#Manchester City of Literature
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Reading for Odessa.
UNESCO CITIES OF LITERATURE ARE TAKING PART IN A GLOBAL AND SIMULTANEOUS SHOW OF SOLIDARITY. INSPIRED BY AND IN COOPERATION WITH THE ODESSA LITERATURE MUSEUM.
In Manchester we will be holding a very special reading amongst the new Threads exhibition in the Histories Hub of Manchester Central Library which contains unique items sent specially to Manchester from Odesa. Readings will be in English and Ukrainian from historic and contemporary authors.
We strongly believe that books can help to connect people, and that the network of the UNESCO Cities of Literature are a symbol of both connection as well as support. The readings will happen in advance of the rally in Piccadilly Gardens in support of Ukraine that starts at 2pm.
Readings will also take place on this day in other UNESCO Cities of Literature: Edinburgh, Exeter, Iași City, Krakow, Kuhmo, Lillehammer, Ljubljana, Melbourne, Nottingham, Quebec City, Reykjavik, Tukums, Wroclaw.
Please note that we will be taking photographs and filming at this event, if you do not wish to be photographed that’s absolutely fine, but please let staff know in advance either digitally via the contact form or in person at the start of the event.
With thanks to Milan City of Literature for this initiative.
IMLD 2024: READING FOR ODESA
DATE : 24 February 2024
TIME: 1:00 pm to 1:30 pm
AGES: All ages welcome
PRICE: Free
VENUE: Manchester Central Library
St Peter's Square, Manchester, M2 5PD
THEME: Activism,Languages,Poetry, Political Read
ORGANISER: Manchester City of Literature
#manchester city of literature#ukrainian language#Manchester Central Library#Readings#english language#exhibitions#events#international mother language day
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Books to inspire and learn from
Did you know that donating to Wood Street Mission’s 2023 ’Books Forever Appeal’ couldn’t be easier? In 2022, Wood Street Mission distributed over 20,000 new books to young people across Manchester and Salford.
You can drop off a new book in person or even have it delivered to the Wood Street Mission, 26 Wood Street, Manchester, M3 3EF, the UK. Here are four books by author Tom Palmer, which will inspire reader’s of all age groups.
According to the UK charity BookTrust; “Tom Palmer is a true reading hero and has been responsible for motivating many thousands of young people to get into books.” Tom Palmer’s contribution to literature is a true inspiration!
AFTER THE WAR - Summer 1945. The Second World War is finally over and Yossi, Leo and Mordecai are among three hundred children who arrive in the English Lake District. Having survived the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps, they’ve finally reached a place of safety and peace, where they can hopefully begin to recover.
ARCTIC STAR - It’s winter 1943. Teenagers Frank, Joseph and Stephen are Royal Navy recruits on their first mission at sea during the Second World War, on HMS Belfast part of an Arctic convoy sailing to Russia to deliver supplies to the Soviets.
The convoys have to navigate treacherous waters, sailing through a narrow channel between the Arctic ice pack and German bases on the Norwegian coast. Faced with terrifying enemy attacks from both air and sea, as well as life-threatening cold, gales and pack ice, will all three boys make it home again?
OVER THE LINE - A powerful historical novel about one footballer’s experience in the First World War. It’s 1914 and Jack is making his debut as a professional footballer. But the match is marred by a demonstration demanding that the players sign up to do their duty in France. It is not long before Jack is bound for the trenches with the Footballers’ Battalion.
ARMISTICE RUNNER - Lily has lots of worries. She’s struggling to compete in her junior fell-running races and, worse, she’s losing her gran to Alzheimer’s. But then she discovers her great-great-grandfather’s diaries from the First World War. Could his incredible story of bravery help her reconnect with her gran and even give her the inspiration she needs to push through and win?
#tom palmer#wood street mission#books forever appeal#books#manchester#salford#media city#run media city#uk news#reading for fun#books and reading#bookshops#ww1 history#ww2 history#ww2 education#ww1 education#english literature#mental health awareness#football#manchester united#Manchester City
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Blue Hearts II Kerstin Casparij x Reader
masterlist I word count: 2020
A/N: based off this request. Let us know what you think. 🩵
Y/N 🩵
laiaalexandri 💪🏻
womenfootballfan Caption 10/10 🔥
The Manchester City squad was taking their lunch together in the club’s cafeteria. A very excited Kerstin Casparij just told her teammates about the great conversation she had with you through social media. Playfully shocked Jill Roord placed one hand on her chest: “I can’t believe you started chatting with a stranger via Instagram, Kerstin.”
Unimpressed by the dramatics of her fellow Dutch friend the defender shrugged it off:” What’s the big deal?” “Ignore her, tell us will you meet her in a real life?”, Esme Morgan waved it off. Hesitant Kerstin bit her lip:” I don’t know yet. She seems nice on her Instagram profile.” “She seems nice, huh?”, Lauren Hemp wiggled with her eyebrows.
Equally teasing Jill asked her: “What if it’s a serial killer?” “Only if books count as weapons, Jill. I agree with Kerstin she looks adorable.”, Esme shook her head after taking a look at your Instagram profile. The tall blonde Dutch forward snotted:” You know there could be anyone behind that profile, Esme. You’re just so gullible.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re way too cynical for the fact that you’re in a relationship.”, the English defender shot back with a crooked smile on her lips. Amused the former Wolfsburg player corrected her:” I’m not cynical, I’m Dutch.” “So is Kerstin.”, Lauren observed, it was obvious that they shared their nationality but were very different personalities. That’s why Jill quickly responded:” She doesn’t behave like a Dutchie.”
“Oh my god, she just asked if we want to meet at a bookshop!”, Kerstin exclaimed. Grinning Laura Coombs replied:” Well, there are enough people that would probably notice a murder there.” “True, so it’s a relatively safe meeting point from her side but I’d get suspicious if she wants to go the crime section.”, Alex Greenwood winked at the Dutch defender.
Smirking Kerstin reassured the older blondes: “I’ll text you SOS If she does that.” “Okay, good.”, Alex nodded satisfied with her answer. Curious Laura glanced at her:” That means you’re going?” “Yes, I’m starving for some new literature.”, she joked. This costed her an eyeroll of her national teammate:” No, you’re starving because you’ve not touched much of your food yet.”
“No, she’s starving for a meaningful emotional bond with someone.”, with these words Alanna Kennedy stole smiling the food off Kerstins plate. Weakly the owner of that dinner protested:” Hey!” “Cheeky chica.”, Leila Ouahabi commented. The Australian player tried to defend her actions in front of her fellow friends: “I was hoping she would go right now and leave her food here.”
“You know what? I’ll.”, motivated Kerstin jumped off her chair. Motherly Laura advised her: “Take that food with you!” “Hey.”, Alanna pouted. Beaming the Dutch defender said goodbye: “See you tomorrow guys!” “Have fun. And call us if something’s off.”, the English forward reminded her. Groaning Jill hid the face in her hands:” This will end terrible.”
“Or it’s just the beginning of a wonderful story.“, Esme mused, watching Kerstin leave. Alanna shook her head in disappointment; “And she still didn’t leave me any of her food.“ “You can have some of mine. The English food can’t keep up with the spanish.“, Leila laughed, pushing her plate towards the Australian. With a shrug, she dug in; “I’m happy as long as there’s food.“
Meanwhile, you were so distracted looking at literature in the bookshop that you barely noticed someone approaching you. “Hi, y/n?“ You turned around to find Kerstin smiling at you. “Yes, hello, Kerstin.“, you replied politely. Your gaze got caught on the book she was holding in her hands; “Your book pick?“ Kerstin nodded, handing you her book so you could read the synopsis on the back; “Yes.“
“Great choice.“, you smiled at her, impressed by her taste already. Carefully, the football player pointed to the book you were holding; “Can I see yours?“ “Sure.“ “Thanks.“ While Kerstin examine the book, you explained; “I thought Conversations with friends seemed very appropriate for the chats we already had online.“ “I like that.“, Kerstin agreed with a laugh.
Relieved about the fact that you two were getting on as well in real life as you did online, you suggested; “They have a coffee shop here too. Do you want one? Please say you like coffee.“ “Who doesn’t like coffee?“, the dutch football player replied with a laugh. “I heard some do but I never came across that species in the literature department.“, you joked as you both started to make your way to the café.
Grinning, Kerstin admitted; “I’m no exception to that.“ “So you would like a cup?“, you asked. “Yes, sure.“ “Okay, great.“ You ordered for the two of you and sat down at a table next to a window. The smell of coffee filled the air between you two. “Wow, this coffee is really good.“, Kerstin commented right after her first sip. You wrapped your hands around your cup, happily nodding; “Yes, right? It’s one of my favourite places in Manchester?“ “It is?“, Kerstin asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
“Yes, it’s more lively than the uni library and I like that. Do you have a favourite place here?“, you answered truthfully. Kerstin took another sip of her coffee, thinking about the question for a bit; “Actually I do.“ “Apart from the football stadium?“, you grinned, hinting at your shared love for the beautiful game.
“Do you think we football players just spend our entire lives in the stadium? We also go out for coffee or dinner?“, she jokingly rolled her eyes at you. Impatiently, you leaned forward; “No, of course not. So is it a coffee shop or a restaurant?“ A fond smile appeared on the football players face; “It’s Jill Scotts coffee shop. It was the first place the girls took me to when I joined City.“
“That sounds really sweet.”, you answered. Confidently Kerstin thought out loud: “Maybe, I’ll take you there too some time.” “Yes, I’d like that.”, you told her beaming at the prospect of seeing her again. The defender looked deeply interested at you: “So, tell me something about yourself. My teammates thought you might be a serial killer.”
“I can assure you I’m not a serial killer as you know I’m a literature student who does enjoy watching women’s football with her friends in her free time.”, you replied with a crooked smile on your lips. Grinning Kerstin had to admit: “That doesn’t sound so scary.”
“So yes, I love reading, spending time with friends, love if coffee involved in those meetings and I do own a cat.”, you added. As you mentioned your pet the Dutch player’s face lit up: “You own a cat?” Later you’d get to know that she was a cat owner aswell, making her in your eyes even more lovable. “Yes, she’s called Virginia after you probably guessed it Virginia Woolf but most of the time, we call her Ginny.”, you nodded enthusiastically.
Taking another sip of her coffee, Kerstin said: “Ginny, that’s cute.” “What about you? What do you like besides football?”, you wanted to know from her, playing with a loose string of your hair. The defender’s answer made you fall for her even more when you were already about to: “Reading and photography.” “And writing witty Instagram captions.”, you winked at her.
A warm laugh escaped Kerstin’s mouth, it seemed to have come straight from her belly: “Yeah, that too.” After the nerves of a first meeting have calmed down you two spend a pleasant time at the bookshop chatting about everything and nothing at the same time.
Right before you had to depart you handed her a book with the title Love in the Time of Serial Killers, you couldn’t help but to smirk: “Maybe you should give your teammates that book.” “Maybe, I’ll.”, the Dutch woman told you. Her brain was already busy thinking how to ask you out for another date, she wanted it to be clever and funny like you. But for now, she gave you a kiss on your cheek, whispering a hopeful goodbye and hoped for another hello soon.
On the next day Jill congratulated Kerstin chuckling:” Congrats for not getting murdered.” “Thank you. I even brought you something.”, the younger Dutch player replied with an innocent smile on her face. The blonde who was known to always have a book in her suitcase when she travelled but never read them, threw her eyebrows up at the sight of the gift:” A book?” “You’re welcome.”, Kerstin chirmed.
With a look at the present Alex remarked giggling:” I’m a big fan of the title.” “More important, how was it and will you see her again?” , Esme demanded impatiently. Turning red Kerstin mumbled: “She was very nice and I enjoyed it so yeah, I’ll probably see her again.”
Esmes face lit up with delight; “See, Jill. I was right!“ “About the fact that she wasn’t murdered? Congratulations.“, Jill rolled her eyes. “No, you know what I mean.“, the defender protested. Jill acknowledged her with a dismissive gesture; “Yeah, fine. Love won and all that.“ “It did!“, Esme nodded determinedly. “Sweet.“, Jill commented with a small smile.
Kerstin let out a sigh, giving her teammates a disapproving look; “Girls.“ But even she failed to hide a grin. “We’re happy for you, Kerstin.“, Laura said, putting a gentle hand on Kerstins arm. Impatiently, Lauren asked instead; “Will she come to our next game?“ “Maybe.“, the dutch football player replied with an innocent shrug.
Esme concluded quickly; “So, yes.“ “But I don’t want to introduce her to you.“, Kerstin added, giving each of her team mates a stern look. Esmes eyes went wide in a mixture of surprise and offense; “Why not?!“ “You guys are embarrassing.“, Kerstin laughed. “Us?“, Lauren replied, feigning shock. “Who else?“ The English midfielder shook her head in disappointment; “Rude.“ Alex Greenwood looked less than impressed as she told her teammates; “Don’t worry. Sooner or later we’ll meet her.“
Of course, Alex was right. As soon as the final whistle blew at Manchester Citys next home game, Jill pointed in the direction of the stands; “There’s blue heart!“ “Who’s blue heart?“, you asked surprised as Kerstin came over to quickly give you a kiss. “You are.“, she admitted with an innocent grin.
A smile spread on your face as you remembered the blue heart emoji you sent to Kerstin in response to her Instagram story. The blue heart that started your chatting. “Oh.“, was the only thing you could say to that before Lauren pulled you into a tight hug; “Great to finally meet you.“ “Hi, girls. Nice to meet you all too.“, you smiled at the group of football players that had accumulated around you. “We’ve heard a lot about you already.“, Alex smiled.
Jill added with a smirk; “Yes, Kerstin never shuts up about you.“ “Oh really?“, you replied, catching your girlfriends cheeks turning pink. “That is a lie.“, she protested weakly. “Nah, it’s the truth.“, Chloe Kelly disagreed. Kerstin gave you a pained look; “That’s why I didn’t want them to meet you.“ “But we wanted to meet her.“, Esme interrupted. Kerstin gesticulated towards you; “You did now. You can leave.“ “Oh no, we’ll celebrate that win with a team dinner, remember?“, their captain reminded Kerstin.
Wary, she squinted at Alex; “That was never planned.“ “Yes, it was. Let’s go, girls.“, Chloe yelled. Innocently, you gave your girlfriend a kiss on her cheek; “Sorry, love. I guess we have to join them.“ A sigh escaped her while she interlaced her fingers with yours; “I hate that you’re on their side. But I guess we do.“ “I’m just curious, you know? It’s your team after all.“, you shrugged. “Fine.“
While her teammates slowly retreated to the dressing room, you winked at her; “Don’t worry, I’ll make up for it when we’re back home.“ “That sounds like we have a deal.“, she smiled back at you. “Cuddling with the cats and reading out loud to each other?“, you suggested. Another voice interrupted your conversation; “Sounds disgustingly romantic.“ Jill grimaced in disgust while Esme rolled her eyes at her; “Jill!“
#kerstin casparij#kerstin casparij x reader#woso x reader#woso fanfics#woso one shot#woso imagine#woso#woso community#manchester city women#lauren hemp#jill roord#esme morgan#leila ouahabi#alanna kennedy#laura coombs#alex greenwood
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The history of Christmas traditions kept evolving throughout the 19th century, when most of the familiar components of the modern Christmas including St. Nicholas, Santa Claus, and Christmas trees, became popular. The changes in how Christmas was celebrated were so profound that it's safe to say someone alive in 1800 would not even recognize the Christmas celebrations held in 1900.
