#which is probably a better title

[thegainingdesk]

Two Night Stand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fat,” Guy finished. “You're so fat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God that's hot,” Guy sighed.

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

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

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

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

“Did you..?” Howard asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” Guy prompted. “How?”

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

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

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

“What else?” Guy urged Howard on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Knew what?” Howard asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm flattered,” Howard said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hopefully a little bigger?” Howard said.

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

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

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

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

“My cock?” Howard asked. “Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was great,” Guy said.

“Glad to be of service,” Howard replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What has?” Howard asked.

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

“How so?” Howard asked.

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

“You okay with that?” Howard asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that so?” Howard asked, laughing. 

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

“Leave your number?” Howard said.

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

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

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

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

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[babychosen]

i've been denying how i feel (you've been denying what you want)

the line between a work trip and a girls trip quickly blurs as amanda and courtney spend a weekend away word count: 1985

thank you @sage-lights for always believing in me

The few days of Buffer Festival felt like a lifetime to Courtney and Amanda. In the mornings they explored the city and its quaint cafes and picturesque parks, and then in the afternoon and evenings they got to dress up and hit the stage. It was a vacation, even if it wasn’t. Their work trip was becoming a girls trip as time passed and neither of them wanted to admit it.

The magnetic connection between the pair grew stronger as time passed. After they went out on stage during the screening on the first day of the festival, Amanda felt something shift. Courtney’s staring became almost too much to handle and Amanda began to worry the audience would catch onto the invisible tether that had the two of them roped together all night.

After the show and the meet and greet the first night, Amanda was filled with awe, and unexpectedly: passion. At first it felt friendly, like admiration, but it morphed into something Amanda knew she shouldn’t feel. She wanted to feel close to Courtney—needed to, even.

The car radio hummed lowly in the background of their late-night drive through downtown Toronto. Amanda’s eyes were closed for the most part, trying to block out the blinding street lights. With Courtney’s head resting on her shoulder, she was sure she could fall asleep if she let herself doze off.

Amanda came back to consciousness a little when she heard the volume of the radio turn up. She opened her eyes to peer at Kiana in the front seat reaching forward to turn the volume knob, saying something about how much she likes the song. Amanda immediately recognized it as ‘Do I Wanna Know?’ by the Arctic Monkeys. She was familiar with it, but not too familiar. She shut her eyes again, blocking out the lights and listening in.

I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week

She felt Courtney shift closer into her side—if getting closer was even possible. Amanda convinced herself it was just a pothole in the road that jostled them around.

Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?

Courtney placed a hand on top of Amanda’s knee, and Amanda knew there was no pothole that could make a person do that. She wished she had worn anything but a dress and pantyhose, because there was basically no barrier between the warmth of Courtney’s hand and the skin of Amanda’s knee. 

Amanda wasn’t one to pay attention to lyrics, but Courtney’s actions felt in sync with the words. Amanda tuned out the song once again, trying to focus her attention anywhere but on the hand on her leg and Courtney’s uncanny timing.

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you

There was no room for doubting herself when Amanda felt Courtney move their hand inward on her thigh and squeeze lightly. Amanda inhaled shakingly, hoping the ride would come to an end soon for the sake of her sanity.

She tried not to dwell too much on their car ride, because it would only lead her to making assumptions that she shouldn’t (like letting herself believe Courtney reciprocated her desire for affection).

When they parted ways at their hotel Amanda could still feel the pull between them. She longed to be closer to Courtney and the temptation to walk down the hall and knock on Courtney’s door kept Amanda up all night. She convinced herself to stay put but still replayed the possibilities in her head over and over again until she fell asleep that night.

The second night went a little differently. It was tame…

“Why are you still carrying around one Timbit, Amanda? It’s probably cold and hard by now,” Courtney playfully prodded her.

“It’s a souvenir! Don’t judge me.” Amanda let out a firm huff and crossed her arms over her chest, the lone pastry rattling around in the box in her hand. “Besides, how else will I show people that I won the Great Debate?”

Courtney stared at the glaring sash across Amanda’s chest. “I don’t know, Master Debater… you tell me.” They reached across the elevator and ran a finger along the silky fabric of the sash. Their fingers brushed over Amanda’s stomach lightly and it sent a chill throughout her body. 

Amanda’s knee-jerk reaction was to pull away because she knew it was wrong, but the elevator door opened before her mind even had the time to process the touch.

Courtney pulled their hand away from Amanda and walked out into the hotel hallway as if they hadn’t just caused Amanda’s heart rate to quicken.

