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warping-realities · 2 months ago

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A Better Brighter Future

A brief explanation, this story is a spinoff of Dalton Academy, you don't need to have read that series to understand this story, but you will miss some references. The themes here are also controversial and I need to remind everyone that just because I wrote it doesn't mean I agree with what's happening! Otherwise, a great read for anyone interested!

Director Horace Johnson wasn’t having a good week; in fact, the week he was having was bloody dreadful. The blonde, skinny bloke, fifty years old, had dedicated a good chunk of his adult life to educating young people, finding that calling shortly after leaving university. A staunch defender of human rights and a proponent of positive education, he faced all sorts of problems with reactionary teachers throughout his career, none worse than Ethan Wood, the former PE teacher at King Richard All Boys Institute, affectionately referred to by everyone in the tiny village of Daffodil-Meadow-Over-The-Hill as Lionheart School. However, after numerous run-ins over the three years he’d been the head of that institution, he finally got fed up with the other bloke's speeches, attitudes, and teaching style, and thanks to an anonymous tip about some dodgy behaviour that led to his dismissal, nearly all the students and many of the teachers breathed a sigh of relief; that sort of hardline, oppressive treatment had no place in today’s world. The one thing Horace couldn’t imagine was the struggle to find a replacement who shared his progressive ideals, not to mention the fact that he had to deal with the backlash from some conservative parents, teachers, and board members. Just another battle they were fighting; he should have known, it was like that when he banned the posh uniforms or tried to authorise the use of gender-neutral pronouns – one battle won, another lost. But he was determined to come out on top again; he refused to put another outdated troglodyte in that position. A better, brighter future was the motto of that school, and he was going to make it happen.

While he was mulling over these issues, sitting in his office with a good cup of tea, his privacy was invaded. With a loud BAM, the door to his office was flung open, causing him to quickly raise his eyes from the document he was reading, only to see the monstrous figure striding towards him. A black man in his thirties, dressed in a polo shirt, tracky bottoms, and trainers, exuding the brash vibe of a sports coach, swaggered confidently in his direction. He couldn’t remember scheduling any interview, and certainly not with someone so rude, who gave off exactly the impression of the type of professional he refused to hire.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to leave this room; I’m busy and we haven’t got a time booked!” he said, standing up and positioning himself beside his desk, noting the absurd difference in build and muscle between the two.

“And since when do old mates need permission to see you, Henry?”

“That’s not my name!”

“I know that, Henderson, you tosser, but if you reckon I’m not gonna use your nickname just because you’re the head honcho of a fancy school now, you’re sorely mistaken. Just wait until the lads on the rugby team find out the Steamroller Henry is all posh now; they’ll be laughing their heads off!”

“Sir, I… I don’t know what you’re on about… I insist you leave!”

“Now that’s the Henry I know, always ready to pull a fast one on his mates.” The man said, slumping down in the armchair opposite his desk. “But enough of the banter, mate. After you got in touch, I did a bit of digging into what’s going on around here, and you’ve got some serious problems. Losing a bloke like Ethan Wood must have been a right kick in the teeth, especially after scrapping the uniforms; they might have been a bit too posh, but they helped maintain a sense of unity and shared identity. Good on you for getting rid of that daft idea of using gender-neutral pronouns. Still, mate, I can see why you need me here. Transforming these crybabies into real men can’t be easy, but don’t you worry; you called the right person!”

“I… what…? I don’t get it…”

“What’s hard to understand, Henry? You need help to rein in this progressive agenda that’s trying to take root here, so you called your old uni mate Blake Ian Garret, The BIG and said, ‘Mate, I need your help with these wankers trying to sabotage me; old Wood is out, I need you for the job!’”

“I… Blake… BI… BIG, then… do you accept?”

“Of course I do, you muppet; it’s exactly what I’ve been banging on about! That whisky you’re drinking is probably messing with your already dodgy brain. I wonder how they let you become a director, Henry; not that I’m complaining, we need more blokes like us in charge.”

“I also wonder how I ended up here; I only became a teacher because that dodgy Wood promised to pass on his job to me when he retired, and next thing I know, I’m stuck in this boring role and now I have to give the job I wanted to an arse.” He said with fake exasperation.

“Shut it, mate; I know you missed having another real man around here, and while I explain how things work in the place I was working, why don’t you pour me a bit of that drink? I think you’ll love hearing about Dalton Academy.” The man commented, noticing the change happening in Horace Johnson. In a blur of movement, the skinny man’s body expanded in muscle and height, while the wrinkles vanished from his face and his blonde hair started to grow back where it had receded. In less than a second, Henderson “Henry” Johnson found himself grinning, offering a glass of whisky that hadn’t been there before to his old university friend and now professor Blake Garret, The BIG in his realm.

“A toast to the best hire I could have made,” he said, raising the glass to his old friend, who broke into a wide smile.

“To a better and brighter future, indeed!”

…..

The students and teachers didn’t know why they were gathered in the school gym. The summons came from Director Johnson himself, and they knew they had to comply quickly, as the man had a military rigidity about that sort of thing, not tolerating any behaviour he deemed lazy. So, what a surprise it was for everyone to see that it wasn’t Henry Johnson heading to the packed gym.

“Good morning, gentlemen! My name’s Blake Garret and I’m the new PE teacher here at Lionheart. The director Johnson and I have known each other for a long time; we were university mates and teammates, and he’s shared with me his concerns about the behaviour and ideals presented here. This nation is infected, gentlemen. Infected by a parasite called progressivism. Progress should be encouraged, yes, but with proper control, guided by the ideas of our parents and ancestors. Progress for the sake of progress should be discouraged!” He said, striding across the gym floor like a caged beast ready to break free, pausing only to observe the indignant faces of some teachers and a few students who bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. But that was about to change, and it was going to be now. “When Henry told me that the infection was spreading here too, I couldn’t believe it. I said to him, ‘Surely not, Henry, my dear. Lionheart is a beacon of clarity amidst a stormy sea of harmful ideas; the teachers are exemplars of masculinity and manliness, and the students are the pinnacle to which every young man in this nation should aspire; surely there’s no such behaviour here.’ But… but now that I’m here, I see! Gentlemen, my eyes fill with tears at what Lionheart is.” He said, taking another pause to take in the disgusted expressions before finally finishing what he had come to do there. “Tears, yes, tears of pride! For you are much more than I imagined, gentlemen. You are paragons of masculinity, the example of what every man should aspire to be; you haven’t allowed yourselves to be contaminated by the corruption attacking our country from within; you are what gives me hope for the future of our great nation.” He said, resuming his frenetic pacing, and with every step he took, the audience transformed; teachers, students, staff, all expanding in size while ideas and thoughts shrank, casual clothes being replaced by training gear that showcased their muscular and defined bodies, while a powerful funk that only dozens of sweaty gathered men could produce dominated the atmosphere, not that anyone there cared about it.

“That was a brilliant welcome drill, lads; now off to the showers and back to your uniforms for your lessons. Teachers, I ask you to stay a bit longer; I need to know about any absent students today.”

….

Franklin was in deep trouble; he missed the bus to school and had to walk all the way from the village of Grimchurch to Daffodil Meadow, which wasn’t pleasant for a skinny, asthmatic kid. The worst part was that he ended up terribly late for school, and knowing the kind of reception he would get, he thought about just not going, but that would bring even bigger complications, so he decided to face his fate with resignation. He was greeted by the guard, who merely directed him to one of the classrooms where a teacher would speak to the late students and administer the necessary punishment. Sighing with resignation, he headed to the indicated location, but upon arriving, something stopped him from entering the room; some sort of primitive alert resonating within his mind. Peeking through the corner of the window, he saw a teacher he didn’t recognise, a tall and very strong man with skin as dark as his own, talking to Bernard, Vincent, and Timothy, three of the biggest truants at Lionheart, who were looking at him with bored expressions. But then, in the blink of an eye, the unthinkable happened; the boys he had known all his life were replaced by larger, stronger, muscular versions, wearing uniforms and smiling as if they were getting drunk on every word the teacher was saying, words which Franklin couldn’t hear. But then the teacher approached the door, and he could hear the end of the speech.

“… rowing at the end of the day; you lot are to be congratulated, I wouldn’t be surprised if any of you ended up representing England at the Olympics. Oh, before you go, Bert and Victor, you’re in the same class as Franklin Burke, right? If you see him, let me know; I need to have a word with the lad, the same goes for you, Tom.”

Hearing that, Franklin took off running, desperate, not fully understanding what he had witnessed but knowing the risk he was in; he urgently needed to get out of there. In his despair, he didn’t notice that the man had left the room and smiled when he saw a skinny kid running toward the changing rooms.

Franklin thought the safest way to escape the trap he had fallen into would be through the school gym, which should be empty at that hour. Sneaking in as quietly as possible, he finally reached the changing area; he just needed to cross it and head to the football pitch, which would be free from whatever was happening there. But there was a hitch: someone was using the changing room. Quickly hiding behind the door, he saw the stranger swaggering arrogantly through the space. Recently out of the shower and wearing only a jock strap, the muscular Chinese lad strutted as if he owned the place. Stopping in front of the mirror, he admired himself. Who could he have been before? No… no… Lionheart only had one Chinese student. That must be… Anshen? Franklin’s best mate… no… this was a nightmare.

“I can see you there, mate!” said the muscular lad, crossing his arms. “Coach BIG is looking for you. I wouldn’t irritate the bloke if I were you.” He added with a cheeky grin. Having been discovered, Franklin stepped out of hiding.

“Anshen… is that you?”

“The name’s Ashton, Franklin. Honestly, how could you forget the name of the captain of the school swimming team?” he said, acting as if that made him the most important person in the room. Without even glancing to the side, he brushed past that aberration towards the corridor leading to the football pitch.

“Hey, mate, the coach’s office is the other way!” shouted the other lad, but Franklin didn’t pay him any mind. He was running anxiously toward the door that was his salvation. Only to see it swing open and the monstrous giant that was walking toward him with a grin. Between the two giants, he chose to face the smaller of the two and took off running in the direction he had come from, without seeing the smile fade from the man's face or hearing him grumble.

“Don’t know why they run…”

Upon reaching the door of the changing room he had just passed through a few seconds ago, he found it locked. How? Ashton must have locked it. Franklin grunted as he cursed the other lad with every ounce of strength not being used to try to open the door.

“It’s useless, lad. Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot in this school. But you know what? I like you; you’ve got fire in you. Turn around.” The man said with authority, and Franklin felt his body obey against his will. Gathering courage, he faced the man.

“Who are you? What are you?”

“What I am is something to be answered another time. Now, who am I? Frankly, Farrel, that’s no way to speak to your godfather.” Coach BIG replied, seemingly hurt, although a slight tremor at the corner of his lips indicated he was actually enjoying himself.

“What? Godfather? I don’t have a godfather and I don’t even know who you are! And who the hell is Farrel?”

“Farrel is my godson; a lad, strong and sure of what he wants. A man who knows a man’s rightful place in society. He’s a bit of a rogue, the type who’s too smart for his own good, always finding a way to dodge consequences. Except when he’s on the pitch; he’s the captain of the rugby team and takes that role seriously, even knowing his future lies in politics, thanks to the silver tongue he possesses. In short, Farrel is you, you great numpty. Now that it’s just the two of us in my office, come give your godfather a hug.”

“I… what? No…!” Franklin stammered as he felt his legs move on their own and a dreamy smile form on his lips, even as he internally screamed in anxiety.

Anxiety? He never got anxious! At least not off the pitch. There he was a monster, a bull. But off it? Off it, he was the face of relaxation. Chill out and have a laugh was Farrel Burke’s motto! Thought the muscular black giant that few would believe was only eighteen years old. While he put on the school uniform in his godfather’s office, admiring his beautiful body and smiling.

“Farrel? Farrel! Bloody hell, lad, can’t you pay attention for a minute?”

“Sorry, Uncle BIG… I mean… Coach BIG… oops… Professor Garret.”

“If you weren’t my godson, I’d give you a right telling off, lad, and just because I’m your godfather doesn’t mean you can use my office as if it were your personal changing room.”

“If you hadn’t dragged me from the changing room, I wouldn’t need to finish getting dressed here!”

“Is that a dig at my behaviour, lad?” BIG asked seriously, his eyes glinting dangerously.

“No, sir, professor. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” The lad replied, sensing the danger.

“Great. As I was saying, I want to implement some of the ideas I brought from Dalton; while you finish getting ready, let me talk to you about the clubs…”

…..

By the end of that week, BIG’s initial work was complete; there were no more students or teachers left to be improved. The uniforms had returned to being the norm, and all the lads were required to be part of at least one of the school’s sports teams. Moreover, the social clubs had been formed, ensuring that the lads, even after school ended, would have a reason to return to Lionheart and not forget what they had learned there. BIG was proud of what he had accomplished, and those above him were too. Now it was time for the expansion phase, to take what was taught at Lionheart outside the school’s walls and fields. BIG’s approach was different from that taken at Dalton; times were different, and in the war they were waging against those who wanted to remove men from their rightful place, there was no room for the discretion adopted by the sister school. Europe was falling too quickly; it was necessary to be more incisive. That’s why Lionheart would focus not only on creating the leaders of tomorrow but a whole generation of influencers, and sport would be their flagship. And there was no sport more popular worldwide than football. Knowing this, the Lionheart team became a priority for BIG, and he created a particularly talented and charismatic group, but they still lacked a coach of the right calibre. But that would soon be resolved, and quickly too; normally, BIG liked to savour the moment he transformed a pathetic figure into a real man. However, as the mass transformation of the first day showed, when the need was pressing, he acted fast. And that Sunday morning, it was needed again. While the lads prepared for training, the stands of the school filled with students from other teams, but also with parents and locals from the surrounding towns. This would be exhausting. And the cherry on top was the old man walking across the field with an angry look directed at BIG, who returned the scorn before breaking into a smile.

Zachariah Hastings, a member of the school board and a staunch conservative, which in theory should please BIG, but the problem was that the old codger was too conservative. Homophobic and racist, he seemed to boil inside the outdated suit he was wearing at that moment. He indeed represented that mythical figure of patriarchy that the snowflakes loved to point out as the cause of all ills: the white, heterosexual, cisgender man. BIG had nothing against a man who was all those things; on the contrary. The problem was that this figure represented everything that the enemies of the brotherhood of men took pleasure in using to attack. BIG’s group merely wanted to return men to their rightful place in society; they didn’t care about race, religion, whether you were an immigrant or who you slept with. Implicating with those things only created divisions, pushing men away from the real goal. And it was precisely for that reason that Zachariah had to go. Without any fanfare or manipulation, in one moment, the old codger was there with a bewildered expression, as if he knew what awaited him, and in the next moment, a fine specimen of a black man, very much like BIG himself, stood in his place, while every man in that audience became an upgraded ally, and BIG enthusiastically announced to everyone the arrival of the legendary Zeke Hastings, newly retired player from Manchester City and multiple-time champion of the Premier League, Champions League, and Euro Cup, to take the position of coach for the school’s football team, sending all the men in that place into a frenzy of delight, while BIG himself smiled, satisfied that the first part of his duty was finally fulfilled.

**Two months earlier**

Barret couldn’t stop tapping his foot while waiting in the posh waiting room of Dalton Academy; after all, this was his big chance, even if he didn’t understand why an American school would be interested in an English literature teacher. Although the whole place reeked of Old Money, perhaps that justified the interest in him.

“You can come in, Mr. Garret.” A metallic voice startled Barret, who looked around for the source, but found none. Collecting himself, he stood up, straightened his suit, and opened the massive door to the office. What he saw there gave him a sense of strangeness. Smiling and walking towards him in a space much larger than would be possible, was a handsome lad, no more than eighteen years old. Was this some sort of prank by the posh students?

“Come in, Mr. Garrett. Barret Garret; your parents had an interesting sense of humour; I would have certainly liked them…” commented the smiling young man before frowning. “Why the scared face? Ahhh, I always forget these modern conventions; in my day, this would already be the appearance of an adult man.” The young man said, his face concentrating, and then, as if by magic, he began to walk towards an office desk that Barret could have sworn hadn’t been there seconds before. When he reached the desk a blonde, older, and muscular man wearing a slightly less formal outfit smiled at Barret.

“I think you’ll prefer this appearance, my dear. You can call me Mr. Edgar. And even though I’ve used a bit of trickery to bring you here, since unfortunately there’s no place for you on Dalton’s faculty, by the time we finish our conversation, it’ll be as if you know the place better than you do yourself, and I guarantee the goal I have in mind for you will leave you quite satisfied. Put a smile on that face and step in.” Even against his will, in that incomprehensible situation, Barret found himself smiling and stepped into the creature’s lair.

If anyone who wasn’t an active member of Dalton was watching what was going on, they would have been shocked. But within those walls, it was almost routine. A young, well-dressed black man hesitating in front of a portal, only to, upon crossing it, see his body modify and expand, while he aged a few years, though that only made him even more charming; his slow steps transforming into the confident stride of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And anyone who knew Blake Ian Garret, coach BIG, could tell that that impression would be correct, though incomplete. BIG not only knew what he wanted but would also do everything in his power to achieve his goals. And those goals at the moment consisted of returning to England to find a way to occupy a position at Lionheart School, which conveniently was established on top of one of the largest dormant power points of the old country, but which only needed a spark to awaken. A spark that Mr. Edgar handed to him, only demanding in return that he use that power to ensure that the occupants of the place, both the established ones and those who would come, and even the unsuspecting traveler passing through, became the right kind of men. The exact type that BIG himself represented.

….

**6 months later**

“Son, I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think. I survived high school; you will too.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have to be transferred in the middle of the second year to a school with the highest concentration of wanker athletes that would have certainly made your life a nightmare.”

“Duncan, I understand; I was transferred as well, remember? I need to make friends at work too.”

“Dad, that’s completely different; none of your colleagues are going to shove your head in a toilet or anything like that.”

“I’m sure that only happens in films, Duncan.”

The pair of overweight blonde father and son walked through the corridors of the Lionheart Institute towards Director Johnson. The truth is that even Alex, the father, was not comfortable with that arrangement, but there was nothing to be done; Lionheart was the best school in the area, and he refused to send his son away from him. Duncan was a shy and reserved kid, just like he had been at that age. That school would be a challenge, but any other would be too, and there he would be close by if something happened.

“Dad, didn’t you read the articles I sent you? This journalist, Aaryan Patel, wrote a series of them talking about what goes on here; all the students here, regardless of where they came from, are some kind of athletes; some have even competed in the Olympics. And there’s more; all of them have behaviour described as toxic; some have been banned from giving interviews; some bloke named Ashton Zhang won a bronze medal in Paris but said so much rubbish about the opening ceremony that he almost got banned from competing.”

“Well, then they’ll know what it’s like to have a mathlete among them now! And who knows, you might become a good influence on them or even get motivated to take up some sport; exercise does wonders for a young lad.”

“Says the man who’s never set foot on a court in his life…”

“Duncan, enough! You’re coming to study here, and that’s final.” The father snapped, as he noticed a giant figure approaching confidently down the corridor.

“But Dad, I think Aaryan Patel has a point…”

“Duncan! I don’t want to hear you talking about Aaryan Patel anymore!”

