#taking psychic damage from the fucking magicians

[lestatdelioncourte]

ummmm i just watched a life in the day and ummmm wtf

[uno-writing]

What do u think are some really powerful abilities? Not in canon, just in general.

I have an oc with an illusionist ability (I call magician lol), and I feel like that's something with so much potential, suuuuuper powerful. Even sera would find it difficult bc like how can u manipulate time without knowing what to manipulate? And even tho the illusion isn't real, the way people react to it is and that becomes so much more significant when the reacting individual has powers. I've spent way to much time on this oc and their ability lol.

Another really powerful one I feel is, wait for it,,, probability. Like the ability to control probability. What's the probability I'm surviving this deathly situation? Make that shit 100%. How am I actually getting out of it? Fuck if I know, but I'm garaunteed survival no matter what I do. What's the probability I dodge this hit? or ace this test? 100%. And on and on. Obvs it has a ton of limitations and stuff but I find this one REALLY interesting.

I have a few more but that'd be too long lol. So bored of the elemental abilities (sorry not that ur ice OC is bad is great), and I love thinking of the most unusual things to control. I think any ability that isn't centered around a form of energy blast is automatically pog

- boba Anon 🧋

You asked the right person bc I have a bad habit of making super OP OCs that I later have to go back and tone it down a lil bit lol🍿🥤🍭🍬🍫🧋

I really like the two ability ideas you just mentioned. Like even if it is a weaker person, illusions would be so difficult to combat just bc of how high the trick stat would be. Like illusion is such a cool and badass ability idea. And probability is super cool and strong. Like Domino from Deadpool 2 kicks so much ass.

Partially a basic idea, by one of my OCs ability is called Psychic. She p much has the whole shabang of psychic abilities( telepathy, telekinesis, foresight) and likes she’s only upper high tier rn, I think Sera would still have a little bit of trouble. Just bc my OC could be really cheeky and just hold Sera above the ground so she can’t move. Bc as far as we’ve seen, Sera can only reverse the damage on her own body so if she’s just above the ground, she couldn’t really do much until either of their abilities got strained (probs my oc first but oh well). And I think she has a lot of potential to get stronger so she could have similar power to Scarlet Witch or Jean Grey if she gets strong enough.

My strongest OC (I think…the order of strength bounces around my ocs a bunch) has an ability called Reaper. Basically they’ve got p even stats and they’ve got a lot of variety so they can drain others and heal themself and they can also use shadows to teleport or form weapons. They also have a part of their ability that causes those in the immediate radius from them to feel fear and paranoia which makes it harder for their opponents to focus.

And finally, probs my favorite of my OCs abilities, is vibration manipulation (i think p much any manipulation power is strong). So basically he can control any time of vibration (ranging from causing an earthquake to controlling someone’s heart type stuff). He can also technically control sound waves and he’s able to take down buildings and stuff. He also has a good chance of growth potential and his ability in itself is super powerful.

Those are just my most powerful OCs. Other types of super strong powers are creation, any type of absorption power, or, like i said ^^, any manipulation type power has a lot of power potential backing it.

I get the hype for elemental and energy based powers bc they’re flashy and they’re fun to look at (its okay btw. you can call him basic, i know he is, i made him after listening to the frozen soundtrack lol) But yeah, there’s so many other fun possibilities for strong powers.

[xpouii]

JSE Day 10: The end is near

Day 10 of the JSE artists prompts 2019 by @septic-bella

**All previous entries are available on AO3 under the title “Mayhem” with my same username.**

               Henrik was sitting at the end of Jack’s bed when Jackie and Marvin came in. Jackie was pushing Marvin in a wheelchair, and the magician looked more than annoyed. “What happened?” Henrik asked, standing.

               “Oh don’t worry I’m just here to give birth,” Marvin muttered gathering his hair up behind his head. “Does anybody have a rubber band?”

               “Something happened with Anti,” Chase muttered from his bed. “Right?”

               Marvin raised an eyebrow, using a rubber band from Henrik to tie his hair back knowing full well he’d regret it later. “Good guess, you psychic now?”

               “We have a theory,” Henrik said. “I have a theory that Jack’s seizures are linked to Anti’s manifestations. What we don’t know is the exact nature of this link, whether Anti is leeching energy from Jack, or if Jack is fighting him somehow in a subconscious state.”

               “Tell them the rest!” Chase muttered. “Tell them what you did.”

               “Chase I had good reason to-“

               “Tell them!”

               Henrik shifted, “I observed Jack during his latest seizure.”

               “Observed?!”

               “Chase, please,” Jackie said, trying to regain some semblance of peace.

               “You should’ve seen the look on his face! He just let it happen, Jackie!” Chase cried, his wrists pulling against the restraints.

               Jackie sighed, “Schneep, are the restraints really necessary?”

               “Of course not,” Henrik said. “The orderlies were just following security protocol. Unfortunately, when I got close enough to free him, he tried to headbutt me.”

               “Chase!” Jackie scolded.

               “He was using Jack like a guinea pig!” Chase said, red-faced. “It’s not cool! It’s not even remotely cool!”

