#he could say something racist or misogynistic or homophobic

[goemon-fan]

I'm going to say this in the nicest way possible, but this series and it's characters aren't perfect, as well as this fandom. As much as I like Lupin III, there is an astounding amount of legitimate racism, sexism, homophobia (because that's what the gay jokes are), transphobia, islamophobia, and other forms of bigotry within the franchise. Many of the women throughout the franchise were written by misogynists. Many of the gay jokes, including the ones involving your ship, were meant to be homophobic. Not only is there a lack of diversity of different races, but they're often drawn as racist caricatures. Crossdressing characters are almost always evil, and there's a literal crossdressing Nazi villain. All episodes set in the Middle East in Part 2 have been islamophobic. Native Americans are depicted as a joke and as racist caricatures. Sexual harassment is rampant. Some of your favorite episodes have bigoted elements or are inherently bigoted.

This content attracts real bigots. Whenever you see someone in real life or online gushing about the series, it may be because of this content. This isn't even an exaggeration, I've seen bigots in places other than Tumblr state that they love this show. Some of your Tumblr mutuals could be these bigots who love these elements of the show, or who outright don't believe there's a problem with any of this.

Some of you are inadvertently being bigoted. If you're admiring Jigen's misogyny as if it's all a big joke or a quirky character trait, or can only see Fujiko through the lens of the misogynist writers, you're being misogynistic. If you think there's not a problem with the racism and that these parts can "just be ignored," you're being racist. Geralt is not "cute," he's a Nazi. If you legitimately think that the Lupin III depictions of Islamic countries, from the bombings and violence and killings, are accurate, you're being islamophobic.

I'm not saying to drop the show, or that we're all bad people, but we need to start talking about these things. When you recommend an episode or movie, you need to mention if it's racist. When talking about this series, you need to bring up the misogyny and other elements. When talking about your favorite episode or character, you need to acknowledge if something bigoted was said and done within the episode or by the character. You need to make your stance clear on these subjects.

And one last thing, this blog is against bigotry. Please do not interact with my content if you agree with the bigotry throughout this series. For anyone else, please try to make a positive change. I have been at fault and recommended episodes and specials without mentioning these elements, and in the future I will remember to properly provide warnings for this content. Please do not let this community degrade into bigotry.

#lupin iii #lupin the third #lupin the 3rd #lupin the iii

[originalfatfiction]

Mason's Gain

Mason Megalos had been my best friend for over a decade when everything fell apart. I still hadn’t gotten over how suddenly we went our separate ways. Like many sexually confused adolescents, I had fallen in love with my best friend. We were both boys, and I had come to realize my love for him was one of the worst things that could have ever happened. I heard how other guys talked. I knew that liking Mason wasn’t something I could act on. 

We’d been about a month into our freshman year when I felt him slipping away from me. He had joined the football team and started hanging out with a bunch of his misogynistic, homophobic, and slightly racist teammates. Most people would say these guys were harmless, but I knew that the longer Mason hung around them, the more influence they’d have over his ideologies. He was being brainwashed! I had to win him back over from the dark side.  

Mason wasn’t a hateful person, and I was determined to come out to him before it was too late. I trusted him more than anybody in the whole world; I genuinely believed with every fiber of my being that we’d be able to work through my teeny-tiny crush on him (okay, so maybe it wasn’t the teeniest or the tiniest, and I was a hundred percent head-over-heels in love with him, but I digress). I figured he’d reject me amiably and we could continue our friendship, but unforeseen circumstances had prohibited my confession indefinitely. 

We’d been at my house. I had been avoiding coming out to him, as there was always something stopping me. The reasons were always stupid, like the fact there was an X-Men movie marathon coming on TV and we just had to watch it together. Like many high school aged boys, Mason sometimes referred to stuff as gay, in reference to things he considered stupid or slightly feminine. It had gotten way worse since he’d been hanging around his new friends. At one point he said it about some commercial on the TV. I felt that anxious feeling I often got, but this time I didn’t let it stop me. 

 “Mason, I’m gay,” I’d told him. I blurted it out, really. It wasn’t my finest moment; it wasn’t what I’d practiced a million times in the bathroom mirror. 

He looked at me for a while, assessing me, and then he got up and left. With no words of encouragement or disapproval. 

October 11, 2008 would forever be ingrained in my mind as the day Mason walked out of my life and never looked back. I’d really thought he was different. I’d really thought that I could tell him about my authentic self. I had never even got to mention the fact that I had a crush on him, which was probably for the best. 

He hadn’t been the person I thought he was.  

If losing Mason as a friend wasn’t bad enough, I was now still dealing with the repercussions of coming out. It had been three years since then.

Yes, three years of Mason’s new friend group taking every possible opportunity to terrorize me for being gay. They’d beat me up from time to time, throw slurs at me, or make homophobic jokes knowing there was nothing I could do or say to stop them. I didn’t want to make excuses for Mason, because the fact he had been such a terrible friend was inexcusable, but he never directly harassed me like his underlings; he just sort of had dominion over them, which was slightly less awful. Seriously, I think it was worth something that he never beat me up or said anything mean to me (at least not to my face). It was easier to handle his passive attitude in regard to my situation.

Those dumb jocks and future gas station attendants all looked to Mason for approval. He’d become their God—the coolest, the most handsome, the almighty. I bet if he stood up for me at least once, my days at school would go a lot smoother. I hated myself for it, but I just couldn’t let go of my idealized version of him. I told myself he didn’t mean what he did or said. I told myself that there was still good in him. Even though it killed me to hear him laugh when his friends called me a fag or a homo, I believed Mason didn’t really think I was disgusting.

I still thought he was attractive. It wasn’t like I was blind. We might not have been best friends anymore, but I lusted after him just the same as I had before. Mason had an olive complexion and it always seemed like he was glowing, like he was an angel or something. Mason’s parents were Greek, having moved to America before he was born. He had this curly brown hair that he took excellent care of now that he was older (when we were younger it was always messy). His eyes were green. His lips were full. He had the most beautiful smile. It was almost the most attractive thing about him.

The most attractive thing about Mason was his butt. He had the best ass I’d ever seen. It’s what I always looked at when I could take a clandestine glance. I had looked at his butt so frequently, I could probably pick it out of a police lineup.

“Yes Officer,” I’d say. “Butt number three is Mason’s. The sheer size of the cheeks makes it obvious, and the dimples on his lower back are also a dead giveaway.”

 He was taller than me, and he definitely had to be over six feet by now. I was 5’9” and weighed only about 160 pounds. Mason on the other hand had really buffed up in our years distanced from one another; I would have to guess he was around 200 pounds. He’d been a pudgy kid, but when he joined the football team freshman year, they worked all of his extra weight into muscle. Seeing him change so much really stung, not having gotten the chance to change along with him.

I had to continuously remind myself that none of these things mattered anymore. He could be extraordinarily hot with the best ass in the entire country, but that didn’t change the fact that he hated me for something I couldn’t control. He abandoned a valuable friendship and allowed others to belittle me. My mom had told me growing up, in a somewhat blunt way I’d grown used to, “Not everybody is your friend. Sometimes people can surprise you in the worst ways possible.” I never, and I mean never, thought my mother’s pessimistic wisdom would apply to my relationship with Mason.

We were about two months into senior year, and today in English IV, the last class of the day, I noticed Mason talking to a troll named Bret Phelps. This guy was possibly the worst of the group. The others just called me names, having grown tired of wasting energy beating me up, but he felt compelled to hunt me down and physically assault me every other day. I made my way to my locker as quickly as I could and made a mad dash for my bike. 

Today I was going to make it.

I was trying to be positive, which wasn’t always easy. It was a quality I admired in others, so I tried my best to emulate that positivity. I was determined to hold my head up high and to be optimistic. I knew things would one day get better, even if I had to put up with Mason’s posse until graduation. 

Today I wasn’t going to get punched anywhere on my body.  

 I approached the bike rack quickly, wanting to make it off campus unscathed. The closer I got to where the bikes were housed, the more noticeable was the form of a guy leaning casually on an adjoining pillar.

It was Bret. Damn.

He had to have forgone stopping at his locker. He’d come directly here after the bell rang to wait for me. He must have really been in a sour mood if he wanted to catch me so badly.

I had to be strong. Even if I wanted to whine and cry and beg for him to leave me alone, I couldn’t. I refused to give him or any of his asshole friends the satisfaction of breaking me down. I was immune to this. I just had to accept my beating and he’d move on. At first, I fought hard every single time, but he’d still pummel me. That was when I came to realize that if I didn’t show emotion, he’d give me a swift punch in the gut and go about his day. I wasn’t going to give the sadist the pleasure he oh so desired. It wasn’t fun fighting someone who didn’t react. 

“Hello Oliver,” he said, smiling. His front tooth was slightly chipped, and I hoped it was from someone punching him in the mouth. “You were like the first one out of class. I hope you didn’t think you were going to miss me today.” He was shorter than Mason but taller than I was. He was a stocky guy, and if I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be willing to admit that he was almost-maybe-possibly attractive.

 “Hey Bret,” I said in an even tone, keeping my head down, not making eye contact. “I really have to get going.” 

“This isn’t going to take long.” 

He walked towards me. I closed my eyes and tensed my ab muscles waiting for him to sock me in the stomach.

“I’ll handle him today.”

It was Mason’s voice. I opened my eyes slowly, letting out a deep breath and relaxing my abs. Was he going to start beating me up too? I didn’t think I could handle it if he decided he was so disgusted by me that he had to resort to physical violence.

 “Yeah, okay Mason,” Bret said, reverting to his beta-male status. “You’ve got to make sure you get him in the gut, just like he likes it.” With that, Bret walked off, glad to be told what to do—but not before punching me in the arm as hard as he could.

“Thanks,” I said, rubbing my arm as I made my way over to my bike. I kneeled down and began putting in the combo for my bike lock.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, like he’d done me the biggest favor. 

I looked up at him from the ground, and he looked like a giant. I felt really nostalgic looking up at him. Mason used to fight people for saying that I was gay. He used to defend my honor like I was a high society lady in a Victorian romance novel. But that didn’t matter anymore. He was a regular human being who made stupid human being decisions. I had to stop romanticizing the present with memories of the past.

I stayed silent. I didn’t know how to talk to him anymore. Why was he still standing there? I wanted him to leave so I wouldn’t have to feel so on edge.

“You want a ride home?” he asked.

Was he being for real? He only ever talked to me in class, and that was if it was mandated by the teacher. Now he was offering me a ride home? I wanted to say something biting and sarcastic, but nothing good would come from it. That wasn’t who I was or who I wanted to be. I did my best to push through the bitter feelings.

“No,” I said, my voice flatter than I meant it to be. I didn’t want to sound upset or anything, but I was struggling to temper out my emotions. “I have my bike.” 

This was the first time in a long time I was alone with him. It made me think of that day in October three years ago when everything changed. I hated how this was forcing me to recollect our final moments together as best friends.

“We can put it in the back,” he said matter-of-factly. I knew he was talking about his Jeep, but I still pictured his ass.

I was silent again, and he just smiled at me, like he knew I was going to accept his offer. This was how things had been in elementary school, middle school. He’d always been able to charm me into doing whatever he wanted. Even now as he began to saunter off, expecting me to follow, I couldn’t stop myself from bending to his will.

“Let’s go,” he said, jerking his head slightly in the direction of the student parking lot.

“Yeah okay, sure,” I mumbled, internally berating myself for being so easily swayed by him.

I followed him over to his Jeep. It was an older model, some of the burgundy paint peeling off. The inside smelled like he did; I took multiple deep breaths. He still remembered how to get to my house. The trip was for the most part silent, which gave me time to run scenarios, and they all ended badly, with some terrible prank that would awaken my latent telekinetic powers akin to my homegirl Carrie White. 

“Casa de Bailey.” 

I felt myself jump slightly, having been lost in my Stephen King fantasies.  

“Thanks,” I said, hopping out of the passenger’s side. 

I put my bag on and walked towards the rear of the Jeep. I didn’t think he’d get out of the car, but he met me at the back and removed my bike for me. As he set it down on the pavement, I took in how strong his arms looked and how the sleeves of his t-shirt were being eaten by their size. He had biceps. He had triceps. If there were any other muscles in the upper arm, he had those too. 

“Can I ask you something?” What could he want to ask me? He’d probably request that I transfer schools so he wouldn’t have to look at his loser ex-best friend anymore. 

“Sure,” I said, my voice cracking slightly, not knowing where this was going and not really wanting to find out. “You can come inside.” I started around back to put away my bike; he followed. I put my bike in the garage and unlocked the back door. I walked up the three steps into the kitchen and offered him something to drink.

“Milk, if you have it.” I poured him a large glass and he began to gulp it down. He was so white, drinking milk like it was actually good. I used to give him such a hard time about it. “Thanks,” he said, wiping away a milk mustache with his forearm.

“So, what did you want to ask me?” I was curious, seeing as we hadn’t really spoken in years. 

“Oh yeah,” he said. I took in his thick eyebrows, which were furrowed in seriousness. I wanted to stroke his brows with my fingers, to feel his face in my hands. I bet his skin was soft. He frowned and it made me a little worried. 

“What?” I asked. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” I still cared about him and his well-being. Maybe it was idiotic of me to still be so devoted to a person that ignored my sufferings, and maybe I should have ignored Mason in return, but my gut instinct was to be concerned.

“Here’s the thing,” he started, “I’m kind of failing English and I was wondering if you could help me out. Bret and the other guys are barely passing, and you’re so smart, I figured you’d be the best person to tutor me.” He paused for a moment, glancing at me. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“That I’m helping you or that you’re failing English?” I asked, to clarify. 

“Both,” he blurted out quickly. 

We stood in an awkward silence. I felt my face go hot and was slightly embarrassed. He didn’t want people to know he was even interacting with me. It was kind of degrading, and I needed to have some self-worth and tell him that I had more value than that. That was what I should’ve done, but I was weak, and he was hot.

“Okay,” I said like a dope. I smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll help you out.”

“Thanks dude,” he said, a sound of relief in his voice. “You good to meet here after school?”

“Yeah, like what, Tuesdays and Thursdays?” 

“Nah, every day. At least until I get my grade up. My parents lost their shit when they got my progress report.” Every day? That was going to take up a lot of time, and I may not have had much else to do, but I couldn’t believe he just imposed his own tutoring schedule on me. 

“Yeah,” I said, even more like a dope. “No problem.”

“Well, I have to go,” he said suddenly. I turned to get the milk, ready to offer him another glass of moo juice, but he was gone out of the back door before I could get the words out.  

“See you later,” I said aloud to myself, putting the milk back in the fridge. 

If I put my self-respect and righteous anger aside, this was fantastic. I’d get to talk to Mason every day. I’d get to look at his gorgeous face and body every day. I’d get to imagine, even though it was ridiculous, that we were still best friends. He had come to me for help. That just proved that there was still a connection between us. Maybe, in his own odd way, Mason was trying to rekindle our friendship.

I had noticed in the previous weeks that he looked bigger than usual. I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but being able to look at him without having to avert my eyes confirmed it. 

He was growing. 

I’d heard he quit the football team. Everyone had heard he’d quit the team. It was the hottest gossip for the entire first month of school. I knew he still exercised, having heard him mention to Bret he worked out with his uncle every night, trying to get into powerlifting. I didn’t know what that entailed, but it sure sounded like something I wanted to see. I was getting an erection just thinking about Mason possibly getting a bit of a belly to go along with the sheer size he was already putting on. 

I realized I’d been keeping tabs on him without really meaning to. If his name was brought up, I listened. I was still invested in his life, and this new arrangement was going to potentially put me in a dangerous situation.

The fact he’d be coming over again tomorrow got me feeling nervous. I didn’t want things to feel awkward. I wanted to do something nice for him to show I wasn’t holding a grudge or anything (even if I was still a little pissed at him). All hadn’t been forgiven, but maybe this was the start to an important conversation. 

I decided to go shopping for some snacks. He’d always been a big eater, and he’d probably need some brain food if we were to be studying. He liked potato chips and submarine sandwiches.

(“You gotta really pack on the ingredients,” he’d told me when we were younger. “I’m talking about a ridiculous amount of meat and cheese. Oil, mayo, mustard, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes.”  

I stared in astonishment at the monstrous sandwich he had constructed. It looked big enough to feed three people. This was a sandwich Scooby and Shaggy would excitedly devour. 

“You really think you can eat all of that?” I asked.

“You don’t think I can Oli?” he asked, smirking. 

“I think you can. You can do anything!”

“That’s right,” he said. “You wanna watch demolish this thing?” 

“Yeah,” I said, feeling oddly attracted to him in that moment. It was a moment that definitely raised a red flag for me. Why had I been so invested in his display of gluttony?

He finished that entire sub and a bag of family sized chips. His dad came home after a long day of work looking for the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. “Where’s the deli meat?” Mr. Megalos asked in his Greek accent.

“I ate it all, Dad,” Mason replied, not even embarrassed. Mr. Megalos playfully smacked Mason on the back of the head before sending us to the store to buy some more turkey breast. Mason used the change to buy us a package of oatmeal cream pies. Before I even got the chance to have a second one, he’d eaten the rest of them on our walk home. 

I was glad that he did.)

The next day at school I really wanted to talk to Mason, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I waited the day out and went to get my bike. Mason, not Bret, was leaning on the pillar near the bike rack.

“Hello,” I said, a little bit uneasy. He probably didn’t want my help anymore. He probably realized he could find someone else to tutor him. 

“What’s up, Oli?” he asked, smiling like everything was normal between us. Nobody called me Oli anymore. Just hearing him say my name with a smile on his face was enough to give me the vapors. I felt like flinging myself into his muscled arms, swooning.

“Nothing much.” I smiled back at him nervously. “I’m still meeting you at my house, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He looked at me seriously. My heart must have skipped a beat. “I told Bret to back off. If he fucks with you again, just let me know. Got it?” 

 “Ye—yeah,” I stammered. “Thanks a lot.” He was so hot when he was serious. He furrowed his brow in a way that made him look slightly angry. I bet he’d make a similar face while having sex.

“See you soon,” he said, swaggering off towards where his car was parked. I took in his wide back and beefy behind. He didn’t even carry a bookbag; he just had a folder, a couple of notebooks, and the novel we were reading in class. This was probably why he was failing.   

I unlocked my bike, mounted it, and rode off towards home. Relief swept over me at the thought of being Bret-free. I continued to pedal and felt myself come alive. I loved riding my bike; I was pretty fit because of it, with muscular thighs and a firm, round ass. My ass was definitely a first runner up to Mason’s glorious cakes. It was nearing the end of October and when it started to snow, I would have to swap my tires for better traction. I thought about Mason on the ride home and what I wanted to do to him. I hated wanting him so badly, but I loved it at the same time. Crushes were so weird that way. It was starting to consume me, yet I didn’t really mind it.  

He was sitting on the front steps when I got there.

“Oli,” he said, standing to meet me at the path to the backyard. He had his hand in his shirt, scratching his tummy. He moved his hand away. “Why don’t you have a car?” His voice was getting to me. I missed hearing his voice more than I realized.

“I can’t afford a nice Jeep like you,” I said a little sarcastically. He laughed, catching my slight insult to the Jeep that had once belonged to Mr. Megalos. It was given to Mason for his birthday last year. I remembered Mr. Megalos driving us to elementary school in that thing, so to see Mason driving it now was kind of funny. “You know it’s just me and my mom.”

“You could get a job,” he suggested. “There are lots of cheap cars. I’d help you look for one.” Mason had always liked cars and that sort of thing. His dad and Uncle Galvin owned an auto shop that Mason helped out in. Galvin was the same uncle he’d been working out with.

“I live like eight blocks from the school and I never go anywhere,” I said, feeling more at ease the longer we were around one another. “But if I ever do start looking for a car, I’d hope the offer would still stand.”

“Of course,” he said. “Consider it payment for your services.” I had put my bike away during our conversation. I opened the back door, and we went inside. 

“You can go up to my room,” I said. He knew the way.

I walked over to the fridge and looked at the array of supplies I’d picked up yesterday. I’d gone overboard for sure, but I removed the ingredients and placed them on the counter. I bought provolone cheese, turkey breast, and honey roasted ham. I’d even gone so far as to buy hoagie rolls and herb-seasoned submarine oil. I stuffed those hoagie rolls full of meat and cheese and veggies, just like I knew he liked his sandwiches—at least I knew he liked them this way years ago. I cut them in half and placed them on a plate, pouring some original flavored Ruffles in a bowl. I also put half a sleeve of Oreos on a separate plate and poured two glasses of milk. 

