#IQ Change

[slyratex]

DUMB

I had always been a smart guy. IQ 180, an all As student, summa cum laude graduate, one of the youngest scientists in my faculty.

That is, until I was challenged by one of the jocks from my old school to listen to his favourite song. I had always looked down onto him for his simple taste in music and now he dared me to listen to it without giving in to the beat. ‚You cant judge what you don‘t know, right? That‘d be so stupid!‘, he mocked me when I hesitated, not knowing what I could gain from listening to something else than Mozart or Vivaldi.

I couldn‘t leave this challenge without reply, so I took the bet and listened to that tune of some guy called ‚Timmy Trumpet‘. https://youtu.be/D4m737SW2yc?si=upG5zB5Y_HKoKA9y After just one second I knew I hated this style of music. But I had to keep going to not lose the bet, so I decided to just endure this test.

‚I play my games, you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Yes, that‘s me.

‚But I don’t wanna know it, rather focus on the fun!‘

Yes, that‘s him.

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

I‘d definitely do that.

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

Did they have to repeat it so often? I just counted 26 times! Well, I think that‘s because the typical audience of that supposed ‚artist‘ can‘t memorise more lyrics than that. But just as I was thinking that, an image of said artist flashed before my eyes, looking at me as if he was swearing revenge for insulting him.

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

34! I caught my feet going with the beat and instantly stopped it. No chance he was winning this bet!

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

55! I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something. But I couldn‘t figure out what it was.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

76! I recognised that strange feeling was connected to a drop. A drop? A drop of what? A drop of temperature? No, it was actually getting rather hot and I felt the urge to pull of my shirt.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

97! Was it the beat dropping? Hell, yeah! Timmy Trumpet always dropped the beat like a pro! I didn‘t even know what dropping the beat meant, being new to all this, but who cared?

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

118! I suddenly realised what was dropping, but it was too late. With every ‚dumb‘, my IQ was dropping down! Something told me it had to be… like… half a point per repetition? Damn, that sounded like math… how many ‚dumb’s had there been? Divided by two… damn, this is hard… and subtracted from… and… 121!?! That‘s barely scratching the mark for being highly intelligent! Come on, this has to be a bad joke!

‚I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

123. A jerk. One, two, three. Just a jerk. Yeah, these are numbers I can work with. A jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. I couldn‘t stop going along with the lyrics while my old class mate smiled at me like a silly jerk.

‚I’ve got a worth in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

128 ‚dumb’s and my IQ dropped down to 114, only one standard deviance over average. No, I can‘t let him do that to me! I’m special! I have a worth in the world of the smart and educated! I‘ve got inventions to create and discoveries to make!

‚I won’t be the one you want!‘

Right!

‚If you can’t be one with dumb!‘

Oh, damn! I have to be one with dumb! Wait, that doesn‘t even make sense grammatically!‘

‚Cause I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

134! Ha! One, three, four! Haha! Did I forget one number? Hahaha! Who cares? I‘m just a jerk!

Suddenly I found myself singing out loud along with the song:

‚I play my games you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Stupid nerds wasting their time with work and learning when there are weights to be lifted, parties to be held, holes to be filled!

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun!‘

They‘re the stupid ones. I‘m the genius, because I don‘t waste time trying to be one!

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!

And my jerk bro joined in, both of us jumping and partying like idiots:

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb! But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

169! Hahaha! 69! So good! I laughed. I didn’t even know why. I just had fun. I didn’t even count anymore. And the beat dropped, and my IQ dropped, all down to 95, and we dropped our shirts and showed off our jock bodies. And while all of it dropped down, Timmy Trumpet bowed down, as an artist having finished another masterpiece.

And I bowed down in front of him, thanking him, laying my drained out IQ points to the ground before him, giving my life to him to never have any goals again than getting swole and partying half naked to his great songs.

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

And as the song faded, my favourite song from my favourite artist, my thoughts faded into simplicity, my IQ settling at a comfy 85, one standard deviance below average, right before the beginning of a light learning disability. Not that I was interested in complex stuff like that anymore. Or even able to comprehend it. All I knew was that I had reached the jerk spot, that sweet spot right between your everyday stupidity and concerning imbecility, where I was still able to manage my daily routine and training plans, but was assured to get a headache from hard stuff like… doing equations and reading science stuff. So I think I‘ll make sure to stay far away from that shit from now on!

I put the song on repeat to make my IQ click into place and lock it where it was to make sure I‘d never lose that silly happiness and fun a jerk like me enjoyed. And I proudly sang along:

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

[shootingstarpilot]

In Which Helix Loses His Godsdamned Temper

A gift for my dear friend @themonopolyhat, who wanted to know how the swivel chair race briefly mentioned in Chapter 11 of like lightning changing hands went down <3

Helix and sleep are passing acquaintances at best.

Not enemies, no- he's not a fool. He's a good medic. He knows sleep is important. Even for the clones, who were conditioned to function on half as much sleep as a human nat-born- toxic byproducts need to be processed. New neural pathways need to be formed. Memories need to be filed away. So of course he makes time for it. He most certainly doesn't need Needle coaxing him away from his desk or switching out his stims or shoving him down onto a cot and sitting on him until he passes out- no matter how much the younger medic might protest otherwise-

But. His point.

He makes room for it. Their moments of true downtime are few and far between, but Helix always makes sure to squeeze in a treasured nap or two when he gets the chance.

Which is why, when he's rudely awoken by shouting outside the medbay door that is not immediately followed by the reveal of some horrific injury, Helix decides he's well overdue to rain hellfire down on whatever hapless idiots decided to work out their post-campaign jitters right outside his fucking medbay.

He pulls the pillow off his head, rolls to his feet, and stalks towards the door, carefully selecting his most threatening expression and arranging it appropriately.

When the door slides open, he inhales-

And then lets the air out again in a slightly anticlimactic whoosh when he comes face to face with an empty hallway.

Feeling immensely irritated, he steps out of the doorway and glances to the left and right.

Where-?

