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solelifauna · 3 months ago

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Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.4

Where (Y/n) becomes an A to C student. It's not her fault tho! Blame it on the trauma.

ALSO, THANK YOU TO @oof-spoof FOR PRACTICALLY FUNDING THE INVINCIBLE SERIES!!! EVERYONE GIVE THEM SOME LOVE!!!

Mark grabbed the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat without a word, and you followed suit, exhaustion settling deep into your bones as you slumped into the passenger seat. As you buckled your seatbelt, he turned the ignition, the radio flicking on as he scrolled through channels until he landed on the familiar one, 96.5. The quiet drive began, with Mark’s fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel in time with the music, a rhythm that seemed at odds with the tense atmosphere filling the car.

You stared out the window, letting the passing scenery blur before you. Houses and shops you once thought would stand forever flew past, their vibrant facades a painful reminder of all you’d lose in the next five months. This town, this life—it was doomed.

Mark’s fingers slowed, and his eyes flicked toward you, his voice slipping in smoothly through the silence. “You seem a bit… off,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Stayed up late or something?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, masking the churn of emotions beneath a neutral expression. “Just tired,” you replied shortly, hoping that would be enough.

He gave a low hum, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “You sure?” he asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they scanned your face. “You’ve been acting different lately. Jumpy, kind of… paranoid, maybe?”

The subtle accusation prickled at your nerves, and you tore your gaze away from him, fixing your eyes back on the road. “It’s just school,” you muttered. “And the tests. No big deal.”

But Mark’s voice didn’t lose that sharp edge. “Right,” he said, drawing out the word, as if savoring the slight tension in your voice. “Because that’s totally you. Ignoring me and Dad, breaking down in the arms of your friends you see in school everyday, and sitting at the dining table like a vegetable for hours.”

You tightened your grip on your seatbelt, willing yourself to stay calm. “Maybe I just need sometime to myself,” you replied, forcing yourself to sound nonchalant.

Mark didn’t respond right away, but you felt his gaze linger, heavy and assessing. You were painfully aware of his scrutiny, and each second under his gaze felt like it stretched into eternity. Then, he leaned back, lips curling in a faint smirk.

“Whatever it is,” he said softly, almost a whisper, but there was a chill behind his words that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ll find out, (Y/n).”

The words hung in the air, charged with unspoken promises. You could feel his eyes on you, searching, prying, as if he were peeling back the layers of your mind to uncover whatever secrets you kept hidden. You forced yourself to look straight ahead, but his words echoed in your mind, sinking in like a thorn you couldn’t dislodge.

As you pulled up to the school, you felt as though you could barely breathe. Mark turned off the car, watching you with that same intense, unnerving gaze. “Don’t go doing anything you’ll regret,” he added, his tone light, almost playful, but the underlying menace was unmistakable.

With a tight nod, you opened the car door and stepped out, feeling his gaze bore into your back as you walked toward the school entrance. The hollow ache in your chest grew heavier, the knowledge that your own brother was already suspicious clawing at you. You had five months left before everything fell apart—and now, Mark was already starting to close in.

The moment you stepped out of the car, you quickened your pace, your feet carrying you across the parking lot toward the school entrance where Hallie, Connor, and Weston were waiting. You could feel Mark’s gaze burning into your back, heavy with suspicion, his presence like a dark cloud that followed you no matter how fast you walked. You forced yourself to keep your head down, ignoring the instinct to turn around and see if he was still watching.

As you neared your friends, a breath of relief slipped from your lips. Hallie caught your eye, giving you a small, knowing nod, and Weston nudged Connor, who was hunched over his phone. They could see the strain in your expression, the tension lingering around you, and immediately closed the distance, creating a small, protective circle.

“Everything okay?” Hallie asked quietly, her voice low but filled with concern. You managed a quick nod, brushing it off as best as you could.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you.

They didn’t press further, but you could tell they were already on edge. They knew you well enough to sense when something was wrong, and your silence said plenty.

A few feet behind you, Mark had come to a stop, his arms folded as he leaned against the side of the car, watching you with that same unsettling intensity. He made no effort to hide it, his gaze fixed, sharp, studying your every move. A casual onlooker might not notice the tension in his stance, but you could feel it, the way he observed you with the quiet patience of someone biding their time.

Then, in a calculated move, Mark shifted his attention to a group of boys loitering by the side of the building—his so-called friends. They were loud, boisterous, and clearly thrilled to see him approach, clapping him on the shoulder and making crude jokes, the type he always pretended to enjoy. But you knew him too well; you saw the way he tolerated their company with a thinly veiled disdain, a quiet irritation masked by a charming grin.

One of the boys slapped Mark on the back, laughing too loudly at something Mark hadn’t even responded to. Mark flashed a smirk, humoring them, but his gaze darted back to you, subtle but piercing, as if ensuring you knew he was still watching. He laughed at some joke, a hollow sound, but his eyes never lost that calculated look, a hunter keeping track of his prey while biding his time.

Your shoulders tensed. Even surrounded by his friends, he seemed hyper-focused on you, as though he could sense your discomfort. You knew he was letting you go for now, but his patience wouldn’t last forever. Mark was never one to let things go unchecked, and with each passing second, his suspicion was sharpening, honing in on you.

Connor’s hand brushed against your arm, bringing you back to the present. “You good?” he asked, his voice a murmur, keeping it low so no one else could hear.

You forced yourself to breathe, nodding again. “Let’s get inside.”

Together, you and your friends made your way into the school, the familiar hum of voices and shuffling footsteps drowning out the tension outside. But even as the walls closed around you, shielding you from Mark’s stare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already set his sights on you, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d unraveled every secret you fought so hard to hide.

As you made your way through the bustling hallway, you leaned in close to Hallie, whispering, “We need to talk. Later.”

She nodded in agreement before heading off to her first class, Weston following in tandem.

With that, you and Conner head to your first class, nerves jolting and wired. For some reason your fight-or-flight was kicking in, pumping needless adrenaline through your body (it seemed like your body was always in fight or flight mode, never really stopping or calming down).

As you and Connor slipped into your seats, you forced yourself to look as composed as possible, even as your insides churned with anxiety. The entire classroom felt distant, almost surreal, as if you were watching it all through a fog. Your hands clenched the edge of your desk, a small attempt to ground yourself, to stop the insistent rush of adrenaline flooding your veins.

It was almost maddening, this constant state of vigilance, like your body couldn’t accept that, for now at least, you were safe. You knew Mark was out there somewhere, probably already listening with his enhanced hearing, his sharp ears tuned in for the slightest slip-up. He could be in any room, any hallway, eavesdropping without you even realizing it.

Soon, your math teacher, Mrs. Barnes entered, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor, as she began to set up for the day’s lesson. You took a shaky breath, forcing your focus on her as she scrawled equations across the whiteboard, her voice drifting around you as she launched into a review of yesterday’s formulas.

But as you tried to listen, to grasp the material, you hit a wall—a terrifying, absolute void where your memories of math should have been. The numbers blurred, sliding off your mind like water, and no matter how hard you focused, the information simply wouldn’t stick.

Panicking slightly, you scanned the board, hoping that maybe a familiar formula or concept would spark something. But it was like staring at a foreign language. The frustration gnawed at you, each failed attempt to remember only heightening your sense of dread. You looked over at Connor, your pulse racing, and found him already watching you, a look of shared panic in his eyes.

You could tell he was struggling too. He shook his head slightly, his mouth set in a grim line. He leaned down, pulling out his notebook and scribbling something quickly. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he slid it over to you.

Do you remember any of this?

You hesitated, your hand trembling as you wrote back.

Nothing. I can’t remember a single thing. It’s like…

You couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. It was as if everything you’d learned here—the academic knowledge, the normal parts of life—had simply been erased. Your mind was so conditioned to survive, to fight and endure, that it had discarded everything else. In a terrifying way, you were no longer the student you once were. You’d been reshaped entirely by the trauma of the last life.

Connor swallowed, looking down at the note. You watched as he took in the implications, his face growing paler with every passing second. Mrs. Barnes continued her lesson, unaware of the silent panic that rippled between you and Connor. The words she wrote on the board may as well have been gibberish. You didn’t even recognize half the terms she was using anymore, the definitions blurred or completely forgotten.

You turned your gaze to your textbook, flipping the pages with trembling fingers, hoping that something, anything, would stick. But all you could focus on was the sensation of being cornered, of being hunted. Your mind kept flitting back to those dark days in the resistance, to the endless battles, to the snap decisions you’d made just to stay alive. It was like your brain had rewired itself, discarding anything that didn’t serve the immediate need to survive.

Connor nudged you, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts, and he quickly scribbled another note.

This is bad. What are we supposed to do if we can’t even remember the basics?

You tried to take a calming breath, but it came out shaky. He was right. You were barely keeping up this façade of normalcy as it was. If you couldn’t handle school, you’d stand out even more. Mark would notice. Your parents would notice. Teachers would start asking questions. People would wonder what had happened to you.

We’ll figure something out, you wrote back, though even you weren’t convinced.

It seems like you’ve said that same sentence too many times though with no real solutions.

But before you could come up with a more reassuring answer, Mrs. Barnes turned toward your row, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the classroom. Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly shifted your gaze to the board, hoping she hadn’t noticed the exchange.

“Connor, (Y/n). Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” she asked, her tone pointed.

You straightened in your seat, forcing a tight smile. “No, ma’am. Just—trying to catch up.”

She held your gaze for a moment longer than you liked, suspicion flickering in her eyes, but eventually she turned back to the board, resuming her explanation. You exchanged a glance with Connor, both of you silently relieved.

But the relief was short-lived. The void in your mind loomed larger, a terrifying reminder of the life you’d left behind—and the life you couldn’t fully return to. It was becoming painfully clear that you weren’t just out of practice or distracted, no, something fundamental had changed inside you. You were something else entirely now, someone forged in battle and scarred by the horrors of survival.

The lesson droned on. You could only hope that whatever pieces of your old self remained would be enough to keep everyone safe, long enough to figure out how to stop the coming shit show.

Finally, the bell rings, a sharp burst of sound cutting through your thoughts, you quickly gather your things, grateful for the temporary reprieve from your spiraling thoughts. You and Connor exchange a brief, tense look before parting ways. You both have too much to figure out, too many gaps to fill, but there’s no time now.

Your next class, Entry Biology, is in another part of the building, tucked into a quieter wing. The halls are buzzing with students, their voices overlapping in casual conversations that feel alien to you, like a language you no longer fully understand. You keep your gaze down, trying to blend in as best as you can, making your way through the sea of faces and finding your classroom near the end of the corridor.

You step inside, spotting a seat at the back of the room. With no assigned seating, you slip into it, hoping it’ll give you some measure of privacy. As you set your bag down, you can’t remember if this was your usual seat or not. The details of your day-to-day routine from this life feel like a distant memory, blurring with the harsh reality of your previous one. If someone had taken this seat before, they’d just have to ask you to move. For now, you’re hoping they’ll leave you alone.

The room gradually fills with students, but no one seems to notice or care that you’re there. You breathe a small sigh of relief, your mind still reeling from the earlier realization that your memory has turned selectively barren. Biology… you struggle to recall the basic concepts, things that should be easy.

Mitosis? Ecosystems? Even the Cell Cycle feels slippery in your mind. The memories just won’t solidify. Your mind instinctively drifts back to the knowledge that does stick, but it’s all survival tactics, the hollow echo of combat drills, the weight of loss, and the survival instincts that you can’t shake.