I carried the tray carefully as I made my way up the stairs to my room. Entering, I saw he was sitting at my desk, holding a photo of us at the beach when we were in the seventh grade. I walked over to him and set the tray down next to him on my desk.

“You still have this?” he asked, smiling. I looked over at the picture in his hand. His arm was around my shoulder and we both smiled wide at the camera. He had always been taller than I was, and this was before he lost his baby fat.

“Yeah,” I said shakily. I felt lame all of a sudden, still holding on to something he probably considered a piece of junk. “Could you please put it down?” 

The frame was even more special than the photograph; Mason had made it for me, painting the phrase “Best Buds” in big, sloppy letters on the bottom, seashells and starfish glued all around the rest of the frame. He had burned his fingers so badly using the hot glue gun he wore bandages for a week. I remember how proud he was of his craftsmanship.

“Sorry,” he said, laughing. He carefully put the picture frame back in its place before picking up a cookie, popping the whole thing in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you all tense.” 

“I’m not tense,” I said, sounding incredibly tense. He chewed, smirking slightly. I needed to get a grip. I was going to ruin everything if I didn’t chill out. I took a deep breath. “I thought a small snack would help you focus better.”

“This is a small snack?” he asked.

“I just—I remembered you had a big appetite.”

“You remembered right,” he said, reaching for one of the sandwich halves and taking a colossal bite. I felt even more embarrassed. Did he remember anything about me? Did he ever think about me at all?

“Yeah.” I sighed.

“You know Oli,” he started, his mouth half full. “I never stopped eating big, but I’ve definitely kicked it into overdrive since quitting football. If I don’t slow down, I’m gonna get fat again like in that photo.” His free hand absent-mindedly rubbed his stomach. It was like he was toying with me. He took another large bite of the sandwich. “I already eat like garbage, but I started a bulking cycle recently, really pushing myself to put on some mass. I think I’ve already put on ten pounds.” Ten pounds was kind of a lot, seeing as he had quit the football team only a little over a month ago.

“You—you carry the weight well,” I said, aroused. “You don’t look fat to me.” He had finished his first half and grabbed another.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, grabbing his slightly protruding paunch and shaking the small bit of belly he was sporting. “I eat way too much Oli.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that,” I said, trying not to discourage a habit I wanted him to continue.

“Get this, I ordered two large pizzas from Domino’s the other weekend and finished both of them. It was one of those deals where you save a ton of money if you get the two larges. I’m a sucker for deals like that.”

“Who isn’t?” I asked, watching him alternate between bites of the sandwich and the potato chips.

“When I got to the last slice, I was pissed. I wasn’t even full.”

“Wow Mason,” I said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “When you put it like that, it does sound like a lot.”

“I was lucky my mom had made two trays of pastitsio the night before.” He lifted his shirt and showed me his belly, feeling the need to prove to me that he was indeed packing on the pounds. He was kind of hairy, and I liked it. He grabbed at his tummy with his strong hands, shaking it again, uncovered. I just wanted to feel his stomach in my own hands. I needed to know what it felt like. “This gut is brought to you by pastitsio, pizza, and protein shakes.”

He left his shirt up as he reached for another portion of the sandwich. I watched from my bed with my legs closed tight, as he bit, chewed, and swallowed, repeating the process until he moved on to the next serving. His large hands made those hefty sandwiches look like dainty finger food at a garden party. He pulled at his t-shirt, covering himself.

“You don’t wanna see that,” he said, laughing, his cheeks reddening slightly. He grabbed a handful of the salty chips and shoved them into his mouth. I imagined his hands grabbing a handful of my ass.

I didn’t know how I was going to be able to get through these tutoring sessions. He was pornographic. I was rock hard, my dick straining against my jeans. I was hoping I’d soften up enough before I had to stand. He kept going and going until he was chugging the glasses of milk. Only a couple of cookies remained on the plate.

“How—uh, how much do you weigh?” I asked.

“I don’t really know. You got a scale?”

“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom,” I said, affirming that I had one.

“Let’s do this,” he said, standing. I wiggled a little before getting up, making sure to minimize the obviousness of the boner in my pants. When I was out of sight, I took the time to tuck my penis into the waistband of my underwear, so it was angled upwards, and the front of my pants was flat. I brought the scale from my bathroom, praying he hadn’t noticed I was still semi-erect.

“How much did you weigh?” I asked.

“207 pounds at the pre-season weigh-in back in August,” he said, walking towards where I placed the scale in the middle of my bedroom. I sat on my knees near where the number would be displayed. He stepped on the scale and I glanced at the reading. “What’s the damage?” he asked, standing perfectly still.

“Well, um—that’s something.”

“How much?”

“Maybe this thing is busted, but it says you weigh 226 pounds.” My dick throbbed as I said it. What was so hot about Mason putting on weight like this? It wasn’t just muscle that turned me on, but also fat. I hoped his bulking cycle never ended.

“Shit,” he said, his tone surprised yet slightly satisfied. “I’m gonna be huge if I don’t start slowing down with all this eating.” I swallowed, hard.

I couldn’t help him study today. I’d get better at putting up with his natural eroticism, but today couldn’t be helped. He needed to leave before I came in my pants. I could feel pre-cum starting to coat the lower half of my stomach.

“I’m not feeling good all of a sudden,” I said. Mason stepped off of the scale. I couldn’t think straight, and I was for sure too turned on to focus.

“Really, why?” he asked.

“Like I just got a headache out of nowhere.” I was going to cum any second. It’d take me five strokes tops with how I was feeling, but I knew I’d want to go again immediately.

“Oh shit,” he said, picking up his stack of materials. “You gonna be okay?”

“I probably just need to take some Tylenol and get a nap in before it gets too late.”

“Okay.” He grabbed the rest of the Oreos. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Did I mind? Of course I didn’t mind. I was apparently some sort of freak who wanted him eating constantly. “No, go ahead,” I said. He smiled at me appreciatively before popping one of the cookies in his mouth. I walked him to the door, and we said our goodbyes.

I ran back upstairs and got undressed. I stepped onto the scale, which was still in the middle of my bedroom floor. I weighed myself: 159 pounds.

Mason was 67 pounds bigger than I was. I ran my hand over the shaft of my penis. I gave it one pump, two pumps. Fuck, I was picturing his gut in his hands. Three pumps, Four pumps. He had eaten everything on that tray. I pictured Mason getting bigger and beefier. That’s what did it; I came in thick spurts all over myself.

Tomorrow was going to be tough.

It didn’t get any easier controlling my sexual compulsions when Mason came by for tutoring. It had been two weeks since he first asked for my assistance, and I helped him with his papers and worksheets. We also spent time reading. He was so damn cute. He’d whisper things to himself about what was happening in whatever he was annotating. I had heard him say “no way” or “what” at least once per chapter.

I thought this stuff was all really easy, and I was shocked at how he let his grade fall so low in less than two months of school. He must not have done any type of work for this class until now. I considered the fact that he had a social life and lots of friends to distract him from school. I, on the other hand, spent my free time making flashcards and watching reruns of Chopped and Good Eats. Mason had always been the largest component of my social life, so when he went away, so did any potential high school social plans.

Each study visit I always had a tray with different types of snacks. I kept in mind that Mason was a big eater, and the portions remained hearty and plentiful. It was a Friday study session with an essay due on Monday.

“I’m just going to have to come back tomorrow, maybe even Sunday.” He laughed. “I’m totally hopeless.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, being stereotypically positive. “I think you’re doing great. Did you ask Mr. Gonzalez what your grade was?” He asked every Friday.

“D-plus,” he said with his typical furrowed brow. He sighed and began tossing books into his bag (which I told him he needed to start carrying). I stood silent for a moment, contemplating what I should say. “If he wasn’t such a dick and took late work, I wouldn’t have to stress so hard over this.” I wanted to make him feel like the work he was doing was valuable. I saw that he was improving; I just wished he could see it too.

“You’ve got to think about it like you’re lifting weights, you know? You could barely lift anything at the start, but with hard work and dedication you can lift things you never thought possible. You had a thirty percent two weeks ago, and you’re telling me you’ve been able to get that up over a sixty-five? Just imagine where you’ll be in just one more week, a month from now, even. You’ll have the buffest, strongest grade ever.”

“You think so?” he mused. He sat silently for a moment as he pondered what I had just said. He smiled. “I guess you’re right. Thanks Oliver.”

He lifted his hulking frame out of my desk chair and strode over to where I stood. He wrapped me in his beefy arms and gave me a bear hug. I could feel my entire body tingle in pleasure as I felt Mason for the first time in forever. I didn’t dare ruin it by trying to hug him back. My hands at my side, I could feel his warmth, I could smell the chips he ate and the aftershave he wore. They mixed together in a scent that was uniquely Mason. His arms were so solid, as was his slight gut. It was so brief, but it made me the happiest guy in the world. “You have always been the smartest person I know.”

“Thanks—thanks a lot.” He let me go and grabbed his bag. “Do you think you might want something more substantial to eat tomorrow or just a snack? I could definitely make you a meal if you wanted.”

I was doing way too much. The snacks were one thing, completely hospitable, but now I was offering to make him dinner? Did Bret do things like this for him? His other football friends? I was not being very hetero.

“Really?” he asked, shockingly excited. “Do you remember in sixth grade when you wanted to be a chef?” I spent that entire year working through a kid-friendly cookbook. I even started going off-script, coming up with some of my own recipes (though they were just derivative of other things I’d learned from the cookbook). I doubted Mason knew he was the reason I wanted to learn how to cook.  

“Yeah,” I said. “I cooked a different recipe every day for like nine months. You ate dinner at our house every other day before eating the dinner your mom made.” He laughed at the memory.

“I gained like twenty pounds during that,” he started, “but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. You’re the reason I was able to grow up big and strong.” He rubbed his gut absent-mindedly. He was always doing that, and it drove me damn near insane.

“Stop playing,” I said, laughing.

“I’m serious!” he said. We began walking down the stairs towards the front door. We continued planning for the following evening of studying. “I want that chicken and cheese thing you made. Now that was delicious.”

“I could do that.”

“How’s seven for you?” he asked. “I’ve got to help my dad in the shop for a bit and then I’m gonna go lift with Uncle Galvin.”

“That works for me,” I said. “Sounds like you’ll be hungry.”

“Hell yeah,” he replied enthusiastically. “Night Oli.”

“Goodnight Mason,” I said, closing the door behind him.

What was my life? Just like every night after he left, I had to take some time to masturbate. When I finished, I saw it was almost ten. My mom would be back soon. I’d watch whatever was on the Food Network and think about seeing Mason again until she got home.

As happy as I was, I couldn’t help serving myself a much-needed reality check. I wanted to believe that things were going great. We were spending lots of time together and vibing really well. He actually remembered the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. But we still didn’t speak to one another at school. It was like our relationship existed solely in my bedroom. How well could things be going for me if I was just the gay nerd who overfed him and made sure he didn’t fail English?

I woke up around six the next morning. I was definitely an early bird, getting that worm and whatnot. I took a quick shower and styled my hair. It was thick and black. I used a coconut oil cream to make it curl. It was kind of short, only about three or four inches long, but I thought it looked pretty decent. I had brown eyes and brown skin. My complexion was the color of a caramel hard candy. Both of my parents were black. My dad’s parents were from the South. My mom’s mother was from Jamaica and her dad was from Philadelphia. 

I grabbed the basket for my bike and sent my mom a text. She wouldn’t be up until around eleven, and even after that she’d be out of the house running errands before work. I was going to the store for the ingredients in my dish.

It wasn’t that long of a bike ride to the grocery store, and I’d been making the trip more frequently since I decided Mason needed to be catered to with each visit. I shopped for a while, budgeting things out, and choosing other side dishes. I got everything on my list and remembered I wanted to pick up some ice cream for after dinner. I was going to get a pint of Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion. It used to be Mason’s favorite flavor, and I was willing to bet he still loved it.

I turned back and made my way to the frozen food section. It was near where they kept the eggs and milk and cheese. I noticed Bret with some serious bed head grabbing a gallon of 2%. I snatched the ice cream from the freezer and ran for the checkout, praying he hadn’t seen me. I wanted to hurry the cashier along, but she was a kind older woman who had always been nice to me.

“You sure do grocery shop a lot,” she said, laughing. “You’re such a little thing, but you eat so much. But that’s how young men are. Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite.”

I conversed with her, trying my best not to appear rude, but I really didn’t need to encounter Bret on the weekend. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I went and unlocked my bike, setting it upright so I could put the groceries in the basket.

Before I could take off, I felt someone grab the hood of my hoodie. I fell backwards, my bike falling to the ground. The food rolled out onto the sidewalk.

I looked up from the pavement at Bret smirking down at me. He had on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a Jackson High football sweatshirt. I normally would have just taken whatever beating he had for me, but I was fed up. Today was supposed to be a good day. I was going to make Mason his food and he’d compliment me, and I could live in my delusions for just a little while longer.

I got to my knees before standing straight up. I pushed him as hard as I could, and he stumbled back slightly. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I shouted, kind of embarrassed by how high my voice got.

“Oh, it’s on, you fag,” Bret spat at me. He set the jug of milk he’d been carrying on the sidewalk. “I’m sick of looking at you and your pink fag bike.”

“My bike is red,” I shouted. I didn’t say anything else, and I had no idea what I should do next. We looked at one another intensely.

“Red,” he said as he drew me closer to his body, yanking on my hoodie. “Or pink,” he continued. Punch in the stomach. “You’re still a fucking homo.” Punch. Punch in the mouth. Punch. Punch in the nose. Punch in the cheekbone. Punch. Another punch in the gut. I was panting as he threw me to the ground. I thought I was going to barf. 

“Fuck—you—,” I managed to get out, catching my breath. I had gotten used to my one punch in the stomach a day. This was taking me back to sophomore year when our altercations left me with a new bruise every day. He didn’t seem phased by what I said, just continuing to smirk at me.

“I sure am glad I drank the last of the milk now.” He laughed, stooping to grab his milk, and walked over to his Dodge Charger.

I gathered the scattered items and checked to make sure they were all okay. They were. I put everything back in the basket. I took a few deep breaths before mounting my bike. I rode home and took another shower.

I didn’t want to dwell on the experiences of the morning. I put on some music and spent the rest of the time before I had to start cooking doing laundry and other chores around the house. One beating didn’t mean the world had to stop moving. This was nothing new.

I started cooking around five-thirty, so it would be ready when Mason got here. About five minutes after seven the doorbell rang.

“Hey Mason,” I said, happy to see him. I smiled a little too wide and felt my lip begin to bleed again. It was only a little. I licked the blood away.

“What the fuck Oli?”

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” I got beat up all the time. This really was not a big deal. After high school I would never have to deal with this sort of thing ever again.

“You look like shit,” he said angrily. “That’s what’s wrong.”

“You’ve seen me like this before. It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me,” he said, eyebrows furious. “Who was it? Who did this? I swear to God if you say Bret after I told him not to touch you anymore.”

“It’s fine, really.” I didn’t want to make this into a whole thing. I had spent the entire day trying to forget about it so that we could have a good time eating and studying together. I wanted him to just leave it alone. I wanted him to stop pretending like he actually cared about what happened. I’d been getting my ass kicked for over three years and he’d never so much as batted an eye.

“Oliver,” he pushed.

“The food is going to get cold, so let’s just go and eat.” I walked away from the front door towards the kitchen, hoping he’d follow. That was when he grabbed my arm. He pulled me close to him. We stood there for a moment. His strong, masculine hands held my upper arms firmly. He looked at my bruised cheek, my busted lip. He brought his mouth to my forehead and kissed it softly. It felt like we were standing there for hours but it couldn’t have been longer than thirty seconds. “Mason—.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said. 

He let go of my arms and hesitated a moment before running out to his Jeep and driving off. Had he really just kissed me? I couldn’t believe it. I was pretty sure there was lip to forehead action.

After that Mason never called or texted me, and he didn’t show up to school on Monday. I managed to avoid Bret after school and decided to take Mason his homework. He really hadn’t missed all that much, but I really wanted to see what that kiss was about. I also wondered if he worked on the essay for English class at all. I hadn’t been busting my ass for him to start failing again. It was a longer bike ride, but I made it to his place in about twenty minutes. I rang the doorbell and Mason’s kid sister Agatha answered the door.

“Oliver! Oliver! Oh my God!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down before reaching out for a hug.

“Hey Aggy,” I replied, embracing her. She was thirteen now. I was eighteen, my birthday at the end of September, but Mason was nineteen. His birthday was in July. It was a secret I swore to take to the grave. It was the reason why he never invited classmates to his birthday parties growing up. When he told me about why, it was like something out of a Roald Dahl novel. It was like he was Matilda or something. Mr. and Mrs. Megalos had been remarkably busy helping members of their family immigrate, starting their auto repair business, and welcoming Aggy into the world. They straight up forgot to register him for school. They waited so long that the district said he’d have to wait for the following school year. Mason never told anyone how old he was. He didn’t want people to think he failed a grade. He also didn’t want people to think he had bad parents.

“I missed you so much,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“It’s good to see you too,” I said with a laugh. “We’ll have to catch up soon, but is Mason home?”

“He’s sick,” she said with a pair of air quotes. “I know he’s lying. Sick people don’t eat as much as he does. You can go upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

I made my way upstairs, shocked by how little had changed in their house in three years. I stood outside Mason’s door, nervous about having to discuss what happened on Saturday. What if he didn’t want to talk about it? What if he wanted to pretend it never happened at all? It was now or never. I opened the door to his room. I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts I’d forgotten to knock. I shouldn’t have been so careless.

“Ah!” Mason yelped, looking over at me in his doorway.

He was naked, but that wasn’t the most outrageous part. There were a ton of reasons why he could be naked and alone in his room. This was his house after all. But he knelt at the side of his bed, dick in hand and a sex toy in his ass. It was definitely the hottest thing I’d ever seen in person, but still a major shock. His ass was just made to take phallic objects. There was so much of him to take in, from the powerful arms to the beefy ass to the bloated gut. I was frozen, staring at his dick and then the sex toy he’d removed from his asshole. He tossed it in a shoe box and shoved it under his bed.

“Oliver, close the door!” he said hurriedly. I turned around and closed the door quickly. He probably wanted me on the other side of it. “I can’t believe I didn’t lock the door,” he mumbled. “Fuck.”

“Mason, look, I’m really, uh—really sorry,” I said, turning back around and staring at him as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. All I could think about was how big his butt was. He probably did a ton of squats. His legs were hairy, as were his forearms and chest. I could tell his sessions in the gym were paying off, seeing as everything about him was getting absolutely massive. But man, his gut had really grown. He was getting fat. Fatter than when he showed me his belly the first time. He must have been eating constantly. The after-school snacks I prepared for him couldn’t have been pumping him up this much. I knew he said he was bulking, but did he mean to be getting so large?

“I brought your homework,” I said. My voice was shaking. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I should probably go.” What was going on? He was into butt stuff? Was he gay? I’d heard that some straight guys were into anal. They’d have their wives and girlfriends peg them with strap-ons. I couldn’t process this right now with him in front of me. I turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called. “Can I have the work?” How was he so calm? I took off my bag and pulled out the folder where I’d put all the materials he’d need. I stood there, folder in hand, unable to walk towards him. He walked over to me, his dick still semi-erect bobbing freely in the basketball shorts. His thighs were like tree trunks. His chest was broad, and his nipples were slightly bigger than I’d seen on other guys, kind of puffy. Overall, he was looking much fleshier. I needed to focus.

“Sorry,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. I handed him the folder with the assignments. He reached out to grab them and I took in his mammoth forearms. Mason was a man. He wasn’t my chubby best friend from elementary school anymore. “I didn’t come in on purpose. I swear.”

He had kissed me on Saturday. I remembered my real reason for coming over. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring up now. I had to let it go. He was just some conflicted straight boy who’d put this and any other gay feelings behind him. He’d marry some girl, have some kids, and she’d peg him well into old age. Me and this whole situation would become a distant memory.

He moved closer to me.

I moved back slightly.

He moved closer to me again.

“Mason, what’re—?” I didn’t know why I came here. I should have just ignored it. He dropped the folder on the ground and pulled me closer to himself.

“I haven’t been honest with myself,” he whispered, looking at me seriously. “Or with you.” I swallowed. He kissed me—on the lips this time. I felt them for the first time on my own lips. This was authentic lip to lip action. I wanted to grab his ass. I wanted to touch his belly. I wanted everything with Mason, but something was stopping me. He pulled away and looked at me again. “I think—I think that I’ve always wanted this.”

