#truly my schedule is immaculate

[ghoulgeists]

she's doing the wenis

[hyperactively-me]

ask from @redzscare

(king!ghost x princess!reader au) -- anger

i just wanna say oh my god, thank you for your inbox message with those two amazing and well thought out ideas!!!! i would also love to know your other ideas if you still have any :) and i know its been over a month since you requested, but i wanted to do your ideas justice! i decided to split them up into two separate pieces so that it can flow better in the story, but i have your first request in my "to be written" notes, and it will be posted in the future!!!! i hope you like it! the angst is immaculate and heart-wrenching. anyway, here is #2!!!

word count: ~3.6k

warnings: fighting/yelling, angst lots of angst/hurt (like A LOT, A TON, he's so mean, you've been warned), hurt/comfort, happy ending!!!

The past few weeks have been nothing but stressful for Kastron. A southern kingdom, for no clear reason, has been trying to infiltrate the borders of Kastron. As the tension between the two realms escalated, King Simon found himself ensnared in the web of political turmoil and military strategies, his every waking moment consumed by the threat looming at the kingdom's doorstep.

As the southern kingdom persisted in its attempts to breach Kastron’s defenses, Simon’s frustration grew. Kastron’s forces have been able to hold off the enemy for the past few weeks, but the battle was proving to get more difficult by the day. His days were spent in council meetings, devising counterstrategies, and restless nights plagued by the knowledge of impending conflict.

Throughout the past few weeks as Simon was extremely busy, you had taken to caring for more things around the castle. By no means was it an easy task. Your already busy schedules were now packed with more mundane, tedious tasks. You had to step into a few roles that Simon usually took care of, thrown into uncharted territory that you now had to know like the back of your hand. 

To say you were stressed was an understatement. To say that you felt secure in this new position would be a lie. Hell, even with your lessons, you were still slightly insecure about helping run a whole kingdom. The lessons were truly helpful, and you really were learning useful information, but to actually put this knowledge into practice proved to be more difficult than you thought; a learning curve, if you will. 

Every evening before you went to bed, you watched Simon with a heavy heart. Stress etched lines on his face, and the once affectionate bond between you strained under the weight of your responsibilities. 

The command room now had countless maps, scrolls, and military reports scattered across the tables, and you found yourself poring over them, trying to decipher strategies that seemed more like cryptic codes than plans for defense. The language of war was harsh, and its intricacies were not easily grasped. You also had to take care of more civilian matters, tending to disputes and other technicalities that arose when handling such matters. Managing the palace as well proved to be more difficult, although it was not as prioritized as other duties you had to upkeep. 

Simon, in his stress and preoccupation, had not noticed the added weight on your shoulders. The castle, usually filled with warmth, now echoed with the sounds of strategizing military personnel and the tension that gripped every corner.

One day, as you were immersed in the endless paperwork, a knock on the chamber door interrupted your thoughts. Simon, looking more fatigued than ever, stood at the threshold.

“I need these reports on the southern borders done by tomorrow morning. Make sure they’re accurate,” he said, his voice clipped and devoid of the usual tenderness. It echoed the commanding voice he reserved for his soldiers.

You take a breath. “I’m not sure I can have those ready for you by tomorrow Simon. Can’t you ask someone else to do them for me? I’m sure Price can—”

“Price is extremely busy devising strategies. He doesn’t have time for paperwork.” 

Simon's curt response echoed through the room, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. The weight of the responsibilities, the unrelenting pressure, and now Simon's growing impatience were pushing you to the brink.

“Simon, I'm doing my best,” you pleaded, looking up from the parchment strewn across the table. “I'm still learning, and there's just so much to handle.”

Simon's eyes flashed with frustration. “We don't have the luxury of time for you to ‘learn.’ We need results, and we need them now.”

The exhaustion etched on his face mirrored your own weariness. The kingdom's issues had taken its toll on both of you, driving a wedge between you.

“I’m just asking for your patience,” you implored, hoping for a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

His gaze remained unyielding. “I ask you to take care of things in my absence, to support me. And it seems even that is too much.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm trying my best,” you scoff.

Simon scoffs back, his expression a stern resolve. 

“I don't have time for apologies. I need solutions. Figure it out,” he said, turning on his heel and leaving the room without a backward glance.