Your teacher, Mr. Halloway, enters the room, adjusting his glasses as he sets down his materials on the desk. He’s a calm, unassuming presence with an easygoing manner that normally might have put you at ease. But today, you find it hard to focus, the anxiety lingering from earlier gnawing at you as he begins writing on the board.

“Alright, class, today we’re going to dive into cell structures and the basics of cell function,” he says, the chalk scratching faintly as he writes. “Let’s start with the organelles—things like the mitochondria, nucleus, and chloroplasts in plant cells.”

Okay! You knew about the Mitochondria: powerhouse of the cell.

You stare at the board, the words and diagrams meaningless in your mind, like someone dumped them there without context. There’s a flicker of recognition, but it feels shallow, inaccessible. You remember how cells look under a microscope, how textbooks diagram them out with labeled parts, but the function of each organelle slips through your grasp. Your heart sinks as you realize it isn’t just math—you really don’t remember anything.

You fish your phone out of your bag, concealing it beneath the desk, and quickly type a message to Your group chat.

(Y/n): Can’t remember anything from class feels like my brain’s wiped

A few seconds pass before Weston’s reply comes in.

Westy My Bestie: Same here

Can’t remember jack shit

Halligator: This is bad

Geometry is my best subject and now i can't even remember simple theorems

Ppl r gonna get sus

You read their responses, your grip on the phone tightening. At least you’re not alone in this, but it doesn’t ease the gnawing anxiety that your memories are failing you. The bell signaling the end of class is a lifeline, and you’re the first one out the door, weaving through the crowded hallway with your thoughts spinning.

The final bell rings for lunch, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Your last two classes so far, AP Human Geography and English I, had been easier to handle, but that gnawing feeling of something missing never left.

Geography was more about concepts, patterns of human behavior, and interactions rather than memorized facts, so you managed to piece together enough to get by. English, luckily, was more focused on analysis than strict recall, so your rusty memory didn’t hinder you as much. But the underlying dread still weighed on you, a nagging reminder that anything concrete, anything involving details you should remember, seemed out of reach.

You step into the hallway, the crowd surging around you, and immediately spot Weston waiting outside his classroom. He raises a hand in greeting, a familiar face amid the chaos, and together, you head toward the cafeteria. The line’s already growing, students chatting and joking around.. You scan the serving trays, landing on the day’s special: some sort of chicken sandwich with fries and a bag of chips.

A smile tugs at your lips despite the morning you’ve had; after living off scraps and rations in your past life, a hot meal—even a school cafeteria one—was a blessing. The memory of tearing open a ration pack, forcing down tasteless blocks of compressed food, flashes through your mind, and you’re struck by how strange it feels to have choices again.

Once you’ve paid for your food, you and Weston make your way through the bustling cafeteria and out into the open-air courtyard. It’s refreshing to be outside, where the air feels less claustrophobic and you can catch glimpses of the autumn leaves turning golden, the first hints of fall in the cool breeze. You spot Connor and Hallie already sitting at your usual table, near the far edge of the courtyard, both of them eating like they haven’t seen food in days.

"Hey," you greet them, sliding into the seat beside Connor while Weston sits across from you. You unwrap your sandwich, taking a hesitant bite. The flavors hit your taste buds, far better than anything you’d had during the rebellion. It was still a cafeteria meal, but right now, it might as well have been gourmet.

Hallie looks up from her sandwich, barely swallowing before launching into conversation. "God, you guys have no idea how weird today’s been." She glances around, ensuring no one’s within earshot before she continues. "I feel like I’m flunking every single class. I don’t remember anything useful."

Connor nods in agreement, his expression grim. “Same here. It’s like my brain’s refusing to do anything academic. Anything beyond survival skills… it’s just blank.”

Weston, who’s been munching on his fries, glances up, his face thoughtful. "Maybe it’s some kind of psychological thing? Like, we’re all for sure traumatized and now that we’re back, we’re struggling to fit in? Doesn’t the brain forget non-vital info under extreme stress or something?"

You nod, considering his theory, but it doesn’t offer much comfort. If this was some side effect of trauma, it was leaving you dangerously exposed.

"It makes sense," you admit, trying to keep your voice steady. "But it’s going to be hard to keep up the act if we can’t remember even basic things. Especially with…” Your voice trails off, not wanting to say his name out loud.

But Connor catches your drift. “Mark,” he mutters, a tense silence settling over the group. “He’s been watching you, hasn’t he?”

"Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "He knows something’s up. He hasn’t figured out what, but he’s… suspicious."

Hallie’s eyes narrow, and her jaw clenches as she takes a sharp breath. "We need a plan, and fast. It’s one thing to keep low in class, but Mark? He’s not just anybody. If he thinks there’s something to find out, he’ll find it."

Your stomach twists as you think back to his words from that morning: “Whatever it is, I’ll find out, (Y/n).” You remembered the look in his eyes, the way he seemed to study you, his gaze cold and calculating, false care in his voice, like you were nothing more than a puzzle to be solved.

"Maybe," Weston says slowly, breaking the silence, "we could take a more passive approach. You know, let him think he’s figured you out. Act dumb or, like, make mistakes on purpose. Lead him onto a false answer."

Connor raises an eyebrow, considering it. "Might work, but it’s risky. If he thinks he’s being played, he won’t hold back.

You nod at Weston, “I think its worth a shot. We’re all screwed either way, so what's the harm?”

After your statement, everyone falls into a comfortable silence; most likely retreating into their own minds.

You continue eating in silence, the sounds of laughter and conversations around you feeling distant, like a world you’re no longer part of. Each bite you take tastes more and more hollow.

Finally, Connor breaks the silence again. “We need to figure out how we’re going to warn the Guardians. Without tipping off Mark or Omni-Man.”

You nod, your mind already spinning with ideas and doubts.

“We have to get a message to them somehow. We could use anonymous tips, maybe? Something that won’t trace back to us?” Hallie shoots out.

Weston shrugs. “Anonymous tips work in movies, sure, but this is real life. They’ll get curious, and then the government and Guardians will find out it was us. Plus, Omni-man and Invincible are two highly respected and trusted heroes, there's no guarantee they’d even believe the warning we send.”

“Weston has a point,” You say. “But, it doesn't matter. If they believe us or not, at least they’ll have the thought in the back of their minds. Even if it comes back to us, at least the Guardians will know.”

Because in a world where the clock is ticking, and survival is the only option—there’s no time left to be selfish over your own lives.

#neglected reader #platonic yandere #yandere invincible #yandere omniman #yandere mark grayson #yandere nolan grayson #debbie grayson #mark grayson #nolan grayson #omni man #invincible x reader #invincible

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thequeenofsastiel · 3 months ago

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I keep thinking about Buffy's refusal to believe that Spike is capable of love or goodness without a soul, despite the myriad of ways he demonstrated both after he fell in love with her, and I think it comes down to two things: her work, and Angel.

Buffy's main calling is to kill vampires. Yes, she'll kill demons, but it's vampires that she is truly called to kill. She even showed that she was willing to believe in a demon's ability to be good. She had one positive interaction with Clem(her birthday party where Hally trapped them all in her house), and decided she trusted him so much that she was willing to leave Dawn with him, despite the fact that he had no chip in his head.

But with vampires, she just assumed that every single one was evil. She was willing to go back to that house where Riley had been letting a vampire feed from him and slaughter every last vampire there despite the fact that they weren't even killing humans as far as she could see.

Yet then there was Spike. Spike, who loved her so much that he was willing to fight with her friends and care for her sister even after she had died, simply because he had promised her that he would. But she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the love and goodness in those actions. Vampires being evil was what made killing them effortless emotionally. If vampires weren't all evil, then perhaps killing them might not be as pure an act of good as she'd always thought.

And, of course, there was Angel. Angel, whom she fell in love with when he had a soul, but who became entirely evil without one. If she allowed herself to believe that Spike was capable of love and goodness despite having no soul, that would force her to contemplate the idea that Angel was less good than she thought. After all, if Spike could do good things and have love without a soul, then why couldn't Angel? It would mean that Spike possessed some inherent goodness that Angel simply didn't, and she couldn't bear that thought.

In no way am I saying that Spike wasn't capable of evil, because he absolutely was. But he was also capable of love and goodness. The fact that he was so repulsed by almost raping Buffy that he was willing to go risk his life to get a soul, knowing that it might change him completely as it had Angel, demonstrates that. But Buffy couldn't let herself see it. It would emotionally shatter her.

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #buffy summers #spike btvs #Buffy meta #spike meta #my meta #william the bloody #spuffy

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nerdieforpedro · 2 months ago

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One small step for man…

One giant leap for Dieter Bravo

Based on this Moodboard created by the wonderful @secretelephanttattoo that she made for the Get Dieter Sober event to celebrate @bitchesuntitled ‘s milestone! 😎 ❤️

My entire masterlist and blog are for readers 18+ MDNI. I do not consent to my work being used in AI, recommended on TikTok, borrowed or plagiarized.

Summary: The only thing that can motivate Dieter Bravo better than sex or an interesting script is a grudge. Who cares if we’re talking about space? If Bravo can finally one-up Leonardo DiCaprio, he’ll take his chance, no matter the effort. Turns out it was good for him in the long run.

Warnings: Nerdie style bad humor, various celebrity mentions, no specified ages for Edna and Fred but assume they’re sixty-five and over for the plot, a goat (because when I write Dieter, 8/10 times he will have a goat), space?, DiCaprio slander and implied drug and sexual activity just not in detail, also BBQ.

Word Count: a little under 1.3k

Notes: El suggested that a crack fic should be written and leave it to a five hour plane ride for inspiration 🤣 So here we are. She did look it over and laughed so that’s really all it took for me to post it. 🥰 There’s no reader, just two OCs Edna and Fred who are living the life we want to live honestly.

Main Masterlist/ Dieter Bravo Masterlist/ AO3 Link

The only time Dieter Bravo thought of space is when he would stare up at the stars naked with only his fluffy grey robe on and yellow crocs on in his backyard. It’s normally when he needs to take five from whatever party/orgy/gathering/sex toy exchange he’s decided to have this week.

There had been a recent announcement that NASA was looking for Oscar winners to sent into space to not only find a new planet for earthlings to live but also negotiate and exchange information with any extraterrestrials they may come across. Given the deceptive skills and adaptive vibes actors have, there a buzz about who may be selected to fly out into unknown reaches with a crew of astronauts. Hallie Berry and Jamie Lee Curtis had already been selected and for men, there was one slot left as (insert some dude’s name) was announced. There were still six months left and more male Oscar winners were throwing their hat into the ring.

One name irked Dieter beyond all reason given that he actually a nice guy, but Bravo deserves it more than him: Leonardo DiCaprio. Doesn’t matter that he’s a stalwart advocate of green policies and climate change. Dieter should have been able to be in ‘The Wolf of Wall Street.’ It was basically written for him and the life he lives now. Though peering back at his home, he’s going to have to give this up for a while if he wants to be considers for the program. Leo only have to give up the liquor and twenty-five year olds. Dieter’s got to give up his wide array of drugs, though since he’s fine with men and women of all legal ages old and younger, he can just let the older women and men come at him. That one lady Edna pops her teeth out and hoo boy does she do some things with those gums. Fred is one guy who knows about those gams and if you know, you know. There’s always his trustworthy emotional support goat Cookie who’s white with black spots who gave a strong “baa!” When asked if he should give it a shot.

