#malebodies

[celebtf]

TOM, THE LOOK-ALIKE AND THE SPIDER-SUIT

Jordan Johnson had built a small but loyal following online. His TikTok account had hundreds of thousands of followers, all captivated by one thing: his uncanny resemblance to Tom Holland.

From lip-syncing iconic Spider-Man lines to recreating Tom’s interviews, Jordan’s content thrived on the illusion. Fans bombarded his comment sections with excitement.

“OMG, you look EXACTLY like him!”

“Are you SURE you’re not his twin?”

“Better than the real thing!”

At first, the attention was exhilarating. Jordan leaned into the role, perfecting Tom’s mannerisms, studying his accent, and even buying clothes that matched Tom’s public appearances.

But as time went on, the praise began to sting.

“You’re just a look-alike,” one comment read. “Cool, but… you’re not him.”

Jordan’s content, once fun, became a bitter reminder of his second-place position in life. People loved him, but only because he reminded them of someone else. He wasn’t Jordan Johnson. He was “Fake Tom.”

The tipping point came when someone stopped him on the street.

“Oh my God, it’s you!” the stranger squealed, pulling out their phone. “I love your Spider-Man movies!”

Jordan opened his mouth to correct them but stopped. What was the point?

The fan took a selfie, thanked him, and walked away without a second glance.

Jordan stood there, seething.

“I’m done being second best,” he muttered under his breath.

That night, staring at the ceiling of his tiny apartment, Jordan came to a decision. He didn’t just want to look like Tom Holland. He wanted to be Tom Holland. And he would do whatever it took to make that happen.

For weeks, Jordan meticulously researched Tom Holland’s life. Social media posts, interviews, paparazzi photos—he gathered every scrap of information he could find. He learned Tom’s routines, his favorite coffee shop, even the layout of his home.

A plumbing issue Tom had mentioned in a recent interview gave Jordan the perfect in. He forged a work order, bought a janitor’s uniform, and prepared a special sedative designed to weaken Tom—just enough to make him vulnerable.

Jordan didn’t just want to meet Tom. He wanted to take everything from him—his fame, his fortune, his

Jordan’s hands trembled as he knocked on the door of Tom’s London home.

The door opened, and there he was. The real Tom Holland.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Tom asked, his voice warm and polite.

Jordan forced a smile. “I’m here to fix the pipes. Routine maintenance.”

Tom hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Come in.”

Jordan followed him inside, clutching his toolbox tightly. Tom led him to the bathroom, chatting casually about the plumbing issue. Jordan nodded along, barely listening, his focus on the small vial hidden in his toolbox.

After a few minutes of fake tinkering, he made his move.

“Hey, before I go, do you mind if we take a photo? Big fan,” Jordan asked, feigning nervousness.

Tom chuckled. “Sure! Let me grab my phone.”

“No need,” Jordan said, pulling out his own. They posed for the photo, and Jordan snapped it, his smirk barely concealed.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, slipping the sedative into the faucet’s filter. He turned the water on, letting it run clear before leaving the room.

But he didn’t leave the house. Instead, he waited just outside the bathroom door, listening.

It didn’t take long. Jordan heard a sharp gasp, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. He pushed the door open slightly and peered inside.

Tom was on his knees, clutching the sink, his face pale and drenched in sweat. His veins glowed faintly blue and red, spider-like patterns spreading across his skin.

“What’s… happening?” Tom choked, his voice trembling.

His muscles tensed and convulsed as the transformation took hold. The glow intensified, and the veins began to shift, forming the outlines of a Spider-Man suit. Tom’s skin seemed to liquefy, merging with the red and blue fabric that now covered his body.

Jordan watched, mesmerized, as Tom’s features softened. His face disappeared beneath the mask, his body shrinking slightly, losing its humanity.

Within moments, Tom was gone. Where he had been stood a perfect Spider-Man suit, limp and lifeless on the floor.

Jordan stepped inside, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Incredible,” he whispered, crouching beside the suit. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling its strange, almost organic texture.