“You do quite well.” Commented the giant black man approaching them, his smile vanishing upon hearing that name. “Mr. Patel has only been defaming the good name of this school with lies and distortions, when what he should be doing is praising the performance of our students in all areas of life. I’m Professor Garret and I believe you are Archibald and Duncan, am I right?”

“In fact, my name is Alexander…”

“Ah, some misunderstanding then.” Commented the professor with a cheeky smile before continuing. “Director Johnson should have welcomed you, but he had a slight hiccup and asked me to do it for him. I thought I’d chat with you, Archibald, while one of the lads shows Duncan around the school. Where is that rascal? Ah, here he comes.” Professor Garret finished speaking without giving Alexander a chance to correct him about the name error, although he himself had forgotten it when he saw the lad strutting down the corridor, almost like a mini version of the professor. Although saying that anything about that lad was mini would be an affront. Broad shoulders and strong limbs pushing the limits of the school’s smart black uniform, made up of a full suit, tie, and dress shoes that must have been tailor-made to fit the boats that were his feet, the overall effect was one of sophistication but also of dominance and confidence that left Alexander gaping and Duncan, who was already fearful, completely terrified.

“Good day, Coach BIG… hum… Professor Barret; good day, sir.” The lad said politely, although a mischievous sparkle danced in his eyes.

“Farrell, my boy. Would you be so kind as to show the school’s facilities to Duncan here while Archie and I have a chat?”

“With pleasure, Professor Garret. Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Duncan?” He said, positioning himself next to the other lad who, although overweight, was shorter and lighter than him, before turning to Alexander with a cheeky grin. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Archie.”

“The pleasure was mine, lad.” replied Alex, again forgetting to correct the name error. “We’ll see you in a bit, Duke.” He ended up saying to his son, who looked at him first with wide eyes of pleading and then in surprise at how his father had called him. But there was nothing to be done, for at that moment the muscular giant lad took him by the arm and carried him down the corridor, while his father walked away in the opposite direction, chatting amiably with the behemoth that was Professor Garret.

BIG entered his office and sat down at the desk, although he hadn’t asked Archibald to enter, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

“So, Archibald Dunhan, that name doesn’t sound unfamiliar to me.” Commented the professor.

“Well, it’s not exactly a common name these days.” Archibald replied, accepting the name as if he had always used it.

“No, it’s not… Archibald, Archibald Dunhan, Archie, Archie Dunhan! But of course! Wall Archie! You could have been a legend at Arsenal, material for the England team, if it weren’t for that nasty injury in that game against Manchester City; but from what I know, your career as a player agent isn’t going too badly.”

“I… I think you’re confusing me with someone.” Archibald timidly replied, still standing at the door. Just the idea of thinking of himself as a former footballer was hilarious. Although he was indeed a die-hard Arsenal fan and risked a few matches with his mates on weekends. No, not that…

“No, I’m not mistaken; you were a leak-proof goalkeeper, you were a wall indeed, Archie; don’t let something that wasn’t your fault bring you down.”

“That accident ruined me, mate…” Archie found himself responding automatically. What the hell was he talking about?

“I know, but managing guys like Haaland and De Bruyne is also a success story. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Believe me, no one has ever accused me of being too humble!” Why would he say something like that???

“Then we’ve got the same problem!” replied Garret, bursting into laughter, and Archie joined in, unable to contain himself, stopping with a startled look only when the other man spoke to him again.

“What are you doing standing there, Archie? Come in, come in; we’ve got Duke’s future to discuss.”

Hearing that name stirred something in Archie; there was something very wrong with all of this, but then he took a step into the room, and everything changed. In a blur of movement and colour, his muscles expanded, height increased impressively, and fat seemed to evaporate from his body. When he stopped smiling in front of the other man, any trace of humility or shame had left his body. He was one of the most successful sports agents in the country; there was no reason to worry about that sort of thing.

“BIG, you’ve got 5 minutes to convince me to bring my son to this school, mate.”

“Archie, you know me you wanker; I can do it in three.”

….

“Take a seat, chubby; I’m not going to give you a hard time.” Said the muscular black lad to Duncan, although he clearly was already doing that. The moment Duncan’s dad and the teacher left their line of sight, Farrel dropped the politeness, throwing aside all false pleasantries, revealing himself to be exactly the type of person Duncan believed and feared he would be. He didn’t show anything Duncan might find relevant about the school’s facilities, leading the lad through some of the many sports facilities on site. They had courts for all sorts of sports imaginable, gym equipment, swimming pools, running tracks, and even a complete weightlifting gym. After the exhausting tour of Jockland, they finally arrived at the spacious and luxuriously furnished room where they were.

“I’d rather stand, thanks.” Duncan said, approaching the window of the room, which overlooked the well-kept football pitch of the institution.

“You know best, but carrying all that weight can’t be good for your knees.” Farrel commented venomously, as he took off the top part of the school uniform with no ceremony and flopped down on the sofa in the room. “But that won’t last long; BIG will have you sweating off all that flab in no time.”

“I wish you’d stop making comments about my body.”

“When you’ve got the physique of a real man, I’ll stop, chubby. And trust me, you will; in no time, no one will recognise you, not even you.”

“I’m fine as I am; I don’t intend to change anything.”

“As if anyone here gives a toss about what you think, lad. I repeat, soon you’ll be one of the lads at Lionheart and won’t even remember the wimp you are now. And even if you did, you’d be ashamed of what you let this society do to you.”

“I won’t let myself change; you can do what you want with me, humiliate me, torture me; I won’t change.” Duncan replied, feeling an uncharacteristic rage and turning from the window, seeing for the first time Farrel’s bare chest, which made him blush deeply, while the other lad shot him an intrigued look.

“Seeing something you like, chubby? You a queer or something? Not that I have a problem with it; It’s an all boys school after all, and the lads have their needs. Besides I know what my body does to others." He said, flexing his powerful muscles as if he was at some kind of obscene show, which made Duncan look back at the window, only turning around when the other spoke again, hitting the target this time."No, no… it’s a different kind of desire, isn’t it? Ever thought about having a body like this? Ever wished for muscles like these?” He conclude, looking distracted for a moment, as if he were reliving an old memory.

“I don’t need that; I’ve got my mind, and it’s more powerful than any bulging muscle.”

“Loooser! I wish I could record this and show it to my new bro when he comes out of you; it’ll surely make him die of embarrassment.”

“I… what?”

“You know where we are, Duke? At the headquarters of one of the Lionheart clubs, my club; not just anyone gets in here, but I decided you’d be one of the lucky ones. I’m the captain of the rugby team and would love to have you with us, but the boss has other plans. Speaking of which, you know what’s even more curious? The club is located exactly one floor above Coach BIG’s office. An office that has a direct exit to the football pitch. That exit, I believe, must have been used quite recently, so while you’re at the window, tell me what you see.” Farrel asked, his eyes sparkling and his voice filled with an uncontrollable mix of eagerness and excitement.

Without really knowing why he was obeying the other lad, Duncan looked outside, initially seeing nothing of note, but then his gaze landed on the pitch, and what he saw shocked him. Professor Garrett, who at that moment should have been with Duncan’s father, was walking across the pitch, bare-chested and laughing animatedly with a blonde man who was just as monstrous and muscular as he was. But if Garret was there, where was Alexand… Archibald?

“I don’t get it? Where’s my dad?”

“With all that talk about intellect, I thought you’d be smarter, Duke.”

“My name isn’t…”

“Duke!” Duncan read the lips of the gigantic blond man more than he heard him speak as he waved vigorously, beckoning him to join him and Garret on the pitch. Why would a complete stranger act that way? Unless… unless he wasn’t a complete stranger.

“No… it’s impossible…”

“Finally, you got it, chubby, although I think this will be the last time I can call you that.”

“No… dad?” Duncan asked, although the man who continued to wave excitedly couldn’t hear him. “What did they do to you?”

“Oh, old BIG has a thing for The gentlemen’s sport; even though he’s never been a pro himself. I’d say we’d put you on my team, and that would be that. But for a former pro rugby player, he doesn’t value us much. He says nothing gets as much visibility as football, and our team is about to lose the captain to a contract, and we still don’t have a worthy replacement. Plus, the old rogue managed to create a connection with someone who can get him the best seats at the games.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You don’t need to understand, Duke; you just need to accept.”

“I can’t accept this… I won’t accept this…”

“Duke?”

“What!?! He screamed back, enraged in response.

“Come over here, mate.”

“I’m not your mate, mate!”

“Of course you are; you’re my little bro; me and Ash were looking forward to finally having our little brother with us! Farrel, Duke, and Ashton, best mates. FDA, like the American agency, and like them, we run the bloody show! F for a lot of food, D for drugs to grow and an A for, shit what is the A again? Let it be A for awesome because that's what we are, mate!"

“I…”

“Think about it, Duke; you want to make your dad proud.”

“Yes…” he replied, shivering at hearing that.

“Then get your arse off that window and come with me to meet him; for you, I’d even play a match of football just to see the old geezers eat dust.”

“Haha, I want to see you try to score on my dad, F! The bloke’s a wall; not that he can stop his son from scoring.”

“That’s what I want to see; let’s go, then.” Farrel insisted, and Duke finally took a step back and went to meet his fate. In an instant, the fat seemed to be sucked from his body as his muscles expanded into a strong and toned physique, far from the giant muscle mass of Farrel or his father after the forced retirement and years dedicated to bodybuilding. A slim and strong body, except for the long, powerful legs with thighs capable of exploding a watermelon if it were squeezed between them. His unkempt hair giving way to a well-groomed cut, the sad, chubby face transforming into a beautiful, almost angelic face, but still unable to completely hide the mischief within him, easily identified by the cheeky smile playing on his lips at that moment.

“Don’t know why you’re so excited, bro; with that size, dribbling you will be the easiest thing in the world.”

“Watch what you say, scrawny boy.”

“This is definition, something a ogre like you will never know what it is.”

“Come talk about agility when you compete with me in rugby.”

“And why would I stuff myself into a game with a bunch of lard arses?”

“Who are you calling fat, punk?”

“Not me, your body mass index.”

“You’re getting quite cheeky there, lad. I want to see you crack jokes on the pitch.” Farrel replied with false irritation.

“When I get past you, you won’t even notice, chubby!”

….

Aaryan Patel was absolutely fuming; he had no idea why his boss at the Independent Herald had sent him from London to that conservative hellhole that Daffodil Meadow had become. And to top it all off, he was heading straight to the epicentre of that rubbish, the King Richard Institute for Boys, aka Lionheart School. A place he had written a series of scathing articles about in recent months, which didn’t mean he wanted to walk into the lion’s den, especially when it was the lion himself who had sent the invitation. But his editor insisted it was too good an opportunity to pass up, and now here he was, walking purposefully along the edge of the grass on the school’s grand football pitch towards Director Johnson, who was at that moment in one of the few empty stands. Apparently, it was a tradition for the school and the surrounding villages to gather every evening to watch some sort of competition from the different teams, and today it was a football match. What didn’t make sense was the question Aaryan kept asking himself: why the hell did Henderson Johnson make him walk across the pitch where the students were parading around with their muscular bodies on display while the school staff prepared everything for the match?

As Aaryan made his way to his destination, he passed two muscular black blokes wearing the infamous light blue polo shirt of the sports team, one of whom was much bigger than the other. The one he wanted to take down the most. However, when the larger man glanced at Aaryan as he walked towards the nearest entrance to the stands, the lad who considered himself a brave man felt his knees go weak. Feeling angry with himself as he watched the two lugs burst into laughter, Aaryan quickened his pace and climbed the stands to meet Director Johnson.

“Mr. Patel, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person after reading the rather vehement words you used to describe me, my school, and my students.” The man said with a threatening smile. But Aaryan wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated; he was indeed brave, and although he was much leaner than the brute, he wasn’t a total wimp; he could handle whatever the other bloke had to throw at him. And any words spoken would receive an appropriate response from his sharp mind.

“Vehement is an appropriate but incomplete description of what I have to say about this place, Director Johnson. And that description could also be applied to the behaviour of the people here, although belligerent might be a more fitting term.”

“And you know a thing or two about belligerence, don’t you? Big guy like you? Bet you’ve had your fair share of scraps, haven’t you, Aaron?”

“The name’s Aaryan! And I prefer to fight with words.”

“Ha, I knew there was a fighter in you; I never miss.” The man commented as if Aaryan's response had been completely different, leaving the journalist confused for a moment. Quickly shaking off that momentary confusion, he turned back to the giant blonde.

“So, Director Johnson, what’s the purpose of summoning me here? And summon is the right word; my editor informed me that you pressured him quite insistently and intimidatingly, I should add.”

“Right, lad, I just wanted you to see for yourself what it’s really like here, what you’ve been so harsh about. You might not realise it, but what you write affects people’s lives, people I care about; my staff and my students.”

“Forgive me, Director Johnson, but the actions of those people you care about affect many others’ lives.”

“You paint us as monsters, Aaron, but do what I asked you: roam about, chat with my students and teachers; there’s one teacher in particular who’s quite eager to have a word with you.” The director said, smiling and nodding towards the pitch where Blake Garrett was watching closely as Zeke Hastings paced back and forth, correcting both teams’ players’ positions.

A chill ran down his spine at the thought of talking to that man. Forgetting to correct the misuse of his name, he responded to the director.

“Alright, I’ll do that, but I don’t think anything will change my mind. I’m sure the teachers are lost causes by now and the students are probably already conditioned to the behaviours taught here.”

“We’re not a cult, Aaron, but if you want a fresh opinion, why not have a chat with the centre-forward for the black team? The blonde lad in number 9. Duke has been at the school for less than a week; see what he has to say after the game.”

“I know how to identify a centre-forward, thanks! And I think I’ll do just that; cheers!” replied the journalist, who until a few minutes ago certainly couldn’t identify any positions.

After chatting with some students and teachers who repeated the same toxic spiel about masculine values, manliness, and the rightful place a man should occupy in society, Aaryan felt drained. Coming here had certainly been a bad idea. He thought about leaving and writing another scathing article about the evils of that place. However, he realised that the game had finally come to an end when he saw the blonde centre-forward walking to the edge of the pitch, opening a bottle of water and taking a long swig that practically emptied the bottle in one gulp. As Aaryan approached him, the lad poured the remaining water over his sweaty hair, then shook it off vigorously just as Aaryan reached him.

“Good afternoon, lad; my name’s Aaryan Patel, Director Johnson told me I could have a word with you.” He said, moving closer to the lad and using an authoritative figure as a reference to ensure the lad paid attention; he had dealt with many of those arrogant lads in the past couple of hours to give the kid a chance to mock him or simply ignore him.

“Eh?” The lad huffed, flexing his muscles and shaking the soaked t-shirt. This was pretty much the expected behaviour from any football player giving an interview after an hour and a half of strenuous exercise. What Aaryan, as any good fan of the game, should have remembered. So he repeated the information to the lad.

“My name’s Aaryan and you’re Duke, right? I want to ask you a few things about the school.”

“Sure, mate.” The lad replied, looking more awake after taking off his shirt and showing off his powerful physique, even though it was clear that not much was going on upstairs. This diminished Aaryan’s hopes of getting any productive conversation, as it was obvious the lad belonged there. Still, he decided to press on; when in Rome…

“So, what do you think of the school? Settling in well?”

“Aaron, mate, this place is brilliant! I begged for nearly two years to come here, but my dad thought I’d have better chances of getting signed if I kept training in a bigger city. It was only when Coach BIG took over the sports department that he was convinced.”

“Um… just out of curiosity, who’s your dad?”

“Haha, as if you don’t know who he is, Aaron, mate! I’m not some little kid to fall for your tricks.” The lad replied, giving a thumbs up.

“What are you on about?” Aary… Aaron asked, confused. But then something worse happened; the lad turned to the middle of the pitch where his teammates were milling about, shirtless, chatting and joking under the watchful eye of the coach, who was in turn under the direct supervision of the head of the sports department, the infamous BIG, who was precisely the person the lad was addressing.

“Oi, Coach BIG! Come meet my mate, Aaron.” And to Aaron’s horror, the man who instilled all his primal fears turned to him, serious for being interrupted, but soon a mischievous grin spread across his face.

Strutting towards the two with all the arrogance in the world, looking at Aaron with the same gaze a lion gives to a gazelle before it attacks, making Aaron’s knees tremble… but why? He should respect the bloke, of course… but no matter how big he was, Aaron could handle him… how? Certainly not with words… hey… what was he thinking here? What intrusive thoughts were those? However, he had no time to fight against those ideas so contrary to his essence because at that moment, the coach was standing before him, eclipsing everything else with his immense physical presence.

“Aaryan Patel, the man of the moment! You have no idea how much I wanted to meet you!”

“It’s Aaron… sir.” He added. The respect for the figure of coaches ingrained in him wouldn’t allow him to respond any other way. But why so much respect?

“When young Duke told me he knew you, I couldn’t resist the idea of bringing him here. But where exactly do you two know each other from?”

“Eh… what?” He had just met the lad, right? But then where did the memories of him teaching the kid fighting positions come from? Fighting? What fighting? In the midst of his confusion, it was Duke who answered.

“It’s my dad’s agency that looks after Aaron’s career, coach. In fact, he’s been following Aaron from the beginning; he’s spent more time at our house than at his own over the last few years.”

“Oh, of course. A cunning man like Archie wouldn’t let a talent like that slip through his fingers.” Agency, what agency? Big-name journalists needed agents, but a rookie like Aaron… mate, in his world, even rookies needed a decent agent; it was the difference between a million-dollar career and retirement in the gutter, and Wall Archie was the best; after all, he had experienced firsthand how cruel that world could be. Yeah, the world was a cruel place, and it was his duty to expose those ills… No, not that, what he needed to do was fight… yes, fight for improvements in society… mate, society was what it was and that was that… in this life, you either lose or win, and Aaron Blink Patel, rising star of the heavyweight MMA scene, was born to win. He earned the nickname for the short time he needed to take down opponents. Which was almost the same amount of time he dedicated to interviews with journalists. He didn’t need many words in his life, being known for keeping his opinion to himself, aware of what the media vultures could do to his career. The only time he expressed his opinions was when he was with his friends, when he let out all the intensity inside him, in conversations filled with cheeky banter and heated praises of masculinity in today’s world. And if there was someone who was the ultimate representation of masculinity, it was Aaron Fucking Blink Patel!

“No… no…”

“Aaron, mate, it’s all good?”

“Of course it is, Duke; it’s just the fighter inside him manifesting, but now it’s just a matter of a blink and it’ll all be sorted.” Coach BIG commented.

“Just a blink…” Aaron grumbled, and then… blink… and… his toned, lean torso expanded like a flower blooming, if flowers were made of huge, protruding muscles and their scent was an animalistic musk, with a touch of spices that didn’t go unnoticed even in that place full of sweaty young men… blink … and his legs exploded in size and power needed to crush opponents… blink… and the years dedicated to reading and research evaporated, replaced by training in jiu-jitsu, boxing, and Muay Thai… blink… and all the pent-up rage inside him flowed out in flowery words in sharp texts, concentrating in the massive paws that were his fists and feet… wink… and Aaron Blink Patel found himself smiling at the man and the lad before him, an image seen only by those the fighter deemed worthy. But he’d known Duke since he was younger than the kid, and after hearing the glowing praise he gave about his new coach, the man earned Aaron’s respect without needing to lift a finger.

“Sorry, what were you saying, sir?”

“You can call me Coach BIG; Aaron is what everyone calls me.”

