#A History of the World in 6 Glasses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miyamoratsumuu · 1 year ago

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dating the pretty setter squad, with moodboards!!

pt. 2 - pt. 3

characters: t.oikawa, k.akaashi, k.kozume, m.atsumu, e.semi note: implied fem partner for all of them, lowercase intended. pictures used are not mine, all of them are found on pinterest!!:) (not proofread yet!! I'll do that a little later)

navigation . . . haikyuu masterlist

OIKAWA TORU "you deserve the whole world and more, darling"

look, toru's a sweetheart. he's the type of boyfriend to love taking you out on these romantic, fancy, peaceful dates. whether it be one or the other. sometimes he surprises you with a dinner date at this one restaurant where it takes weeks to get a reservation. other times, it's a quiet walk on the beach on a friday evening with the both of you talking about how your week went. and if you have your own idea of a romantic date, tell him about it. he's definitely all in for it, as long as you have fun as well.

he makes sure you two have fun wherever you go. even when you're in a random store of all places. mirror selfies, wearing accessories that were for sale, making a whole photoshoot out of the display of flowers at the front of the store.

there was this one time you oh-so conveniently found a pair of alien glasses and thought it would suit toru. you made him wear them to take pictures, but he didn't want you to be left out, of course. before you started taking pictures, toru found another pair of sunglasses that were heart shaped, saying "so you only have heart eyes for me, darling" as he handed it to you.

toru always makes sure that his hair looks nice. he doesn't like it when there are strands that are out of place or if it generally just looks really messy. but on the days when he's tired both physically and mentally, he's most likely to be in a state of vulnerability. and it's those moments where he'd like it for you to place your hand on top of his head and play around with his hair. he'll admit that he likes the feeling of your fingers running through his unsurprisingly soft locks. and if you even dare to stop, he'd immediately whine and tell you to continue what you were doing because he was just about to fall asleep.

we all know about his history with plaid pants. he even proposed to get a matching pair of those pants with you. you didn't think it would be a good idea since you couldn't think of a proper outfit you could make out of those, and you doubt you were going to be able to wear them often. instead, your persuaded toru into getting matching plaid pajama pants with you instead. reasoning that it would be way more comfortable, and that you'd be able to wear them almost whenever you want around the house.

I could imagine toru being a sort of morning person. he doesn't wake up super super early though. instead, he gets out of bed at around 6 to 7 or so. most times, you aren't even awake yet while he's already preparing to take a jog around the neighborhood. but on the rare mornings you were awake with him that early, he sometimes doesn't bother to go out on that jog anymore. he would rather spend the entire morning with you, with breakfast and maybe a cup of coffee by your sides.

AKAASHI KEIJI "I'll do my best to be someone that's deserving of you, my love"

every minute you spend with keiji is a time you could let your guard down all at once. because he assures you that he's someone you could trust and lean on no matter what. he convinces you either by words or his actions. whenever he wraps his arms around you, he makes sure to make you feel like you could depend on him to be your shield and safe space when you need a break from the world in general.

when he picks you up for the date he planned for the both of you, keiji is the gentleman that always brings you flowers. and before leaving, he would assist you in placing the bouquet in a vase and putting it somewhere in your house. there's a remembrance of the flowers keiji always gives you in almost every room of your house. there's a vase in the kitchen, two in the living room, and a couple more scattered around every table and shelf.

dates with keiji consists of trips to a variety of cafes, early brunches, museum visits, or spending quiet afternoons at the library. after recieving and paying for your orders at a cafe, the two of you either stay there to finish your food and drinks, enjoying the bustling atmosphere, or leaving to take a stroll wherever your feet take you.

the days where you end up having brunch are the days with the mornings you and keiji preferred to stay in bed for longer than you anticipated. you don't mind though, in fact you didn't think there was anything better than being in your lover's arms for a couple more hours.

you often go to museums to gaze at what you think are the most beautiful things you set your eyes on. although keiji begs to differ. because to him and his eyes, you're the most beautiful thing he could ever catch sight of.

during your visits to the library, he always introduces you to the books he just recently started reading, the ones that were his absolute favorite, and the ones he would like you to read with him. and if you read books as well, that's great! now both of you could geek about your favorite genres, authors, novels, books, and all. and he absolutely enjoys being able to talk to you about the things he loves. but then of course, you're the one keiji loves the most.

there was this one time that he asked you to read a book he liked so he could talk to you about it. you began to read it eventually, of course. but when you reached a certain page, you were suprised to see one of the characters'dialogues highlighted and encircled in pink with hearts scribbled around it."you are perfect for me". keiji was a gentleman. a gentleman that made sure to make you feel as if you were the most special person in the world. and of course, a gentleman that made you feel loved. so so loved.

KENMA KOZUME "you're so special to me, pretty. you have no idea."

you support kenma as much as you can when it comes to the subjects and things that he likes; and he knows that. so ever since you two began dating, he slowly gained more and more confidence to openly share his hobbies and activities of amusement with you. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

during the nights the two of you are together in one of your homes, one of you would always suggest to play a game or watch a movie. you almost always end up doing both, though. when you get bored while watching the movie, you switch to playing mario kart on the tv, and vice versa. because of that, it's often as well that the both of you end up staying way past the time you were supposed to, then you end up sleeping in the next day. (that usually only happens on the weekends though)

when the both of you planned on going a date that involves going outside though, it would always be an enjoyable time. when you and kenma went to the carnival one evening, you made sure you rode at least more than half of the rides that were available. of course, that involved walking around for who knows how long. and that wasn't something kenma would absolutely love to be doing on a sunday evening. at all. but then at the end of the day, he knew that the extra workout and sweat was worth it once he saw how your smile stretched from ear to ear while he was walking you home.

when you dragged him to the mall, he was expecting to be accompanying you on yet another shopping spree of yours. he was already imagining entering various clothing stores and you asking for his opinion on the outfit you wore every time you stepped out of a fitting room. what he wasn't expecting, though, was for you to lead him straight to one of the arcades he often visited himself. while you were buying your tokens, you noticed the look of confusion your lover threw at you. "lev told me they added tons of new games here! I wanted to try them out with you" you explained giddily. and somehow, that made kenma smile, before following you further into the arcade.

it's often that volleyball practice sucked out the small amount of energy kenma had left after a tiring day. and so on the late afternoons you came by the gym to pick him up so the both of you could walk home together and you noticed him looking worn out, you already knew what to do. you convince kenma that either one of you stay over at the other's place for the night, knowing that both of you needed the warmth of comfort of each other's presence to cool off after the long day you had.

ATSUMU MIYA "my whole heart belongs to you and only you, doll"

atsumu is definitely one of the most clingy boyfriends out there. every minute the two of you are together, he always has to be holding your hand. and if he's not, he has the urge to do it. when he's holding your hand, your fingers have to be intertwined too. he claims it's better than doing it any other way. you know this. you know how much better he feels whenever you hold his hand in yours. and so you try to do it as much as possible as well. he's grateful for that, if you didn't know. it makes him feel as if you're fulfilling your promise to always be there for him.

the first time he walked in on you doing skincare, he was intrigued to say the least. sure, he knew about it, and how it helps make you feel and look better, but he never actually got to learning hoe to do it for himself. and so ever since that day, atsumu always joined you when he sees you doing your skincare routine in the evening if he wasn't able to do it with you in the morning. he thought, now, he'd actually look like the better twin. (alright babes whatever helps you sleep at night<3) and on rare nights, he was the one who initiated doing the activity with you.

movie nights are a common occurrence between the two of you. but it's not the movie nights wherein you're laying down in the comfort of your own bed with each other and watching the film on a laptop that was propped up in front of you. nope. atsumu preferred to take you to the actual cinemas. especially those with the 3d experiences of the movies. he loves the thrill and extra excitement, yk.

he also loves to take you to places where the view is absolutely stunning. whether it's a perfect view of the sunset, or the city lights beautifully gleaming from afar. atsumu actually savors these moments with you. the two of you basking in the comfortable silence between the both of you, knowing of how each other's company alone makes you feel a whole lot better.

there was one time atsumu was complaining to you about how osamu and rintaro were teasing him again about his twin being the better one between the two of them. you continued to listen, despite not exactly knowing what to answer to his outbursts. that was until he stopped and looked like he was thinking of something. deeply, that is. he had his index finger tapping on his chin and all. you looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking of so deeply that it made him stop his rant. he looked at you then told you to follow him to the kitchen. on the way there, he started explaining what he was planning on doing. "I bet they only keep saying samu's the better twin 'cause he can cook or whatever. I'll prove them wrong! I can cook too, and you'll be ma' witness, babe". and so of course, that was exactly what he did. at the same time making dinner for the both of you along the way. all while you were taking pictures and short clips of him cooking because he " needed the proof to shove it to rintaro and his twin's faces". once he was done, it didn't even taste half bad. it wasn't the best, of course, but he made it with love and effort and that was what's important.

he's the guy to obnoxiously wrap his arms around you whenever it's possible. there was this one time that he was away for a family trip and when you visited their home once he got back, he immediately jumped on you, wrapping both his arms and legs around you once he opened the door and saw you were on the other side. it was a surprise the both of you didn't fall over straight away. but after a few more second of atsumu just staying there unmoving, he eventually fell to his bottom with you on top of him. "I guess you really did fall for me after all, huh angel" you instantly pushed him away when he began cackling. him saying that with a smug smirk on his face made it a whole lot worse. you love him for that, though.