“This is it,” he murmured, standing up and beginning to undress.

Jordan slid one leg into the suit, gasping as a surge of energy shot through him. His muscles tensed, growing stronger and more defined.

He pulled the suit over his thighs and waist, shivering as his body began to change. His stomach hardened into chiseled abs, his chest broadened, and his arms thickened with new strength.

“Unreal,” he whispered, flexing his hands as they grew larger, the veins more prominent.

He zipped up the suit, feeling it mold perfectly to his body. Finally, he pulled the mask over his face.

A warmth spread through him, and he felt his face shift. His cheekbones sharpened, his jawline squared, and his voice deepened into Tom’s unmistakable accent.

Jordan pulled off the mask and stared into the mirror.

“Holy…” He touched his face, his heart racing. The reflection was perfect. He was no longer Jordan Johnson.

He was Tom Holland.

Jordan turned to the empty space on the floor where the suit had been.

“Look at you now,” he sneered. “The great Tom Holland, reduced to nothing but fabric. You’re part of me now.”

He flexed his new muscles, admiring his reflection in the mirror.

“I’ll take your roles, your fans, your fame,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “I’ll live your life better than you ever could. And no one will ever know.”

He adjusted the mask, slipping it back over his face.

“Thanks for the life, mate,” he said, his tone cruel. “I think I’ll enjoy it.”

With that, he walked out of the bathroom, now the star the world adored, leaving the real Tom behind—trapped forever as the suit Jordan now wore.

[ffflae]

look at that ass 😍💦

[oleksandrbalbyshev]

In my new painting «Red Guy with Color Spots» is a personal exploration of what it means to be a man today. In this painting, I try to break free from the traditional ideas of masculinity that feel too rigid and outdated. The male body, often either glorified or hidden, becomes vulnerable here, layered with vibrant colors and abstract forms that disrupt the familiar.

As a queer artist, I’m interested in how we can reclaim male nudity, not as something to be censored, but as a powerful statement of identity and desire. The homoerotic elements in my work are intentional-they reflect my own experience and challenge the cultural discomfort around male vulnerability.

This painting, like much of my art, is a way for me to reflect on my own relationship with masculinity and the ways it constantly shifts and evolves. Through it, I hope to invite others to reconsider their own ideas about male identity and the body.

[fleursdumale-boudoir]

[youngmaleheart]

Who wants to check the heart?

[renauddeputter]

Fritillaires et épines, watercolor, 02/04/23, 20cm x 20cm, (c) Renaud De Putter - with a vase by Tapio Wirkkala.

[celebtf]

KIT CONNOR, THE DREAM ROLE

Sebastian Croft clutched the rejection letter in his hands, the words burning in his mind like acid. The producers had written off his role, cutting him from Heartstopper entirely. His breakout chance, stolen. Meanwhile, Kit Connor’s star rose higher, his face plastered across billboards, adored by fans worldwide.

Sebastian seethed in his dimly lit apartment, replaying interviews of Kit’s effortless charm and perfect smiles.

“They all love him,” Sebastian spat. “But soon, they’ll love me more.” His lips curled into a dangerous grin. “I’ll take everything from him.”

Sebastian boarded the train to the West Market, a crooked plan forming in his mind. Beneath the market’s neon glow, he found himself drawn to a shadowy stall where a man with a sinister smile sold strange wares.

“Looking for something to solve a problem?” the vendor asked, his voice low and tempting.

Sebastian's gaze landed on two shimmering vials.

“What do these do?”

The vendor leaned in, his grin widening. “These? They’ll let you become someone else. Swap your face, your body, even your voice. The ultimate disguise.”

Sebastian handed over the money without hesitation, clutching the vials like treasure.

The Heartstopper set was buzzing with activity, the cast and crew busy under the midday sun. Disguised in a crew jacket and hat, Sebastian slipped unnoticed into Kit Connor’s trailer.