“You know, maybe you should keep that Timbit. Take it home, Angela might want it,” Courtney wondered, turning around to face Amanda as they walked backwards towards their hotel rooms. Amanda gave Courtney a toothy grin, because she knew damn well they were right.

Amanda stopped when she reached her room door, and Courtney walked a few steps further to their own.

They exchanged quiet goodnights and Amanda slid her keycard into the door, swiftly turning the handle to open it. Before she could fully step into her room, a voice stopped her: “Hey, we don’t have to check out until later in the morning tomorrow. Wanna watch a movie?”

She took a step back into the hallway and smiled at Courtney. “I thought you would never ask.” 

Courtney slipped their key card into the door, opened it, and then tossed the card at Amanda.

Amanda excused herself to her room to change into something more comfortable for the evening. She slipped into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a hoodie after removing her makeup, and exited her own room. She walked down the hall to Courtney’s, using the keycard they had given her to use to get in without having to knock. Just walking in felt… wrong, but they were close friends—just friends. Amanda pushed the door open to see Courtney already tucked under a blanket on the bed with their own hoodie on.

“Amandaaa,” Courtney drawled, reaching out her arms towards Amanda. “It’s cold. Get under the covers and never get up again.”

Amanda tiptoed to the bed, lifting up the blankets and sliding underneath them. It was already warm and cozy, and Amanda loved it 

“I didn’t realize there was such a tiny list of movies for us to pick from… so, it looks like we can either watch an old western, or a cheesy Hallmark holiday movie. Pick your poison,” Courtney laughed.

“At that point I’d almost rather watch something on one of our phones… I guess a Hallmark movie works. I mean, they can’t all be bad, right?” Amanda asked, wishing for the best.

… until it wasn’t. 

The second night was giving in to temptation. It was throwing caution to the wind because they were in a romantic city and the circumstances felt just right.

Amanda spent the entire movie realizing that her suspicions of Courtney sharing similar feelings towards her were not founded on nothing. 

It started with Courtney cuddling into Amanda’s side, keeping her arms and legs to herself. 

And then they draped a leg over Amanda’s body after a fit of laughter. 

And then an arm, which led to a hand snaking underneath Amanda’s hoodie. (Courtney claimed they were cold, as if the covers over top of them weren’t enough warmth. Amanda didn’t complain.)

Courtney roamed her hand all over Amanda’s torso to places it probably shouldn’t go, but Amanda couldn’t stop her when the heat at her core was ripping her resolve to shreds.

The movie ended and a silence fell over them. Amanda’s hand was on Courtney’s back, gripping lightly at their tank top as the pads of Courtney’s fingers traced the skin below Amanda’s breasts.

The air in the room was heady and suffocating. Amanda couldn’t tell if she was the only one breathing so heavily, but she didn’t care. She knew Courtney could feel the light buck of Amanda’s hips and the squirming under their touch that she just couldn’t quell—the complete, unrestrained desire that she had been feeling all night.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure, Amanda. You feel this, too, don’t you?” Courtney rasped, gesturing between them.

Amanda answered by sucking in her bottom lip and nodding. 

Hearing Courtney say she felt it too was transcendent.

The following morning didn’t feel right. It was a feeling Amanda couldn’t quite put her finger on.

They went for breakfast in the morning, took their coffees to-go and walked around a park for a couple of hours. They marvelled at the leaves changing colours and basked in the cool weather. The pair soaked up every last bit of the city that they could before they had to make their way to the airport and board a flight back to LA.

But the previous night was never brought up. Not at breakfast or at the park. Not in the airport or on the flight home. Not even back at the office, a week after returning.

So now, in the middle of their first shoot week back, Amanda’s beginning to crack under the pressure. She didn’t consider the fact that she would reach her limit—that telling herself to forget it ever happened would become too burdensome to handle.

They’re professionals, so Amanda assumed hiding the tension from their fellow cast members would be a breeze, but people caught on, and soon enough the chatter reached Amanda’s ears one lunch hour. Courtney was well within earshot too, so she knew that they heard it too. Amanda heard something along the lines of ‘Did something happen on their trip?’, though she knew it was with good intentions. She knew this cast was better than stooping low enough to gossip.

At the end of the day, she was determined to talk to Courtney and smooth things over. Apologize if she had to, but hopefully just settle the tension.

After a Smosh Mouth shoot, Amanda pulled her phone out of her back pocket to send a text to Courtney, but was greeted instead by a text from them.

