#I'm not even joking i think about them on average at least once a day

[makenna-made-this]

Feel like shit just want them back

[scintillyyy]

tim owns a gibson les paul and dick canonically plays guitar and they never discuss this potential shared interest together and this offends me <3 set in robin 32 my beloved because paris to gotham is a long flight and i'm sure they chitchatted (lewis's tim who says he's not a music oriented guy you can't hurt me, the boy doesn't own a gibson les paul for nothing)

"You know," Dick says, peering over Tim's shoulder at the page of the flight magazine the kid seems to be stuck on. "Duty-free only applies up to $800 in purchases. I think a $5000 guitar is just a little bit over that cap."

Tim looks up at him--startled, almost. He's been a little out of it ever since he and Dick left Paris. 

Truthfully, he's been a little out of it since they realized that the Clench could reactivate at any moment. Dick supposes he can't blame Tim for that--he's been holding his breath everytime Tim dozes off himself. Whenever he closes his eyes, he can see Tim sitting at the wall, breathing heavy but still managing to joke around as blood started to seep out the bottom of his mask, his horrified realization at what that meant, the terrified look he gave to Dick right before he slumped over...

It's fine. It's fine. Once they get back to Gotham and find Ra's and get the real cure this'll all just be nothing more than a bad dream. 

Tim looks down at the page, like he's actually seeing it for the first time despite the fact that he staring at it for about five solid minutes before Dick decided to say something. "Oh. I, um, I wasn't actually thinking of buying one," he says, like he thinks Dick might've actually been serious about thinking Tim was going to try and buy a custom Fender Stratocaster tax free. "I mean, I don't need one of these anyways. I already have a Les Paul at home."

Which. Jeez. Leave it to Tim to just drop the fact that he owns a...probably $3000 guitar oh-so-casually, like it's really nothing out of the ordinary for a fourteen year old to own. Tim is usually so down to earth it's easy to forget that his family has...a lot more money than the average person. 

Every so often he does like to remind them all, though.

"Really?" Dick teases. "Don't tell me. You had to have it because that's what the lead guitarist in Green Day uses." Which. It is a weird fact for Dick to know, but Tim seems to really like them--so of course he had to at least check them out, watch a few music videos. And *Dick's* played guitar since he was a kid, of course he was going to recognize a Gibson Les Paul, even if he is more of an acoustic guy himself. 

"I didn't exactly ask for it," Tim replies, a little sullen and pouty at Dick's teasing. "It's just--after dad got out of the hospital, I think he thought I'd like it after, y'know, everything. I don't think he realized I hadn't actually played in a couple of years."

Dick was unaware Tim ever did. It's interesting--a little kernel of a kid who, despite being the kind of person who can probably make conversation with a rock if he tries hard enough, can be surprisingly very guarded about himself. "You used to play?" he asks, tone casual, pretending he's not digging. 

Tim flushes and looks away, out the window. "Not really," he says. "I learned a bit when I was younger. After I got into listening to, like, real music." He hesistates. Even with his face turned away, Dick can tell by the tension in Tim's temple that he's debating on if he's going to continue what he's saying. Dick doesn't say anything, keeps quiet instead. In his experience, the best way to get someone to keep talking sometimes is to just let them go at their own pace. If they want to say it, they will. But only if you give them the chance. "Um. It was actually after I went to Bern with my parents over winter break once. It was--I was excited. They didn't take me on trips super often--they usually wanted to spend my school breaks at home. So it was the probably first time I'd been on a plane, actually. I always thought--I guess I always thought plane rides would be way more exciting than they actually are. Anyways, um. I was bored and I was just flipping through the in-flight entertainment and I ended up on the music video channel and--that might've be the first time? I think that was the first time I saw a Green Day video. And I--I was like wow. I was so impressed. And I turned to my mom and I said--I said I want to learn how to play just like that. And she said of course."

Unlike Jack--who Dick hears about constantly--Tim doesn't really talk about his mom much. Or ever really. Dick can probably count on one hand  the amount of times he's heard Tim bring her up since the funeral. And when one of those times was just a few weeks ago, during one of the many times Dick called Alfred to check on Tim and he could hear the kid in the background, sick and delirious with fever, wimpering for his mom, dad, Dana, anyone-

Well, anyways. Tim really doesn't talk about his mom much.

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. Clearly the nice thing to do would be to drop it here, before he really depresses the kid. But he can't deny that he's a bit curious to hear Tim go on, hear more about this. He really shouldn't ask though--he's trying to cheer Tim up, not make things worse.

But, Dick supposes. If Tim really didn't want to talk about it, he would have found a way to change the subject instead. He's pretty good at that, in Dick's experience. 

So he must want to talk about it. And Dick is curious. He's not a total saint, after all. "So you got lessons?" he asks. 

"Um. Kind of. I mean, usually that's what they would do whenever I expressed an interest in anything. Um. At least my mom did. She'd always do a ton of research to find the highest rated courses and make a ton of calls, even if she was a thousand miles away, just get me signed up for the best one as soon as possible. But, no. This time--this time, she--um. She kind of taught me a little bit herself instead." Dick's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn't even a remote possibility. Tim swallows hard. "Yea, um. She said. She said she used to play in college, y'know. And after we got home, we went up to the attic of the townhouse and got out her old acoustic. It was just this cheap old thing. We must've spent all afternoon trying to get it tuned, god, my dad left the house, said his ears were going to start bleeding if he had to listen to us anymore." Tim looks down at his hands now. He clasps them together, twiddling his thumbs a bit. "We gave up by dinner, just went to go buy a new one instead. And then she taught me the basics, y'know. I'd practice, and then whenever she was home, we'd play together. I was never very good. She was a lot better." Tim frowns. "But still. She got me an electric guitar for my tenth birthday. Not anything too fancy, just enough so I could feel like a rockstar, she said. And that I'd get there, I just had to keep practicing."

"But you didn't?" Dick asks. It is a bit surprising, now that he's heard the whole story. It seems like something that would have been important to Tim to keep up. The kid's a bit sentimental like that. "You said it's been a couple of years, right?"

Tim's face shutters ever do slightly. "Well, ah, that is-" he says, floundering a bit. Now he's trying to sidestep. "The electric guitar broke. Um. On accident. Right before school let out back when I was eleven. And after that, I just. Couldn't find it in me to play anymore. I could never bring myself to tell my mom what happened, so I just said I was bored of it instead." Tim's mouth twists. "She was a little disappointed. I think she always hoped I'd pick it up again someday. I dunno. I thought about it. When I saw the new guitar in my room. But looking at it I just couldn't. It was too, too--" Tim sighs. "Maybe I should've. Given it another chance. I just, I wasn't--and now, who knows if there'll be one before-" Tim stops. He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't have to.

"Ah." Things start clicking together for Dick in a terrible way. Tim, who's been quiet and melancholy. Worried that the Clench could come back any minute, that he won't have a chance to do things that he maybe thought he could push off for the someday.

He suddenly seems so young. So young and lost and scared.

Tim's going to get a chance to play that guitar again. Dick's not sure how many people he's going to have to punch to make it happen, but he will. And once he does, maybe, just maybe Dick can casually mention that he plays on occasion too. They could make an afternoon of it. Order a pizza, maybe argue about music a bit. And Tim can say something like, hey, I think my mom would be really happy to see me doing this again. 

It'll be nice.

[stinkysam]

Eddie Brock - Pinky promise

Warning : none + one line about breaking skulls

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : Eddie and Venom start realizing that their boyfriend is acting strange every single time he comes back from work. So Eddie and Venom develop a plan where Venom secretly attaches himself to MR on his way to work to see what is bothering him and Venom finds out a coworker is harassing MR and that gets Venom angry and tells eddie.

Reader : male (you/he)

A/N : Bold is Venom talking

You've been acting strange for the past week since you came back from work.

They've tried to ask you about it to know what was troubling you but whatever it was, you preferred to not tell them.

But it's not because you refused to tell them that they've accepted to leave it at that.

So Eddie and Venom have decided to concoct a plan to know what was wrong.

"You do not say anything, alright, he mustn't know you're with him." Eddie says, toothbrush in his mouth.

"I know !"

"No matter what happens, shut up and don't show yourself."

"What are you saying ?" You ask, entering the bathroom.

"Oh just… arguing with V, you know how he is in the morning."

"Mh. Well, I'm leaving."

"Alright, good luck." He says taking the toothbrush out of his mouth to kiss your cheek.

"Love you two."

"Love you one." Venom jocked but you merely reacted, giving him only a weak smile.

And you left like this, closing the door behind you, unaware Venom had jumped out of Eddie to slide under the door to follow you, quickly grabbing your shoe and climbing you like a spider to hide in your backpack before slowly entering your body.

As much as he wanted to speak to you one on one he refrained and did as Eddie requested him to. He stayed silent, making himself unknown to you.

You didn't even turn the radio on in your car, driving in total silence, tension growing more and more with each passing minute.

Even when you arrived at work and slowed down more than you should, not wanting to be there yet, Venom stayed silent.

The silence was unbearable. But again, he said nothing.

Everything seemed fine until you faced one of your co-workers. At first it seemed like he was trying to make a joke about you but Venom believed nothing of it, thinking it was just your average shity co-worker

Except it did not stop there even when you began to work. The person came again to talk to you, throwing spikes at you while you did your best to ignore them.

It continued like this for the rest of the day, them constantly going after you to annoy you. You've had no break because even when you weren't working they came after you.

Oh Venom wanted to speak. He wanted to do even more than that, actually. What's the harm in eating a douche ? He's doing the world a favor.

But with all his time with Eddie, if he's learned something is that he cannot eat anyone he wants. Even when it seems like a good idea.

So once again, he said nothing and did nothing. Watching in silence and anger this person torments you.

Eddie better find a good idea on what to do or else…

You came home tired like the past few days, and you missed Venom leaving your body to regain Eddie's.

"I'm gonna take a nap." You say lazily as you lay on the couch, closing your eyes.

During that time, Eddie and Venom are whispering in the kitchen.

"So what is it ? What did you see ?"

"Someone I should eat ! They do not stop annoying him !"

"Shht, be silent !"

"You be silent. I've been silent the whole day."

"Someone is harassing [Name] ?"

"Yes. Should I eat them ?"

Eddie stared at Venom. He honestly didn't know. You wouldn't like that. Right ? He looked over your sleeping form on the couch and looked back at Venom.

Surely it would cause you trouble at work. What if the police asked you about it. No, that wasn't a good idea.

"No. Do not eat him. But tomorrow, we do it again but this time you scare him. Make him think you're gonna eat him."

Venom did little to hide his disappointment but at least he got to do something for you.

The next day it didn't miss, Venom went once again with you without you knowing. And when you had your back turned he left you to find your co-worker.

Entering their body and forcing them to the bathroom.

"Wh- what is going on ?!" They ask, scared by their body moving on its own.

Venom's head popped out of his chest and they screamed, nearly losing consciousness at the scare.

"What is this ?!!"

"I'm going to eat you !"

"No !"

"Yes !"

"What did I do to deserve this ?" They cried in horror, watching Venom's sharp teeth. They wept at the thought of hearing their skull break and crack under those long teeth.

"What did you do ?! You annoyed [Name] and now I'm going to eat you !"

"No ! Please ! I won't do it again ! I promise !" They cried again, pleading for their life.

"Mhhhhh" hummed Venom out loud, acting like he was thinking about it. "If I hear about you one more time…" he says, licking the person's face.

"You won't, I promise you !"

With these words, Venom left their trembling body not without seeing the large stain in their pants and quickly looked for you.