EITA SEMI "just seeing you smile at me like that has me swooning, sweetheart."

like keiji, eita is a gentleman at heart. he's also the type to bring you small gifts to give you on your weekly dates. whether it be flowers, your favorite snack and candy, or a small plush toy. and while he's on his way to pick you up, he takes a picture of himself with the gist he's going to give you, sending it to you saying "I'm on my way, sweets, excited to see you already"

if you know how to play an instrument, then that's great! it only means that you and eita have more interests to share and you could jam together on late afternoons you have nothing better to do. but if you don't, that's fine as well, darling! if you'd like, he would absolutely be willing to teach you how to play guitar. but if you didn't, you'd instead be with eita in the room doing your own thing and being gorgeous while he practices. he doesn't mind, of course. he doesn't feel pressured of any sort. instead, he actually feels more relaxed and comfortable with you there.

I feel like he's the type to have a polaroid camera and love to take pictures on it with you. or, he would print your pictures in the style of a polaroid. he says it adds to that romantic feel of the memories the two of you make together. and that it would be easier to display around the things that he owns, like in his wallet, at the back of his phone, or just stuck to the wall beside his bed. for his favorite pictures of the both of you, he prints out two copies so that he could gift one to you.

when the two of you are on the train together on what you're assuming is going to be a long ride, you end up listening to music together one way or another. both of you always bring your earphones with you, but on the rare occasions only one of you did, you share. opting to play the one of the playlists the both of you made together, or one of the playlists you made for each other.

there was one time where you went to the mall with eita, satori, and wakatoshi. the other third years unfortunately not being available for the day. when you entered a music store and after a while of browsing around, satori called you and eita over. when you got to him, he handed you a record saying you should recreate it but with both of your faces hiding behind it. eita was reluctant at first, thinking that you might look like idiots to people that passed by but you liked the idea. you ended up doing it anyway, with satori taking the picture for you. even wakatoshi admitted that the two of you looked cute together in it.

eita writes songs for you. of course he does. and you love every single one of them. but you especially love the ones you could slow dance to in the evening in the comfort of the kitchen in your home. on a late night while the two of you were making midnight snacks with your playlist playing in the background, one of those songs that you especially loved played. giddily, you grabbed eita's hand, startling him and making him let go of the butter knife he was holding. but once he realized what your intentions were, he smiled and danced along with you to the song. he twirled you around and whispered in your ear once you looked at him in the eyes again. "you're absolutely stunning, love"

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valentiyne · 1 year ago

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𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 & 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝖺𝗅𝗌 ☆ 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗎𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽

Calum Hood x Famous!Reader Summary: Requested! After 4 years of agreed no contact, one phone call and song takes back all that you've worked for. Warnings: Mild Cursing, Slight of Explicit Content. Word Count: 1k (not rlly proofread lol) Copyright © 2023 Valentiyne. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·..·:*¨༺ ༻

"So, Y/n tell us more about Calum Hood"

A name I hadn't heard in exactly 4 years to the very date.

48 months, 1461 days, and 35040 excruciating long fucking hours.

My face immediately lights up at the name nevertheless, brushing my hair behind my ear nervously,

"Hood? I'm not quite sure what this has to do with my upcoming EP coming out at midnight", I breathlessly laugh out, my eyes locking with the interviewer in front of me. My new work titled, "Bittersweet" was launching at midnight, only containing 4 songs to go along with the 4 bittersweet years I've spent away from him. It was hopeless of me to write about him, but he was the only source of inspiration I could find.

"Well you two had a bit of chemistry as far as we know, is that right?"

Sure we did. We spent over 6 years together on and off, but always came back to each other. He was my rock, my everything, but ultimately we knew it wasn't going to work out.

"Sure we did, I mean it was nothing but a mere innocent crush", I cross my legs now, my shaky hands clasped on top of my knees. The crowd was silent as excited fans packed into the small room to hear the soft launch before midnight.

"Well it was surely more than innocent", she motions to the screen next to us. "This picture was taken four years ago in Bali during the second leg of their tour", I mentally roll my eyes but smile anyway. A few people from the crowd squealed as the iconic picture of us in cuddled up on the beach was displayed, the same one he posted himself as an excuse to have me on his page.

"Like I said- It was a small crush" I was trying to convince myself more than everyone else.

I watch as the slideshow continues on, the screen filled with every single moment in time that Calum and I were spotted together across the world. A few innocent ones of us walking next to each other, to one taken on the balcony of a hotel. We were just kids who didn't know what they were doing- lost in the moment together. He will always have a place in my heart. When things ultimately ended, we both agreed to never speak again- it was only weighing each other down.

"Well I thank you for your time, I hope everyone enjoys the album and finds some comfort in the chaos", I stand up abruptly, extending my hand to shake the interviewer's hand. The crowd cheered quietly as I walked off the stage with a slight wave. I needed to get out of here, I felt like a complete idiot working myself up over someone that I no longer talked to.

I slipped past the stage crew as I shuffled out past the backdoors and towards the parking lot, my fingers fumbling with my keys as I tore my driver's door open and plopped down dramatically. The door shut behind me and I sighed to myself loudly,

That was fucking ridiculous, they didn't even ask anything about me. Just about someone I never wanted to mention. Of course, I could talk about him until the end of time, but it wasn't my place to do so anymore. He was playing sold-out shows every other day and had no worry about a girl back home who happened to have matching tattoos with him, right? The tattoo we shared was of a small flower underneath our ribs, the same flower he gave me on our one-year "situationshipversary" as he called it. It was a silly gesture that I treasured, the California wildflower that he pulled over on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway to pick during peak traffic on the way to my house. It now lay inside a small glass bottle hung around my neck, all wilted like our history.

I pull my phone from my purse, scrolling down to the bottom of my contact list, and clicking on the "DO NOT CALL!!!!" number. I hesitantly dial his number and bring it up to my ear,

"Hey! You reached Calum, I'm away from my phone right now but leave a message!", He declined it immediately, either that or his phone was dead. Not quite sure which one makes me feel better. I roll my eyes at the stupid prepubescent voice and turn my phone off.

I tossed my phone down onto my lap and leaned my head against the wheel. I subconsciously wanted to log back into my Instagram and scroll down an update page to find out anything about him. I had no idea what he was up to or who he was with, it's been years since I've last heard his voice.

"You know this isn't good for either of us, Y/n", he rang through my head as I remember standing on his porch in late July.

"Calum, we've been through this so many times- why can't we just try?"

He runs his hand through his freshly cut hair and shakes his head, "It never ends well, I feel like a fucking lost dog who always limps its way back to you.. I just- Fuck- I can't do thi-"

The last thing I remember was the door closing in my face, leaving me all alone with no closure. I could hear him on the other side, a thump on the door indicating he was leaning against it. I tried for the handle, jiggling it a few times before banging on it, begging for him to talk to me. I couldn't stay mad at him forever, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him, slap him in his beautiful face, and kiss him all at once.

My phone vibrating snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked down,

DO NOT CALL!!!!

My heart skips a beat, staring at my phone on my lap buzzing away. I bit my lip softly, pulling it closer to my face as I accepted the FaceTime call.

The camera was pointing to the ceiling when I answered, his voice booming loudly as he spoke.

"Hello?"

I let let a breath I didn't know I was holding, trying to gather the right words to say. What was I supposed to say after all this time?

"Cal?", my voice is softer than I had hoped for, the word slipping past my lip like it's begging to finally be let out.

"Holy shit", the camera shifts and he props it up against the wall, waving at me with one hand. Calum sits in his studio chair with his old bass in his lap, headphones pushed back against his long curly hair. His eyes are wide as he raises an eyebrow, "Shit, long time no see."

I adjust the camera against my steering wheel and scoot my seat back, allowing for a better view of myself as I smile innocently with an awkward wave. "Hi Cal, how ya been?" I see his eyes travel down to the necklace around my neck, my fingers dancing around the bottle as I speak.

"Shit, Y/n if I'd known it was you calling I would've answered way faster, I just had deleted your number-", he stops himself, looking up with a sympathetic crooked smile before sighing. I raise a hand up to reassure him instead, "Calum", god saying his name tugs at my heartstrings, "It's okay, I get it... we don't have to dance around it.. now what are you up to?"

He was lying, Calum hood was bluffing to my face and I had no idea. After all this time, he still had my contact listed as "My wildflower", but he couldn't dare admit to me that he didn't answer sooner because he was scared.

Scared of what I was going to say

Scared id tell him I found someone new

Scared of seeing or hearing me again

"I'm actually working on a song right now", he laughs and holds the iconic bass up, a small spot right under the strings that once had a star sticker I placed on it- now scraped off.

I make a face, reminding myself that that was the past and I shouldn't dwell on it too much, but seeing him happier without me didn't make me feel like I thought it would. A part of me wished he was as miserable as I was, cooped up in my room writing stupid songs that were confessing my raw feelings.

"What's it about?", I chirp up as he bends down to play a few notes on the keyboard next to him, assuming it's the intro.