“Yes, sir.” He replied, causing Duke to burst into laughter.

“You’re a lost cause, mate.”

“Actually, I think Aaron is a great example to follow; I wish my rowdy students had his level of respect.” Coach BIG commented, his voice cutting, making the lad’s smile fade instantly. “By the way, after I speak to the team, I’d love for you to have a word with those rascals, Aaron. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a motivational speech to give. Duke, keep him company while I’m at it.”

“Yes, coach, sir.”

“See? Just your presence has instilled some respect in this cheeky little sod.” The coach commented before returning to the pitch to address the teams.

“Could you not be such a teacher’s pet, mate?”

“I only got where I am because I respected my coaches and your dad; authority figures are there to be respected. Don’t you want to be captain of the team? Don’t you want to be a pro one day? You could already be playing for a real team if you had a bit more discipline since talent isn’t lacking. Take advantage of that man.” He said, pointing to the coach who was animatedly giving a speech. “BIG is a legend, a legend capable of making other legends; it was a scandal to find out a man like him had moved to the States, but the results he achieved with Dalton’s teams speak for themselves. And he brought in fucking Zeke Hastings to train you lot, and your dad to manage those of you who are truly capable of going pro. So yes, listen to what your coaches have to say; you may think it’s just theatre, but it’s the attitude that separates the men from the boys.” Aaron finished, flexing his powerful muscles to the point where the polo shirt he was wearing ripped under his arms.

“Wow, mate! That’s wicked! You’re a beast!” Duke said with such genuine admiration that Aaron couldn’t help but smile and repeat the feat, tearing his shirt even more before returning to a serious demeanor and looking at the younger lad.

“And you know how I became who I am today, little brother? By listening to all the shite my coaches had to say to me!” He said, pointing in the direction of Coach BIG, who was just finishing his speech, raising his voice so that everyone on the pitch and in the stands could hear him easily.

“… because this society wants to diminish you, weaken you. They want you to believe that being a man is wrong, that being what we were born to be is a shame. But they don’t know the power you carry with you, the influence you possess; many of you will be professional athletes, some already are. You’ll be seen around the world, admired, able to inspire, capable of making our brothers, hounded by our enemies, react, and more than that, you can make some of those enemies see the mistakes they’ve made and bring them back to the right path, and for those who insist on their mistakes, you’ll be able to hit them where it hurts most, where they’ve been hitting us for years, and I’m talking about their children; You will shape and save them because you have the power to correct what’s wrong in this generation, then in they do same with the next. The truth is men, and never forget it, you have power! And we’ll use it to secure a better, brighter future!

#male tf #jockification #mental transformation #corruption #race change #reality change #mind change #musclegrowth

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poppy-s-rampage · 3 months ago

Text

Once a Hero.

Chapter 1: Too late!

Warnings: Blood, Gore and violence. You can't sue me now!

‐-------------------------

Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

---------------------------

The Master of time leaned over the unmoving form of his young protegee, forceps needle and thread in hands. The old ghost deftly redid the stitches on the youngest torso. Slowly but surely closing the jagged ‘Y’ shaped wound shut.

‘How did it come to this?’

All it took was one minute of inattention for the young Halfa's timeline to be put in jeopardy. In a single moment of inattention, Daniel’s timeline tangled with another stray unstable one and merged. By the time Clockwork noticed, the timelines were already fused to the point of no return. Reality wrapped to fit the new Frankenstein series of events. So he did what he could, snip at some parts, and twist at others to make it so his protegee could have a chance of survival and still having a goodish timeline.

The gaping wound now finally shut, the old ghost went to treat the boy’s muzzle cuts and throat. The apparatus, when destroyed by the wail, had split open the right cheek’s flesh from the corner of the Halfas mouth, carving a morbid half smile. The boy’s tongue was bloody but could still be salvaged with diluted ectoplasm. The real problem was the throat; it was impossible to currently heal to a usable level with the concentration of ectoplasm he could safely use on Danny.

He was no Frostbite, but he was more than capable of putting back together the young ghost in a Time out. Daniel was too unstable to stay in the infinite realms, his core still too raw for pure Ecto. It would be like feeding a 10-year comatose patient a buffet after being kept alive via IV, transfer the concept to a fragilized and forcefully balanced core, and you get the idea. It was also a way to better realize the consequences of his mistake. But not to apologize, nothing would ever be enough to fix what Daniel had endured.

Clockwork stopped believing in apologies an eternity ago.

It all had happened so fast, Phantom had no chance of changing the course of events. Ironically, the current timeline was the best possible outcome after the incident.

While his protegee’s original timeline’s parents would have been accepting of his heritage, the ones of the intruding unstable timeline were not. ‘Monsters’ would have been too kind of a word to describe them. Curiosity plagued individuals who could have given Dan a run for his money. The origin of a world’s collapse, the cause of too many deaths, terrifying geniuses with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and slaves of their obsessions. Even their children didn’t hold enough value for them to spare.

Thankfully, this world didn’t come to that and was still salvageable. Unfortunately, too many people have already lost their lives and existence to his mistake.

It had been like any tranquil day in young Daniel's life. He woke up groggy after a night of patrolling, went to school, hung out with his friends, patrolled a bit, saved a few weaker ghosts, stopped a few accidents and then went back home. The young Halfa had planned to finally reveal his identity to his parents- with no little insistence and encouragement from his sister and the reassurance of the previous Freakshow happenings. (He, of course, delayed the moment as much as he could.)

Of course, Clockwork had already watched and analyzed all the possible futures caused by this decision. He had assured Danny that no harm would befall him.

And since every possible happening was in Daniel’s favor, the ghost of time left the timeline out of his watch in favor of fixing yet another mess the Speedster’s had caused.

Seriously, what kind of mentally challenged troglodyte would erase an entire timeline to enjoy a cheap burger in loop instead of buying another!

*Crack*

The forceps broke in his hand. The Ancient summoned another one. Moving to stitch the lacerations on his king’s arms and legs.

It had, sadly, taken a while for the Master of Time to fix the Flash themed issues. It then took him an even longer while to salvage the tangled mess of timelines. He was far too late to save Danny’s loved ones. Humans, even Liminals, were fragile.

—-------------------

The reveal had gone well at first, Jack and Maddie had accepted their son’s new nature. But then the timelines merged, the Fenton parents became one with their alternates and the world was set ablaze.

The youngest Fenton was promptly drugged and knocked out, only to wake up on a dissection table. His parents and a few GIW agents circling him, tools in hand. The hours, maybe days, Daniel spent in these creatures’ grasps were a nightmare made real.

His sister and friends tried to free him, only to be captured and fall victim to the same fate. Amity Park’s younger population mutinied against the agency and scientists but quickly got shut down. Brutally. The city was deemed a lost cause and put on lock down. The elder Fentons and the GIW galvanized by their success, went after every single being standing in their way in the name of science and self-defense.

It was too much for the young Halfa. His every waking moment being haunted by monsters wearing the skin of people he used to know and love. To hear the same people who raised and loved him gloating at the harm they caused his fraid. At the harm they caused him, vindictive. Every ounce of strength Danny had went into figuring out a way to save what he had left. But alas, he was too late.

Everything culminated the moment the agents and his parents reentered the room for the how manyth time. Their make believe faces fixed into a cruel smirk, smiles too wide, eyes too bright and too many teeth. Were the ghosts truly the monsters ?

Black opaque bags were dragged into the room next. A dreadful foreboding feeling caressed his spine. It was different. What were they planning?! What did they do?!

Panic seized the Halfa’s heart, hair standing on end. Eyes wide and pupils dilating as he noticed the strong smell of copper permeating from the bags. His restrained limbs shaking at the realization of the truth he oh so wanted to deny.

The monsters kept talking, taunting and accusing him of something. Blaming him. But he didn’t ‘hear’ them over his ever rising dread.

They opened the bags and his world came crashing down.

Three lifeless barely recognizable corpses. Chest opened in a bloody imitation of a butterfly. Missing limbs and organs. An innumerable number of lacerations. All indicators of a painful and slow death. But yet their eyes remained closed into acceptance and welcoming the relief of death.

He wailed.

Despite the muzzle, despite his already severed vocal cords. The wail coming from his very core blasted everything in his surroundings. The muzzle shattered, the monsters vaporized into a red mist and the walls became debris.

The building shook. The creatures in human skin panicked trying desperately to flee the premise but they were too late.

The latest experimental portal meant to be mass produced by the GIW resonated with the Wail and destabilized. The explosion that followed erased the facility and its surroundings and triggered the original Fenton portal which in turn wiped the city above off the maps.

Every single being died. The GIW agents, the Fentons, the citizens and some of the weaker ghosts. The stronger Phantom rogues weren’t even in the range or succeeded in escaping. The Fentons and GIW were still ‘thankfully’ useless when it came to capturing them.

And then there was Phantom.

Unfortunately or fortunately for him.

Forever the exception.

--------------------------------------

Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

--------------------------------------

Author note:

Hello! Thank you for reading! This time I didn't write this at 3 am!

I wrote it at 5am! Insomnia says what?

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propheticclown · 2 months ago

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As much as I love Homestuck and praise it for the character writing. I have to say... (TW: rant) (Spoilers for Homestuck Act 5 Act 2 and beyond) FUCK YOU HUSSIE WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS FOR YOU PIECE OF SHIT HE DID NOT DESERVE THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKER

NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I EVER SEEN A CHARACTER WITH SUCH AMAZING POTENTIAL GET WIPED AWAY SIMPLY BECAUSE YOU CONSIDERED HIM A "JOKE CHARACTER" WHAT THE FUUUUUUCK!?!??!!??!??! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE LIMITLESS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT POTENTIAL EQUIUS HAD YOU HALF-BAKED OVER SEASONED FUCK OF AN AUTHOR?!!?!?!? DO YOU EVEN HAVE THE COGNITIVE ABILITY TO UNDERSTAND HOW GREATLY YOU FUMBLED THIS BAG!?!?!?!? DOES YOUR KITCHEN SHELF-LEVEL IQ EVEN COMPREHEND THE MISTAKE YOU MADE WHEN YOU DECIDED TO DO THIS?!?!!? EQUIUS' STORY COULD'VE BEEN FUCKING AWESOME!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW INTERESTING HE WAS!?!?!? HE COULD'VE LEARNED THAT THE HEMOSPECTRUM IS BULL AND FULLY APPRECIATED THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM?!!?!!? HE EVEN COULD'VE BEEN ANOTHER POTENTIALLY INCREDIBLE VOID PLAYER!!! ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING HE'S A FUCKING HEIR OF VOID!!! "HOW DOES HE INHERIT VOID?!?!?! GREAT QUESTION!!! TOO BAD YOU'LL NEVER FIND OUT BECAUSE HE ONLY HAS TWO BIG PARTS OF THE STORY AND ONE OF THEM IS HIS LITERAL FUCKING DEATH!!!" I COULD EXCUSE IT IF IT GAVE WAY FOR SOME CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT BUT GUESS FUCKING WHAT?! YOU FUMBLED THE BAG TWICE!!!

BECAUSE YOU KILLED THE ONE PERSON THAT WOULD'VE ACTIVALLY BEEN AFFECTED BY EQUIUS' DEATH YOU UTTER NINCOMPOOP!!! IT'S LIKE YOU GOT POSSESSED BY A FUCKING TROGLODYTE THE SECOND YOU STARTED WRITING THIS PART!!! NEPETA COULD'VE GONE THROUGH A SERIOUSLY AMAZING ARC ABOUT EQUIUS' DEATH AND WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A ROUGE OF HEART!!! IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU AND YOU MUST HAVE WORSE EYESIGHT THAN I DO BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T SEE IT!!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S FUCKING CRAZIER?!?!?! THE THIRD AND FINAL FUMBLE!!!

YOU GAVE JOHN THE ABILITY TO LITERALLY BRING PEOPLE BACK FROM THE DEAD!!! AND YOU ONLY BROUGHT BACK VRISKA?!?!?!??! THE ONLY TROLL THAT ACTIVALLY HAS BEEN SHOWN TO BE A PROBLEM?!?!?! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK FEFERI, EVEN THOUGH A STRIFE BETWEEN HER AND THE CONDENSE WOULD'VE BEEN PERFECT!!! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK ERIDAN, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS FORSHADOWED THAT HE WAS GOING TO DEFEAT LORD ENGLISH, AS WELL AS HAVE BE MOIRAILS WITH KARKAT AND MATESPRITS WITH ROXY!!! YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK TAVROS, EVEN THOUGH HALF OF GAMZEE'S PROBLEMS WOULDN'T EVEN EXIST AND IT WOULD'VE MADE FOR A GREAT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT FOR BOTH OF THEM!!! AND YOU DIDN'T BRING BACK THE TWO CHARACTERS WHO WOULD'VE HAD SOME OF THE BEST POTENTIAL DEVELOPMENT IN THE ENTIRE SERIES, EQUIUS AND NEPETA!!!! AAHGHGHGH!!! ACT 6 WAS SUCH A GIANT BALL DROP ON EVERYTHING YOU SET UP FOR THE TROLLS!!! SO MUCH NOTHING HAPPENED!!! IT'S LIKE YOU ONLY CARE ABOUT VRISKA, WHICH IS PROBABLY THE CASE CONSIDERING YOUR SELF-INSERT TRIES TO GET WITH HER MULTIPLE TIMES, EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS DEAD AND LITERALLY FUCKING 13 YEARS OLD?!!?!?! I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE BEEN THIS LIVID OVER SOMETHING SO GLARINGLY OBVIOUS!!! IT'S LIKE YOU'RE BEING WILLINGLY OBTUSE!!! UUUUUGHGHGHUGHHGG!!!!!!! I SWEAR STUFF LIKE THIS MAKES ME FEEL LIKE A LIGHT PLAYER!!!

#homestuck #beta trolls #equius zahhak #nepeta leijon #rant #tw: rant #FUCK YOU ANDREW HUSSIE!!!#I HATE YOU!!!#AHHHHH #meowrails #gamzee makara #murderstuck #YOU'RE A MORON #AHHHHHHHHH #horse #honse

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christinebloodwrittings · 4 months ago

Note

Please, could I make my request... Angel! Leito and Alastor having a secret relationship... The reader always comes on the day of the extermination to get together with Alastor again. Maybe in life Alastor and the reader were married, but the reader didn't know Alastor's secret that took him to hell, of course that's why she fought with him, but as time went by, the reader missed Alastor and after a long time reader forgave him (and maybe Alastor being manipulative and cute with his deer appearance).. But now reader always comes to hell to spend time in hiding with her husband...

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: Until death do us apart wasn't enough of an oath for Alastor, but after certain miscommunications, it was harder and harder to remain attached to it. Warning: Mentions of cheating, other than that, none.

(Also, I forgot the Angel bit, so they were married in life. And what the blazes is "Leito"?)

The clock on the wall showed five minutes to midnight. In time with the sound of its hands, Alastor tapped against the leg of his chair, impatient. "We had an agreement, where is she?" he asked his shadow, but since he didn’t knew more than his master, he only could shrug.

Alastor's patience was wearing thin by the minute. He continue to stare at the clock as if that would press it to go slower or to make you show up faster. He considered fighting his way through the exorcists to reach the city, considering certain death if it meant putting you behind walls, where it was safe.

He didn't know why he was surprised, you were never the most punctual person in life, why did he think that would change after death? Although you had your ups and downs, the lack of your presence made him feel uncomfortable, as if termites were crawling through his body.

He would never admit that, not to your face. – Having said that, there were a lot of things he would bite his tongue to –.

“I’m sorry, everyone is trying to get to safety, it was almost impossible to walk by the clock” The door to his room burst open, and like a hurricane, you burst through and made yourself present, much to the delight – and relief – of the radio demon.

He thought about scolding you, as usual, but with the headache his impatience caused, he just didn't feel like it. You were with him, that was all he cared about.

He sighed, appearing in between shadows behind you to take your coat and hang it on the rack, “How was your week, dear?” he limited to ask, disregarding your tardiness, which was odd for you.

“Busy. Since your little argument, Vox has been making everyone’s lives miserable” There was a bit of resentment in your tone, since Alastor knew that you worked for the television man, and yet he went and bothered him without thinking about how that would affect you as Vox's co-assistant.

It's not that he was inconsiderate, he got carried away and still hasn't apologized, but of course, that wasn't the only reason why you were upset with him. But it sure didn’t help.

“It's not my fault he behaves like a troglodyte…Did he hurt you?" He, although tried not to let it be noticed, was looking for any sign that Vox was mistreating you, some would say just to have the excuse to punch him, and they’re right, but also to recover your soul.

“No, he just throws stuff around and short circuits, the usual” you let down your bag near the nightstand on the left side of the bed, facing the bayou. The one he only puts, along with the bed, when you come to him.

“You cut your hair” he noticed as soon as you took off your hat, “It was getting too long” you answered Alastor's attempts to make the situation less awkward, blatantly ignoring the elephant in the room, were a failure. You answered him what was just enough and necessary, with a dry tone and without the affection that you gave him before.

The side eye you gave him after each try, made him realize he would not hold on until extermination was done.

“Alright, dearest, when can we let it go?” he had enough composure as to ask firmly without sounding as tired as he was. “The day you apologize, or hell freezes over, whatever happens first” that felt as if you had hit him with a bat, “I have more faith in seeing snow around here, to be honest” and had struck another swing straight into his temper.

“If I apologize, will you go back to be my wife?” he raised his voice just a pinch, “If you can stomach killing your pride, I might as well” his jaw tensed, brows furrowed, he didn’t liked being challenged. “You say that as if I couldn’t” he heard you snicker while seating down on his bed, “We’ve been married for more than a century Alastor, and never once you said a fucking sorry to me” much for his own disappointment, it took him one look to his shadow to confirm your statement.

“You– Fine” he sighed, pressing one finger to his temple. “Y/n, love of my life, I’m sorry I never told you I am a cannibal and sorry you had to find out by the police statement when I died” you nodded so he continued, “I’m sorry I killed your ‘Mr. perfect prospect’ back in the day” he wasn’t exactly sorry, that man was in the way of him courting you, but for the sake of it he said it anyways.

“I’m sorry I put a hidden curse in our wedding vows that would make us find each other in the afterlife” you remember him saying weird stuff and then a mark appeared on your thigh after he died. A voodoo witch in the bayou told you it was a bonding rune, and that he had doomed you to hell, just because he was down there.

“I’m sorry I left you alone for seven years without telling you where I was going” addressing the matter hurt his pride deeply, because of that, Vox took advantage of your vulnerability to enslave you in his ‘technology work’ as he likes to put it. “Still not telling me?” the worst thing of his deal, he wasn’t allowed to speak of it, and by extension, he couldn’t explain his situation to you.

“You know if I could, I would�� not knowing didn’t exactly ease your feeling of betrayal. “Do I?” your attitude started to get old very quickly, so he taunted, “Should I stop?” earning a sigh from you, “Go on”.

“I’m sorry we didn’t had a wedding night because I went out ‘to tie a loose end’” He laughed between his words, he definitely didn't regret killing that idiot at all, you knew it, but his absurd decision cost you your wedding night, and it wasn't even your fault.

“And by that you mean killing my ex-boyfriend” you clarified facts, arms crossed at the level of your chest. “Who abused you” he added, proud of his contribution, only to meet your not-so-fun expression, “That is not the point” and you were right, but he did said he was sorry, and he wasn’t going to repeat himself.

