#I’ve mostly accepted that (even if I hate it) for myself

[midnight-mourning]

This here is part of the reason I took a break from tumblr for a bit (I’m still on break, I’ve just seen this post many of times while dropping in to add stuff to my queue)

Fic writers and artists are not machines, we are real people who are trying to engage in fandom by sharing things that we make about characters that we love. Likes are fine, appreciated even, but tumblr is not a like-based site. it is a community, how content is shared is based on how the community treats it. And if the community doesn’t share things, it doesn’t get seen.

Which, don’t get me wrong, I’m for the most part content with just my mutuals and such seeing what I put out, but at the same time, when you put a LOT of effort into something and people don’t acknowledge that, that shit’s going to hurt. Just is. And whether that lack of acknowledgment comes from it not getting to a larger group of people, or the people who do see it not ‘pushing’ it further, it’s hard to tell because that’s how screwed up the tumblr ecosystem is at this point

I’ve seen beautiful pieces of work (fic and art both) go from being unnoticed/few notes (3 to 4 total), to literal hundreds because of a couple reblogs (just a couple!), and it’s more than well deserved!

if you want to see more lovely stuff from cool people, you have to tell them, you have to encourage them to do so, and you can do that just by hitting the reblog button, leaving a comment, or sending an ask, just give us all something to work with is all we're asking

Doesn’t have to be something complex or well thought out, can just be a simple ‘hey I like your work!’. With reblogs, you don’t even have to say anything! Sure it might not be as helpful, but at this point, baby steps make a huge difference

If you’re someone who doesn’t like reblogs on your blog, which, depending on how much original content you post I can understand, you want your stuff to be seen too, make a side blog just for reblogging! It’s quick, easy, and you’re helping people out

Otherwise, it can feel like shouting out into a void and hoping someone hears us. And that’s the anthesis of what fandom is, that’s how fandoms die

here’s a little comparison for people who say engagement hasn’t gotten that bad and anyone who complains is ungrateful.

these are two posts from my first go round on tumblr circa 2014-2017, my most popular gifset of all time

& a text post

notice how the ratio is about even on likes to reblogs?

here’s from this go around, my most popular gifset

and my most popular fic

do you see how that’s discouraging?

i love being on this site. i love the little community i’ve found and the people who follow me and the mutuals i’ve made friendships with and the mutuals that i’m still getting to know. i love it. but at a certain point it’s hard to justify spending so much time on works that get bad engagement.

reblog, comment, send asks. without them, this site doesn’t work.

[poppyseed799]

I think one of the weirdest signs that I was trans was that I was fine with being called a woman but NOT a cis woman. I felt awful cuz I was like “do I have a problem with people calling me cis even tho I am???” cuz I am NOT someone who minds being called accurate descriptors such as cis. I felt like I just wanted to be special or something even tho that wasn’t it and felt so bad. Something just felt really wrong about being called a CIS woman. Definitely one of the more thought provoking signs I was trans lol

[killuaisaprincess]

reminder GONKI IS MORE CANON 😤😏 so anytime some kg person tries to send hate at you remember it’s just cuz they’re big mad Gonki more canon eheheh 😘🤭

[pedrospookie]

it seems that the eldest daughters of tumblr all want Joel Miller to come and take care of them (dear god, please please please, my soul needs it). this inspired me to start writing a couple of little Joel tales but until then, i thought this might tide us over.

someone (I think it was @itsokbbygrl ) said in the tags that Joel is a fixer and is def into parental issues and i literally cannot stop thinking about that— cause you are RIGHT.

it’s not my best work but alas!

Joel Miller x eldest daughter!reader imagine

nothing wild, mostly fluff! Joel soothing an eldest daughter’s nervous system one day at a time.

Joel would wash the dishes every night just because he knows how much you hate washing the dishes. It’s the least I could do, darlin’ he’d praise, taking immense pride in seeing the relief fall on your face.

Joel would kiss you just to kiss you; in the comfort of your home as you pass in the hallway, or out at the stables while caring for the horses, even at the bar in front of all the folks who know you. It was his small way to show his unconditional love and appreciation for you. He’d spend all day kissin’ you if he could.

Joel would take the time to rub your feet and ask about your day. His genuine curiosity about the townsfolk you encounter or the adventures you have brought a warmth to your chest as he works on the knots along the arch of your feet. He would always remember the little details of where you’ve been or what you’ve seen, or the names of the people you mention in your stories. Joel wasn’t perfect and would often get confused between Jess, Jessica and Jessa, but he certainly would do his best to keep it all straight.

Joel would listen and hear you. If it was important to you, it was important to him. He didn’t care if it was about how you admired the pretty pink colour of the flowers you passed by on patrol or how you had to remember to mend your socks later. He listened and cared. So much so, that whenever he could, Joel would bring home a small bouquet of said flowers for you after his patrol.

On bad days, Joel would be there. He would hold you through your big, ugly feelings, and tell you that it is okay and that he’s got you. Joel would force himself to stay calm and to speak softly to you, keeping his own panic and worry at bay. He would tell you that he was proud of you and your “smarts”, and that the only thing that matters is that you made it back home to him. He would slowly and gently wash your body and hair clean of all the blood and guts from the nearly failed patrol, and would mend every scrape and wound, sealing each one with a kiss.

And on the nights where you were plagued with terrors, the kind that woke you in a panic, the cold sweat glueing your hair to your neck and forehead, Joel would be there. To hold you and coax you back to sleep, rubbing soft circles on your back, and softly murmur that it is okay, that you’re safe.

In the mornings, you always woke to the smell of coffee wafting it’s way into your room. Joel always made sure to wake up before you, to let you have those extra few minutes in bed because he knew you needed them. He’d greet you with a big smile and a kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were back in the early days of your relationship. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, he would say as he placed your meal in front of you. Joel never let you leave the house without something warm in your belly.

Joel knew that you were more than capable of caring for yourself. Hell, you had survived 20 years in that hellscape overrun by infected, raiders and god knows what else. You had told him time and time again, often through gritted teeth, I’ve got this. I can do this myself. I do not need your help. Can you just let me handle this, please!

Slowly, yet surely, with patience and kindness, Joel slowly broke down your walls until you were ready to let him in. To accept the peace and love he had to offer. Joel is not a perfect man, but he tries. Which is more than most. He tries his damnedest every day to keep showing up for you the way he knows you deserve. To show you and make you feel the love, peace and respect that you deserve. And that? Well, that makes Joel feel a deep sense of joy that he hasn’t felt in years. He will gladly do it until his dying breath and that is a promise he will never break. The easiest job he’s ever had was lovin’ you.

tagging some folks who may like this (if not/tags aren’t your thing, just tell me to buzz off! I wont be offended!): @slimybeth69 @itsokbbygrl @mrsmando @evolnoomym @sanarsi @marilovespedro @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

[doumadono]

ANNOUNCEMENT

This is a turning point for me. I've been silent for too long, but I can't stay quiet anymore.

I'm going through writer's burnout, and it has hit me hard. I've been writing on Tumblr and Ao3 for nearly eight years now (with about 1.5 years on my private blog, doumadono). Over that time, I've written more than 400 stories across various fandoms, created the Sinful Sunday event and a series that many people like, helped many with numerous emergency requests — so many that one masterlist wasn't enough to cover them all.

But all of this has brought me to a place where writing no longer feels like a joy, but rather a duty. In my effort to make everyone happy, I lost myself and took on too much, accepting even the most twisted and difficult requests. It made me anxious and unwell whenever I thought about writing. This is why I haven't been posting much these past few weeks. I missed the breaking point and let myself reach a place where I was seriously considering quitting writing altogether and closing both my Tumblr and Ao3 accounts.

There's something else I need to address. I feel completely detached from Jujutsu Kaisen and Demon Slayer. I no longer feel comfortable writing for those fandoms. From now on, I'll be focusing mostly on My Hero Academia. Even though the manga recently ended, both the manga and the anime hold a special place in my heart. I’ve fallen in love with the story and its amazing characters. This is what feels right to me at this moment. That doesn't mean I'll never write for Demon Slayer or other fandoms again, but not now, not at this time. Maybe in the future — who knows?

Some of you might know that I've been dealing with a flood of hateful anonymous messages. Even though I’ve grown stronger and no longer consider them relevant, it still hurts to read such nasty words. This is another factor why I need to take a break.