After the night’s festivities and clean up the next day, Dieter informs his team of his plan. They are shocked somewhat, they’re aware of his one-sided grudge and if it will motivate him off the drugs, they’re willing to lean all the way in. To ensure Bravo’s success, they do a through sweep of all his homes, cars and vacation spots. They also limit his contacts and ask Edna and Fred to stay with Dieter. They’re sure that the three of them are ducking but Dieter’s also learning some chess, shuffleboard, bingo, dominoes and some mandarin from Edna’s husband, rest his sweet soul. Cookie nibbled on everyone’s ankles and stayed looking cute as is her role.

It’s announced the next month that Dieter Bravo is going for the last Oscar space on the Galactic Noah’s Ark. Most think the choice is insane and mock in relentlessly but as time marches on, Dieter gains more supporters as he’s looking and feeling better. He also gets a lot of retirees and AARP members on his side as his two housemates interview with their magizine under the guidance of Dieter’s media team.

There’s memes, TikToks, interviews and a cribs episode showing off Dieter’s new healthy lifestyle and feature his two friends Edna and Fred. Edna is sunbathing naked and it had to be blurred out entirely but was still aired surprisingly. It was touted as support for not only all body types but representing older women who are just living life. Fred was cooking up some barbeque on a grill in his plaid shorts and orange sherbert polo shirt with dress shows on and a kiss the chef apron on. He told the interview that it’s been pretty cool getting to know Dieter over the years and that he had enough hair on his chest for the both of them. It garnered a laugh and they were asked what their families thought of them being in a throple with Doeter Bravo. Edna said it was pretty fun and she’d raised her children so it was her time. She should spend the twilight of her years, doing what she wants to do and then doing Dieter. She then called him a “nice young man who’s a cutie patootie.” Cookie let out a loud “baa!” As if to agree and went to eat some grass.

There were some that had an issue with the throple aspect saying that such a lifestyle should be sent into space, but it was argued that since Dieter was rather fluid in his sexuality it should bode well for communicating with other life forms. Debates continued while Dieter kept clean, worked with Paul Mesal and his trainer to get stronger and in better shape. The speculation was that maybe Paul was now added to the throple making it a square, and as many pundits called Edna ‘the luckiest damn woman on earth.’ Paul said that he’d love to be cool enough to be in the throple but when he’s stopped by and saw both Hallie Berry and Adria Arijona there, he said that he didn’t stand a chance. The two women were just there to visit Dieter as they’d worked with him on previous projects which their reps seconded. They did stay for a week though but mainly just to meet Edna and Fred who they thought were so amazing.

Paul visited again with Denzel Washington, his wife Pauletta who Bravo normally has tea with and it turns out Edna knows Pauletta from their old sorority. Public opinion was turning in Dieter’s favor as Leo was keeping a low profile. Well outside of breaking up with his girlfriend on her twenty-sixth birthday. That didn’t go over well.

The deadline was approaching for who would be selected out of the two men so the media decided they should have a sit down. It was to fill air time but Dieter Bravo was looking forward to it. He felt stronger, a little leaner but given the barebeque Fred cooks up and sweets Edna makes, he still has small belly. DiCaprio looks lean but has bags under his eyes from sleeping alone without his girlfriend and only his Oscar in the bed.

Both men were ask questions about what they would do if they encountered aliens, what to do to get along with fellow crew members, what they might eat in space, how they would establish and keep good vibes going and what kind of planet would they want to live on. The questions were going fine until Leonardo said that he felt sick during the sit down and had to go to the hospital. Given that he was so sick from not sleeping, it looked as though Dieter was the clear winner and was announced as such a week later.

Dieter Bravo is going into space over that pretentious prick!

A celebration party with sparkling wine, kool-aid, Edna’s sweet potatoes, Fred’s smoked pork shoulder and some Mac and cheese brought over by the Washingtons is has that evening. Did Dieter ever expect to be sober? No, but he didn’t expect it to be this full with friends either.

The Oscar winner is once again standing in his backyard while festivities occur inside, though they’re calmer and full of laughter instead of groans and sweaty bodies. He’s fully clothed, in his crocs, brown pijama pants and t-shirt holding Cookie and petting her. “I did it girl. I’m clear as a bell and going to space. I wonder of they probe or have tentacles. Who knows? But I’m going to find out. May the vibes be with us Cookie.”

May the vibes be with everyone but especially the following 😘:

@morallyinept @schnarfer @chronically-ghosted @sp00kymulderr @covetyou

@yopossum @whocaresstillthelouvre @toomanytookas @beefrobeefcal @trulybetty

@sin-djarin @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @604to647 @chaithetics

@inept-the-magnificent @djarinmuse @sunshinehaze1 @lotusbxtch @yorksgirl

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originalfatfiction · 9 months ago

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All the World's a Stage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George—Kyle Donnelly

Candy—Hallie James

Curley—Jimmy Ignacio

Curley’s Wife—Jane Kingston

Slim—Raul Mota

Crooks—Richard Smith

Carlson—John Waterson

The Boss—Ken Ortega

Whit—Holden Sanders

Lennie and Candy’s Dog—TBD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Mr. Murray still used PowerPoint.

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

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

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

I was getting ahead of myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Softball—I sucked.

Badminton—I sucked.

Basketball—I sucked.

Volleyball—I sucked.

Kickball—I sucked.

Floor Hockey—I sucked.

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

I was screwed, that was all I had.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you.”

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

“You’re going to be Lennie?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wrote a simple message. It read:

Hey Greg,

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

I signed it with just my first name, Holden.

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

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

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

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

He ate the Twix during class.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Short Stuff?” I asked.

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

“Very funny, Gregory.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone,” he barked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he said, smiling timidly.

“One, The Princess and the Frog.”

“The Disney movie?”

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry Holden.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

“So, we’ve got a deal?” I asked.

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

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

“How were rehearsals today?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wish we could trade.”

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

“What’s a Tony?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greg must not like him very much.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost nobody had gotten bigger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could be in WWE,” Charlie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All good,” I said.

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

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

“My secret fort,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” I answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Text me when you get home,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

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

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

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

“Do you have any lube?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We most definitely do.”

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

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

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

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

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

The End!

#gainer stories #gainer fiction #gainer story #fatfiction #gainerfic #gainerstory #gay feeder #gay feedee #weight gain

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ladystoneboobs · 1 year ago

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when it comes to the theon/starks pov trap, so many fans just assume jon's and bran's dislike of theon must be only bc they're just smarter, better judges of character than dumbly friendly robb, even somewhow foretelling theon's later actions at wf in clash. all of them missing that the explanation for why theon was closest to robb is clearly stated in his own first pov, after we've gotten to know jon and bran.

As for their[Ned/Catelyn's] children, the younger ones had been mewling babes for most of his years at Winterfell. Only Robb and his baseborn half brother Jon Snow had been old enough to be worth his notice. -Theon I, aCoK

when you've been sent to live with an unknown family in a strange land and the only boys in that family are ~5 years younger than you, it's natural you're going to learn to ignore that age difference to socialize with the only peers available. but that doesn't mean doing the same with little babies born after your arrival with 10+yr age gaps, that's an age difference too far. jon and robb have to care for all the starklings younger than them, that's their family, but theon was never a member of that family. it's only natural to only want to hang out with your friend and not adopt their hangers-on younger siblings as yours too. idt bran or rickon can be blamed for only robb ever being brotherly toward theon (as he once retorted to maester luwin while hunting for them in the wolfswood), they're little kids, but the point is everyone was reacting in regular kid patterns. bran had no reason to warm up much to an older boy who stole robb's attention from him while having no time for bran in return. (or at least that's how he'd see it.) the notion that bran was rejecting theon from a place of moral superiority implies there was something more there to be rejected. but i think it's more likely that, had it not been for the natural results of a ~12yr age gap, if bran had been a little older or theon had been a little more willing to befriend little kids, then imo bran would have been eager to join the club with all the older boys and truly feel like "a man grown". imho, a closer reading of agot would show that this explanation was also right there in starkling pov all along.

He[Jon Snow] missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet; Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion; Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. -Jon III, aGoT Even when he was home at Winterfell, Robb the Lord seemed to have more time for Hallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy than he ever did for his brothers. -Bran IV, aGoT

as for theon/jon ...

The bastard was a sullen boy, quick to sense a slight, jealous of Theon's high birth and Robb's regard for him. -Theon I, aCoK

i think that jealousy for robb's regard must have been mutual, and yet we know who'd win that contest as idt robb would ever yell at jon for saving bran's life. jon had reason to envy theon's station when he was sidelined on special occassions, the same as theon envied jon's relationships with non-catelyn winterfellians. (ie, "Even the bastard Jon Snow had been accorded more honor than he had." theon had a father who was likely a miser with affection even before his wars and here's ned stark and a good part of his household treating even a bastard better than balon greyjoy treated his youngest child, almost as good as the stark heir and more welcome than the ironborn heir who should be robb's equal.) wf castle may have been huge but still not big enough for two liminal quasi-outsiders/not-quite-starks in the same official household with only so much respect, regard, and honor to go around.

there's also just a bit of a personality clash from jon's side of things. idt theon ever really knowingly or intentionally hurt jon, much less bullied him. but look at the rest of his behavior in that first theon pov chapter, casually seducing the captain's daughter and quipping about getting her pregnant, with no thought of ever seeing her again, making it unlikely he'd acknowledge, much less care for, this hypothetical greyjoy bastard. imagine how this attitude comes off to a proudly voluntary celibate teen who at least once declared he would never father a bastard. theon doesn't understand jon's baggage anymore than jon understands why theon, living under an implied threat of possible execution, might make light of beheadings. (some of their reasons for sullenness were similar but others were different enough to ensure that the wf household wasn't big enough for the both of them rather than them finding common ground.) to jon, it's all one and the same, part of theon being a selfish ass. but jon is also the same guy who later kept loving ygritte after she murdered an old man right in front of him, so it's not impossible that he could have befriended theon if they'd met later under different circumstances.

the real difference wrt the wf boys and theon is that robb was just the right mix of naturally friendly extrovert, close enough in age, and without too much baggage of his own to be theon's closest friend.

but we can also see that dislike of theon =/= distrust of theon. bran, as a little kid, is bewildered by theon's invasion of wf, not really getting what it meant that he was always ned's hostage as well as ward. jon may understand more of the background there and reiterated to himself that he never liked theon when hearing of the sack of wf, but he was still confused by the details of what he learned, thinking theon would never do that. and he was right about theon then! the boys theon killed were not bran and rickon, and it's true he would never burn and sack wf, that part was entirely ramsay. theon would emphatically never sack and burn his great war prize, which meant so much more bc he grew up there. that's so true, jon! so, far from sensing a deeper depravity in theon or always seeing him as an enemy, (which rather goes againt the false impression that theon was practically an adopted stark with reason to be equally brotherly to all ned's kids) when jon is objectively right about theon, it's actually in a positive sense, just that he was a skilled archer who wouldn't murder bran and rickon and would never sack wf. that's the jon who sees more and understands when his understanding applies to theon.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #theon greyjoy #bran stark #jon snow #robb stark #jonathan snowflake starkgaryen #asoiaf #I should have been with him. Where was I?#i am no stark #Gods do not weep. Or do they?#happy theon thursday!#(c)lsb #this feels very basic when i say it like this why werent the 19yo and the the 7yo closer friends?#but idt i've ever seen anyone else lay it out in all my theon reading

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iceslushii · 4 months ago

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finally finished everyones full body sprites! i made a height chart for them all too :D

sprites ive made of my ocs. in order; nia, sophie, leala, dusty, cantrelle and meteorite. im thinking of adding more things to meteorite's outfit but ill figure that one out

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allgirlskillinggame · 4 months ago

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finally finished the students' default full body sprites so heres a height chart!!

heres the height difference betwen cherry and rose because i think its funny

#danganronpa: all girls killing game #nia kaku #sophie davis #leala clean #dusty metal #anabel monet #meteorite crash #cherry mocha #megane naosu #rose flynn #tulip flynn #hallie wills #melanie court #annie cleaver #scottie harris #sally eccles #j (dr:ag)#monogram (dr:ag)

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serialkilluh1996 · 7 months ago

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THIS INTRO IS NO LONGER IN USE. REFER TO MY PINNED POST FOR FURTHER DETAILS ABOUT ME AND MY BLOG.