He was waiting on me to say something, and I could tell he started to worry. As much as my body ached for him, my mind was conflicted.

“I should go,” I whispered softly, afraid of how’d he’d react to this rejection. It was clear I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. He just took a step back, his lower lip trembling like he was about to cry. I was an idiot. I left his room, closing his door behind me. I was moving pretty quickly now, needing to put as much distance between us as possible so I could clear my head.

“Later Aggy!” I called, opening their front door. I was on my bike and out on the street in a matter of seconds. I pedaled hard, so hard I could feel the burn in my legs.

I made my way home and into my room. I wouldn’t be able to think with the erection I had. I was rock hard the entire bike ride home. I had always been an avid masturbator, but recently it had gotten out of hand.

When I finished, I tried to make sense of the situation. It wasn’t as simple as Mason and I being able to fool around. Where were things going to go now? Would he come out? Would he want to date me? If Mason just wanted to experiment with me, I couldn’t do it, even if part of me wanted to be used by him. I’d spent the last three years allowing myself to be mistreated, and I was not ready to swap one form of degradation for another.

I finished my homework in a daze, not too sure of what I actually completed. I went to bed feeling absolutely miserable.

The next day, I avoided Mason like the plague. I felt wrong, like he really had been sick, and he was making a huge mistake. I went the whole day avoiding him. I didn’t even look in his direction, so I had no idea if he was looking in mine. After school I made my way to my bike. I had to get home. I just needed to be alone to think some more. I set down my bag and started to put in the combo for my bike lock.

I fell forward.

Someone had kicked me in the back as I was kneeling. I turned and saw that it was Bret. Of course it was Bret. He wasn’t alone today. Standing slightly behind him were these other football guys named Bill and Zeke. I wished my eyes were deceiving me, but Mason was there too, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. I tried to finish unlocking my bike, but Bret kicked me again and I fell forward once more. I looked up at Mason, the giant I had idealized for so long. He looked away. Bret said something obscene, but I was too intensely focused on Mason to catch exactly what was said. Our eyes met and we stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

I hated Mason.

I stood up after finally getting my bike unlocked. I mounted it and tried to ride off. I was stopped and pushed over. I wondered why no teachers or staff members tried to intervene. There had to be at least one nearby. I had ripped my jeans when I hit the pavement. I tried to get up. They were all calling me names and laughing. Mason stood silent, their all-powerful leader.

I tried to ride off again and this time I got away. I was crying, but I was too far away from them to see me. I felt like I was nothing, an empty shell peddling home. Mason was—I didn’t know what he was. I didn’t know who he was anymore. We had gone down two completely different paths, and I had thought they were meeting back up. It was stupid of me to believe that. Our paths were only going to continue diverging.

I went around back and put my bike away before going inside to think about Mason some more. The way he looked away when I needed him had me seething. I pulled off my sneakers and the ripped pair of jeans. I hadn’t cut my knee at all, so that was something to be happy about. The doorbell rang. I sat on the sofa hoping they would go away. The bell kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

They weren’t going away. I was reaching my boiling point. I just needed to be alone, at least for an hour or so. I ran to the door and pulled it open aggressively.

“Can I help you—?” I asked, before registering who had been ringing the doorbell.

“Hey.” It was Mason. “Can I talk to you, please?” He looked down at my legs. I was in nothing but a t-shirt and pair of black briefs. I didn’t even care. I was still livid.

“What?” I asked harshly. “Did you come to beat me up too? I could have sworn you made the first move yesterday. But if you find it appropriate to pin all faggish activity on me I’m willing to carry the burden.”

“I’m so sorry, Oli.” I felt myself weaken. No. I needed to remain strong. His eyebrows were furrowed; his eyes were sad. Those sad, green eyes had gotten their way numerous times when we were younger.

“Okay, I accept your apology.” I began to close the door. “Goodbye.”

“Wait!” he called, using his weight to keep the door open. “I’m not finished. Can I come in?”

“No,” I said, trying my best to stand my ground. “I hope you fail English. I hope I never have to look at your stupid face ever again.”

“Oli,” he pleaded. He looked at me again with those sorrowful eyes. I hesitated for a moment, but then I moved out of the way so he could enter the house. He brought his beefy frame through the door.

“I’ve got to know,” he started, blushing. “Why did you run out yesterday?”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday, when I was, you know—uh masturbating.” I stood silent, unsure of what to say or what he wanted to hear. I really wasn’t too sure what his angle was anymore. Did that incident mean something to him or not? “Is it because you don’t like how I look? I know I’ve gained some weight. I’m just trying to get some more size, and I’ll lose the extra padding eventually. I’ll start losing it right now if that’s what it takes for you to be attracted to me.”

“Your appearance has absolutely nothing to do with why I left yesterday,” I said honestly. He really thought that was the only reason I left? Had he not considered the entire situation? The last three years of our lives?

“It doesn’t?” he asked, taken aback. “Well, I’m not sure but I think I might be—you know, gay. And—and I have all these feelings for you. Hanging out with you again has only helped me confirm what I knew all along. I missed my best friend, Oliver.”

“Mason—,” I started before he cut me off.

“I’m probably not even your type. That’s so fucking pretentious of me to assume you even think I’m attractive.”

“Mason, listen,” I said, looking him in the eye. “I always believed you didn’t mean to hurt me. I held out hope that we could at least one day be friends again. But the thing that happened Saturday, and then walking in on you yesterday. It just made me angry.”

He was still looking at me seriously, taking in everything I was saying, really trying to hear me out.

“Angry that you felt you couldn’t have talked to me sooner. Angry that you thought we could just sort of hook up? I don’t really know what you thought, but it doesn’t feel like you even tried to think about me at all.”

“You’re all I’ve been thinking about,” he said, his eyes watering. “I fucked up. I’m a pussy. I’m sorry Oliver. I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t take it, looking at him with tears streaming down his face. I’d never seen such a big man cry before, and it made me feel like I needed to give him a hug. But if I didn’t stand up for myself now, I’d always be walked all over.

“When you asked me to help you with your English work do you remember what you said to me?” He shook his head no. “You told me that you didn’t want people to know you were associating with me. I felt so worthless, but I did it anyway because—because you’re still one of the most important people in my life.”

“I’ll never make you feel worthless ever again,” he said, his voice serious and honest. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you give me the chance.”

I crossed my arms, considering what he said. I believed him. I was scared that I believed him. What if I trusted him and got hurt even worse than before?

“I want us to be together,” he said, sniffling. “Being with you makes me feel good, and I want to feel good all the time.”

“I—I think that I want to be with you too,” I said, looking away from him, unsure of if it was a good idea to relent so easily.

“Really?” he asked, wiping his eyes.

It was building up inside of me, the love I had for him, the confession that had been left unsaid years ago. I felt it coming out, like word vomit.

“I love everything about you,” I started, still unable to look at him, “the way your eyebrows do that thing and the way you eat and don’t stop. And if you like bulking and powerlifting I don’t mind that. I think you look amazing and—and, I don’t know, Mason, if you gained more weight, I would still be attracted to you. Get as big as you want, really.”

“You’ve got to be kidding, Oliver. You’re probably one of the best-looking guys in school and you’re attracted to me? Girls hate that you’re gay.” He took a deep breath. “I have never felt the same about girls that I do about you. I think about you every day.”

“I’m not kidding,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re hot and—and I would even want you to get bigger. I don’t know how to explain it, but the fact that you’re getting bigger makes me really—you know.” I felt like such a weirdo. So much was happening all at once. “I’ve never thought you’ve looked so good.” It felt like the time I told him I was gay. I wondered if he’d just walk out like he had then.

“You’d be okay with me being bigger? For real?” he asked. I felt a slight amount of relief. He hadn’t walked out.

“Yes,” I said, my body tense with nerves. “I would.”

“I like this, being bigger. I always have,” he said. It was silent for a moment. “I want to be bigger. I want to get stronger. This size is something I would’ve never gotten if I kept playing football.” He laughed nervously.

“What?” I asked.

“You sure you’re okay being seen with some big monster?”

“I don’t think you could ever be a monster.” He walked towards me and kissed me so fast I almost fell over. He was huge, like a big teddy bear, and I loved it. I really did, a hundred percent. He laughed, kissing me through the tears on his face. He held me close to him, my dick pressing against him through my underwear.

“Now what?” I asked.

“I guess you’re my boyfriend,” he said seriously. “If you’re okay with that.”

My whole body felt intensely warm. It was like I was in a dream. Maybe I was. Maybe I’d crashed my bike on my way home and I was in a coma, my consciousness somewhere between earth and the great beyond.

Something weighed heavily on me and I was afraid to bring it up. I wanted to squeal with joy and cry tears of relief, but I had to make sure we were on the same page. I didn’t want to end up hurt and alone.

I was quiet, not sure how to ask Mason what was on my mind. I think he hated when I got all silent like this. He was a much more direct sort of person.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just—am I, uh—is this a secret?”

“No,” he said, eyebrows serious. “I hate you even had to consider that. You’re never going to be a secret in my life ever again.”

I was his boyfriend.

He was my boyfriend.

We were boyfriend and boyfriend.

The next day in school Mason talked to me in every class. He sat with me at lunch. He stopped at my locker with me. He was trying very hard to prove to me that he was serious. He meant what he said about making it up to me for the last three years.

“Mason, what the fuck is your problem?” Bret asked disgustedly. “This whole day you’ve been acting weird.” Bret looked over at me, obviously insinuating that I was what was weird. English class had just ended, and Mason was going to give me a ride home, and not because he wanted something from me, just because he wanted to be around me. I hadn’t been this happy in a long time.

“What do you mean?” Mason asked, feigning ignorance.

“The fag, Mason. The fag.” Bret spat the word fag like it was a disease.

“I don’t think you should use that word anymore. Don’t be that guy.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hear you using that word or making jokes or putting your hands on Oliver ever again. You or anybody else, so spread the word.”

“Are you in love with him or something?” Bret asked, trying to get a rise out of Mason.

“I might be, yeah,” Mason replied seriously. Bret’s eyes widened before he began to laugh hysterically. “We’re dating.”

“Mason, you are hilarious.” Mason leaned over towards me. He brought his face incredibly close to mine before he touched my lips softly with his own, kissing me. It was a gentle kiss, nothing too intense, but it made me feel exposed. I’d barely kissed anyone before and never in public. “You’re taking it too far dude. That was gay as hell.”

“Probably because I’m gay.”

“You’re—you’re not joking? You’re a fag too?”

“Yep,” Mason said, wrapping his beefy arm around me. “And watch your language, dude. There’s only so many times I’m going to tell you.”

Bret ran off, probably to go tell someone. By tomorrow every single person in the school would know. I wondered what people would say. I hoped Mason would be all right. Maybe that hadn’t been the smartest decision.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said, still thinking about him kissing me in front of Bret.

“It’s not like you’re my secret boyfriend.” He smiled and I melted.

He took me home and we went inside. We were going to study and hang out for a while. He told me that he wanted to spend so much time together that I’d get sick of him. I told him that’d never happen. And he said that meant we’d just be stuck with each other. We were in the second week of November, and the weather had cooled considerably. I volunteered to make hot chocolate and he happily accepted my offer. I also provided a plate of chocolate chip cookies I’d made the night before.

“Thanks,” he said as I handed him the drink. He sipped it carefully, making sure to collect the mini marshmallows. He must’ve gotten too excited because some of it spilled onto his lap. He stood quickly.

“Aw shit,” he said.

“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing to grab some paper towels.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said. “But I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of pissed I wasted some of my hot chocolate.” I laughed at his serious expression, telling him that I was more than willing to make him another mugful. We sopped up the bulk of the liquid with the paper towels, but he let me know he didn’t like the moist feeling.

“I don’t want it to soak into my underwear.”

He popped open the button of his jeans with a sigh of relief. He pulled them down and stood in my kitchen in a pair of navy boxer briefs. “I’ve got to get some new jeans.” He sure wasn’t modest. I was getting hard looking at his big hairy thighs. He could crush someone’s skull with those things. I kind of wanted my skull crushed.

“I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit you,” I said, still staring at his legs. “Maybe a pair of basketball shorts.”

“I’m good like this if you don’t mind,” he said, standing before me like a Grecian statue.

“No way. I don’t think I can control myself looking at you with your legs out like that.” He laughed, jokingly telling me that I was weird.

“They’re just legs,” he said, grinning at me. He’d always loved showing off, and I had always been a willing observer. “And who says you need to control yourself?”

“It’s not just your legs,” I said, getting excited. “It’s your ass. I’ve been looking at your butt for years.”

He turned, looking over his shoulder back at me. The fabric of his underwear separated each cheek, making his ass look even juicer. I wanted to take a bite out of it, my mouth watering at the sight of how much weight he was carrying back there. “If you’ve been checking it out for years, how’s it looking nowadays?”

“Phenomenal,” I said, zoning out. I was completely mesmerized. There was nothing that could break me out of this trance.

“You can grab it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, like he didn’t know if what he said was okay. Was he testing my attraction to him? Who wouldn’t want to squeeze his meaty ass? I walked closer to where he stood, my hands cupping the ass I’d only ever dreamed of touching since I knew I liked men. I jiggled it slightly, impressed by how I could still feel the muscle underneath its fatty outer layer.

“It definitely feels bigger than I thought it would,” I said, still touching him.

“I do a lot of squats,” he said, laughing apprehensively. “I think it’s gotten bigger these last couple of weeks. Working out with my uncle and eating like I do has changed my body faster than I thought it would.”

He turned around, and I noticed he was hard. He looked down at his penis straining against his boxer briefs and then away from me, biting his lower lip nervously. I bet his muscle-gut blocked some of his lower half from sight. How long would it be before he wouldn’t be able to see his dick when he looked down?

It was nice that he physically reacted to me feeling him up, but was he expecting something more? Would he want to bottom? Was he prepared for that today? I had wondered when things would become more sexual between us. We’d known each other for so long, but not as sexual beings with lots of sexual urges.

I turned away from him, walking towards the freezer. I couldn’t take the awkwardness. I grabbed the ice cream from a few weeks ago that he never got to eat.

“Vanilla Fudge Banana Explosion,” he exclaimed gleefully.

“Yeah, I thought you might like it.” I grabbed a spoon, handing it to him along with the pint of ice cream. The little container in his large hand was really cute. He peeled off the lid and dug into the dessert greedily. This probably wasn’t enough ice cream to satiate him. He walked casually over towards a counter, pressing his butt up against it. He leaned back and ate spoonful after spoonful. He licked the spoon slowly after each mouthful.

Was he putting on a show for me? Like when we were younger?

“That was good,” he said after less than ten minutes of eating. A now empty container sat on the counter next to him. He gave a satisfied belch and put his hands on his slightly bloated middle.

“You really know how to eat,” I observed.

“It’s probably weird,” he started, pulling at the hem of his t-shirt, making sure not to meet my gaze, “but it kind of turns me on sometimes.”

“It’s not weird.”

I made my way to where he stood against the counter, reaching out and placing my hands on the sides of his middle. We both stood there, silently aroused. I could hear his breathing—in and out, in and out. I lifted his t-shirt. He rested his hand on my shoulder as I massaged his gut. He gave a satisfied moan that made my dick twitch.

“This feels really good.”

“It does?” I asked. I was on cloud nine, finally getting my hands on his gut after fixating over it for weeks. I could see he was getting hard, and I couldn’t believe he happened to be on the same wavelength as I was. I knew he said he liked being bigger, but I didn’t realize he liked it in this way.

“Don’t—don’t stop,” he whispered breathily, closing his eyes. He leaned his head back and grinned, unable to suppress the expression.

I was feeling bold, wanting to take further control of his pleasure. He could be in charge of everything else in our lives, but in this moment, I knew I was the one who could call the shots. I slid one of my hands down under his gut, sliding it into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Is this okay?” I asked, wanting to get his consent before I continued.

He just moaned again, whimpering as my hand wrapped around his erection.

“Tell me you want me to do this,” I commanded.

“I want it, Oliver,” he whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

He slid his thumbs into his waistband and pulled down his boxer briefs, so I had easier access to his penis. It was above average size and thick, but I was bigger and for some reason that really turned me on. I stroked him gently, enjoying how it pulsated in my hand. I noticed he relaxed his stomach muscles and his gut pushed forward some more. I looked up at his face and he looked back, his eyes glazed over. Fuck, was that a hot expression.

I stopped for a second, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling out my own dick. I stroked us both off, moving nice and slow. With both of my hands now occupied elsewhere, Mason took it upon himself to massage his stomach.

“That belly is looking real good,” I said, watching his expression carefully. He looked—pleased! His eyes were closed, but he got that grin on his face again. He grabbed his gut by the sides and gave it a shake.

He was close and I could tell. Seeing him so aroused was turning me on more than I thought possible. I was going to push him over the edge.

“Fuck Mason, I can only imagine how big your gut is gonna be a few months from now.”

It was a risk, but it paid off. He shot a huge stream of cum across the kitchen floor. He looked at me now, his eyes still had that glazed-over look and he fell to his knees. He grabbed at my jeans, pulling them down along with my underwear.

“Whoa, Mason, what’re—?”

He licked the head of my penis holding the shaft in his somewhat rough hand. His mouth was warm, and he worked my dick with unexpected finesse. Looking down at the top of his head, I took in his curly brown hair. I couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was on his knees giving me head. I also couldn’t believe this huge beefy guy was Mason of all people.

“Mase, I’m coming.” He removed my dick from his mouth, and I felt cum erupt from inside of me so forcefully I got lightheaded. It wasn’t until I was completely finished that I was able to take in what had occurred. Mason was still on his knees, his face covered in my cum. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t seem like everything was okay. He got off of his knees, pulling up his underwear. We cleaned up in silence. He got my cum off his face, and I got his cum off the floor. He was the one who broke the silence. “That was weird.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, kind of,” he said, looking down at the kitchen tiles. “What was with that stuff you were saying?”

“Did you not like that?” I asked, feeling less confident than I had been during our sexual encounter. Things were shifting back into their regular alignment. Me being awkward. Mason being intimidating.

“I just—when we talked about me being bigger, you didn’t just mean muscles, did you?”

“I—I, uh, there’s nothing wrong with being bigger.”

“Were you just saying that because you figured out that’s what I’m into?” he asked. “You don’t have to, like, force yourself to be attracted to me like this.”

“Mason,” I started, “I think it’s more than obvious we like the same thing. I don’t know how we lucked out like this, but that gut you’ve got is definitely sexy.” He just laughed.

“Oli, c’mon,” he said. “You’re legit gorgeous. You could be an underwear model or something, I mean, damn, your quads are amazing.” I laughed. He reached out, grabbing my arm, and pulled me forward. He rested his masculine hands on my ass, like I had always wanted. “And this bubble butt is something else.”

“I’ve got to know Mason. When did you start thinking you might be gay?”

“The day you told me,” he said. I pushed myself away from his solid body.

“What?”

“Yeah, you coming out to me was really confusing. And I figured I should avoid you for a little while to figure things out—I didn’t think it’d be three years though, sorry.”

I just laughed. We’d missed out on years together. There really was nothing to do but find the humor in the situation, because otherwise it would be too sad to think about.

“I started watching gay porn freshman year and I bought that sex toy about a year ago.”

“You’re something else,” I said. “I guess that’s why I like you so much.”

He smiled and it just felt like it got easier to breathe. I ended up making him another mug of hot chocolate before throwing his jeans in the washing machine. Being domestic with him was turning me on, but then again, anything involving Mason was a turn on. I was starting to feel more peaceful. Mason and I would keep talking and figuring things out about this relationship. We had time. We finally had time.

Christmas break came after what felt like an eternity. Of course, people were talking about me and Mason. We could hear their not-so-whispered remarks every single day. He ignored it and held my hand through it all, which really meant a lot to me. He was an incredible person.

Mason had been so liked by everyone, that it was odd to see his old friends ignore him or mumble fucked-up things under their breath when he was nearby. I didn’t know how he could take it, falling so far from the graces of the popular crowd. I had always been on the outskirts, so I couldn’t really understand what he was going through.

We’d made it through Thanksgiving unscathed. It was a little sad we couldn’t spend the holiday together, but Mason hadn’t come out to his family and I hadn’t told my mom we were dating. He’d pushed himself incredibly hard these last couple of weeks, so if he wanted to ease into telling his parents, I wasn’t going to complain.

But that tranquility Mason was experiencing at home was short lived. If the entire high school knew Mason was gay, there was only a matter of time before word got back to people’s parents. Those parents talked to other parents, and those parents talked to Mason’s parents.