Court 🌻 hey. meet me in the art dept? everyone’s left for the day already

It was short, but Amanda didn’t sense any hostility in the message. She wasn’t surprised to hear from Courtney first, considering how prompt both of them can be.

She made her way to the art department and found the doors almost fully shuttered, but the lights still on. Amanda easily pushed open the door and saw Courtney leaning over the workshop table, nervously fiddling with their thumbs.

“Hi,” Amanda said timidly. She pulled the sliding doors closed and paused in the doorway. “I-”

“I’m sorry, Amanda.” Courtney interrupted, turning around to face her. “I’ve been ignoring you and it’s unfair. I should have told you that I was processing things. Instead I pushed it away and I dealt with it on my own.”

Amanda nodded sympathetically, knowing all too well where they’re coming from. “You could have talked to me—I also could have talked to you,” she admitted.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately we’re both a little dumb.”

“Hey! No, we’re just… navigating uncharted territory. Shit’s hard, Court,” Amanda reasoned.

Courtney nodded with a frown still tugging at the corners of lips. Amanda noticed and opened her arms to welcome them into a hug. Courtney didn’t hesitate to practically fall into Amanda’s embrace.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything-”

“Well, what if I want it to mean something?” Courtney asked, her voice muffled by Amanda’s hair.

Amanda struggled not to let her giddiness show. “Then I-I guess it can mean something.”

Courtney pulled back from the hug. She looked up at Amanda and kept her arms wrapped around her waist. “What do we do about the rumours going around?”

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Amanda smirked, eagerly pulling Courtney in for a kiss.

[oifaaa]

How is Bruce doing in the Jason lives au?

I means it's Bruce so even if Jason didn't die I'm sure he'll still manager to get worse just means he can't blame it on Jason's death in this universe

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Shadowstruck: Chapter One

The room had too many shadows. They filled the corners of Mama’s sick room, where heavy velvet curtains blocked the noise of passing carriages. They stretched from her bedposts, from the doctor’s medicines and instruments sitting next to the kerosene lamp on her bedside table. Sometimes one looked alarmingly human-shaped, and Clara feared the worst, until she saw the faint flickering heartlight around Mama’s form.

Mama’s heartlight, usually a bright, cheerful yellow, had faded to the color of old paper, barely visible in that dim room. Clara’s heartlight, as always, matched it to a shade, which made her feel like she was dying, too.

In Clara’s twelve years of life, she could barely remember spending more than an hour away from her mother. Mama had been her playmate, her caretaker, her teacher, her greatest friend.

Clara held Mama’s hand between both of hers, trying to rub some warmth into the cold fingers. Suddenly, Mama’s heartlight flared like a camera bulb. Her eyes flew open and she clutched at Clara’s arms. “Jeff!” she cried, as if watching him drown. “Jeff!”

Dr. Chambers' nurse rushed from her shadowed corner to Mama’s bedside; her comforting lavender heartlight glowed faintly around Mama’s head as she tried to calm her. “Your husband is well, Mrs. Lynwood. You should rest.”

Mama pushed away the nurse’s hands. “Where’s Jeff? I must speak to him!”

Neither Clara nor the nurse could quiet her, so at last the nurse called for the shade.

The boy--who seemed to be a year or two younger than Clara--looked pale and harmless, but he gave Clara the shivers. Papa didn't keep any shades--had never let any in the house until the nurse insisted she needed the extra hands--so this one, casting a shadow instead of a heartlight, looked like an unnatural intruder in this civilized room.

The nurse ordered the shade to fetch Papa from the Senate. The moment he left the room, Mama fell back against the pillows, exhausted.

Clara shuddered as the boy's long, black shadow slithered down the hallway before him. “Papa won’t come with a shade,” she said.

“He’ll come for your mother,” the nurse replied.

And the nurse was right. Papa burst into the room minutes later, the black sash of his senatorial robe still waving behind him, his orange heartlight as strong and vibrant as he was.

Jefferson Lynwood looked nothing like a famed, formidable senator as he rushed to kneel beside his wife's bed.

“I’m here, Minna!” he said, taking her hand.

Mama’s heartlight was dimmer than Clara had ever seen it, but her eyes were wide open and her whisper was strong. “Promise me, Jeff. No matter what happens, promise me you will care for Clara.”

Papa cast a quizzical glance at Clara. Clara didn’t understand it any more than he did. She was much younger than her brothers, and Papa stayed busy with senatorial work, but he was still as fond a father as she could ask for.