Washington Irving and St. Nicholas
Early Dutch settlers of New York considered St. Nicholas to be their patron saint and practiced a yearly ritual of hanging stockings to receive presents on St. Nicholas Eve, in early December. Washington Irving, in his fanciful History of New York, mentioned that St. Nicholas had a wagon he could ride “over the tops of trees” when he brought “his yearly presents to children.”
The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for St. Nicholas evolved into the English “Santa Claus,” thanks in part to a New York City printer, William Gilley, who published an anonymous poem referring to “Santeclaus” in a children’s book in 1821. The poem was also the first mention of a character based on St. Nicholas having a sleigh, in this case, pulled by a single reindeer.
Clement Clarke Moore and The Night Before Christmas
Perhaps the best-known poem in the English language is “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” or as it’s often called, “The Night Before Christmas.” Its author, Clement Clarke Moore, a professor who owned an estate on the west side of Manhattan, would have been quite familiar with the St. Nicholas traditions followed in early 19th century New York. The poem was first published, anonymously, in a newspaper in Troy, New York, on December 23, 1823.
Reading the poem today, one might assume that Moore simply portrayed the common traditions. Yet he actually did something quite radical by changing some of the traditions while also describing features that were entirely new.
For instance, the St. Nicholas gift giving would have taken place on December 5, the eve of St. Nicholas Day. Moore moved the events he describes to Christmas Eve. He also came up with the concept of “St. Nick” having eight reindeer, each of them with a distinctive name.
Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol
The other great work of Christmas literature from the 19th century is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. In writing the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, Dickens wanted to comment on greed in Victorian Britain. He also made Christmas a more prominent holiday and permanently associated himself with Christmas celebrations.
Dickens was inspired to write his classic story after speaking to working people in the industrial city of Manchester, England, in early October 1843. He wrote A Christmas Carol quickly, and when it appeared in bookstores the week before Christmas 1843 it began to sell very well.
The book crossed the Atlantic and began to sell in America in time for Christmas 1844, and became extremely popular. When Dickens made his second trip to America in 1867 crowds clamored to hear him read from A Christmas Carol. His tale of Scrooge and the true meaning of Christmas had become an American favorite. The story has never been out of print, and Scrooge is one of the best-known characters in literature.
Santa Claus Drawn by Thomas Nast
The famed American cartoonist Thomas Nast is generally credited as having invented the modern depiction of Santa Claus. Nast, who had worked as a magazine illustrator and created campaign posters for Abraham Lincoln in 1860, was hired by Harper’s Weekly in 1862. For the Christmas season, he was assigned to draw the magazine’s cover, and legend has it that Lincoln himself requested a depiction of Santa Claus visiting Union troops.
The resulting cover, from Harper’s Weekly dated January 3, 1863, was a hit. It shows Santa Claus on his sleigh, which has arrived at a U.S. Army camp festooned with a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign.
Santa’s suit features the stars and stripes of the American flag, and he’s distributing Christmas packages to the soldiers. One soldier is holding up a new pair of socks, which might be a boring present today, but would have been a highly prized item in the Army of the Potomac.
Beneath Nast's illustration was the caption, “Santa Claus In Camp.” Appearing not long after the carnage at Antietam and Fredericksburg, the magazine cover is an apparent attempt to boost morale in a dark time.
The Santa Claus illustrations proved so popular that Thomas Nast kept drawing them every year for decades. He is also credited with creating the notion that Santa lived at the North Pole and kept a workshop manned by elves. The figure of Santa Claus endured, with the version drawn by Nast becoming the accepted standard version of the character. By the early 20th century the Nast-inspired version of Santa became a very common figure in advertising.
Prince Albert and Queen Victoria Made Christmas Trees Fashionable
The tradition of the Christmas tree came from Germany, and there are accounts of early 19th century Christmas trees in America, but the custom wasn’t widespread outside German communities.
The Christmas tree first gained popularity in British and American society thanks to the husband of Queen Victoria, the German-born Prince Albert. He installed a decorated Christmas tree at Windsor Castle in 1841, and woodcut illustrations of the Royal Family’s tree appeared in London magazines in 1848. Those illustrations, published in America a year later, created the fashionable impression of the Christmas tree in upper-class homes.
By the late 1850s reports of Christmas trees were appearing in American newspapers. And in the years following the Civil War ordinary American households celebrated the season by decorating a Christmas tree.
The first electric Christmas tree lights appeared in the 1880s, thanks to an associate of Thomas Edison, but were too costly for most households. Most people in the 1800s lit their Christmas trees with small candles.
The First White House Christmas Tree
The first Christmas tree in the White House was displayed in 1889, during the presidency of Benjamin Harrison. The Harrison family, including his young grandchildren, decorated the tree with toy soldiers and glass ornaments for their small family gathering.
There are some reports of president Franklin Pierce displaying a Christmas tree in the early 1850s. But the stories of a Pierce tree are vague and there doesn't seem to be contemporaneous mentions in newspapers of the time.
Benjamin Harrison's Christmas cheer was closely documented in newspaper accounts. An article on the front page of the New York Times on Christmas Day 1889 detailed the lavish presents he was going to give his grandchildren. And though Harrison was generally regarded as a fairly serious person, he vigorously embraced the Christmas spirit.
Not all subsequent presidents continued the tradition of having a Christmas tree in the White House. By the middle of the 20th century, White House Christmas trees became established. And over the years it has evolved into an elaborate and very public production.
The first National Christmas Tree was placed on The Ellipse, an area just south of the White House, in 1923, and the lighting of it was presided over by President Calvin Coolidge. The lighting of the National Christmas Tree has become quite a large annual event, typically presided over by the current president and members of the First Family.
Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus
In 1897 an eight-year-old girl in New York City wrote to a newspaper, the New York Sun, asking if her friends, who doubted the existence of Santa Claus, were right. An editor at the newspaper, Francis Pharcellus Church, responded by publishing, on September 21, 1897, an unsigned editorial. The response to the little girl has become the most famous newspaper editorial ever printed.
The second paragraph is often quoted:
"Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS."
Church’s eloquent editorial asserting the existence of Santa Claus seemed a fitting conclusion to a century that began with modest observances of St. Nicholas and ended with the foundations of the modern Christmas season firmly intact.
By the end of the 19th century, the essential components of a modern Christmas, from Santa to the story of Scrooge to strings of electric lights were firmly established in America.
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Weekends in Manchester - Part 3 // M.H.
I know a place
Matty Healy x fem! reader
Series Summary - Moving to Manchester all on your own was a bit of a daunting task so you started walking alone in the city to get a feel of it. Little did you know, the cute cafe that’s quickly becoming your regular is also the usual haunt of a certain curly-haired musician.
Word Count - 2.2k
Warnings - mentions of drugs and addiction (but no one is using them presently), very small allusions to sex, swear words, mentions of food. I have tried to describe the reader as little as possible but here she mentions her preference in literature.
A/N - if you know anything about The Mister, you know that it’s a wild ride lmao.
(Disclaimer: I have never lived in Manchester and all my knowledge comes from Google. Most of the places mentioned are made up. If there’s anything I have gotten wrong, please let me know :) )
I would really appreciate engagement and feedback and my requests are open!
Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Here’s part 2 if you missed it!
This had been the slowest week of your life, you were absolutely certain of it.
You had also been kicking yourself since Sunday evening because you had forgotten to ask Matty for his number.
I mean there was always a possibility that he had made the plans to go to the bookstore just to be polite. He hadn’t exactly volunteered his number…or asked for yours. Did he only do it because he really thought you were a stalker? Did he think if he hung out with you once you would finally stop following him around?
No. Stop!
You scolded yourself so you wouldn’t spiral once again. There was always the option to shoot him a DM on Instagram but you weren’t sure if he handled his own account all the time. So the only option you were left with was to wait it out until 10 a.m. on Saturday.
That was the time you had run into Matty the last two times. If he was really serious about meeting up with you again, he would be there at The Blooming Bean.
You had long given up on trying not to be hopeful. The truth was, you really wanted to spend another day with him. You liked his blatant flirting and his silly jokes, he made you laugh and apart from all of that, you loved walking around the city with him. So as you got ready for the day, you could practically feel the anticipation in the air.
Your plan was a simple one; you were going to go to the cafe, talk to Leah for a bit. If he came, he came; if he didn’t…well, then you would spend the day on your own.
The butterflies turned more and more intense, the closer you got to The Blooming Bean. By the time you entered the cafe, you were so jittery you were no longer sure if caffeine was a good idea. But then you scanned the place and there he was, sitting at your favourite table by the window.
He had his elbows resting on the table as he glanced out the window. For a moment you just stood there and admired his tattoos that you hadn’t seen up close until now. Both times, he had been in a jumper but today he was in a white t-shirt that looked very soft. You could see his leg softly bouncing up and down and it made you wonder: was he perhaps just as nervous as you were?
‘Hey,’ you greeted as you walked up to the table. It almost made you melt that his entire face brightened up at the sight of you.
‘You came,’ he said in response, smiling up at you.
You kept your bag at the table and went to the till to get your coffee.
‘At the same table today,’ Leah said in greeting, throwing a suggestive smile in your direction.
‘Oh my god…’ you whispered, trying to stifle a smile of your own, ‘hello, Leah. Good morning to you too.’
‘So should I make you your usual latte or are you going for a cappuccino today?’ she asked coyly.
‘Oh, you traitor! A latte is just fine, thank you.’
Once you were done being subjected to Leah’s teasing, you went back to your table.
‘No baked goods with your coffee this time?’ he commented as you sat down.
‘Umm, don’t feel like anything sweet today,’ you shrugged.
‘Well then, I know a place,’ he took a sip of his coffee as you waited for him to elaborate, ‘don’t think I didn’t notice you eyeing that fry-up last Sunday,’ he teased.
Once you were done with coffee, the two of you made your way back to the little cobblestone street. You had checked and double-checked on Google to see if Sinclair Books was open on Saturdays and yet you couldn’t help but feel that little twinge of nervousness.
As you had expected, the fry-up was good. Once you both had had your fill, you were up and ready to go. You had already spotted Sinclair Books the second you had walked onto the little street. Even at 11:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, there were three or four bikes parked outside. You had practically started bouncing on the balls of your feet as you impatiently waited for Matty to use the men’s room.
‘Let’s go!’ you declared as soon as you spotted him.
Walking into Sinclair Books was like being transported to a whole different world. You couldn’t stifle the gasp that left you at the sight of the store. Every wall and crevice was covered with books from ceiling to floor. Not only that, they were all meticulously sorted in genres, eras, literary movements, and authors’ names.
You felt like a little kid in a candy store. You didn’t know where to begin and Matty’s low whistle let you know that he was just as impressed as you were.
‘Oh my god, I haven’t seen these in forever!’ he gasped, practically running to the stack of old Goosebumps books.
You laughed at his excitement and picked one at random from the stack, ‘Mr. Healy, would you like to go on an adventure with me…’ you looked at the cover to read the title properly and chuckled, ‘through a giant zombie nightmare maze?’
He dramatically clutched at his imaginary pearls in response, ‘Why Ms. y/n, I thought you would never ask!’
And so you spent the next hour (longer probably) bickering with each other about which routes to take, throwing accusatory “I told you so”s at each other.
At one point Matty even dramatically declared that he was going to be in charge of making the survival guide in case of a “real” zombie apocalypse. (‘You just made us die for the second time, y/n, how am I supposed to rely on you like this?!’)
Finally, when your bickering got you glares from others in the store, you decided to move on to other sections.
‘So,’ he spoke, ‘apart from your absolutely impeccable taste in Goosebumps books, what else do you like?’
‘A bit of everything really. But I mostly stick to fiction. I don’t think non-fiction is my cup of tea, I mean I do read for escapism and all. What about you?’
He was about to answer when you interrupted him, ‘wait! I want to guess.’ At that, he quirked an eyebrow with interest but gestured for you to go ahead.
‘Hmm, I kind of picture you reading a lot of intellectual stuff, a lot of classics but not like Jane Austen or Charles Dickens, more like something from the 1950s, 60s,’ you peeked at him, trying to gauge his reaction at your blind guess, ‘you do have a bit of an old man vibe,’ you teased to lighten the mood.
‘Oh how you wound me, my dear,’ he pouted, ‘also this is not fair, you could have easily looked that up!’
‘Aaah,’ you leaned in closer, ‘you seem to think I spend my free time googling you.’
Not one to back down from the challenge, he leaned forward as well, ‘don’t you?’ he winked.
This would be the time to realise that you had never been this close to Matty before, certainly not for more than a second. The realisation made you think absolutely wild scenarios, like what would happen if you leaned just another couple inches and kissed him?
Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t look—
The clearing of someone’s throat brought you out of your little freak-out spiral. You realised the two of you were blocking the entrance to an entire section of the bookstore. And the old man who had cleared his throat at you looked just about ready to start tapping his foot.
You mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ and dragged Matty away. As soon as you were out of earshot the two of you burst out laughing.
‘I thought he was going to scold us,’ you giggled, ‘also about before…I don’t.’
Unknowingly, you had run towards the American Literature section. He had noticed it too because he seemed to start looking for a particular author. As soon as he located it, he reached for it on one of the top shelves and you didn’t fail to notice how it made his t-shirt ride just slightly higher; exposing just the tiniest bit of skin.
But the moment was over too soon and you felt rather than saw something shift in the air. You also saw the author he had reached for; William S. Burroughs.
He thumbed through the copy of Junkie he held in his hands, ‘In any case, I don’t know how much you looked up about me,’ he swallowed, ‘but there was the…’
‘The heroin?’ you asked softly and he nodded.
You had, in fact, watched some of the interviews and you had gotten the impression that he was quite open about his addiction and recovery. But you didn’t want to push for more than he was willing to give so you simply gave him space to continue.
‘I suppose I feel a bit of a kinship with William S. Burroughs,’ he joked after a while. ‘Anyway, I think you should give him a try. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up liking the Beat Generation!’
The change in subject didn’t go unnoticed by you but you were willing to go with the flow on this one.
You hummed non-commitally to his suggestion and he rolled his eyes, ‘Come on, y/n, let me buy you the book!’
‘Only if you let me buy you one in return,’ you challenged. ‘I am going to find you the dirtiest Mills & Boon I can find,’ you let out an evil laugh, waggling your fingers in excitement.
He groaned dramatically but you had already seen the smile tugging at his lips.
In the end, the two of you had settled on your purchases. As promised, he got you the copy of Junkie and just to fuck with him, you bought him a copy of The Mister by E. L. James. The only catch? He wasn’t allowed to open the brown paper packaging till he got home.
