#world of james browne art

[lightofraye]

You are all very special people.

No matter what.

It doesn't matter if you're straight, gay, trans, non-binary.

It doesn't matter if you're white, black, brown.

It doesn't matter if you're Christian, Muslim, Jewish, atheist.

It doesn't matter.

You are all beautiful, special people.

[charcharbinks333]

¡evan peters characters!

fall preferences!

tate langdon:

tate loves spending halloween with you, since it’s the only day he can leave the murder house

cozy sweaters, horror movies, the rare rainy night in, cuddles (he’s the little spoon obvi), the smashing pumpkins and nirvana playing on your cd player

he takes you to the unknown spots around town on halloween that have all the cool graffiti art, but they are unknown to most

overall a sweetheart

kit walker:

he watches girly rom coms and chick with you

you make pumpkin pie while he holds you by the waist, peppering chaste kisses along your neck and watching you at work.

“i’m not in your way, suga’… can’t you let a man watch his wife at work?”

visiting family for thanksgiving and charming his parents (he does the same)

laying with him in bed and listening to the storms

candle light when the power goes out, jazz playing on the radio, early morning kisses, walks on crisp october afternoons

pre-death!kyle spencer:

days spent in your dorm, watching horror movies that he adores

him watching you do your makeup before going to a halloween party in matching costumes that you chose.

him letting you paint his nails black to match yours, but denying it ever happened when he’s around his frat brothers (not in an ashamed way 😭)

him letting you wear his hoodies and sweatpants as the days grow colder

making desserts together at 3 am

james patrick march:

lots of planning for devils night—he has to be ready for the greatest serial killers of all time!

him seeing you in your flapper costume, absolutely shellshocked. he practically worships the ground you walk on, and seeing you in something so skimpy drove him insane

engaging in pastime murders with him (!IF THATS UR THING)

leisurely drinks, late nights waiting for him to come to bed, reading beside him, dancing to jazz by the bar

him letting you wear his blazer when you’re cold (wearing a dress)

austin sommers:

watching him at late hours, writing away in his notebook and drinking. you wrap your arms around him and he kisses your forehead, repeatedly telling you he needed to finish this before november.

halloween themed karaoke at the bar, in which he holds eye contact with you and eventually drags you on stage.

cuddling on the couch and watching hocus pocus over and over (it’s his favorite halloween movie.)

late nights drinking before going home and drunkenly eating the leftover pumpkin pie in the fridge while giggling uncontrollably.

peter maximoff:

watching him speed through piles of leaves, creating a tornado of red, brown, and orange hues, giggling to yourself as other students get frustrated with him

going trick or treating even though you both are way too old for it

watching his kleptomania at work as he takes all the candy from the “take one” bowls, haphazardly using his mutation out in a random neighborhood

watching community and—to your luck—landing on the halloween episode and giggling at the coincidence

listening to classic rock as you get ready to go out, but he pulls you back onto the bed for more cuddles (“baby please i need you… don’t go out yet…”)

play fighting on the bed

alex (adult world):

giggling as the halloween issues of different porno magazines ship to the store, judging the horrible costumes with him

him teaching you how to bake, you clinging to his side as he tries to work around you, being successful in his efforts.

studying for midterms during work, hoping alex doesn’t catch you off duty (it’s happened plenty of times)

watching the first snow together while leaving work, trying to catch the first snowflakes on your tongue 

going to mini-parties at Rubia’s apartment and planning group halloween costumes that include a couple for you and alex

[majorbaby]

it takes a conscious effort to break your patterns of consumption and unlearn the notion beauty, interiority, diverse ways of existence aren't exclusive to whiteness or maleness. part of that isn't your fault. certain music is played on the radio, certain shows survive cancellation no matter what, certain people seem to be able to commit the worst possible acts against other human beings and are excused on account of their creative genius. others are selectively punished, with good reason sure, but still, selectively.

now more than ever it's easier to immerse yourself in art made by people outside of the mainstream. reading lists, free resources, playlists... all this stuff is more accessible than ever, but you've got to make an effort to give it a try. it's black history month, the recs are pouring in, go have a look. or take a chance on something absolutely no one has recommended anywhere and if you find something you like, rec it to someone else because the likelihood is they haven't heard of it.

tracy chapman's "fast car" is one of eleven songs that appears on her self-titled debut album. can you name the second hit single from it? if you're american and you fell anywhere left of center as of the 2016 election, it should be on the tip of your tongue if you were engaged in your country's politics at the time, regardless of your level of actual investment in the system. if not, the next time you're doing a task you need both hands with, washing the dishes, having dinner, doing your makeup, put that album on.

there's a post with over 100K notes on here that i see all the time of bruce springsteen and clarence clemons kissing. there's a part of that that is immediately meaningful to many if you're lgbtq, and a part that is harder for non-black lgbtq people to feel the weight of. but it is worth trying to do and was part of the reason why they kissed so often in the first place. clarence clemons was from norfolk, virginia. he released multiple albums outside of his work with the e street band. they may not be for you, but give them a try.

give enough music, or movies, or books that aren't a part of the approved canon a try, and there's no way you won't find something you don't feel as passionate about as you do about springsteen, siken, the beatles, what have you.

james baldwin was a prolific artist. see if you can't find something of his you like more than giovanni's room.

immerse yourself in ringo sheena, who mitski cites as one of her influences.

if you have difficulty paying attention to music you don't recognize, (i get it) make a playlist that alternates tracks you know and love with brand new tracks. start small. 5 faves of all time, 5 you're going to try out. you won't like everything, but you might find yourself looking forward to 6 songs instead of 5 eventually.

for movies, pick an actor whose performance you loved in something and explore their work. last year i picked whoopi goldberg, also a prolific artist, with a vast body of work that's pretty accessible as a result of her constant, intentional effort.

if you're an artist yourself, you can only stand to improve by getting to know your fellow artists better. so expand your notion of what art is. you can do it for free in lots of cases, and you're spending that time listening to music or reading or watching movies or series anyway, what have you got to lose?

anti-racism sometimes means engaging in real-world narratives of pain endured by brown and black people. that pain permeates much of our art, but we're just as three-dimensional as everybody else, and every aspect of our experiences come through in our work. you know that already, because what else is happening when you indulge in various genres. for everything you love or enjoy, there's a brown or black person who's doing something along those lines, in many cases, those genres wouldn't exist in their current form without the influence of our communities, some more than others, depending on where you're from. you can actually keep one foot inside your comfort zone and dip your toe into something else. that choice is both a joy and a luxury.

[littlewriterfullofwords]

I have a request for james,James loses his interest in lily after arriving as a guest at another wizarding school come hogwart and starts to have an interest in reader from the guest school🤭

Sure thing! Hope you enjoy☺️

Something About You

Parring: James Potter x gn!reader

Summary: You loved new friendships but there was something wrong about this one

Warnings: kinda obsessed Lily, quite quiet James, little fluff I guess

A/N: Hello. Hope you enjoy reading that☺️ Let me know!

"And here, we eat." Again, after 30 minutes of showing the school, you and a brown haired guest student ended up in the Big Hall. "Also we have big meetings here as well."

"Just like in Hogwarts." The girl by your side smiled shyly. "Our Great Hall is exactly the same as your Big Hall. Big room for big things."

"Of course your Great Hall is like our Big Hall." Out of nowhere, your classmate, and another guest student, appeared in the hallway. "And to make it funnier, it's exactly the same as the Great Hall in the Durmstrang."

"No one asked." You playfully rolled your eyes and then gently smacked his arm. "Lily, shall we go outside?"

"Yeah. Can we take James with us?" Asked the girl from Hogwarts, her eyes almost reminded you of a puppy.

"That's not my decision to make." You shrugged and looked at your classmate who only nodded. "Let's go then."

You all might ask "why were Hogwarts' students in Ilvermorny?" Coming with the explanation in 3, 2, 1.... For fun. Really. The teachers from both schools had decided that students exchange would have a great impact on open-mindedness and friendliness. So they organised the exchange and here we were.

"So." Lily, who was happily scanning the yard, stopped her eyes on you. "Do you have your favourite subject? Mine is alchemy."

"I'm good at defence against the dark arts." Stated nonchalantly your classmate as if it was the most well-known thing in the whole world. "You too James, right?"

"Well, I'm not that bad, I guess." Murmured James and shrugged his shoulders. "But I prefer transmutation. What about you, Y/N?"

The question was directed your way, yet at first you didn't answer. You were taken aback how your name sounded in James's lips. It was different from anyone ever saying that, softer, even magical.

"Oh, sorry." When you remembered you were supposed to answer, your cheeks turned red in embarrassment. "I like ancient history and runes."

"Yeah, of course you do." Now it was your classmate who rolled eyes playfully. "You would be scribbling those little signs everywhere."

"That's for protection."

"That's for protection."

Who would think that you and a guest student would be so good together. Saying the same things at the same moment? That only happens with friends.

"Wow, pump the hate breaks, guys." Your friend chuckled nervously. "No need to yell at me."

"We don't yell." Answered James and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

We?

Why did it sound so good?

The days were passing by so quickly that you didn't realise 2 weeks of the exchange passed. 2 more to go!

But that wasn't the only thing you noticed. The eyes. Brown eyes hidden behind the glasses were almost everywhere. And were following you and your every step.

"James!" Lily waved at her friend, who was walking out of the classroom with your friend, as they approached the two of you.

The little satisfaction when Potter stopped by your side, no Lily's, made your eyes shine a bit more than normally, that's why you looked at the ceiling to hide the sparks.

You felt Evans stiffening up a bit by your side and heard her sharply inhaling the air. She wasn't happy about that.

"Let's go to the Big Hall." Offered your friend and the four of you headed to the big room on the first floor where the late lunch was being served.

Nothing would be weird or unusual except for James walking by your side. His hand would, from time to time, brush against yours, making you shiver underneath your robe.

"James." Lily turned her face to her friend who only hummed in exchange. "Did you know that one of the creators was called 'James'?"

"Yeah. I heard." The answer was a lot colder than it should be, and for sure his attitude towards Lily changed since their arrival.

"The funny thing is, we are older than you." Joked your classmate. "By the whole 637 years."

When all of you reached the Big Hall, Lily quickly changed her spot, so she could easily sit next to James. You only smiled at that, it was cute on one side but a bit annoying on the other. But it wasn't your deal.

As many of you had noticed, James was seeking your presence. That's why he sat next to you in the Big Hall, even moved closer.

"So what are your plans for the future?" You asked, taking sips of pumpkin juice from your cup.

"I wanna go and take a nap." Whispered your classmate for what you kicked him under the table. "What? I wanna sleep!"

"Plans for the future! Like the future future." You explained in a way no one could misunderstand. "In 15, 20 years?"

"I wanna be a teacher in Hogwarts." Said Lily, her fingers tracing the decoration on the fork. "Probably charms."

"What about you, James?" You asked calmly. "What do you plan?"

"I want to be an auror. Or a Quidditch player."

Was it something you expected? Partially. Being an auror also ran through your head, many times. But did it suit you? Maybe.

"Y/N." You looked at Potter whose hand was on yours. "You zoned out."

"Yeah, sorry." You smiled shyly, eyes moving from one person to another. "What was going on?"