He scanned the space, his eyes landing on a water bottle sitting on the counter. Quietly, he unscrewed the cap, poured in one vial’s contents, and gave it a shake. The liquid dissolved instantly.

Sebastian smirked as he hid in the shadows of the trailer. “Let’s see what happens when the golden boy takes a fall.”

Kit entered moments later, humming to himself. Oblivious, he grabbed the water bottle and took a long sip.

“Ah,” Kit sighed, setting the bottle down. But then, his expression shifted. His brows furrowed as his breathing quickened. He clutched his chest, his eyes darting around in confusion.

“What… what’s happening?” he gasped, stumbling back.

Sebastian stepped out, his grin wide and cruel. “Oh, don’t worry, Kit. You’re just… changing.”

Kit’s body convulsed as the transformation began. His broad shoulders shuddered and shrank, his strong arms slimming down as his muscles softened. His chest caved inward, his once-powerful frame growing smaller and scrawnier.

His ginger hair darkened, strands turning a dull brown as it grew slightly unruly. His jawline softened, his cheeks hollowing out as his features reshaped. His hands trembled, fingers growing thinner and more delicate.

Kit stumbled toward the mirror, only to freeze in horror. Staring back at him was Sebastian Croft. His own voice, weak and unfamiliar, escaped in a panicked scream. “No! This isn’t… this can’t be real!”

Sebastian laughed, a cold, biting sound. “Oh, it’s very real. Look at you—no fans, no charm, no anything. You’re just me now. And I?” He pulled out the second vial, twirling it between his fingers.

Sebastian uncorked the second vial and downed it in one go. Heat surged through his veins, his body trembling as the transformation took hold.

His shoulders broadened, his chest expanding as muscle rippled across his frame. His biceps swelled, veins snaking under his skin as his arms grew powerful and toned. His torso stretched, his abs sharpening into a defined six-pack.

His hair lightened, the dull brown strands shifting into a radiant ginger blonde. His jawline sharpened, his cheekbones rising as his face molded into Kit Connor’s perfect features. His voice deepened, resonating with Kit’s familiar charm.

Sebastian turned to the mirror, running his hands over his new body. “Well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “Don’t I look like the picture of success?”

He turned to Kit, now trembling and pale in Sebastian’s body. “What’s wrong, Kit? Don’t recognize yourself? Oh wait—you’re not yourself anymore. You’re just me. Pathetic.”

Kit stumbled back. “Please, stop this. You can’t do this!”

Sebastian leaned in close, his new face twisted with a cruel grin. “I already have. And you know what? I think I like being Kit Connor”

Sebastian—now Kit—threw open the trailer door and called out to a nearby guard. “Hey! There’s a trespasser in my trailer. He’s pretending to be me!”

The guard hurried inside, grabbing the desperate Kit—now trapped in Sebastian’s body.

“Wait! No! I’m Kit Connor! He’s lying!” Kit shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

Sebastian leaned casually against the doorframe, smirking. “I don’t know what this guy’s deal is, but he’s clearly unhinged. Please, get him off the set.”

The guard hauled Kit away as he shouted and struggled, his cries falling on deaf ears.

Sebastian—now fully embodying Kit—smiled as the crew swarmed him, asking if he was okay. He soaked in their concern, relishing every moment.

He wasn’t just Kit Connor. He was better than Kit Connor.

And no one would ever know the truth.

[sayxit]

The most beautiful part of a man’s body

[oleksandrbalbyshev]

In my new painting «Hands of God Nebula,» I intended to explore the intersection of cosmic beauty and human sensuality. In this oil painting, I depict a nude man standing against an abstract, dark blue-violet background that echoes the vastness of space. His body, illuminated by vibrant bursts of color—reds, purples, oranges—creates a visual connection to the imagery of the «Hand of God» nebula. This fusion of the celestial and corporeal invites the viewer to contemplate the beauty of the male form as both erotic and universal.

