#Yes Adam is a twink there I said it

[derekhighwaytf]

Witches and Twinks

MONDAY

The small London restaurant’s dim light flickered against the wine glasses, casting soft Merlot shadows onto George and Adam’s lips, noses, the entirety of their smug, helpless faces. This should have been the perfect pairing.  They were both intellects, with high senses of self and a love for information (ie. control), and though they’d talked for nearly an hour at this point, the conversation felt more like a fencing match than the start of a beautiful new friendship—each word a parry, each retort a thrust. Adam, dressed in his sweater and khakis, leaned back in his chair with a faint smile, his tone sharp but measured for every measure George tried to fling upon him.

“As much as people romanticize magic or ‘karma,’ it’s all just bullish storytelling,” Adam said, swirling the last of his drink. “Yes, Shakespeare and Marlowe write about it, but even they understood that human intellect, not divine intervention, drives our fate. Julius Caesar—perfect example. ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.’ The real power lies in reason and intellect.”

George, dressed more casually in his loose-fitting green shirt, met Adam’s judgey gaze with a bewitchingly bemused smile. “Shakespeare also believed in the supernatural,” he countered. “The witches in Macbeth didn’t rely on logic to mess with the characters. Magic, fate, karma—call it what you may, but it holds an inexplicable force over more than just imagination. You’d be surprised how much control you don’t have.”

Adam chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his confidence more than bordering on just arrogance. “Macbeth? The witches merely represent internal fears and ambition every man or woman has in themselves. You can interpret them as mystical, inexplicable forces if you must, but at the end of the day, it’s Lady Macbeth’s persuasion and greed that destroy her husband. Shakespeare knew that intellect was the ultimate weapon. Magic? That’s just an excuse for weak minds like yourself who can’t handle the complexity of the human condition.”

George’s smile twitched as if he found the power not to turn Adam into the jackass he’d been acting like right then and there. “You academics, always trying to boil everything down to logic. I think you’re missing the point of the supernatural entirely. It’s not always about intellect. There are forces beyond understanding, beyond your understanding,—forces that aren’t impressed by your degrees or how many times you’ve read Troilus and Cressida.”

“An underrated work, if I say so myself.”  Adam’s smirk deepened. “And yes, the mysterious ‘forces beyond understanding.’ Tell me, how do they rank next to a Ph.D. in Shakespeare? I’d be curious to know.”

George tilted his head and took a swig of his drink, his gaze softening in a way that made Adam’s need to seek scholarly validation seem hollow. “You think Shakespeare would’ve agreed with you?”

“I know he would’ve,” Adam replied, superiority painting his tone. “The entire premise of his greatest works is that humanity’s biggest downfall is ignorance, not the supernatural. He’d side with intellect.”

“Or maybe he’d side with me.” George leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “You don’t think Shakespeare had a little magic in him? Maybe even enough to change a man forever?”

Adam’s smile faltered slightly, a small crack in his polished confidence. “What are you getting at?”

George’s just giggled, something dark and knowing flashing behind them. “I’m saying that not everything in this world is logical, Adam. You’re sitting here, lecturing me about Shakespeare, as if your intellect puts you above magic or fate. But I could change your entire world with just a flick of my hand, and all that book knowledge would evaporate into thin air.”

Adam’s gulped, unsure whether to get up and run or call the waiter. “Magic doesn’t exist,” he scoffed. “This isn’t some fantasy. It’s reality. You want to impress me? Show me something real.”

Without hesitation, George raised his hand, a scarred palm outstretched, and without breaking eye contact, he waved it through the suddenly thickened air with an inexplicable grace. The motion was so sudden, almost imperceptible, but Adam’s reaction was immediate. His breath hitched, his confident posture writhing and wilting as his widened eyes fluttered in confusion. The polished veneer of intellectual superiority melted away as something unfamiliar and overpowering gripped him.

Suddenly, Adam found himself folded over the table, unable to look away from George. The irritation he’d felt moments before evaporated, replaced by a deep, floundering passion—something that made his heart race and his chest tighten. His thoughts scrambled, no longer sharp and clear but clouded, fogged by an overwhelming sense of need.

“I…” Adam stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “I don’t understand… what were we—?”

George shushed him, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “You’re not supposed to understand, love. That’s the point.”

Adam’s breath grew shallow, his pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto George, unable to break away. His mind, usually so sharp and critical, was a jumbled mess of scrambled eggs. Everything he knew, everything he prided himself on, suddenly felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered now was George—his voice, his presence, his timeless beauty.  George was Adam’s everything now.

“You’re…” Adam’s words trailed off as his hand reached across the table, trembling. “You’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”  He swallowed his own tongue, choking on his own breath.  “Will you marry me?”

George’s smile widened, a quiet, knowing victory in his eyes. He leaned back, looking under the table, watching as Adam’s brain couldn’t catch up to his…heart.

“And just like that,” George whispered, “all your intellect can’t stop what you feel now, can it?”

Adam blinked, his face flushed with a mix of confusion and something else, something deeper. “No… I… I can’t stop it.” He swallowed hard, his voice small, vulnerable. “I don’t want to.” 

George’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “Now, why don’t we talk about something that really matters back at your place?”

Every part of his intellectual, collected self knew better than to let this menace into his home, but all Adam could do was nod at his newfound love’s commands. And how bad could it be?  All’s well that ends well, right?

Adam fumbled with the keys to his flat, his hands trembling with an erotic urgency he’d never known before. A man of his knowledge and tact would never sleep with a man so quickly, but alas, his once methodical mind, the same one that could cite King Lear on a whim, now reeled only with thoughts of George on his bed—George's lustful eyes, George’s sweet cock, George's very presence seemed to fill every emotional crevice of his being. His usual restraint, his prudent superiority, was gone, replaced by a consuming need to be filled by this cunning, enchanting strange.

They stumbled inside, the door locking shut behind them. “I’ve never…” Adam’s voice cracked, and he shook his head, words failing him. “I don’t know why, but I want you, I need you. Now.”

George’s lips curled into a soft smile, almost pitying. “Not yet, love. You’re tired.”

“No, I—” Adam’s horny existence began to protest, but before he could finish, George raised his hand and with a single flick of the wrist, Adam’s body crashed into a wave of heavy and irresistible drowsiness. His knees buckled slightly, and he stumbled backward onto his bed, the fatigue wrapping itself around him like a thick, suffocating blanket. His eyelids fluttered as the last bit of resistance left him, and in moments, he was fast asleep, still in the preppy clothes that once defined him.

George stepped forward, his eyes brooding as he stood over Adam's sleeping form. His fingers trailed lightly over Adam’s temple, tracing the outline of his brow. “You’ll thank me for this one day,” George murmured, though he knew Adam couldn’t hear. 

With that, George’s expression shifted from amusement to something far more dangerous. He moved to the center of the room, kneeling over, and began reciting words in Old English, his voice low and rhythmic, like a conjurer summoning something deep and ancient.

“This man doth dress in shorts of scanty seam,  

But two inches, nay more, could his cloth bear.  

All trousers, all pants, dare try to redeem,  

Will twist and turn, yet still they'll shorten there.”

As the words slipped out from George’s lips, the change began. Adam’s legs, still clad in his conservative khakis, twitched. The fabric shimmered like glitter, rippling unnaturally, as though it had come alive beneath him. Slowly, the pant legs began to pull and pull, retracting themselves upward inch by inch. The sturdy material warped and shrank, tightening suddenly as it rose. In moments, the khakis had transformed entirely into a pair of short, nay, outrageously short gym shorts—barely two inches of inseam, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The fabric clung to Adam’s shivering thighs, exposing pale skin that had seemingly never seen the light of day. His knees, his nonexistent calves, everything that had been carefully covered up was now on display, with the hem of the shorts barely reaching the tops of his legs. He lay there, still sleeping, completely oblivious to the transformation.

George’s eyes gleamed as he watched his imagination solidify into reality, their bright, synthetic fabric snug against Adam’s skin. “Much better,” he whispered, stepping closer. But alas, he wasn’t done just yet.

“In tanks of muscled shape, his chest laid bare,  

Neckline to navel, each nipple shall show.  

Armholes so deep, their movement none can spare,  

In every stride, his shirt reveals more woe.”

Another shift rippled through Adam’s sleeping body, this time around his torso. The sweater he’d been wearing—the very picture of propriety—began to distort itself, the fibers unraveling at his collar. The neckline dipped lower, and lower, and lower still, until it stopped just above his flat belly button. The sleeves, too, warped, pulling up and away from his twig-like arms until they were nothing but gaping holes that left his ribcage completely exposed. The fabric thinned as the sleeves disappeared, leaving him in a muscle tank so revealing that his nipples couldn’t help but to peek through with every slight motion.

The soft knit of his sweater had become a thin, athletic material, stretched across his chest and shoulders, barely covering anything. His once modest outfit was now reduced to something shamelessly provocative, his entire upper body on display, his pasty white skin brushing against the air with every breath.

George admired his work, his fingers drumming lightly against his thigh as he took in Adam’s new look. “Perfect,” he murmured. And yet, there was still more to be done.

“In high shoe laced, his socks pulled crisp and white,  

A chain of gold doth glisten 'round his neck,  

Beneath it all, a jock to fit him tight,  

No other cloth for him shall fate select.”

Once again, for the final time tonight, the changes swept through Adam’s cold, lifeless body, this time starting at his feet. His Sperry boat shoes dissolved, giving way to a pair of bright white Nike hi-tops, their thick laces tied into the most perfect bows for the treadmill. The socks that appeared around his ankles pulled up snugly, reaching mid-calf, their crisp whiteness almost blending to the cream of his skin.

Next, the thinnest, most douchiest gold chain materialized itself around his bony neck, resting just above his exposed collarbone. The delicate glint of the necklace caught the light, its subtle flash at odds with the rest of his now athletic ensemble. Finally, the transformation moved beneath his shorts. His boxers melted away, replaced by a tight-fitting jockstrap that cupped him in place, offering minimal coverage and the most maximum exposure, almost as if he were a twink stripper on the Miami shore instead of the next youngest professor at Yale.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Adam, once a picture of scholarly decorum, now lay before him clad in nothing but slutty gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed far more than Adam would ever desire, hi-top sneakers, a thin gold chain, and the most illuminating jockstrap. It was absurd, provocative—and exactly as George had imagined.

For the final touch, George recited the couplet, his voice soft but firm:

“Forever cursed, his garments shall remain,  

In shorts, in tanks, he'll live his life in vain.”

With those words, the spell was sealed. No matter what Adam touched, no matter how hard he tried, every article of clothing would morph into this same, revealing outfit. George smiled, satisfied, and took a seat in the armchair across from Adam. He watched him for a moment, sleeping so peacefully despite the irreversible change that had just taken place.

But as the night crept on, George allowed himself to sleep too, a smirk still resting on his lips as he lied next to his creation. Tomorrow, when Adam awoke and his spell of infatuation wore off, George knew that’s when the real fun would begin.

TUESDAY

“AHHHH!”  Adam woke up, his heart racing as the morning light shone onto his hungover face. His body felt strange, but his mind was far more disturbed. The events of the previous night seemed fragmented, cloudy—George, the strange pull, the overwhelming desire, none of it made sense. He sat up in his sheets, his eyes darting around the room, his chest heaving.

He looked beside himself and dear God, there he was. George was still asleep, draped casually across the sheets, his face peaceful in the way that seemed entirely at odds with the havoc he’d wreaked. Adam’s stomach turned. I slept with him, Adam thought, his mind spinning like a top. He clenched his fists in the sheets, his face flushed with shame. How had he let this happen? His mind, so methodical and proud, had completely failed him and allowed him to degrade himself for some vampiric twink.

Panic gripped him as he stood from the bed, only to stop mid-step when he realized a breeze he’d never felt before. His legs were bare, his thighs on full display. It was then that he noticed his reflection in the mirror across the room. His mouth fell open in shock. Gone were his conservative khakis and sweater. In their place, he wore nothing but a pair of impossibly short gym shorts, a muscle tank that exposed his chest and nipples, white socks pulled up to his calves, and, what on earth, a jockstrap?  He looked at himself again and thought he looked like a child dressing up in his musclehead uncle’s clothes.

He quickly shuffled to his dresser, desperate to change out of this ridiculous, humiliating outfit before George woke up. He rifled through his drawers and pulled out a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, but as soon as his fingers touched them, they shimmered and twisted, morphing into the same slutty gym shorts and revealing muscle tank that now clung to his body. Adam's eyes widened in horror. He threw the clothes aside and reached for another pair, only for the same thing to happen. Every single item he touched—his jeans, his sweaters, even a pair of pajamas—all transformed into the same jock-bro ensemble.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered under his breath, the frustration building. His heart pounded as he rifled through his now everchanging closet, grabbing hangers and tossing clothes aside in a frantic attempt to find something—anything—that wouldn’t transform. But everything he touched met the same fate, shrinking and twisting into the cursed, douchebag outfit.

Behind him, he heard a soft laugh.

George finally awoke, sitting up in bed, arms crossed, a lazy smirk plastered on his face. “Having trouble love?”

Adam spun around, his face flushed with fury. “What the hell is this?” He gestured to his outfit, his voice rising. “What did you do to me?”

George laughed again, softer this time, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “What’s wrong? What happened to the complexity of the human consciousness or whatever bullshit you were spewing last night?”

“Magic?!” Adam’s voice cracked with a mixture of disbelief and anger. “Is that what you’re blaming this on?  You can’t be serious!”

“Oh, but I am, love.”  George stood, casually pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. “Oh, come on. Don’t you like your new look? I think it suits you.” He took a step closer, his smirk growing wider. “And honestly, after all that big talk, I would’ve thought you’d handle a little transformation with more grace.”

Adam clenched his fists, his voice shaking with rage. “This isn’t funny, George! Somehow you’ve made me look like some jock-bro idiot. What the hell am I supposed to do like this? Just tell me what you did!”

But George’s expression darkened. “You still don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped, the playful tone gone. “You can’t just insult me, mock what I believe, and expect no consequences.” He took another step forward, his brooding eyes locking with Adam’s. “You wanted to prove your intellect was above everything—above magic, above fate. But you’ve proven nothing except how small your mind really is.”

“Small?!” Adam barked. “The only thing small here is you, you psychopathic, egotistical—”

But before Adam could finish, George’s pupils flashed with anger. He raised his hand, the air around him seeming to hum with energy. “Careful what you say next,” George warned. “Or you might not like what comes next.”

Adam’s lips parted, the insult on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. His pride warred with his common sense, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re nothing but a dumb fucking slut."

Suddenly, quiet filled the room as the words escaped Adam’s quivering lip, but once he got himself collected, George’s voice rang out in outrage, calm, yet oh-so commanding.

“This man shall bear a curse of feet most foul,  

With stench of sweat, his socks shall rot and tear.  

His pits shall reek, his skin a pungent scowl,  

Athlete’s rot shall mar each inch laid bare.”

Adam barely had time to register what George had said before a horrifying sensation crept up from his feet. He looked down, his newly acquired hi-tops feeling unnaturally damp. His socks, once crisp and white, were now soaked with sweat and dirt, clinging to his wretched skin. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden, overwhelming odor that wafted up from his shoes. It was rancid—like rotting toe cheese mixed with mildew and and an ocean’s worth of sweat. His feet itched uncontrollably, the skin burning as if something was crawling beneath it.

At the same time, his armpits began to burn and sting. He reached up instinctively, only to pull his hand back in disgust. His armpits were slick with a salty wetness, and the stench hit him like a punch to the gut—thick, sour, and overwhelming. It was as if he hadn’t showered in weeks, months even. His face flushed with embarrassment as the realization set in: his body reeked. His feet, his armpits—every part of him was drenched in sweat and stench, a walking cloud of filth.

“What the—?” Adam staggered back, staring at George in disbelief. “What did you—?”

But George wasn’t finished. He raised his hand again, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction.

“This man shall itch where modesty once laid,  

His bush shall grow, his groin a scratching hell.  

He’ll fight in vain to stop his hands’ parade,  

As arse and crotch demand his touch as well.”

And just like that, a sharp itch exploded itself across Adam’s groin, so intense that he doubled over in shock. His fingers flew to his waistband, instinctively trying to scratch the burning sensation beneath his jockstrap. The itch was so unbearable, spreading across his groin and into his backside, radiating like fire near his hole. No matter how hard he tried to resist, his hands were drawn to the sensation, scratching furiously, desperate for relief.

But there was none. The more he scratched, the worse it got. His fingers dug into the fabric of his shorts, and soon, he was practically clawing at himself, unable to stop. His face flushed red with embarrassment. The itch was maddening, and it didn’t care about decorum or propriety. Weak, he was scratching himself in front of George, his hands running over his crotch and ass, completely helpless against the overwhelming need for relief.

“Stop this,” Adam gasped, his voice shaking as he continued to scratch. “Please, stop.”

But George only smirked, his voice calm as he began the next quatrain.

“Each hour, his body shall release its gas,  

With burps and farts to shake the very air.  

No matter where he goes, no lad or lass  

Will dare endure the odors he’ll declare.”

Before Adam could breath in, his stomach rumbled violently. His eyes widened in horror as his body took over, an enormous belch ripping from his throat, so loud it echoed through the tiny studio. A second later, a foul-smelling fart exploded from him like a cloud, the stink so pungent it nearly knocked him back. 

“No—” Adam gasped, but his body betrayed him again. Another belch, followed by another fart and another burp, and yet another fart. The stench filled the room, thick and nauseating. His face turned crimson as he stumbled back, his hands flying to his mouth as if he could stop the sounds from escaping, but it was no use. Every few seconds, another belch, another fart, the air around him quickly becoming unbreathable.

George watched, amused, as Adam staggered, his eyes wide with humiliation. He raised his hand one last time, his voice soft and final.

“This man of filth, of shame, of rank decay,  

Shall live apart from grace, in filth to stay.”

With that, George turned toward the door, leaving Adam in the haze of his own stench, his body a twisted caricature of everything he once prided himself on. The smell of his own filth lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive, but it was the itching, the relentless belching, and the horrible farts that kept him anchored to the spot. His whole body was a battlefield of sensations he couldn’t control. His intellect, once his greatest weapon, felt utterly useless now.

He staggered toward the bathroom, desperate to scrub away the grime of his new persona. He turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away the stench and the shame. But as soon as the water hit his body, it did nothing. The sweat, the reek from his armpits and feet, even the itch in his groin—it was all still there, clinging to him like a second skin.

After multiple futile attempts, he stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed from scratching and embarrassment. His once carefully maintained hair was now matted with sweat, and his body, encased in the ridiculous bro-ey outfit, made him look more like a lazy frat boy than a Ph.D. candidate.