[mrooops]

ok guys, no jokes, but what the fuck?

i want to touch a really really serious topic in pink floyd fandom rn and i want you all to listen to me at least once. i would really appreciate it if you spread this information. thank you

if you're the type of person who writes "well, waters is still better than gilmour", then just please unfollow me forever the fuck out

but it's ok i'll explain you why

well, a little backstory

while many believe that roger's political views are now quite correct, i want to remind you that he supports an aggressive invasion of the country where i live (Ukraine). if you are still interested, then yes, the war in Ukraine is still going on even if in the west now no one wants to pay attention to it anymore. for your understanding, on average we have 100 air raids in the city per month, at least once a week i definitely hear explosions and, yeah, i don’t live in a hot spot. and this guy just goes out and does an interview where he openly says that he supports the aggressor country. yeah, that's right, he was also allowed to speak at the UN council, where he said that the conflict was provoked. very smart. the same guy who said a couple of days before the war that those who believe that it will start are “out of their minds”

ok ok, but how does this relate to gilmour?

very simple. his daughter-in-law is Ukrainian. and her mother lived in a city that was one of the first to be attacked by the russian army. if you have never seen footage from Kharkiv in the first days of the war, then believe me, it was a terrible sight, people tried to help each other as best they could

and it is still going on

i don’t think it's cool to talk shit about one person who supports israel but then turn a blind eye to how another openly says that Taiwan should belong to china and Ukraine to russia and say "well, he is based", "he's better than gilmour"

if you have any other information about gilmour, you can share it with me.

i know you all really like young waters and i see a lot of positive things in him too, but i really can't stand the fact that now people only really look at how he feels about Palestine, even if i see a lot of articles and posts from adults, who say his support for Palestine is also twofold. don't wanna say anything bad about that because i haven’t studied this topic, but i think you can google them yourself, they always just come up

don't get me wrong, i'm not stopping you from sending pictures of him or drawing him, i'm just asking you not to write that he's better than someone else at something when he's not

oh yeah and one last thing...

if you are a supporter of communism, then get the fuck out too, because communism led to the fact that in the 60s in my country they killed almost all the poets who did not write something in support of the state. in history they were persecuted and killed because they wrote in their native language and mentioned Ukrainian culture. communism led to three great famines in our country, when people had so little to eat that they resorted to cannibalism. it's very scary, but it's true. this is what the government has led to when it wants to bring communism to life

communism is not a cool thing. it's cool in words, not on practice, read history

thank you for your attention

[orionsangel86]

I think part of the reason Morpheus is often headcanoned as asexual in this fandom is a combination of people projecting (which is totally valid) and that there's a significant portion of the fandom who hasn't read the comics and only has the show to go off of. In my opinion, in the show he does have strong ace vibes. Much less so in the comics, but it's a lot easier to headcanon a character as ace when your first introduction to them gives you strong ace vibes. So there's probably a good number of people who still headcanon him ace even after reading the comics.

Personally, I just headcanon him as queer. My reason being that if you have a being that is basically the subconsious of all humanity averaged together, the odds of that person being straight is probably low.

As for there being discourse on his sexuality in the fandom: if there is discourse, I've missed it. Though there very well could be discourse on a side of the fandom I'm not in.

This is an interesting viewpoint bearing in mind I have been discussing the exact opposite opinion in a separate post in which we theorised that the show has played up Morpheus' sexual allure...

Without wanting to overspeak here, as someone who is not asexual and therefore cannot speak for that community, I think it is part of a wider cultural thing within fandom that people who are queer and in particular asexual and/or aromantic, tend to relate and imprint rather heavily on characters who tend to be non-human. I think there is probably an interesting psychoanalytical reason for this but its probably a bit too deep of a topic for me to tackle on a Sunday evening.

Dream is just the latest in a whole batch of non-human characters that often get depicted as asexual in their fandoms. I'm thinking characters like Aziraphale and Crowley from Good Omens, Castiel from Supernatural, The Doctor from Doctor Who, Spock from Star Trek, to name a few.

I can therefore understand why fandom may view Dream this way, even though canonically it isn't technically the case. I don't think there is any harm in it persay, though I think fandoms need to be careful about constantly headcanoning non human characters as ace because what does that say about real asexual humans? Asexuality is a human characteristic at the end of the day, and I wonder if this is just the latest in the trend of queer people in general being made inhuman and "monstrous" which goes all the way back to old hollywood monster movies.

I personally don't pick up any ace vibes from Morpheus in the show. I'm not really sure what I would be looking for regarding "ace vibes" anyway because its just simply a lack of sexual attraction, and I think both episode 6 and episode 11 make it quite clear he experiences sexual attraction, at least in my opinion and interpretation. If its his inhuman element that makes him appear asexual I'll be honest I find that a bit problematic, and I would ask asexual fans to also look internally as to the reasons why they associate inhuman qualities as asexual qualities. Of course if there are qualities he is presenting that can be compared to a lived asexual experience which don't relate to his inhuman nature at all then that is different, and I would like to know more about that since it is an interpretation I do not see and would like to read about.

My viewpoint is that he is quite a sexual character even in the show, and I thought this before I threw myself into the comics and audiobook. Other than episode 1, in which the show does a wonderful job of not sexualising or objectifying him outside of maybe Alex's gay awakening, even though he is completely naked throughout, once he has his clothes back on the show leans into the sexual chemistry he has with every single cast member to the point that its basically an in-fandom joke that Dream is a bit of a slut (affectionate).

Even in the cast interviews, this "Dream is a slut" viewpoint was already known about and acknowledged (thank you Kirby and Mason) so its not exactly a secret that the show is playing up the sexual elements even if currently they remain in subtext. Personally I doubt they will remain in subtext for very long and I think future episodes will quite likely lean into Dream's sexual allure and bring it more into the forefront. I am very curious about how they will adapt Tales in the Sand for instance, which is the only time in the comics that Dream has sex within the panels rather than "off the page" and since that version of Dream won't be portrayed by Tom Sturridge, I do wonder if maybe the show will decide to give us more Dream sex scenes - there is certainly an opportunity to bring Calliopes praises to life in the "show don't tell" manner, and we have yet to discover what they are gonna do with the Thessaly situation, or whether the intense sexual chemistry he had with Johanna Constantine will come to fruition.

I also can't not bring up Dreamling fandom here, because if my experience in Dreamling fandom has taught me anything about the general fandom opinion of Dream, its that the show has clearly encouraged an interpretation of Dream where he wants to climb Hob Gadling like a tree. Fandom hasn't giffed that particular smoldering heated gaze from 1789 20million times for no reason. They giffed it 20million times because it is fucking HOT and sexual and arousing and is the first indication we have in the entire show that Dream himself experiences sexual arousal - because he sure as hell looks aroused in that scene.

As always YMMV and everyone is gonna have different opinions and interpretations and they are all valid in their own ways. I dunno if there is actual discourse I just saw a few comments and wondered if there was. If it helps I also headcanon him as queer, because I think heterosexual is a much smaller limited box to try to shove such a grand and unknowable concept into. I doubt a creature such as Dream would ever limit himself to only one specific type of being, even if that is all the comics were willing to show us of his sexual and romantic history.

[astrologycharts242]

Twitter lied about tumblr being good when it comes to astrology !!!

Maybe it's because I'm on a high level so the average user won't see things from my lenses. I honestly see a lot of things that I don't even feel comfortable talking about because I don't want to be rude. Things like stealing other people's posts without giving the other person credit or at least show who they got the post from.

Secondly there is a cult like following here on tumblr. Even the daily bloggers (when I say bloggers I mean posters), are in a cult like following. No it isn't a Charles Manson kinda cult. It's people forming a coalition to segregate others who are really good at astrology from getting recognition. It's similar to like what katt Williams was talking about with Kevin Hart and stuff.

For example this cult like following only likes for people to be caught or stuck in a drift when it comes to astrology. They don't like for others to know the truth about astrology. Instead they rather appease people to their level of knowledge when it comes to astrology. This means if someone else comes along they'll try to push that individual away.

One of the ways they do this is by stealing content or ideas so they get the views and not the original creator 😀. Every app does this regarding astrology but it's like organized crime here on Tumblr.

You see this a lot in those observation posts. Man they don't be observing nothing. They just say something crazy or delusional for engagement. A random example is Mars in Aries makes someone lazy. It sounds crazy right? Now if you question that they aren't open for a dialogue or a true blog of discussion, WHICH TUMBLR IS ACTUALLY INTENDED FOR

Another way they do it is by taking what somebody else has said. Then make their own Tumblr post regarding it. Yet you wouldn't find the original content creator because the ones with big followings on here actually do it so they push away the new astrology bloggers.

By doing this it deceives people into thinking only they are good at astrology or their interpretation is correct. Now the people who only observe content would only support and give them money no joke. I see this like crazy I even try to support and be kind. Then when I see what happens to me I get angry and you can see I lash out or vent on social media. When in actuality I'm a really nice guy I even giveaway free astrology information. I did it for years on Reddit nowadays I do so on twitter.

It's like a gang or something idk hopefully others can catch on to this. I used to wonder why people would put copyright in their posts or say things like do not steal. I could go on forever but I don't want to expose anybody. It's just weird seeing how I say something then a few days later someone has the exact same thing that I said. Yet their explanation has no context or makes any sense.

Once I came on Tumblr now bloggers could suddenly use sidereal and tropical simultaneously 😂😂. Man I can't make this crap up

[hailsatanacab]

So for the made up fic title game I seriously feel like you could make so many from the lyrics if Scare Me by Ludo, pEAK DP vibes, but I wanna suggest either

Suddenly Bubbling Posthumous

Or

Spooky Breeze Breathin'

oR

Blood! Ghost! AAHHH!

Suddenly Bubbling Posthumous

All of these are gold but the first one is so fucking juicy, the mouth-feel of it is so delectable and I am incapable of choosing anything else, so here we go!

Danny Phantom, No One Knows AU, Sam's POV (tw blood) --- Here's what I'm thinking...

Danny's dead.

Everyone at school knows it. No one says anything, of course—or, at least, not where he can hear it.

People go quiet when he passes (hah), watching, staring, waiting for him to turn the corner before they erupt into furious whispers.

Danny's dead. Killed in his parent's lab. It was an accident, they say, he's lucky to be alive.

No one really believes it. They all know the truth.

That is, until a month or so into the semester when actual ghosts start attacking and people realise there's no way normal, average, so-scared-of-ghosts-he-disappears-at-the-mere-mention-of-an-attack Daniel Fenton can be anything like them. So they all move on (double hah) with their lives.

It becomes one of those school yard urban legends, you know the ones - the old principal was fired for hitting a student, Lancer rides a motorbike, the quiet guy in the back of class is a ghost. A joke that no one really believes.

But as she's always said, people are idiots—and while Sam may be a lot of things, she likes to think an idiot isn’t one of them. There's just too many things off with Fenton and yeah, ghosts might be mainstream now, but a living dead boy that has skin that burns like ice and a heartbeat that's far too slow to be normal has to be the most goth thing she can think of.

She measured it once you know, gritting her teeth against the cold bite of his skin.

They were partners that day. Tetslaff had them all record their heart rates before and after exercise and she got chewed out for not taking it seriously when she... politely expressed her concern over Danny’s readings. She took it right, she knows she did. Sure, she might have been swearing about it, but she maintains the detention was unwarranted.

Danny said nothing throughout the whole thing. Just shrugged his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck in that nervous way he always does when people look too closely at him.

So she does the reasonable thing and decides to set up a trap.

Tucker tries to stop her, of course he does, but you can't stop Sam Manson when she's made up her mind. It's probably the one thing she's glad she inherited from her parents—but so help her, she will throw hands with anyone that says it.

Proving Danny Fenton is a ghost is easier said than done.