So, what's going to change?

Sinful Sunday will no longer cover requests, and the event won't be as regular as it used to be. From now on, I'll post some sinful pieces specifically written for this event whenever I feel it's right. I'll write only for the characters I feel attached too.

Emergency requests will be limited to two slots and will no longer have a 48-hour window to be fulfilled. Once both slots are taken, emergency requests will be closed until I manage to clear the current asks in my inbox.

As of today, my ask box has been completely cleared. I won't be replying to any past asks, regardless of their origin or topic.

Commissions will remain open, as nearly all the requests have been fulfilled.

Regarding the following projects:

The Kvitravn series will be completed this year, but I can't provide a specific date just yet as I'm still working hard to bring everything together.

There's also a new series on the horizon featuring Dabi in the lead role, with a psychiatrist!Reader as the other main character.

As for Kinktober, I made a hard decision it will not be held as an event on my blog this year at all.

As of now, I want to focus on my own little My Hero Academia based AU that I created with my best friend @crystalwolfblog , and this is something that brings me a lot of comfort nowadays, and it's what I want to focus on. I’ll likely create another blog to post everything related to this AU, to keep things organized (the blog will be linked to my pinned post). This little AU was and is my safe haven for the past year and half, and since it contains all of my favourite characters, I want to focus on it fully.

The time for purification has come. I need to rediscover my purpose and find joy in writing again. To those who understand and have stuck with me since the ThePaperPanda days — you’re amazing and adorable, and I can never express how much I appreciate you, guys 💞

I want to share one last thought. This isn’t a statement, but rather a plea to readers: please respect writers, no matter the content they choose to explore. Writing is not as easy as it may seem; it requires a significant amount of time and effort, often taking up our personal time to craft a story. Don't send anon hate. Spread love instead! The least you can do to show your appreciation is to leave a comment, even if it’s just a word or two. For you, it’s a small gesture that takes less than a minute, but for the writer on the other side, it may be a much-needed sign that their work is meaningful. So if you enjoy an author’s work, don’t hesitate to leave a comment. It truly makes us writers feel like we’re on cloud nine.

Love you all, Marcianna

[markleessodalite]

There's No Dignity in Love: z.cl

content: Chenle is in love with you, he can't deny it. And he's mortified. A little bit angsty, a teeny bit of fluff, mostly just Chenle being difficult. No warnings i can think of

a/n: i find it so much easier to write for Chenle than for Jeno or Haechan, my actual biases lol

Its not that Chenle didn’t like you. Actually, the reality is the furthest thing from. Chenle is stubborn as a mule and hates to lose, even if its to himself. And for some reason, Chenle accepting that he might, in fact, have a little crush on you, feels like losing. It feels like he might as well tell you every other embarrassing secret he has, because what’s the point in trying to maintain his dignity now? You two were friends, have been for such a long time, and you know all the right ways to pick at him, get under his skin, tease him relentlessly and encourage his other friends to join in on the fun. He has no problem teasing you right back though. Or he used to not have a problem with it, but for some reason it was getting harder and harder to come up with clever quips on the spot, and he’d spent more and more nights wondering if he went too far and if you actually were hurt by something he said. With each day Chenle was getting more shy and less cocky, and you picked up on it so easily, and teased him even more, and he hated it. So why shouldn’t he just tell you about every mistake he’s made, every time he’s embarrassed himself in front of someone important, every time he’s been confused about something everyone else in the room seems to have the upper-hand on so that you have all the ammunition you need to make him feel like a loser?

He already feels like a loser anyway, just all of a sudden having a crush on someone he’s been bickering with for years. He’s such a loser for being so obvious about it, the way that his talkative self immediately shuts up when your attention is on him. He’s such a loser for laying awake at night thinking about all this and trying to talk himself out of this rut. Maybe he’ll eventually convince himself that it’s not a crush– he is Zhong Chenle, after all. Stubborn as a mule.

At least he was gonna try to talk himself out of it until a certain someone (very likely Haechan no matter how much he denies it) got tired of a clearly lovesick Chenle and decided to take matters into his own hands. You were completely caught off guard by the sudden anonymous private message, but not too surprised at what it said. So you gave Chenle a call later that day.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

“Because its not true.” He chuckles, but you can hear the wavering in his voice.  “Do you really think that highly of yourself?”

"Chenle..."

“Y/N” he torts, mocking your tone of voice. “Seriously, I don’t know where you got this idea that-”

"I see how you've changed, Chenle."

"...what?"

“I’ve just… I’ve noticed things. You got quieter. You don’t argue with me as much. You’ve just kind of… pulled away. I was worried that I did something to offend you, I didn’t know, I just…”

There’s a silence so loud you think your eardrums are gonna blow out, until you realize you’re just hearing your own heartbeat in your head. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Whoever sent you that message was probably just messing with you, but now you’ve crossed a line and made things awkward.

"I do like you."

"Really?!"

“Just shut up and let me get this out okay?" Chenle sighs, a mix of annoyance and anxiety evident in his breath. "I do like you, and I don’t really know why, because we’ve been friends for years at this point and I haven't started liking you until recently. Or maybe I just didn’t realize it until recently– whatever. And I guess that I've changed but that’s just because my thinking has changed I guess? Like sometimes I can’t sleep because i’m thinking about you and I’m flipping between convincing myself I don’t like you and wishing that you were lying awake with me, which would just frustrate me even more because you know how I am with this kind of stuff and admitting things that I don’t want to, and, just… yeah. I don’t know. I’ve got my own issues with my pride and stuff, I guess.”

You tried to think very carefully before responding, although Chenle’s shaky breath on the other end of the line was thoroughly distracting. “Sometimes a little humility can go a long way, Lele.”

"... I know."

“I wouldn’t have thought anything bad about you if you told me.”

"I know."

“What I do think is that I like you too, Chenle. Even if you’re a loser.”

Chenle doesn’t say anything, but you just know he’s rolling his eyes while biting back a smile. There’s no way you won’t tease him about this later.

[boydepartment]

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ from the start (trips) - nishimura riki x m! reader (PT 2)

fluff - angst - masterlist - pt 1 - wc- 250-275

the movie was absolutely boring riki out of his mind and he couldn’t help the glances he’d throw at you. it clicked for him now.

he liked you

he REALLY liked you…

riki wasn’t dumb or totally oblivious to his feelings, but it’s something hard to accept. being in love with your best friend is some heavy shit that can tear friendships apart or make a wedge and riki didn’t want that for you guys.

he wanted to be around you whether he was your boyfriend or not.

your boyfriend… man he would kill to have that title. he started zoning out and didn’t even notice you shoving him lightly to get him out of the dazed look.

“you okay..?” your voice broke him out of his distraction.

“oh um. yeah this movie is just ass.” he said blankly, why’d he say that? god that was SO STUPID…. he was panicking and overthinking everything now and-

you laughed, you started laughing.

“the movie is pretty bad.”

okay good he didn’t fuck up he’s fine.

“are you sure you’re okay though..?” you asked, fulling turning to him on the couch. riki watched as his clothes that you wore fit your frame. he wished you could say ‘oh these cool pants? yeah they are my boyfriends’

“riki?” you scooted closer to him and waved a hand in front of his face.

once again he snapped out of it, “huh? no i’m okay. i need to ask something though.”

your brows furrowed but you obliged, “okay shoot, captain america.”

riki chuckled at the nickname and got serious again, “are you for real about this crush? the new one? be honest with me.”

he watched your reaction intensely. everything he could note he would.

you shrugged, “i dunno if i’m being honest… sometimes i think i just distract myself from the real picture.”

riki felt his heart speed up again

real picture?

“what do you mean?” he turned his body fully towards you and leaned his head on the wall next to him.

you got nervous, he could tell, you were picking at the bracelet he got you.

“well i told you i mostly lean towards guys yaknow… she’s not a guy but it’s so hard finding GOOD guys who are comfortable with their sexuality. i mean it’s hard being lgbt sometimes…” you mumbled and looked away, “i can’t help but want a boyfriend who’s good for me and comfortable with being a boyfriend to a g-“

“ME.” riki yelled quickly, your head shot over.

“what? now’s not the time to joke around asshole!” you laughed and threw your head back, when you looked at him again though you stopped.

riki was being dead serious, and you just caught onto it.