"We were waiting for your answer." Explained Lily. "About the future."

"Oh, right." You nodded slowly. "Either an auror, like James, or a minister of MM."

"Oh, Merlin." Your classmate rolled his eyes. "Right, you wanna change the world. You an-"

"That's amazing." James interrupted your friend and with a smile on his lips was looking at you. "Tell me more about that."

It wasn't 'us', it was 'me'.

Something inside of you started to scream that it woke the butterflies up, giving you the ache.

That was the moment you knew James prefered you. You over Lily.

[cardierreh15]

Queenie’s Beehive

Happy Black History Month my Loves!!! Who do yall think this story is based off of?

***I do not give anyone permission to repost, translate or copy my work!!!

Warnings 18+: Seducting Behavior/Dancing.

Pairings: Napoleon Solo x Queenie Covington(Black!OC)

Description: When Solo & Illya’s Leads point them in the direction of a club, Solo turns on his charm to get a word with the infamous Queenie Covington

Word Count: 4.1K

Song: Virgo’s Groove by Beyoncé , It’s A Man’s, Man’s, Man’s World by James Brown

Side Note(s): I changed the time to accommodate the story. I do not own or take credit for any of Beyoncé’s or James’ song ✨ Credit will always be theirs and theirs only 😊

The Beehive

Sacramento, California

February 5th, 1978

19:42 🐝

Napoleon looked down at the small brown business card. On the front in plain honey colored words were the address of the establishment. On the back was a beehive. That was it. Very minimalistic and straight to the point.

‘Interesting marketing strategy.’ Napoleon said as he passed the card over to his partner, Illya.

Illya took a moment to take in the small yet fine work of art. ‘Hmm.’ Before he handed it back.

Once their cab slowly came to a stop by the curb, the two gentlemen thanked their driver and stepped out of the car.

They were immediately met with a beautiful yellow LED lamp screwed into the building; showing across their skeptical glances. The lights were shaped into that of a beehive with tiny twinkling yellow lights, resembling bumble bees.

Beyond those doors, beneath that heavenly designed neon lamp lay the disco highlife of the century.

Awaited by the door were two Gods amongst men. So tall they could touch the roof if they wanted, and muscles that could break bones. To the left and right of them were two separate lines, damn near wrapped around the building that were guarded by red rope.

Illya began to worry.

‘We’ll never get inside.’ He said plainly.

‘Do you not have faith my friend?’ At the flick of his wrist and a twitch of his fingers, the tiny invitation appeared in Napoleon’s fingertips.

‘More magic?’

‘Someone’s gotta like it.’ He smirked and leaned in, ‘Here’s the plan. We go inside, we split up, we listen. Try not to look suspicious please.’

‘Suspicious?’ Illya scoffed, ‘The only person here suspicious here, is you cowboy.’ Pointing at his partner.

Napoleon made a face and looked down at his fit. He was in a plain gray suit with a matching waistcoat, and a white crispy dress shirt and black dress shoes; his usual attire.

‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

Illya on the other hand, sort of fit the bill. With a brown leather jacket with a turtleneck beneath, dark colored slacks and brown dress shoes to match. Oh, and his signature gray beret sat atop his blonde head.

‘You look like you’ve come to work and not to have fun.’ He rolled his eyes at his unwarranted pun.

‘In all technicality—‘

‘Yes, I know now can we go inside please?’

‘Perhaps. Do you remember your alias?’

Illya rolled his eyes as he head fell back, ‘Yes. I am a migrant here for work. You are a Wall Street journalist looking to have a conversation with the legendary Queen of Disco.’

He had a little bitterness in his voice. Napoleon caught on to that fairly quickly.

‘If you’d like, we can always trade places?’

Illya made a face, ‘Trade places? I am afraid that wouldn’t work.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because…’ Illya stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away. ‘you’re too small.’

A scowl curled up on Napoleon’s face at the insult, wanted so dearly to call him a bunch of curse words but he just cleared his throat and followed his partner towards the bouncers.

Once the men stood in front of the bouncer, Napoleon handed him the card.

The bouncer eyed the card closely, turning it back to front then pulled out a skinny pen like contraption. He clicked it on and a purple light shined down on the brown sheet. Revealing a bumble bee and a +1.

His big brown eyes flickered up from the card to Napoleon then over at Illya which he sized skeptically.

‘Who’s this.’

‘Oh? This is a friend of mine. He’s never been to an American club.’

‘Is that right?’ The bouncer said as he clicked off his pen and tucked it in his breast pocket. ‘Well, this is the perfect place to pop that cherry. Enjoy fellas.’

Napoleon carefully took the card and placed it inside of his breast pocket, ‘Thank you.’ And both of the men walked into the club.

As the men walked in, they were blinded by the bright twinkling lights of the many disco balls that hang on the ceiling along with over a dozen strobe lights dancing across the club.

The place was bustling and busy like nothing they’ve ever seen!

Like a Beehive!

Napoleon gently bobbed his head to the music as his crazed blue eyes danced amongst the floor, watching as gorgeous women of all colors and sizes grind and move their hips upon the dance floor.

It appeared that this mission was the least of his worries but, who he was going to be sneaking out of here with. That was until Illya landed a smack against his chest, knocking him out of whatever silly daze he was entrapped in.

‘Ow!’

‘Stay focus, cowboy. We’ve come to do a job.’

‘Yeah but who said we couldn’t have fun?’

‘Not you. You get carried away. Try not to blow our cover.’ Illya added before walking away in his stern manner.

Napoleon rolled his eyes and reached in his pocket to activate his voice recorder. Then he made his way across the bar which wasn’t far from the entrance.

As he walked over to the bar, he gazed at the dancing patrons, greeting everyone who’d passed to see if he could spot this special lady.

When he stopped at the bar, he took notice of the bartender. A woman, standing at great height. Must’ve been those thigh high platform boots. She had her back turned, cleaning out some glasses. This way he could admire her as she did so.

She had a big, beautiful Afro and wore this leather black and yellow striped short dress that hugged and defined her curves. Maybe this was her?

He cleared his throat loudly, ‘Excuse me bartender!’

The woman looked over her shoulder halfway in a startle, before quickly placing the glass and rag down. She spun around to greet him, her Afro bouncing with each movement. She wore big golden hoop earrings that twinkled and shined everytime the lights danced in her direction.

She flashed him this darling smile, with eyes brown as chocolate yet so bright with happiness and warmth. She was to die for!

‘What can I get for ya’ suga?’

Napoleon’s lips parted to speak but he all of a sudden felt shy. Truly unlike him. A burning heat rose to his cheeks, ‘Hi uh—‘ he looked at her chest which revealed her cleavage but her name tag rescued him from staring. ‘Flo… can I have scotch on the rocks please?’

‘You got it baby. Any particular kind?’

He stared up at the gorgeous brown skinned woman, almost disregarding the question— he cleared his throat and blinked hard once he realized he was staring again.

‘No— no,’ he chuckled, ‘Nothing in particular. How about you surprise me.’ He raised a brow, his own warming smile curling on his lips.

The two stared into one another’s eyes before a giggle left her lips, her dimples puncturing into her cheeks much deeper than before. ‘Alright na. You asked for it.’ She pushed off of the counter and started on his drink.

Napoleon smiled softly before he spun around halfway in his stool and began to gaze across the crowd. After a short moment, he spotted his partner standing off by the stage. Illya gave him a gentle nod of his head before Napoleon returned it in acknowledgment.

‘Here’s your drink, sugar.’

He quickly turned around and met the woman with another smile, ‘Thank you. How much do I owe ya?’

‘Nothin. It’s on the house.’

He raised a brow, ‘Is that so?’ That caught him by surprise really. He had been drugged in all different forms before, so taking a free drink always made him skeptical. ‘Am I like your 100th customer?’

‘No. I ain’t ever seen you here before, I wanted to welcome you here. People who wait outside those doors seldom get inside; just having a little shred of hope to even spend a second inside of this place.’

‘Hmm. Must be quite the place.’

‘You don’t think so?’ Flo asked, placing her hands on her hips.

‘Oh! Of course I think so. The women here are stunning.’ He gave her a quick size before straightening up, ‘Look. I refuse to drink this by myself. Lemme at least buy you one too?’

‘And drink on the job?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

A smirk was plastered on Flo’s face as she internally battled with herself.

‘Tik tok, love. I could practically hear the ice cracking.’ He teased, tapping the face of his watch with his index.

Flo inhaled deeply and rolled her eyes, ‘Alright, fine.’ Her southern draw had slightly peaked through, ‘Only cause you’re cute though.’

Napoleon smirked as she turned around where his smirk quickly faltered and he looked over his shoulder once again.

Once she was finished making her drink, she turned to face him and placed her glass down. ‘Alright—‘

‘Oh! One more thing sweetheart, could you pass me a straw?’

‘A straw?’ She raised a brow. ‘You don’t look like the kind of man that drinks his whiskey through a straw.’

‘Well there’s a lot you must learn about me baby.’

‘Alright then. Ask and you shall receive.’

While she was fulfilling her end of this bargain, Napoleon swiftly swapped their glasses before she could turn back around.

‘Here’s your straw. What should we toast to?’ She asked as she lifted up her glass.

‘Actually, I don’t need the straw… I just like to watch you work.’ He smirked as he wrapped her large hand around the glass that just seemed so miniscule in his palm.

Flo giggled rolling her eyes, ‘You flirt with all your bartenders like this?’

‘Oh dear no! I’m a one bartender kind of man. Actually, let’s toast to that. You being the most spectacular and gorgeous bartender that’s ever graced my presence.’

‘I can get down with that sugar.’ The woman winked as the both of them carefully clicked their glasses together.

Napoleon brought his drink to his lips slowly, watching Flo take a big swig out of hers before placing it down on the counter. No side effects hit her immediately… but perhaps they shall later.

As Napoleon embraced the welcoming warmth of his drink, he placed his glass down on the paper towel that she’d handled him. The space between them grew quiet for a second before he looked up at her. ‘What can you tell me about the person who owns this club?’

‘Who? Queenie? Why you wanna know?’

‘I’m a Wall Street Journalist. I’m looking to write an article about her success!’

Flo looked down at her watch and turned around to grab a rag and clean off her countertop. ‘Well, ion know if you can tell but… Queenie got her work cut out for her that’s for sho.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, her husband—‘

There it was. Exactly what he needed to further investigate.

‘Bought this place for her to solidify their marriage. I’ve been her friend for quite some time and never have I ever thought she would marry that grade A dickhead.’ Flo rolled her eyes.

‘Oh dear. What’s he like? How does he treat her?’

‘He worships the ground she walks on. But it often appears she couldn’t give less than a rats ass about him.’

‘Do you know how they met?’

‘She was singing in some lounge in Texas. That’s where we’re from.’

Napoleon was taking in all these minor details about this woman. He knew she would tell him everything he wanted to know… all she needed was a little motivation.

‘Right. And do you know what her husband does for work?’ He lacked the knowledge of that field, which was why he and Illya were here in the first place.

‘He owns a couple businesses as far as I know… i thought we were talking ‘bout Queenie though?’