☠︎︎ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒, 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, & 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ☠︎︎

Feel free to read the pinned post on my main blog: @serialkilluh-1996

♬Current header song♬

Profile is not mine,

use if you please.

Header is mine,

Do not use.

I'm Nova Valencia, but I usually just go by Nova. You can call me Nov, Val, Big Papa. Whatever fits.

Keep your requests short and simple. Feel free to throw some ideas of yours, but nothing too strict. I'm a free range writer and specifics stress me out.

⌕Genres

Fluff

Angst

Smut (rarely, and i dont do smut requests)

Age gap (15 year limit)

LGBTQ+

kinks (very few, im picky. Mask kink, Size kink, SLIGHT daddy kink, etc. I'm still exploring my boundaries)

fandom crossovers

AUs

Gore (descriptive. I dont write gore porn either. Gore may just be incorporated in the story.)

horror

monster x human

yanderes (NOT abusive, just obsessive with slight stalking)

whatever my mood allows, really. I have a pretty open mind and I'm willing to indulge in anything that isn't in the following list.

⌕The "Following list"

Ped☆philia

Incest (not even stepfamily, ya ain't slick)

N☆nconsenual/R☆pe

Dubcon

Fat fetishization

Abusive relationships (in a romanticizing sense, angst is an exception)

*ahem* Excrement: No shit, no piss, no vomit, not even spitting. I'll gag.

Zoophiles/beastiality

Racism/raceplay

Cheating

⌕Characters

Call of Duty ➛

König, Horangi, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, John "Soap" Mactavish

Detroit: Become human ➛

Connor, Kara, Markus, Gavin Reed, North

SCREAM [1996] ➛

Ghostface (aka my husband), Sidney Prescott, Tatum Riley, Billy Loomis, Dewey Riley, Stu Macher, Randy Meeks, Casey Becker

SCREAM 2 [1997] ➛

Hallie McDaniel, Derek Feldman

SCREAM 3 [2000] ➛

Roman Bridger

Halloween [1978] ➛

Laurie Strode, Michael Myers

Friday the 13th ➛

Jason Voorhees

House of Wax [2005] ➛

Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair

Stay Out of the House [Puppet Combo]➛

Butcher/Night Shift Abductor

Murder House [Puppet Combo] ➛

Easter Ripper, Emma, Tom

The Night Ripper [Puppet Combo]➛

Rachel, Night Ripper

CANDYMAN [1992] ➛

Daniel "Candyman" Robitaille

Black Christmas ➛

Billy Lenz

Original characters ➛

Coming soon!

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney ➛

Phoenix Wright, Miles Edgeworth, Mia Fey, Maya Fey, Dick Gumshoe

⌕Criticism

I don't care about criticism towards my writing. I wouldn't make my work public if I didn't want the public to speak on what I write.

Freedom of speech includes you and your opinion and if you have something to say, say it. However, I kindly ask that whatever criticism you make is somewhat organized, as i get easily confused when reading rants. If you do have some writing tips, please drop em. T^T

⌕Extra statements

Do not repost or copy my writing without permission.

If you find yourself wanting to re-write one of my scenarios or for one of my ocs, tag me or send the link, I'm nosey.

However, do NOT repost my writing. I will post it myself on whatever platforms I feel comfortable with.

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I do not encourage my younger audience (under 16) to read my smut.

I understand that I am under 18, but I am very aware of what I write. Just cause I'm fucked off, doesn't mean I want you to be fucked off with me. I recommend staying on my sfw side of the blog.

I'm not comfortable taking smut requests, and all smut written is based on my personal preferences, but I've made it public for others to enjoy as well.

My personal favorite writers

☆konigceo (doesn't write for cod anymore, but posts are still up)

☆coqvttes

☆gofishygo

☆puff0o0

☆felsecyan

Do not interact

Comshippers, Proshippers, Dark fic writers, or anyone who reads/supports things of that nature.

I don't care why you read and/or write it. That information is beneficial to you, and you only. Just don't interact with me if you do.

⌕Masterlists/Fics

𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐑

Summary and tags to be added later

𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

Summary and tags to be added later

Rest Coming Soon!

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Rest coming soon!

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You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

⌕My tags

Regular: #Just a Serial Killuh™

Writing: #☆nova writes tag is old but you can still find old posts under it

Angst: #☆nova's tears

Fluff: #☆nova's puppies and kittens

Smut: #☆nova's lemonade

Brainvomit: #☆nova's vxmit

Asks: ⌕results found

All tagged below for easy access.

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joslincox · 8 months ago

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The Alpha Bitch Trope in Cartoon

Tricia Holmes from 6teen is well known by the gang as the most popular girl at their school and is the snooty archnemesis of Caitlin Cooke, who used to be a member of her Girl Posse.

Subverted on American Dad! where the "hottest girl in school" and head cheerleader Lisa Silver appears willing to go out with the nerdy Steve and is surprisingly understanding when the show's antics keep messing up the planned dates. In another episode, it looks like she and her Girl Posse did something terrible to Steve's unpopular girlfriend... but it turns out it is actually Steve's friends who are responsible, once again subverting what you'd expect from Alpha Bitch behavior.

Amphibia has Sasha Waybright, Anne's snobby and manipulative Toxic Friend who has a strong desire to rule over and control others; she even says herself that she ruled her school back on Earth. Anne starts the show off as her unwitting minion, being encouraged to engage in delinquent behavior and the like. As the series progresses, Sasha ultimately drives Anne away from her, especially after the latter realizes how bad of a friend she really is. By the third season, however, Sasha comes to realize how horrible she was and grows out of this behavior to become a better person.

Nanette Manoir from Angela Anaconda, also a Fauxreigner French Jerk and something of a teacher's pet. Angela has had many an Imagine Spot where she gets thoroughly humiliated and/or maimed.

Priscilla and Penelope Pinkpaws from Angelina Ballerina.

Cora, the daughter of the CEO Nora Rita Norita, in the Animaniacs (2020) short "My Super Sour 16" is an arrogant, spoiled Rich Bitch who wants her Sweet 16 to be absolutely perfect.

Muffy from Arthur used to be this and occasionally still has shades of it, particularly in the episode where Arthur starts acting like her. However, she has a Hidden Heart of Gold.

As Told by Ginger:

Miranda Kilgallen is the second-in-command and the Girl Posse leader to Courtney Gripling. She also defrosts a little. She never exactly becomes friendly, but she's a lot worse at the start than she is at the end.

Courtney Gripling is an inversion — Lovable Alpha Bitch. She's the queen bee; pretty, rich, popular, and more than a little narcissistic, a (self-proclaimed) snob, but she's a genuinely sweet person who doesn't seem to harbor any malice towards anyone — unlike her friend Miranda. While her sidekick Miranda is quick to insult the unpopular girls, Courtney is friendly with them.

Penelope Lang in Atomic Betty. Her two lackeys are a pair of sycophantic nerds, and she is infamous for referring to people as "losers" often.

Barbie:

Raquelle from Barbie: A Fairy Secret, although once the plot gets into motion, it's mostly pushed by the wayside.

Violet Nylund and Ashlynn Torescu from Barbie Presents Thumbelina.

Formerly Sloane, Hallie, and Dua for Camp Pop and Olivia and her friends for Camp Royalty from Barbie In Rock N Royals.

Tammy Bounceaway from Barbie Dreamhouse Adventures.

Tanya Butaire from LEGO Friends.

Batman Beyond has Blade and Chelsea. Blade is actually fairly apathetic, but has the look down pat, and is more than content to do things such as throw most of a school assignment on Terry, or manipulate a classmate to make another guy jealous. Chelsea, is usually a lot more sympathetic; she's actually a rather nice person, as seen in "The Last Resort," and except for being dismissive of Howard Groote, doesn't really do anything bad. Though she sometimes tries to get Dana to see other guys, it's because she thinks Terry isn't good for Dana, due to him always brushing her off.

Claire Brewster in Beetlejuice who is still the "stuck-up, shallow yet very pretty girl" type.

The Benedict Express

Madison, while technically a protagonist, is essentially the Beta Bitch to Alpha Bitch Erica Green and has often participated in her schemes against less attractive girls. Her status as the daughter of a professor allows her to get away with anything. Of course, their rival Sarah who is rarely shown is an even bigger Alpha Bitch.

Ciara Toler, when she was in high school and before she was brutally raped as a consequence of her bitchiness. While she showed strong Alpha Bitchy traits partly because of her status as "Barbee Creek Barbie" and "the princess of the projects" - the most attractive girl in her 'hood - her snobbishness is portrayed somewhat sympathetically as arising from her impatience with living in a community filled with people who preferred to wallow in poverty and being the only person (even in her own family) with a drive to improve herself. In fact, she often tried to act more like a Cute Sports Club Manager and uplift the spirit of her friends and neighbors before becoming exhausted with the fact they were only interested in drug dealing and violence.

Tammy Larson from Bob's Burgers is something of a subversion in that she thinks she's an Alpha Bitch and assumes she's super popular. The thing is, she doesn't have anywhere near as many friends or followers as you think she would if she were that popular. The only person who hangs around her on a regular basis and actually seems to like her is her Beta Bitch Jocelyn, and even she doesn't seem to like Tammy that much. The only other people who could possibly be considered her friends are Jimmy Jr., Zeke, and the Belcher siblings, and that should tell you something about her popularity level since they don't seem to actually even like her.

Boy Girl Dog Cat Mouse Cheese: Girl has a nemesis called Lila, who mockingly calls her "the queen of nerds" and threatens to shut down Girl's after-school cosplay club if elected school president, just to be mean.

Nina Harper from Braceface. Interesting, though, in that she and the protagonist, Sharon Spitz, were actually best friends when they were little. But a mishap with one of Nina's dolls that got its head popped off ended their friendship when she accused Sharon of being the culprit (even though she had no proof that Sharon did it). So her bullying Sharon is more or less out of spite. They do somewhat reconcile as the series goes on. Especially by season 3 when it's revealed that Sharon was indeed innocent of the doll incident; Nina's cousin was the cause of that.

Suzi from Camp Lakebottom is McGee's vain and bossy sister, a former pageant queen, and a huge Attention Whore.

Cleo from Clone High. She is a very selfish, snobby, cynical, vain, manipulative, pretentious, and materialistic stereotypical school diva who cares only about her social image, beauty, and popularity. Like in many a high school story, protagonist Abe has a hopeless crush on her despite the fact she's clearly more interested in Jerk Jock JFK.

Come the revival series set in 2023, Cleo expects she'll still be the most popular girl in school and is utterly horrified to learn she's been replaced by Frida Kahlo, an artsy skateboarder with a slight mustache and a giant unibrow. In fact, Frida and Harriet Tubman think Joan of Arc is cooler than Cleo.