               ��We can’t afford to be fighting like this,” Marvin said. “Just let Schneep say his peace. The least we can all do is listen.”

               Chase sank further into the bed, closing his eyes, “Yeah I don’t have the energy to go after him anyway. I doubt I could make it across the room.”

               “I’ll go and get Jameson,” Henrik said, leaving the room.

               Jackie walked over and took off Chase’s restraints, “What a mess.”

               Chase sat up, pulling his knees to his chest, “I don’t like this, Jackie. Just don’t let him hurt Jack.”

               “I won’t,” Jackie said.

               “We won’t,” Marvin added.

                 Jameson looked tired, fundamentally worn down like he never had before, but he smiled when he saw them. His jaw was pressed down to his chest, sutured in place to let his trachea heal, and he had to look up to see them, so he resigned himself to mostly listening. They took comfortable places in the room and Henrik stood at the foot of Jack’s bed to speak.

               “My proposal is that we continue to observe until we can figure out whether these seizures are parasitic in nature, or if they are caused by Jack himself. Once we have a good idea of which, we either heavily medicate Jack to stop them entirely—the dosage could be detrimental to his long-term health but it would effectively weaken Anti or we continue to let the seizures go on uninhibited and attempt to provide support after the fact to soften the blow as much as possible regarding the neural death these seizures will eventually cause.”            

               Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Marvin spoke, “So you let the seizures kill his brain, or you over medicate him which could also potentially kill him. Isn’t this way too fucking dangerous? Haven’t you already-“

               Jackie grabbed Marvin’s knee, silencing him, “We’ll think about it. It’s a lot to take in, but we have to do whatever is best for Jack. Without him, what’s the point?”

               “We all have lives, people to protect,” Henrik said with a pointed look at Chase.

               “I don’t,” Marvin said. “And neither does Jameson. We’re here because of Jack, and that’s it. Maybe you and Chase have kids, and sure Jackie has the whole stupid city enamored with him, but not us.”

               “I don’t see how this is relevant,” Henrik said. “It isn’t as if none of us existed before he came into our lives. We simply have a very strong connection-“

               “And the same face,” Marvin said. “Yeah, totally coincidental. Listen, Henrik. I respect your opinion on medical matters, but I’d appreciate a little more respect from you when it comes to the metaphysical.”

               Henrik rubbed at his temples, “Fine fine,” he said. “I understand. Jack is extremely important. I love him as much as the rest of you. I just… if we could defeat Anti for good—actually get rid of him, wouldn’t that mean Jack would always be safe even if he is mildly damaged? Wouldn’t it be better for all of us, especially you and Jameson who Anti seems to be the most interested in tormenting this time around?”

               Jameson tapped his hand on the arm of his wheelchair. I don’t want to be used as the reason to put Jack in danger. Please don’t do that.

               Henrik’s cheeks reddened, “I’m not unreasonable. I see the rest of you want more proof, a more solid theory before we put any plan into action. I’m willing to comply. Just give me a few days. In the meantime, Marvin, you need to cleanse the house. We can’t all just stay here indeterminately. Once your strength is back the two of you take Chase home.”

               “I thought you wanted him with you,” Jackie said.

               “He’s an adult, and he’s requested to be released from my care.”

               Chase nodded, “He’s telling the truth. I have to get home, and I don’t want to get sedated again for having an unpopular opinion.”

               “Chase you were getting physically aggressive,” Henrik muttered.

               “Enough,” Jackie said. “This is getting old fast. We’ll take Chase home, and you’ll come home too, at least once a day, Schneep. Like you said, we shouldn’t be overtired, and we shouldn’t be spread so thin. If Anti shows up without you there I’m not going to be able to hold anybody’s veins together while we wait for the ambulance. That’s just a simple fact. I’m very clumsy.”

               “Once my magic is back together I can heal,” Marvin said. “But I’m not a doctor. I might be able to stop a blood geyser or mend a scraped knee but I’m not going to be setting any bones or curing a hangover.”

               “Detox,” Chase muttered.

               “What?”

               “I’m in detox. I’m not having a fucking hangover, ok? I’m not that much of a pussy. But thanks for your vote of confidence.”

               “Chase stop being so sensitive,” Marvin said. “We’ve all been through shit these past few days ok? Look at Jameson and tell him you’re detoxing.”

               Jameson looked up with sad eyes, once again being used as a pawn in someone else’s argument. He signed sorry to Chase, and Chase nodded.

               Jackie stood up, eager to interrupt another budding argument, “Come on, Marv. Let’s go try to find a good place to nap. The trauma waiting room had those long benches.”

               “Oh good, my beauty sleep,” Marvin said, but he yawned. “Jamie, do you want a ride?”

               Jameson waved them off with a forced smile, nodding to Henrik and wheeling himself over to Chase’s bed. Henrik left the room with a stiff gait, a lack of sleep and aging joints were catching up to him. He returned to his office for another long night of researching.

               I’m sorry about what Marvin said. It isn’t fair to compare us. Jameson told Chase. What you’re going through is just as dangerous, and it’s got to be hard, because you’re strong. You’re doing all of this for Jack and you have two little ones to worry about. He hesitated then, glancing at the open door. I’m sure Marvin didn’t mean what he said, but he was still wrong to say it. I hope we can talk again when I’m feeling better. I get these confounded jaw stitches out tomorrow and I can’t wait to look up again!