The summoning she pulls off the Internet is a dud and Tucker tries his best to convince her it's because Danny isn't dead and there's nothing to summon, but really, how could they expect the first thing they find off of a wannabe witch's ten year-old blog post to be legit? The animated crows should have given it away, really. She blames herself.

Sam just has to try harder.

The ouija board doesn't work—she realises it's Tuck moving it when the "spirit" asks her if she wants to play Doomed instead—and nor does the spirit box she buys off of a site claiming to be the number one shop for aspiring ghost hunters.

Danny just laughs when he sees it. She swears his teeth are sharper than normal, his mouth too wide. When she flips the switch anyway the box squawks pitifully once and stops working completely. Waste of money.

They hold a seance during a sleepover, Tucker complaining all the while. It's quickly put an end to when Tucker leans too close to a candle and his beret catches on fire. Sam's convinced he did it on purpose, but even Tuck's not that stupid. After that disaster of a night, he won't let her use anything with an open flame. There goes her burning herbs idea.

In the end, it's only by pure, dumb luck that she finds out the truth.

They're in science class and the chemicals are out, so everyone's wearing goggles and looking supremely bored. Sam's been partnered up with Danny and for once she'snot miserable that Tucker’s in a different class, because now she gets to use the lesson for her own observation experiment.

It pays off when she watches him yawn, his head nodding forward as if he's going to fall asleep standing up in the middle of class, and the beaker full of sulphuric acid slips straight through his hands.

That's not a figure of speech.

One moment his hand is there, holding it like normal and the next his hand has vanished and all that's left of the beaker is bits of glass and acid soaking into their shoes.

It's not the first time he's done it (she's pretty sure he holds the record for most lab equipment broken), but it's the first time in a while and it's also the first time Sam's seen it up close.

It's confirmation enough for her. She's seen enough ghost fights to know what intangibility looks like! Even the knowledge that her favourite boots are ruined isn't enough to dampen her victory high.

That is, until she sees him bleeding.

He'd tried to catch it.

The beaker slips through his fingers and he snatches out with his other hand, quick but not quick enough and the beaker shatters on the floor. A shard bounces back into his hand, the cut a perfectly straight line along his palm that immediately drips... blood?

It has to be blood, right?

She's watching it come out of his hand so it has to be blood, but it's green, it's a lurid, neon green, and like what the fuck even is that because it can't be blood, can it?

She claps a hand over her mouth to hold in a whimper when she watches it start to bubble.

Lancer calls for everyone to evacuate the classroom while they just stand there, staring at each other.

Fenton looks terrified, eyes as wide as hers, his face as white as... Well. As white as a ghost.

What the fuck is she meant to do now?

She lowers her hand from her mouth and whispers the first thing that comes into her head, low and under her breath, "Living dead ghost boy says what."

"What?"

Foolproof.

[capriciouscaprine]

oooooops, accidentally called out my mom about her weird eating habits yesterday! (followed by my usual rambling about this fun little body hobby we share)

she was fussing about me not getting everything out of her car when I was helping her out (she had told me to do one specific thing, which I had done), and I joked that I didn't want to be asking questions about all of her stuff, and when she said, 'like what?', I said, 'oh, you know, all of your rice cakes' which she has also mildly joked about before (she'll have more than one pack open at a time rolling around in the passenger seat), but this time she got all serious and mumbled something about wanting to look good for my cousin's wedding in July (when she's been buying them for 10+ years now at least)

I handled it in the moment by pointing out that she's made it this far in life and has friends who love her no matter what (of course this means nothing for how you feel about yourself), and she just brushed it off and moved on

meanwhile, I'm HYPED to stick to what I've been doing and work towards being even more consistent and doing more aka consuming less

from other people's comments and behaviors towards me, I seem to be teetering on the edge of 'are you okay?'/being 'too' small (5'4", one-thirty at last check, skele just barely beginning to pop out) with about four months still to go before this wedding with all the relatives who are very supportive of each other but still gossip about which eating plans each of them and their friends are doing

I WILL be their warning, their omen, the representation of what happens when you take that sort of talk to the extreme, because ultimately there is no way to be, essentially, fatphobic in moderation

once you value being small and alter your life to chase that even as it makes you miserable, there is no way to do that in a healthy way:

if you are healthy, you are working out because you value the strength and flexibility of your body or the camaraderie of the gym, you eat a variety of vegetables and proteins because they are tasty and keep you full and energized, and you enjoy your drinks and desserts because they're tasty and fulfill you emotionally; a scale might be informative, but mostly because it's good to know if your weight changes suddenly, because it could be an indicator of a health issue of some sort (tumors can show up as weight gain, a digestive illness can present as a loss, etc)

we aren't healthy, and we (should) know that; restricting, doing only liquids for days at a time, straight up pacing to hit step goals, consuming media specifically to encourage all of our behaviors, etc: all symptoms of a particular illness that we would claim openly on here except for the part where our blogs keep disappearing over it

the younger folks among us might not realize it consciously (and some older folks, too), but we're all here because of societal fatphobia that values being tiny over being healthy; there are SO MANY people who are considered medically overweight that are by all other metrics perfectly healthy, but their doctors aren't satisfied until they're under a certain BMI, even if that results in muscle loss, anemia, etc.; fat people are uniformly treated worse for doing the exact same things as skinny people (eating, sweating, shopping, existing), to the extent that they are on average paid less for doing the exact same job as a thin person

anecdotally, I've noticed that the people on here who acknowledge this and work to combat internalized fatphobia (no 'fat inspi', no using fat folks as a comparison in 'unkind inspi', no making fun of other people to motivate yourself) often seem to have better mental health than the folks who indulge in it; reacting negatively, even in your own head, to someone simply existing while fat just keeps your brain full of negativity, which, we have a famous phrase relating to that sort of thinking: 'if shame worked, it would have worked already'

your 'why' can't just be 'to not be fat'; there's nothing wrong with being fat, and in plenty of situations it's even beneficial for your health

which, to circle back, alllllllll of my relatives, every 'mainstream' adult I've heard talk about traditional eating less culture (excuse me for avoiding potential no-no words) with their no breakfast/only nuts for lunch/pull the crust off bread/whatever 'rules' or branded eating plans, all of them are only trying to not be fat

and all of them are failing at it

to be 'successful' at what we are doing, you must be clear on how our goals are not to be healthy and knowingly, consistently engage in unhealthy habits, all the while pretending that you totally aren't doing that and everything is fine

we really don't want to encourage anyone to be like us, because we want them to be happy without restrictions; we just know that once you're in here, you know there are advantages (attention, kindness from strangers, improved salary, being listened to by doctors, getting gendered correctly, and more) to be claimed by sacrificing that happiness in specific ways, and we will unashamedly share those specific ways with each other

[skylermadness]

Something To Be Proud Of (Ragh Barkrock TF/PMC)

(Original Date of Upload: May 4, 2022)

Original Description:

A work written in collaboration with two friends of mine. This TF also comes with a sequence drawn by ArticulatedArtisan. He also drew the art that is used as the picture in the cover. The sequence can be viewed here: DeviantArt / FurAffinity Another Dimension 20 TF, and one that has been a few months in the making. Ragh is a really great guy and honestly needed TF into him- so we're here to provide! Admittedly I dealt more with the drafting, so all of this is written by my friend as they handled editing. I've never really done a second-person POV TF before, but I feel like I could go all in and try writing one myself some day. It'll just take some work- I'm also really happy as to how Artisan's sequence came out. It is so good! Just about everything about it feels perfect. Overall, I'm glad that he was a part of this!

   You drew in a deep breath, steeling yourself, and pushed open the door.

   It didn’t stop the wave of high school sport odor from assaulting your nose with enough force to make the tacklers jealous, but you managed to keep from gagging. You really wished you were used to this already, being the team’s waterboy and all.

   Waterboy, Coach’s assistant, whatever- all it meant was that you had to suffer all the drawbacks, like staying after school for practice and having to deal with the gunk and smell of the football team locker room, and none of the benefits- such as, well, being on the team. The coach just put you to work, setting up the equipment for practice, getting fresh towels and water to be ready on hand, and just about anything else Coach or the players needed, but were apparently too wrapped up to handle themselves.

   To Coach’s credit, you didn’t think it was necessarily intentional on his part to put you through all this suffering with no perceived payoff. Back when you first approached him in his office near the beginning of the year, you had wanted to ask about joining the football team yourself. You’d long looked upon these cool, hot jocks around school, joking and jostling each other around, and wanted to play with them, or have an excuse to hang out with them at the very least- maybe you could even be one of the Boys someday, if you did. 

   But Coach had taken one look at you, with your scrawny, somewhat shorter than average form, and completely misinterpreted your approach as you volunteering for the assistant duties. And here you were now, having never moved from the position, because you never had the gut to correct him.

   It wasn’t great- but it could have been worse, surely. You probably wouldn’t have been actually good on the team, anyway.

   You did try your best to make the most of it, though. Being often in relatively close proximity with the jocks and players on the team, and using it as an excuse to talk to them or hang out, was sort of what you had been after the whole time- so you took the opportunities to say hi, and talk to them on occasion longer than a question or two relating to what mess you had to take care of next. Your assistant work more often than not actually cut you off from being able to stay talking for long and kept you busy, regrettably. Even when you did find the time to hang out for a little while, your heart sank, as the Boys were certainly friendly to you- but you never felt it reached the point where you felt you could call it you being friends.

   The raucous sounds of laughter and football practice and buddies and bros being bros in the distance cut quiet in an instant as the door leading back outside swung closed behind you, and you stepped further in.

   You were out on a mission, once again: one of the players, a tall, dark haired one that you wanted to talk with for longer, had forgotten his playing gloves somewhere, presumably left back in the locker room. Coach wouldn’t allow him to let up his reps to go grab them, so he needed to    ask you- and did sound apologetic, very clearly aware that it was something he could go do himself. It didn’t force down the light disappointment of being cut off from talking to and getting to know one of the Boys better for longer, but you did appreciate the sentiment.

   You made to breathe in and retched a little, very quickly wishing you had not let out that breath of fresh-ish outside air so carelessly. Sure, the Boys were generally nice to you and plenty of fun to hang around when you got the chance to, but you couldn’t say you were a fan of their… low-standard sanitary practices. Loose football gear left strewn about the room, over the benches and on the floor. Shoes and socks that anyone could recognize came from an extremely active high school athlete left out on the floor as well, their ripe odors wafting throughout the stale locker room air. Empty bottles of awful 3-in-1 shampoo littered around the showers, collecting near the shower drains, having long since been used or touched.

   Your stomach roiled again at the smell. At least you had somehow convinced them to put their dirty laundry away in the communal bin on their own.

   You hurried around the locker room, eager to find the gloves and escape back into fresh air as soon as you could. It was taking longer than you were hoping for, there was so much gear left sitting around to sift through- where were all the gloves? Half the players out there weren’t even in full gear, surely there’d be at least a few unused pairs that the Boy in need could at least borrow for the day…

   Frustration was beginning to set in. The smell was probably starting to get to you. You were considering calling it quits and apologizing to the Boy back outside for it, when you spotted them- a pair of gloves, haphazardly tossed onto the end of one of the benches. You hastily snatched them up and turned to hurry back out, having had enough of the locker room stink for now.

   Your eyes fell on your prize as you walked quickly, relief suddenly giving way to curiosity as you peered a little more closely at them. These gloves were a hardy brown, made of tough, thick cloth with the sleeves extending past where the wrists would usually end, instead running further up along the forearm than typically. The gloves were HUGE, too- you usually weren’t paying attention to the size of most players’ hands, but you could swear it felt like these gloves in particular could fit three of your own hands inside just one of them, and have space left over to spare. Over the palms and where the knuckleheads would be, were layers upon thick layers of wrappings- having likely once been white, but by now have long since faded and worn out to gray from frequent, rough use.