The first night of break, Mason was confronted by his father about what he’d heard from a customer in his auto shop. I hated the look on Mason’s face when he told me this story. It was heartbreaking. It felt like it was all my fault.

Mason’s dad threw him out. Mr. Megalos took him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him out the front door. Well, he grabbed his collar, yes, and likely pulled him by it, but I doubted he could actually lift Mason to throw him anywhere. His mom let him back in of course, but he packed a bag and left. He’d shown up on my doorstep a little before midnight. It was obvious he’d been crying.

“They found out,” he said. And I knew. I knew his heart was probably in a million pieces.

“Oliver, who is at the door?” My mother walked into the foyer, wrapping herself in a fluffy robe. She’d gotten in from work about an hour ago and had just finished with some self-care. I was glad she’d just taken a bath, because I needed her to be in a good mood.

“Mom, it’s Mason,” I said.

“Well look at that,” she said, taking him in for the first time in three years. “What has Katerina been feeding you?” Mason gave a half-hearted laugh, and I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the house.

“It’s, uh, good to see you Ms. Bailey.”

“Mason, you can go up to my room while I talk to my mom.”

My mom raised her eyebrows at this, watching as Mason walked towards the rear of the house where the stairs were. That was when the begging began. She had me on my knees.

“You know he can’t stay here Oliver.”

“Mom,” I pleaded, my voice somewhat whiny. “He needs this. He’s my best friend. Please.” She laughed, and I knew it was because she didn’t consider Mason to be my best friend anymore. I hadn’t mentioned him in years; the last time she’d brought him up, I blew up at her.

(“Oliver, sweetheart, you don’t want to invite Mason to celebrate your birthday with us?” I was turning sixteen and I hadn’t talked to Mason in nearly eleven months.

She knew something had been off between us, as Mason hadn’t been to our house since I came out to him.

“It’s just another day,” I replied, feeling especially mopey. “He’s probably busy anyway.”

“I could call Katerina,” she suggested. “If you boys had a falling out, we can get things back on track. He’s been your best friend since first grade.” I was embarrassed. I didn’t know how to navigate how I was feeling. There was just so much shame and sadness that I hadn’t really taken the time to unpack.

“Can you just shut up?” I demanded. “We aren’t friends anymore, okay? It was my fault. There’s no way to fix it, so can you please just drop it?” I stormed off to my bedroom after that. I spent the rest of my sixteenth birthday alone crying in my bedroom. It was definitely a low. I knew the only reason my mom didn’t come after me was because it was my birthday. If it were any other day and I spoke to her like that, I’d probably be dead.)

“Oliver, we just can’t. You need to let his family work out whatever problem they’re dealing with.”

“Mom, if—if he can’t stay, I’ll leave with him,” I said, being dramatic.

“No, you won’t,” she replied, laughing. She was calling my bluff.

“I will,” I said, trying my best to win her over. “We’ll wander the streets, sleep in his Jeep. I might even have to become a prostitute to scrape by. We’ll drop out of high school. Do some drugs. Is that what you want Mom? I really don’t think it is.” I sounded like I was describing the plot of some made-for-TV movie.

“Oliver,” my mother said with a theatrical groan, massaging her temples. She obviously wanted to laugh at my monologue, which I knew would play into my favor. “If Katerina and Adrian come to take him home, we aren’t going to fight them on it, do you understand?”

She smiled at me gently. She was legit the best mother in the entire world. She probably only relented because she had just gotten in from work (and she’d had her bubble bath and a glass of wine). She worked as a nurse during a shift that went from three until ten-thirty, and that was when the hospital didn’t ask her to come in early or stay late.

“Yes, thank you!” I actually jumped for joy, clasping my hands together in gratitude. “You won’t even notice that he’s here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied. “He needs to sleep in your room because I don’t want him on my sofa. We just got that thing last year and the way he’s looking, it’d be sunken in within the month.”

I just laughed, promising Mason would not be allowed anywhere near her sofa. She likely assumed Mason was not gay. I knew right away that Mason had been outed to his family, but I didn’t make that information privy to my mother. When explaining why he needed to stay with us, I just sort of said his dad was mad about him quitting the football team and putting on some weight. I had been planning on telling her we were dating, but it was probably a good thing I hadn’t mentioned it.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m sure he won’t mind the floor for a little while.”

“Goodnight Oliver,” she said, walking towards where her bedroom was on the first floor. The second floor was an addition, and the only thing up there was my bedroom and a bathroom. “Mommy is tired. They want me to come in early tomorrow, so you kids need to keep it down.”

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Goodnight best mom in the entire universe.”

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath. “Tell Mason it was nice seeing him again.”

I made my way to the rear of the house and ran up the stairs to my room. I closed the door quietly.

“She said you could stay here until you’re able to work things out with your family.” I was smiling at him, but that excitement was short-lived. This wasn’t some slumber party. He was here because he couldn’t be at home.

“Thank God,” he said with a sigh of relief.

“She said you have to sleep in here,” I said in mock-apology. “I hope you don’t mind, but we’ll have to share a bed.”

“Well damn it,” he replied. “I guess if there’re no other alternatives.” He got off of my bed and walked towards me. He put his arms around me slowly and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around him—which had gotten considerably more difficult post-Thanksgiving. I kissed him a little bit longer before pushing him away.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, trying to cull my arousal. We could not have sex right now. I felt weird about doing things like that with my mom in the house. I totally wouldn’t be able to focus.

“Yeah, I don’t really want to think about it,” he answered. “I’d rather make out with my boyfriend—among other things.”

“We have to wait until tomorrow, or my mom will hear and freak out,” I said seriously.

We’d masturbated together a few more times since the first experience in the kitchen. He’d given me head a few more times, and I reciprocated that as well. But we hadn’t done the actual deed. With him living here for an unknown amount of time, especially during winter break, we were likely going to go all the way.

“We can be quiet,” he whined. I was so turned on by the fact he enjoyed being intimate with me. Hearing him beg for it almost had me relenting.

“It will be better tomorrow,” I said, walking over to my laundry basket and throwing my shirt into it.

“Fine,” he pouted before smiling. “But don’t expect me to let go of you all night.”

We got into the bed and he kept his promise. At least for this night, the first time we ever were going to sleep together in the same bed, he had me pulled closely into his beefy body. My full-sized bed was just right, but at the rate Mason was growing, I didn’t think it would be just right for long.

I knew he didn’t want to talk about what happened with his dad, at least not yet, so we enjoyed one another in silence. Before long, I could hear him gently snoring behind me. He was very warm and that made me feel so calm, that before long, I was also fast asleep.

I was awake a little after six and immediately got up to take a shower. Mason was still sleeping even after I finished my shower, so I went to make him breakfast. I had made hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He was still sleeping when I finished around nine.

I ate with my mom and she let me know she was going to spend the morning shopping with my grandmother. She would be home this afternoon to take a nap and get ready for work. After she left, I went to wake up Mason.

He sat up quickly when I mentioned there was breakfast waiting for him downstairs. He got out of bed. He was wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs and a white undershirt. His thighs were huge and strong looking. His ass was barely contained by the ash-colored fabric. His belly pushed the small shirt up a bit, around his belly button. His arms looked massive, and I wanted to grab ahold of them and never let go.

Breakfast. Breakfast. Breakfast.

“You can use the bathroom and come down for breakfast,” I said finally, regaining focus.

“Okay,” he said, sleepy eyed, scratching his tummy. He went off to the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I heard the flush of the toilet, then the sink turning on and off, and about five minutes later he exited the bathroom, face scrubbed, and teeth brushed. We made our way downstairs.

Looking at the table, there was a ridiculous amount of food for one person. Even with what my mother and I ate, there was way too much for Mason. I’d used almost an entire bag of potatoes for the hash browns. I’d have to get another carton of eggs, having used the ten that we had in the fridge. The toast was buttered, and the bacon was crisp. I’d definitely been excited while cooking, thinking with my dick and not my head.

“I realize now this is an excessive amount of food.”

“I didn’t get to eat dinner last night,” he said. “I’m starving.”

He wasn’t kidding. He really was.

Mason tackled the spread like a competitive eater. He took a piece of toast and carefully folded it in half before adding some of the other ingredients, making a sort of taco. He did this until the eight pieces of toast were gone. He then ate what was left of the eggs and hash browns with hot sauce. He drank two big glasses of milk too. I didn’t realize how much he could eat. I was sitting at the table across from him.

It was after breakfast. My mom wasn’t home. We could finally have at it.

“You ate all of it,” I said, touching my boner underneath the table. I was wearing a pair of running shorts that came about halfway up my thigh. I was easily able to access my dick.

“Yeah,” he said, his face going red. “I didn’t have dinner and I was really hungry and it tasted so good.” He placed his hands on his belly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, tugging at the hem of his shirt, failing to keep it down. Majority of his clothes had begun to fit this way. “I guess you were wrong about the whole me getting fatter thing.”

“I was not wrong,” I said, standing. He took in my massive erection and smiled, relief showing on his face.

“We really are a pair of sexual deviants, huh?” I walked to his side of the table and grabbed his hand. He stood up, looking down at me for a moment. He scooped me up and held me in his powerful arms. We looked at one another for a moment. His eyebrows were so serious it made me laugh. He joined in and we laughed hard for a few moments.

“I got excited,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re so excited. It means it’s not just me.” Still in his arms, he made his way towards the stairs and ran us up to my room.

In a flurry, our clothing items flew off our bodies. His t-shirt, my shorts. My sweatshirt, his boxer briefs. We stood completely naked in the middle of my bedroom, and it was all sort of surreal.

“Oli, you’ve got a body like a porn star.”

“You may not be as defined as I am, but I’d much rather see you in a porno.” He laughed.

“We could be in one together,” he said, joking. “It’d be the only video I’d ever need for the rest of my life.”

I smiled at him, my hands on his waist. I enjoyed how he’d begun to spread out. His gut hadn’t been like this back in October. He was developing love handles, with little stretch marks around where his torso met his hips.

My hands moved to his biceps and he flexed them for me. My dick jumped at how solid his arms were, craving his body. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asked.

“Are you serious?” I asked.

He nodded.

I grabbed a condom and lube from a box in my closet. I didn’t think I’d ever get to use these things, and here I was about to use them with Mason. He moved onto the bed and he put his ass out for me.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

“No, but I’ve seen a lot of porn,” I said truthfully, almost half-regretting my honesty. “Have you ever had sex before?”

“No,” he said. “I hadn’t even kissed anyone before I kissed you.” I had made out with some guys before, but I didn’t want to spoil how sweet that was. Something about this whole situation was kind of empowering.

“I’ll be gentle,” I said, trying to be suave. Sure, I had seen my fair share of pornography, but seeing something and executing something were two very different things. I didn’t want to be bad at it. I was always the passive, quiet one and I had to admit, I enjoyed the idea of being the dominant one in the bedroom.

I lubed up my penis as well as his asshole. I slapped his butt, enjoying the sound it made. I did it again and he gasped softly. He arched his back a little, accentuating the size of his ass.

I entered his beautiful ass slowly. I started with just the head, not wanting to hurt him. He was breathing loudly, but it didn’t sound like he was in pain. I moved slightly, pushing a little more of myself into him, and felt a tingle go throughout my whole body. Mason continued gasping and whimpering and breathing loudly as I slowly pushed more and more of my dick inside of him.

“Christ!” he yelped. I stopped moving.

“Do you need me to stop?” I asked.

“Fuck, Oli,” he said, panting. “It’s starting to feel good. Keep going.” I did as I was told and bucked my hips back and forth, the sound of my upper thighs slamming against his fat ass creating a sort of beat. About halfway through he started tugging at his dick, moaning loudly as he came. That did it for me, and after a few more strokes, I filled the condom with my cum.

I was sure if someone were watching it would have looked awkward, but I didn’t care at all. I had never felt closer to a person. I had never felt closer to Mason.

Actual sex was way better than masturbating.

“Are you okay?” I asked, removing the condom and throwing it in my trashcan.

“That felt really good.” Mason was still panting. I walked over to the bed where he was laying down and laid next to him. “I was worried there for a second, but little Oli sure knows what he’s doing.” I laughed.

“That was possibly the best experience of my life,” I said. He rolled over on top of me, straddling me, and covered my face with kisses. I loved it.

“How much do you weigh now?” I inquired, feeling his weight pressing me down.

“Get the scale,” he said, swinging himself from on top of me. I got off of the mattress and made my way to the bathroom. I got the scale and set it in the center of my bedroom. He placed his large feet on the scale, and I read the number.

“283 pounds.” In less than three months, Mason had gained nearly sixty pounds. I was getting hard again just thinking about where he’d be three months, six months, a year from now. I stepped on the scale next, also getting off on how much more he weighed than I did. It read 160 pounds and a little extra. 123 pounds. Mason was 123 pounds bigger than me.

“You’re fucking tiny,” he said in disbelief, looking down at the number displayed on the monitor. “I never realized how little you are." I turned my naked body to face him and gestured to my flaccid cock, which admittedly, was still pretty big.

“I wasn't talking about that,” he said with a laugh. “I haven’t weighed 160 pounds since the fifth grade.”

“Do you not like me being skinny?”

“I find your skinniness to be quite the turn on.” He kissed me, grabbing my ass. “And if we’re being honest, you store all your weight in just the right places.” I didn’t know why that made me so flustered, but it did. I felt my face go hot. I liked that he thought I had a nice ass.

“I’d have to say the same goes for you,” I said.

“I hope to get much bigger,” he said, stepping back from me. He flexed his arms and I felt myself getting hard again. He knew what he was doing, turning me on. He turned around, so I could look at his wide back and juicy butt. He was damn near a wall. He turned back around and looked at me with extreme intensity.

“What’s with that look all of a sudden?”

“I want to be able to keep you safe, Oli. I’m going to be big enough to protect you from everything.” I was so turned on again. He was adorable.

“Thanks Mason,” I said, reaching out to embrace him. We stood together for a few minutes before we took a shower and got dressed. Throughout the day Mason ate all the snacks we had in the house. We went shopping and stockpiled food in my bedroom. He didn’t want to let my mother know he was constantly inhaling food. We did have to keep all the milk he got in the fridge. I wondered what my mom would say about it. Two weeks of him eating this way and he’d get huge.

Holiday break could only last the two weeks; I knew it could only be two weeks, and yet the morning classes were to resume, I was an anxious mess. Mason’s constant eating slapped another ten pounds onto his beefy frame, putting him at 293 pounds. Everyone was going to notice. He was gigantic. He was still incredibly muscular underneath his recent gain though, only making him appear even wider.

The only time Mason was away from me was when he’d go to meet with his uncle to lift weights. Galvin told Mason he didn’t care that he was gay, and that Mason’s dad would come around soon. It meant a lot to Mason that his uncle still supported him.

Mason’s arms were big and strong, and his thighs were probably so large to hold up his massive bubble butt. His belly pushed up all his shirts and buttoning pants was just a waste of time, so he wore sweatpants and the biggest sweatshirt he could find. I felt bad. This day was going to be bad. He looked good to me of course, but everyone was going to stir up trouble. I didn’t want to go to school.

He drove us to school that morning and things were fairly similar to the way they were before break. That’s not to say people weren’t making comments, but there was nothing too out of the ordinary. Things were actually bearable until lunch.

We sat together, eating lunch amidst the stares of our nosy classmates. I had a fruit salad, some fries, a grilled chicken sandwich, and a banana. Mason had bought three slices of pizza, fries, chicken tenders, and three milks. It was like he didn't care about what was happening at all—all the stares, all the names, the comments, and dirty looks.

“How are you doing this?” I asked, eating a few fries, but not really feeling all that hungry. My stomach was in knots. He was already on his second slice of pizza.

“Well, I mean you kind of move your mouth in a gnawing motion after placing food in there. Like this—,” he said, taking a colossal bite and chewing theatrically. I laughed loudly. He was so dumb sometimes, able to make a joke that could distract me from my negative feelings. He smiled at me and started on his chicken tenders.

“I meant all of the people,” I said, clarifying what I was sure he knew I was originally referring to.

“I just don’t care,” he said seriously. “I wasted three years of my life caring about what other people thought. It’s 2012. Being gay shouldn’t be this big of an issue. I let other people tell me being gay was wrong. I don’t see anything wrong with it.” He gulped down his second milk, nibbling at his remaining fries. His sweatshirt exposed a bit of belly as it set in his lap. “I love you, Oli. I just think about that and I don’t even notice everybody else.”

He loved me? I knew I loved him too, but we hadn’t said it before.

“I think I’ll try that,” I said. “Thinking about how much I love you.” I thought I was supposed to be the one thinking positive? I was proud to call Mason my boyfriend.

I opened my banana and heard an increase in laughter. I looked over at Bret pointing at me.

“You thinking about Mason’s dick?” he called, causing his table to erupt in laughter again. I forgot not to get a banana. I hadn’t eaten a banana at school since freshman year. I moved the banana away from my lips, visibly distraught. It was so embarrassing being made fun of in front of Mason.

“Can I have that?” Mason asked as he smiled at me. I handed him the banana. “Thanks.” He put it in and out of his mouth suggestively, making a ridiculous face as well. He then shoved the whole thing in greedily. He had me doubled over in laughter again. He was so absurd sometimes. He chewed and drank the last milk.

“Mase, you’re so goofy.”

“Thanks. That was so good,” he said loudly, for Bret and his cronies to hear. He smiled again, his eyes sparkling. Was I falling even more in love with him? He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “I’m still hungry. I think I got too used to you keeping me well-fed. I’m going to get a cookie.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a bite out of my sandwich. I felt better. Better than ever. I was almost done with my sandwich when Bret came over. That positive feeling didn’t stand a chance.

“What’s up faggot?”

“I don’t care what you call me.” I stood, looking to find Mason so we could spend the rest of the lunch period in the library. We could study for English. Anything would be better than having to stay around Bret for an extended period of time. Bret placed his hand on my shoulder and forced me back into my seat.

“I don’t give a fuck what you care about.” I looked up at him from my seat. He narrowed his blue eyes at me, making him look like a rat. This guy really hated me. I stood up again and turned to walk away, kind of afraid of what he was going to do to me. “I hate what you are. You did something to Mason.”

“Like what?” I asked, turning to face him. Did he think I was blackmailing Mason? Threatening him with violence? Casting love spells?

“I don’t know.” He took a cupcake from a tray on a neighboring table. He looked down at it for a moment, likely pausing for dramatic effect, before he slammed it into my face. “But I don’t like it.”

I’d spent years dealing with this sort of treatment from Bret, but for some reason this was actually getting to me. We were in the middle of the cafeteria and nearly everyone was looking at us now. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to take Mason’s words to heart. But he hadn’t experienced just how awful I’d been treated. I warily scrapped some of the frosting from around my eyes.

“Oh shit,” one of the girls nearby mumbled to the friend she was sitting with.

I turned, watching as Mason made his way over to where Bret and I stood. I saw his eyes travel from my face to Bret’s. Mason calmly set his cookies on the table next to me and pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. The whole cafeteria was silent. It was like every sound had been magically muted.

“Mason,” I said nervously, trying to pull him away from Bret. “We need to go study for the Spanish quiz. We have to go now.” Bret was no match for Mason, and everyone else was still too afraid to even try and fight him. Mason was going to get in trouble. He used to get into fights all the time. He had never hit me, but I’d seen him pummel other assholes.

Mason yanked his arm from my grasp easily. Everything happened so fast, but I don’t think Bret landed a single blow on Mason. After about three minutes, I saw Bret was all purple and bloody.

“Fucking bitch!” Mason spat, his voice intense like the roar of a grizzly. The school security officers were coming. “You lay a hand on my boyfriend again and you’re dead.”

“Come on!” I pulled his sweatshirt and he finally stormed out.

“I should have killed him,” he said angrily, nostrils flared. He was breathing heavily.

“Okay, so yeah, Bret’s the worst,” I started, picking cupcake out of my eyebrows, “but I don’t think life in prison is going to solve anything. It’s not worth it.”

“I know, you’re right,” he said, his breathing slowing. “I just don’t want you to get hurt by him anymore.”

“By a cupcake?” I asked jokingly, trying to calm him down further.

“You know what I mean,” he said.

He leaned against a row of lockers. This wasn’t going to go unchecked by the school. They’d call his parents over this. He might even get suspended.

“I forgot my fucking cookies!” he exclaimed angrily.

“I could totally make you some!” This side of Mason was really hot, but I knew he wasn’t feeling great about the whole situation. As sexy as angry-Mason was, I still preferred when he was happy.

“Let’s go.”