Elisabeth "Sissi" Delmas in Code Lyoko is a strange version of this. In the first season, this is played straight, with the exception of a few scenes in only a few episodes. However, her assistance to the heroes in later seasons, particularly the second and fourth, is often offered without a second thought or a specific request for a reward, though this can happen quite a bit in a life-or-death situation. It seems that her personality alternates between seasons, from a straight Alpha Bitch with several Pet the Dog moments in Seasons 1 and 3 to a more Jerk with a Heart of Gold Lovable Alpha Bitch in Seasons 2 and 4.

Paulina from Danny Phantom. The most popular girl in school and loves to rub it in people's faces.

The show also had Valerie Grey, who early in the show ends up losing her wealth and becoming a Fallen Princess. She still retained some bitchiness before completely mellowing out and becomes a villain towards Danny’s ghost half.

Played with on Daria. You'd think the title character would have one as an arch-nemesis, but no, girls like Brittany are generally nice (if condescending) to her. Daria's sister Quinn, however, is part of the Fashion Club, the popular Girl Posse of their grade...and is in constant competition with its leader Sandi for dominance. Essentially, the two never have time to torture less popular girls because they're torturing each other instead. Quinn is generally the more sympathetic of the two, if only because she doesn't abuse poor Stacy, the group's least popular member.

The longer the show went on, the more it seemed like Sandi was a Deconstruction of the Alpha Bitch. While the boys of Lawndale all see Sandi as hot, there was nothing to indicate Sandi truly was as popular as she believes she is. Since she spends far more time battling Quinn for supremacy in the Fashion Club, Sandi's supposed popularity only ever was apparent within the confines of the club. Furthermore, when she decides to quit in "Fat Like Me" only Quinn appears sorry that Sandi's leaving while Tiffany and Stacy seemed overjoyed at the thought of Sandi no longer breathing down their necks. Considering Sandi is repeatedly shown to be an egotistical and manipulative Attention Whore, it's no wonder she's desperate to maintain what little foothold of popularity she has in a space she has total control over.

Andrea Davenport from The Ghost and Molly McGee is a snooty tween "influencer" who tries to make Molly a pariah on her first day at school just because she kept mispronouncing Andrea's name (which she insists is pronounced "AHN-dree-ah" and not "ANN-dree-ah").

Pacifica Northwest from Gravity Falls, which is later deconstructed in season 2 when it's suggested she's only this way because her rich parents are even worse and raised her to be stuck up. She begins to defrost as of "The Golf War", then "Northwest Mansion Mystery" reveals that she wasn't raised to be a bitch, she was mentally abused into being one. To put things in perspective, Pacifica was nothing more than a bully and a brat, but she isn't a sociopath. Dipper convinced her that there is still redemption for her.

"The Golf War" had Mabel lampshade this by calling her a "walking one-dimensional bleach blonde Valley Girl stereotype".

Mindy from The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy is a much younger Alpha Bitch, as well as an incredibly obsessive one. For example, she loses her head cheerleader position to Mandy (who just shouts the game plans to the team) and, after consulting the "patron saint of cheerleading" (a trophy she thinks is talking), decides the best solution is to incapacitate her in some way in the middle of a match, or, failing that, blow her up. If she sees Mandy with anyone aside from Billy or Irwin or the like, she walks up to them, puts on an obscenely perky face, and says "You're my best friend!"

Trina Riffin from Grojband acts this way, even though she only has one dedicated underling, her much put-upon childhood friend Mina. Nonetheless, her official bio states her to be the most popular girl at her school (although since we rarely ever see the characters at school, this never pops up in the series).

Paige Logan from Grossology. She is a popular but very snobbish girl.

Harvey Street Kids:

Frufru, the local rich girl. She's depicted as being haughty, self-absorbed, and into fashion, but lacks a Girl Posse, indicated to be simply because she's so distant from the other kids.

Zoe, Audrey's abusive older sister, is a more obvious example, being a head cheerleader and the leader of a trio composed of her and her two friends.

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd comes between this and Rich Bitch in some episodes of Hey Arnold! However, she actually is shown to have a friendly side, since her best friend Nadine actually is implied to be a middle-class girl (and with almost completely different interests than Rhonda—Nadine loves arthropods, Rhonda loves fashion). Her romantic interest in Harold, who actually is fat and less popular, is another redeeming feature.

Miraculous Ladybug:

Chloé Bourgeois. Her father is the Mayor of Paris and spoils his 'little angel' rotten. She hits all the marks for personality, but she is not very popular at all, with only one friend, Sabrina, who she treats more like a servant and also doesn't understand what friendship might actually be. She thinks everyone adores her (they don't), and can rarely accept she made a mistake. Among her most heinous acts is locking an emotionally insecure girl in the bathroom so she could be next to Adrien, who Chloé has a crush on (and said insecure girl does not) in a class photo. She is responsible for most cases of people becoming sad or angry and getting brainwashed into supervillains, to the point that Hawk Moth once created an akuma with no specific victim in mind and had it follow her around since he figured she was bound to piss someone off eventually. Unfortunately, he caught her on the day she was specifically trying to be nicer to people, so it took a little while, but she eventually delivered.

Lila Rossi. She convinces the rest of the class, who adores her, to do whatever she wants and manipulates people to try and turn them against Marinette (the only person who doesn't like her). She also torments people for petty reasons, such as sending a picture of herself kissing Adrien to Kagami, or the aforementioned turning people against Marinette because Marinette refuses to believe her Blatant Lies. She also acts spiteful and horribly rude, insulting people behind their backs.

Audrey Bougeois is one of these all grown up — she's a snobby, rude, and narcissistic fashion critic who belittles and threatens to fire anyone that doesn't meet her impossibly high standards. Her own family isn't exempt from this; her treatment of her husband is flat-out Domestic Abuse, she alternates between belittling her daughter while misremembering her name and encouraging her to follow her example (said daughter being Chloé), and while she treats Zoé slightly better, she doesn't really pay attention to her unless she puts up a Jerkass Façade.

Monster Buster Club gives us a subversion of the Always Female rule. Resident Alpha Brat Mark is a male Spoiled Blond Rich Kid who delights in insulting and generally being less than pleasant with the four kid heroes, apparently for no reason.

Cleo from Monster High is popular, vain, and frequently tries to manipulate situations to be about her. However, she does love her boyfriend and her friends, and occasionally displays redeeming qualities, becoming more of a Lovable Alpha Bitch as time goes on. Deconstructed in that her popularity is the result of her need for positive attention, which comes from her father and older sister treating her coldly and telling her about the importance of power, both of which went to Cleo's head.

Cleo: "I'm Cleo De Nile, and I've got to give the people what they want."

Tiff and Brit, the Crust cousins from My Life as a Teenage Robot, who continually plot to keep Jenny/XJ-9 unpopular.

Diamond Tiara from My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, with Silver Spoon as the Beta Bitch, are a pair of spoiled brats who tease Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle about not developing cutie marks yet, and taunt Scootaloo about the fact that she can't fly. The episode "Crusaders of the Lost Mark" reveals Diamond was raised to be mean by her mother Spoiled Rich, who's far worse than she is, prompting her to stand up to her near the end and become nice.

Neo Yokio: Arcangelo is a male example. He leads the "east side gentlemen" who look down on Kaz for being Nouveau Riche.

Mayor Paul Spryman from Ozzy and Drix. He is a 14-year-old brain cell who has absolutely no business being in charge of the city and bullies Ozzy for being an Emo Teen and Drix for being a Nerd.

In Pixel Pinkie, Suzi is the school's alpha bitch who immediately marks Nina as a target for her strange clothes and Amazingly Embarrassing Parents.

Amity Blight in The Owl House, although she is technically more of the academic variety and grows into a lovable one fairly quickly. Her friend Boscha, while a Beta Bitch in status, is a more straight example in regard to attitude. Following Amity taking a level in kindness midway through Season 1, Boscha becomes the new Alpha Bitch in her place.

Princess Morbucks on The Powerpuff Girls (1998). She's a rich, spoiled Prima Donna that thinks she's better than the girls. Nobody at her school likes her. She even wants to become a member of the girls, which they turn down because she lacks any qualities of the team. Taken up notches in the 2016 reboot; she no longer wants to be the fourth Powerpuff Girl, she wants to be the only Powerpuff Girl.

Princess Natasha: Greg's girlfriend Kelly is this, at least as far as Natasha is concerned. She is totally self=absorbed and her 'crimes' include wearing too much makeup and cheating off her fellow students.

The Ashleys in Recess. Despite having some moments where they aren't a bunch of Rich Bitches, they spend the majority of the series wanting to screw with everyone for the sake of being mean.

Vana Glama from Sidekick is a classic case, a popular and self-centered primadonna who gets the best grades at the Sidekick Academy, has all the boys (especially Eric) drooling over her, and is served by the beleaguered nerd Kitty Ko.

In The Simpsons episode "Eight Misbehavin'", the family describe what happened to them during a nine-month mid-episode Time Skip. Lisa reveals that she became the most popular girl in school, "but then blew it by being conceited". Whilst the details of this are never revealed, it is probable that she became an Alpha Bitch during that period.

Gemini Stone from Sabrina: The Animated Series, a stand-in for the original Libby on the live-action series.

Also Portia from the friends forever movie.

The Spectacular Spider-Man

Liz was introduced as one, mocking Peter as much as everyone else, until a boost of Character Development after seeing him in different light turned her into his love interest.

Sally Avril is the most abusive girl of the group, even mercilessly mocking fellow clique-member Flash Thompson when his hero, Spider-Man, appears to be committing robberies. Slightly subverted when Peter's aunt has a heart attack as Flash mentions that even Sally feels sorry for him, although she is not as forthcoming with her sympathies as his friends are. Both she and Flash have gone through a bit of Character Development. When she thinks that Peter's been killed, Sally is horrified. She does say it's because she'll have to tell Liz and Liz "looks awful in black", but when she sees that Peter's okay, she performs a textbook Anger Born of Worry. A bit later, she tells him that no, she doesn't care, but she doesn't want him to be blown to bits, she's not a monster. In the last episode, she's glad Liz broke up with Peternote .

Gretel from Staines Down Drains is the arch-enemy of Mary-Jane. She is a spoilt girl who usually bullies the Staines with her friends, the Lupe brothers.

Brittney Wong from Star vs. the Forces of Evil hits all the typical beats: she's a bratty, selfish Rich Bitch who became captain of the cheer-leading squad at Echo Creek Academy "on her own, and not because her dad made a generous donation to the school." Naturally, Brittney hates Star for being one of the few kids she can't intimidate and for stealing attention away from herself

Strawberry Shortcake: Angel Cake has moments of such in the 2003 series, especially in the final season, to the point of playing the villain in "Sleeping Beauty".

Peppermint Fizz was this in her early appearances but outgrows such behavior following her redesign.

Raspberry Tart/Torte becomes one in the 2021 series, with the addition of Adaptational Villainy. She drops this after Season 1, when she warms up to Strawberry and becomes one of her closest friends.

Melody from Teenage Fairytale Dropouts is a mean girl in that she's constantly looking down on Fury for the latter being a fairy who still hasn't grown her wings yet.

Total Drama: From the first generation, Heather and Courtney. Heather is a classic queen bee whereas Courtney revealed herself to be a Bitch in Sheep's Clothing with her bossy and overly competitive personality as the series progressed. Both were the Alpha Bitch on their respective teams in the first two seasons with Heather serving as the show's main Alpha Bitch in Island and Courtney in Action. However, in World Tour, both girls clash for the position.