“y/n i like you. and i hate all your crushes and want them to di-“

“OKAY CAN WE BACK IT UP A FEW PACES BEFORE YOU WISH DEATH UPON MY PREVIOUS FAKE CRUSHES?” you waved your hands around and riki’s brows furrowed.

fake? what DID YOU MEAN? HAS HE BEEN PACING AROUND FOR NOTHING?

“hold on… what the hell do you mean by fake?” he scooted closer to you and you placed with the bracelet again, riki placed his hands next to you almost caging you in, “answer me please…”

“well i told you i used them to distract myself from the bigger picture….” your eyes flickered down to his lips and he scanned your face, stopping at your lips.

riki focused on them for a good few seconds before looking at you again, “you can tell me to stop before i risk our friendship.” he leaned closer to you.

you shook your head no, “i want to risk it… i’ve wanted to kiss you so bad from the start…”

[hihigherdi]

This is long.

I had dinner last night with my friend/employee who’s here for a work trip. He had some incredibly profound things to say about the election that I’m still thinking about today.

I’m reflecting on where I could have been braver. Where I could have been kinder. Mostly, on a part of my life where I was on staff with Young Life, a Christian organization I was heavily involved in during college, and afterwards. When I graduated, I signed up to support a small tutoring program in Seattle’s Central district with at-risk kids that were little, not in high school. Mostly Black and Samoan. My parents hated it. I was the rebel.

The most profound thing I experienced from that year was seeing and contending with my own racism. My classism. I learned how my family had made choices in where we lived so it was predominantly white. I felt unsafe being the minority. I hated how I was seen differently by the other white people in camp, I was there with the kids who made them uncomfortable. I saw how much my identity was viscerally tied to being one of them, these white leaders who had so much fun, were so funny and made me feel like I belonged to a group of people who wouldn’t reject me. But it was these kids who made them do that, I thought to myself. Now they see me as “other”. I hated it.

I remember buying a brand new car and the kids oohing and hanging over it, and I felt sick, realizing the wealth disparity between us. I was 22 years old, realizing some of this for the first time.

It was the most uncomfortable time of my life, I hated almost every second of it but I emerged from it differently, mostly because my Black and Samoan colleagues were so kind to me. I confessed a lot to them - I asked a lot of questions that were likely exhausting for them. They never called me a racist, even though it would have been true. They never scolded me. They loved me and were excited for me that I was on this journey. They were right next to me the whole way. They weren’t shy about asking me questions or saying hard things. They moved in a way where I felt deeply accepted in my vulnerability. Looking back, how hard that must have been in the face of my ignorance is not something I take lightly. It was by far, the most foundational year of my life, I think about some aspect of it almost everyday. I became more aware. Less racist. More empathetic. It changed me permanently.

One man in particular, a speaker at a camp, said something to me that became a core memory. There was a certain girl that was very tough, and I was trying to figure out how to be with her. He just stared at me, probably bewildered and said “just hang out.” that answer baffled me at the time, mostly because I had no idea how to do that with anybody. He spoke to a large group of people after that, mostly white people, and someone asked him how they’ll know they aren’t a racist anymore. He quietly said “when you are willing to give a person of color the full and complete control - the last word - on who they are.” I’ve never forgotten that. Isn’t that what any of us want?

There’s much to be humbled by. Am I invested in being angry, or effective? Everyone infuriated me during this election - Trump supporters, Christians, Andrew Tate supporters, Joe Rogan fans Jill Stein supporters, even pro-Gaza supporters and a lot of the Leftists in the political landscape. I was furious with everyone who wasn’t completely behind Harris. I called people racist on the internet. I called them evil. I scolded, I routinely and regularly vented my moral outrage. The worst part is that I meant it.

So this is my confession, this hatred. My misuse of moral outrage. My need to feel like I was liked.My rage when someone wasn’t acting in my own very specific terms. My behavior that made so many defensive instead of supported.

Ironically, those who I felt were screaming at me (broadly, not specifically) for my Whiteness, for not supporting Gaza enough, saying I support genocide if I didn’t do or say or agree with their very specific terms of support absolutely shut me down and I felt myself pulling further away from them, just keeping all of my thoughts to myself. I wasn’t brave enough to say it out loud and felt like I couldn’t, after all it was largely this group that got us a decent candidate in the first place. Were they right, and I was just being defensive? Well yeah - they were right. And yes, I was defensive. Maybe I didn’t care enough. All I knew is I was tired of being told my level of care was not acceptable, and trying to appreciate the position that the VP was in with our Ally as Putin pushes further into Europe meant I didn’t care at all. That was not giving me the last word on who I am, and I was pissed. I stopped learning about it, I minimized my engagement with them. There was no psychological safety to be vulnerable.

It’s overly simplistic to say who is at the heart of that blame-wise. I think it’s more important to acknowledge it’s pretty human, and the damage it causes when we go underground is significant. And that in this decolonizing journey, I still don’t know how much of the oppressed opinions of me I need to accept if it doesn’t ring true for me in my soul. If there’s any space to say “no you’re wrong about me.”

And I have to wonder if that’s how a lot of people in the country who voted for Trump felt about me. I know that’s true. I wanted to feel like I was part of “the best”, and I treated them as though they weren’t. I hated their character - I still do. They genuinely frighten me. But being the same as those who I saw as the most righteous was more important to me than anything else, it was more important to belong to those I saw as “right” vs being effective. It’s my need to have a family. To not be alone.

It is also my Whiteness, needing to never feel rejected or that someone is mad at me, that’s how it manifests most for me but I’m glad I’m at the place where I am know it’s not entirely that. I am not my Whiteness entirely, though people can and do see me that way. I still get to acknowledge those other aspects of me that many might be unwilling or just not invested in seeing.

Getting at the root cause of why we (white women) do so much damage is mystery and is pretty personal but I think there has to be space for vulnerability to see the brokenness inside of us that is the source of so much unconscious, harmful behavior. There are margins of us that are broken and kind of insane - what do we need to get ahold of it? Is there any solution? I don’t know, beyond something supernatural but I do know being scolded by those who are aligned with elevated values does not seem effective. Part of me as I write that says “oh my God, are you saying you need to be managed and catered to?” that’s gross if the answer is yes, and exhausting. I just don’t know what’s truly effective in promoting change. Part of me wonders if full change is possible and we just need to be overcome/minimized/outnumbered. Its possible.

So I own a lot of contribution to this failure. This rage I feel is weird, particularly when I''m not going to be hurt much by any of this. I need to figure out what parts of it are grounded in empathy and which parts aren't. All I can do is be more honest about my missteps, my own lack of character and braver in talking about it and hope the journey will find some companions along the way. Or not, most of this is a journey we take alone, I guess.

Do you want to be angry or do you want to be effective, Diane. You can be both, but not when they cancel the other out.

[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!

[mommyclaws]

Opinions on Leopardstar? I haven't read leopardstar's Honor yet, not sure what happens there, but I've heard it's somewhat disappointing.

I was always somewhat angry that she never really mentioned Tigerstar after the whole Tigerclan thing, and we never really got to see how she felt about the whole thing, just that the people she sent to die really didn't like her.

A Shadow in Riverclan also kinda did the same thing where she gave a little pep talk and suddenly everything was ok for Feathertail, after she had horrible ptsd from Leopardstar

I want to like her but she's such a nothing character imo to actually have an opinion on because I think she was done pretty dirty, as Riverclan and her weren't really the focus of the series for so long

I consider myself a Leopardstar fan. I’ve been wanting to talking about my feelings/view on her for a while so i’ll put all my thoughts here!

The direction they took with her in canon is dissatisfying but she has alot of groundwork that gives her interesting potential. Her father is a medic- formerly warrior- who changed his position because he is against violence. She turns into everything Mudfur wanted to escape from. Too proud, itching for a battle, apathetic to the suffering of the other clans. And even if it was a let down, I can appreciate the authors at least tried to do more with her character than let her off the hook as easily as Blackfoot.

I like her mostly in comparison to my dislike for Blackstar's character. He teamed with Brokenstar and Tigerstar, committed murders and didn’t protest to the abuse of his own clan. He does nothing to atone and doesn't even seem particularly remorseful but he's still rewarded by being made leader. Leopardstar was already in power when she made the decisions that cost cats their lives. Cats trusted her to protect them and her neglect threw them into savagery and death. Standing by to allow kits and her own deputy be slaughtered is GRUESOME. I read her as someone blinded by ambition, just another product of the code. She misjudged then got in over her head with Tigerclan and was willing to toss others aside to save her own tail. Maybe she truly is remorseful, but it doesn't change what she did. Nothing can.