   Were these… really the gloves that player was talking about? You really couldn’t find any other gloves in the entire locker room, so they had to have been if the Boy was sure he left them in there. But then again- these didn’t look like football gloves in the slightest, and didn’t even have the team’s colors. They almost looked like they were instead gloves for shoving, pummeling, or crushing opponents in melee combat.

   Your vision swam as you blinked away from the sudden thought, feeling a bit dizzy. You were close to further questioning where the thought came from, before you toppled into something and tripped, landing embarrassingly splayed on the ground. Gathering yourself up and looking around to survey the damages, you groaned. Your worst fears had come back to haunt you- you had knocked into the community laundry bin hard enough to leave dirty, smelly athletic clothes strewn all over the floor in front of you. 

   And it was your job to pick it all up.

   You were reminded of the great pains you had taken to avoid having to handle the laundry by the intense, pungent odor wafting up from the scattered pile. You quickly swallowed the bile in your throat before it could rise any further, and grimaced.

   There was no way in hell you were touching any of it with your bare hands.

   Scooting backward, you clenched a hand and felt rough fabric brush against it. You almost ripped your hand away in the fear that you had already touched something from this awful mess, before you realized it was just the pair of huge gloves you had come in for.

   Glancing down at the gloves, an idea came to mind- one that you immediately felt guilty for thinking of. You could use the Boy’s gloves to pick up all the laundry, that was an option… but then again, you wouldn’t wish this smell on anyone- especially something the player would be wearing as soon as it was returned. The odor would be sure to linger on the gloves, and you weren’t keen on giving him a reason to dislike you.

   Although, since the smell came from the laundry bin, which in turn came from the players themselves, maybe they wouldn’t notice if you used these gloves for this, just for a little while…? Nodding slowly, having successfully convinced yourself, you stood up and reached for the gloves.

   This act of handling player gear wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for you- but something about holding them with the intent to wear them had you shivering a little. Not to be weird about it- but just before you put them on, you felt a sudden sense of… proximity? Like wearing these gloves brought you and the football players closer together, somehow. 

   And in a sense, it was, you laughed to yourself as you slipped the gloves on. This really was the first and probably only chance you’d ever get of seeing what being a jock would feel like.

   You felt a bit silly for being surprised when the gloves didn’t fit, once you had them on. Your hands were pretty average in size, while the tough-fabric gloves were big enough to completely dwarf your hands when you wore them. Your fingers weren’t long enough for the tips to reach the end of the gloves, and the palms were too broad for your hands to really fit your fingers into each respective holes- you ended up constantly bunching up the palms of the gloves in your hands to really get a real grip in order to hold anything with them. 

You withheld a sigh. The huge gloves were a bit annoying and uncomfortable to use, but they’d get the job done.

   You crouched down to get to work picking up the dirty laundry- and were almost immediately assaulted by that disgusting odor again. Athlete sweat and untreated B.O. mixed together in one atrocious concoction of stench, having left to fester in the laundry bin all week. You swore under your breath at the unrelenting attacks on your nose- but you steeled your resolve, and proceeded with picking up the clothing and putting them back in the bin.

   As you’d anticipated, the gloves felt awkward and cumbersome, the most efficient method of picking up the laundry really just consisting of you smashing your gloved hands together around a clump of clothes like the world’s worst sandwich, and depositing it into the now upright bin. You found your frustration dissipating, however, after a moment or two of picking up the mess- the need to constantly hold onto the gloves felt less and less, and you found yourself letting go of the bunches you had been gripping and letting them hang on your hands loosely. It only clicked when you tried smashing another clump of clothes between two gloved closed fists, and paused for an embarrasing three seconds, dumbfounded by the sensation of the motion, and why exactly it felt weird. You had the hang of these gloves now. Your face heated up a little, feeling a bit silly that you’d been picking up the clothes so strangely when you could have just picked them up and grabbed them with your gloved hands normally. The gloves didn’t feel like masses of rough cloth covering your hands, they just felt like gloves- why had you been so weird about it?

   Despite the worn gloves starting to feel a bit tight on your hands, you shook yourself a little to focus and pick up the pace. Now that that weird mental block keeping you from acting normal had cleared, you started picking up larger piles of laundry to put away, some so big your arms burned and threatened to buckle under the weight. You really weren’t expecting a workout when you came in looking for the gloves, but damn if you weren’t getting one right then and there. 

   You made to reach for a jockstrap that you thought for a moment was too far away- your arms burned- and you picked it up, without any trouble. You dropped it on top of the newest colossal load you had gathered, carrying and depositing it all into the bin without any noticeable strain on your arms. You stretched your arms high above your head as a quick rest, finding the feeling of stretching your muscles particularly pleasurable in that moment for a reason you could not pin down, and took a sniff. It was getting easier to breathe, the smell feeling less noticeable than before.

   But it wasn’t gone, and it was still BAD- you could swear it was actually clouding your vision, what with the tint of green your skin had taken when you looked down at your arms. Yeugh, better get this over with quick.

   The short sleeves of your t-shirt were already feeling tight, but that sensation had spread to your neck- and, hell, now that you were thinking of it it was everywhere else, too. It was probably the fatigue setting in, but with every breath you drew in the shirt felt smaller, like you’d put on a size medium you thought you could fit it that day but after the barest physical strain showed exactly how constricting it actually was and how dumb you were for thinking it could fit you. 

   A surge of power erupted from your solid, heavy core and rushed up to your burgeoning pecs pressing so desperately against your shirt, and you fought the sudden urge to wrestle it off of your body. This was the players’ locker room, not yours, and you didn’t have an extra change of clothes here to fall back on if you tore this shirt. 

   Another embarrassing five seconds passed before you realized something was wrong with that thought. Since when had you ever been worried about tearing your shirt? You wiped your sweating forehead with a gloved hand, and the sense of rough fabric dragging along your skin gave you pause. You brought your hands to your face to look closely, and saw two gloves fitting perfectly, if a bit tightly, on two massive, powerful, meaty mitts in the shape of hands.

   It took you a moment to realize, but these were not the hands you had walked into this locker room with.

   You looked down at your body, your brain working overtime trying its best to grasp the situation. You felt around your neck with your huge hands, and felt a short, thick, solid trunk of muscle there, which matched your deeper sounding breathing, you realized. Your scrawny chest and torso were expanding as you watched, the pecs and musculature growing and filling out first, before fat filled in after, greatly softening your pecs and pushing your stomach out into a solid, firm gut. You gave it the smallest of pokes, just to tell if it was real, and your shirt jumped at the chance to survive a moment longer by riding it up, letting your gut touch the open air. The sensations were there, of course, it was there and real and huge- and the skin was the same green as your thick, powerful arms, and deepening in hue by the second. You almost fell over, when your new gut shifted your center of gravity, but you managed to catch yourself and widen your stance accordingly. The things that felt right for your new body felt… really different from what you were used to. But… it was still your body, right?

   You bent down over the remaining laundry, getting back to work- something that you didn’t have to think too hard about, and that was something you needed. Your poor brain felt sluggish, too tired to really understand the changes as they continued. You picked up more dirty clothes, now almost completely oblivious to the lingering smell that you vaguely remembered was still there. You distantly registered the sound of your shirt finally tearing from the strain, and the itch of chest hair pushing out in a smattering across your chest and down your gut. Just a few more rounds, you were sure you’d be finished… with the laundry. Finished with the laundry.

   The lump in your throat grew larger, and your ragged breaths sounded even deeper- even gutteral, a little. Something about your face was tingling, changing, as the changes rose even further up your body. Your head split into a headache from how fast you wanted it to go, you didn’t want to be left behind with everything happening so much. You realized all of a sudden that your face was wrong and out of place it was hurting your brain because of it- then your skull shifted, the bone thickening and squaring off into something tough and not really human, but your lower jaw pushed forward and locked into place and everything felt right again. It felt good, and it really felt good too when two of your lower teeth grew longer and sharper, into the proud tusks of a young adult half-orc poking out of your mouth. 

   The ground grew further away from you as your brain struggled to work things out. Some things were starting to make more sense, and some things were making less and less sense to you- so much so that it hurt to try to think of them now with everything else happening. Instead of trying to think about why it was all happening and why it was- or wasn’t- possible, you focused instead on your legs, as they were up next. They grew longer and thicker, powerful logs of mass you’d forged yourself from pouring countless hours on the Bloodrush field, to be able to carry the mountain of mass and meat you were wherever you needed to go. Even despite the splitting pain cracking your head, you couldn’t help the surge of pride or keep yourself from grinning like an idiot at the thought. 

   Your shorts were barely holding together, looking so small and much shorter on your legs than before, but why? Gears chugged along in your brain and it made the connection- right, your legs were growing, weren’t they? A bit dizzliy, your brain kept flip-flopping between watching the changes in excitement and accepting your new normal. You felt a thrill heave in your throat at feeling your now-tiny shorts ride up your legs and the seat of your pants filling out and pushing up against the shorts, like a bike tire you’d pumped too quickly and was about to pop. Everything was different, but you weren’t scared.

   Why would you be scared? These changes were amazing.

   Why would you be scared? This was just your body, nothing new- but still fuckin’ great.

   You heaved another mountain of dirty clothes into the bin, and clapped your huge gloved hands together once, eyeing the remaining stragglers. One more round.

   Each step you take feels like pounding, stomping on the floor without meaning to. Your footsteps sound heavy, and your feet feel way too tight to feel good. Like you put on the wrong size shoes, these ones way too small… which would be something your dumb fuckin’ ass would mix up, wouldn’t it? Putting on the wrong shoes and not realizing through the whole school day… your powerful lungs let out a gusty disappointed sigh. Typical.

   Your tiny, wrong shoes seemed to think so, too- and with a shrrrrp of cloth, your heavy green feet finally had space to breathe. You tried to kick as much of it off your feet as you can, and turn back to the laundry- y’know, channeling your shit into something productive instead of wasting time being fucking useless.

   Your stomach turned as you bent down to scoop the rest up. It’s… hard not to feel like that, like an idiot who could never get your act together. Struggling in school, making all these dumb decisions, always blowing your top and letting your rage get the better of you… it’s no wonder you could never make the… make the team…

   You stood back up, and the surge of something throughout your body followed by the loud SHRRRRPing of shirt and shorts got you out of your head. You tripped backwards into the line of lockers behind you in surprise, distantly feeling the dented metal under your arms. Your brain registered the tight pressure disappear and what was left of your clothes hanging off your powerful frame, and finally began to catch up with your body. 

   You started to realize and finally understand, just so much has changed about you- and while it’s hard to put them together, all the pieces were there.

   The reason you were wobbling and feeling so unsteady on your feet was because your center of gravity was different from what you were used to. The reason you dented the lockers this badly from punching and elbowing them when you tripped was because you didn’t know your own strength- literally. The reason why your clothes fucking hurt so much and were too fucking small wasn’t because you wore small clothes and put on tiny shoes this morning like a dumbass- because you’re not dumb, yeah you know you’re not smart like the wizards or artificers or whatever, but you’re not dumb- it’s because your body is different! You put on smaller clothes that morning because you were smaller!

   Your thick brow furrowed and your face scrunched up as you mulled it over, as you became more and more sure in yourself. You rubbed your chin with a gloved hand, feeling the coarse stubble smattered across your chin, while you were lost in thought- unflinching despite the rank odor clinging to the gloves after handling dirty sports laundry for like, gotta be more than ten rounds by now. Honestly, you were losing track.

   "Wait- shit, I need to get changed." You blurted out the thought as it bubbled up in your mind, without bothering to think about it first- like the gap between your thoughts and your tusked mouth was getting smaller.