The noise is barely a ripple at the back of his mind, at first. Almost indistinguishable from the ever-present rumbling of the engines.

Then it very quickly overtakes it.

Helix, operating solely on well-honed instinct, flattens himself against the wall just in time for a blur of motion to careen around the corner. They slow as they hit the curve, just enough for him to make out-

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Auks, on the swivel chair, gripping both edges with white-knuckled hands- Wooley, hands on the back of the chair, moving at a dead sprint-

Auks' gaze flickers up just enough to catch Helix's eyes, wild glee melting into a pants-pissing terror. They disappear around the next corner, and Helix indulges in a mental pat on the back when he hears Auks' distant shriek of-

"Go faster!"

Right.

He lets them go. He'll catch up with them later.

After a moment's consideration, he steps into the middle of the hallway, studying the water stain on the ceiling with all the appearance of sincere diligence.

The distant rumbling grows louder.

Hm. He should think about filing a work order with Maintenance.

Underneath, now, the sound of footsteps-

They don't want to let that pipe burst, after all.

"OhshitohfuckCOVER-"

He doesn't move.

A screeching noise, an even louder scream-

A tangle of limbs tumbles past his left, slamming into the corner with a force that Helix deliberately doesn't wince at.

Longshot is the first to sit up, carefully disentangling himself from the pathetic remains of the chair. He doesn't look at all frightened when he looks up at Helix.

Just resigned.

"In my defense," he says, rolling his shoulder assessingly, "I told them this location was a bad idea."

"It was," Helix agrees, poisonously sweet.

Gearshift is the next to emerge, clutching at his face. Longshot pats him on the back. "All good?"

Faintly muffled, slightly more stuffy-

"You broke my nose!"

"I broke your nose?"

"You!" Gearshift amends, pointing at Helix, the effect of his glare somewhat lessened by the blood pouring between his fingers. "What were you thinking?"

"Standing in the hallway?"

"Y-"

Gearshift falters.

Helix smiles at him.

"Do you know how big this ship is, Gearshift?" he says mildly.

"Pretty big, sir," Gearshift mutters.

"Do you know how often I have time to nap?"

"Probably not very often, sir."

"Do you know how loud you idiots were?"

"No, sir."

"This was the third round, though," Longshot adds blithely. "Can't have been too bad if you slept through the other two-"

"Shut your mouth," Helix says pleasantly. "Where are the others?"

Longshot points.

"Right," Helix says, already running through his death-be-upon-you-if-you-try-this-banthashit-again speech in the back of his mind. He jabs a finger at Gearshift. "Stay here. I want to take a look at your nose when I get- stop tilting your head back, do you want to asphyxiate on your own blood? I'll be right back."

He stalks off without waiting for an answer.

The others aren't far off. Two hallways down and Helix can already make out the cheerful chatter, rising alongside his blood pressure.

"-and Auks clocked in at three minutes on the dot, fastest lap yet," Waxer says cheerfully. Helix picks up his pace. "Right, Trapper, you're up- who's your partner?"

Trapper is, however, doomed to a life of loneliness, because it's at that precise moment that Helix rounds the corner and launches into a lecture that will be whispered about among the shinies for years to come.

"-swivel chairs! Fucking swivel chairs, I thought you were all supposed to be soldiers, not tubies running along the godsdamned catwalks-"

Trapper shrinks backwards, ducks his head, and his patient resignation drives Helix's ire to new heights-

"-had the entire ship to be suicidal in, but no, you had to plot out your fucking racecourse directly outside my fucking medbay when I was getting the first sleep I'd had in three days-"

Waxer scuffs his foot against the floor, looking like he's considering taking a step backward, and then thinks better of it-

"-slammed his head into the wall and broke his fucking nose, if he'd hit half an inch higher his brains would've spilled out like soup because you couldn't even think to use your fucking helmets-"

Boil seizes the opportunity when Helix is forced to stop for breath.

"We did have supervision," he points out. "Medical. So, you know- we got cleared-"

"Who," Helix grits out, "the fuck-"

The crowd pulls back like the tide, and Helix stares.

Stitch stares up at him from where he's perched on the edge of yet another swivel chair, white-faced.

Needle, holding onto the back, offers him a wave.

"Integrated supervision," he says cheerfully. "New management principle I heard about, thought we could give it a try-"

A muscle in Helix's jaw jumps.

"You two," he grits out, "with me. And the rest of you-" he snaps, at the rustle of a collective relieved sigh- "pull this banthashit again, and I'll deliver you to Grievous hog-tied on a platter- now, am I understood?"

At the affirmative murmurs, he turns on his heel and strides off, followed hurriedly by his two renegade medics.

The strained silence is broken only by two sets of footsteps for some time.

"Stitch," Helix says, after a moment, "get off the chair."

A pause. Then three sets of footsteps.

Then, so quiet Helix has to strain to hear it-

"Is Gearshift okay?"

Helix closes his eyes and forces a slow exhale out through his nose.

(His head is pounding.)

"Yeah," he says, making a conscious effort to gentle his voice. "Just a broken nose. No other trauma that I could tell. You deal with that when we get back, okay? Run him through the gauntlet. Use your best judgement."

"Okay, Helix."

The silence gains a certain obnoxious quality to it.

"And you," Helix says, considering-

Then it hits him.

"You can put that nutritional learning module to use," he decides. "Kitchens. Run through the new requisition forms with Terror. Help him rebuild a sustainable menu; the routine shipments got changed last week."

Needle does not appear half as peeved as Helix would like him to.

He catches Helix's glare and grins, irrepressibly sunny. "Will do, boss. Terror and I are friends, I like his company."

"Terror doesn't do friends."

"Mm, fair. We're nemeses, then. I think that's the closest thing he has."

Helix's glower darkens.

The rest of the walk back is silent.

They split when they reach the medbay. Stitch heads for Gearshift immediately- and Longshot, who, Helix notes with mild surprise, had stayed with him. Needle peels off for the kitchens, humming under his breath with a nonchalance that makes Helix want to deck him.

And Helix-

Helix heads for his office.