Crookedstar's leadership was very relaxed and she considered him weak. He gave up land to Shadowclan, he could never keep Sunningrocks, he allowed Thunderclan to take refugee on multiple occasions, and all of the half clan cats he accepts are seemingly only because they're his kin. She had thoughts of making Riverclan powerful and feared once he was out of the picture, it's why she completely disregarded his dying wishes- She couldn't bring herself to respect him.

The politics of Riverclan change drastically with her nine lives. Closed borders and no tolerance for Thunderclan, not even Graystripe, who only wanted to be with his kits. Riverclan is strong. But it could be stronger, couldn't it? She and Tigerclaw served as deputies together, even if he was the enemy, she thought well of him. He is a fierce and respected Thunderclan warrior. Or so he was. While she initially thought it a red flag he was now serving Shadowclan, she couldn't disagree with him for leaving Thunderclan when she already had so much resentment for them and ruling Shadowclan, it was true. They had been weaken for many moons, it was Tigerstar who reunited them and made them powerful. So when he promises to make her clan just as powerful, together, she doesnt refuse.

She very consistently and vocally had a dislike for half-clan cats. She exiled Graystripe. She calls Featherpaw and Stormpaw liabilities. She banishes Stormfur and Brook. I think she has very genuine hateful beliefs but at the same time she’s horrified at what happened to Stonefur. That was a cat she was trusting to become the next leader of Riverclan. And he was killed for defending innocent lives. She knows she was wrong, she regrets it, she has nightmares about the bonehill. (<- This was confirmed by an author apparently!) but her attempts to “atone” are surface level and shallow at best. She wants to be forgiven without changing. She makes Mistyfoot deputy to show she’s better now, but what meaning does that position have after Stonefur was slaughtered? She apologizes to Feathertail and Stormfur, but they still feel like complete outcasts. They’re more friendly with their former clanmates in Thunderclan and Leopardstar later exiles Stormfur over a faked sign. I think her attempts were never to better herself or right her victims, but to relieve her own guilt. She’s always prioritized herself above others.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Could you do Accidental sworn brothers NHS, JC, WWX?

ao3

“So,” Jiang Cheng said.

It was a very ominous sort of ‘so’.

“Hi, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said. “Have you eaten? I trust you been well. I’ve been all right, myself. Things are pretty quiet. The weather’s been pretty nice, though I don’t think it’s ever as nice in Qinghe as it is in Yunmeng. Has it been raining much?”

Jiang Cheng was giving him a death glare.

“…lots of rain, huh?”

“I don’t care about the vast majority of what you did to get revenge on Jin Guangyao,” Jiang Cheng said flatly. “But you put Jin Ling in danger.”

“Not…much danger.” At Jiang Cheng’s incredulous look, Nie Huaisang shrugged. “He kept him alive this long, didn’t he? I figured Jin Ling was pretty safe, as these things went. It was only at the very last moment that he actually threatened him directly – and Jin Ling wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

Judging from Jiang Cheng’s expression, he wasn’t buying Nie Huaisang’s argument.

“All right, fine,” Nie Huaisang said. “Still, you came to visit me, which means that you’re not just here to yell and tell me that our friendship is over, you could do that by letter. You want something from me?”

Jiang Cheng struggled for a moment, then grimaced. “Yeah, I want something.”

He was so predictable sometimes.

“Tell me what you need me to do to get your friendship back, and I’ll do it.” Nie Huaisang thought about it for a moment. “Within reason.”

“I want you to help me fix my relationship with Wei Wuxian.”

“…I said within reason, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said, horrified. “Do you want me to bring the moon down and give it to you while I’m at it?”

“It’s not that bad!” Jiang Cheng protested, except, no, really, it was exactly that bad. Years and years of deception and betrayal and bad feelings on both sides, an incredibly knotty tangle of emotions with no one completely right and no one completely wrong and debts and anger and – it was bad, okay? “Anyway, you managed to fix Jin Guangyao, didn’t you, even though he was Chief Cultivator and you had basically no evidence? Fix this, too.”

“It’s in no way comparable!”

“Listen, you said you wanted to know what you needed to do to get us to be all right with each other again, right? This is it. Do it.”

Nie Huaisang opened his mouth in protest.

“I won’t accept anything else,” Jiang Cheng said, and crossed his arms in a way that suggested finality. “You’re the mastermind, aren’t you? So mastermind!”

-

Nie Huaisang really didn’t want to lose Jiang Cheng’s friendship, now that he knew there was a possibility of keeping it, but he also had no idea how to even start going about fixing the unfixable. He flattered himself to think that he knew Jiang Cheng pretty well after all these years, but based on everything that had happened, he didn’t understand Wei Wuxian well enough to know where to start.

Clearly, he needed help. No, more than help – he needed expertise.

Currently, Nie Huaisang was sitting in one of the rooms in the Cloud Recesses the Lan sect used to host guests waiting to see the sect leader on business. Of course, with Lan Xichen in seclusion at the moment, the actual person taking petitions was the person Nie Huaisang come to see: Lan Wangji.

He didn’t expect to be seen to quickly, the way he might have when he’d been on familiar terms with Lan Xichen – he was a Great Sect leader, yes, and an allied one, and so ought to be accorded first priority, but Lan Wangji was also a petty little brat sometimes. Lan Qiren had come by in an unofficial capacity, looking long-suffering, and they’d had an unexpectedly enjoyable conversation on the subject of the rules relating to filial piety and revenge, which Nie Huaisang interpreted as possibly the first time Lan Qiren had ever voluntarily given him a good grade on anything.

(He was weirdly moved by it, but mostly still traumatized. He’d hated school.)

After the old teacher left, Nie Huaisang sat around waiting and drinking tea, amusing himself by thinking of all the ways this forthcoming conversation could go wrong, and just when he’d gotten to the end of the fourth scenario, Wei Wuxian himself came strolling in.

“Oh, hi, Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang said brightly, not allowing considerations like shame to apply. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Wei Wuxian said. “And you?”

“Well, I’m –”

“It works out quite well that you’re here, actually,” Wei Wuxian said, barreling onwards without waiting for the answer. “There was something I was hoping you might help me with.”

Nie Huaisang hid his face behind a fan. “Who, me…? I mean, I’m always glad to help, if it’s within my power – and, I mean, I’m glad you asked! And here I was worried that Wei-xiong didn’t like me anymore.”

Wei Wuxian waved a dismissive hand and sat down.

“I’m sure it’s something you can help with,” he said, smiling in a way Nie Huaisang didn’t like. “After all, you led the entire cultivation world around by the nose to catch Jin Guangyao, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“Well, I would. This should be no problem in comparison!”

Which meant, of course, that it was going to be a problem, because anything was easy in comparison.

“Oh, Wei-xiong, I really don’t know…”

“Don’t give me that! At least listen to it, okay?”

Nie Huaisang was always willing to listen. He nodded.

“I need you to use your mastermind skills to help me fix my relationship with Jiang Cheng.”

Nie Huaisang blinked once, long and slow. “With…Jiang Cheng?”

“That’s right!”

“But…why me…”

“Everything is just a complete mess between us,” Wei Wuxian said plainly. “It’s probably mostly my fault, and I’ve probably wronged him in ways I don’t even remember, but – I’d like to fix it. I’ve tried to fix it. I even tried leaving it alone to see if that would help, and it definitely didn’t. Everything I’ve done only makes it worse! So I need someone else to manage it.”

“And you picked…me?”

“Don’t put yourself down, Nie-xiong. You’ll manage!”

“I haven’t even agreed yet!”

“You need something from Lan Zhan, don’t you?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning at him. “You’ll agree.”

“Of course I’ll agree,” Nie Huaisang said with a huff, tossing his head. “You’re a dear friend, Wei-xiong! Why wouldn’t I agree?”

Anyway, he had to do the work for Jiang Cheng anyway. Might as well score some points flattering Wei Wuxian while he was at it.

“You’re so kind,” Wei Wuxian said, rolling his eyes at him. “Thanks, Nie-xiong. I look forward to hearing what our next move is. Have fun having tea with Lan Zhan!”