Adam threw on a hoodie, hoping it might cover up some of the smell, and pulled the hood over his head, trying to obscure himself. He couldn’t just stay home. He had a meeting with his professor that afternoon—he had to go. He had to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal.

As he left the apartment, he became acutely aware of the looks he was getting from people on the street. Some wrinkled their noses, others shot him a glance before quickly looking away. His footsteps echoed in his ears, punctuated by the sound of another loud fart escaping him, followed by a huge, gut-shaking belch. The smell followed him like a shadow, and the itch in his groin was impossible to ignore. He scratched absentmindedly, wincing as he did, but the relief only lasted a second before the itch came back with renewed intensity.

The closer he got to campus, the more nervous he became. His body wouldn’t stop betraying him—every few steps, another belch, another fart, another desperate scratch of his groin and butt. He could feel the sweat pooling beneath his shirt, the odor rising with it. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, hoping to disappear into himself, but nothing could hide what was happening to him.

By the time he reached his professor’s office, he was a mess of nerves. He stood outside the door, trying to compose himself. You can do this, he thought, even as his body itched and groaned in protest. But the second he stepped inside, the look on his professor’s face told him everything.

“Adam,” Professor Wilson said, his voice hesitant as he looked up from his desk. His nose wrinkled almost immediately, and Adam saw him discreetly glance toward the window as if considering opening it for fresh air. “Are… are you feeling alright?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I—I’m fine,” he lied, but even as the words left his mouth, another loud belch erupted from his throat, followed by the unmistakable sound of another fart. The air around him was thick with the stench, and he could see the professor’s face go pale with disgust.

Professor Wilson stood abruptly. “Perhaps we should reschedule,” he said, clearly trying to hold back his revulsion. “It seems like you’re not… in the best condition today.”

“I can explain—” Adam started, but even as he spoke, his hands betrayed him again, scratching furiously at his groin and rear, the itch unbearable. He tried to stop, tried to keep himself composed, but his body had other ideas. Another belch, another fart, each more embarrassing than the last. The smell in the room was unbearable, and Professor Wilson’s eyes were wide with a mix of pity and horror.

“Adam, I think it’s best if you go home and take care of… whatever this is,” Professor Wilson said, his voice tight with discomfort. “We’ll discuss your dissertation another time.”

Adam’s face burned with shame as he nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. He turned and left the office, another loud fart escaping him as he hurried down the hallway. The students he passed gave him wide-eyed stares, some covering their noses, others whispering and laughing as he stumbled past them. Each new step felt heavier, the weight of the day pressing down on him, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the nightmare his life had become.

By the time he could finally make it back to his apartment, he was utterly defeated. His body reeked, the itch in his groin had only gotten worse, and his belly was constantly churning with the pressure of more belches and farts waiting to erupt. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in his pillow. The day had been a disaster—there was no way he could continue like this.

As the evening settled in, Adam lay there, his mind racing even as his body continued to betray him. He had to find George. He had to fix this. There was no other option.

He couldn’t live like this—he couldn’t endure the stares, the laughter, the humiliation. His career, his entire life, was at stake. With each itch, each stench, each belch and fart, he felt his old self slipping further away, and he was terrified of what he would become if this continued.

With a heavy sigh, Adam closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would find George and demand that he fix what he’d done. Tomorrow, he would get his life back.

WEDNESDAY

Adam sat desperate against his pillow and his headboard, his phone clutched in his hand, staring down at the screen with a sense of failure. The stench from his armpits, the itching in his groin, the endless belches and farts—everything had become so utterly unbearable. The reflection he caught in the mirror was still that of the cursed gym rat, his outfit vulgar and ridiculous against his scrawny body, the stink so thick it began to cling to the walls of his flat.

He began typing. His fingers trembled slightly as they tapped against the glass, carefully crafting the text to George. His pride screamed against it, but he was out of options. He couldn’t live like this, not anymore.

"Hey George,  

I’ve been thinking a lot…and I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I was so out of line, and I didn’t mean to insult you or dismiss what you believe. I get it now—there are things beyond intellect, beyond control, and…beyond me.  I was wrong, and you were right. There.  I should’ve believed in magic instead of trying to mock it. Please, is there anything I can do to fix this? I don’t want to keep living like this, I just can’t."

He hesitated for a moment before hitting send, his stomach twisting into a knot of hope and dread. Adam tossed the phone onto his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling as the minutes stretched into hours. Every itch, every foul-smelling fart reminded him of his new reality. He tried to distract himself—cleaning the apartment, watching plays on Youtube, attempting to focus on some new Shakespearean analysis—but nothing worked. The stench hung in the air like a punishment, stuck to him no matter what.

By midday, Adam’s hope had started to wither into nothingness. George wasn’t going to respond. He probably didn’t even care. Maybe this was it—maybe this revolting, humiliating state was his life now. He sighed, dragging his hands through his sweaty hair, glancing toward his phone again. Still nothing. He swallowed the lump in his throat and paced around room, fidgeting with his bro clothes that clung to his now lean body like a cruel joke. 

Bzzzz.

Adam rushed to his phone, his heart thudding against his chest as he unlocked the screen. A message from George appeared, and his breath caught.

“Curses can’t be undone, love.”

Adam’s face flushed with frustration. His jaw clenched as he stared at the words. All of that groveling, all of that begging, and this was the response? He typed furiously, his anger bubbling to the surface, but before he could send anything back, another message appeared.

“But I must admit.  I didn’t think you would actually say that.  Honestly, I really appreciate the apology. Why don’t call it even, huh?  Why don’t I give you a gift?”

Adam blinked at the screen, his anger slowly dissipating into confusion. A gift? What kind of twisted gift could George possibly mean? If it was anything like the last, then he could keep it. But before he could protest, another message filled the screen.

“His arms, like oaks, doth stretch from end to end,  

With strength to lift the world or crush its weight.  

Their power matched with beauty none can fend,  

Two mounds so vast as sunset’s final state.”

As Adam read the words, he felt a sudden warmth spread through his arms. Not again, he thought, but then his eyes darted down in alarm as his previously thin, lanky arms twitched, then bulged. He watched, wide-eyed, as his biceps began to swell, the muscles rippling and bubbling beneath his skin. The skin of his arms grew tight, barely able to contain the massive growth. His once scrawny arms were transforming into huge, muscular limbs—so strong, they looked like they could crush stone with a single flick.

He flexed experimentally, his new muscles hardening themselves like marble. His biceps were enormous, so large they cast a shadow on his bony torso. He stared in disbelief at his own body, feeling an unfamiliar surge of power rush through him.

His phone buzzed again, another text:

“His chest, like breasts of Venus round and great,  

Two orbs of strength that push against the day.  

Each pect’ral it’s own ball upon a beach,  

So full, so firm, none dare to turn away.”

Adam’s gaze shifted down towards his chest, and once again, he felt the same warm, tingling sensation spread across his torso as he began to feel an unnerving top heaviness. His pecs swelled, pushing against the straps of his tank top until the neckline stretched even lower than before. His chest ballooned outward, each pec growing into a massive, rounded mound of muscle, firm and solid beneath his skin. His nipples presented so visibly, his chest now so large it jutted forward, casting a shadow over his barren stomach.

The weight of his new pecs made him feel even more powerful, even more in control. He couldn’t stop staring, watching the way his body filled out, how his once-flat chest had been replaced by two enormous mounds of muscle that jiggled involuntary with every breath. They were so big, so round, they almost looked unnatural—but Adam loved it nonetheless.

Another text…

“His stomach, carved like canyons deep and wide,  

Each groove a trench, each line a valley low.  

His legs, like trunks of ancient oaks abide,  

With strength to stand through storm and sun and snow.”

Adam’s abdomen contracted, the sensation rippling through his core. He watched as the muscles on his stomach began to etch themselves into deep, chiseled grooves. His once-flat belly was now an eight-pack, every ridge and line so pronounced it looked like his abs had been carved out of granite. His waist boxed in, accentuating the sheer mass of his chest above and the powerful definition below.

His legs were next. His thighs bulged beneath his gym shorts, the muscles expanding rapidly, filling out with every second. His calves thickened into pillars of strength, his quads growing into enormous slabs of meat that made his legs look like logs. He was massive now, his entire body transformed into something that looked like it had been sculpted by the god Zeus himself.

The final couplet arrived, and as Adam read the words, he felt the last part of the transformation taking hold:

A man’s man, dominant, in every stride,  

With looks that none, not man nor beast, can hide.”

As Adam gazed into the mirror, his eyes widened in awe. His reflection had changed entirely. He stood there, towering, his body brimming with strength and raw masculinity, as if he’d eaten raw eggs every day of his life since he was ten. His jawline was sharper, his posture more commanding, and the way he looked—it was undeniable. He was an alpha now.  He demanded attention, respect, and desire. The smell, the stink that had once plagued him—it didn’t matter. His overwhelming physicality eclipsed all of it.

Adam grinned, a wave of confidence crashing over him. This was power. This was control. He grabbed a jacket, still feeling the massive stretch of his biceps as he slipped it over his shoulders, and headed out.

At the nearest gay bar, the moment Adam walked in, all eyes were on him. His broad shoulders and massive arms filled out his jacket in ways that left little to the imagination. He could see heads turning, guys sneaking glances at his hulking frame, his thick pecs nearly busting through his shirt. He walked up to the bar, and within seconds, a couple of older men sidled up to him, their eyes wide with interest.

One of them, a trucker looking man with salt-and-pepper hair and the crustiest mustache, leaned in, his voice low. “You’re looking good, boy. Smell like man too.  Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

Adam wrinkled his nose slightly. The man was old, rotund, and ugly.  He could do better, much better. “No thanks, ..sir,” Adam replied coldly, his voice deeper and more commanding than he remembered. The man’s face fell slightly, but Adam didn’t care. He was too busy reveling in the attention, in the way every guy in the bar seemed to be watching him, wanting his body.

As the night wore on, more and more guys approached, trying their luck with him. But none of them were good enough for Adam. He was an alpha now—he could have anyone he wanted, and the more he held out, the more they wanted.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, he would go see George again.  If George can do this for him.  There’s no telling what else he could get out of the witchy twink.

THURSDAY

Adam took the tube immediately once he awoke and stood in front of George’s door, the weight of his muscular new form making him feel absolutely invincible. His inflated biceps and thick chest on the reflective glass of the door fed his ever growing ego, but deep down, he couldn’t help but shake this nagging doubt. George had done this to him—made him into a walking Marvel superhero, sculpted from stone, pure lust, and raw, unadulterated power. But was it enough? No, Adam wanted more. Needed more.

He knocked, his hairy knuckles bristling past the door handle. The first time he’d sought George, he’d dismissed the supernatural as nonsense. Now, with the power of George’s magic coursing through his sculpted body, Adam was ready to claim yet another piece of it. But this time, he knew he had to play his cards just a tad bit differently.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, his face shifting from surprise to a soft, almost suspicious smile. “Adam,” George purred. “Back so soon?”

Adam leaned against the doorframe, his massive arms bulging as he flexed them just enough to show off the strength George had given him. “Missed me?”

George raised an eyebrow, but his gaze lingered on Adam’s tits, those enormous pecs straining against the thin straps of his bro-ish muscle tank. There was a flicker of something in George’s eyes—desire, interest, maybe even a sliver of actual emotion, something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Adam noticed, and he played into it, taking a step closer, his voice low and smooth.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Adam said, his hand grazing George’s arm. “About I’ve been thinking about just how much I owe you for this body, for… everything.”

George tilted his head, still guarded. “And what exactly do you want this time, Adam?”

“I don’t want anything,” Adam replied, his lips curling into a seductive smile. “Just you.”

He moved closer, his muscular frame dwarfing George’s, his presence overwhelming in the cramped air of the doorway. George hesitated for a moment, but Adam’s hand slipped to the nape of George’s neck, pulling him in with surprising gentleness. Their lips met, slowly melding together, turning into something hotter, far more dangerous. Adam’s thinly veiled cock rubbed against George’s abs as his walls came crumbling down, and for the first time, Adam felt the subtle shift in power—he had George, really had him.

The day blurred into heated moments, their bodies tangled in sheets and sweat. Adam was relentless, his new body a weapon of seduction, and George, for all his magic, succumbed to the raw physicality of it. They moved together with an intensity that neither had expected, sucking, fucking, and by the time they lay spent, George was quiet, staring at Adam with something akin to affection.

Adam, however, was already thinking ahead. He turned to George, still catching his breath. “You’ve got power, George. Magic.”

George giggled with a flush.  “You’re just saying that.”

But Adam turned cold.  “I want more of it.”

George’s face darkened. “What exactly are you asking for, Adam?”

Adam grinned, his arrogance returning now that the heat of the moment had passed. “Whatever gift you think I deserve. You’ve given me all this, how can I doubt your judgment, my sweet baby.  My love.  I’ll leave it up to you. Surprise me.”

George’s expression shifted from curiosity to something more guarded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Adam’s smug face. “Anything I want, huh?”

Adam shrugged, confidence oozing from every pore. “I trust you.”

George sat up, his fingers trailing along Adam’s broad chest as if considering his next move. For a long moment, he said nothing, then with a quiet, deceptive murmur, he recited:

"A man so well endowed, his length shall grow,  

Eight inches, thick as snake in fabric’s cage,  

His buttocks firm, a perch for all to show,  

A bubble round to seat him firm with age."

Adam’s goosebumped body tingled immediately, the familiar warmth of transformation spreading through his lower regions. He let out a low, grunty moan as the sensation deepened, his cock thickening and lengthening under his teeny tiny shorts. Diameter growing as his ass tightened, the muscles swelling into perfect, round bubbles that pushed him slightly upward in the bed. He grinned, looking down at himself, clearly satisfied with George’s work.

“That’s more like it,” Adam murmured, his hands roaming over his newly enhanced assets. The heft of his cock felt incredible, and his ass, firm and plump, made him sit taller, more confidently. “I can’t wait to use this out in SoHo.”  He turned to George, expecting more praise, more lust, but George’s face remained unreadable.

Then, George’s voice darkened, and he continued the sonnet.

"But this thick snake shall rise and never fall,  

In constant stand, no peace, no quiet still.  

His rounded arse shall breathe and stretch at call,  

Each muscle loose, no seat can meet its will."

Adam’s smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes. The change happened so quickly—his cock, now a monstrous length, hardened immediately, pushing insistently against the fabric of his gym shorts. It throbbed, always erect, always at attention, with no sense of relief. He shifted uncomfortably as his ass, once firm and perfect, started to feel strangely loose towards the center. It twitched and clenched on its own, the muscles stretching and relaxing without his control, as if it was becoming an underground tunnel.

“Wait, what the—?” Adam stammered, sitting up, his hand moving to adjust his cock, but it wouldn’t soften. His asshole kept opening with a subtle, almost breathing sensation that made him feel unstable, as if he could fit a tube station in there.

George smirked, watching the realization dawn on Adam’s face. “Not quite what you expected, is it?”

Adam’s panic grew as he tried to stand, but the constant, unrelenting erection made every step uncomfortable. His ass moved with a will of its own, making it impossible for him to walk without awkwardly adjusting himself.

“Stop this,” Adam demanded, his voice sharp with fear. “Fix it!”

But George continued, his voice soft, but with a cutting edge:

"For every man he sees and thinks of thus,  

A need shall spark, his body shall obey.  

Two seconds more, his lips will ask with trust,  

And if they say ‘yes,’ he cannot turn away."

Adam’s eyes widened in horror as the words sank in. The change was immediate. His mind, sharp and calculating, suddenly snapped. The second he looked at George, an overwhelming desire flooded him. He took a step forward, his voice trembling.

“George, I—” He swallowed, trying to fight the words that wanted to spill out, but they escaped anyway. “I want you… I need you. Please, let’s do it again.”

George’s smirk faded into something almost pitying as he stepped back, shaking his head. “No.”

Adam blinked, the refusal shocking him, but the need remained. His body trembled with desire, the thought of George sending his blood rushing. He reached out, desperate. “Please, I can’t—”

But George stood firm. “This is what you wanted, Adam. You wanted the magic. Now you’ve got it.”

Adam’s desperation turned into panic, the uncontrollable lust gnawing at him as he realized what had happened. “Please, you have to stop this! I can’t live like this!”

George’s eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. “If you never see me again, I can never curse you again. Plain and simple.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the curse pressing down on him. He had no choice. He nodded stiffly, his voice shaking. “Fine.”

Without another word, he fled the apartment, the constant throbbing in his pants making every step unbearable, as if he were walking with a third leg. His ass twitched, loose and awkward, making him shift with every movement. He tried to keep his eyes down, avoid seeing anyone, avoid thinking about anyone. But as he neared his flat, he saw him—the old, fat man from the bar, the one with the crusty mustache he’d brushed off so easily the night before.

Adam’s eyes locked onto him, and the thought, just two seconds, crossed his mind. The change was instant.

“Hey,” Adam called out, already relieving his itchy erection, his voice unabashed from shame. “You wanna fuck me?”

The man’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do.  Let’s go boy”

Before Adam could stop himself, he moved closer, his body betraying him. They ended up in Adam’s flat, the humiliation sinking deeper as he stripped down, his body moving on its own, giving in to the fat man’s cock. Every moment was pleasure, the curse forcing him to enjoy it all. As the man’s fingers roamed into his hole, Adam’s cock stood painfully erect, his ass twitching and clenching, unable to resist the pleasure.

By the time it was over, Adam lay in bed, the old man’s snores filling the room. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his actions crushing him. He hated it. He hated the curse, hated George, hated himself. But as he thought back to the encounter, a sickening sense of satisfaction settled in his chest.

Maybe this was who he was now. He’d become the horny, bro-ish slut he’d always railed against.

But hey, at least he still had his wits about him.

“You wanna go again,” he asked the sleeping bear.

He awoke.  “Fuck yeah I do.”

FRIDAY

Adam groaned, his body still humming from the night before, shifting slightly in his bed, the weight of his smelly, bulging muscles pressing against the mattress in ways that felt less and less alien. The stench of sweat and sex clung to the sheets like a cruel reminder, but what gave him the most relief was that the old mustached bear, the fat man who had taken him, or he’d taken in, last night, was gone, leaving Adam with what few shreds of dignity he had left. For but a brief moment, Adam felt a glimmer of his old smart self, something buried deep beneath the layers of this cursed, grotesque transformation.

He brought himself up slowly, running a hand through his cum-soaked, dampened hair, trying to ignore the disgusting aire of musk that followed him everywhere. The night’s events replayed slowly in his mind, and each moment sent waves of heat rolling through him. He was disgusted with himself, yet somehow also satisfied. As much as he wanted to shake off the craziness of last night, something darker tugged within him—or instead, someone.  Someone he couldn't control.

George.

