Check out Drew Powell’s SYFY Wire’s interview. You can just feel how ecstatic he is to play the role of the zombiefied and indestructible Solomon Grundy. He talks like someone you can just talk to and feel comfortable with. He is such a sweet and jovial guy. Yeah, I said jovial. Anyway, I particularly enjoyed his tidbit about David Harbour (of Stranger Things fame!) working out in the gym for the upcoming Hellboy movie only to wear a padded costume, whereas Drew would be shirtless for most of the time. Continue reading Drew Powell: SYFY Wire Conversation With Drew Powell About Gotham’s Solomon Grundy
Gotham is one of my favorite TV shows. Third season, was undoubtedly the best, in my humble opinion. The 2-part season finale was beyond exciting and characters would just drop off like flies left and right. I loved it. Continue reading Drew Powell: Solomon Grundy, Gotham’s Thick Musclebear For Any Dark Day
I’m a big fan of bizarre and offbeat humor. My favorite is/was The Perry Bible Fellowship (unfortunately the website’s gone now); however, a suitable replacement is the clever Married To The Sea and Superpoop which are created by a married couple, Drew and Natalie Dee.
One of my secret dreams is to be a cartoonist. Unfortunately, I can’t even draw a straight line. In the meantime, let’s do a little bit of metahumor by combining some Married To The Sea/Superpoop comics/photos with my collection of bearish/chubby screenshots/photos. Did you get a headache/rolly-eyes yet with all of that forward slashes? I hope you did and I’m calling this type of subgenre of BearFic as a BearComicSlashFic. -_^
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Like I said, I have a “very different” type of humor. As I was inspired by Drew and Natalie Dee’s creations, here’s my attempt… Please be nice. 😛
This is fantastic news indeed. Shot putter, Manuel Martinez (official site), is currently involved in the final week of filming for the comic book adaptation of Lorenzo Mattotti’s Estigmas (original site here; official site). The film is directed by Adan Aliaga Vallencia (original site here).
We will finally get to see this massive bear of a man in his film debut (does his 3-second television appearance in Cachorro [Bear Cub] count?). The film is scheduled to be released in either January or February of 2009.
I am very intrigued with the premise of Estigmas. Here’s a brief (and somewhat poor) translated description:
The crab-producing films has decided to make a radical bid to Europe with the comic adaptation of the audacious, brilliant, and critically-acclaimed “Stigma” by Lorenzo Mattotti (drawing) and Claudio Piersanti (dash). “Stigma” is the story of the loneliness of a man marked by a tragic fate, the emergence of some sores on his hands that he represents God and that it enclosed in a world of madness.
I definitely can’t wait to see this. In the meantime, here are some more photos of the superbly woofy, Manuel Martinez…
[Related Posts – Manuel Martinez]
[The following screenshots of the Statue of Demuul is from Marlboroma1n’s Flickr Page. I love the photos so much that I’ve written a BearFic out of it. Wait for it… LOL.]
The Statue Of Demuul
I’ve always done crazy things. I once thought that I could defy gravity and broke my right thumb while rolling down Nayramadin Peak when I was but a child. Another time, I thought that I could sense moving objects while my eyes remained closed while crossing the busy streets of Ulaanbaatar. I thought I was fearless, but my mother always reminded me that I was simply crazy like my father. My father left my mother while I was in my youth. She had never said it, but I knew that she blamed me for it. Maybe I do blame myself which was why I did the things I did. I wanted to know why I was alive. Or maybe because I wanted to be with my father, wherever he was.
But I knew that I was really crazy when the Statue of Demuul spoke to me.
“Thank you,” it said.
I thought it was Batukhan playing another silly prank. I always wondered if he knew that I would always pass a secretive glance at the beautiful Statue of Demuul. I circled the statue and did not find Batukhan.
“Up here,” it said.
I faced the statue and it looked exactly like it had always been. Solid, firm, and strong. I could not stop gazing at its wide and bulky chest.