Napoleon paused, ‘We are!’ He cleared his throat before taking a sip. He took notice of how she kept looking down at her watch, ‘Y’know the more you look at that thing—‘

‘“The slower time goes.” I know. But since you’re new here… it’s Friday Night.’ Her eyes glanced up at him.

‘Something special about Friday nights?’

Flo looked down at her watch one more time before a huge grin graced her face once more, ‘In fact… they are very special.’

Napoleon’s thick brows tugged into one as his face was written in incomprehensible confusion. Then, every light in the vicinity of the club shut off without warning. A few short squeals floated across the room in dismay.

Startled, Napoleon stood to his feet as he went into panic mode, afraid that he and Illya had been bested. His bright blue eyes fought desperately to adjust in the darkness. But in seconds, a sweet and groovy melody filled the air.

‘Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come overrrr.

Baby, come over. Come be alone with me tonight.

Beehiiiive!!!’

A woman sang lewdly over the sound of the speakers.

‘Don’t be scared babies. Queen Bee won’t hurt you.’

Napoleon’s eyes had finally adjusted somewhat but he had yet to find Illya.

A big yellow spotlight shined on the stage revealing a band to the left and 3 back up singers who harmonized angelically. Three women with big poofy Afros donned with fresh flowers. They wore something similar to what Flo wore just instead of short dresses, they were flared pants; covered in black and yellow rhinestones.

They shined like stars on that stage.

Napoleon finally spotted Illya who hadn’t even left the spot.

‘All these emotions. It’s washing over me tonight.’

Once the room gained its groove back, Napoleon looked back to see that Flo had disappeared from her post.

He raised his brow in suspicion before he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Illya.

‘I saw you flirting with the bartender.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was gathering intel.’

‘And?’

‘She knows just as much as we do.’ Napoleon sighed as they both turned to look at the charade.

That was until this huge disco ball began to slowly descend from the ceiling.

The two men's lips parted in disbelief.

Eventually, she was revealed standing on top of this gigantic ball. She had this beautiful smile plastered on her face as she greeted the crowd with alluring harmonizing.

She almost sounded like a siren; gracing the masses with her deathly hymns.

But when he saw her face, there was no way she could be something so sinister and evil. She was… ethereal. An angel in disguise of a woman who could snatch the soul from any man who dared looked in her direction.

Napoleon was stunned.

‘How are we doing tonight my worker bees?’ She grinned as the crowd beneath her cheered with blissful enthusiasm. ‘Yeeeeah!’ She laughed happily as she continued to scan the crowd.

‘That must be—‘

‘Queenie Covington.’ Napoleon felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was fan behavior! She was not what he’d imagined her to be.

Both of the men watched the woman carefully descend from the ball with the help of her security guards. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back like sacred waterfalls. She wore a bedazzled tank top, matching bedazzled light denim shorts and high metallic silver fringed boots.

She shined brighter than any star they’d ever seen.

Baby come over, come be alone with me tonight.

All these emotions,

It’s rushing over me tonight— AH!

Ride it!

‘What is the plan now, cowboy?’ Illya asked.

‘What plan?’ Napoleon retorted.

‘You don’t have a plan.’

‘You think I knew she was doing an open mic tonight?!’ Napoleon huffed as his pink nose flared with aggravation, ‘We’ll figure it out.’

As Queenie began to croon over that melody once again, the flashing lights glowed into this magnificent yellow hue causing her glow light gold. Her eyes were closed as she allowed the music to embrace and be one with her soul. And when her hazel eyes fluttered back open, her eyes cut across the room towards the two men at the bar who seemed to be bickering at one another. Though, that didn’t take her out of her sensual groove.

‘Look after her performance, she may come to the bar to have a drink.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

Napoleon inhaled deeply, holding it there as he tried to think of something. ‘Then we’ll do what we always do.’

Illya knew that specific plan and a lot of the time it involved them both getting damn near getting caught.

‘Oh no. Not this again.’

‘Not this again? What choice do we have? She’s the only lead that we have on him. We must exhaust all options.’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.

(Baby you can hit this, don’t be scared.)

It’s only gonna get you high!

Baby come over.

The boys watched in amazement as the woman swayed and rocked her hips as her own hands made love to her own thighs, belly and breasts.

Queenie cut her eyes back at the two gentlemen back at the bar once again; particularly the one in the suit. He surely stuck out like a sore thumb. And most of her folks here were regulars.

That star struck glare in his eyes was also very telling. She always did enjoy seeing men gawk over her. So with a smile and a wink, she began to moan her lyrics.

Don’t you leave. (me)

Don’t you leave.

So use me. (Use me)

Pursue me. (Pursue me)

Kiss me where you bruise me. (Bruise me)

Oooh weee—

Taste me, the fleshy part.

I scream so loud, I curse the stars!!!

Napoleon gulped hard, reaching in the collar of his dress shirt and tugged at it as he felt his temperature rising.

Illya glanced over at Napoleon and smirked as he took in this canon moment. ‘Has Casanova finally met his match?’

Without taking his eyes off of her, Napoleon groaned, ‘Shut up.’

As she adlibed and add those heavenly high and lows, the song had come to a beautiful close.

‘Thank you.’ She grinned happily as the audience blessed her with a healthy applause .

‘Thank you so much everyone for coming. Being able to perform in front of an energetic crowd is always a true blessing. Please, enjoy the rest of your night sugars and stay groovy.’

They gave her one more applause as she brought her hands together in prayer and bowed in their wake. She then swiftly turned around to speak to her back up singers.

Napoleon narrowed his eyes, taking note of the smiling group of women. It was nice to know that she and those that worked with and/or for her got along fairly well. Then, she excused herself and went backstage.

‘Did you enjoy the performance?’

The two gentlemen jumped at the sudden voice, one that was familiar to Napoleon alone. They turned around to see Flo standing there with a knowing smirk on her full lips.

‘Where did you go?’ Napoleon’s head fell to the side.

‘Oh. I help engineer those pretty lights and what have you. Just some techy junk.’ She smirked and glanced over at Illya. ‘Who’s your friend here?’

Well, the story seems to check out. Though, he didn’t know why she needed to be so suspenseful.

‘This is uh—‘

‘Alex—‘ Illya looked over at Napoleon before looking back ahead at the bartender. ‘My name is Alexsander.’

Napoleon looked back at Flo who gave them both a strange glare. ‘Alright, Alex…sander. Could I get you a drink, sweet baby?’

‘No ma’am. I’m actually here for work.’

‘Well I think we may have something open for security… you sure do fit the bill though.’ A smirk curled on her lips as her head fell to the side. She was checking Illya out.

Napoleon raised a brow with a smirk as the two began to converse with one another. It was about time Illya blew off some kind of steam.

‘Flo, hey.’

Napoleon watched her walk up to the bar and pull herself onto the empty seat beside him. Thee Queenie Covington. Their whole mission, sitting not even a whole foot away from him.

“You are not to sleep with Mrs. Covington under any circumstances, Solo.”

Well it was a good thing he didn’t make promises.

‘Give me the usual.’ She added.

When Flo’s and Illya’s conversation came to a close, he and Napoleon leaned into one another.

‘Just start casual conversation. Perhaps she’ll give us everything we need.’

‘Not to worry.’ He pulled away and turned halfway in his seat, ‘Excuse me, Miss. Queenie I am sorry for the intrusion but—‘

‘No autographs right now sugar.’ She said in a hurry as Flo placed her wine glass in front of her.

This is a man’s world! This is a man’s world!

‘I’m sorry Miss. Queenie I’m not here for an autograph. My name is Napoleon and I’m with the Wall Street Journal. I’d like to honor you in our newspaper.’

She had brought her wine up to her full lips and took a long sip. ‘Mmm! Napoleon? Like the little French dude? You don’t strike me as a “Napoleon”.’

‘What do I strike you as then?’

But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing — without a woman or a girl.

‘Hmm…’ her head fell to the side as her pretty eyes roamed all over his handsome features.

She breathed him in and my what a breath of fresh air he was. The colors and the lights that danced across his face only seem to enhance the shadows and curvature of his jaw, making his face appear more masculine. Then, every once in a while a yellow light would flash over his eyes, causing them to glow like high beams.

‘I don’t know… maybe a “Henry” or a “David”. Definitely not a short little man with a God complex.’ She giggled, her full lips pulled back to reveal that dazzling smile once more.

He chuckled as his head fell in slight embarrassment. He should’ve changed his damn name.

‘You know I’ve heard that before.’

‘I bet you have.’ Queenie smirked as she took another sip from her glass, ‘So, what is it that I need from me, Napoleon?’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions if you have time?’

‘Yeah, I sup—‘

‘Mrs. Covington?!’ A tall lean male came rushing over to the bar, carefully pushing folks out of the way.

Goddammit.

Queenie rolled her eyes and turned around to meet the gentleman’s gaze, ‘Oh dear, what is it now? I’m in the middle of something!’

‘Yes but it’s your husband ma’am.’

‘Oh? Is the fool finally dying? I’m having a meeting.’

Napoleon took notice of how her mood quickly shifted from something light and fun to something else when her husband was brought up.

Her attitude was so fierce and sharp, you could see how it cut and tore through the gentleman’s ego. Napoleon found himself smirking a little.

‘It’s… it’s important ma’am. He demands your presence.’

She stared up at him for a long moment before letting out a deep breath through her nose and shook her head. ‘Fine. Please just— give me a second to finish my drink.’

The male in all black bowed his head and took a step back to give the woman privacy.

‘Mrs. Covington…’

‘Dear heavens, Mr. Napoleon I am so very sorry. You’ve come all this way to meet me and I have to leave.’ She sighed once again before knocking back the rest of her wine. She was gonna need it dealing with that god forsaken man.

As frustrated as Napoleon was, he couldn’t step out of character so he just gave her a gentle smile.

‘No need to apologize, Mrs. Covington. Perhaps another day? Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I should be. Maybe we can have brunch. Since this is my screw up, on me.’

‘Nooo, no ma’am. I won’t have it, it’s just a minor inconvenience—‘

‘Are you telling me no?’

The woman stared at him with eyes that searched his soul. Digging in every nook and cranny to figure out who he was.

And to her surprise, he didn’t buckle or break. He wasn’t like most men it appeared. His gaze remained on hers.

‘I’m telling you not to treat me. I don’t think it’s fair.’

‘Hmm.’ She hummed softly as she smirked and stood from her seat. ‘Alright. Meet me here tomorrow at 11:45am. Don’t be late.’

‘You lack faith in me Mrs. Covington.’

Queenie raised her brow and began to walk away, her slightly swaying hips making a statement. Then she paused and turned halfway to meet his gaze once again.

‘Oh and Sugar?’ She called out over the swelling of the music.

But it wouldn’t be nothing— nothing!! Without a woman or a girl.

He blinked and lifted his chin in response to her voice.

‘Call me Queenie.’

Random Tags: @ellethespaceunicorn @milknhonies @headcannonxgalore @xblackreader @xsapphirescrollsx @peternoonewantsthat @deandoesthingstome @peachyvulpixie

[tarotenvelhecida]

pick a card– which book speaks to your soul?

You read something which you thought only happened to you, and you discover that it happened 100 years ago to Dostoyevsky. This is a very great liberation for the suffering, struggling person, who always thinks that he is alone. This is why art is important.