The mere thought of him, that witchy smile, made Adam's heart pump and race. He tried to resist it, clenching his fists as he paced around his tiny studio. No. He wouldn’t give in. Not again. But the more he fought it, the stronger the curse became. His cock twitched in his shorts, eternally hardening more and more, his mind clouded with an overwhelming desire as he let out a massive burp. It was George. He needed George. He needed to see him, fuck him, even if it meant more and more of these horrible, disfiguring changes.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Adam was out the door, heading toward George’s place. His brain screamed at him to turn back, to stop this madness, but his feet kept moving, each step heavier with the weight of inevitability. He arrived at George’s door, his heart pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Before he could second-guess himself, he knocked.

The door creaked open, and there stood George, the same knowing smile curling on his lips, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Back so soon?” George asked, voice dripping with mockery.

Adam swallowed, his throat tight. His body screamed with need, the throbbing in his pants unbearable. “I… I need to fuck you,” he stammered, the words barely making it out. His muscles tensed, his breath shallow. “Please, George. I just want to stick my-”

“No.” George’s tone was sharp, cold. “I warned you, Adam.”

Adam froze, his heart sinking. Panic flooded his chest. “No, wait, I… I—” He turned to flee, the humiliation too much to bear, but George’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You’re not going anywhere,” George said softly, a cruel edge to his voice. With a flick of his hand, Adam’s body locked in place, muscles freezing as though they were held by invisible chains. Adam’s eyes widened in fear as George circled him like a predator, his gaze sweeping up and down Adam’s massive form.

“You could’ve been so wonderful, Adam,” George whispered, his fingers trailing across Adam’s rigid biceps. “If only you weren’t so obsessed with being better than everyone else.” George stopped in front of him, his eyes gleaming. “But don’t worry. I’m going to fix that.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, his giant mind racing with panic. He tried to move, to speak, but nothing worked. He was trapped, helpless, his body at George’s mercy. And then, George began to recite.

“This man, with wit so sharp, shall find it dull,

His tongue to fail at words with length and grace.

In single beats, his speech doth make him full,

No thought can break the barrier of his face.”

Adam’s head buzzed as George’s words sank into his soul. He tried to protest, to say something, anything, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out were simple, one-syllable words, clumsy and slow like the dumbass he used to make fun of, the one he was about to become. “Wh-what… you… do…?” he stammered, struggling through each word. His brain felt like it was being squeezed, cell by cell, every attempt to say something even somewhat intelligent or complex was met with a foggy, impenetrable wall.

“No… more…” he managed, but even that felt like a battle. His tongue stumbled within his mouth, his speech slurring as the magic took further hold. Adam’s face twisted in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even think of a word longer than one syllable. His mind was trapped in this humiliating simplicity, a far cry from the sharp intellect he once wielded.

George smiled, watching the struggle unfold with sadistic delight. “You’re already looking more like yourself, love.” He continued, his voice low and melodic.

“A jaw so slack, it barely knows its place,

His mouth hangs wide, flies wander through the door.

With 'duh' his mind reflects upon his face,

A smile so dumb, he trusts each word, what's more.”

As the next words spread themselves throughout the air and landed onto Adam’s face, he felt his jaw slacken into a relaxed position, the muscles in his face going completely limp. His mouth hung open, agape, his lips parting into a dumb, vacant expression. He could feel the cold air tickling his teeth as a small, stupid smile crept onto his face. He tried to close his mouth, to tighten his jaw, but it wouldn’t obey him. No matter how hard he tried, it remained slack, open, like a door left ajar.

Flies buzzed around, and before he knew it, one flitted into his mouth. He barely registered it, too dazed, too numb to even care. His face felt frozen in that idiotic grin, his eyes glazed over. Worse yet, every word George said sounded so… true. Every part of him wanted to believe whatever George told him, his gullibility sinking deep into his bones.

Adam’s mind screamed at him to resist, to hold onto what was left of his pride, but that part of him was fading fast. His lips, still curled in a stupid smile, parted again. “Uh… yeah, right…” he muttered, barely able to form coherent thoughts. His voice sounded thick and dopey, like it belonged to someone else, someone who couldn’t even spell Shakespear.

George’s voice softened, almost tender. “See, isn’t that easier? No more thinking, no more overcomplicating things. Just smile, and trust whatever I, or anyone tells you.”

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind couldn’t focus. His thoughts were slipping away, replaced by something far simpler, far more primal.

“His thoughts now cloud with only two desires,

To lift, to bed, these things alone will stay.

His mind a fog, of neither will it tire,

And all else fades, in gym and bed to play.”

With those words, haze descended over Adam’s mind. Thoughts, once sharp and filled with wit, were now muddled, clouded with only two overpowering urges. He wanted to work out. He wanted to fuck. Everything else—his career, his pride, his intellect—faded into the background, meaningless, never to be seen again.

Images of bench presses flashed into his shrinking mind, the sensation of cold iron in his sweaty hands, the strain of his muscles as they bulged and flexed. And then there was sex—hot, mindless sex. His cock throbbed in his shorts, and the desire, the absolute need for physical release overwhelmed him, drowning out any other thought. Working out, fucking, working out, fucking, again and again and again. That was all that mattered now. Nothing else made sense, not like he could comprehend it anyways.

Adam tried to resist, to push through the fog, but alas, it was no use. His mind was too far gone, too consumed by primal urges. He let out a resonant, needy groan, his thoughts too disorganized to form any coherent plan of escape.

George watched with satisfaction as Adam’s transformation neared its end. With a triumphant smile, he delivered the final couplet.

“And now this man goes by initials who,

With knowledge slight, no higher than eight-two.”

As George’s last words took their hold, Adam felt the last remnants of his old self slip away, the final pieces of his mind shattering like glass into a distant oblivion. He wasn’t Adam anymore. He was… AJ. His name was AJ, always had been. That dumb, jockish grin became permanent across his face as his old life rewrote itself. His memories, once filled with scholarships, academic debates, tragedies and comedies, were now replaced by scenes of the gym, of flexing in front of the mirror, of fucking nameless faces in dark, sweaty backrooms.

His chest swelled with pride at the thought of lifting those heavy weights, of feeling the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself harder and harder. His thoughts were no longer burdened by complicated ideas or big words. They were simple, direct. Lift. Fuck. Repeat. That was it.

AJ blinked, his slack jaw hanging open as he stood there in front of George, his once bright mind now dim, sluggish, and focused only on the most basic of desires. His body reeked of fart and musk, his mind a tangled mess of lust and primal urges. His life as Adam, the intellectual, was gone. All that remained was AJ, a dumb, slutty, smelly jock.

George stepped back, admiring his handiwork as AJ smiled dumbly at him, his eyes empty, his brain no longer capable of critical thought. “You look perfect, AJ,” George said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

AJ’s grin widened, his thick tongue lolling slightly as he scratched at his crotch. “Th-thanks… bro,” he slurred, his voice deep and stupid.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” George murmured, tilting AJ’s chin up so their eyes met.

AJ’s smile grew even wider, his lips twitching as he struggled to form words. “Yeah, bro,” he said, his voice slow and thick. “I’m… real good.”

George couldn’t help but laugh. AJ was exactly what he had imagined—empty-headed, obedient, and driven by nothing more than his primal instincts. “You won’t be needing any of those big words anymore, will you, AJ?” George asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

AJ shook his head, his brow furrowing slightly as if even that small movement required a great deal of effort. “Nuh-uh,” he mumbled. “Big words are… uh… too hard.”

“Exactly,” George said, patting AJ’s cheek lightly. “And from now on, you’re going to live a very simple life. No more worrying about being better than anyone else. No more trying to prove how smart you are. You’ll be much happier this way. Just working out, fucking, and doing whatever you’re told.”

AJ nodded slowly, his thick muscles pulling and rippling beneath his skin as he flexed unconsciously. “Yeah, bro,” he agreed, his voice, like his mind, slow. “I like… liftin’... an’ fuckin’...”

“Now, AJ,” George said with command, “I think it’s time you head to the gym. You wouldn’t want to miss leg day, would you?”

AJ’s eyes widened slightly, the thought of working out sending a thrill of excitement through his body. “Leg day,” he repeated. “Yeah, bro. I gotta… lift.”

George smirked, watching diligently at his Frankenstein creation as AJ’s single-minded focus shifted completely to the gym. “That’s right, big guy. Go on, hit the weights, and make sure everyone sees how big and strong you are.”

AJ beamed, his dim-witted grin stretching even wider. “Gotta pump some iron.”  And as AJ disappeared into the distance, George sighed, knowing the man who’d once scoffed at him, at the very idea of magic and fate was now living proof of it’s power, his entire existence rewritten by just a few simple words. George smirked, satisfied once again, and waited for the next asshole to match with him on Hinge.

AJ, meanwhile, wandered toward the gym, his thoughts a jumbled mess of anticipation and primal urges. He could feel the weight of his bulging muscles with every step, the tightness of his tank top stretching across his massive chest. The constant itch in his groin had him adjusting his shorts every few seconds, a fart always ready in the chamber, and his cock already hard at the thought of the next guy he’d meet, or the next weight he’d lift.  He grinned stupidly, flexing his biceps as he prepared for the first set. “Let’s go, bro,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with excitement. “Time to get swole.”

And with that, AJ’s transformation was complete. The man he had once been—Adam, the intellectual, the scholar—was gone, replaced by a farting, burping, simple-minded, horny, muscle-obsessed jock who lived only for the gym, for sex, and for any task any man asked for.

“Life’s good, bruh.”

[thegainingdesk]

Two Night Stand

Just as Howard had guessed, the young man was loitering in the changing rooms when he entered. He'd seen the slim man watching him his entire set, changing from treadmill to elliptical to standing bike to keep a clear eyeline to Howard at all times.

Howard wasn't surprised, exactly. He'd found that he attracted more than a fair few men as he'd put on weight these past few years, and the gym was the perfect place to show off his developing figure. He couldn't exactly boast a powerlifter build, per se, but he had enough muscle underneath all the fat that he could show off how much weight he could lift, and enough to keep most of his fat in a firm, round gut at his center with comparatively less flab elsewhere on his body. Coupled with a thick dark beard and a thick pelt of coarse body hair, he often had twinks lining up for the opportunity to call him ‘daddy’; not something he was thrilled about at the grand age of thirty-four, but also not something he was in a rush to correct anyone wanting to fuck him over.

Howard made a show of getting changed and faced out into the changing rooms towards the young man, giving him a clear view of the spectacle. He lifted his shirt up slowly, allowing the hem to drag itself up over the curve of his gut, revealing the dark swirls of hair covering the mound of fat and his deep belly button. Once the shirt slid off his gut and Howard pulled it over his head, he looked over to see the man looking directly at him. He winked and the man hurriedly looked away; Howard made sure to maintain eye-contact, making sure to catch him each time he gave another quick glance. Howard reached down and hefted his gut a few times before reaching down further and giving his package a squeeze; that caught the man's attention alright, and this time he held his gaze, staring intently at Howard's gut.

“Not getting changed yourself then?” Howard called across the changing room.

The young man swallowed hard, before lifting up his shirt to reveal a tight, thin torso, with the faint outline of a six pack and a fine dusting of hair. He was about Howard's height, just slightly shorter than average, but more wiry than Howard had ever been, with prominent ribs and collar bones, and a prominent Adam's apple. Despite his short height, he was so thin he almost looked lanky. He was handsome, Howard thought; dark blond hair, a crooked smile and a nose that looked like it had been broken and not set properly at some point. “Just catching my breath,” the man replied.

Howard smirked and bent to pull down his shorts. He tried to make it sexy, but honestly, these days it was a struggle just to bend down around his gut and his shorts caught on his thick thighs, making him shimmy them down unceremoniously. By the time he stood back up, panting softly, the young man’s long erection was tenting his own shorts obviously.

Howard reached down and adjusted his balls in his boxers, partly for show, partly genuinely for comfort. “Fancy joining me in the showers?” he said casually. “I’m finding I've been getting really sweaty recently.” He felt himself growing hard. He knew he'd lost a few inches to his expanding fat pad, and he'd not been able to see his own cock under his gut for years, but he knew he still boasted an impressive manhood.

“I uhh… okay.” The man's voice came out high-pitched and strained. He coughed and tried again, deeper this time. “Yes, I mean. I'd like that.”

“I'm Howard,” Howard introduced himself as he walked past the man and around the corner to the showers.

“Guy,” the man answered. Howard could hear him follow behind him obediently.

“Nice to meet you Guy,” Howard said, turning on one of the shower heads and pulling his pants off. He handed them to Guy, who held them, dumbstruck for a moment, before lifting them up to his face and sniffing deeply. “You like this gut, Guy?”

Guy nodded, not taking Howard's boxers away from his face. His eyes were trained downwards; Howard knew that from this angle, his gut covered his crotch almost entirely, so he must be staring at his fat.

Howard stepped back into the stream of water, and rivulets began to flow over his tits, round his gut, down his rounded thighs and calves. “Would you like to touch this gut, Guy?”

Guy hurried to throw down Howard's boxers and pull his own shorts and underwear down; he was so hard and the motion so fast that his dick slapped up and hit his abs with a soft thwack. He stepped forward and ran his hands across Howard's love handles, squeezing them and using his fingers to dapple the soft skin and the fat underneath. He slipped his fingers beneath, into the crease above Howard's hips, and leant down to place one of Howard's nipples in his mouth, sucking for a few moments.

He pulled away. “You're so…” he began. He leant back in, kissing Howard's neck, his shoulders, his chin. Each kiss was paired with a small poke from Guy's fingers; Howard realised he was searching for pockets of fat around his body.

“Big?” Howard whispered. “Heavy? Wide? Manly?”

“Fat,” Guy finished. “You're so fat.”

Howard chuckled. “And you like that, do you? You like how fat I am?” Guy nodded. “Why don't you show me how much you like it then?” Howard nodded past his gut, down towards his crotch. Guy looked around nervously. “Now you're nervous?” Howard asked. “Don’t worry, most people rush straight off after the gym at this time. Besides, everyone knows this is the gay hookup gym, no-one would bat an eyelash.”

Guy swallowed hard and Howard licked his lips at the sight of his large Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his wiry neck. He looked around once more, nodded nervously, and sunk to his knees. Howard grew even harder as he felt Guy push his fat pad back to reveal more of his length, something he’d only realised men had started doing since he’d hit twenty stone or so. He shuddered slightly as he felt Guy’s warm mouth envelop his hardness for a few seconds, before pulling back and pushing Howard’s soft underbelly away and readjusting his position, trying to find a way to suck Howard off around all of the fat in the way.

Howard leant his head back and moaned. While Guy seemed to be taken by surprise with the practicalities of sucking off a fat man, he clearly had a few tricks up his sleeve, and enough enthusiasm to make up for it. Within a few minutes he was near climax and began to thrust himself into Guy’s mouth, who made some satisfying grunts of discomfort in response.

Just as Howard began to cum, pumping his load down Guy’s pretty throat, someone walked into the shower and the younger man jumped back so that the rest of Howard's cum sprayed across his chest and dribbled down his chin. Guy flushed red and turned away towards the wall, frantically wiping away the splatters of semen.

“Don't mind me,” Charlton, one of the gym's regulars, said as he stepped under the shower head on the other side of Howard. “I'd join you, but my husband says I've got to stop fucking people at the gym.” He leant around Howard's mass to peer at Guy’s arse. “How do you get all the cute ones Howie?”

Howard moved over to Guy and cupped his arse, bending down to his knees himself. “How about it?” he asked. “Fancy an audience?”

Guy gave a small shake of his head and continued to scrub at himself. Howard stood back up, bracing against his knees and straining as he did so. He stepped away from Guy and began to wash himself, taking the signal that the younger man had lost interest, for now.

“Maybe we could go somewhere?” Guy said quietly after a while. Howard looked over and grinned as Charlton laughed.

“Just like me to ruin the fun!” Charlton said. He waved his dick over at the two of them. “Howie, you've got my number, let me know if you'd like a third later.”

Howard grabbed Guy’s wrist and led him out the shower. He nudged the small pile of their wet shorts and underwear with his toe. “Grab those,” he told Guy. “We can go to my flat, it's not far.”

Guy struggled to keep his hands off Howard on the short drive and in the lift up to Howard's floor. As he unlocked the door, Guy was already pulling Howard’s t-shirt up and undoing his belt for him, kissing his neck as he did so. Howard pulled him through to the bedroom and pushed him towards the bed, and Guy dutifully began stripping.

Howard kicked his trousers off and pulled a condom out of the drawer by his bedside table. “You're going to have to put it on me,” he told Guy. “Awkward with this thing in the way.” He thumped his gut a few times to illustrate his point. “Unless you want to top?”

Guys tongue practically fell out of his mouth at this, and he hurriedly pulled the condom out of the packet. “No, I'm happy to, you know, or whatever.” He sunk down to his knees and stared up at Howard over the crest of his gut. “It's so hot that you can't put this on yourself.”

“I mean I can,” Howard grumbled. “It's just easier to get someone else to do it.” He felt Guy roll the condom over his shaft and smooth out some air bubbles.

“How do you want me?” Guy asked. He turned towards Howard and stood waiting, his hard-on pulsing slightly.

Howard nodded towards the bed. “On the edge. However’s most comfortable for you.”

Guy climbed onto the bed, stretching his thighs wide to present his hole to Howard. Howard squirted some lube onto his fingers and ran them over Guy’s crack, before slipping a couple of fingers in and massaging for a moment or two. Guy arched his back and sighed.

Howard lined himself up with Guy as best he could, and pushed himself forward. His cock missed the mark and instead bounced painfully off of one of his cheeks. Howard winced. “Sorry,” he said. “Difficult to aim with this thing in the way.” He patted his gut.

“God that's hot,” Guy sighed.

“Glad someone thinks so,” Howard grumbled to himself. Maybe he did need to lose a little weight.

“We could try a different position?” Guy suggested. “Cowboy style, maybe, or it might help if we both lie on our sides?”

“No!” Howard snapped. “No, I can, I can do it,” he said, more calmly. He'd be damned if he’d gotten too fat to top someone properly. He fished under his gut and grabbed his equipment, using his hands to guide himself in. He found his mark and slid in slowly, as Guy moaned softly and pushed back against Howard's crotch.

The two men began to rock in sync, building up a rhythm. Howard's gut slapped into Guy's back, the claps ringing like a metronome. The two began to pick up pace, as Guy arched his back and Howard tried to reach around to grab the smaller man's cock; with his gut in the way, he just couldn't reach. Instead, he gripped Guy’s slender shoulders and put his effort into pumping. He could feel the fat on his arse, his tits, his gut shaking and vibrating and his heart fluttered in his chest as he breathed heavily. He pumped harder and gripped his own fat with one hand, inserting one finger deep into his own bellybutton. He thought about how fat he'd gotten, how much fatter he was sure to get, he thought about the man below him and how much smaller he was than him. His breath caught as he came, and he felt the condom fill up around his pole. Shaking, he rolled off of Guy and onto the bed.