“I want to thank you, Bataar.”
“Thank me, for what?” I foolishly responded, trying to stop from laughing.
“For loving me.”
It suddenly did not become a joke. I would find this joker and beat the living daylights out of him.
“You’re the only one who notices me. I have sat here through decades and no one has looked at me the way you do.”
Not only was this strange, but I was even more angered at someone knowing about my deepest secrets. I started to run away.
“Bataar! Please! Come back!”
There was something in its voice that prompted me to stop. Its voice was very familiar. it was the same aching voice I hear in my heart when I think of finding my father.
I was crazy anyway, I told myself, and returned to the statue.
“What exactly do you want me to say?” I asked.
“Through the long winters I was covered in ice but did not know what the cold felt like. And in the short summers, I saw the sun, yet never knew the warmth of its beams. But, Bataar, every time I saw you pass by, you would look at me and I would feel either coldness or warmth. I could even hear the rustle of the distant trees and songs of the little birds nested within. You have given me a gift. And I want to thank you.”
I took it all in, as though I was talking to a real person. There was an honesty to what it said and I could not help but feel sympathetic.
“But how can you be, well, alive? You are a Khunbish. You are not human!”
“I may not be human, but your love has given me life.”
“I am either insane or truly insane.”
“Perhaps. But is it truly a bad thing?”
I proudly showed it my fractured thumb and the scar on my left hip that I got from a swerving motorcycle while crossing the streets of Ulaanbaatar with my eyes closed. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
The statue laughed and said, “I was actually there when they happened. Look at my right thumb and left hip.”
I stared dumbfounded at its fractured thumb and scar. “This cannot be real.”
“I never believed it myself. I just know that you have given me life, and I want to thank you.”
“This is unfair. What exactly do I do now?” Suddenly, I now have that aching voice.
“There is always purpose, Bataar. I now know why I am alive.”
I stared at its unmoving lips, waiting for it to explain.
“I am your pain vessel. I store your pains.”
“That does not make any sense,” I replied.
“I am not sure of it myself. I just know that that is my purpose. Please. Look into my eyes.”
I looked at its eyes and I felt an electrical surge going through my body, except that it did not hurt at all. I saw a bright light and I thought that I saw my father.
“Look at your thumb. It’s not fractured any longer.” I looked at my thumb and it was indeed healed. “Look at your scar and you will not find it.” I did and was amazed at it being gone. “Do not worry, my little Bataar. I will protect you from all your pains…”
* * * * *
The doctor walked inside Room 405 and found the mother crying besides her son’s hospital bed.
“Doctor, will my son be okay?”
“Your son has suffered through a severe head concussion and he will be unconscious for quite some time. The x-rays and police report have indeed verified that he was beaten multiple times on the head and was possibly thrown down a flight of stairs. Mrs. Ali, you may want to talk to the police outside. They need to know where your husband might be.”
A nurse assisted Mrs. Ali as they left Room 405.
What the doctor did not tell Mrs. Ali was that her son, Bataar, had only a few hours to live. The doctor had learned to lie during traumatic moments such as these as honesty was sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. A gust of wind then opened the windows as the doctor walked over to close them. And as he closed the windows, he saw the mighty Statue of Demuul from a distance.
[The following photos of this “daddy bear” were shared from the Brotherhood Of Bears Yahoo Group. I have no idea who he is though. However, he is definitely such a woofy material that I was inspired to write a story about him…]
Just Another Bad Day
It was a long day at work today. My boss told me that he’d be taking half of my paycheck this week to pay for the damaged door of my cab. What the hell. It’s not my fault my passenger was a tweaked out birdie who decided to kick the door wide open while I was driving 50 down Harrison. Lucky it’s not your whole pathetic check. Guess how much our insurance is gonna cough up for that Porsche you totaled?
Whatever. I just wanted to go home, down a brewski, and watch some infomercials until I jacked myself off to sleep. Yeah, sounded like a good plan.