The figure’s posture, with hands resting on his lower abdomen, emphasizes his vulnerability while celebrating his strength and physical presence. Through the swirling, radiant colors, I sought to express a sense of energy and fluidity, evoking both the mysterious grandeur of the cosmos and the intimate beauty of the nude male body. This painting is a personal reflection on homoeroticism, identity, and the profound connection between human and cosmic creation.

Shop link in bio

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[paranapadilha]

Gym Self-Portrait, January 31, 2023

[fleursdumale-boudoir]

Tableau de Chasse. 2024

digital collage, featuring personal media, vintage gay magazine and a picture from my upcoming selfportrait series « Le Danseur », available soon on my Flickr…

Hope you will like it ⚜️

[celebtf]

Fiyero And The Wizard

The Emerald City glimmered in the fading sunlight as Fiyero sat by the window of the train, his excitement nearly tangible. He had received a personal invitation to meet the Wizard of Oz himself, a rare and extraordinary honor. Elphaba had warned him against trusting the Wizard, but curiosity and hope for answers had driven him to accept the invitation. Perhaps the Wizard wanted to make amends for the chaos he had caused in their lives.

The train screeched to a halt at the station, and Fiyero stepped off, greeted by the bustling streets of the Emerald City. He marveled at the shimmering green buildings and the vibrant crowd as he made his way to the Wizard’s castle. The guards at the entrance stepped aside without question, and the massive doors creaked open, revealing a grand, candlelit hall.

At the far end, the Wizard stood, draped in his signature robes. His gloved hands clutched an ancient, ornate book—the Grimmery, a tome of forbidden magic.

“Fiyero!” the Wizard greeted with a disarming smile. “It is an honor to finally meet you face to face.”

Fiyero approached cautiously, bowing slightly out of respect. “The honor is mine, sir. But why have you called me here?”

The Wizard’s smile grew, though something unsettling lingered in his eyes. “You have a charm about you, Fiyero. A natural charisma that I believe the people of Oz need... desperately.” He gestured to the Grimmery. “I have a proposition. Join me, and together we can bring order to this land. We can rid it of chaos and those who threaten our way of life. Starting with Elphaba.”

Fiyero’s chest tightened at the mention of her name. He shook his head firmly. “I won’t betray her. I won’t be a part of whatever you’re planning.”

The Wizard sighed, his expression darkening. “I had hoped you would see reason. No matter. There are other ways.”

Before Fiyero could react, a high-pitched screech echoed through the hall. A winged monkey darted out from the shadows—Chesery, the Wizard’s loyal servant. In a blur, Chesery pounced, restraining Fiyero with alarming strength. The monkey’s claws dug into his arms as ropes appeared, binding him tightly.

“What are you doing?” Fiyero struggled, his voice laced with panic.

The Wizard ignored him, opening the Grimmery and flipping through its pages. Ancient symbols glowed on the parchment, and his voice grew low and guttural as he began to chant in an unfamiliar language

Fiyero watched in horror as the Wizard’s transformation unfolded before his eyes. The older man’s features shifted and smoothed like clay under an unseen sculptor’s hands. Wrinkles faded, leaving a youthful glow, and his once-proud frame shrank slightly, adjusting to match Fiyero’s lean build. His gray hair lightened in streaks, cascading into shades of rich brown and golden blond.

As the glow of magic dissipated, the Wizard stepped back from the Grimmery, his face now identical to Fiyero’s. It was perfect—eerily perfect. The bound prince couldn’t look away, dread curdling in his stomach as if he were staring into a twisted reflection of himself.

The Wizard opened his eyes, catching his new appearance in the grand mirror before him. He let out a low chuckle, his voice now Fiyero’s smooth, confident tone. “Oh, this... this is exquisite.”

He tilted his head to one side, examining himself with almost theatrical enthusiasm. Running a hand over his jawline, he smirked. “Such symmetry. No wonder the ladies—and perhaps even a few gentlemen—fall over themselves for you. This face alone is enough to make kingdoms bow, isn’t it?”