By the time you stepped outside, the sky had already turned orange. You had spent the entire day in the bookstore. Matty seemed to come to the same conclusion because he uttered a quiet ‘wow’.
‘So–’
‘Now that–’
You both started at the same time and then laughed at the coincidence. You suddenly felt shy. You didn’t want to make the same mistake you had made the last time. You wanted to ask for his number but you weren’t sure how to approach it so you gestured for him to go first.
‘Now that I have kept my word, I would like to take you somewhere…tomorrow if you’re willing,’ he bit his lip hopefully.
‘Yes!’ you replied, perhaps a bit too eagerly, ‘but I don’t want to blindly walk into The Blooming Bean tomorrow…’ you trailed off, hoping he would understand what you were trying to hint at.
‘Give me your phone,’ he said as he held out his own in front of you.
He had seemed to linger after that, with something like hope in his eyes but you had been too much of a chicken to try something on him. Just in case you had misinterpreted all his signals, you didn’t want to be subjected to a rejection from Matty.
You had hopped in the shower as soon as you had gotten home, thinking and rethinking about every moment of the day. It was a long shower and by the time you had gotten out, you were ready to just relax and put something on Netflix.
Maybe even be bold enough to text Matty. Biting your lip, you reached for your phone only to find a text message already waiting.
Seeing the notification made you snort.
Your fav Manchester guide: HE JUST CALLED HIS MOM HOT??!!!
You: Hello, Matty…
You: Some context for that message would have been nice
You: Also my favourite Manchester guide huh?
Your fav Manchester guide: Nope! You don’t deserve context. Not after what you’ve done to me
Your fav Manchester guide: Why? Is there another guide vying for your attention?
You: Go back to your book, Matty. I am going to require a full book report from you when you’re done!
Your fav Manchester guide: Yes, ma’am ;)
You giggled into your pillow like an idiot. There it was again, the feeling of butterflies swarming in your stomach and this time he wasn’t even here in person. It felt like your brain had suddenly gone into hyperdrive because that thought quickly morphed into something else entirely.
What would it be like to have him here in your bedroom? In your bed…
You shook your head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, and picked your phone up to text him back.
You: I had fun today… I hope you did too?
Your fav Manchester guide: is typing…
Your fav Manchester guide: is typing…
Your fav Manchester guide: Of course I did! But tomorrow is going to be even better
You: 10 am?
Your fav Manchester guide: 10 am
You were excited for tomorrow, excited to see where he would take you. The wide smile on your face somehow got wider at the confirmation text and it remained in place long after you had drifted off to sleep.
Part 4 is out now!
#matty healy#matthew healy x reader#matty healy x reader#the 1975#manchester#rpf#matty healy fluff#matthew healy#matty healy fanfiction#matty healy x y/n#y/n#series#f#fem reader
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Competition
George stood awkwardly at the edge of the bar, looking out at the sea of men in various stages of obesity. He was on his third vodka and coke, desperately trying to pick up the courage to speak to any of the handsome men, but all the alcohol was doing was make his head spin.
"Your first time too, huh?" George looked up to see a tall, lanky man about his own age, with dark hair and a long face. The two of them were probably the only skinny men in the bar.
"That obvious?" George asked, looking down at the way that his clothes hung loosely over his trim body.
The other man laughed. "We sort of stick out a bit, don't we? I'm Patrick," he said, offering his hand, which George took, introducing himself. "I don't think I've seen you around on nights out, or any of the other gay bars. Are you at uni here?"
George shook his head, making himself feel dizzy. "I'm at Leeds. I got the train over when I heard about this gainer meet-up, I'm staying with some friends for the night."
"First year?" Patrick asked, and George nodded yes. "Same. I'm here in Manchester so it's really exciting that this is all just here, you know?"
The two chatted for a while, at first talking about their first term at university, George doing English literature and Patrick doing history, the nightlife in their new cities, sharing stories of drunken nights out. Over time, the tone of their conversation shifted, and they started sharing how they felt moving to a new city, how they felt like they'd rushed into making friendship groups they felt stuck in now, how difficult the shift from A-levels to uni was, and how abandoned and lonely they felt sometimes. They spoke about exploring their sexuality while they were away from home for the first time, hooking up with strangers, the pressure to date other skinny men, to stay skinny themselves, to ignore the parts of themselves that led to them sitting at the edge of a gainer night in a gay bar.
"I feel a bit stupid really, I didn't know what I expected to happen, I just," George searched for words and then sighed. "I've loved the idea of gaining for so long and I just thought if I came to this, then something would like, I don't know, unlock in me or something? Or some great big bear would fall madly in love with me and fatten me up." He looked down at his drink. "But you're the first person I've spoken to all night."
"Same here," Patrick sighed. "Do you ever feel like you could do it? Gain weight? Like them?" He gestured out at the large men in front of them. "Get fat?"
George was quiet for a while before answering. "Sometimes," he said, his voice barely audible. "It just feels so out of reach. I know I'm only 18, but I'm just so skinny you know? I weighed myself this morning. 147 fucking pounds. It's nothing. I just don't see how I can make my body look like how I want."
Patrick gave a small nod. "I know what you mean. Like I know how people gain weight, obviously, I've read enough bloody gainer stories. It's just so scary. What will people think?"
"I think I want to try though," George said nervously. "Coming here is just so, I don't know, I feel like it's a first step? It's the first time it's been real."
Patrick nodded, looking down at his drink. "The first time it's not just been you wanking in your bedroom? Yeah. I get that." He forced his eyes up to meet George. "Well maybe we could sort of do it together. It might be easier if we know someone else is doing it. Are you coming to the next one of these?"
"I… I don't know. I didn't know there was another one."
"There's two big ones every year. December and July. You'll come to the July one? Here, I'll give you my number." Patrick's smile was growing as he grabbed George's phone and typed in his number.
George felt a rising nervousness in his chest. Despite all he'd said, all he'd wanted, this felt too real, too much. Was he really ready to agree to this? Even so, he nodded and forced a smile. "Yeah. That sounds great. July it is." He made a big deal of looking at his watch. "Oh god, the time, I really need to, you know, I need to go, my friends will be, umm, up I guess. Waiting."
"Oh, okay, yeah, that makes sense," Patrick said, a little taken aback by George's sudden departure. "God, yeah, is that the time actually? I should go too really." As they left, he grabbed George's shoulder, and turned George's body towards him. "Hey, who knows how big we'll be when we next see each other!"
George gave a small smile and shrugged on his coat, before making his way to the door.
-
George had debated whether to come along for a few weeks. In the end, after a stressful end of his first year, he'd decided to just go for it. Patrick had probably forgotten all about him anyway. He'd go for a couple of drinks, ogle some fat studs, and go back to see his friends.
"George! I can't believe you came!" Patrick pulled him into a hug before he even got to the bar. "We managed to grab a table outside, come sit with us." He led George to a table along the canal in the late evening sunshine, where a group of skinny men who looked his own age were sat.
As they approached, one of Patrick's friends, a handsome black man, laughed. "Oh my god, are you George? Are you really into all these fatties as well? But you're actually sort of hot." He shook his head. "You two are insane."
George gave a small smile, not sure how to react. "Ignore Lee, he's always like that," Patrick said. "These are all my horrible bitchy gay friends. They only agreed to come to get drunk, they don't like them big and juicy like we do." The group made mock sounds of disgust. "Come on, come inside, you need a drink."
George followed Patrick inside, squeezing through the crowd of sweaty flesh. "You've told your friends? About gaining?" George asked.
"Oh my god no! No, I've not said anything about trying to, you know, actually gain weight. They just think I'm a chubby chaser. I kept on sleeping with fat guys, so I didn't really have a choice in keeping that one a secret," Patrick said.
"Oh, right, yeah. Yeah, same. All my friends know that I'm, you know, sleeping with a load of fat guys." George felt himself blushing at the lie. In truth, he'd carried on hooking up with conventionally attractive men all term, scared of what people might think. Until tonight, he'd only acted on his real desires in the safety of his bedroom with the door firmly locked, with his hand wrapped around his cock as he watched video after video.
"Don't worry, they're not staying long," Patrick said, mistaking George's nervousness. "They're just here to keep me company while I waited, they're going to a drag thing in a bit."
"Oh, I really don't mind, they seem nice," George said, relief washing over him.
Patrick leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially. "How's it going? Gaining weight? I was 191 pounds this morning! That's 22 pounds!" He looked down at himself and pinched an invisible roll of fat at his side. "I know you can't really see it yet, but it's just so amazing. I sometimes get a little belly when I eat too much. I reckon it'll get obvious pretty soon. I won't be able to hide another 22 pounds!"
George looked at Patrick up and down. "No, I can kind of see it, actually, now you mention it. Like you don't look fat, but I don't think you look really skinny anymore."
"Do you think so?" Patrick said, looking down at himself. "Yeah, I can sort of see what you mean. Like I'm not scrawny anymore, building up a base." He lifted his eyes with an enormous smile on his face. "How about you? How much have you gained?"
George wanted to floor to swallow him up. "Oh, umm, not as much as you. 20 pounds is amazing, you know. I've put on a little bit. Like 10 or 15 maybe. I'd gained a bit more, but I was ill for a bit." George winced internally at the lie. He'd actually only gained 7 pounds, every one of them unintentional, bringing him up to 155. He could still even see his ribs. He'd thought alot about his deal with Patrick, but assumed Patrick wouldn't take it seriously. "You're right though, it's so frustrating, you know, how you can't see it, but it's really hot still, even if, you know, it's not noticeable or anything."
Patrick gave a small, polite smile. "Hey, that sounds great man, glad you've been making those gains too!" George could hear the insincerity and slight pity in Patrick's voice. "Got to start somewhere, you know. You'll get there, definitely."
By this point, the two of them had reached the bar. "I'll get these," Patrick offered. "We'll do rounds." He turned back to the shirtless bear behind the bar. "What IPAs do you have on tap? Yeah, yeah that sounds great, thanks. George?"
"Oh, yeah, the same, definitely," George said. Usually, George couldn't stand beer, but he didn't think he could bear the embarrassment of sitting next to Patrick with a vodka and coke while Patrick made his way through a real man's drink.
The two made their way outside, and chatted to Patrick's mates for a while. Despite George feeling awkward, he felt like Lee was flirting with him, and he began to loosen up a little. As it started to get darker, Patrick's friends finished their drinks and stood to leave.
"You two chubby chasers have a good night! Try not to ravage these poor innocent fatties too much, yeah?" Lee said loudly as they left. George felt himself blushing, but the table next to them laughed good naturedly and a couple gave wolf-whistles. "And you," he said as he leaned towards George's face. "I wasn't joking when I said you were hot. Here's my number," he slipped George a slip of paper, "and you can call me if you come to your senses, yeah?" With that, he kissed George lightly, before standing back up. Whoops and jeers came from the table of fat men next to them, and Lee ran to catch up with his other friends, already halfway down the street.
"Well come on then," one of the men from the next table over said. "If you're looking for some fatties to ravage tonight, you might as well start with us." The others laughed, but made what little room they could, squeezing together onto the benches as much as their lard would allow. Patrick looked at George and grinned, before moving his pint over.
The group was friendly, and had clearly been coming to these nights for years. They introduced themselves, and one of them, Stewart, seemed particularly interested in George. Stewart was maybe 10 years older, with a powerlifter's build - a large, firm gut attached to a thick muscular body. Meanwhile, Patrick was starting to snuggle up to Dan, an enormous man who must have been in his 50s.
"So what," Dan asked after a while, "are two tasty morsels such as yourselves doing amongst us utter whales?"
"We're gainers too," Patrick declared proudly. The table burst into laughter, and George tried to shrink himself down as much as possible to make himself unnoticeable.
"Come on, come on fellas," Stewart said, waving them to settle down. "We all started somewhere. If these two want to get bigger we should be encouraging them. Literally, actually." He turned to George. "How old are you anyway?"
"Nineteen," George replied quietly.
"See!" Stewart said back to the table. "I wish I'd known I wanted to gain by the time I was nineteen, instead I spent years wasting effort on cutting for bodybuilding competitions." He nudged George and lowered his voice. "You'll get there, done worry. Here," he gestured to the pile of bar snacks in the centre of the table. "Help yourselves, you two'll need it more than us."
Patrick pounced on the food, grabbing a couple of bags of crisps and tearing into them, looking towards Dan for approval, who didn't seem to notice. George quietly took a bag and started eating.
Throughout the night, George started to enjoy himself more and more. Even the slightly sour beer started to grow on him. The group they were with, Stewart especially, made him feel like he was really part of the community, despite his diminutive size.
Around midnight, George excused himself to go to the toilet, while Patrick lifted his shirt up to show off how bloated he was to the uninterested group, his stomach showing a slight, squint-to-make-it-out curve with a thin trail of hair leading down its centre. George did his business and washed his hands, walking out of the toilet and immediately bumping into Stewart's firm mass.
"Oh, sorry, I'll just," George stammered as he made to get out of the older man's way.
"No, don't worry," Stewart said, gently gripping George's arm. "I was actually looking for you, wanted a quick chat." George nodded and allowed himself to be led to a tall table in the corner.
"Listen," Stewart continued. "I know how daunting it is when you're young and trying to get into any gay scene, and it's even more duanting when the scene's all about how you look and changing your body. Here's my number, I'm happy to give you some tips, or just to chat if you're feeling weird about stuff. And you're at a great age to put on some muscle along with some fat, if you fancy, get strong at the same time, I'd be happy to give you some pointers. I'm even in Leeds quite frequently, if you wanted to meet up. Just don't push yourself, you know? Your friend's put on a stone and reckons he's the hottest bear here, and that can be really dangerous. Sorry, I'm rambling, I've probably had too much to drink."
"No, no, thank you," George told him. "It means a lot. I'd really like to, I mean, I've not even really started gaining a any weight yet, but, like, it would be great to, I feel like if, like you say, if there's someone to-"
He was cut off as Stewart leaned in to kiss him, deeply. George felt electric. Magical. How many times had he touched himself, looking at men like Stewart? And now here he was, being touched by a bona fide muscle bear, who was encouraging him, telling him he could do it, telling him he could get fat, get strong, just like him. It was so different from his earlier kiss with Lee, from any kiss he'd ever had before. Yes, Lee was hot, but this was something that George had wanted for years, for forever maybe.
The kiss must have lasted over a minute, but it still wasn't long enough for George, who reached out towards Stewart as he pulled away. Stewart laughed and put a hand on George's cheek. "Sorry, you were rambling, which was cute, but I also needed to get you to stop somehow. Look. You're handsome, but you're also young, and new to all this. I'm going to go home, and you're going to go back to Leeds." He must have seen George's face drop because he quickly continued. "But I meant what I said. Text me. Give me a call. We'll get you nice and big, if you want to, yeah?"
George nodded. "Thank you. Really. I think I… I think I do want to."
Stewart smiled and gave George a brief, brushing kiss on the lips. "That's what we like to hear," he said, before moving back to their table to say his goodbyes.