“Of course I will, darling,” Papa soothed. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Mama gripped his shoulders and looked into his face. “No matter what happens,” she insisted. “Promise me you will care for her as your daughter.”

“I would never do anything less.”

“Swear it!”

“I swear it, Minna, on my own right hand.”

Mama fell back against her pillows, satisfied. She was asleep within moments.

Papa shared a look with Clara. “Do you understand it, Clara?” His mustache twitched. “Has she given you reason to think you’re not--”

“No. Never.”

Papa shook his head. “Probably raving. Chambers warned me that might happen, near the end.” Papa scowled back at the doorway. “Probably comes of being around shades. I told Chambers I didn’t want those creatures near her!”

Clara had heard all his lectures about the dangers of shades—how they were soulless, shadow-casting creatures who fed off the heartlights of humans. Shades looked human-shaped to Clara, and Mama urged her to treat them with respect, but she never argued with Papa. Right now, Clara wasn’t sure she wanted to. The doctor kept a few shades as house slaves like most people did; Clara hadn’t thought anything of it when he left one to assist the nurse, but what if they were what kept Mama from getting well? The doctor had said that he couldn’t understand why she was fading—she should easily have been able to easily overcome this cold.

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, neither Clara nor Papa left Mama’s side. Mama never opened her eyes. Her breathing became harsher, but none of the nurse’s medicines helped. Sometimes she stopped breathing for almost a minute, but the continued glow of her heartlight assured Clara she yet lived.

Clara cried—she couldn’t help it. Sometimes Papa did, too. They both loved Mama. Without her, what would their little family become?

At last, Mama gasped, gave one last deep breath—then stopped. Her face went still and icy white. Her heartlight went out like a snuffed candle.

At the exact same moment, so did Clara’s. Her yellow heartlight—the comforting ever-present glow that was her—disappeared.

On the wall, black and menacing in the light of the kerosene lamp, stretched her shadow.

It looked exactly like a shade’s.

[tangledinink]

I daydream about Gemini AU and one idea I had was that after leaving the Nexus and becoming slightly less codependent, the twins take up independent titles? Like, instead of both being Gemini, Leo becomes Meteor and Donnie becomes Nova or some other astrological name. Not very likely, considering they both seem to be genuinely proud of being Gemini together despite everything, but I thought I'd share this with you.

Oooh, this is kind of a fun thought? Also I'm just absolutely flattered that you daydream about Gemini the idea that there are other people in the world spending time thinking bout my silly turtles absolutely baffles me ; w ; On one hand, I feel like they, at least currently, love being Gemini and sharing a title. They're so incredibly proud of their career as Gemini. But once they leave the Nexus and stop being so codependent, I think they're probably gonna be a lot more likely to sort of... recognize it for what it is? Something used to manipulate them and a part of their mother's attempts to capitalize off of them and control them. And it'll be very hard, because they are Gemini, it's such a huge part of their identity, how do they let that go...? But at the same time, how can they still be Gemini and heal at the same time?

In addition to this, there'll be at least a period where they... aren't performers anymore. (Which is gonna be super hard for them to cope with as well...) If they're not longer fighting in the Nexus, what use do they actually have for a stage name? Why have people call them anything but Donatello or Leonardo...?

(... But I think there will come a time when they eventually pick up an alias again. And I really like the idea of them each having their own names, but still matching...!)

[reapersmarch]

there is thunder in our hearts

The room Bel is confined to could barely be called that—it had four walls, a bed, a small end table. It even had a window that faced the woods and mostly abandoned industrial park. In the loosest sense of the word, it was certainly a room in the crumbling remains of the office building he was using as a base. It was drafty, cramped, and creaky, and couldn’t remotely compare to his apartment, but, again, it had four walls and a bed, and most importantly—it was secure.

Bel would be loath to call it safe. Nowhere was really safe any longer.

That all went out the metaphorical window after the meeting with Hollow Ground.

If he was being honest with himself, it had probably gone sideways much earlier than that. He’d been sloppy. Not with his work, he prided himself far too much to allow himself to be caught that way. He’d been careful all the way through, covering tracks, obfuscating what he could, misdirecting and pulling the strings in safer, subtler ways that would leave his identity completely obscured.

But then he told Argent.

And he was lucky—really fucking lucky. She should’ve killed him, and would’ve been within her rights to, but she didn’t. Who the hell knew why. Respect? Understanding? To pull a fast one on him later? He couldn’t say, but she knew his secret, he knew hers. Mutually assured destruction, should it ever come down to it. He didn’t think it would, but he also didn’t think he’d be brought back from the brink of death—again.

