Title:           Spitfire heaves a sigh of relief as she steps into the locker room. Behind her,
Author:          Anonymous
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/6LefZVKe
First Edit:      Saturday 9th of January 2016 07:49:35 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 9th of January 2016 07:49:35 PM CDT

Spitfire heaves a sigh of relief as she steps into the locker room. Behind her, the early morning sun is just peeking over the horizon, visible for just a moment as the door closes behind her. The mild stink of sweat still lingers from the room's years of use, slightly masked by feminine deodorant and a thick, almost humid quality to the air.
 
"Another day at the camp," the redhead says with a grunt, stretching her arms up towards the ceiling, nearly brushing it with her fingertips. Not surprising as Spitfire is, quite simply, a very large woman; towering over all of her female teammates, and a head over the biggest of the males. It's just how she was born.
 
Finding clothing is a pain, in the sense that everything has to be custom fitted, but after a lifetime of enormity, such things are second nature. Besides, it's not as though Spitfire hates her body. Quite to the contrary; from her toes to the top of her head, the Captain is all but in love with herself.
 
Stripping out of her civvies, the towering redhead moves to the showers for a morning rinse. She has to duck to make sure that her thick mane gets thoroughly soaked, but after giving her hair and face a good washing, Spitfire is more than happy to linger under the shower head and let the water roll down her body. Closing her eyes, she sighs.
 
And then she feels it.
 
An unexpected sensation centered around the bottom of her chest; one that causes her breasts to quiver and shake. Snapping her eyes open, the titanic woman glances back over her shoulder. Her lip curls and her eyes narrow as she catches sight of a curl of wispy, cloud-colored hair.
 
"Fleet, what the hell are you doing back there?"
 
"Oh Captain," her teammate says in a mocking moan, grinding her chest into the larger woman's back as her hands begin to traverse Spitfire's breasts. "You know how it is; whenever I see these fat, luscious breasts, I just have to grab onto them!"
 
 
As the smaller woman's hands finally escape from underneath her teammate’s chest, it becomes obviously clear how truly massive Spitfire is. Even with Fleetfoot's body pressed firmly against her back, the Wonderbolt can only manage to reach three-quarters of the way around the Captain's chest. As the smaller woman strains her fingers, she can only just touch the edge of Spitfire's teacup-sized nipples. It's still enough to make the larger woman shudder though.
 
"I can see that," the Captain finally hisses through her teeth. "And I'm telling you to stop, now."
 
Fleetfoot makes a plaintive sound, still generously groping the Captain's chest as she rubs herself into the larger woman's back. "But I can't; you've just got too much tit for one woman. It's not fair that you're so huge and I'm so flat."
 
"I can't do anything about that," the Captain responds, trying to hide the breathless gasps threatening to stumble out from between her lips as her breasts are continually mauled. "If you want bigger boobs, go get implants or something."
 
Finally wrestling herself away from Fleetfoot's grip, Spitfire turns towards her tiny teammate. Crossing her arms under her chest, because there's no way to manage them over, the redhead glares. The diminutive diva in front of her flinches, instinctively crossing her arms over her rather narrow body.
 
'Flat'foot looks up at her for a moment before pouting and scuffing her heel against the ground. Puffing out her cheeks, she grumbles, "But I don't want implants, they look gross and unnatural. Just give me yours. And your butt and height too."
 
Sighing, Spitfire reaches out and ruffles Fleetfoot's hair as she walks past her. "That's not how it works."
 
"But it should!" the smaller woman shouts as the Captain marches out of shower and back into the locker room proper. Toweling herself off is a rather time consuming affair, but when you've practically got acres of skin, it's to be expected.
 
 
Saving her hair for last, Spitfire wraps the thick cloth around her head, standing otherwise nude in front of her locker. A shiver rumbles through her body, from her ears to her heels as she reaches into the locker and pulls out her flight suit.
 
Just like the Captain's entire body, the uniform is impossibly large. The chest area has been visibly reinforced with additional fabric to ensure both comfort and coverage when stretched to its limits. Pulling down the zipper, Spitfire smiles and adores the quiet sound. Her civilian underwear forgotten, the giant of a woman steps into the suit.
 
