#but like. my natural self is a lot more subdued.

[megumi-fm]

.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hobie brown x male!spiderman!reader where they’re “boyfriends” (more like best friends with benefits type thing) from different dimensions and haven’t seen each other in a while due to reader being kind of busy with SM stuff but one day reader shows up to hobies dimension in search of comfort because a canon event caused his older brother to die! Loving your hobie fics btw your whole blog is just good asf😭🫶💞

Here ya go! I hope you like it and I thank you for your kind words, they really mean a lot as I haven’t been feeling that great as of late, so this really made my day.

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, like the breath has been ripped straight out of your lungs, leaving you to struggle in finding fresh, unpolluted air to take in, to revitalise your lungs from the damage they’ve received; But you weren’t going to get that if you were to stay here.

Your head and heart were murky with every emotion imaginable trying to overtake each other as your primary feeling whilst your body was screaming at you to run, to leave, to get away because he was already dead before he even hit the ground; reminding you that you could mourn the dead later but as of right now you needed to get to the place you felt safest. But you weren’t going to get that if you were to stay here.

So without putting in much thought into anything anymore with your mind so far from reality and your emotions in a state of self destructive chaos, your change of scenery wasn’t brought into question until you heard the familiar sound of a guitar playing before it immediately stopped, only for it to be replaced by the sound of curious footsteps that grew in volume with they’re impending closeness. You knew those footsteps by heart and the type of shoes that made them but knew the male who wore those platforms like the back of your hand; Hobie’s warmth brought you a comfort that couldn’t be recreated nor imitated because even if it was even remotely the slightest bit off, you body naturally rejected it and would indiscreetly crave for the real thing.

For nothing could bring you more comfort, more sense of mind then being in Hobie’s arms.

‘Y/n?’ Even at the sound of his voice had your guarded walls crumbling.

‘Hobie, please tell me that’s you and not some sick trick of the mind.’ You whimpered, clutching the vest that he had left in your dimension between tightly clenched fists, while remaining adamant on keeping your back to him until you were for certain that he was in the room, talking to you, almost as though you were reassuring that deep seeded doubt that he was alive and okay.

In a couple of strides Hobie had his front pressed against your back as his arms cocooned you tightly in a method of preventing you moving away from his hold. ‘Does this feel like me?’ He asked softly, his heart hurting as he watched you instinctively huddled further into his chest until practically all of you was submerged against him. Just as your tears had begun to fall down your cheeks and creating wet patches against his shirt that you were adamant on clinging so desperately to. ‘Oh pretty boy.’ Hobie utters as he tightened his hold on you, allowing you to weep freely without judgment as all he wanted for you to do in that moment was to let it all out in whatever way you found best; whether it was to scream, cry, punch, or otherwise, Hobie would rather you be vocal about you pain rather then subduing it for a later date.

‘My brother died Hobie,’ you wept. ‘he died and I couldn’t save him, I wasn’t fast enough to reach him, I wasn’t strong enough to catch him as he fell, I wasn’t able enough to change anything.’ You gripped his shirt even tighter as you clenched your eyes shut as the imagery of the prior events proceeded to mock you of your biggest failure as Spider-Man as you added in a near inaudible whisper. ‘I don’t deserve to be Spider-Man. He’s meant to save people, not lead them to their deaths.’ Hobie knew that you didn’t meant for him to hear any of the last part but he very much did and felt that it was within his due diligence to remind you of how utterly bullshit that statement was because he’s making damn sure you don’t quit being what you so clearly love.

‘I want you to listen and listen good because I want what I say to you to stick with you so that when you get like this again, you’ll remember your worth and what you’ve always been fighting for; hope.’ Hobie began. ‘You were meant to be Spider-Man as much as I or any other Spider-Person in existence. Miguel’s bullshit has made you think that your value is based on the pain and the suffering we’ve endured and how there’s nothing we can do to combat it once it comes for us again, and again, and again. Forcing you to your knees in grief and sorrow but you want to know what you should do when that happens?’

‘What?’ You asked, removing your face from his chest to look him into his deep eyes with bleary eyes, practically melting into his touch when his hands moved to cup your face, rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks free of tear streaks. ‘Get back up.’ Hobie tells you. ‘Get back up because the fight ain’t over and it’ll never be over if you decide to give up now.’ He then sighs as he presses his head against yours in order to get closer to you. ‘Look I know it’s hard to keep going when they’re no longer here to root for us, to be there for us when we lick our wounds but it’ll only ever feel like that because you actively choose to stop remembering them, to stop honouring their memory within your heart, stop remembering their love and stop seeing them in everything they’ve touched, that’s when you know true loneliness. But your brother is still here,’ Hobie then brought one of your hands and pressed it against your chest to where your heart lied.

‘He’s right here and he will always be here, I will always be here for you in the moments you seemed to have lost your fighting spirit, to loose the willpower to keep going because I’ll happily carry you on my back until you do because that’s what we do, not only as Spider-Men but humans also. It’s practically in our nature.’ Just as Hobie was about to pull his hand off of yours, you were quick to grasp his hand and pulled it back towards you but only to place it over your heart, pressing you own hand atop of his to keep him there. There was a lot you wanted to tell Hobie that could wait until you were in a much better situation but even then you still had a lump in your throat that hindered your ability to speak your mind freely; which never usually happens when you’re with Hobie and it seemed as though he had caught onto this as well as he smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, take your time.’

‘Will you stay with me? Just for a little while longer.’ You finally asked, racked with nervousness and anxiety as you fiddled with his fingers for his response. Hobie’s smile widens as he closed his eyes, brushing his nose against yours all the while making sure to keep you close in his embrace. ‘I’ll stay even long after you’re done needing me because I will always be standing in your corner, pretty boy.’

[roseykat]

can you maybe possibly hopefully write kitty reader with other members..? I'm more curious about your thoughts on hyung line

thank you anon! Here is hyung line and I might do a maknae line at some point to follow this one up.

(these are nsfw so read with caution)

I've mentioned Chan before with this idea but to reiterate, Chan can usually deal with her whenever she goes into heat - to a certain extent. He can tame her whenever she misbehaves such as by telling her off or setting up soft rules for her to follow - nothing harsh or drastic. But, my hard thoughts about kitty!reader and Chan are here x

Minho is a cat magnet and just has a lot of knowledge about them, their nature, behaviour, habits and whatnot. So when he and reader first met, and after she told him about her complexes to do with her anatomy, he just instantly knew and understood. There was no judgement whatsoever.

Now, Minho is physically articulate with how to 'deal' with her especially when it comes to her heat. He can't comprehend how exhausting it is for her to go through it and tries to make it as comfortable as possible and tends to her needs as much as he can - as much as his stamina can.

At times she wants to stop, to stop cumming whenever she needs to use dildos or vibrators to satiate her primal needs. Then again, Minho knows she can't help it. This is literally how she was designed. Now if it's kitty!Minho and kitty!reader, he would have her heats covered. He'd be able to handle them every day of the week, no sweat. He gives her his seed when she wants it - breeds her when she asks for it and would never get tired.

Changbin is a very observant person and every day that goes by, he learns something new about his kitty!reader. He discovers that she won't let others play with her tail, but when it comes to him it's fine. He knows that she likes being scratched lightly behind her ears and prefers to rest between his legs whenever they both get the chance.

Then at times, she can be so stubborn and doesn’t listen to him. Changbin notices that this is usually the case three or four days out from the first day of her heat to which he does his best track. She gets aggressive. Won't let him touch her, won't let him go near her space, becomes a bit irrational - but the second her heat hits, she’s all over Changbin.

He can keep up with her for a certain amount of time each day of the week and eventually gets worn out. But that still doesn't stop him from helping her. At the end of her heat, she's run to the ground and completely exhausted. That's when Changbin will pull out the best self-care methods such as running her hot baths, giving her massages to relieve her tired and sore muscles, feeding her well, and relaxing with her - all so she can come down from an incredibly tough week.

Hyunjin just loves, loves, loooooves teasing his pretty kitty!reader. He thinks she’s so cute when he does something annoying to make her hiss. For instance, he knows the most sensitive parts of her body, in particular her neck and ears, so sometimes he will just come up behind her and start kissing her neck to which she can’t help but submit to the feeling and starts melting in his arms. It’s in her nature after all.

In saying that, when it comes to her heats, Hyunjin is just as annoying if not slightly sadistic about it. He finds it interesting how antsy, clingy, handsy and horny she can get during the days where she has to claw at Hyunjin to fuck her. He makes use of her being in this state by overstimulating her until she’s crying and begging him to stop even though, anatomically speaking, she needs him to continue.

Every day throughout the week, Hyunjin has new ways of subduing her primal needs. On the occasion, he will use toys to help her. But he finds that making her cum himself, whether it’s with his fingers, mouth or cock, is much more rewarding.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Cupio dissolvi means "I wish to be dissolved" and it's typically used in a religious context, but I'm using it in the secular sense to express "such concepts as the rejection of existence and the masochistic desire for self-destruction." You can thank Wikipedia for that last bit. Enjoy the pwp. Don't fuck your psychiatrist. [ SYNOPSIS ] You reluctantly decide to tackle your personal issues and end up in the clutches of a psychiatrist with questionable methods. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, dubcon, power imbalance, sadomasochism, dacryphilia, impact play/spanking, some very brief phone sex, size kink (Zeke is bigger than you, calls you little), praise, a little predator/prey but it's mostly in the mc's head, dumbification, facial.

“Welcome. I’m Dr. Zeke Yeager. It’s nice to meet you.��

You didn’t shake his extended hand as you crossed the threshold into his office. You practically sprinted to sit down in a plush chair. You gazed straight ahead, looking past the psychiatrist. He was rendered a formless smudge, a figure unworthy of focus, as he took a seat. The wall behind him was painted a faded pink, a pathetic attempt to subdue. It reminded you of an abandoned Barbie dreamhouse.

“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” you said, words glazed with malaise.

This was the last place you wanted to be, but the only person you could blame was yourself. A brief moment of supposed clarity overwhelmed your self-destructive nature, and you made an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

“What are you hoping to get out of these sessions?” he asked.

You allowed your eyes to focus and droned, “Uhhhhhhh. Well, Dr. Yea—”

“Call me Zeke. There’s no need to be formal.”

Zeke was younger than you expected. He looked more like a high school history teacher, the kind that lets kids hang out in his classroom after school. His wavy blond hair was in perfect disarray; it was clear he put a lot of effort into looking effortless. He wore a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It fit perfectly, subtly showing off his muscled arms. He looked heavenly, like a bearded angel or Jesus himself.

Your heart was in your throat. You were always a sucker for blondes.

“I just want to feel… better?” you said cautiously, hoping you answered the question correctly.

“What does better mean to you?”

You exhaled sharply. “Less neurotic?”

“I see.”

You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer. You decided to put forth a little effort.

“Less edgy? Maybe less…” You sighed. “I feel like I’m too aware of everything. It feels like everything is happening to me all at the same time. It’s overwhelming.”

“That sounds exhausting. Tell me about a time where you felt like that.”

His tone was warm though it lacked a certain sincerity. It was clear it was a practiced action. You hoped for an individualized approach, or maybe a psychiatrist that was better at acting. It was hard not to imagine yourself on an assembly line.

“Sometimes when I’m on the bus I’ll see people running to catch it, like just going as fast as they can. And then they miss it. Seeing that will ruin my day.”

“You must be a very empathetic person.”

You shook your head. “I just hate seeing someone try so hard and fail. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s so embarrassing for them.” You paused. “I guess what really bothers me is that I let something so stupid and insignificant affect me when it has nothing to do with me. I hate that I notice that stuff. I feel like I am noticing everything against my will.”

“You poor thing.”

“And sometimes I just want to explode. Like everything becomes too much and I want to burn it all down.”

He started writing stuff down in his notebook. You wanted to kick yourself for being so honest. It was almost like you were taking it seriously.

“But I’m still a good person, you know? I just think the world is constantly trying to terrorize me so I’m always alert? It’s hard to explain.”

He put down his notebook. “I never said you weren’t a good person. Do you have a boyfriend? A partner?”

He changed the subject with a smoothness you could only describe as magnificent. If any other man had pulled that on you, you would have walked out with zero hesitation. But Zeke transfixed you.

“No. I… I’m not really into all of that.”

“Not really into all of that? Interesting. Can I ask why?”

“It’s too much pressure. No one’s expectations ever line up.”

He chuckled. “People can be very opaque about what they’re seeking. Tinder’s the worst for it.”

It was hard to imagine him on any sort of dating app. He had the face of a guy that hunts his prey in the wild. You imagined him skulking around bars, watching his potential conquests drink themselves placid. It isn’t a traditional pursuit. He just watches and waits until they’re tired and slurring every sentence and struggling to use a rideshare app. That’s when he pounces.

“I’ve heard Tinder isn’t great,” you said, shaking off your weird fantasy.

“It’s only good for hookups.”

His frankness seemed unprofessional, but this was your first appointment with a psychiatrist so what the hell did you know. Maybe things were more casual, a little looser. Maybe discussing hookups was the norm. You fought off the urge to imagine what a night with him entailed, but it haunted you. Tangled sheets. His rough hands holding you down. Your knees pressing against your shoulders as he splits you in two.

You laughed nervously. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, let’s get back to business.” He adjusted his glasses, the frames gold and intricate. “It sounds like you may be experiencing hypervigilance.”

“Huh?”

“You’re always on the lookout for potential threats. You are essentially a prey animal.”

You were almost convinced he could read your mind. You never considered yourself prey, but it was clear that he did. Your toes curled. The discomfort was of an unusual flavor. Nauseating yet gratifying.

“How’s your sleep?

“Awful, I guess.”

“You guess,” he murmured. “Why is that?”

His questions felt endless, like the appointment was going to eat up the entirety of your life.

“I can’t shut my brain off.”

He sank down into his chair and spread his legs.

“How do you cope with that?”

“I really don’t… Unless weeping counts.”

“Do you feel… relieved when you cry?” he asked, staring intently at your lips.

“Kind of.”

“How often do you cry?”

He seemed too eager as he awaited your answer.

“I don’t keep track. Should I?”

“I doubt it would help,” he confessed. “What else do you do to relieve yourself?”

You glanced down at his crotch and noticed a bulge fighting against the thin fabric of his chinos. The air was sucked out of the room. His cock lured you in, demanding you to witness its growing glory.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “Sorry.”

“I see. You seem a little combative,” he teased.

You weren’t being combative. You just couldn’t answer his questions thoughtfully on the spot. You weren’t prepared. You hadn’t planned on taking the appointment seriously. Time was needed to manifest something meaningful.

“You seem,”—you coughed nervously—“accusatory.”

He smirked. “Normally I’d refer someone like you to a therapist, but I can’t think of one equipped to deal with you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. After some consideration I’ve decided my counseling would be beneficial. I’m going to send you off with some homework.”

You assumed your days of homework were far behind you.

“Do you masturbate?”

“I do not feel comfortable answering that.”

“It’s a simple question. You either do or you don’t.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just trust me.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Fine. We talked about what you do to relieve yourself, right?” You went to answer but he cut you off. “I think masturbating will provide immense relief.”

“Well… I do already,” you huffed. “So I don’t think it’s helping much.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest creature he had ever seen.

“You need to masturbate with intention.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to explain without me knowing what you’re doing wrong, which is why I need you to record yourself.”

A wet spot bloomed in your underwear.

“A voice recording is fine,” he acquiesced.

“Yeah, sure, okay. I’ll get right on that,” you said getting up.

You turned your back to him and quickly made your way to the door. The sound of his feet hitting the ground startled you as you went to turn the knob. Your brief moment of hesitation gave him enough time to grab you by the shoulder. The weight of his hand was disarming.

“I want to see you again next week, same time,” he said as he turned you around, your back against the door.

Your face was hot. “I’m not—”

“I promise I’m not taking advantage of you. My methods are proven to work,” he said, slipping his business card into your back pocket.

“So you pull this with all the girls?” you spat.

“The boys too.”

His conviction stirred up the whispers of ardor you tried to keep buried. His breath was clouded by a nauseating combination of espresso and tobacco, though the grime began to entice. You could feel the heat of his body against yours. You wanted to pull him closer so you could melt away into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t initiate something so brazen. You never had the guts for forwardness. And you liked to pretend you knew better.

“How progressive,” you finally choked out.

“I realize that this seems unorthodox and I don’t blame you for resisting.” He played with a piece of your hair. “If you value your mental health, you’ll trust me. Do I look like someone that would lead you astray?”

Kind of, you thought to yourself.

Your hesitation was palpable. He looked like he could practically taste it. He softened his gaze. It could have been a guilt trip, or just a half-assed attempt to assure you he had your best interests in mind.

“What if I don’t want to do it this way?”

“Then I might not be the right person to help you.”

You sighed. His methods did not seem trustworthy; they seemed like something ripped from a gross subreddit. HOT DOCTOR TRICKS DUMB BITCH PATIENT INTO PHONE SEX. You struggled to fully divorce the degradation from the situation. Being that dumb bitch patient was growing on you. It wove itself into your skin, becoming a part of you.

“Fine,” you replied. “But I’m not recording myself.”

“What if you call me?”

“In the middle of it?”

“Yes.”

“I…”

“C’mon. It’s not like I’m a predator. I’m your doctor.”

You wanted to trust him, but you thought about how easy it would be to use as leverage against you. A three hour deep dive video about revenge porn echoed through your mind. Opening yourself up to potential humiliation made you ill.

“I’ll call you. Maybe. I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He backed away. “Even if you don’t, try not to miss next week’s appointment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you."

You laughed, but failed to say anything. You slipped out the door and tried to convince yourself to give up working on yourself. Maybe you could get by living in a state of constant hypervigilance.

That night you crawled into bed, vibrator in hand. A life filled with hypervigilance sounded atrocious.

You stared up at the ceiling, your toy vibrating against your thigh on the lowest setting. It felt late, but you couldn’t check the time. You made a conscious effort to put your phone far away from your bed. You decided to humor Zeke, but you weren’t allowing yourself to call him in the midst of touching yourself.

You sighed and gripped your vibrator. You spread your legs and began to graze the inside of your labia with the tip. Normally you’d pull up Twitter and scroll mindlessly until a video of a hairy guy violently fucking a girl half his size popped up, but that wasn’t an option. You tried to imagine someone crawling between your legs, eyes dripping with lust as they work their fingers between your folds. You kept having to start over because your fantasy was plagued with your bearded fixation. The constant interruptions did little to entice you.

You pressed your vibrator against your clit. You fiddled with the settings until it was a series of long, hard pulses. You rutted up against it trying to unwind and give into pleasure. But you kept fighting off visions of Zeke rolling his tongue against your cunt. You wondered what his beard would feel like between your thighs. You wanted to know if he kept his glasses on because it seemed like leaving them on would be hotter.

You let out a dejected “fuck.”

You rolled over onto your side and stared at your phone. You wanted it to invoke disgust, disdain, but all it did was lure you out of bed. You rifled through your hamper to find your jeans. You fished his card out of your pocket. It had a goofy head shot of him and the number for his office which frustrated you to no end. You flipped it over and saw another number hastily scrawled on the back. You sighed in relief and called him.

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh. Hello.” His voice was still tinged with sleep, but much warmer. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m happy you called. How are things going?”

“They’re… not. I can’t get in the mood.”

“Hm. You didn’t mention struggling with that during your appointment.”

“I usually don’t,” you grumbled.

He laughed. “How are you struggling? Lead me through your process.”

You swallowed hard. “I, you know, try to… imagine something, but I keep thinking about things… I don’t, um, want to think about.”

“Like what? Violence? Your family? Animals?”

“What? No! A man! A human man.”

“Your father is a human man presumably.”