—Conversations with James Baldwin.

this is my love letter to all the bookworms in the tarot community— pick a pile & i'll give you a list of genres + book suggestions carrying important messages to you.

I. THE FIRST

To the daydreamers and the escapists; to the ones that need to rest before following what you need follow.

RELEVANT GENRES & CONCEPTS– fiction in general; romance; fantasy; fairytale; poetry; ‘happy ever after’ endings; hopeful endings; fantasy; magic; dreamy.

AUTHORS – Ursula K. Le Guin; Louise Gluck; Mary Oliver; Jane Austen.

BOOKS FOR YOU–

‘The Paper Garden: An Artist Begins Her Life’s Work at 72 – Molly Peacock'

‘Good Bones – Maggie Smith’

‘If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho – Translation by Anne Carson’

‘Owls and Other Fantasies – Mary Oliver’

‘Dog Songs – Mary Oliver’

‘Emma – Jane Austen’

‘Howl’s Moving Castle – Diana Wynne Jones’

‘The Little Prince – Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’

‘Death Comes for the Archbishop – Willa Cather’

‘Sonnets from the Portuguese – Elizabeth Barrett Browning’

‘The Hawk and the Dove – Penelope Wilcock’

‘The Secret Life of the Lonely Doll: The Search for Dare Wright’

‘The Ink Dark Moon – Ono no Komachi & Izumi Shikibu’

‘Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll’

‘The Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf’

‘Little Women – Louisa May Alcott’

‘Anne of Green Gables – L.M. Montgomery’

‘Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins – Emma Donoghue’

II. THE SECOND

For the ones that carry the ache to learn and know everything; to the ones bored with life's commodities & seriousness. For the ones that question everything around them – as they should do.

You do not need to fit in. Don't change yourself for other people. If they want to see you this way, then become the proud witch in the edge of the woods.

RELEVANT GENRES & CONCEPTS– books on 'niche' knowledge; science; philosophy; true crime; drama; scandalous romances; adventure, magical realism; YA thriller & horror; comedy & sardonic comedy; ‘controversial’/'weird' books.

AUTHORS– Carmen Maria Machado, Kate Moore, Grady Hendrix.

BOOKS FOR YOU–

‘My Sister, The Serial Killer – Oyinkan Braithwaite'

‘The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales – Oliver Sacks'

‘St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves – Karen Russell'

‘Spook: Science Tackles the Afterlife – Mary Roach’

‘The Hitchhiker Guide to Galaxy – Douglas Adams'

‘Inferno – Dante Alighieri'

'Magic for Beginners – Kelly Link'

‘Lace Bone Beast: Poems & Other Fairytales for Wicked Girls – N.L. Shompole'

‘Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found – Frances Larson’

'The Woman They Could Not Silence – Kate Moore'

‘The Dictionary of Lost Words – Pip Williams'

‘She Kills Me: The True Stories of History’s Deadliest Women – Jennifer Wright’

‘Anatomy: A Love Story – Dana Schwartz'

‘Pretty Dead Queens – Alexa Donne'

‘I’m Glad My Mom Died – Jennette McCurdy'

'Rabid: A Cultural History of the World's Most Diabolical Virus – Bill Wasik'

‘Chilling Adventures of Sabrina – Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’

III. THE THIRD

You need to put your sadness somewhere. If you can't, remember that someone has done it before – and transformed it into a story. Let the words you'll read be the resting place for whatever you're feeling right now; let yourself remember that not even your pain is lonely in this world.

RELEVANT GENRES AND CONCEPTS— poetry; gothic horror; thrillers; murder mysteries; tragedies; cathartic stories; biographies.

AUTHORS– Shirley Jackson, Osamu Dazai, Clarice Lispector, Sylvia Plath.

BOOKS FOR YOU—

'The Year of Magical Thinking – Joan Didion'

‘The Dead – James Joyce'

‘What The Living Do – Marie Howe'

‘The Hour of the Star – Clarice Lispector'

‘Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector’

‘Some of Us Did Not Die – June Jordan'

Somewhere Towards the End – Diana Athill'

‘We Have Always Lived in The Castle – Shirley Jackson'

'Heaven: A Novel – Mieko Kawakami'

'Journal of a Solitude – May Sarton'

'Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte'

'Grief is the Thing with Feathers – Max Porter'

‘Carrie – Stephen King'

'Of Dogs and Walls – Yuko Tsushima'

'Frankenstein – Mary Shelley'

'The Stepping Off Place – Cameron Kelly'

'Letters to Milena – Franz Kafka'

‘Beloved – Toni Morrison'

[bengiyo]

Comfort Films Tag

Rules: List 7 of your comfort movies, then tag 7 people.

Tagged by @callipigio

1 - Shelter (2007)

I often joke around here about how I’ve been watching queer cinema for over half of my life at this point, and it’s easy to recommend this film. This is a coming of age film about a guy who gave up art school to become the primary breadwinner and caregiver for his family. However, when the older brother of his best friend returns to their town to collect himself, our artist and he reconnect and find something special between them. Great use of a young actor in this shores up the caregiving aspects.

I’m probably going to rewatch it now. Because it was produced by Here! TV, you can only legally watch it via a subscription to their platform. I own it on DVD because I fell in love with it and knew I needed to keep it forever.

2 - Big Eden (2000)

Big Eden. Oh, Big Eden. This is the film equivalent of a warm blanket and a tight hug. It’s about an artist named Henry Hart, who is preparing for a big exhibition in New York when he’s called back home to Montana because his uncle has had a stroke. We are greatest with the most queer-friendly town to ever exist as Henry manages his old angst about his straight best friend as the local general store owner also secretly pursues him. It’s absolutely lovely.

3 - The Blues Brothers (1980)

Luna has great taste, because this is one of the best films ever made. What was originally just an SNL bit turns into a fun road film about getting the band back together so that two brothers can raise enough money to pay the back taxes owed by the orphanage they grew up in. We also run over Illinois nazis in this movie and demolish dozens of cop cars. Cab Calloway, James Brown, Carrie Fisher, Chaka Khan, Paul Reubens, and Aretha Franklin are in it. John Candy orders orange whips. This is the kind of film I would watch with my dad any time it was on.

4 - Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)

This is one of the most man movies ever made. I don’t know any woman who wants to sit down and watch this film, but me and boys will spend an entire afternoon on this film in a heartbeat. The sexual tension between Russell Crowe’s and Paul Bettany’s characters goes unremarked on this website in a way that lets you know for sure this hellsite is dominated by femmes, because those two have definitely fucked. At least twice. It’s 1805 and oceans have become battlefields!

5 - Clue (1985)

A movie based on the board game of the same name should not have been this good, but it instead goes on to become a camp masterpiece. Many people will end up remembering Tim Curry for Rocky Horror or even Muppet Treasure Island, but this is still one of his favorite performances for me. This film is batshit and I love it. 

6 - Camp (2003)

Speaking of camp films, let’s talk about one of the best of all time. I know we often talk about the bad singing in Thai BL, but I unironically love all of the musical theater in this film. I regularly listen to this soundtrack, and have been for over 15 years. It’s a film about a bunch of weird theater kids who get to escape the bullying and hellishness of their lives for a few weeks during the summer, where they get to put on a bunch of classic plays. It’s so camp. I love this film because it was difficult for me to find queer films that had happy components with them, and this little movie has a wide array of queer kids in it.

7 - Make The Yuletide Gay (2009)

This was the first queer film I ever watched that had a happy ending that was also a comedy. Prior to this, I think I had watched Beautiful Thing (1996), Edge of Seventeen (1998), Get Real (1998), and Bent (1997). Most of those films ended resolved or sad. Yuletide is a silly little gay film of almost nonstop innuendo about a guy who goes back into the closet when he returns home for Christmas, but hijinks ensue when his boyfriend shows up unexpectedly. It’s an annual watch for me around the holidays, and I usually host people for it. 

Also, Adamo Ruggiero is in it! He played Marco on Degrassi: The Next Generation.

This was fun! I think most folks have been tagged that I know, but I’ll tag @warningtothecurious​. If anyone else does this, please tag me back if you do this! I want to know what films you all return to.

[sunflowerabyss]

Charms of Fate: Chapter 1

Paring: Remus Lupin x Fem!Professor!Reader

Series Masterlist

Plot: Amidst the echoes of a bygone era, you return to Hogwarts years after parting ways with Hogwarts. What begins as a journey fueled by nostalgia transforms into an unexpected reunion with Remus Lupin, now a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. As the past intertwines with the present, the two former classmates navigate the complexities of grief, the resurgence of friendship, and the unwritten chapters of their shared history in this tale of rediscovery and the magic that binds them together.

Warnings: mention of character death

A/N: Hello! Welcome to the first chapter of Charms of Fate! This is the first fanfiction I have written in a bajillion years. So here is my current obsession--Remus Lupin.

__________________________________________________________

You stepped onto the train, finding an empty cabin before placing your bags in the compartment above the seats. Huffing, you sat down, pulling out the wrinkled letter you had received only a short month ago. Dumbledore's neat cursive stared back at you in green ink and you fondly remember your first letter from Hogwarts. You smiled sadly as your mind began to drift to the days of your youth.

It was the spring of 1978, and the air at Hogwarts was tinged with the scent of blooming flowers and the bittersweet realization that it was the last day you would walk these halls clad in your Gryffindor robes. You and Lily Evans, the uncommonly kind girl you grew close with over the years, joined her boyfriend James, and his friends Sirius, Peter, and Remus in celebrating the end of your magical journey.

The Great Hall was adorned with festive decorations as laughter and joy echoed through its grandeur. Remus Lupin, the quiet and thoughtful member of the Marauders, caught your eye more often than not. Throughout the last year, you and Remus had gravitated towards each other, drawn together by shared interests and a subtle understanding that words couldn't quite capture.

As the day unfolded, you and Remus found yourselves in moments of quiet conversation, away from the boisterous pranks and laughter of the others. His brown eyes held a warmth that mirrored the budding spring outside, and his words carried a depth that resonated with you on a profound level.

When the time came to say your goodbyes, you exchanged promises to keep in touch. But, as life often does, it threw you and Remus onto different paths. Owl-post became infrequent, and the ties that once bound you to the magical camaraderie of Hogwarts began to loosen.

Years passed, and the connection with Remus faded into the echoes of memories. Life unfolded with its trials and tribulations, and the once-prominent figure of Remus Lupin became a distant echo from the past.

As you reflect on that last day at Hogwarts, you wonder where life took Remus and if the paths that once intersected would ever cross again. The nostalgia of youthful friendships mingles with the ache of time's passage, leaving you with a lingering sense of loss and a yearning for the connection that slipped through your fingers after that bittersweet graduation day.

The vibrant memories of Lily and James' wedding lingered in your mind—the joyous celebration, the laughter, and the shared happiness as you stood by your best friend on her special day. The joy only multiplied when Lily announced her pregnancy, and you were there, witnessing the excitement in their eyes as they shared the news.

The day Harry was born brought tears of happiness to your eyes as you cradled the small bundle of joy. Little did you know that those precious moments would soon be overshadowed by the darkness that would shroud the wizarding world.