"It's about someone that was in my life, uh someone you don't know- she came around afterward", he says slowly, not meeting my eyes through the screen. I just nod in agreement, opening my mouth to speak.

"Would you like to come over for dinner sometime this week?", The words flow out before I had time to think about it. As I wait for his response, I pick at my nails- a habit he absolutely hated. He would smack my hand out of my mouth every chance we were together, telling me "I'd get worms in my belly" I did stop for a while, but my bitten nails were the only reminder he was actually gone.

"Yeah, I would love to!- Look I'll let you go but we'll keep in touch alright?", He speaks quickly, his hand flying down in one swift movement. With that, he ends the FaceTime call and I'm left looking at my reflection. I looked dumbfounded, smiling to myself as wide as I could.

I couldn't let myself fall for this again, for him- we both knew it wasn't going to end well for either of us. But hell it's been 4 years and I've changed as a person, and by the looks of it, he has too.

My phone buzzed once, twice, and then three before I looked back up at it to see three new messages from none other than Hood.

DO NOT CALL!!!!: I kinda lied, you do know the person I wrote it about

DO NOT CALL!!!!: mp3.wildflower.calumdemo.rec

DO NOT CALL!!!!: my wildflower ;)

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improvapocalyps · 3 months ago

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Stale blood caked Cleo's armor as she dragged herself through paradise. Gods below that sucked, she thought, that really sucked. They ignored the colorful birds that swooped overhead, disregarding the cloudless sky and brilliant sun that cast down gentle rays upon her green skin. What was the point of indulging in something that didn't exist?

Dust, Flesh, and Bones, by @pattonscribe

“Death!” she called, a hoarse quality to her voice, clutching tighter onto Etho’s body as their army of the dead went onwards to protect them. “You— this wasn't what I wanted!”

before we lose the sound of our own mouths calling mine, mine, mine., by @kanda-franca

In participation of MCYTblr AU Fest Summer 2024 hosted by @mcytblraufest!

I feel incredibly lucky and honored that two(2) writers decided to pick up my niche af AU pitch! They knocked it out of the park with their fics, please check them out !!

[Some behind-the-scenes ramble and close-ups under cut]

My AU's ao3 equivalent tag is "Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses", specifically drawing inspiration from Khelren's Godsend TTRPG setting (though you do not need any knowledge of the ttrpg to enjoy the fics):

In Godsend you roam the lands as the avatar of your god, cursing mere mortals and presenting gifts to the chosen ones. Your memories are numerous, made of the lives of your predecessors, your power is almost limitless. Will you use it to fulfil the will of your god? Or, as the end times draw near, will you try to save the world? 　(from the itch.io page)

I had my heart set on making Clethubs AU (to no surprise of anyone's i'm sure) so that's the main characters/ avatars settled- but who shall be the gods?

There are 6 domains in the Godsend setting: Death, Justice, Knowledge, Nature, Trickery, and War.

To me, it was obvious to put Bdouble "moss" O100 under the Nature domain, and Zombie "zombie" Cleo under Death. Then after some comtemplation Etho "free glass" sLab was slotted underneath Trickery.

What remains is to find the Hermist/ Traffic-lifers that are 1) connected to the domains 2) related to the avatars.

(fyi i drew all those feather strokes manually by hand with my lineart brush) (why? well,)

Grian came to mind immediately when I thought of "Trickery" (Though Cub, Scar, and a couple of other Hermits also fit). I wanted to build the god-avatar relationship on the Etho-Grian dynamic specifically.

Scar was chosen based on his S9 theme (wood elf) and his history with Bdubs (S7 mayor race). Baiscally the concept of King maker/ Second-in-command Bdubs was stuck in my brain. (Sorry Stress :[ )

Death was a trickier one. While it would be funny to have Grian-Scar-Mumbo to be (half of) the pantheon, Mumbo fit the Knowledge domain better. (ignoring his Peace, Love, and Plants deal for a sec; even then I think that's more Nature-aligned) so I went with the classic option of Zedeath.

Beyond this point (until "===") is me overanalysing/ blue-curtaining the black & white piece. You have been warned (/silly)

This piece's composition used a circle/three-parter as its base, witih the circle centred on the castle/city in the middle of the map. Etho was fully isolated in Grian/Trickery's third of the space, but Nature crossed over into Death's space easily the two domains are closely related imo. It was natural for things to end (death), and endings fueled the next cycle of nature life.

It seemed that all the gods are looking at the world/map, however since their pupils are obscured (non-existent in Scar's case) it was difficult to say for certain. Though you might be able to tell where their interest lie, if you look at the distance between the deities and the mortal realm and where their hands rest.

Death carefully rested his elbow on the line separating him and Nature, but his left hand was dangerously close to Bdubs. And it looked like it was ready to come down and press direcly onto the corner of the map, tilting or even flipping the chessboard over. In his right hand held the scythe, posed to swing. The edge of his scythe faced Cleo, pointing towards them like he could harvest their life whenever at his whim.

He also looked at the world from directly above (though you could say he was biased towards Cleo's point of view since he's not centered+ he was positioned behind them), meaning that he saw all lives as "equal", or have an especially detached but not uncaring view regarding the world (like a scientist looking microorganisms in his petri dish).

In contrast, Grian/Trickery leaned in close to the world, lowering his head so his eye level was almost at the ground level of the world. Like he was looking through the mortals' point of view, understanding the state of affairs through humans' moralities and values (through Etho, even, since Grian was positioned behind him).

His eyes were wide in anticipation. While he carefully kept his hands close, they were also touching the world directly; which was a thing no other god did in the piece. It was like he was waiting for the right moment to reach out and disrupt whatever that's happening on stage. As we all know, no matter how much Grian tries to restrain himself, he will press the button.

Scar is the most... detached/ distanced from the world as a whole? He reclined backwards, his visible hand resting on his knee. He might be looking at the world, or he might be looking at Grian, or was his attention on bdubs? Even with the signature :J smile on his face, he got this air of indifference. Maybe Nature believed that everything will run their fated courses without his influence.

The flowers on Scar's clothes were sunflowers (sides of his corset), roses (back of corset and forearm), and a very specific lilac brush I had to download. Flowers that were closely related to a certain series :3c

Shoutout to w4r (War for Rayuba) for the chessboard map idea. ily octs It's really funny that Bdubs, Cleo & Etho all start/ were currently standing on black tiles (<- did not count the tiles and only realised that after i started to fill in the black)

Let's talk (more) about body language and outfits and black-white ratio (I am Reaching here) (not that I wasn't in the previous part) (but I am Reaching even further)

Etho has a very clear cut B&W shading with minimal grey/cross-hatch areas. He is the least ink-blocked. He knows what his beliefs are and the lines that he will/won't cross.

He has a semi-relaxed stance, tilting back slightly. He has one hand on his hip but the other by his side remain open-palmed. He isn't not listening to new proposals, but he is considering (and judging) them carefully.

Bdubs' moss cloak and boots has a clear divide in b&w, but not his outfit (pants)/headband. Both the cloak and boots are nature-aligned: cloak is, well, made of moss; and boots to walk the earth, the only thing separating him and the dirt (though at the same time, supporting him).

Nature is clear in what it wants. While there may be bright parts mixed in shadows, and flecks of shade within the "light", Nature holds a firm stance based on layers and layers of understanding.

Bdubs is also reaching out with an open palm. He is open for dialogue, perhaps preaching/ prompting others to communicate as well.

Cleo is the darkest/ most shaded among the three. She has highlights on the edges of her armour, but overall her armour is mainly shades of grey. Unlike Etho/Bdubs whose outfits' base color is largely white/empty, the visible parts underneath her armour (gloves and pants) are solid dark. She is dressed for blood and combat. It also gives the impression that she has this fierce determination/ conviction (darker tones being more "serious").

Her posture- legs wide, slouched/ leaning forward- makes her look aggressive/ stressed. Her hands are balled up into fists, one of them holding onto the flag/banner (of Death). Even then, the way she holds the banner isn't one that says it's for morale. She holds it like a spear, like a weapon.

There's also something about fabric/ extra fabric on the characters.

Etho has the least fabric on him but he has this shawl wrapped around himself. And the shawl itself is very still/ motionless. Bdubs' outfit is very round and gives like a grounded/soft vibe while the ribbon around his head drags behind him. but Cleo has neither of those, the only fabric that waves in the air is her banner which is outside of her body/not connected to her.

=== === ===

The composition of my 2nd piece aimed to imitate the playbook's cover art (illustrated by Vash Taylor), with the slightly faded background and wispy banner. The path of the smoke meant to mimick Cleo's face stitches (as how I usually draw them), where it crawls up her right cheek, crosses her nose bridge and passes through her eye.

Shoutout to "google search: zombie hands" stock photos and silhouette images, they saved my life when I was struggling with the foreground.