However, I noticed that my door was partly open and that just completely pissed me off. If there was someone inside, that sucker’s gonna know pain.
I peeked in and saw a big, hairy brute of a man who was only wearing tight blue underwear. This housebreaker and thief was tying up a big box which was probably my useless junk. Upon seeing his massive, sweaty body, I did not know if I was gonna get angry or excited. Suddenly, both conflicting emotions took the best of me and I quickly rushed through the door, completely shocking the big man. To my surprise, I managed to tackle him to the floor.
My right cheek felt his thick and furry belly while I smelled his manly scent. He was completely lying on the floor with his arms outstretched. I planted both my hands on both of his burly shoulders while I pushed myself up.
“Don’t you say a fucking word,” I commanded. The daddy bear had no fear in him as he stared at me while I felt his heaving stomach on my crotch.
“Good. You know, I’m sick and tired of getting pushed around. There is no such thing as karma.” I thought that last line was a good touch. And with that, I grabbed his packing rope while I went behind the big man. I placed my right knee on his back while I tightly tied his wrists.
When I knew that my knot was completely secured, I stood up and walked in front of him. I felt a tinge of satisfaction seeing such a big man completely helpless and under my mercy. His legs were spread apart and I could see his bulge in that skimpy underwear. What a beautiful daddy, I thought to myself.
At that point, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I really did not want to call the pigs on him. Probably just another junkie or some homeless dude and I did have a heart. You know what? I got no plans for the evening anyway. And with that, I noticed that there were quite a few more ropes left.
I helped the big bear to his feet as my forearms squeezed between his massive arms and chest. He tried to resist but he knew that he could not do much. I then pushed him to the table and he landed on his gut as he made a loud “Oof!” Yeah, daddy, ‘woof’ indeed.
I then proceeded to tie his legs to his wrists. Just like a luau. When I finished, I sat on the floor while I admired my work of art. This was gonna be my entertainment for tonight and I was going to let him go in a few minutes. Hell, I’m even gonna help him pack my junk. Good riddance to them.
I then heard nervous mutterings of a Russian lady behind me. It was definitely my neighbor, dear old Mrs. Sokolov. I guess I’d better explain to her what’s happening.
“What did you do to my son, Oleg?”
I then looked around me and realized that it was not even my apartment. Shit. I guess it’s just another bad day. I looked behind me and I noticed Oleg giving me a sly wink.
Or maybe it’s not such a bad day after all.
[The following screenshots are of Michael Gottli from a film titled Tales From The Gimli Hospital. The accompanying fiction in this post is not from the film but from my bear-filled brain… It is also a crossover-BearFic (lol) mentioned in the Primoz Petkovsek BearFic, “War & Sex.”]
Matevs & Katja
-Michael Gottli BearFic-
It happened during a time of wars and hate. Some said it was a curse from the gods. Others said that it was the beginning of the end of mankind’s reign on earth. While a handful few knew what it was about and even knew what had caused it. But they were all either dead, gone, or might as well be dead. For knowing the truth would not prevent the inevitable. But as all things came to pass, myths and legends arose. They are far more interesting than the reality of such events. So in spite of the darkness and madness, there was once such a story of love and hope. It is the tale of handsome Matevs and beautiful Katja.
Matevs was a soldier. He was the remaining soldier of Unit 859. Henrik and he were the sole survivors of The Problem. But Henrik found a woman begging for water in the shores of Golfo di Trieste. Henrik, a good-hearted man, approached her and stayed a good distance away from her as he poured water on her parched lips. The woman, grateful for such kindness, touched Henrik’s hand. That was the last time Matevs saw Henrik.
Matevs had heard of an outpost where The Problem had not affected its community. They called it “The Crossroads.” It was a tall tale to keep the soldiers going, to keep them fighting an enemy they could never defeat. Matevs was the only one who believed in it. He longed for a woman’s touch and he knew that he will find this in The Crossroads.
So Matevs traveled on. He barely slept as he did not want to come across The Women, both dead and living. For months he trekked through valleys and fields, enduring the stench of human and animal decay.