“Huh?” I asked, trotting behind him. He was making his way towards the exit. We ditched Spanish and English. I had never ditched a class before, and I felt like a fugitive.

He pulled up outside of my house.

“I’ll be back,” he said. I nodded and got out of the Jeep. He drove off. I had never seen Mason so upset. I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with what Bret represented. Bret was a past that Mason wanted to forget. I knew Mason still struggled with guilt about how things had been between us the last three years, and I tried to assure him I had let that stuff go, but I knew he thought about it a lot. I didn’t know how to emphasize to him I wanted to just move on. High school would be over soon, and I would get to start the important years of my life. He had read an article about teen suicide in the LGBTQ+ community a few weeks ago. He looked sick after he finished it. I remember he looked at me seriously and said, “You could’ve killed yourself.”

Mason returned. He had gone to the gym. I looked at him and saw his huge arms and thighs looked pumped. He went to my bathroom and took a shower. I sat on the bed waiting. He exited the bathroom in a towel. His belly hung over the pink fabric. He dropped the towel revealing a beautiful ass. He looked so huge. Bret hadn’t stood a chance this afternoon.

I was always semi-erect around Mason but looking at him naked in front of me had me fully hard. He walked over to me and sat next to me on the bed. He leaned his body against mine. I could hear him breathing. I felt him press into me bit by bit. He was kind of whimpering, like a big Mastiff puppy.

“I’m so sorry, Oliver,” he said.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” I placed my hand on his monstrous thigh, squeezing it gently. “You stood up for me today, and I’m still hard thinking about how hot it was.” He grabbed me, pulling me close and passionately kissing me.

He ended up on his back in the bed and I ended up giving him head. It was the least I could do for how he stood up for me. And Mason couldn’t help himself, so I ended up getting head in return. But then I couldn’t help myself and found myself with his dick in my mouth again. It was a cycle that I didn’t really want to see broken.

That fight with Bret didn’t go unchecked by school administration. Mason’s parents had to come have a meeting with the principal and the dean. Both he and Bret were let off with warnings, but the school made it very clear that they could not protect Mason from the law next time, considering he was nineteen and Bret was only seventeen.

He moved back home after that, which was honestly kind of sad. We’d only gotten to live with one another for less than a month. He and his father did finally start talking again, but Mason told me it was strained conversation.

Nobody messed with us again until Valentine’s Day. In our school there was a fundraiser where a person could purchase a flower to send to a friend or crush or romantic partner. Of course, I had never gotten one, but Mason used to get tons of them every year. I went to buy one and I wrote a card for it. I wrote: Mason, I love you. Yours forever, Oliver.

I thought it looked sophisticated and mature. I paid the two dollars, took the carbon copy receipt, and went to class. I wondered if he even thought about those stupid flowers. Then I wondered if he got me one. I was getting all excited thinking about it, but I knew to keep my expectations in check.

I met him before first period. We were working when the flowers were delivered. I didn’t expect one this period. They measured out the number of flowers a person was to receive and equally distributed them throughout the day. If a person were to receive only one rose, they’d get it during their last period of the day. But I got one anyway, in first period, which meant I had more coming. There was no name. It was a card with one word: Faggot.

Mason looked at me to see who it was from, but I quickly put it in my pocket. “I hope you’re not cheating on me,” he joked, smiling at me.

“Of course not!”

“Well, why can’t I see the card?”

“It’s mine,” I said. This was likely Bret fucking with me again. I could not let Mason know about this. He might actually kill Bret this time, and I didn’t very much think orange was Mason’s color. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not,” he replied sternly, his eyebrows furrowed. He was mad. Throughout the day I got the flowers with the same card. With each one, Mason got more and more unnerved. I thought he was going to beat the shit out of me. At lunch he didn’t say a word. He ate a lot extra so he wouldn’t have to talk to me. I didn’t want him to see them. We couldn’t afford another incident like when he beat Bret to a pulp over a cupcake. He’d go berserk if he knew what was happening.

We walked to Spanish in silence. I got another card, and it said the same thing, but with a name—Bret. Surprise, surprise. I knew it was him. Nobody else would go so far to harass someone. Mason gave me a look of death and I felt a knot form in the pit of my stomach. I just wanted to go home. English came and I got my first nice flower all day. It said: I think you’re the best boyfriend in the world. Love, Mason.

I put that one in a separate pocket. Mason had gotten his first flower, which I was assuming was the one I purchased for him. He scanned it over and over. I hoped he liked it. Maybe it would make up for not showing him the Bret cards. I looked up at him and smiled. He stood up and stormed out; I followed. I heard Bret laughing as I entered the hallway.

“Mason! Wait up, what’s wrong? Mason!” He turned to face me. I saw he was trying to think about what to do. He pushed me into a locker, and it felt like he was getting ready to punch me.

“You—,” he started. He pulled out the card and read. “‘It’s over, Mason. I’ve gotten you back for three years of absolute torment. Did you really think I’d ever want to be with you, especially now? You’re a joke.’” Mason hadn’t stopped growing since moving back home. He was up another ten pounds, putting him at 303 pounds. I loved every ounce of him. I would never send that. I hoped he’d be smart enough to realize that.

“Please don’t hit me,” I exclaimed, flinching. He didn’t. Thank Jesus; he could have given me internal bleeding or something.

“I’d never put my hands on you,” he said angrily. Now he was mad and offended.

“I would never send that,” I said, pulling out the carbon copy receipt. “Look.” I handed him the card and he read it, looking relieved.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he groaned. He was getting worked up. I had a bad feeling. “I knew you didn’t send this, and it still got me emotional. I’m so sorry for pushing you. I’d never hit you. I swear I wouldn’t. But those cards you’ve been getting all day have really fucked with my head.” I reached into my pocket and handed him the cards. I hadn’t wanted him to see them, but at this point I had to be honest.

“These are the cards I’ve been getting all day, okay?” He read them and really went insane, heading for the exit.

“Mason, we’re going home, yeah?”

“Hell no. We are waiting for Bret and this is going to end today. Oliver, I’m going to kill him. I swear to God, I might just kill him.”

“You’ll get in trouble,” I said immediately. “No way.”

“Not if it’s after school.” That was ridiculous. He’d so still get in trouble. We passed through the doors leading outside as the afternoon announcements came on.

“You can’t do this Mason,” I said, trying my best to calm him down. “You’ve got to let this go.” The bell finally rang and two minutes later kids surged out of the building. He ran right at Bret who had been describing what he had done to two of his own beta-males. Bret was knocked to the ground.

Bret looked up at Mason from the ground. Mason was in a t-shirt alone. We hadn’t stopped at our lockers. The sleeves in the underarm area ripped with the advanced movement of his huge arms. Mason leaned over and punched him, harder and harder.

He stood straight up, hovering over Bret who was still laying on the pavement. “You ever fuck with us again, you’ll get your ass kicked worse than this.” There was a group around us, which formed a circle. Mason then spoke to them, turning every so often. It was almost like we were in the Colosseum, Mason a gladiator orating to the spectators.

“I like men,” Mason began. “But don’t let that confuse you. I can still fuck up anybody who steps to me or my boyfriend.” People were hanging on his every word. It was amazing.

“And this bitch over here,” Mason continued, gesturing towards Bret, “Has the weirdest fucking obsession with us. He went out of his way to send my boyfriend flowers all day today. I guess you could say he has a little crush.” This had people laughing now. “Babe, you should thank him for the flowers, but do let him down easy.”

“Uh, thanks for the flowers,” I said, uneasy having been put on the spot, but excited to be standing up to Bret in front of everyone for the first time. “But I’ve already got a boyfriend, so maybe you could find someone else.” The circle erupted in a resounding ‘Ohhhh!’ and lots of laughter.

“So who started this?” Mason asked the bloodthirsty spectators.

“Bret!” the crowd shouted. “Bret! Bret! Bret!” Mason started to walk off and I followed close behind him. The crowd parted so we could pass. I had never wanted to fuck him more than now. We could still hear people chanting and laughing as we made it to his Jeep.

Once inside, he drove towards my house, eyes focused intently on the road. His stomach growled loudly. There was a slight pause after the growling ceased, and then we both laughed loudly.

“Now I’m starving,” he said. I knew exactly what I wanted to make him.

As soon as we made it to my house, I started cooking. Mason went off to take a shower, saying something about needing to cool off. The whole situation with Bret still had him slightly heated. I was definitely still wound up from that encounter too, but not in the same way as Mason. Just thinking about how he’d stood up for the both of us had me soaking through my briefs. I’d been hard for some time now, ever since Mason’s whole ‘Are you not entertained?’ bit.

I cooked and cooked and cooked until I ended up making much more food than I thought we needed. It was just the two of us, but I’d made enough for five. I just couldn’t control myself when cooking for Mason. I loved seeing how much he could put away, how pleased his face would be when he ate an excessive amount of food.

I made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special. It was a dumb concept that I came up with back in middle school during the early days of my culinary exploration. The main component was a mozzarella-stuffed chicken breast that I would deep fry. I served it with macaroni and cheese. And, even though I knew it was overkill, broccoli covered in a cheese sauce (I’d even made a dozen rolls, and no, they weren’t cheese stuffed). It was a lactose-intolerant person’s worst nightmare, but Mason had never had any problems with dairy. He probably couldn’t go on living without it. I made five of those chicken breasts, a huge serving dish worth of broccoli, and enough mac and cheese for a family of four.

About an hour later he came lumbering down the stairs. I’d just finished plating the food, with parsley and everything. He sat at the table, shirtless, and I took in his quarter-sized nipples. His pecs were still firm but had a nice layer of fat over them. My mouth didn’t water when I thought about dinner, but Mason’s tits had me almost drooling all over myself. I never would have thought he would be this big. I set his plate and silverware in front of him, and then the basket of rolls.

“I made too much,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he said, smiling up at me from his seat at the table, “especially since you made the Oli Cheesy Chicken Special.” I felt my face go hot. It meant a lot to me that Mason remembered the name of this meal, but I needed to come up with a new one. Something that wasn’t so embarrassing. I wasn’t twelve anymore.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” I said, walking towards the fridge and pouring him a glass of milk.

“Thanks.” He didn’t waste time getting started. He didn’t even use silverware to eat the chicken breast, simply picking it up and taking a large bite, pulling the meat away from his mouth causing an impressive cheese pull.

In this moment, watching him happily eat, I realized that Mason hadn’t really changed all that much since we were younger. Yeah, he was over a hundred pounds bigger and six inches taller, but he was still the same silly, considerate, sometimes hot-headed guy I’d always had a crush on.

I must’ve been staring, because he looked up from his plate, catching my gaze. He stopped racing through the food on his plate, eating more slowly.

“What’re you staring at?” he asked, chewing, stabbing a broccoli floret with his fork. “You haven’t even started eating yet.”

“I just really love you,” I said honestly. “I can’t help staring.”

“C’mon Oli,” he said, his face reddening, “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m not!”

“Well, I love you too,” he said, his face still flushed. “I’m really lucky, you know? Who’d ever think a guy like you would be interested in me.”

Whoa—Mason was always surprising me. My initial assessment wasn’t completely fair to him. Mason had changed. In a way that was really significant.

He’d become more courageous.

He was brave enough to come out, to date me, to change his body in a way that wasn’t considered conventionally attractive. Even if all the things I loved about him from our youth were the same, I was fortunate enough to be able to love the man he was becoming as well.

I stood, going to refill his plate. He ate this serving just like the first, like if he didn’t get it all down fast enough someone might come and take it away. I sat down and watched, picking at the portion I’d set aside for myself. I wasn’t even hungry. I had no idea how he ate so much. He’d eat a roll every so often. I was able to refill his plate once more, and he ate that with the same amount of gusto. He got up the excess cheese that remained on the plate with the last roll.

“Fuck, that was just as good as I remembered.” He leaned back, placing his hands on his belly, rubbing it gently.

“Can—uh, can I do that?” I asked. He grinned.

“You don’t gotta ask,” he said, turning in the chair away from the table. He spread his legs, waiting for me. I went to the other side of the table as he pushed away from it. I knelt on the ground and rubbed his bloated gut, my hands traveling to his sides so I could squeeze the love handles pushed up by his underwear.

I moved toward his broad chest, squeezing the flesh there as well. Fuck, there was just so much of him. He was only wearing underwear, so I saw he was getting hard. I leaned forward, and began to kiss his belly, licking around his navel. His stomach tensed and relaxed.

“You like this gut?” he asked, his eyes closed.

“I love this gut,” I replied. His dick jumped in his underwear.

He stood, pushing me back slightly. I looked up from beneath his belly, and it made me think about that day at the bike racks a few months ago. I’d thought of him as a giant then, but compared to what I was looking at now, that version of Mason was minuscule.

Mason removed his dick from his boxers, and I leaned forward, resting my mouth at the base of his penis above his balls. I inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of his skin after a shower. I licked his shaft slowly, raising a hand to feel the heft of his belly above me. It didn’t need my support, as it was a solid sphere that hadn’t gotten large enough yet to droop. I thought about that phrasing and it sent me to another level of arousal. Large enough yet. Mason would likely be bigger than this soon. 300 pounds was the point where most guys would fight to get their waistlines in check, but I knew Mason didn’t care about that. He’d want more, and I wanted to help him.

I heard him moaning above me, one of his hands grabbing my hair, the other on the side of his gut. “Fuck, Oli,” he grunted. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

I stopped and stood up.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

He agreed to head up to my room, but he couldn’t stop himself from kissing me ravenously first. He loved kissing, and I definitely wasn’t against it, but we hadn’t moved yet. Mason was still kissing me. On my neck. My forehead. My cheeks. He reached for his penis, but I stopped him.

“Upstairs,” I reiterated.

He nodded. His eyes had that glazed over look again. He followed me to the staircase, and as I ascended, I heard the stairs creaking loudly as he heavily padded up after me.

I wanted to fuck him with all I had. Each time I wanted more and more to have the best sex ever, and each time it was the best sex ever. I didn’t know if it was because we were getting better at it or the fact that our relationship was becoming so much more serious, but whatever it was, I hoped it continued.

He pulled off his boxers and leaned over my desk, his beefy forearms resting on top. His strong legs were spread apart, and his knees were slightly bent. In this position, his stomach seemed more noticeable. It hung down, round and bloated. I wanted to cradle it in my hands from behind.

I slid on a condom and carried the lube over to where he was waiting for me. I covered my dick in the slick substance before gently massaging his hole. “I’m ready,” he breathed. “I want it, Oliver.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed onto one of his love handles as I led my member inside of him. This ass was everything. I’m pretty sure he worked it out extra hard because he knew I loved it so much. Seeing my hands cradling his meaty cheeks was unreal. I didn’t have abnormally large hands, but he had such a massive ass, they looked almost feminine. I pushed my entire dick inside of him, thrusting back and forth more forcefully than I had before. He moaned and moaned—saying my name, telling me how good it felt. I felt the tingle I came to expect wash over me. I wasn’t sure if it was endorphins or what, but I was close to finishing and feeling amazing.

He took a sharp intake of breath, shooting cum across the front drawers of my desk. I pushed hard a few more times. I’d never felt so good before. I came loads, my legs turning to jelly for a few moments, almost causing me to lose my balance. “Aw, fuck,” I managed to get out, grabbing his hips gently.

We moved over to the bed and laid back. His belly moved up and down.

“That gets better and better,” he panted.

“I was thinking the same thing.” He rolled over on top of me. I loved that, the weight of his fat body pressing into me. It was incredible. He just laid there, kissing my face and neck until I had to tap out. He rolled back over, smiling.

The next thing I remember was waking up. We’d fallen asleep. It was now around eight. I tried to shake him awake.

“Mason,” I said. “Mason wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.

“Mason,” I laughed, “You can’t stay here. Your parents will wonder where you are.”

“I don’t wanna get up,” he said into a pillow. “Let them wonder.”

“But our homework,” I said half-heartedly, also not in the mood to complete any schoolwork or send him on his way. I got up and checked my assignment book. Nothing was due tomorrow. I locked my door and got back in bed. He turned so I could place my head on his chest. He had his arm wrapped around me. I could have stayed like that forever.

Mason dozed back off almost immediately, but I laid awake thinking.

We only had a couple of months left in senior year. I’d gotten into my first-choice university and all of my safety schools, but there was definitely something that had me reconsidering going away to a four-year university. I didn’t really have any idea of what I wanted to major in. Nothing in the traditional sense was appealing to me. I didn’t want to be a teacher or a lawyer or a nurse.

Being with Mason reignited a passion that had laid dormant for years. I loved being in the kitchen and perfecting different recipes. Attending culinary school might be what I want to do post-graduation. It might have been youthful optimism, but I could see myself one day owning a restaurant.

Mason was going to the college thirty minutes from where we lived. I knew there was a program near him that was accredited and offered lots of opportunities for growth. I could feel myself getting excited by this idea. I hadn’t even been this excited opening up my college acceptance letters. This passion had to mean something. It just had to.

I could do it. I would do it! I’d always longed for a life outside of high school, and now I was starting to see that life more clearly. Even if the future was a mixed bag of possibilities, I knew one thing for certain.

I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Mason.

The End!

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

[ally-drabbles]

I'm watching/rewatching criminal minds and this is something that started going around in my head while watching 7x15. At first I thought I will write this funny nothing where the reader breaks Prestons expensive stuff faking dumb (to get back at the comment to Derek) and Hotch will figure out what she's doing and ask to knock it off before he gets a bill for everything. But somehow it became something different and I do not know whether i should continue this. What do you say? (p.s. gif's not mine)

"I can't tell you how happy I am that you are here, gentleman." Preston said. Your eyebrows shoot up and you are not able to control the throat clearing that leaves your mouth and all three men raise their eyes to look at you. "And a lady, of course." Preston adds gesturing to you. The nauseating chivalry dripping in his voice makes you want to gag. Hotch raises his eyebrow to indicate for you to behave. Preston looks back at the men. "Maybe now someone will stop these savages."

You have been standing there, watching men talk. Preston might be openly racist, but obviously his bigotry did not stop at race. You can bet that he's a homophobe and a misogynist. You were grateful that years of FBI training and some acting classes now allows you to control your expressions otherwise it would be pretty clear what you thought about his comments. Your face now partly hidden by your hand to mask some of your expressions. "I'll cut back on my media appearances... for now" Preston said standing to leave the room. As he reached the door, he stopped and turned to look at you with a flirtatious smile.

You quickly stood up from your perch on the table and reached the door. "I'll show you out" you said with a smile on your face. Preston ginned at you and turned to Derek and Hotch "You two enjoy your day". And with this words you and him left the room. You stopped him at the elevator by placing your hand on his shoulder, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry Mr. Preston that this investigation is causing trouble for your compain." "Oh you don't have to worry about it, Miss..." "Y/L/N, but you can call me Y/N." You said biting your lip and looking up to him through your lashes. His responding grin was nothing if not satisfied. "Y/N." He nodded. "Well as I said, Y/N, nothing to worry about, just a minor detail". He said as the elevator door started to open up. You said your goodbyes and as he stepped in the elevator and the door closed you shuddered and cracked your neck as if getting rid of some unwanted feeling.

"What was that?" came Morgan's voice from behind you. "What?" you frowned turning to him and tilting your head to look at him. "What do you mean what? You were flirting with him..." He said accusingly. It was obvious that Prestons behaviour bothered you so what the hell was your angle. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm just doing my job, we need to be on his good side." You said as both of you started walking to Hotch. ------------ "Alright, thanks, Garcia..." Morgan said ending the call. "Preston's a part of this, I know he is... You should have seen him in there". He continues talking to Emily. "He's a racist and a little shady, maybe, but a murderer?" she challenged him.

"I know it's just a feeling, but I know he's in this. We just need to figure out how..." "I should go talk to him." You volunteered. Everyone turned to look at you trying to figure out your point. "I was there with you" you said turning to Morgan. "You saw that I made connection with him, we can use this to our advantage" you reasoned. "It could be too risky..."Morgan doubted. "If he suspect anything and he really is murdering, this could go south very quickly." "C'mon..." you rolled your eyes. "He's a 6'2 bulk and very arrogant man who has a prejudice against everything and anything that is not a middle aged white male. And I'm a barely 5'2 "lady" who can play dumb. He already sees me as nothing but an admire who got into the beauro only by sheer luck or by sleeping around." You quickly held up your hand to silence the others. "I know the truth, but the point here is - we can use me." "She has a point." Rossi interjected. " Any chance you brought a skirt to this trip?"

#derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #7x15 #aaron hotchner x reader #Clark Preston #reader insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds

[kindaqueerngl]

┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ welcome to my account! ┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ here’s a little information on what my account is for, warnings of things you may see on my account, rules for what I tolerate and don’t, my art and the journey I’ve been through with it, my fandoms, and a bit about me ( in that order ) :D

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ my account is for things I create, and the occasional thing that others have created that I like so much I just have to reblog. Mostly the things I’ve created are art pieces ( usually of people ), but I dabble in writing, also. There’s the occasional meme, headcannon, personal story, and sometimes just something I want to get off of my chest. If you’re worried you might see something that triggers you, there’s a list of warnings below. There is absolutely no NSFW on my account!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ warnings: blood, sexual innuendos, references to alcohol and drugs, mentions of self harm and suicide ideation ( very rare ), eating disorders, possible references to abuse ( verbal and physical ), and depression. All of these are rather rare, but they may appear!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ DNI if: homophobic, transphobic, ableist, racist, misogynistic, xenophobic, and any other type of discrimination. Jokes about mental health, rape, pedophilia, or jokes that could be taken to offence will be reported, and you will be blocked.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ I started drawing when I was younger than I can remember. I’ve drawn people since I was about one year old, and have progressively improved. I started taking my art more seriously in grade five, when I generally got made fun of for my art. Usually that would’ve discouraged me, but I was a stubborn kid. I kept drawing. I started posting my art in grade five, and it all started with the coding program called “Scratch”. I would post animation memes and interactive drawings, until I left in the year 2023 in grade eight. I got 450+ followers in the time I was on there! I make a point of drawing everyday with my little brother and dog.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ My fandoms! I have many fandoms I’m part of, so here’s a list! I don’t believe this is all of them, but I’ve tried my hardest.

. Voltron Legendary Defender

. Riordanverse ( Magnus Chase, Percy Jackson, Heroes of Olympus, Trials of Apollo, The Sun and The Star )

. Bee and Puppycat Lazy in Space

. A Quiet Place

. Alien

. Scott Pilgrim

. Bobs Burgers

. Brooklyn 99

. The Office

and many more!!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ A lil bit about me! My name is Mack. I live in Canada with my mom, dad, brother, and dog ( her name’s Dallas but I call her shmee shmoo ). and I love to create, wether it’s drawing, writing, or even just thinking. I can speak French, English, and I know some quite crass words in Italian ( it’s the Nico Di Angelo fanfictions what can I say ). My favourite bands are My Chemical Romance, Car Seat Headrest, Mother Mother, and the strokes. I love the color yellow, and I LOVE mushrooms. I’m bigender ( he/she pronouns ) and omnisexual with a preference for men ( specifically Kieth Kogane ). I AM A MINOR. DONT BE GROSS.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ if you have any questions, please ask! I love you all very much <3

( @advice-for-all and @tyson-the-cyclops are my alts )

#meet the artist #welcome to my account #about me #my chemical romance #mcr #toa #hoo #pjo #nico di angelo #car seat headrest #mother mother #mushrooms #voltron #vld #bee and puppcat lazy in space #alien #scott pilgrim #the office #brooklyn nine nine #bobs burgers

[ukrfeminism]

2 minute read

The family of a former policeman is calling for the creation of a new body to help those facing domestic abuse at the hands of serving officers.

The widow and daughter of Ricky Jones - who spent 26 years as an officer at Gwent Police - have said they suffered years of coercive control by him but felt unable to report it to police because of his links to the force.

His death has recently exposed allegations of homophobia, racism and misogyny within Gwent Police, which are now being investigated.

Speaking to Sky News, his widow Sharon and daughter Emma, whose names have been changed, said more needs to be done to help those who feel unable to report domestic abuse.

"I was trapped," said Sharon.

"Wherever and whenever I went to any organisation, they would just always refer me back to the police."

She claimed Ricky Jones would dictate what the family ate and where they slept, and controlled them down to minute detail, such as allocating them sheets of toilet roll and insisting skin particles from the children were cleaned off furniture.

Emma said: "To paint a picture, my father, he had full reign in this house, full control about what food we ate, where we slept.

"My mother was told she didn't love us, that she was a bad person. And I think over the years mum, I think you've believed him".

"I did believe him," Sharon said.

'Rooting out' a few 'bad apples isn't going to do anything'

She explained that she did consider reporting him to the police, but says her husband prevented it.

"On one occasion, I said that if he didn't stop what he was doing to me and the children, I would go to the police about him.

"Then, maybe that same night or the following day, he came to me and said: 'I've been in work and I've sorted it - go in if you want, to the police, but they know you're coming and they won't listen to a word that you say'."

The pair are now calling for a public inquiry and the creation of a new body that can help those facing abuse at the hands of serving officers.

Sharon said: "I believe I'm not the only one.

"There must be lots and lots of women out there that want to do something and are too frightened… it could be a woman in Scotland, it could be a woman in Liverpool, it could be somebody who is suffering the same as me out there."

Emma explained this is about more than just identifying certain officers.

"Rooting out a couple of bad apples isn't going to do anything. There needs to be an overhaul. There needs to be public inquiries, there needs to be an external organisation set up for anybody that doesn't feel safe reporting to the police.

Offensive messages exposed

"Wouldn't it be nice to say there is somewhere you can go and it will be dealt with appropriately?

"But there's nothing in place currently like that, so I feel like a public inquiry could contribute to actual real change that will help women across the UK and will help everybody."

Ricky Jones took his own life in 2020, and it was only while looking on his phone for evidence of abuse for the inquest, that daughter Emma uncovered another horror.

WhatsApp and Facebook messages - first reported by The Sunday Times - between Jones and other serving and retired Gwent Police officers, that were homophobic, misogynistic and racist.

Emma said one message sent between Jones and other officers showed a picture of Grenfell Tower alongside a quote "The Great Muslim Bake-off".

Another message discussed two officers having sex in a patrol car, with a retired officer saying: "He has been shagging on duty and it's been recorded on his tetra [police radio] - didn't he learn anything from me at all?? I thought I taught him well and how not to get caught."

Emma said she wasn't surprised by the messages on her father's phone.

"I know who my father was. Contrary to how he was presenting himself outside this house, I know that he wasn't a very nice person.

'If you're in the boys club - you're protected'

"I think that this probably rings of these men in the police - and they all look after each other. It's all a big joke. They all leak this information. They will chat about all this information. No one ever reports it.

"If you're in that boy's club, you're set really - you're protected."

An investigation into allegations surrounding Gwent Police was launched earlier this year by Wiltshire Police, which told Sky News it cannot comment on ongoing investigations.

But the Jones family say they have little faith in the inquiry, and have even spent £2,000 making a professional digital copy of the mobile phone, in case the evidence is lost by police.

In response to concerns raised by the family, Gwent Police Chief Constable Pam Kelly said: "The initial complaint raised by the Jones family did not include the conduct matters now emerging, and as new issues come to light we will continue to take swift and robust action.

Police: These behaviours have 'no place' in force

"We continue to be horrified by the comments and material shared by retired officers and a small number of serving officers.

"These behaviours and attitudes have no place in Gwent Police and we will continue our ongoing work with our colleagues to set out clear expectations around the standards that both we and the public expect.

"We've worked to ensure that anyone, a member of the public or a colleague, bringing issues forward can do so in a safe and supportive way, and remain supported throughout any investigation and subsequent disciplinary process.

"We're pleased that feedback from victims and witnesses in recent and historic cases is demonstrating that we are getting this right.

"We've worked with victims of crime, including survivors of domestic abuse, who have assisted with the development of our victim care unit.

"We would encourage any person who doesn't feel confident in reporting to us that they can speak to our partner agencies, with whom we work closely, so that they can receive support and help they need.

"We've also set out our aim to become an anti-racist service and will continue to work on the generational change required to ensure that every member of our community can be confident in our commitment to that aim.

"While the independent investigation is underway we're unable to comment on the individual allegations but we have demonstrated that we do take professional standards of behaviour extremely seriously and will take action against any officer or staff member breaching them regardless of rank."

[cloudninetonine]

Ive been getting a lot of homophobic messages recently so i was wondering if you could do mayhaps twilight and/or first reacting to their s/o coming out as bisexual? You dont have to if you are not up to it :)

This is so late and I'm really sorry it took so long, anon. I'm also sorry that people would send such horrible things to you. But I would like to say this

Any racists, homophobes, transphobes, misogynists- anyone who hates for the sake of hating, get the fuck off my page and I hope the door hits you on the way out, cunt(s).

Warnings: Talks about self-hatred, talks about religion, hints about hate crimes (not the boys, just Player's experiences) and I think that's it.

(Also, cute fun fact this fic is called "Baby Bi Bi Bi." In my google docs)

Twilight:

“I’m bi.”

In many instances within your life, you didn’t know how to express yourself. Thus the consequences of being emotionally constipated- when it came to helping others deal with their own feelings, you were okay, you strived to help them feel better! However, the question of “are you okay?” or “how do you feel?” were tough ones, most ended with an awkward thumbs up on your end or a simple nod- even if you were at the end of your wits ready to find the nearest high hole to bury yourself in.

This translated into the same awkwardness when you came out to your mother and now it was only turning out to be the same as you sat with Twilight, fishing in a nearby stream after hoping to catch dinner for the group (and hoping to spend some time alone with your partner for once).

A silence hung over you both, staring at one another for a minute that stretched over to what felt like an hour, beautiful blue staring back at you before he blinked, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

You stumbled only to yelp when you felt a tug at your pole, Twilight leaning over to help you readjust it then yank out the line, laughing a little awkwardly at the sight of a tiny fish settle on the hook.

“I’m bisexual.” You parrotted, looking him over as he put the catch away in your fishing basket. “Do…does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Your eyes met once again and he tilted his head. “Should I be?”

Silence once again.

“...I’m confused.”

“As am I.”

You bit your lip in contemplation. “Do you know what bisexual means?”

His eyebrow raise was enough of an answer for you.

“Alright, yep, that’s- you’re a medieval hero why would you know modern-day terms-” Perfect, just perfect- you had just come out to your boyfriend without even considering the language barrier that was obvious between the two of you. The concept of Queer relationships was probably something foreign to him, wasn’t it? Why of course they most likely existed it would be hard to find them in this day and age, let alone talk about them and you had opened your mouth to just thrust that upon him- “You know what? Not important-”

Twilight’s hand was gentle as it grasped your cheek, turning you back to face him with a look that you could only describe as pure love. Your heart fluttered, relaxing into his hold without much fight as he inspected you quizzically, thumbing your cheek fondly. 

"Don't do that. Don't hold yourself back because of my ignorance, please." Simple but encouraging, "If you held enough courage to tell me, then it must be important and I don't want you to keep things inside if it would simply hurt to do so." 

Your eyes watered and it wasn't fair. Why was he so kind? Why did he have to care for you so much? Why did you have to love him so much and why was this so hard? 

"... I like boys and girls." You swallowed, closing your eyes to hide away from his reaction. "And, well, more but that's a whole 'nother conversation-... Does that disgust you?... Do I disgust you?" 

His response was instant- his other hand coming to hold your other cheek, squeezing them gently for your attention, his eyes, filled with love and care staring at you like you were an angel ascended from the heavens like you were the only thing in the world.

“Why would you ever disgust me? I love you- no matter where your romantic attraction resides.”

There were tears in your eyes, relieved tears but you couldn't help but press a little further. “Are you sure? You- You don’t think I’m greedy? Or I’ll run away with the next person I come across, man or woman?”

His raised a brow, a mixture of alarm and confusion as he softly tugged you into his arms. “And why would I think that?”

Your eyes fell to the river. “That’s what a lot of people tend to think…”

“Well, I’m not ‘a lot of people’,” Grabbing your chin, the man turned you back to face him, pressing his forehead against your own. "And I certainly don't believe you'd run to the next person you find attractive, man or woman- besides, I have you now, you think I'd let you go?" 

You managed a watery laugh, brushing your nose against his own in a sort of kiss. "Other way round, handsome, I'd fight all your love interests for you to just hug me." 

"Well, aren't I just lucky?" 

"The luckiest." 

"And there's no denying it." 

First:

It was a terrifying thought.

Out of all the boys, you felt like coming out to First, your boyfriend would be the hardest moment of them all. The rest of the Chain were supportive: hugs exchanged, tears shed, promises made- they didn’t care about what you were as long as you were comfortable with yourself, they all loved you after all, something like this would never change how they felt about you.

And, God was it relieving.

However, when it came to First it was just…hard. 

Maybe because he was the closest thing to a baby boomer amongst all of them (technically speaking they all were but you weren’t in the mood to get down and dirty with the lore of it all) He was a ‘traditional man’, Warriors liked to pipe up when you were discussing a way to admit your feelings to him.

“In these circumstances, he will certainly approach you first.” You leaned back into the tree you were sat against, watching him clean his blade. “It is best to just wait for him to court you, however, if you truly prefer to approach him, then best to do it with a rose and note.”

Your face dropped. “But I can’t write Hylian!”

And his smirk only made you scowl further. “Best get to learning then, my friend.”

True to the Captain, First confessed to you before you could, with a beautiful flower and words akin to something only the most skilled poets could recite.

You were whipped for his traditional ways.

But you feared his traditional values.

Such things were a red flag in your day and age. A ‘traditional man’ or ‘traditional woman’? A raging homophobe, transphobe, racist, misogynist- and every other horrid thing you could think of under the damn sun. Of course, it didn’t apply to all but phrasing like that certainly wasn’t the greatest pairing on the earth- even now, in a completely different with different people and different values, the word still gave you an upset stomach and pulled bad memories of harassment from even a hint that you were an outlier from the ‘norm’.

What if it was the same here? What if the words ‘traditional’ only provoked the worst kind of reaction? Would First look at you in disgust? Would he call you names? Would he use Hylia’s name in the phrase “may she bless you and help you find your way”? You knew that didn’t much care for her anymore after all that had happened but what if you reveal changed it some way? Used his ‘religion’ to cast you away?

First could tell that you were nervous and it wasn’t really hard to do so. Shaking was obvious, you were practically vibrating on the spot, stumbling over your words and avoiding eye contact like the plague, anytime his beautiful blue made contact with you, your neck craned to dodge it. It worried him, of course, it did- seeing you in such an obvious state of pain but you shied away from his concerned coos, and shook them off with a shaky smile. 

“I’m fine!” You would squawk, instantly changing the subject and he could only dismiss it with a nod.

The stars were something that relaxed you and it was good to know that once the sights of the night sky had rolled over Hyrule, you had relaxed against his side in the meadow you two were laying in. Cuddled into the warmth of his body with that famous red scarf wrapped around you in a similar comforting embrace.

First turned his head toward you, eyes meeting your own as he opened his mouth. “I-”

“I like women.”

He paused.

He blinked.

He went to open his mouth again.

“And men too.”

First’s face would have been comical if there wasn’t bile threatening to spill from your mouth at that very moment.

“...I’m sorry?-”

You had sprung to sit up amongst the flowers, your partner pushing himself slowly still in a confused dazed as you began your stumbling speech. Messy, unorganised and scared, you weren’t ready, not a single bit but this had to happen, you had waited way too long for this and the words had tumbled out so you couldn’t stop now.

“I-I like women and men- and others but you wouldn’t understand that and I’m not doing a 101 about the modernism of gender, sexuality and other bullshit now-” Your hands were shaking, you were shaking, once again from the adrenaline and the fear of what would become of your relationship from this. “I’ve always liked both, I always will like them and I wanted to tell you that because I love you and I don’t want to keep this hidden from you because I want this to be a relationship based on trust and I trust you so I have been trying to tell you for so long but I was so scared because not everyone is so welcoming about bisexuality- that means being attracted to both genders by the way so this doesn’t get more complicated than it has to be-”

You inhaled a big breath.

“-anyway- I didn’t know how you would react to being told that because you’re basically someone in the past and in the past in my world people got killed for being gay- another term- or bi- slang- and so much more, I mean woman got burned at the stake for knowing fucking math- there’s a whole lot of bullshit coming from my world- not important, I just wanted to tell you, the others said you wouldn’t react this way because love is love and all the jazz and whatever but I was just so terrified of you being disgusted by me that I-”

A hand, gentle, firm, loving- was placed over the apple of your cheek turning you back to look at the hero. 

First truly looked beautiful under the moonlight, radiant you would say, blonde hair practically glowing along with his fair skin, eyes reflecting the shine of the stars- and the look of sadness that swam in those pools of baby blue.

“I love you.” His words were unyielding, they were strong, as he kept that contact with you. “I will always love you, (Name). Not a word could ever stop me from holding you dear to my heart, no matter where your attraction lies- if anything of which I have said has ever made you feel otherwise I apologise for not putting it into better words.”

Your shoulders sagged in relief, tears gathered in your eyes- “You don’t think I’m disgusting?”

“Never.” Your chest hurt from the sob you let out, leaning into him when he tugged you close and fell back into the grass. “Not a thing would ever make me feel that way, not for someone as amazing as you.”

A kiss as soft as the clouds was pressed against your forehead and finally, you fell into the peace of the evening.

“Thank you, Link.”

“Don’t thank me, my love, I only say what needs to be said.”

“Man, I’m so lucky to have you.”

“It is I that hold’s the luck, (Name).”

#cloud answers #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu #linked universe imagine #player au #a player's aid #lu twilight x reader #lu first x reader #Anon asks

[sugaroto]

Panelele* story time

*Panhellenic exams, aka will define whether I go into uni or not

Day 1: Essay, aka greek

Our theme was feminism and women's rights. I think i did ok? Tho I finished like an hour earlier and then started panicking cause I finished earlier and didn't dare to leave the classroom. I literally checked everything like 15 times and even counted my words on theme Γ and Δ (Γ =literature exercise, Δ=essay) and then I panicked again cause I was -20 words on the essay

A good thing is that the day before I was reading some old essays of mine and I happened to read one I had written about human rights (this was probably the best one I've ever written since I got 25/30) and I remembered 2 paragraphs I had about women and wrote everything on my essay, tho it was a little messier of course but at least I had the ideas ready?

One thing the whole school agreed on is that once we got out we all laughed on [that one guy] (misogynist, racist, homophobic etc kinda guy) that probably failed

Most of us dislike him and once we got out we were like "GUYS. HIM" And then laughed about it. Sorry not sorry. He wants to be a politician, I hope he wont succeed. The country is already bad as it is

Also, a lot of people (online) were commenting on Text 2, cause "I was so glad when I saw feminism was the theme, but once I read text 2 I was dissapointed to see it still misogyny"

Which yeah, I get where they're coming from, the author was like "new feminism is bad and likes victim-culture, classic old feminism is good" and... also the description said something about identity of genders which sounded very queer to me so I thought the author might originally be attacking trans people but the actual text did not mention trans people

Also. None of that matters. Yeah the text was bullshit, was my job to listen to it? No my job was to find what gave away that the author was using comparison on the second paragraph. I literally had to find the words "on the contrary" and "but" (αντιθέτως, όμως) and say why they meant comparison

I was so focused on that that when I noticed something was weird with the text I just went like "Huh... weird ....*circles*ΑΝΤΙΘΈΤΩΣ"

Also, the whole point is to keep it neutral and not be controversial, I could write that all women are witches that should be burn if it was my opinion but if I wrote it reasonably and fair enough it'd still be acceptable

Probably the most controversial in my essay was the mention of "hijab" which I tried to be very neutral about

Day 2: ancient greek

2 parts, γνωστό & άγνωστο aka (known & unknown)

Known: what we have been taught in class, texts from ancient dudes we have to know the meaning about

Unknown: text we've never seen before in our lives but we're supposed to know enough grammar and translate it ourselves and answer questions about grammar

Known: absolute bullshit. Aristotle. Fuck you Aristotle. We were sure we'd have the text about Alexander, but no it had to be Aristotle's town. I didn't know shot I messed up on that part

Unknown: disaster. The text was some dude whining to Socrates cause his son wanted a σοφιστη teacher, the grammar ruined me. I wrote σχε, the right was σχες, I wrote αγενου, the right was αγενους, I wrote ραον/ραδιον, the right was ραδιον/ραον. I was crying two days about it. The whole word is considered wrong. I get nothing for the effort of trying to figure out that έχειν becomes σχε(ς) in β' πρόσωπο προστακτικής αορίστου β or something and also that is a fucking ανώμαλο

Also. They were this close 🤏 to fail me, cancel me before we were even given the exam

Cause, in order to do all that grammar shit, we need to make a draft

So since we had to be in the room for the next 50 minutes or something waiting, I started making a draft of some very basic nouns and verbs bc knowing me I'd forget everything once I was given the exam

And im like "sorry is it OK I wrote with a pencil?"