               Chase chuckled when Jameson made one of his exaggerated faces, “Thanks Jamie. You’re a good man too, you know. I’m sorry I doubted you so much when we first met.”

               Jamie smiled and shrugged What can you do? Goodnight Chase.

               “Goodnight,” Chase said, watching him go. He scooted down into the bed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the dull nausea at the back of his throat. The IV was keeping him hydrated, and nutrients flowed the same way, but he both missed and dreaded the thought of food. How long had it been since he’d eaten a Pop-Tart? Or had a sip of whisky?

               Chase flinched away from that thought, “Jesus Chase don’t be an idiot. You’ve come this far already and things are bad enough without you thinking that way.”

               Whisky has always been a better friend than any of these bastards. Why don’t you just get your weak ass out of this stupid bed and go find some? It’s not like anybody is going to come looking for you. Even Jack knows you’re worthless now. You cracked under pressure like an egg.

               Chase covered his ears, “Fuck you, Anti. I know it’s you. Don’t waste your time.”

               There was no nagging laugh, no glitching in his ears, and Chase paused, wondering why Anti was being so shy all of the sudden.

[teratoscope]

Cowler

The rain comes down on lower Hyrkonia like a hammer; the floodwaters carry integuments of decaying street filth downstream. Tomorrow, when the clouds clear and all the reasonable people leave their homes, great soggy drifts of nameless uncleanness will be there waiting for them, airing out in the sun. You intend to be well out of town when that happens. Something makes a terrible peeling sound from behind you, and your train of thought derails. You’re surrounded. At first you think your pursuers are just dressed for the weather, but the ragged, pale blue skins they’re wrapped in stretch and snake of their own volition. Several of them—dogs? children?—lie close to the ground, fully shrouded by their strange companions, faint impressions of familiar forms straining against the gelatinous membrane. There seem to be more of them every passing moment. It takes you a while to put together that it’s because they’re stepping out of each other; pendulous buds form in the surface of the second skin that disgorge impossible human payloads. “You have something of ours,” says the lead man. He unfurls a length of barbed chain. HD 1 MV 90’ climbing/150’ gliding AC leather AT probing tendrils (1d4+1) Special immune to fire/heat, water-breathing, ooze, bond, plasm warp

ooze—cowlers are immune to poison, disease, sleep, and any effect that targets the mind. Assuming they aren’t carrying anything large or rigid, they can fit through any space that water can flow through. bond—a cowler may use its whole action to bond with a living creature within 5 feet. An unwilling bondmate must make a Strength check at disadvantage if they wish to dislodge it. While attached to an unwilling host, the cowler can choose each round to either use the host’s move or one of its natural attacks. While bonded to a willing partner, the host receives all the cowler’s abilities; if their AC or MV is worse than the Cowler’s, they become equal to the Cowler’s for as long as the bond lasts. The cowler may still attack or take actions on its own turn. A cowler can be forced to dislodge if the host is struck with a critical hit or any amount of cold damage. plasm warp—a cowler may use its move to withdraw into its home plane and re-emerge through another creature with the ooze special trait. There is no limit to the range of this effect, though if a specific destination is not in mind the cowler will decide based on its own inscrutable protoplasmic prerogative. Any living creature brought through with the cowler has a 1 in 6 chance of taking a point of permanent damage to one of their mental stats, determined randomly; if they ever lose 6 points, they cannot lose any more from this effect and gain the ooze trait, as well as permanent psychic contact with Abhoth.

There is a school of thought taught in certain heretical studies in Chrysoberyl that there is no single structure that is “the universe.” Rather, there are intersecting cosmic forces, and experienced from the appropriate angle those intersections create the impression of a world with time, space, matter, and energy. In some circles that practice this heresy, it is argued that our world is a product of the intersection between adamada—a term imported from certain Ghet cosmologies referring to “primordial mechanism” or the tendency of things towards systematized and measurable principles—and Igloth-Mrr, “entity-ness,” the embodiment of life itself. The two are mutually exclusive; they torment each other. This, supposedly, is why the world is so deeply fucked. The philosophy is dubious, but Igloth-Mrr is quite real. Igloth-Mrr sits sideways of reality, and the cowlers are its blind and fumbling hands, reaching around corners of existence to appraise the state of things. Certain foolish magicians and natural philosophers refer to Igloth-Mrr as the elemental plane of slime. Priests of Igloth-Mrr call up cowlers as familiars; it is said that when a high priest goes to their death, these gelatinous partners digest and crystallize their spirit, to be carried home to their overgod’s loving pseudopods and reborn as a Jellysaint. Cowler cults can be found nearly anywhere—everyone from nightsoil merchants to Starless Circle agents to goblin defectors hear the siren call of Igloth-Mrr. In Lower Hyrkonia, it is wise to give the Plaza of Gargoyles a wide berth at night; the cowler-clad Murkboys lurk in the crumbling reflecting pools and neglected canals.