George had one final drink before making saying his own goodbyes. He asked the group if they'd seen Patrick, but they all just shrugged, except Dan, who pointed over at a young man with a soft, flabby gut, Patrick attached to his face and clinging to his love handles for dear life.
-
"Oi oi!" Stewart cried as George took his coat off. "Look at those guns! And is that a cheeky little belly I see?"
"Shut up," George said, but with a massive grin on his face. In truth, his hard work at the gym and at the dinner table had only recently started showing on his frame, but yes, his belly was starting to curve out into a slight dome, and he'd specifically chosen a t-shirt that showed off his new, lightly muscled arms and clung to his small pecs.
"How many pounds are we looking at then?" Stewart asked.
"One-eight-nine this morning," George replied with a slight smile. No, it wasn't much, but it had given him a massive confidence boost, and was an exciting start for him. And on his average height, it was more noticeable than when Patrick had been a similar weight the last time they'd met.
"God, what's that? 40 pounds?" True to his word, Stewart had kept in contact with George as a mentor, and had been tracking his gains keenly.
"34," George said with a blush.
"Bloody hell! 34 pounds of muscle and fat in six months! Here chaps, to be young again, eh? I can only seem to put on weight when I'm not trying to these days," Stewart said with a wry smile. There were some grumbles of ascent around the table, some half-hearted congratulations towards George, but ultimately they were all here for much larger, sexier men.
George was grateful for Stewart's encouragement, now and in the last six months. He'd had a complete shift in his perspective, and was starting to see the gainer community as something he was a part of, not just something to view from afar. As well as his recent weight gain, he'd built up the courage to meet up with and sleep with some fat men for the first time, confidently showing off his dates to his friends.
George got himself a drink and settled back down at the table. As he took his first sip, the table erupted into wolf-whistles and cheers. He looked up to see Patrick walking towards them.
"Oh hi guys, good to see you all again. That chair free? Thanks." Smugness came off Patrick in waves. While earlier in the year he'd had to convince anyone who would listen that he did, in fact, have a belly, he was now obviously chubby. A small, soft paunch bulged out against a tight button-down, the hem just on the verge of riding up and showing off soft lard, meaning he had to tug it down after each small movement. His chest had blossomed into two mounds of fat, with small breasts that came out as far as his new belly, topped with large nipples that showed through the tight shirt.
"Wow Patrick, you're looking great," George said. "Well done on the gain, you must be really happy. How big are you?"
Patrick gave an obviously feigned look of surprise and looked down at himself. "Oh, yeah, thanks, is it really noticeable? Yeah, so I've put on thirty-something pounds, I was 217 last time I checked, so that's umm, let's think, 15-and-a-half stone I suppose," Patrick said, his gait measured and well-practiced, with carefully considered small pauses to allow people to react. "Who knows now though, I've probably put on a bit more since, it's so hard to keep track."
"Well it looks good," George said with a smile. "I know how much you've wanted this."
Patrick gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well, you know, if you want something you've got to take it." His eyes moved up and down George's body. "What about you? Did you decide against gaining in the end?"
"Hey!" Stewart interjected. "He's probably put on more than you actually, he's just starting off a bit smaller is all. And he's been putting on muscle too," he said proudly.
George gave Stewart a small smile in thanks, but otherwise tried to hide behind his pint. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been, getting so proud of a bit of a bloat and getting a little stronger.
"Oh right," Patrick said. "Well done you I suppose. You know, I sort of thought that you'd given up when I heard that you'd slept with Lee this summer."
"Oh, yeah, I mean, it turns out that our families live in practically the same part of London. We met up a couple of times and ended up at his. He actually said he quite enjoyed it when he was here in July, said he sort of saw the appeal," George explained.
"Well, like I said, I thought you must have even lost that, what was it, two pounds you'd put on last time, if Lee was sleeping with you. He's always bitching and moaning at me about how fat I'm getting, says I'm disgusting." He gave a short, harsh laugh and cupped one of his small tits. "He even says I'm getting boobs, can you believe it?" he mewed in a cloying voice.
"Those really are great," Ian, one of the younger and smaller men around the table said. "My chest still isn't even that big and I must still be a stone more than you. You're getting such a great shape, really soft." Patrick gave a self-satisfied pout and shook his chest for his audience, before giving another loud, forced laugh. "Can I get you a drink?" Ian asked, which Patrick accepted with a smug grin.
George felt deflated. He tried his best to get involved in the conversation, particularly when it turned to lifting, which he now felt he could contribute to, but every time he said something he felt like Patrick would jump in to shift the attention back to him.
"Don't talk to me about workouts!" Patrick cried one time. "Getting into these shirts is a workout on its own these days! My entire wardrobe fits like this nowadays you know, buttoning a shirt is like a CrossFit class."
"Sounds like you need to buy new clothes then," Stewart grumbled. George had noticed that he'd been uncharacteristically quiet all evening, only chipping in with an occasional grumpy remark. "Right, I should get going," he said, draining his glass and standing up. "I'll see some of you around I suppose, some of you in July."
George pounced on the opportunity. "Me too actually. I'm meeting up with my friends. It was great to see you all. Yep, I'll come to the next one, yeah, cheers, you too, bye, yeah." He raced after Stewart.
"Don't listen to him," Stewart said as George caught up with him. "You're doing great, made a fantastic start." George thanked him and the two were quiet for a while before Stewart spoke up again. "There's always some like that. Put on a few stone and they reckon they're the first person in the world to do it. He'll be sat there reckoning he's going to be the fattest person in here in a few years. You just keep on doing what you're doing and focus on you, yeah?"
George nodded and thanked him. They reached a corner where George had to turn away, and Stewart wished him a goodnight. George watched his back as he retreated, thinking back to their kiss, six months before.
-
George and Lee walked in later than they'd planned, George having to go to buy some new shorts before the shops closed for the evening. His thighs were wearing holes in his trousers at a rate he couldn't keep up with, and he'd realised only once he'd gotten on the train that he was practically indecent, a large hole in his crotch showing off his jockstrap when he sat down.
"Thought you weren't coming!" Stewart cried as he saw George approach.
"God, I nearly didn't make it. I had to buy new shorts, my thighs are getting out of control," George explained.
"They look it!" Stewart said admiringly. "And the rest of you actually, you've really blown up!" The rest of the table nodded in agreement, the closest of them even reaching out to squeeze his bicep.
George gave a proud grin. His muscles had really started to pop recently, with thick, python-like arms and rounded pecs. He felt strong and sexy, for the first time in his life. These muscles were coated with a smooth, thin layer of fat, covering up any definition that might threaten to show up, and a small, firm gut bulged out at George's middle, hairy and round. His thighs had received the brunt of his growth, in both muscle and fat, making finding trousers that fit a continuous battle.
"Glad to see you've finally decided to put on a little weight, joined the club at last," Patrick's voice cut through the chatter. George turned to see Patrick patting a large, soft gut at his centre, sat at a table not far away. He'd clearly put on a lot of weight since Christmas, most of it on his gut, with his moobs keeping pace and continuing to push out against a tight t-shirt, as they'd done before. His face had seriously started to fill out now as well, with a double chin forming and his previously long face rounding out with hamster cheeks. He got up, straining with much theatricality, and walked over. "How much do you weigh now?"
"Oh, hey Patrick, I didn't see you there," George greeted him, taken aback by his confrontational tone. "Yeah, I'm like 220 now, I'm trying not to focus too much on the numbers right-"
"Oh, that's cute," Patrick interrupted. "I was up to 243 this morning, completely empty of course, I'll be up to 245 with everything I've eaten today. I actually tried to take a little break a few weeks ago," he gave a short, fake laugh that no-one joined in with. "Fat lot of good that did, pardon the pun, I just can't seem to stop though. I think my body was made to be fat, you know?"
"Oh, wow, that's great Patrick," George said with a small smile. "Like I said, I'm just trying to focus on putting the work in at the moment, you know, not worry too much about numbers, just enjoy myself."
"Of course!" Patrick said loudly. "You've got to enjoy yourself, that's what this is all about isn't it," he said with self-perceived wisdom. "Hedonism and pleasure and all that. It's just that you enjoy being a little gym bunny and I enjoy getting fat," he gave a smile like a snake.
"I mean, I'm really enjoying the weight as well-" George began.
"And Lee! Fancy seeing you here! I haven't seen you in ages! Didn't think you went in for us fatties," Patrick interrupted, turning his attention to Lee, stood next to George.
"Hey Patrick," Lee said, not quite meeting the fat man's eyes. "Yeah it's been a long time hasn't it? You been good? Yeah, me and George have been meeting up in the holidays a bit, I've sort of started to get what's so sexy about some of you big boys." He gave George's bicep a squeeze at this. "George is actually staying at mine this weekend, so I thought I'd come along."
Patrick gave a sharp exhale out of his nostrils. "That's sweet. I guess you don't like them too big though, hey?" He gave his gut a shake. "If I'd known I'd have shown you what it's like to sleep with a real fat boy."
Lee forced a nervous laugh. "I guess, yeah. Well it's great to see you anyway, we'll all have to get together some time, all the old gang."
"That sounds so good, yeah. I'd love to see all their little twink faces when they see me!"
"Great, yeah," Lee said, and turned back towards George. "Anyway, we should go get a drink shouldn't we? Lovely to see you Patrick."
The two went inside, where they both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well that was…" George started.
"Oh god I know right? I've barely seen him since Christmas, he turned into a massive bitch when he started getting properly chubby," Lee said. "Kept on going on about all the men who worshipped him in bear bars, how he can't believe he used to care what 'twinks like us' used to think." He sighed and rubbed his face. "And some of the other guys were a bit mean about it I guess, but it was mainly jokes, you know? And he loved it! Every time someone said how fat he was getting you could literally see him squirm. Ugh, whatever, anyway, we all just stopped hanging out with him after a while, and he's got his little harem of chubby chasers to entertain him now, so fine."
"Oh god, he seems awful now," George said. "He seemed alright when I first met him. Anyway, come on, what do you want? Everyone else will have been drinking for hours, we're the only sobre ones here I think."
They rejoined the table, purposefully choosing a circuitous, meandering route around the tables to avoid passing too close to Patrick, and settled down to drink with the older crowd George had established over the last couple of years. They had a great time, George's confidence having increased in leaps and bounds since putting on some weight. He really felt like he belonged with the group, and was surprised to realise that he wasn't the smallest at the bar anymore.
Eventually, the group got more and more drunk, moreso than George had seen from any of the other meet-ups, and he found himself in a similar state. His shirt was growing tighter and tighter as he bloated up. At one point, he gave a loud, long burp which he swore almost rattled the pint glasses that were closely packed on the table.
"Oh god, no, gross," Lee said, as George leaned into kiss him, his breath still smelling of the burp. "No, I know that you lot are probably into all of that but I can't do that, no. I'm going to get some water and sit in the smoking area for a bit, if you lot are going to get all gross and gainer-y." George grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss. Lee screamed out laughing, wriggling to get away. "No! No, oh this isn't fair, you're stronger than me, oh god, fine fine, one kiss, no! I said one. No, don't you dare, don't you dare burp aga- oh my god I hate you, I actually hate you." Still he allowed George a few more kisses, before reaching down to squeeze his juicy pecs, and walking away laughing. "I'll be back in like half an hour, you lot don't let him get anymore drunk!"
George laughed to himself before burping again and sighing, patting his growing gut contently. He breathed slowly, trying to calm his growing erection, which always happened the more bloated he got and whenever he was reminded about how much he'd grown. The group dispersed a little, most of them stumbling to the bar for another drink, leaving just Stewart and George sat alone. Stewart fiddled with a beer mat, staring intently into his pint.
"God this feels good, you know?" George said, breaking the silence.
"Hmm?" Stewart looked up and raised his eyebrows curiously.
"Being big. It feels, it feels really fucking good actually," George elaborated. "Thank you. I don't know if I ever really said it before but, thank you. All the help you've given me, the way that you've encouraged me to go for it, it's been massive for me, really. I reckon I'd still be some skinny little runt wanking off to pictures of fat men if it wasn't for you."
"'S'nothing," Stewart mumbled, going back to tearing up his beer mat. "You just looked so sad, you know. Tiny little thing. And that bloody," he jabbed a thumb towards Patrick's table, "that bloody," he carried on searching for the right word, "that bloody one. Even then he was being a dick to you. I don't think you even noticed though." He shrugged his hulking shoulders and gave a small burp.
"Well it meant a lot," George said, reaching out an holding Stewart's hand, and giving it a squeeze. He went to pull his hand away, but found Stewart gripping it tightly.
"I thought you liked me George?" Stewart slurred, staring intently at George.
"What? Of course I do Stewart, you're great," George insisted, furrowing his brow.
"Then why you with that one? Skinny boy. Lee." He spat the name out like a curse before hiccuping. "'M'I too fat for you? Too old?" He thumped his ball gut. "I thought you liked this."
"Oh, Stewart, seriously, I do, I really find you sexy, it's just." George exhaled and steadied himself. "It hasn't worked out before. I'm only in Manchester like twice a year, and you said I was too young and…"
"So it's my fault? My fault you went out and got yourself a boyfriend," Stewart said, letting go of George's hand and picking up a new beer mat to destroy.
"Come on, that's not what I said. And Lee isn't my boyfriend he's just, we have a good time," George said.
"Seemed pretty boyfriend-y to me," Stewart mumbled.
"Well, he's not, and even if he were, it's not like-" George was interrupted by people returning to their table, someone passing both him and Stewart a pint each.
"Nah, I don't want it," Stewart said, pushing the drink away. "Give it to the growing boy, he can use the calories. I'm leaving." He got up, stumbling a little, and ignoring he group's protestations.
"I'll go after him," George said. "You lot stay here, he's alright I think, just drunk. No, it's fine, I'll sort it."
He caught up with Stewart quickly. "Fuck off," the older man said gruffly.
"Yeah, I will, I will, just let me get you a taxi yeah?" George put an arm around the swaying man's shoulders and guided him towards the taxi rank. "Try not to be sick, yeah? Listen, I'll text you in the morning, I don't want you to be pissed off at me okay? Right, see you."
George decided to grab some food to sober up, so went to a nearby kebab shop. While he ate his chicken wrap and cheesy chips sat on a wall outside, he saw Patrick walk up, his body jiggling with every step.
"All your admirers run off then?" Patrick sneered.
"Just getting some food Patrick," George replied wearily.
"Well you'll need it if you ever want to catch me up now," Patrick snapped.
"Catch you- what the fuck are you talking about?" George asked. He was too tired and too drunk to deal with Patrick's bullshit right now.
"Oh come on, like I don't know what this is all about."
"I honestly don't know what you mean. What what is all about?" George wondered if he should just walk away, completely ignoring him.
"You getting fat! You were so jealous about all the attention I was getting, how sexy I look now, and you couldn't stand it," Patrick snapped. "Well you'll never weigh more than me so you can forget it. I'm an absolute natural and you decided to give me a head start. Thanks for that, but it's not like I needed it."
"Oh my god, Patrick, fuck off yeah?" George said, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not trying to gain weight to try and one-up you or something, I'm doing it because I like it. We literally met at a gaining event."