“Did you..?” Howard asked.

Guy shook his head. “It's fine,” he said, panting and smiling. He placed a hand on Howard's gut and shook it. “Plenty of time for that later.”

“What does it feel like?” Guy asked afterwards, with his angular torso pressed into Howard’s broad, soft back and one arm draped across him, a hand slowly caressing his gut.

Howard laughed. “Topping? You never done it before?”

Howard felt Guy shake his head from behind. “No, I've- I mean not very often, but I have, you know- No, I mean, you know,” his hand gripped Howard's gut and shook it a little. “What does this feel like? Being fat?”

Howard laughed again. “You like that, do you?” He slapped his gut a few times, enjoying the feeling of his body rippling. “It's a bloody nuisance, I'll tell you that much.”

“Yeah?” Guy prompted. “How?”

“Oh yeah. I mean, you saw earlier, it's getting difficult to fuck guys in some positions without it getting in the way, difficult to put on condoms easily. You even struggled a bit when you were giving me a blowjob, right?” Guy nodded enthusiastically. “It's even getting difficult to piss standing up.” Howard could feel Guy’s cock hardening against his back.

“Really? Because you can't reach it you mean?” Excitement mounted in Guy’s voice.

“Reaching it's easy enough, it's being able to see that's an issue. Can't aim,” Howard explained.

“What else?” Guy urged Howard on.

“Fuck me, loads. Having to fight against my own body to tie my shoes, getting winded climbing the stairs, clothes not fitting right, not being able to join my mates when they play footy, getting the piss taken out of me by everyone who thinks they're a bloody comedian,” Howard said. By this point, Guy was grinding his hard dick against Howard's leg.

“But you love it?” Guy asked, his voice catching.

“Fuck yes,” Howard replied. “There's something about being big, you know?” Guy gave a small whimper in reply. “In basically any situation, at work, with mates, at the gym, I'm always the biggest one there. Sure, a lot of it's fat, but men always respect the big guy, you know? Like it's primal.”

“How much do you weigh?” Guy asked. He moved to straddle Howard, his hand stroking his cock.

“A little over three hundred pounds,” Howard lied. He was close, but had never actually broken the big three-oh-oh. He'd met enough of these chaser types to know that 300 was the magical number though, and was happy to fudge the numbers to make a twink’s fantasy come true.

“Christ,” Guy gasped. “You're over double my weight.” Within thirty seconds, he tensed up and yelled out as thick hot cum sprayed over Howard's gut, pooling in his belly button and dribbling down its curve onto the sheets.

Guy fell down onto Howard and kissed him, hard jawline bumping into soft. “You're incredible,” he panted. “I could order some pizzas maybe?”

A couple of hours later, three boxes sat on Howard's coffee table, while Howard stretched out on his sofa with one hand down his boxers and one hand cradling his stretched gut. He'd done his best to show off for Guy, and had eaten almost two whole pizzas in quick succession. “Go on,” he told Guy. “Eat up.”

Guy groaned, clutching his flat stomach. He'd just finished a whole pizza by himself - clearly not a feat he was used to. “They're your slices,” he said feebly, nudging the two final slices of Howard's second pizza back to the larger man.

“I want you to have them,” Howard said, pushing them back. “And I think you want to have them too.” Guy shook his head. “You're telling me,” Howard grabbed Guy’s hand and placed it on his gut. “That you don't want one of these of your own?” Guy moaned a little. “That you just want to fuck fat guys? No. You want this for yourself. Eat.”

Guy closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled slowly and deeply, and sat forward, grabbing both slices and stacking them together before taking a large bite out of both. “That's it,” Howard whispered. “Good boy. Eat them quick, before your body has a chance to register. Good boy, there we go.”

It took fifteen minutes, and by the end Guy was clearly uncomfortable, rubbing his stomach and suppressing sickly hiccups, but eventually the slices disappeared. He sat quietly, moaning and cradling the invisible curve of his stomach. Once it became clear that he wasn't in a position for conversation, Howard put the TV on and left him to it.

“I should go,” Guy said quietly after two episodes of Doctor Who. He stood and began to pull his t-shirt back on.

“You don't have to,” Howard said, making no move to stop him. “You could stay the night, if you wanted.”

“No, it's late,” Guy said. “I was supposed to meet up with some friends.” He winced as he buttoned his jeans. “Maybe we could do this again sometime though?”

Howard sighed. He never really did ‘again’. “Maybe,” he said. “I uh, I'm only in Portsmouth for a few months for a work thing, I probably won't be uhh…”

“No, it's fine, I get it,” Guy said with a thin smile. “It's fine if this is just a one-time thing. Thanks for umm,” he looked over Howard's body, still laid out across the sofa, his gut overlapping his too-tight pants. “You've helped me figure some stuff out. Thank you.”

Howard heaved himself to his feet and stuck his hand out. “Always happy to figure some stuff out with someone,” he said. Guy took Howard's offered hand and shook it. “All the best Guy.”

“You too.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the sofa. 

-

Howard groaned as he lowered himself into the seat, grateful for the easing of the pressure on his feet. He closed his eyes and just sat for a moment, breathing just a little too heavily for his liking. Ever since he'd crossed the 300 pound mark almost a decade ago, he'd been eagerly eyeing up 350, but he was starting to worry that it might have been just a little too much weight for him. He was just so big these days, and at more than a little ways past forty, he was starting to think that the big leagues, weight-wise, were a young man's game.

He opened his eyes slowly and reached towards the menu. No need to go hungry, anyway, whether or not he wanted to get much bigger, especially with his company footing the bill. A couple of starters, he thought, a big main, maybe one of those steaks, and then some big heavy dessert. That should just about hit the spot. He squeezed his overhang just a touch and sighed. Sitting down, with the dull ache in his feet fading away and his breathing going back to its usual light wheeze, rather than a heavy pant, he started to forget his earlier apprehension, just a few moments before. Being big felt fucking great, didn't it? What difference would another ten or fifteen pounds make, really?

His thoughts were interrupted by a shadow falling across his menu, and he looked up, expecting to see the waiter. What he saw instead was a wall of flesh - a man stood in front of him, outweighing Howard by, god, who knew how much? At least a hundred pounds, maybe even one-fifty. The man's soft gut hung down, almost touching the table, and his arms sat awkwardly at his sides, visibly pushed away from the man's huge, soft torso by gut and tit and roll. He looked like something out of one of Howard's fantasies, a scale he'd fervently imagined himself at, but never really aspired to.

"Howard?" the man asked. "It is Howard isn't it?"

Howard was stumped. He'd remember this man if they'd met, surely? Fantasised about him for weeks afterwards presumably, wistfully thinking back to that human barge he'd met in some business meeting or other?

"I'm so sorry," he said after a while. "I'm really trying to remember…"

"It's Guy," the man - Guy - said. "We met about eleven or twelve years ago." When Howard's face didn't lose its confused stupor he added - "In Portsmouth? I, uhh, look a little different I suppose." He punctuated this last bit by laying his hand on top of his gut.

Howard thought back, he'd not spent long in Portsmouth after all, six months maybe. Had he met a Guy? He looked up at the round face in front of him, subtracted ten years, a couple of chins, tried to imagine cheek bones beneath those jowls, noticed the bent nose that looked like it had been set badly, years before…

"Jesus fuck, Guy, " Howard said softly, his eyes widening. "Twink Guy?" he asked, his voice high. This whale in front of him couldn't have ever been that small fry, could he?

Guy laughed. "Twink Guy, I like that!" he said. "Can't say there's been much call for a nickname like that for a while now though." He smiled at Howard. "Are you waiting for someone? Maybe I could join you?"

Howard made a blustering noise that could be interpreted as a positive, and gestured at the seat opposite him. Guy pulled the chair back, far away from the table edge, and slowly, carefully, deliberately lowered himself down into it. Howard marveled at the practiced routine of it all - how far back the chair needed to go, the care with which the sturdy oak chair needed handling, the way that every movement was slow and deliberate and carefully considered to avoid bumping into anything, everything, around him. Most of all he marveled at how Guy barely seemed to register that any of this was out of the ordinary.

"God, it's good to get off your feet, isn't it," Guy sighed.

Howard studied Guy, trying to remember the rail thin twenty-something year old underneath the blubber. His face was huge, round cheeks bulging over sagging jowls around squinting eyes. His body was enormously broad - tits sloped down a mountainous gut down into his elbows. Even his fingers were fat - stubby little sausages attached to pillow palms.

Guy reached over his belly and picked up the menu, resting it on the shelf of his gut. “Shall we just get one of each of the starters and sides and share?” he asked after a while.

Howard’s eyebrows rose. He looked back at the menu - there was at least ten starters and the same amount of sides. How much was this man planning on eating?

“I'll foot the bill, don't worry” Guy said, misinterpreting Howard's reaction. “The least I can do.” He slapped the top of his gut, setting it swaying. “After all, I've got you to thank for this.”

Howard’s mouth closed and opened a few times. “Sorry, I'm not sure I… You've got me to thank?”

“Oh absolutely!” Guy said, nodding. His double chin shook with the motion.

At that point the waiter arrived, interrupting Guy. They both ordered a pint of ale, Guy ordered all the starters and sides, as he'd said, and Howard ordered the steak.

“God, that sounds good actually. Two of those. Medium-rare, yeah. And we’ll want the dessert menu after. Perfect, yeah, thanks.” Guy turned back to Howard. “Where were we? Yes! Thanking you, that was it.” He leant back, and Howard could see his shirt pulling out of his waistband to reveal a slab of pale flesh hanging out even while sitting. “After we, you know, after that night anyway, I just sort of knew I guess.”

“Knew what?” Howard asked.

“That I wanted to be fat!” Guy said loudly. Howard sank down in his seat as people at other tables looked over. “I mean, I knew before then, I guess, but it was all, I don't know, wanking over YouTube videos and those stupid stories about people getting paid to fatten themselves up or something. I never, god, I never imagined I could really do something like that.”

Their drinks arrived and the two were quiet for a while as they took their first large gulps. “And then you met me,” Howard offered.

“And then I met you!” Guy repeated. “God, the number of fat guys I must have stared at before you.” He laughed. “I thought I was being so subtle, but clearly you noticed pretty quick.”

Howard laughed as well. “Yeah, subtle didn't really come to mind,” he said. “I thought you were cruising, honestly. You were actually doing that to any fat guy you saw? Just, down the street?”

“Christ yes,” Guy laughed. “They must have all thought I was a creep.”

At that point, the first of the starters arrived. Guy fell quiet as he focussed on eating. Howard could see how he's gotten so large - eating was clearly serious business to this man. Each bite was relished, with time taken to enjoy the flavours, but no time was wasted - as soon as one bite was swallowed, more food would immediately be brought to his lips.

After the starters and while they waited for their mains, Guy spoke. “You know, I always imagined how much weight you were putting on,” he told Howard. “And I always sort of, I don't know, compared myself to the image of you I had in my head. Especially once I reached three hundred pounds, and I was so much softer than I remember you being, and then when I hit three-hundred and fifty, four hundred, and I thought, god, when did he hit these weights? How much bigger did he get? And I started to imagine, you know, we'd meet at some point and I'd have managed to get, I don't know, ten, twenty pounds bigger. And it'd be, god this is so stupid saying it out loud, like you'd passed the torch on or something. Honestly, it's a big reason I've been pushing myself to still get bigger and bigger.”

“Sorry to be a disappointment,” Howard said, rubbing his gut. He'd done his best to eat half of the food on the table, and while not full, he could feel himself slowing down; in comparison, Guy seemed to be impatiently waiting for more food. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so small.

“God, no!” Guy said. “I don’t mean, no, I'm not disappointed or anything. I do know, you know, that I've kind of taken this whole gaining thing further than most people are into. I never really, honestly I mean, thought I'd meet you again or whatever. It was always just something knocking around in the back of my head. I didn't even really know that you were a gainer, you might have lost it all for all I- fuck, sorry, I don't even- are you even a gainer? I just assumed.”

Howard waved his hand. “Don't worry, yeah, I… well. I mean, fifty pounds in ten years, it's hardly the kind of weight you've been putting on. But yeah, I'm on all the sites and stuff.”

“Hey, anyone else would be pulling their hair out over fifty pounds,” Guy said. “Us guys just have a skewed perspective about this stuff.”

Howard shrugged. “I guess. Sometimes I feel like I'm not making progress and sometimes I really look at myself and see just how big I am.”

“How big are you, if you don't mind me asking?” Guy asked.

“Three-sixty-something these days,” Howard said. “Probably a little more - lots of business trips. And you?”

“Just hit five hundred a couple of weeks ago,” Guy replied proudly. “Hit a bit of a plateau since, but it's great finally getting there, you know?”

Howard gave a low whistle. “That's a big boy number right there.” Guy laughed. “You're going for those kinds of weights then? Five-hundred plus?”

Guy grinned and nodded his head enthusiastically. “It's all I think about,” he said. “The more weight I put on, the more I want to put on. It's like, okay, when we first met that time, right? I got all excited and I decided I could put on, I don't know, twenty pounds, see how that felt. And it was nothing. So I thought, okay, fifty pounds, and then I'd put on fifty pounds and I was starting to feel chubby but…”

“It wasn't as big as you'd thought it would be?” Howard asked.

“God, not nearly anything like it,” Guy agreed. “Like, fifty pounds you know? That's a lot of weight! And it just didn't look like it. So I went up to two-hundred and fifty, and that wasn't enough, then three hundred, and I thought, surely, surely three hundred’s where you start to feel big. And that's how big you were! I fucked other big guys, don't get me wrong, but you were the first - I built you up into a bit of myth in my head I think.”

“I'm flattered,” Howard said.

“Well, I got to three-hundred pounds, as big as Howard, and it still wasn't big enough,” Guy continued. “So I added another fifty, and that wasn't enough, and another, and four-hundred still didn't feel big enough.” He sighed. “You never feel like that?”

Howard spread his hands on the table and studied them for a while. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not often. I do feel big, most of the time. Big enough. But every so often I catch a glimpse of myself and I just think… is this really twenty-five stone? Surely I should be huge by now? When I was younger I couldn't imagine how big that must be and now…”

“Now it's just the size you are,” Guy finished. “It's normal.”

Howard nodded as their mains got brought over. Howard tried to hide his nervousness at the size of the portion; chips were piled high next to a steak as big as his face and over an inch thick. Guy licked his lips and started eating immediately, stopping only when the sides got brought over.

It took nearly two hours for Howard to get through his steak, sides and the selection of desserts Guy had ordered. Guy watched him, having finished long before, occasionally offering words of encouragement, but generally just filling Howard in on his life; the company he'd started, the relationships with increasingly larger men who were just never big enough, the years and years of gluttony and sloth that had built him into the man Howard saw before him.

Howard leant back and drummed his fingers on his gut. It has been a while since he'd felt it so taut, and the sensation left him rock hard. He opened one eye and watched Guy for a while.

“I've got a room upstairs,” Howard said after a while. “If you wanted to…?”

Guy smiled. “I thought you said you were married now.”

“We’re open,” Howard reassured him. “I spend a lot of time away with work and we both know that we’ll be better off if we get to relieve some tension every so often.”

“Well then,” Guy said with raised eyebrows. “Shall we?”

They both stood, Howard feeling particularly spritely for the first time in a while; he found himself waiting for Guy to haul himself to his feet. The two made their way slowly to the elevator, which sunk noticeably as the two men entered.

As the doors closed, Guy reached over and put a hand on Howard's love handle and squeezed. “Just like I remember,” he said with a smile.

“Hopefully a little bigger?” Howard said.

“Don't worry,” Guy said. “I can see all the progress you've made. But it's that same solid ball gut I've been having wet dreams about for the past decade.” He slapped it a few times, resulting in a dull thump. He slid a finger through a gap between the buttons in Howard’s shirt and stroked the furry skin around his belly button.

The elevator door opened, and the two made their way to Howard's hotel room. Howard let them in and Guy made his slow way over to the bed and gingerly sat down. Howard stood in front of him and let his gut bump into Guy's face, who reached up and began to unbutton Howard's shirt for him.

“Oh yes,” Guy said. “I've missed this a lot.” He ran his fingers through the hair on Howard's gut and up onto his soft chest as Howard pulled off his jacket and shirt and threw them to the side. Guy leant forward and nuzzled his nose into Howard's belly button, before replacing it with his tongue as he worked his fingers under Howard's overhang to undo his belt and pull his trousers down.

Guy lifted Howard's gut slightly, and deftly pushed the fat back slightly to reveal more of his hardening cock. “This is bigger than I remember,” he said.

“My cock?” Howard asked. “Really?”

Guy laughed. “Sorry, no. I meant your fat pad.”

“Ah,” Howard said. “Suppose that would be a bit too much to ask for.”

“I personally have come to enjoy the effects of fat on a man's cock,” Guy said.

“Not one I'm particularly thrilled with myself,” Howard grumbled.

“Well maybe I can make it up to you,” Guy said, before slipping his mouth over Howard's dick.

Howard's breath caught. The key to giving a good blowjob, Howard had learnt over the years, is to really, truly, genuinely want that dick in your mouth, and Guy was clearly hungry for it. No opportunity was missed to taste or lick or suck on any and all exposed skin. His balls, his shaft, his head, his taint, all of it was lovingly cared for in turn. It wasn't long before Howard was shooting down Guy's throat.

Guy sat back and smiled as he swallowed. Howard thought back to how prominent his Adam’s apple used to be - it was now barely visible in his lardy neck.

Howard sank down to his knees, and lifted Guy’s gut to gain access to his belt buckle. As he undid his trousers, Guy pulled his shirt up and over his head, revealing soft, undulating flesh. Together, the two slowly managed to peel Guy’s clothes off of his body until he was sat in only his socks.

Howard once more lifted Guy’s gut and pushed back at the soft fat filling his crotch, unveiling the nub of his cock. He leant forward to lick the exposed head, but quickly had to pull back as his face became enveloped with fat from above.

“You don't have to,” Guy said. “I know that it's not easy to-”

“Lean back,” Howard said, pushing back on Guy’s torso. “And hold your belly.”

Guy obeyed, laying down on the bed so that his flab cascaded back towards his face. Howard pushed down on his fat pad, revealing another inch or so of cock. As Howard took it into his mouth, licking its meager length and the small scrotum, he thought back to the long cock Guy had the last time they'd met, now swallowed on thick fat.