From the third generation, Amy and Sugar. Amy treats her twin sister Samey with absolutely no respect, and pretty much acts like a Jerkass towards her other teammates as well, particularly Jasmine. Sugar is a pageant brat who asserts herself as the dominant female, especially over Ella and Sky.

From the fourth generation, Julia. She starts as a fake Granola Girl social media influencer, but Beneath the Mask, she's as self-absorbed as one can get. MK eventually exposes Julia's real personality to the world, but Julia's popularity doesn't suffer for long— she gets thousands of new followers who enjoy her real personality, and she's relieved that she no longer has to act nice to be popular.

Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race:

Taylor treats her mom Kelly like shit, and she is often rude to the other contestants.

Josee is a rare adult version, given how she regularly bullies her partner Jacques and belittles other teams, primarily the Cadets and the Sisters.

Mandy from Totally Spies! is a textbook case of this trope. Extra points for being shallow. Her cousin Mindy is also shown to be this, but it takes five seasons for her to show up.

It's spin-off show The Amazing Spiez! also has this with Tami.

Coral from Trollz is the head cheerleader, perpetually stuck-up, and is mean to the BFFL. She gets a case of Break the Haughty when Simon temporarily takes over and makes her his servant, and when Amethyst helps her she thanks the cast before returning to her usual ways.

Winx Club

A girl from Bloom's old hometown named Mitzi definitely fit the bill, despite appearing only a few times. In the Halloween episode, she invited Bloom and her friends to a party—which turned out to be an elaborate scheme to humiliate the girls. She bought and rigged a house, made up an elaborate legend, hired actors to pose as party guests (complete with scripts), and set up elaborate special effects around the house, just to pull a prank on someone she had barely seen in two years, along with four girls she had never met. Mitzi gets a more prominent role in some episodes of the fourth season: she lays her eyes on Brandon and wants to take him from Stella. Later, the Wizards of the Black Circle temporarily turn her and two friends into evil fairies. After that, she's practically Put on a Bus. She appears again in Season 5, and whatever time she's not playing fangirl to the Trix involves her being a bitch to her little sister.

The Trix themselves qualify. They bully others in school and generally boss others around before getting expelled. After episode nine, they get much, much worse, what with the multiple attempted homicides, turning The Cutie into a pumpkin for ruining one of their plans, removing the heroine's powers in a needlessly sadistic way after threatening her parents and revealing her backstory, and attempting to take over the universe. They're like Regina George, only with magical powers.

Christie Wilson from The Weekenders. She's a snooty jerk.

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mother-homunculus · 5 days ago

Text

Wintersun - Chapter 6

Relationship: Cregan Stark x OC

Words: 6558

Summary

A year after the death of his first wife, Arra Norrey, Cregan Stark is practically pressured by other lords from the North to remarry. He finds a suitable candidate in Ylva, a daughter of House Umber, who would much rather stay in her family's remote castle.

Tags/Warnings

Canon-Typical Violence, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, Angst, Fluff Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Cregan Stark, Grief/Mourning

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Token of Time

“Keep your guard up, Ylva!”

Hallis barked from the sidelines, the authority in his deep voice cutting through the sounds of steel hitting steel. He stood with arms crossed, his keen eyes tracking every movement. A few silver strands stood out in his dark beard, bearing testament to both age and experience. Faint scars crisscrossed his visible skin—souvenirs from a lifetime of combat. If he was gruff, it was only because he understood the stakes of real battle—his patience for sloppy technique was thin.

“Your footwork is a mess. You’re giving him too much space. A longsword’s worthless if you’re stumbling around like a drunken fool.”

Beside him, Jeor leaned casually against a wooden post, his expression one of quiet interest. He had lived under the Umbers’ roof long enough to appreciate their fierce nature, even if he did not share their blood.

A wind strong enough to moan against the high battlements whipped across the practice yard, making the banners along the outer walls snap and flutter. The ground itself was little more than hard-packed dirt, scarred with marks from countless training sessions, alive with sound and motion. In the center, Ylva and Torren circled each other, blunted longswords in hand. The siblings engaged in intense sparring, yet it was evident who was in control.

Torren moved with the confidence of someone who had spent countless hours honing his skills, his strikes precise and controlled. He spun his sword in a casual flourish, rolling his shoulders, and offered that irritating smirk he wore whenever he felt in control. A breeze toyed with his dark hair, whipping it across a brow damp with sweat.

Across from him, Ylva struggled to keep up. Her chest rose and fell as she fought to steady her breathing, her muscles burned with exertion. She tightened her grip on the hilt, willing her hands to stop trembling. Each time Ylva swung, Torren either parried with ease or sidestepped gracefully, as though he had been born with the blade in hand. Her blocks came too late or too early that only made her frustration grow.

Torren smirked as he pressed forward, his blade moving in a swift arc toward Ylva’s exposed side. She managed to block it, but the impact jarred her arms, forcing her to step back.

“Getting tired already, sister?”

“Shut up,” Ylva snapped, her cheeks flushing with a mix of exertion and embarrassment. She gripped the longsword tighter, trying to steady her breathing. She hated the longsword— its length, its weight, the way it demanded strength she didn’t have. It was a big, unwieldy thing, far less forgiving than the light short swords or axes she preferred—anything that let her rely on speed and precision rather than strength.

Jeor chuckled softly, earning a sharp glance from Ylva. “What’s so funny?” she demanded, lowering her blade.

“Nothing,” Jeor replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Come on, Ylva,” Torren taunted, his grin widening as he drove her closer to the edge of the practice yard. “You’re not giving up already, are you?”

She took a deep breath and lunged forward, swinging her blade in a wide arc aimed at his shoulder. Torren ducked under the strike easily, stepping inside her guard and tapping her ribs with the flat of his blade.

Ylva sighed, lowering her blade. She felt like a novice.

“Don’t look so miserable,” Jeor gave her an encouraging nod. “It’s just a practice match.”

Hallis stepped between them, gesturing for silence. “Ylva, over here. Stop glaring at him as if he has already won. Ylva trudged over, her sword dragging slightly behind her. Hallis swiftly and efficiently removed the sword from Ylva's hands, demonstrating his skill.

“It’s about balance and timing,” he said, his tone softer but still firm. “It’s not your natural weapon, I know that, but you’re fighting the sword instead of working with it. Look.” He adjusted his grip, showing her how to align her hands for better control. Then, with a smooth, fluid motion, he swung the blade in a controlled arc. He performed a series of quick strikes, the sword moved as if it were an extension of his arm.

“See that? You don’t need to overpower it. Let the sword do the work,” Hallis continued. He handed the weapon back to Ylva and stepped aside. “Now try again.”

Ylva let out a huff, taking the sword back and mimicking his movements. Her annoyance lingered, but she forced herself to focus. She glanced at Torren, who was waiting with his usual air of confidence, his own blade resting on the ground.

“Ready?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Ylva nodded, raising her sword. They squared off once more, and this time Ylva moved with more precision. She still lacked Torren’s fluidity, but her strikes were sharper, and her blocks more controlled. Hallis watched with a nod of approval, occasionally calling out corrections.

Torren advanced again, pressing the attack with a series of quick thrusts, testing her guard. Ylva could feel the muscles in her arms burning as she absorbed each strike. Though she wore a quilted gambeson for warmth, she still felt the cold creeping under her layers. This time, she tried to follow Hallis’s advice. She blocked the first, dodged the second, and swung back with a counterblow. He blocked it easily, but the impact was solid, and it forced him to stumble a step back. Her blade missed him by inches, and she could feel the thrill of nearly landing a hit.

A hiss escaped Torren’s lips, though he quickly turned it into a grin of appreciation. “Sneaky,” he praised. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” A crease of concentration formed between his brows, betraying that he still had to work to keep up with her speed.

“Not bad!” Hallis called out, nodding when Ylva corrected her stance and warded off Torren’s next maneuver. " You’re starting to use your speed. Now keep the pressure. Don't give him time to recover so he can regain control.”

Encouraged by the small success, Ylva pressed forward, forcing Torren to give ground. Torren’s smirk vanished as he concentrated on deflecting her attacks. Though he managed to hold her off, he was visibly more cautious, his relaxed confidence was replaced by tense focus as his eyes scanning for a weakness. In response, he swept in low, trying to hook her leg with a swinging blow. Ylva sprang back on instinct—a smaller hop this time, making sure not to retreat entirely—and slammed her blade down to intercept his. Their swords met in a squeal of metal. Gritting her teeth, she pushed into the bind, attempting to throw him off-balance again. Torren, however, was stronger, and he managed to twist his weapon free and counter with a straight thrust toward her shoulder.

Too late to block properly, she rotated her torso, shifting aside just enough for the blunted edge to pass close to her jacket without hitting. Still, Hallis saw the near miss. He raised his voice. “You let him close too far. Remember—angling your body can save you from a strike, but only if you counter immediately.”

With a growing resolve, Ylva swept her blade defensively, aiming to strike Torren on the side as his arm extended from the thrust. Her timing was almost perfect. He barely dodged before their swords clashed again, the echo ricocheting off the courtyard walls.

From the fence, Jeor let out a low whistle.

A bead of sweat trickled down Ylva’s temple, despite the crisp wind. She could feel her calves and forearms aching, every muscle stretched to its limit.

Then Torren feinted left, drawing Ylva’s sword in that direction and finding an opening. His final strike slipped under her guard, tapping her shoulder with the flat of his blade, the gentle thump signaled a clear hit. Hallis raised a hand, signaling the end of the match.

“Point to Torren,” he announced. “That’s enough for now.”

Ylva lowered her sword, her breath coming in quick bursts. Sweat dampened her forehead, her arms shaking from the effort, but she refused to let it show. Disappointment churned in her gut, but she forced it aside. She had lasted longer this time, pressed Torren harder, and nearly turned the tables on him more than once.

Jeor, who pushed off the post, approached with a smile and clapped her on the shoulder. “Not bad. A few more weeks of practice, and Torren will be the one nursing bruises.”

Torren snorted. “You keep telling yourself that.” He turned to Ylva. “I’d say you did well—for someone who hates this sword.”

“I hate losing with it,” Ylva corrected him, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of a gloved hand.

Her younger brother rested the blade of his practice sword on his shoulder. He pressed a hand to the spot at his side, where Ylva’s strike had nearly made contact. “I’ll admit, you almost had me a couple of times,” he admitted, his earlier cockiness tempered by genuine admiration. “That last exchange nearly forced me back on my heels.”

Hallis moved to Ylva’s side. He examined the set of her shoulders, the way she still gripped the hilt, knuckles white. “You did well,” he said, his tone softer now, placing a steady hand on her back.

“You are improving. Its not only about winning, but progress. Trust yourself. The longsword might not be your strength, but it’s a tool, just like any other. Learn to use it well, and no one will underestimate you.”

She nodded, forcing her fingers to relax. “I will,” she moaned quietly. “I just… I am used to short blades. A longsword feels so unwieldy.”

He huffed. “Then we’ll keep drilling you until it doesn’t.”

A soft glow filled the children’s chamber as Ylva finished tucking her youngest brothers into bed. The room was warm, the crackle of the hearth competing with the muffled howl of the wind outside. She sat at the edge of the bed, her voice low and soothing as she wore her tale of old Northern lore. Her three youngest brothers sat mesmerized—seven-year-old Cedric clutched his tattered blanket tightly, his wide eyes glued to his sister, while six-year-old Ned leaned against her side, his head on her shoulder. The youngest, now two years old, rested in her lap, his tiny hand clutching at her tunic as his heavy-lidded eyes fighting sleep. A few days ago, Mors would have been at their side too, but since he turned ten, he no longer had time for "such childish things". Although Ylva knew that he would not be able to keep up this facade for long. If anyone among them was captivated by these heroic stories of honor and brotherhood, it was him.