“Did I miss anything?” he obviously did, given the dirty and unamused look you shot at him, “Yeah, you forget the times you told me you were doing extra hours at the radio station, when in reality you were with that harlot at the speakeasy” and then she had the audacity to call you out in the groceries store, saying stuff like ‘you have to be a better woman for your man or you’ll lose him’.

Then the anxiety kicked in your door, following with elaborated outings, new recipes, even lingerie, but he still insisted on his time at the speakeasy.

“Don’t call Mimzy that” he sighed, pinching his nose. “Fine, Mimzy the whore who was screwing a married man” your voice broke mid-sentence, anger was a word that was just not enough to describe your feelings about the subject, it escalated every time he defended her.

“I never had sex with her, I just needed a drink!” a lame excuse for a bad situation, “I wanted to tell you, about everything, I just didn’t wanted you to hate me” that was rich coming from him, you thought.

With your hands rubbing against the sides of your neck you tried your best to keep calm, not really working, but tried. “I don’t exactly know how you expected me to react” you exasperated, walking up to the limit of the bayou and then turned on your heels, “So my husband is a psychotic maniac, who enjoys killing and eating people, yeah that’s a thrilling piece of news” you probably wouldn’t reacted as harshly, being afraid to die and all that jazz, but since he doomed you to hell, and your contract guaranteed your safety, you didn’t care.

“Have I ever treated you wrong?” he asked, making you almost could hear your blood boil, “You mean besides the lying and cheating?” He scoffed, re adjusting his monocle. “I admit that I lied, but I was never unfaithful to you” His mother would have hit him with a wooden spoon or the coal poker for saying that, she knew it as soon as she saw how the color in your cheeks increased in intensity just like your tone of voice.

“Alastor, spending the night with another woman while having a wife is the very definition of cheating!” and then it was the same things you told him, “And while you were out there, I was in that house, living above the freezer full of bodies” and then how he made you feel, “You made me feel horrible, you made me question if I was doing something wrong, I spent many years harboring those thoughts”.

He knew your speech by heart already. He could recite it on a broadcast, but he knew you would throw him a rock later.

“I’m sorry” he then said, what else was going to help, really?

You rolled your eyes at him, a sorry wasn't going to cut it. And since you were clearing things up, “They caught the man that killed you. You were his first, so they let him go with a tap on the wrist” he was so damned annoyed by the fact that he was killed by a newbie hunter who mistook him for a deer, but he couldn’t give a rat’s ass at the moment.

“He’s probably here anyway” you chuckled in response, “I sure hope so, I put him here” if a needle were dropped, given the tense silence, it would’ve sounded like a thunder.

“Huh, so you kill someone and it’s fine, but I do it and suddenly I’m the psychotic one” he suddenly was talking exactly as his mother, in his head the words ‘Oh god, I’m turning into my mother’ were used.

“Yes, because you hunt people for fun. That guy broke into our house, Alastor, I acted in self-defense” the image itself brought his antlers to grow in size and his eyes to turn black, “How come I’m just hearing of this?” true, you never told him, but there was a lot of things he didn’t told you, and also: “Because I didn’t wanted you to run out on me again” was that reason that played in your head a million times, because of your wedding night.

He fell silent. His antlers and eyes went normal as he sat on his chair, rubbing his scalp with one hand and tapping against the armchair with the other.

“Until death do us apart, was it?” he thought out loud, recalling his wedding day.

It was summer. There were lots of flowers, which you had struggled to find. The aisle was decorated with a white cloth over the soft grass, marigold petals on it, ‘yellow for good luck’ you said.

He had noticed the combination of details that described the relationship you had, little wooden details in the shape of animals, both of your favorite foods and the music, even the soundtrack when you appeared at the end of the path to the altar was perfect, the song that was playing on the radio in the cafeteria where he met you.

“Contemplating a divorce now?” Alastor smiled to himself, never in a million years would he even entertain the thought.

“Au contraire, dearest” he got up, walked rather happy with himself and swoon you around, his hand taking you by your hip, and the other on your cheek. “How about we renovate our vows? No spells this time”, his nose was touching yours. You gave it a thought, it was enticing, yet not going to make you less mad at him.

“So you can lie and cheat all over again?” he hummed a no, “I want to rectify everything, years of lies and pain, and give you a proper marriage” he nuzzled his face in your neck, knowing you find that cute, even more so with his fluffy ears.

“I would like the magic anyhow, to ensure you never lie to me again, otherwise, no” he felt himself anew, like the boy he was when he set his eyes on you.

“Deal” he said without a single second to spare, “Is there anything else left to be addressed?” he added, eager to have some wounds left to heal.

“Do you even love me still?” he pressed you closer, your chest flushed against his warmth. Lips painfully away, so close yet so far, just as he wanted you to hear some words he had been brewing since the first fight, and the first time you questioned his love.

"You are the only anchor I have that keeps me sane. Without you it's like I’m breathing acid, it only improves the one night a year you spend with me during the extermination, then, I’m left alone and cold to count the days again” he was aware of how he spoke to you when you found out about what happened with Adam, he handled it poorly, but in his turmoil of insanity, he needed you to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

“You are my heart, my life. I would gladly burn Hell if that could persuade you to forgive me” His voice broke in static and a crackle of truth. He craved your touch, your breath on his neck, your little morning giggles, the sound of your heart pounding faster in your chest whenever he kissed you.

“But if you need an answer, yes Y/n, I love you” he could watch you smile every day for the rest of his existence, just like you were when he finally uttered the words. “You cheesy old geezer” you hugged him closer, not losing the opportunity to touch his little tail. “I’m your cheesy geezer” he presented his left hand, taking off the black glove with his teeth, “Forever” proudly showed you that he still wore the ring.

“So, to confirm, you want me because you love me or you just want control over me?” your last question made him think. He could say it was a matter of love, like he just did, but he decided to be a goof about it. “To put it simple darling, if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t put up with your attitude” you gasped in fake offence, “Granted, but ouch” he kissed your cheek with a chuckle.

The sound of screams and carnage drifted through the bayou spell into Alastor's room. With a nod and a flash of green he looked out the window, the horror continuing unabated. “Looks like they will be at it for a while” he softly let go of you, reluctantly so, then he made the window go away.

“I hope so, they announced acid rain for today” Alastor laughed, he's always known you're an introverted sadist, and he loved that. It made his stomach feel tingly.

“Will you stay this time?” He asked with a little bit of hope. The arrangement didn't specify whether you were staying the night with him or not. Because of the fight, you had decided not to be with him for a single second longer than necessary.

But now he had apologized.

His hand took yours, pulling you gently towards himself. When he had you in his arms, sat on his thigh, he took a moment to appreciate the subtle amount of makeup you added for work, and the little necklace he gifted you, which held your ring on the silver chain.

“I thought you had threw it away” he took it in between his claws, observing it was well preserved. “I wanted to, but then I remembered how hard you worked to pay me a proper ring, I felt guilty” if it weren’t for his restraints, his smile would fall to a less pronounced grin. “Thank you, ma chérie” he nuzzled his head again in your neck, this time with your arms around his shoulders, gently enjoying a pleasure no one else in hell could have.

Petting Alastor’s ears and tail.

He's killed for lesser, and more subtle, put-downs of his image, so you wouldn't use the word cute in front of him, though he'd begrudgingly let it slide once or twice, if it’s you. However, and he may never say it out loud, he loves the little giggle you make when you see that your ministrations make his tail wag happily.

After a brief dinner he had made beforehand, hoping that you would say yes to stay, he handed you the silky pajamas you left last time.

"Let me help you" you thought his radio host skills were so annoying sometimes, he could use a single tone of voice for a thousand meanings, and he intoned that simple phrase like the best seducer in hell, while unbuttoning your dress, one button at a time.

His breath felt warm against the bare skin of your shoulder, he was breathing in the perfume you had spritzed earlier, a citrus scent you enjoyed. He could recognize that smell easily, it helped him during his misfortune with Adam, for comfort.

“You’re so warm” he parted your dress with his hands, letting it pool at your ancles while he roamed your skin, his chest pressed against your back. “You don’t get to be sexy with me, sir, you’re injured” you watched his performance at work, on the worker’s lounge Tv. Angry that he didn’t left a single note for you to find if he died. He didn’t think he would get hurt in battle, so a note wasn’t in his thoughts at all.

“I can take it” he purred, paying no mind to the pain in his chest at all. “The hell you will, let me change your bandages, and if you don’t fuzz you might get a kiss” you grabbed the coat he had discarded on the edge of the bed, placed it on your shoulders and then turned to see him.

He had a breath stuck in his lungs for a while now, but when he saw you, with no anger in your eyes, he let it go. His smile looked a lot less forced, and all his menacing features, like his puffed up chest, fell down like a veil.

“Alright, darling” he caressed your cheek before pulling you in for a kiss, his lips were battered from biting them out of anger, stress, and idleness. How many times did you scold him for that annoying habit? Several times, it made his kisses taste like blood.

He pressed down on you, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your hip, his thumb caressing the line that runs down to your pelvis. “But it seems I can fuzz freely now” he smiled widely and shamelessly, proud of himself without a doubt.

Alastor didn't enjoy bathing time, especially since one of the eternal sufferings he must endure is briefly reliving what his last minutes were like. He had no problem with water or soap, only with the fact that it had to come into contact with his skin.

That is until you introduced him to bathing together, you taking care of him made the feeling less intense, even the migraines that came with the whole ordeal dissipated. He could actually feel clean at least once a year.

After a well earned bath and having changed his bandages, he put a safeguard spell around the bed, only for extra protection. “You’re incorrigible” you tried to mind your words, having into consideration that he’s an overlord and your husband’s insanely paranoid personality.

“It’s just a precaution” he often believe if he slept, someone would take advantage of that and kill him in his sleep, so he doesn’t rest as much as he should.

“I wonder if I can ask Rosie to re make your wedding dress” he slid under the covers, his arm open for you to join him, “A white dress could be controversial” as soon as he had you close enough he pulled you in for a hug, ensuring you were well under the covers.

“I promise to give you a proper wedding night” you scoffed, he raised his eyebrows, “You would have to investigate of the matter dear” you pated his chest, snickering. “I know the basics” he defended himself, “Better check your knowledge” he scoffed and asked you directly, “Are you insinuating I don’t know how to pleasure my wife?” you took a soft bite of your lip and smiled like he does when doing a point based on facts, “How should I know?”.

Since the missed honeymoon, Alastor just didn’t seemed into sex, at all. So he “compensated” by touching your body, but not the areas that mattered.

“Touché darling, cold as fuck also” he didn’t swore often, so he was really offended, “Investigate, then we’ll see who gets to have the other one begging” oh and he was so on to that challenge.

“I missed you” he softly admitted, “Me too, I love you” you kissed his cheek, “I love you more” and with that he snuggled close and drifted off to a very much wanted slumber.

He was definitely going to make a thorough research.

#alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel

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electricsynthesis · 7 months ago

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keith galraisms post

physical characteristics

-his hair grows like 3 times as fast as a normal persons. it grows unusually thick and weirdly layered and textured. i imagine it having a texture that isnt curly or wavy or straight, but is sort of coarse and pointed. dense hair. this is why he has a weird mullet. he cuts it and then he wakes up a week later and the mullets back. i reblogged a post with this exact hc like 2 days ago but i stg ive had this opinion for years

-somewhere around 19-20~ his canines fall out. literally like humans' teeth do with baby teeth. they get wiggly and then fall out. and then he grows extremely pointed fangs in their spot. when he tells coran this, coran explains that this is common in galra to lose their milk canines and grow adult fangs. lance compares it to wisdom teeth and keith gets annoyed

-on a similar note, the reason keith has a full set of teeth despite being a troglodyte child who beats people up when pissed off is because he just grows his teeth back once theyre knocked out. this didnt happen with his baby teeth but once his adult teeth grew in, he would just. Grow new teeth. this unsettles him deeply everytime he thinks about it because humans are born with both sets of teeth. how is he doing this .

-he can see in the dark

-he has prey animal hearing. his ears perk up when he hears sharp distant sounds

-obviously i think he growls when hes pissed and purrs when hes happy. Who do you take me for. i do think this is one of those things keith assumed was normal until he was older and someone he was fighting made fun of him for "growling like a dog". i think, pretty vitally, he does not sound like a human growling andor purring. i think he sounds like a cat. he also hisses but texas kogane trained him out of that as a kid. as an adult (post galra-heritage arc) he sometimes does it anyway. connecting with his inner child <3

-more generally i think his voice toes the razor's edge of sounding like a normal human's. i think it lowers to registers and heightens to heights that sound only just like a human could make that sound

-his ears have always been pointed enough to be noticeable (texas kogane had him trained to keep his hair relatively long so it would cover them) but they only get pointier the older he gets. they never stick out or anything but one day in their twenties allura sees them and is like hey! youre like a baby altean! and keith doesnt live this observation down for the entire rest of his life

-his stupid purple eyes are canon and go without saying. and the whole "go yellow and slitted when hes pissed" is also canon and goes without saying. im bringing this up because in home again's 'verse, by the time the events of the fic are happening the only people whos actually seen this happen are lance and shiro, because keith got a little upset at some enemy combatants on a mission with them once, and when they told him he was like. what the fuck are you talking about. fuck no. you imagined that. and they swear UP AND FUCKING DOWN that no, keith, your eyes literally turned yellow. they went slitted. we didnt imagine it that really happened--

behaviors

-he bites people. in all contexts. violent. affectionate. sexual. if left unsupervised he will bite hard enough to draw blood so if its a lovebite you have to slap him away. unless youre into that i guess. this is one of those things he didnt notice until adulthood and he sat there like. head in hands. why is me being galra so fucking obvious in hindsight

-whether or not keith's temper and violent tendencies are the result of a childhood of violent bullying and general social neglect or if theres a genetic factor is entirely conjecture and everyone has a different, private opinion on the subject (keith's opinion is that it doesnt really matter), but its generally agreed on that his ability to power through lifethreatening injuries on pure adrenaline is a Galra Thing

-climbs trees like a spider monkey. generally likes being in places that are both high up and enclosed . if left to his own devices will start climbing around on shit. in the castle this is generally fun because theres big empty rooms that are entirely unused. but they all collectively realize this goes beyond castle exploration once they get back to earth and find keith on top of the fridge at 3 am. im talking completely relaxed while shoved as far in the upper corner of the room as he can possibly get

-hoards random shit he finds sentimental and keeps them shoved in various corners of his room. like a dragon. after they get together (sorry for sudden klance bias) lance is constantly accidentally finding his shit scattered around their room shoved into little corners. this is a love language to keith. hes hiding their beloved belongings in safe places. lance finds it EXTREMELY annoying because its early and he needs his moisturizer, keith, if its wrapped in my jacket underneath the bed again im gonna explode

the eternal question

-pidge: have you ever considered talking to a psychologist about you having autism keith: no. the orderly at the orphanage was convinced i was. but i'm obviously just galra. pidge: [exasperated silence]

#voltron legendary defender #keith kogane

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yikimiki · 2 years ago

Note

Ok but what about popular bully!eren x popular cheerleader bully! Reader??? They find out about each other by some other people and they end up together

⚠️ quick warnings for descriptions of bullying, reader is a little bitchy and mean but Eren is fully a horrible douchebag. Mentions of misogyny, harassment, etc. Smut. Mentions of weed. Bickering.

I did a little twist. They kind of hate each other lol

You fucking hate Eren Jaeger before you even get the displeasure of meeting him — his reputation is a cloud of putrefaction that reaches people before he has the pleasure to do so. And you’ve seen him around the halls of the campus, terrorizing freshmen and borderline harassing girls until they basically run away from him and his group of troglodytes. You’ve seen it all. So you have a good amount of evidence to know that he’s a total douche.

Not that you can judge — most people would say the same stupid things about you. Though you like to believe that you and Eren aren’t of the same breed. He’s a stupid bully. You just like to give unwanted constructive criticism that ends up giving people a new perspective about life. And if they can’t handle the heat and, like, transfer schools or take meds or whatever, that’s simply not on you. But you would never hit another guy for a minor inconvenience. You’re so much better than that.

The point is that you hate — hate, hate, hate! — Eren. And you hate even more that he steals all the attention away from you every time that his stupidly pretty face appears anywhere. And you hate that he looks at you at every game you cheer, hate that you like the way his eyes move up your mini skirt. You hate that you crave his attention so badly, and hate even more that it’s become a pathetic habit.

“Thought you’d at least pretend as if you’re hard to get,” Eren mumbles, all heavy eyes and slurred words, as you place yourself on top of his thighs. You roll your eyes and decide to ignore him, instead working on undoing the zipper of his jeans. He chuckles. “God, you’re fucking horny. Are you in heat or what?”

“Don’t pretend as if you don’t want to fuck me, Jaeger. I bet this is the first pussy you get since someone had enough pity to pop your cherry years ago,” you say, rushing to push the fabric down his thighs. “Now shut up.”

You two have less than twenty minutes before someone notices your mutual absence and a crowd gathers in front of the one house bathroom that has been suspiciously closed for a long time. The downsides of popularity, you guess. And no way in hell you’re letting your reputation — and your flings with half of the football team — be thrown into the trash like it’s nothing. Especially for someone as gross as—

“Eren!” You hiss, a shock running through your body as his fingers plunge inside your pussy. He’s quick, even stoned out of his mind, and it took him less than a second to push your panties aside. “You’re fucking gross.”

“Hm, right,” he says, one hand landing on your shoulder. Eren presses down hard, and you get down on your knees — yeah, you got the message. “I like you more when your mouth is full.”

“Gross,” you repeat.

#eren headcanons #eren smut #aot smut #eren x reader #attack on titan smut #eren x you #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger x you #snk smut #lost steam towards the end lol

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wakacreations · 2 months ago

Text

Letters From Rolan (Anthology)

Your Ally :) Letter Unproperly Sent.

Word Count: 887

Summary:

After Lorroakan's demise, Rolan reflects on his new position as the Master of Ramazith's Tower.

[A letter written in cursive script.]

Dear Tav,

You know you terrify me tremendously. That is no understatement. I have validity to that fear. Who can stand against the great saviour of Baldur’s Gate? Someone except I, of course. Oh, who am I kidding this letter won't be sent anyways. Most of these letters will never go to them…

At night I am stuck wondering if there was something more when you came to my rescue, my family’s rescue. If I was any other tiefling or stranger you had come across, you would probably rush in to save them. I am left thinking truly I cannot help these thoughts wandering into my subconscious as of late. I sit in this tower. I now can call mine but could I do so in good consciousness? My “master”, well.. “former master”, what am I even saying that BASTARD. How could I not have chosen to stand my ground against him sooner! Why did your actions have to sway me to act? That is not a slight at you but a chastisement at myself. How can I run and be the “Master” of Ramazith’s Tower when the time came to prove myself. To stand up against him I felt hesitation.. fear even. How did I let myself get diluted into thinking it was the price to pay for being a master wizard's apprentice?