If Bel was being completely honest with himself, the whole thing had been fucked from minute one.

He didn’t want to get involved with the Rangers again. Didn’t want to be a hero, didn’t want to help, didn’t want to see him or talk to him or be near him or—

Of all the places in all the world, why that diner at that time on that day? The worst thing that could’ve happened to him.

The best thing, too.

Bel should’ve said no. He really, really should’ve pushed back harder, been firmer about boundaries, kicked and screamed and tantrumed until Ricardo left him alone. He’d been so careful about keeping a hard divide between his two lives; Entropy could not be Bel, and Bel could not be Entropy. But for every wall he built higher, Ricardo found its weak point, and Bel… God, he wanted to be found.

It didn’t matter how much he fought against it, he wanted Ricardo to find him. Catch him. See him. Save him. The number of times it sat bitterly on his tongue, died in his throat, it’s me it’s me I’m Entropy it’s ME, replaced instead with a tight-lipped smile and a topic change. If he knew, would it have made things easier? Harder? Better? Worse?

Did it matter?

He couldn’t take any of it back.

He’d purposely bared his throat and let the wolf tear it out, just to feel its warmth before he bled out.

“I’m back.”

Bel flinches instinctively as a paper coffee cup settles quietly on the end table beside him. Again. Snuck up on him again. His fingers dig harder into his arm. He pulls his attention away from the window to glance over, trying to will the tension out of his shoulders.

“That’s where you went?” he asks blandly.

“Well, you need to eat.”

“I’m not h—”

“Bel. You need to eat.”

With a frustrated sigh and barely restrained roll of his eyes, Bel snatches the paper bag from the table and picks at the croissant inside, tearing it apart anxiously.

“…Thanks.” 

Ricardo shrugs and pulls a chair over, sinking into it with his arms crossed. It had been like this the entire time since—awkward. Tense. Uncomfortable. Even with things considerably settled from the initial break out, they never got better. How could they? Bel didn’t want to talk, and Ricardo didn’t know what to say. It was a special kind of hell, being trapped in a room with the first and last person in the world you want with you.

Careful what you wish for.

“You know,” he starts, and Bel lifts his eyes to acknowledge the conversation, fingers still moving nervously. “For a guy who can’t go anywhere, I really have to back you into a corner just to get you to talk to me.”

Bel scoffs out a sardonic laugh. “What do you want me to say, Ricardo? What is there to say?”

“What isn’t there to say?” he shoots back. Bel scowls and turns to face the window again. “You can’t keep locking me out, Red. Not again. You told me that I remind you of the worst time in your life, and we’re just not supposed to bring that up?”

“I can’t help that, Ricardo.”

“Neither can I, Bel.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” “Well, I do! Bel—” Ricardo cuts himself off with a sigh, running a hand down his face. “We can’t just… I don’t know. Leave it there. You said—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupts lowly. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“Apparently, I do, because you act like it isn’t true.”

Bel scrubs both hands over his face before burying it in them completely for a moment. When he lifts his head again, eyes glassy and red, it’s to stare at the ceiling. He exhales, long and slow, then turns towards Ricardo again.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s talk.” Bel tosses his hands in the air. “Let’s start with the elephant in the room,” he continues. “I am in love with you, and that’s terrifying. Okay. Talk over.”

Ricardo groans, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, Bel, knock it off and be serious about this.”

“What else can I say? Ricardo?” Bel laughs mirthlessly. “Do you want me to lay it all on the table? Play therapist for a minute? Okay, fine. Let’s lay it out then.”

He sets everything aside to sit up properly.

“I’m in love with you, and that’s terrifying for so many different reasons. Should I list them? How about, ‘I don’t know if I’m allowed to be’? How about, ‘I don’t count as a real person, so what reason would you have to be with me’? How about, ‘I knocked the shit out of you’?—sorry, for that one, by the way.” Ricardo actually manages a snort at this. “Ric, I’m not… I was never supposed to be one of you. I’m not one of you. It doesn’t matter what you insist on, I’m a fucking… this!”

Bel yanks his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing rows of orange against pale skin.

“I’m not supposed to do or say or be anything other than what I was expected to be, and that’s—do you know what that does to you? To question every day if this is all manufactured or genuine? And that is nothing to say of—” he taps a finger against his temple. “I wish I could predict you. I wish I knew what you were thinking, but I like that I don’t. That’s the oxymoron of it all,” he says. “I just… hate that it feels like a threat.”