If you read through all this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and hope everything will be going splendid for you in the month of August!! Even if you didn't and just swiped past after realising there's too many words behind the read more I wish you the same :D

Once again, please check the fics if you are interested in the AU!! Dust, Flesh, and Bones is a multi-chaptered long fic and before we lose the sound of our own mouths calling mine, mine, mine. is a 9k one-shot! They are both so dear to me I hold them close to me heart,,

#bdoubleo100 #ethoslab #zombiecleo #goodtimeswithscar #grian #zedaphplays #mcytblraufest24 #events #my art #fic fanart #godsend AU #Dust‚ Flesh‚ and Bones #before we lose the sound of our own mouths calling mine‚ mine‚ mine.

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juuuulez · 10 months ago

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📰 | part thirteen: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, no pronouns/no use of (y/n), FINAL CHAPTER, canon divergence (i rewrote the ‘wrath’ episode), non-descriptive violence, blood.

summary: The Saviour-Alexandria war comes to a close in one, final battle.

guys i just wanted to say thank you all SO MUCH for loving this story, because it’s truly my favourite thing i’ve ever written….these two mean the world to me and i’m so glad everyone understands my vision

i actually loved writing this chapter, and i think the ending is really appropriate to the themes and nature of their relationship

i’ll publish an epilogue next, which will be the 6-year timeskip, and just wrap things up nicely so you know what the future held for carl and reader :,)

-> masterlist <-

Truthfully, you were a little nervous. It had taken a week for these negotiations to settle, and you were worried as to what state the Saviours were in. You hoped that Negan was doing alright. Strangely enough, you’d never been away from him for this long, not since getting stuck together all those years ago.

A meeting spot was decided, though everyone was still wary. You’d been cuffed again for safety, and carefully transported alongside Rick, Carl and Michonne. They kept a close eye on you, wanting to ensure that nothing went haywire at the last minute.

It was a large clearing, a small grassy hill with an oak tree. Hanging from a branch was a beautiful stained glass panel, the intricate design having become slightly rusty with time and lack of care.

As you stepped from the car, the adults left your side, trusting you in Carl’s watch for now. He held onto your forearm, walking a few paces behind everyone else, allowing you to gain your bearings.

But something didn’t feel right.

“Carl,” You whispered, garnering his attention. “I don’t.. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

There was a look of worry on your face, one that made Carl’s heart break a little, wanting to assure you that everything is okay, though he didn’t know if that was true. He knew how risky this plan was: a plan that he couldn’t tell you, for you’d absolutely loose it.

“It’ll be okay.” He ends up saying, giving you a small squeeze and continuing to usher you forward.

It wouldn’t. Not for the Saviours, at least.

Fortunately for them, Eugene was still on their side. He’d expressed how the Saviours intended on sabotaging the deal, in hopes of taking power and taking you. This awareness led Eugene to rig the bullets with an explosive mechanism.

Carl had been uncomfortable to hear it at first, but knew that it was necessary in defending their stance. He couldn’t tell you. There wouldn’t be a single universe in which you’d hear him out, and see their side of the argument.

Yet, he understood. If someone was threatening his father’s life, he’d react similarly. So, Carl kept his mouth shut.

As you approached the hill, the Saviours became visible, and it seemed Negan had certainly brought backup. You could identify a few of them as Simon’s men, and wondered how loyal they’d been since his death. Or… murder, you suppose.

The more you focused, the more you realised the sheer amount of guns they’d brought. All standing defensively, weapons at the ready. It started to settle in, and you remembered your long history with the Saviours. They didn’t do things peacefully. They didn’t take deals, there was no such thing as compromise.

“Carl, Carl, I’m serious,” You urged him, suddenly stopping in your spot, causing Carl to stop with you. “This isn’t right. They’re gonna fire, I know they are. We have to—“

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Carl interrupted, trying to calm you. “Trust me, okay? I know. And it’s alright.”

Something about that sent off an alarm in your head, a look of confusion crossing your face. You stared at Carl, eyes darting back to the others, then to him.

“You know?” You repeat, “What do you mean? Carl, they’re gonna shoot you, shoot everyone here. This is bad.”

The more you spoke, the more you seemed to panic, so Carl tried to quiet your tangent with a hand over your mouth. It worked, and had this been another situation, you would have laughed at the irony.

His hand doesn’t move, looking subtly nervous despite trying to calm you down. “You need to listen to me, okay? Just breathe, and—“

Whatever he was suggesting doesn’t matter, as suddenly there is crackling in the distance, loud pops as the Saviours attempt to discharge their weapons. Several guns break down into pieces, flames overtaking their inner workings as the mechanisms shut down and killing several of their owners. Those who survived were injured, their hands crippled and burnt.

You’d cover your ears to protect from the noise, if not for the handcuffs, but Carl seems to have a similar idea. He’s looking around, looking for something, before he pulls you down against the grassy hill, trying to duck and shield your body from something unknown.

“Carl!” You yell over the gunfire, “What the fuck is happening!”

Finally identifying a group of Oceansiders in the distance, Carl cups his hand over your ear, the one uninjured and still intact. You try to squirm away, but to no avail, confused and freaking out, unsure whether his hold was supposed to be comforting or threatening.

As you realised what was happening, it was too late to do anything. Molotov cocktails were used to alight the remaining of Negan’s army, the alcohol splashing at their feet and soaking into the grassy hill, spreading with reckless abandon.

“No! You asshole!” You scream, jerking your head away from Carl and trying to find your bearings. But being handcuffed, and your current lack of balance since the injury, you just end up falling back against the dirt.

“Hey! Listen to me,” Carl interrupts your protests sternly. He clasps his hands on either side of your face, keeping you still despite your attempts at moving away. “It’s over, okay? This is it. It’s done.”

You’re panting, looking practically feral, sweat beading on your brow and skin. Dirt is in your hair, stuck to your bandage, marred over the flannel you still wear. Carl’s flannel. Instinctively, you want to bite his hands, to do anything to get away.

But after everything, you know better. There’s nothing you could do to change this. Whether it be him, or you, someone had to face the music. Someone had to loose.

“Uncuff me.” You demand, chest rising heavily with each breath you suck in, still lying flat against the grass while Carl leans over your form.

He shakes his head, “I can’t do that. Not until we get back to Alexandria. You’ll get a house, your own place, and—“

You interrupt him with a scream, “Uncuff me!”

Though your pleas don’t work, Carl pulls your body up against him, trying to get you into a seated position. If you had control, you’d probably be able to hold yourself up, yet you remain helpless to his control.

“I don’t have the key.” He finally reveals, holding you up by your arms, unconsciously rubbing away some of the dirt that’s stuck there. “Even if I did, we have to wait, alright? I’m on your side, I promise.”

You’re on the brink of agreeing, of finally calming yourself, of accepting that this really is the end. Even your head begins to nod, a small motion, still looking a little breathless and confused.

Meanwhile, the battle isn’t entirely over. The remaining Saviours had seemingly submitted, abandoning any semblance of control under the promise that they would live, if they left for good.

You catch the end of that speech, confusion flooding your featured as they’re commanded to leave. The pair of you still sit in the grass, away from the main commotion.

Carl must have similarly picked up on the sudden shift in tension, his mind finally catching up with everything happening.

The realisation clicks instantly: if the Saviours are disbanding, they had no leader.

At the same time, you’re trying to stand once more. “No, no! Let go of me!” You scream, jerking yourself away from Carl even when he tries to help you up. You only make it a few steps before lack of coordination hits, and despite your hostility, Carl wraps his arms around you in assistance.

Carefully, he helps you over the hill, standing right on the crest. From here, the two of you can see everything. His breath caught in his chest as he realised that Rick had been shot, though he stalled himself from doing anything, understanding there was a much more dire situation at hand.

Everyone stood in awe as Negan essentially choked on his own blood, the liquid seeping from a slice in this throat, no doubt a critical wound. Rick stood above him, hands soaked red, dropping the shard of glass he’d used as a weapon.

It felt like there was no more air in your chest. Like you’d been thrown into space, the oxygen sucked from your form. You stood there dumbly, watching, mouth open but nothing came out. Next to you, Carl was saying something, but you couldn’t hear him.

You couldn’t hear when Rick ordered for Negan to be saved.

Nor could you hear Maggie’s shrill screams, begging and accusing Rick of betraying her.

Everything sort of just stopped moving. All of the noise had stopped, leaving this deafening silence and overwhelming feeling of pure emptiness.

Whatever happened after that didn’t sink in. Somebody had spoken to you, but you weren’t listening, nor did you have any clue where they’d taken Negan. Or where they’d take you. It was likely that you were told, but it didn’t stick.

The entire time, Carl was by your side. After getting into the car, he slid in next to you, a small metal ringlet in his hands. He unlocked the handcuffs from behind you, however had been instructed to cuff you once more from the front, shooting you a sympathetic look as he did so. At least now, he could hold your hand, which he did for the whole trip.

It was mildly comforting, some place in the back of your mind appreciating the gesture, despite the numbness that had worked itself into every corner of your body.

Eventually, you’d arrived at Alexandria. They took you towards the back of the community, to a house standing far from the others. It had been emptied of any objects that could be deemed weaponry, and was fairly bare-bones, but contained the minimum for survival. It was the first time you noticed Carl wasn’t around, a notion that allowed your senses to return slightly, offput by the sudden seclusion.

You allowed yourself to explore the area, opening each drawer only to find them all empty. The windows were barred, the door locked, leaving the house to feel more like a prison than a home.