Left alone, burdened by the weight of your responsibilities, an angry tear escapes the corner of your eye. The castle walls seem to close in on you, and with a swift motion, you brush the tear away, forcing your attention back to the task at hand.

. . .

It was an innocent mistake, a forgotten task that finally ignited Simon's brewing anger like a firecracker on the brink of explosion. 

As you stood before him, explaining the oversight, his eyes darkened with frustration.

“Are you even paying attention?" Simon's voice rose with frustration.

The storm within him erupted, and hurtful words spilled from his lips like daggers. "How could you be so careless?" he bellowed. "This is important, and you can't even handle the simplest tasks!"

"I'm sorry, Simon. I’ve been busy, but I'll fix it," you pleaded, trying to diffuse the growing storm.

"Fix it?" Simon scoffed, his anger unabated. "You're always making mistakes, aren't you? I don't know why I expected anything different from you. You’re just a fuckin’ spoiled little princess, just complaining about all the work she has to do. You’ve never seen a day of real work in your whole life, and the moment you have to do anything remotely helpful, you become useless.” 

You’re stunned into silence. It feels like your heart has fallen out of your chest, your throat constricting with anxiety. This isn’t the Simon you knew. 

"You can't possibly understand the pressure I'm under!” Simon's voice carried a harsh edge as he spoke, the strain evident in every word.

"I tried my best, Simon. I'm not used to this," you replied, hurt laced through your voice. The word useless echoes through your mind. How could he? 

"Your best isn't good enough. We can't afford mistakes," he snapped.

“We’re supposed to be a team," you responded gently, trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

But Simon's patience had worn thin. “You can't even manage the affairs within the castle! How am I supposed to rely on you when you can't even handle the simplest tasks?”

"I'm sorry, Simon. I never wanted to let you down," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the tension.

"Let me down?" Simon laughed bitterly. "You were never lifting me up in the first place. Just a burden I have to carry alongside everythin’ else I have to worry about."

His words pierced through you like a million iron swords. The once warm and loving connection between you and Simon now felt frayed, hanging by the thinnest of threads. Your attempts to support him had become ammunition for his anger.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this,” you admitted shortly, your shoulders slumping under the weight of defeat.

Simon's expression twisted with a mixture of frustration and exasperation. “That's the first sensible thing you've said.”

His cruel words struck a nerve, tearing down the foundations of trust and understanding that had defined your relationship. His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste. Hurt and frustration welled up within you, but you swallowed them and bottled them up, unwilling to add to Simon's burden.

The pain in your eyes did not escape Simon, but his frustration blinded him to the depth of his own words. In that moment, the man you loved seemed like a stranger, his anger, frustrations, and impatience casting a shadow over you.

With a heavy heart, you walk away, desperately holding back tears. It took everything within you to not let out an audible sob, clasping your hand over your mouth. You push open the door hastily, stumbling out into the hallway. You wipe your now falling tears off your cheeks with the back of your hand as you make your way to your old bedroom. 

The echoes of Simon's bitter words lingered in the corridor as you escaped into the dimly lit hallway. Desperation clawed at your chest, and with each step, the weight of his accusations pressed harder. Holding back sobs, you fumbled your way to the shared bedroom, seeking solace in the sanctuary you once knew.

Once inside, the room felt emptier than before, its warmth replaced by an icy chill. Closing the door behind you, you allowed a few silent tears to fall, the pain of Simon's harsh words cutting deep. As you glanced around the room, the memories of happier times haunted the corners. A sense of isolation settled in, and you felt like a stranger in the very place that used to bring comfort. Swallowing hard, you allow yourself to let it all out, crying into the empty bedroom. The resilient facade you had built over the weeks seemed to crumble in the face of his words.

The weight of the crown, both figuratively and literally, felt heavier than ever. With a shudder, you begin to remove the regalia that symbolized your responsibility as queen, a responsibility that had become increasingly difficult.

The empty now seemed like a cold, unwelcoming space. You curled up, hugging a pillow close to your chest, seeking any source of comfort. The room held a somber silence, a silence you haven’t heard since you were last in this room, before you had fallen in love with Simon. 

As sleep finally overcame you, the hope for a better tomorrow mingled with the ache of your strained relationship. 

. . .