“I’m not thinking about my dad!”

“It’s more common than you think.”

You were starting to regret calling him. “It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Really?” The word dripped with amusement. “I can’t imagine why that’s a problem.”

“Well, it is.”

“Jeez, what did I ever do to you?” he snickered.

“I didn’t call you to get teased.”

He coughed nervously. “I’m sorry. I can’t help myself when I’m dealing with someone as precious as you, but that’s my problem. Not yours.”

“You think I’m cute?”

You weren’t surprised by this revelation, but wanted to draw out more praise.

“I do. You’re so adorable I can’t stand it.”

“You can’t stand it?”

“Uh huh,” he replied. “I hear that sweet voice of yours and all I can think about is fucking you so hard you cry. Would you like that?”

His words knocked the wind out of you. He said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather or what he ate for dinner.

“Or I could fuck you so hard you stop thinking. I’ll just have you be my adorable idiot I take care of.” He paused. “Come to think of it, that might help with the hypervigilance.”

He said it so thoughtfully it was almost kind of sweet. You were at a loss for words.

“Say something. Anything.”

“I would like that. Both. Uh. Both would be great.”

You smacked yourself in the forehead for being so unsexy.

“You sound nervous.”

“I am, but I think I like it.”

“Oh good,”—he sighed in relief—“because my cock is so hard right now and I’d feel like a pervert if you weren’t into this.”

“You’re still a pervert,” you said, putting your phone on speaker.

“Why don’t you tell this pervert what you’d want him to do to you?”

You flopped back down on your bed, resting your phone on your pillow, and patted around for your vibrator. You wracked your brain, desperate to think of something sufficiently sexy to say.

“I want,”—you hesitated—“I want you to ruin me. For other people. I want you to do something so disgusting to me that no one else will want to touch me.”

“Is that so?” he purred. “Tell me more, cutie pie.”

“I like it when it hurts.” You winced. You were never great at dirty talk, but Zeke seemed to enjoy it. You heard him let out a pleased groan. “A lot,” you added.

“Do you want me to hurt you, my little masochist?” he asked, voice catching in his throat.

“Yes,” you said as your fingers grazed your cunt.

You heard him try to stifle a moan before going silent.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this,” he finally said.

You held the vibrator against your clit. Each pulse permeated your body. “What?”

“Where do you live? We can worry about masturbating later. I need to fuck you.”

You sat up. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Sex brings people together. It’ll make it easier to open up to me.”

He was just finding ways to rationalize his desires. You never expected him to want you so desperately, especially if this was something he pulled often. That should have turned you off, but all it did was make you want him more. It was borderline idiotic to invite a strange man into your home. But there was no better feeling than the ecstasy of self destruction. You relished his red flags.

“Come on. I need to taste your pussy. I’m starving.”

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, but you have to send me a picture of your dick first.”

Zeke hung up immediately. A minute later he texted you a dick pick. You stared at the screen, bewitched by his cock. It was thick and long, almost beastly. The foreskin was pulled back revealing a pink tip, shiny with precum. You sent him your address without a second thought.

I live 10 mins away from you. How perfect, he replied.

Those ten minutes took their sweet time. You stood there, staring at the door. It was as if you were in a trance. You couldn’t wait for him to walk through your door and your heart sang when he finally knocked.

“Hi,” you said, eyes full of stars.

He smirked. “Hey, cutie pie.”

He wore a fitted t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that failed to hide his semi-hard cock. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

“I’m assuming I can’t smoke inside.”

“I, uh, I guess it’s fine.”

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and carefully extinguished the cherry with his foot. He patted your head as he glided through the door. He didn’t seem nervous at all. His motions were relaxed, fluid, effortless. Twinges of jealousy pricked your skin. You still wanted him, still elated that he was standing in your home. But your brain started moving a thousand miles a second.

Was your place sufficiently clean? Did he bring condoms? Did you want him to wear one? Was he using you? Did he need you as bad as he was acting? Were you just a convenience? Did your room smell nice? Should you light a candle? What if you lit a candle and something caught fire while you’re fucking? Would you stop? What if you kept fucking and burned to death? Isn’t there something sexy about letting it all turn to ash? Could this be why orgasms are called little deaths? Did you remember to take your birth control? What if he has lung cancer and then breathes cancer into your mouth?

“Cancer’s not contagious,” you whispered to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you chirped, quickly stripping yourself naked before following after him.

You found him undressing in your room. You could barely contain yourself when he pulled his shirt over his head. His body was toned, but soft. He caught you staring and smiled awkwardly. It quelled the thoughts racing around your brain.

He got on your bed, resting on his knees. His eyes went to your vibrator.

“Aw, you really were trying,” he teased and patted the bed. “Come here. Ass up.”

You wasted no time getting into position and arched your back. He slipped his fingers into your cunt all the way up to his knuckles. He slowly pulled them out and let out a delighted hum.

He leaned over you, his beard tickling your ear. “Fucking incredible,” he murmured. “You’re going to be the one that gets me in trouble. I know it.”

He slid his cock into your cunt. You dug your fingers into the mattress as he pushed it further in. He took his time, making sure you felt every single inch of him filling you. Normally penetration didn’t do much for you. All it did was stress you out. You’d tense up and render yourself unfuckable. But Zeke was different.

He cared about you.

He had concerns regarding your mental health.

His dick was huge.

He didn’t show you any mercy. Each thrust drove his cock against your cervix. Waves of pain washed over you, the anguish further obscuring your issues. The relief was a welcomed affliction. You dug your fingers deeper into the mattress and gritted your teeth.

“You said you like it when it hurts, right?”

“Ye—yeah,” you stuttered as he continued to plunge his cock in your cunt.

He slapped your ass. The pain shot through you and you moaned. Just as soon as the sting subsided, he slapped you again. It made your heart swell. You felt like it was creeping up your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as your ecstatic moans swelled.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to crane your neck back.

“I knew you’d be a pretty crier.”

His praise made you ecstatic. “Make me cry more.”

He pushed your head down into the mattress and fucked you harder. You went limp. All you could do was whimper and let your orgasm overtake you. Your entire body was throbbing, singing with agony and exaltation. When he pulled out, his cock was slick with your fluids.

“Roll over.”

“Huh?”

He laughed and flipped you over with ease. You stared up at him in a daze. The world was still spinning around you. He started to stroke himself, his breathing labored and depraved.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he choked out.

You shut your eyes and stuck out your tongue, eager to drink in every drop of his cum. His desperate groans made your clit throb. You were burning up, the anticipation coursing through your veins.

“Fuck!” he rasped as cum splattered on your face.

You opened your eyes as he rubbed the tip of his cock on your tongue. You felt so small in his shadow, his body looming over yours. He stared down at you, his expression a little cold, a little clinical.

“So how do you feel?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I… Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know. Good. I just—I can’t really talk right now.”

You were inarticulate in the shadow of your orgasm. Your brain existed elsewhere.

He frowned. “Alright. I have a lot of questions for you in the morning. I know you haven’t been in treatment long but I think we’re close to a breakthrough.”

[adamcoled]

jealousy | rhea ripley

rhea ripley x fem!reader

summary: you and rhea aren’t anything official, but you’re still jealous upon seeing her flirt with others. 

word count: 3,838

warnings: just slight sexual implications i think?

a/n: WOW um okay hi, i haven’t posted writing on this blog in YEARS but i recently got fully back into wrestling and have developed such a love for rhea ripley. so i decided to start writing again, but it’s been so long this definitely isn’t my best work. here’s to getting back into the swing of things i hope! (also i know samantha is engaged to ricochet and ofc all of it is just character work, but it made for a good plot soo)

Rhea was a flirt. That much was true long before you, and it was certainly not a secret to most. She had the charm, and of course the looks, so people were naturally drawn to her, and she loved that. Flirting, to her, was fun – harmless fun, for the most part – and typically it never went beyond cheeky comments or tantalizing gestures.

So when Rhea began flirting with you, initially you didn’t think much of it and really had no reason to. She was attractive – incredibly attractive – and her voice could melt you instantly if you let it; but this was just her thing. At first, you would catch her staring at you backstage or at other company events. Then, she started making it a point to tell you how beautiful you looked each time she saw you. From there, you were texting a lot more and hanging out outside of schedule. But still, it was never anything official and they were never labeled as “dates,” which you internally hated yourself for forgetting.

Because now, you were jealous. A fiery red jealousy that had you feeling betrayed without the entitlement to do so. For some reason, you thought things seemed different between you and Rhea. She seemed more serious and attentive, even remembering small details you’d told her about things you enjoyed. You couldn’t imagine she did that for just anyone she happened to flirt with.

Yet there you were last night, scrolling through Twitter and seeing endless posts about Rhea and Samantha. Rhea was being her usual flirty self, smiling, blowing kisses, and surely winking beneath those glasses, and it was obvious Samantha was enjoying it. Even worse, there were also comment threads with Cathy, and you knew it was all lighthearted, but it still made you feel some type of way.

You liked Rhea. A lot actually. Maybe that’s why you wanted to believe she liked you too and treated you differently from the rest. Clearly, you were wrong. And you weren’t going to be strung along in a game or play along with silly flirting when you genuinely hoped for more with her. That’s why now that she was here in front of you, you were going to be as indifferent as possible.

“Hey pretty girl,” Rhea greeted, smile beaming as always. She had finally found you backstage after you’d made it a point to not respond to some of her texts. It didn’t seem like she was too upset or phased by that judging by the greeting she’d given you.

“Hey,” you responded with only a half-smile of your own. That was something she definitely picked up on, because you swore you’d never seen her face fall faster.

“Are you alright?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dropping your attention back to your phone. Usually, she would have your full focus, but you were making every attempt to emphasize your feigned disinterest. “I’m fine, what’s up?” 

Rhea used her thumb and forefinger to grip your chin and tilt it upwards, forcing your gaze towards her rather than your phone screen. Hastily, she studied your face as if she would be able to read your thoughts merely by doing so; with her eyes looking you over so intently, you felt your face heating up quickly. 

“You seem off,” she finally commented, her finger tracing along your jawline from your chin before finally dropping back down to her side. You immediately missed the feeling of her touch against your skin, but that was something you would have to subdue. One thing you noticed was that Rhea seemed genuinely concerned, her eyebrows downturned and the smile she always wore - around you at least - nowhere in sight. 

“No, Rhea, I’m really okay,” you shrugged. 

“Then why are you acting like you can’t wait to get away from me?” 

Her bluntness shouldn’t have come as a shock to you, but you were still taken aback when she asked so outright. While she usually oozed confidence, that seemed to be lost now. And it almost made you think you had been right about the two of you all along. But then you remembered how content she looked in those videos with Samantha, and how easily she could flirt with someone else when you had secretly been turning down advances in hopes there would be a real chance at a relationship between you and Rhea. 

“I’m not acting like that. I really don’t care if you’re around or not,” you lied, and it was meant to sound nonchalant and unbothered but you silently cursed yourself for making it come out more aggressively. 

“You don’t care?” she repeated incredulously, almost in disbelief of how drastically you changed. Just a few days ago, you were telling her how much you adored her smile with her head in your lap. Now, she couldn’t figure out why you wanted nothing to do with her - and it was crushing her. 

“Listen, can we please talk about this later? The show’s about to start and the Judgment Day is up first, I don’t want you thinking about this out there.” 

“Are we really gonna talk later?” Rhea questioned. “Or is that your cop out to avoid it altogether?”

And you hated her for knowing you so well, because it was partially your dread of the conversation. Still, you didn’t think it was a good idea to have it right before she was slated to go speak in front of thousands of people. At this point, she was frowning, yet still staring right through you. 

“We’ll talk,” you promised.

“I have your word? Whatever’s going on is important to me. It really is, Y/N.” 

The resolve of indifference you had was all but faded upon hearing how sincerely Rhea cared. You didn’t want to be just another game for her, but it was proving far too difficult for you to ignore your internal feelings. And she looked too pretty standing there, worried about you and looking at you in a way that made you feel naked beneath her eyes. Not in a sexually demanding way - not in the way too many people do - but in a way where you felt like she saw your very soul. 

“Find me after the show?” you asked. “I’ll let you take me back to the hotel. Can’t exactly hide from my ride.” 

You finally smiled wholeheartedly after making that joke, and Rhea had never been so happy to see a smile before. For a moment, she felt like everything was fine. 

“Yeah, I’ll find you, angel.”

-

From backstage, you watched as Rhea walked out with the Judgment Day and cut a promo just as good as any other, if not better. It was impossible to tell the kind of conversation you two had shortly beforehand, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t sure you could remain as unphased as her, and seeing as you had a match tonight as well, you made it a point to avoid any further interactions with her during show hours. Busying yourself with your phone, Rhea still found a way to affect you when you saw her name flash across the top of your screen, indicating a text. 

From: rhea :) 

Good luck tonight ❤️

Half inclined to simply leave her on delivered, you hesitantly opened it and sent back a “thanks.” Following the Judgment Day’s segment, the rest of the show seemed to go by quickly, your own match fast approaching. While you were waiting in gorilla to make your entrance, you saw flashes of jet black hair out of the corner of your eye. A subtle glance over revealed it to be Rhea, naturally, standing there talking with Damian. Call it coincidence, or - the more likely case - call it Rhea’s tendency to be methodical with her actions. And like clockwork, her eyes met your own, leaving you no time to look away before she was grinning at you slyly. You thought perhaps her getting into character in front of the WWE Universe took away much of the previous unease and disappointment she felt during your earlier conversation. Because before, she seemed well and truly worried about the state of you, and you were sure she still was to some extent, but now her confidence had returned. 

You had hardly any time to process it before you had to walk out, your theme hitting just as Rhea set her focus back on the man in front of her. That stupid, beautiful smile you thought to yourself. Right now, though, you needed to worry about your match against Zoey Stark, especially since you knew Rhea would be watching attentively. 

Once the match began, you fell right back into your element. Zoey was a fierce opponent, but you had a fire beneath you and after a well-fought match on both sides, you came out victorious. You were feeling extremely proud of both yours and Zoey’s performance and partially hoped Rhea had watched the whole thing.

(She absolutely did). 

Returning backstage, you noticed Rhea was now nowhere in sight. Your match was towards the last hour of Raw, however, which meant you wouldn’t have much time to kill before you’d have to meet up with her anyways. Thankfully, you found Liv, one of your closest friends on the roster, and knew you could spend the remaining time talking with her about anything and everything - the primary topic of discussion being you and Rhea.

“It’s just like, I think things are different with me and her,” you began, to which Liv nodded in agreement. “But then I see how she acts with other people, and I’m not so sure. Am I being delusional for thinking that way?” 

“You’d be delusional if you thought otherwise! The girl is a flirt, sure, but she practically fawns over you at any given moment and is always asking about you,” Liv countered. All too often, she’d be the one Rhea would come to when she wanted to find out your whereabouts, as if Liv had a constant read on you at all times. You knew that to be true, but it still wasn’t total reassurance.

“You’re right, I guess. And I kinda told her I’d ride with her to the hotel so we could talk, sooo,” you revealed.

“I thought we were riding together?” Liv questioned, only slightly upset to be losing her driving buddy. If she had to make that sacrifice to advance things between you and Rhea, she’d accept it wholeheartedly. Just as you opened your mouth to apologize, someone else’s voice interrupted. A certain Australian accent. 

“I’m sorry, did I steal Y/N away for the night?” Rhea quipped, placing her hand on the small of your back where Liv wouldn’t see. 

“Actually, I’m willingly handing her over so that you two can figure your mess out.” 

“Well, thank you so very much for that,” Rhea smiled, seeming genuinely appreciative. She redirected her attention from Liv to you. “Told you I’d find ya. You ready to go?” 

You glanced down at your phone, not even realizing how much time had passed with you and Liv chatting. The show was nearing the end, and Rhea already had her bag by her side, meanwhile you hadn’t even gotten your stuff together yet.

“I gotta go get my stuff real quick. You wanna wait here for me? I’ll be quick.”

“I can wait,” Rhea nodded, to which you took off with a promise to be no more than ten minutes. Once you were out of earshot, Liv had a few comments for the taller, raven-haired woman.

“I hope you do right by her.”

“Didn’t realize I’d done wrong,” Rhea retorted, confusedly. “...Have I done wrong?” 

Liv only shrugged, though she really did believe Rhea was unaware of how she’d unintentionally hurt you. “Nothing that can’t be fixed, I think.” 

“Liv,” Rhea started, her face becoming more serious. “I really like her.” 

“Then make sure she knows that.” 

- 

When you gathered everything and found your way back to Rhea, Liv was long gone and Rhea was leaned against the wall, her eyes shifted down and transfixed on her phone as she absentmindedly scrolled through Twitter. She looked too good even just standing there in her own world. But before you could admire her for much longer, she heard you approaching and glanced up from her phone, shoving it into her pocket immediately upon realizing it was you.

“Ready now, princess?”

The nickname rolled off her tongue so easily, yet it had your cheeks heating up within seconds. You nodded, following behind as she led the way to her car. Outside, she popped the trunk for each of you to toss your bags inside, and then she made sure to open the passenger door for you as well; it was the little gestures like that that made your heart flutter and your feelings for her to grow even stronger. 

“Well, I just wanna start by saying you were amazing tonight,” Rhea complimented once she had settled into the driver’s seat. 

“Thank you,” you giggled. “You watched it?” 

“From start to finish, like always.”

She diverted her attention from the road towards you for a moment, taking notice of how much your face lit up after hearing that. And it wasn’t like she was lying just to make you feel good, either, because she did genuinely watch you each time you stepped into the ring, and she admired you heavily. 

“I don’t believe you,” you laughed, although you only slightly meant that. 

“I’m serious! Ask Damian or Dom, they’ll vouch,” Rhea exclaimed, pushing her hair back as she did. You weren’t quite sure what to say now, because one, you were feeling quite flustered knowing this, and two, you could only ignore the real reason you were sat in her car for so long. She took note of your silence and decided to tackle the subject head-on, a brazen move from her as always. “You don’t seem like you hate my guts now, at least.” 

You rolled your eyes and chuckled at this. 

“You’re being dramatic. I never acted like I hated you.” 

“Slightly detested my presence?” she tried again, clearly joking at this point. While things seemed so perfect in this moment, you couldn’t help but think back to everything you’d seen flooding your Twitter timeline and how silly you’d felt for being so upset by it. As much as you liked Rhea, as much as it appeared she liked you, the harmless flirting had really gotten to you and forced you to reconsider much of what you thought. You weren’t even quite sure how to ask everything you wanted to ask, and you were admittedly fearful of rejection. But the only thing worse than rejection is never knowing. 

“What do you think about me, Rhea?” 

She was taken aback by this, you could tell, because she opened her mouth to speak several times but didn’t let any words out. To her, it was because she didn’t really know how to put it into words; there were so many things she thought about you, so many ways you made her feel, but it had been a confusing thing for her to navigate, unsure of your own feelings.

“I think you’re incredible, amazing in the ring, beautiful and kind but still assertive and badass,” she answered, hoping she’d said all the right things. Truthfully, that was only a small fraction of what she thought regarding you, but she was still holding back. Liv’s words repeated in her head, and she knew if she didn’t make it clear tonight, she may never get that chance again. 

“And what do you think about someone like Samantha, or Cathy?” 

You had caught her off guard again, the randomness of your question completely perplexing her. She hadn’t a clue why either of those two would be relevant, because - in her eyes - she had already basically forgotten the silly interactions they’d had. It still hadn’t pieced together in her mind that you were even the slightest bit jealous. 

“They’re great,” she stated plainly. “Why?”