"And wasn't that convenient?" Patrick said.
George sighed. "I honestly can't even guess what you mean by that." He finished his wrap and stood up with his chips. "Have a good night Patrick, I'm going to go see my mates."
"Oh yeah, I bet you are!" Patrick called after him like it was the most scathing take-down anyone had ever heard.
George got back to his table and sat quietly, drinking his pint quickly. By the time he was finished, Lee had returned.
"You ready to go?" Lee said, seeing how withdrawn George was.
"Yeah, yeah, go on then," George stood and picked up Stewart's abandoned pint and necked it in a few large gulps, burping as soon as he was finished.
"You are so gross," Lee said, putting one arm around George's waist and rubbing his full gut with his other hand, laying his head on George's broad shoulder as they walked. "You had a good night?"
"Yeah, yeah, it was alright. Got a bit too drunk maybe," George replied quietly.
"You and me both, big boy. Come on, you best get me home and take advantage of me before I sober up and realise how fat you are," Lee teased, pinching George's nipple lightly.
-
George, Lee and Stewart sat in a small group, the first to arrive. George was thrilled that Stewart didn't seem awkward after the last time they'd met up, but found it off-putting that he wouldn't even acknowledge it had happened. Even texts sent to try and clear the air went completely ignored. Still, they were sat together now, laughing and joking like nothing had happened, and maybe that was for the best.
"Well, well, well, look who it isn't."
George sighed and stood up, turning around to face Patrick. "For an absolute bitch, you're really rubbish at coming up with bitchy remarks, did you know that?" Stewart and Lee laughed, and even some of Patrick's adoring fans had to stifle grins.
The two eyed each other up, trying to see who had gained the most. Both were clearly bigger than last time, but the slight difference in height and complete difference in body shapes made any comparison difficult. George had just gotten stronger and stronger, with broad shoulders and expanding muscles to frame his ever growing gut, now a heavy sphere that strained against a tight t-shirt, threatening to ride up both his arms and his gut at any moment. Patrick meanwhile had just gotten softer and softer, his moobs now sagging down to the sides a little atop a heaving, quivering mound of fat.
"I suppose you think a few extra pounds is supposed to be impressive?" Patrick sneered.
"254 pounds," George replied coolly. He'd expected this grilling and weighed himself that morning especially. "That's over 30 pounds since you last saw me, seems pretty impressive to me."
Patrick laughed. "Try 266. Like I said last time, you'll never catch up to me, skinny."
"I don't know, sounds like your lead is closing." George slapped his gut and pushed it out subtly, causing his t-shirt to ride up and reveal a sliver of hairy flesh.
Patrick's face dropped as he realised George was right. "Well you'll be giving up soon I expect," Patrick said, blustering. "You don't want to be covering up all those hard earned muscles do you? You lot never keep it up for long."
George shrugged his broad shoulders and flexed a bicep. "I don't know really, I'm not done by a long way. I'm not too fussed if all these muscles get covered up, I'll stay strong no matter what. I'd like to see what, ooh, 300 pounds looks like, then decide where to go from there. Probably a fair bit more if I'm honest."
Patrick scoffed. "You'll never get to 300. Not before me anyway."
"Alright then," George said. "Let's see. First to 300."
Patrick laughed. "And what does the winner get."
George shrugged again. "They get to be 300 pounds. While the other one knows they got beat. That's enough for me anyway."
Patrick shook his head. "You're such a bullshitter. Another 20 pounds and you'll get so nervous about your precious figure, you'll be back down below 200 where you belong."
"Fine, you do what you want. If you don't mind, I'm planning on enjoying myself, so if you'd kindly fuck off." George smiled and turned to sit back down.
"Oh I'll fuck off George! You'll see!" Patrick called in reply.
"He really is quite shit at witty remarks, isn't he?" Lee said.
"Hmm," Stewart agreed. "What was all that about then?"
"Oh, don't get me started," George said, leaning his head back. "He thinks we have some kind of gaining competition going on, and that the only reason I'm gaining is because I'm jealous of him or something. Honestly I couldn't even follow it when he was saying it, who knows."
Lee and Stewart both laughed at this. "That's ridiculous," Lee said. "You'd think he was the only person who'd ever put on weight."
"Here," Stewart said, leaning over and patting Lee's small belly. "Maybe you'll get to 300 before either of them."
"Oh god no, no. I'm enjoying my little experiment, but that's all it is for now, a little experiment." Lee leaned back to show off his newly added pudge. "If these two want to race to see who can get biggest that's fine, I'm taking it slowly and I'm taking it 20 pounds at a time, so I can back out when it all gets too much."
"Smart move! Couldn't me I'm afraid though," George said, biting into a chicken wing. "Mhm, thank god they've moved this to somewhere that does decent food finally. What about you Stewart? Eyeing up 300?"
"No no no no no! I'm quite content at 270 thank you very much. I've seen many people go down that road and I know how it ends. First they reckon they can just gain 10 pounds and they'll be such and such a weight, and then they might as well go for another 20 to reach this weight, or that weight, and all of a sudden they're waddling around this thing at 400-something pounds and they don't know how it happened."
George shifted in his seat. "Stop, you're making me hard."
Stewart laughed. "Filthy git. Yeah, that does seem more your speed actually. You just keep an eye on your own goals, yeah, don't get too caught up in getting bigger than Fat Pat over there, eh?"
Lee leaned over and lowered his voice. "You don't really want to get to 400 pounds do you?"
George shrugged. "Maybe. I definitely want to end up somewhere over 300 I reckon, after that I'll see how it goes."
Lee shivered, like someone had walked over his grave, and rubbed his small belly. "Doesn't appeal, sorry. It just sounds huge."
"Worried I'll end up too big for you, eh?" George teased.
"I'm sure I can make an exception for you," Lee replied, leaning in for a kiss. As he pulled away, George noticed Stewart hastily look away, a quiet look of sadness on his face.
At that moment, several large masses descended on their table, as the rest of their group arrived. "Bloody hell," Dan said, "they've finally moved somewhere that does decent food then."
"That's what I said!" George said through a mouthful of chicken.
The night went on, and George found himself mingling more than he'd done in previous years, roving around the bar, and only ducking back to his table to grab a plate of food or to catch a quick kiss with Lee. Around 11, he found himself drunkenly showing off to a gaggle of admirers, flexing for them as they stroked his heavy gut. Across the bar, George saw Lee roll his eyes, and he winked back at him, eliciting a laugh.
"You're not impressed, uurp, not impressed by him, oh Jesus, are, aarp, are you?" Patrick appeared, his round face red with exertion, shoveling food into his face, barely able to go a few seconds without burping. "You know I, UURP, fuck, you know I outweigh him by, urp, by like a stone right?"
"Patrick babes, come on," Ian said at Patrick's side, as he tried to guide him away. "You need to sit down. Come on, you don't need to eat anymore, we can all see how much you can eat, it's very impressive, come on, you're making yourself sick now."
"Fuck off skinny," Patrick snapped, punctuating it with a sickly sounding belch and panting. He closed his eyes and he visibly willed himself to put a fistful of chips into his mouth. "I can outeat, ugh, every fucking person in this, uuuurp, bar. I didn't get to this, oof, size by not knowing how to, uurp, eat."
"Jesus Christ Patrick, I think you need to slow down," George tried to put a hand on his shoulders.
"Oh fuck off! You'd, oh fuck, you'd like that, uugh, wouldn't you? Think you can stop-" he stopped, doubling over and retching, although thankfully nothing came out.
"Right, come on," George said. He moved Patrick's drink and food away from him, and put a strong arm around Patrick's side and bodily moved him towards the padded benches at the edge of the bar . George's arm bulged with the strain, and his newfound fangroup swooned at this display of dazzling heroics. Patrick collapsed down, and groaned at the sudden movement, clutching his bloated gut.
"Fuck, come on man, I know you think we've got some rivalry or something, but this is fucking bizarre," George said. "You've made yourself sick."
"You're just jealous that you, oof, that you can't eat as much as me," Patrick said, not opening his eyes or stopping gingerly rubbing his gut.
"It wasn't you," Ian told George, rolling his eyes. "He reckons Hamish was eating so much to, like, challenge him or something."
"Oh my god, Hamish is a machine, he really tried outeating him? Isn't he like 400 pounds?" George asked.
"Try 450 plus. Maybe 500 these days," Ian said.
"No wonder he feels like shit," George said.
"Oh fuck off," Patrick said. "Just, ugh, oh god, just because you think you can do better."
"Actually, I really don't fancy challenging Hamish to an eating conte-"
"Did he tell you I slept with him?" Patrick interrupted, finishing with a belch.
"What Hamish? Isn't he with Tom?"
Patrick shook his head. "Lee, aarp. A couple of months ago."
"Fuck off," George snapped.
"He likes 'em fat now. And you're just, ugh not cutting it. He practically begged me for it."
"You're lying, you fucking psychopath," George growled.
"Go ask him then," Patrick said, finally opening his eyes to watch the effect he was having on George.
George turned to see Lee staring at them with a concerned look on his face. George spun around and walked straight out of the bar, practically barrelling people out of the way as he did so.
"George, wait, stop," Lee's voice came from behind him as he stepped outside.
"Is it true?" George asked.
"George it's freezing, please," Lee pleaded.
"Is it true?"
"What did he tell you?"
"What are you so worried about him telling me?"
"George I don't know what he's told you but-"
"Then why are you so concerned all of a sudden?"
"George come inside, you know what he's like, I don't know what he said."
"Well why don't you take a fucking guess."
Lee went quiet and exhaled deeply. "Fuck," he said quietly into his hands.
"Right, yep, thought so," George rumbled.
"George it wasn't anything, really. I got too drunk, and we bumped into him, and I missed you! I hadn't seen you for months and I was just drunk and made a stupid mistake and it literally meant nothing."
"Right, so it's my fault for not being around is it?"
"That's not what I said. Please George I swear, I regretted it immediately, you know I love you."
George stopped at this. They'd never actually said that they loved each other. He took a deep breath and threw his arms out wide. "And what am I supposed to do with that? Huh? You know what, I think I will go back inside. Why don't you go off with all your skinny mates."
"George, come on, where will you stay?"
George shrugged his hulking shoulders. "I don't know. I'll figure it out. I'm sure there's someone in there willing to give me a bed for the night."
"You don't mean that," Lee said quietly.
"Why not?" George asked. "You did it!"
"That was different, I was-"
"What? Drunk? I'm feeling pretty fucking drunk myself actually." George spun on his heel and walked back inside, not looking to see if Lee was following him. He suspected he hadn't.
He walked straight to the bar, past Patrick who was being helped out, and ordered two pints. The first he downed while still at the bar, the other he took to his table, where he slammed it down next to Stewart.
"Everything okay?" Stewart asked.
"Fucking great. Anyone eating all of that?" George asked, pointing at the pile of food.
"It's just for the table I think," Stewart said, and George pounced on it, cramming food into his mouth by the fistful. "God, slow down, you'll end up like Patrick."
"Don't fucking talk to me about that prick," George growled through a mouthful of food. "If I want to eat then I'll fucking eat."
"Okay, okay, you eat for a bit, and then we'll talk when you've calmed down a bit, yeah?" Stewart patted George on the shoulder, and went to go order some more food for the table.
45 minutes later, George leant back in his seat, breathing heavily, with his gut tight and heavy bulging in front of him, with a fresh pint in one hand. Despite feeling miserable, he still found the familiar feeling of being absolutely stuffed to be intensely arousing, and he struggled not to get hard in the still-crowded bar.
"Fuck buddy, that's rough, I'm sorry," Stewart said. George had just gotten through telling him what had happened.
"Well, you know, fuck him," George said. "It had been weird for a while anyway I guess. Sometimes he'd get funny about how big I wanted to get, you know, and the whole different cities thing was a bit rubbish. It's just… fuck. It's just shit, you know?"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I've been there. It'll pass." Stewart put a hand on George's shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "What do you think you're going to do?"
"Fuck. I don't think I can get back with him. I don't know how I'll stop thinking about it." He took a long drink from his pint and belched immediately after. "But fuck it. Maybe it's good. I can spend my last year at uni fucking some hot guys, some guys that are really properly into gaining, while I'm young." He drained the rest of his pint in one go. "You wouldn't get me another would you?"
"Are you sure that's wise?" Stewart asked.
"No. But who gives a shit, right? If you can't get fucked up after you've been cheated on with your psychopathic gaining fetish rival, when can you?"
Stewart sighed and stood up. "Can't argue with that logic."
"Could you get some nuts as well? And maybe order some more chicken wings?"
"Fine, fine. You better not be sick though," Stewart said as he walked away.
Five minutes later, George was picking at the food in front of him at a much more sensible pace. "You want to stay at my place tonight then?" Stewart asked.
George looked over and raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Getting in there while the iron's hot, eh?"
"Not like that, you just need a place to stay, right?"
George's face didn't change expression. "Why not like that?"
"Because you're drunk and you're miserable," Stewart pointed out.
"So?" George asked.
"So, I'd be taking advantage," Stuart said firmly.
"No you wouldn't," George insisted. "I'm bringing it up, we've talked about it before, you know I'd want to if I weren't drunk, and I know that you want to."
"George please," Stewart said quietly.
"What?" George said, shifting to move closer and leaning in, their guts pressing into each other. "Please what?"
"We can't George."
"Why not?"
Stewart was silent. After a few seconds, George took this as his answer and leaned in further, kissing him deeply. He heard Stewart moan into his mouth, and felt his hands move to feel George's body, his muscles, his fat, his face. Their kissing became more frantic, more lustful as they carried on; their fingers tangled in each other's hair, pushed into each other's fat, gripped each other's hardness through jeans.
Stewart pulled away and shook his head. "Not here," he said simply.
"Why not?" George asked. "People have done a lot more and a lot worse on these nights."
"Not here," Stewart insisted again.
"Yours then?" George asked. Stewart hesitated before nodding. George drained the rest of his pint, and shoveled in the last of the food, before standing up with some difficulty and putting a hand down his trousers to rearrange himself.
The two of them stumbled into Stewart's flat shortly after, barely able to keep their hands off each other. As soon as Stewart closed the door, George began to pull off the older man's clothes. Stewart gently took his wrists to stop him.
"You sure you want this?" he asked George. In response George kissed him roughly, almost barrelling him over.
They were naked in a matter of minutes, clothes strewn between the front door, through to the kitchen, and into the bedroom. "Fucking hell," Stewart said softly, surveying George's body. "Where've you been hiding that thing? It's bloody enormous."
George grinned smugly. "In my trousers, mainly," he quipped.
"No wonder you've had so many problems finding trousers that fit. Has it actually got anything to do with your thighs?" Stewart joked.
George shook his head. "I've got very skinny thighs, secretly. Practically twigs."
"I can tell," Stewart said, coming closer. One hand gripped George's monster thighs, the other ran gently along his monster cock. "Why were you so bloody nervous all those years ago with this thing hidden away? I'd have thought you'd be the cockiest 18 year old north of Birmingham."
