Memories of long hours of studying slowly morph into party after party with my friends, working out with them, training with them, watching my body swell and grow; time spent on pop culture becomes time spent watching football, hours and hours perfecting my college resume turns into hours and hours of sweat and sacrifice perfecting my fighting technique to the point of perfection. Just like my friends. Just like the sensei taught us to be. And we owe it all to sensei. Especially since he’s gonna figure out a way to get me into college, get all of us, in every corner of the country, ensuring that his teachings are passed on. Just one of us in any student group or, better yet, a fraternity, and boom, a new crew of brothers ready to spread the word… ha… word… funny… as if we needed to talk… no… our way is the way of the fist!

Shit, I can’t believe I slept through practice! Sensei is gonna rip me a new one! I shouldn’t have hooked up with those hot girls from college with Snake last night… dude, I couldn’t miss that hookup… I’ll just have to take the sensei’s punishment like a man… and I AM THE MAN!”

I stand up and groan, my voice deeper, with a bit of a growl. I turn toward the door, bracing for sensei’s yelling… Eh, screw him. He’ll put on his show about my tardiness, and I’ll play my part as the remorseful kid, and everything will be fine. It’s not like I skipped out or, God forbid, quit the team; I can’t even imagine the things he’d do to a damn deserter. I stretch a bit, admire myself in the mirror… Mad Dawg, you’re so swole… damn… you big, hot son of a bitch!

And then I finally walk toward the training room to join my brother’s in arms. Today’s practice is gonna be awesome; I can feel it, but honestly, it always is; I was born for this.

[kittenscookie]

I just want you all to know that Dionysus and Luke raised by M.E Hermes have serious beef. Like, Dionysus hates Luke with a passion and Luke takes great pleasure in pissing him off.

Dionysus: Is that weed?

14-Year-Old Luke: Yup.

Dionysus: Yeah, sorry kid you can't have that here.

Luke: Ha! The fuck I can't.

Dionysus: ...Excuse me?

Luke: *Takes a drag* You heard me.

Dionysus: ...Do you know who your fucking talking—!?

Luke: Yup. Dionysus, god of wine and insanity. My dad said you're a joke and I don't have to listen to you.

Dionysus: ...

Luke: *Takes another drag* So do you need something or...?

What's fucked is that he respected him a bit because he's a kinda decent dad, but then he heard Castor and Pollux's names and just went "...Do you hate your sons, why the fuck would you tempt the fates like this!?"