[whifferdills]

please, do you have any comfort dw fic in you to give? or suggest? any pairing? (twelvedole's nice but niche so i don't expect there to be too much)

Twelvedole, aimless emotional hurt/comfort, i apologize if the ratio of hurt to comfort is not what you need but that’s what i wrote so ok, ~1.1k words, cuddlecore gen

(as far as suggesting, @resting-meme-face‘s twelvedole fic “Sheep Go To Heaven” is lovely and cuddly, if you haven’t read it go do so)

alternately: read on the ao3

Nardole was on his fourth cup of tea, second sleeve of biscuits, and fifth rewatched episode of Bake-Off when the Doctor stumbled out of their office and into the study. Wearing a different outfit, carrying that telltale exhaustion and defiance.

“Up late again, I see.” Nardole did his best to not sound prissy. Up Late, that was code for I know where you’ve been and who you were there with but I am too tired, frankly, to force the issue.

The Doctor sighed, rolled their shoulders, and opened their mouth to unfurl a sentence. It took a few syllables for Nardole to realize that he was in fact paying the correct level of attention, and they were speaking gibberish.

“Oh,” the Doctor said. Well, not ‘oh’ precisely, but in a tone of voice that indicated an ‘oh’. They smiled tightly, and dug deep into their coat pocket for the sonic screwdriver. They waved vaguely at the TARDIS, then let the screwdriver lay in their upturned hand, fingers curled loosely around the shaft, and stared at it as if it might have something to say about this situation.

“Ah. Yes, of course,” Nardole guessed.

“Turned the translation matrix off for a bit. You were taking a nap, I figured you wouldn’t notice.” They clenched their hand around the screwdriver, palming it back into their coat pocket with the sleight-of-hand flair of a mediocre street magician.

That hadn’t been Nardole’s guess. “I didn’t, not til just now. Why?”

“What?” The Doctor swiped the last of Nardole’s biscuits, shoving a handful into their mouth.

“Why’d you turn it off?”

The Doctor stared him down, the fire-and-brimstone effect somewhat muted by the spray of crumbs and chipmunk cheeks. They swallowed, and said: “You know why.”

Fair enough. Nardole just liked to hear the Doctor say it, for whatever reason. But - wait. “You speak the same language, though,” he said, mentally crossing his fingers that Guess #2 was more accurate than the first.

“Used to. Now…” They sighed, and deflated slightly.

Here was where Nardole noticed the Doctor was swaying, unsteady. A bad sign; the ‘things are somewhat worse than previously estimated’ alarm sounded in his head. And then he flinched, at the clumsy, glancing, maybe-accidental blow of the Doctor’s psychic sprawl.

(He’d had a telepathic spleen installed a while back. Neither of them had ever said anything about it, so he wasn’t sure if the Doctor knew, or if they did know whether they knew that he knew. This was either a rare gesture of intimacy and trust or a serious breach of privacy.)

(Wordless and unfathomable and as skittish as a feral cat, and it snapped back as quick as it came)

“I have a psychic spleen,” Nardole said.

The Doctor just glared at him, before dropping their gaze. Dropping in general, or drooping.

Sit down, Nardole thought, very hard, trying to focus his mental energies toward where his spleen might be located. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Please sit down before you fall down, please.

“Why’d you bother asking if you’ve already made up your mind?” the Doctor spat out. Oh, anger, what a surprise.

Nardole revved up his motor and, utilizing the power of surprise, gently but firmly toppled the Doctor onto the nearby sofa. “I wanted to hear you say it. Did she hurt you?”

“No. Not since - not ever. She’s not like that.” The Doctor closed their eyes, sinking down into the slightly lumpy cushions.

“You know I want to check.” You know I think you’re lying.

“With your special eyes.”

“Yes,” Nardole affirmed. “With my special eyes.”

Something sort of broke in the Doctor, there, and they loosened up just enough to go taut again, arms spread wide, eyes open and raised to the heavens. “Go ahead, then.”

Nardole squinted. “You could do with some rest, but that’s nothing new. And more vegetables - leafy greens? Are radishes the things with the…things, that do the thing? But you’re, um.” ‘Fine’ is still the wrong word. “Not physically damaged.”

“Happy?”

“Not particularly, no.” His spleen was itching, so he sat down next to the Doctor, lumpy cushions tilting and pulling the Doctor into his side.

Their breath caught, and then came back haltingly. They didn’t move. Nardole carefully, slowly let his arm slip around their back, curling his hand loosely around their upper arm. They didn’t move. He tugged them closer, and wriggled around until his arm was around their waist, and they didn’t move, although they were breathing more evenly now.

“Just because it’s not physical - ”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“- Doesn’t mean it’s not a problem.” Nardole rubbed his thumb in a circle against the Doctor’s coat, experimentally. Touch sensitive, a wounded cat. They’d done this before (they don’t talk about it).

They tensed, then relaxed, and then sort of melted, and Nardole cautiously took this as approval to continue. Full-on cuddling, though neither of them would ever announce it as such. He let the Doctor rest their head on his chest, kept drawing circles against them. Outer layers only. Maybe his other hand ruffling their hair, just a bit. Pulling slightly at the curls at their neck, in the fashion that neither would ever admit both of them liked for a variety of reasons.