All inclination towards sleep has vanished. He grits his teeth, settles into his chair, rubs at his forehead-

He's sure there's some flimsiwork he can get ahead on.

Later:

After he realizes exactly why Stitch is skittering away from him at every turn-

After he sits him down and patiently explains that the absolute worst punishment he will ever receive- the punishment for the Fuck-Up Of All Fuck-Ups, the punishment if he is found to be unfit for medical work- will be being reassigned to a different unit-

After he sees their youngest primary off to bed, guilt still pulling his shoulders low and dragging at his steps-

Needle comes back.

The first Helix knows of this is when a knock at his office door rouses him from staring at the same page on his datapad that he has been for the past forty minutes.

"Come in," he mutters, and Needle pokes his head through the door.

"Hey, boss," he says, and steps in fully, carefully shutting the door behind him. "New menu's been filed. Double- and triple-checked."

"Mhm."

Needle settles into the chair and sets a cup Helix hadn't noticed him carrying onto his desk.

"Tea," he says quietly, in answer to Helix's questioning look. "Thought you might need it."

Helix grumbles something incoherent, but picks up the drink anyway.

The warmth seeps all the way up his arms, into his shoulders, and he relaxes quite against his will.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

"Things were getting tense in the training rooms," Needle says at last. "They were at each other's throats. Kamei had already dislocated Trigger's shoulder, and he didn't even seem sorry- you know how those two are."

Helix blinks. He does- and- that's right, they hadn't been there, had they?

"This was the first thing I could come up with. I should've thought of the helmets, you were right about that- I'm sorry I didn't. I just wanted to get them moving."

"And of course this was the first thing you thought of," Helix mutters. He sees Needle's expression twist briefly, and guiltily musters up a quirk of his lips. "Sounds like you."

Needle returns the smile, and then his gaze drops to his knees.

"I didn't know you were sleeping, either," he says eventually. "You- you don't usually. I should've checked, I know, I just figured- keeping the medbay on the route would make for easier access if someone did get injured."

Helix takes a sip of the tea.

It's not caf.

But it's-

Good.

"Sorry about that," Needle finishes lamely. His fingers twitch and flicker and jump before he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.

Helix takes another sip- longer than he'd meant to, this time, and when he looks down he realizes he's nearly drained the cup.

His headache is easing.

"Longshot said that was the third round," he says at last. "How'd you two do on the others?"

Needle stares at him, uncomprehending, for one long moment-

Then a smile like the sun splits his face.

"Oh, knocked them out of orbit, boss."

"Good," Helix mutters. He stands, places the empty mug on the table, and stretches until he feels his back crack. "Right. I'm going to get some sleep, then. You got the shift?"

"Course I do," Needle says easily, and Helix squeezes his shoulder on his way out.

Stitch is sitting up when he emerges, ruffled hair and sleep-fogged eyes sending a pang through Helix's chest.

"Hey, kiddo," he says quietly. "Mind if I join you?"

Stitch squints at him. "Helix?" he says at last. "Needle said you needed to lie down."

"Oh, he did, did he?" Helix mutters, glancing back at the office door. He doesn't even bother to try mustering a glare.

"Uh-huh," Stitch hums, already slipping back into sleep. He curls onto his side and pats the empty space next to him. "Come on."

Helix kicks off his boots and obligingly settles under the blanket, and Stitch shuffles a bit closer and wraps an arm around his chest.

"Needle told me you two won," Helix murmurs.

"Yeah," Stitch says sleepily. A slow smile blooms across his face. "He can go pretty fast."

"Well," Helix sighs. "I guess that's okay, then."

As it turns out, sleep can come easily after all.

[ultram0th]

31 Days of Derek Hale

Day 20: Jock

Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16 │ 17 │ 18 │ 19 │ 20

Derek sighed as he walked into his bedroom for the night, feeling incredibly drained from his argument with Eli. “I just don’t get it,” he huffed, throwing himself down onto the bed in a huff. “No matter what, we just can’t seem to see eye to eye.”

Stiles frowned and ran a caring hand over his husband’s chest. “He’s a jock,” he said. “All his high speed brain can focus on it sports.”

Derek frowned deeply. “I guess,” he growled. “I just wish that I could understand him better. Like, as if we were on the same wavelength.”

Derek lied back and rested next to Stiles, having trouble sleeping due to his fight with his son. He and Eli had been fighting with one another lately, usually due to typically father-son issues, such as Eli letting his grades slip due to his intense interest in sports, which tended to lead to Derek threatening to pull Eli from whatever team he was on that month. His son was a total jock, something that Derek didn’t really experience while in school.

As Derek drifted off to sleep, he felt his limbs tingle, his mind constantly wishing that he could understand the jock better…

The alarm blared, and Stiles sleepily slapped it silent.

Derek stretched his muscled arms above his head, yawning loudly as he woke up. As he moved, his face scrunched up as the stench of musk and sweat hit his nose, emanating in waves from his hairy pits.

Even Stiles could smell it with his dulled human senses, jerking back and plugging up his nose. “Damn Der,” he gasped, “no offense, but you reek.”

Derek felt his face grow warmer as he blushed. “Yeah, Bro,” he heard himself balk in his deep voice, “I must’ve worked up a big sweat last night.” Derek was puzzled over how deep and slow his voice sounded, and the way he’d called this husband “Bro”.

For a brief moment, Stiles scrunched up his brow in confusion, but it smoothed out rapidly as a small grin formed on his face. “Typical jock,” he lightheartedly laughed, slowly getting out of the bed to get ready for work.

Jock? Derek puzzled over what Stiles had said as he got out of bed, his body automatically lumbering towards the dresser. He yanked open the top drawer and paused as he was greeted with an array of jockstraps— his boxers nowhere to be seen.

As if his body had a mind of its own, Derek felt his muscled arms move and snatch up a jockstrap. He yanked the small garment on, the pouch filled to the limit with his massive cock and balls while his perky ass bubbled out the back.

“Don’t you want to take a shower?” Stiles asked, the tone in his voice indication that he’d hoped that Derek would listen to him. 