Howard inhaled deeply, taking in the sour musk of Guy’s crotch and continued to lap at the small length available to him. He began to pump the fat surrounding his cock, using it to jerk the length he couldn't see. The wall of fat above him began to shake and quiver, until sticky cum spurted out. Howard noted how sweet it tasted, and wondered if his own cum had gotten sweeter as he'd gotten fatter.

“That was great,” Guy said.

“Glad to be of service,” Howard replied.

Guy shuffled his weight back up the bed, setting the frame creaking and groaning. He patted the bed next to him. “I think I was big spoon last time.”

“I think you might have been,” Howard said. From this angle, Guy looked almost impossibly wide. His gut spilled out, pulled down and to the sides by gravity, so that he resembled a large pillow. Howard settled down next to him, teetering on the edge of the bed, and curled up to the large mass. “I don't think these beds are really built for men our size.”

“Not two of us, anyway,” Guy said. “I can go, if that's easier?”

Howard shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “We can stay a while.”

The two lay quietly for a while. Their heavy breathing filled the room.

“It's been a while,” Guy said after a while.

“What has?” Howard asked.

“Since I've been with anyone,” Guy clarified. “Once you reach a certain size, the mechanics all get a bit awkward.”

“How so?” Howard asked.

Guy sighed. “I can barely even reach my cock these days,” he admitted. “Bit of a faff for someone else to reach it, too. Generally guys just feed me these days, then deal with themselves.”

“You okay with that?” Howard asked.

“Oh yeah,” Guy insisted. “Don't worry about me. Not much difference these days between eating and sex for me. But this was… this was nice.”

“You still like it then?” Howard asked. “Being big? Getting bigger?”

“God yes,” Guy beamed. “There's nothing like it. I can't imagine stopping. How about you? Happy to stop where you are?”

“You know, I might well be open to packing a little more on,” Howard said.

“You let me know if you're ever up to getting fed then, eh?” Guy said. “I saw you struggling with those kiddy portions. You’re going to need pushing if you want to get really big.”

“Is that so?” Howard asked, laughing. 

Guy struggled to sit up. “Absolutely,” he said. “I distinctly remember you pushing me to eat two extra slices of pizza beyond what I thought I could. That lesson stuck with me. It's time you learnt it too.” He hauled himself to the side of the bed and panted for a moment or two. “I'll leave you be. Can't have you hanging off the bed all night.”

“Leave your number?” Howard said.

Guy smiled. “Definitely,” he said. He looked down at the clothes strewn about on the floor. “I uh… don't suppose you'd pick up my clothes for me? Bending down’s a bit of an ordeal these days.”

Howard chuckled and helped Guy collect his clothes and put them on. “Let's make sure it's not another decade, eh?”

Guy smiled. “Of course,” he said and patted Howard's gut. “We've got to make sure to put some meat on these bones.”

The door closed and Howard collapsed back down onto the bed. 

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

4,10 and 19 ? 👀 (did I do it right ? Or do I have add something to it ?)

4. You know I'd do anything to keep you by my side right? Anything.

10. Let me call you mine just for tonight.

19. Never scare me like that again!

Nope you did it right! Lol Thank you for sending this in ☺️

Hope you don't mind if I use the prison au, it has me in a chokehold 😫 Au belongs to @rius-cave

Lucifer pulled Adam along by the collar of his jumpsuit back to their shared cell. He was fucking pissed at the ex-officer, how stupid can you be?!

Adam was sporting a freshly made black eye, given to him by one of the V gang members. He didn't say anything as he was pulled along, he did what he did for a reason and he'd do it again.

Lucifer all but threw Adam into their cell slamming the door behind them, he waited for the click to be sure the door was locked. Adam sat down on the bed and just waited for the ear full he knew he was in for. Lucifer came up to him and gripped Adam's jaw, making him look Lucifer in the eye. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!! Do you hear me? You could have fucking died!" Lucifer roared, his voice sounded angry, but it was laced with concern.

Adam rolled his eyes which earned him a stronger grip on his jaw. "Like you give a shit." He ground out.

Lucifer glared, the nerve of this prick! "Look," he started "I know you were only trying to get that V asshole off of Anthony, I agree the guy could use a shit kicking for what he does to that kid. But putting yourself in harm's way like that? Val wouldn't think twice about shanking you."

Adam and Anthony or 'Angel' as his street name was, have grown close in the clink. So when Adam saw that fucker smacking his friend around, it set something inside his soul on fire. So he stepped in and shoved the prick into his equally weird friend. That had earned Adam his black eye when Val stood back up. Apparently, he had more in mind than just blackening the ex-officers eye.

Lucifer had stepped in at the last second and stole the shank away and had embedded it into Val's ribcage.

Adam felt his eye throb at the memory. "Well, if you'd have let him, your job here would be done now wouldn't it?"

Lucifer was taken aback by this, but he recovered quickly. "Are you really that stupid? I take my deals very seriously. For as long as I own you, you will not be harmed as much within my power."

Lucifer got closer to his face, his blue eyes boring into Adam's dark brown ones, this close he thought he could see flecks of gold. "You know I'd do anything to keep you by my side, right? Anything." He growled out. What did he have to do to drive the point home?

Adam felt his breath hitch in his throat. Somehow this felt different, like something between has changed. "I don't know, do I know that?" Sure, there had been lingering touches, they showered together for fuck sakes and even shared a weird kiss but they had never done more than that.

"I don't like people touching what belongs to me. You're my bitch, only I can touch you." Lucifer trailed a hand, the one not holding Adam's jaw, down from Adam's neck to the buttons of his jumpsuit toying with them. He undid the top button and smiled when he felt Adam shiver. "Let me call you mine, just for tonight." He whispered against Adams lips.

Yes, he owned this man's ass but he wouldn't force him into any unwanted sexual situations. Lucifer wasn't a monster.

Adam swore the temperature in their cell was turned up to a suffocating degree, he was hot all over. He knew the blonde twink wasn't going to let him fuck him, Lucifer was planning on fucking him. Adam had never been with a man before. He always thought that if he did try to sleep with a man one day, it sure was shit wasn't gonna happen in prison.

Beggers can't be choosers he supposed.

"Okay." Was all he said before Lucifer's lips attached themselves to his own, stealing the air out of his lungs. Adam felt himself being pushed down into the bunk bed, Lucifer crawling on top of him. He felt his jumpsuit being unbuttoned.

Even if this was a mistake, a choice made in the heat of the moment with emotions running too high. Neither could deny afterwards how fucking great it had been.

[nerdy-nook]

Voltron Characters as Things I Heard in the Mental Hospital

Hunk: What is a long-term crisis called?

Pidge: Screwed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Adam: What is your commitment to life?

Keith: Well I kinda wanna go to jail before I die.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Lance: Yes ma'am.

Allura: Don't call me that.

Lance: Ok mommy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Shiro: What is a twink?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

*Giant whiteboard falls on top of Lance*

Pidge: Why didn't you move?!

Lance: My brain said I had five seconds to move so I decided to sit for four of them.

[absolutefilthimsosorry]

Spoilers for DnP Incohearent!!!!

I’m having so much fun trying to solve these that I made a list to keep track! Message if you can help me fill in any I’m missing or if I’ve got any wrong!!!

Also lmk if you see any I’ve missed!! I’m going to keep updating this and have it unrebloggable but you can reblog this post to have a link to it!

These are all gathered from this post and this post so check the notes on those first to try to solve them then look here if you need answers!

Sow march cheer ray = so much cherry

Wee nay urn for uke oye yer tub = we’ve never fucked on youtube?

Ta fold in fig = the golden pig

Feed hay hid eho = vday video

Tat he won ape hit morse him he = daddy want a bit more simmy

Watt ken ice hay = what can I say

North key bus teabag king = naughty busty baking

Fool tie enter nit hobo / fall tie mint her nepo moe / fault aye mint earn are ohm owe/ foul thyme inch hermit hole mold = full time internet homo

Cumin mile aid deed or = come in my ladydoor

Hum hay zinc tan = amazingdan

Elven ower fug sedge own = eleven hour fuck session

An berry moth ribeye adam stir = and every month we buy a hamster

March rest array = Manchester eye

Cyst herding yell = sister daniel

Add a ding teps = editing tips

Cop dubai khaki luna = topped by kakuna

Late eat tore = ladydoor

Half tugger etch two eggs cyst = have the courage to exist

Perish she end wink = Parisian twink

Coal ten big/ goal then pick = golden pig

Cyst ordain yell = sister daniel

Train youth inks = try new things

Gay mean moss/ gain ink mass = gamingmas

Soften need = soft and neat

A wools lied = owl slide

Topper bought them hill = top or bottom Phil

Coat fit firenze = golf with friends???

Few ours pig meow fits = viewers pick my outfits

Read less tar = red lester

Eye eight soup igloo = I ate super glue

Insight youth era too walls = inside you there are two wolves

Mine amy stan = my name is Dan

Clap hella = glabella

Hiss teeth rent = hits different

Eel eyes apron kay kiss = Eliza pancakes

See pram haze ink bra jet = super amazing project

Feels lie yawn = phils lion

Fuel ease snot dawn fair = Phil is not on fire

Jaw shush ear son = josh hutcherson

Ball bull him tour food = bauble in your foot?

Sure eck = shrek

High ate dust = hiatus

Add a dink deps = editing tips

Ga hay shoom air age = gay shoe marriage

Pope eat plate aim = poppy playtime

Eat aches stu = it takes two

Goo gal few ed = google feud

Baze ick lee eye meg ay = basically I’m gay

Ko min yout ti ew = coming out to you

Ender knit subvert grew oop = internet support group

Phylis turn yar a sheen yes = PHIL LESTER YOU’RE A GENIUS

With Audi intern yet wean ed brr wood halve mat = without the internet we never would have met

Gum ban yins drool I’ve = companions through life

Reed sons wide answer flail = reasons why dans a fail

Ewan dam ah some are reed = you and Dan are so married

Denver sis fill/ Denver cis full = Dan vs Phil

Or lawn huffing = all or nothing

Dunk rye core raft = don’t cry craft

Mortal jester roam and thick/ Morph adjust row antic = more than just romantic

So wall how debris poll light = swallow to be polite???

Oar hinge art = orange heart

Foray virgo em = forever home

Chai reel loop/ share real oob = cherry lube

Cad boyd anne = cat boy dan

Far turf ill lip = father philip

Tess lit hen ink = the slittening

Forth house indie rolled or touches = four thousand year old tortoises

Hey moth swish roundup floating = a month without uploading

Jam march let pet tea an farms = Je mange les petit enfants

Day lion howl tour = Dalien Howlter

Ima let all kit = I’m a little kit

Feel pearl lays shell ter = Phil plays shelter

Fewer blue key app ending = viewer spooky happenings

Hell low iam tour reel = hello I am Toriel

Laugh tuh gey mile kuh = left to get milk

Villas eek wreck why vuh = Phil’s secret wife

Footy strain gin said dent = ___ strange incident????

Snow core play sum = snokoplasm

Nope puts cereal sleeping mage innit = no but seriously imagine it

Tear rip pulling flu hence = terrible influence

Jeff why eye aisle hike vague liner = fyi I like vagina

Eggs intense all cry cis = existential crisis

List of contributors

@fletthewreck @dandp @deadandphilgames @manchesterau @thephouseplants @awrfhi @jonsaremembers @rachosaurusrex @dapgolf @dan-whoell @dnphobe @dreamingalto @steveandscraggy @phanbeats @danandfuckingjonlmao @pepper-pastry @yonpote @un-interactive-introvert @spaniel-trowel @sisterdanieldyke @queerdnp @morganadelacour @amid-fandoms @spectral-kitkat @goingpheral @angelzonearth @wdapteo @2009phan @dansevilpianotea

[stonebutchery]

Lakey's Smash or Pass: Leigh Whannell Edition

Axel from The Matrix Reloaded (2003) dir. Lily and Lana Wachowski

Being a Matrix franchise character, I've loved Axel long before I ever started giving a shit about Leigh Whannell as an actor/screenwriter. I love Axel so much, I would do everything and anything to save him. If I were a character in this universe and a resident of Zion, I would try to get him to stay home and never embark on the Vigilant. Do not doubt my commitment. I need him alive, I need to be his lover. I care about him.

Verdict: SMASH

David from Saw (2003) dir. James Wan

There is absolutely nothing and no one that could keep me from pouring all of my energy and time and love and care into helping David defend himself legally after the events of the Saw proof-of-concept short film. I actually explained everything I would do if I were his defense attorney in this post. I don't really want to be his lawyer, though. I want to be his boyfriend. I want to be the one that posts his bail if possible... and, if not possible, I would come to visit him as often as I was legally and physically able to just to give him someone to talk to. I want to show up for his trial dates as moral support. I want to let him move in with me when he's finally acquitted and needs someone to lean on. I want to hold David. I want to hug him. I want to kiss him, kiss him softly. On the cheeks and neck and lips. I want to fuck this man. I will reset him, re-calibrate him, via prostate orgasm. I want to shatter his world and put it back together... who said that...

Verdict: SMASH

Adam from Saw (2004) dir. James Wan

I care very deeply about Adam. I would take care of this dude. I honestly just want to support him. I'm very aware of the fact that I have a service-oriented loyalty complex like some kind of human PTSD dog and I embrace that fact about myself. I love Adam like a really close roommate or a best friend or maybe an ex-boyfriend I'm on really good terms with and I still care a lot about platonically. I want to let Adam freeload. I want to let him move in with me and not pay rent because he needs the support and he's too depressed to care for himself lately. I want to wash his hair. I want to do his laundry with mine, I want to cook and share meals with him, I want to gently pressure him into calling his mom back because I want to see his situation and mood improve. I'd volunteer to go with him to appointments of any kind to be his advocate in any medical, business, social services or whatever setting. I'd know I'm not responsible for him but I'd want him to know he could lean on me when he needs it. But I don't really want to smash. It wouldn't be a non-option, but I'd much rather talk to him about politics and art over some dinner in our shared apartment.

Verdict: PASS

Spink from Death Sentence (2007) dir. James Wan

Anyone who actually, genuinely knows me knows that Michael Scofield from Prison Break was one of my first guycrushes... Not the actual first, but certainly one of them. Spink is the same kind of twink as Michael Scofield. Looks aside, he thinks he's tough and hard while compensating for shortcomings and vulnerabilities. I find that insanely attractive. I want to be the one who gets him off speed, I want to be the one who talks him into leaving the gang and fleeing to Canada or Alaska with me without police intervention so that he doesn't have to make deals he's uncomfortable with that will end up costing him his freedom and an actual chance at a fresh start. Where was I going with this? Doesn't matter. I'm smashing that twink.

Verdict: SMASH

Matt from Dying Breed (2008) dir. Jody Dwyer

I can't, in good conscience, say that I would smash Matt, at least not on his own. Conditional smash. I'd want to be Matt and Nina's third. I don't want to get in the way of what they have. I think they're both so adorable. And, yes, I think they're both attractive and sweet. They clearly care a lot about each other and respect each other and show each other affection in a boundary-sensitive way. Because I live in denial, I also live in a fantasy world of my own interiority's creation in which Nina and Matt escaped their captors and managed to survive and they make it back to Ireland and I would absolutely be ready and willing to be their support person. I want to be their third, also in a roommate-like way, or maybe as a domestic partner? But I absolutely care about them and I'd do anything for them. The old "it's rotten work / not to me, not if it's you" and all that. Trauma-informed bisexual polyamory. Love wins.

Verdict: SMASH

Specs from Insidious (2010) dir. James Wan, Insidious: Chapter 2 (2013) dir. James Wan, Insidious: Chapter 3 (2015) dir. Leigh Whannell, Insidious: The Last Key (2018) dir. Adam Robitel, and Insidious: The Red Door (2023) dir. Patrick Wilson

Jesus Christ, I am so fucking crazy about Steven "Specs" Fisher. I lose all composure when I see him. His dorkyass endearing nerd aura drives me insane with lust. I have never needed anything as badly as I need to flirt with him and make him feel special. Not to be NSFW but I will also note that I am a trans Specs truther and want it to be known that I can, would, and will eat this man out. I will handjob finger this man to several orgasms. As a stone butch service top, I'm a giver only so he doesn't have to worry about reciprocating, anyway, if that's a going concern. Sorry for how crude I sound, I just want to make this man cum.

Verdict: SMASH

Donovan from The Debt Collector (2012) dir. Rich Ceraulo Ko

Goddamn. I need to spot him from across the room at a dive bar punk show, make my way over there, tell him he has beautiful hands, pretty eyes, and a cute face, offer to buy him a drink, ask him if he wants to come back to my place, and hook up with him.

Verdict: SMASH

David from Crush (2013) dir. Malik Bader

Truth be told, I've never seen Crush. He looks like a nice enough guy. I wouldn't not smash... but he's definitely not at the top of my list.

Verdict: SMASH

Clement from The Pardon (2013) dir. Tom Anton

Given the fact that Clement Moss was, in fact, a real man who actually existed and really did try and fail to defend an innocent woman from being sent to her death by electric chair in the 1940s, I must respectfully pass.

Verdict: PASS

Doug from Cooties (2014) dir. Cary Murnion and Jonathan Milott

Come with me on a little journey of imagination, will you? Imagine, with me, a desolate world where a rapidly-spreading virus has taken possession of a significant percentage of children across the country, the catastrophe quickly spreading to the rest of the world. Trust me, human encampments are popping up to defend against the zombie scourge. Think of one of the many enclaves of surface-dwellers in Fallout. Think of a camp like that where survivors have situated themselves advantageously, they function communally, and welcome clean, virus-free outsiders regardless of whether they can pitch in to help or not. I like to imagine I'd be keeping myself safe in a fort or a settlement like that, and I like to imagine that Doug and the band of teachers traveling together would be taken in by such a place, sanctuary rule style. Doug? Doug is a hard pass for me, sexually and romantically, but he seems like he could really use someone to talk at. So imagine, one last time, a group of adults prepping nightly communal dinner from non-perishable foods (we are 100% making some meatless chili with canned beans, corn, and other veggies and seasoning it well so that everyone has some comfort food before bed)... and, while I'm working the gas stove, keeping a big ol' batch of the vegetarian chili hot to serve, I let Doug take my chair and sit down and ramble and infodump away while I dish out servings to our comrades. Doesn't that sound nice? And, yes, believe me, I'll be trying to reform some of his wayward misconceptions about everything. I can't outright discard him. It may have been for comic relief but we're TBI buddies, so I empathize. He seems like a well-meaning dude with some issues that can be smoothed out, autism-to-autism communication style. So, respectfully, I pass.