   As soon as that clicked, you felt fabric rustling and moving as it stretched to wrap around your much larger body, covering everything up. The bulging and straining shorts grew down your legs and darkened to blue and hardened into weathered denim, not without its scuffs and tears but still a good, solid pair of jeans. Finally the right size and not feeling like your legs were being choked out, a belt slithered around your waist to complete the look. 

   Your socks and shoes repaired themselves too- the fabric of your socks worn and holey, standing no chance against your massive orc feet, and your shoes concealing the rest of it from view, cutting off the stench suddenly wafting up from them, too. 

   You involuntarily wrinkled your nose, but it honestly didn't smell that bad. Not really any of this did, anymore.

   Your shoes finished off with a splash of red that quickly weathered and darkened from wear- whatever Mending spell was fixing your clothes didn't seem to be able to fix that part of it, turned out. But you didn’t mind, you began to smirk a little as you waggled your now warm feet in a good 17 and a half size pair of sneakers. A perfect fit, for the pair of stompers you’re packin’.

   But the main event was just getting started- you rolled your broad shoulders and thick, muscled neck in anticipation. You could feel it, your brain following the patterns as it sensed the scraps that used to be your shirt shiftin' around, and making the connections. Your shirt was next.

   The cloth rushed around your body, turning stiff and thick as it repaired itself into a shirt sized much, much larger than the size medium tee you had on that morning. The sleeves stretched long and smoothed out into soft white that felt good on your bare arms underneath, topping off with striped cuffs hugging your wrists and sneaking inside the sleeves of your gloves. You couldn't help the smirk of satisfaction cross your face as you flexed, feeling even these large sleeves strain to contain the solid blocks of jockish muscle and mass your arms had pumped out.

   Your eyes followed the middle of your shirt split as buttons popped out into view, suddenly becoming the things holding your shirt together over your bulky chest and gut. The shirt neck pushed up further over your skin- well, more jacket neck than shirt, really. And that meant it made sense that the soft, striped thing around your neck was probably a collar, jackets had those.

   A rich red color washed over the rest of your jacket, over your torso, filling out between the white stripes on your wrists and collar. A bright red that your heart leapt in pride for, even though you didn't recognize it yet- or at least, your head didn't. Your body processing things and acting on them faster than your brain could was becoming a habit, at this point.

   But even at its snail's pace, it was still chugging along- and the pieces were coming together into something that had you excited. With a duly stretched out tank top appearing just underneath, you were wearing a letterman jacket- just like the kind the jocks wore. Laying a hand on your letterman and feeling the hard, solid mass bulging underneath, it wasn't hard to put two and two… er, maybe one and one together, and realize- you'd fit right in with the team, and maybe Coach would finally take you seriously about wanting to make the Bloodrush team. A brown letter "A" stitched itself onto your letterman's breast, like the jacket itself was in full support.

   You didn't think that the team you wanted to join started with an A- or your school, either- but you brain managed to squeeze out the name "Aguefort", and your body relaxed, as if that explained everything. Your chest swelled up again, almost overwhelmed with the pride and team spirit just thinking that name filled you with.

   You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. Augh, gods, you really needed to let your brain catch up again. The idea that your tiny fit had just changed into something larger and tougher and more comfortable, was fucking with your mind. Like, you never had the smarts to really get into casting classes, but this wasn't even something you had thought someone could do with magic. Man, maybe you should try taking a spellcasting class or something, see if you could pick anything up before the school year ended- that is, if magic was… real… wait, that didn't sound right…

   You let out a deep, involuntary grunt as a headache pounded through your skull, just behind your eyes, and threatened to knock you off balance. You managed to steady yourself in time, quickly grabbing onto things for support, and your gaze fell onto your gloved hand.

   Once stable, you brought a massive mitt of a hand in front of your face. You snapped it shut into a huge, meaty fist, feeling the powerful grip in your long, thick fingers, and the tough material wrapped around it tight, and then relaxed your hand. The gloves fit perfectly. Everything fit perfectly.

   Everything fit perfectly on your body- holy shit, this was your body now, wasn't it? Your head jerked around, trying to get the best view of the huge orcish form you had found yourself in as you could. No way the Boys on the team wouldn't be jealous as FUCK of your sick gains. And damn, didn't you agree. There was this Pride pushing up in your chest, too- like you deserved a bod with this power and magnitude. Like after all the hard work you put into getting here, training and working out and putting on mass like crazy, there was no way you were going to get a body different from the one you wanted- this one.

   But even as proud of yourself you were, and how pumped and ready to RUMBLE you knew this body was, it…

   Your spirits fell. It still didn't feel like you were one of them. One of the Boys, the Jocks, even with your new varsity jacket, or your huge, jockish body. You weren't part of the team, you were just the… the, uh… well, you just worked there. Picking up nasty laundry. And there was a sinking feeling, that a part of you knew to be true, that told you that's the way it'd always be, wouldn't it.

   You looked over to the stuffed laundry bin, having finished picking everything up, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel happy about it. You sat down on the bench with a gusty sigh, and looked down at your open hands again, huge and strong enough to crush rocks. 

   All that potential, gone to waste from not being put to use on the team, just felt so crushing. 

   You'd be fuckin' great at it, too, you were sure.

   Your fists tighten, open palms snapped shut into that powerful grip. YEAH you'd be fuckin' great at it, you could probably take every game home by yourself if you had to, even without the rest of the team you'd be playing with backing you up! What was Coach thinking, not letting what had the potential be a star Bloodrush player onto the team? Was he out of his MIND?

   You were onto something, it hit you. You stood up from the bench, creaking in relief as your weight lifted off of it, and you began to pace back and forth to give your brain the time it needed to catch up, almost knocking over the laundry bin again. Why wouldn't Coach just let you join? Your face twisted as frustration and borderline rage bubbled up, trying to push past the ache in your head and think a complete sentence for once. Fuck, this train of thought hurt so much it was almost worse than biting glass on accident again.

   In an instant, your head snapped to attention and your eyes darted around the room, suddenly remembering the danger at hand. Glass could be anywhere, and you wouldn't even know if you were about to bite some- it was literally invisible! Your gloved mitt of a hand clapped over your mouth just to be safe, your orcish nose having almost fully tuned out the musky laundry smell the gloves still carried. 

   Your eyes landed on the locker room mirror. That had glass in it- at least, uh, you were pretty sure it did- but it was stuck to the wall, so it was probably fine. Mirror glass was probably different from regular glass, anyway, since it wasn't invisible. 

  You nodded to yourself, relaxing and feeling safer, when your eyes caught on your own reflection next.

   You slowly stepped over to the mirror, the tension of danger all but forgotten as you took in the half-orc standing there, facing you. Now that it was allowed to work on its own time, your brain was finally starting to catch up with your earlier thoughts- just in time for the final changes to make their way up your face.

   You wanted more than anything to join the team, and were probably one of the students at the Adventuring Academy most equipped to be really, REALLY good at it.

   You lowered your gloved hand away from your mouth to reveal it growing, bulking even further, squaring off into a strong, masculine jaw, skin as green as the field turf, with two thick, orcish tusks jutting up proudly from your lower jaw.

   Coach would be crazy to not let someone join the team if he thought they could help them win and play better, and Coach wasn't that crazy. Evil alignment didn't mean crazy, obviously.

   Your eyes clouded over and the colors went inverse as your vision adjusted to naturally see in darkness better, white piercing pupils in pits of black sclera. Your nose and ears grew in turn, ears a bit longer and tapering off into points, and nose wider to fit your orcish face better.

   But even though Coach was Evil- better than the last coach, anyway, Pit Fiend evil didn't turn your stomach as much as abusive homophobic evil did- he wouldn't force someone into playing for the team if they didn't want to. He was nice like that, you knew.

   And then your hair, from the roots up was darkening to a deep, dark green, so dark it was almost black. It swept back into a wilder, slightly unkempt hairstyle over thicker looking side fades, like you'd let it grow out a little after a while without a haircut.

   That meant Coach must not have known how much you wanted to play, even though it was obvious how good you'd be for the team. But why, then? How the hell could he not know? Something wasn't adding up, you realized.

   You took in the tough, proud face of the half orc reflecting back at you in the mirror. It was solid and imposing, but there was a softness to your expression, too- like it was getting more comfortable in wearing things that weren't a scowl or a snarl contorted in rage. The muscles and fat set in your massive jaw rolled at the even the smallest movement, and the whole jaw was sent shifting from the tiny clenches you made with your mouth as you thought. It was still hard to believe that this all only just happened, and you were so different a few rounds ago. The thought of a scrawnier human figure with a much thinner frame floated past behind your now dark orcish eyes, and all at once it hit you.

   Coach didn't know you wanted to play because you never told him you did!

   You clapped a gloved hand to your forehead in understanding as your brain finally made the connection. You remembered first visiting Coach back when you looked like a human, and you hadn't had the nuts to tell him you wanted to join the team- and THAT'S why you'd been stuck as the waterboy ever since!

   Sizing up the massive, half-orc jock reflecting back at you, already wearing the team's varsity jacket, you couldn't help your face splitting into a grinning smirk. That version of yourself felt so far away from you now, as the confidence of a half-orc AND a jock- who was not only centered and assured of who he was, but deeply and unwaveringly PROUD of who he was as a whole person- surged through you, your heart thrumming and shocking your back upright into better posture, only adding to your height even more. Looking how you did, with the huge new body and all, you wouldn't have trouble getting Coach to let you join the team now, that's for fuckin' sure. You even got a letterman of your own already, too! You turn around with your head craned to get a good look at the back of your letterman in the mirror. It'd be easier to just take it off and look at it there- but nah, no way you're taking this thing off anytime soon.

   Even with the added effort of having to read words backwards like that in the mirror, your heart leapt in pride and already knew what the big block letters spelled over the piercing gaze of a snarling owlbear.

   "BARKROCK."

   Your heart already knew, deep down, but now your brain clicked, too. That was- that was your last name. Your last name, Barkrock! Well- it wasn't before, but like- it felt good to hear it. And it definitely fit the kind of person you were now, and maybe it'd be good to sort of start over again with the Coach anyway, too? You weren't sure how you'd explain it all anyway, so just pretending you were a totally different person would be easier, even though you were still the same but you'd just changed a little. Well, a lot. 

   So yeah, you'll keep the name, no sweat. You could probably pass as a foreign exchange student, probably.

   You turned away from the reflection, and headed out the locker room door back outside to the field. You were PUMPED again and ready to go, feeling it in every part of your body- first steps into the new life laid out ahead of you.

   It was a beautiful, clear day with a few clouds about, and you almost didn't realize how different the field and bleachers looked from how they used to, with how familiar everything felt to you at the same time. It was a bit hard to remember what colors the uniforms of the teams on the field had been before, but the red and white they sported now- just like your letterman- felt right, y'know?

   You spotted the team on the field, and were about to call them over and ask them where Coach was- you had a lot to talk about- when one of them spotted you first and waved you over.

   "RAGH, my guy! Where you been, dude?"

   The gap between your thoughts and your mouth was too small to realize the jock had just called you by a name you were pretty sure wasn't yours before you were already hustling over, grinning like an idiot, huge tusks out and proud for all to see.

   "I'm comin', dude, I'm comin'!"

   And you hustled down the field to meet him and all the others, the fat and muscle of your beefy body bouncing up and down in a way that felt so real, so right, so familiar as muscle memory of your favorite sport seared its way into your body. You were a Bloodrush player, through and through- your heart knew that, your head knew that, and now your body knew that, too, which sealed the deal. 

   FUCK that felt good.

   The other players had headed to the benches, taking a quick water break before heading back out to practice. You saw the other players already had their waters and everything, and THAT got you grinning to yourself. You'd never be stuck as Coach's assistant again- at least, not in the way you used to. The faces of the other jocks lighting up when you arrived, and the growing familiarity you had with each of their faces and then names and then who they were and what they liked, told you that. 