“Nope,” Derek heard himself scoff, answering without any thought of his own. He even leaned down and sniffed at one of his stinky pits, the musky stench filling the confines of the bedroom. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m gonna get all sweaty at practice anyways. So what’s the point?”

Practice?

Derek was so caught up in his odd behavior that he’d barely noticed when he’d opened up another dresser drawer, grabbing a football jersey. He yanked the tight garnet on, noting how his muscles pressed against it, illustrating his athletic prowess. Next, he grabbed some small workout shorts that only came up to mid-thigh and were so tight that his butt and package pressed noticeably against it, almost as if they were on full display.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, Derek inwardly winced at the dim smile on his face. He still looked the same, with his mature and masculine beard that had flecks of gray in it; however, he felt ridiculous being dressed up like a total jock, feeling childish.

His body evidently wouldn’t let any of his inner turmoil show as he lifted up a buff arm, flexing a large bicep. “Damn,” he heard himself say, “I’m getting fuckin’ huge, Bro!”

Despite himself, as Derek flexed in the mirror, he felt his cock start to stiffen within the confines of his tight jockstrap. The pouch tented outwards as it struggled to maintain his meaty cock, looking as if the werewolf was smuggling a summer sausage in his pants. Instead of blushing or trying to conceal his package, Derek felt himself place this hands on his hips and shove his crotch forward expectantly.

“Hey, Bro,” he said, “I’m so fuckin’ horny. Wanna help me out?”

Stiles smiled at his husband, chuckling as he shifted off the bed. “Damn, Der,” he laughed, “that thing’s always cocked and loaded.”

Always cocked and loaded? Derek’s eyebrows rose as new memories filtered into his foggy head, being filled to the brim with Derek being hard and rutting against whatever crossed his path. The stud was always incredibly horny, his cock seemingly rocketing straight to attention after a few moments after cumming. He wanted to blush at the image of himself sauntering down the street in his tight jerseys, his hard cock pressed tightly against his thick thigh for all to see.

Derek’s frantic thoughts slowed down significantly as his husband dropped to his knees in front of him, wasting no time in taking in his full member.

“Oooh!” Derek loudly bellowed, his deeper sounding voice bouncing off the thin walls in the house. “Yeah, suck that cock, Bro. Bet it’s the biggest ya ever had!” The normally silent werewolf couldn’t keep his mouth shut as he was sucked off, moaning loudly and cockily bragging about his cock. No matter how humiliated the alpha was over his uncontrollable behavior, he couldn’t help but bask in the warmth of pleasure that washed over him. All of his panic was momentarily forgotten until all of his ample muscles tensed up. “Uunghh!”

Derek cried out as he came, shooting what felt like the biggest load of his life. He was left spent and trying to catch his breath as Stiles stood up and went about getting ready for his day at work.

“Thanks, Bro,” Derek heard himself say. “I gotcha next time!” Already, at the mere suggestion of sucking off his husband, Derek’s cock plumped up and it took him a few moments to realize that he’d been absentmindedly fondling his hard bulge after tucking it back into his jockstrap.

As the werewolf continued with his morning routine that didn’t involve a shower, he couldn’t help but wince whenever he lifted his arms and his musky stench would waft out from his pits, smelling as if he’d just finished a killer workout at a crowded gym.

Derek walked downstairs and paused at the front door where Stiles gave him a quick kiss. “Can’t forget this, Coach,” Stiles said, handing Derek a silver whistle attached to a small chain necklace.

Derek was confused over both the whistle and why Stiles had called him “Coach” for some reason. However, the confusion quickly vanished when Derek realized that he no longer worked at his auto shop but was instead a coach at Beacon Hills High School. His stomach dropped when he tried to recall the massive amounts of paperwork that were supposed to be waiting for him on his desk at the shop, all of them detailing receipts and parts on orders; yet, now the werewolf’s muddled brain struggled to comprehend what all of those numbers meant. He paled even further when his knowledge of business management wasn’t the only thing gone. In a panic, Derek’s eyes darted around the house and sure enough, simple items seemed to be way beyond his mental grasp. For example, although he’d used it hundreds of times before whatever the hell happened to him, Derek stared at the coffee maker that was in the kitchen, unsure what all of the buttons meant… luckily Stiles was there to help him out since he was such a dumb jock.

Derek inwardly flinched at that last thought, recalling the stupid wish he’d made last night. He’d wished that he could understand jocks more.

Now Derek was a dumb, horny jock.

His days were filled with nothing except working out, playing sports, and fucking. That’s all a dumb jock like him was good for.

Still, Derek put the whistle around his neck and puffed out his large pecs against his tight spots jersey. “Thanks, bro,” he dimly smiled before leaning forward to rut his hard cock against Stiles’s thigh. “You gonna come during my lunch break to help me out with this?”

“Of course,” Stiles said, resting an admiring hand on Derek’s bicep, which the werewolf flexed out of instinct, “I can’t have my big jock going too long without any release. Poor guy would be all pent up.” He mock frowned, a hint of playful condescension audible.

Derek’s foggy mind didn’t pick up on it, and instead he just smiled back widely. “Yeah, Bro,” he agreed in his deep voice, “if I don’t cum at least five times a day, I can’t think well.” He paused at the odd words leaving his mouth, but then the alarm on his phone went off and he perked up. “Oh shit. I’m gonna be late! Love ya, Bro!” He kissed Stiles on the cheek before hurrying out of the house and lumbering towards his Camaro, his hard cock tenting out his tight shorts.

[jockifyme]

Graham presses his hand into the panel at the front of the water fountain, bringing his head down as he begins to slurp up the ice cold water. He looks down the hallway as he continues to drink, the building empty save for the theatre students running through the play for the third time that day. He faintly hears his cast mates half-heartedly reciting their lines as he wipes his mouth with his forearm, beginning his walk back to the theatre.