George shrugged. "It wasn't the thing that I needed to be big I guess." In return he looked at Stewart's body, running his hands across its various curves and rolls. He was astonished to realise that he wasn't actually that much smaller than Stewart anymore. Between realising he was almost the same size as his idol, and said idol's administrations to his dick, he found himself growing even harder. He leant in to kiss Stewart, and pushed him backwards onto the bed, narrowly missing the pile of snacks they'd collected from the kitchen.
Stewart moved up the bed, with George crawling on top of him, their two bodies barely separating for a moment. George groped around on the bed before finding what he was looking for.
He picked up the can of whipped cream, and squirted a dollop onto Stewart's belly, before licking it off. He repeated the process around his body a few times, before placing huge mounds, atop Stewart's belly button, on his round pecs, up his thighs, and finally covering his dick and balls. Stewart leaned back and closed his eyes as George moved around his body, carefully licking up every morsel. At one point, he heard rustling, and opened one eye to see George grabbing bites of chocolate or cake between licks of cream.
"You're insatiable," Stewart laughed.
"Hey," George said, slapping his own gut. "I've got a competition to win." He dived back in, leaving the cream at Stewart's crotch for last.
Stewart moaned and arched his back as George began to lick the cream off his hard cock, before taking it all in his mouth. He reached over to the pile of food himself, grabbing the first thing his hand landed on and shoved it in his mouth, barely tasting the artificially sweet cake as he chewed. He came as he swallowed, the cake strangling his cries. He felt George roll off of him and heard rustling as he immediately started eating again, before he crawled back up the bed to be next to Stewart.
"I want you inside of me," Stewart told George, between kisses.
"That's good," George replied. "I want to be inside of you, as it happens."
The sex was awkward, two firm guts competing for space, George unable to thrust very much with his gut so full, and unable to use his hands very much since they were almost always full of food. They ended up with Stewart on top, lowering himself down onto George, who lay prostrate, their guts pressing into each other. George held back from cumming, forcing himself to hold on until all the food they'd grabbed was gone. By the last few pieces of food, his eyes were rolling back into his head and he had to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to stop himself, and Stewart had to feed him by hand, George desperately gripping the covers in his desperation.
George came with a guttural roar, his entire body bucking and shaking beneath Stewart, who had to hold on to avoid getting thrown off by George's powerful muscles. He allowed himself to cum at almost the same point, streams of ejaculate pouring out over George's gut and running down the sides, pooling in his cavernous belly button.
George gripped Stewart and pulled him down, kissing him with lust, and rage, and hunger, Stewart's cum rubbing all over the two broad men. George grabbed and gripped at every part of Stewart's body he could, and his own, silently comparing the two.
Within a quarter of an hour, George was passed out, snoring loudly, spread eagle across the bed. Stewart gingerly stood up and moved to the bathroom where he cleaned himself up. He looked in the mirror and sighed, before moving back to bed, carefully rolling George onto his side to make enough room for himself.
-
"Stop worrying," Stewart said as they left his flat. "You've put on almost 30 pounds in six months. Do you know how difficult that is? Especially at your size? Most people struggle to put on weight as they get bigger, you've not slowed down at all."
"I know, I know," George said. "It's just so, you know, I have no idea. We said 300, what if he pushed himself to hit that already."
Stewart laughed. "He has not reached 300 pounds in six months."
George sighed and rubbed his gut. He'd spent the last six months in a mix between comfort-eating, rage-eating, and lust-eating. While he'd stayed strong and had even gained a little bit of muscle, he knew for the first time that almost all of his gains were fat, and for the first time his body was actually getting soft. He couldn't take his hands off himself most of the time, squeezing the plush layer of fresh fat that seemed to appear on a weekly basis, covering his muscles and his torso. His face had finally succumbed to his weight gain, and had rounded out, underscored by a small double chin. His thighs, as ever, had grown the fastest, and now pressed together all the time, forcing his legs to roll past each other subtly as he walked. Buying trousers was now becoming a regular ordeal, and George had even considered getting some pairs custom made to fit his gargantuan thighs.
"Look, just enjoy yourself okay?" Stewart said, picking up on George's silence. "You've finished your degree, gotten yourself a first, you're looking really fucking sexy, and you're moving in with a hot, older boyfriend. You deserve to celebrate."
George exhaled slowly. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Who cares about Patrick anyway? He probably won't even show up after how much he embarassed himself last time."
"Exactly! Maybe he's been shamed out of the gaining community entirely and now he's an Instagram fitness model."
George laughed. "Nah, not good looking enough."
As they approached the bar, there was still no sign of Patrick on the tables outside, and George breathed a sigh of relief. They got settled, greeting those they knew, and made their way inside to get a drink.
George and Patrick collided in the doorway, their guts ricocheting off each other and forcing the two men to stumble back a couple of steps each. At first they were silent, just looking at the other. To George's eye, there wasn't much in it. Similar sized guts, similar chubby faces, they were even dressed similarly, with strained khaki shorts and billowing pastel shirts; George's was pink and tucked in to show off the shape of his belly, while Patrick's was yellow and left untucked, disguising the shape of his lower gut, had a small chunk of fat not hung out the bottom. There were differences of course; George's obviously won the contest when it came to thighs and his gut was rounder, while Patrick's tits were far larger and his body far softer, but even then, George's tits had swelled quite admirably recently, and it was ridiculous to suggest Patrick's legs were skinny.
"Patrick, I-" George started.
"Two-eight-three," Patrick interrupted. "I weigh 283 pounds, as of," he checked his watch, "two hours ago."
George and Stewart started laughing at each other, unable to process the ridiculousness of the situation. "I weighed in at 283 pounds today as well Patrick," George informed him.
Patrick was too stunned to speak, before finally snapping out of it. "You've got more muscle though, so I'm still definitely more fat."
"Ah," George said. "But you're taller. My BMI will be higher."
Patrick huffed. "I bet you weighed yourself with clothes on though." They went back and forth, comparing clothes sizes, how much they ate in a regular day, how much they could eat if they forced themselves - at one point Patrick even asked how much George's feet hurt at the end of the day.
"Oh, something awful Patrick. I'd rather not be stood up now, truth be told," George replied. "In fact, my feet have actually gone up half a size, haven't they Stewart?"
"Ha! Mine have gone up a full size!" Patrick cried. He seemed to realise almost immediately how ridiculous he sounded. "Well what about your degree? What did you get?"
"A first," George said.
"Ah. Right. I got a 2:1 actually," Patrick said quietly.
"Right you two," Stewart said. "If we could finish this dick measuring contest - although actually Patrick, I think you'd find that one quite interesting - I would like to go get a drink. George? Also, I think you two are blocking the door. You are both very large." Stewart moved around Patrick, leading George as he did so, and the two of them moved towards the bar.
The evening passed much less eventfully than previous years, and George and Stewart spent much of it sat with the enormous Hamish and his partner Tom on a picnic bench outside, the combined bulk of the four men making it difficult for anyone else to join them, the wooden benches groaning with every movement. Tom was huge, easily one of the larger men at the event, but still Hamish completely eclipsed him, struggling to fit his gut between the seat and the table, having to lean back and let his massive gut hang between his legs to wedge himself in.
Hamish was talking about a gainer rugby team he wanted to put together. "I'm just saying it could work," he explained. "Sure, none of us can run, but imagine the tackles!"
Tom shook his head. "I am imagining them, and thinking of the broken bones. Are they even tackles at that size, or just falling and crushing someone half your weight?"
"Well then we'd have a minimum weight limit. 300 pounds," Hamish suggested. "Makes it fairer too, keeps away everyone that can still keep up pace."
"That's not actually making it safer, you do know that, don't you? And it doesn't make the other teams any bigger," Tom said. "And besides, I don't care how slow everyone else is, you're still going to be slower. I'm sorry babe, but I think your rugby days are over."
Hamish decided to ignore him and turned to George. "How about it? You must be about 300 pounds now? Fancy it?"
"Not quite 300 yet, no," George replied. He looked around absentmindedly. "Soon though. Maybe by the time you get it set up. I like the idea of it, I'm probably too big to join any regular teams at this point. I have to agree with Tom a bit though Hamish. I think you might just be too fat for rugby."
Hamish gasped, and started squirming in his seat. Tom rolled his eyes and leaned over to knead his partner's gut, whispering something into his ear.
"We don't say "too fat" in front of Hamish if we can help it," Stewart explained. "Gets him off. He'll have put on another 50 pounds next time we see him now." He took a heavy swig of his pint and paused for a while. "You're still going for it then? 300? Still doing your little competition?"
"Is that okay? You don't think I'm getting too big?" George asked.
"Get as big as you like. I still find it hot," Stewart said, rubbing one of George's thighs. "I just don't want you doing it for the wrong reasons."
George shook his head. "I want it for myself. Really. Patrick is just… incentive for getting there quicker." He looked around the tables and found Patrick sat to one side, looking uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. He'd seemed to purposefully avoid George all day, even hastily leaving the toilets at one point when George had walked in on him washing his hands.
Stewart leaned over and kissed him. "Whatever you want, I'll be here to support you." He chuckled. "God, do you remember when you were a skinny little 19 year old proud of a bloat? Now look at you; bigger than me and discussing how quickly you want to get to 300."
George grinned and kissed Stewart in return. "Couldn't have done it without you."
-
George rolled his thighs past one another and unzipped his jacket to reveal the huge, solid sphere of a gut underneath. "Didn't that walk use to be shorter?" He asked Stewart. "I can't believe how late we are."
"Well, you have gotten slower recently," Stewart explained. "But I think it's actually down to the fact that you insisted on stopping for food."
"I was hungry!" George said.
"There's food here. You could have waited 20 minutes," Stewart said.
George just shook his head in response. He clearly didn't even think the idea was worth discussing. The last 6 months had been like something from a gainer story; George would eat at every opportunity he had, and their cupboards and fridge were continually being restocked with fattening treats and gainer shakes. George would only take a break from eating to go to the gym, as he was determined to keep up his strong muscles and impressive frame. The result was explosive weight gain, and Stewart was concerned about George's ability to curb some of the habits he'd developed.
"You go find a table," Stewart said. "I'll get drinks and order you some food." George nodded absentmindedly but wasn't really listening. Instead he was scanning the crowd of fat men, looking for one in particular. Eventually, he saw Patrick walking towards him.
George felt a rush of pride. While George had piled on weight, Patrick looked about the same size as the last time he'd seen him, maybe a touch bigger. There wasn't any doubt about who the bigger of the two was now, but George was still curious to find out whether Patrick had reached 300.
"You're looking great George," Patrick said when he reached him, and he reached out to pat George's gut. "Really impressive gains, wow."
George was taken aback by Patrick's friendly attitude. "Oh. Yeah. Hi. You're looking good too Patrick," he said, stammering a little.
Patrick brushed away the compliment. "Thank you, but you know I meant the weight gain. You look phenomenal. I've hardly put any on." He looked at George for a while and took a heavy breath in, and then out. "293 pounds," he said, grabbing his gut and shaking it a little. "Just ten pounds since the summer. How about you?"
George felt himself go red. All of that worrying, and he'd won their competition months ago. It felt so stupid now. "322 pounds," he told Patrick. "Went a bit overboard, probably."
"Not at all!" Patrick assured him. "You look great! And to keep up that kind of pace at your weight is just, wow, really impressive."
George thanked him and the two stood awkwardly for a while. Eventually, Patrick spoke. "I should apologise. For what I was like last year. And before that, probably. I was horrible."
"Oh, you know, it doesn't matter," George said, finding serious conversations awkward.
"No it does. And I need to do this. I shouldn't have slept with Lee. It was petty and bitter," Patrick admitted. "But I was also just nasty to you a lot of the time before that. I was smug and horrible and," he took a deep breath, "and I'm working on it a lot now. Seeing a therapist. And I've stopped drinking. That night when I told you that… well, when I told you, it was a real wake-up call. And I've got an actual proper boyfriend now, not just a one night stand or someone that wants to play with my fat."
"Well that's great!" George said. "I'm happy for you. Really. I hope things continue to work out. And I, umm, accept your apology. I don't know if that's what people say."
"Thank you. That means a lot," Patrick said with a smile. "You know, I think we really got on that first night. I'm sorry I turned into such a bitch after I put on a little bit of fat. I know we won't just immediately become friends again, but I'd love to chat sometime."
George smiled. "I'd like that too." Stewart appeared at that moment with some pints and an armful of snacks. "Well I'll see you Patrick. All the best with everything, yeah?"
"You too," Patrick returned with a small smile.
"You beat him then?" Stewart said as soon as they were out of earshot.
"Oh, I absolutely trounced him," George replied. "But he seems like he's mellowed. He apologised for a lot."
"Well, good, I guess," Stewart said. "I'll believe it when I see it. I've ordered some food by the way, it'll arrive soon."
"Thanks, that's great," George said. He looked down at himself. "Do you think I've been eating a bit too much recently?" he asked.
Stewart just laughed and rubbed George's belly in response.
-
18 months later, George walked towards the bar, tugging down his rugby top as it rode up. He'd have to order the next size up soon. Tom was absolutely correct in his prediction of the rugby team being an almost complete disaster, but the players all had fun, and the Thundering Three-Hundreds had a terrifying reputation amongst other local groups for flattening their opponents on their way to an unbroken string of losses. The matches before the biannual gainer meet-ups had quickly become tradition, and large crowds of large men would come to cheer them on.
"Well," George said to Stewart. "How was your first match?"
"Fun," Stewart wheezed, still red in the face. "I didn't realise how exhausting it was to run at 300 pounds, but I had fun."
George laughed. "God, 300. Try another 60, then come complain to me."
"Try another hundred," Tom groaned. "400 pound men are not meant to play rugby." Despite his reservations, he was one of the most enthusiastic players. George thought though, that like many of the men, he was just on the team because he thought the uniform was sexy.
"Good job lads!" Hamish called, happy that the others were walking at his pace now they'd all thoroughly exhausted themselves. "First round's on me!" He wore a uniform too, not to play, but as their unofficial mascot. He'd gotten involved in their first ever match, but quickly realised he wasn't able to do much more than walk slowly around the pitch.
"How about you?" George asked, turning to Patrick. "Fancy joining the team? We'll have a space after Paul moves."
Patrick shook his head. "Don't meet the entrance requirements I'm afraid. Happy to watch from the stands. I'll ask Noah though, yeah?" he suggested, referring to his partner.
"If he fancies it yeah, that'd be great," George said. "Still not tempted by the big three-oh-oh then?"
"Not for me really," Patrick said. "I really like my body at the moment. Maybe one day. How about you? You aiming for anything at the moment?"
George thought for a while. "Well I've got to keep a bit of a lead on Stewart. I don't think I can handle being the skinny one in the relationship again."
Patrick laughed. "I never had you down as the competitive type."
George shrugged. "I think a bit of friendly competition can be healthy."
#gaining fiction#gainer fiction#gainer story#weight gain#weight gain fiction#weight gain story#male weight gain#wg story#competition
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bare boned
warnings: swearing, enemies to lovers, banter. Enjoy!