   You were also pretty sure that some of the Boys here had changed too, like you did, with pointed ears or flaming hair or fuller beards where you didn't expect, but you didn't care about that, didn't you. This was the team you knew, and that was what mattered.

   The player who called you over clapped you on the back, getting your head in the game with a jump.

   "Jeez, Ragh, you took your time," he laughed, elbowing you in the ribs, sending something fluttering in your chest- something that you knew what it was but you decided you were fine with not following- for now, at least. You were at practice, not prom. "Your gloves that hard to find? Dude, we need you for practice!"

   You glanced down at your rough, worn gloves that’d been with you for ages. You could barely remember what that player who sent you in to grab them in the first place looked like, and looking around at your team and best friends at the Academy, you didn’t recognize anyone that might have used to be him among the humanoids there… almost like he was never there at all. Your head was starting to hurt again- feeling sluggish like it was running on empty when you tried to think about it further, and you made a decision. 

   You held the memory close for a moment, of that nameless player who gave you this chance thanks to his gloves- your gloves- thanked it, and then let it go. Your head felt clearer in an instant, and you shook away the headache, feeling yourself settle back into being comfortable with your friends.

   “Sorry dude, knocked over the laundry bin in there and had to clean up. And fuck, dude, I swear- it took me like, what, 15 rounds to pick it all up. There was so. much. shit in there.” 

   Everything fell into place so easily, the rhythm you had with your friends felt so natural, it really did feel like you’d known these guys and played on the same Bloodrush team for years at this point- which, as far as everyone else was aware, you had. And damn, when you weren’t thinking too hard about how different everything was, it just about had you convinced, too.

   “And honestly? Dude-dude-dude-dude, dudes, can I be real with you?” You directed it to the rest of the team, this time. “Y’all fuckin’ smell, dude.”

   A firbolg teammate in the back called out, “It’s just the musk, dude-”

   “Dude, no, I know the musk. I know the musk, dude, and that laundry bin was like- BAD, dude, even for me. Holy shit. Like, take a fuckin’ shower, guys!”

   Sitting back, laughing and joking with your team for the rest of the water break- you were one of the Boys, one of the jocks. 

   Just like you’d always wanted. 

   Just like you’d always been. 

   Your head wanted to pick one of those over the other to be right so bad, but your heart knew they were both true.

   You stood up, stretching. “Alright, back to practice. I got the scrimmage drills.”

   That confidence, that pride you exuded that kicked your teammates into gear stirred in you something fierce- and hot damn if you weren't fierce- but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world. That sort of authority came with you being the most senior member on the team- even though you weren't the team captain or QB, you knew all the drills, all the exercises, probably even better than Coach did, so you could pretty much run practice on your own when Coach Gorthalax got stuck in a ruby again or something. Getting held back a year or two was crushing back then, but did have its good side, you guessed. You were so familiar with the Bloodrush training stuff from playing year after year, you could probably become a Coach yourself eventually, if you didn't land a job as a star Bloodrush player or bodyguard or something.

   It took for when your teammates lined up for the scrimmage play for it to really hit you- you realized the future you had ahead of you. Before, you'd just been a scrawny human without real friends who could never speak your mind, and now you were a huge half-orc jock who had a team of friends and was proud of who you were. That went to the Aguefort Adventuring Academy, too- training teens and high schoolers in magical or fighting stuff to become adventurers and heroes, or at least learn whatever the fuck Principal Aguefort wanted them to take out of all this- a far cry from the boring ass school you used to go to. You had career options you'd never even heard of lined up ahead of you since you're close to graduating. 

   Fuck, you're close to graduating, too, huh… yeah, that was right, ever since that adventuring party of bad kids you became friends with invited you on a quest and finished it with them, you were on your way to graduation. Fuck, dude, that was something you hadn't though about for a long while, afraid you'd just get pulled back again. Getting through all your identity junk thanks to the school's guidance counselor Jawbone probably helped with that, too, being honest.

   More and more memories of being Ragh Barkrock, the half-orc jock who got your whole life turned around after getting your ass handed to you by the Bad Kids and then meeting with Jawbone to work your personal shit out kept filling your head in that moment- and honestly, you couldn't think of anything you wanted more in that moment. You felt solid, grounded. You knew for sure in your big, thumping, orc heart, of who you wanted to- no, who you were PROUD to be.

   The Bloodrush captain called the play, clear and sharp that cut through your mind like a greataxe through warm cheese, and your body instinctively sprang into action alongside your friends, your teammates. You grit your tusks and teeth, and called up that white hot feeling- in an instant your head, heart, and body finally all in sync. Not so much thinking of anything, or even really being able to think anything other than being laser focused on the play at hand that you knew by heart. 

   You thundered forward, letting loose a snarl and calling up that white-hot rage as you charged the poor humanoid player opposite to you, squeezing the last few thoughts through your head before going blank.

   Your name is Ragh Barkrock, and you're damn proud of that.

[incarnateirony]

Let's seal away the din of each fandom thinking their noise make them special snowflakes for a second, and look at things in scale.

Because the average reporter on these things really doesn't know the machinations of the things they seek scoops on, so let's dig a little bit, and figure out where Nexstar's heads are at.

When it was first announced, many people scratched their heads; early articles threw the same 50+ audience I had joked, but that was the line--it was a joke. It was nonsustainable for primetime at the given costs. It was just funny to say it would be full of AARP ads.

But then came time to break down how AA's demo never flinched during boycotts because of the AA audience still being one of the largest demographics consuming TV by classic means, for any variety of reasons I'm not unpacking in this post.

That is, within 18-49. And like anyone paying attention to their priority on earnings, rejoining the rest of the world in the pre-pedowitz 18-49 was the way to do it, and to fix everybody's collective problems.

This isn't a transition only rattling CW, though. CW under Nexstar is actually TAKING its bizarre underdog position, cutting its losses and jumping forward.

Over time, the 10p slot on networks has largely shut down and returned to local broadcasters and affiliates. ABC held out for a great while. But it's closing that down. That's 5 hours less scripted TV space on air anymore, flat. Less real estate.

And of that real estate, much like I warned and many report, there's an overall thinning of mass volume purchasing and bulk product creation in the industry. As a worker this does kind of suck, because less stuff being ordered means less jobs. But it also ends systemic conveyor belts that choke out other creatives outside of the megacorp's approved lever pull.

ALL networks, not just CW, are cutting several shows even in non10p slots, and essentially replacing them with unscripted content. Half of ABC is going to the slaughter house this year, every network risks its own bloodbath. CW got most of the worst of it out of the way last year, while tying up their loose ends with final seasons this spring, for the most part.

But all those people seeking unscripted content are going to be awash. You go to the Next Big Network and it, too, is thinner pastures than you remember.

Nexstar is choosing key properties it can wave around. Like hey, we grew up like you did. But remember Smallville? Remember Dawson's Creek? Yeah we got those people, and we're bringing back the sitcoms yall used to watch some days back then, but new now. And we got like, a Supernatural spinoff, but it's gay, check it out.

Suddenly 15 years of fans come rushing in hungry for content because ain't shit on TV anymore. And Nexstar then shoves them at their other new content being ordered, and uses that to repair CW's damaged userbase, resist any kind of decline, maybe even dare to pinch up numbers while others go down, or at least in the cases they're investing budget in.

The growing obsoletion of the radio towers involved in the chain of delivery that is TV is a race of syndicates modernizing by other means, like Studio City, radio ventures, streamers and network purchases. And deep down in the bones, outside of anyone yelling opinions about a TV show in particular, those are the motions we're feeling right now.

And, for what it's worth, Jensen navigated this, just like the mergers and collapses all around him before it, like a master, in a way that basically secures him as WB's leading content creator on its remaining airspace at WB, until the HBO Max Transition.

What WB is really holding out for is globalization being sustainable via subscription methods by 2025-2026 once they expect to be in all countries by end of that season, which is coincidentally around a supernatural 20 year anniversary date. But that's neither here nor there for this post, as much as: the industry is propping itself up as it slowly falls down and rebuilds.

realistically, WB only cares about maintaining a few more years of airspace, after that it's whatever, but that investment itself is in that exclusivity deal with Chaos Machine Jackles has, both for The Winchesters, and the increasing Jenmish overlap of DC and Berlanti.

These are also setting the stage for future franchise decisions, something WB notoriously struggles with--Harry Potter in major decline, DC in turmoil and more, but once their direct orders are reduced, it'll pull together. And Roth made sure Zaslav knew this about Supernatural as a slept on franchise, from the jump, while telling Jensen exactly how to run the pending obstacle course.

[jodiie-leighanne]

"Randomly wrote this, it's not that great. Angst, angst and more angst.

Draco love could you come to the bedroom"

Fuck yes. Shucking off my jacket, shows kicked somewhere in the hall as her angelic voice calls me. What man doesn't want to be summoned upstairs seductively after a busy day working?

Skipping a step at a time eager to get to her,  palms on the door frame, that's when I see her. 

Oh, fuck no.

The lights dipped to a demonic claret. Perched on a chaise by the window, concealing something in the shadows.

"What's wrong with your face darling not happy to see me?"

She stands doused in crimson silk, matching painted lips. Probably easier to mask the blood she is going to bleed from my veins. I'm aroused and terrified because in her left hand as the moon light hits it, is a file I've been desperately trying to conceal.

"Who's Mary-Beth?" 

There it is. Think up an explanation, fast. 

Blank. Cheers brain. 

"Who?" I smirk, trying to humour the situation. Bad move, she charges at me shoving the folder into my chest and my spine against a wall. 

"Mary-Beth, you know the slut from the 4th floor of your building, average looking about 5ft 7inches voice like a raked chalkboard", She has a fair point. "Fair sized bust" Again, she aint lying. "Oh come on Draco you know the one youve fucking frquently at the Beaumont.." I'm dead, mum if you read this I'm probably fish food by now. If you find my body well I hope you're not squeamish because this crazy cow is about to castrate me, then force feed it to me. 

"Or was that Larissa? Jasmine?.." 

"Ok ok, listen baby.." A searing sting fills my cheek with warmth. As she squeaks in frustration, dropping the evidence she held to the floor, her once stark green irises have turned venomous.

"No you listen, whilst i've been at home recovering from birthing your big headed baby" Bit mean "Stitches down to my arsshole magic or not that shit fucking hurts. I can't even shit Draco" Good lord. Each speech spat, I'm jabbed in the pectoral with a digit.

"Then the little bastard had the absolute audacity to be the mirror image of his father" Grinning slightly at the thought of my beautiful blonde boy, that thought disappears as her daggers pierce through. "Little bastard sucks my tits raw daily. I keep him nourished, clean and safe. Yet he is your doppelganger" 

"Lucky kid", Her hand lifts to strike me again. Managing to grip her wrist mid air, causing her to squirm away. Backing acrossing the room. 

"Dove come on", wind whips my face as a hardback novel hammers towards me. 

"Dont you fucking dove me", Followed by another, and a another. 

"Shit, Hope stop fuck throwing books at me, looney bitch"

"It's the least you deserve", Upgrading to a vase. 

"Bit of pansy move don't you think could have at least thrown.. I was joking, god damn woman", shifting out the way as my desk chair hurtled towards my form.

Deeply chuckling she hauls out her wand, conjuring a basket of blades into her arm throwing them fast paced. Causally launching them as I remain unshielded. 

Sometimes I fucking hate magic. 

"Are you trying to kill me ?", I scream. Trying to get closer to her to stop the madness.

"Yes"

She sprints at me again, knife in hand. With no mercy she slammed me into the draws. A Mirror any surface that may bruise, cut or mane me. I was thrown against it. Shards of glass, wooden splinters and blood decorated the floor joining to mix with petals, water and scarlet from her shredded bare feet. 