It was really now or never, you felt like. You had fed her pieces of the story, now she definitely wouldn’t stop until you told her everything, which undoubtedly included your own feelings. Rhea was focused primarily on the road, but she made sure to spare glances your way every so often, and each time you arrived at a red light, that focus was solely on you. She wanted to both try to read your expression and show you she was really, truly listening and wanting to hear what you had to say.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous,” you confessed.

“Jealous?” she repeated, even more confused now than before. But she noticed the way you retreated into yourself, suddenly finding more interest in your fingers. You could no longer look her in the eye, feeling nervous about the information you’d now divulged. This certainly didn’t deter Rhea, though, as she placed her right hand on your thigh and traced light circles with her thumb. “Why were you jealous?”

“I don’t know…it was dumb, I guess. I just saw the videos of you and Samantha, and then Cathy’s Tweets, and it made me feel like everything is just a game to you.” 

Her thumb movement stopped, and instead she squeezed your thigh lightly, causing you to lift your head back up to look at her. She was already looking right back, admiring how beautiful you looked with the moonlight creeping into the car and a shyness about you she wasn’t used to. 

“You’re right, that is dumb,” she affirmed. “Because do you think I know Samantha or Cathy’s top three favorite movies? Or their specific Starbucks order? The way they like their pizza? Do you think I’ve memorized all those things for anyone other than you?” 

Before you could answer, Rhea moved her fingers to your wrist and asked you to push up your sleeve, which you did. She tapped directly on a birthmark of yours without even looking. 

“Do you think I know each of their freckles and birthmarks?” 

You were dumbfounded, at a loss for words with how much she really noticed about you. And that was only scratching the surface. While your flirtation had only started within the last few months, she had known you for years and had plenty of time to take notice of all these little things no one else would. Because she always had a soft spot for you, but you were in a long-term relationship for most of the time you’d known her, and she would never be one to overstep any boundaries. 

“I just felt hurt thinking I may be falling for someone who only sees me as another person to mess around with,” you told her, taking note of how gentle her eyes were in this moment. She felt awful that she had hurt you, even unintentionally, and cursed herself for not being more aware and mindful. You weren’t committed to each other, but she still felt like she had made a mistake engaging in any kind of behavior that would make her feelings for you seem misguided. 

“Y/N, I promise you how I interact with just about anyone else is entirely me in character,” she comforted. “I’m sorry for making you second guess that, but I’ve never felt realer emotions than I do with you. It’s like I can be me, just me. And I love that you make me feel that way.”

“I love when you’re just you, Rhea.” 

“Then I’ll keep being just me, if I can start calling you just mine.” 

Rhea was undoubtedly nervous asking you so boldly, but she was so damn happy to do so. She was staring at you hopefully, looking happier than you’d seen her since her WrestleMania win. And you were just as happy, not even realizing you had gotten to the hotel and had been parked for a minute or two now. Your entire focus was on her, eyes filled with adoration while she waited for your answer.

“I’ve basically been yours, I just needed you to be mine,” you beamed. 

“I’m yours, love,” Rhea affirmed. “You are so damn beautiful.” 

You wanted to instinctively look away, still feeling flustered even after the months of flirting and now technically being in a defined relationship. But Rhea knew you too well and gripped your chin before you could do so, keeping your face towards hers. Neither of you could get rid of the smiles you wore, too overwhelmed with happiness and adoration and love. 

“Can I kiss you?” Rhea asked, eyes darting from your own to your lips. You nodded, and that was all it took for her to be all over you. Her lips melted into your own, and everything felt so right. Each time you pulled away, you were reconnected within seconds, physically unable to keep apart, both of you awaiting this moment for too long. You felt her smiling into the kiss, which in turn made you smile, and then you were two smiling, giggly messes. Finally, she pulled away for good (but not without one final peck) and laughed when she saw you pouting. She opened her door and made her way to yours hastily, scooping you out of your seat before you could even react. Then, you were pinned against the car with your legs around her waist. 

“I’ll take you to your room?” she offered, placing feathery kisses along your jaw. 

“My room?” 

She laughed at how offended you sounded. “Our room?”

“Mhmm,” you confirmed. “You’re not getting away from me now, Ripley.”

You unhooked your legs from her waist and she carefully released her hold, allowing you to plant your feet back onto the solid ground. She followed you to the back of the car, popping open the trunk; you leaned forward to reach your bag, and Rhea - sly as ever - took this opportunity to smack your ass, only light enough to be a tease. Once you’d grabbed your bag and stood straight up, she was smirking, all too aware of her actions. 

“Now why would I want to get away from you, baby?” 

From then on, you both knew you’d be stuck with each other, practically inseparable and surely obnoxiously in love around all your friends - which they didn’t really mind, because seeing you so happy together was more than worth it. Rhea made sure to tone down her persona a bit out of respect for you, even though you reassured her you didn’t mind too much now knowing she was yours at the end of the day. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were more elated to scroll through your socials and see videos of interactions between you and Rhea rather than her and anyone else; and it definitely helped that she loved letting the cameras know you were hers.

[hwnglx]

another anon's request <𝟑

txt's turn on's and turn off's

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

yeonjun

turn on's > popular and well-liked > even-tempered -> doesn't get riled up or offended easily > knows their place and doesn't overstep any lines -> good manners and knows how to behave according to the situation > curious about him -> shows clear interest in him, has all their attention on him > a lot of compliments, flattering, talking about how outstanding and special he is > flirts in a very direct manner (he feels drawn to people who aren't afraid to be honest about their interest with him) > don't hate me for saying this lol but he likes people who are “worse” or less talented than him because it feeds his ego (he can get insecure when someone overtakes him at something he's extremely ambitious about)

turn off's > has an inflated ego without being able to back it up with the necessary skill (they're all talk with no substance behind it) > doesn't know how to control their energy and oversteps boundaries, offends people a lot (especially verbally) > keeps bragging about themselves and triggering his insecurities -> makes themselves look better than him, pushes his buttons and damages his ego > obsessed about controlling him or putting certain rules on him (treating him like he's supposed to subdue) > takes life too seriously, is very uptight or conservative > too cautious and scared of doing things all the time -> doesn't know how to have fun

soobin

turn on's > capable of carrying responsibilities in a graceful and easy manner -> does everything they need to do and doesn't get stressed out easily > commands attention and knows how to make people listen to them > has an exact plan for their life and takes pride in knowing what they want -> doesn't allow external forces or opinions to influence their life path > introspective and reflective about their own actions -> acts with integrity and self-awareness > rigid workaholic, truly enjoys working (he'd feel fueled to put in more effort into his own work and would get inspired and encouraged by their diligence)

turn off's > too cold and detached > too different to him (he needs some sort of alignment in values and something to bond over, otherwise he just finds it awkward and sees it as a bad match) > tbh, he finds it difficult to connect to foreigners and prefers korean people, just because he thinks they'd naturally understand his perspective and values in relationships better > doesn't feel the need to improve and just remains stuck in the same place (he thinks you can always upgrade yourself) > gets afraid of conflict and doesn't know how to assert themselves > too indecisive and has no idea what they want (keeps being influenced by others)

beomgyu

turn on's > independent and content on their own -> doesn't appear to be in need of anyone and just does their own thing without caring about others > soft and sensitive-hearted people (he likes this co-existence of being very hard-working and diligent while being a softie deep inside. also is incredibly emotional himself, so he subconsciously feels drawn to people of similar nature) > very ambitious and active in their pursuit of their goals (but isn't "in your face" about it, like they don't feel the need to show their achievements off to everyone) > carries a lot of inner strength and resilience > doesn't call everyone “friend” but deeply cares & cherishes the ones they do -> selective about who they get close to

(can i just say miss winter fits this man's type like a glove, i kept seeing her in my mind's eye and literally couldn't get her off my mind. he's still obsessed with her lol)

turn off's > doesn't care about anyone and keeps detaching themselves emotionally > doesn't have their priorities straight and keeps juggling between different people (like they have several people they're talking to, don't make things clear for any of them and keep leading everyone on. he wants to feel special!) > keeps neglecting and letting down their loved ones -> struggles with keeping a connection happy and stable > overly concerned and worried about people's perception -> obsessed about always making a good impression on everyone (like someone who takes 20 hours to doll up, keeps wanting to take pics for insta everywhere, things like that. he prefers more natural and laidback people)

taehyun

turn on's > deep thinkers and mysterious > very transformative and challenges you to change -> has a powerful effect on you (someone who makes you rethink certain opinions and lingers in your mind for a while) > has this aura of “perfection” to them -> very put together all the time (he'd feel intrigued and get curious about getting to know them beyond the facade) > turns out to be very sociable and nicer than people think (someone who has an intimidating first impression but is actually very friendly) > knows how to party and have a good time > doesn't get emotionally attached to people much -> is more casual and laid back about their connections

turn off's > too obsessed about their own goals with no consideration for anyone else > extremely stubborn and fixed in their ways -> inable to relax and just allow things to flow > literally a virgo mars (their need to constantly plan everything to a T would drive him crazy) > keeps criticising him and is never satisfied with anything > but also isn't direct or honest with him and avoids confrontation (he can mostly tell when someone pretends to be pleased when they truly aren't) > avoids and is scared of negative emotions and reality -> runs away from things that makes them uncomfortable > keeps being stuck in their gloomy and sad world (he'd think it's annoying and kills the fun for everyone)

huening kai

turn on's > very different to him (looks, personality, cultural background, language, etc.) > an underdog (this is so cute, he feels drawn to people no one seems to root for. like he feels for them and wants to support them even more) > generous people who don't want anything in return > has a joyful and beautiful connection to their family (also sees their close friends as family and puts a lot of value into keeping their connections happy and stable) > has strong opinions and is good at asserting themselves in a direct manner (isn't scared of confrontation and will defend themselves plus their loved ones with no hesitation) > good at arguing and standing their ground (he just thinks it's impressive when a person doesn't get intimidated and always finds the right words to justify themselves) > charming and charismatic -> naturally draws attention to themselves

turn off's > too inexperienced or immature in relationships (he himself can get kinda awkward still so being with someone similar to him just wouldn't work) > keeps sending mixed signals and doesn't communicate or express themselves directly (he feels like he'd go insane trying to figure them out, it'd make him very insecure) > too arrogant and cocky -> puts themselves above everyone > doesn't know how to give in or accept defeat -> too proud to admit they're wrong or messed up > is very indecisive and unsure what they want -> never really forms an opinion and just stays neutral about everything

[bluemooniegif]

Sorry if you have already talked about this but do you think Dazai’s bandages are to cover sh scars or something like that or something else like a traumatic injury. I have always assumed it was sh but my friend pointed out that he has said repeatedly he doesn’t like pain. Idk but thoughts would be appreciated :)

I have definitely talked about this before, but I forgot where or when, so let's go for round two!

CW for Dazai-typical suicide & self harm mentions

The fact that Dazai's bandages are such an obvious part of his character design, yet are rarely discussed, is absolutely intentional. As far as I remember, they're never even mentioned in the anime (except for moments such as when Chuuya calls him a walking waste of bandages), so it makes a lot of sense for everyone to be curious about what lies underneath.

Most people's minds go directly to self-harm scars, because duh, Osamu Dazai is the poster boy for mental illness. But then we think, wait... he doesn't like pain? He bitches and moans about it so much, in fact, that it casts a lot of doubt over the idea, and we end up back at square one.

Could it be because of No Longer Human? So he doesn't accidentally touch someone and activate his ability? This is honestly one of my favourite headcanons ever, and very plausible, considering that we don't actually know all that much about how NLH works... like why is it that Dazai can't control when it activates, for example? Everyone else can activate and subdue theirs, so it's got to have something to do with the fact that NLH is an anti-ability.

ANYWAY. Despite all this, there is actually an explanation of what he's hiding under there! It exists within the first few pages of Dark Era, but wasn't included in the anime adaptation. It's such an offhanded, throwaway thing, I don't blame people for missing it (side note: I wanna take the opportunity to remind you that Dark Era is mostly written from Oda's perspective!)

So yes, this is solid proof that there are scars he's hiding under there, but the question then becomes how he got them. We get a few examples on the following page:

Now, this is so ridiculous it's funny, and teetering on the edge of impracticality. If you've read No Longer Human, you'll immediately recognise this as clowning- Dazai is purposefully acting this way to detract from the seriousness of the situation. While yes, he's talking about serious injuries, and even admits to trying to kill himself, he does it in such a way that you just want to laugh.

So can we take these claims seriously? Is Dazai telling the full truth? There's no way for us to know, at this stage. But here are our options:

He is telling the truth, nothing more or less

He's partially telling the truth: owning up to the injuries, but not exactly how he got them

He's lying about the injuries and how he got them

Honestly, I think we can write off the third option, because the way Oda talks about his scars in the beginning makes me think he's perhaps seen some of them before. This makes sense when we consider The Day I Picked Up Dazai, in particular.

There's also something to be said about the nature of Dazai's job; I think it'd be remis of me not to mention it when Oda does. How much is he actually expected to put himself in harm's way? How much unnecessary danger does he put himself in- how much of this is actually self-harm? We may never know, but it's interesting to think about!

[originalfatfiction]

All the World's a Stage

I was your typical drama-geek, though a lot more subdued—hopefully. I prayed I wasn’t as obnoxious as those kids on TV shows about high school students. I wasn’t constantly giving long monologues about the idiocy of mainstream culture or strumming a guitar singing covers of Bruno Mars songs. I just highly valued theater as an art form. Man, that seemed kind of pretentious, but it was true! As lame as it may have sounded, theater was honestly my life. I had been in every production since freshman year—the fall plays, winter dramas, and spring musicals. 

Sure, I was a good student, but that wasn’t fun. And it wasn’t like I was athletic or exceedingly popular. My passion was performing on stage, no doubt about it, and it was a surprise even to myself. I didn’t talk much, and I dreaded holding conversation with people. When I was in the fall play freshman year, it was the first time many of my peers heard my voice. I will say as I’ve matured, I’ve become more willing to speak up for myself, but four years ago you couldn’t pay me to answer a question in class, even if I was a hundred percent sure of the answer. 

I worked hard as a member of the Jackson High Thespian Troupe. I was incredibly dedicated to all of our productions, and I had even gotten the lead role in two separate shows. I was hoping to get the lead in the fall play this year, which would be Of Mice and Men. It was the story of the big, lovable oaf Lennie and his cynical pal George during the Great Depression. 

The Troupe had absolutely no clue who our Lennie Small would be. Nobody in our productions stood any taller than six feet, which was nowhere near as imposing as we needed our Lennie to be. 

I was short, only about 5’6” and slim. Most of the drama crew was pretty small in terms of stature and weight. Everyone was really body conscious in the drama club. Most people didn’t outwardly speak badly of our larger members, but there was always an underlying negativity. 

I was black, mostly. My dad was half-white, but for all intents and purposes, I was black. I thankfully had some natural muscularity, so I wasn’t all skin and bones. As I’ve said, I wasn’t much of an athlete. I couldn’t do anything involving balls, bats, or racquets. Running and swimming I was okay at, but other than that I was hopeless. My dad had been crushed by the fact that I couldn’t even get a hit playing T-Ball. I’d close my eyes every time I swung the bat. I was a regular Hank Aaron (I knew he was good, but I couldn’t for the life of me tell you when he played or what team he was on. My dad loved the guy, claiming he was one of the greats). Thankfully, my younger brothers were already showing signs of being potential MLB all-stars. I’d just have to accept that I would never meet my father’s expectations. 

We were in the second week of September (we had been in school for about three weeks) and the weather was still fairly hot. I loved warm weather and the sun and the beach. I was still rocking my summer skin tone, so I had a golden-brown complexion. I’d get lighter as we went into the colder months, but for now I had a beautiful healthy glow. I hated winter. I was my worst self in layers and layers of clothing. 

We’d had auditions last Thursday and after the roles were cast, the production would move next-level fast. It happened with every production; there was never as much time to prepare as we thought there’d be. I had auditioned for George. I went to the school’s bulletin board right outside of the main office that Monday to see if I had been cast. I was so nervous. The Troupe had become my whole life. 

George—Kyle Donnelly 

Candy—Hallie James 

Curley—Jimmy Ignacio 

Curley’s Wife—Jane Kingston 

Slim—Raul Mota 

Crooks—Richard Smith 

Carlson—John Waterson 

The Boss—Ken Ortega 

Whit—Holden Sanders 

Lennie and Candy’s Dog—TBD 

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been cast as Whit. How in the hell was I cast as Whit? I mean, come on! He had fewer lines than Candy’s dog. I almost cried right there, and then I felt really silly about crying publicly over a high school adaptation of a John Steinbeck novel. I held back my urge to sob and made my way to the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and let a few tears escape my eyes. Sure, it was silly, but it still meant a lot to me. This would be my last fall play ever. I was eighteen years old and graduating from high school in less than nine months. I had to make the most of every day I had left. I balled my hands into fists and closed my eyes. But wait! The worst part wasn’t even the fact I was cast in a role that could be performed by a mannequin—no, the worst fucking part would have to be that the lead went to Kyle Donnelly, who was a terrible actor and a total ass. His vibes were way harsh. I knew I didn’t like him, and he’d pissed off numerous members of the Troupe, but he was still an integral member (his parents donated a lot of time and money to the drama club).  

I had to calm down. This was no time for a meltdown. There was still the winter drama and spring musical. 

I exited the stall and headed to class feeling worthless. I almost considered dropping out. I swear, if I didn’t get the lead in the musical, I’d blow my brains out. I had Spanish IV first period, followed by AP Calc and AP Bio. English IV was fourth period, with the head faculty director Mr. Murray. 

I didn’t want to see him. He and the student director, Eva Porter, were the ones responsible for casting me as Whit. I’d spent the first three periods of my day hearing about how crazy it was that Kyle would be the lead. It’d been brought up numerous times in shady remarks that Kyle and Eva dating probably played a major part in him getting the role of George. I wanted to believe Eva had integrity, so I ignored the gossip. 

Mr. Murray was one of the oldest teachers in the school. He was pushing seventy, and nobody understood why he hadn’t retired yet. Kids said it was because he never got married or had children and that he wouldn’t know what to do with all that time to himself. Sometimes I thought I might end up like him, and it freaked me out. He was totally a latent homosexual. He mentioned women sometimes, but in a half-hearted way that made it seem like he was covering up something. (“Oh, that Saoirse Ronan is a beauty. If I were her age, I might be willing to settle down.”) 

But at the end of the day, I was gay—and I was sure people knew it. Most of my closest friends in the Troupe knew. I didn’t try to act all manly and stuff to hide who I was; I wasn’t that type of guy. But still, even though I was doing my best to be true to myself, I still worried about what people thought of me. Did I speak too girlishly? Did I move my hands too much when I talked? Did it ruin my chances of playing some of the great roles in theater history? 

I sat at my desk as class started, totally disinterested in what Mr. Murray was talking about until he started a class discussion. This old queen was ruthless during class discussions, going out of his way to pick on the unprepared and the distracted. He wasn’t about to catch me slipping. 

“We’ve just discussed some of the context of the poem, which now gives us an opportunity to analyze it further,” Mr. Murray said, looking from face to face of each of my classmates, deciding who he’d engage with one-on-one. “Why does this poem relate to life even today?” he asked the class as a whole. A couple of kids shrank back into the seats of their desks, some stiffened up and stared straight ahead. Mr. Murray was scanning the room, like some sort of rogue robot from the future trying to determine which life form would be most beneficial to exterminate.  

I looked at Mr. Murray, who had his sights set on Gregory Williams. He was the worst English student ever. Hell, he was probably the worst student ever. Gregory nervously flipped through his notebook, which looked packed with information. Who had written that stuff down for him? It probably wasn’t even notes for this class. He was probably one of those students who used one notebook for all seven periods.