“…And so, the giantess strode across the frozen wastes,” Ylva narrates dramatic, her hands gesturing to emphasize the tale. Her axe carved paths through the ice, and her song called the wolves to her side as she stood unbowed against the frozen beast, her axe gleaming with fire and her heart filled with the strength of her people. When the beast struck, she did not falter. When the storm howled, she did not bow.”

The boys gasped, enraptured by their sister’s words. The oldest piped up, clutching his blanket. “Did she fight an ice dragon, Ylva? Did she win?”

Ylva smiled, smoothing the toddler’s curls as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Of course she won. She was not just any warrior. She was an Umber. For no beast, no storm, no darkness can ever break our spirit.”

The five-year-old clapped his hands, grinning with pride, while the youngest let out a sleepy giggle, curling into Ylva’s lap. She laughed softly and kissed the top of his head, her tough demeanor softening in the warmth of the moment.

“Now,” she said, “it’s time to sleep. Even little giants need their rest.”

With that, she adjusted the youngest in her arms and rose gracefully, lowering him into his crib before tucking the other boys in their shared bed, ensuring their thick woolen blankets were snug against the Northern chill, so no draft could disturb their sleep. One by one she leaned down for a kiss goodnight.

“Sleep well, little giants,” she whispered before extinguishing the bedside candle.

The door to the boys’ chamber creaked softly as Ylva closed it behind her, leaving the warm, faint scent of lavender oil lingering in the dim hallway. Smalljon’s tiny snores and Ned’s soft, sleepy murmurings were muffled but comforting, a reminder of how peaceful the hearth could be after a long day. She lingered for a moment, her hand on the iron handle, letting the stillness settle over her. The day had been long—filled with chasing Ned away from the stables, refereeing an argument between Mors and Cedric, and preparing supplies for winter. Yet, she found a small, fleeting comfort in the nightly ritual of ensuring her younger brothers were safe and sound in their beds.

As she turned to head toward her own chamber, a soft shuffle of footsteps broke the silence. A young servant emerged from the shadows, clutching a shawl tightly around her small shoulders. The girl—a nervous slip of a thing no older than two-and-ten— dipped her head quickly, strands of brown hair falling into her eyes.

"I apologize, my lady!" she calls immediately and bowed again. Ylva chuckled lightly and placed her hands on the girl's upper arms, lifting her up so she could look her in the eyes.

“No need to apologize, Aline. What troubles you?”

A short moment passed before the maid gathered her composure to speak. "My lady, Lord Umber requests your presence in his solar." Aline said, her newfound voice wavering.

Ylva blinked, startled by the summons. Her father rarely sent for her so formally unless there was something of great importance to discuss. By habit, he would simply bellow her name loud enough to shake the rafters or send Osric to fetch her.

"Did he say why?" Ylvas tone edged with curiosity.

The girl shook her head, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. "No, my lady. Only that you are to come straightaway."

"Very well," Ylva replied, nodding. "Thank you. You may go."

The servant bobbed another quick curtsey and scurried off, leaving Ylva to make her way to the solar. She was not concerned, not exactly, but her mind churned with possibilities. She hoped that it would not be about the letters with potential husbands, because her father had not spoken to her about that yet. On the one hand, she was grateful for that. On the other hand, his silence was unusual given the significance of the decision for the family.

When she reached the heavy oak door of the solar, she paused, smoothing her tunic and running a hand over her braid to ensure it was neat. The hinges groaned loudly in protest as warm light spilled into the hall, along with the rich aroma of oiled leather and wood smoke. The ample chamber was filled with shields and axes lined the walls, trophies of battles past—some with newly polished steel, others dulled by time. A wide table at the center bore maps, scraps of notes, and a half-empty jug of ale.

Her father stood near the fireplace, one of his hands resting on the chair before him, his usual place. The firelight accentuated the lines and scars of his rugged features, setting his face in a deep, contemplative frown. Hallis sat at the long oak table, beside him Osric leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming idly against a full iron mug.

"Ylva," her father’s gruff voice cut through the room. He turned toward her, gesturing for her to step further inside. "Come in. Sit."

Before she could move, heavy, hurried footsteps thundered down the hallway behind her, and a voice rang out.

"Wait for me!" Torren’s familiar bark echoed as the door burst open, nearly slamming into her back. Ylva had just enough time to sidestep as her younger brother barreled into the room, nearly knocking her over in the process. The door rattled on its hinges as it thudded against the wall.

"Torren!" Ylva hissed, glaring at him.

“Pardon me, sister.” He shot her a sheepish grin, not looking the least bit apologetic. At fifteen, he was only a year younger than Ylva but far less polished in his manners. He had his hair tousled and his tunic slightly askew, as if he had dressed in a hurry. "Father sent for me too," Torren insisted, his tone smug, as if the shared summons elevated him in some way. Then, he brushed past her and flopped into the nearest chair with all the grace of a bear. His posture, however, betrayed his curiosity, he leaned forward slightly, glancing between their father and the others.

Ylva muttered under her breath, closing the door behind her before taking the seat her father had indicated, folding her hands in her lap.

Jon cleared his throat. “We’ve received another raven from Winterfell.”

The announcement drew all attention to the folded parchment in his hand before he placed it on the table. The seal had already broken, yet the faint impression of the direwolf's head remained unmistakable. Ylva cast a quick glance at her eldest brother, noticing no surprise in Osric’s features. His mouth was set in a tight line—he must have known this was coming. Meanwhile, Torren, always quick to jest, leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, his lips already quirking in a mischievous grin.

“Another letter?” Torren chirped. “Maybe Lord Cregan Stark wants to grace us with another visit or”—he lifted his eyebrows and shot a wry look at his sister— “does he wish to propose marriage to Ylva? After all, she’s had her fair share of those lately. Seems half the North is smitten with her these days.”

Ylva scowled, heat rising to her cheeks. She slammed a palm against the table’s edge, though not too hard.

“Say one more word, Torren,” she warned, “and I’ll ensure your next lesson in the yard leaves you regretting that mouth of yours.”

“Enough”, he warns, “This is no time for banter. Cregan Stark does not send ravens carelessly.” His gaze fixed on Torren, silencing him mid-laugh, and Ylva’s stomach tightened at the solemnity in her father’s voice.

Torren shifted in his seat, his smirk fading. “Of course, Father.”

"He writes of growing unrest beyond the Wall. Wildlings are sighted more frequently, slipping through in smaller bands and pushing farther south into the Gift, vanishing before the Night’s Watch can respond. Stark is concerned they might be gathering strength, perhaps even uniting under a single leader and forming a force too large for the Watch to handle alone. If that’s true, they could pose a threat to all of us. So, he’s calling for a gathering at Winterfell among his bannermen to decide how to respond.”

Silence settled over the solar, the weight of Jon’s words pressing down like a heavy snowfall. Ylva shifted uneasily into her seat and exchanged a look with Osric, recalling the whispered tales of Wildlings she had heard in childhood. She had grown up hearing stories of their raids, but those stories had always seemed distant and rarely troubled Last Hearth in her lifetime. The Free Folk were always a threat in the North, lurking beyond the wall, yet the Night's Watch usually held them at a distance. They often climb over the wall or use small boats to cross the Bay of Seals around it. Her father had often reported that wildlings would lose their footing when climbing the wall and falling into the depths. Now they were slipping through in numbers large enough to concern the Warden of the North, it meant a tangible danger may be looming.

“How many are we talking about?” Ylva questions, her voice subdued.

Jon shook his head. “Hard to say. Cregan’s letter mentions rumors more than confirmed counts. Patrols have reported scattered sightings—small groups, not full raiding parties. But if they’re slipping south in large enough numbers, or uniting under a strong leader, we can’t ignore it.”

“Jeor spoke to the farmers and peddlers today”, Hallis interrupted, “There have been murmurs of stolen livestock, caravans disappearing, farmland plundered. They are afraid of scattered sightings near Queenscrown and even one or two travelers claiming they saw fires at night and strange lights on the edges of the Gift. Folks have started avoiding certain routes out of fear. Most thought it sounds like foolish old wives' tales, but given this letter, perhaps there’s truth to the whispers.”

Osric, who had remained silent so far, cleared his throat. “Father and I have already discussed this matter. If the wildlings are indeed pushing past the Wall more frequently in larger numbers, or worse, assembling under a single leader, we cannot ignore this situation. They could overwhelm smaller keeps and raid deep into our lands before we could respond. Lord Stark hints he may summon his bannermen soon, anyone who might be threatened by raids or sudden attacks. Father, and I believe it’s wise to prepare for that possibility.”

“Why now?” Ylva asked, her voice laced with concern. “What’s driving them south? Wildlings don not move like this without a reason.”

Hallis, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms as he spoke. “Could be anything. Infighting, a new leader, or something worse driving them out of their lands. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for us.”

“We can’t stand idle”, Jon states grimly. “Hallis, you’ll double the patrols starting tonight. Every road that leads north, every pass, every track from here to the Last River. I want pairs of men, well-armed and rotate them frequently. No one goes alone. If there’s even a hint of wildling movement near our lands, I want ravens sent to me at once. We can’t let them surprise us. Even a small party of raiders can do plenty of damage if they catch us unawares.”

Hallis dipped his head in assent, already running a mental tally of which men could be spared from gate duty, which would be best suited for night patrol, and how to arrange the rosters. “Consider it done, m’lord. I’ll see it done.”

Torren let out a slow breath, raking his fingers through his hair, his earlier levity completely gone. “No betrothal offers, then,” he muttered weakly, earning a glare from Ylva and a smirk from Osric.

Ylva skillfully ignored him and addressed her father. “Should we prepare to ride to Winterfell?”

Jon considered the question for a moment, then handed the letter to Osric. “We’ll send a response to Lord Stark tonight, letting him know we’ve received his message and that we’re already preparing.”

Osric added, “Any travelers passing through will be questioned—discreetly—about anything they might have seen north of the Last River. We must be certain these sightings aren’t just frightened rumors.”

Hallis gave a tight nod. “I tell Jeor to talk to the merchants and travelers to see if there is anything else to report. He knows some people among them who might know fresh gossip from the Gift. They’re quite talkative, especially if offered a warm place to sleep and a bit of hot ale.”

Jon turned his attention to his oldest son and heir. “If word comes that he’s calling forth the council at Winterfell, we’ll ride south.”

Osric inclined his head in agreement. “Aye.”

"Jeor and Ylva shall accompany me as well.", he added.

Ylva blinked, certain she’d misheard. She had assumed she would stay to help manage Last Hearth, as she often did when Jon traveled. “Me?” she echoed, her voice faltering slightly.

Jon met her gaze, his decision settled. “Yes. You’ll ride with us.”

She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. “Father, shouldn’t I remain here? You will need someone to oversee the keep. Torren can go in my place.” Torren feigned a wounded expression but said nothing, letting his sister speak.

“Torren will stay,” Jon interrupted, cutting her off. “I need him here, working with Hallis to strengthen our defenses. But you, Ylva… you’re coming.”

Her pulse quickened, and she shook her head slightly. “I am not—”

“You’re not what?” Jon challenged, his tone softening slightly but still resolute. “Able? You’re unmatched with a crossbow, and your skill with the axe rivals any grown man I’ve trained.”