* * * * *
Matevs woke up in what looked like a makeshift hospital room. He did not remember what happened to him. Perhaps he had fainted from the heat or hunger. But who had brought him here?
As he wondered, he remembered having a vivid dream of an angelic woman helping him walk inside The Crossroads. She was very beautiful and she took great care of him. She cleaned his wounds and relieved his hungry stomach. And she was able to touch him.
Matevs heard someone walk in his room. To his surprise, it was the woman in his dreams. Could it not be a dream?
Matevs demanded to know her name. “I am, Katja,” she said. She then looked at him and explained to Matevs that she found him lying near the river. She and her fellow nurses brought him in to their hospice. She called it “The Crossroads.”
“You have been resting for a good three weeks, my soldier,” Katja said. “I’m glad to have seen you finally awake. Now I can tell you stories and you can actually listen to them.”
Matevs could not believe his eyes. A woman. She had touched me and I lived.
Matevs begged her to touch him. Katja then said, “I have touched you everyday and I long more than to touch you. I want to feel your love. I want to be part of you.”
With no doubts and no fear, Matevs and Katja exchanged a love that would echo through the end of human time.
My dear friends, that was the tale of “Matevs & Katja.” It became a song for the soldiers after them. They became the symbol of hope and of survival.
But like most things, myths are only just that: lies.
This is the true story of Matevs & Katja…
“I do not want to die,” Matevs pleaded. “I don’t understand why you are able to touch me.”
“My soldier, let me show you why.” Katja removed her gown and Matevs realized the truth.
“I did not mean to deceive you. You were in pain and you needed medicine and care.”
Matevs stared at Katja with disgust. An abomination.
Katja felt Matevs’ anger and humiliation. But she longed for a man’s touch and she was willing to die for such a fleeting moment of affection.
And as the two embraced, Matevs plunged his knife on Katja’s belly. Katja whispered to Matevs, “I forgive you.”
It was at that moment that Matevs realized what he had done. All he could think of was that he had done a great deed. I am still a soldier. It had to be done.
And that, my dear friends, was how the real story ended.
[Related Posts – Primoz Petkovsek]
Jeremy Jankowski, the manager from Accounts Receivable, preferred to use a laptop with wireless internet connection rather than the reliable wired PC. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to connect to bearmythology, so he contacted the I.T. guys.
It was the 20th time he had called for I.T., so the 2 chubby handsome computer techs were (not surprisingly) very ticked off. Jeremy just wanted to see these Chubarama models for the 20th time. Jeremy remembered seeing sexy Kevin’s plumber’s crack as he reseated a printer cable that magically unplugged itself. Also, he vividly remembered Adam’s belly sticking out while he rerouted some computer cables to meet OSHA standards. Ah, yes, Jeremy knew how to work it…
Unfortunately, Kevin and Adam have had enough. They’ve worked so hard to earn their MCSE and they couldn’t believe that they’re still stuck doing regular I.T. work. So, both Kevin and Adam removed their shirts then duct taped each of Jeremy’s laptops on their sexy chubby bodies. (That is so bearotic, Jeremy thought to himself.)
The rest of this tale can be seen here:
Seriously, this was an old scan I got from some old magazine I got when I wasn’t old. How’s that for accurate reporting? Anyway, I labeled the scan as “DejaCom-HiTechSumo” so I’m guessing it was related to Deja.com… I then googled it and found out that Google has bought that company. Awesome irony.
[The following are screenshots from a short scene of Primoz Petkovsek that’s taken from a film titled No Man’s Land. The accompanying fiction in this post is not from the film but from my bear-filled brain.]
War & Sex
-Primoz Petkovsek BearFic-
“Niko, sing me the story of Matevs and Katja again,” the tired Slovenian General, Pavel, quietly tells his nephew.
“Uncle, may I sing something else? I’m bored of that song.”