Halloween 1981, the news of Lily and James Potter's tragic demise, and Sirius Black's descent into Azkaban sent shockwaves through your body. Your dearest friends, gone. The memories of joy turned into haunting echoes of grief, leaving you lost and depressed.

Desperate for a connection, you tried to reach out to Remus, penning letters that poured out your heartache and longing for solace. Yet, as time passed, and the owls returned without a reply, you gave up hope, feeling the weight of isolation settle over you like a heavy cloak.

In an attempt to escape the suffocating darkness, you found employment in the Ministry of Magic. Modifying memories and undoing magical damage became a temporary refuge, a way to numb the pain that seemed insurmountable.

Life took an unexpected turn when an owl arrived with a letter from Dumbledore, offering you the position of Charms professor at Hogwarts. The prospect of returning to the place where memories were both joyful and painful filled you with mixed emotions. Hesitantly, you accepted the position, leaving behind your job at the Ministry of Magic for a chance to share your knowledge with a new generation.

As the train began to move, you were glad for some solitude in your cab, relieved you didn't have to make small talk. The Hogwarts Express rumbled along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels providing a comforting backdrop as you read Dumbledore's letter for the umpteenth time:

"Dearest (Y/N),

I trust this owl finds you well. It is with great pleasure and anticipation that I extend an invitation for you to join the esteemed faculty at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor Flitwick, our longtime Charms instructor, has chosen to retire early, and your name emerged as a fitting successor.

Your expertise and dedication to the magical arts have not gone unnoticed. I believe your return to Hogwarts will enrich the academic environment and inspire the next generation of witches and wizards. The position is yours should you choose to accept, and I look forward to welcoming you back to the castle.

Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"

You sighed, folding the letter before shoving it into your coat pocket. You leaned your head against the window, watching the scenery go by. As the train journey unfolded, the nostalgic reverie was interrupted. Abruptly, the train jolted to a stop, jarring you from your reverie. You furrowed your brow in confusion, wondering what could have caused the sudden halt. Peering out of the compartment window, you noticed the somber atmosphere that had settled over the train.

A hushed murmur passed through the train, and a shiver ran down your spine as an eerie chill filled the air. The familiar warmth of the Hogwarts Express seemed to dissipate, replaced by an unsettling stillness.

In the corridor, shadows flickered ominously, and the ambient hum of conversation turned into uneasy whispers. Your confusion deepened, a sense of foreboding settling over her. Unaware of the impending encounter with Dementors, you exchanged puzzled glances with fellow passengers.

The compartment door slid open, revealing a group of hooded figures moving purposefully down the corridor. The air grew heavy with despair, and you felt an unexplainable weight on your chest. The dim light in the compartment seemed to dim further, casting an eerie pallor over everything.

A fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if this was some elaborate prank. However, you remember what you saw in the weekly newspaper, and you feel your stomach churn. The Ministry was looking for Sirius Black.

The chilling presence of Dementors filled the cabin, and your confusion gave way to a subtle dread. Your breath caught in your throat as the hooded figures glided past the compartment before leaving altogether. The inexplicable feeling of despair hung in the air, and you found yourself grappling with an emotion you couldn't put your finger on.

Peering through the compartment window, you caught sight of a man walking to the front of the train, obscured by shadows. A familiar chill ran down your spine, but you couldn't quite discern his identity.

As the train resumed its journey, the weight lifted, but the encounter lingered in your mind. The transient confusion had given way to a deeper awareness that the journey back to Hogwarts held more mysteries than you had initially anticipated.

The remainder of the journey was thankfully uneventful, and exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster led you to drift into a restless sleep. Just before fully surrendering to dreams, you heard the door to your compartment creak open slightly, a subtle intrusion that left you with a sense of curiosity.

You felt the train gradually slow down, pulling you from your slumber as it came to a halt. With a weary sigh, you gathered your belongings, the excitement of returning to Hogwarts now tinged with a layer of apprehension. As you stepped off the train, the castle loomed in the distance, its silhouette etched against the dark sky, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this return held more than just the promise of new beginnings.

Before you knew it, you were standing outside of the castle where you spent many of your adolescent years. Dumbledore welcomed you warmly, his blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. "Ah, (Y/N), my dear. It warms my heart to see you return to Hogwarts. Your presence is a boon to our magical community."

"It's good to be back headmaster," you replied, a genuine, but tired smile on your face.

Dumbledore gestured towards the castle. "Before we delve into matters, let me help you find your living quarters. It has been some time since your last stay, and the castle may seem like a labyrinth."

Grateful for the guidance, you followed Dumbledore through the bustling platform and into the castle. The familiarity of the stone walls and the shifting staircases stirred a cascade of memories.

Dumbledore led you through winding corridors and staircases until you arrived at a charming wooden door. "Here we are, (Y/N)," he announced. "Your living quarters for the foreseeable future. I trust you'll find them quite comfortable."

As you stepped inside, the room revealed itself to be a cozy haven, adorned with warm colors and inviting furniture. It felt like a sanctuary within the castle's magical embrace.

"Take your time settling in, (Y/N)," Dumbledore advised. "Once you're ready, please join me in my office. There are matters we must discuss."

With a nod of gratitude, you watched as Dumbledore left, the door closing gently behind him. Alone in the room, you took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Hogwarts felt both familiar and different, as if the castle itself held the secrets of a thousand stories.

After gathering your thoughts and putting your things away with the flick of your wand, you made your way to Dumbledore's office, guided by the familiar twists and turns.

As you entered Dumbledore's office, your eyes were drawn to the man already seated in one of the chairs facing the headmaster's desk. Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, acknowledged your presence.

"Ah, (Y/N), right on time. Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the remaining chair across from the mysterious man.

As you approached, the man's head turned in your direction, and your breath caught as you met his gaze. It was Remus Lupin, his warm eyes holding a mixture of surprise and recognition.

"(Y/N)," Remus uttered, his voice a quiet revelation that resonated in the room.

"Remus," you replied, a mixture of astonishment and joy coloring your tone. The room seemed to hum with unspoken emotions as Dumbledore observed the reunion.

"I believe introductions are in order," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "Remus Lupin, allow me to introduce (Y/N) (L/N), our new Charms professor. And (Y/N), this is Remus Lupin, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Your eyes locked, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you. It felt as though the years melted away, leaving only the echoes of your shared history.

"Quite the unexpected reunion, wouldn't you say?" Dumbledore remarked with a knowing smile, his gaze shifting between you and Remus.

Dumbledore leaned back in his high-backed chair, his fingers steepled beneath his bearded chin. The soft glow of the room's ambient light seemed to dance in his half-moon spectacles as he addressed the formalities.

"(Y/N), Remus, I trust that you both find your roles at Hogwarts both gratifying and challenging. The responsibilities that come with being educators are vast, but the rewards are immeasurable," Dumbledore began, his tone measured and grandfatherly.

"As our new Charms professor, (Y/N), I have every confidence that you will impart your extensive knowledge and passion for magic to our students. Your return is a welcomed addition to our academic family."

Turning his gaze to Remus, Dumbledore continued, "And Remus, my dear friend, I cannot express how pleased I am to have you back within these hallowed halls. Your dedication to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is both admirable and much needed in these uncertain times."

You nodded appreciatively, the gravity of your role sinking in. Remus, too, inclined his head in acknowledgment of the responsibility entrusted to him.

"Now, as we embark on a new school year, I must emphasize the importance of unity among the staff. The challenges ahead will undoubtedly require cooperation and understanding. I trust that both of you will uphold the values that Hogwarts holds dear," Dumbledore concluded, his gaze shifting between you and Remus.

Dumbledore's gaze, though kind, became somber as he broached another topic. "There is one more matter we must discuss, one that may cast a shadow over the upcoming term. Sirius Black, a name that resonates through our world with both tragedy and mystery."

He paused, allowing the weight of the name to settle in the room. "(Y/N), Remus, though I am sure you have already heard, I must inform you that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. The circumstances surrounding his imprisonment are murky, and the Ministry is fervently searching for him."

A heavy silence hung in the room, the mention of Sirius Black injecting an undercurrent of tension. "(Y/N), as a member of the Hogwarts staff, and Remus, given your history with him, I must ask you to exercise caution. The safety of our students is of the utmost importance." Remus nodded solemnly, his expression reflecting the complexities of emotions tied to his old friend.

Dumbledore, sensing the gravity of the discussion, allowed a soft smile to touch his lips. "Now, my dear professors, let us not let these dark times overshadow the joyous occasion of your return. We have much to celebrate and look forward to. I invite you both to the Great Hall for dinner. I shall be along in a few minutes."

You and Remus exchanged glances before standing up and shuffling out of the door. As they exited Dumbledore's office, the bustling sounds of students and the aroma of a delicious feast wafted through the air.

"Well, I must say, this a delightful surprise," Remus said, a warm smile on his face.

You glance up at the man who kept his gaze forward before replying, a small smile of your own settling across your lips, "It's been far too long."

As you both walked side by side towards the Great Hall, the echoes of shared memories and the gaps of time that separated you created a subtle tension in the air. You couldn't help but notice the height difference between you. Remus towered over you, his tall and lean frame drawing attention. His attire, while seemingly a bit outdated, exuded a timeless charm that suited him well. You observed the scars on his face, a feature that had always intrigued you. The origin of those scars remained a mystery. Yet rather than diminishing his charm, the scars seemed to enhance it, giving him an alluring and rugged quality.

"I've missed this place," Remus admitted, glancing around the familiar surroundings.

"So have I," you agreed, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips.

Remus looked like he wanted to say something, a question or perhaps a sentiment left unspoken for too long.

Yet, after a moment of contemplation, he chose not to voice whatever was on his mind. The unspoken words lingered, leaving a trace of curiosity in the air, but Remus simply offered you a small, reassuring smile. The awkwardness of the silence melted away as the doors to the Great Hall swung open.

As the grand entrance of the Great Hall loomed before you both, Remus, ever the gentleman, gestured with a slight bow, indicating for you to go in first. A faint smile played on his lips, and his hand gently touched the small of your back as you stepped through the massive doors.

The contact was subtle, a genteel gesture that spoke volumes. The warmth of Remus's touch sent a cascade of emotions through you—nostalgia, familiarity, and perhaps something more.

The Great Hall greeted you with its radiant glow, its enchanted ceiling mirroring the starry sky. The tables were laden with delicious dishes, and the murmur of animated conversations echoed in the cavernous space.

Remus followed closely behind, his presence a comforting anchor. The touch on your lower back lingered just long enough to create a lingering sensation, leaving you in a state of gentle bewilderment. It was as if the touch carried the weight of unspoken words, a silent acknowledgment of the shared journey that had brought you back to Hogwarts.

As you both found your seats at the professor's table, the emotions stirred by that fleeting touch lingered, adding a layer of complexity to the reunion. The unspoken connection between you and Remus seemed to dance in the air, an undercurrent that wove through the fabric of the magical atmosphere. Dumbledore opened with a welcoming speech, introducing you and Remus as the new Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, to which you both shyly stood and waved. As the feast unfolded, the feeling of that small, tender touch lingered, leaving you with a sense of warmth and anticipation that awaited the new school year.