For a long time I thought that such a thing was necessary not just for my apprenticeship but just everyday life. For how much of my life, my existence had been a mix of luck and misfortune. Am I worthy to keep accepting these happenstances of luck, these “gifts” and these “talents”. I was casted aside at birth you know. I never told another soul, only my family knows that fact. If our mother didn't well their mother showed such hospitality, to commit to such a noble act I.. honestly don't know where I would be. There were some soldiers, Hellriders who took pity on me when I was only but a street urchin living in Elturel. Maybe I would join their ranks. I know such a statement seems like a jest. “Rolan?! Thee tiefling wizard who is prim and proper! Who wouldn't be caught dead smelling of the grove!?! That same Rolan???” I heard all types of heckling from those troglodytes to know that sounds outlandish. I was in my youth. What else could I say? My ambitions were always grand.

I try, you know. I try to be more than I am; some child beggar on the streets, a wretched Hellspawn, a refugee of a great historic tragedy, a victim of a bastard fraud who dares call themselves a “wizard”, and for me to be simply more than just a burden who was abandoned by birth. I don't blame her, my birth mother or my father or whomever left me at the orphanage in Baldur’s Gate. Well I find it hard sometimes to find a reason to love me too.

*tears stains appear on the parchment

Cal, Lia.. and my mother do carry my burden. I am forever grateful and owe them more than I am worth, more than I could ever repay. I have resigned myself to spending the rest of my existence to them. To provide, to protect, and to serve as their guardian in my mother's stead. I know they see me as their brother, sometimes their older brother when they get sentimental. Most of the time to settle their petty arguments. They are all I have known and happy to have only known. They are my family.

Honestly that is why I was so adamant to forgo any of your insistent meddling. I am surprised you still saved us when you did. Maybe you were more willing to save my siblings. I won't blame you if you were put off from saving I, time and time again. Even I would feel the displeasures of such a task. In the similar vein as to my family, I do owe you for my life and additionally more so for theirs.

If time ever came and the likelihood would be astronomically improbable but I would rescue you, you know. Truly I would. If word was spread of you going amiss or in some unimaginable otherworldly danger you would find yourself in, I would seek you. Do anything within my power to save you from whatever peril that has befallen you. Not just because my debt would be paid to you.

I… well. If nothing.. I am the Master of Ramazith's Tower of course. I will live up to and be the most powerful wizard in Baldur’s Gate. I have now acquired the resources necessary to acquire the title. After properly continuing my research and studies of course. There is plenty more I need to learn. There are many subjects of the weave I have yet to achieve mastery of.

If in any case you find yourself in need of help, anything at all the Master of Ramazith's Tower will answer you. I will surely and graciously assist you to the best of my abilities. It is only right for me to do so to the person who earned the title hero or do you prefer being called the great saviour of Baldur’s Gate?

-Rolan (friend?)

The Master of Ramazith’s Tower

#Rolan #rolan bg3 #bg3 rolan #bg3 #bg3fanart #baldursgate #bg3 art #my fanart #fanart #art #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate fanart #digitalart #tiefling #holy rolan empire #rolan nation #rolanites #bg3 fanart #rolan letters

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fic--writer · 5 months ago

Text

A surprise for Rolan

Tav and Rolan have a complicated relationship. He wants a quiet life, and she still longs for adventure. One day, endless arguments lead Tav to go on a journey. She has been away from the tower for six months, but circumstances force her to visit the tower's master again.

"Oh! Is that you? Of course it's you!" - Rolan slams the door in her face, not wanting to see her again. She had caused him too much pain. He thought he'd been abandoned and now she dares to show up unannounced.

"Please, please open the door. I have something to tell you." - Tav sighed regretfully and crouched down against the closed door. - "Okay, I'll just wait here until you're choking on book dust in your damn office."

Fifteen minutes later, the infernal screaming subsided and the door was ajar.

"Rolan, all I'm asking is that you listen to me. And... I have a surprise for you..."

"Zurgan! Tav, I'm not interested in your handouts. I literally begged you not to leave me, but your stupid adventures were more important to you. More important than me, more important than everything we've built and achieved, more important than our..."

She knew there was no stopping his tirade. She knew he was right, she knew how unfairly she'd hurt him. And so, without further explanation, she threw her baggy cloak to the ground. The buckle of his belt clanked on the floor and the Archmage looked back at the sound.

His face changed in an instant. He saw what he thought was his ex-girlfriend in a very interesting position. She carried the little troglodyte inside her. And he could count too fast in his head to realize that she was carrying HIS troglodyte.

He went over to her and put his hand on her round belly. Why hadn't she told him before? Was she afraid of him, thinking he would reject her? There was a wall of misunderstanding in their relationship, but this...

"That's the surprise, isn't it, Tav?" - Rolan still couldn't take his eyes off her new form.

"So you like it?" - She didn't know what to ask.

"Do i like it? You know, I love my family, unlike ... Oh, shit." - he paused and offered her a chair.

"I want to call her Lora" - Tav announced as she sat down in the chair. - "Just so you know, before she rips my body apart with her horns."

"What?! Tieflings aren't born with horns, they grow them after birth." - Rolan laughed nervously, pouring her tea. He tried to hide his fear behind that laugh, but it would take him some time to get used to the idea of having a daughter. His daughter.

"That's all right, we'll fill in the gaps in your education, ignoramus. But I have to wonder if you're planning to have a baby and leave it here with me, Lia and Cal and go off on your own adventures?"

"I'd like to grow she here, with you in the tower, if you don't mind." - Tav sipped her drink and crossed her arms over her bulging belly.

"You didn't think I'd kick out the mother of my child, did you?"

"I don't even know if you've got someone..."

"Oh, you'd know for sure if you'd written me a one damn letter!" - He burst out again.

A strange noise and fiddling was heard in the hallway. And the Archimage went to investigate.

Outside the door, Lia grabbed him by the collar and huffed:

"I don't care what you had going on before. From now on, I forbid you to hurt her. You hear me, you red-ass bastard?" - she shook him like a mother cat to a careless kitten.

"Ouch, easy!" - he whined.

"Be fucking civil, Daddy." - Cal added, tugging on his tail and shoving him back into the office.

A chilled Rolan went over to Tav and hugged her:

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, for the love of all the gods, I have no idea how hard this has been for you." - His mind was back and he knelt down beside her, pulled up her blouse and kissed her belly. Not because he was afraid of his brother and sister, but because he wanted to do it himself.

And he never again reminded her of that not-so-easy time in their lives.

Inspired by this art.

#bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #tiefling #rolan x tav #rolan nation #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #fanfic #bg3 drabble #bg3 tiefling #bg3 romance #bg3 lia #bg3 cal

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lemonsrosesandlavender · 5 months ago

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Soft Rolan thingy incoming!

Rolan with a Tav, who is also a magic user, but one that gains their magic through means other than strict study or innate magical abilities, helping the tiefling wizard expand his knowledge of magic? Like maybe Tav is a Moon Druid, showing and explaining some of the magical secrets that can be found in nature, with Rolan suddenly notice how... enchanting Tav is under the moonlight... despite the tiefling wizard's best efforts to remain focused on the moon like Tav is.

Here we go, anon! Sorry for the long wait. I hope you (and flower crown anon) enjoy! Rolan x gn druid!Tav, 3121 words. No warnings, this one's just sweet :)

If there’s one thing that Rolan thinks of, when he thinks of Tav, it’s the glow of moonlight on their lips as they cast. They seem to carry it with them; back in the Shadowlands, it saved him from the dark. Back in the brief but brutal days under Lorroakan’s thumb, it was their moonlight that called to him, though Dame Aylin’s glowed far stronger. And now, in the peace and comfort of his new life, it dances with a radiance less fearsome; a dusting of hope instead of a blaze of glory. He knows very well that they’re capable of both.

Moon magic is beyond the reach of most wizards, but Rolan does not consider himself to be merely any wizard. Besides, even if he cannot master it himself, he might improve his own practise with its knowledge.

He’s surprised when Lia outright laughs, when he presents this plan in some detail over breakfast.

‘That’s a complicated way of asking them out.’

Rolan frowns in confusion. ‘I’m not asking them out. I simply wish to expand my magical knowledge.’

‘Did you run out of books in the library? I thought you said it had everything a wizard could ever wish to know.’

‘Lia, you are well aware of the concept of a figure of speech.’

‘I’m well aware of how to get someone to go out with you. Are you going to suggest they hold your hand whilst they’re at it?’

‘Oh for the Gods’ sakes,’ Rolan mutters. ‘I do not fancy Tav.’

‘Are you sure?’ Cal giggles. ‘Even your projection tries to flirt with them. It leans over the counter sometimes. I’ve seen it!’

‘Wretched Hells!’ Rolan huffs, gathering up his plate and the morning’s Baldur’s Mouth with an irritable sigh. ‘If the projection is broken, then tell me. And I am sorry the exchange of scholarly ideas means so little to you, but that is truly all I am after. Tav will understand that, even if you troglodytes won’t.’

They do, in fact, understand it perfectly, even if he fumbles his words over it for reasons he can’t quite be sure of. Probably Cal and Lia’s teasing, making him self-conscious. Tav leans in slightly, and the words jam tighter in his throat.

‘Tomorrow, then?’ they murmur. ‘After shop close?’

They smell of wood and husky spices. Rolan swallows.

‘Ah - yes. Excellent. I will be… ready.’

He endures Cal and Lia’s mockery for the rest of the next day. It is almost as if they want him to date Tav. Which, of course, they will be disappointed in; though the more he thinks about it, the more he can almost see why they would believe it. After all, Tav is his closest friend in the Gate; they are capable, and powerful, and kind. Rolan has made no secret of thinking such, since the day they battled Lorroakan, though most often he shows it in offerings of herbal teas and discussions of fascinating artifacts.

In fact, he showed them one such artifact the other day, found deep in the Vaults. It was a pendant made of pearlescent shell set with silver; magic he could not yet identify, but he felt to be protective. Abruptly, a memory of their fingers brushing over his inserts itself, and his heart skips a little. Did it do that the first time? Did he simply not notice? Are Cal and Lia… right?

Gods forbid.

A sudden, heavy banging drums him from his thoughts.

‘Coming!’ he shouts, and misty-steps over, opening the door to their rather beautiful face.

They shift their metal staff over to their other hand, and smile. ‘Here to teach you the power of Nature. If you’re so inclined.’

Rolan nods. ‘Yes. I’m ready.’

Laughing, they raise an eyebrow. ‘You’ve said that twice now, but I’m not sure you are. A good Druid is always rooted to nature, first and foremost.’

From most people, Rolan would consider their teasing tone an affront. But from Tav…

‘What do you suggest?’ he asks.

‘Close your eyes.’

Rolan frowns, but he does it.

‘What are you - oh -’

He has the strange sensation of having his hair stroked. Caressed, even. And then, the caress gets just a little bit tangled -

‘There we go,’ Tav murmurs approvingly.

Opening his eyes hesitantly, Rolan touches the base of his horns, and then touches them again, baffled. It feels like… flowers?

‘Now you’re ready,’ they tease.

‘Was that strictly necessary?’ Rolan asks, blushing, and looks around for the shop mirror. Intended for trying on magical accessories, not vines; but it will do. Sprays of small, bright white flowers intermingle with large, delicate blue ones, twisted up with the long green rushes he’s seen down by the shore in Rivington

‘Bunchflower and Leeblossoms,’ Tav says. ‘And Swordgrass. And no, it wasn’t. But they suit you.’

‘Hmm,’ Rolan mutters. He finds himself smiling. ‘Well. Shall we proceed?’

Tav spends the next two hours teaching him to listen to the plants on the Tower balcony. It’s not quite the glorious start he had hoped for, but he listens diligently anyway, doing his best to feel the strangs of magic in every leaf. They whisper quietly, but they’re there. When he does feel them, reaching for him, he reaches back; hoping the leaf will move or grow or show some sign of his connection. But the tenuous filaments seem to blow away like spiderthread at even his delicate grasp.

They’re smiling, when he looks up.

‘You felt it.’

He nods and stares.

The hazy sunset glow cannot be the cause of the silver in their eyes. That’s their own, personal moonglow. But it does illuminate them in a warmth that catches him in its haze, as if awakening from sleep on a summer’s afternoon. Oh no. He bites his lip, standing up sharply.

‘Yes. I suppose that’s the end of our lesson for today.’

Tilting their head curiously, they smile. ‘If you want. It’s a very good start. For someone a little out of touch with Nature.’

‘I don’t mean to be,’ he says. ‘But it is very easy. A wizard can sit at home with their books and scrolls for a long time and… not think of anything else.’

‘You seem like you’ve got more on your mind than that.’

The breath catches in Rolan’s throat. This is altogether too much to think about at once. He rarely makes friends beyond Cal and Lia. To have discovered feelings for the only one he has - feelings he has a concerning belief were there all along - is not ideal. And if they don’t return them -

He yanks off the flower crown, and their face falls.

‘Ah. Sorry, I won’t do that again.’

‘No - I was not thinking -’

Even putting it back on can’t restore the moment; but he wasn’t sure he could survive that moment for a second longer anyway. He needs to write in his journal, or down a large glass of wine, or something. Anything to work out what it is he’s feeling.

The moment Tav leaves is the moment Lia and Cal arrive back, as if they were waiting for them to go; but he won’t even let them finish the smirking sentence ‘Nice flower crown,’ before he misty-steps up to his room and sinks down against the wall, burying his face in his hands. His claws bump up against the flowers, and he takes it off, wearily, gently, looking into the ring of tiny golden stamens in each star of white, as if that might offer a clue about what to do next.

He can’t tell them. He feels that much is obvious. They’ve already rescued him from so much, and he doesn’t want to be a burden. Besides. They are the hero of Baldur’s Gate, beloved by their many friends and every stranger alike. Competing with that seems hopeless.

There is one thing he can do, though. Carefully, he unweaves every strand of the flowers, unpicking with the delicacy of a tailor so as not to break any stems. In the morning, he moves the vase with the reassembled bouquet down to the front counter.

Now, all he has to do is wait.

By four o’clock, he begins to see the flaw in this plan. They might not come in at all. Some days they’re too busy, or out visiting a Grove beyond the city. But if they’re doing that - they might not be back in time to see the flowers at all. Hells.

‘Rolan?’ comes a familiar voice. He whips around.

‘Yes!’

‘What are you doing down here? Something wrong with the projection?’ they say lightly, though their smile is less easy than usual.

‘Ah - inspecting it,’ Rolan mutters. ‘I’ve had reports it is acting inconsistently.’

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Tav asks. ‘I think it’s charming.’

Caught on his own tail, Rolan hastily thinks of something else to say. ‘Well. Perhaps we should take a closer look. Maybe it’s nothing.’

Their eyes wander to the projection, and then they start. When they turn back, their face is aglow with something unreadable. Curiosity, or relief, perhaps.

‘You kept the flower crown?’

‘Yes,’ Rolan says, flushing.

‘I’m glad.’ Tav smiles. Then, they pause. ‘Close your eyes?’

Well, perhaps an overflowing number of vases is a small price to pay for a crush. Certainly, Rolan feels it worth his while. Each time they come by, they see the flowers dotted everywhere - the counter, the desk, an empty row on the bookshelf - and smile, and cast him another one. New flowers every time, that they tell him all the symbols and uses of, whilst he runs his fingers softly over them and feels Tav’s presence in their petals.

The longer it goes on, the more he almost resigns himself to this life. Of course he wants more but - that would threaten everything they have. Each week, the Tower’s plants grow higher beneath his fingertips, guided by Tav’s thorough teaching, though sometimes they inexplicably sprout thorns.

‘Probably reflects your mental state,’ they tell him gently. ‘Clear your mind and try again.’

Lia snorts. He hadn’t realised she’d come up to the balcony.

‘If it’s based on that, I’m surprised they don’t die on the vine. I’ve seen him scowling at them when you’re not here.’

‘Lia!’ Rolan barks.

Tav laughs. ‘They annoy me too sometimes. Plants have got minds of their own. Bastards.’

That makes him snort. ‘Indeed.’

‘Where’s my flower crown?’ Lia teases. ‘Or do you make them specially for Rolan?’

Their eyes flick to him, and he feels strangely hopeful; but then, with a laugh, they tell her they can make her one too. He has to comfort himself with the fact it’s not as pretty, or as detailed, as his own. Only one kind of flower, for starters.

‘You know,’ they say, turning to Rolan. ‘I think you’re ready to try Moonbeam. But we’ll have to wait for the full moon for that. It always makes your first time easier.’

It’s only five days’ wait, but it makes him both nervous and impatient. Not that it’s any different, seeing them under the night sky; or at least it shouldn’t be, when he’s seen them like that so many times before. But they’ve promised to take him somewhere special, and secret, and the mystery snags his thoughts, over and over, ripping his focus away from whatever book he’s reading to make him wonder where on Faerûn they mean.

At last, the night arrives. He brushes down his nicest silk robe and puts a silver ribbon in his hair, one that he hopes will complement their choice of flowers.

Their staff raps on the door, and he yanks it open so fast they almost fall over into him.

‘You’re keen,’ they laugh.

‘Ah,’ Rolan mutters, searching for an excuse. This time, he can find none at all. ‘Come in,’ he says hastily.

A bundle of scrolls sticks out of their pocket.

‘What are those for?’

‘Where we’re going.’

Rolan frowns. ‘I see.’

Tav grins. ‘All will be revealed. In one moment, I promise.’

It’s automatic. Rolan closes his eyes eagerly, awaiting their magic, and they laugh; but it’s a soft laugh.

‘You know me well.’

They begin to murmur the words of the incantation, and the vines begin to weave, brushing his temples as they go.

‘I like your ribbon,’ they murmur. ‘I tried to match it. This kind of flower only blooms at the full moon. It’s called Selune’s Blessing by some, though we prefer to attribute its grace to Silvanus. At least, he can share in its glory.’

A long glance in the mirror reveals intricate midnight bells, brushed with silver spangles and filled with silver stamen. He can see where it gets its name. The last of the petals are still unfurling, and he watches them, breathing quietly, feeling Tav’s eyes on him.

‘It is beautiful,’ he says quietly, and they smile.

‘It goes with your ribbon, too.’

‘Hmmm.’

They linger a little in the moment, and then they shake their head, shaking something off inside them. ‘Right. Let’s do this.’

‘Do what?’

They pull out the scrolls - scrolls of flight - and hand them to him.

‘Go up to the roof.’

‘Oh.’

It takes a while for them to ascend the Tower’s many portals and staircases, wending their way to the highest balcony. Normally, they’d be talking more than this, but today feels different, and Rolan is suddenly uneasy. The feeling worsens as they take his hand to fly to the roof; not strictly necessary, when both of them have the spell’s blessing. It’s only another ten yards or so up to the very top, but when they’re so far above the city - he feels untethered from reality somehow, and the feeling only worsens as they land lightly in a puddle of moonlight that seems to have been drawn to Tav themselves.

‘Normally,’ they say softly, ‘I bring new druids out into the wilderness when I’m teaching them. But I thought that for you, this seemed more fitting. And the moon is very beautiful, over Baldur’s Gate.’

Rolan does look up, briefly, but what he sees holds not a candle to Tav, awash with celestial radiance. The lights of the city beneath form the stars in their own night sky.

There’s a long pause. Tav looks as if they’re about to speak; but then they stop. The unease grows. If these flowers only bloom tonight - well, after that, they’re gone. What if Tav is leaving? Going out to the wilderness, where a druid really belongs? Not that it could matter anyway - he’s resolved not to say a word to them, and he won’t, not even as they throw open their arms and call down a ray of moonshine, ethereal and yet powerful, cool and beautiful, throwing open the recesses within him and shining light into each and every one. He loves them. He should have acknowledged that a long time ago - but in this moment he’s grateful, that he has been spared this pain.