General Pavel looked at his nephew with a stern gaze. It was a look that Niko dared not want to see again. So he played the beautiful, yet tragic, love song of the beautiful Katja and her fallen lover and soldier, Matevs.
General Pavel closed his eyes and remembered the time of love and his darling Rozka, wherever she may be.
The song was interrupted by an alarm. Pavel knew what this was for. There was a visitor.
If it’s the incompetent Soldiers of the Red Circle, then, I swear, their heads will roll, Pavel thought to himself. These volunteer soldiers were more trouble than help. At one time, a SotRC claimed to have found a female and felt her shoulders. Liars, all of them.
Pavel walked towards the guest and was pleased to not find the foolish and misguided SotRC. It was an American. Just another lost foreigner trapped in this hell.
Pavel looked at him. A soldier. Trustworthy. A possible ally. Hopefully someone who could help them with The Problem.
The American spoke and Pavel did not understand. None of his men understood either. But it was a new world where men of other nations spoke with gestures and illustrations.
The American explained with his hands and on the sand what he was here for. He had heard of a place where Slovenian soldiers were stationed and protected from The Problem. They were low on fuel and would repay Pavel’s army a good amount of ammunition.
Pavel thought it over. He needed fuel too. But what good was fuel if he could not protect his men? For better or ill, they will be stuck in this place for a long time.
Pavel looked at the American soldiers. There were just a total of four of them. If they did anything, his men could easily handle them. Pavel shook his hand and sealed the deal. He looked at his men, giving them a non-verbal order to stay alert, then returned to his bunker.
“Niko, my nephew! Come play that song for me again!”
The American gave a signal to his three men. The American soldiers kept a stern gaze. But, inside, they were screaming with maniacal glee.
It’s been awhile since they’ve felt the touch of a woman. How the world had gone mad and the mere touch of the opposite sex would kill both. The Problem, indeed. How cruel of a joke this was. So the American men kept their ground. It had been too long, their appetite gnawing at them like an itch they couldn’t scratch. Tonight, however, they will feast on their lusts. They had to. Even if it killed them.
Summer Of ’85
-Chris Penn BearFic-
It was a scorching July summer day of ’85 when I found him lying unconscious near Old Hapgoody’s farm. Beside him was a tattered orange jumpsuit and I don’t need to tell you that he did not just leave from a Halloween party in a drunken stupor. Unless gunshots were involved, that was one heck of a monster bash.
I removed the dang textbooks I was carrying in my backpack (fuck you, Introduction to Biology!) as I stuffed in the big man’s orange uniform. I then wrapped my P.E. shirt on the man’s bleeding left leg. My batshit loony of a dad had actually taught me some useful things after all.
“Hey, mister.” I felt the man’s sweaty and thick back. “Mister, wake up.”
The man woke up, dizzy from the blood loss, while I helped him to his feet. He was heavy and I felt his heavy breathing. His burly arms around me made me feel funny down below.
It was a challenge, but we made it down to Hannigan’s Lake. Nobody ever came down here, so he should be good to go.
* * * * *
After some time, after my mom’s pills took their effect on the man, I returned with soap and my old man’s clothes. I found him sitting on a rock, barely moving at all.
“Hey, kid. Thanks.”
“Sure,” I said, trying to be tough and cool.
“Appreciate it, really, kid. I really do.”
I walked towards him and handed him a soap.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, kid. I’m not a good guy.”
“It’s okay. I’m not good, neither.”
The big man laughs while he shook my hand. “Thank you.”
I nodded then sat behind him. I could not help but stare and admire his wide back.
“Kid. You know what my old man used to tell me? ‘Son, God fucks us all up on all seasons. Especially, summer. He sits on his mighty throne and he burns us all like hapless ants.’ I never used to know what it meant, but I kinda understand it now. That old bastard, may God bless his soul…”
“You mean like with magnifying glass?” I stupidly replied, not knowing what to say.
“Yeah, sure, kid. With magnifying glass.”