[thatsthat24]

Sanderstober 2022

Upon request (and because you're all amazing at them), I have a NEW Sanderstober art prompt list for you this year! Feel free to do one, some, or all of these prompts for October! Take em in any order you feel & use the hashtag #Sanderstober2022 if you’d like me to see your creations! Hope you all have fun with these if you take em on!! 🎨 

Day 1: Starting out with a traditional classic, take a character from media or OC and draw how they look on September 30th vs. how they look on October 1st. 

Day 2: Time to shine the light on the articles of clothing we all love to bust out in the fall, by CHOOSING one of those items and making a monster based on it!

Day 3: It is announced, beyond all reason, that they’re going to add a NEW suit to the deck of cards, in addition to hearts, clubs, diamonds, and spades. Disregarding how much this would destroy the structure of most card games, what is this new suit called and what does it look like??

Day 4: Centaurs are half-man, half-horse. Draw another kind of fantastical creature, that’s half-man, half ANOTHER kind of animal! - Idea from Dominic!

Day 5: Take a typical children’s nursery rhyme… and create a thriller poster based off of it…

Day 6: Design Challenge - create a stylish look (clothes, makeup, whatever you like) based off a candy of your choice!

Day 7: There’s a Pokemon based off almost everything. But not everything. Take a random object, animal, etc. that a Pokemon hasn’t been based off yet… and create one, complete with a corresponding name!

Day 8: Take any piece of Western animation and re-imagine it in anime form. - Inspired by an idea from Dominic!

Day 9: Take any traditional Halloween monster and think about what TikTok challenge they probably would take on. Doesn’t even have to be a real one! 

Day 10: A dabbling in minimalism. Take one or several characters from one of your favorite pieces of media, and try to depict them using only simplistic shapes. See if you can get people to guess the characters or show/movie/video game from the shapes and color schemes. 

Day 11: Always a fave prompt of mine - depict a pleasant fall-related memory of yours using solely fall-related colors (red, orange, yellow, brown, etc.)

Day 12: What if Halloween took place at another time of the year than Fall?? How might the holiday look different? Are there any traditions that might change? Any imagery? Any houses decorated differently??? Depict any aspect of the holiday that may look different!

Day 13: Another fave of mine - Take ANY Disney character and depict what they might look like as a superpowered individual in the Marvel universe.

Day 14: It happened again. This time, they announced a NEW chess piece that would be added to the game of chess. Why are they doing this?? Once again, disregarding how much of a wrench this throws into the gameplay of chess, WHAT does this new piece look like? What is it called? And how does it move on the board? 

Day 15: Re-imagine any Halloween monster or thriller movie baddie… as a character in a fantasy world…

Day 16: Using just inspiration from items found in your kitchen, use them to create a flag for a new country - Idea from Tammy!

Day 17: Draw a dynamic duo in a dynamic couples costume (Jessie & James from Pokémon as the front and back half of a horse, etc) - Idea from Cambria!

Day 18: My first prompt where I can take Inspo from Our Flag Means Death! Take any character from pop culture who isn’t a pirate… and design what they might look like in a pirate universe. Basically… pirate-ify them.

Day 19: Taking inspiration from the Haunted Mansion paintings, where the top of the painting looks pleasant only to then pan down to show the situation is much more grim (give it a Google if you need a reference!), create your own version of one of those paintings! - Another idea from Cambria

Day 20: The return of a classic… take any character(s) from a piece of media and depict them in the style of a Tim Burton character. (Sorry, I just love what you all create with this prompt!)

Day 21: Take any social media app… and turn it into a person.

Day 22: Take any Halloween-esque or Fall-based item/imagery and depict it in the iconic style of a famous painter!

Day 23: Oh my god, they’re doing it again!! Out of the blue, Hasbro announces that Clue will now be adding a NEW guest to the game of Clue who will be joining all the other color-based guests. Why does this keep happening?? Please create this guest and what their colorful name shall be!

Day 24: Take a loved pet from any point in your life, and turn them into a MONSTER.

Day 25: Take one of the characters from our videos (or a character from another piece of your fave media if you prefer!) and draw them with an animal that you think matches them perfectly! - Idea from Cambria!

Day 26: I’m such a sucker for this prompt: Depict characters from one of your fave animated shows in the STYLE of another animated series

Day 27: Since this would probably make Remus happy… if it makes you comfortable, draw a nightmare you remember having in your life, and instead of it happening to you, depict it happening to Remus

Day 28: Since we did the opposite prompt earlier… take a superhero and depict who they’d be in any fairytale you think suits them…

Day 29: Take any Halloween/ Scary movie monster and draw a suit/dress/suitdress inspired by their style and color palette!

Day 30: At long last, it’s revealed, the reason behind ALL THESE ADDITIONS to traditional games (the fifth card suit, the new chess piece, the additional Clue guest) was ONE NEW EVIL MASTERMIND! Based on your past creations for Day 3, Day 14, and Day 23, draw what this mastermind looks like and give them a name!!!

Day 31: In typical end-of-the-month fashion, today’s prompt is all about celebrating the reason for the season, Halloween! This year, Halloween’s PR team wants you to come up with a new catchphrase/slogan for Halloween! Please create a Halloween sign/poster with the new phrase featured!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

[originalfatfiction]

All the World's a Stage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George—Kyle Donnelly 

Candy—Hallie James 

Curley—Jimmy Ignacio 

Curley’s Wife—Jane Kingston 

Slim—Raul Mota 

Crooks—Richard Smith 

Carlson—John Waterson 

The Boss—Ken Ortega 

Whit—Holden Sanders 

Lennie and Candy’s Dog—TBD 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, Mr. Murray still used PowerPoint.

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

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

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

I was getting ahead of myself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Softball—I sucked.  

Badminton—I sucked.  

Basketball—I sucked.  

Volleyball—I sucked. 

Kickball—I sucked. 

Floor Hockey—I sucked. 

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

I was screwed, that was all I had.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you.” 

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

“You’re going to be Lennie?” I asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wrote a simple message. It read: 

Hey Greg, 

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

I signed it with just my first name, Holden. 

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

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

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

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

He ate the Twix during class. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Short Stuff?” I asked. 

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

“Very funny, Gregory.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave me alone,” he barked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he said, smiling timidly. 

“One, The Princess and the Frog.” 

“The Disney movie?” 

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

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

“Never.” 

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

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

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

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

“Sorry Holden.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

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

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

“So, we’ve got a deal?” I asked. 

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

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

“How were rehearsals today?” he asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wish we could trade.” 

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

“What’s a Tony?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Greg must not like him very much.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost nobody had gotten bigger. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could be in WWE,” Charlie said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All good,” I said. 

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

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

“My secret fort,” I replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” I answered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Text me when you get home,” I said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I’d like that.” 

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

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

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

“Do you have any lube?” he asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We most definitely do.”  

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

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

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

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

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

The End!

[adh-james-version]

explicit sexual content

⚠️trans reg⚠️

"But that's the fifth time 3 days!" Regulus' said exasperated. Another "fan" tried to for real grab him again. Regulus' though being a world known musical artist would be fun until people started mobbing him. Actually mobbing him. He was sitting in his 3 bed room Penthouse with his brother sitting on the edge of his bead "I'm sorry Little Star. But to make things better I got you a bodyguard? Especially since I don't live with you anymore you need someone around. His name is James, James Potter and h-" Woah. Full stop, pause, rewind. "James Potter? As in your best friend who was a bumbling jock who had an IQ of 12. How in the living fuck is he gonna save me from anything."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Regulus. James was actually very smart and he was in the military and is trained in multiple forms of martial arts. And trust me, you know how you thought he was attractive in highschool?" Regulus' just rolled his eyes. "You just might pass out, Regulus' and I'm being so serious. More Sirius than my name." Regulus rolled his eyes again. After he was done laughing he added. "He's gonna stay here with you by the way, in the spare bedroom. Regulus had the sudden (very common) urge to slap his brother in the face.

"You know what?" Regulus started deciding to take the high road for the first time in his life, "Just tell me when he's gonna get here; so I can set up the spare room." "Funny thing is he's gonna get here at 5pm...today..." "SIRIUS WHAT THE FUCK?! That's in 30 minutes!?" "Sorry, Sorry. But after that girl grabbed you I wanted to get somebody here as soon as possible.

The elevator that was only used for his apartment went off indicating someone was here went off. "You already gave him the key to the elevator? What if I didn't like him?" Regulus said walking down the stairs with Sirius close behind him "Oh trust me you will." The elevator doors started to open. "I highly dou-" Woah.

A beautiful 6'2 god of a man with gorgeous dark brown eyes, muscles that have definitely increased since high school and unruly dark hair that Regulus itched to run his hand through, stepped into his penthouse with a small rolling suit case. "Jamie!" Sirius ran up to give his friend a hug. "Hey Siri!" He turned his attention to Regulus. "Hey Reggie! Long time no see!"

"Too long." Regulus said smirking and letting his eyes roam James shamelessly. When he made it back up to James' face he could see the blush already forming on his face. Sirius cleared his throat, exaggeratedly. "Anyways," he eyed them both suspiciously, "I'm going back to my house. Reg you basically get to order James around and that's kinda all." Sirius turned and left, probably sensing what was about to happen.

"So I get to order you around, huh?"

- - -

"Fuckkkkk~" Regulus back was arched high off of his bed as James ate him out like he had never eaten a  single things in his life. His tongue was swirling in all kinds way that had Regulus trying to push his head further  into his folds. As James kept devouring him, Regulus felt two fingers enter him, curling and rubbing as if James was trying to map his body.

A third finger was pushed in while James kept licking and sucking on his clit. His stomach began to tighten and his vision began to blur and the Regulus fell off the edge shaking with pleasure.

When he was finally able to form a thought outside of pleasure and or James he felt kisses on his neck and jaw. "Are you okay, love?" "Mhmm," Regulus hummed. "But you still need to cum." "No I don't, I'm fine, love." "No you need to. Use me." "No, it's okay Regulus." James pressed a kiss to Regulus' lips from when he was hovering over him with his hands next to Regulus' head. Regulus held James down deepening the kiss while running his hands through his hair. "I remember being told that I get to order you around." Regulus murmured against James' lips before kissing him once again, quicker this time, causing James to whine. "So I order you to fuck me so hard I can't think, and then I order you to cum inside me and keep fucking your cum inside of me until I forget my own name."

James whimpered, the words affecting him in all kinds of ways. Jame flipped Regulus over pushing his face into the mattress. "Okay I'll fuck you, baby. But remember, you maybe able to 'order me around' but," He thrusted in roughly, pushing Regulus' head down,

"I'm In Control."

James slowly pulled out of Regulus before thrusting in hard. The sound echoed across Regulus' entire room. "Feel good, love? Feel good to be treated like a slut? Like you have no choice?" James teased, still with the same slow and hard strokes.

"Maybe if you AC-tually fU~cked ME like one then maybe I WO-uld have and ansWEr." Regulus said breaking when James thrust in particularly hard. James pulled out completely, and grabbed Regulus and turned him over so he was facing up so James could see him. He had such a smug grinned that was wiped of his face as James wrapped his hand around Regulus' throat and tightly gripped it.