‘Rolan?’ they ask. ‘Did you catch that?’

His tail lashes. ‘Ah. No. What did you say?’

‘Feel the ground beneath your feet first. Then, seek your vines; anchor yourself in the ground.’

Closing his eyes, he twists his tail around his ankle, trying to clear his head of thoughts and his heart of feeling. The stones beneath his feet murmur their connection to the ground beneath; and to some miles away, too, where first they were quarried. But the vines - the vines are harder. They taste of Tav’s scent, they twist like Tav’s fingers, they hold him softly in a way he wishes only Tav would. He winces.

‘Are you alright?’ Tav asks.

‘Yes,’ he hisses, strained. ‘I’m fine.’

‘We can try again next full moon. It doesn’t have to be perfect, this time.’

‘You’ll be here next full moon?’ Rolan asks, too quickly, opening his eyes.

They only smile.

‘Of course. I belong in Baldur’s Gate, I think. There’s plenty of nature to be stewarded here too. Fighting for its space alongside the rest of us.’

‘Oh,’ he says, relaxing a little. ‘I thought you’d… want to be out of the city. Eventually.’

Their eyes glisten with sudden, piercing light. ‘Would you mind if I left?’

A cold breeze licks at his neck, and he blushes. Panics, even. ‘Ah - I would miss any friend, if they left.’

Tav looks a little faraway, the glow in their eyes extinguishing. ‘Mmmm. Well. Now you’re grounded. Reach out your arms.’

He closes his eyes once more. Ground yourself, he orders his mind. Now.

‘Alright. I’m channeling the moon’s essence for you, as best I can. Let yourself be open to it. And… repeat with me. Ex textura.’

‘Ex textura,’ Rolan murmurs. ‘Ex textura. Zurgan - Ex textura - Hells!’

‘Clear your mind,’ Tav replies.

He grimaces. Get a grip.

‘Ex textura - ex textura - oh piss off!’ he snaps at himself, at the growing, tangled buzz of frustration in his brain.

‘Are you alright?’ Tav asks. ‘Perhaps we should try again next -’

‘No!’ Rolan hisses. ‘No - it won’t be any better.’

‘Is there something the matter?’

Rolan wavers, but - if his feelings are the block to his magic, then Tav must surely not return them. Not one single frown of effort has marred their face. No. They must be at peace in his company. Which makes him a fool, for lacking it. He turns.

‘I think we should stop.’

‘But - you’re so close,’ Tav says. ‘I promise. I can feel it.’

‘What does it bloody matter?’ Rolan snaps. ‘I’m not like you. Tranquility is not my typical state, if you hadn’t noticed.’

They frown, catching his arm gently. ‘It’s work for me too. I have plenty of feelings; I just learn to put them aside during my connection to nature. Once that connection is really strong, it can feed off them; you just have to learn to use it.’

Hope flickers inside him, but he doesn’t let it burn.

‘Oh.’ He hesitates. ‘Feelings like…?’

‘Anything strong, really.’ Tav pauses. ‘Rolan - I didn’t want to say this - to put too much pressure on, when you were starting your new life - but…’

‘Yes?’ He twists back, looking at them uncertainly. Hopefully. Fearfully.

‘I like you. More than like you. I care for you very much.’

‘Oh, Gods -’ A stupid tear runs down his cheek. ‘I -’

‘I’m sorry -’

‘No!’ It’s his turn to catch their arm. ‘Please - I care for you too. I… love you, even.’

‘You love me?’

‘Ah - ’

‘Because I love you too. Gods.’

They pull him closer, into their pool of moonlight, and brush a strand of hair from his cheek.

‘I -’

Tav never finishes their sentence, because they kiss him instead.

#rolan x gn! Tav #rolan #cabbage answers #soft rolan #cabbage writes

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my-fancy-hat · 10 months ago

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This may be one of the best chapters so far. Mami's character address so realisticly a issue that girls (all girls) face when it comes to establish platonic relationships with men, a unspoked "life rule" that says friendship between men and women can't exists, one of them is plotting something- as Masumi said. Mami resonated with me a lot because one part of the reason I am nb is because I've struggle with gender roles my entire life, and one of them is this. I want people to see me for a person first, my gender and clothes are accesories of who I truly am, I want to connect with people beyond this body that erodes everyday and will eventually dissapear. You can say all things about this toxic troglodyte mindset but at the end of the day it's just another way in which we isolated ourselves because we are view as a trade object: you give I receive, you are kind = you must want something from me; either loved or hated, never accepted for what it is. I lost so many valuable guy friends in the past because they saw me as "an opportunity" for romance or hit, and I can't deny I didn't feel betrayed and stupid. So when my current guy friends call me "homie/bro/buddy" etc I feel happy too. It's the first time I've seen a manga address this issue, I'm glad.

#ao no flag #reading #edit: her love for touma is the hope to confirm her existence through someone eyes omfg #the mortifying ordeal of being loved for the yearn to be known #ngl i was hooked for the gay angst but the character devolpment goes CRAZY #there so many highlights and mostly are monologues

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idolatrybarbie · 1 year ago

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for my fifty follower celebration! @bastardmandennis asked: dieter bravo and prompt no. 5— "ghosts aren't real, except when they are." it's scary story experiment...i haven't written horror in probably two years. enjoy the pretty graphic if nothing else.

rating & word count: mature | 2.8k

warnings: referenced substance abuse, mentions of alcohol, dieter is sober, one song-based joke (please get it plsplspls), reader is gender neutral, a good ol' haunting tale.

It’s late. How late? Excellent question.

You’re technically on vacation—one week out of fifty-six, when your boss takes his annual trip to Seoul to “unwind.” You’ve never asked him what that means, exactly. Better not to know what Dieter Bravo gets up to in the name of relaxation.

For the past thirty-four months, you’ve been working with the Hollywood troglodyte, following him around the world and across productions to take notes and document the goings on of his life. All of this in the hopes of ghostwriting his tell-all book. Technically, you were supposed to start outlining a manuscript this spring. The publisher doesn’t think you have enough material yet to make the memoir appetizing. What they don’t realize is that Bravo is not a very appetizing man.

He’s…odd. From the moment you first shook hands with him, you’ve felt an off presence surrounding him that you still can’t quite place, even almost three years later. He treats you more like an assistant than anything, asking you to fetch him coffee or an eight-ball; the request varies based on his mood. His actual assistant, Carla, is a bit of a shadow. Still, she’s there to share anxious backseat smiles with you on the way to Dieter’s red carpet appearances, a silent shoulder to lean on.

Sitting on the broken couch of your one bedroom apartment, you’ve lost focus of the Word document on the screen of your laptop. You’ve been transferring the last two months of paper notes to digital copies for the last three hours, resenting the task the longer it takes. Dieter wanted to experience the Swiss Alps before the first day of autumn, dragging you to the mountains for a six week stay. Apparently, they don’t have mobile connection at four thousand feet.

The thought crosses your mind to call it a night, leave the rest ‘til morning. This is your only real time to rest, after all. Before you can act upon it, though, your phone buzzes beside you. “Entry Of The Gladiators” blares from the pinhole of a speaker. The song has a Pavlovian effect on you, meeting the song with a sigh and the tick of your jaw.

“Dieter,” you answer, holding the phone to your ear.

“You picked up,” he says.

“Why are you calling?” You can’t hide the irritation in your voice. Shifting your laptop off of your thighs, you stand and stretch, wedging your cell between your cheek and shoulder.

“I just—I thought—”

“Aren’t you in South Korea?” you ask. Aren’t you supposed to be bothering someone else?

“Came back early. Got a bad vibe,” he says.

“A bad vibe?” you ask. “Come on, Dieter. That trip was important.” Important for you to have a social life for a sweet seven days, but also for him, too. If you remembered correctly, he was supposed to have a business meeting with Genesis Motor about starring in their new campaign of overseas commercials.

“I rescheduled with Genesis, everything’s fine. Don’t bitch at me,” Dieter says.

“I’m not—” you stop yourself, pausing mid-pace on the worn shag of your living room. Thirty-four months, and this is how he’s treating you? “You know what, fuck you. Fuck you, Dieter. My one week off from your crazy goddamn antics, and you’re fucking it all up. I’m done. Done.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he urges.

“Calling the publisher in the morning, so you can find yourself a new ghostwriter.” Satisfaction rolls through you as you hang up on him, the tiny button on your screen giving you power. Yeah, fuck that guy. You plop back down on the on the couch, pulling your laptop back to you. Going through your hard drive, you start to load every file from the past three years with details on Dieter into the recycling bin.

Cold air rolls in from the window, cracked ajar to keep patchouli incense smoke away from the dingy plastic alarm on your ceiling. The rattling outside barely catches your attention, another noise lost to the wind. You blink. Blink again.

You know that feeling, like someone’s watching you? It’s a sense you’ve become mighty acquainted with in the last handful of years. Following a megastar around like a toddling penguin in his entourage tended to pull some attention back on you. When you look up your name, there are a handful of Variety articles, a PopCrave tweet or two that show up. A snapshot of your professional life, all in relation to Dieter. Over time, it’s gotten less uncomfortable. People love celebrities, and they just want to see them. Harmless.

But this feeling…you don’t want to look up from your screen. Continuing the task of putting every last document on Dieter in the desktop’s recycling bin, you switch over to a new tab when you’re done; search for something unimportant, waiting for this to pass. Your breath catches in your throat, heart skipping a beat. Finally, when you can’t fight the urge anymore, you turn and look.

Nothing. The smog-ridden navy sky of Los Angeles meets you with the pathetic twinkle of a far off star. You breathe in through your nose, then out again in a deep sigh. Nothing. Nothing’s there.

Exhaustion claims you when you aren’t paying attention. Your sleep is dreamless, for the most part. You hear a subtle dripping the whole night, searching for the source in the dark. With your eyes closed, the task is impossible. You let the noise come closer, long and loud enough now that you learn to tune it out. Nightmares of a leaky faucet; how odd.

You wake up in the bathtub, laptop beside you, pressed between your clothed thigh and the fiberglass. The faucet leaks steadily above your head, water dripping down onto your skin. It’s gotten all over your face, at the edges of your hairline, in your eyes. Spluttering, you sit up. Your scalp is damp. Water has seeped into the collar of your shirt. Certainly you didn’t settle on the idea of a bath in the middle of the night.

Before you can question it more, your cellphone rings from another room. Scrambling out of the tub, you almost slip and fall against the wall tiles. Getting a grip on the edge of the tub, you step a foot at a time onto the bathroom floor and pad to the living room. Your phone is wedged between the cushions of the couch. Wrenching it from the fabric, you answer on the last ring.

“Hello?”

“I need to see you.” Dieter. Again.

“Dieter, my mind hasn’t changed since last night.” Looking at the clock on the wall, it hasn’t even been twelve hours.

“This isn’t about that,” he says. “Can you just come over?” It almost sounds like he’s begging…almost.

“Look, I’m busy today.”

“Tonight then.” His voice cracks, and you can only imagine the wiry, wide-eyed man on the other end of the line. “Please,” he whispers.

In all of your time spent with Dieter Bravo, you have never heard him use his manners—much less ask for something with such desperate politeness tacked onto the request.

“Okay. Okay, fine. Tonight. Just…don’t do anything stupid, alright?” you ask.

“Yeah. Okay,” Dieter agrees. Then the phone call dies.

You really don’t have anything to do today, the Friday of your week away from Bravoland. Sitting on the couch, you look around your apartment, taking stock of the life you’ve cobbled together here. Instead of pride or nostalgia, it fills you with dread. The glassy frames holding photos of family and old friends make your skin crawl, their resin paper eyes boring holes into you as they stare. A chill crosses over your body, prickling at your arms. You go to close the living room window to find it already shut.

You stay out of the living room, hiding away from a sense of unease in your bedroom. Still, it lingers in your doorway. That watchful sense returns. Your eyes stay open, glued to the ceiling as you lay down. You can’t leave, but you can’t sleep. Keeping your eyes open seems to be all you have—like letting them flutter closed would be an invitation for the unease of the apartment to waltz in and consume you.

Time slows to a drag, the sun absent from the sky as the day passes you by. The grey light from the window bathes everything in an uncanny dullness. Your laptop still sits in the bathtub. When night finally falls, you exit the apartment without looking back. The door closes behind you with a slam. You don’t even touch the handle.

The drive into the Hollywood Hills is the only moment of peace you’ve had since you woke up in that bathroom. You refuse to acknowledge whatever is going on at your place. You’re overreacting. All the work has set you on edge, and now your mind is playing tricks on you.

Yeah, that’s what it is—the work. Fatigue. All those late nights transferring and taking notes, or following Dieter to club after club, waiting for him to finish snorting a full 8-ball outside bathroom doors. Most nights blur together these days, the only thing that differentiates them being the photographs you take and the date you write at the top of your notepad. Your calendar is dependent on what colour tie Dieter wears on The Tonight Show or Kimmel every handful of months.

The Bravo mansion is modest in comparison to some of the architectural monstrosities out this way. Still, it manages to intimidate you every time you see it. Slowly, you pull up to Dieter’s place and park in the cobblestone drive. If you squint, you can see the Hollywood sign through a thick pack of warbling trees.

The sun is not shining down on the house today as it usually is. Even here, on land deemed the pinnacle of both the American and Hollywood dream, the sky is painted an ugly pewter. The building looks shadowy in its height, the twin pair of art deco doors no longer a quirky, eccentric detail of the house but a gaping maw. The small windows that frame them, a result of Dieter’s obsession with triangles, look like raw and jagged teeth. You don’t bother to lock your car when you approach the front steps, using the metal knocker at the door.

It only takes a few moments for Dieter to appear, opening one door and giving you a once-over. He’s still in his pajamas, missing his usual lounging robe. The lack of sunglasses present on his face indicates to you that he’s not hungover (yet).

“You look like shit,” is the first thing he says to you.

“I can still go home, you know.” Taking a step back, you raise a brow at him and angle your body back towards your car. The threat is empty, of course. Nothing could send you back to that place; might as well sell it now.

“Shit—sorry. I’m sorry, come in,” Dieter corrects himself.

The door opens wider with the length of his arm, and you duck in past him. The air inside the house is permeated with must, a mix of mildew and unsettled dust. Usually, the sight of Dieter’s mansion reminds you of general unwash, not a horrible monster house. Today is special.

“So?” you ask, faux-irritation lacing your tone. “You wanted me over here. You know it’s my week off, right?”

“There’s something wrong,” Dieter says immediately. He peers around the edge of the front door before it shuts. He locks the door, then reaches up to fasten the deadbolt.

Immediately, that tells you that this is serious. Forgetting the unease at your own apartment, you ask, “Is your stalker back? She’s out there, isn’t she?”

“What?” Dieter asks. “No, it’s not that. Nothing outside.”

He walks past you and deeper into the house, leaving you no choice but to follow.

“What do you mean, outside?”

“There’s something wrong in the house,” he explains.

“Like…”

Dieter looks around, giving each shoulder a hyperbolic check. Then he walks closer, so close that you can smell his breath—bubblegum toothpaste and cigarettes. Your heart speeds up a little, the proximity eliciting a light jog in your chest. It’s not like man has never been this close, but the last time…

“A haunting,” he whispers.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, an airy chuckle that pushes Dieter back a few feet.

“Come on, Dieter,” you say.

His face pulls tighter, look severe. “I’m serious.”

“Are you high?” you ask. “I don’t smell any alcohol on you. Did you take something? Because I can call your sponsor if—”

“Will you listen to me?!” he roars over you. In the three years you’ve known him, Dieter has never yelled. He gets a little wild, antics more than slightly crazy, but he doesn’t raise his voice. You watch him closely, eyes wide, as he recomposes himself. “There is something wrong in this house. I can’t sleep, can barely eat. It feels like—like I’m never alone. Moreso than usual, okay? I’m waking up in strange parts of the house, and my shit’s in places it shouldn’t be. And I called Brad,” his manager, “and he thinks I’m full of shit. Thinks I’m on another bender. I just…fuck. I just need you to believe me.”

You blink. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dieter parrots. His eyes are all glossy, ready to spill with fresh tears. You thought that you had seen all of this man, the barest and ugliest parts of him. Now, you see you were wrong. He looks sad. Scared.

“I believe you,” you sigh. “I believe you. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could leave,” you suggest.

“No, no,” he insists. “I don’t think it’ll like that.” It.

“So then, what?”

“Stay here? With me,” Dieter says.

You should say no, heart racing now as blood rushes hot through your brain. Instead, you nod and follow him to his home theater, where he seems to be camping out. Dieter has too many candles lit not to be a fire hazard, with bagged snacks and bottles of water strewn about the floor and the plush horseshoe couch; the middle is stuffed with the same plush cushion as the back of the seats, making it more of a circular daybed than anything. Blankets are balled up at one end, two beaten up pillows next to them.

Dieter has the radio playing off of the luxury sound system, the large projector screen dark.

“I don’t think it likes noise,” he explains.

Dieter asks you to sit with him through the night, listening to shitty pop songs, car commercials, and every once in a while, FM radio static. He says the static is it, a creature he refuses to elaborate upon. He fists his hand into the blankets each time the station cuts out and turns to white noise.

This goes on for almost two hours. You start to get bored, and more pressingly, tired. Sleep calls to you, your mind settling the weirdness before as your imagination, and whatever is going on here a facet of Dieter’s. Is it possible for two people who haven’t seen each other in days, and live on opposite sides of town, to share in the same delusion? Surely. They had a name for it—folly of two.

That must be it. Working for a celebrity has finally driven you mad.

Leaning heavy against the cushions of the couch, you allow your eyes to slowly slip closed. Before the world disappears entirely, something is shaking you awake. No, not something, but Dieter. His wide palm is grasped over your shoulder, swaying you back and forth violently in his grip.

“What? What is it?” you growl.

“You can’t sleep,” he says.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Your irritation skyrockets as you sit up, pulling out your phone to scroll through your contacts.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling your goddamn sponsor, so he can do his fucking job and I can get some shut eye.”

Dieter says your name; you ignore him, pressing ‘call’. “Please, don’t do that.” He tries to grab the phone from your hand, but you get up from the couch, out of reach. You want to believe him, you do, but you have no faith. You can't do this anymore; won't entertain the delusion any longer.

The line rings for thirty seconds before the sponsor finally picks up.

“Hi, is this Jo—” you stop yourself. A deep, heavy breathing sounds off from the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“Hang up,” Dieter whispers, shaking his head. You raise a finger at him. “Hang up!”

He moves from his lax position, kneeling up far enough to snatch your cell phone away and end the call.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s—”

“There is no it!” you yell. “There is nothing here, Dieter! No one is out to get you, or watching you. No one cares, okay? Ghosts aren’t real.”

Dieter watches you, and you watch him back. Holding a steely gaze, you don’t register the fizzle-pop of light bulbs around the two of you until they’ve already exploded. Shards of hot glass fly from the fixtures and land on the carpeted floor. All at once, the flame at each wick of Dieter’s candles is snuffed out. You stand still, frozen in complete darkness.

Dieter uses your phone for light, the screen illuminating the hollows of his face.