The man starts to wash his hair with the soap and I was mesmerized at the moment. I was confused. I kinda forgot about Samantha. I did not know why.
“Kid. Don’t worry about it.”
“What you’re feeling. Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You saved my life, so I’ll be straight with you… Ever heard of an ’empath’?”
I nodded “no.”
“I can read people’s emotions.”
What the fuck? I felt violated. I stood up and yelled, “I’m gonna call the cops. You can’t just do that!”
“Listen, kid. Calm down. Would you rather me not tell you?”
He made some sense. But I still felt violated. “Listen, I don’t like guys. I don’t even remotely find you attractive. I just feel sorry for you. Couldn’t your empath-thing be like broken or something?”
“Yes. It could be.”
There was a quiet moment when I burst out laughing. “Sir. I’m sorry. I think you’re right.”
“No shame in it. I’m like you, you know. Don’t worry though. I’m not into kids.”
I was a bit disappointed, but it appeared to be a summer when God and his magnifying glass appeared to have forgotten about me…
The following screenshot is from a famous scene from one of the 80’s greatest horror films, Christine.
“Christine” was one of my early introduction to horror films (“Alien” being my all-time favorite); and it made such an impact on me that I became a horror fan. John Carpenter actually made killing people, well, “cool” to my impressionable mind. I’m talking about early Carpenter stuff such as “Halloween,” “Halloween II,” and “The Thing.” With “Christine,” he has perfected a symphony of death by blending haunting synthesized music with classic 50’s songs.
If you haven’t seen the film, I highly recommend it. Obviously, this is a semi-spoiler, but this is the scene called “The Death Of Moochie Welch”…
The following are screenshots of Mr. Danare who also gave me a good reason to keep watching this movie on Betamax, over and over, back in the day.
A year from now (3/6/09), the very first comic book to ever win the Hugo Award (in 1988) will be unleashed as a motion picture: Alan Moore’s Watchmen. I read about this from a CHUD article and I — and the rest of the geek universe — instantly blew a collective wad of orgiastic ecstasy at the full character portraits that director Zack Snyder’s had revealed to us.
As for the bear-related part: The Comedian has been the only bearish character in the comic book and, boy, did they get him right:
The first time I really noticed Jeffrey Dean Morgan (aka the cuter Javier Bardeem) was when I brought my mom to see P.S. I Love You on her birthday. The movie bored me to dried tears, but I found myself strangely attracted to Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s character. He was definitely not my type, but there was something about him. Anyway, finding out that he is playing The Comedian and actually seeing him in that static full regalia, well, consider me stoked and call me “nerd.”
-Peter Appel BearFic-
12:21 pm. July 3, 1991.
I walk inside Maude’s Coffee Shop. I find him sitting down and reading a boxing magazine. His hair’s neatly-combed and parted on the right. I sit down and introduce myself.
“Well, kid,” he says. “It’s finally good to meet you. Name’s Abie. My associates tell me that you’re the best in the business.” I look at him, admiring his cherubic face.
He stares at me, wondering what to make of my silence. “A talker, ain’t ya. I’m just glad that you’re on my team.” He reaches out to grab my hand then thanks me.
9:34 pm. July 5, 1991.
Abie and I are inside a limo with his crew and random whores. Abie’s left hand has been resting on my left thigh throughout the whole ride. I am not complaining.
We arrive at a fancy looking restaurant. I get drunk but I still keep my eyes on Abie. I make sure that he’s okay.
2:23 pm. July 7, 1991.
I fuck up. Badly. Abie’s brother gets shot and I could have prevented it. I can’t think. Headaches been affecting me.
8:45 am. July 8, 1991.
Abie stays in my apartment and I tell him not to leave. He needs to remain focus. He drinks too much and I tell him to stop. He does not listen. My headache stops. It is a good thing.
“Listen, Abie,” I tell him sternly. “I just need you to stay calm, okay? I’ll take care of you.”
11:26 am. July 9, 1991.