They sit there, staring at one another for a moment, silence stretching between them for an eternity, like a taut rope waiting to snap. Their contest drags out for a few seconds, and then a few seconds more, before Bel tears his eyes away to return to staring out the window, deflated. The treeline wasn’t very interesting, but it was better than dealing with this.

When they go to speak again, they start at the same time.

“Listen—”

“Look, I—”

A beat.

Then, “What do you want, Bel?”

Bel turns back, brow furrowed in annoyance. “What?”

“What do you want?” Ricardo repeats. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, elbows rested on his knees. 

“That’s a loaded question if ever I’ve heard one.”

“No, it isn’t. Don’t think that hard. What do you want?”

The laundry list of things Bel wanted was extensive—functionality of his legs again, for one. A cigarette, for two. A stiff drink, a hot shower, a bed that didn’t feel like a stone slab. A bullet to the head.

That collision should’ve killed him. It would’ve been easier than this.

“You, you fucking moron,” Bel grits out instead. “I want you.”

“Then stop fighting me, Red.”

Ricardo’s hand hesitantly moves towards his, then stops, fingers folding in on themselves. It’s as though he’s not sure if this is allowed. Is he allowed to reach out like this, so familiar as you once were? Does he have any right? The bed shifts as Ricardo settles carefully next to him instead, shoulders grazing, and this close, Bel shatters. His head lands heavily on his shoulder, face still turned toward the window. 

“I don’t know how,” he says quietly. His entire life, Bel has been in a constant state of fight or flight, backed into a corner with a kind of prey animal rage just to survive. Survive, by any means necessary. Survive, even if it costs you. Survive, because you can’t die until you’ve lanced the pus filled boil that’s spent seven years growing.

You might die in the process anyway, but at least you went down swinging.

“I already lost you once, nearly lost you a second time,” Ricardo tells him. “Don’t let me lose you a third time.”

“I’m not in the business of making promises I can’t keep.”

“Try.”

[batsplat]

so i’m kinda new to motogp, i started watching it from this season and your account has been very helpful. i have a question, i’ve seen a post on insta where they were comparing marc and pedro results from the first race to the fifth races (i think?) in their rookie year. and a lot of people in the comments where talking about the fact that you cannot compare their results because they’re two whole different situations. but are they? ‘cause at the start of the season everybody was calling pedro the next marquez and a lot of motogp legends were talking about how talented he’s. which i’m not entitled to discuss. but if you compare the results, i wouldn’t say pedro’s season is disappointing (because it’s still early and he has two podiums), but i think it’s pehraps underwhelming compared to marc’s. so what i’m trying to understand is why are their situations considered different and why some people kind of “discredit” marc rookie season when they compare it to acosta’s? (like i thought that winning a title in you rookie year was the most impressive thing you could do)

welcome to the sport, and that's really nice to hear!!

so, I did do my 'comparing between eras is impossible' thing here, but obviously this isn't particularly useful. I'll get over myself and give you a proper answer, but fwiw I still believe that direct parallels can only ever be of limited use. here's a few things to keep in mind when comparing the two:

factory vs satellite: factory teams will always have at least a little bit of an advantage over the satellite squads. even if it's not in equipment... it's also just about the amount of resources that are being mobilised to help you get your results, the experience of your team, etc etc. now, I put this first because I don't think this is a massive factor here. ktm's whole thing is that they want to essentially run four factory bikes, see the rebrand next year, and obviously they're very motivated to help pedro out. I'm sure he's getting a lot of backing - in terms of historical comparisons, it's a bit more valentino 2000 than it is casey 2006

bike quality: the honda in 2013 was the best bike on the grid. pedro's ktm is... well it's certainly not in the top four. after that, the pecking order does get a little tricky, but it's certainly not decisively clear of either the aprilias or the gp23's. we do know pedro basically has equal machinery to the other ktm's. now, those are the first riders he has to beat... and he's beating them! going into this year, binder was getting top three rider on the grid shouts and pretty much everyone thought he'd be outscoring acosta at least in the first year (not me tho <3). I think these acosta performances have sparked a bit of a debate over 'was the ktm better than we thought all along and the riders were just being overrated, or is acosta just that good'... makes it kinda easy to forget how people talked about binder last year. but crucially even people who rated pedro very highly generally didn't think he'd have the upper hand this soon. pedro is p5 in the standings (behind three gp24's and marc marquez), versus the other ktm's at p7, p...16? jesus. and p17. marc's teammate in 2013 was p3. now, yes, nobody is saying binder is as good as dani pedrosa and he's been having a very rocky season - but at least some of binder's issues seem to be bike-related... definitely a bike that seems to have some serious gremlins and pedro needs to be credited for mitigating those. also, this is an era in which the bikes are more complicated than ever and generally considered to be even trickier to adapt to than in times past, which makes pedro's immediate consistent pace pretty much everywhere, every session particularly noteworthy