But still, I couldn’t stand to see such a big lug in distress. I had to intercept Mr. Murray’s attack. The poem was fairly simple to understand, and hopefully my analysis would appease his bloodlust. I raised my hand quickly, trying to help, but as Mr. Murray and I made eye contact, he smiled and said, “What do you think, Gregory?” 

Gregory sat up, no longer flipping through his notebook. He looked petrified. This happened every time he got called on. I felt bad for him, but then I remembered how easy he had things. He had straight C’s because he was gigantic. He was on the football, wrestling, and water polo teams. And I meant it when I said that he was huge. At 6’4” and at least 280 pounds, teachers wanted him to be able to play so our school would win. 

I didn’t have a problem with Gregory Williams—he was so my type—but the whole “he’s a jock, pass him” thing sort of pissed me off. I worked hard to do well in school and manage extracurricular activities, why shouldn’t he? 

“I—I didn’t get it,” he said finally. He was embarrassed. “It was stupid.” 

“It was not stupid, Mr. Williams.” Mr. Murray chastised, obviously dismayed at such a lackluster response. “It was an artistic exploration of an important theme in African-American culture, which I would love for you to tell us about. Try again, perhaps discuss some of the figurative language.” 

“I—I couldn’t find any,” Greg said, his face falling. I glanced at his desk; the printout of the poem was annotated extensively. All he had to do was look at his notes! Why was he so afraid?  

“We can wait,” Mr. Murray continued, pressing him further and further. “Take your time.”  

Time began to move in reverse, I swear. Greg looked at the poem, scanning each line with his thick pointer finger, reading it soundlessly, though his mouth was moving. I couldn’t stand this abuse of power. Some of the other students in the room snickered. I didn’t consider this teaching. This was capital punishment. “Hey Greg,” I said, not one to normally speak in class myself. “Do you remember what an extended metaphor is? Mr. Murray went over it in that PowerPoint last week.” 

Yes, Mr. Murray still used PowerPoint.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mr. Murray. I could tell he was upset by the exasperated sound he’d made when I spoke without permission. I just focused on Greg, in the row to the right of me, two seats up. I watched his wide back in his plain, black t-shirt. He shifted in his seat, turning to look at me. His eyes were so desperate, and it made me feel terrible. This was probably killing him. 

He held his notebook in his hands, shaking slightly. “It’s ‘wh—when a comparison between two unlike things continues throughout a series of lines in a poem.’” He’d read it with minimal trouble, then looked up at me. 

“Yeah,” I said. “This poem is basically one of those completely. What do you think is being compared?” He turned quickly, grabbing the printout. He turned back, looking at me again. Having his attention like this was strange. He’d hardly paid me any mind before. Him looking at me like that, with his scared brown eyes. I wanted to protect him at all costs. I wanted to make sure this never happened to him again.  

I was getting ahead of myself. 

“Maybe this crystal stair is being compared to life,” he started. “The mom is talking to her son, and she’s saying that life hasn’t been no crystal stair. So life is hard, I think. And Langston Hughes is using a bunch of stair words to talk about how hard life is, especially for black people.” 

“Yeah, what words make you think that life can be hard?” I asked, pretty sure I should have shut up two questions ago. 

“It says there are splinters and boards that are torn up and—and uh, no carpets.” I could sense he was feeling more confident now. He smiled at me gently before turning forward in his seat. He looked at Mr. Murray before speaking again. “And the mom in the poem knows life is hard, and she’s letting her son know, so he never gives up. That’s how it can relate to today. All parents know stuff their kids don’t, and they’re just trying to guide us through the hard times.” 

“Quite the analysis,” Mr. Murray said, turning to the front of the room and walking towards his desk. “I’d love for you to locate another piece of figurative language Mr. Ignacio—with no assists please.” He’d finished with his torment of Greg, and class went on this way for another twenty minutes before the bell rang. Mr. Murray made sure to have droned on and on all class period. He told Greg to wait behind. I grabbed my books and went off to gym class. I was afraid I’d gotten him in trouble. He’d probably be more upset now. And what was worse was that he’d probably be upset with me for opening my mouth when I should have just minded my own business. 

I rummaged through my bag. I couldn’t believe my luck. I had forgotten my gym shorts again. What a way to start the week. I was the last guy in the locker room, and Coach White would be so angry. He told me if I were too much of a pussy to participate in gym class, the least I could do to get a decent grade was change. He’d yell at me in front of all the other guys. It was going to be awful. 

One would think the school board would frown upon a teacher calling a student a pussy, but Coach White had tenure and multiple state championships in football and basketball. He made our school look good, so there was no way he was going anywhere for harassing the feminine kid who opted out of participating in shooting hoops or serving volleyballs. 

I couldn’t help that whenever someone tried to pass me a ball my first instinct was to cover my face. It wasn’t my fault that running and dribbling at the same time was a skill that had overlooked my entire bloodline (yeah, even my dad. That’s why he stuck to baseball). I felt awful that any activity we tried, I failed miserably at it. My track record was not pretty.  

Softball—I sucked.  

Badminton—I sucked.  

Basketball—I sucked.  

Volleyball—I sucked. 

Kickball—I sucked. 

Floor Hockey—I sucked. 

I turned, my back against the cold metal of the lockers, and sank to the floor. I sat there for a few moments as I considered my options. I could hear the Jeopardy! music in my head, getting faster and faster as my time to find a solution dwindled.  

I was screwed, that was all I had.  

I’d just have to take the zero for today’s class period. I hadn’t noticed Greg changing until I stood up. I was so gay sometimes that I felt like they should create a new word for the intense levels of homosexuality I was experiencing. 

He wasn’t some fitness model, but he was incredibly handsome. I liked bigger guys, and he was a big guy. He had a gut, but it was hot. I liked looking at it, and I wanted to touch it. I wanted to make it bigger. Oh God, I was such a freak.  

He peeled that black t-shirt he’d been wearing over his head, standing there in just his baggy blue jeans. His back was to me, and what a back it was. He looked as wide as at least two-and-a-half of me. His dark skin looked smooth, and he had some faded circular scars that ran across his shoulder blades. I noticed he had some stretch marks on his love handles, but they were just as faded as the scars on his back. He undid his belt buckle and leaned forward slightly so he could pull those jeans down. The main attraction had been unveiled. He had a large butt that jutted out far behind him and massive thighs. His jeans must’ve been huge in order to camouflage those assets. He wore a pair of spandex underwear that all the athletes loved. The fabric was only a little darker than his skin, so for a moment it felt as though he was standing there in front of me completely naked. 

He tossed his regular clothes into the locker after removing his gym clothes. He closed the locker and turned around, our eyes meeting. My first instinct was to sprint out of the locker room, out of the school. I could be out of the tri-state area by dinner. I must’ve been examining his body for a good forty seconds. I could’ve looked at him like this for at least another decade. Instead of running I looked away quickly, hoping he wouldn’t say anything. 

“You’re not changing?” he asked as he pulled on the gym shorts. My shorts looked kind of normal, but they were like something out of the seventies. The uniform had been like that for as long as I could remember. Maybe they’d ordered way too many skimpy shorts fifty years ago and we were stuck wearing outdated athletic gear. Greg looked great in the shorts though, so there were no complaints from me. They came about halfway up his thickset thighs and hugged his ass perfectly. 

“I forgot my shorts,” I said. He opened his locker again and tossed me a pair of his. 

“Wanna borrow a pair?” he asked. As conflicted as I was on Greg’s academic success, that didn’t negate the fact that he wasn’t a jerk. He was actually a really decent person. He didn’t mess with people like some of the other douchebag athletes.  

When we were working on our production of Little Shop of Horrors last spring, they buried a couple of members of our cast in soil. I was lucky to have avoided that punishment. Oh, and who could forget the time when during our production of Dracula a few of the meathead jocks pulled a Carrie and completely ruined the performance by dumping “pigs’ blood” on us during opening night. It was only melted strawberry ice cream with extra red food coloring in it, but the show still had to be cancelled. Some of those guys actually got suspended for that one, surprisingly. This was all on top of the day-to-day book checks (knocking books out of our hands, but lunch trays were a common variation) and being pushed up against lockers.  

“I know they’re gonna be a little big, but you just sit in the bleachers, right?” I fought the urge to bring his shorts up close to my face and give them a big sniff. He was still looking at me, and I was not about to be the weird gay guy going around sniffing other guys’ sweaty shorts. 

“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you.” 

“No problem,” He pulled on a tight white t-shirt that showed off his large, burly arms and broad shoulders. “Thanks for your help in class,” he said, tying the shoelaces of his Nikes. “We should probably get to know each other a little better. Since I’m gonna be Larry or whatever in the play.” 

“You’re going to be Lennie?” I asked. 

“Yeah, that’s what Mr. Murray said,” he replied, sighing. He adjusted the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down slightly. “I need the extra credit he’s offering to pass his class. No football for me this year.” He left the locker room and went into the gym. 

I was too nervous to bury my face in his shorts, not wanting to be caught, so I just got changed quickly and hurried into the gym. I sat in the bleachers and watched as the more athletically inclined ran back and forth playing basketball. Damn Greg was fast for such a big guy. He was aggressive too. It was kind of scary how intense he was—but then it was hot.  

It was like a freaking mythical beast was going up for a rebound. He bumped kids around. He moved so heavily, like he was really solid and sturdy. His thighs looked ridiculously beefy, and the shorts rode up as he ran. They’d ridden up his ass, separating each cheek, highlighting the meatiness of his backside. I was glad his shorts were like a hundred times too big, because they were helping me cover up a pretty gigantic erection. The uniforms were definitely the one thing I liked about gym class.  

All of these interactions with Greg today had me feeling aroused, but on top of that they had me developing a major crush. I hated it. Nothing good could ever come from liking a straight boy, especially one that could break my face with the flick of his finger. 

I changed quickly, shoving the shorts into my bookbag. I’d wash them and return them to Greg tomorrow. At lunch, everyone was talking about Greg being in the play, and it wasn’t all good. Kyle was furious. He said he didn’t want to be in a production with such a “big, fat idiot.” I thought Kyle was a bitch, so it shouldn’t have mattered. 

We went to the school’s auditorium after classes ended to run the lines and sure enough Greg showed up, although about ten minutes late. A little after that Coach White flew into the auditorium in a rage and he and Mr. Murray got into a huge argument. They walked away from us students and continued bickering. 

Coach White was towering over little Mr. Murray, but he backed off when Mr. Murray started telling him off. They both moved animatedly, pointing and gesturing. They were just outside of the far doors, so we couldn’t actually hear what they were saying. We watched as Mr. Murray walked the length of the auditorium to where we all sat in a circle on the stage. 

“Gregory,” he said, his voice feigning calmness. “Coach White and I have worked out a schedule for you, okay?” Greg nodded. “On Mondays and Wednesdays, you can go to football practice, and when you have games on Fridays you don’t need to be here. However, during tech week and all performance days you must be in attendance, understood?” 

“Yes Coach,” he said, nervously tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. Kyle scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “I mean, sir—Mr. Murray.” 

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Mr. Murray said, joining us on the stage. Gregory stood, towering over all of us as we continued to sit, and gave a slight wave goodbye before making his way down the stairs. 

“See you tomorrow!” I called, not entirely sure why I had opened my mouth. Everyone looked at me like I was deranged, but Greg turned and smiled at me. 

“Yeah,” he called, his voice deep. “Catch you later, Holden.” 

That night, I thought about Greg saying my name over and over. He said that he’d catch me later. He knew I existed, and maybe I could exist to him as more than the weird guy who was in his English class.

I was ashamed to admit it, but I smelled his shorts. I had to force myself to stop smelling them and to put them in the washing machine. They smelled so good, like sweat and laundry detergent and some sort of cologne. While they were in the washing machine, I walked to the gas station and bought a candy bar—a Twix, to be more specific. The king of chocolate candies if I were to be honest. They were my favorite. 

I made my way back home and grabbed a piece of white copy paper from the printer in the home office. I sat at the desk in my room, thinking. I had to be friendly, but not too friendly. I didn’t want him to think I was weird. I was just polite, raised properly. 

I wrote a simple message. It read: 

Hey Greg, 

Thank you for lending me a pair of your shorts. I washed them, and as a token of my appreciation, enjoy this candy bar.  

I signed it with just my first name, Holden. 

Before I went to bed, I made sure to put my gym uniform, his shorts, the letter, and the candy bar in my bag. I didn’t want to forget anything tomorrow. I felt off that night, kind of nervous. I was starting to feel like it was a bad idea to do something so formal for being lent a pair of shorts for fifty minutes. A normal guy would’ve just tossed them back to him, nodded their head, and kept it moving. He probably didn’t even remember lending them to me. It wasn’t a big deal to him, so it shouldn’t be a big deal to me. 

I still brought everything along with me, but I was conflicted about following through with the plan. I couldn’t do it in the locker room with all the other guys around. It’d be stupid to return them after gym class. Before I knew it, we were in English class, and I was walking to his desk. We had about a minute before the bell, and it was now or never. I stood next to him, and he looked at me. “What’s up, Holden?” he greeted me. 

“Hi, uh, thanks,” I replied, so inarticulately that he’d probably think I was abandoned in the woods as a child and learned to speak from the animals of the forest that raised me. I was Jackson High’s very own Nell. I placed the stack (shorts on bottom, letter in the middle, Twix on top) on his desk and returned to my own. He didn’t touch it but looked back at me as I returned to my seat. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and he smiled awkwardly, as if to say, What a fucking weirdo. 

He turned back to the stack and opened the letter. He read it, turned back to me, and gave me a thumbs up. I sighed with relief, signaling a thumbs up in return. 

He ate the Twix during class. 

The first rehearsal with Greg that afternoon went okay, but in the long run the scheduling situation proved to be much more difficult for everyone than anticipated. Greg needed more time with the whole cast to better practice his lines, so those two to three days we lost every week were definitely determinantal to our progress.  

It had been two weeks of line practice, and it was a Tuesday. 

“Gregory, it’s your line now,” Mr. Murray said, not looking up from his script. Kyle sighed and mumbled something about Greg being an idiot. Greg frowned and said he didn’t remember it. Mr. Murray tried to get us off script as soon as possible, but Greg was new to this world. It was incredibly hard to remember all our lines, even if we spent hours every night practicing. I bet he had a lot going on outside of this production that he was forced into. I wanted to say he should be able to use his script, but I didn’t want to appear meddlesome. Kyle groaned impolitely and said he needed a break. “Okay everyone, take ten.” 

I remember on the second day, parents started bringing food. It was like this every year. Early on in the productions it was small stuff, like juice boxes and potato chips, but as things got more serious there’d be pizzas and sandwiches. I thought it was adorable how excited Greg was. 

“You guys get food?” he asked me. I told him nobody ate much, so it usually got tossed out or given away to different sports teams. After that he took to eating all practice. It seemed to calm him, so I was glad there was something helping him. 

When I was cheated out of a role, I took on extra responsibilities. Usually that meant that I was in charge of wardrobe. I was to take measurements and get clothes from thrift stores and costume shops using a portion of the money allotted to the drama club. 

So today I was doing my second job and it was Greg’s turn and we went into the gigantic prop closet, and I started measuring him. He was wearing his freaking football sweats and they were grabbing onto his thighs and butt, and I was getting a major erection. 

“You can do everything,” he said, and it didn’t come across as sarcastic in a way that some others would say it. “A poet, an actor, and a tailor.” 

I laughed, flattered that he thought I was capable of tailoring clothing. “I’m no tailor,” I said from behind him. I knelt down to measure the size of his thighs, my eyes level with his ass. I looked longingly at his underwear, the sweats sagging down slightly from the weight of his cellphone and wallet in his pockets. “I only send the measurements to a costume shop or try to find pieces at the thrift store.” He was wearing these blue spandex boxer briefs and it was killing me. He was actually an inch taller than I thought, standing at 6’5”. 

I measured around his stomach next, followed by his waist. I placed a little stool in front of him and stood on it. It made me nearly as tall as he was. I had to measure his neck, and I swung the tape measurer over his head. “It’s nice to see you at eye level,” he said, laughing. “Short Stuff.” 

I tried my hardest to focus on the task at hand, bringing the tape measurer taught around his thick neck. He was so handsome. His skin was darker than mine. If I was the dough of a cookie, he was a chocolate chip. He had large lips and white teeth that were kind of large. I noticed he rarely smiled showing them all, but he’d recently been smiling at me in the hallways or at the end of rehearsals. It gave me butterflies thinking about how seeing me could elicit a smile from him. He had short hair and deep waves. I could see him brushing his hair and putting his durag on before bed every night. His nose was cute, kind of wide, but not so big that it took over his face. 

“I’m Short Stuff?” I asked. 

“Yeah,” he said. I removed the tape measurer, stepping down off of my stool. He crouched down, spreading his legs and bending his knees. “How’s the weather down here?”  

“Very funny, Gregory.” 

“Ooo, using the whole name,” he said, standing up straight. “I’m in trouble. Why not throw in the ‘Deshawn Williams’ for the full effect?” 

“I’ll remember that for the next time.” 

“I wouldn’t want that,” he said. “I never wanna make you mad at me. I like you too much.” He smiled, and then I smiled. It was nice but filled with so much one-sided lust that it was almost sad. Kyle entered the prop closest, attitude set to eleven. 

“How long does it take to measure one person Holden?” He took in Greg and stifled a laugh. “Oh, never mind. I imagine it can take quite a while, actually.” Greg tugged at the hem of his shirt, his face falling.  

“I’ll talk to you later, Short Stuff,” he said. “Thanks for the measurements.” He went back over to the parent-supplied snack table. I saw him grab a Ho Ho and open it embarrassedly, shoving it into his mouth. 

He could have picked Kyle up and snapped him in half, Bane-style. I wouldn’t have said anything, and when authorities asked what happened, I’d say, with tears in my eyes, “He slipped, Officer. What a freak accident, truly.” 

“This is going to be a disaster,” Kyle said. I had the measuring tape around his neck now, trying to get through these measurements as quickly as possible. “I wouldn’t have wanted the lead if I knew I’d be working with such an absolute idiot.” I considered choking him. 

I was moving as fast as I could, but he continued to bad mouth Greg. It was really upsetting me. I didn’t know if it was because Greg wasn’t around to defend himself, or because I had such a major crush on him, but Kyle was pushing me to my limit. He had totally killed any signs of an erection, which I guess was good because I wouldn’t want people knowing I was some pervert getting erections while taking measurements. 

“Eva is devastated. Her first time as student director and this is what she has to deal with.” 

“Kyle, you aren’t as talented as you think you are, so you need to shut the fuck up.” He laughed casually and walked towards the door. I wasn’t even finished taking his measurements. He always had to do the most. 

“Who got the lead?” he asked rhetorically. He left the room, walking towards where Eva and Mr. Murray were helping the stage designers with a backdrop. I felt my face go hot and sat down. This was not how I imagined this year to be. I knew it would never be perfect; I didn’t set unrealistic expectations, not wanting to be let down, but I never thought things could suck this much. I had my eighteenth birthday a week before the school year started and I had spent a portion of my summer in theater camp in New York City. This was supposed to be my year. 

“‘Who got the lead?’” I mimicked in my best Kyle-voice. I pulled the tape measurer as taut as I could, struggling for a moment before giving up the effort. My mom would say not to let someone like Kyle get under my skin, and she’d be entirely correct, but I wasn’t as patient as my mother. I wanted to take action and kick him in the throat. 

We started rehearsing lines again after I finished measuring the last cast member. Obviously, I was sick and tired of Kyle, who continued to harass Greg. I knew this was going to sound totally lame and cliché, but the Troupe was like a family, so when he bad-mouthed Greg, it was like he was harassing his own family. 

“Uh, George—I did—didn’t me—mean nothing by it, honest.” 