“Hey!” A gruff but familiar voice echos from behind him. Graham turns around and sees Travis, one of his classmates and probably the most popular guy at the school. Even though they were both sophomores, Travis more accurately resembles a roided up third year senior. He’s got a high faded buzzcut and a square jawed face, the quintessential meathead jock look. But from his interactions with him, Graham considers Travis a nice guy. he’s wearing their university’s wrestling uniform: a charcoal gray singlet with yellow and red stitching and the letters of the university’s city, San Ventura, plastered across the front. Underneath the letters, two humanoid shapes grapple each other.

“Uhh, what’s up, Travis?” Travis starts walking toward Graham, his wrestling shoes squeaking against the tiled floor. As he gets closer, Graham notices the beads of sweat glistening across his skin, the singlet doing very little to hide the movement of his muscles with each footfall. Graham takes a couple steps back, not looking away from Travis.

“Why are you acting so weird, dude?” Graham asks as he takes a few more back steps. Travis flashes a smile as he picks up his pace, transitioning to a jog as he continues moves closer to Graham.

Utterly freaked out, Graham turns and runs, looking over his shoulder to see that Travis has also begun to run. His heavy foot steps sounding closer to Graham with each passing second as Graham races toward the theatre.

“Dude, stop! What the hell?!” With the door to the theatre in sight, Graham pushes his body, trying to get his legs to move faster, but as he begins to reach out his arm, two sweaty, burly arms grab his around the waist and swing him backwards, away from the door.

“Let me go! This isn’t fucking funny!” Graham tries to writhe himself free, but he’s no match for Travis’s hold on him. The jock drags him to a door down the hall from the theatre’s door, labeled, “Men’s Locker Room.” He kicks the door a couple times, maintaining his grip on Graham, entering the locker room as it’s opened by two of his teammates. The other two jocks watch as Travis drags the puny theatre nerd into the dark room, pinning him against a row of lockers.

“Get the gear,” Travis says calmly to one of the jocks. Graham renews his struggle as he sees one of the jocks, one he doesn’t recognize, reach into a gym bag and pull out a set of yellow wrestling headgear. The third jock that had been standing there joins Travis in holding Graham in place as Travis slowly releases his grip on him.

“Please stop,” Graham says exasperated, tired from his near constant struggling since Travis first grabbed him. Travis takes the headgear in his hands as the jock that fetched it now joins in on the “pin Graham to the lockers” game. Their muscles glisten in the low-light locker room, both of them dressed in the same singlet as Travis, with short-cut hairstyles that Graham guesses is so no one can grab it while wrestling. Travis pulls a few straps on the headgear, loosening it up while inspecting Graham’s puny frame. The small theatre nerd looks like a stick figure next to his two teammates. He’s wearing a T-shirt with the university’s drama club’s logo on the front, and his blue jeans hang off his skinny legs. A pair of dirty vans cover his feet, recently scuffed from trying to escape Travis’s grasp not too long ago. He’s got long brown hair, curly and unkempt—not good for wrestling.

With the headgear straps loosened up, Travis takes the foam headgear and positions it over Graham’s head.

“Dude, what are you doing?!” Weirded out and without a response, Graham decides to let this play out so he can get out.

Travis methodically fastens the straps around Graham’s head. Graham feels as Travis’s hands reach around and tighten two straps running across the back of his head, one across the crown, and one running across the top of his forehead. The straps press against his skin, and with the tightness, his sense of hearing is muffled. He looks up as Travis nods at the two jocks on either side of him. They release him, letting him stand on his own.

He takes a breath as he plans to make a break for it, and he goes for it. But, his body does not follow. Instead, he walks over to the open gym bag that the jock grabbed the headgear from in the first place. He reaches inside, and against his will, he pulls out a singlet. He tosses it on the metal bench in front of the lockers as he begins to undress. Blushing furiously, he lifts his t-shirt over his head and lets it drop to the floor. Next, he steps out of his shorts, revealing his baggy boxers underneath. He sits on the bench and bends over to plop off his socks and shoes. Almost fully undressed, he finds himself breathing shallower. He looks down to see his body is covered in sweat. Travis smirks at him as Graham’s body turns to grab the singlet. With it in hand, he pulls down his boxers and steps out of them. Utterly mortified, Graham body shakes the singlet out. Holding by the straps, he steps into it and shimmies it up his body, the sweat from his body being absorbed into the fabric as it makes its way up his body. The singlet had definitely seen the mat many times before, with the pungent odor of sweat and must quickly filling his nostrils, making him dizzy. He mindlessly readjusts his enlarged dick in the tight fabric as he turns back to the bag. He sits back down again and pulls out a pair of black socks and black adidas wrestling shoes. As he’s putting on the socks, his breathing changes. He begins to instinctively take deeper breaths, pushing against the almost constrictive spandex, with each breath feeling like his lungs are getting bigger, taking in more oxygen.

Travis and the two jocks watch as Graham begins to grow before their eyes. As he pulls the socks over his feet, they lengthen, pushing further and further into the sock. His legs do the same, growing in the length and definition—his calves pop out as his thighs begin to show some shred. Underneath the singlet, the three can see Graham’s pecs billow, straining against the fabric of the singlet. His arms are next, growing similar to the arms that grabbed him only a few minutes ago. His biceps and deltoids pack on muscle, crucial for taking down opponents on the mat. His hands thicken as he begins to tie his shoes, losing their delicacy and growing to grapple.

Graham feels like crying, but his body won’t let him. He watches in terror as his hands shake and change before his eyes as he goes to tie his new wrestling shoes. His fingers shorten and thicken, and as he ties his last shoe, he feels a tickling feeling from his head. He starts to stand, and he sees a pile of hair on the bench and floor below where he had been sitting. Travis opens one of the lockers, revealing a small mirror that had been attached to the back. Graham gasps as he sees himself: Underneath the headgear, his long hair had been reduced to a fade to match the three jocks standing in front of him. The fade is tight against his scalp on the sides, with length only on top. A tuft of hair billows out over his forehead, the only thing separating him from Travis’s military-grade buzz. He feels sick as he continues standing, and though trembling, his body reaches up and takes the last strap of the headgear, the chinstrap, in his hand. He reaches his other burly hand up and confidently tightens the strap under his chin, tightens it, and clicks it into place. With this resounding click, Graham’s vision zeroes in on his reflection in the mirror.