Unsure what to do, you sat down on the couch, facing the door. It was comfortable. You poked at the fabric with your fingertips, trying to gain your bearings and come back to a place of consciousness, but everything still felt fuzzy and far away. Like you just couldn’t reach reality.

Hours past, though you weren’t too focused on the time. The only way of telling was when the sun had lowered, shadows being cast through the partially obscured windows. You hadn’t turned the light on earlier, causing the room to just become darker and darker, as you had no intention of getting up.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door unlocked with a distinct click, before creaking open. You hoped that Negan would walk in, that he’d be alright and he’d hug you and say you’re going back to the Sanctuary. Together. But that was wishful thinking.

Though when Carl entered the house, you didn’t have the energy to be angry. You probably should have been.

“It’s dark, isn’t it?” He comments, having instantly spotted you sitting on the couch. When he doesn’t get a reply, Carl knows that small-talk won’t cut it, that he’s messed up.

So, he comes over, sitting next to you on the couch. In another life, you would have probably punched him. Screamed and accused him of lying to you. But you couldn’t be that person anymore.

When he wraps an arm around your side, you don’t protest, allowing Carl to pull you against him. You’ve finally begun to realise just how tired you are, as you rest your head down on his shoulder, tucked nicely into his side.

“He’ll live,” Carl whispers, “And they’re gonna keep him in a cell. I dunno how long… but probably a long time.”

You give a small nod, just to acknowledge that you’re listening. It makes sense. As long as Negan was alright, that they’d help him get better, then you could deal with the rest later.

“Can I see him?” You ask, voice coming out a quiet whisper. They’re the first words you’ve uttered since everything went down.

Carl feels guilty for his answer. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, with you. “No. Not for a while. Someone’s gonna come here, live in this house, just to keep an eye on you,” He has to swallow to clear his throat, “And.. it’s gonna be weird, I know, but… you’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

There’s little protesting you can do, not in this state. The shock still hasn’t fully worn off, Carl knows this, so he tries to move away from the heavy conversation.

He shifts on the couch, laying down and pulling you with him. You settle there easily, head resting over his chest, though he’s wary of not putting any pressure on your injury.

“We should get you something to eat.” He suggests quietly, brushing back some hair so he can see your face.

You shake your head, not having much of an appetite anymore. “Can we just stay here?” You whispered, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

Carl feels himself getting choked up again. He doesn’t quite know why, as he’s glad that this is over, that Negan will be confined to a cell, unable to harm anyone. This was the best-case scenario for his community.

But he knows, in another life, this could have ended badly. That he shouldn’t have been so lucky as to survive. The idea hurts, a deep ache in his chest, though he tries to keep the emotion out of his face.

“I’m just glad that I’ve got you.” Carl ends up whispering, the words slightly vague and confusing, but they mean everything they need to mean.

For Carl does, quite literally, have you in his arms. It didn’t matter where your relationship stood, or all your differences, for he had you.

You seem to realise this, a smile finally making its way onto your face. “Dork.” You mumble, the slight jab helping Carl to smile as well.

That numbness fades, as you lift yourself up a little, hovering over his body as your lips connect in a kiss. It’s the first one since weeks ago, after your fight in the alleyway.

This time, it’s softer, and Carl places one hand on your hip and the other to the back of your neck. Your breathing slows to match his own, lips moving together in an almost tired manner whilst your fingertips stroke the sides of his face.

Tomorrow will likely be difficult, as will the next day, and the next. But right now, things felt alright.

That night, you fell asleep on top of Carl, the pair of you tangled on the couch. You’d wake up to his voice in your ear and lips against your cheek, and though neither of you knew it then, you’d spend many, many more mornings together.

Eventually, the noise would fade, and you’d find some sense of peace in Alexandria with Carl. Years from then, you’d even help Negan find his peace, too.

Life would never be easy, but it certainly felt a little better with each day. That was enough.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #carl grimes #twd x you #carl grimes x you #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #carl grimes x y/n

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mariikado · 4 months ago

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Bookshelf in Good Omens 2. What clues to look for and what to pay attention to when reading each book.

And don't show this to Neil! And don't ask him about it!

Carefully! There may be spoilers here.

1. I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.

The main character sits alone and writes a diary. There is also a very interesting love polygon in the book. At the very end of the book there is an interesting moment about the girl’s father, who writes his book in an interesting way.

For me, this was the answer to why Good Omens 2 was made the way it was: incomprehensible, confusing and with a lot of questions after viewing.

2. No Woman No Cry: My Life with Bob Marley by Rita Marley.

This is Maggie and Nina's book.

Look for the donkey, as well as the story of Rita's shooting. Notice what Rita says when she remembers Bob (he's dead, but he's everywhere).

3. The Crow Road by Iain Banks.

Not only discussions about God are important, but also the meaning of the expression “the crow road.” Notice the angelic goats dressed as ravens in the intro. Remember the story of Job, remember those little goats who followed the crow's path. Try to tie it all together.

And also pay attention to the meaning of matches. What do they mean for the story in the book and could they mean the same for our story?

Crowley recommends this book to Muriel not only because it contains a lot of discussions about God. He knows how important the matchbox is in the story, and he wants Muriel to know it too. Muriel must know that matches are the key to solving the mystery. At the very end of the second season, the story is just beginning to develop. The matchbox doesn't appear in the plot yet, but it will happen in the future, and Muriel must know in advance what it means. I think so.

4. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon.

A very interesting main character, with a very interesting perception of the world around him. I think this is a hint on how to watch Good Omens 2. The second season needs to be watched the way this boy looks at the world around him. He also has interesting thoughts, some of which may be important to our story.

5. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.

I have identified five characters. One of them is a naked man (note the reason for his undressing), the second character experiences déjà vu and has strange relationships with colleagues, the third character will do anything for profit (even if he has to bomb his own), the fourth character is compared to God (note , what ultimately happens to him), and the fifth is not entirely noticeable, but wears fake glasses and a mustache. Find them all and analyze what happens to them and why, what their goals are and what consequences their actions have. Think about how this all fits into our story and who these five characters are like.

6. Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez.

Besides the wonderful love triangle, there are almonds to be found here. This is a small clue to the meaning of almond coffee. The character is a photographer with his secret love - I think this is also a small key to unraveling the mystery of Good Omens 2.

7. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath.

There are matches here too, find them. Try to analyze the thoughts of the main character. I still couldn't decide who this book belonged to: Aziraphale, Crowley or Muriel. I'm leaning towards Muriel. Although Neil said that Muriel may not be Muriel in season three. So Aziraphale or Crowley could become Muriel in the future. I still think it's Aziraphale.

The main character of this book underwent shock therapy, and this smoothly leads us to the next book.

8. 1984 by George Orwell.

If you still doubt that history is being rewritten within history, do not doubt it. This book is direct proof. I would also suggest that the shock therapy in the book is an analogue to the erasing of memory and reformatting of consciousness in our history. Then that would explain what I said earlier about Muriel. This book confirms all my previous theories and reasoning. Who, for what purpose and how many times rewrites history - we will find out in season 3.

9. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.

This book contains another clue to the mystery of almond coffee. The book also features a dead bookstore owner who photographed the character's real killer, who was illegally transporting alcohol. There is a little quote about how everything was planned in advance, and this quote is said during the kiss.

10. In this post I talked about the Bible: here.

But I forgot to mention Aaron's rod. This is another key to almond coffee. Read the story of how flowers grew from Aaron's rod and what it means.

11. The Great Gatsby by Francis Scott Fitzgerald.

Gatsby was a liquor smuggler, he loved a blonde and in the end he got shot because of her, don't forget that. This all dates back to 1941. So who's shooting who?

12. The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger.

To be honest, I have a hard time understanding why this book is on the shelf. The book could be there because of a guy who has a dead red-haired brother (yes, Crowley's brother or twin could very well be real). The book may be there because of the story of catching children over an abyss (the story of Job). The book may be there because of the description of the film, in which a guy loses his memory after a war (after the apocalypse, someone has to survive).

13. A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket.

I recommend reading this series of books and also watching the series. I think the books and the show together will help you understand who Sadie is in Good Omens 2.

Also look for snakes, zombies, anything related to crows, secret codes used by characters (Prime uses them too). Look for smart thoughts, there are many of them. Look for librarians, read about the secret society. We ourselves are a small secret society: we collect information bit by bit, analyze it and share it with each other. Everyone notices something different and everyone is right in their own way. There are many clues in both the books and the show. Feel free to draw parallels. There are even moments that are filmed very similarly in both series.

14. Herzog by Saul Bellow.

A difficult book. Lots of talk about God and faith. I relate this book to the character who will survive the whole apocalypse mess in season 3. Read it for yourself, maybe you will have other thoughts.

15. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.

This book needs to be read from cover to cover. The whole story with the revolution and the French guillotine. Think about who those same revolutionaries in our history could be.

All moments with similarities between the two main characters, and also pay attention to the spy. Remember that Jane Austen is a spy. I still assume Jane Austen is Shax. In episode 4, Shax becomes Crowley; Before the stunt, Shax becomes like Aziraphale. Thus, in the dressing room there is a spy and two characters similar to each other (you can read about this here). There is a scene at the end of the book that may shed some light on what is really going on in the dressing room.