-

“You did this to yourself,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I know,” Nie Huaisang said. He was lying on the floor, arms and legs splayed to the sides as he stared up at the roof in an effort to express the depths of his desolation. “I’m well aware.”

“Mm.”

“I’m having a crisis over it, even.”

“Mm. Could you have the crisis elsewhere?”

“Don’t be mean, Lan Zhan. Of course not. I need your help!”

“Denied,” Lan Wangji said, as if Nie Huaisang really were just one of the random petitioners he had to deal with these days.

“If you don’t help me, I’ll fix up their relationship so good that you’ll have to deal with Jiang Cheng all the time,” Nie Huaisang said threateningly, and noted with amusement the way Lan Wangji’s brow twitched at the thought of having to share either space, time, or Wei Wuxian with Jiang Cheng. “Listen, no matter what the others think, I’m not really a schemer or a mastermind! I just ran with the course of events and tried to change them when they looked like they weren’t going my way, that’s all.”

“I wish you luck,” Lan Wangji said, immoveable as an iceberg.

“If I try to solve this, I’m only going to make it worse,” Nie Huaisang said. “That’s not even a threat. It’s just a fact.”

“I look forward to seeing the end results,” Lan Wangji said.

Cruel, indifferent man.

“I don’t even have a good model on how to solve this,” Nie Huaisang complained. “I mean, I don’t think I know of any relationships that splintered and then were actually repaired? The only thing that comes even close is what er-ge was up to with da-ge and san-ge all that time ago, when he was trying to get them to like each other again – of course, san-ge ruined that by committing murder, but I think we can probably avoid that here! I mean, I think we can. And it’s not workable, anyway, because…”

He frowned. Nothing was coming to mind.

Nothing at all.

Well then.

“Actually…”

Lan Wangji actually put down his brush. He looked mildly alarmed. “Nie Huaisang,” he said. “What are you thinking of doing?”

“Nothing, nothing…nothing at all…”

-

“How did this happen?” Jiang Cheng wondered.

“No idea,” Wei Wuxian said. “But at least we’re friends again, right?”

“Not just friends,” Jiang Cheng said. “Isn’t that right, da-ge?”

Wei Wuxian puffed himself up like a peacock. “You bet, er-di!”

“The sacrifices I make for my friends amaze even me,” Nie Huaisang said to a stunned-looking Lan Wangji. “I’m really all heart, aren’t I?”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Wangji said solemnly. “I am going to kill you.”

Nie Huaisang cackled. “No, you’re not,” he said cheerfully. “Or else my da-ge and er-ge might have something to say about how you’re treating their san-di…and I, at least, promise not to kill either of them!”

[dw19791967]

That Feeling Part 3

Pairing: Dean x reader (eventual), OFC Tyler

Y/N POV and Dean POV

Warnings: language, unrequited love, angst, unwanted kissing, depression, anxiety, and feelings.

Trigger Warning: This fic contains discussions of depression and anxiety and feelings that go along with those. If that could be triggering for you I would skip out on this one. It is based on some experiences I have had in real life.

*All mistakes are my own!

I'm back (kinda) here's part 3. I'm thinking possibly two more parts. Let me know what you think!

-Layla

*I do not own this gif

Y/N’s POV:

It has been 5 months since one of the worst nights of my life. I started therapy and have been doing a lot better. It was kinda weird at first talking to someone about my life issues and past traumas, I spent a lot of time just sitting there trying to figure out what to say, especially since I can’t mention anything about hunting. But overall it’s been good. I’ve been taking better care of myself, spending more time with the boys, mostly Sam. Dean has been distant lately but I figured it was because he has spent so much one on one time with me the last few months. Sam has helped me start exercising daily (even though I hate it with every fiber of my being). I’ve lost around 10 pounds which is great considering I still eat a ton of take out. I’m starting to feel like my old self again. I took a break from hunting and started writing, that lasted a hot minute before I was tired of staying home. 

Being back in a routine was good, I feel good.

We are on the road currently Sam caught a case about missing bodies. One of my favorite things. They think I’m weird for enjoying the quiet of cemeteries, but I know it’s because the dead are easier to deal with than the living some days.

“Ok, we got four missing corpses. Gladis Bramford was the first, mid 80’s when she passed. They found her head a few counties over, still missing the rest.” Sam was typing away on his computer.

“Who the hell takes a head only?” Dean had a grossed out look on his face.

I laughed.

“Evidently someone had big plans, poor Gladis.” I poked Dean in the shoulder.

Sam rolled his eyes. “The strangest part was her eyes were replaced with red glass, they haven’t been able to figure out which funeral home she was housed at before entering her final resting place.” 

“So what do we think, grave robbers, ghouls, demons?” I asked Sam.

“Not sure, we will have to see after we check the head out.” 

_________________________________________________

Sam went to check out the head while Dean and I looked over the case files.

“You doing ok sweetheart? I know I haven’t really checked in on you lately.” Dean looked at me.

“For the most part yeah, I feel a lot better than I did. I think taking time to get my head on straight helped a lot, plus therapy.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dean smiled at me.

I missed spending time with Dean. But I hadn’t pushed him, I figured he needed a break from me and I understood that. I can be a lot sometimes and he has his own stuff to deal with. It’s not easy being my friend. Plus after everything I realized I probably will never be comfortable enough with myself to be with someone. I’m in love with him and probably will always be. Knowing he’s here but I can’t have him is a hard pill to swallow but I’m working everyday to move past it. I know he deserves better and I know I’m not it. 

“You haven’t heard anything from that douchebag right?” he continued reading over the files. 

“He actually messaged me a few weeks ago from his facebook account. Asked how I was and hoped I was doing better. I ignored it and he kept sending messages, saying he was sorry and he was a dick, blah, blah, blah. I blocked him.” 

“What an asshat, he must have balls the size of Texas to reach out to you after the stunt he pulled.” 

“I guess so, I was upset by it but I’m moving on.” I smiled at him.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, you didn’t deserve that, any of it.”

“It’s ok Dean, I’ve accepted what has happened and I’m moving on. Choosing between a man and a bear, I’d choose the bear.”

“You don’t mean that, you just haven't found the right man yet.”

I scoffed. “Dean… I’m an overweight, loud mouthed, cursing, strong willed woman, who has extreme trust issues. I doubt I will ever find a man who is ok with that, plus I don’t think I want to put myself out there again, who knows what will happen.”

“Just have me greet them with my glock, I’m sure it will go great after that.”

I laughed.

“In all seriousness I hope you do find someone someday Y/N, you deserve the world whether you believe you do or not.”

My heart sank. The only man I want is right in front of me and he will never want me.

“Thanks De.” I got up to pat him on the shoulder.

“Where are you going?” 

“I just need some air.” 

“Y/N I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t, I just have a lot on my mind and need a break.”

He frowned.

“It’s ok Dean, really.” I gave him a small smile.

Once I was outside and had the door closed I broke down, I can’t keep doing this to myself.

_________________________________________________

Dean’s POV:

I didn’t mean to upset her. I was trying to give her hope. 

It has been five months since I saw Y/N break. I’ve never been so scared in my life seeing her crumble under the weight of the world. I had to step back, let her get her head on straight without me. I don’t want to get used to relying on her to make me feel better. She needs to take care of herself, not me. I missed spending time with her but I knew it was for the best. Plus I know Sam is a better influence. I’m no good for her.

My phone was buzzing.

Sam.

“Hey man.”

“Dean hey, is Y/N with you?”

“Nah, she’s taking a break.”

“Oh, ok. I was going to let you guys know the cops think it’s a serial grave robber, evidently this has happened before. From everything I’ve checked out, I don’t see a relation to a monster. Maybe we should just let the cops handle it?”

I sighed. “Yeah that’s fine, we can stick around for a few days to see if anything happens.” 

“You ok dude?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just worry about her.”

“I know you do, but she’s doing better.”

“I know man, I just feel like I’m losing her. I know I stopped hanging with her but I wanted her to be able to heal without me looming over her.”

“Dean, she probably thinks you need a break from her, you know how she thinks.”

“You’re right Sam, I didn’t think about that. God, I messed up.”

“She’ll be back man and you can talk to her, I’ll go grab us some food before I head back.” 