Travis and the other two jocks watch as Graham stares at himself in the reflection, his body twitching ever so slightly as his old personality, memories, and life are wiped. He’s gonna be one of them now: A C-student that’s riding a wrestling scholarship, spending his free time at the gym or at parties. A complete and utter-

“Bro!” Travis is snapped out of his soliloquy as Graham goes to dap him up.

“Bro!” Travis reciprocates the dap and pats his new teammate Graham on the back. “Dude we’ve gotta get outta here. The janitor’s gonna wonder why we’re still here so late after practice.”

“Fuck, dude, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.” Graham grabs his gym bag and stuffs his headgear into it. He grabs a pair of gray sweatpants from within and quickly changes into them. Following his teammates into the night and his new life as a jock.

Graham after his first (?) wrestling match, two weeks since incident.

-

Also, thank y’all so much for 1,400 followers! That’s insane. Thanks for the support of my sporadic uploads

[antianakin]

Just so everyone knows, it is ALWAYS fair to blame Anakin Skywalker and his stupid family drama for the galaxy's problems.

Always.

Because it's made VERY explicit that Palpatine would have lost if Anakin hadn't chosen to side with him in Revenge of the Sith. Anakin is a Child of Prophecy, but in that moment in Palpatine's office, he defies his own fate out of selfishness and greed and sides with Palpatine over the Jedi. If Anakin had just chosen differently or not shown up at all, Palpatine would've lost. Bada bing bada boom, no Palpatine, no Emperor, no Empire, no Death Stars. The Clone Wars end on the side of the Republic, the Sith lord running the Republic Senate is gone, the Sith lord running the Separatist government is gone, so there's an opportunity for the galaxy to find some way to end the conflict peacefully and regain a certain amount of balance going forward. Unfortunately, Anakin is the dictionary definition of a colossal failure and instead he throws the entire galaxy into a fascist dictatorship.

Sure, Palpatine was building an Empire without Anakin and if Anakin had just not existed at all, you could MAYBE question whether he would've been able to succeed. But there's just as much of an argument that he wouldn't have, that Mace would have killed him in his office anyway like he was well on his way to doing before Anakin decided to be a selfish greedy little bitch.

So while Luke and Leia obviously do end up doing a lot to SAVE the galaxy, it's their parents' stupid family drama that means they HAVE to do a lot to save the galaxy that Anakin and Padme broke by being horny young people who couldn't just do their jobs and keep it in their pants at the same time. Luke and Leia inherit the damage of their parents' stupid family drama.

I think it's ENTIRELY fair to lay the blame at Anakin's feet for the problems in the galaxy. He's a Child of Prophecy, the entire galaxy's fate literally turns on Anakin's choices and whims. Anakin decides to side with the Sith, the Sith win. Anakin keeps serving the Sith, the Sith stay in power. Anakin decides to turn on the Sith, the Sith die. Anakin's choices determine EVERYTHING because of what he is, so his stupid family dramas literally cause the galaxy to implode.

[sunenvoy]

𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 ◌⃘ ∿ 🕯️ ⊹

　✶ 　　∿　 🪻 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒕

[captainmalewriter]

Hey I was out boating with my cousin on his Sea-Doo earlier today and I I think I found one of your capsules. It's the purple and yellow one with the ring not sure what to expect from it but certainly not a bunch of stickers I assume

Congratulations, you found my missing purple with a yellow ring capsule! Here's what happened when you found it...

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon and you decided to spend the day out on the water with some friends. Your cousin tagged along too! He had a Sea-Doo, which helped make your beach day that much more fun. 

During your turn on the Sea-Doo, something in the water caught your eye. You could've sworn you saw something brightly colored floating just below the surface of the water. Normally you'd just assume it was some trash someone left in the water, but the odd color combo of purple and yellow made whatever it was linger on your mind. Curiosity getting the best of you, you decided to go fish it out.

You briefly went back to the shore to explain what you saw. Then, with your cousin tagging along to drive the Sea-Doo, you went back to where you first spotted the brightly colored object. Unfortunately, you weren't able to spot it in the water like before. So instead you went back to around the spot you think you first saw it. You then dove into the water while your cousin waited on standby on the water cruiser. 

You swam around as you scanned the water for what you were looking for. The dirty water made looking for anything harder but you were determined! Luckily, you managed to spot the purple and yellow object caught in some seaweed. You went up for a breath of air then dove back down to retrieve the goods. You were able to get a good look at it once you got closer. The object was spherical in shape and was mostly purple but with a yellow ring that wrapped around it. It kind of reminded you of those prize balls you'd see in stores or gas stations, but you couldn't be sure without a closer look. 

You grabbed the prize ball and tried yanking it out of the seaweed with pure strength, but it was too tangled up to be pulled out like that. You tried tearing the seaweed but it was incredibly dense. It wouldn't rip no matter how hard you pulled at it! Your efforts at recovering the prize ball devolved into you playing tug-o-war with a patch of seaweed. No matter how much you struggled, the ball remained entangled in the aquatic flora. But you refused to give up, that prize ball was going to be yours no matter what!

As you struggled to free the prize ball, you kept grabbing and pulling at it in various different ways. One of those ways included you wrapping your hand around the ball and twisting it out of the seaweed. It didn't work, but the twisting motion you did inadvertently caused the yellow ring to unscrew. In doing so, the prize ball popped open! Although you weren’t able to get the capsule itself, you were excited to get whatever was inside. However, the moment you peered inside the opened capsule, a strange sensation washed over your body. 

You felt yourself becoming lighter and lighter. Your whole body was quickly transforming from a solid state to a liquid state, and you were completely powerless to stop it. Within seconds, you had become a shapeless mass of liquid floating in the beach water. Once your transformation was complete, the purple capsule you had accidentally opened began sucking you up. Despite how small the plastic container was, it was able to miraculously store your entire being inside of it. Once it had sucked you up, the capsule snapped itself shut with the yellow ring tightly resealing the capsule with you stored inside. 