“Oh my God!” Kyle howled. “Learn your fucking lines and stop stuttering.” I noticed Greg close his eyes—his head bowed, his fists clenched. Would this be the moment I’d been waiting for my entire life? Would one blow from the mighty Gregory Deshawn Williams finally be what vanquished the foul Kyle ‘Bitch Boy’ Donnelly? To add insult to injury, Kyle kept going. With enough weight I thought I could see the words travel across the circle, Kyle said, “All you’re good at is eating. Do you even know how to read? You fat fuck.” 

This felt more intense than ever. I could feel Greg’s energy from across the circle. He stood up, and everyone’s eyes followed him. He didn’t walk towards Kyle. He left the stage and then exited the auditorium. Kyle was too bad of an actor to be such a goddamn diva. 

Mr. Murray was saying something to Kyle that likely wouldn’t stop his bullying. Everyone else on stage began to murmur amongst themselves. Wasn’t anyone going to see if Greg was okay? Mr. Murray and Eva were in charge of this production, so they should have been doing everything to make sure every actor was being treated fairly. Nobody was moving. Didn’t anyone care if he was okay? I couldn’t take it. I’d check on him and try to get him to come back. I jogged out to the parking lot, looking for Greg. He wasn’t very hard to find.  

I saw him over by his truck and went up to him. It was an old Ford F-150. It was green, and it really suited Greg. “Hey, Greg,” I started, tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Leave me alone,” he barked. 

I hated to see him like this. He never did anything to anybody. He was one of the gentlest, nicest guys I’d ever met. “Greg, it’ll be okay,” I said, grabbing at his arm, trying to get him to open up to me. 

“I said go the fuck away,” he roared, his voice deep and surprisingly angry, vibrating in my chest. He brought the weight of his large arm down into my face. It wasn’t even his elbow, but his upper arm. It was solid, very solid, and I’d hoped to feel it, but not in this way. I fell back onto the gravel. I noticed red droplets on my shirt before I felt the fountain that was my nose overflowing.  

I was bleeding, but thankfully it didn’t hurt that badly. I thought he liked me. I thought we were friends. He turned around and I noticed he was crying. He was crying. “I—I’m so sorry,” he said as he wiped his eyes on his forearm. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. Holden, are you okay? I’m sorry.” I stood up, holding my nose, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“It—it’s fine.” He walked towards me, and I instinctually took a step back. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I knew he didn’t mean to hit me, but I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t know what else to do, so I smiled, trying to let him know I was okay.  

“Oh God,” he said, reaching for me again. I suddenly realized that had been a terrible idea. The blood spilled over my top lip, covering my teeth. It probably made me look like I was in a worse condition than I actually was.  

“I think I’ll just go back inside.” I ran back towards the building, blood dripping onto my shirt. He started kicking his truck angrily. 

I’d gone straight to the bathroom to clean myself up, and when I arrived back in the auditorium everyone was still waiting for Greg to return. He didn’t come back inside, so after thirty minutes Mr. Murray dismissed us for the day.  

I still couldn’t believe he’d hit me in the face with his freaking Hulk-strength and I was alive to remember it. If he could do this to me without even trying, I could only imagine the damage he could do on purpose. 

I didn’t know if we were avoiding one another or not, but I didn’t talk to Greg again the next day until lunch. The incident hadn’t left me with any swelling or bruising, so that was something to be positive about. I sat at a small table near the trash cans. I was sitting alone because I needed some solitude. Kyle was talking about how stupid Greg was and it pissed me off. I just couldn’t take it anymore, and my retaliations never seemed to faze him. Nobody else ever tried to call him out either, which only added to my aggravation.  

I swirled a spoon around in my cup of yogurt and granola disinterestedly. I hadn’t started on my turkey sandwich or potato chips yet, and I wasn’t feeling very hungry. “I’m sorry again,” Greg said, looking down at me. I hadn’t noticed him come up, which really showed how out of it I was. He was damn near impossible to miss. He looked at me so seriously. It was making me uncomfortable. “I didn’t try to—to hit you in the face like that. I don’t like hitting people. I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of person.” 

“I’m fine,” I said. “Apology accepted. And I definitely don’t think poorly of you.” He smiled uneasily.  

“Can I sit with you?” he asked. I looked at him. He was so freaking handsome. His eyebrows were thick and had a natural arch to them that made him appear somewhat angry. He had that look from shaving, like someone who had to shave on the regular. Not like me, I only had to shave once every two weeks. I’d heard he was a year older than everyone, but I didn’t know for sure. I went to a different middle school, so I didn’t know much about Greg before high school. 

“Yes, of course,” I replied. He smiled again, this time more comfortably, and sat down. He had one of those lunch bags that could be carried around every day. His was bigger than they usually were, and it was green. Maybe green was his favorite color. He had a bunch of food in there—three sandwiches, a couple bags of chips, a water, a juice, cookies, two bananas, and an apple. “You feeling better than you did yesterday?” I asked.  

“I feel lame as fuck,” he said. “You probably think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“A big guy like you crying is definitely out of the ordinary.” 

“You probably think I’m a pussy,” he said, shifting his gaze from me. He looked down at his massive spread, grabbing one of his sandwiches. 

“Absolutely not,” I said. “I cry much more often than I’d like to admit.” 

“Really?” he asked, looking up at me sheepishly. 

“Yes, really.” I started stirring my yogurt again, nervous at the thought of talking about these things with him. I wanted him to like me, not pity me. Hell, he might even think I deserved the things that made me sob. “I’ll share three things.” 

“Okay,” he said, smiling timidly. 

“One, The Princess and the Frog.” 

“The Disney movie?” 

“We got a black princess, and she was so hard working.” I could feel myself tearing up, only at the thought of the film. “She achieved her dreams. I want that.” 

“Aww,” he said, laughing. “We’ve got to watch that together sometime. Just so I can see the waterworks.” 

“Never.” 

He laughed again, harder this time. He took another large bite of his sandwich, speaking with his mouth slightly full, he said, “What else?” 

“Two, just three weeks ago when the cast list was posted for the play. I had to lock myself in a bathroom stall so I could cry. I was so disappointed.” 

“You didn’t get the part you wanted?” he asked, frowning. 

“I auditioned for George,” I said, finally eating a spoonful of my yogurt. “But you know how that turned out.” 

“Sorry Holden.” 

“It’s fine, honestly. I’ve accepted it.” We sat in silence for a little while after that. He powered through his lunch, and I watched him, impressed. Sexuality was such a fucked-up thing. What had occurred in my life that made me this way? He was eating his potato chips and it felt like things were moving in slow motion. He chewed, putting more chips in his mouth at one time than anyone I knew would. The oil from the chips left a glossy sheen on his full lips and I wanted to kiss them, to taste their saltiness. 

“You never told me the third thing,” he said finally. I jumped slightly, like a total dork. I had to stop staring at him.

“Oh, well, uh—last year, in October, we were getting things ready for the fall play. I—I was one of the last people still here, and when I finally left it was just me and one other girl. We waited for her mom to pick her up and after she’d gone, I went to the parking lot. My mom had let me drive her car to school that day, so I was feeling pretty good.” He was looking at me so intensely. I was regretting choosing something so serious for this, but I wanted him to know I wasn’t messing around about crying being okay. “I guess football practice got out later than usual, but a couple of those guys were in the parking lot.” His jaw tensed, and he stopped eating his lunch. All he had left were the bananas. “Long story short,” I said, trying to get through this as quickly as possible. “They pushed me around a bit, calling me names and stuff. I cried on the entire drive home.” 

“Who was it?” he asked angrily. My intention wasn’t to get him riled up. I didn’t think he’d even care this much to be honest. It was a couple of guys who graduated and one or two of the guys still on the team, but I wasn’t going to get Greg involved in something that didn’t matter anymore. Did I still think about them calling me a faggot over and over? Yes, absolutely, but I had been a convenient target. Normally they left me alone because I faded into the background, but that day I’d been the only drama-geek in the line of fire. 

“Yeah, no,” I said. “This isn’t what this conversation is about. We were just being open about our feelings. I’m not looking for retribution.” He angrily peeled open one of his bananas. He didn’t get this upset over Kyle taunting him, so this reaction was entirely unexpected. “So, what about you? Was it what Kyle said that made you feel so upset yesterday?” 

He looked at me and I realized I had been much more direct than I’d intended to be. He finished his first banana, sitting up straight. His belly looked satiated, but I bet he could’ve eaten way more. “I don’t like when people call me stupid,” he said. “I know I’m not smart, but I hate when people call me stupid.” 

“You’re definitely not stupid,” I said. 

“Sometimes I think I am,” he said. “I don’t try to stutter either, but when I’m nervous it just happens. I didn’t even want to do this, but I need the extra credit. I study so hard, but I still barely pass.” He studied? I felt guilt in the pit of my stomach. I had made unfair assumptions about him. I just thought teachers passed him. I had no idea he actually took his education seriously. “You’re really smart Holden. I wish I was smart like you.” 

“You just need help,” I said. “Sometimes I get overwhelmed by my classes too.” He ate his second banana in three bites. I was so hard that it was distracting. I was confused. We’d covered so much ground in one lunch period. I’d experienced such an array of emotions that I was sure we’d be bonded together forever. 

“I’m—I’m a year older than everyone,” he whispered, looking down. “It’s because I’m dumb. Who has to repeat the sixth grade?” 

“No,” I said gently, wanting to come across as sincere. “I don’t think you should feel that way at all. You just have to keep doing your best and trying to improve. School can be really hard and you’re still hanging in there! Besides, I’m glad that means we get to be in the same grade—.” I had started rambling. I was officially embarrassed. I’m glad that means we get to be in the same grade? I’d actually said that to him. 

“I’m glad we’re in the same grade too,” he said, looking at me kindly. He wasn’t smiling at me with his mouth, but with his eyes. Tyra Banks would be proud. Things were silent for a minute or two after that before he spoke again. “Man, I hate Kyle,” he said. 

“Ugh, me too,” I said, sounding too much like Cher Horowitz in Clueless for my liking, but it had already been said. “He is a total bitch.” Greg looked over at me and laughed. 

“Yeah, he’s a total bitch.” I could feel my face get hot. I’d been more honest with him than with a lot of my friends in the Troupe. He wasn’t making fun of me, thankfully, but I tended to say a lot of stuff I didn’t mean to actually say. That was why I preferred not talking. That was why I preferred acting, because I had pre-written lines. I got to play a role, and I didn’t have to be myself, because when I was myself, I felt like a freak. 

Lunch was almost over, and I’d forgotten to give him something from my bag. I leaned over, grabbing my bookbag and setting it on the seat next to me. I opened the front pocket and pulled out a king-sized package of Twix bars. “I meant to give these to you,” I said, sliding the candy towards him. “Chocolate always makes me feel better.” He laughed, and it was low and deep. I felt like I’d made some sort of faux pas. “I guess it was kind of silly.” 

“No,” he said, smiling at me kindly. “I fucking punch you in the nose and you bring me chocolate. You’re not like a regular guy. I’m glad I’ve got a friend like you, Holden.” He opened the package and handed me one. We sat together, me eating one of the Twix bars, he the other three, until the bell rang. 

After that, he started eating lunch with me every day. I was ecstatic about this development in our relationship. It was nice spending more intimate time with him, and less time at the Troupe’s lunch table with Kyle the Unbearable. 

I was enjoying gym class even more too, and Coach White’s attitude didn’t detract from it one bit. Greg seemed to be filling out his shorts even more, and I knew it had to be from the snack table at rehearsals and the fact he practiced two times less a week. 

We had been playing floor hockey recently. Watching our classmates jump out of Greg’s way or bounce off of his solid body was the highlight of my day. He didn’t try to knock people over, but I mean, if they were running full speed into a brick wall, they couldn’t expect to stay standing. 

“It’s getting hard to manage everything,” he confided in me one day during our lunch sessions. “It takes me so long to practice the lines at home, I don’t finish my homework until almost one in the morning.” 

“You do have a lot going on,” I said, wanting to help him in any way that I could. “Do you want to run lines together? And we could study too if you want?” 

“Do you have the time to help me?” he asked, smiling shyly. “I don’t want you to get stressed out because you have to help my dumb ass.” 

“I’ll help you,” I said. “But under one condition.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You aren’t allowed to talk bad about yourself. You aren’t dumb Greg, so I don’t want to hear you say that you are. Didn’t you tell me you hated when people call you stupid, so why is it you can do it to yourself?” 

“I—I don’t know. I guess I just feel like maybe I am. I’m sorry.” 

“So, we’ve got a deal?” I asked. 

“Yes,” he said. “Coach Sanders.” We both laughed at that and continued eating our lunches. 

The next day I waited for him to get out of practice. He said we could study at his place and that he’d give me a ride home after. The thought of being in his bedroom was enough to have my stomach in knots the entire day. He came and found me in the auditorium after he was finished, and we walked out to his truck. 

“How were rehearsals today?” he asked. 

“They were fine. Kyle was just as obnoxious as usual.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with that today.” Walking next to him sure was something. I knew I wasn’t the tallest guy, but he made me feel microscopic. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He had a duffel bag and his regular bookbag. “Thanks again for coming to help me out.” 

“I’m happy to,” I said. “It’s good practice for me too.” 

“But don’t you only have like fifteen lines?” he asked. I knew he was genuinely asking and not trying to be mean. 

“Throwing shade,” I said jokingly. “You’ve been around Kyle too much.” 

“I—I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I just meant—it must not be—I wasn’t trying to be a dick.” 

“I was just messing around,” I said, in disbelief of how cute he was. “I got my lines down in the first week. And it’s even sadder than just having fifteen lines. I have twelve.” 

“I wish we could trade.” 

“Don’t say that. You’re going to kill it.” We started walking towards his truck again. It was almost six o’clock. I told my parents I probably wouldn’t be back until around ten. “With my help you might even be nominated for a Tony.” 

“What’s a Tony?” 

We had a lot to go over during the car ride to his house. 

The conversation in Greg’s truck didn’t make me feel awkward or nervous and it never felt like he was judging me or what I had to say. I was so at ease around Greg. When we pulled up outside of his place, I was kind of sad. I could’ve ridden around in his truck talking to him all night.  

Greg’s house wasn’t the largest; it was built in the bungalow style. The whole thing was one floor. His room was towards the rear of the house, through the living room and kitchen. Ms. Williams was busy in the kitchen when we arrived, unpacking loads of grocery bags. She was about 5’1” and large. She had the Mary J. Blige cut circa 2009 and wore navy blue scrubs. 

“Greg,” she said, looking at me excitedly. “Is this your friend Holden?” 

“It’s nice to meet you Ms. Williams,” I said. “My name is Holden Sanders. Thanks for having me.”  

“Greg, he’s so polite! And handsome too!” I laughed. I was really flattered. I thanked her for the compliment. “He mentioned you’d be coming over tonight. Are you staying for dinner?” she asked. 

“Only if you wanna stay,” Greg added. He was so fucking cute. If I got to be around him, of course I’d stay for dinner. “It’s nacho night.” 

“Sounds great,” I said, smiling. Ms. Williams then complimented my smile. She was gassing me up. I needed a hype-woman like her in my life. 

We went to Greg’s room after that, and he asked if I’d be okay while he went to take a quick shower. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said. 

He pulled off his sweatshirt and tossed it in a pile near the opening of his closet. I held my breath in anticipation of how much he’d take off in front of me. I should have looked the other way, but I didn’t want to waste this opportunity. He kicked off his sneakers and pulled off his socks, adding them to the pile before slipping on a pair of Nike slides. 

He grabbed some items from his dresser and walked over towards his door. He turned back towards me, and I took him in again. He filled the door frame with how broad he was. Greg was at home and still seemed too big to be entirely comfortable. I wondered what showering was like for him. I hoped they had a detachable shower head so he wouldn’t have to struggle rinsing himself off. What I wouldn’t give to be in that shower with him.  

“I’ll be back,” he said, walking away.  

No longer entranced by Greg’s gorgeousness, I was able to take in his bedroom. There wasn’t much in terms of interior design, but he had his huge bed, a desk setup, a TV with a gaming system, and lots of different sneakers in their original boxes. He was such a guy. 

A few minutes went by before there was a knock at Greg’s door.  

“Um, come in!” I called. Ms. Williams entered.  

“Do you need anything?” she asked. “Dinner won’t be ready until around seven-thirty.” 

“I’m all good,” I replied. “Thank you for being so nice.” 

“Oh, of course baby!” she said cheerily. “I am just so excited to meet one of Greg’s friends from school. I was worried he didn’t have any. He never brings anyone by to hang out.” 

“I’m sure he has lots of friends on the team,” I offered. 

“Maybe,” she said. “But he’s always been such a sensitive boy. I don’t think those boys really understand that.” She came further into the room. She seemed like she really had something to share with me, like this was confession in church, and I was the priest. “He was born premature, and I was terrified I was going to lose him. His dad was never the best and even when Greg was in the NICU fighting for his life, he rarely visited.” 

“That’s awful,” I said, knowing my emotions were showing on my face. I could feel a huge frown fixed on my mouth. 

“He never understood Greg. He was a terrible man.” She came closer, sitting on the bed next to me. I’d barely said two words to the parents of my other friends in the Troupe and I’d known most of them for over three years. Now here I was with Greg’s mom having a whole therapy session. 

“Greg must not like him very much.” 

“He was very hard on him.” She paused, like there was more to be said, but not like it could be shared at this moment. “I don’t think he could like his dad after how he was treated by him.” 

We sat together in the silence before she chuckled under her breath. She looked over at me, smiling wide. She and Greg had the same megawatt smile. 

“When Greg was a little boy, he loved Clifford the Big Red Dog. The boy was obsessed! He had all the books and the pajamas and the bedspreads. I think because he loved it so much, it’s the reason he grew as big as he is now. He was copying that damn dog!” She laughed loudly, playfully patting me on the shoulder. I laughed too, thinking about Greg not being absolutely gigantic. 

“I don’t think Greg would ever tell me any of this,” I said, still laughing. 

“Oh, he’s going to be a little Mr. Grumpypants when he finds out I’ve been in here talking to you.” She sighed. “I’m just so happy he’s becoming close to someone. His dad really instilled some negative things in him about his self-image. We got divorced when Greg was starting middle school.” 

“He hasn’t really told me about it,” I said. “Maybe one day he will.” 

“I think he might,” she said. “You’re all he ever talks about. ‘Holden is so smart, mom. Holden said I need to watch Dreamgirls. Do you think Holden would want to come play video games? Holden this and Holden that.’ It warms my heart, honestly.” 

“I didn’t know he thought of me as such a good friend.” I smiled at her. “I’m glad though. Greg’s really cool.” 

That’s when Greg came back to his room, stopping in the doorway when he saw his mom on the bed next to me. He groaned loudly. I could tell he was embarrassed. “Mom, please leave him alone. He’s gonna think there’s something wrong with me.” 

“If your friends can’t talk to your mom, they shouldn’t be your friends.” She stood up from the bed and walked towards the door. “I’m going to go finish slaving over your dinner. Bye Holden-sweetheart.” 

After she left it was just Greg and I in his bedroom. He didn’t say much for a while, and I think he was actually really embarrassed by his mom having been talking to me. He was wearing another pair of sweats now; they were black Adidas sweats with the white stripes up the side. They weren’t as baggy either, so I was able to see a better outline of his legs and butt. He also wore a simple gray t-shirt. 

“Your mom is so nice,” I said, trying to alleviate some of the awkward tension. 

“She told you the Clifford story, didn’t she?” he asked, certain his mom had gone into detail about his love of the big red dog. 

“I’m not going to lie to you,” I said, feigning seriousness. “I know about the Clifford story. I would like to confess my obsession with Cyberchase.” 