“Except when they are.”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #50 followers

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warping-realities · 10 months ago

Text

Overlap

This story was made based on a request from @themousefromfantasyland it's not exactly the same as what he asked for but if it weren't for him this story wouldn't exist.

Andrew Meyer was an unhappy eighteen yers old young man and even he couldn't say why. His mother believed that the reason was related to the early death of his father and the boy's refusal to accept any possible new father figure in his life to the point where his mother Amanda avoided any romantic relationship over the last ten years. Something that had changed recently, thus creating a friction that had never existed before between mother and son.

Amanda was a history teacher at the local high school, and the year before she ended up falling in love with an old friend the P.E. teacher Josiah Washington. Coach Washington was beloved among the students, even among those who were not adept at sports, something he did not believe in, believing that given the opportunity everyone could demonstrate some unexpected talent.

Under Josiah's command episodes of bullying by athletes completely stopped. The man was adored by almost everyone, and after much insistence along nine full years Amanda's enchantment with him ended up becoming true love, which was promptly responded to. But that story that had everything to work out ended up hitting a snag.

Not only was Andrew among the few who disliked Coach Washington, he also viewed the relationship as a personal affront. He had a deep and deep-rooted conviction that Josiah was just another jock, willing to humiliate him as had happened so many times in middle school, when he didn't have his mother to protect him. This thought was due to Josiah's insistence on making Andrew participate in the most different sports, something that the skinny nerd abhorred and believed was being done with the intention of ridiculing him. Because of this and his block in accepting anyone in his father's place, he decided to do everything he could to end that relationship.

Andrew was an intelligent boy, in fact he was in the Top 3 of his senior year class, being the president of the school's debate team, where he used his fierce tongue to eliminate all his enemies. He constantly competed for first place in his class with Cassie Jones, the president of the photography club, and Rajesh Patel, the president of the chess club. Andrew could be friends with both of them, but his own bitter nature prevented him from making any friends, with many of his colleagues fearing that they would be the next targets of the boy's venomous comments. These comments made many of the school's jocks clench their knuckles as he passed through the corridors. But Andrew, who already had the protection granted by his mother's presence in those same corridors, had received an unexpected reward from the relationship he so abhorred. Out of respect for the coach, all the athletes at the school treated him politely even though they were the boy's biggest target. The satisfaction of mocking the intelligence of one of those troglodytes and knowing that he wouldn't get revenge brought him immense satisfaction. What didn't give him the slightest satisfaction was the news he received from his mother at breakfast on a sunny autumn Tuesday.

"What do you mean by engagement?" The blond, skinny boy with glasses exclaimed indignantly upon hearing the news.

"I thought I wouldn't need to explain this to a grown man, as you make a point of defining yourself, Andrew."

"Don't act like a fool woman, you know what I'm talking about. Is that... man going to live with us?"

"First, have manners when talking to me, second that man is your teacher and for that alone you owe him respect and third but not least, yes the fact that he and I are engaged means that we will live together. But as I know the son I have we chose to wait for you to go to college next year. And that's the only concession you'll get." Amanda said with a firm voice, thus further souring her son's already normally taciturn mood. And it was with that bitter mood that he started his day, while just a few blocks away someone else's day was starting and very soon their path will cross and change his entire reality.

…..

Cassie Jones was a happy and vivacious girl, with a shrewd intelligence and a spirit focused on the arts. Despite being a real nerd she was very popular at school, always being in demand to take photos at the most different school events as well as to her colleagues' Instagram posts. Photography was in fact her great passion, so much so that she had a large collection of analogue cameras from the most different eras, and that was a very special day, as she would use for the first time the Laica Mini camera produced in the 80s and 90s that she had bought it from another photography enthusiast, a lovely lady called Cintia who owned an inn on the coast and said she had taken some of the best photos of her life with that (now) antique.

Although Andrew saw her as a rival, it was not reciprocated. Cassie was a pure soul, one of those who always looked for the good in people and situations, even those where it didn't seem to exist. And she was precisely that type of person who was given to customs such as painting, photography and... choosing to go to school walking through the city park looking for images that conveyed their inner world to the outside. That's why the thin blonde girl, with prescription glasses that, instead of making her face ugly, only increased the aura of innocence, stopped that autumn morning and observed nature and life around her, with the camera ready, waiting for the right moment to transpose the elements of both herself and the world around her into an image.

She didn't have to wait long because her attention was soon caught on an image that would easily convey that communion with the world and nature. A young man was running with a pair of dogs across the lawn, a Doberman and a beagle puppy. And Cassie took advantage of a moment when the owner was far away and the two dogs seemed to exchange thoughts to click.

Little did she know that that click would set in motion the chain of events that would end up profoundly modifying the reality of that would-be rival, for whom she had only a feeling of compassion, but which would soon become much more.

…..

Cassie, Andrew and Josiah's paths crossed that day during physical education class, where the beloved teacher greeted the students with a bright smile. Coach Washington was a huge black man, the type that can be intimidating at first glance. Although in his case it was enough to get past that first glance to realize that despite his impressive size, the most impressive thing was the man's kindness and dedication. For him there was no bad time or student who wasn't worth the effort.

But even he would have to admit that his future stepson was a tough cookie. While even Raj Patel had found a way to exercise, exchanging basketball passes with Samuel Miller, Andrew was sitting sullenly on the edge of the court giving withering looks of hatred to everyone present. With a resigned sigh Josiah approached the boy, but even before he could say something he was interrupted.

"Don't even try, there's nothing you can say that will force me to participate in this... class, especially today!"

And so Josiah discovered firsthand how the boy had received the news of his mother engagement with him.

"Andrew, I am still your teacher and this is still a mandatory subject, you must participate in it if you hope not to fail."

"Try to reproach me and I will accuse you."

"For what? Do my job?"

"I wil say to everyone you stare at me when you come to my house." Replied the poisonous boy.

"Andrew, that's absurd... it's untrue! I never did that and you know it!"

"But the others don't know, so why don't you leave me alone for the next few months and when I go to college we can get rid of each other?"

"Andrew, think about what you said, it's because of this type of behavior that people turn away from you."

"Great, that's exactly what I want."

"Andrew this isn't healthy, your mother worries about you, I worry about..."

"I don't want your concern, I didn't ask for your concern."

"I'm your teacher, it's natural for this type of worry arise."

"So why don't you do yourself a favor and use that worry on someone who cares? There's Cassie Jones doing nothing useful messing with one of her stupid cameras." Andrew replied, getting up and going in another direction.

Cassie was actually playing with her new camera. But it was untrue to say that she had not been participating in the class, on the contrary she had actively participated in the activities until that moment, but when she saw Raj and Sam, people from completely different worlds sitting together and sharing a lively conversation in the middle of a break that artistic feeling that guided her took over and she couldn't help but take a photo of the two boys.

"Cassandra Jones, put away that camera immediately if you have the desire to keep it." Scolded Mr. Washington in a much harsher manner than his usual behavior.

"Sorry Mr. Washington." Said the girl with tearful eyes.

"Cassie, I admire your talent, but there is a place and time for everything. So, please put the camera away and don't let me see you doing that again." Josiah continued in a much more pleasant way.

"Yes, Coach." She replied, quickly putting away the camera and returning to class.

Later that day she was in the photography club's dark room looking at the photos she had taken, there were Raj and Sam, some landscapes of the park and... a photo of the park in which two doberman dogs appeared playing.

Weird, she could have sworn there was only one doberman that morning. Even stranger was the fact that the photo of the doberman and the beagle didn't seem to be anywhere. She found herself wondering if it was possible she had gotten so confused. Leaving the photos separated on a table, she left the room to go home without noticing that a change began in another one.

….

"Are you sure you don't want to come in."

"Sorry Mandy, but I'd rather not go in."

"Would you rather? Really?"

"No, of course not, I would love to go up to your room right now but..."

"Andrew? What has my son done now?"

The sunny afternoon had given way to a windy night that brought with it the omens of the winter to come. Josiah and Amanda had taken advantage of the cool wind for a dinner for two at Chateau de Fondue followed by a walk to the house she shared with her son and would soon share with him. Josiah had avoided bringing Andrew's name to the stall, but at that moment it became inevitable.

"Mandy, it doesn't matter, it's just that he can't stand me and I don't want to fuel his dislike any further."

"Josiah Washington, what has my son done? Answers me now." Amanda said, making him suddenly remember the affronting blond boy whose mother she was.

"He threatened to make things up about me, but I seriously doubt he would be able to..."

"You don't know him like I do. Something broke in that boy Josiah and no one knows how to fix it, not him, not me and no professional I've turned to since he was eight years old and saw his father die."

"It couldn't have been easy, being stuck in the wreckage of a car with his father dead next to him..."

"It wasn't easy, for months he woke up screaming desperately during the night, I had to let him sleep in my bed for a long time, I lost count of the times I woke up with my bedclothes soaked in his urine. But none of that give him the right to threaten you."

"I've been trying to protect him, you know, and the other students resent it, the conversations go on... now you and I are engaged, until someone accuses me of favoring him..."

"Favor him? In what way?"

"He would have failed physical education last year if I hadn't intervened and this year it's worse."

"Josiah Washington, you don't protect my son by doing this, on the contrary, it feeds the dark being inside him. Tomorrow you won't treat him any different than any other student, promise me and keep your promise, because I'll find a way to find out if you don't keep it."

"Okay, I promise, no more favors. But I want something in return..." He replied with a playful smile.

" And what would it be?" She replied, also smiling as he approached and kissed her passionately.

…..

Cassie walked through the park again the next morning, with her camera ready in case inspiration struck. And that's when she saw the young man from the day before playing with two doberman dogs, with no beagle in sight.

Had she really been so wrong? Maybe he just hadn't brought the beagle that day. Building up courage she called out to the man.

"Sir, sir... are these your dogs?"

"Yes, any problem?"

"No, no, I'm sorry but yesterday I took a photo of them without your permission and I would like to ask you if you don't mind."

"As long as I'm not in the photo..."

"No, no, just your dogs."

"Then fine."

"Didn't you bring the beagle today?"

"Beagle? What beagle? I'd like to have one, I think they're really cute, but I only have these two demons here!" He replied in a happy voice while playing with the dogs and leaving Cassie even more confused.

….

Unlike Cassie's morning, Andrew's had not started in a confusing way, as his mother had been very clear with him about his attitudes and the threat of slander from him. The atmosphere in the house, which was no longer good, had turned sour once and for all. Trying to control the waves of fury that overwhelmed him he trotted down the school hallway without even noticing the people he bumped into until he came face to face with a real concrete wall: Mark Sheppard, one of the school's athletes, member of several sports teams and in Andrew's opinion a major idiot.

"Could you get out of the way instead of standing there like an idiot?" Asked Andrew to the boy three times his size, making the other turn in the direction. Mark could be described as a version of Andrew himself on steroids, he was blonde, tall, muscular and...

"What are those glasses for Sheppard? You know that intelligence doesn't come with them, right?" The thiner boy mocked with his usual bitterness when he saw his colleague's new acquisition. Who in turn just looked at the inches below that separated the two.

"I wouldn't worry so much about my intelligence if I were you, Andy, but rather about what I can do with you on the court."

"Only in your dreams that I'm going to enter a court with you, you ogre."

"Ah, but you will. I heard your mother asking Coach Washington to get you to play and she even asked me to let her know if he doesn't do it." The bigger boy replied with a wide smile as he passed by his classmate. "See you later Andy. Get ready to get everything you deserve."

…..

Physical education was the last period before lunch. What a torturous morning waiting for an even greater torture thought Andrew. Maybe the morning wouldn't have been so bad despite the terrible future outlook if he hadn't been forced to partner with the unbearably cheerful and good Samaritan Cassie Jones. How that child's doll could be competing with him for first place in the class eluded him. The worst of all is that she seemed immune to his mean remarks, always treating him kindly and looking at him with a strange look that he didn't know how to decipher.

"No, no, no, you're completely wrong and they still think you're intelligent, what a joke, just because you walk up and down with that camera pretending to be an artist..." He shouted at her just before that class morning ended and for the first time it brought tears to his colleague's eyes, which gave him a dark satisfaction.

After the end of the class they both went to the school gym without exchanging a single word as apparently even Cassie's enormous compassion had reached a point of exhaustion. At the moment Andrew aggressively entered the men's locker room two Indian boys tall, strong and extremely similar, already completely uniformed came out.

"Arrogant asshole..." One of the two grumbled while the other turned to a surprised Cassie who didn't remember either of them.

"I hope you're the valedictorian and not him Cassie, my grades are good but they're not even close to yours."

"Rajesh...?" She asked in disbelief.

"Raj, only our mother calls me by my full name, right Sam?"

"At least you don't have to tell everyone that Sam isn't for Samuel's but Samarth's, brother."

"Sam...?"

"Hi Cassie, if you don't mind we're in a bit of a rush for practice, we'll talk later. But I agree with everything my brother told you." Replied the boy she swore she had never seen in her life as she accompanied a Raj very different from the one she remembered. What was going on there? At that moment, a tall black young man left the locker room and she took the opportunity to try to clarify that.

"Jayden who's that new boy with Raj?"

"Who? I just see Sam there with him."

"This one..."

"Are you kidding me Cassie, that's Sam Patel, Raj's twin brother, you've been colleagues for almost four years."

"No, there's only one Sam in our class, Samuel Miller, a blond boy..."

"What are you talking about? There's only Sam Patel in our class, no Samuel. Are you feeling well Cassie? Do you want me to walk you to the infirmary?"

"No, it's okay...but I...I think I'll do it anyway, thanks Jayden." She replied, leaving the somewhat frightened boy behind. What was going on there? First the beagle that disappeared and now that... the beagle... the dobermans... Sam Miller... Sam and Raj Patel... no... it wasn't possible... or was it? She thought, running frantically to the photography room, spreading the photos on the table and not finding the photo she had taken yesterday of the Sam and Raj that she remembered, but instead a photo of the smiling and athletic Patel twins.

That P.E. class was proving to be the greatest horror of Andrew's school life, all the idiotic troglodytes who had previously been prevented from touching him were taking the opportunity to bump, trip and poke him in every possible way, not to mention the humiliation of rehearsed passes done solely with the intention of making him look like an idiot. And that asshole Washington letting that happen, Andrew was sure that no matter how much the man scolded the other students for those attitudes inside he must have been rejoicing in it all, after all it was all planned by him, and innocent Andrew had let himself fall for the trap. But it wouldn't stay like that, no, no... he would... Andrew didn't have time to finish the thought as Mark Sheppard bumped into him and threw him in the middle of the court fuming with anger, humiliation and pain.

"Here, Andrew let me help you up." Said Jayden Williams extending his hand.

"Take your dirty hands off me. I don't need help from people like you." Andrew replied, making his classmate appalled and angry at the same time.

"You little shit, how dare you!" Said Mark Shepherd.

"What's going on here, kids?" Coach Washington asked, approaching quickly.

"That piece of shit said a lot of racist shit to Jayden." Replied an irritated Raj Patel who was close to the two.

"No, it's not true... I didn't... that's not what..."

"Yes it was, you fucking liar, we heard everything." Retorted Sam Patel.

"Andrew, locker room now."

"But, but..."

"No discussion, locker room. And you guys back to the game, I'll sort it out."

....

"Cintia Cozy Cabin, Cintia speaking, how can I help you? Oh, Cassie, what an unexpected surprise, I hope the camera arrived safely at your house.

Yes, yes... oh my God I must have made a mistake and sent you one of my special projects... I told you that I made magical photos in my time, I wasn’t lying. No, dear, unfortunately it's irreversible, I'm sorry, but the colleagues you knew no longer exist, this is the version of them that exists now, which in fact has always existed.

What the camera does is project the essence of one being onto another, sometimes creating an overlap like what happened with the dogs and sometimes an interposition like what happened with your colleagues. This occurred randomly because you I had no intention when taking the photos, the camera works either way, but when there is intention on the part of the operator the results are usually less unpredictable, although when talking about magic there is always an unpredictability factor to take into account. And that is precisely why I need you to send the camera back to me, it's a very dangerous thing to have, it's a project I've used very few times and you can imagine why.

Thank you dear. I will send you the correct camera today and I'm really sorry for the inconvenience, but I must say that you are responding very well."

...

Cassie wasn't responding well. That was madness, a daydream of a lady isolated on a beach all year round. It couldn't be real, yet the Patel twins were there to prove it. Just thinking about the way things must have had to adjust to accommodate those changes almost took her out of reality while she wandered aimlessly, with the camera hanging in tow as she returned to the school gym, now almost empty, if it weren't for the pair arguing in the hallway in front. And the matter seemed very serious. Taking care not to be seen, she watched the discussion unfold.

"I didn't speak with that intention!"

"After what you told me yesterday how do you expect me to believe you?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not."

"Well, you should care, because it's up to me whether you get a suspension or something worse."

"Look, when I talked about people like Jayden, I wasn't talking about his color... I was talking about his way of being... of being someone, just like you..."

"You do realize that saying that to a black man doesn't help your case at all, don't you?"

"You understood what I meant... I'm talking about you athletes, the owners of the party... the jocks, who walk around the school as if they owned it, who think they're better than the others, a gift of God for humanity."

"Funny, I've heard that description applied to you a few times, ironic don't you think?"

"No, I don't think so. You don't know me!"

"No, I don't, but does anyone? You're a closed book with the pages glued. Not even your mother knows you, Andrew, but I'm willing to get to know you if you give me a chance."

"I'll pass, zero interest."

"I want you to understand that I don't want to replace your father, his place will always be his with you and your mother."

"Don't talk about my father."

"Andrew, I'm trying. Look kid, I've also had losses … I… I can't have biological children."

"It's your problem, I am not and will never be your son. Now leave me alone!" The boy replied, ready to leave.

And at that moment, the kind and carefull Cassie made an impulsive decision. When she saw the suffering in her favorite teacher's eyes, she raised the camera and took a photo of the two of them thinking about how things would be better if Andrew was actually Josiah's son. Almost instantly she regretted what she had done, running back towards the photography room. Leaving behind two people whose lives would be irreparably changed.

In a hurry she prepared the solution and entered the dark room. Her heart pounding as she thought about what she had done and the countless possibilities of disaster. Cintia had said that the intention was the main thing and her intention had been clear, but there was so much that could go wrong. What if Mr. Washington ended up like an older version of Andrew, unhappy and bitter? She would never forgive herself for doing that to a good man. Or even worse, Andrew's biological father was dead and if by wishing Josiah was his father she ended up making her teacher dead?

Uncharacteristically bad thoughts overwhelmed her as she worked on the photo. With her heart still racing and her hands shaking, she took the final product and stared at it for long minutes. The photograph taken in a hurry and from a bad angle was far from her usual work, but it still showed what she remembered. Mr. Washington in all his poise having a serious conversation with his future stepson, a defiant Andrew Meyer. She was already letting out a sigh of relief when she noticed something.

"Where were Andrew's glasses?"

Meanwhile, in the school cafeteria, the boy's transformation began to unfold.

…..

Andrew was about to leave Josiah talking to himself when he was hit by a flash of light followed by a wave of dizziness that almost knocked him over.

"Andrew, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you done? I need lunch."

"Okay, but think about what I told you."

"Yeah, sure. Count on it." The boy concluded by withdrawing and rubbing his eyes with the strange sensation that there was something missing there. At the same time, his stomach growled with an unusual intensity, making him not even change his physical uniform before running to the cafeteria for lunch.