Leaping she knocks me onto the bed, I may have let out a girlish scream as the wind knocked out my lungs. Her petite forearm locking my chest down as she straddles me dominantly. Sharp side of that blade she wields to my jugular. Fuck she looks good like this, sweat claiming her forehead, panting ferociously. 

My dick hardens underneath her core, I'm a sucker for Hope Malfoy always have been.

"You just couldn't keep your pathetic little cock in your pants could you"

"Woah there little?" 

"Miniature" She scoffs in disgust, she is testing my patience. 

"That's just cruel and a lie", I retorted, smirking once more, which just angered the fired brunette. 

"I only speak the truth", Right enough of this, in one swift move I push her off me as she tumbles over the edge of the bed to hit the ground. Grunting as she makes contact, dropping to join her I now mount her. Sides tucked in between my knees as I point to my very obvious erection straining my slacks. 

"Does that look small to you baby? I believe you've screamed that it's too big for your tight little cunt have you not?"

"Perhaps I did" She shrugs from her laid position, rolling my eyes at her childish ways. "And no your right it's massive", Knew she would cave for me. "Makes a pretty good target actually", Her fist raises to connect with my family jewels.

"Woman, stop trying to hurt me"

Pinning her arms, we are nose to nose now. Breathing the same ragged air. I catch her leaning in to either kiss me or headbutt me, I'll go for the seconds. Completely caught off guard when she actually captures my lips with her own. 

Somehow, that fighting got us both immensely turned on which lead to a few rounds of hate fucking, we are now naked under the sheets. Slowly coming down from our highs, covered in bruises and scratches. 

"You can leave now"

"Wait what?"

"Get out" She points to the door, swinging her legs round to get up. But I pull her back into me. 

"But we just.." Usually we fuck and its all over. We are happy again. 

"So you thought I forgave you?" She struggles out my grasp, tears rimming her eyes. Time to come clean. 

"Baby listen I'll explain.." Shifting to lean my back against the headboard, I summon the folder to my palm. 

"Five minutes go.." Hope eyes stay on her nails as she picks the skin around them, trying to distract herself.

"Larissa is an estate agent", Her hues briefly flick to mine as I opened the paperwork to back up what I was saying. "Mary-Beth's husband is an interior designer, i met them both at the Beaumont for a meal to discuss decor" Placing blueprints in front of her, daring to hold her tiny hands in my own. "Also, i don't know a Jasmine"

"I know, it was a test" She smiled faintly. 

"I bought us a house, just the three of us"

"A house?" There's that light in her face, I love so much. 

"Yes, I would never cheat on you silly girl", Warming up to me, her arms clinging to my neck, mumbled 'sorrys' left her lips as she scattered kisses. 

"Well it's a good thing because we've fucked the room up..  I-I fucked the room up", Chuckling at earlier events. 

"It comes furnished", My turn to kiss her now. 

"Perfect, I'm sorry I doubted you love"

"That's ok" 

Later that evening, married life was back to normal. Affection every moment we could. 

Myself and my wife were sitting around the dining table eating a meal she made as an apology. Our small son cradled in my arms as I rocked him, whilst trying to eat. 

Multi tasking is no joke. 

"Hey draco?" Hope quips out of nowhere. 

"Yeah?"

"Don't drive the range rover for a while, take a different car", Hiding a devilish grin behind her wine glass.

"Cut the brakes?" I ask nonchalantly, popping a chip in my mouth. 

"Planted a bomb to designate when the engine turns on", My eyes widened as the food got lodged in my throat, from how dry it went.  

"Your insane"

"Mhmm only for you"

[bluetnabeat]

Yet Another Dolorous Dream

➪ Ship: HiyoEi/EiHiyo

➪ Tags: Unrequited Love, OOC?, Jealousy?, Eichi Tenshouin, Hiyori Tomoe, Ex-Fine

➪ CW: Very bad jokes/puns???

➪ Playlist:

➪ Word count: 2018

➪ A/N: I hope you guys enjoy, I had fun writing this and thinking abt the plot. I also didn't add any Good/Bad Hiyoris~★ because I'm not sure when to add them, so I'm sorry about that… Also sorry if the pacing sucks lmk your thoughts 🫠

—

“Yumenosaki Private Academy, a school where your dreams will come true… That's what they say at least. As you walk down these filthy, polluted halls, no one would believe that this school was once a prestigious school wherein you train to be your best self in the performing arts world. At the very least, it's not the school I had familiarised myself with, the once glimmering stage of Yumenosaki has turned into nothing but your average high school. Say, Hiyori Tomoe… Would you like to embark on the quest of redeeming the glory of this school?”

With sparkling eyes and a solemn smile, Eichi looked at Hiyori endearingly. In that moment that's when he understood, no matter how many times he denied it, he had fallen for the man who sat before him. Hiyori let out a light chuckle at his enlightenment, which confused the blonde. He faced Eichi affectionately and replied,

“Oh, Eichi-kun… I'll walk with you down whatever path you take.”

If only he understood then what Hiyori meant at that time. All that was in his mind was his goal being complete—having basically the strongest idol unit in Yumenosaki to take over the school. Knowing at least two of these people are willing to walk by his side for as long as he needed was reassuring to him. Hiyori signed the contract without even reading what was on it, for his love for Eichi was his drive; his reason to agree to whatever nonsensical objectives Eichi would give him.

—

For months on end, they trained together and participated in the idol competition called Dream Festivals otherwise known as DreamFes, and quickly climbed the ranks. Though from the perspective of outsiders they all seemed to be close, but truthfully they were more disconnected than the world without technology, for Tsumugi barely holds them together through whatever means necessary.

Eichi, on the other hand began to become even more deeply infatuated with a fellow whose name is Wataru Hibiki. As Eichi explored his feelings for the boy, Hiyori felt a tension rising between Eichi and himself. He hated himself for not making it more obvious to the man that he was slowly ripping himself apart for him whenever Eichi talked to him about Wataru. Every night and every day, he would curse himself for not showing himself off for Eichi to see and notice and curse Wataru for being the one Eichi truly adores. Soon Hiyori no longer felt like he could chase Eichi, the friendship he had with him, seemed like it was only a dolorous dream which was out of reach. He began to find ways and means to distract himself from the surge of negativity inside of him for one thing he feared more than Eichi hating him, was him being fully aware of his own self-hatred. It was unbecoming of him to start entertaining his female fans, leaving the two, Tsumugi and Eichi, baffled at his change of character. He never planned on hurting any of the girls by entertaining them of course, he only wanted something to distract him, distract him from his thoughts of Eichi, the only person he loved that wasn't himself.

Not only did he change in the way he acts, he also began to straight up ignore Eichi and only responds when money is offered to him. Eichi's confusion only led to more questions to ask Hiyori when he somehow managed to cross paths with him again. Then it happened, a week before their final dreamfes, there sat the two of them in the library yet again just as they did on the day Hiyori realised how deeply in love he was with Eichi.

“The other day somebody told me, the only vegetable that could make you cry are onions, so I threw a coconut at him.”

He grinned, thinking he kicked off their conversation remarkably. Hiyori heaved a disappointed sigh.

“You've gotten worse at those jokes of yours, your delivery made it sound like you were serious as well”

“Was I not egg-cellent enough to crack you up?”

“Please, stop with the puns.”

Hiyori sniggled at how Eichi was posing. A child-like gleeful smile, his hands behind his back as he slightly leaned to the left towards the window.

“In all seriousness, what do you think you've been doing?”

Eichi asks, his composure changing as he sat down. From the playful child he was, he turned disappointed and stern.

“Hm? Did I do something wrong?”

“You changed. That's what you did.”

“Changed? How so? I'm still the same Hiyori as I was back then.”

Truth be told, he didn't realise his own change, his emotions and heart buried the love he once had for Eichi. His seemingly blatant response didn't satisfy Eichi's hunger for the reason behind his sudden transformation in demeanor.

“No you're not, you weren't like this when I first got to know you. People also don't evolve in their mannerisms and actions this quickly, unless there was something that motivated them to. That's how I understand it at least.”

“I really don't know what you're talking about, Eichi-kun. If you have nothing else to ask me then may I leave now?”

“That's one thing that has changed. You've never lost interest in whatever I say, nor do you want to leave ever so quickly.”

“You don't need anything from me though, so I see no point in staying anymore.”

Hiyori immediately stood up from his chair and walked towards the door, just as swiftly as he began to walk away, Eichi stood up and pulled on his wrist.

“Hiyori-kun… Please, I am just utterly confused with your behaviour and I want to understand you, just as how you once understood me.”

Eichi kept a tight grip onto his wrist, but Hiyori didn't hear whatever Eichi said after he called his name. The memories he had and emotions he felt that were suppressed deep down in his heart rose up once again, the anguish, heartache, all his pain and his love for Eichi. His heart couldn't bear to hide his feelings anymore, his watering eyes met Eichi's for a brief moment but he quickly turned away and yanked his arm out of Eichi's grip and ran out as the tears began to stream down his cheeks leaving Eichi standing there shocked once more.

In the hallway as he ran, he crashed into another person. Sprawled on the ground Hiyori's lavender eyes kept shedding tears no matter how hard he tried to hold it in.

“Hiyori-kun? Are you alright?”

Tsumugi offered his hand to Hiyori to assist him in standing up but was completely ignored.

“I am a fool, a ridiculous fool, I am to blame for how stupid I had become…”

He muttered to himself over and over until Tsumugi grabbed his face by the cheeks and made him look at him for a second, then quickly released his grip, shocked from his own impulsive decision.

“I'm so sorry Hiyori-kun. I didn't mean to grab you like that, I swear.”

“It's alright Tsuum-Tsuum, I was in need of that…”

Tsumugi offers his hand out to Hiyori once again, who took it then wiped his tears with his handkerchief.

“Thanks for helping me come to my senses, there's something I have to take care of… I'll be going now, goodbye Tsumugi-kun!”

Perplexed, Tsumugi watched as Hiyori shakily ran out of the building.

Once Hiyori arrived home, he searched for his box of treasures in which he kept some photos he took with and of Eichi during the times they had spent together early in the creation of Fine. He couldn't help but express tenderness as he shuffled through the photos, reminiscing everything that happened during those days. After he had finished looking through the photos, he returned them to where he usually had them, hung up on his wall with his fairy lights, as he looked up at the photos in satisfaction Eichi's words from the hour prior entered his train of thought.

‘Just how much have I changed to become the ignorant clot I was?’

He asked himself as he looked through his phone, seeing it flooded with some messages from fans and many pictures with said fans. He felt really stupid. He knew Eichi didn't love him the way he loves Eichi, but he also loved seeing Eichi happy. Hiyori understood his selfish actions as something that brought concern to Eichi, therefore it wasn't something that made Eichi happy.

“Why must you be so stupid, Hiyori?”

He knew that scolding himself wouldn't help him but he still did it anyway. He curled up under his covers and let the tears he managed to hold in be cried out both for his anger towards himself and him finally coming to terms with the fact Eichi will never see him the same way.

—

A week later, Hiyori found himself standing on the stage with the rest of Fine as winners, the students chanting their names as they left the stage with their awards. Both he and Nagisa quickly went to the changing rooms together, but he couldn't find his phone so he went back to the standby area, but before he waltzed in, he heard Tsumugi and Eichi in the middle of a conversation.

“Well, I guess that's it for all of you. You're all free from me now.”

“Eichi-kun, we're bound to you by a contract but it doesn't mean we can't remain friends afterwards.”

“Would you like to remain friends with me? I only used you all to reach the top, to make a stand. Why would you want to stay with me?”

“So you never considered us friends?”