He laughed. I laughed. We laughed together and things began to feel less uncomfortable. 

We got started running lines after that. We stood in the middle of his bedroom, both holding copies of the script. I didn’t need a copy. I’d committed the entire thing to memory, but it was important I was able to help Greg if he made a mistake. He played his one role, and I played all the other characters. He thought it was funny that I had different voices for everyone. His favorite would have to be when I did Curley’s Wife. He relaxed a lot when I did that one. He also thought it was amazing I had memorized everyone’s lines along with mine. I had a crazy good memory when it came to scripts, but a month after the show I wouldn’t even remember half of these lines. Hell, maybe it should have been a two man show. 

He was fantastic when he was at ease. He had great comedic timing and he knew exactly when to play up the serious scenes. We’d gotten through a majority of the script when his mom called us for dinner. 

We ate and talked. After dinner we worked on homework and did a bit of studying. He took me home before it got too late. That had been one of the best nights I’d had in a long time. 

We kept up our mini rehearsals every other day for about a month and everyone was amazed at how well he was doing when we got together after school. I was proud of him, and it made me feel good to know I was the reason he was improving. It felt good to know that he was my friend, even if I was still incredibly attracted to him. 

The play was a week away, meaning we’d entered tech week, so Greg was officially done with football until after Thanksgiving. At that point they’d be in the playoffs.  

I’d bought everyone costumes and I liked to think that I did a fantastic job. Everyone tried on their stuff last month when I first bought the clothes. Nobody had gotten any bigger or taller, so I was sure everything would fit. 

Well, almost nobody had gotten bigger. 

“Holden,” I heard Greg call. I walked over to the door his head was peering out of. It was the small bathroom behind the stage. He stepped back to allow me to enter and closed the door. “My costume, uh, it—it doesn’t fit anymore,” he said. He was right. It didn’t fit. The hooks of the overalls wouldn’t even meet the front part. His belly was too big. His thighs filled out the overalls completely. They were the biggest thighs I had ever seen and all I could think about was my head in between them with his dick in my mouth. “I ripped out the back too.” He turned around and I saw a very large rip down his meaty backside.  

“Well, I could—.” I was thinking. I had no idea what I could do, not in this very moment at least. “Just wear your regular clothes and tell him you can’t find your costume. Take it off and give it here,” I said. He pulled off the denim fabric and I almost passed out from how quickly my penis stiffened. 

Those big beefy legs—oh God. I couldn’t help but imagine them bucking behind me. He unbuttoned his plaid shirt as well. He was standing in front of me wearing nothing but his underwear. He pulled on his jeans and put on his sweatshirt. 

“Thanks for not laughing,” he said as he walked by me to leave the bathroom. I was so enamored that I hadn’t covered my crotch. I prayed he didn’t feel my erection as he walked by me. If he did, he didn’t say anything. 

I measured him again later and when I went to hunt down some more overalls, I went up a size larger than I thought we’d need. They were huge, but hell, I thought the last pair of overalls were enormous. I saw him the next day and told him that I had bought him a new outfit and he thanked me again. 

It made sense why he needed a new costume. I was pretty sure Greg was a nervous eater. But then again, I noticed he also ate a lot when we rehearsed at his house, and he didn’t seem nervous at all then. Maybe he just ate a lot, and he didn’t need a reason besides liking food. I liked that he liked food. It just made him all the more attractive to me. 

The football team did not like Greg missing two weeks of games. They’d gone into overdrive in regard to fucking with us drama-geeks. I noticed they didn’t really mess with me though. I think it was because I was always around Greg now. I heard a rumor that they planned on convincing everyone not to come and see the play. I hoped that wasn’t true. 

So things kept moving forward. Sets were built, costumes were finalized, mics were assigned, and blocking was underway. The play was in three days, and we stayed and ran through the entire thing twice every day.  

I could tell the fact that things became more fast-paced had started to get to Greg. I knew he liked to eat, and it was really cute how much he enjoyed all the cast food, but every spare moment he was munching on something. He’d even ended up on stage with food in his mouth a few times. The new overalls were holding up okay though. I wanted to ask him how much he weighed. I really wanted to know. 

“Hey, how much do you have to weigh for wrestling?” I asked one day at lunch. I figured he was going to wrestle once the play was over. I saw it once and it looked hard, but he looked amazing in the singlet. It was like the gym uniform, only better. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna wrestle this year,” he said, sounding really self-conscious. “I barely qualified for the highest weight class last year—and that’s 285 pounds.” He placed his large hand on his even larger belly as he munched on some potato chips. “I’ve gained a lot of weight recently.” Oh, and I’d noticed. “I’m probably up 60 pounds from last winter.” 

When he said that, I—of course—got an erection. I was a freaking sex fiend or something. I needed to calm down. 

“Cool,” I said. Cool? What was so cool about it? I didn’t want to say anything stupid, and I ended up saying the absolute dumbest thing in the world. He just laughed and kept eating. 

“I’m way more invested in football,” he said, still eating. “I’ve got college scouts coming to see me play in the playoffs. I just wish I’d been practicing more with the team.” 

“I’m sorry Greg,” I said. Mr. Murray and his determination to get us a Lennie could have fucked with Greg’s collegiate dreams. Football was his future, not acting. It was way more important than Of Mice and Men. 

“I’m not,” he said seriously. We were alone at our table. I’d grown accustomed to us living within our own bubble. Just me and him. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’ll be doing another play, but I’m getting B’s in all my classes and I’m getting to spend time with you. You’ve helped me do stuff I never thought possible. It makes me think that maybe college won’t be so bad. I figured the only way I’d make it through was because I was gonna be playing ball, but maybe—maybe I’m smart enough too.” 

“It sucks to think we just got to know each other this year,” I said. “You’re one incredible person Gregory Deshawn Williams.” 

“I thought it’d be scary having you say my full name, but I like it when you say it.” He looked down at the food he had left, selecting his next delectable morsel. “It’s cute.” 

I just laughed. I didn’t know what else to do. His mom had said he was sensitive, not gay. Greg was probably just a guy that didn’t embrace toxic masculinity. Him saying that I was cute didn’t mean what I wanted it to mean. I didn’t want to harm this friendship. I’d rather have Greg as a friend than not at all. 

Opening night caused the most anxiety ever, for anyone. I put on my jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and cowboy boots backstage before putting on a light layer of stage makeup. I did Greg’s face too, but his was even lighter. He was sweating so much I didn’t want his face to look runny. 

“Calm down,” I said. “Your energy can throw off the entire show.” His eyes widened and I knew I’d chosen the wrong way to phrase that. Theater people were a little blunter than I think he could handle. “Greg, you’re going to do great. Just imagine it’s me and you up there.” He stopped fidgeting after that, taking a deep breath. 

“I’m so nervous I haven’t eaten since lunchtime,” he said. That was all I needed to hear. If Greg had skipped dinner, he must have been terrified of going up there. 

“We’ll eat a whole bunch after the show,” I promised.  

“My mom’s here,” he said. “She said that she was glad I was doing something more intellectually stimulating.” He sighed. “She probably thinks I’m stupid too.” 

“She doesn’t,” I said, quickly defending Ms. Williams, my number one fan. “You’re not stupid. You’ve never been stupid. And you know your mom would kill you if she heard you talking like this.” I knew he needed more support. This was his very first show ever! I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly. I could feel his warm hand on my back as he hugged me in return. We stopped embracing one another and he smiled at me. He could do this. I knew he could. The opening music started, and Kyle took his place next to Greg, rudely bumping me out of the way in the process. “Break a leg,” I whispered as he walked on stage. 

The show moved along, and I went out four times to deliver lines. I was only in two scenes with Greg, but I made sure to give him a discrete thumbs up. He nodded slightly and smiled. He did really well. I was definitely a Greg stan, but he killed it out there on stage! He remembered all of his lines, he made all of his position marks, and got a ton of laughs. I was so happy. Kyle flubbed twice, and I reveled in his mediocrity. 

Afterwards, Greg and I found Ms. Williams. She told me I did a fantastic job and that I was very handsome on stage. I noticed she nudged Greg in the side slightly when she said that I was handsome. “You are going to be the next Michael B. Jordan,” she said. “When you’re famous don’t forget about me!” 

She turned to Greg, tears in her eyes, and hugged him. She was so proud of him, and it showed. It was making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He’d worked so hard, and it was paying off. “You liked the show?” he asked. 

“I loved the show,” she said. “I loved seeing you up there.” 

My mom and dad and brothers were here too. They made their way over to where I stood with Greg and his mother. My family met Ms. Williams and they chatted for what felt like hours. While our parents talked, the twins joked around with Greg about how big he was. My brothers, Charlie and Sammie, were ten. 

“You could be in WWE,” Charlie said. 

“It’d be so cool,” Sammie added. “You could probably lift both of us at the same time!” 

“Yeah!” Charlie added enthusiastically. “Holden never plays WWE with us.” 

“Well, if I was on a team with Greg I’d play,” I said. “You guys kick my butt when it’s two-on-one.” That started an argument between them. They both wanted to partner up with Greg and they were debating who’d be stuck with me. Greg just laughed and laughed. I was worried he’d be annoyed by my kid brothers, but he was handling them really well. 

Standing in a cluster, Greg towered over all of us. My mom was 5’2” and my dad was the same height as me. The twins were still growing, but I doubted they’d grow much taller than me or my dad. And Ms. Williams was tiny as well. He was truly a giant amongst men. 

Everyone talked a little while longer, but the auditorium began to clear out aside from Mr. Murray and the rest of the cast and crew. We cleaned off all the makeup and changed clothes. We gathered in a circle for post-show notes. It was just observations that Mr. Murray and Eva noted during the performance that could be improved upon in the next show. Greg was the only one who didn’t have something to improve on. It killed Kyle, who’d been reprimanded over his missed lines and incorrect positioning on the stage.  

Unfortunately, the cast party was going to be at Kyle’s house. I wanted to go because opening night deserved to be celebrated, but I was likely just going to head home. I was sure the Troupe would be upset if I didn’t go, but Kyle’s attitude was going to be a lot to deal with. I was the only one who ever called him out and that meant I was the one he was going to take his aggression out on. 

“Are we going to the cast party?” Greg asked once we made our way to the parking lot. He’d told my parents he’d give me a ride home. I wondered if he actually wanted to go or if he was suggesting we go because he thought it was what I wanted. 

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Only if you don’t mind going. We don’t have to stay long.” It was about nine forty-five and really nice for November. I sat in the passenger’s seat, and we drove to Kyle’s house. It was an older house and really big. It looked kind of haunted. 

We saw Jane, who played Curley’s Wife, and we all went inside together. There were thirty people involved with the production and they were all here. Greg and I talked about the performance, sitting at a table alone just like at lunchtime. A bunch of the Troupe were drinking and smoking and making out. Drama-geeks were just as debaucherous as all other high school cliques. 

He said that he was so nervous at first, he thought he was going to throw up. “You can just feel the audience when you’re up there,” he said. “It’s almost like we’re animals in a zoo.” I laughed.  

He was munching on those little sandwiches they have at parties. He must’ve eaten half of one of those huge trays by himself. “Hey, quit eating all the goddamn food,” Kyle said, walking over to where we sat away from everyone. He’d been so loud that nearly all the partygoers looked over at us now. My face was so hot it felt like someone had a spotlight on me. “I mean, I doubt you had to gain any weight for this role, idiot.” Greg stopped eating. 

“And you, I bet you loved when I messed up, didn’t you?” Oh my God. I was so mad. He wanted to start some shit? It was one thing to fuck with me, but to constantly belittle Greg? I had been waiting to go off completely on Kyle for weeks. 

“I did,” I said honestly. “I told you that you couldn’t act.”  

“You’re fucking Whit, Holden. You aren’t Broadway material.” 

“Neither are you!” I could feel my voice becoming shrill, but I had adrenaline pumping through my system and I wasn’t going to stop. “You spent months talking mad shit about Greg and he stole the whole fucking show. You should be thanking him for making you look halfway decent.” 

He glared at me for a moment before slapping a cup full of soda into my lap. What a bitch move. 

“How’s that feel? Figured you could use a drink from how thirsty you are for Lennie.” I was mortified. He didn’t have to say that. I couldn’t even bring myself to look in Greg’s direction. 

“You’re a real bitch, you know that right?” I asked rhetorically, standing. He shoved me hard and I stumbled back into my chair, banging my head against the wall of his basement. 

Greg stood up and grabbed Kyle by the collar of his shirt. I could see he wanted to knock Kyle’s teeth to the back of his throat, but he was able to restrain himself. He shook Kyle violently. “Say you’re sorry,” Greg boomed. 

“No way,” Kyle said, being very bold for someone who could potentially meet Jesus in the next thirty seconds. 

“I wasn’t asking you,” Greg barked, pushing Kyle so hard he fell on his ass. “You either apologize to Holden or I’ll bash your fucking face in.” I was living! I wanted nothing more than for Kyle to reap what he had sewn for weeks. I looked over at Greg and I could tell he was having a hard time; he didn’t want to do this, be the type of guy to hurt someone else. That really put a damper on how Kyle was getting his just desserts. Greg was breathing really heavily, and I knew that if he started in on Kyle nobody would be able to stop him. 

“Fuck him,” I said, standing again. “I don’t need his apology. Let’s just get out of here.” 

Greg looked over at me, still breathing heavily. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was starting to soften again. After a few more seconds, he just walked away. He left the house and I followed. Even his exit was totally badass. 

I caught up to Greg as he left the house. He wasn’t nearly as angry as he’d been a few seconds ago, but I could still feel rage radiating off of him. I appreciated him standing up for me even though he preferred avoiding confrontations.  

I wished my jeans weren’t so tight. They weren’t skinny jeans per se, but they weren’t as loose as some guys liked. The wet spot on my crotch had soaked through into my underwear. I hated how it felt, all damp and sticky. I wanted to go home so I could change, but I didn’t want that to mean we’d be done seeing one another for the evening. We walked to his truck and got in. He was still really upset so he hadn’t said anything. 

“I’ll take you home,” he said finally, sitting back in his seat, a scowl on his face and his hands in fists. It made me feel like he was upset with me. Maybe he didn’t like that I’d put him in that situation. I shouldn’t have antagonized Kyle. I should have followed Greg’s example and ignored trivial bullshit. 

“I’m really sorry about what happened in there,” I said, hating the idea that my pettiness could have completely ruined the vibe we’d built up. “I shouldn’t have said those things to Kyle. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in that drama. I’m not usually a messy person.” 

“You’re always standing up for me and treating me like I have something to offer besides playing football.” His voice was deep and clear. He looked over at me, his eyes watery. “I’m not as strong as I look. Kyle talking to me like that just makes me think of my dad. I’m just—I’m so angry Holden and I don’t like it. I don’t want to be like that.” 

“You could’ve hurt him, but you didn’t. I’d be lying if I said that in that moment I didn’t want you to let him have it, but you have real strength Greg. You are constantly surprising me with how kind you are. I admire you a lot.” 

“Thank you,” he said, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.  

“If you take me home, would you want to hang out for a bit?” I asked. “I—I’m not ready for the night to end yet.” 

“I’m not either,” he said, laughing, looking over at me in my soaked jeans. “You could take off your pants if they’re bothering you. I wouldn’t mind. I can crank the heat.” He wasn’t coming on to me, I had to remind myself. That didn’t stop me from thinking about sex and getting a boner. I was so embarrassed. I needed to learn to control my sexual urges. I wasn’t twelve anymore and these constant erections were so juvenile. 

“My underwear is wet too,” I said. He rummaged through the back seat before handing me a pair of his gigantic sweatpants. “Well, if I get out to change, will you watch to make sure nobody is coming?” Being naked in front of him was bad enough, but I still had a semi-hard penis in my pants. I’d just have to move quickly and keep in mind he wasn’t interested in looking in my direction. 

“Yeah, of course.” He coughed slightly. “I’ll be lookout.” We both got out of his truck, and I walked to the driver’s side, which was facing the street. I held his sweatpants in my hands as I looked up at him. We just stood there looking at one another until he finally said, “Oh, sorry, I’ll turn the other way.” He shifted his body, so he wasn’t looking in my direction. 

I removed my sneakers so I could take off the jeans. Then I peeled off the moist Calvin Klein briefs. I could feel the cool November breeze on my ass and balls. My heart was beating out of my chest. I wanted him to look at me and like what he saw. I wanted him to rip my shirt off so that I was completely nude in front of him. He could push me up against his truck and do whatever he wanted to me. Fuck. I had fallen for him hard. I pushed my fantasies to the back of my mind, finally pulling on the sweats and slipping my shoes back on. I could fit in one of the pant legs comfortably if I wanted to. I had to hold the waistband in a ball so they wouldn’t fall down.  

“All good,” I said. 

Once we were back inside of his truck, he started the engine and drove to my house. It was about a twenty-minute drive. It was nearly eleven at this point, and my parents would likely have an issue with Greg and I hanging out in the house so late when everyone else was sleeping. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, whispering, following me into the backyard. 

“My secret fort,” I replied. 

We walked quietly for a few moments before coming to stand before a quaint wooden structure in our backyard. It had been here for nearly ten years now. My dad had built it for me, and now the twins played in it from time to time. It was a fairly simple design. It had one large entrance and two small windows. It sat on top of a large wooden base. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna fit in there,” he said, laughing. 

“You can fit,” I said, not entirely sure if that was true. I entered first, filling the space away from the door. There was plenty of room left, I thought. I watched him through the window. He crouched down, his body filling the entire doorway. Shit, maybe he wouldn’t fit. 

He turned slightly, sucking in his stomach. He sat next to me, both of his legs hanging out of the door. “I guess we can count this as me fitting.” 

“Is this how Emily Elizabeth feels dealing with Clifford?” I asked. 

“Shut up,” he said, laughing. I laughed too and it just felt so right. Everything about being with him felt so effortless. I was falling in love with him. I was suddenly very sad. I couldn’t sit here and fantasize about Greg. He wasn’t interested in me, and I was deluding myself hoping for anything more than being friends. I had to stop hoping for a relationship more romantic and physical in nature. I had to be appreciative that I’d gotten to know such a kind and gentle person. 

He lifted his arm and placed it around me. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a tight fit in here.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” He just needed to get more comfortable. He wasn’t making a move on me. I looked up to see if I could tell what he was thinking. I could barely see his face in the darkness, but it didn’t seem like he was feeling what I was. We sat in the dark like that for a while, just existing with one another. 

“Holden?” he called, his arm still around me. 

“Yeah?” I answered. 

“Are you gay?” I couldn’t look at him again, and even if I could, it wouldn’t have made it any easier to understand what he was thinking. I could feel my chest tighten, my heart beating a mile a minute. I wanted to hop out of the playhouse and run as far away from here as possible, but I couldn’t just leave him out here. I also wouldn’t be able to get out of here with him blocking the door. Maybe I could squeeze through one of the tiny windows. “I mean, I don’t care if you are. Because I—I—I like you Holden. I really like you.” 

“I am gay,” I said shakily. “I really like you too.” He looked down at me. I looked up at him. It was so strange how much better I could see him now. 

He pulled me closer. I could feel his body heat. I could smell him. He smelled like aftershave and stage makeup and faintly of party sandwiches. His massive arm pulled me closer still. His large hand held the back of my head. 

He kissed me and I kissed him back. This was nothing like kissing boys at parties this past summer at theater camp. “I gotta be honest,” he said, pulling away. “I was checking you out earlier tonight. You got a phat ass, Holden.” 

He’d been looking at me? And he liked what he saw? I couldn’t believe it. I kissed his face softly, enjoying how smooth his skin was. 