Verdict: PASS

Gavin from The Mule (2014) dir. Tony Mahony and Angus Sampson

Good fucking grief. Gavin Alastair Ellis. Gavin would absolutely hate me for it but I would not be afraid to scrap, punch, bite, and claw Ray in order to lay claim over Gavin… and, listen, we can make the polyamory thing work but only as a throuple composed of two people who hate each other but who both love the person who serves as the keystone member of the relationship. That's the only way this is going to work. Ray's a sweet dude but he is not my type, not for this. Realistically, we'd probably be on very friendly terms because I do think Ray's alright… but I need Gavin in such a deeply carnal way so bad it makes me look stupid. Oh my God. This slut made me cry.

Verdict: SMASH

Larry from The Bye Bye Man (2017) dir. Stacy Title

You couldn't get me to feel anything for this man even if you forced me to at gunpoint.

Verdict: PASS

Matt from Keep Watching (2017) dir. Sean Carter

I need to fuck him sloppy... by the way, if you even care.

Verdict: SMASH

Jatt from Legend of the Guardians (2010) dir. Zack Snyder

This is literally an animated owl from a piece of children's media. DISQUALIFIED.

Verdict: HARD PASS

[iamdefinitelyreal]

Chronicles of watching Hazbin Hotel with my chaotic bisexual bestie

Ep. 1

When alastor first came on screen, she said "[other best friend who's been simping over Alastor] was right, he is fine!"

"YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER IS THE PORN STAR?!"

"Wait. Are Vaggie and Charlie...you know...roomates???"

"Why is Doctor Faciller a cat"

"Why is the cat an alcoholic"

"Why is the cat kinda fine"

Ep. 2

"VOX IS HOT"

"OH VOX IS GAY"

"Why is purple guy bald. Vox can do better."

"VELVETTE IS SO FINE"

'NOOOOOO ANGEL BABY YOU ARE GOOD ENOUGH"

Ep. 3

"EGGGGGGGSSSS"

*singing along to respectless*

"Velvette's right tho, why does gun mommy not want to fight if she sells guns?"

"Damnnnnnn, gun mommy can sing!"

"Wait, are Zestiel and Carmella married?"

"Is Vaggie Carmella's daughter? It would explain why they're both SO hot."

"SIR PENTIOUS MY LOVE!

Ep. 4

"Why is Angel tied up"

"Damnnnn"

"DAMNNNNN"

"No Charlie don't make it worse"

*started crying so hard during Poison that she needed a hug*

*through tears* "[Angel dust] is trying so hard, he just needs to be loved"

"YES HUSK GET YO MAN"

"THOSE FUCKERS BETTER NOT DRUG OUR ANGEL"

"GO HUSK"

"No baby don't ruin yourself!"

*got teary during Loser Baby*

"Husk is so sweet, he really does love Angel"

"GOD THEY TOTALLY WOULD HAVE KISSED IF THE SHARKS HADN"T INTERUPTED THEM"

Ep. 5

"Fire duck! Fire duck! Fire duck! Fire duck!

"MY GOLDEN BOY HAS DEPRESSION NO"

"OMG VAGGIE AND CHARLIE ARE CANNON??"

"Y'all can't like Lucifer. Lucifer is for the short people. Only I (she's 5"2) and [friend who's 5"3] can like him. You (I'm 5"6), [other best friend who's 5"9], and [friend who's 5"7] can have the tall people, I get Lucifer and Husk."

"HELP HOW DO I CHOOSE BETWEEN ALASTOR AND LUCIFER"

*started sobbing during More Than Anything*

*again through tears* "He loves his daughter so much they are so healthy"

Ep. 6

"Why did they make that Angel a twink"

"CHERRI BOMBBBB"

"IS THAT ANGEL DUST'S SISTER"

"Oh fuck Adam."

"VAGGIE'S AN ANGEL?!?"

"Oml I ship Cherri Bomb and Sir Pentious so much"

"Why is Sera kinda fine tho"

"WAIT. HEAVEN DOESN'T KNOW?

"Huskerdust forever omllll"

"FUCK VALENTINO"

"The animation in You Didn't Know is PEAK"

'NO CHARLIE VAGGIE LOVES YOU"

Ep. 7

"CHARLIE AND VAGGIE BETTER BE ENDGAME"

"Alastor is a girl's girl we love him"

"I'm so dissapointed in Alastor."

"CANNIBALS?"

"Why is Rosie such a slay????"

"ACE IN THE HOLE OMG"

"They (Rosie and Alastor) are married for tax benefits"

"GUN MOMMY?"

"GUN MOMMY WITH HER HAIR DOWN?"

"THE SONNNNNGGGG"

"Omg SUSAN?"

"THANK GOD VAGGIE AND CHARLIE ARE STILL IN LOVE"

Ep. 8

"IF ANY OF THEM DIE I AM MURDERING BOTH YOU AND [BEST FRIEND TWO]"

"Huskerdust is love huskerdust is life"

"YES ALASTOR"

"NO ALASTOR"

"GET IT SIR PENTIOUS!

"OH FUCK NOOOOOOO"

"YES LUCIFER!"

"YES VAGGIE!"

"Shit why is Adam kinda fine"

"NIFTYYYYYYYY"

"ANGEL PENTIOUS"

"MOMMY LILLITH"

I'm showing her good omens soon, I'm scared

[xxbatmanb3y0ndxx]

tw : satire, “fatphobia”, sh mentions, yaoi, saw fanfic (part 1/2 it wouldnt all fit) Hoffstrahm:

it was a brisk night, Mark Hoffman had just gotten off from work and was pulling into the Mcdonalds. Classic fatso. He was feeling especially obese tonight, and little did he know that his ex coworker had just been hired (at mcdomalds). As Hoffman pulled up to the Drive-thru, a familiar voice startled him, running a cold chill down his fatroll riden back. “Can i take ur order fam” asked Peter Strahm, who’d just been let off from his job, for his involvement with the Jigsaw Killer. “hello?” his raspy, hourse vocal chords rang out. this was cause a few weeks ago he stabbed a pen through his neck. and he was also let off for watching porn on the job. “uhm… I’ll get 3 big macs, 4 large fries, a cokey wokey, and uhm… a kids meal, chicken nuggets w a boytoy please.” Mark hoffman remarked. “wow, must be a pretty full car, huh?” Strahm chuckled. “no, it’s just me …” Hoffman replied with a sort of depression in his voice that could make even the strongest man weep.

As he pulled up to the next window, Mark handed Peter his card, and when Peter stuck his hand out to grab it, Mark noticed the cuts on his arms. they were red and puffy, some still fresh. Mark winced at the sight, he never wanted to see Peter hurt like that. “why are you cutting those flowers? I know how it feels to do that… please stop… for me..?” Mark looked up at Peter as he said it, who’d begun to cry. His sorrow sobs made Marks heart start to thaw. “I lost everything” Strahm said, “my job, my voice, my diginity, my partner…, even my Grindr account is dry as hell.” He started to grab onto his Mcdonalds uniform, he felt the visor become tight, he felt trapped, alone.. “You’re not alone, Peter, I’m here for you.” Mark started to climb out the window of his car, but his fat stomach got stuck. He wanted to climb inside the Mcdonalds and give Strahm a hug. Everyone always told him he gave great hugs. Lawrence, who was also working at Mcdonalds since Allison took the house, the kid, the car, and even sold his fursuit, he was left with nothing. All he had was his boytoy twink, but since Adam was so depressed all he did was lay in bed and piss into empty mountain dew bottles. Lawrence was yet again the sole provider. “this is a mcdonalds drive thru.” Dr. Gordon reminded them. Mark hoffman tried to look up at Lawrence, but he was halfway through the car door. Peter tried not to giggle, Hoffman was so rotund, so chubby, a living tub of lard, it was hard not the laugh. Tears started to form as he could no longer contain his chuckles. “Do you still want those big macs and shit?” Strahm asked Hoffman. “Yes, can i get a little help here?” Hoffman remarked. “Yeah i’m coming.” Peter came outside, and started pushing the fat rolls back into Marks subaru. Once he was back in, Hoffman invited Strahm to sit with him. “Why do you do such a thing to yourself..” Mark asked. “i-i feel like i deserve it sometimes…” Strahm replied. “all you deserve is the world, baby girl.” Marks hands started to caress his 44 year old thighs, there was something so sexually appealing about this middle-aged man. It was so hot to think about his bunyans, his morgage, his hairy balls. They both started to get hard, a big bulge started to show through Mark’s slacks. Peters boner was much more painful, because he was packing 9 and a half girthy, thick inches. Peter might of been a tranny but when he got that deformed spring roll permanently attached to his downstairs, he wanted to make sure it was worth it. Peter hadn’t even noticed that Mark was hard, because his penis was barely 4 inches. Mark grabbed a hold of Peters belt buckle, fumbling trying to take his pants off. Peter realized this, and immediately dropped his pants, only to reveal some not so whitey-tightys. there were a few shart stains in his undies. Mark looked over at peter, in all his glory, with his sweaty bod and his humongous cock. Mark quickly took his pants off also, showing off his pissed covered boxers. Mark was addicted to piss. He loved pee. He had a total piss kink, and prayed that Peter did too. When Peter looked over at Mark, he screamed. “OH YMGOD WHY ARE UR BOXERS COVERED IN PISS OH MYFOD THEYRE BRIGHT YELLOW OH MYOG EW” he shrieked out of disgust. Mark started to feel turned on and embarrassed at the same time. “Did you bring the food” Marks oval shaped ass asked. “uhm… yeah…” Peter replied. He took out the bag, holding the excessive amount of big macs. He pulled the drinks out too. Mark immediately started digging into the happy meal, only to realize he got a girls toy. “oh mygod. oh my god.” Hoffman stuttered out as he started to freak out. “oh mgof OHM YOGF IS THIS A FUCKING GIRLS TOY. OH MYGOF YOU WORTHLESS PIECE KF SHIT LILL YOUSELF OH MYGOD I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IM GONNA LITERALLY COMMIT SUICIDE RIFHT NOW!!!!!!” he yelled, his voice bouncing off the corners of the car. “Youve been naughty, very very naughty.” Mark said as he stared daggers at Peter. Peter tried to get out but Mark had locked the doors. “Here.” Mark said, handing Peter two of the large cokes. Peter was puzzled,

[motorkink]

twink seb is a sopping wet kitten and your art really captures that thank u 😌 qn: what drew u to martian?

perhaps best thing anyones ever said to me. i feel truly blessed to have received this. yes a million times yes seb is a pathetic wet kitten trembling for marks attention.

uhmmm good question! bc i used to not be into any ship that involved the whole enemies trope. im too naïve i get scared they hate each other fr when theres friends/enemies but martian was my first (thank god tjey like each oyher now) I THINK IT WAS JUST. THE FACT THAT ITS ALL SO REAL. their story had so much to it that for the most part Isnt Fictional. they had so much chemistry but sooo much tension so it was interesting to play with this dynamic that wld otherwise get along fine if not for their current work environment. and then of course seb being a bright eyed virgin swooning over handsome hunk mark webber who is adamant abt hating sebs tight little twink ass. yknow. whats not to love

[mattysgf]

Wrapped around your finger.

tw: strong language and sexual content. 776 words. this is my first fic so please be gentle :)

Once upon a time there was a man named Matty. He was so gay, that one day he was extremely horny. He asked his drummer, George, to stick it in his butthole, just to see how it feels. On an episode of ghetto gaggers, he said he saw them put a finger in a girls hole, and has been wanting to try it ever since then. Charli, the drummer’s girlfriend, refused to allow this. Since Matty was out of luck with George, he called his good friend Adam Frieldland instead, NOT Adam Hann. Adam Friedland is also gay so he said yes of course, and called Nick Mullen to join as well. 

Later that night, Matty, Adam, and Nick met at Matty’s London abode. The gay boy was nervous to try something new, but he knew he had to be in good hands with an experienced gay like Adam. “You ready for this, man?” Adam asked, running a hand up Matty’s thigh. Matty shivered at the teasing touch. The touch sent shivers to not only his body, but his penis as well. He felt his butthole clench around nothing with anticipation for Adam’s slender fingers. Suddenly, Nick Mullen stood up from the couch to grab the supplies from his bag. A brand new bottle of Durex brand lube and some extra small condoms. “We will be needing lots of this,” he said. 

Suddenly, Matty grew nervous, unsure of whether he was into this gay shit or not. A bead of sweat ran from his spine down to his hole. “I need a cigarette,” he said, “to calm me nerves.” Adam and Nick grew suspicious, was he secretly a homophobe? “Sis ur over,” said Adam. 

“We see right through your bullshit.” 

Matty felt attacked. In a fit of rage, he started screaming at them and calling them names. 

“Bend over, gayboy.” said Adam, while shooting Matty a threatening glare. Nick, also, was staring the Brit down. Matty felt something shift within his mind at this moment. He had two sexy men in his living room staring him down, and he felt like he had to please them. He could not describe the urge he had to submit to them, it just came over him. He turned around on the couch, getting on all fours and exposing his twink ass to the two Americans. Matty buried his face in the couch cushions out of embarrassment, and his butthole winked at them. Adam’s mouth started to water at the sultry sight in front of him. “Nick, hand me the lube.” he gulped. Adam popped open the lube and began pouring it all over his long, cold fingers, as well as Matty’s hole. Matty winced at the new sensation. Without warning, Adam pressed one finger into Matty, making him squirm on the couch and cry out in pain. With his free hand, Adam held Matty in place and scolded him, “Stay still for me, baby. You can do that, right?”

There was a loud knock on Matty’s door, causing all three men to freeze in their places. Matty, in a frightened fit clenched his hole tightly around Adam’s finger. This caused a shiver to run through Adam’s whole body. Goosebumps covered his vessel and the hairs stood straight on his body. “Shit who’s gonna get that?” Nick questioned. Adam quickly ripped his hands from Matty’s matted region and wiped his hand on his black jeans to the best of his ability. Matty quickly got off the couch and hid in his room, and gave Adam the okay to open the door. As Adam opened the door, he noticed it was the police. “We got a call about some gay activity occurring at this residence, would you happen to know anything about that?” Adam hid his lubed up hand behind his back as a ball of sweat formed on his forehead, “I am an honest man, officer. I will not lie to the police. I, a male human, and radical punk rocker, Matthew Healy, another male human, were engaging in homosexual activity. Please expect my statement to come soon. I am trying to find the words.” The two cops turned and looked at each other as their faces lit up. They nodded at each other as they pushed their way into the 1.2 million pound London home, tearing off their cop uniforms to reveal bondage wear. Matty crawled out of his room when he heard the commotion, and the 5 men had gay sex. “Welcome to CumTown,” Adam sighed as they both reached their climax. He looked over at Matty’s flushed face and caressed it as they fell asleep in bliss.

[msraynerabbit]

Im gonna be horny on main and i never apoligize but your warned

whoever said im whatever gender gets me pussy was so fucking wise i havent seen that in a while. cuz like i am so adamant about my pronouns. but there is a level of badiness where like. you can call me a femboy ma’am. and then like. i fucking hate the idea of the word femboy but a lot of people who call themseves femboys i absolutely WOULD.

And then like. i cant top men

except twinks cuz like. god yes. some of the photos i see reblogged are like. oh yeah there are some men id absolutely pound

however you read this interpret as inclusion of any trans folk

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Garden au

I love the idea of the hellhounds employees in Adam's garden being this chaotic bunch of strays that now idolize him and see him as their dad- i mean pack leader.

So whoever is trying to hurt him/the shop/adam's reputation in general is gonna have to deal with these 40 teen wolves/dogs that will absolutely destroy you emotionally and mentally before going for the jugular lol

They are just so unimpressed and bored by every other overlord but Adam ( yes Alastor i'm looking at you ) and whoever comes to sabotage the shop/cause problems is gonna be judged and laughed at with no mercy 🤣

Adam loves his sassy, mean girls type, snarky pups but he kinda worries whenever they respawn after getting k*lled by the " pathetic twink deer b*tch "

Adam * enters the shop with a smoothie and sees blood on the floor * " who's this?"

Tricia * goth dalmatian hellhound browsing voxtagram * " Josh's, he laughed in the twink deer's face after the c*nt said you were just a lowlife wh*re boss...was oblitered by his cringe shadowy thingy, he'll be back in 2 hours "

Adam " I both feel honored that you guys are loyal and worried you get k*lled for me so easily...when he respawns tell Josh he has a free day "

Yes Adam is and always will be a father figure.

Alastor coming in and causing shit, while still BANNED mind you, is very on brand for him. He hates Adam with a fiery passion due to him beating him in the battle. He would try to smear Adams name as best as he could, he's a petty bitch lol

The hellhounds having Adams back is so precious to me 🥺 They would die for him, he gave them a place to work and have a sense of belonging.

One of them would accidentally call him dad and he'd be chill about it lol

Adam: I've been called worse. When I get a hold of that Bambi fucker he's gonna sorry for killing one of my hounds.

The hellhounds actually got used to Lucifer being there and getting in so much that they don't even try to stop him anymore, and Adam doesn't even seem bothered by him at this point.

Lucifer: Another day another flower!

Adam: Boooo bad joke.

Cue all the hounds teasing him lol

[michaelmilligan]

Build-a-twink

(Read on AO3)

(Based on this post)

Adam resettled on the couch, then squirmed and shifted again. Hugging the pillow tighter, he turned half his face into it so only one of his eyes was free to look at the TV screen.

On said screen, a man who had been presumed dead was currently reuniting with his family and lover.

Adam? Michael said, more tentative than usual. Are you alright?

When he raised his head off the pillow, Adam saw Michael's projection standing next to the couch, the perfect mirror of himself in some ways, but not in so many others. For one, Michael wasn't wearing pyjama bottoms and a soft t-shirt, but his usual get-up. Jeans, a black t-shirt and the black jacket that Adam had eventually convinced him to don instead of the butt-ugly green one. His hair was also decidedly less messy than Adam's currently was, after hugging the pillow.

And of course, the way he held himself and just the way he looked, his facial expressions – that was so undeniably Michael that Adam sometimes forgot that they technically looked the same. When he'd first had access to mirrors again after the cage, Adam had often been surprised at his own reflection. Wondering who that dude impersonating Michael (and doing a poor job at it) was.

“Adam?” Michael asked, this time in the voice that sounded like it came from outside Adam's body, though of course in reality it didn't.

“Sorry, yeah.” Adam sat up a little. “I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” Michael frowned down at where Adam was now clutching the pillow to his stomach.

“Sure.” Adam hugged the pillow even tighter.

Casually, or at least pretending to be so, Michael moved his head towards the TV. “The movie is a happy one.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed. When he glanced at the screen, the reunion scene was over, all hugs given and done with.

Adam's grip around the pillow relaxed a little.

“Did it upset you... because you had no one to return to?” Michael asked sombrely, without looking at Adam.

“What?” Adam blinked at him, needing a moment to process what he'd said. “Oh, dude, no! I'm not sad about that.”