“Turn it off again,” he said. Hands moving steady, as best he could maintain.

“The translation matrix?”

“Yeah. You know English, right? I’m from a human colony, British, I think I remember. Wouldn’t mind learning a few Gallifreyan phrases, on the off-chance I meet another one of your folk.”

The pulse-out, again, that rough incoherent mental burr. And a retreat, and the Doctor’s arm clasped around his middle. “An educational experience,” they said, hesitantly.

“You’re the professor.”

The Doctor fidgeted, squirmed about til they unearthed the sonic screwdriver, and then flicked it at the TARDIS. The ship hummed in response.

“A nice salad, I think. For tea. Or, well, it’s gone on breakfast now, but you know.” His voice felt fuller in his ears, and just slightly off, not routed through the ship. A rusty, creaky language.

“Mmm,” the Doctor responded. And then something else, unintelligible, like Welsh almost but obviously not Welsh. Space-Welsh.

“Let me guess.”

“Yeah?”

“'Fuck salads, let’s get kebabs’.”

The Doctor huffed out a laugh, leaning into his embrace. “Something like that, yeah. Sure.”

(They don’t talk about it, they never do. There’s something to be said for honest bullshit, though. He hears his old language creak through his lungs and the Doctor’s halting, probably-broken Gallifreyan mumbled into his waistcoat. “Eggs. Sauteed spinach,” he says, squeezing them just a bit tighter. “With garlic. Tomatoes, maybe. We’ve got them in, because I went grocery shopping this time, not you, Mr. Donuts And A Single Bulb Of Fennel. Do you have a word for fennel? Probably not. Just substitute the word for ‘idiot’.”)

(The Doctor hums and pulls closer, reciting something under their breath. Nursery rhyme, or school-yard taunt, or grocery list; one of those.)

[adambstingus]

Puberty Sucks But Second Puberty Is Just The God-Awful Worst

As you somehow keep holding on when the rodeo horse of life tries to buck you off so it can face its ultimate foe (the rodeo clown of life), you’ll eventually reach a kind of second puberty. The first time, you transformed butterfly-like from child to slightly grosser child. Once all your body’s jagged edges and weird lumps settle into place, you enjoy a prime that’ll last about eight minutes, and you’ll be too drunk or high to remember it.

Second puberty will hit between 28 and 33. The physical changes you’ll undergo — the ones I’m experiencing now — aren’t too dramatic, but are different enough to be unsettling. It’s a harbinger of horrors to come. It’s like Batman getting that vision of the Earth reduced to a dusty wasteland controlled by Darkseid in Batman v. Superman. I want to be Batman in that scenario, but it’s become increasingly apparent that I am the wasteland. As evidence of my physical dilapidation, I present the following.

5

After 9 I Can — And Will — Fall Asleep Anywhere

I’ve been afflicted with a punctual form of narcolepsy. No matter how caffeinated I am, I will fall asleep instantly if certain easily met conditions are present:

1) I have recently eaten dinner after having made dinner, which I do every night.

2) Most of my weight is heaped onto something comfortable. The definition of what can be comfortable is wide enough to include leaning on a wall coated with satin paint (the most comfortable of paints).

3) It is at least 9 p.m.

When those three elements combine, I involuntarily enter, exit, and then reenter a deep state of unconsciousness that I will deny having entered if caught in the act. Vehement denial, punctuated with wild fits of slurred vulgarity, is another symptom of this recently acquired disorder.

g-stockstudio/iStock When one of my molecules touches one couch fiber after a late dinner.

If left untreated, the debilitating sleepiness can lead to waking up in a frightened daze at 3:30 a.m., not fully remembering how I got onto this comfy thing from wherever I ate dinner, be it the dining table in my apartment or the Five Guys a mile away.

Falling asleep early sounds great, but not when I have a wife whom I’d like to remain conscious enough to hang out with after work, because like an idiot I married someone I love and want to be around. Boy, I’m really paying for that dumb mistake.

4

I’m Suddenly Allergic To Life

To my recent unpleasant surprise, allergies aren’t something you’re stuck with your entire life. They are for some people, and my heart goes out to them. I don’t know why we don’t have annual telethons raising money to help lifelong seasonal allergy sufferers pay their Claritin and tissue bills. My mom’s side of the family is where this new nemesis of mine comes from. They didn’t feel the torment of allergies until well into their 20s. I followed a similar path.

Twenty-eight is when things started to go awry. Scratching one small eye itch could trigger an itch that could go on for days and stop just before I took a back-scratcher to my corneas. Things have ramped up since. One sneeze within 10 minutes of waking up is my body’s way of telling me I should sprinkle some blueberries and Benadryl on my morning oatmeal and call it a day. I don’t know what it’s like to breathe through my nose without fear that if I inhale too vigorously I’ll set off a chain reaction of sneezes lasting hours that very well could blow my brain out the back of my skull.

c8501089/iStock Why does this frighteningly appropriate stock photo even exist?