Although you were now trapped inside the purple capsule, you were fortunately not conscious to experience it. The capsule had put you into a deep sleep. Also, the capsule was no longer tangled up in the seaweed. The capsule was free to float along the water. Unfortunately, however, nobody knew you were inside. Your friends and cousin spent countless hours on the beach looking for you, completely unaware you were inside a little capsule out in the water. Days— weeks passed. Your friends had put out a missing person notice for you, but nobody knew your true whereabouts. You were sound asleep in a floating prize ball. It wasn’t until the next Spring Break when several frats and sororities flocked to the beach that you were finally found by one of the frat boys.

“Yooo check out this shit I found brah!!” Mason shouted out as he emerged from the water with you in hand. He found the capsule while he went for a quick dip in the water. “I used to have a FUCK ton of these back when I was a youngin’.”

While Mason was ecstatic about the toy capsule, most of his frat brothers weren’t interested (most of them because they were already too drunk to care). But that didn’t stop Mason’s enthusiasm. While everyone was enjoying their beach day getting wasted, Mason took a moment to enjoy the little treasure he found in the water. He sat down on the sand, unscrewed the yellow ring, and popped open the capsule. The moment the capsule opened, you woke up from your deep sleep and the capsule shot you out… Right into Mason.

Mason’s mouth was hanging open due to being tipsy and due to being genuinely excited about the toy capsule. You were launched right inside his agape mouth. The impact caused Mason to fall back onto the sand. Thanks to your new liquid form, your invasion on Mason’s body did not stop at the mouth. You rushed down Mason’s throat. Mason was gagging and thrashing around on the sand. He could feel your presence spreading throughout his body. You filled up every crevice up his body until he was completely filled up by you, leaving him no choice but to surrender control over his body to you. Once you had filled up his brain with your liquidy form, the body takeover was complete. 

You laid on the sand, eyes blinking rapidly as you processed what just happened. You could feel the weight of having a human body again, although your new body was much hairier than your original body. Your mind was in a haze. Between getting turned into liquid, being put into a deep sleep, then suddenly waking up to find yourself taking over someone else’s body who was already drunk, it was only natural to feel disoriented. 

“Ugh… What the fuck happened…” you said with your new voice as you stood up. Your new voice reached your ears, then panic began to kick in. “What the fuck! This isn’t my voice, who am I!?”

“Bro! Mason, my due, what are you doin!? The party’s just getting started!!” Some of the frat brothers came up to you. You tried to explain what was going on, but they were too drunk to understand you. 

“C’mon brah… You’re wayyyyy too sober right now for Spring Break… Here! This’ll help ya loosen up!”

The frat bro took a big drink from a beer can he was holding. While he did so, two of the other frat bros grabbed onto you. They were stronger, you couldn’t escape. Then, as you struggled to break free, the bro who had a mouth full of beer got closer to you. He then smushed his lips against yours, forcing you to drink the alcohol from his mouth. The surprise kiss caught you off guard, which caused you to swallow all the beer. Once you had drunk all the beer, the frat bro started French kissing you. You both made out for a solid minute as the sounds of wet kisses and your new frat bros hyping you up filled the air. Your bro then stepped back.

“How ya feelin’ bro!?”

“...” You stood in silence for a brief moment. The stimulation from French kissing coupled with the alcohol caused a chain reaction in your head. A grin spread across your face as your mind began forgetting everything about your former identity. Your mind had fully accepted its new body now. All that was left on your mind was 3 things: parties, alcohol, and bisexual sex.

“...WOOO! LET’S GET FUCKED UPPPPPP!!”

Hope you enjoy the new body prize you won from finding my missing capsule!

[sincerely-sofie]

Celebi watching her friends' inability to communicate romantic intent and trying desperately not to scream and/or break out into laughter (depending on who and what it's in reference to at any given time)

At least Twig probably won't get a direct confession, say "neat," and immediately resume what they were doing to never think about it again for years like I did to someone once.

oops.

You underestimate her power, suspiciously Grovyle-coded anon.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Incorrect Quote

Human!Freddy: Oy!! I would shave my head for you!!

Human!Chucky: ... 🤨 *Rising head to assess Freddy's receding hairline*

Human!Chucky: Eh... 😐

Human!Chucky: Gee thanks, bud.

[veriken]

"Everyone here is short except me!"

[cottonundiestf]

Transformation Charm Game: Anonymous from the Comfort Zone Discord

An anonymous figure invokes the Fates! An unassuming, average figure, an electrician by trade, enters the temple. The air is alight with life and energy. Magic fills the air...

[Personality: Attention Whore]

..and fills your head, feeding a small, vain voice until it becomes a larger part of your thoughts. You don't want to be "unassuming." You want eyes on you. You realize the thought of people watching you, ogling you, is enough to make you wet.

You don't just like attention; you need it. You'll act shamelessly for it, and the more you get it, the hornier it will make you.

This temple suddenly feels too empty, though you can't help but feel the Fates watching you. It gives you goosebumps, but you want to be ogled by someone you can touch, so the Fates whip up the magic of the room again...

[Style: Midriff]

And small magical motes like candle flames dance around your stomach. You feel a burning sensation; not like pain, but the aftereffects of an intense workout. In a matter of seconds, pounds shed away from your midsection. Your stomach, once pronounced, is now smooth and almost flat, with perhaps a slight padding of baby fat. Likewise, waist and love handles melt down to leave you with a more hourglass shape.

You also feel a little annoying itch that is only remedied when the flames singe away the bottom half of your shirt, leaving you in a croptop that cuts off just below your breasts.

You can feel it; you can't wear shirts that cover your stomach. They're uncomfortable, and they also aren't going to net you nearly as much attention as midriff bearing tops that'll show off some skin. When you return home, your closet will reflect your new style commitment to bare belly.