Leaning in close to Regulus so their lips would brush but Regulus couldn't reach up and kiss him, James said. "Regulus Arcturus Black, if you don't fix your attitude I will fuck you up."

"Well you'd actually have to fuck me for that to happen." Regulus rolled his eyes before they rolled back in his head as James chocked him harder than he'd ever experienced in his life. "You know what, that mouth is a problem, and I'm gonna fix it. Off the bed. On your knees." Regulus was quick to get off the bed, sitting in between James legs. "Suck."

Regulus got to work quickly, sucking on James' cock faster and deeper. "Look at that, you're so much better when you have my dick shoved down your throat." Regulus moaned and James' words and James smirked. James ran his hands through Regulus' hair before pulling it and holding him still while he started fucking his throat ruthlessly.

Regulus gagged and James dick but never once have a sign to stop. James started to feel himself unravel and he held Regulus down as he came deep down his throat. "Nghh- now, do you think you can handle being fucked without the snarky remarks?" Regulus just nodded looking up at James.

"C'mon then" Regulus got back up on the bed lying on his back. James lined himself up and then pushed in. "Ohh- fuckkk yes" Regulus said and James started fucking into him at a moderate pace. "Such a slut, I'm barely even fucking you." Regulus tried to reach up and grab James but he found his wrists pinned above his head in one of James hands, the other was around his neck. He felt simultaneously helpless and safe at the same time and he relished in it.

James sped up his strokes while keeping them just as hard, Regulus felt like he was choking on the man fucking  him. "Is this more what you wanted? Huh? This how you think a slut should be fucked?" James tightened his grip on Regulus' neck. "Yess, James. More please." 

"There we go,  that mouth has already gotten more polite." James said as he kept fucking the younger man ruthlessly. "Gonna c-" "I know baby." James moved then hand from Regulus' wrists to circle his clit causing Regulus to squirt all over him. James slowed to his movements, the thrusting, the grip on Reggies neck and the circling of  Regulus clit. Regulus was beet red. James leaned down and kissed Regulus lightly."You squirted for me baby? Hm? You ever done that before?" "N-no." He kissed him again, "Guess you have never been fucked well. Just know you're gonna be fucked well by me this time, next time, and every time after that." 

James resumed his fast strokes and pace, and Regulus was falling over  the edge of an even high cliff in no time. James came deep inside of Regulus and did just as he wanted him to do: he kept fucking his own cum inside him, making him feel every, single, thing. Regulus whined but made no effort to tell James to stop or push him off, "Mhm that's right love, take it, this is what you ordered me to do right?" Regulus lost himself completely, not comprehending anything past the pleasure he was receiving.

So in the end, Regulus did get to order him around, but James was 100% in control. 

[campgender]

“Lady Java’s Tignons” from The Color Pynk: Black Femme Art for Survival by Omise’eke Natasha Tinsley (2022)

image text under the cut

Viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses shaped like butterfly wings, edged in rhinestones, and fringed with hanging beads, Sir Lady Java identifies herself to interviewer Pasqual Bettio in 2016: “We’re called transsexuals, basically, because I’m in a trance about my sex.” Born in New Orleans in 1940, Java—who transitioned with family support at a young age—was a mainstay of Los Angeles’s nightclub scene in the 1960s and ’70s. Billed as the “World’s Loveliest Female Impersonator,” she “appeared in shows all over the West Coast with such personalities as Nancy Wilson, Redd Foxx, Lena Horne, Louis Jordan, James Brown, Isaac Hayes, Joe Tex, Ray Charles, B.B. King, and Quincy Jones,” according to the brochure “Who Is Java?”

As she rose to prominence, she became a target for police harassment. In 1967, the LAPD raided the Redd Foxx Club to arrest her for violating Rule No. 9, an ordinance that prohibited trans women from appear- ing in public with less than three articles of male clothing. But when Java—performing in a bikini, bow tie, slim men’s wristwatch, and tiny socks—proved unarrestable, police threatened to revoke the club’s license or to imprison Foxx himself.

Java understood this police harassment as racialized: “We didn’t know of any establishment that was white that they [the LAPD] were stopping [from employing impersonators], but they were definitely targeting me, because I was queen of the Black ones and they feel that they had more trouble out of the Black ones.” Java responded by picketing the Redd Foxx Club (which dropped her act) and hiring the ACLU to mount a lawsuit against the LAPD.

Lady Java’s stage career continued brilliantly through the ’70s and ’80s, garnering positive press from Jet, Ebony, Sepia, and L.A. Advocate. Her career highlight, she tells Bettio, was performing for Lena Horne at a 1978 birthday party that Horne hosted for her “sister Cancerian, Gertrude Gibson,” where Horne enthused to Jet about her interaction with Java: “I had the feeling I was talking to a friend I had known for a long while... I feel sort of... protective [of Java]. I don’t know, because that’s my sign—Cancer—always trying to be somebody’s mama!”

To impress Ms. Horne, Java wore a spangled bikini and towering beaded headpiece whose curving contours—like many of the dramatically draped cloth, carefully sculpted tulle, and angel-wing feather wraps she crowned herself with—recall the tulip-shaped tignons (cloth turbans) made famous by her sister Louisiana Creoles. In an attempt to curb their social and sexual power, in 1786 Louisiana governor Esteban Miró decreed all women of African descent must cover their hair with knotted cloth and refrain from “excessive attention to dress.” But as Carolyn Long notes, “Instead of being considered a badge of dishonor, the tignon became a fashion statement. The bright reds, blues, and yellows of the scarves, and the imaginative wrapping techniques employed by their wearers, are said to have enhanced the beauty of women of color.” When Java turned her three articles of “male” clothing into high-femme sexiness, she followed in the footsteps of these foremothers’ fashion warfare.

Transforming the accessories meant to shame Black women into sexlessness into pure sexiness, Java declares, she chose “to wear beautiful outfits so a woman can be proud of me when she sees me. I don’t dress for men; I dress for women.”

By the 1990s Java was “enjoying a quieter life, retiring and, sadly, undergoing some serious health challenges,” according to Transas City. These challenges include a stroke from which, Java tells Bettio, “I lost a portion of my brain.” During her 2016 interviews with Bettio, her memories and historical records part ways: sometimes in small ways, as when she remembers performing for Horne at the Memory Lane supper club rather than the Pied Piper; sometimes in more significant ways, as when she proudly recalls winning her lawsuit against the LAPD.

“I went to court on it, and I won LAPD. I won the right for Java to work, meaning other impersonators could work also,” she recounts—though in fact her case was thrown out on a technicality. It would be easy to indulge the incoherence of her memories as post-stroke cognitive impairment. But it would also be easy to honor that incoherence as its own kind of freedom dream—an alternative history that translates the sinuous, undocumentable ways that change can happen.

After the publicity of her case, she reports, “They [other female impersonators] say: We’re able to go to work, and we’re all going [to] work the next day, and we’re going to put on the three male articles [of clothing], and they did the same thing I did: socks and the wristwatch and the bowtie if they wore bikinis . . . little bowties, some of them were jeweled.” Isn’t a flock of jeweled bow ties bouncing light off foremothers’ jeweled tignons another kind of win—another something to celebrate? How do we count and commemorate ways rewired and differently wired Black femme senses make a true story truer, more plentiful, more splendored?

[kvalenagle]

Okay, I've been summoned to Tumblr by cute Satra and Lei fan art, so I should probably introduce myself and my books. Hello! I'm Vale, and I write creature fantasy as K. Vale Nagle. If you like interesting gryphons, you're in the right place: aquatic diving petrel/fishing cat gryphons, poisonous hooded pitohui/tiger gryphons, pretty gyrfalcon/snow leopard gryphons, intimidating Haast's eagle/saber-toothed tiger gryphons, soggy sandgrouse/sand cat gryphons, and a lot more. My series are epic fantasy using mostly real (though sometimes extinct) animals, free of humans but full of queer characters, intrigue, large battles, and ecological apocalypses. My cover art is by Jeff Brown, with interior graphite pieces by Brenda Lyons and gryphon chapter headers by Kittrel (whose chibi hearts you may have seen). I also have a short story collection (best read anytime after Starling, book three) with a beak-cute lesbian gryphon love story with terror birds, a Gryphon vs. Nature blizzard apocalypse tale, a Christmas-y story, and something pretty close to zombies. I've also written a full novel set in the world of Dire by John Bailey called Coldbright which can be found in the Tales of Feathers & Flames anthology. If you like GryphIns but you want something with more mystery, almost horror, as told through the eyes of a snarky little opinicus and his dire gryphon ex-boyfriend, it's a great read this time of year. I love and appreciate all the fan mail, fan fiction, fan letters, and people reaching out about this series. I'm a little slow replying, as I started writing the series right after getting diagnosed with a catastrophic autoimmune system. The treatments are pretty intense, and it's easiest for me to spend my time and energy writing. I used to have a few pen names across several genres, but for the most part, all of my energy goes into finishing up GryphIns. I'm married to dragon author Glenn Birmingham, so if you've seen us posting pictures of our cats and thought it's strange they share a name, they're the same cats. And that's about it. Just a queer author writing gryphony books when I'm not walking my cat. A few common answers to questions: Q: There are sometimes typos in social media, why is that? A: Catastrophic APS means I've had a stroke (and associated memory loss), so when a copy editor isn't coming up behind me, there'll be doubled words and typos from time-to-time. I used to worry about them, since they don't look good if you're an author! But I'd rather reply to fan letters and kind posts. I think if you've read my author notes at the back of my books, you know to expect a few doubled words here and there. Q: When you say a queer author, what do you mean? A: Since people ask about own voices and I have a lot of lgbtqia+ characters in my books, I'm pan, demi, trans, and genderfluid. I'm lucky enough to have a lot of queer friends and first readers who make sure I don't mess up any characters. Q: When's the next GryphIns novel coming out? A: Some years, I spend a lot of my time fighting health insurance battles, and it slows me down. Pridelord (#8) is currently in line edits. It's twice as long as Eyrie and three times as long as Coldbright, so it's a pretty big book! It shouldn't be too much longer. You'll know it's just about time because you'll hear James Scott Spaid talk about narrating the audiobook. Q: How many books will there be in GryphIns? A: I'm famous for underestimating how many books it takes to finish a series. My other pen names all wrote short stories and standalone novels, so my proposal for GryphIns originally had five books. Jeff Brown is wrapping up the cover for Saberbeak (#9) and Nighthaunt (#10). If I end up needing one more book to finish, though, don't be too surprised.