There’s such a wide variety of allergy pills and nasal sprays that finding the one that works best for me is nearly impossible. Once swallowed, some pills will take one look at your genetic makeup and go full diva as they refuse to work with that clown show of body. Have you ever torrented a band’s entire discography, only to realize you don’t have the time to listen to 73 albums, so you delete everything but the greatest hits? That’s shopping for allergy pills. One of the brands I’m not immediately familiar with might be a gamechanger, but I can’t risk blowing my life savings on an absurdly priced pack of pills with a brand name I didn’t see advertised during an award show or an NBA game. I’ll stick with the hits everybody can sing along to — Claritin, Zyrtec, Benadryl.

Xyzal.com They ran out of nonsense letter combos for pills halfway, so they restarted from the beginning of the alphabet.

Sorry, Xyzal, but I don’t know you, and I get the inkling that saying your name out loud summons a long-dormant demon. I just can’t take that risk.

3

I Can Drastically Change Pants Size In The Blink Of An Eye

Technically I’ve worn the same pants size since middle school, but that’s a little disingenuous. I’m a first-wave millennial; we were some of the last kids to think tripping over our very baggy pants was the first step to cultivating an air of supreme dopeness. If I go about my normal diet, everything will be fine. But one Taco Bell pig-out session, or more than one slice of pizza, or more than one beer, and soon I’ll reach the full potential of my middle-school-era JNCOs.

It’s so drastic that I want to take this show on the road. I’ll wow skeptical crowds by swallowing a slice of chocolate cake, and with a magician’s dramatic wave of my hands make any discernible separation between jawline and neck disappear before their eyes. They’ll be looking around for the wires or prosthesis, but they won’t find any. Some will call me a simple trickster; others a heretic. But the truth is that my metabolism is shit and I have to eat like a bird so I don’t look like a boar.

To make sure it wasn’t just me, I asked around. John Cheese told me that once he turned 40, his weight started fluctuating 30 pounds in both directions. He seriously has to keep two wardrobes: one for the fall when he shoots up to 235 pounds, and one for the spring when he drops back down to 200. If you’re thinking that weight change happens over the course of six months, think again. He gains and loses 30 pounds in a matter of weeks, changing absolutely nothing about his diet or exercise routine — the one he has aptly named “I Don’t Exercise, Ever.”

Please, if you’re in your early 20s, listen to me: Enjoy eating however much of whatever you want while you can, because within a handful of years, every ounce of junk food you eat will be converted into a pound of fat in the exact spot that determines your clothing size. Have fun jogging the width of Texas to burn off one bite of donut. When you’re young, your body is a furnace that instantly incinerates whatever you put in it. Eventually it will be a landfill where things slowly decompose over centuries, poisoning the groundwater.

2

My Shit Literally Never Stank Before I Hit My 30s

I don’t want to brag or nothing, but for a long time, I could’ve taken a hearty dump during a crowded house party and no one would’ve been the wiser. I left no odor behind. My body converted the stink into pure energy. I believe there was a point in my life when close study of my body’s internal workings could have led to the design of a more efficient internal combustion engine, thus slowing climate change, thus making my ass the savior of the human race.

And then I got older and my dookie stench roared in with the fury of a long-dormant demon named Xyzal awakening for the first time in centuries. I just wish I’d been able to appreciate what I had before it was gone. Hypothetically, if you and I were in the same room, and I were shitting in that room, you wouldn’t have known it until you heard the plop plop of the water, because I could never figure out how to muffle those. But by scent alone? Nah. Too ninja for you. You’d never know it.

I’m just happy my stink powers activated in the same era as the advent of Poo-Pourri. I don’t want to turn this column into an ad for a bottle of essential oils you spray in a toilet to conceal your turd funk, but that stuff is amazing. If I made the smells I do now 10 years ago without Poo-Pourri, I wouldn’t have friends and I wouldn’t be married. I’d be living in an adobe in the desert, where there’s nothing alive to offend.

1

My Teeth Are Sensitive Little Snowflakes

Every new transformation in second puberty comes with a small shame. Parts of your body are losing function and you can’t do anything to stop it. You can iron the wrinkles out of your balls to make them look 20 years younger, but you’re just filling pot holes in a road as it’s being carpet-bombed. All I can do is accept it. I’ve only just begun accepting every unfortunate transformation I’ve already mentioned. But my sensitive teeth and I will be locked in a mythical eternal battle between good and evil so grand it will one day inspire the creation of a religion. Wars will be fought in its name.

When my teeth suddenly became sensitive to cold temperatures, I felt I had fundamentally failed at being alive. I can’t belt out an “Aw fuck!” when I lick an ice cream cone without ceding some confidence. I can’t feel like I’m in the prime of my life when I double over in a blinding-white flash of pain because I made the fatal mistake of eating cold salami slices straight from the fridge.

It’s stupid to say I like eating, because if I didn’t like it, I’d be too dead of starvation to say it. But I’m certain I like eating a lot more than you do. Anywhere between 50-65 percent of my day consists of grunting orgasmically as I chew. So you have understand how crushing it is to have something that makes me so happy cause me so much physical pain. It got so bad that at one point my teeth would leave me screaming in pain if a cool breeze wafted across them when I smiled. My teeth were training me to fear happiness. That’s the psychical damage you lay on the person you’re keeping the pit you’ve dug in your basement.