It takes some maneuvering to fit her sizable feet through the tight holes at the bottom of the legs, but it's certainly familiar. The fabric clings tightly to her ankles, providing an illusionary support which slowly extends as she rolls the suit up her muscular calves. Her thighs, muscular, meaty, massive, the sure signs of a woman in her sexual prime, cause the snug suit to strain a little as she pulls the fabric up towards her hips.
 
It's here that the suit begins to creak; so snug and taut around the middle third of her body that as the stretchy suit slides over her bulging backside, Spitfire can only sigh, feeling the tell-tale pressure of the suit mashed against her lower lips. Pausing long enough to admire herself in the mirror, the Captain bites her lip, catching an eyeful of cameltoe, and the prominant nub standing out in stark contrast to the otherwise smooth lines of the suit.
 
"I really hope I can spend a lot of time sitting today," she mumbles to herself, even as her fingers slide down and give the button a playful nudge. Hissing through her teeth, the red-faced Captain turns her attention back to other matters. Certainly not more pressing, as the fabric pulls itself more firmly up against her snatch the higher her suit goes.
 
 
With the first half of dressing herself out of the way, Spitfire slides her arms through the suit, wiggling her exposed fingers as the pop free. The flight suit itself covers all the way up to the first knuckle, so the much of her hand is covered. With a surprising amount of reverence, the Captain curls her fingers inwards, sliding them along her now smooth, seamless, and featureless palms. It's enough to send an electric shiver through her body, further spurring her onward.
 
And here it is. The most difficult challenge. As Spitfire glances into the mirror, she can't help but admire the half-dressed woman staring back at her. A pair of truly titanic tits spill out from the v-shaped space between the teeth of the suit. Slowly, Spitfire reaches up and tucks away her breasts into the confines of the suit.
 
Even in its unzipped state, the tight fabric causes her chest to seem buoyant, almost as though their heft and hugeness were not issues for the giant woman. Finding the zipper, Spitfire begins to slide it upwards, compressing her chest and causing it to seek more room to breathe, climbing ever higher towards her neck. The Captain gulps, watch her breasts rise like baking bread, seeking to escape the steady upwards march of the zipper.
 
She squirms, her hips rolling and grinding into the unyielding crotch of the suit as she makes it to the halfway point with the zipper. And then stops. Or rather, is forced to stop, as the small metal device won't go any higher.
 
"Oh no," Spitfire mutters to herself, giving a few experimental tugs, but to no avail. With an irritated huff, the Captain decides to pull again, this time for several seconds. The zipper slides up another two or three notches, and then no more. Groaning, Spitfire closes her eyes. "This isn't happening..."
 
"Hey Cap," Fleetfoot's cheery voice calls out. "Having a little trouble wrangling the girls?"
 
 
"You could say that," Spitfire responds, forcing a smile as she looks to her already dressed teammate. "I hate to think it, but they may have gotten bigger again."
 
Puffing out her cheeks again, the white-haired woman scowls. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you hate to think about it, titty monster."
 
"Just get over here and help me stuff them in my suit."
 
That seems to cheer her up. With a happy bounce, Fleetfoot lands in front of her Captain, a lecherous grin on her lips. Flexing her fingers, Fleet abruptly reaches up and begins groping the larger woman again, making small, curious sounds. "Hmm. Hmm, hmm, yes, I see."
 
"W-what the heck are you doing? I just need help getting them in."
 
Putting on a serious scowl, Fleetfoot shakes a finger in the Captain's face. "But I want to know why it's not fitting."
 
"As if it isn't obvious," Spitfire sighs, rolling her eyes. "But fine, Professor Fleetfoot, what's your diagnosis?"
 
"Too much tit." Fleetfoot nods, as though she's uncovered some sort of secret truth.
 
"Of course it is. But would you mind helping me now?"
 
"You're no fun in the morning, Captain."
 
Sighing, Fleetfoot slides her hands inside Spitfire's suit, pressing her palms firmly up against the larger woman's breasts. The soft flesh yields to the pressure, allowing the zipper to continue its climb. Spitfire struggles to keep her breathing even as her teammate's hands slide over the vast upper swell of her chest, refusing to be removed until the teeth are closed. At last Spitfire's zipper reaches her shoulders and the smaller woman pulls her hands free.
 