"YOU WROTE? THIS CAN GET YOU CANCELED ITS CONSIDERED CHEATING" *αντιγραφή as in "copying" as if I have the answers next to me and I'm copying them

And im like "I didn't copy them," I literally just wrote them and birthed the thoughts out of my fucking mind what the fuck is the difference if I do it now or in 30 minutes

And im like should I erase it? It's pencil I'm not cheating I literally JUST ANAPNOH GAMOTO OLOI OI MALAKES EPITORITES SE MENA

And they call some other teachers and I guess who was supposed to be the boss was like "nah keep it who cares its ok"

And then, when I was done with the exam, cause I had shitted my pants cause of that, I started erasing the draft just in case AND THE MOMENT I DID this freaking bitch gets up and goes and talks to the the other teacher while looking at me and then they call the boss again and I hear him whispering "it's ok"(δεν πειράζει)

But I was so sure they would cancel me the moment I got up so I sat there for like 30 minutes in fear that if I got up they'd tell me "sorry you failed cause you erased the draft we let you keep"

Day 3: latin

We're given the exam right?

I start writing

The teacher brings her chair next to my desk and rests her hand on my desk

(THE PAIN OF HAVING TO SEAT ON THE FRONT FUCKING DESK)

Ok... maybe she wants to do her job which is to keep an eye on students. She's not bothering me yet

She grabs my ID card (we were given those in order to participate) and reads it...

Ok...

She lets it down

She grabs my sharpener and looks at it, she lets it down

Why. The. Fuck. Is. She. Touching. My. Things.

She gets bored and starts drumming her fingers on the desk. I give her a death stare( and so does my friend on the other desk) but look back down as soon as she looks back at me

She SPEAKS TO ME "Είναι πολλά τα θέματα;" (does the exam has a lot of parts?)

Considering they almost failed me the other day (different people) and im not allowed to... like have a chit chat- like this is a serious exam there's seriously a police officer outside- I don't know what to do I just shrugged at her

"Ok let me see then" AND SHE GRABS THE EXAM FROM MY HANDS WHILE I WAS FUCKING WRITING TO "SEE" AND IM LIKE "πρέπει να γραψω"(I have to write) and SHES LIKE OH YEAH RIGHT AND GIVES IT BACK

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

I THINK THATS ILLEGAL AND I FELT ASSAULTED

THIS IS LIKE THE MOST IMPORTANT EXAM IN MY LIFE SO FAR AND SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BOTHER ME CAUSE SHES BORED

YOU CANT JUST GRAB MY EXAMS LIKE THAT

ALSO IT WAS DEAD SILENCE IN THERE UNTIL I SPOKE "I HAVE TO WRITE" AND PEOPLE LOOKED AT ME BUT THE ONES THAT WERE CLOSE HAD PICKED UP ON THE FACT THAT THERE WAS SOMETHING FUCKING WRONG WITH HER

My friend who I'm together in tutoring class and was sitting on the other side of the classroom was like was that sugar? But she didn't dare to look up or speak bc she understood something was off

Like

WHAT the actual fuck

Do they check the teachers before they bring them in? Wtfwtfwtfwtfwtwtf

I couldn't focus after that

Thankfully Latin is my fave class and the texts we had to translate were easy

But holy fucking shit

And I did do a mistake on the translation cause I wrote "αναδεικνύει" instead of "ανταποκρίνοταν" so I later when I was checking my answers I asked where I had to write the right word bc there was no space so I needed to leave a note and she was like "I don't think we can answer now that everyone has left" (we were only 3 students in the class by then) WELL MAYBE I WOULDN'T HAVE MADE A MISTAKE IF SOMEONE DIDN'T GRAB MY EXAMS WHILE I WAS TRANSLATING

Day 4: History

History is my worst class. The teachers were normal. Nobody tried to fail me before I was given the exams.

I didn't have high hopes for history because I've never gotten a good grade but my tutor believes I was lucky enough cause everything that was on the exam was something I liked and knew(according to her, according to me I hate it all)

The good news is that on the first πηγή* my answer was very big, first time that happens I always fail on my πηγές

Also there was a question about what the first government of Crete did and I had no idea what the first government of Crete even was but I remember there was a list of 12 things that were done in Crete so I just wrote that cause it was the only thing I knew

Turns out that was the right answer, I found it out by pure luck

Also turns out there were 9 things, but in the end I had only found 5 so ok

*πηγή they give us a bunch of texts and we have to write "according to the text and then according to what I know *answers questions*"

Day 5: I still have English on Saturday and idk what will happen. That was a choice exam

#sugarenia school stuff #probably the last time i use that tag🥲? #panhellenic #Panhellenic exams #panelele #panelele 2023 #Panhellenic exams 2023 #πανελληνιες #Πανελελε #πανελλήνιες 2023 #sugarenia talks #sugarenia thoughts

[srirachaz]

you know what something that is really disappointing, especially as someone who is fat myself, when in the kpop community there are discussions of gross people in kpop and inevitably shindong comes up. and i dislike that guy as much as the next person but insults towards him are like 5% related to the gross things he does and 95% related to his weight.

(most of the comments looked just like this)

and compared to his group mates who have done equally gross things, i think that shindong gets extra hate simply because he’s fat. this post wasn’t even about him and he got dragged into in.

and hell i still get thirst edits of heechul flying around and some of the things he’s done id say are worse than some of the stuff shindong has done.

heechul gets to escape some of it because he’s beautiful. and people can forgive anything a person does as long as that person is skinny and beautiful.

like this isn’t defending shindong. i don’t like him. but can we please stop using fat as an insult? like there are people out there (like me) who see this stuff and just think about how much hate we’d get simply if we existed in a more visible light

and this doesn’t even mention idols who are considered “bigger” like jeongyeon or jihyo from twice or changbin from stray kids or woobin from cravity who havent done anything terrible like super junior yet still get insulted simply because their faces are wider than the average idol

if you’re going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. i’m sick and tired of everyone’s only insults being “fatty” or “piggy” especially when these people are in better shape than some of these skinny commenters could ever hope to be

i see the same shit with western artists like lizzo and megan thee stallion or really any female artist that that has a hint of a stomach. when that news of lizzo getting sued dropped the only thing people could focus on was this rhetoric of “i knew something was always off about her, her fatness was obviously a sign of her awful personality”

i’m not here to scream body positivity at people but there are ways to better and more creative ways insult people about their actual failings as people (racist, misogynistic, homophobic, whatever else you want to get angry about) and use real reasons to dislike someone to insult them, rather than take the easy and overused route and go for their weight or other physical appearances. fat is a descriptive word, not an insulting one.

“but if calling someone fat isn’t an insult then why are you upset?”

because you’re making it in insult. does saying “that’s fucking gay” to negatively refer to something make it not bad because gay isn’t a bad word?

obviously when you add negative connotations to something even regular words will become insults

none of you are fucking original

fucking grow up

#i don’t even know what to tag this #but it’s frustrating ESPECIALLY because some of y’all preach body positivity about ur idols #then turn around and insult shindongs weight because he’s shindong #and i agree he’s a terrible person but jeezus just pick any other part of his rancid personality to pick on #like some of those commenters are stays and onces and deal with antis body shaming their idols #like bodyshaming a bad person doesn’t not make it bodyshaming #shame behaviors not bodies

[sanguinifex]

Y’know the “classic children’s literature” canon is largely pretty fucked up.

C.S. Lewis was racist and homophobic and sexist, not to mention Extremely Christian and trying to convert you (seriously, there are exactly 2 books where the bad guys aren’t women or Muslims by another name, and one of those 2 doesn’t even have an antagonist once Eustace gets un-dragoned)

Roald Dahl was notoriously antisemitic and just kind of misogynistic in general. Keeps trying to sell the idea that ugly people are inherently evil and pretty people are inherently good. Also like the Oompa Loompas are a) canonically black in the books and b) slave labor, and this is promoted as positive? Charlie’s dad would’ve had a job if Wonka hadn’t been literally stealing people to avoid paying workers. Also, like, the nerve of leaving a chocolate factory to a random kid who knows nothing about chocolate except it tastes good, when probably at least a dozen of the Oompa Loompas are qualified to run the place. Like, Dahl is great at giving people nightmares, but the inherent assumptions begin the worlds he builds are not something I want to give to a 10-year-old and tell them it’s Great Literature and something to emulate, the way I was. (Also, I was actually 8, come to think of it.)

JKR. Well. Besides the TERFery and racism/antisemitism. There’s just a complete disregard for bodily autonomy that’s so present in her work that it becomes obvious it’s part of how she views the world? Like, it’s supposed to be a funny joke to slip someone a potion that turns them into a canary. Admittedly the delivery of that line was 109% but like. What if he’d got stuck like that? You can’t just transmogrify people like that without asking them. You also shouldn’t do the “muggle” equivalent like putting Nair in someone’s shampoo. That’s assault, Joanie. I think this also feeds into her transphobia, because she just doesn’t seem to have anything that would hold her back from swapping someone’s gender for giggles if she were able to. It’s not just the HP series, either, it’s her works aimed at adults as well. Like, she’d be the type to barge into the bathroom while you’re peeing and then get offended when you’re upset by this because “We’re all girls here.” But oh it’s a modern classic and you have to read it to understand nerd culture…well, you could make that argument 10 years ago but it’s a bit less solid in 2023. I wouldn’t ban a kid from reading it, but I wouldn’t give them a box set. If they brought it home from the library I’d give a quick talk that I’m not mad at them for reading it but they should be aware that the author is a jerk.

Stephanie Meyer: Completely inescapable if you were a tween girl anywhere between 2005 and 2010. You had to plough through 4 doorstoppers of toxic Mormon heterosexuality just to understand what anyone was talking about. Like, I think it should be shelved with a pamphlet about healthy vs unhealthy relationships in it. Also, like, Meyer profited off the names of Native people and didn’t give them a cent. Also Bella you need a vampire like a fish needs a bicycle, just take some vitamin D supplements and you’ll get over him

Again, I’m not saying “don’t read these books.” Many of them are well-written and have historic and sociological and literary value. This post is about how we tell children that these demonstrably bigoted authors, whose bigotry shines through in their writing because they’re too unaware of it to file it down, that these are Great Writers and suitable to emulate. It’s not just that bigotry could be absored by young readers, it’s also that ir build a false foundation that will crumble under literary analysis, creating a life of doubting one’s own word choices, among other problems!

[mariacallous]

Two protesters were “reasonable” in calling Iain Duncan Smith “Tory scum” outside the Conservative party conference, the high court has ruled, in a rejection of an attempt to overturn their acquittal.

Lord Justice Popplewell and Justice Fordham said no fault in law was made by a senior district judge last November in finding Ruth Wood, 52, and Radical Haslam, 30, not guilty of using threatening, abusive or insulting words or behaviour with intent.

In response to a request for a judicial review from the director of public prosecutions, the high court found that Judge Goldspring, who is also described as a chief magistrate, had made the important finding that “the use of Tory scum was to highlight the policies” of Duncan Smith, and that this was relevant to the “reasonableness of the conduct” in relation to the rights of freedom of expression and assembly.

There was nothing to undermine Goldspring’s conclusion that criminalising the words “Tory scum” would be a disproportionate interference in the two protesters’ rights, the high court ruled.

Tom Wainwright, a barrister at Garden Court Chambers representing Wood and Haslam, said the judgment represented an important defence of the right to freedom of expression.

He said: “Just the idea that someone can be convicted for saying this is bizarre in the first place. The director of public prosecutions was trying to put the burden on the defendants to show that they hadn’t crossed the line – the crucial question of when free speech crosses the line into something that is criminal.

“What this judgment confirms is that it is not for the defence to show that, but it is for the state to show that there is a good reason to restrict free speech and that a conviction is the only way that could be done.”

Wood and Haslam were outside the Midland hotel in Manchester, where the Conservative party annual conference was taking place in October 2021, when Duncan Smith, a former welfare secretary, emerged to walk to the Mercure hotel for a conference about Brexit. He was accompanied by his wife, Betsy Duncan Smith, and her friend Primrose Yorke.

As Duncan Smith crossed the road, an individual ran up behind him and placed a traffic cone on his head. The former Tory leader removed the traffic cone, called the protesters “pathetic” and continued on his way.

Haslam and Wood had followed Duncan Smith from a short distance. They separately called him “Tory scum”. Wood added:“Fuck off out of Manchester.”

Wood defended her comments on the grounds that her job working with homeless people in her local community meant she felt very strongly about the impact that Conservative party policies were having on people’s lives.

Haslam’s comments were made in a speech in which he cited child poverty homelessness, and a lack of action over the climate emergency as reasons “why people hate you, why people call you scum”. He added: “It doesn’t come out of nowhere. It comes from what you have done to ordinary people’s lives … shame on you, Tory scum.”

Neither of the protesters had been aware of or encouraged the act of putting a traffic cone on Duncan Smith’s head.

Their comments came after Labour’s deputy leader, Angela Rayner, had been recorded at her party’s conference describing the Conservatives as “homophobic, racist, misogynistic … scum”.

The high court ruled that the defence needed to set out the facts for a “reasonable conduct defence” in relation to the freedom of expression and assembly rights in the European convention on human rights, but that it had been up to the prosecution to demonstrate the proportionality of an interference with those rights, which it had not done.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

BPP, it's good to see you back. I have missed you and your insights.

I have been Stan twitter for a while and I have always noticed how the so called fans treat Jimin. At first I assumed it was because of shipping business but I have since come to realise it's so much more that that. I have seen Taekookers hate on him, but I have also seen most of the members if not all of the members solo stan hating on him. I have also noticed other fandoms targetting him. I fail to see why. I have been watching BTS religiously and he comes across the most sorted one in the group to me. He comes across as someone who is fully aware of who he is as a person. I find him the most genuine one in the group. That's not to say I find the others fake but there is something about him. Even now, I have come from twitter and he is being hated on for just existing. What is this all about? I have been to their concert and honestly at the concerts, he gets the loudest cheers, like much louder than the rest of the members so it really confuses me. Is it like a trendy thing to do or do people actually dislike him that much? I have noticed that his content views are lower too even though he seems to be one that everyone seems to talk about. I find myself really confused with the whole thing.

**

Hi Anon, 💜

My very first 'post' on this blog was about hate. I've dug it up and reposted it here just so I can reference it for your ask. It's really long, but please take the time to read it because the meat of what I want to say is in that post (in the second section). I'll say a couple more things specific to Jimin since that's why you're here, but if you’re interested, you can send a follow up ask or DM me for some general examples that I hope show the wider context, beyond BTS.

(Je prie pour que la maquilleuse de Jimin se réveille avec des croissants fraîchement cuits tous les jours)

*

I want to say I sincerely think that contrary to popular belief, Jimin doesn't get that much hate compared to other members. The hate he gets is a bit peculiar in how vulgar and graphic it is and I think there's factors driving that. Perhaps he gets the most of it, but I don't think some other members are so far behind. Not that this is a competition, but I think there's this perception that Jimin is hated everywhere by a massive wide margin compared to the rest of BTS (or others in k-pop for that matter), when instead it's possible the group as a whole is hated and anybody deemed to be the face of the group, is persona non grata. And if his abs reveal during debut era didn't immortalize him as a face of Bangtan, he certainly accomplished it with Blood, Sweat & Tears in 2016. BTS would be nothing without any of the members, especially Jimin, so if you want to come at BTS, you come at Jimin.

(J'aime bien cette photo de lui. The new ARMY recruit sent it to me. She's Jimin biased.)

Let's also get the obvious out of the way: a lot of people don't need a reason to hate. Some people genuinely enjoy hating other people, especially hating someone who is loved by a huge amount of people. And it's no secret that even in 2022, people are homophobic, racist, and generally disgusting towards other people at the slightest provocation - and this is where Jimin's perceived gender presentation and orientation, perhaps influences (or compounds) the hate directed at him - he could be perceived by the lowest sort of people, to be some kind of acceptable target.

Jimin is a man who to many people, looks like a woman. He is objectively drop dead gorgeous and sometimes cute. But the flip side is a lot of the hate directed at him is misogynistic in tone, and nasty in the way only the violating sort of hate directed towards women is nasty. I've noticed a similar thing with hate directed at Yoongi as well.

Another big reason is that k-pop is extremely and dysfunctionally competitive. Participants in k-pop spaces take the worst of internet culture and weaponize that against any perceived threats. They will use racist, sexist, disgusting and dehumanizing language at the slightest opportunity, as soon as they pick a target or identify a threat.

(Je vous promets à tous, cet homme n'en a rien à foutre.)

Now, I've not said this anywhere before, but I think the most threatening person in k-pop is Park Jimin.

…

Well, yeah.

I won't get into the 'all of k-pop' comparison in this post, but within BTS, if you're watching a BTS performance and anything impressively acrobatic or virtuosic is happening, chances are Jimin is the reason. His vocals are stratosphere high - one would be lying if they said they cannot hear Jimin on a track he's on. If he sings, you will hear him, you will know it is him, and you will react to his voice. That's what his voice is designed to do. Whether that reaction is positive or negative is irrelevant imo, what matters is that his voice causes people to instinctively react. Spend anytime watching him and if his wit doesn't get your attention, it's likely his eye-smile, laugh or good manners hiding a sardonic sense of humour is what eventually does it. Or so I've been told (lol). It's impossible to not notice him. Anon, around the time I got your ask, I received another ask wondering why Jimin stands out not just in BTS but in k-pop. All the above are reasons why, and these reasons are identical to those for why people hate Jimin. I said before BTS would be nowhere without him. The thing is everybody knows it, **especially** many people who hate him.

This is a summary of how many solo stans (and some ARMYs) perceive his conflicts with their goals/faves in BTS:

Namjoon - General popularity vs perceived contribution to discography

Seokjin - Vocals, Visual

Yoongi - General popularity vs perceived contribution to discography

Hoseok - Dance, "most caring member"

Taehyung - Vocals, Dance, Visual

Jungkook - Vocals, Dance, Visual

Any discrepancies with views could be due to algorithms discounting his views (he trends too easily), or due to solo stans and their diet versions. K-pop is competitive and there's no referee - this is unavoidable context for anything that happens in this space.

*

The short answer to the question of why so many hate him, is that Jimin is special. In my humble opinion. He's special to his team, to most everyone around him, he is special compared to the general male population in- and out-side Korea, he is special in every way.

(I miss the bowl cut days)

Anon, I rambled a lot in this post, but I think it's important to remember that Jimin seems to be fairly insulated from all of this. It's easy to get sucked in to fandom and think the reality here aligns with the one out there, but that's not necessarily true. In the real world Jimin of BTS is a respected virtuoso and master of his craft, he laughs with his friends and drinks with Jungkook et al, he gives to his old/former school and invests in real estate, he travels the world and makes music with pretty dope (and now viral) music producers and works hard on his solo debut album. He comes online occasionally to laugh with ARMYs. He said recently that he's happy. I say let's celebrate that and him more, rather than worry or wonder about why losers are the way they are.

#jimin #jimin only #ask #fandom behavior #kpop fandom #park jimin #kpop #fandom behaviour #bts #bangtan #bts army #bts fandom

[oxyspeculativetv-fa23]

Performing Gender: Doctor Who and The Star Beast

The topic I would like to discuss today is gender representation in Doctor Who. For this discussion, I will be specifically analyzing one of the most recent episodes that came out entitled The Star Beast. In order to analyze the Doctor Who episode, I will be using Judith Butler's article “Gender is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion.” My three main discussion points will be Rose noble, Donna Noble's trans daughter. Um, the discussion surrounding pronouns and alien races as a metaphor for gender presentation. At this time, I would like to acknowledge that I could have used discussed alien races as a metaphor for race in general. However, given that most of this episode is centralized around discussions of gender identity and sort of being trans gender pronouns, um. Just gender in general. I felt it was better to talk about it as a gender presentation and what people will accept as a gender presentation versus what is not acceptable as a presentation. 

I want to begin by discussing Donna Noble's daughter, Rose. Rose is transgender, and I think the show does a very good job of integrating that into the plot and making it applicable. For example, rather than having her just be played by a trans actress and having it be like a side mention, it is an actual part of the plot and acknowledges real life moments that happen for trans people. The scene between Donna and her mother discussing um. Rose is, in my opinion, one of the best moments of the entire 60th anniversary and honestly, one of my favorite moments in television. It is a genuine acknowledgment of the trans experience and how you will have family that are genuinely accepting of you, but also is confused. It is not painted, though, in a bad light. It is painted in the light of oh. They care and they are trying, but it's not necessarily immediate. I think this is a very good scene. I think it sets the episode off in a very good light because it sets us up to discuss gender in a way where it's acknowledging that, um, gender presentation and how we sort of perform it is still something that is relatively new r for older generations. And it sets up why the big plot twist surrounding the aliens works out, because we are still very set in our ways, even though we are becoming more and more liberal. 