As Dean was finishing his call with Sam, she sneaked back in.

“She’s here now, talk to you soon.”

“Everything ok?” she asked.

Her eyes were red, she had been crying.

Shit, I’m an asshole.

“Uh yeah, Sam said cops think it’s a serial grave robber, it’s happened before. Told him we could stick around for a few days and see if anything happens. He’s grabbing food, and should be back soon.”

She nodded.

“Y/N I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” I got up to go towards her.

She backed away.

“It’s ok Dean, I’m just being over sensitive right now.” 

“No you’re not, I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Dean it’s fine really, let’s just drop it.”

“I don’t want to drop it Y/N, I’ve been awful to you these last few months. I was trying to give you space to heal and it backfired. You think I hate you or can’t stand you. Neither is the case.”

“I understand Dean, I know I can be a lot. It’s ok.”

I raised my voice “But it’s not, I feel like I’m losing you!”

She began to cry. 

“Dean, I was doing fine, great even. Until I realized the biggest part of me was missing you. Sam was great at helping me, sure, but you told me you would stick by my side and you didn’t. I really get it. I’m annoying as hell. Everyone deserves a break. But you know I would do anything for you, hell I have and I know you have done a lot for me. And the fact is, I’m not yours to lose. So stop apologizing, put your big boy pants on, and move on. I’m not going to keep doing this!”

_________________________________________________

Y/N’s POV:

Dean took a step back and sighed.

He can’t keep doing this to me and I can’t keep doing this to myself.

I could tell I upset him.

I rubbed my head and sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just don’t need to keep hearing your apologies alright, I get it Dean. You forget I know you better than you know yourself. I’ll be ok, please don’t beat yourself up.”

I moved to hug him. 

He held me in his arms.

Then spoke, “You know I can’t do that sweetheart, beating myself up is my number one hobby.” He laughed.

“Well you need to stop, especially when it comes to me.” I moved back.

“I just need to know it’s going to be ok Y/N, I know I messed up but I will be better. Promise.”

“I know Dean, I know.”

Taglist:

@hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog

@deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist

@pandasrdbest2341

[pharisee-son]

About me.

I'm new here and still figuring out Tumblr. But someone helped me out, and I realized Tumblr is actually a pretty decent platform. I liked it, and I appreciated its vibe. Maybe this is the right place for me—a little corner of the internet to call my own.

I'd like to share my drawings, lore, and photos here. To connect with people, find other SCP fans, and maybe finally write some roleplay. I hope that someone will appreciate what I create—it would encourage me to keep going. I also want to learn new things, work on my insecurities, and interact with people online just like I do in real life.

The lore I’m building revolves around the “Old Reality,” a project I’ve been working on for 4–5 years. It’s a part of the SCP universe, and the main character of this story is my persona, Dr. D. Patch. It’s my copying mechanism. Because of that, it can be potentially triggering, containing psychological horror, religious and sexual trauma, toxic relationships, gore, body horror, and other heavy themes. My goal isn’t to romanticize these topics—that’s not healthy. I’ll be sharing parts of my work here, and I don’t mind answering polite questions about it.

(Remember that cringe culture is dead!)

On this platform, Tumblr I think I'll just be myself, sometimes RP as my persona. Do arty stuff, make friends - shits and giggles. And sometimes be more serious - learn to draw better, help others if they want it. This blog is "My Diary".

When talking to me, approach with respect. Treat me as a person with thoughts and feelings. Don’t trigger me intentionally. Honesty and questions mean everything to me, and the words "please", "thank you", "sorry" are basic manners, even if it’s just the internet.

If you think I'm problematic/doing something wrong - tell me about it in a polite way + what I can change. I don't intend to hurt anyone with my behavior or be mean. Additionally, being aggressive, unforgiving towards me is a huge trigger for me, so try to avoid it (If it affected me, I'll just be very quiet.).

My profile is a safe space for people of all religions, races, queer, MOGAI, alterhumans, systems, and agere. If I don’t understand something, you’re welcome to explain it to me.

However, toxic individuals such as; misandrists, misogynists, all kinds of incels, "nice guys" & "nice girls" , TERFs, transmedicalists, fatphobes, homo-/trans-/-intersex/queer-/xenophobes, bigots, racists, fascists, religious extremists, fanatics, or anyone pushing hateful ideologies are not welcome here. The same goes for people who are judgmental, edgy, aggressive, mean, or who come here to complain, harass, or insult without offering constructive criticism (when I specifically ask for it).

I primarily speak Polish, but this blog will be in English. I use a translator and might make mistakes since I’m still learning. My DMs are open—feel free to invite me to servers, share your art, lore, or just chat. You can even vent and treat me as a friend. I consider myself quite sociable and enjoy conversations. I don’t ghost or block people without giving a reason first. I’m most active on Discord, and my username there is: “pharisee_son.”

Oh, and my commissions are open. I mostly draw for Polish clients (I’m not sure how to accept payment from abroad). My prices are affordable, and I let the buyer decide the value of my work. I’m also open to art trades with anyone. I mainly draw character designs, references, redesigns, or corrections. However, I struggle with poses and perspective. Still, I’m good at rendering, coloring, and coming up with ideas. I can draw different types of characters, though elderly ones might be more challenging for me. I have no issues drawing furries. Please don’t ask me to draw fetish art, but gore is okay. During a commission, I need to stay in constant contact and will ask many questions. You’ll send me references and guide me on how you want the work done. This helps me feel more confident, and you’ll get what you’re looking for. I’m not a professional artist.

I use he/him pronouns, my chosen name is Dante, and I’m a trans man. I’m 18 years old. I’ve never used substances and am generally against them. I live in the countryside with my beloved aunt, and I spend my days working on the farm or pursuing my hobbies. My fashion style leans towards punk, and my room is filled with a collection of taxidermy, dried plants, and old books. The bad things that happened to me in the past are behind me now, and I’m trying to enjoy life. I am in recovery. As for my diagnoses, oh golly, I don’t know, but – my medical records are a mess (Medical neglect).

I am here thanks to @banesberry-anomoly :D

Last update: 30.12.2024

[thevelria]

The day I met you (Future Trunks x Reader)

Author's note: This story contains swearing and some soft lemon. Because I think Future Trunks would be a softy in the bed anyway ;)

When did this madness start? I didn’t even remember anymore, all the pain, fear, bleakness washed the memories away. Dead bodies everywhere on the street, buildings still on fire or totally ruined to the ground. 

I was trying to make my way to a safe place I heard of the other day. That was my only goal at that moment, reaching a place where a saiyan was hidden as well. I might have a tiny bit of a chance to survive, if he would have been around.

-Where in the hell do I have to turn left? -I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to remember what the man said to me, while explaining the direction -This corner, I suppose -I took a deep breath, but regretted my decision in an instant. 

Seeing Black fighting with a lavender hair colored man frightened me to death.

-Wrong corner, wrong corner! -I panicked, trying to stay invisible. But Black spotted me easily, smirking at me with that disgusting devilish smile on his face. I couldn’t understand how such a good looking man could be such a freaking prick.

-Shit! Shit! Holy shit! -my eyes popped wide open as I made eye contact with the villain- Okay, that’s it. I’m going to die now on this filthy street, no one ever will remember me -thoughts rushing through my mind rapidly.

-Watch out! -I’ve heard someone yelling, grabbing me by my waist, flying me up high in the sky just the second before a huge blast slammed into the spot I’ve been standing a blink before. 

-Oh my God! -I grabbed the man's hand hard, digging my nails into his skin, drops of blood forming and starting to run down on his arm.

-Auch! -he hissed out loud.

-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -softened my grip, looking still shocked- Please don’t let me fall! -I closed my eyes, my whole body shaking in fear.

-Don’t worry, I hold you still -he murmured in my ears. His warm breath slightly caressed my skin.

After a few minutes, at least it felt like it, we landed. His arm slowly was pulled back from around my waist and even if I felt the solid ground under my feet I still kept my eyes closed.

-You can open your eyes now -he giggled- You are safe.

-Oh, yeah, sure -I carefully opened them, blinking a few times to make my sight clear.

-I’m Trunks -he held his hand to me, smiling.

-I’m Y/N -I stared at him, while accepting the offered hand. His figure mesmerized me immediately, his beautiful blue eyes, the lavender hair, that handsome face and perfectly toned body. I felt blush rushing through my face, so I turned away in an instant.