There are toothpastes that help. But brushing too enthusiastically is one of the things that caused the sensitivity to begin with. I’m trying to mend a gunshot wound by shooting it. And that’s a good summation of the state second puberty has left me in. I’m just fucked forever, so I guess I should try to look at the bright side: I’ll get to watch my body spontaneously do weird things for the rest of my life, like I’m a living video game glitch.

Luis is perpetuating the cycle as he digs into a pint of Haagen-Dazs chocolate-chocolate chip. In the meantime, you can find him on Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook.

For more, check out 7 Creepy Physical Changes Your Mind Can Make in Your Body and 6 Freaky Things Your Body Does (Explained by Science).

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Why ‘Big’ Is More Terrifying Than You Remember, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. You’ll be alright.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/puberty-sucks-but-second-puberty-is-just-the-god-awful-worst/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/180632214782

[allofbeercom]

Puberty Sucks But Second Puberty Is Just The God-Awful Worst

As you somehow keep holding on when the rodeo horse of life tries to buck you off so it can face its ultimate foe (the rodeo clown of life), you’ll eventually reach a kind of second puberty. The first time, you transformed butterfly-like from child to slightly grosser child. Once all your body’s jagged edges and weird lumps settle into place, you enjoy a prime that’ll last about eight minutes, and you’ll be too drunk or high to remember it.

Second puberty will hit between 28 and 33. The physical changes you’ll undergo — the ones I’m experiencing now — aren’t too dramatic, but are different enough to be unsettling. It’s a harbinger of horrors to come. It’s like Batman getting that vision of the Earth reduced to a dusty wasteland controlled by Darkseid in Batman v. Superman. I want to be Batman in that scenario, but it’s become increasingly apparent that I am the wasteland. As evidence of my physical dilapidation, I present the following.

5

After 9 I Can — And Will — Fall Asleep Anywhere

I’ve been afflicted with a punctual form of narcolepsy. No matter how caffeinated I am, I will fall asleep instantly if certain easily met conditions are present:

1) I have recently eaten dinner after having made dinner, which I do every night.

2) Most of my weight is heaped onto something comfortable. The definition of what can be comfortable is wide enough to include leaning on a wall coated with satin paint (the most comfortable of paints).

3) It is at least 9 p.m.

When those three elements combine, I involuntarily enter, exit, and then reenter a deep state of unconsciousness that I will deny having entered if caught in the act. Vehement denial, punctuated with wild fits of slurred vulgarity, is another symptom of this recently acquired disorder.

g-stockstudio/iStock When one of my molecules touches one couch fiber after a late dinner.

If left untreated, the debilitating sleepiness can lead to waking up in a frightened daze at 3:30 a.m., not fully remembering how I got onto this comfy thing from wherever I ate dinner, be it the dining table in my apartment or the Five Guys a mile away.

Falling asleep early sounds great, but not when I have a wife whom I’d like to remain conscious enough to hang out with after work, because like an idiot I married someone I love and want to be around. Boy, I’m really paying for that dumb mistake.

4

I’m Suddenly Allergic To Life

To my recent unpleasant surprise, allergies aren’t something you’re stuck with your entire life. They are for some people, and my heart goes out to them. I don’t know why we don’t have annual telethons raising money to help lifelong seasonal allergy sufferers pay their Claritin and tissue bills. My mom’s side of the family is where this new nemesis of mine comes from. They didn’t feel the torment of allergies until well into their 20s. I followed a similar path.

Twenty-eight is when things started to go awry. Scratching one small eye itch could trigger an itch that could go on for days and stop just before I took a back-scratcher to my corneas. Things have ramped up since. One sneeze within 10 minutes of waking up is my body’s way of telling me I should sprinkle some blueberries and Benadryl on my morning oatmeal and call it a day. I don’t know what it’s like to breathe through my nose without fear that if I inhale too vigorously I’ll set off a chain reaction of sneezes lasting hours that very well could blow my brain out the back of my skull.

c8501089/iStock Why does this frighteningly appropriate stock photo even exist?

There’s such a wide variety of allergy pills and nasal sprays that finding the one that works best for me is nearly impossible. Once swallowed, some pills will take one look at your genetic makeup and go full diva as they refuse to work with that clown show of body. Have you ever torrented a band’s entire discography, only to realize you don’t have the time to listen to 73 albums, so you delete everything but the greatest hits? That’s shopping for allergy pills. One of the brands I’m not immediately familiar with might be a gamechanger, but I can’t risk blowing my life savings on an absurdly priced pack of pills with a brand name I didn’t see advertised during an award show or an NBA game. I’ll stick with the hits everybody can sing along to — Claritin, Zyrtec, Benadryl.

Xyzal.com They ran out of nonsense letter combos for pills halfway, so they restarted from the beginning of the alphabet.

Sorry, Xyzal, but I don’t know you, and I get the inkling that saying your name out loud summons a long-dormant demon. I just can’t take that risk.