Abie’s a little better. He does not drink his liquor. He looks at me. He smiles. I thank him for last night. It’s time for me to leave.
12:21 pm. July 3, 1991.
I walk inside Maude’s Coffee Shop. I find him sitting down. He looks at me and smiles. His hair is not neatly-combed like before.
He stands up and slowly walks towards me.
“You need to let me go. Please.”
A mistake. A terrible mistake. “I killed you, Abie,” I whisper. “I never should have.”
“I can’t do this. Over and over again. Who am I this time? A mob boss? A broker? Convict?”
“I killed you. But I want you. I can’t let you go.”
“But your mind. I can see it. You’re losing it. How’s the headaches? Seven days of this can break a man.”
Abie’s right. I’m selfish. I can’t change the past. So I relive it for seven days. And I do not go through my contract hit. The contract to kill him.
It’s time for me to end it.
So I hug Abie…
[Related Posts – BearFic]
-Ray Winstone BearFic-
London woke up. Alone. As usual. Two-hundred pounds was the deal, but the cunt also took his wallet. That’s alright. She’d be in for a real surprise to find Noptiz on his driver’s license. That bugger loved brunettes. Pity, London thought. Her face was pretty.
Three centuries. That’s what he’d be. Three hundred fucking years old. It’s funny how it did not feel like he was a walking corpse, how he was the reincarnation of the thrice-defeated Rafael from that forgotten war. Also funny was how he had survived through the waves of minions of the so-called great Lucifer’s Great Army. He was reborn to be a Soul Eater, but London would rather drink and fuck anyone he sees.
Last night was a close call. Mephistopheles had summoned a Shifter in the mold of a handsome cab driver. He should have read the signs. But London was careless and all he could think about was the big man’s mouth around his throbbing cock. The cabbie had transformed into a ferocious bear but London was able to suppress the beast by tearing his teeth on its massive neck.
London took a shower when it hit him. He did not know what it was. Was he turning human? It was a feeling that he could not comprehend.
Through the years of battles and hate, this was the moment he did not expect nor want. Weakness will befall him and lead him back to Hades’ realm. He needed a way to prevent this.
His wallet had returned on the coffee table. Noptiz did not make a grand presentation. He just seemed to know when not to irritate his wingless master.
London suddenly remembered this beautiful name: Peter. A name from two hundred and thirty-three years ago. London did not know love but he was sure that he had fallen in love with him as Peter did things to London that had frightened him. And that was what caused him to leave him. London had decided to visit Peter in his Palace only to find him slained and butchered in his Royal Prince’s pool. London had dove in, only to resucitate a dead man. Peter was soulless and craved for nothing more but meat so London had no other choice but to kill him again.
That’s what it was. Happiness. He felt joy whenever he was with Peter. How he had felt safe in his big arms and how he actually felt what love was. Why now? Why feel this? Noptiz peeked out from London’s wallet and watched the Wingless One, curled up on the bed like a lost and lonely babe.
[Related Posts – Ray Winstone]
[Related Posts – BearFic]
On occasions, I tend to get hit by the writing bug. When I fantasize about bearish men, I tend to situate them in adventure/sci-fi/fantasy/horror settings. Anyway, as I’ve been obssessing over Joey Oglesby lately, I ended up with this little piece of what I’d refer to as a “BearFic”…
-Joey Oglesby BearFic-
It was just another scorching Texas day, and Tommy needed to buy some Fends. They’ve been scarce lately and, if he did find some dealer, he would not have enough trash for bartering. Luckily for Tommy, on this February day, he managed to bully a couple of moronic couple out of their broken sportswatches and a sturdy Winchester as they were walking down 87 on their way to Amarillo. Stupid, stupid people. What the hell did they expect to find there? Tommy’s been there, and there was nothing left except for the stench of barbecued flesh.
He was in Slaton when he found the code tattooed on the left forearm of what looked like a young woman in her twenties. A user, definitely. He had learned the secret codes of the dealers. They advertised their wares on the bodies of the careless users of their products. Ineffective, for sure, but what else can any self-serving entrepreneur do in this god-forsaken desert landscape?