Admittedly, it had been a bit difficult to return to Earth but not have any family or friends there. It had felt like when he'd visited Windom only to find that his house had been renovated and strangers had moved in. An empty, lonely feeling, filled with longing for something that would never come back.

And then, later, when he'd woken up at that lake without Michael... But that was in the past, and Michael was back now.

For a moment, Michael said nothing, and just sat down on the couch next to him. Just when Adam thought he'd evaded that conversation, Michael said: “But you are sad.”

“I'm fine.”

Michael gave him a look. “You're hugging that pillow like it's going to run away if you let go. And the way you're pulling your legs against yourself means that you-”

Adam groaned. “I know what it means, Dr. Phil.” Huffing, he stretched his legs out, and put the pillow next to him on the couch. The knot in his stomach didn't ease, though. “Happy now?”

“No.” Michael kept looking at him sternly. “I didn't learn your human mannerisms just for you to pretend they don't mean anything.”

“Oh, that's what you're worried about, huh?” Adam teased him, but Michael didn't rise to it, knowing he wasn't serious.

“Adam,” he just said again.

“Alright, fine.” Adam sighed and looked down at where the hand of Michael's projection was resting on the couch. It wasn't solid, Adam knew that, didn't actually touch the couch and couldn't touch him – and yet, he itched to reach out and take it. “But it's stupid.”

Michael rolled his eyes dramatically. “Spit it out.”

Instead of an answer, Adam gave into the urge and traced one finger over the edge of Michael's hand. There was nothing there, Michael's 'body' just a projection he tricked Adam's brain into seeing.

“I know we're as close as two people could ever be,” Adam eventually said, “but... sometimes I wish I could touch you.”

Michael was silent. Adam withdrew his hand.

“Sorry. I told you it's stupid.”

“You never said anything in the cage.”

“Things were different down there. We were mostly trying to survive, to distract ourselves and each other. And the way we existed down there was wonky anyway. Sometimes you were your true form, sometimes you looked like me... But now...” Adam looked away. “We're out, we're safe, and...”

“And you're human, so you want human forms of companionship,” Michael concluded, a touch of disappointment in his voice.

“No! I mean... yeah, kinda?” Adam sighed. “I don't know. I just wish... never mind.”

“You could have that,” Michael said, a strange wobble in his voice.

Adam's eyes snapped up to his face. “What?”

“I could... give you some room... go to Heaven for a bit,” Michael said, frowning and not looking Adam in the eyes.

“What? W- why would you leave?”

The bewilderment on Michael's face would have been endearing if Adam hadn't been feeling the same.

“You want human companionship,” he said slowly. “If I leave, you can go and find that. I mean... technically you could do that while I'm here, but that might be weird.”

“No! What are you talking about? I don't want that if it's not with you!”

Michael blinked at him.

“Sorry, that... that came out weird.” Adam blushed and fiddled with a string that had come loose on the pillow several days earlier. “Just.. I don't want you to leave. I want you here, only... more tangible. But I get that it's not really possi-”

“How often?”

“Huh?”

“How often do you wish you could touch me, physically?” Michael asked.

“It's fine. Don't worry about it. Really, I'm just being silly. Like, you're literally inside me and your grace is all around my soul and stuff, all of the time,” Adam babbled, not wanting Michael to think that he didn't understand, or that he didn't value what they had. “If we were human- both human, I mean, it would be like we'd be sitting on top of each other all the time and-”

“Adam.” Michael's voice was calm, but clear and determined. “How often?”

Adam squirmed on the couch. Glanced at Michael, then averted his eyes again. “Every day, lately. But it's fine, I'll get over it, and we don't have to change any-”

“Adam.” Michael fixed him with a look. “You do know we can do that, right? I can get a different vessel.”

“No.” Adam flushed. The thought of Michael being inside of someone else – just no. “I don't want that, you... you'd be puppeteering some poor bastard, and then what? Would you let him out all the time? Would he be watching everything we do? Would-”

Would Michael have an agreement with him, too?

When Adam finally looked back at him, Michael's expression was soft.

“I don't want that either – to share a body with someone else.” He frowned. “Maybe there's a way... but to possess someone, I need their consent, and that means there has to be a soul present...”

“I know.” Adam reached out again, then pulled his hand away when he noticed what he was doing. “Look, I know this isn't gonna work. You can't just make yourself solid and neither of us wants you to possess someone else. It's fine. I can handle it.”

“Maybe there's still a way. I can ask Raphael,” Michael offered, but Adam shook his head.

“You don't have to. It's alright.”

Sometimes, Michael 'left for work', which meant he stopped possessing Adam to go help out in Heaven. The phrasing had started as a joke, but as time went on, they had used it less and less ironically.

Whenever this happened, Adam needed a moment to re-adjust. After running on archangel juice for so long, the transition to being mostly human again was always jarring.

It had its perks, though. For one, Adam could sleep again. And everything tasted even better when you were just a little bit hungry or thirsty. It was also somehow easier to relate to other people again when you couldn't travel great distances in the blink of an eye and had to actually do something to maintain your body.

It was still a taxing process. Usually, after Michael left his body but before going to Heaven, he would wait to see if Adam was alright. It was the same this day – Michael hovering nearby, all blinding light and churning heat, a myriad of eyes all fixed on Adam as he blinked his own eyes open.

“I'm fine. Go,” Adam said, sluggishly waving a hand.

Michael slow-blinked at him with all his eyes, an affirmation or maybe a sign of trust or both, before he vanished into the ether.

Then, Adam was alone, and he took a moment to process that fact, too. In addition to the physical change, there was also a mental adjustment, since he was suddenly alone in his own head. That was always more unsettling than he would have liked, though ultimately he could calm himself with the knowledge that he only needed to pray to Michael to be heard.

While Michael couldn't always react immediately to his babbling, since the connection only ran one way and he couldn't just drop everything to come back when Adam prattled about his day, it still made Adam feel like he wasn't alone.

That day, it was somehow easier, though. There was still the tell-tale emptiness in the spot around his heart – his soul – where Michael's grace usually sat, but it was easier to handle. Adam imagined he was the housewife (or househusband in this case) of a rich corporate type who let him live in his shiny expensive apartment and spoiled him wherever he could, but spent long hours at work. (None of which was too far off the mark.)

Adam started humming at that, and then he turned on the radio they'd bought for the kitchen. While Adam could have gotten a Bluetooth speaker to connect with his phone or something, that just didn't feel right. In his youth, the radio had been Adam's friend in the many lonely hours when his mom hadn't been home. Now, it was his friend again when Michael was gone.

They also listened to it together, sometimes, though Michael always got annoyed when the music stopped and people started talking. Adam found it soothing, and interesting, but he would sometimes change the station when the news came on, or when Michael grumbled too much.

Now, he just let the radio play, choosing a rock station as he pulled ingredients out of cupboards. It would be blueberry pancakes today, he decided, and stooped to get a mixing bowl from below the counter.

There would be orange juice and coffee to go with that, just like he always got in Cousin Oliver's Diner when his mom and him had gone there for breakfast.

They'd gotten fresh oranges the day before, when they'd stocked up for Michael being gone. Adam didn't always trust himself to go for groceries right afterwards, so it was better to do it before.

As Adam prepared his pancakes, he whistled along to the radio. Later, he ate on the balcony, then stayed outside in the sun, sipping his coffee.

There were books afterwards, and games. Gabriel had gotten him a Switch at some point, for whatever reason. Raphael said it had been an offering of peace towards Michael after they'd had a fight, and since Michael neither needed anything material nor would have been likely to accept anything, it had gone to Adam.

Not that he minded. Being able to play Pokémon again was kind of fun, and he had quickly found out that there were a lot of cool games for the Switch. Michael was only all too eager to get him anything he wanted, so Adam now had a whole shelf full of those slim boxes with the tiny cartridges.

He mostly played them when he was alone, though sometimes Michael liked to watch. He'd helped choose names for the animals on their farm in Story of Seasons, and had insisted that they call it 'Milligan Farm'. He also had a lot of ideas on how to optimize the use of their in-game days, to the point where Adam was basically just acting out his directions.

Maybe he should just let Michael play it directly. Though he might deny that he liked it.

In any case, Adam left that one for when Michael was back, and instead fired up Diablo III. He could play that for hours – and he did, only realizing how long it had been when he realized it was dark.

Sighing, he put down the game to fix himself dinner, then played a bit more until he felt sleep tugging at him.

It was weird, feeling exhaustion again, but there was also something incredibly relieving about it.

Despite everything, he was still human.

There had been a time when that had scared him, when he'd first woken up on the shore of that lake, with Michael gone and no one giving him straight answers about what had happened. Everything had seemed scary then, even just walking and talking to people. Now, Adam felt more secure, though that might be because he had a place to stay, safely warded against demons and most angels.

You couldn't ward against hunters, which was unfortunate because Adam really would have liked to keep Sam and Dean out permanently. Then again, it wasn't like they contacted him often.

Adam rarely left the apartment while Michael was gone, though he was working his way up to it with occasional trips to the local farmer's market. (Michael always insisted that fruits and vegetables should be fresh, and the ones from the supermarket spoiled much quicker than the others. Sometimes, Adam suspected Michael was partly responsible for that, though it also happened when he was gone, so probably not.)

The next few days passed with more games, reading and a stop by Adam's favourite coffee shop. (It had a latte with amaretto, chocolate and cherry syrup that was to die for.)

Adam had just started the washing machine so he could wear his favourite shirt again when he felt the familiar presence of an archangel descending, the room suddenly beginning to glow.

“Hey Michael,” he said, and the windows rattled in response. “Come on in.”

Possession was... a lot. When an archangel poured his being into a tiny little human, it was bound to be a tight fit, and it felt like Adam might burst from the light and the heat, more and more of it coming where there should have been no space left anymore.

It was a lot, and it was painful and glorious at the same time, almost orgasmic. Michael always huffed when Adam used that word, and it wasn't like either of them was usually aroused when it happened, but the sensory overload did come close.

A mind fuck, Adam sometimes called it jokingly, just so Michael would roll all of his eyes in exasperation.

“Hey there,” Adam said happily when it was done, feeling Michael's grace swirl around his soul and settle within him.

Hi, Michael said. How have you been?

Adam had only prayed to him once or twice to let Michael know he was doing alright. He hadn't wanted to disturb him while he spent time with his siblings and worked in Heaven, but Michael was always anxious about Adam's well-being.

“I'm good. Lost against Arkanine again, but I think I'm getting better. What about you? Any news in Heaven?”

“Well, you know Heaven,” Michael said, using his projection. “There's always something new these days.”

He shook his head, probably thinking about how it had been quite the opposite for most of his life, Heaven being unmutable. Then again, so had the angels been, with some notable exceptions. That was a thing of the past now, and as its residents had changed, so had Heaven.

It was an ecosystem, after all, where everything was connected in a very literal sense. Angels hadn't been supposed to be individuals, but part of something bigger. Except that the whole concept was flawed since it had been based on beings who had been created one after the other, some before Heaven had even existed.

“They're trying the shared Heavens on a larger scale now. There were some hiccups, but they've mostly sorted them out, and are currently creating a system to connect the shared Heavens to each other without it being too confusing. Right now, there are only about half a dozen shared Heavens, but if they really roll this out for all souls, there will probably be millions, if not more, so there needs to be a way for the humans to navigate between them without getting lost.” Michael shrugged. “It's a daunting project, to say the least, especially without any God.”

Adam nodded. While Jack had taken on his grand-father's powers and job at one point, they'd put it down again after a few months. Stabilizing Heaven had been a top priority, and after that, the remodelling of Heaven didn't seem to require a God anymore.

Besides, being mostly all-knowing and all-powerful had weighed on the kid, and they hadn't wanted to do it anymore. So they'd split the power between several people as well as Earth itself, and Jack had stepped down.

They were still involved with the construction work, just not as the leader anymore. There was an angel council, nowadays, decided on in an actual election. Castiel, Gabriel and Raphael were all on it – Adam didn't know what it said about angels that they'd elected those who had run, or tried to run Heaven before, plus the other remaining archangel on the ballot.

Maybe they were the best for the job, or maybe the angels still needed to learn how to think for themselves. Whichever it was, Adam was sure it would work itself out over time.

Michael seemed thoughtful, and Adam chalked it up to him still contemplating Heaven. But then he said, somewhat nervously: “There's something else. I talked to Raphael.”

Adam looked at him in confusion. “Okay?”

Michael talked to Raphael all the time, and he wasn't usually so careful about telling him. So what was this? Would Michael be needed again soon? Was he just stopping by to tell Adam that it would take longer?

What if it would take a lot longer, or if he had agreed to go back to Heaven permanently, after all-

“Adam,” Michael said soothingly, “it's nothing bad, I promise.”

Adam blushed, having been caught spiralling again.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and felt Michael curl more tightly around his soul, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.

“It's about what you said a few days ago. Wanting to touch me?”

Adam blushed even more deeply, but nodded. When he said it like that, it sounded almost inappropriate...

“I talked to Raphael – well, and Gabriel – about it and there might be a solution. One where I don't need to share a body with someone else.”

Adam felt his eyes widen as his heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Yes. It's... unconventional, and we're not entirely sure if it will work, but I think it's worth a shot.”

“Well? Are you gonna tell me what it is?” Adam asked, then listened carefully as Michael explained.

It was unconventional, or more like a little crazy, but then again Adam had been living with an archangel in his head for more than ten – or one-thousand – years, so crazy was pretty much his normal now.

“Good morning!” Gabriel said as he sauntered into the apartment, Raphael, Jack and two more people in tow.

“It's the middle of the afternoon, Gabriel,” Michael chastised him, and frowned at the two people Adam didn't recognize. “What are they doing here?”

“If you may remember, Adam was the first and last person for whom this was done successfully,” Raphael said calmly.

Adam?

Adam and Serafina, Michael said, the first man and his angel trait- I mean bi- I mean lover.

Wow, old habits really die hard, huh, Adam commented. If she's a traitor and a bitch, then what are you?

Shutting the hell up is what I am, Michael grumbled, and concentrated outwards again.

“He didn't do it himself, so what use will he be?” he asked Raphael.

Adam – the biblical one – raised an eyebrow, as if to indicate that he was right there, thank you very much.

“He's moral support,” Gabriel answered. “Now can we start? I have a date in two hours.”

A date? Adam asked curiously. Do you know who he's-

No, and I really don't want to know, Michael said decisively.

Spoil sport.

“Why did you schedule a date for today?” the Biblical Adam asked, with the air of a man commenting on the weather, not discussing time management and love matters with an archangel.

“Well, the date was scheduled before this whole thing.” Gabriel gestured between the people in the room. “And you don't exactly cancel on the Queen of Hell.”

Everyone stared at him except for Raphael, who just let out a long-suffering sigh.

“We should get started,” they said dryly, and everyone stepped closer, gathering in a circle.

“Are we going to do it like we discussed?” Jack asked, the first time they had spoken since entering.

“Yes.” Michael nodded, and pulled out his angel blade.

Serafina twitched, which was interesting – her vessel didn't move, but her wings did, and there was a displeased ripple in her grace. The Biblical Adam just frowned at the blade while everyone else looked at Michael expectantly.

Look away, Michael told Adam.

No way. If you're gonna fillet our chest, I'm gonna watch.

Michael sighed. Don't tell me I didn't warn you.

He pulled up their t-shirt, revealing naked skin underneath, then put the angel blade against their ribs. With a quick, but deep cut that he barely let Adam feel, he opened up their rip cage.

Then he shoved a hand inside.

Geez, this is like a saw movie or something, Adam commented. It was a bit odd seeing that on himself, feeling Michael's hand rummaging inside of him until he got a solid grip on a rib.

A quick twist of the wrist, and then Michael pulled the rib out of Adam's body.

Whew. That sure is something. Adam was looking at the rib in fascination, the pre-med student in him trying to figure out which one it was while another part of him flinched at the thought that this had come out of his body.

For anyone else, the thought of losing a rib would have been distressing. Just as he was thinking about that, though, Michael already healed their wounds.

Re-growing the rib would take a few more minutes, since Michael wanted it to be as painless as possible for Adam. So Michael handed the bloody rib over to Raphael, who huddled together with Gabriel and Jack to start the process.

Then Michael sat down on the couch and waited until the rib was complete again.

Will you be alright if I go now? He eventually asked.

Yeah, of course. Adam nudged him with his soul. Have fun at Build-a-body.

A ripple of amusement washed from Michael to Adam before he separated from him, grace uncoiling from soul to leave his body again.

When he was gone, Adam felt bleary for a moment. He only realized his eyes were closed when he felt, but didn't see, a hand on his leg. Blinking his eyes open again, he saw Serafina kneeling in front of him.

He could still see her wings and grace, he realized in fascination, even though Michael wasn't possessing him.

“You okay, kid?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Adam said, and craned his neck to check what the others were doing. But he couldn't really make anything out except a bright glow and the vague outlines of Michael's true form between Raphael, Gabriel and Jack.

He could see their wings and grace too. Interesting.

He didn't usually spend time around angels without Michael present, so he hadn't known that he could see them like this on his own. Maybe a side-effect of the long possession. He didn't think he'd seen Zachariah like this, only remembered the sleezy-looking business man they guy had been possessing at the time.

“Must be a first,” Adam's namesake said, coming to sit next to him on the couch. “An angel making himself a body from someone's rib.”

“Aren't we all ultimately made from your rib? Eve was made that way, right?” Adam countered.

The other Adam smiled sadly. “Yes, she was.”

Adam suddenly wondered what had become of her. While Michael had told him about an Eve, the Mother of Monsters, he had been very clear that this was not the Biblical Eve. Apparently, there had been an earlier Eve, made even before the first angel was created.

At one point, Adam had wondered what it said about God that he had created monsters before angels. Now, knowing all that he had done, Adam was pretty sure he knew what it meant.

Adam wouldn't ask about Eve. It wasn't any of his business, and besides, you don't ask about someone's ex or dead wife in front of their current girlfriend.

“How long do you think it will take?” he asked Serafina instead. Since she was an angel, he figured she might have an idea.

But she just shrugged. “I wasn't there when Eve was created and besides, no one here is God. So... anything between ten minutes and forty days, I guess.”

Adam made a face. Forty days? It wouldn't take that long, right?

“What she's saying is that your guess is as good as any,” the Biblical Adam told him, leaning his arms on the back of the couch. “Hey, while we wait... you don't happen to have any... herbage, do you?”

Adam looked at him for a moment. “I'm guessing you don't mean basil.”

The Biblical Adam laughed. Huh. The first man, a stoner.

Well, he'd had to deal with this world's bullshit for a long time, so maybe that shouldn't have been a surprise.

“Alright!” Gabriel suddenly said, and Adam turned to see him take a step back to regard his work. He was still blocking Adam's view, and Raphael was still leaning in and seemingly fussing about some detail. But it seemed like they'd be done soon.