Fiyero snarled, straining against the ropes. “Stop this! You’ll never get away with it!”

“Oh, but I already have,” the Wizard shot back, not even sparing him a glance. He was too busy admiring his reflection, tracing his cheekbones and brushing his fingers over his lips. “And these lips...” He let out an exaggerated sigh, puckering them playfully. “So... kissable. Do you practice this in the mirror, Fiyero? Or does it just come naturally?”

He turned sharply, striding toward Fiyero with newfound grace. His movements were fluid, confident—a predator who knew his prey was already caught. Standing inches away, he gestured to his chest with a flourish. “And look at this,” he said, tugging his collar slightly to reveal the firm definition beneath his shirt. “Your body’s built like it’s been sculpted by the gods themselves. How do you find the time to stay this... perfect?”

Fiyero clenched his jaw, refusing to give the Wizard the satisfaction of a response.

But the Wizard was far from finished. His hands traveled down to his stomach, where he gave an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, my! These abs!” He patted his stomach mockingly, then flexed, his smirk widening as he felt the firm ridges under his fingertips. “I didn’t realize you were hiding such a masterpiece under those princely clothes. No wonder Elphaba can’t resist you. Who could?”

Fiyero’s struggles grew more frantic. “You’re a coward, hiding behind my face! You’ll never be me!”

The Wizard barked a laugh, stepping back into the light to examine his thighs and legs. “Oh, Fiyero, I don’t need to ‘be’ you. I only need to wear you.” He leaned down, running his hands over his thighs and giving another exaggerated whistle. “And these legs. Strong. Sturdy. Built for running... or perhaps something else entirely?” He waggled his eyebrows, his mocking laugh echoing through the hall.

“You’re disgusting,” Fiyero spat, his voice shaking with fury.

“Disgusting?” The Wizard tilted his head in mock confusion before grinning slyly. “No, my dear boy. Disgusting is what I’d call letting a body like this go to waste. But don’t worry. I’ll make the most of it.”

He turned his attention to his backside, giving it an exaggerated pat. “And this,” he said, smirking as he glanced over his shoulder. “Well, let’s just say it’ll be the talk of the Emerald City soon enough. I’m sure even the guards will be doing double-takes. Tell me, Fiyero—have you ever noticed how perfectly this uniform frames... everything?”

Fiyero seethed, his face burning with anger and humiliation.

The Wizard bent closer, his voice dropping to a low, taunting whisper. “It must feel awful, doesn’t it? Watching yourself—your body, your charm—become mine. Knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He stood upright again, laughing softly. “And the best part? When I’m done, the world will thank me for it. They’ll love me. They’ll love you.”

Turning back to the mirror, the Wizard struck a dramatic pose, adjusting the collar of his blue and gold outfit with a flourish. “Well, Fiyero, it’s been delightful getting to know myself.” He laughed at his own joke. “But I think it’s time for you to disappear.”

“Chesery!” he called, his tone snapping into command. The winged monkey appeared from the shadows, bowing low. “Take him away. Somewhere no one will ever find him. Somewhere he’ll have plenty of time to think about just how perfect I look.”

Chesery seized Fiyero, dragging him toward the shadows despite his desperate struggles.

The Wizard—now Fiyero—watched them go, his smirk widening as the real Fiyero’s protests faded into silence. Turning to the mirror one last time, he admired his stolen reflection, running a hand over his hair and tilting his head with a grin.

“Oz,” he whispered to himself, his voice laced with triumph. “You’re about to meet your perfect hero.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the castle doors, radiating the effortless charm that only Fiyero Tiggular could muster.

There would be no resistance, no rebellion. No happy ending for anyone.

He had succeeded.

And the world of Oz would never be the same.

[cyberneticcreations58blog]

[oleksandrbalbyshev]

With my new artwork «Hands of God Nebula»

[alcide-sulfurik]

Photomontage.

Model : Gael Augusto.

[paranapadilha]

Gym Self-Portrait, 2023