Tsumugi's heartbroken voice puzzled Eichi as he wasn't used to being called someone's friend, but from behind the curtain stood Hiyori, who once again was brought to tears finding out Eichi never saw any of them the same way Tsumugi sees him, and furthermore confirms that he will never see Hiyori in the same light. He quietly sobbed, walking back to the changing room and sat by the door, hanging his head between his knees, for the small hope that Eichi at least saw him as a friend had been smashed into pieces.

—

After a few years, Eichi built Ensemble Square and invited everyone from his generation of idols and afterwards to live a life with no bounds as an idol.

One day while walking around ES he sees Hiyori sitting down on a bench alone, his usual companion, Jun Sazanami, was nowhere to be seen.

“Do you mind if I sat here for a moment, Hiyori-kun?”

“Not at all, come sit.”

Hiyori pats the empty space next to him, gesturing to Eichi to sit beside him, which Eichi did.

“How's life been as the Executive and Representative of StarPro?”

“Really busy as always, though I had some time for a break today so I decided to go on a stroll.”

An awkward silence filled the air, Hiyori took a deep breath deciding it was finally time to confess.

“Eichi-kun, I have loved you since some time during our first year in high school. I really don't know when it started, but I haven't stopped loving you since it did. Yet, I don't think you'll fully understand what I mean because of how I believe you see the world.”

He looked at Eichi who was taken aback and confused with what he had just said.

“So I humbly confess to you today, that until the day I stop loving you in both platonic and romantic ways, I'm always by your side no matter near or far you may be from me.”

“Ohii-san! Goddamn. I've been searching for you for the past hour, you were here all along.”

A loud call made from Jun was made in the distance. Hiyori jumped off the bench and smiled at Eichi

“I'm off now, I'll see you around, Eichi-kun!”

He runs off to Jun and follows him back into the building as Eichi remains on the bench pondering about everything that had just been told to him by Hiyori.

[i-read-shitty-comics]

DRAMAtical Murder

Genres:

Action, Cyberpunk, Drama, Mystery, Psychological, Romance, Sci-Fi

Average Rating (Google): 96% positiv feedback

Synopsis (Steam):

"I will destroy you"

Midorijima. Situated to the south of Japan, this beautiful island was once a place where people lived in harmony with nature. Then the Toue Company took over, (only Aoba, master of the gay could stop them but when world needed him most he decided to have sex instead of saving the world because he knows his priorities) driving off most of the island's residents and forcing those who would not leave to live in the shadow of Platinum Jail, a walled-off megaresort where the wealthy wallow in luxury.

Aoba is a young man living with his grandmother in the Old Residential District, the last refuge of Midorijima's people. While his peers join gangs and fight for dominace on the streets or immerse in the virtual reality game Rhyme, Aoba works part-time at a junk shop and only hopes that his peaceful life will last. (Spoiler: it doesn't ... shocking I know, I was surprised too that this game had a plot outside of gay sex.)

But strange things are happening on Midorijima, and Aoba will soon have to fight ... or lose everything he holds dear.

My Opinion:

Welcome to my obsession of the month! I got into this game back in the day, when I was too young to play an 18+ game. To my defense, I didn't play it, I watched a let's play by a Youtuber I watched at the time and was mostly there to hear him make a lot of dick jokes and see how he censors the spicy scenes. Also fyi, I 100%ed the game, so I don't just talk about the route I got first try.

Honestly though, this is a great game. It doesn't have phenomenal world building, or the best story but what it has is a really fun and colorful cast of characters that never fails to entertain and have incredible developement ... except Mink ... we don't talk about Mink ... for the sake of this whole segment, we just act as if Mink doesn't exist for a few seconds. This was so much fun to read, espacially since each love interest has their own route with one good and at least one bad ending and let me tell you: the good endings can hit all the cute feels ... or sometimes make you cry because your favorite just died ... or make you question if the MC even has a brain ... to be fair, he never said he had one. Maybe he wear that jacket with a brain on the shoulder in hopes of becoming smarter ... Aoba, honey. I love you but it's not working. Get a plan B. Anyway while the good endings hit the right places in all the right ways, the bad endings hit the bad spaces in all the right ways and I'm a giant sucker for well done bad endings.

My Ranking (with Mink): 8

My Ranking (without Mink): 9

(WARNING!: This visual novel is hella fucked up! There is sexual abuse, emotional abuse, rape, physical abuse, Mink, the MC making terrible life choices that make you question his sanity because of fucking Mink, sentient tattoos, having sex with someone who is about to die, because that's what you do, apparently, a German guy, who's real name is Willhelm ... it's not offensive but it's pretty funny to someone who's German, his parents really wanted him to get bullied when they game him that name, that's for sure, the bad endings can also be extremely disturbing and can feature dissected limbs, kidnapping, suffering in pain for all eternity, last but not least the true ending of the game is debatably beastophilia/objectophilia, selfcest and incest and fans are still debating until this day what exactly it is because it is all of them and none of them at the same time and this game is just weird and complicated but I still love every Mink-less second of it.)

Recommended to:

Everyone who sees the trigger warnings and still thinks they could get through the game. It is really good and you should stop what you're doing right now and go buy it on Steam! ... Plus the 18+ patch from the publisher if you're feeling like playing it the way god intended.

[testifytime]

Ok actually I'm going to share a hack with y'all period-havers bc this shit has Changed My Life.

If you can, look into Period Underwear. They're exactly what they sound like: underwear that you wear on your period.

They're in Primark in the UK atm and they (so far) come in packs of three, with one set being light-to-medium and another being medium-to-heavy.

Me and my twin have the medium-to-heavy ones, which means you get two sets of underwear designed to be worn when your period is sort of average flow and one that's designed to be worn when your period is heavy flow.

There's a special material in the gusset of the underwear that absorbs all that blood like lightning. It does give you a specific quantity of blood that can be absorbed before it's full, but frankly? You can pretty much get away with wearing the one set of underwear all day. At my heaviest, I had to change from one medium-flow set of undies to the other about midway through the day, and that was it - compared to me often going through at least three heavy-flow pads before the evening.

The absorbtion rate is just incredible, and at no point do you really feel like you're just sitting in blood. No joke, not ONCE on my period did I see any blood just kinda lying on the surface of the underwear - which is usually a problem I have with pads, bc of how heavy my periods are.

It's so comfortable. There's no bulky bit between your legs, just what feels like normal underwear material - which means you can almost totally forget that you're even on your period, bc, like... no uncomfortable pad making it awkward to sit in certain ways and no obvious bulk you gotta keep adjusting so you don't feel really self-conscious abt being on your period.

It's conformed and shaped to the natural body, so it doesn't slip-n-slide all over the damn place, and you almost always find that it sits exactly where you'd want to place a pad, anyway.

Which makes it a lot easier for people with mobility issues - like my twin! She always struggles with placing the pad correctly and making it stick, and it makes her periods a frustrating hassle that usually requires her getting help (which she doesn't like doing) or suffering from bleed outs (which is upsetting). With Period Underwear, tho? She just pulls them on, and that's it. That's done.

And cleaning them is a doddle. You rinse them out under cold water until the water runs clear (and holy SHIT you will be surprised just how much blood these undies can contain), then pop them in a cold wash and hang them outside to dry.

Which, you'd think that wouldn't really do anything, but it does. No blood stains on the material, no weird blood smell, nothing - perfectly clean and ready to go again.

The best part tho is definitely the heavy-flow undies. Like the others, it comes with the absorbant material in the gusset, but unlike the others, it has extra material going up from the back of the gusset to the waistband - which means you can sleep on your back and if any blood goes a-running, it won't leak out and ruin your bedsheets.

And, honestly? Because of how they're shaped, bleed outs just don't happen, no matter how active you are - so you don't even really need to worry about what you're doing or if there might be a lil blood on your pants. And this is coming from someone who usually gets nervous about walking too much when he's on heavily bc the pads don't always Catch everything! Bleed outs almost always happen when I'm on my period, but this time, it just... didn't.

I honestly can't talk about these damn things enough. Me and my twin keep talking about how fucking good they are: how easy it is, how much less hassle it is, how it doesn't even feel like you're on your period because of how comfortable it is, how you can just not worry about it because we're that confident in the underwear - I even wore light-coloured pants while I was at my heaviest flow to test them and I had no issues or worries!

And, like... this was the real game changer: at no point during our periods did me or my twin wear pads. We didn't need to. The Period Underwear worked even better than our usual pads do. We had some just in case, but we didn't need to.

So each month, we'll be saving, what, £12? Maybe more? Pads are fucking expensive. And yeah, it means we need to use a little more water to rinse the undies out and wash them, but that's not actually much of an issue. A short spin-cycle with cold water vs. all of those pads we'd usually be sending to the rubbish tip/landfill sites. So it's an economic bonus as well as an environmental one.

Like!! Idk, y'all, they're just so fucking useful and we didn't know about them until recently, and I just want to yell from the rooftops about them and recommend them just bc of how much they've improved the Period Experience for us. They won't be for everyone, ofc - that's just a given - but if you already use pads maybe you should check them out.

[the-lusombra-archives]

Finich Thek't'kur

Strangeling Bard/Warlock

[No image available. He's hard to draw ;u;]

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Orientation: AroAce

Personality: He's a wry individual, verbose and cheerful despite his slightly sinister demeanor. He maintains a polite manner in civilized conversations, but he loosens up around his friends or while in battle. He holds his friends very dear to his heart and would do literally anything for them, even when it's detrimental to him. He does not take slights against his friends lightly, and has killed people for hurting them. Those who don't know him would think him to be insane due to his occasional eldritch tendencies, but he is frighteningly sane. He is also rather mischievous on occasion, making clever jokes to lighten the mood.

Background and Incorrect Quotes below!

Background: Finich didn't always have a house name, nor did he always look the way he does now.

He used to be an average Changeling whose clan was full of talented artists and dreamers. When he turned of age, he was sent out into the world in order to pursue his dreams, where he discovered a love for music and theatre. He excelled at the university he attended, awaiting the day he could return home to show his family all he learned and did.

He never got the chance, at least partially.

Upon returning home, he only found ruins and charred remains. Roaming monsters and raiders were something that his clan could have easily defended against, but this? This was utter devastation. Something powerful swept through here and left no survivors.

None except him.

Overcome with grief, he didn't react when an elderly man come up behind him, draped a blanket around his shoulders, helped him to his feet, and walked him to a nearby manor that Finich could have sworn was never there before.

The old man introduced himself as Lord Thek't'kur, a Great Old One who shed his eldritch divinity in order to live in the world that had made itself known to and endeared itself to him. Over his mortal life, he had offered many champions portions of his power, and each had gone on to do great good in the world or help them find peace. He sympathized with Finich's despair, as his kind tend to do, and offered him the last of his power he could give before reincarnating back into his eldritch form.

Finich, trepidatious but thirsting for answers and closure, accepted.

The power transfer is unique for each individual, causing some sort of mental change in them. For Finich, he was given feverish visions of an elf-like creature with a face like a comedy mask. His body reacted in kind, transforming him permanently into the creature he saw, which he dubbed a Strangeling later on.

Now he travels the world, in search of his clan's killers, but also for others he finds to have good hearts in order to help them on their journeys, just as Lord Thek't'kur did for him, whose house name he took in honor of him.

Incorrect Quotes:

"I'm sick and tired of being called 'mortal.' Like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude."

"If I see a bug, I simply leave the room elegantly and ask that someone else do something about it. If no one fulfills my wish, I simply never go back in there."

"I am not a lunatic. I have the psychiatric report to prove it. A slender majority of the panel decided in my favor."

"'Person of interest' is almost too flattering. Like, if the police were to pound on my door and go, “A man has been murdered in your building and you are a person of interest,” I'd be like, “Moi? Oh, do go on.”"