In the book you can also find a rose on the hat. Think about this character and the reason he put a rose on his hat.

Find this sign “👆” and its meaning in the book.

Find a seamstress in a book who walks hand in hand with someone very similar to the main character.

This book is on many posters in the hands of Aziraphale for a reason.

16. Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad.

Just read Lord Jim's story and apply it to our Jim.

17. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Jim is also in this book. And this Jim stole a treasure map from a bad pirate. We can only guess what Jim brought to the bookstore in our story: a “map of buried treasure,” a book of life, the power of God. What other options?

18. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

Yes, there is a very interesting love story and more than one. A parallel can be drawn with both couples from the book. Jane Austen herself also plays an important role throughout the second season.

Read books, look for clues, superimpose season 2 on these books. This is the wonderful world of Good Omens - an incredible work and an amazing journey!

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emmcarstairs · 7 months ago

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The Heroine's Journey: Lucy MacLean

“The feminine journey is a journey in which the hero gathers the courage to face death and endure the transformation toward being reborn as a complete being in charge of her own life.” — 45 Master Characters

In her book 45 Master Characters, Victoria Schmidt outlines the steps and phases in the Feminine Journey as seen in many traditional stories such as myths and fairy tales. Unlike The Hero’s Journey, which focuses on the external, The Heroine’s Journey is about inner exploration.

In the following analysis, I will examine Lucy MacLean’s journey so far in Fallout (2024). I believe it will be interesting to identify at what stage she is by the end of S1 which will give us an idea of what likely awaits her in S2.

Note: This analysis is written for fun. It is my own reading of the character and her journey. You’re welcome to have your own. Spoilers ahead!

Schmidt’s Heroine’s Journey has nine stages:

ACT 1 Containment:

1. The Illusion of the Perfect World

2. The Betrayal or Realisation

3. The Awakening or Preparing for the Journey

4. The Descent – Passing the Gates of Judgement

ACT 2 Transformation:

5. The Eye of the Storm

6. Death – All Is Lost

7. Support

ACT 3 Emergence:

8. Rebirth – The Moment of Truth

9. Full Circle – The Return to the Perfect World

The Illusion of Perfect World

ACT 1

2. The Betrayal or Realization

In the first episode, we meet Lucy content in Vault 33. We are shown a whole montage of her perfect life in her perfect shelter. It’s designed to protect her. Outside is dangerous but in her bubble, she is safe and sound. But is this good enough?

Despite her obvious naivety, we get a sense she is after something else. In her first scene, she applies for marriage, which is telling of her being on the threshold of adolescence and adulthood. Now, if marriage is really what she is after, or if it is something she relies on to fit in the community she lives in, is up for debate.

The thing is, the heroine knows deep down that her little world is not perfect. And she subconsciously seeks freedom so she can exercise her growth. Perhaps the prospect of marriage is the closest to freedom she has known in the vault. Or perhaps it is the thrill of meeting someone from outside her containment. In any case, she wants change; her shelter has turned into a cage.

Here comes the moment when Lucy’s perfect world is shattered. On her wedding night, right after the consummation of marriage (the symbolic passing to adulthood), she is betrayed by her husband. This is the so-called “inciting incident”. He turns out to be a raider from the surface. Now, not only is she betrayed by him personally, but she is betrayed by her idea of the outside world. He is her first conscious contact with the world outside the vault. And it is a far cry from what she has believed in.

Not only that but the danger has breached the walls of her shelter; she can’t ignore it. It turns out that her perfect world and the system she has lived in are broken. Her attempt at freedom ends with her husband’s hands around her neck. The history and ethics lessons have done little to prepare her for this. So a part of her begins to wonder what actually lies out there.

To top it off, her father, who is an Overseer and the biggest authority by her glass bubble’s standards, is drugged and taken hostage before her own eyes. She encounters the villain for the first time in the face of Moldaver. With her convictions shattered and her dad gone, she must make a choice.

3. The Awakening, or Preparing for the Journey

Lucy’s world is in ruins, metaphorically and literally. The others’ refusal to send a search party only reinforces the idea that her world has let her down. This is her awakening. She decides to take the active road and do something about it herself, hoping to rebuild what was lost.

From the story’s perspective, she has to find her dad. But as screenwriter Robertson-Dworet puts it: “As much as she leaves to find her father in the pilot, she also wants to fuckin' know what's out that door.” Moldaver also remarks in the final episode that Lucy’s curiosity greatly motivates her to leave the vault.

Given the raiders’ attack and with no established authority to prohibit her from doing so, she ventures to do just that. With the help of Norm and Chet, she gathers tools and prepares for the journey. What she isn’t aware of but will soon find out is that no material tools will help her with what’s waiting outside. She has yet to learn to trust herself and her qualities which will ultimately help her. It’s time for the trial by fire.

4. The Descent – Passing the Gates of Judgement

ACT 2

The descent may not be a literal one. In Lucy’s case, it’s ascent. She looks behind her as the door is closed and locked. There is no way back, only ahead. Often, the descent is about passing the gates of the Underworld. One of the first shots outside the vault shows us bones and a skull on the ground. The Wasteland is very much portrayed as the Underworld with its own set of rules.

From here on, the real journey begins. The heroine faces the consequences of her life-changing decision in the form of tests that will determine her worth. She might be advised to return to her perfect world, as Dr. Siggi Wilzig does after she lights the bonfire. After she refuses, he tells her that she will have to adapt and become a "different animal altogether," summarising the point of this stage of transformation in her journey.

She will then try to use the tools she has at her disposal—literal and metaphorical—but they won’t work. With each encounter, she will lose weapons or belongings until she is left with nothing of the things she thought would help her. Think of the filtered water Lucy loses or how her dart doesn’t work against the Ghoul. She begins to look progressively worse as her jumpsuit gets dirtier and bloodier. She even loses her trigger finger.

The heroine may also face societal prejudice. Lucy is stunned by people’s opinions about Vault dwellers and Vault ideals in general. She is being proven again and again that her sensibilities, HR manuals, and ethics don’t work in the Wastes.

The heroine has to rely on her courage and instincts. She must let go of all control and surrender herself to the descent. After being stripped of everything, she must face her demons. Lucy strives to always do the right thing, but she needs to embrace the fact the fact that the right thing doesn’t always come in a neat little package. The world is more than right and wrong.

I believe the scene that best illustrates the first time Lucy actively trusts her instincts and by doing so, survives on her own, is Super Duper Mart. She uses threats, uses a makeshift weapon, holds a hostage (it’s a robot but still, it’s a big step for her), and most significantly, for the first time, murders another to ensure her own survival. Even though Martha had no humanity left, her murder is important in Lucy’s journey because her death becomes synonymous with doing the right thing, not for a cause or the greater good, but for Lucy herself.

5. The Eye of the Storm

She emerges victorious with her bloodied face and tank top, and this is the most disheveled state in which we have seen her. By helping out the Ghoul, she is the victor not only in terms of survival but also in terms of morality. She shows him that she is morally superior to him. She’s successfully beaten her demons this time without losing sight of her golden rule.

Still, it has taken a lot out of her to survive. The heroine feels weary, reminiscing about easier times. She seeks to find the familiar comfort she once had and may consequently settle for something she doesn’t really want.

After this mini-climax, the heroine evaluates and comes to terms with what just happened. She concludes that she handled things well. Having survived the danger, she gains a false sense of security. In Lucy’s journey, this stage coincides with her meeting Max and their experience in Vault 4.

Finally, Lucy finds a person she can trust. The world feels a tad bit better with someone by her side. At the same time, she dreams of going back to her own perfect little world. It’s so lucky that they end up in another vault!

While Max discovers the joys of living a simple life, it’s interesting to observe Lucy’s behavior. Although she feels safe for a moment, she starts noticing the people and things around her. She’s become more perceptive than before. Try as she might, she can’t go back to her old ways due to her experience on the surface. She wants to feel safe, she wants to sleep with Max; she wants life to be simple again. But she can’t help but look twice over her shoulder. She feels uneasy and grows suspicious of everything around her. It’s the newly found survivor in her screaming at her to get out.

Eventually, Lucy learns that she has made the wrong assumptions about Vault 4 because of her ignorance and her raw instincts. They leave the vault unscathed, with Lucy fantasizing about a future with her and Max living together back in her perfect world. Soon they find the head but are forced to separate. Lucy gets the head, the kiss, and the promise that Max will find her in Vault 33. It looks like the journey is nearing its end. But it’s only the beginning.

6. Death – All Is Lost

The heroine believes that her journey will soon be over, but it is time for her to face her biggest fear yet. Lucy delivers the head and finds her dad, thinking they can safely go back to how things were. Then, all of a sudden, her world is spun on its axis once more.

Schmidt notes that few female protagonists make it past the stage of their “death”. Some of them die in the literal sense, some go back to their old lives defeated, and others fall into a spiral of depression. I believe this is Lucy’s final stage in S1. What will become of her in S2? Let’s speculate!

She learns about her mother’s fate and about what her father did to Shady Sands. And perhaps most jarring to her is that her father really believes that he’s done the right thing by dropping a bomb over a thriving city. Lucy’s role model turns out to be a fraud. The ideals she has lived and fought for, too. And it’s Moldaver, the villain, who seems to be on the right side of the story, despite her murdering her fellow people. It looks like the world isn’t simply divided into right and wrong after all.