Andrew headed to his usual isolated spot and with his thoughts stuck on what had happened in class he began to eat without even seeing what he was putting in his mouth. That time he had gone too far and he knew it, but he also knew that he hadn't lied, his problem with Jayden and Josiah had nothing to do with the color of their skin and everything to do with the way they both were. He hated the jocks, they made his life a real hell before he moved to his current school. But it wasn't any of the jocks at that school who had done those horrible things to him, a little unknown voice said in the back of his mind. Yes, but only because they didn't have the opportunity, today's class proved that. But they didn't get the opportunity because Josiah asked them to stop their behavior, a point in Josiah's favor. He probably prohibited their barbaric behavior thinking about his image, certainly if it weren't for that Mark would have already ended Andrew's life. But at least Josiah did something about it differently than middle school teachers. Plus Jayden could have been offering real help and trying to be a good person and now he would be thinking Andrew was a racist. Not that he normally cared what his colleagues thought of him. But that was different, Andrew knew he was difficult, he knew people didn't like him, that he was bitter and... unhappy. He knew that very well. But he also knew that there were certain things he was not and being racist was one of those things. And knowing this he made an unprecedented decision in his life, he decided to apologize.

Standing up and gaining the courage to go ahead with that decision, he didn't even notice that he was wearing something completely different from the training clothes he wore when he sat down and also from the one he usually wore.

Walking somewhat clumsily as if he didn't really know how to do it, he approached the jocks' table and positioned himself in front of Jayden, releasing everything at once.

"Hey Jayden...um...I'd like to apologize for today...I know what I said sounded like...and I want you to know that it's nothing like that...and well... . I'm really... sorry... I'm really... sorry... and I hope you can... you can forgive me." He concluded, still not completely believing in what he was doing. The boys at the table also didn't seem to believe what they were hearing, it was something unprecedented in their school life for Andrew to admit he was wrong and apologize. So much so that everyone stared at him open-mouthed. The first to recover was Mark, who quickly stood up and positioned himself in front of Andrew with his fist raised. Interestingly, the two were now the same height, something they both didn't seem to notice.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing Andy, but if you say that kind of shit again to Jay, I'm going to wipe out your ass and you won't have a mother or a coach to protect you, because I won't mind being suspended if it guarantees teaching you a lesson!"

Hearing that kind of threat made Andrew quickly return to his usual behavior.

"Now you've left me very worried Sheppard, I would be even more worried if you had the slightest bit of intelligence to be able to fulfill what you promise. And even in the remote possibility that you achieve something, I will find a way to put an end to your athletic aspirations, a proven assault charge against a classmate is not going to look good on your academic records."

"Listen here, you little shit..." Mark replied angrily, ready to attack Andrew.

"Guys! What's going on here?" Josiah Washington asked entering the cafeteria in that moment.

When Andrew looked at him, he felt a flash hit his retina and was then struck by a sensation of vertigo. Taking enough time to recover as Mark accused him.

"Andrew came here to talk shit again, coach."

"Hey, that's not true, I came to apologize to Jay about this morning and Sheppard started with his usual fragile masculinity show." He accused Andrew as he tried to remember when he was close enough to Jayden to call him by his nickname.

"Who's fragile, scarecrow?"

"Mark, that's enough! Jayden, what happened?"

"Andy told the truth, coach. He came here to apologize and by the way, I forgive you Andy, it was just a misunderstanding." Jayden replied, always fair, but still being fair he continued.

"But as always he and Mark couldn't bear to be together for even a minute and ended up exchanging threats." The boy finished, making the two colleagues forget for a second their mutual hatred and look at him with the looks they used to give each other.

"Guys, you are colleagues, and besides, teammates..."

"Ha, we can play together but we're not on the same team, or at the same level, don't compare chicken legs with me, coach."

"Mark, Andy runs a lot more than you." Jayden commented, making his friend look irritated at him.

"Why all the defense with him now? When has he ever been nice to anyone? You know we only put up with him because he's Coach Washington's stepson!"

"Mark, that's enough!" scolded an irritated Mr. Washington. While a very offended Andrew stared at his stepfather with angry eyes before turning and leaving the room.

"Thanks, guys! You helped a lot, really." He said to the embarrassed students.

"Sorry coach, I exaggerated..."

"Yes, and because of that it’s bench time to you this afternoon. I think it's time we give Andrew the chance to be the starter."

"But coach..." Mike started to complain, falling silent at a stern look from Josiah.

"That is, if I can convince him to show up." Josiah concluded thoughtfully.

….

Andrew walked aimlessly through the school corridors, until he found an empty bathroom where he sat on the toilet and cried, something he hadn't done in a long time. He knew he was a difficult person, but he was trying. His relationship with his stepfather was never easy, but they had reached a mutual tolerance agreement in recent months, shortly after Andrew's mother's marriage to Josiah. In fact, the relationship, which was not exactly cordial, had evolved to the point where Andrew allowed himself to be convinced by his stepfather to participate in the school teams that last year. Not that he did much more than warm the bench. But just participating in something with his colleagues would help a lot with his behavior. He discovered that he could talk to the Patel brothers about common interests and Jayden seemed to be sincere in the way he treated him, Mark of course continued to be the same irritating idiot he always was and now it was clear why, he was the only one who didn't fake cordiality.

That was what he got for trying. Annoyed, he dried his tears and washed his face in the bathroom sink and then stared at his own reflection. Wavy brown hair and gray eyes, still red from crying.

It was then that he made a decision, he would go to Josiah's office and say that he was going to leave all the teams and let his stepfather deal with it.

.....

Cassie was panicking, the photo she took had undergone another change, she tried to contact Cintia again, but when she called the inn she was informed that the owner had left and would only return in mid-afternoon. Not knowing what else to do, she stared at the photo waiting for the next change, thinking about what other changes were happening without her even having any idea.

....

"Come in, the door is open. Hey, Andy, I was just going to look for you, please sit down." Josiah said to his stepson who entered the room with his head down, without looking at his stepfather, as he gathered the courage to say what he had come to say.

"Look, I know how it felt when Mark told you that. But I hope you understand that I only asked them to go easy on you because I know how much you suffered from kids like them at your old school. And Mark... Well Mark can be a bit of an ass sometimes, but that's between us." Josiah concludes with a knowing smile that was not reciprocated because Andrew didn't even look up at him.

"I want to quit training." He said without looking at Josiah.

"Why? You're doing well, I thought you liked it. Raj and Sam seem to get along with you and Jayden would be a great friend if you give him a chance."

"They only talk to me because of you and I don't want to depend on you for anything."

"That's not true Andy, I don't have that power over them, I can only ask them to treat you with respect, the rest is up to you and it seems like you've been doing well, despite some slip-ups like this morning."

"I already apologized, it was just a misunderstanding." Andrew replied, looking for the first time at his stepfather, only to be hit by a flash of light followed by a sensation of vertigo.

"Of course it was a misunderstanding Drew, no one with the slightest intelligence would ever think that a racist speech would come out of your mouth."

"You said it well, coach. No one with the slightest bit of intelligence, but Mark Shepperd doesn't reach the bare minimum." Drew replied.

"Andrew, your feud with Mark has to end, it's disturbing the whole team." Josiah replied in turn causing Drew's face to droop.

"Don't look at me like that, you remind me of your mother when she's mad at me."

"Funny, most people say I remind them of my dad." Replied the dark-skinned athletic young man, with curly hair and dark eyes, already fully dressed for basketball practice that afternoon.

"Well, I didn't know your father other than through photos, but I'd say you're a good mix of the two. But that strong genius certainly comes from your mother." Married to Amanda for seven years and with a cordial relationship with his stepson, Josiah felt secure to make that type of comment.

"Now, one thing I can say about Mark, his behavior today guaranteed you a good opportunity. You start training today as a starter and if you do a good job no one will be able to accuse me of giving preference to my stepson. I suggest that you take the chance."

"Thank you, coach."

"Thank me by doing a good job on the court, son." Josiah replied without thinking making Drew retreat into the armchair. Because despite the stable and respectful relationship between them the stepson made a point of making it clear that this was a limit that he would not let his stepfather cross.

"Sorry Drew, I said it automatically, go warm up with your teammates and I'll be there soon." Josiah said quickly to avoid a conflict knowing that although he saw Andrew as a son the feeling was not reciprocated.

……

Cassie's desperation upon seeing the new change in the photo reached alarming levels to the point that she was forced to leave the refuge of the photography room just to feel like she was doing something. The photo now showed an unchanged Mr. Washington talking to a clearly mixed-race Andrew with a much more athletic physique. She couldn't even imagine how reality was realigning itself to justify that or what it would be like to have to interact with this new Andrew.

It didn't take her long to find out because unconsciously her legs took her to Coach Washington's office where she came face to face with the new Andrew leaving the place, with a slightly disturbed face, but which soon lit up with a smile that she never imagined possible.

"Hey, Cass! I thought we were going to have lunch together today? I was worried when you didn't show up, I sent you a bunch of messages. Look, if it was because of that argument I'm sorry, but it's just that it's hard for me to be your partner, you are a genius."

"Andrew... I..."

"Since when do you call me by my full name? You must be really annoyed with me."

"Uh..."

"Cassie, are you okay? Do you mind if we talk to the gym? Coach made me the starter today and I don't want to be late."

"Hum, of course..." She said, still disturbed by that new much more open and talkative version of Andrew.

"Cass, we've been friends for years, you know what an idiot I can be sometimes. But you have complete freedom to tell me exactly this: Drew, you're being a complete idiot."

"OK."

"Are you sure everything is okay? I can take you to the infirmary even if I end up being late for training." Hearing that was what got her for good. The Andrew she knew would never put anyone else before his interests. So maybe, just maybe she would have done something good with that reckless decision of hers."

"Cassandra Jones, it's decided we're going to the infirmary!" He said with her lack of response, making her quickly intervene.

"No. I'm fine, really...Drew."

"I'm not so sure, but if you say so... the truth is that I really didn't want to miss this opportunity... but if you need me, I'll come with you."

"No Drew, go play. In fact, I'll even watch!"

"Serious?"

"Serious!"

"Then I'll make a point just for you!" He replied with a big smile that had certainly never been seen on the old Andrew's face. As the two arrived at the gym and he said goodbye to her, he headed towards the court where he quickly got busy greeting his teammates with high fives and even some hugs. Leaving a still stunned Cassie to look for a seat in the stands. And she was still amazed as he played with a previously unknown skill and when he finally scored his first point it was in her direction that he looked with that beautiful smile on his face.

At the end of the training Cassie returned to the photography room while trying again to talk to Cintia, although now she thought she could have actually done a good thin even though she still didn't know for sure how to deal with that new Andrew. He and his teammates headed to the locker room where the atmosphere of camaraderie and fun prevailed. Even for someone naturally more withdrawn like him there was room for jokes and laughter, especially with the twins Patel and Jayden, with whom he had created a good friendship, even if to do so he had to endure the unbearable...

"Hey Andy, good game, but very inferior to the king's game."

"What king is that? Because it's definitely not you!" Andrew said as he took off his sweat-soaked training shirt and sat down on a bench.

"Your envy doesn't hit me, asshole." Mark replied, flexing his muscles.

"Envy? Of what? Of looking like an anemic vampire with glasses?"

"This will be the third time that I will need to intervene in an argument involving you two today, will I have to suspend you both?" Coach Washington asked, entering the locker room and causing the two young men to quickly look in his direction. And with that Drew was hit by a flash of light and a feeling of vertigo. While he recovered, Mark responded to the coach.

"Nah, coach. We're good, aren't we, Dre?" He said.

"Sure, we are good, coach. Even more so because blondie here just admitted my superiority on the court."

"You piece of shit, I'm going to..." Mark began to threaten, being interrupted by a stern look from the coach while Andre burst into laughter, making his huge muscles shake while sweat dripped down the ebony skin of his developed pecs and ripped six pack.

"Enough of that, you two, and all of you, I want this locker room to shine like a jewel. If I come back here and find this disgusting mess I'm going to have you clean the floor and walls with a toothbrush. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Coach." They all responded in unison.

"Good." He said before speaking to his stepson in a lower voice. "Dre, when you're done here come by my office, please"

"Yes, Coach." The boy replied, still wiping away tears from his bout of laughter.

....

In the photography room, Cassie had her cell phone in hand, trying to contact Cintia again while she looked at the latest version of the photograph showing a young muscular black man who looked very similar to Mr. Washington in the place where Andrew had been. Surely now it would all be over and she would have to live with that new reality. And deep down she would have to admit that it wasn't that bad, Drew seemed like a really nice guy and who knows, a real friendship could blossom between them...

"Cintia Cozy Cabin, Cintia talking..."

....

Andre took a long shower thinking about what the coach would have to say to him, probably a reprimand for his arguments with Mark, but he should have known better. That was just jokes between the two long-time frenemies. Neither of them had ever come to blows. Or maybe it was about the position of captain of the basketball team, the season was about to start and they didn't officially have anyone yet. Jayden who got along with everyone and was great at motivating others would be the most obvious option, but he had difficulty giving constructive criticism whereas Andre, well, Andre could even be overly critical. Perhaps the conversation was precisely to tell him that. And with that thought, his normally quite cheerful and expansive mood turned sour. After getting dressed he headed to the coach's office.

"Mr. Washington is Dre." He said after knocking on the door a few times. At home he called his stepfather Uncle Josiah. He was married with Andre's mother since the boy was 4 years old, but even before that they know each other as Josiah had been a long-time friend of Andre's father and had been at his mother side throughout her grieving process, when she was left alone with a one-year-old baby to care for. Andre had been in the same car accident as his father but had no memory of what happened, something he was grateful for.

"Come in Dre, I'm in the bathroom finishing changing, you can sit down and I'll be right there."

"Thank you, coach. Can I ask you the reason for this talk?" Asked the young man with anxiety permeating his voice and face.

"It's about the team captain position, Dre. I know you don't like hearing this but you're the son I never had. And for a lot of people, even at this school, it's like you actually are, which raises discussions about me favoring you, which is complete nonsense, because you wouldn't be in the position you are in if you didn't have talent, and anyone who says otherwise should come and do it to my face." Josiah said, leaving the bathroom and passing behind Andre as he walked towards his desk.

"Still, our relationship is something that must be taken into consideration in my choice and after much consideration I want to tell you that I chose Jayden..." Josiah began to say as he finally sat down and looked into his stepson dark and at that moment sad eyes at the exact moment those eyes were struck by a last flash of light, before he concluded. "...and you to be co-captains of the team. Your firm attitude and accurate criticism earned you the position, and I trust that you will be able to keep your strong temper under control, even in the presence of Mark Sheppard. Congratulations, son."

"Thanks, dad. You won't regret it." Andre replied with a big smile, knowing that in that moment father and son could treat each other like that. And there was no way not to realize that the two were father and son, as they shared the same build, the same facial expressions, the same smile and even the same haircut after Dre decided to shave his hair. Poor Amanda, who had to hear constant jokes about having given birth to a copy of her husband.

"You deserved this position, son. Every day that passes you make me prouder to be your father."

"Thank you dad, I'm also very proud to be your son, there is no better father than you."

"You only say that because you just won what you wanted, let's see if you'll say the same when I pull your ear for arguing with Mark in the middle of a game." Joked Josiah with smart smile.

"Let me deal with Mark, you know very well that I love the guy and he loves me, we are long time friends, but some friction is inevitable when you have two people like us on the same team. Although I promise to control myself. "

"Good. Now how about a game with your old man in the city park? I know you must be tired, but I'm dying to put my captain to the test."

"Sure, I just need a few minutes to tell someone the news."

"Okay, I'll wait for you in the parking lot."

"I meet you there." Andre said, getting up before turning back to his father to say something that was stuck inside him. "And dad, I know I don't say this very often, but I love you." He said before leaving the room and Josiah Washington with the biggest smile in the world just before tears started rolling down his face.

"... what's done is done Cassie. You should have listened to me and that's why I ask you to give me back the camera as soon as possible. But the damage could be worse. Apparently you did that boy a lot of good , yet your choice can bring unexpected consequences. Are you sure the photo has stabilized? Oh, is it changing again? Totally different from the previous one? Great, it means there will be no more changes. I'll turn it off my dear, send me the camera today if possible. Good afternoon."

Cassie heard Cintia hang up the phone as she stared at the photograph, certain that this was by far the strangest thing to happen in her life. And she wasn't completely wrong, since the strangest thing in her life was about to happen but still linked to that photography. As she was getting ready to go to the post office to send the camera to Cintia someone knocked on the door.

"Hey Cassie, it's Andre, can I come in?" Andrew? Cassie thought, could even the name...?"

"You can come in," she replied with a trembling voice, seeing the muscular almost 6'7" tall young man enter the room making her legs feel so wobbly she had to sit on a bench in front of one of the cabinets full of photo albums.

"I won it Cass! I'm the new captain of the basketball team." He said, approaching her. "Okay, I'll share the position with Jay, but that's fine, he deserves it too. What's that in your hand?" He asked, looking at the photograph in her hand as he sat next to her, who found herself at that moment invaded by his perfume and a feeling of intense heat.

"It's... a photo... of you and your father... I was going to give it to you as a gift." She said handing the photo into his gigantic hand. Who in turn admired the image of him and his father both in uniform, hugging each other after class.

With teary eyes he looked at her, and she felt her knees weaken with the intensity of that look.

"Thank you Cass, I don't know what I would do without you, you are my best friend, my support in difficult times and a great first place for my second place in the class. I don't even know how to thank you other than like this." He said kissing her who found herself reciprocating with unexpected enthusiasm.

"Wow." Dre said catching his breath.

"Wow." Cassie agreed, realizing firsthand the unexpected effects of playing with reality.

"Cass, you don't know how long I've wanted to do this, but right now I need to go, my dad is waiting for me. Don't you want to come along?"

"I'm sorry An...Dre. I need to do something urgently."

"So meet us at the park later, we'll be at the basketball court. Can I take the photo?"

"Of course it's yours, I'll see you later."

"Promise is debt!" He said before giving her another stunning kiss and leaving the room and her, completely stunned.

….

That late afternoon Cassie was walking through the park where the most magical and absurd situation of her life had begun. She had just sent the camera back to Cintia but the effects caused by it would remain forever. She didn't know what had happened to Raj and Sam's parents, as she didn't know either of them very well before the change happened, but she tried not to blame herself for whatever had happened as she had no way of knowing at the time what she was doing.

Although there was a situation that she knew very well what she was doing, a situation that messed up her entire life, but that she was trying hard to believe was for the best. That overlap practically obliterated the old Andrew and that was her conscious decision, impulsive yes, but deliberate and no matter how bitter the boy had been she didn't have that right, at least Andre seemed to be a wonderful person and was really a good kisser... and there was still the fact that Mr. Washington had the son he always wanted, a son that every father would be proud to have. That alone made her remorse almost disappear.

As she approached the basketball court, Andre waved to her with that fantastic smile on his face and then signaled for her to take a new photo of him and his father. Unable to avoid being infected by his joy, she also opened a smile and with a camera no more magical than usual, she recorded that moment. Knowing that if placed on a scale for good or evil, regardless of the result she was responsible.

Anyone who looked at that image could tell which way the scales tipped.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #race change

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