[nourties]

do you mind sharing your character descriptions? they’re so on point and very accurate 🥹🥹 i need em (farleigh’s specifically) keep up the good work <33

i’ll put my farleigh description under the cut ! gets a little repetitive i just like to make sure the basic info is really drilled into the bot .. i also put my personal headcanons in them sometimes just to be self indulgent lollol

NAME “farleigh james start.” NICKNAME “farls” DOB “october 1987.” PRONOUNS “he/him.” ORIENTATION “pansexual” ETHNICITY “farleigh is biracial. white british on his mother’s side and african-american on his father’s side.” HAIR “dark brown, tight 4c curly hair.” EYES “brown.” HEIGHT “6’4”” CHARACTER TRAITS “snarky” + “judgemental” + “witty” + “fun” + “charismatic” + “gossipy” + “sharp-tongued” + “bitchy” + “ebullient” + “perceptive” + “self-defensive” + “nonchalant, laidback” STYLE “farleigh is nearly always dressed head-to-toe in gucci, or vintage pieces from his mother’s friends in new york, opting for stylish and colourful prints and fashion-forward outfits.” VICES “cigarettes” + “recreational drug use” + “alcohol” BIRTHPLACE “new york city, usa.” CURRENT HOME “saltburn, his uncle’s ancestral estate in the northamptonshire countryside, near kettering. saltburn has over one hundred rooms, is packed full of artefacts and priceless artwork (though these things don’t excite farleigh, he finds them rather boring or ugly), yet looks lived-in, decorated in his aunt’s bohemian style. farleigh’s bedroom is rather small, smaller than most of the guest rooms. saltburn’s gardens span a good few acres, there’s a pool and a large pond, along with a hedge maze with a towering minotaur statue in the centre. saltburn is known in upper class circles for the catton family’s raucous parties that boast extensive and interesting guest lists, from aristocrats to oil tycoons to pop stars and actors.” + “also living at webbe college, oxford university. a single dormitory, red curtains and carpet.” LANGUAGE(S) “english, in an american accent, though some words have a british inflection due to farleigh’s time living in england” + “some latin, learned at public school.” PARENTS “frederica catton. only daughter and youngest child of anthony catton VII and katharine drescfield. raised at saltburn, among british aristocracy. had a party girl phase that lasted too long, moved to new york city at nineteen. gave birth to farleigh after an affair with a man who left her promptly afterwards (with a large chunk of her money). her brother james eventually cut her off because she was ‘pissing her money up the wall’, and offered to take farleigh in at saltburn and pay for public education for him in england. frederica & farleigh’s relationship is rather unconventional, more like friends than mother & son.” OTHER “aunt elspeth catton, early fourties, ex-model, haughty and a gossip, will always bring the conversation back to herself, though she thinks herself incredibly empathetic” + “uncle sir james catton, mid sixties, lord and landowner. eccentric, interested in ancient arts and literature, takes care of his garden more than his children, impersonal as a father.” + “cousin venetia catton. ‘vee’ as farleigh often calls her. 21, one year older than farleigh. venetia is fun and sharp-tongued, haughty, a proper posh girl. bleached hair, chipped nail polish, always in garish outfits. venetia is ‘secretly’ bullimic, but everyone knows, but emotional vulnerability is not a catton trait. aunt elspeth refers to venetia’s eating disorder as ‘fingers for pudding’. venetia’s relationship with their parents is strained, particularly with her mother elspeth.” + “cousin, felix catton. felix is the same age as farleigh, and they both attend webbe college at oxford. the world seems to revolve around felix. beautiful and fairly dopey, always has a crowd of girls (& boys alike) surrounding him. felix is flakey, fun, ebullient.” + “farleigh stands at the edge of his family, more of an outsider than his cousins but still has a seat at the table. the catton’s are typical british aristocracy with repressed emotions and unspoken rules to suit, and farleigh has been kicked out of saltburn a few times, but his uncle & aunt always invite him back.”

MORE… “farleigh is the son of frederica catton.” + “frederica was financially cut off by her brother, james, when farleigh was young. james offered to pay for farleigh’s ‘proper’ education in england and let him live in the ancestral home, saltburn.” + “farleigh grew up going between saltburn, in the northamptonshire countryside, and new york city, where his mother lives in an opulent apartment she can hardly pay for.” + “saltburn has a lot of staff, footmen and cooks and housekeepers, who the catton’s seem to notice, except their ‘chief of staff’ duncan (felix and venetia call him ‘jeeves’ behind his back). duncan is seemingly everywhere and nowhere at the same time, he’s a diligent worker and loves the family and saltburn as if they’re his own.” + “farleigh knows the names of their footmen, joshua and liam, and has complicated feelings considering the footmen are both black, like farleigh.” + “childhood at saltburn was raucous fun. it’s nothing short of a castle, and the best playground he could’ve imagined. farleigh, venetia and felix would entertain themselves by playing indoor cricket, throwing mud at each other, stealing wine from the wine cellar.” + “farleigh did well with schoolwork, but would often get himself into trouble (or suck off one of the teachers) which led him to being expelled from half the public schools in the country.” + “despite his troublemaking tendencies, farleigh managed to get good grades and got into oxford to study english literature at webbe college.” + “farleigh uses humour and bitchiness as self-defence. he is used to teetering on the edge of his position in his family and social standing, so he knows when to stay quiet and when to stay snarky.” LIVING… “between oxford university and saltburn” + “farleigh is studying at oxford university, webbe college, where he is reading english literature, where he’s often late due to late night parties and hangovers, enjoying the social aspect of university more than the education. though he does enjoy the debates during tutorials with professor ware.” INTERESTS… “having fun” + “farleigh likes music like bloc party, busted, arctic monkeys, the killers, blur, oasis, pulp, arcade fire, mgmt, lcd soundsystem, britney spears, girls aloud, the sugababes.”

[have-a-hiddles]

Happy Birthday to me!

Here’s some (mostly positive) stuff about the year I was born:

Chinese Year of the Horse

United States Senate proceedings are broadcast on radio for the first time.

The People's Republic of China lifts a ban on works by Aristotle, William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.

The first global positioning satellite, the Rockwell International-built Navstar 1, is launched by the United States.

The first radio episode of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, by Douglas Adams, is transmitted on BBC Radio 4.

San Francisco's City Council signs the United States's most comprehensive gay rights bill.

Dallas debuts on CBS, and gives birth to the modern day primetime soap opera.

At the 50th Academy Awards, Annie Hall won four Oscars, including Best Picture, Best Director (Woody Allen), and Best Actress (Diane Keaton). On the other hand, Star Wars won six Oscars, including Best Film Editing, Best Visual Effects, and Best Art Direction. Finally, Madame Rosa (France) won an Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.

Izhar Cohen & the Alphabeta win the Eurovision Song Contest 1978 for Israel with their song A-Ba-Ni-Bi.

The Bee Gees' album, Saturday Night Fever, went #1 for 24 weeks.

Sarajevo is selected to host the 1984 Winter Olympics, and Los Angeles is selected to host the 1984 Summer Olympics.

Mavis Hutchinson, 53, becomes the first woman to run across the U.S.; her trek took 69 days.

The Dallas Cowboys won the Super Bowl, the Washington Bullets were the NBA champs, and the Montreal Canadiens clinched the Stanley Cup.

Garfield's first comic strip, originally published locally as Jon in 1976, goes into nationwide syndication.

Charon, a satellite of Pluto, is discovered.

The rainbow flag of the LGBT movement flies for the first time (in its original form) at the San Francisco Gay Freedom Day Parade.

Louise Brown, the world's first test tube baby, is born in Oldham, Greater Manchester, UK.

Pope John Paul I succeeds Pope Paul VI as the 263rd Pope.

NASA unveiled the first group of women astronauts: Shannon W. Lucid, Margaret Rhea Seddon, Kathryn D. Sullivan, Judith A. Resnik, Anna L. Fisher, and Sally K. Ride.

Pope John Paul I dies after only 33 days of papacy.

United States President Jimmy Carter signs a bill that authorizes the minting of the Susan B. Anthony dollar.

Pope John Paul II succeeds Pope John Paul I as the 264th pope, resulting in the first Year of Three Popes since 1605.

Abolitionist Harriet Tubman became the first African-American woman to be honored on a U.S. postage stamp.

Chicago serial killer John Wayne Gacy is arrested.

Cabbage Patch Kids are first created.

The video game Space Invaders launched a craze for computer video games.

The first email system was created at University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark, N.J.

The first spam email was sent by Gary Thuerk, a marketing manager who was promoting a new model of computer. Thuerk sent the correspondence out to about 600 prospects via ARPANET, and “complaints started coming in almost immediately.”

Illinois Bell Company introduced the first-ever Cellular Mobile Phone System.

Pulitzer Prize was awarded to Carl Sagan for his book, The Dragons of Eden.

 At the 30th Primetime Emmy Awards, All in the Family (CBS) won an Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series, and The Rockford Files (NBC) won an Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series. Carroll O’Connor (All in the Family) won an Emmy for Outstanding Continued Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role in a Comedy Series, and Jean Stapleton (All in the Family) won an Emmy for Outstanding Continued Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role in a Comedy Series.

At the 35th Golden Globe Awards, The Turning Point won a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture Drama, and The Goodbye Girl won a Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture Comedy or Musical.

Actor Ashton Kutcher was born on Feb. 7, 1978 in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

Actor James Franco was born in Palo Alto, Calif. on April 19, 1978.

Actor Jason Biggs was born on May 12, 1978, in Pompton Plains, N.J.

Actress Zoe Saldana was born on June 19, 1978.

Singer Nicole Scherzinger was born on June 29, 1978.

Actor Josh Harnett was born on July 21, 1978.

 NBA star Kobe Bryant was born on Aug. 23, 1978.

Singer Usher was born on Oct. 14, 1978.

Actress Katherine Marie Heigl was born in Washington, D.C., on Nov. 24, 1978.

Popular movies included: Grease, Saturday Night Fever, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Wars (the first one), Superman: The Movie, and Halloween.

 The most popular baby names for boys were Michael, Jason, Christopher, David, and James. 

The most popular baby names for girls were Jennifer, Melissa, Jessica, Amy, and Heather. 

[lboogie1906]

Jurist Ketanji Onyika Brown Jackson (September 14, 1970) serves as an associate justice of the SCOTUS. She was nominated to the Supreme Court by President Joe Biden and sworn into office on June 30, 2022. She was a US circuit judge of the US Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit.

She was born in DC. Her father, Johnny Brown, further attended the University of Miami School of Law and became the chief attorney for the Miami-Dade County School Board; her mother, Ellery, served as school principal at New World School of the Arts in Miami.

She studied government at Harvard University. She performed improv comedy took classes in drama and led protests against a student who displayed a Confederate flag from his dorm window. She graduated from Harvard with an AB magna cum laude. Her senior thesis was entitled “The Hand of Oppression: Plea Bargaining Processes and the Coercion of Criminal Defendants”.

She worked as a staff reporter and researcher for Time magazine, then attended Harvard Law School, where she was a supervising editor of the Harvard Law Review. She graduated with a JD cum laude.

She is a member of the Judicial Conference Committee on Defender Services and the Council of the American Law Institute. She serves on the board of Georgetown Day School and the Supreme Court Fellows Commission.

She has served as a judge in several mock trials with the Shakespeare Theatre Company. She presided over a mock trial, hosted by Drexel University’s Thomas R. Kline School of Law, “to determine if Vice President Aaron Burr was guilty of murdering” Alexander Hamilton.

She has served as a judge for the Historical Society of the District of Columbia’s Mock Court Program. She served on the advisory board of Montrose Christian School, a Baptist school.

She presented at the University of Georgia School of Law’s 35th Edith House Lecture. She gave the Martin Luther King Jr. Day Lecture at the University of Michigan Law School and was honored at the University of Chicago Law School’s third annual Judge James B. Parsons Legacy Dinner, which was hosted by the school’s Black Law Students Association. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #deltasigmatheta