"Well, that was a lot of fun," she grins, reaching out and toying with her Captain's captive chest. As the redhead squirms, Fleet tugs on one of her painfully erect nipples, earning a squeal from Spitfire. "Let me know if you need help stripping this afternoon."
 
"That won't be a problem," Spitfire huffs, collecting herself again. The zipper slides the rest of the way up to her neck, encasing almost her entire massive body in the stretchy, form-hugging flight suit. With a shake of her head, Spitfire turns to the mirror and admires herself for a moment. Another day is about to begin. She lets out a sigh of relief.
 
There is no warming, save for a momentary creak. The sound of metal sheering follows.
 
Both women gawk as a canyon of buoyant, flight-suit supported cleavage springs into view. The Captain's pale flesh stands out starkly against the Wonderbolt blue, drawing even more attention to the deep darkness that promises untold delights.
 
"Another flight suit down," Fleetfoot finally says with a smile. "I guess you've got a trip to requisitions on the agenda today."
 
Spitfire gives a pained sigh, smooshing her tremendous tits together.
 
The perils of being huge...
 
 
 
 
A small apartment, just after sunrise. Two bodies shift about in a lazy fashion as light streams in through the close-slatted blinds. The diminutive Fleetfoot snuggles up against a much larger woman, scowling.
 
"I just don't get it," the smaller of the pair mutters. The redhead beside her tiredly drags a finger through the fly-girl's hair, shrugging a little as she does.
 
"What's that, little lady?" Fleetfoot puffs out her cheeks and buries her face in the larger woman's bosom. A small but delighted sound escapes the woman's lips, her eyes fluttering closed.
 
"The Captain," Fleetfoot finally manages to say after pulling her face free from its motorboating exercise. "I mean, she's completely and totally built, Tree!"
 
Tree Hugger cracks open and eye and chuckles. "So you keep telling me but you never bring her by so I can see for myself."
 
"Yeah, well, that's the thing." Fleetfoot turns her attention back to her roommate's nipples, tugging gently on the mildly engorged flesh. The dreadlocked woman's breath catches and she makes a small, throaty sound as her chest is once again mauled by the comparatively tiny Fleetfoot. The two linger in the moment for a while before the fly-girl detaches herself with a wet pop and continues, "I don't think that Spitfire has a horny bone in her body."
 
Tree Hugger gives a breathless chuckle. "I'd hope not, otherwise she might be giving a real show in that tight flight suit." It takes a moment before Fleetfoot gasps and gently slugs her friend's thigh. The meaty mass jiggles on impact, a sure sign of a more sedentary life for the larger woman. She smiles all the same. "But, maybe she's like, out of alignment with her chakras. Or something."
 
"I don't think Spitfire buys into that. It's pretty clear that she loves her body; I mean who wouldn't? But at the same time it's like she has no desire do anything more than admire how perfect she is."
 
TH smirks, batting her eyes. "You are crushing so bad."
 
 
"Aw, come off it," Fleetfoot grumbles, redoubling her efforts in order to cover up her irritation. The two women fall silent again; Fleetfoot turns her attention to lavishing her roommate's nude body with kisses, while Tree soaks up the welcome worship of her mildly plump body.
 
As Fleetfoot nuzzles her navel, Tree Hugger lets out a happy sigh and closes her eyes. "Well can't you, I don't know, make her horny or something? You do a pretty good job of getting me going every morning."
 
"Believe me, I've tried." Fleetfoot rolls her eyes as she looks up at her friend again. "I'm just as grabby with her as I am with you, sometimes moreso." There's a moment of silence before she sighs, continuing, "But she's the Captain, and she's always getting hung up on rules, and regulations, and generally being a stiffy."
 
Tree Hugger grins, opening her mouth but is quickly silenced by Fleetfoot's finger pressing against her lips. "Look, I know what you're about to say, but she doesn't have a dick. Heck, it might be easier if she did."
 
"Well, maybe she needs a dick. I'm sure there's a spell for that somewhere-"
 
Tree Hugger can't help but chuckle as Fleetfoot gives an impassioned shake of her head. "And mar that perfect female form? Not a chance!"
 
"Aw, you'd still fuck her."
 
"That's beside the point!" Red faced and somewhat irritated, Fleetfoot goes back to Tree Hugger's middle, drawing ever smaller circles with the tip of her finger. "I just want to worship that beautiful, feminine figure. I'd do anything to get my hands on it."
 