“But I can do more here, Father, if you leave me—”

“No,” Jons cutting her off again. “Ylva, listen to me. You’re my daughter. You’ve trained for this, whether you realize it or not. If trouble arises, I’ll need someone beside me who can act without hesitation. Your place is with me.”

For a moment, she was torn between pride in her father’s praise and a nervous flutter of anticipation, the weight of his words pressing against her. She opened her mouth to protest but stopped, she wanted to argue to insist that her role was better served by staying at Last Hearth, but she could see the determination in her father’s eyes. He was not asking. She glimpsed at Hallis, who offered a reassuring nod.

Torren made a show of rolling his eyes, though a faint grin tugged at his lips. “Lucky you, sister. You get to show off your archery to all the high lords of the North.”

Ylva turned to him, half-ready with a retort, but Osric rested a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Father’s right,” he stated quietly. “You are more than ready, Ylva. They can handle things here. Don’t you worry about that.”

She inhaled, her lips pressed into a thin line, wrestling with conflicting impulses in her head: the urge to protect her home from within, and the call to ride out and stand at her father’s side. After a long pause, she nodded reluctantly. “Very well,” she affirms quietly. “I will do as you say.” In the end she knew better than to push her father once he’d made a decision.

A flicker of approval crossed Jon’s face. “We ride together when Stark summons us. Until then, we prepare.”

Osric gently tapped the parchment with a finger. “We will draft our reply tonight—let Stark know we are ready and waiting for word.”

Jon’s nod was brisk. “Then its settled.”

Hallis rose to his feet, his movements smooth and unhurried, a man accustomed to the weight of long nights and hard decisions. “With your leave, my lord,” he said. Jon waved him off, and Hallis gave a curt nod.

Torren, on the other hand, was clearly not eager to leave just yet. He leaned back in his chair, his arms slung casually over the sides. “I’m not even tired,” he muttered under his breath.

Jon’s sharp gaze pinned him in place. “I didn’t ask if you were tired. Move.”

Hallis gave him a sidelong glance as he made his way to the door. “Come on, lad. We’ve work to do before the snow starts falling again.”

Grumbling, Torren stood reluctantly, dragging his feet as if the simple act of leaving were an unbearable burden. He gave her a playful nudge as he walked past, equal parts apology for his earlier joke and a spark of encouragement.

“You’ll do fine,” he assured. “And who knows, maybe you’ll put an arrow through a wildling chieftain’s eye, and the realm will sing ballads about you.”

He earned himself a warning glare from their father. “Torren,” Jon barked just as the boy reached the threshold. “No dawdling. Get to bed.”

As Hallis and Torren disappeared into the corridor, Ylva stood from her seat, the worn wooden chair creaking as she pushed it back. She brushed off her tunic, expecting her to be dismissed as well, but her father’s voice halted her mid-step.

“Ylva,” Jon said, rubbing the stubble along his jawline. His tone was gentle. “Stay a moment.”

Her brows knitting in curiosity, her hand lingering near the back of her chair. Hallis and Torren paused briefly, exchanging a glance, but at a sharp gesture from Jon, they slipped out, closing the heavy door behind them. She turned to see her father settling back into his chair, his expression unreadable.

Only Osric remained, moving to a side desk near a narrow window, positioning himself with deliberate nonchalance. He leaned over the table, pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. Without a word, he dipped the quill into the inkpot and began drafting a reply to the correspondence from Winterfell, his posture relaxed but deliberate—one hand steady on the page, the other guiding his quill. He clearly had no intention of leaving but angled himself in such a way that it suggested he would not intrude, giving Ylva and their father an unspoken semblance of privacy.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair she had occupied earlier, across from his own. Ylva did as he asked, folding her hands in her lap. She watched her father carefully, noting the faint furrow in his brow and the way his fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his chair. Lord Jon Umber were many things— loud, brash, and straightforward— but rarely hesitant.

For a moment that felt like eternity, he said nothing, the silence stretching out between them, punctuated only by the scratch of Osric’s quill and the occasional pop of the fire. Finally, he sighed und spoke, his tone gentle but direct.

“I’ll not waste time,” he began, “I’ve noticed the letters you’ve been receiving.”

Ylva’s stomach tightened slightly, though she kept her expression neutral. She nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

Jon continued as if confirming something he already knew. “Proposals of marriage.”

Ah. So, this was it. Ylva let out a quiet breath and leaned back slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair.

“I want to say this plainly, lass, so there’s no doubt in your mind”, he stated, his voice softening in a way that caught her off guard. “I would never force you to marry anyone you didn’t choose. Not for alliances. Not for coins. Not for anything. I’d sooner fight the man myself than see you wed to someone you don’t want.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a wave of relief through her, though she hadn’t doubted it. Her father was a tough man, but fair, and he had always valued her happiness in his own gruff way.

“That said…” He paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. “Since Brynja passed… you’ve shouldered more than your fair share.”

It was a simple statement, but it hit Ylva with quiet force. The mention of her late mother Ylva stiffened. Almost two years had passed since she had died giving birth, leaving behind seven children, one of them only a few days old. Though the pain had dulled with time, the void she’d left behind was still keenly felt.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he raised a hand to stop her.

“Let me speak,” he request, “I should’ve told you this a long time ago. You stepped in without complaint. You kept this place running when I was too consumed with my own grief or duties to notice half the details you handled. You’ve been like a mother to your brothers. You’ve been caretaker of this damned keep, caretaker of me, too, when you think about it.” Jon shook his head, eyes flicking to the dying fire. “I’m a selfish bastard sometimes, and I forget that you didn’t ask for any of it. You just…did it.”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks, as if caught in a vulnerability she’d never meant to show. “Father, you’re not selfish—”

“Perhaps not in the usual way,” he conceded. “You stepped into her place in ways no child your age should ever have to.”

At first, Ylva said nothing. She simply watched her father—this giant of a man who had taught her to ride a horse and shoot a bow, who had roared with laughter in better times… He wasn’t one for sentiment, but in this moment, his eyes shone with something close to sorrow and pride mixed into one.

“I did what needed to be done,” she managed. “And I love them. I had never left the little ones to fend for themselves.”

He gave a small, rueful snort. “You sound like your mother. She always said a person does what must be done, no matter how heavy the burden.”

Ylva glanced at the fire, her thoughts drifting to the woman she remembered so vividly—the light of her smile, the warmth in her eyes, the way her presence had seemed to fill every corner of Last Hearth with a quiet strength. She pictured her humming while brushing Ylva’s hair, kneading dough in the kitchen, and leaving floury handprints on Ylva’s cheeks, gently but firmly telling Osric and Torren off when they fought like wild pups. Her name always brought a rush of memories, tender and painful all at once, still so clear, yet heartbreakingly distant.

“But…” He trailed off, shifting forward, the old chair groaning in response. “Ylva, you’re sixteen now. A woman grown, and a damn fine one at that. And I’m proud of you—I couldn’t be prouder if I tried. However, I'm also aware of the limited time you've dedicated to yourself. mYou’ve spent so many years picking up responsibilities that were never truly yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t want you to feel… trapped here.”

Her throat tightened. “I don’t feel trapped,” she comments after a moment, startled by the word. “This is my home. And my brothers… they’re my responsibility.”

Jon shook his head. “They’re not yours to raise, lass. They’re mine.” Osric’s quill scratched to a halt, though he kept his head down, pretending not to listen.

“And you shouldn’t feel bound to stay here forever, cleaning up after your brothers and worrying about me. Don’t think that’s your only path just because Brynja isn’t here to do it.” His voice softened. “You deserve more than this. If you want to stay here forever, I won’t stop you. If you want to leave, you can. If you want to wed, or ride off on some grand adventure, or take up a trade—whatever it is—let it be your decision not because you think it’s forced upon you.”

Her heart sank at his words, though she could not argue with them. She clenched her hands in her lap. She rarely talked about her future—there was always some immediate crisis or chore demanding her attention. Sometimes, though, in the quiet hours of night, she would think about the life she could have—maybe with a family of her own, or perhaps traveling beyond the North, seeing the world beyond these bleak, beautiful hills.

She looked away, blinking rapidly to banish the sting in her eyes. “Father, I… I’m not complaining.” Ylva murmered, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know, lass. You’ve never uttered a word of resentment.” Jon leaned back in his chair, as if relieved to have finally put words to his thoughts.

A hush fell over them, Ylva struggled with the sudden swell of emotion. She sensed Osric’s quill had stilled; her brother was listening closely, though he was tactful enough not to intrude. Then Jon laid his large, calloused hand over Ylva’s, dwarfing her slender fingers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching warm and comfortable in the low firelight. She didn’t trust herself to speak right away, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Ylva’s eyes prickled with the threat of tears. She blinked them away quickly, unwilling to give in to full-blown weeping. Finally, she found her voice.

“I will think about what you have said,” she promised, finding her voice steadier than she felt.

Jon nodded, “That’s all I’m asking, lass.”

Then he cleared his throat in that awkward way he did when emotions ran high, and gave her hand a final pat before pushing himself to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Ylva followed suit, smoothing her skirt, her heart still pounding. Jon placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, not quite as big or overbearing as it might have seemed a few years ago, but the weight was comforting, nonetheless.

“Right. That’s enough serious talk for one night.” He spoke, his gruffness returning like a familiar shield. “Off with you. Get some rest.”

Ylva rose. “Yes, Father,” she replied softly, dipping her head in respect.

Jon turned to Osric, who had resumed writing. “Make sure that letter’s ready for the raven come morning,” he muttered, though his tone held a subdued warmth.

“Aye,” Osric answered, flicking his gaze briefly toward Ylva as she moved to the door. He offered her a small, knowing smile, one that spoke volumes without a single word.

She managed to smile in return, her mind still spinning with her father’s words as she stepped out of the solar and into the unusually quiet corridor. The cold air of the hallway struck her cheeks. Her footsteps sounded unnervingly loud in the silence, and she paused halfway down to let the emotion of the conversation settle. It left her feeling both raw and lighter at the same time—an odd sensation like stepping outside on a winter morning, confronted by a bracing chill that also wakes you right up. Taking a few more steps, she slowed at an arched window overlooking the courtyard. Moonlight poured in, silvering the worn stones and casting a faint glow on the battered training dummies below. Ylva allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, a world in which she might do more than bear responsibilities passed down by circumstance.

She wondered… Her mother had been her age when she left her own home to marry her father. Ylva had heard the stories countless times: how Brynja had brought light and warmth to the cold, stony halls of Last Hearth; how her laughter had softened even the hardest edges of the fearsome Greatjon. Despite being arranged, their marriage blossomed into something rare and beautiful. But she had also heard whispers of her mother’s quiet struggles, the loneliness she had endured after leaving her family, the burden of raising so many children in such an unforgiving place.

Eventually, she set off again. In the distance, she heard the rattle of pots from the kitchen and the fading laughter of Torren, likely plying Hallis with more questions. The keep felt at once vast and intimate, a fortress steeped in tradition, but also a place filled with personal memories too large to be contained by walls and mortar.

Reaching her chamber at last, Ylva slipped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of pine logs stacked by the small fireplace. Tomorrow, she will wake before dawn and prepare for the upcoming journey to Winterfell. Yet tonight she let herself imagine a future shaped by her own desires rather than obligation alone. She thought of distant lands she had only read about, the idea of forging new friendships, or even discovering a marriage that felt chosen instead of arranged.

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