“Well, I’ve got to be honest with you,” I whispered. “I’ve been checking you out all year.” He smiled, his teeth bright in the night. He pulled me even closer. I could smell him even better; feel his warmth on my body. I placed my hand on his stomach, enjoying the heft of it. Greg was a fucking ten. 

The patio light came on and we both jumped. “Holden?” my father called. He could probably see Greg’s legs sticking out of the playhouse.  

“Yeah dad! It’s me!” I responded. “And Greg!” 

“Well say goodnight and come inside. It’s getting late.” He wasn’t coming outside. He probably assumed something way raunchier was going on inside of the secret fort. “You get home safe Greg!” 

“Yes sir, I will,” Greg replied. We heard the sliding sound of the patio doors. Greg shimmied his way out of the playhouse, thankfully not getting stuck. I followed and then walked him to his truck. 

“Text me when you get home,” I said. 

“I will.” He smiled at me. “Thanks for everything tonight. It was definitely memorable.” 

He wasn’t wrong about that, and I was happy. I was so incredibly happy. 

After all of that we still had seven shows to do. Kyle skipped like an entire section in the second show and Greg totally saved him by inventing new lines to get us back on track. When Kyle came off stage his face was so red! He couldn’t tell Greg he was stupid then. 

I hadn’t looked directly at Greg since that night in my secret fort. I was too nervous. It had been two days and I assumed we were still, like, together, but we didn’t say anything about it. It was kind of weird. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. I had no lines to recite. 

The morning of our third show, Kyle quit the play. I thought it was hilarious, but Mr. Murray didn’t. He was freaking out about how we still had six shows to put on. Greg told him I knew all the lines. I didn’t even want to be George anymore, not like this anyway. I had wanted to earn it. 

“You can do it? You know the lines?” Mr. Murray asked frantically. I told him that I did, and he told me “Whit has nearly no lines, somebody else won’t have a problem with the role.” After that I was George. 

My family came back to see the show, and Ms. Williams had been to see every single one. I got to act with Greg, which went absolutely amazing since we had been practicing together. He seemed to be doing even better with me as George instead of Kyle. 

The final show actually sold out all three hundred seats. It was a Sunday matinee, and the entire football team was there—even Coach White! I couldn’t believe they all cheered for us, louder than any applause I’d ever experienced. They hooted and hollered for ten minutes, chanting Greg’s name. I think it meant a lot to him. This was some serious High School Musical-Troy Bolton-“Breaking Free” shit.  

We walked out after changing and went over to Greg’s truck. We had started talking more and more. “Do you want to come over, maybe?” I asked. “My mom and dad are out of town visiting my grandma with the twins.” 

“Yeah, I’m down.” He hadn’t gotten to see the inside of my house last time, so I gave him a quick tour. It was pretty big, like Kyle’s haunted mansion, but a lot more inviting. It had two floors, a basement, and an attic. My room was in the attic, which I had entirely to myself. 

We entered my bedroom and I flicked on the overhead light. He looked around and noticed my bookshelf. It had mostly plays and classic literature on it. I took my bookshelf very seriously, but I swear I wasn’t pretentious about it. “Jesus, look at all these books,” he said. 

“I try to read a new play every week,” I said. I sat on my bed, and he sat next to me. I leaned on his shoulder, and he moved his arm around my waist and pulled me a bit closer. I loved when he did that. “I have some I think you’d really like if you want to borrow one.” 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Can I kiss you?” I asked. He nodded and I got on my knees in my bed so that we were at a more even height. We kissed for the first time since the night in the playhouse. It was amazing. His lips were so soft and smooth. He pulled at my shirt, and I helped him get it off. He touched my chest, and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end. It was euphoric, yet strange, to have somebody else touch my body. I had never been touched like this before. 

I pulled off his sweatshirt and my already erect penis stiffened even more. I was so glad we had the house to ourselves. He was so big. His gut was round and meaty. He had hair leading down from around his belly button to his pubic area. I finally got to feel it. 

He undid his pants button at the same time I undid mine. I was so excited; I thought that my heart was going to beat out of my chest. My pants came off and I was in my black briefs. He was standing, and I was on my knees in the bed facing him. I kissed his chest. It tasted good, like clean and sweat at the same time. 

“Do you have any lube?” he asked. 

“It’s in the top drawer of my dresser,” I said, pointing across the room. He sauntered over to it, his back looking ridiculously sexy. I wanted to touch every part of him. I wanted to leave no area unmarked by my hands (and mouth). His jeans sagged down in the back and the slope of his lower back to the top of his ass was so extreme. I wanted to see him completely naked. 

He walked back over to me, lube in hand. He stood before me again and pulled off the rest of his clothes. I reached out, touching his stomach before my hand traveled down to his dick. It was thick and long. He had to be at least nine inches. “I’m a little nervous.” 

“Me too,” he said. “We can stop if you want.” 

“No, I don’t want to stop. I want to do this with you.” He smiled, his large hand pushing me onto my back. He put on a condom from his wallet. He grabbed my underwear and pulled it down. My penis bobbed freely from its confine. He covered his dick with lube before gently massaging my hole with lubed up fingers.  

He got on his knees as he continued massaging my hole. He brought his face close to my penis, licking the shaft. He grabbed it with his free hand and stroked it a few times before popping the head into his mouth. He sucked on it greedily, like it was some sort of tasty treat. I was so excited I thought I would cum any second.  

“Greg,” I managed to get out. “You’ve got to stop or I’ll cum too soon.” He ignored me, continuing to take my entire dick in his mouth. I thought for sure it was all over, but he stopped just in time. There were no words to describe the way I was currently feeling. This was unscripted. I just had to enjoy the moment. 

He stood, removing his fingers from inside me, and positioned me so that I was close enough to the edge that he could still have access to my ass. I was on my back; my legs were in the air and kind of on his chest. He bent his knees, trying to guide his penis inside of me, but he was too tall. I grabbed a pillow and placed it under my lower back, which helped considerably. “You better let me know if it hurts.” Even now he was concerned with hurting another person. I loved this guy. 

He slowly entered me with the tip of his dick. He kept it there for a few moments, allowing me to get used to it before pushing more and more of himself inside of me. “It—it feels good,” I moaned. I was feeling bashful, so I covered my face with my arm. 

He thrust his hips and I could feel his belly on my penis, shifting back and forth as he moved. “Move your arm,” he said assertively. “I wanna see that cute face.” 

I did as he said, looking up at him. He licked his lips and it just turned me on even more. 

“Fuck—,” he groaned, moving more slowly, switching up the rhythm. His belly had been rubbing me off, and I came after a few more minutes. Cum spurted on my stomach and partially on his gut. He wasn’t done yet, and he kept pushing into me at a steady pace. I was still rock hard and enjoyed the ride until he finished about a minute later.  

“We’ve got to do that again,” I said, panting. I stood, my legs wobbly, and grabbed a towel from my closet so that I could clean us up.  

“We most definitely do.”  

We even took a shower together after that. It was a good thing we had a detachable shower head because it did make it easier for him to rinse himself off. We were both hard the entire time, and I knew we’d be very busy the rest of the night. 

In the end, Greg and the rest of the football team made it to state, even taking the title. My entire family and Ms. Williams wore jerseys with his number on it. The scouts had come out to see him play and he killed it. He’d gotten multiple offers, but he was going to commit to the school closest to mine. Our campuses would only be a thirty-minute drive from one another. Greg wasn’t able to go back to wrestling. The coach, he told me, was extremely shocked by how much weight he had put on. He was well over 360 pounds, which was more than seventy pounds in a year. He spent the winter eating and conditioning and growing stronger. He may have had a belly, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a ton of muscle. 

I ended up getting a substantial role in the winter drama and the lead in the musical, so there was no more crying in the bathroom stalls for me. But honestly, even if I had been cast in a Whit-like role, I wouldn't have cared because Greg and I were together. 

Kyle didn’t audition for the winter drama or the musical. It was awesome; both shows went so much more smoothly without him. 

I’d been reading the play As You Like It and Shakespeare was really on to something when he said all the world’s a stage. I didn’t have to wait for lines, and I didn’t need to shrink into the background. If my life was a production, I had to make sure it was Tony-worthy. And I knew Greg would be one hell of a co-star. 

The End!

[livelaughghoul]

Esteban Ocon Through Tarot

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only, nothing observed or taken away from this should be considered fact. As a reminder, I know fuck all about Formula 1, I just like fast cars (DALE EARNHARDT LIVES ON IN MY DREAMS, GOD BLESS AMERICA).

My approach to tarot is different from the typical approach. While I use it as a tool for divination, I much prefer to use it to explore more about myself and others as a people. Tarot is an amazing tool taught to me by a family member, and that has influenced how I read and find meaning in the cards. Anyone may look at the cards and have a different meaning and understanding, and that’s perfectly fine. Tarot is unique, and we are all allowed to find meaning in our readings differently. 

For this, I wanted to do a two-card pull. The first card is what part of the personality is shown to the world, and what the person wants their public perception to be. The second card is more of that hidden personality, the real side that isn’t put on for the public or media's sake. In a sense, this is very the sun and moon when it comes to astrology, which I want to dive into as well a little bit. It may be difficult to do since not all birth information is available, so the charts may not be 100% accurate as birth time does impact that. 

The outward personality: 9 of Pentacles

The 9 of Pentacles is the hard work that one has put in finally paying off. It’s this ability to feel balance even when things aren’t at an equal distribution, largely due to the comfort that one feels in their current standing in life. It’s a laid-back, almost natural luxury and charm. When it comes to the personality, I think that there is a lot of warmth and comfort being exuded. To me, this seems like the first person who is offering to take others out to dinner and pay, a love language of gift-giving (even if it’s super small things). This is the embodiment of making sure the ones you love are taken care of, in understated ways. 

The hidden personality: Page of Wands

I am not a huge fan of any of the Pages, they radiate fuck-boy energy and it gives me the ick. I think when it comes to the personality and this being the more hidden or reserved personality, this to me screams having the blinders on. This man is dedicated to what he believes his purpose is and will do whatever it takes to meet his own goals. I think that with this particular card, there is a lot of potential manipulation, and it’s likely easy to take advantage of him and his kindness. 

What I find interesting about his birth chart: 

Mars and Venus first house placements: 

This is the house of the self, it’s literally who you are. I love it when both Mars and Venus share a house. The Venus influence can be seen through subtle charm, mannerisms, and the need for friendship, whereas the Mars can be seen through impulsivity, confidence, and hard work. I would say that there is a subdued dominant personality in there somewhere, more about controlling the situation for his own comfort than the need to dominate others. 

Leo Stellium with Mars, Rising, and Venus: 

In this house, we love a stellium. Even if it brings conflict and tension, we love the absolute energy boost it brings. This particular combo tells me that there is a lot of passion and creativity, and I bet this man argues with his whole chest. 

Saturn in Aries (retrograded at time of birth): 

I absolutely love Saturn, I feel like it’s one of those misunderstood planets! Esteban is also going through his first Saturn return right now, so he is probably going through it right now (same bestie, same). Having his Saturn in Aries really leads me to believe that there is a lot of personal conflict, and likely a struggle with imposter syndrome. A lot of the Saturn influence begins to really calm down once you reach your 20s, picks back up again when your Saturn return hits, and then cools down again. I think right now there is a lot of struggle in finding belonging and figuring out responsibilities and duties, but I think that this is a really important time to go through. 

Oppositions of Mercury and Saturn, Mars and Neptune: 

Oppositions are really interesting to me, mostly because I am a chaos gremlin and these bring things out of balance. 

Mercury and Saturn being opposed tell me that this man is blunt as fuck when he is in a bad mood. Once that social battery is drained, the snark meter goes off the charts. There is also a lot of control needed. 

Mars and Neptune being opposed honestly is horrific. In my personal experience, I see this a lot with addiction and substance use. This opposition needs to find a healthy way to cope when things get challenging, there is a lot of personal work that needs to go into finding healthy coping mechanisms.

[bethanydelleman]

I haven't gone very deep into the Austen fandom or JAFF world yet, so I'd like to ask a question out of curiosity. Is it common for Austen fans to view Elizabeth as being more like Jo in "Little Women" than she really is? I've seen a few posts comparing them, with a comment on one of them saying "Everyone loves to compare them." But while they do have some things in common, for the most part I'd say they're very different characters (and from entirely different genres of book too, a comedy of manners vs. a Bildungsroman).

Short answer: Yes, absolutely they are conflated. Though @thatscarletflycatcher might be able to better answer about Jo.

I haven't read Little Women in forever, but according to Wikiepdia, "The principal character, Jo, 15 years old at the beginning of the book, is a strong and willful young woman, struggling to subdue her fiery temper and stubborn personality." It also describes her as a tomboy.

I do see Elizabeth Bennet characterized like this a lot in Jane Austen Fan Fiction, despite that not really being her personality. I don't know if we have P&P 2005 to blame for this or if the misconception began earlier, but Elizabeth never displays tomboy tendencies in the novel, unlike Catherine Morland who is described that way in Northanger Abbey. JAFF with child versions of Elizabeth often have her climbing trees and coming home dirty every day; I would guess this is taken from her walk to Netherfield.

Elizabeth also doesn't have temper problems. She stays calm through the entire Collins proposal even though he won't listen to her refusal. At one point she just gives up on saying no and decides to get her father. A person with a temper would have yelled by then, in my humble opinion. She's even pretty calm during Darcy's proposal, as insulting as it is.

Elizabeth never rejected the idea of marriage, she was looking around and hoping to find someone. She doesn't write or want to work... she is very intelligent...

I think part of it is that Elizabeth often becomes the vehicle through which authors point out the problems with the Regency era, which Book!Elizabeth never does. If any Austen hero is radical, it's Anne Elliot of Persuasion, but as most JAFF is about P&P... They don't want her to be a passive delicate female, so they give her a job. They don't want her to be blind to the class system of her era, so they make her a advocate for the poor. It's about the author's sensibilities, not the true nature of Elizabeth as a character. Which is fine if you want to do self-insert, but don't tell me that is Elizabeth Bennet!

So yeah, they love Elizabeth's wit, but they want her to be Jo March.

[kanmom51]

JM Choreography practice BTB

A little late to the table here, been MIA for a couple of days, so I'm playing catch-up at the moment.

Before I touch on JK's visit, just wanted to mention JM's work ethic again.

We talk about it, JK talks about it, Suga talks about it, and here we see it once again. Man gives his all and above. Spending hours on end practicing the choreography.

When we were talking about just how busy JM was, when JM was saying he's been working day in and out, making his way home in the wee hours of the morning to sleep and back to work in the past couple of months, this is what he was doing. JM gives it his all.

Now to JK's visit.

I will start by saying that my gut tells me we probably wouldn't be seeing this if not for JM dropping JK visited him during the practice in his live. It is what it is.

And even though we got to see them together, we got the bare minimum highly edited and cut to almost nothing. It is what it is.

The little that we got to see was awkward, subdued, cautious. Super cautious. It is what it is.

With all of that said, the tone of voice, the eye contact, the lingering looks, the hand holding. It is what it is.

So, even then, or perhaps somewhat because of all of the above, there was no mistaking just how different their interaction is.

It is what it is.

Clearly, to whoever has a brain, these two are ok.

So why did it feel so weird? Why did it seem so different than Hobi's visit to the MV set?

First of all, we were given practically nothing. We didn't see JK arrive, nor JM's reaction to his arrival (thinking back to previous BTB's - MV shooting BTBs - did we ever not get the initial reaction at arrival when another member showed up to cheer or support?). We got less than a minute of JK's visit, just a few seconds of actual Jikook interaction. Lots of cutting and editing going on.

This was one of those interactions that you need to watch and rewatch to notice what's going on, what's said, how it's said. And getting K-army's perspective here was super important too.

I'm assuming everything I'll be bringing up here has already been mentioned, given I'm a couple of days behind here. Still, I thought I'd put them all together while giving my perspective on them.

Let's start with JM's beanie. The too big on him beanie.

Not only do they either have the same beanie each or share the one, but they also seem to wear it similarly?

I'm kind of betting on the same shared beanie option given how ever so big it is on JM.

JK showed up at the practice, first time we see him he's sitting down watching and talking to JM.

As I mentioned, no footage of JK's arrival and their initial interaction. And clearly this isn't the start of their conversation.

The full interaction at this point:

This is where it feels really awkward. Perhaps the camera shoved in their faces, knowing they have to be cautious.

Also, JK insisting JM to show him the choreo.

Actually, what JK said was: "do it (for me) once".

This is JK saying to JM: "no, do it once more for me". No honorifics, no filters, just a boyfie excreting his boyfie rights.

JK, he has his way of telling JM just how much he is there for him:

Sometimes we need to be reminded:

JM asks JK not once, but twice to come again.

That no from JK. That wasn't a no, not for reals. Lol.

That was JK being his natural teasing/flirting self with JM. That was the same JK we saw here:

Even with the hat and mask, those eyes of his are such a tell.

Yes they were subdued. JK even more so. Yes, it felt a little stiff and awkward, like the two were either out of practice how to behave in front of the cameras when together or it's the dancers there that they felt they had to hold back or the two combined.

And yet, with all of that, JM found his way to JK's jewels.

I can't help but wonder if the camera really didn't catch it all or if this was some good editing going on. My bet is on the editing, lol.

Not first time we've seen JM go for the jewels.

I want to end this post sharing something that might not be too popular, but me being me, I felt the need to be honest with y'all.

Seeing this BTB left me very sad.

I know I was supposed to be overjoyed finally getting the two in one frame, something we've been deprived of for months, but it left me with a bitter sweet taste in my mouth.

Seeing how held back they both were, more so JK, how cautious and subdued they were, it just hit me hard.

Even more so when I had something to compare with - Hobi's visit.

How open and happy and touchy and just free they were, as opposed to how cautious and subdued and awkward JM and JK were. JM and Hobi's interactions getting over twice the screen time. Hobi's arrival and initial interaction not edited out.

It's not that I haven't known for a long time now that these two, that from end of 2020 through the end of 2021 made strides towards opening up the door to the closet, if you will, with more and more stretching that rubber band, loosening it up, pushing the boundaries more and more, have been pushed back deep into that closet.

By circumstances, by the company, by choice (? I think not really).

And seeing their interactions here and how sanitized they were, by themselves and by the editors, it made me sad.

At least they had the hand holding to fall back onto.

And the eye contact.

We know they know each other thru and thru. We've seen at times how they speak to each other, not a word exchanged.

Oh, how I wish I knew what they were conveying to each other.

And that lingering look of JM's.

We saw you Jiminah.

We saw you!!!

[hrizantemy]

Since it’s most likely that we’re gonna get Elain’s book next and I don’t really talk about Elain a lot on this account I would just give my opinion on her and how I view her personally and what she means to me.

Elain reminds me of myself, especially in the way she doesn’t evoke strong personal opinions from me. This indifference isn’t due to her character being unremarkable, but rather because she mirrors aspects of my own past. As a child, my trauma response was to become the quintessential “good child.” I learned to suppress my emotions and opinions, striving to never say the wrong thing, never yell, get upset, or show anger. This coping mechanism was my way of navigating a turbulent environment, aiming to avoid conflict and earn approval.

Elain’s character embodies this same quiet resilience and conflict-avoidance. Her tendency to stay out of confrontations and maintain a serene exterior resonates deeply with my own childhood behavior. It’s this reflection of my younger self that makes it difficult for me to form distinct opinions about her—it’s like looking into a mirror and seeing a part of me that I understand all too well, but also prefer to keep at a distance. Through Elain, I see the echoes of my own experiences and the complexities of being the “good child,” always striving for peace at the cost of my own voice and emotions.