"Sounds like she's got you titnotized."
 
Fleetfoot pouts. "That's not a real thing. Stop making fun of me in my misery."
 
"Okay, okay," TH smiles, glancing over to the clock. "It's about time for you to head out, so why don't we wrap this up?"
 
 
Fleetfoot nods, resuming her affections, both women making small sounds of approval as she moves closer to the hippy's thick thighs. Tree's fingers slide down to the smaller girl's hair, teasing it gently as she murmurs to herself. "Well, maybe it's a matter of the Captain not really knowing what to do with her body."
 
Fleetfoot grunts, nuzzling her cheeks against the broad flesh of her friend's legs as she continues to pepper them with kisses. The worshiped woman continues, "It's hard being a bigger woman after all; there's a whole different level of intimidation at play. She's probably not used to your kid of attention. If only there was some way to show her that it's okay to be huge and have desires like this. Maybe that would change her mind."
 
"Yeah, but she'd never even give me the chance," Fleetfoot mutters, her hot breath sending a shiver through Tree Hugger's body. "I mean, I would have to show her first hand, but I'm little, she's huge, and that's not going to change."
 
Tree Hugger only partially follows her friend's logic, waiting eagerly for the smaller woman's daily diving lesson. She bites the tip of her tongue and waits. And waits. And then cracks open one of her eyes, only to see Fleetfoot gaping up at her.
 
"That's it."
 
Any pretense of a lazy morning orgasm flies out the window as Fleetfoot pops up from the bed, tearing the sheets off in the process. Tree Hugger gives a breathless squeal as her entire body is quite unwillingly exposed to the cooler morning air, her nude roommate scrambling to the closet. Clothes go flying, as do any number of candles, yoga mats, and odds and ends Tree has collected for her spiritual journey. The redhead is about to call out to her friend when Fleetfoot emerges. Grinning, holding two metal bands in her hand.
 
"This is it, TH; I can't believe I never thought of it before!"
 
Tree Hugger's eyes widen, her lips turning into a concerned frown. "Hey, aren't those the TBYB chokers?"
 
 
Fleetfoot nods her head, encouraging the next question. "The ones you bought at a discount because there was some kind of issue with them?" Another nod. "And you're not worried they'll like, break, or something?"
 
"Why would I?" Rolling her eyes, the smaller woman smirks. "It's not like someone would sell me faulty merchandise. They're just a little worn out and not nearly as effective as they used to be. That's all."
 
Tree Hugger's lips contort into a scowl, earning a sigh from her friend. "Look, I know that you're distrustful of anything that doesn't have an organic label on it, but this is a legitimate magical item! They still use them at the Rainbow Falls Trader's Exchange for crying out loud."
 
Wetting her lips, Tree Hugger interjects. "Yeah, but I still don't quite get what it is that you're planning on-"
 
"Oh wow, look at the time," Fleetfoot mutters. Picking a few choice clothes from her mess on the floor, the diminutive woman hops her way across the room, pulling up her panties and pants before tugging her shirt on. "I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. I'll let you know how it goes tonight, okay?"
 
And just like that, she's slipped into her flats and out the door. Tree Hugger sits in silence for a moment before blinking out of her daze. "Yeah, okay, sure. I'll be here. Just, y'know, standing on the brink of orgasm."
 
After a few minutes, when it becomes very apparent that Fleetfoot is not coming back to finish the job, Tree gives a tired sigh and rolls onto her side. She digs through the drawer at the bedside table, muttering to herself, "Can't believe I'm stuck doing this by myself today. What a hassle."
 
The trials of being lazy...
 
 
 
 
Spitfire's day doesn't truly begin until she enters the locker room. She takes a moment to bask in the slightly stale smells of health and hard work. Then to the showers where she quietly loves the sensation of water running down her body. It's pretty much become a ritual at this point, but Spitfire doesn't mind it in the least; one of the benefits of coming in early is that there's no one to interrupt. Well, there is one, but she's part of the routine by this point. Unfortunately, Fleetfoot seems to be running late today.
 
"Just as well," the statuesque fly-girl mutters to herself, "I could go a morning without getting my body manhandled." Even still, the smaller woman's absence is notable, and even a little distressing for the Captain's daily routine. Hopefully everything is okay.
 