When Jack's eyes stopped glowing, Raphael stepped back too, the specifics apparently straightened out now.

“May I present to you,” Gabriel said dramatically, whirling around to face Adam, “in a brand-new vessel, coming to you from that guy's rib-”

Gabriel gestured to Adam, but was interrupted both by a sigh from Raphael and by Michael pushing past him.

“For fuck's sake, Gabriel,” he grumbled, and Adam's eyes widened at the first sight of him.

When Michael's eyes met his, they turned soft, and they just looked at each other for a long moment.

Into the silence in the room, Serafina suddenly said: “Why does he look the exact same?”

Adam blinked. Yes, Michael looked like him, safe for the clothes and the way his hair was styled. (Michael liked their new hair-cut on Adam, but not on himself.) Adam hadn't even noticed, or rather, he'd expected him to look that way – the same as his projection.

“The clothes are a nice touch,” the Biblical Adam commented. “Eve didn't have clothes, at first. Well, neither did I at that point.”

“We need to monitor the situation in case the vessel isn't sturdy enough, but at least the possession worked. As we theorized, a body made specifically for an archangel, out of the rib of a man who previously consented to possession, can work,” Raphael said, like a doctor talking about the medical break-through of a complicated surgery that had never been attempted before.

Well, it was kind of like that, in a way. Michael had been transplanted into a different body, one that archangels (and an archangelic nephil) had first built themselves.

Still not fully processing everything, Adam got up from the couch and took a step towards Michael. This felt surreal.

A part of him was afraid that if he reached out, he still wouldn't be able to touch Michael.

But then Michael closed the distance and took his hand, and Adam's heart skipped a beat.

“Hey,” Michael said softly.

Adam couldn't have kept down his smile if he'd wanted to. “Hey,” he replied, feeling the warmth of Michael's hand against his.

“Uh, does anyone else hear a swelling string orchestra?” Gabriel asked, only to get nudged in the ribs by Raphael.

“Seriously, why does he look like him?” Serafina whispered. Adam heard it, but he wasn't going to look away from Michael to reply. “It's weird. And I thought they made the separate body so the kid didn't have to bother with him anymore, but now they're holding hands?”

“I'm not leaving Adam's side,” Michael said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, but also not looking away from Adam.

Good, Adam thought, squeezing his hand.

They'd never touched like this, couldn't have done that, but somehow it felt natural, like the translation of what their grace and soul often did to this new situation. This was what Adam had wanted. It felt amazing, and the possibility of more – a hug, maybe – almost made him dizzy.

“Perhaps we should leave, and let them... adjust,” Raphael said.

“Didn't you say you want to monitor him?” Gabriel asked, surprised.

“They can always pray to us if anything happens. We shouldn't hover.” With that, Raphael was gone – out of the corners of his eyes, Adam saw them leave, then re-appear and take a protesting Gabriel with them.

“Oh. Then we should leave too,” Jack said, and nodded at Serafina. Within a few seconds, and with Serafina's hand on the Biblical Adam's shoulder, they were all gone.

It was just Michael and Adam now. They kept looking at each other, until Michael's eyes dropped to their intertwined hands.

“I could get used to this,” he said thoughtfully, letting his thumb trail over the back of Adam's hand. “Though it's a bit weird to be all alone in this body.”

Adam winced, thinking much the same. “Do you think... Could we change back if we wanted?”

Michael's eyes flicked from his chest – where his soul sat – up to his eyes, a smile forming on his lips. “Yes. Gabriel came up with a stasis spell, so we can always put this body to the side.”

“Cool. Then I won't grow old as quickly.” Adam grinned at him. When Michael possessed him, he didn't age. “Can't have me get all grey and wrinkly while you look like the pinnacle of youth.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “Good to know you only keep me around for vanity reasons.”

“Oh, shut up.” Adam had the crazy urge to lean in and kiss him. But he caught himself at the last second, just swaying on his feet a little.

“Are you dizzy?” Michael asked, frowning.

“No, just... giddy, I guess.” Adam chuckled. “This is so unreal.”

“On the contrary, it's very real.” Michael put his free hand on Adam's arm, maybe to steady him. It was odd not being able to read his thoughts, but there was also a thrill to it.

And the touch of both of Michael's hands was so warm...

“What did you want to do?” Michael suddenly asked. At Adam's confused expression, he added: “You said you wanted me to touch you. But I didn't exactly ask how you meant that.”

Adam blue-screened for a moment. Judging from the concerned look on Michael's face, he might not actually have been breathing.

“Um,” he then made. “What... what do you want it to mean?”

Michael blinked, looking surprised. Then he blushed.

“Well...”

Adam stared at him, entranced by how cute he looked, all shy like this.

“Well?” he prompted, trying and probably failing to keep a hopeful note from his voice.

Michael shifted on his feet. “Well, I have... some ideas.”

And Adam was content to try them all with him.

[toji-bunny-girl]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐞𝐧: 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐬 + 𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬

Gojo Satoru

→ seriously jealous of him because he never gain weight despite eating all the junk and having two person's serving a meal 😐 his metabolism is just that good

→ with that said, it's pretty difficult for him to get at least a little bulky without the fats he need so it's kind of a blessing and a curse at the same time

→ even if he eventually gained a little bit more muscles, they'll be gone if he doesn't do his routine every day

→ skinny arms, skinny legs

→ long arms, long legs, long torso, long c— 😏

→ long fingers as well with cotton soft palms that he likes to compare to yours

→ but srsly why is everything about him so long??!

→ his shoe size is really big compared to the average male so it's a lil hard to find the right shoes for him (he has taste but what abt the size?)

DILF body points = 3/10

"did I just described a twink?"

Toji Fushiguro

→ no one:

Toji's body: ▽ *inverted triangle*

→ when I say he's huge, I mean that he's huge HUGE

→ tall, thick ass mf arms and thighs, broad shoulders, the stiffest abs humanity has ever known, thicc lifted ass and muscles under his back that flexes every time he even moves the slightest??? 😫😫

→ never forget his hard-metal-steel titties that radiates warmth within 5km radius <33

→ scratch that, his whole body radiates so much heat you'd scramble away from him during the summertime and latch yourself onto him like a second skin during the wintertime

→ plus his lil tummy, a little bulgy but still firm from the packs 🥺

→ very veiny arms and hands

→ has a few veins on his hips running down his thighs as well 💞🥴

→ super rough palms and he likes to hold your softer ones because of that

→ his body is also covered in scars that's been there for years :((

→ always cut his nails too short

→ wrinkles around his eyes from his age 😋 *mmm*

DILF body points = 10/10

"he was a dilf to begin with"

Getou Suguru

→ he has a pretty similar build as Gojo but a little bit more muscular

→ broad shoulders 😋

→ doesn't have as much veins as Toji but his hands are still bigger than the other men's here

→ pretty nails! slim and healthy, looks really good with nail polish on (especially black or dark green)

→ long legs, strong calves <33

→ super moisturised skin because you can't tell me he doesn't apply lotion every night before he sleeps 💀💀

→ m-moles on his back 😩😩

→ slight wrinkles on his forehead whenever he moves his eyebrows

→ doesn't comb his hair and only uses conditioner whenever he wants

→ his hair grows rather slowly so the trip to the hairdresser isn't so frequent

DILF body points = 6/10

"he could've gotten more points if only he was older"

Nanami Kento

→ his adam's apple tho 🥺 so bulgy and hot

→ loves the way it bobs up and down whenever he talks and especially the groan he makes whenever you suck or kiss it

→ sensitive tummy to touch 🥺🥺 don't touch him there/tickle him or he'll chokehold you fr 🥺🥺

→ manly arms?? strong with one or two short veins there and he gives pretty good hugs <33

→ also can't forget about that blonde arm and leg hair 🥺

→ thick fingers, calloused, wonder what he could do with them 👀

→ another one with a hot back, muscly and wide

→ there's a vein on the side of his forehead that pops out a little whenever he speaks louder or is using his strength

→ stubby chin 💞

→ random but he has a really stiff neck so whenever he massages himself, the way his biceps flex and his head rolling a little to the side with his eyes shut while letting out a soft groan is so fucking sekc

DILF body points = 8/10

"nice try, could've tricked us, but if only you were a real dilf"

Sukuna Ryomen

→ thick thighs, muscly thighs, delicious thighs

→ strong and heavy upper arms

→ his hands are always so warm for no reason?? 💀

→ also has a super firm grip

→ sometimes, his whole mf fingernail falls out because they're too long but he can always grow them back ne way

→ yes, he does check his nails whenever he's bored

→ he (Itadori's body) is relatively short being only 173 cm so his figure looks quite muscular

→ lil bit of chubby cheeks but with a really defined jawline!!

→ his lil canines too 🥺

→ long tongue goes *BRRRRRRRRRR*

DILF body points = 4/10

"get your real body back and we'll talk"

TAGLIST― @otivez @kakashisbook @shrynkk @apchmon (reply under my WIP post if you're interested in joining my taglist!)

© toji-bunny-girl ― all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, plagiarise or repost my work

[crimsonxe]

Um

No, there was no "not interested" on either party's side. Blake is an abuse survivor thus guarded in any amount of interest towards anyone. Yet softens due to Yang being around; goes to a dance specifically because of Yang's offer of her first dance; giggles at Yang's comments; always notices when Yang enters a room; brightened & grew more cheerful thanks to Yang; her abusive ex even referencing Yang as someone she loves in Blake; her standing against said abusive ex to defend Yang even risking her life in the process as well as pushing her semblance either to its limit or even evolving it; thinking about Yang as the two were separated; facing down her abusive ex with Yang & taking him down; and going into her true cheerful flirty self towards Yang after having her trauma scar resolved. Yang was always looking at Blake; having a clear soft spot when it came to her opinion; put aside looking for her sister because Blake was in danger with the thought "there's nothing I won't do for her"; goes full-on gayngsty separated lover mode when she's away; wants to "write stories together with Blake"; and is just overall a total disaster wlw towards Blake. Absolutely fuck off with the fearmongering bullshit about Viz, not only is Kerry onboard with the new series; but Viz has no benefit in breaking up the two. In fact the prior manga that they worked in collaboration with RWBY for added MORE to BB.

Ilia had feelings for Blake, calling it a crush is so damn dismissive. Also she's more gray and "antagonist" than villain, given massive amounts of sympathetic toning and ultimately brought over to the protag side.

Once again no, Terra and Saphron as well they're kid are around for the entire stretch of 6x07-6x13.

Again something wrong, May is in numerous episodes between v7 and 8; which involves following the MC's. No the show doesn't do the dramatized overblown version of her trans reveal; instead its a note of her character not her entire character.

Considering v10 is located in Vacuo Coco is very much set to return with the rest of her team, but do learn the difference between main characters vs. secondary vs. minor and how that reflects their time in the story. Is very much a flirting play-girl type and being single is not a damn bad thing wtf.

I don't know if I'd call Nolan a twink, I'm not sure where he falls but not a twink; unless terms have changed. Also both are in Vacuo where v10 would be picking up and thus would likely make an appearance in some capacity; but again they are side characters.

So at this point your ass is just trying to spin shit into negative bullshit. NDGO in the episode they debut in have traits that flow into "bully" territory, its not some dumbass take against Ace. The other bully character is Cardin a straight white male character, so fuck off with this spin bullshit.

There is no relationship between Blake and Sun, there is a friendship that had attraction at one point to varying degrees. This is further reinforced by one of the writers directly stating that Sun was never a romantic interest. There is no retcon with Adam, there's just clarification once he actually shows up in the story vs. it being left open to interpretation. Also her VA is a bisexual woman who has been onboard with BB as well as bi Blake for forever.

Fuck off, as a pan/demi there is a difference and I'm so goddamn tired of people acting as if Pan and bi are the same thing. Yang also isn't confirmed as it or anything else outside of wlw; though I could see it fitting her. Her VA has described herself as "on the spectrum" and "definitely not straight"

WTF, Terra is not a goddamn accessory. She has a job, she uses said job as part of the story to help the MC's to take an airship needed to proceed forward.

Yes, Scarlet and Nolan are side characters and yes they do develop in side material; cause guess what: RWBY is and has always been FEMME FOCUSED/FEMME CENTERED as opposed to 90% of other series that focus on male characters. Not a damn thing in me wants that sacrificed at all in order to shove male characters forward instead.

Does not vanish at all and didn't die either, as confirmed via the epilogue rough episode that shows she'll be around in Vacuo as part of the Happy Huntress crew.

Oh this is definitely rw/de level spin bullshit that either reflects getting piss poor info from shitty sources or you being a spin-artist with a negative slant intentionally spinning things to a negative. Nolan and Scarlet do not have the same body type or even style, nor are they even stereotyped mlm. Characters move in and out of the damn story as needed or fitting outside of the mains, because y'know MAINS. Not to mention several likely set to make a return in some capacity in the future. Regardless the show is RWBY for Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang; not CFVY or any other combos. Learn what a side character is vs. main characters.

okay i'm doing a recap of all of rwby's lgbt characters and of them:

blake and yang are together, but in that weird way where blake was interested when yang wasn't and vice-versa, and then they got together in canon. and then roosterteeth shuttered and was bought by viz. so we'll see how long that lasts.

Ilia, who has a crush on blake but got over it and was a villain for most of her screentime.

jaune's sister Saphron married a woman named Terra Cotta. as a reference to how Sappho of Lesbos would paint terracotta lekythoi. and then we never see her again after her one (1) episode.

may marigold, a minor character, has a throwaway line about being a trans woman and we never see her again (only trans character in rwby btw)

coco was confirmed in a book to be a lesbian. she is in no relationship, is no longer in the show, and is named after Coco fucking Chanel.

scarlet david, a side character who does not reappear in the show, is confirmed in a different book to be gay and has entered a relationship with nolan porfirio, an even less-relevant character. they are both twinks.

for fun trivia: three of team NDGO (nebula, gwen, and dew) - who are a team of canon fancharacters who appear minorly in the show - are confirmed by their creators to be asexual, but not by the showrunners. all four members of NDGO are then written to be bullies in the book where they reappear (same book where the twinks get together).

not counting the animals as nonbinary (because animals don't experience gender the same way humans do), that leaves us with:

1 bisexual (blake, because a lot of people forget her awful relationship with sun and try to forget that weird retcon with adam)

1 pansexual (yang, and i'm not sure if there's a meaningful difference in this)

4 lesbians (saphron and her wife, ilia, and coco. note that terra is essentially an accessory to her wife and all three are minor characters)

2 gay men (scarlet and nolan, who are minor characters and get together in side material)

1 trans character (may, who has a minor role and vanishes after confirming she's the only transgender character in the whole show)

this isn't meant to be, like, a rwde post btw. genuinely this is me compiling information. if the tone gets a little snippy, well. i guess i'm tired of gay men only being one body type and all the gay women being incredibly minor characters who show up and have no plot relevance. congrats to bumbleby tho, i think.

[mountaingoatsfirstlineaday]

for several days the visitors were here. we saw them turned down, watched them disappear.

when i watch saw, i'm thinking about a daddy and twink kissing time. the entire movie is based around transience and time limits. we're always creeping towards 6:00, creeping towards the end of life for at least one person, creeping towards the climax. It's what makes a movie primarily set inside one disgusting bathroom, four walls, engaging to watch. from the start, we have an end. these people are dead. in genesis 30:3, we have a time limit too, or at least the vague sense of impending doom that is common in tmg music. knowing john darnielle's writing style, it's not surprising that he doesn't give us a specific apocalyptic vision (because the song isn't really about the doom, it's about the relationship between the narrator and someone else, at least when I listen to it), rather he adds in the hints here and there: "we talked about the days the said were sure to come, had a hard time believing" and "for several hours we lay there, last ones of our kind. harder days coming, maybe, i don't mind."

and adam and lawrence did lay there for several hours, the last ones of their kind? yes, if we count "their kind" as a category created by the experience/trauma of going through a jigsaw trap. they are the only two people on earth who know almost exactly what the other went through. another interesting piece of beginnings and endings... they are both the first and last. others might get close enough to fake it, and maybe that will be enough, but it's not the real thing. who knows if that matters in the long run, but right now, it's lawrence and adam laying together on a tile floor, trying to keep cool, desperate all night, sweating-- wait, wrong song.

however much it matters by the end of it, i fully believe that to some extent, lawrence did really care about adam. he cared for him in the same way he cared for his wife and their kid and his patients; that is, by lying to him. "the power in your voice, your rough touch. you keeping care of me, keeping watch." trying to make adam feel better even though he can't do anything about the problem... I suppose it's a skill set you develop when you constantly have to tell people that they have terminal cancer and there's nothing to be done. he has an inoperable tumor on his frontal lobe. a ticking clock. a time limit. et cetera.

adam cared for lawrence more obviously. hiding the picture and sticking his hand into a toilet full of feces. bludgeoning zep to death without lawrence even needing to ask him to. he is the narrator of genesis 30:3, to me, because i think that he really would do anything lawrence asked him to. it sounds kinda dumb when i say it, but it's true. goddamnit. it's true. i would do anything for you. adam's a bad liar and yet he lies all the time; his actions reveal his love because his actions are his love. they are both simple, straightforward things. i love you so i will make you a cup of tea. i love you so i will do what you ask me to.

on the choruses:

the first chorus ("open up the doors to the tent, and wonder where the good times went. i will do what you ask me to because of how i feel about you") reflects the rough first half of the movie to me. both adam and lawrence are trying to figure out how they got to be where they are right now, what went wrong. where did the good times go? not that either of their lives before could necessarily be called "good times" in all honestly, but i'm pretty sure most things beat waking up in a jigsaw trap. and they do the little things, right off the bat. for each other.

the second chorus ("open up the promise of the day, drive the dark things away. i will do what you ask me to do, because of how i feel about you.") corresponds to the second half, particularly at the end. with a sawnlysis of the song (as opposed to a regular reading of it), the second chorus becomes somewhat sardonic and sad. lawrence does try to drive the dark things way for adam. by, you know, normal couple things, sawing off his own foot and soaking in another man's blood together before blatantly lying to him multiple times in an attempt to calm him down. he drives the dark things away but it's at the cost of letting a real dark thing in for good.

and this kind of fits the note the movie ends on. it always makes me cry. adam, alone, dark room. screaming, crying. i always hope against hope that this time the movie will be different, and lawrence will come back. surprise extra end credits scene. here we are. two boys in love. saw ii is about the legal battle lawrence has with alison over alimony and baby's first pride riot. adam and lawrence accidentally murder a cop.

okay this has gotten really long. i just rewatched saw bc it's available for free on tubi in the us right now and every single time this movie makes me feel emotions. i thought i was done. i'm not. okay goodnight