My sister reminds me of Nesta, which is why I love her so deeply. Despite being younger than me, she was always the opposite of the "good child" I tried so hard to be. While I focused on being quiet and compliant, she embraced her anger. Her refusal to suppress her emotions set her apart and, in many ways, protected both of us.

Nesta's fierce independence and willingness to confront difficult truths resonate with my sister's personality. My sister's anger was never just about being rebellious; it was a way of asserting herself and fighting against the constraints that I often silently accepted. Her courage to express her feelings, no matter how intense, made her someone I admire deeply.

Loving my sister for these traits is easy because, through her, I see a strength I often wished I had. Her ability to stand up for herself and others, even when it meant facing disapproval, created a balance in our relationship. She was the voice when I was silent, the storm when I was calm. My deep love for her stems from this dynamic; her unapologetic anger and passion were a counterbalance to my own subdued nature. Through her, I learned that it's okay to feel and express every emotion, even the difficult ones.

Growing up, I was forced into a parental role by my mother who was abusice, a responsibility that weighed heavily on me from a young age. Elain’s character resonates deeply with the trauma I experienced and witnessed, particularly through Nesta’s tumultuous relationship with their mother and grandmother. Nesta’s struggles with their expectations and the harsh treatment they endured parallel my own challenges. Both Elain and Nesta embody different responses to trauma—Elain retreats into gentleness and seeks peace, while Nesta confronts her pain with defiance and anger.

I don’t always agree with some of the things Elain does, similarly, there are aspects of Nesta’s choices that I struggle to reconcile with. With Elain, her tendency to prioritize peace and harmony can sometimes lead to decisions or actions that I question. There are moments where I wish she would assert herself more or take a stand against injustices. However, I understand that her desire to avoid conflict stems from a place of wanting stability and protection for herself and her loved ones. Her choices reflect her own coping mechanisms and the traumas she carries, much like my own experiences of trying to maintain calm in turbulent times.

On the other hand, Nesta’s defiance and sometimes abrasive behavior can be difficult to support. Her actions, driven by her own pain and anger, often clash with societal expectations or even with the people closest to her. Yet, I empathize deeply with her struggle to reclaim her autonomy and voice after enduring profound trauma. Her journey towards self-discovery and healing, though tumultuous, speaks to the resilience and strength within her.

In both Elain and Nesta, I see reflections of me and my sister a complexity—flawed, yet profoundly real. They embody different responses to adversity, and my understanding of them is shaped by my own experiences of navigating difficult circumstances. While I may not agree with every choice they make, I empathize with the reasons behind their actions and respect their individual paths towards healing and self-acceptance.

[the-kr8tor]

Dragon Hobie X knight/adventurer reader?

So maybe something DnD like or overall just high fantasy but overall;

Dragon Hobie who you first meet as you walk through the woods near a grand cave and stare at his large curled up form. Before you can realize you stepped on a branch he opens one eye after the other. Lazily staring at you with no intention to harm you unless you strike first. Carefully and gently you come a bit forward and sit in front of his nose. To which he gently leans forward and closes his eyes as you rest your hand over it, his flaring nostrils exhaling smoke.

He comes to learn about you and stays quiet, listening to you speak as you keep your hand on his snout and lightly pet it like he's not some giant dragon. He seems interested in you, to the point where he waits until you finally ask his name. And he gives it to you. He finds you oddly endearing, but small. So he shapes himself into a more human form, kneeling down on one knee to pat your head with a smirk.

He's decorated up and down with gold and red translucent fabrics that drape him, the bottom fading into a ink black. His face and ears are pierced, his eyes are still the same slitted snake like the ones you saw earlier. Grey with gold flakes in them. And you can't help but melt when his hand finds purchase on your cheek while he asks you questions in a tender and gentle manner. He doesn't stress you out and takes your every answer with the most care he can give you. Usually you hear all about how dragons are greedy, self centered, selfish, less than; human, kind or compassionate. And yet he shows none of those traits. He's calm as a river and just as soothing as water flowing between your fingers.

He smiles and fully sits down on the ground with you, holding both your hands as he asks to be friends and if he can see you again. He gets lonely once in a while, he enjoys going to town but sometimes even that's too loud for him. So you say yes, and you come back. Again and again, you come back to meet him in his forest or his cave. He's always putting a lot of attention into his movements when he's in his natural form, careful with you and only ever nudging you with his snout if he wants your attention or anything of the sort. His favourite thing is the time you feel asleep next to him as if he couldn't just crush you (not that he ever would). You were hugging his large scaly neck, warm and cuddly. He ended up deciding to shift into his more human form, both not wanting to crush you and to be able to hold you back. And now you can only tell the tales of the enormous dragon you've subdued. In a way you have, you've gotten his heart out of him in the end. Who's to say you don't have his heart and soul, body and more. Meanwhile he gets to patiently wait for you on his horde back home as he naps peacefully. He knows nothing of cruelty for he doesn't wish to inflict it on anyone, especially not if it could have repercussions on you.

-🪦

R is a targaryen!!! That's the only explanation why Hobie's immediately smitten 😍😍 and it's mutual bc R is all ❤️👄❤️ at the giant ancient dragon in front of them

Now I want my own dragon

[nikibogwater]

Ya girl's been SICK this week (my first time getting Covid, yaaaay), which sucked, but it did mean I finally had the time to properly binge the How to Train Your Dragon movies for the first time since The Hidden World released. I've never actually sat down and watched all three films back-to-back before, even though this was THE film franchise of my teenage years. But having finally done so, I have Thoughts™.

First movie is still arguably the best of the three, if only because it's an entirely self-contained narrative. The script is really tight and focused, and the whole thing is really well-paced. The animation actually looks way better than I remembered, but that might just be because this was my first time watching it on Blu-Ray instead of digital.

First movie also still has the best soundtrack of the three (which is saying a lot, considering John Powell was absolutely COOKING with all three movies). "Test Drive" is just too iconic to be outdone.

I really like Astrid's character arc in the first movie. I normally don't like tough-as-nails girlboss characters because they're so often one-dimensional and boring, but she works really well for me because her girboss-ness is as much a flaw as it is a strength. While she is athletic and competitive in her own nature, she's also under a lot of pressure to be a tough warrior, since that's what her society values. I love the way Hiccup brings out her softer side, how he shows her through Toothless that it's ok to be gentle, that compassion is a strength in its own right. I love the way she in turn becomes his pillar of support and comfort. Somehow I'd forgotten just how good Hiccstrid really is.

It's weird re-watching the second film as an adult, because I can still clearly remember a time when it was just the coolest thing ever. The second film was really what sold me on the series as a whole, to be honest. Like, don't get me wrong, I always loved the first one, but the second is where I really started getting into the worldbuilding and characters.

So it's weird to come back to it now and find out it's....actually the weakest of the three films (in my opinion, anyways). I can't quite put my finger on why, but the second film feels like it "drifts along" more than the other two. Like things "just happen" without as much input from the characters. Again, I'm not sure why it feels like that, because it's not like the characters aren't proactive and shaping the way the story unfolds.

None of that is to say that the second movie is bad by any stretch of the imagination. It introduces a bunch of really cool new concepts that do a great job of expanding the world and characters. It just had that weird drifty feeling to it that the other two lacked. Does anyone even know what I'm talking about here, or am I just crazy??

It's nuts how much of a touchstone "For the Dancing and the Dreaming" became in fandom culture. Ten years later, and I still see this song popping up in fics from every fandom under the sun. I think that's a testament to how beautiful Stoic and Valka's reunion was.

Unfortunately, Drago Bludvist is....not a very good villain, imo. He kinda just screams a lot, and that's it. His whole thing of imitating dragons in order to subdue them is cool, but it really needed to be backed up by a stronger personality. But it's not too much of an issue since really, his Bewilderbeast is the real obstacle for the heroes to overcome.

Now, The Hidden World is a weirdly controversial movie within the fandom. I still see people whose hatred for this film rivals that of the Tales of Arcadia fandom's hatred for Rise of the Titans. Which...I gotta admit, doesn't make a ton of sense to me. Like, I can understand not liking the bittersweet ending, but it's not as though THW went out of its way to ruin the entire series.

Looking at the series as a whole, I'd say THW feels like the most logical and organic conclusion to the series. Especially if you've read the books or seen the tie-in tv shows. I knew going into this movie that it would end with the dragons leaving--DeBlois even told us as much in an interview leading up to the film's release. And I'm okay with that.

The first movie touches on the theme of loss with Hiccup's leg. The second movie digs into that theme a bit more, with the loss of his parents (first Valka, who thankfully is found again, then Stoic). The Hidden World dives headfirst into the idea. Loss is no longer a mere consequence of the story's events, but the thematic backbone of the whole movie. And it's here that I realized the series has always been about loss, because the series has always been about growing up. You can't mature without losing something, whether it's a place, a person, or your childhood naivete.

HTTYD uses its fantastic premise to explore a painful reality of our own world, and it does so in a way that's entertaining, sincere, and encouraging. Hiccup has lost so much on his journey to adulthood, but he's also grown strong enough to be able to rise above it. He'll be okay. Toothless will be okay. And we'll all be okay too. Idk, maybe I'm reading too much into it, but that's my takeaway from the series, and it's definitely something that I've needed to hear more than once as I've grown up.

Grimmel is definitely a huge step up from Drago for me. He's essentially who Hiccup would have become if he'd lacked that compassion that caused him to spare Toothless in the first film. I also love his overall demeanor and presence. He's not a force of nature, or a feral war-lord. He's just a Guy who is very, very good at his job and knows it. Plus, F. Murray Abraham just has a really cool voice.

Unfortunately, as much as I like Grimmel as a villain, he's still outclassed by Viggo Grimborn from Race to the Edge.

I can't get over how insanely good the visuals are in this series. Especially the textures. Like, there's times in the first movie where the textures look so good that the actual models almost can't keep up. I can see what Toothless's scales feel like, the scratchy weave of Hiccup's tunic, the coarse fur of Stoic's cloak. HTTYD is the only series I can think of that seamlessly pulls off a "realistic" look with animation. The world feels real, without taking away from the suspension of disbelief that makes animation such a freeing medium. It's as if they came to the edge of the uncanny valley, then got into a hot air balloon and floated across without ever touching it.

Looking back, I think this was just the perfect series to be a teenager with. It's just the right blend of action, adventure, and emotion, all wrapped up in a wholesome and often heart-rending tale of a boy and his dragon growing up together. I really wish we could have more series like this.

(Edit) Also the Light Fury is my favorite dragon species in the entire series, no I will not take that back, she's super pretty and sparkly and I just want to pat her on her cute nubby head.

[runwayrunway]

I was recently surprised to see this livery while boarding, and snapped a pic. Apparently enough people asked the crew questions to the effect of "Why is the plane yellow?" as we were boarding that the captain explained it during his take off announcements. Turns out we were on 'New Mexico One' (N8655D).

Maybe they were worried they accidentally got on a Spirit flight. Happens to the best of us. (Also, knowing pilots I think there's a legitimate chance he was excited about it himself and would have brought it up no matter what.)

This is your girl! This is actually New Mexico 1.2.0 - the New Mexico One livery is the fifth Southwest state livery, and one of the first special liveries they had full stop.

Southwest Airlines has had a lot of special liveries. The documentation is incomplete, but they have a timeline for them up to 2013 publicly available. It turns out there were at least three Shamu jets (unfortunately I cannot find the purported pictures of Herb Kelleher in a penguin suit), and that my guess was right - their first state-themed livery was a Texas one to commemorate their origin as an intrastate carrier.

Since then, they've released quite a few more in honor of some of their more-served or milestone states. The states with special liveries are Arizona; California; Colorado; Florida; Hawai'i; Illinois; Louisiana; Maryland; Missouri; Nevada; New Mexico; Tennessee; and of course Texas. These really vary in level of detail and inspiration, and I definitely have no desire or plans to do a massive joint post on them all. That is thirteen liveries. But there's one or two that have been hanging out on the distant fringes of my interest and one (Colorado One) has already been requested, so if anyone particularly wants to see any of them covered just know I am treating them as full, separate, self-contained liveries even though they're technically sort of a set. It just doesn't make any sense to do it any other way.

(I never want to see a Massachusetts One. The concept is actively repellant to me.)

Most of Southwest's special liveries have 'one' at the end, like Air Force One, you know, it's the famous plane, Air Force One, they made a film about it with Harrison Ford in. I do think hypothetically the implication of 'New Mexico One' would be a plane transporting the governor of New Mexico, but, well, that's their name scheme.

image: Southwest Airlines

This is the original New Mexico One, N781WN. Thanks to the information Southwest provides on its website for once I know the exact date a livery was debuted - 18th September, 2000. I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that this picture is younger than me, because it looks incredibly crunchy and vintage, like it couldn't have been taken later than 1985. I have a Polaroid SX-70 that was kept in working condition by a relative and it takes cleaner-looking pictures. It must have been taken very early on in the livery's lifetime because when Canyon Blue was introduced the tailfin was updated to match. As with all Southwest's special liveries - the tailfins remain untouched from the default.

image: Eddie Maloney

The initial iteration with the mustard-yellow and red tail looks very nice, seamless with the main body. Although the placement of the name on the fin is quite subdued and against the ethos of the low-cost carrier it is in the case of special liveries useful, making the interaction of the wordmark with the main design a non-issue. Part of me really wishes that they'd kept the old colors for longer or maybe even done custom schemes for the stripes on each of their special liveries, because the blue looks pretty out-of-place on the New Mexico livery. I'll be completely honest, I also think the older, more angular shape of the stripes suits the similarly geometric bulk of the design while the modern incarnation - the haphazardly placed little wordmark with no natural home on the tail, the fin which looks like it was removed from a wholly different plane - is just sort of generally worse than the original state. The use of a minimally-altered tailfin with a crammed-on wordmark does seem to be something about which Southwest is unwilling to negotiate, though, and I guess that's what I'm going to have to live with.

(...generally, I do have to live with all the liveries I discuss here, until the magical day that someone at a massive company decides that the opinions of a blog with under 1,000 followers are something they want to capitulate to.)

The basis of the livery is extremely straightforward. It's...the flag of New Mexico. This is a fantastic starting point. The New Mexico flag is my favorite of the US states' - though, to be fair, that's damning by faint praise in the extreme. Just based on the sorts of people I've met I feel like at least a few followers of this blog will have particularly vivid opinions about vexillology, but it doesn't take someone with the level of investment I have in liveries to know that most US state flags are just absurdly poorly designed. New Mexico's flag is not just acceptable but good.

Yellow and red aren't uncommon colors in flags, but the complete absence of very popular choices like blue and white definitely is striking. Unlike many US state flags, which are morasses of complex and jumbled iconography, it contains only one image - the sun symbol of the indigenous Zia (Tsi’ya) Pueblo group. Unfortunately, not only was the design not suggested by Zia individuals but it was used without the group's knowledge or consent, and there has been an ongoing discussion about this being properly acknowledged by the state - a good summary, albeit from 2012, is this El Palacio article written by the Zia Pueblo administrator.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Southwest actually did consult the Zia, including administrator and author of the above article Peter Pino. A contemporary news release from Southwest even discusses Zia children performing a Crow Dance as part of the ceremony. I was able to find a photograph of this in a blog post by a Southwest employee.

So safe to say people were pretty excited about this livery! Southwest's state liveries tend to be pretty beloved by the people from said state, as far as I can tell.

N781WN was retired earlier this year and sometime in the late summer the livery was repainted onto N8655D. The livery is largely unchanged except for the fact that it's on a longer plane now.

Anyway, I like New Mexico One. Not terribly much happens here in the way of detail so there's not much to say about it but I like the way it's placed at a sort of angle instead of just smacked in the middle of the plane directly above the wings or something. The fact that there's some yellow and red in the tail prevents it from looking as bad as it could (and definitely does on other state liveries) even though I kind of really genuinely dislike the wordmark placement like a lot. I'm not sure how they could have done it better. I just think if you're making it that small and out-of-the-way you could honestly just go without. Not like there's even one other plane flying around with this livery.

Why is the inside of the winglets totally bare? I can't be the only one that thinks that's strange, can I?

I'll give her a C+. I think there's a pretty low ceiling on how good a livery that's just the flag of New Mexico can be, and Southwest did a job I would call 'correct' - they didn't really mess anything up and they didn't have some sort of brain explosion that let them create a design more captivating than putting a good flag onto an airplane but leaving the tail Southwest colors. This is a good special livery and it seems like a nice little tribute to New Mexico, and it's always nice to see a beloved old livery be preserved on a new airframe. Congratulations to the people of New Mexico, particularly the Zia, on a pretty neat commemorative livery.

[bimtheory]

I have not been taking great notes in my ridiculous long-drawn-out research. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, I've only been taking notes, and as a result the book I'm supposed to writing has become increasingly overwhelming. So, from now on I've decided I'm going to post my annotations and ideas on here. @understandingbimbos seems to be in shambles a bit, and being able to reply on here makes things more efficient anyway.

So, for starters. I've been reading Dworkin, currently Intercourse. The following excerpts are from the preface of the second edition. Then I'll probably continue in follow-up posts going chapter by chapter, section by section.

How this relates to a fetish like bimbofication should be obvious. Not all bimbofication stories include a controller, but MANY of them do, especially some of the earliest stories. And even if they don't include a controller, or even a transformation, bimbo stories often fetishize the power imbalance of high vs. low (subdued intentionally, or not) intelligence. And, in that way, bimbofication can be seen as the ultimate culmination of dominance and inequality as erotic.

Force is a natural and inevitable part of most bimbofication stories. There are instances of consensual bimbofication in writing (and, arguably, numerous instances in the real world) but I honestly couldn't tell you about them, because I go out of my way to avoid them. There's a chance I'd enjoy consensual bimbofication stories if I gave them a chance, but the idea bores me. At the same time though, I'm not a huge fan of stories with controllers -- or rather, stories that feature the controller prominently. Although it is, assumingly, part of the appeal for people in the BD/SM sector of this fetish that play out bimbofication IRL -- the idea of personally turning women into dumb sex freaks (or even role-playing/self-inserting as a character who does that) is of zero interest to me.

My disinterest in consensual transformation has more to do with the inherent uselessness of it all, at least for me. With consent there's no struggle, and if there's no struggle, has there really been a transformation? Sort of a "Bimbo of Theseus" thing, I guess. I do like bimbos on their own, sans transformation, but if I just wanted bimbos I would not be reading a bimbofication story. The transformation is the whole point, the hottest part. Some of the best bimbofication stories I've read are JUST transformation, with little to no actual sex. Similar sentiments were shared by Tebra (May they rest in peace) and some fans in the comments of a Patreon post.

Put simply, there is no transformation if there's no transformation. Bimbofication (in fiction, at least) implies a physical change as well as a mental one. We should be able to see and experience a material change in how this character acts, feels, talks, and lives. Instead of just being told "they're dumb and have big tits now". There is no point to a bimbofication story if the bimbo springs from the character's former self fully formed like some slutty Birth of Venus.

Here's a very simple but effective example from Downing Street:

And another, a bit further down, from the same story:

There are discrepancies between her thoughts and actions, signs of struggle, and once there are no discrepancies left a transformation will have taken place. And in the case of bimbofication stories one could make the (flimsy and morally dubious) argument that consent is gained in transformation. A lot of stories, including pretty much all my personal favorites, focus on the perspective of the woman as she slips further and further into debauchery and pursuing personal pleasure. Bimbofication stories almost always end with the woman happier and more satisfied than she started. Of course, one could also easily argue this is just rape with multiple steps. Or coercion, but I'm pretty sure that's just rape too.

How you feel about and view it is up to you. I've read bimbofication stories that have bored me, and I've read bimbofication stories that have grossed me out. Execution plays a part as much as content.

Finally, here's another excerpt of my annotations from the preface. I think it speaks for itself.