Spitfire resumes rinsing herself, her large hands working to clean her even larger chest; the built woman's palms dwarfed by the sheer bulk and weight of her breasts. But that's fine, it is her body after all, and she's learned to love it.
 
A quiet creak echoes through the locker room, a familiar and expected sound that brings a smile to the Captain's face. Turning her head to the side, she calls out around the corner, "Well it's about time, girl; you almost had me worried for a minute."
 
The words linger in the musty, steamy shower room, but no reply comes back. And so she tries again. "Fleet?"
 
Nothing.
 
The hairs on the back of the Captain's neck stand on end as her muscles tense; up the impossibly long length of her legs, to her padded, firm backside, even her back and across her tremendous wingspan to the tips of her fingers.
 
More cautious now than before, the giant of a woman turns her eyes to all corners of the foggy floor, hot water dribbling over and across her muscular delts and traps. A girlish sigh escapes her lips as she shudders at the sensation, closing her eyes for a moment just to savor the feeling and-
 
A footstep.
 
 
Quick as she can manage, Spitfire’s eyes snap open and she whirls around. Even with the water still clinging to her face, the Wonderbolt Captain can make out a smaller, blurry figure behind her and makes a grab for them. Her grip is strong, a panicked squeak erupting from the sneaking suspect before both their bodies crash against the near wall.
 
"Now," the larger woman says with a grin, "what were you thinking, sneaking up on me?" There’s a frustrated huff from her assailant, and as Spitfire’s vision clears, she raises an eyebrow at Fleetfoot as she squirms in her Captain’s grip.
 
The two women stand alongside the showerhead, still getting partially drenched as the smaller officer sputters, "Gawd Captain, take it easy on a girl, would you?"
 
"Oh, you finally made it," Spitfire deadpans, quickly releasing her junior and going back to rinsing herself. As she threads her fingers through her hair, she spares the petite girl a sidelong glance. Smiling at the smaller woman’s sullen expression, Spitfire moves one of her hands down and hefts a meaty mam mockingly. "It’s been a while since I caught you sneaking up to grab a handful; are you feeling sick today?"
 
"No," Fleet says with a grunt, her lips pursed up cutely as she turns to the matter of washing herself. But that’s all; no teasing glances or snappy comebacks. All that there is, is a cold, anxious feeling radiating off the white-haired woman.
 
An unusual, awkward atmosphere settles in between the two teammates, Spitfire’s smile slowly slipping off her face as her breast rolls out of her palm. The weighty, wonderfully welcome, pull of gravity quickly snaps her out of her daze, leaving the Captain biting her lip as she is again reminded of enormity of her body.
 
 
But, not wanting to remain in the strained shower space any longer than necessary, she makes short work of cleaning the rest of herself. Just as well; Fleetfoot’s attitude had ruined the self-worshiping mood anyway, even if she was walking away unsatisfied. Within a few seconds, the redheaded fly-girl has turned off her showerhead and steps briskly out into the locker room.
 
Almost immediately thousands of points of gooseflesh appear on her long limbs as her footsteps echo through the mostly empty space with slick slaps. Grabbing her towel from the bench, Spitfire again goes through the lengthy task of making sure she’s good and dry before even thinking of putting on her suit.
 
The Captain has finished with her head and upper body when she hears the shower shut off. Despite not wanting to spend time with her teammate, she does hope that Fleetfoot is feeling at least a little better as she rubs the gentle, tickling cloth over her tremendous thighs and meaty backside. Bending at the waist, Spitfire relishes the heavy, hanging weight of gravity pulling at her breasts as she begins to towel off her legs. That’s when Fleet clears her throat.
 
"C-Captain?" she chokes out, earning a glance back from the lead Wonderbolt. Spitfire stares expectantly for a moment before she realizes that the smaller woman’s eyes aren’t on her face, but rather a larger, more prominent feature. Fighting back the urge to shiver under the woman’s gaze, Spitfire purposefully places a hand on the outer swell of her hip while four fingers press firmly into the bulk of her butt as she rises up to her full height. Donning a smile, she turns to her junior.
 
 
"What’s up, Fleetfoot? Feeling a little better?" she asks, the note of sincerity causing the white-haired woman’s face to color more. Well, maybe it’s not the tone of Spitfire’s voice so much as the fact that she hasn’t bothered to cover herself with her towel. But it’s not that big of a deal; Fleetfoot’s groped her more than anyone else so it’s not like she’s seeing anything new.
 