spread of field: related to the previous point - not only is pedro's bike worse, but the field as a whole is more competitive. in 2013, if you weren't on one of four bikes, it was going to be really hard for you to fight for wins. in 2024, there are a lot of bikes capable of fighting for wins, and you see that in how mixed up the order is race to race. it's just a different era... from around 2007 to 2015, there was a clear disparity between a few bikes and the rest, enabled both through technical regulations and other external factors (e.g. the impact of the financial crisis and smaller teams struggling as a result). the average level of the field is also higher nowadays, there's a lot of very strong riders - which means if you're having a slightly rougher weekend, your floor is considerably lower and you will have to accept you might not be in the podium fight at all. the margins are smaller now in both qualifying and in races... small swings of performance in both bike and rider can have way more dramatic repercussions

the eye test: for obvious reasons this one's a bit harder to put words to. but... pedro just passes it, with flying colours. it's the way he throws himself around on the bike, the obscene amounts of lean angle, the ridiculously late braking and the way he somehow still gets the bike turned, how he keeps taking lines that nobody else is taking, how it's allowing him to fight his way through the field (notoriously tough in motogp these days)... in the same way in which marc in 2013 was clearly just riding differently to all the other riders that preceded him, you see this stuff with pedro, you see he's the next step. you can tell he's just got that special something that allows him to do stuff with his bike that nobody else can. also, this isn't quite the same as rating his rookie season, but obviously everyone already knew what a hyped prospect pedro was headed into this year. he hasn't shown any sign whatsoever of succumbing to the hype/pressure and letting it get to him, which is also a great sign for the future

how good his results are: so, obviously he hasn't won a race yet - even though he's now secured multiple podiums. but again, unlike with marc''s 2013 there is no single weekend in which the ktm has been the strongest bike. sometimes it's been a bit closer and sometimes it's a little further away... yes, pedro has started making a couple of mistakes, but also that may just be the result of putting the bike in places it doesn't really belong. marc only had one race crash in the rookie season, but he also knew he couldn't afford to make mistakes - he was in the title fight. pedro is playing around with a worse bike and if he thinks he has the pace to win, it makes sense for him to just push that little bit extra, come what may. it's now been quite a few weekends since pedro hasn't decisively been the best ktm on pace - and, really, what more can you ask for? unless binder's suddenly forgotten how to ride a bike, it's reasonably likely that the ktm is at least a little worse than it was last year, which makes these results even more impressive

the rookie title question: yes, a rookie title is uniquely impressive! it's a particularly tricky situation to deal with... marc really had to be operating on a very high very consistent level that entire year, and in no way should it be diminished what kind of performances he had to put in week to week to claim that title. (though, of course, marc did get a little bit lucky that year, in particular with his rivals' injuries.) the thing is, we'll never know if pedro would manage the pressures and travails and ebbs and flows of a title fight in his rookie season as well as marc did... because he hasn't had the opportunity to fight for it. we just don't know! which makes it a bit hard to penalise pedro for not being able to match that... you just have to find a happy middle ground where you acknowledge how impressive marc's title was, while also allowing that on pure performance pedro might be shaping up as every bit as impressive

marc is very marmite in most online motogp fan spaces, whether those detractors are partisan valentino fans or think he's too aggressive for their tastes or don't particularly fondly remember his dominance or just don't like his vibe... so I'm sure there's plenty of people on instagram who would like to discredit him!! but I don't think calling pedro's rookie season comparable should in any way be used to discredit marc - the only point is that if you look at his current performances, it's completely plausible to believe he can match/surpass marc in the future. what he's doing right now is really impressive! it's not quite the same headline numbers, but there's weekends where he's quite plausibly on. like. the joint 12th best bike or something. so it really is all very tight and he is doing very well! but also you can't compare eras and all of these comparisons easily break down and sometimes you can just treat two things as separately impressive without attempting to definitively determine which is 'better', especially in motorsports where so much isn't determined by the actual athlete themselves and instead by factors they have zero control over