The coffeeshop quietly buzzed as she sipped her iced peppermint tea. Servers collecting delicate plates, people typing in their computers, teenagers whispering over their oatmilk-chai cold foam lattes about who was going out with who, and ofcourse the various hipsters who were simply looking at pages of Ralph Waldo Emerson as opposed to actually ingesting the beautiful literature.
Rooney exhaled, blowing her auburn bangs out of her face, and checked her watch sharply. 15 minutes late and counting. Typical rockstar fucking asshole. Some golden-rust leaves blew in from the breeze of someone entering the coffeehouse.
“Sorry, love. Couldn’t decide what outfit made me look more pretentious - figured if I am going to be interviewed for NME to may as well look the part, yeah?” Gray curls and cigarette smoke was the first thing she noticed. Then the deep, Manchester soaked voice, then came the eyes. Fuck, his eyes - chocolate brown and ocean deep.
She cleared her throat and reached out a manicured hand, “Matty, is it?” Voice silky smooth, an equally Northern accent noticeable by anyone within feet of her.
“Yes, and you’d be Rooney Atkinson if I’m not mistaken.” He shook her hand, eyes piercing her blue ones.
“In the flesh. Now, take a seat I don’t have all day, Rockstar.”
“Yes, Ma’am”
“Don’t call me that, I’m not my mother. Just call me Ms. Atkinson.”
“Deal!” His hands flew up in surrender. She looked at her yellow legal pad filled with pre-set questions… all ones he’s been asked millions of times and answerable with a google. Luckily, she’s a good reporter and had watched everything there was about him.
“So, can you enlighten me as to how you landed yourself in America, specifically New York, for this album? Jack Antanoff can travel to any studio in the world and produce the album from Zoom. You guys have made records in the UK and LA before so why New York?”
“Well, for my own self I wanted to make something unique - outside of where we had gone before. We went to the english countryside for our previous album Notes on a Con-“
“Yes, I’ve listened to it. And I’ve heard this answer before I believe, so please… an original answer, not something you’ve recycled and said hundreds of times. I’ll give you the time to think further.”
A silence falls. He takes a drag of his cigarette and leans back into his chair, wiping a hand over his face in thought. Gold cartier love bracelet, rumpled gray trench coat slung over the back of his chair, dark green button up with a hole in the collar, pressed black striped slacks she lists off in her head - fashionable and casual she internally compliments. She adjusts her posture, back straightening and shoulders squaring. Her black sweater, cream scarf and adorning necklaces complimenting the color of her not-quite-maroon hair wonderfully. He takes a quick once over at her and mentally notes how her chest rises and falls with each breath. A sideways smirk falls on his lips, she clocks the cocky “bet i could shag her” attitude a mile off.
“I thought you were in a hurry… Rooney” He dares, dark eyes piercing her - she shivers in her seat and shakes her head to knock herself back into reality. “And if you must know, I was going to move to the city after the pandemic… I looked at apartments with a girl. Fell even more in love with the city after that broke apart so figured if I was already there - why not have George join me for a bit. Adam and Ross could fly there to record their bits when the lyrical shit was done.” She jots the answer down and takes a sip of the tea that had left a pool of condensation on the table near her. This was gonna be a long day, she texted her assistant and asked to cancel her appointments for the afternoon.
“Not anymore, hot shot. Keep talking.” She practically spit back at him.
“About myself? I’d love nothing more.” He fucking winks. Fuck him.
Matty was running late, he pulled a hand anxiously through his hair. Fuck, where was this coffee spot? There were a million in London that all looked identical. He stumbles upon a sign that reads “Rise Up” with a little sunrise cartoon and mug of coffee. Finally, he yanks the heavy door open, golden leaves spin around his ankles. Autumn in London is something unlike anything else in the world. His favorite season: the season of socks with sandals, scented candles and knit sweaters. He breezes in and the smell of roasted coffee beans hits his nose like a tidal wave, looking around like a lost puppy for the redhead Jamie had mentioned. What magazine was this for again? Rolling Stone? Pitchfork? No, it was NME wasn’t it? And her name fuck what was her name… “Rooney Atkinson” he remembers reading on an email.
Like he manifests her into existence at the mere thought of her name, he sees the ginger checking a watch. Oh he’s fucked, he thinks. Both for being late and because she is simply ethereal looking. It was as Persephone herself had come down and landed on Earth to inspect her mother’s harvest. God, he runs another hand through his curls.
He walks up to her and quickly apologizes for the tardiness - like a schoolboy walking in late to homeroom. He feels her eyes rake over him, he smirks. They exchange introductions and remarks - she makes a comment about not being her mother.
He hears her equally northern accent ask him a question he knows he has answered at least 1000 times in this promotional cycle. He offers the staple answer in response, but hears her voice interrupt him halfway through his shpeel. He lights a cigarette and makes a point of looking extra handsome while taking a drag of it. He, once again, notices her eyes glazing over him and admiring his outfit. Matty takes the opportunity of her eyes being averted to scan over her - the sweater and scarf combination contrasting against her burgundy hair. He smiles at her fashion sense and how she looks so comfortable and warm in the tad-bit oversized long sleeve .
Remembering the interruption, he gives the real answer to the question - the answer he’s been hiding from the press for ages out of respect to his ex-girlfriend. Once he’s finished he recalls her saying she had other places to be… he double checks and the point is shot down immediately.
As if he was imagining her saying that, she brushes it off without giving him a minute to deny her earlier plans. The singer is asked to keep talking… he thinks of a comment that might fit will in her article and in with his whole Truman Black persona and throws in a dashing wink. He sees her visibly shudder. Fuck him, he’s a goner, but he knew that the minute he layed his eyes on her.
#the lakes#drew’s writing :)#matty healy#the 1975#matty x rooney#AND SHES HERE!#hope everyone has a good day <3#happy reading besties!
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https://www.maxmag.gr/politismos/archaies-ellinides-mystika-gyro-apo-ti-zoi-toys/
Found this article about the lives of women in Ancient Greece, and i liked for a chance that they didn't only mention how confined they were in houses (mostly yes). Fortunately they mention that many women were able to go to schools like men and have high education and been taught even among the best.
The sad thing is that history often forgets to mention them. In schools they don't mention at all the women philosophers, mathematicians that broke the stereotypes, which is a shame. If we want an equal society, children should be taught the same about these great women. They were and still represent half the population after all, they contributed to society just as much.
Agree! While I am not as optimistic as this article, I too had expressed some time ago my confusion that women's significance and pivotal role in Ancient Greek art, mythology, literature and theatre do not exactly agree with how bleak historians describe their place in society.
The link is in Greek so I translate some main points that I could also "confirm" in other sources:
In the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, there is a gravestone on which is inscribed the name: ΑΘΗΝΑΪΣ ΘΕΟΦΙΛΟΥ ΚΕΚΡΟΠΟΣ (Athinais Theophilou Kekropos). Also inscribed on that ancient tombstone is the following epitaph: “The whole world of Athens cried for me, for my youth, my ethos, my virtue, but mostly because I was taking so much care and attention for my education and wisdom. The tears could not stop flowing from my father’s eyes, who lost the joy of his life and also the loving hands that would have been next to him taking care of him in his old age. My age at the time of death: 20 years old.” This shows that there were women who earned the community's respect through their love of education and knowledge and that the loss of a young woman could make the city grieve. The epitaph is clearly written by the heartbroken father.
Basic education for little girls included writing, reading, lyric and epic poetry, dancing. Teenage girls were taught by their mothers household management, weaving, handicraft and decoration. Rich girls could also attend private lessons to study music, singing and string instrument playing. Pythagoras and Epicurus welcomed women in their communities and academies, and we have found the documented attendance of at least two women in Plato's academy. Women could also get educated in the medicine schools of Kos, Knidos and Alexandreia.
Women took care of their appearance with fashion, make-up, elaborate hairstyles and the production of perfumes. Beauty pageants were taking place in some cities.
They had a lot of rights and influence in religion, they had some rights and presence in secular events. They didn't have political rights but women earned those very recently in time worldwide.
Noble women by birth had a status respected as much as that of their noble male relatives. Several very big and / or luxurious tombs of women have been found.
Important women you should learn about are: Aglaonice of Thessaly, Agnodike, Axiothea of Philus, Arete of Cyrene, Arignote, Theano, Damo, Hypatia, Themistoclea, Phintys, Lasthenia of Mantinea.
Professor Terry Brown, of the Faculty of Life Sciences at Manchester University, has argued the traditional takes of historians on the extreme Ancient Greek patriarchy reflect their own misogynistic views rather than the exact historical truth.
#greece#women#women in history#ancient greece#history#ancient greek history#link#anon#greek history#mail
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꧁ hello! ꧂
amy ᝰ ❧ scorpio sun and moon, she/they, grey-ace, 30s
i support liverpool f.c. and mostly write about domitrent on ao3.
i have a ph.d. in english literature, specializing in science fiction, but i really only write for fun these days.
other interests include: kate bush (queen of my heart), goth and post punk music/subculture, horror and sci-fi films, jane austen, mary shelley (i am always ready to bring frankenstein into any conversation), orphan black, star trek, studio ghibli, and more.
a masterlist of my fics and other scribblings are below the cut! a gentle reminder that i do not take requests for fics; however, headcanons are welcome and my askbox is open!
you can find most of my fics on archive of our own (ao3). some may be archive-locked (only viewable to users who are logged in on ao3). fics are sorted by type, ship/pairing, and then alphabetically listed within each category (for the most part). ratings are indicated in parentheses next to each title. if you are under the age of 18, please do not interact with any mature/explicit fics. full list of tags and any potential content warnings are available on ao3.
masterlist to be updated periodically.
꧁DOMITRENT꧂
(dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)
dream come true (M, eventually E)
𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔰 ➾ [work in progress]
→ Dominik, whose dreams of becoming a professional football player ended years ago due to injury, has dedicated himself to a new passion: physiotherapy. After moving to Liverpool to complete his studies, he meets Trent, a local lad whose dream of playing in the first team is about to come true. But what if, in meeting one another, their dreams become intertwined?
⟡ by chapter:
chapter one: skull and bones | chapter two: skeletons and secrets | chapter three: start of something | chapter four: sweet as sugar | chapter five: stay with me | chapter six: stuck on you | chapter seven: suddenly everything changes
꧁HENDOLLANA꧂
(jordan henderson/adam lallana)
borne in red (E; dubcon)
→ In a world where men have been discovered to be infertile, the few men who are not sterile are forced into service of Captains and their Wives. Adam Lallana is one of these "studs," also known as Reds. He is also, dangerously, in love with men. Over a course of Ceremonies, he discovers that his Captain has a secret, and that his proclivities may be indeed similar to Adam's own desires…
A Hendollana AU based on Margaret Atwood's novel, The Handmaid's Tale.
⟡ by chapter:
chapter one: waiting | chapter two: discovering | chapter three: being | chapter four: waiting | chapter five: coda
꧁DOMITRENT꧂
(dominik szoboszlai/trent alexander arnold)
we lit the fire and it's burning bright (E)
→ After the Liverpool vs Manchester City game (where Trent scores the equaliser), Dom takes Trent back to his apartment and proceeds to take him apart with his hands and lips.
working on the riddle of your heart (E)
→ Dominik can’t stop thinking about Trent. Ever since pre-season training, he has been obsessed. God, Dominik wants to be possessed by Trent.
you're out there killing the game (E)
→ Trent gets his arse out for all to see, but Dom wants it to be just his.
꧁CARRAVILLE꧂
(jamie carragher/gary neville)
gary knows; or, gary the fool in liverpool (T)
→ Liverpool’s lost the league, and Gary’s lost his damn mind.
a christmas carraville (merry crimbo, ye big lug) (G)
→ God I love him, but my husband is an idiot, Jamie thinks. In which Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher are married, but Gary doesn't know it yet.
champagne supernova (happy new year, ye tosser) (T)
→ It's New Year's Eve, and all Carra can think about is whether a certain Manc will kiss him at midnight. Maybe a little liquid courage will help light the way.
package deal (it's valentine's day, ye dimwit) (E)
→ Gary's got a Valentine’s date with an idiot.
꧁GERLONSO꧂
(steven gerrard/xabi alonso)
days of legends past (G)
→ "When you left, it broke my heart." Three vignettes related to various and sundry myths and legends.
꧁HENDOLLANA꧂
(jordan henderson/adam lallana)
fools in love (G; archive-locked)
→ aka, five times that other people noticed Jordan and Adam were dating before they did, and one time they finally realize that they’ve been a couple all along.
hounds of love (G; archive-locked)
→ Jordan's not sure what his soulmark will be yet, but what he does know is that he's terrified. A slow-burn soulmate AU.
merry to go 'round (G; archive-locked)
→ The lads buy a house together at the end of the 2026 World Cup campaign, and not a single one of their teammates (former teammates now) are surprised.
soft lad (E; archive-locked)
→ Five-hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes… it took a span of two pre-seasons for Hendo to realize that he was in love.
vignettes: tickertape (G; archive-locked)
→ After the trophy lift, Hendo searches for a tangible piece of memory…
vignettes: turf (G; archive-locked)
→ Lallana leaving LFC, but choosing a certain squad number for familiarity…
꧁OTHER SHIPS꧂
put myself on a pedestal - virgil van dijk/jarell quansah (E)
→ After the Union Saint-Gilloise match, Jarell says some things to the press that perhaps ought not to have been said. It's Virgil's job to educate him. But perhaps there are things that Virgil also ought not to say out loud… Then, Jarell comes over to his house one night after training, and Virgil finds a more effective way to stop Jarell from saying stupid things.
eu sou... - eric dier/dele alli (G; archive-locked)
→ Dele is um idiota but so is Eric. Pining ensues.
footballers watch: eurovision 2019 - multi-ship (G; archive-locked)
→ What it says on the tin. [Pairings include: Carraville, Hendollana, Gerlonso, Deledier, and other random cameos.]
꧁GEN FICS꧂
klopp in the kop, forever - jürgen klopp (G)
→ Jürgen Klopp, the normal one, is about to live a normal life, for the first time in his life.
vignettes: takumi (G; archive-locked)
→ Second day at Anfield • Daemon!fic aka His Dark Materials/Football RPF
⟡ domitrent headcanon - who's naughtier, domi or trent?
⟡ domitrent headcanon - valentine's day
⟡ domitrent headcanon - who fell first
⟡ domitrent headcanon - dealing with injuries
⟡ domitrent headcanon - sex positions
⟡ domi and trent headcanons - fashion styles, shopping habits
⟡ domi, trent and jude headcanons - jealousy
⟡ trent and jude headcanons - food habits, sweet tooth
⟡ cheeky - domitrent
⟡ the prince and the scouser - domitrent
⟡ queen's gambit AU - domitrent
⟡ anfield is a cauldron - gen!fic
dividers created by @cafekitsune
#pinned post#about me#masterlist#fic masterlist#my fics#fanfiction#football rpf#ao3#fanfic#domitrent#gerlonso#carraville#hendollana#virgil/jarell#liverpool fc#liverpool#kloppinthekop#blog intro
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I'm gonna share a fact I hate; there's at minimum a seven year life expectancy difference between the South of England and the North of England.