Flicking a bit of her still damp wispy hair out of her face, Fleetfoot struggles to keep her eyes away from the Captain’s chest. "Sorry, about earlier," she begins, putting on her usual grin, "I guess I had a lot on my mind."
 
"All’s forgiven," Spitfire says with a smile, glad to be clearing the air. "So, are you ready for another day of-"
 
Fleetfoot cuts her off by raising a hand and clearing her throat. "Actually, Captain, I was wondering if you might, maybe, possibly, be interested in a little," the younger woman pauses for a moment, biting her lip before continuing in earnest, "a little teamwork exercise?"
 
"Hm, usually you’re intent on finding ways to avoid teambuilding, not coming up with new ways to do it," the large woman says with a smirk. "But let’s just say that I am; then what?"
 
The way the Fleet’s eyes light up, it’s like she was told she’d be receiving a commendation. Hustling over to her bag, the slender woman pulls out a pair of matching metal collars, her grin spreading from ear to ear. "Do you know what these are?" Not even waiting for the Captain to shake her head, the waifish woman continues, “These are TBYB chokers; they use them for trading items that aren’t exactly easy to transport to market like land, houses, or ships.”
 
"Okay," Spitfire says, crossing her arms over her chest. She shivers a little as her arms press against her hardened nipples, but keeps her expression cool as she nods to the metal rings in Fleetfoot’s hand. "But I’m really not seeing how those are going to build teamwork."
 
 
"Well, part of being a team is about considering what it’s like to walk in one another’s shoes, right? So what better way to know what that’s like than to actually do it?" Seeing the Captain’s lukewarm expression, Fleetfoot tries another approach. "What I mean is that wearing these collars will allow us to temporarily trade places!"
 
Raising her eyebrows, the redhead reaches out and takes one of the metal rings from her teammate. It isn’t much really, just a solid piece of metal save for the hinge where it would open and close. After turning it over in her hand a few times, the Captain looks back to Fleetfoot. "So traders would keep someone near whatever it is they wanted to showcase and buyers put the collar on and they trade places? How’s that supposed to help team building? "
 
"Because it’s not a full trade," the smaller girl says, taking her Captain’s free hand and squeezing it. "It’s just that you would be in my body and I would be in yours."
 
"So we could see how it is being each other," Spitfire adds, smiling as Fleetfoot gives an especially enthused nod. "Well, that’s certainly a unique idea."
 
There’s a lengthy pause before the cloudy-haired woman’s shoulders slump forward. In a hesitant tone, she gulps and raises an eyebrow. "B-but?"
 
"But I get the feeling that there’s probably a regulation against doing a brain swap. If there isn’t, there probably ought to be considering how it might be used in competition."
 
"Oh." And that’s that. Fleetfoot seems to become even smaller than she already is, staring intently at the ground as she sighs. Something tugs deep in Spitfire’s chest, and the bigger woman can’t help but grimace at the sight of her teammate in such a slump. Doubtless this will affect her performance today as well.
 
 
After a moment of silence, Spitfire finally sighs and places a hand on her hip. The quiet thudding of the cool collar against her tree-trunk thigh causes Fleetfoot to look up at her again. "I appreciate you being willing to offer something new, but I don’t feel comfortable using magic that might get us caught up in litigation." The smaller fly-girl nods, pressing her lips together in a barely contained scowl. But as Spitfire squeezes her hand, she glances up again. "But I don’t think there would be any issues if it was done when we were off duty this evening."
 
Fleetfoot squeals, grabbing her Captain’s hand in both of hers and bouncing up and down as she laughs. "Oh my gosh, are you serious? That’s so great!" And then, far too fast for the larger woman to react, Fleetfoot lunges forward, burying her face in Spitfire’s chest. She gives a few more excited squeals which are utterly unintelligible, muffled by the Captain’s commodious cans.
 
For her part, Spitfire forces a smile and pats Fleetfoot on the head a few times. Though it’s certainly not how she expected the morning to turn out, everything seems to be back to normal. Now it’s just a matter of following through after practice today. And there are already a few concerns rattling about in the huge woman’s head.
 
The troubles of being accommodating…