[forcedhesitation]

that one bozo who made the gender swapped dame aylin mod: it's unrealistic for minorities to exist in this game because it's supposed to take place in medieval europe!!!!

aasimar, vampires, devils, and dragons aside....

bg3:

[jichanxo]

made a tierlist of my kuwagami fics for funsies (+ notes for a few) ↓

(everything listed in the same tier are equals, so the order they're listed in has no meaning)

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Where The River Meets The Soul

cosy-ish fantasy, romance

follows a herbalist who decides to find a magical bloom with healing properties which has become rare in recent years, after her sister is diagnosed with a terminal illness

she travels to the city, and along with a friend and an heiress, discovers that reuniting two reincarnated ancient soulmates will restore the bloom

but when she encounters corruption and betrayal, and finds herself getting feelings for one of the soulmates, things get more complicated

ace MC, genderfluid LI

[sonknuxadow]

they werent lying that knuckles series barely has knuckles in it

[fierykitten2]

Disclaimer: the images in this post are arranged in a way so that the Scarlet images are all on the left and the Violet images are all on the right. Obviously I only took on the Academy Ace Tournament in one version at a time

Took on the Academy Ace Tournament in both versions and here were my opponents in the order battled (apart from the fact the Scarlet images are all on the left and the Violet images are all on the right). I’ve learned two things from this - 1 is that Miriam can be the first opponent (like in Scarlet) or the 3rd opponent (like in Violet). She has the same lines in both positions. The second is that Nemona can actually be battled in this tournament (genuinely she’s never appeared to me in this in Violet and I haven’t had the chance for her to appear in this in Scarlet up until now). Also her Pokémon don’t have an order they’re sent out apart from her starter being her final Pokémon and probably her leading with Lycanroc (I remember Orthworm being her penultimate Pokémon in Scarlet because Luna was struggling and nearly cried so I swapped it out for Blueberry only to bring Luna back against her ugly croc (I had every wish to send out Quax or keep Blueberry out instead but I had plans involving Terastalising every single one of my aces and I’d already used Quax against Tyme and Blueberry against Penny. I also kinda wanted Clavell to be my last opponent in Violet so I could beat the shit out of that ugly croc twice in one day but I got Nemona with her fabulous gay duck instead) but she sent Orthworm out really early on against me in Violet. Also Dudunsparce I think was her 2nd Pokémon in Scarlet but her penultimate Pokémon in Violet). Oh yeah the third thing I learnt (or possibly fourth) is that Dark-types can cry. Both Luna and Spriggie nearly cried at some point (I returned Luna to its ball and took out Blueberry to deal with Orthworm and also use a full heal on Luna while Spriggie has a Shell Bell on him so he just gradually healed up as the battle continued and he kept taking out Raifort’s Pokémon)

My aces Terastalising for no reason other than it’s pretty. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in half these images so in order Fire Tera type Char (Armarouge), Fire Tera type Char (Ceruledge), Water Tera type Quax (Quaquaval), Grass Tera type Spriggie (Meowscarada), Water Tera type Blueberry (Walking Wake), Psychic Tera type Cherry (Iron Leaves), Dragon Tera type Luna (Roaring Moon) and Fighting Tera type Knight (Iron Valiant). Roaring Moon are honestly kinda ugly but somehow Luna got out-uglied by Nemona’s Skeledirge (okay that’s enough Skeledirge slander for one post)

Blueberry and Cherry making entrances in the third battles, the ones where they were the ones Terastalising

And of course my aces shouting after defeating their final opponents

As you can see, Liko’s Sprigatito and Dot’s Quaxly in both games have evolved into Liko’s Floragato and Dot’s Quaxwell. As much as I prefer their fully-evolved forms I want to wait a bit and use their middle stages so I haven’t allowed them to fully-evolve just yet

Still, because I chose Quax/Quaxly/Quaquaval in Scarlet and Spriggie/Sprigatito/Meowscarada in Violet I now have the Pokédex entries for Floragato in Scarlet and Quaxwell in Violet

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I don't think about it very often at all, but sometimes I think about how if my insert in the Cars universe was also a mechanic, then they'd technically be considered a doctor as well, cause doctor/mechanic is the same thing in-universe

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

so on one hand I could name the harrison story ‘lost gods’ & on the other I could name the story ‘tell me, I pray, your name’ << YOU CHOOSE

[pinkseas]

girls will put an EXTENSIVE amount of thought and research into their next couple of planned fics and THIS IS THE THANKS THEY'LL GET FOR IT.