Sleep had been elusive, and the echoes of Simon's bitter words reverberated in your mind. With a sigh, you rose from the solitude of your old bedroom, still haunted by the sense of isolation that clung to you.

He hadn’t even come looking for you. 

You had called a maid to help you get dressed in your room, but made her swear to not say anything about you being back in this room to the rest of the staff. You purposefully waited until after your usual breakfast time with Simon to get something to eat, strolling into the kitchen to request a small breakfast. 

After breakfast, you read through your schedule for the day. Today you were supposed to have defense lessons with Simon. Not going to happen. Taking a pen, you scratch it off your to-do list. 

With a sigh, you run through the rest of your plan for the day, mostly consisting of busy work and advising. 

The day unfolded in a haze of responsibilities, each task demanding your focus. Advising on matters of governance and managing the affairs of the kingdom became a refuge, a temporary escape from the emotional turmoil that threatened to swallow you whole.

Dinner that night came and went, and again you had refused to sit at the table with him. Instead, you chose to wait until after he was gone to eat. Sitting at the expansive table, you picked around at your food, taking small bites before you became nauseous with unease. 

This was the longest you’ve gone without Simon the whole time you’ve proclaimed your love for him, and it’s only been a day. After finishing your solitary meal, you made your way to your old bedroom yet again. The night pressed on, silent and unwavering, wrapping the castle in a cocoon of quiet melancholy. And so, you retired to your old bedroom, bracing yourself for another night of sleepless contemplation in the face of a relationship that seemed to be slipping through your fingers.

. . . 

Another agonizingly painful day had gone by of you avoiding Simon. The same evening, he had come to knock on your door.

He called your name from behind the door. His voice sounded gentle, yet strained. 

You stayed silent, unmoving from your curled up position on the bed. 

He persisted, knocking louder this time. 

“Go away,” you yell, fighting back more tears as your heartstrings were being tugged with every time he called your name. 

“‘M not going away until you come out,” his muffled voice filtered through from under the door.

“Yeah, well, I may as well rot away in here. Leave me alone, Ghost.” 

That shut him up immediately. You could hear his footsteps fade away in the distance. 

You sob into your pillow, burying your face in the fabric to muffle your cries. 

. . .

The next morning was rough. You were groggy, two nights of restless sleep taking a toll on you. Right before you entered the kitchen for breakfast you were stopped by Ghost. He had jumped in front of you out of nowhere, blocking you from entering the kitchen. 

“Dove, please—” he began. 

“Don’t call me that, get away from me–”

You try to sidestep him, looking at the ground as you attempt to move past him. 

“Just listen to me–” he grabs your shoulders firmly, forcing you to stay in place.

“Let go of me–” you shrug his hands off, yanking his wrists off your shoulders with a vice grip. He lets you shake him off you, but still moves to block you from entering the kitchen.

You sigh angrily, finally looking up at him with a death glare. 

“Oh, you finally need me for something, right? Is this what this is all about?” 

Simon's eyes held a mixture of concern and frustration. “I need to talk to you. Please, just listen to me.”

The coldness in your expression didn't waver. “Talk? Is this about another mistake I made, or perhaps you've found another fault in your ‘spoiled princess’?”

Simon winced at the reference to his hurtful words. “No, it's not about that. It's about us. I... I overreacted, and I said things I shouldn't have. I need you to understand the pressure I'm under.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Pressure? Yes, I understand. I've been picking up work and dealing with responsibilities I’m not prepared for. I understand pressure very well.”

Simon's jaw tightened, regret flashing in his eyes. "I know I've been distant, and I've let this problem consume me for the past few weeks. But, dove, we can work through this. I need you.”

Your anger flared. “Now you need me? When everything is falling apart? What about when I needed you? You were too busy berating me.” 

The word berating came out stressed, and a flare of emotions bubbled in your chest. You fought against tears threatening to spring from your eyes. 

Simon's expression softened, nothing but remorse in his eyes. "I fucked up. I should’ve never said those things to you. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. Please, let me make it right.”

You shake your head, taking a step back. 

“You can't just apologize and expect everything to go back to normal. Words have consequences.” A fat tear rolls down your cheek. “I’m not one of your soldiers you can order around.” 

The moment Simon sees the tear, knowing that he’s the cause of it, he comes crashing down. 