The second point I have is about the discussion of pronouns. This is a very sort of pivotal scene. It's been shown all over TikTok. And it is where Rose makes the point that the meep, um, might not use he/him pronouns because the doctor assumes that the meep does. To note, the meep is a little funky alien. that crash lands on Earth, and then Rose finds it hiding in her trash cans. I feel that the discussion between the doctor and the meep about pronouns. Brilliantly illustrates Judith Butler's point about how gender, performance, and specifically drag is “one which both appropriates and subverts racist, misogynist and homophobic norms of oppression.”[1] I believe that it sort of subverts it, because it makes it sort of a normalized thing. When Rose points out that the doctor assumed pronouns, the doctor immediately asks. And when the meep says, “I use the definite article, I am always the meep,” The doctor does not see that as strange. He's just like, oh yeah, I do that too sometimes. However, it also at the same time appropriates it because it creates this sort of camaraderie feeling that is then pushed aside in when we get to the later half of the episode, which is sort of the discussion about alien races and gender presentation. 

The last main point I want to discuss is gender presentation with alien races. And this is more sort of going into the idea of various races as different acceptable forms of presentation. As I said, this would also be a very good topic to cover under race. However, I felt that I wanted to stick with gender theory for the sake of this video and this assignment. So if we look at the photos of the meep and then of the Ross Warriors, who are the sort of bug-like creatures. One is very clearly more palatable for human beings. I mean, I know personally when I watch the episode, one of the first things I said was, oh, I wonder when they're going to make a meep plushie because it's, um, the meep is cute. It's fuzzy. It's just very much the kind of thing that human beings latch on to and are like, oh, what a baby. Whereas the Wrath warriors are scary. They look like bugs, something that we inherently fear.  Judith Butler directly discusses how gender and gender performance is not separate from sexuality and race. She makes a point when talking about symbolic gender, that “the symbolic is also and at once a racializing set of norms, and that norms of realness by which the subject is produced or racially informed conceptions of sex.”[2] In this sense, we can see the connections between gender presentation and the alien races. We take the symbolic thing of the meep looking small and cute and friendly, and in return decide that must mean the meep is good, that the meep is not the one at fault here. Instead, it must be that these evil warriors are the villains, when in reality it's completely opposite. The warriors are just trying to enact justice. They're trying to arrest a genocidal maniac. But because we see them as more threatening throughout the first half of the episode, without question, everyone immediately goes to the side of the meep. It is only once the doctor has actually exposed the meep for who it is that the meep reveals itself and everyone begins to hate it. To conclude, the episode is incredibly interesting when you start looking at it through the analysis of gender, and especially once you go beyond the discussion of a trans character and just the pronouns thing, which some people have found cringey. I personally think it is very realistic. You can then start actually looking at the connections that can be drawn between gender and race and how we inherently will assume certain things based on appearance. It's discussed in the Butler article about how some people are able to pass and others aren't. Just in the same way that the meep is able to pass as a friendly creature just because it looks like it should be, whereas the Wrath Warriors, even though they're doing their job and they are trying to defend us, are assumed to be evil because they look scary.

References

Butler, Judith. 1999. “Gender is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion.” Feminist Film Theory.

[1] (Butler 1999, 341)

[2] (Butler 1999, 342-343)

@theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyspeculativetv #speculativetvanalysis #Youtube

[mysticalsoot]

welcome!

Ello there!! I decided a while ago to abandon my old Tumblr and make a new one. was the descion out of anxiety? most definitely but I'm here now so might as well embrace it.

A few things to note about me;

My name is Connor, but you can call me Aidan too. I don't mind either way.

Ive been writing for 10+ years, and writing fanfic/fan works for about 7 or 8 years.

I'm demi aroace but I usually just say I'm ace cause it's easier (I'm also gay and trans ftm :)

My pronouns are he/him!

I have a lot of interests but the ones that are the most intense and have stuck around the longest are dsmp/mcyt and space stuff!

I'm a reality shifter as well so I may talk about that from time to time.

Im autistic! sometimes I project onto the characters I write so if someone seems autistic coded, they probably are lmao.

I hope to post consistently but I tend to be pretty bad at that.

-★-

on a final note, my requests are open! I'll leave a list of characters/creators I feel comfy writing for and my guidelines for requests/my account. feel free to reach out through asks or dms!!

cc, c, arg, etc Wilbur

Techno (c! mostly)

any of SBI, all platonic besides wilbur

dsmp or mcyt cc/c

James Marriott (platonic/romantic)

there's probably more but that's all I can think of :)

guidelines ↓

- i won't write any nsfw regardless of whom I write about, I'll stick to fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, etc. no smut at all. makes me ill. suggestive flirting is alright-- 0-o

- I probably won't be writing much romantic stuff for anyone other than James or Wilbur (unless requested otherwise)

- my acc is a safe space for everyone so I will not tolerate hate of any kind (anti shifters, dream/mcyt antis, homophobes, racists, xenophobes, misogynists, sexists, etc are not allowed. please block me if you are one of the listed groups.)

- I'll probably be writing whatever I'm fixated on most at the time so it could change (it's been mcyt/lvjy for the past six months so)

- I will stick to writing the reader w they/them pronouns or without mentioning them at all but if you request something and have specific pronouns you want me to use, lmk!

#dsmp #dsmp wilbur #mcyt #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur #c!wilbur #james marriott #he is my sworn enemy #why do i bother with him #okay im getting distracted

[whoreforharlow]

Just to add to the discourse on Jack working with Chris Brown, and how that makes him look because he says he's a man who respects black women...

Both Ella Mai and H.E.R. are both black women featured on the album as well. On the list of who should not be collaborating with him, black women are at the top, black men second, and then white people. If black women are collabing with Chris Brown, after EVERYTHING he's done to us, my expectation that a white man would miss the opportunity to jump on the album is wayyyyy low. If a white man observes black women engaging and supporting Chris Brown, it's a solid assumption to believe that he wouldn't find any issues in it. Many believe "he's paid his dues" and have moved on from his negative behavior. Now, this is not at all an excuse, but it's more of an explanation. We can't hate the white man for not being in our corner, when black men and women can't even be in our corner. The most woke of them will only mimic our actions, and if we don't demonstrate the respect that we expect, they won't know what to do but copy what we do and how we view ourselves. If we pointing fingers, the black women on the album should be put on the hot seat before we ever look at the white man.

Also, this is an industry, and for him to pass up an opportunity to work with the biggest names would be a disservice to his career. Like for him to take what is quite literally personal moral stances against people who are problematic, he wouldn't get anywhere. Does he give up his dream of being a big shot legend? Because the reality is you can't reach the GOAT status that he's looking for, without playing the "game" set before him. Can we isolate and blame him solely, sure you can, but it's unfair to try one without trying all. He's unproblematic beyond calling himself an alpha, but who he associates with is questionable. Could he do better? Yes. Will doing better get him the results he wants? Not necessarily, or at least not in the way and in the time frame he's looking for.

I don't support the idea of overlooking wrong because everyone else is doing it, but tbh this mentality is SLIM in this world. Many will do wrong because EVERYONE else is doing it. Just as I said, it's not an excuse it's just an explanation. Would we all like for every misogynistic, colorist, homophobic artist to be canceled completely? Yes. But would that leave us with a very small percentage of the current mainstream media socialites? Also yes lol. Now realistically, we would have to really sit with ourselves and think about who do we listen to? Who are on our playlists? Even if they themselves are unproblematic, have they associated themselves with problematic people? Then by the logic we're using with Jack, literally all of our "faves" gotta go.

As for Anitta... to be completely honest, beyond her just being annoying lol, I didn't know anything about her. It wasn't until I saw people saying she was a racist that I knew she was, well, racist. From what I could see on Tumblr, A LOT of blogs didn't know, and found out from the Grapevine on here too. So with that being said, what can we assume that Jack knows about her? What do his black friends know about her to warn him about her? When I Google it, I saw stuff about 2013 and 2017... they met like this year lol. Again, not an excuse, but an explanation. From what I can tell, Jack doesn't spend time on social media to be reading up on the Anitta racism threads that span back almost a decade ago. Realistically, I doubt that he and his friends are researching the folks they hang out beyond their discography. Should he have someone on his team doing that shit for him?? 10000% because honestly being friends with Anitta isn't really something necessary for his image, if anything, bringing it down. I definitely think he's needs a black woman on his PR team, because as literally the most ostracized demo, we SEE everything lmao, can't get shit passed us without alarms going tf off.

Baby Boy is honestly on the denser side of the pound cake, and that's okay, I don't expect too much from a white man from Kentucky. But it's just that, I don't expect much. He's just trying to climb the ranks, play the game, and the only reason we're mad is because he's "supposed" to be the one good one... when in reality black men should be that for us black women. If we look for accountability, our own men should be held with more expectation and standard than a white man. I just don't like that we've elevated him to such a standard that he, as a white man, does not necessarily have to hold up. Take that as you want, but I said what I said. "I love black women", "I support black women", "I admire black women" are not conclusive statements, it's not solely black women that he's into. We're not the end all be all for him, that would be a FETISH lol. If he dates a white woman, that doesn't negate or contradict ANY of those above statements, but yall have contorted this man into a box that feels good, and will take it as him just pandering and capitalizing on black women. And before I hear "well he just talked sooooo much about loving black women, he obviously was pandering" HE TALKED ABOUT BLACK WOMEN BECAUSE HE WAS ASKED ABOUT BLACK WOMEN!!! Every interview he gets a black women question and he's gotta answer it lol, yall want him to say "I love all women" to that question? Yall would throw a fit at that too lol do I think he's capitalizing on black women, absolutely, but is that any different than what black men who literally rap the most disgusting stuff about us do too? NEITHER are correct, but yall just mad at Jack because we're letting a white man do it to us and not just black men and we feel a way about it. Welp, don't support his or any one else's pandering... its that easy. Black women are not dumb, we know what we're doing with these white men. We eat up any amount of attention because our own men won't give it to us, it's hard out here, and I do it too so I'm not judging. But there is an accountability that we need to take on. It's not just Jack.

#jack harlow #s has thoughts some times

[mlmxreader]

As someone who loves the American Psycho book and movie. I hate that Patrick Bateman is idolized by teens and young men because Patrick is the definition of toxic masculinity. He isn’t a good person yet people put him on this pedestal and act like he’s a god. It’s so stupid. It’s one thing to like American Psycho whether the movie or the book and like Patrick in some weird twist way. But it’s another thing to think he’s the shit and start acting like him. Like why act like him. He’s a misogynistic piece of shit and there’s nothing attractive or hot about the way he acts towards women and men. Also I’m not lying when I say this but when I see people that act like him it makes me want to not be a man anymore because its so cringy and disgusting.

listen, I've read the book and watched the film more times than I can count, and while I DO make jokes about killing Jared Leto (but in all seriousness I 100% would given that Leto is a fucking vile cunt), I don't like the whole "Pat Bateman sigma male" bollocks. bc I have common sense, for starters.

the whole point of the book (written by a queer man) and the film (written & directed by a woman), is that Patrick is an irredeemable bastard in every sense of the word. he's not JUST misogynistic, he's also homophobic, transphobic, a capitalist, ableist, racist, and an elitist. the whole point of it isn't that he's a "morally grey" character, bc he ISN'T, but what he IS is a satire and, essentially, the personification of cishet White American men as a whole as well as things like privilege, wealth/capitalism in general, toxic masculinity, performative activism, and many, many other things.

the people who idolise Patrick and try to "justify" anything about him (music taste being the ONLY exception) completely miss the entire point of both the book AND the film; they entirely miss the fact that Patrick's murder spree ISN'T caused by mental illness in the slightest - it's bc he is a greedy, bigoted, wealthy man in a society that protects and excuses repulsive actions by greedy, bigoted and wealthy men. Patrick Bateman is the cops who brutalise citizens based on skin colour, he is the men who get away w assault bc they have enough money to bribe judges.

the film was, quite frankly, beautifully made. Mary Harron did an absolutely wonderful job w it and she managed to keep the core elements of both the story and the MEANING behind it, which is difficult to do at the best of times. but she DID IT!! she gave us the best adaptation of the original novel that anyone could ever ask for, and tbh, I don't think that fans of the book OR the film give her enough credit for her direction and her writing. Mary Harron did something that, in my honest opinion, no other filmmaker can do again. it is a one of a kind film, BECAUSE of her - and she ought to be recognised for it more.

the book, on the other hand, is just as good! Bret Easton Ellis did an absolutely fantastic job at providing us with a satirical, comedic, yet harrowing and disgusting novel that's engaging to read but also INCREDIBLY blatant and in-your-face with what it's trying to say. to write from someone like Bateman's view ALONE is a difficult job when you're, yk, not a shitty fucking bastard. but to write it and to be so BLATANT with saying "he's a cunt" is another feat altogether.

however, onto the sigma males bc I could honestly talk about the creators of American Psycho for YEARS.

sigma males are, quite frankly, cunts. they're transphobic, ableist, misogynistic, homophobic little bastards. they want to be "suave" and "cool" the way that Patrick PRESENTS himself (not how he IS, how he PRESENTS) whilst also making jokes that are on-par w "comedians" as vile and hateful as Ricky Gervais. this whole "he's just like me" thing w Bateman isn't bc people are genuinely having a laugh, it's bc of violent and shitty men seeing themselves within other violent and shitty men. even if that means purposefully neglecting the actual message of the material they're consuming. even if it means purposefully being ignorant towards it on every level.

"he's just like me" = "I am also violent and shitty".

and it has nothing to do w mental health, like at all. I have shit mental health! I'm fucking schizosphrenic! but I'm not violent OR shitty. why? bc I'm not a cunt.

and that's what these "sigma males" are at the end of the day. they are just cunts.

I honestly do believe that young men should turn more towards OTHER role models, such as Steve Irwin and Malcolm X.

but unfortunately this IS a side effect of society in and of itself; a society of which upholds capitalism, White supremacy, misogyny, transphobia, ableism, and other forms of cunt behaviour will only ever continue to produce more of these violent, shitty men. it didn't just come out of nowhere, it was taught and it was allowed and normalised. we need to combat it as best as we can through protests and riots and other organised acts of defiance. we HAVE to do better instead of just letting shitty violent men have their way all the time.

I don't think there's any shame in BEING a man, like, at all. and nor is there any shame in presenting in a masculine way; as long as you're not a cunt, you're probably alright. I'm not ashamed of being a man, it does nothing to help anybody to act like I hate myself - but what DOES help people is to do things for others; donate to charities such as the refugee council.

help women w buggies cross the road when they've got a load of shopping. help an old man find directions. give money to homeless people. support charities that are involved w aiding indigenous people push legislation. help your immediate and local community as best as you can, in any way that you can - even if it means, say, handing out leaflets for the socialist party or doing a bake sale for a local charity or even something as simple as offering to lend a hand when you can see someone struggling.

go to protests and actively demonstrate politically and publicly; talk openly about the things that are going on, such as the heatwave in the northern countries of Africa that's been absolutely devasting. talk about things like how the Anti-Trans movement is one of fascism AND misoginy, HELP TRANS PEOPLE! there's plenty of trans women, especially (and even more especially Black trans women, who are less likely to receive the donations and attention than White trans people), who need financial aid on social media who you can actively help by sharing and spreading their links or their gofundme or whatever!

basically: just don't be a cunt, innit? like, as long as you don't act like a cunt, you'll be fine.

#asks #anonymous

[lmamp]

Post #4

I’d like to briefly speak about a slightly disturbing trend I’ve noticed in large platforms such as Twitter and Reddit. This will be part of a string of more political posts I’ll be making (expect a post on Tiktok and Congress soon because oh boy, I got stuff to say). I just want to get my thoughts out there and I am by no means an expert. This is mostly going to be a rant about my issues with what I view to be “capitalism, but worse than usual”, aka owners of large companies screwing over users in hopes of making larger profits. Also, to be clear, while I don’t think I could call myself a socialist, I do think it’s the superior system, at least for the time being. Alas, we are stuck in this capitalist nightmare. Alright, enough waffling. Let's begin!

So, for simplicity’s sake, let's make something clear: there’s what capitalism wants to be and then there’s what capitalism is. Capitalism wants to be a merit-based system that rewards those that put in the work. On paper, this is not a bad idea. You work hard, move up in the system, and get paid more. You come up with innovative ideas, move up in the system, get paid more, and then have more opportunities to innovate. Sounds fair. The problems start with the fact that not everyone has the opportunity to enter the system. I could go on and on about the ways the system pushes down and punishes poorer people, especially minorities, but I want to focus on how it disproportionately rewards those who are born into money. Trust-fund babies can win simply by being lucky enough to be born into a family that was already rich, and these families got rich by exploiting workers and stealing resources (hi Elon Musk Emerald Mine, how’s it going? Yeah, I didn’t forget about you). 

Full disclosure, I bought into the “Elon Musk is a genius” narrative when I was younger. I have sung his praises. But now, with Tesla cars having a predisposition for catching on fire and Twitter alienating advertisers left and right, I regret everything. Elon Musk probably is a very smart person: IQ is somewhat of a bullshit metric of intelligence, but I do think that it says something that his IQ is 150-155. For comparison, Einstein’s IQ was 160, and Einstein was a genius who made leaps and bounds in his field, and to argue otherwise makes you look stupid. But god, he is an idiot businessman. His choices while running Twitter have been baffling. I’m not going to pretend that I’m a genius at business but when your main source of revenue for your company comes from advertisers and you then make choices that alienate those advertisers, I’m going to wonder what you’re thinking. The rollout for Twitter Blue was just as much of a mess. We all know what happened to Eli Lily’s stock. How this genius man (who is also very familiar with how shit-posting and trolling works) could not have predicted how this may have gone bad is inconceivable. Furthermore, the never-ending waves of bad takes from users who have bought into the blue check is at best annoying and at worst nauseating. Not only is he alienating advertisers, his main sources of income, but he’s alienating users too who hate how polarizing the site has become. I literally could not use the site without seeing something vilely misogynistic, racist, homophobic, or transphobic. I deleted the app yesterday because I couldn’t stand it anymore (Which reminds me, I really want to talk about digital self-harm at some point). 

Reddit is another good example. What the hell is going on over there? Well, basically moderators like to use third-party tools to moderate subreddits. However, Reddit is instituting changes to its API (Application Program Interface, which basically allows moderators to use third-party programs to moderate) that creates a paywall to use these tools. This completely screws over moderators and their ability to moderate. And to be clear, most moderator teams are unpaid volunteers who want to serve a community they care about. So, subreddits are going private en masse in protest. It’s pissing off users. I don’t even use Reddit and it’s making me pissed. These moderators are volunteering their time to communities they care about and Reddit, in the name of making more money, is basically cucking them. And they know this! Their API was designed to make moderators’ jobs easier because they knew that they needed tools to manage their communities. If they really cared about their platform and wanted to weed out third-party programs they would create their own tool for moderation. But no, they instead decided to put the burden, both labor-wise and monetarily, entirely on the community. This also stifles the creativity of these third-party apps which will be forced to shut down due to the monetary constraints the company is placing on its communities. “Capitalism encourages innovation!” we are told and then watch as the system literally forces innovators to shut down their projects because they cannot keep up with the increasing demands for profit. These third-party tools were created out of love for a community, and lo and behold, it all turned out to be for nothing. People play by the rules and what do they get?

This is what capitalism actually is: profit over everything. People do not matter: they are at best an inconvenience and at worst an active nuisance, but they are always a cog in the machine. Elon doesn’t care about his users. Steve Huffman, the Reddit CEO, does not care about his users. It is always about profit. This is only the beginning. The internet will become increasingly hostile to its users as companies continue to harvest data (which is an entirely different and dangerous issue) and create policies that put profit over people. Enjoy reality, for you are not a human, but a cog in a machine you cannot even fucking see.

Note: If you disagree with any of this, please feel free to give me a comment! Keep it respectful of course, but I love engaging in discussion. Also, if I got anything wrong let me know! I’m no expert and even if I was I’d still probably get something wrong. Also, a lot of the ideas expressed here were informed primarily from this article: https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/reddit-blackout-1.6873756. It’s a good read and tackles not just things going on at Reddit but also things happening at Twitter, Twitch, Facebook, and Instagram.

lmamp (1098 words)

#post 4 #reddit