That means that you're expected to die earlier in the north, more likely to be in poverty, to contract serious illness such as cancer and have an expected lower level of education and employability.
And yet despite this being a fact that I was taught on the fucking GCSE curriculum- sat in a underfunded classroom where the windows let cold air in and the lights didn't go above dim because they couldn't afford to replace them- at 16 years of age, there are full grown 30 odd year olds making videos going on and on about how the South is so much better.
How the north is a pile of shit, how it isn't worth anything, what does it ever contribute?
The north of England used to be where the production and commerce of our country came from and I'm not a nationalist and I'm not particularly proud of my country but I'm so sick and fucking tired of people making the north out to be the scum on someone's shoe when it's the government's fault.
They shut the mines, closed the docks or made them so streamlined with technology a normal human was obsolete, they tool funding out and threw it down south and then?
Then they come in in the 21 in century after fucking us raw in the 20th by trying to frack in the north because the ecological damage is too much for the south, the earth tremors its seen to cause are too much of a liability down south, don't mind that the land might be poisoned its only a small chance. And they dig up and destroy our farmland for the HS2 that will never be finished that has CRIPPLED our economy by itself never mind mind rest of the idiotic financial plans they've had - and they just take and take.
Chester in the North is currently one of the country's centres for finance because of its business parks, but its not London. So it isn't as amazing.
Manchester, Birmingham and Edinburgh (and I know Scotland is different to England but the UK government doesn't care about that so for simplicity I will put these three together) are two of a FIVE of Cities in the UK to be recognised as Cities of Literature- there's less than 30 in the world and three of them are in the North.
But we're not the south so it doesn't matter.
And I'm not a nationalist and I'm not proud of my country but Jesus christ I wish I could be because maybe if the rest of the UK got the same treatment as the South we'd all be nationalist
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Sandy Welch on adapting North and South
"I don't think you should adapt a book unless you really love it," says Sandy Welch, who wrote the four-part adaptation. "North and South is one of my favorite books, it's a great love story and it's a book that you come back to again and again because it's very romantic."
Welch continues, "So, you've got a sort of Pride and Prejudice like premise, where Margaret is prejudiced about the north and the sort of people who live there. And although Thornton likes her quite early on, there's a real sense of two people from very different backgrounds who are drawn together."
Manchester was renamed Milton by Gaskell for the book. Welch says "It's very unusual for Victorian literature because it's about the north and it was a time when Manchester was growing into a very exciting city."
"There were quite a few difficulties adapting the book," explains Welch. "The main problem is that there isn't very much 'south', so you are constantly trying to work out how to convey the fact that Margaret is missing being somewhere where she isn't. For instance, in the book Margaret doesn't actually go inside the mill and on to the floor, which is one of the most powerful scenes in the dramatisation and where she meets Thornton for the first time. it's very much a Jane Eyre/Mr Rochester type meeting, because he's not seen in his best light at that moment. I think Gaskell would approve of that...at least I'm hoping so!"
Welch explains: "We tried to convey that it's not all awful in the mill, that it's not just one-dimensiona. There are lots of different northern characters and some very strong relationships. There are intelligent people and the strife between the masters and workers is complicated and quite subtle."
"You often get people standing outside the mill wringing their hands because they are starving out of work, but to actually go into the mill, I think that was a really great adventure for us all, and really makes it different from other period drama."
#Elizabeth Gaskell#North and South#North and South 2004#Sandy Welch#ah Sandy you are brilliant and I love your Jane Eyre and Emma#but you missed the mark here in so many points
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There are about 6,500 languages in the world.
There are about 6,500 languages in the world, and around 200 languages spoken in Manchester at any one time. UNESCO’s International Mother Language Day is a worldwide annual observance held on 21 February to promote awareness of linguistic and cultural diversity and to promote multilingualism. It has been observed globally since 2000 and has important historical roots. In Bangladesh 21 February is the anniversary of the day when Bangladeshis fought for recognition for the Bangla language.
With many events taking place across the city, we have been very excited to welcome new organisations hosting IMLD celebrations this year! A special one for us too, as we launch a brand new exhibition with participants from 10 UNESCO Cities of Literature, on the theme of Threads.
You can join in the conversation by tagging us on social media @MCRCityofLit and using the hashtag #MotherLanguageDay.
#languages spoken#international mother language day#21 february#manchester city of literature#poetry#public lecture#workshops#webinars#language themed trail#languages#family fun day
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We just spotted EVAN ALEXANDER SLATER ( HARRY STYLES ) hopping off a plane in the City that Never Sleeps! Make sure to send in your account within 24 hours and read our NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST before getting settled. Can you make it in the Big Apple?
Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but [ EVAN ALEXANDER SLATER ], a [ 28 ] year-old [ CIS MALE ] has lived in [ MANHATTAN ] for [ HIS WHOLE LIFE, ON AND OFF ]. This is the city of dreams and [ HE ] knows it, because they came to NYC to be an [ WRITER / COMPOSER ]. Well, that and as a/n [ COUCH CRASHER ] to [ IREUN ‘RAIN’ PAE ]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [ HARRY STYLES ]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!
HEADCANONS: (must list at least 3)
Born to an American realtor mother and English academic father, Evan jokes that he’s been ‘tossed around’ the UK and US all his life. Somewhat of an identity crisis there, with an accent too transatlantic to be British, but too Manchester-bred to ever pass for a true New Yorker.
Majored in Literature at Cambridge University (one of the few universities his father teaches at), and Music at Julliard. He’s a shy man with a talent for telling stories, be them through the paced out words of a poem or the right beat of a melody. It all started to click, upon the realization one doesn’t negate the other: but rather, it’s the perfect overlap of two distinct forms of art.
His life and personality are nothing but erratic. Periods of absolute bliss end with sudden crashes of chaos, the world which seemed to be floating peacefully above his head suddenly crashing on his shoulders. In a true example of this, Evan goes through phases of being on his parents’ good side, to striking a fight so immense that he finds himself crashing at a friend’s couch... for longer than intended.
Not quite the ever talked about Nepo Baby, but even through his struggles, Evan does have a safety-net to fall upon, should all fail. At 28, he’s finished a couple of poetry collections (published, but without much buzz outside of a niche), and contributed musical compositions to unknown artists, One Night Only concerts, and small upcoming off off ooooff Broadway shows.
Countless unfinished notebooks, guitars named after different literary heroines, poetry written on the back of cereal boxes. Messily rolled blunts, messy hair, ink littering his skin with little to no meaning.
Think young Richard Siken, and Richard Siken’s Crush. Think Kill Your Darlings. Think Tick Tick Boom’s Jon, La La Land’s Sebastian, Titanic’s Jack, Whiplash’s Andrew.
Think, a young man with feelings he can't always translate into speech, so he resorts to unorthodox ways instead.
(s, 28, est, she/her, no triggers)
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On this day in Wikipedia: Sunday, 7th April
Welcome, vítejte, velkommen, მოგესალმებით (mogesalmebit) 🤗
What does @Wikipedia say about 7th April through the years 🏛️📜🗓️?
7th April 2023 🗓️ : Death - Ben Ferencz
Ben Ferencz, American lawyer (b. 1920)
"Benjamin Berell Ferencz (March 11, 1920 – April 7, 2023) was an American lawyer. He was an investigator of Nazi war crimes after World War II and the chief prosecutor for the United States Army at the Einsatzgruppen trial, one of the 12 subsequent Nuremberg trials held by US authorities at..."
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Prosecutor_Benjamin_Ferencz_at_the_Einsatzgruppen_Trial.jpg: US Army photographer on behalf of the OCCWC/IMT
derivative work: Minderbinder (talk)
7th April 2019 🗓️ : Death - Seymour Cassel
Seymour Cassel, American actor (b. 1935)
"Seymour Joseph Cassel (January 22, 1935 – April 7, 2019) was an American actor who appeared in over 200 films and television shows, with a career spanning over 50 years. He first came to prominence in the 1960s in the pioneering independent films of writer/director John Cassavetes. The first of..."
Image licensed under CC BY 2.0? by sagindie from Hollywood, USA
7th April 2014 🗓️ : Death - George Dureau
George Dureau, American painter and photographer (b. 1930)
"George Valentine Dureau (December 28, 1930 – April 7, 2014) was an American artist whose long career was most notable for charcoal sketches and black and white photography of poor white and black athletes, dwarfs, and amputees. Robert Mapplethorpe is said to have been inspired by Dureau's amputee..."
7th April 1973 🗓️ : Birth - Marco Delvecchio
Marco Delvecchio, Italian footballer
"Marco Delvecchio (Italian pronunciation: [ˈmarko delˈvɛkkjo]; born 7 April 1973) is an Italian retired professional footballer who played as a forward. Although he played for several Italian clubs throughout his career, he spent most of it at Roma, where he is still remembered by the club's fans..."
Image licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0? by Дмитрий Садовников
7th April 1924 🗓️ : Birth - Johannes Mario Simmel
Johannes Mario Simmel, Austrian-English author and screenwriter (d. 2009)
"Johannes Mario Simmel (7 April 1924 – 1 January 2009), also known as J. M. Simmel, was an Austrian writer. He was born in Vienna and grew up in Austria and England. He was trained as a chemical engineer and worked in research from 1943 to the end of World War II. After the end of the war, he worked..."
Image licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0?
7th April 1824 🗓️ : Event - Mechanics' institute
The Mechanics' Institution is established in Manchester, England at the Bridgewater Arms hotel, as part of a national movement for the education of working men. The institute is the precursor to three Universities in the city: the University of Manchester, UMIST and the Metropolitan University of Manchester (MMU).
"Mechanics' institutes, also known as mechanics' institutions, sometimes simply known as institutes, and also called schools of arts (especially in the Australian colonies), were educational establishments originally formed to provide adult education, particularly in technical subjects, to working..."
Image licensed under CC BY 3.0? by Mtaylor848
7th April 🗓️ : Holiday - Christian feast days: Blessed Notker the Stammerer
"Notker the Stammerer (c. 840 – 6 April 912), Notker Balbulus, or simply Notker, was a Benedictine monk at the Abbey of Saint Gall active as a composer, poet and scholar. Described as "a significant figure in the Western Church", Notker made substantial contributions to both the music and literature..."
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Nurturing Minds, Empowering Hearts: The Essence of Islamic Girls' Schools in Manchester
Introduction:
In the bustling city of Manchester, amidst its vibrant multicultural fabric, lies a beacon of education that not only imparts knowledge but also cultivates a profound sense of identity and belonging. Islamic girls' schools in Manchester stand as pillars of empowerment, providing a nurturing environment where young women can flourish academically, spiritually, and socially. In this blog, we delve into the significance of these institutions, exploring their ethos, educational approach, cultural impact, and more.
Foundations of Faith-Based Education: Islamic girls' schools in Manchester are built upon the principles of Islamic faith, aiming to integrate religious teachings seamlessly into the academic curriculum. This foundation instills values of compassion, integrity, and resilience, fostering well-rounded individuals who are equipped to navigate the complexities of the modern world while staying rooted in their beliefs.
Academic Excellence with a Holistic Approach: Beyond religious studies, these schools offer a rigorous academic curriculum aligned with national standards. From mathematics to literature, students are challenged to excel in various subjects, preparing them for higher education and professional endeavors. However, what sets these institutions apart is their holistic approach, emphasizing not only intellectual development but also emotional intelligence and character building.
Empowering Female Leadership: Islamic girls' schools serve as breeding grounds for female leadership, nurturing young minds to become confident, articulate, and assertive individuals. By providing a supportive environment free from gender biases, these schools encourage girls to pursue their aspirations without limitations, be it in academia, entrepreneurship, or community leadership roles.
Cultural Diversity and Inclusivity: Manchester's Islamic girls' schools celebrate cultural diversity, welcoming students from various ethnic backgrounds and promoting cross-cultural understanding. Through multicultural events, language classes, and exchange programs, students develop a global perspective, enriching their educational experience and fostering lifelong friendships.
Community Engagement and Social Responsibility: Rooted in the Islamic tradition of charity and service, these schools instill a sense of social responsibility in their students. From volunteering at local shelters to fundraising for humanitarian causes, students actively engage with their communities, embodying the values of compassion and empathy taught within the school walls.
Empowering Girls Through Sports and Extracurricular Activities: Recognizing the importance of physical health and teamwork, Islamic girls' schools in Manchester offer a wide range of sports and extracurricular activities. Whether it's basketball, debate club, or drama society, these activities provide opportunities for girls to discover their passions, build confidence, and develop leadership skills outside the classroom.
Parental Involvement and Support: The success of Islamic girls' schools in Manchester is greatly attributed to the unwavering support of parents and guardians. Through active involvement in school activities, parent-teacher associations, and regular communication, families play a pivotal role in nurturing their daughters' academic and personal growth, creating a strong partnership between home and school.
Preparing Global Citizens for the Future: As we navigate an increasingly interconnected world, the importance of fostering global citizenship cannot be overstated. Islamic girls' schools in Manchester are committed to preparing students to become responsible global citizens, equipped with the skills, knowledge, and values necessary to thrive in diverse societies and contribute positively to humanity.
Conclusion: Islamic girls' schools in Manchester are not just educational institutions; they are vibrant communities where young women are empowered to reach their full potential. Through a holistic approach to education, rooted in faith, diversity, and social responsibility, these schools shape tomorrow's leaders, instilling values of compassion, integrity, and resilience that transcend borders and cultures. As we celebrate the invaluable contributions of these institutions, let us recognize their role in shaping a brighter, more inclusive future for all.
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Rosemary's Baby (Ira Levin)
I bought this book when I was visiting Manchester. I entered the bookshop with an open mind and came across this classic horror novel I had heard so much of but had never read.
This novel effortlessly exceeds every horror fan's expectations. It is the tale of Rosemary and her husband, who have just moved into their dream apartment in New York City. But soon enough, her dream turns into a nightmare: she gets pregnant, and from then on her seemingly perfect life completely falls apart.
The story's atmosphere is like no other, with its sixties references and its take on classic horror tropes - an apartment with a sinister backstory, her eerie neighbours, and her growing paranoia and anguish. The novel slowly builds towards a complete shift in Rosemary's psyche: readers follow her as she loses her mind and must decide whether to believe her or not. At times she seems utterly paranoid and unreliable, whilst other parts of the novel absolutely convince us that she is right about her husband and neighbours plotting against her and her baby to come.
Though an allegedly brilliant film adaptation has been made in 1968, I have not watched it because I refuse to endorse and support its director, whose name I will not bother mentioning. Nevertheless, readers can rest assured that reading the novel is wholly sufficient - Levin fills his protagonist's descent into hell with extremely vivid imagery which enables us to picture scenes in a way that is more terrifying that any filmmaker ever could.
The horror culminates in the novel's last scene, which to this day remains one of the most unsettling and nerve-racking endings in literature ever written. A must-read.
5/5
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