He drops to his knees in front of you, his eyes pleading with a desperate intensity. “I never meant to hurt you. I can't bear to see you cry, especially because of me. Please, give me a chance to make things right.”

You sniffle, wiping the tear away quickly. The raw vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heart, but you held onto the shards of your wounded pride. 

He reaches for you, holding your hips tightly in his grasp as he looks up at you from the floor. His hands on your hips sought reassurance, his eyes pleading for a chance at redemption. You fold your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tightly. 

“Please, love, please, I will do anything, I’ll prove to you every single day for the rest of my life that I can treat you the way you deserve. I don’t want to turn into my father.” 

His thumbs press into the flesh of your hips, his usual stoic demeanor crumbles, and in this moment of vulnerability, he’s laying bare his regrets. 

His father. His terrible, disgusting, abusive father. 

"You’re not turning into your father, Simon," you whispered, your voice carrying reassurance. "But you also can't treat me like that ever again. We're a team. But it's also not just about the words. It's about trust and understanding.”

He nods, swallowing thickly. 

"Please, dove," he implored, his voice choking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you like this. I'm begging you, give me a chance to make things right. I can't stand to see you in pain.”

“I miss you,” he whispers, and you spot a few tears in the corners of his eyes. You’ve never seen him cry before. “I miss you, and I don’t deserve you. Not after what I did to you.” 

Your heart wavered, torn between the hurt he caused and the raw vulnerability he now displayed. The sight of Simon, a powerful and composed ruler, reduced to tears, spoke volumes about the depth of his regret.

As you looked down at him, a swirl of conflicting emotions clouded you. Part of you wanted to pull him into an embrace, to reassure him that things could get better. Yet, the wounds were still fresh, and trust can’t be easily mended. You swipe his tears away with the pad of your thumb. 

“Simon,” you began, your voice gentle but firm, "this isn't something that can be fixed overnight. It's going to take time."

He nodded vigorously, his tear-streaked face desperate for any glimmer of hope. "I'll do anything, dove. Anything to make it right.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated, and for a moment, you softened. “Simon, I need you to understand that we're in this together. We need to communicate and support each other.”

Simon nodded, a genuine determination in his eyes. "I promise you, I'll be there for you. No more takin’ out my frustrations on you, it will never happen again, so long as I live.” 

You sighed, the weight of the situation still heavy on your shoulders. “Actions speak louder than words.”

He nodded again, his gaze unwavering. "I'll prove it to you, every day."

Releasing your hips, Simon stood up, his eyes never leaving yours. The air between you held a mix of tension and tentative hope. 

“I love you, dove. I love you.”

He wipes his face clear of the tears, and you stand there, twisting your hands together. His hands brush over your upper arms, causing you to shiver slightly, but this time you don’t back away. You let him ever so slowly pull you in for a hug, and you reluctantly grasp on to his tunic. His arms pull you in tighter now, and he strokes your hair in reassurance. 

You breathe out the quietest, “I love you.”

. . .

A few weeks passed, and the castle, once shrouded in tension, began to regain its warmth. The scars of those horrendous three days were healing, and your relationship with Simon has strengthened more than ever. The air was lighter and you felt like a significant change had occurred between you and Simon. 

Simon had indeed lived up to his promise. He consistently showed effort in rebuilding trust. Small, thoughtful gestures became the norm—unexpected flowers, shared quiet moments, and the tenderness in his voice returned. The voice he has reserved only for you. You had moved back into his room after a while, sharing a bed again has never felt so good for you. Honestly, you were relieved. You didn’t have any doubt that Simon wouldn’t live up to his promises. 

The castle had transformed back into a sanctuary. The sounds of strategizing military personnel were replaced with the hum of everyday life. The warmth returned, and the tension that once gripped every corner dissipated like a distant memory.

The conflict in the south had been resolved after Kastron’s forces were successfully able to defend the border. Their motives were still unclear, but Simon had put it behind him. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself in the garden. The air was crisp, and the fragrance of blooming flowers filled the space. Simon joined you, and together you strolled through the gardens, hand in hand.

“I missed this,” you smile, leaning into Simon’s side. 

Simon tightened his grip around you, his eyes softening as he looked at the vibrant hues of the sunset. "I missed this too."