Tommy wrote down the code in his tattered memobook that’s about to run out of pages. The code was somewhat tough to crack, but he eventually got directions to Littlefield. Not bad. He’d make it in two days…
* * * * *
Surprisingly, Littlefield appeared to be untouched by the infection. It reminded Tommy of his childhood in What-The-Fuck-Was-That-Town, Suburbia. He hated that time but often wished that he was still there, wearing Private School uniforms.
He found the house and made sure to walk in carefully as these dealers tend to be trigger-happy. He knocked on the door and Tommy almost lost it when out came a beautiful man. The man was just wearing jeans and he was smoking a Newport. Tommy instantly knew the scent of that menthol. Where the hell did he get that?
“I haven’t seen you around,” he said.
Tommy was at a loss for words. All he could do was stare at this amazing body. How he longed for human touch. How he longed the embrace of a man. And in front of him was a man he truly desired. He could smell his musky scent and his loin started to throb as he could see beads of sweat on the man’s chest and gut.
The man got impatient and lifted both arms up to rest them on the door, revealing his armpits. Tommy could not help but stare at such a pose.
“Listen. I don’t have time for this. You here for something.”
Tommy finally got the energy to say, “Fends. Found your code. I got things that might interest you.”
“Well, then, that’s much better. Not too hard now, ain’t it? Come inside.”
Tommy walked in, mesmerized by the man’s walk. He was aching and wanted to reach out and feel the man’s shoulders.
The man went up the stairs then came back down after a few minutes. His jeans were gone and he was just wearing white underwear. Fuck me, Tommy thought.
“Look, I just wanted to make sure that you know that I ain’t packing. So be a good boy and put that Winchester on the floor. We’ll make this transaction smooth,” the man explained.
Tommy dutifully obeyed and placed the Winchester on the floor.
“I’m just tired of it, you know. People pretending to have things. They then think that they’re John Wayne and next thing you know there’s a fucking shootout.” The man breathed in deeply while Tommy observed how his gut heaved in and out. “I’m just sick of that. Sick of it.”
“That’s all I’m here for. Fends.” Tommy nervously said.
The man stared at Tommy for awhile then said, “Look, I may be selling them, but I do have a conscience. Hold on, let me make you a drink.”
Tommy watched the man walk to the kitchen and all he could think about was the perfect build of this masculine man. He watched him blend a drink and all Tommy could think about was being in bed with him. He wondered what it would feel like to lay his cheek on his chest.
The man returned, pouring Tommy a drink. “I gotta tell you, that right there is the best shit. Hatches down, my friend.”
Tommy drank and was instantly cooled from the desert heat and from his intense attraction. And as he drank, he kept looking at the man’s beer belly. It was just so perfect.
“Listen, kid. Like I said, I have a conscience. I want to make sure that you really want this. I’m sure you know, but if you take the wrong dosage, well…”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not here to use it though.”
The man looked at Tommy suspiciously. “Oh yeah? What you in here for, anyways?”
Tommy lied. He was here to buy some Fends. He wanted to buy as much as he could. He already had 19 packets in his backpack. He planned on getting 20 packets so that he would leave the world in unbelievable ecstasy back in Lubbock. But his plans have now changed. In front of him was a man that he will try to win his affections to.
“I’d like to work for you. I’ll protect you. I’m a good fighter.”
The man laughed. “Look, kid. I work alone. Unless you actually have Fends to give me, then probably we could…”
Tommy quickly grabbed his backpack and dropped the contents on the table. There was a mixture of top quality red Fenders, medium quality brown ones, and the Holy Grail of them all: black Fenders.
“Jesus, kid. Um, well. Seems like you’re also good at doing business.” The man looked at Tommy and he wished that he was interested in him. “Seems like we got a deal.”
Tommy finished off his drink and felt that he had a renewed lease in life in this dead lonestar state.