Things are going well so far! The magic swirls around the room once more…

[Read Your Lips; 4]

...and you feel a tingle in your lips as the magic motes plant a warm kiss on them. The dice of fate are rolled, as your lips plump up, filling with natural collagen, going from slight to pronounced and before you realize it, they're overstuffed! Your pouty pillows have become full on DSLs.

You'll need to adjust to your lips, so expect to lisp for a week or two. On the bright sid, your mouth is as needy for attention as you are, and you just know you're going to need to find it plenty of intimate body parts to slobber all over.

The magic swirls again, still not quite done with you…

[Dumb Blonde]

…and you feel a buzz radiating out from your head and to the ends of your hair. Your brown hair pales to a golden blonde, filling out into long, luxurious locks.

The change isn't just superficial. Your mind pops and empties to better fit your stereotype as a vapid, dumb blonde. Your somewhat impressive intellect drops until you're mind is below average, losing plenty of high level schooling. Even the way you speak and act will come across as spacey and ditzy.

And who doesn't love a dumb blonde? You can practically feel that attention!

But there's a little magic left in the air. It flares to life one last time…

[Tit-for-Tit; 5]

..and finishes things with a classic, the magic nurturing your chest as the dice of fate are rolled, as

your breasts swell, growing and growing, hanging heavier and heavier on your chest. The tingling sensation of growth makes you shudder as the fatty cells expand until the warmth finally subsides.

Your boobs aren't just big; they're huge. They're as big as your head. Your tops are already skimpy with the midriff-exposing, so with honkers like these, people are going to stare wherever you go.

And that thought makes you so wet.

The magic finally subsides, content with replacing a nerdy, average brunette with an airheaded blonde with more tits than sense and a kink for attention.

You probably don't have the skills left to continue as an electrician, but that's such a boring profession anyway. You have to run off to set up your Insta and start your OnlyFans. You need to know that men and women around the world are lusting after your body at all hours of the day.

Go forth, and enjoy your life as the slutty center of attention!

End.

Finally back with a Transformation Charm Game! I have a whole queue of people still looking to have their turn at the mercy of the Fates, so we'll see how far I get.

In the meantime, you should totally join my Discord Server (and ask for Naughty List access) to see read along when these happen live!

Also, tips and server boosts are always very welcome! Love you, bye! <3

[firstofficerkittycat]

when the doctor asked emma grayling who clara is and she was like "she's a perfectly ordinary girl shes very clever and she's more scared than she lets on is that not enough" literally me to moffat

[ilynpilled]

Why does Jaime not fit as Tywin's heir, or it's not in his nature -- as you say. Very interesting stuff.

Jaime is a very romantic character. Tywin can be delusional too (not that this is synonymous with romantic), to absurd levels, trying to achieve an idealized legacy, but he is not an idealist in the way that Jaime is at all. They also have very distinct values and ways of looking and reacting to the world. Remember when he told Jaime this:

"You cannot eat love, nor buy a horse with it, nor warm your halls on a cold night," she heard him tell Jaime once, when her brother had been no older than Tommen.

It is such a deeply funny line to me. It is at the core of how Tywin seems to operate as an individual. And he is telling this to the character named J’aime. The character whose actions are always driven by some aspect of love: be it love that is destructive and prejudiced, or love that is beautiful and altruistic. Like one of his defining character thesis statements is: “The things I do for love.” The point is that Jaime was always a character with a romantic view of things, especially at the start. His feigned cynicism and nihilism cannot even hide this aspect of his character once we finally get into his disillusioned and blackpilled head. Even when you read the prose in his chapters his descriptions are laced with romantic language. Tywin is so caught up with the image of Jaime, the ideal masculine archetype, that he completely ignores the major issues present with Jaime’s nature and how incompatible it is with Tywin’s outlook on life. Jaime is absolutely not a good candidate to be his “cold ruthless and pragmatic with perfect authority” heir. This is why Jaime ends up giving it all away for the KG, and ruins all his plans. He does this for love. He also cares relatively little about being the head of his family and his main motivations are everything that does not fit with so much of Tywin’s outlook. Jaime is concerned more with abstract concepts like honor, chivalry, and love etc than power and politicking. It is also very apparent how distinct they are based on Jaime’s relationship to his siblings and the guilt he feels over Rhaegar’s children and how he reacts to the brutality and cruelty done to Hoat for example. He also keeps running from Tywin’s legacy. First, he gives it all up because he loves Cersei. Then, when he comes back handless, Tywin celebrates like fucking finally, and then Jaime is like nah I’ll stay KG actually, and gets disowned #epic style. Then, he frees his brother because of guilt and because he cared about him unlike Tywin. This is also an action that leads to Tywin’s death. All of his children keep dooming him because he tried to mold them into something that they are not. He wanted Cersei, a passionate, ambitious, and fiery individual to be a submissive tradwife political pawn. He wanted Tyrion to be hidden with no influence or real power, repressing the immense potential that Tyrion has. This is why they are all destined to destroy him and what he has built in some form. (also, I think this idea is also ever present in how Tywin tries to change the twin swords into pure crimson, and how they physically reject it: link, it speaks to Tywin’s failure to mold his legacy into what he wants it to be, as well as the inability to cover up the darkness (ripples of blood and night) with pretty crimson, but I think it also showcases how he fails to mold all his tools, be it Joff, Jaime, Tyrion, Cers) Even when Jaime seeks to emulate his father because he believes his strength is needed to offer protection to his family, he fails at it. There are numerous anti parallels all throughout AFfC and especially his ADwD chapter.

[brionysea]

wizards of waverly place max was funnier when he was allowed to be a normal amount of stupid (as in he's like 9 and doesn't know as much as his older siblings and Shenanigans Ensue) than when they made him dumber than a brick in the later seasons. i'm right

[quotelr]

Learning can never be quantified with a flawed educational unit.

Louise Philippe Dulay

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

the people who insist on calling americans "usamericans" or "usians" or whatever tend to be the type of people who hate americans the most.

so it's always a bit funny that they so often want to claim the name "american" for themselves.