Trunks smirked as he noticed how I reacted from seeing him. 

-Come inside! -he said- You’ll be safe here.

-Thank you -I looked at him again- For everything -I sighed deeply- I would be dead by now, if you didn’t save me from that maniac. 

-And that would be a shame. You are too beautiful to be dead -he winked at me and chuckled as he saw me blushing from head to toe one more time. 

*** 

6 months later:

I got used to the safe place and tried my best to be a useful member of the community. Since I was a nurse before it all started I mostly handled the injured soldiers, who were lucky enough to come back alive after a fight with Black. 

-Oh my God, Trunks! -I screamed as I saw the saiyan badly bleeding from several wounds all around his body. His face was covered with cuts and bruises, his bottom lip was ripped, just as his right eyebrow -Let me help you! -I ran to him, spinning my hand around his back to give him the opportunity to lean on my shoulder. 

Mai appeared in front of us and pushed me away immediately.

-Help the others! -she hissed at me- I will handle him myself. 

She never really liked me, because she was madly in love with the saiyan and hated the fact that Trunks didn’t feel the way she wanted him. 

-Don’t be rude to her! -Trunks gritted between his teeth, he hated the way Mai treated me and had an argument with her every single time. Now, on the other hand he was too injured to be able to stand up for me. At least I thought so.

-It’s okay -I smiled at Trunks- I will help the others -I spun on my heels, about heading to the opposite way. 

-No! -Trunks shrugged Mai’s hand off of him- She will be the one, who’s going to help them -he said with a cold tone, strictly. 

-Fuck you, Trunks! -Mai’s eyes widened, clenching her jaw and storming away. 

-Sorry, it’s going to be uncomfortable -I poured some alcohol on a cotton ball, pressing it gently against the cut on his lip. 

-Uhh… -he hissed.

-I’m trying to be as gentle as possible -I smiled awkwardly.

-I know -he put his big hand on mine, squeezing it softly.

After I took care of all of his wounds, bandaged them well, I was standing in front of him, staring blankly.

-What’s wrong? -he wrinkled his forehead, sitting on a chair.

-This eats me up alive -I sighed deeply.

-What do you mean? 

-I don’t know how much longer I can do this…Being terrified every single time you go out there to fight that bastard. The single thought of you not coming back frightens me to death -I clenched my jaw.

-Hey…hey come here -he held out his hands, grabbing mine, pulling me into his lap- Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. Goku and Vegeta must arrive soon, they will help us to end this madness. And then we will be able to live a normal life. I will be able to take you on a proper date as well -he smiled at me, blushing slightly.

-You promise? -I caressed his face gently.

-I promise -he rested his cheek on my palm.

***

-Deal? -Mai asked Black with a devilish smile on her face.

-Hmm…I will consider your request, however tell me one reason not to kill you right here, right now.

-Because if you kill Y/N as I asked you, I will lead you to the biggest safe place we have in the town. And you can finish more than 200 people at once. I think it’s totally worth it.

-Well, alright mortal. But if you try to trick me… -he smirked at Mai- Death will be the most wonderful thing you will desire.

-Don’t worry, I’ll keep my words, just vanish that freaking bitch out from this world.

-Why do you hate her that much? -Black raised an eyebrow, trying to understand the situation more.

-She…she is just an annoying brat -Mai clenched her jaw- All was perfect til she showed up one day and ruined everything between me and… -she stopped mid sentence.

-Oh… -Black laughed out loud arrogantly- It’s about some kind of meaningless human feelings? You mortals really deserve to be exterminated. 

-Whatever -Mai shrugged her shoulders, heading back to the safe place.

-Y/N! -Mai ran to me in panic, totally freaked out-Y/N, you need to come with me. It’s Trunks! He got into a fight with Black and he’s barely alive. You are the best nurse here, you need to come and save him -lies were spluttering from her mouth. 

-Oh my God! -my eyes widened, as my heart was about to jump out of my body.

You can call me naive, but I would have never thought she could be this mean. Lying about Trunks being in danger, knowing I would never refuse to help him. 

The way she tried to hide her smile made me suspicious. I started to think she might have tricked me, but I had no idea how.

-Where is he exactly? -I asked following Mai into a questionable area.

-This way! Here…hurry! -she kept mumbling- We are almost there.

-But it’s not the place Trunks told me he was heading to before he left the safe place -I stopped walking, folding my arms in front of my chest.

-So what?  -Mai was getting impatient- They fought around and they ended up here. Don’t you want to help him or what? 

-No, of course I will -shaking my head slightly, following her again. 

-There we are -she smiled widely, spotting Black at the top of a building.

-What the fuck? -I looked terrified- Mai?!

But she didn’t answer me, while walking in the direction of Black, who landed on the ground in the meantime. 

-You bitch! -I yelled- You fooled me! I’m so going to kill you for that -my eyes were burning in fury.

-Well, good luck with that -she pushed her long black hair behind- It will be difficult, though…since you will be dead in a few minutes -she laughed maniacally.

I gulped hard, thoughts were running through my mind, trying to find a solution which could have saved me from this fucked up situation. Mai was chatting with Black, smiling at him, pointing in the direction of the safe place. 

-No way, she’s giving up everything -I hissed, fisting my hands in anger- What the fuck is wrong with this stupid bitch? 

-Alright! -I heard Black low voice- I keep my word and kill that meaningless mortal for you.

I froze and stood still. Running away? Hiding somewhere? But where? I sighed and took a deep breath through my nose, thinking of Trunks. I wanted him to be my last thought before I was seemingly going to die within seconds. 

Black didn’t use any blast or energy ball, he landed in front of me and grabbed me by my neck, pulling me up in the air, my legs waving in panic as I kept hitting his fist around my throat. 

-Please… -I tried to form words, feeling the air slowly disappearing from my body.

-Such a weak, useless body this is -he tilted his head slightly, examining my look as I was fighting for my life.

-Let her go! You fucking bastard! -I’ve heard Trunk’s voice behind.

-What? -Black hissed, dropping me to the ground hard. As I gasped for air, massaging my neck I looked back above my shoulder, seeing Trunks in his fighting stance, holding his sword tight. 

-Bitch, you lied to me! -he looked Mai in the eye, who now became more terrified than me. 

Trunks and Black started to fight, giving in everything, flying up high in the sky. Punches here and there, cuts and bleeding bruises started to cover them both up. When finally Trunks had the chance to cut into Black’s chest deep and hard. The villain screamed in agony, trying to land at the top of a building. 

Mai in the meantime was about to escape, running away, hiding from Black, because she knew exactly that the man wouldn’t believe her. He was going to think she was the one who let the saiyan know his whereabouts. And that was exactly what happened.

-Stop running, you sneaky little brat! -Black shouted, blinded by anger- You really thought you could have tricked me -sending a huge blast in the direction of Mai, which killed her instantly. 

Trunks used the situation to land next to me, grabbing me hard by my waist, flying away immediately. He didn’t even look back.

-Trunks…I think Mai told Black where the safe place was -I tried to collect myself.

-WHAT? -he yelled- I’ve heard them talking about a deal. If Black kills me, she tells him where the safe place is. But I didn't hear her say it out loud exactly.

-I don’t know… -I started to cry, the whole situation was so freaking overwhelming I couldn’t control myself. 

As we landed in front of the place, Trunks blinked quickly, trying to figure out what to do. 

-I wounded him pretty badly -he finally sighed- He will need some time to recover. One or two days maybe. Let’s go inside, we will find out something.

-Alright -I nodded- I will need to take care of your wounds, he harmed you pretty well, too.

Trunks didn’t say a thing, but let me guide him into one of the nursing rooms.

-I still can’t believe Mai was able to do this -he shook his head in disbelief.

-She loved you, Trunks -I pressed my lips together as I was taking care of his cuts on his chest. His shirt was torn apart, revealing his muscled torso. 

-That doesn’t mean she had the right to try taking away from me the woman I love -he said, slowly looking up into my eyes.

As I didn’t say a thing, he grabbed my waist slowly, pulling me into his lap, resting his face on my chest. 

-Trunks… -I took a deep breath, running my fingers through his silky, lavender hair.

He stood up, pushing me gently against the table and pressed his lips against mine passionately. We have never ever shared a kiss before, hence I was craving it from the first time I saw him. I kissed him back, throwing my hands around his neck as the kiss was deepend.