3

I Can Drastically Change Pants Size In The Blink Of An Eye

Technically I’ve worn the same pants size since middle school, but that’s a little disingenuous. I’m a first-wave millennial; we were some of the last kids to think tripping over our very baggy pants was the first step to cultivating an air of supreme dopeness. If I go about my normal diet, everything will be fine. But one Taco Bell pig-out session, or more than one slice of pizza, or more than one beer, and soon I’ll reach the full potential of my middle-school-era JNCOs.

It’s so drastic that I want to take this show on the road. I’ll wow skeptical crowds by swallowing a slice of chocolate cake, and with a magician’s dramatic wave of my hands make any discernible separation between jawline and neck disappear before their eyes. They’ll be looking around for the wires or prosthesis, but they won’t find any. Some will call me a simple trickster; others a heretic. But the truth is that my metabolism is shit and I have to eat like a bird so I don’t look like a boar.

To make sure it wasn’t just me, I asked around. John Cheese told me that once he turned 40, his weight started fluctuating 30 pounds in both directions. He seriously has to keep two wardrobes: one for the fall when he shoots up to 235 pounds, and one for the spring when he drops back down to 200. If you’re thinking that weight change happens over the course of six months, think again. He gains and loses 30 pounds in a matter of weeks, changing absolutely nothing about his diet or exercise routine — the one he has aptly named “I Don’t Exercise, Ever.”

Please, if you’re in your early 20s, listen to me: Enjoy eating however much of whatever you want while you can, because within a handful of years, every ounce of junk food you eat will be converted into a pound of fat in the exact spot that determines your clothing size. Have fun jogging the width of Texas to burn off one bite of donut. When you’re young, your body is a furnace that instantly incinerates whatever you put in it. Eventually it will be a landfill where things slowly decompose over centuries, poisoning the groundwater.

2

My Shit Literally Never Stank Before I Hit My 30s

I don’t want to brag or nothing, but for a long time, I could’ve taken a hearty dump during a crowded house party and no one would’ve been the wiser. I left no odor behind. My body converted the stink into pure energy. I believe there was a point in my life when close study of my body’s internal workings could have led to the design of a more efficient internal combustion engine, thus slowing climate change, thus making my ass the savior of the human race.

And then I got older and my dookie stench roared in with the fury of a long-dormant demon named Xyzal awakening for the first time in centuries. I just wish I’d been able to appreciate what I had before it was gone. Hypothetically, if you and I were in the same room, and I were shitting in that room, you wouldn’t have known it until you heard the plop plop of the water, because I could never figure out how to muffle those. But by scent alone? Nah. Too ninja for you. You’d never know it.

I’m just happy my stink powers activated in the same era as the advent of Poo-Pourri. I don’t want to turn this column into an ad for a bottle of essential oils you spray in a toilet to conceal your turd funk, but that stuff is amazing. If I made the smells I do now 10 years ago without Poo-Pourri, I wouldn’t have friends and I wouldn’t be married. I’d be living in an adobe in the desert, where there’s nothing alive to offend.

1

My Teeth Are Sensitive Little Snowflakes

Every new transformation in second puberty comes with a small shame. Parts of your body are losing function and you can’t do anything to stop it. You can iron the wrinkles out of your balls to make them look 20 years younger, but you’re just filling pot holes in a road as it’s being carpet-bombed. All I can do is accept it. I’ve only just begun accepting every unfortunate transformation I’ve already mentioned. But my sensitive teeth and I will be locked in a mythical eternal battle between good and evil so grand it will one day inspire the creation of a religion. Wars will be fought in its name.

When my teeth suddenly became sensitive to cold temperatures, I felt I had fundamentally failed at being alive. I can’t belt out an “Aw fuck!” when I lick an ice cream cone without ceding some confidence. I can’t feel like I’m in the prime of my life when I double over in a blinding-white flash of pain because I made the fatal mistake of eating cold salami slices straight from the fridge.

It’s stupid to say I like eating, because if I didn’t like it, I’d be too dead of starvation to say it. But I’m certain I like eating a lot more than you do. Anywhere between 50-65 percent of my day consists of grunting orgasmically as I chew. So you have understand how crushing it is to have something that makes me so happy cause me so much physical pain. It got so bad that at one point my teeth would leave me screaming in pain if a cool breeze wafted across them when I smiled. My teeth were training me to fear happiness. That’s the psychical damage you lay on the person you’re keeping the pit you’ve dug in your basement.

There are toothpastes that help. But brushing too enthusiastically is one of the things that caused the sensitivity to begin with. I’m trying to mend a gunshot wound by shooting it. And that’s a good summation of the state second puberty has left me in. I’m just fucked forever, so I guess I should try to look at the bright side: I’ll get to watch my body spontaneously do weird things for the rest of my life, like I’m a living video game glitch.

Luis is perpetuating the cycle as he digs into a pint of Haagen-Dazs chocolate-chocolate chip. In the meantime, you can find him on Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook.

For more, check out 7 Creepy Physical Changes Your Mind Can Make in Your Body and 6 Freaky Things Your Body Does (Explained by Science).

Subscribe to our YouTube channel, and check out Why ‘Big’ Is More Terrifying Than You Remember, and watch other videos you won’t see on the site!

Also follow us on Facebook. You’ll be alright.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/puberty-sucks-but-second-puberty-is-just-the-god-awful-worst/