This is the ultimate betrayal that leaves the heroine’s thoughts in inner turmoil. She feels humiliated and confused. All this time, she’s lived in a perfectly constructed lie. The events build up to her mercy killing her own mother, which is exactly what the Ghoul did to Roger in front of her. Purnell says: "She's learned from him. She has turned into him." She faces the death of her old self.

7. Support

ACT 3 Emergence:

The heroine’s journey is about building bridges between the individual and the group. Her inner awakening leads to her being more open to the help of others and helping them in turn. She isn’t afraid of betrayal anymore because, at the end of the day, she has herself.

In Lucy’s final scenes in S1, we actually see the beginning of this stage with the Ghoul offering her to travel with him and find out more about the past. She leaves Max behind and goes with the Ghoul. According to Schmidt, it’s during this stage that the protagonist will accept herself as she is and go on to share her knowledge with others. She will define her own world without an external authority. Her journey of self-discovery will guide the others around her to make amends with their own problems.

We have already seen the Ghoul’s influence on Lucy. In S2, I believe we’ll see how Lucy affects the Ghoul for the better by balancing his sharp edges. But before that, she will need his help to get herself up on her feet so that she can be reborn and come full circle in a new perfect world.

Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#lucy maclean #cooper howard #maximus fallout #fallout #fallout prime #vaultghoul #fallout spoilers #fallout meta

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for-the-folk · 8 days ago

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So, You Wanna Know About?: The Evil Eye

The concept of the “evil eye” exists in virtually every culture worldwide, as do amulets such as the nazar and hamsa. It's a fundamental part of most folk groups' magic and culture, which is why we use it as a symbol for our server. But what do we know about this concept and the symbols and practices surrounding it? Let’s take a second and explore.

What Exactly Is The Evil Eye?

In simplest terms, the evil eye is “a curse transmitted through a malicious glare, usually one inspired by envy.” [1] It's believed that this glare can cause misfortune, illness, injury, death, and general misery. [3] Pregnant women, infants, young children, and animals are thought to be especially susceptible. [4]

The Evil Eye’s First Appearance

Historians are unsure of the exact date the evil eye and amulets used to ward them off were invented, however, we can find examples going as far back as ancient Mesopotamia. Texts have been found in Ugarit (located in modern-day Syria) attesting to the concept until roughly 1180 BC. [2] According to Dr Nese Yildiran, “The earliest version of eye amulets goes back to 3,300 BC … The amulets had been excavated in Tell Brak, one of the oldest cities of Mesopotamia – modern-day Syria. They were in the form of some abstract alabaster idols made with incised eyes.” [1]

The Evil Eye Travels

Various things across history such as trade, travel, colonization, and immigration have caused the evil eye to travel the world. It spread through the SWANA region at first, but soon traveled to all continents worldwide: “[The evil eye has] occurred in ancient Greece and Rome, in Jewish, Islamic, Buddhist, and Hindu traditions ... [and in] Indigenous, peasant, and other folk societies.” [4] Historians have found it difficult to trace exact lines of transmission of the idea, but it notably seemed to spread rapidly among the common folk or working class. [5] It wasn't long before its presence became known across all continents, though it has always varied across time and space. For example “In Roman times, not only were individuals considered to possess the power of the evil eye but whole tribes…were believed to be transmitters of the evil eye.” [6] This is very different from how the evil eye exists in the current regions of the previous Roman Empire, as these tribes no longer exist.

It Came With The Amulets!

One of the earliest amulets associated with the evil eye is the nazar. Its name comes from the Arabic “‏نَظَر‎” (naðˤar) meaning “sight,” with many other languages adopting this term or creating their own. [7] The blue eye-shaped bead most commonly associated with this particular amulet is “made of a mixture of molten glass, iron, copper, water, and salt, ingredients that are thought to shield people from evil.” [8] Its blue color may be because “blue eyes are relatively rare [in the SWANA region], so the ancients believed that people with light eyes, particularly blue eyes, could curse you with just one look. This belief is so ancient, even the Assyrians had turquoise and blue-eye amulets.” [9] A similar amulet adopted from the nazar is the hamsa, similarly originating in the SWANA region. [10] The two have become perhaps the most widespread and well-known amulets, though they are certainly not the only ones.

Evil Eye Across Cultures & Religions

NOTE: this is not an exhaustive list, but a jumping off point.

Judaism: The evil eye can be found across various Jewish literature, from the Tanakh to the Talmud, and even books like Pikeri Avot. [11] It’s known best as the “ayin hara” which is Hebrew for the evil eye, though it may have different names across diaspora (for example, in Jewish-Spanish languages like Ladino it might be known as “Mal de Ojo”) [12] There are various customs to protect one from the evil eye across the Jewish diaspora, such as neckbands worn by boys for their brit milah, in the regions of Alsace, Southern Germany, and Switzerland just to name one. [13] One of our Jewish server members, Yosef, says “I'm Jewish and have been all my life ... my family is eastern European and we have gone to orthodox shul and (no) evil eye and other related symbols are prevalent in my family's practice along with the practice of my synagogues ... as such I constantly carry around the symbol”

Islam: The evil eye as a concept in Islam, known as the “al-ʽayn” is common. It's believed to destroy one's good fortune or cause illness. [14] Various phrases including “Mashallah” (God has willed it) are used to ward off the evil eye – “The imperativeness of warding this all too evident evil eye off is common among local communities. Not only did the absence of a “mashallah” tempt fate but it is also believed certain individuals have the power to conjure up the dark forces of the evil eye.” [15]

Italy: The evil eye in Italian is known as the “mal’occhio.” [16] In some regions, the cornicello ("little horn") is an amulet used to ward off the evil eye. It comes from Naples and it’s usually made of red coral and pepper shaped. [17] According to Antonio Pagliarulo, “some families, depending on the region of Italy from which they come, will pin the amulet to a baby's clothing either immediately before or immediately after his or her baptism.” [18]

Ireland: In Ireland, the evil eye is known as “Droch-shúil.” [19] There are a few various Irish folktales about the presence of the evil eye that warn of its dangers. One example is the tale of King Balor. The tale goes that “Balor was a king of the Formorians, the ancient inhabitants of Ireland (before the coming of the Tuatha Dé Danann). He is often described as a giant with a huge eye in the middle of his forehead. This eye brought death and destruction [onto] anyone he cast his gaze upon. He had gained this power from peering into a cauldron that contained a powerful spell that was being created by some druids. The vapors from the cauldron got into his eye when he looked inside which gave him the power of his deathly gaze. The most memorable instance of Balor using his eye is the story of his death at the battle of Maigh Tuireadh. In this famous battle between the Formorians and the Tuatha Dé Danann, Balor fell in battle at the hands of his own grandson, the pan-Celtic god Lugh, when he thrust his spear (or sling depending on the telling) through the eye of the giant. His eye was blown out the back of his head, turning his deadly gaze on his own men, destroying the forces of the Formorians. A piece of Dindseanchas (meaning lore of places) tells us that the place where his head fell and burned a hole in the ground, later filled with water and became known as “Lough na Suil” or “The Lake of the Eye”. Interestingly, this lake disappears every few years when it drains into a sinkhole. Local mythology says that this happens to ensure that the atrocities of the battle may never be forgotten.” [20]

Germany: In German, the evil eye is known as the “Bölser Blick”, something that is cured by a variety of methods such as red string, prayer, salt, iron, and incense. [21]

Poland: In Poland the evil eye is called "złe oko" or "złe spojrzenie." [23] In some regions, they use amulets known as "czarownica" which are charms often made from herbs, metals, or stones, or specific gestures believed to ward off the evil eye. In many Polish homes, you might find them hanging on the walls. A ‘czarownica’ might also be a necklace with a pendant crafted from amber, which is believed to ward off negative energy. [22] There are also folk tales about the evil eye, such as “an archaic Polish folk tale that tells of a man whose gaze was such a potent carrier of the curse that he resorted to cutting out his own eyes rather than continuing to spread misfortune to his loved ones” [1]

Russia: In Russian the evil eye is called "дурной глаз" or just "сглаз." [23] Some Russians ward off the evil eye by bathing in running water, which carries the negativity away. Fire is also used, with young people jumping over a campfire to remove bad energy. Carrying salt or pinning the fabric of your clothing are also other simple ways to ward off the evil eye. [24]

Mexico: In Mexican culture, the evil eye (el ojo) is thought to be especially prevalent during November around the time of Dia de los Muertos, with children being particularly susceptible. There are various ways a child may get the evil eye such as from a stare of a drunk or angry person, or a person who is "caloroso," or overheated from working out in a hot environment such as under the sun or cooking over a hot stove. [25] Some may use an ojo de venado, or “eye of the deer” as a protective charm, which is only effective if “worn as an amulet around the neck at all times.” [26] As a quote from one of our staff members, Ezekiel: “I was raised in a very Hispanic area so we all wore evil eye bracelets most of the time woven from the flea market… In Mexico or some parts of Latin America, it is called El mal de ojo and it is believed that different colored evil eyes do different things.”