-I was waiting for this moment for so long -he smiled into the kiss, breaking it afterwards.

-So I was not the only one craving it? -I smirked at him, which made him smile devilishly.  

When he started to unbutton my shirt I felt the tension rushing through my body, I wanted him so bad. I grabbed the bottom of his jacket, which he pulled down immediately, tossing it away. After I looked at his already torn shirt, which he ripped off of him with one move, sliding it aside.

-Damn…you are so hot -I bit my lower lip, staring at his abs, at his perfectly muscled torso.

Trunks didn’t say a word, licking his upper lip, while eagerly unzipping my jeans. Pushing it down, guiding me to step out of it and leaving me standing in front of him, only wearing my underwear. 

-Fuck… -I moaned as he stepped closer, massaging my breast with one hand, grabbing my ass with his other hand, licking my neck with passion.

I felt his hand wandering down from my breast through my body until he reached my penties. 

-Can I? -he looked me in the eye. I gulped as I nodded yes slightly.

-Oh, Trunks -I threw my head back, when his finger slipped in my pussy. Moving the tip of his index finger on my clit made me wild.

I eagerly grabbed the buckle of his belt, trying to free him from his trousers. He smirked at me, while pulling me into a passionate kiss, still moving his finger in my now wet pussy.

-Damn…- he growled, breaking the kiss as I started to rub his bulge through his boxers. I felt he was already hard, ready to take me anytime. His eyes widened, when I slid my hand into his underwear, gently pressing my palm against his hardened shaft 

-Y/N -he murmured- you drive me crazy. I won’t be able to control myself -he breathed heavily under my touch.

-Then don’t… -I whispered, which made him wild, pushing his boxers down, grabbing my penties, ripping it off, turning me around, so my back faced him.

-Oh my God, Trunks… -I moaned out loud as I felt his huge cock entering me.

-You are so tight -he growled as started to thrust me gently with a decent speed.

When he slid one of his hands down to my pussy, slipping a finger in, I lost my control. I pushed my hip backwards.

-Fuck… -I panted- fuck me hard, Trunks! Please! -I begged and he obeyed. 

Speeding up, pounding me faster and faster from behind. The tension he made me feel sent shivers down my spine, I felt my climax could burst out in any minute.

-Don’t stop -I whined- Please, don’t stop, I’m so close -I grabbed the edge of the table hard.

-Come for me, darling -he murmured into my ear. 

He kept kissing my neck, while I was riding out my orgasm under him. When I finished he immediately pulled out. Turned me to face him, pushing me down on my knees. He didn’t have to ask anything, I automatically started to stroke him, massaging his balls gently.

-Yes…right there! -he threw his head back- Fuck, I’m almost there -he hissed, releasing his hot semen on my breast. I stroked him twice more, before I stood up smiling, trying to find something I could clean my chest with. 

-Sorry! -he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

-It’s okay -I smiled, wiping the cum off with a towel. 

-Trunks -I looked at him seriously, while getting dressed.

-Yes, Y/N? 

-Will we survive? -I took a deep breath.

-I’m going to kill Black and I will take you on that date, I promise -he pulled me into one more passionate kiss. 

[a-rabid-snake]

Hey Snake. I’ve deliberately tried to stay out of the recent drama with Piku_Niku, but it seems to be petering out now that you’ve apologized. So I just want to say something.

I don’t think you’re a terrible person. What you did was wrong, and you don’t need me to tell you that. But you have apologized. You are clearly remorseful. Past actions are in the past, and it seems you’ve mostly amended them. So Id just like to request you stop beating yourself up over it.

Those words are not who you are, nor do they have to be. You can work to improve, and I like to think you’ve set on trying. I’m proud of you for apologizing, and I imagine some others are to. Now you have to figure out how to be better.

I don’t know, honestly, I’m just worried about you Snake. I don’t want you to hate yourself. I don’t think you should hate yourself. You should be angry and disappointed, but wallowing like you seem to be isn’t helpful. This quarrel doesn’t have to be who you are, and you have already taken the first step to making that so.

Im sorry, this is probably incoherent. And you probably think you don’t deserve anyone to defend you. But… I care about you Snake, and I want you to be better. I want you to be okay. Even after you said and did the things you did. As long as you’ve apologized, truly apologized, to Piku and their friends… I think it’s best to let it go.

Much love to both you and Piku. I hope things are going well for the two of you and your friends. And I hope you can learn and be better, rather than wallow in self hatred.

You know, I'll never understand why your text contains so much emotion and so much kindness. You're a very good writer.

Yes, maybe I should get better, at least try, but it's hard to love yourself when no one has taught you. I would say that I never paid attention to myself, and did not think of myself as a person who also needs to be taken care of.

I want to leave all the posts, I know that I have a bad memory, and they will be a reminder that I made a mistake and I should not allow it anymore

(now I don't want to cause pity, just to speak out) I don't believe in God. I'm a skeptic, so to speak, but to console myself, I turn to my dead cat with some kind of request. It's stupid, yes, but when I asked him to give me someone who would love me for who I am and tolerate my idiotic antics, I should have guessed that these people were already here, maybe I just didn't guess and didn't notice it

Okay, now I understand that I said something stupid, I'm sorry, just a little calm to make it easier to perceive the past.

But yes, I accept everything that I have done and everything that I will do, my words and my actions, this is my responsibility and I will be ready to answer for them if this happens again

[kenniecrazyface]

HUGE Venting below cut just fyi. (This is mostly for me to try and write my thoughts out)

⚠️ALSO please don’t engage; I’m not trying to seek validation. Again, this is basically journaling. Sometimes, you just wanna put something out there to be heard, not responded to, ya know?❤️‍🩹

This is hilarious since my main thing is just “funny random” shitposts lmao.

I am a failure. I am below EVERYBODY else. I always make sure to remind myself every morning I wake up, and every hour of the day.

So much to say but I’m not good at writing stuff. Ig what’s bothering me right now is that things are suddenly just FLOPPING on Twitter. Idk if it’s because people are migrating to blue sky, the algorithm, or what.

(And the thing is, I am AWARE of the fact that it’s dumb to base your self worth on “internet points and likes”. But my whole life has ALWAYS been about numbers; weather it be OCD, getting the right number on the scale when I was at the peak of my Ed, or followers/likes.)

I know I make a ton of just, shitpost stuff, but sometimes I WANT to at least try and make something actually meaningful. But everytime I do, nobody cares about it. Maybe I’m damned to only be the “funny person” It definitely tells me that I am the absolute bottom of the barrel, and I am instantly humbled. Feeling even a little bit proud of myself, or thinking something I made looks ok feels WRONG. I am NOT talented. I am NOWHERE near as good as actual artists, and I never will be. I am unworthy. Maybe I’m destined to fail. What did I do wrong to never be able to taste success? At least I know that my reward at the end will be great.

I put a lot of time into it even if it doesn’t look like it. Hell, even the shitposts can take hours sometimes. ADHD is hell, and I believe it’s gotten worse as time goes on. (I DO try to get help for these things btw, but I can’t trust therapists) I see BEAUTIFUL masterpieces people make, and they say “oh this took 30 mins!” And I feel dreadful. I used to be able to do that, but idk what changed. Then all I can do is degrade myself to the point of panic attacks or tears.

Drawing is like, my only “talent” if you can call it that. That’s why even if I want to, I can’t bring myself to give up on it. I WANT to be good at it so bad. People compliment sometimes, but I know it’s fake. There’s no way I can be “good” at this. But I can’t even tell if I’m good or not. My brain distorts my art the same way it does to my body in the mirror. The only thing I have to gauge it is those damn numbers.

It seems like ALL hate i have for anything, I direct back at myself. If something bad happened to me, I definitely deserved it for SOME reason.

I may be a lost cause, but at least I can try and bring other people up. And that’s what I do. That’s why I never like sharing these bad thoughts, I never want to hurt anyone. I don’t want ANYBODY pitying me. I’ve been told I’ve been a huge help sometimes, but it’s so hard to accept that ANYTHING good can come from ME.

Maybe things will change someday. The world feels hopeless in so many ways rn. But if anyone is reading this, I promise things will be amazing for you. You have potential and a bright future ahead of you. And I envy you for that. God bless.❤️❤️❤️