Rroma: The concept of the evil eye also exists amongst the Rromani people. For Rroma in Slovakia, the belief in jakhendar is prevalent, often being diagnosed and cured with jagalo paňi, or ‘coal water’ [27] Rroma in places like Brno are also thought to be particularly susceptible to the evil eye, leading to communities to find members to help protect themselves. According to scholar Eva Figurová, “This role, instead, is appointed to the village shepherd, blacksmith, or other person perceived by the community as gifted with the ability to heal, cure, and ward off the effects of negative forces, whether intentionally or not. Nowadays, among the Roma in Brno, the chanting of the zoči is a common ritual that does not require the presence of a specialist.” [28]

India: In many parts of India, people use a nazar battu to ward off the evil eye, or the buri nazar. [29] Other methods of warding off the evil eye include hanging a drishti bommai [30], mothers spitting on their children [31], or marking them with a black mark on the cheek. [32]

Ethiopia: In Ethiopian culture, the evil eye is known as the "buda." [33] It is thought to be wielded by certain people (i.e. metalworkers) and warded off by amulets created by a debtera, or unordained priest. [34]

Conclusion

This blog post only begins to touch the surface when it comes to the evil eye. The history across time and space is so expensive one can truly dedicate their entire lives to studying and still not know everything there is to know. We sincerely hope that we have provided some perspective and gave some jumping off points for further exploration.

Sources & Further Reading:

Hargitai, Quinn (2018). “The strange power of the ‘evil eye’”. BBC. https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180216-the-strange-power-of-the-evil-eye. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Pardee, Dennis (2002). "VIII. INCANTATIONS: RS 22.225: The Attack of the Evil Eye and a Counterattack". Writings from the Ancient World: Ritual and Cult at Ugarit (vol. 10). Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. pp. 161–166.

Ross, C (2010). "Hypothesis:The Electrophysiological Basis of the Evil Eye Belief". Anthropology of Consciousness. 21: 47–57.

Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. "evil eye". Encyclopedia Britannica, 28 Oct. 2024, https://www.britannica.com/topic/evil-eye. Accessed 3 November 2024.

Gershman, Boris (2014). The Economic Origins of the Evil Eye Belief. American University (Washington, D.C.). Online resource. https://doi.org/10.57912/23845272.v1

Elworthy, Frederick Thomas (1895). The Evil Eye: An Account of this Ancient and Widespread Superstition. J. Murray.

WICC Authors, (2023). Nazar (amulet). https://wicc2023.org/nazar-amulet/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Williams, Victoria (2016). Celebrating Life Customs Around the World: From Baby Showers to Funerlan, p.344.

Lynn, Heather (2019). Evil Archaeology, p.167

Bernasek, Lisa. (2008) “Artistry of the Everyday: Beauty and Craftsmanship in Berber Art” Volume 2 of Peabody Museum collections. Harvard University Press. pg 12. ISBN 978-0-87365-405-0

Ulmer, Rivka (1994). KTAV Publishing House, Inc. (ed.). The evil eye in the Bible and in rabbinic literature. KTAV Publishing House. p. 176. ISBN 978-0-88125-463-1.

Jewitches Blog. “The Evil Eye.” Jewitches, 18 Apr. 2023, jewitches.com/blogs/blog/the-evil-eye. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Birth Culture. Jewish Testimonies from Rural Switzerland and Environs (in German and English). Basel: Naomi Lubrich. 2022. pp. 35–37.

Evil Eye - Oxford Islamic Studies Online.” Archive.org, 2018, web.archive.org/web/20180825110529/www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t125/e597. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

“Mashallah: What It Means, When to Say It and Why You Should.” The National, 22 May 2013, www.thenationalnews.com/lifestyle/mashallah-what-it-means-when-to-say-it-and-why-you-should-1.264001. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

“Mal’occhio | a brief understanding (and offering).” Radici Siciliane, 17 Nov. 2020, www.radicisiciliane.com/blog/malocchio-a-brief-understanding-and-offering. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Melissi, Paolo. The Cornicello: A Traditional Lucky Charm from Naples. 18 June 2021, italian-traditions.com/cornicello-traditional-lucky-charm-from-naples/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Pagliarulo, Antonio. The Evil Eye. Red Wheel/Weiser, 2023. ISBN 978-1-63341-294-1

“Irish Superstitions: The Evil Eye, Fairy Forts, and Lucky Charms.” IrishHistory.com, 14 May 2023, www.irishhistory.com/myths-legends/folk-tales-superstitions/irish-superstitions-the-evil-eye-fairy-forts-and-lucky-charms/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

“The Evil Eye.” Ireland’s Folklore and Traditions, 12 July 2017, irishfolklore.wordpress.com/2017/07/12/the-evil-eye/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Katharina, Anneke. “Boser Blick: Evil Eye in German Folk Magic.” Instagram.com, 2024, www.instagram.com/p/CrO8IIeLMgu/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&img_index=1. Accessed 3 Nov. 2024.

Tobey, Julie. “The Meaning of the Evil Eye in Polish Culture.” Polish Culture NYC -, 7 June 2024, www.polishculture-nyc.org/the-meaning-of-the-evil-eye-in-polish-culture/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Haroush, Alissa. “42 Names for the Evil Eye and Where Did the Evil Eye Amulet Originate.” Alef Bet by Paula, Mar. 2021, www.alefbet.com/blogs/blog/42-names-for-the-evil-eye-and-where-did-the-evil-eye-amulet-originate. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Sorokina, Anna. “How Russians Protect Themselves from Evil Spirits.” Russia Beyond, 3 Nov. 2024, www.rbth.com/lifestyle/331213-protect-from-evil-russia. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Mexico, Na’atik. “El Mal de Ojo, the Evil Eye.” Na’atik Language & Culture Institute, 26 May 2023, naatikmexico.org/blog/el-mal-de-ojo-the-evil-eye. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

“The Evil Eye.” The Atlantic, 1 Oct. 1965, www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1965/10/the-evil-eye/659833/. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

Hajská, Markéta. “The evil eye – Jakhendar” Factsheets on Romani Culture. https://rm.coe.int/factsheets-on-romani-culture-2-3-the-evil-eye-jakhendar/1680aac373

FIGUROVÁ, Eva. Contemporary signs of magic in the everyday life of Roma minority in the selected areas of Brno, focusing on magical acts like “pokerování” and evil eye. In Individual and Society [Človek a spoločnosť], 2022, Vol. 25, Iss. 3. https://doi.org/10.31577/cas.2022.03.609

Stanley A. Wolpert, Encyclopedia of India, Volume 1, Charles Scribner & Sons, 2005, ISBN 9780684313498

Kannan, Shalini. “Surprises and Superstitions in Rural Tamil Nadu.” Milaap.org, Milaap, 15 Apr. 2016, milaap.org/stories/surprises-and-superstitions-in-rural-tamil-nadu. Accessed 1 Nov. 2024.

John Abbott, Indian ritual and belief: the keys of power, Usha, 1984

George Vensus A. (2008). Paths to The Divine: Ancient and Indian (Volume 12 of Indian philosophical studies). Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, USA. ISBN 1565182480. pp. 399.

Turner, John W. "Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity: Faith and practices". A Country Study: Ethiopia Archived 2012-09-10 at the Wayback Machine. Thomas P. Ofcansky and LaVerle Berry, eds. Washington: Library of Congress Federal Research Division, 1991.

Finneran, Niall. "Ethiopian Evil Eye Belief and the Magical Symbolism of Iron Working. Archived 2012-07-12 at the Wayback Machine" Folklore, Vol. 114, 2003.

#folk magic #folk practice #folk practitioner #folk witchcraft #magic #witch #witch community #witch stuff #witchblr #witchcraft #the evil eye #evil eye #nazar #amulet #enjoy!#long post

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visceral-stories · 1 year ago

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Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story!

Ko-fi |Twitter

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall.

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week.

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door.

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance.

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.”

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.”

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile.

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird.

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside.

A tall, muscular jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive.

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there.

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact.

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!”

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!”

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair.

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big.

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented.

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?”

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief.

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options! Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?” Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past.

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy.

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind.

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.”

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face.

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy.

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?”

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot.

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck.

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash.

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!”

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous.

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!”

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something.

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result.

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength.

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!”

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!”

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?”

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command.

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth.

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it.

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge.

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone.

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!”

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it.

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape.

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself.

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously.

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts.

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next.

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive.

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self.

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.”

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot.

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself.

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this.

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex.

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge.

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.”

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity.

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.”

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust.

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy.

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?”

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?”

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too. “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old.

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.”

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy.

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.”

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!”

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing.

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing.

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step.

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?”

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man. Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real.

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone.

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say.

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.”

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall.

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation.

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen.

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels.

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!”

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had.

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand.

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response.

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!”

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.”

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place.

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously.

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder.

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled.

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son.

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent.

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice.

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass.

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant.

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich.

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?”

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation.

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed.

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!”

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day.

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd.

“Vince has grown up so fast!” chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife.

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection.

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out.

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it.

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life.

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation.

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation.

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever.

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man.

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden?

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders.

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled.

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.”