The weight that once burdened your relationship had lifted, replaced by a renewed sense of connection and trust. The garden echoed with the shared laughter and whispered promises of your love, and it always will. 

Simon glanced down at you, a hint of playfulness in his eyes. “Do you remember the first time we walked through these gardens together?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You giggled, the memory surfacing in your mind. "How could I forget? You were trying to plant the most random assortment of seeds during the off-season.”

Simon laughed, a genuine sound that warmed your heart. “I was nervous. I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“And look at us now,” you said, gazing up at him. “Perfectly imperfect.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I love you, darlin.’”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter. “I promise to always be with you.”

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the castle and the garden. As you continued your leisurely stroll, the castle loomed in the distance, its turrets illuminated by the fading sunlight. 

The stars began to twinkle in the evening sky, and Simon pulled you closer. “Let's stay out a bit longer, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, nuzzling against him. 

You take a beat.

“I love you, too,” you whisper. 

He strokes your waist, squeezing your flesh in his grip.

“I love you.”

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[visceral-stories]

Inheritance

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

Ko-fi |Twitter 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh um..I just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

POP! POP!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cigarettedolly13]

The vibes rn are truly immaculate. I’m chilling on the couch, System of a Down is playing on the record player, I’ve got my boyfriends t shirt and a slutty pair of shorts on. My eyeliners messy as fuck and I’m snacking on a chocolate bar. I’ve got a filling appointment scheduled for tomorrow due to my excessive chocolate consumption.

Ladies and gentleman, I have become Mihael Keehl himself. I might as well join the mafia.

[itsimaginetime]

Ooh, I have! I have!

Can I please request a sub!Seonghwa once where Seonghwa is having a bad day and the reader proceeds to 'take care of him'.

Basically fluffy, smutty, comfort seggs.

Thank you, can't wait to see it.

Son Ange (his angel)

⚠Warnings⚠: Sub!Seonghwa , Dom!Reader , Gn!Reader , Sub space , fingering (m receiving) , kisses and sweetness and love and fluff and all that jazz , so many pet names (love , baby , chéri, sweet boy and more) , Y/n speaks a few french words cause I can speak french and I thought it would make things more romantic🌹 (translations written in a smaller font , italics and in pink) , Y/n can pick Seonghwa up cause I said so , they love each other so so much💖💖💖

❗EVERYTHING IN THIS IMAGINE AND ALL IMAGINES I WRITE IS CONSENTUAL AND FICTIONAL , FOR EDUCATIONAL AND ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY❗

Summary📝: Seonghwa's having a bad day (poor baby 🥺) and Y/n takes care of him in the gentlest way possible 💖

Notes✏: My posting schedule is absolutely horrendous but oh well life is a bitch and I didn't have time to finish this request sooner. I hope you like it nonetheless 💕

Word count📖: 1.4k @itsimaginetime

Seonghwa's body was about to give out on him at this point, knees buckling as he struggled to fit the key in the lock to his s/o's apartment.

The two love birds have decided long ago to hangout in Y/n's apartment as much as possible and to make it a safe space for Seonghwa whenever he needed a break from being in the dorms.

And right now, Seonghwa needed a break from everything. @itsimaginetime

He needed a break from work , from his co-workers, from his friends...from himself.

He just needed his Y/n to make it all better again.

As he entered the apartment, the smell of delicious food invaded his senses , making his body even more pliant and docile, ready to fall completely limp at the first available possiblity.

"Chéri? (Dear?)"

There it was , that voice , the one he was craving to hear for the longest time now , gracing his ears like the touch of an angel, his angel , ready to soothe his worries and insecurities, be his lullaby when all he needs is someone to take care of him. @itsimaginetime

"Oh , there you are"

Broken out of his trance , Seonghwa looks up from the ground, up at his angel , seeing Y/n look at him with a mix of love , adoration and slight worry.

"Oh , baby... Rough day?"

He simply nodded, let his bag fall from his already loose grip and dragged his feet against the floor to reach his other half , the one who's waiting with open arms and an open heart , wanting and willing to provide all the love that he needs.

Wrapping their arms around him, Seonghwa finally found himself able to completely relax , forget the world and simply focus on the warmth that enveloped him whole. @itsimaginetime

"Aw , mon trésor (my treasure)." He felt soft kisses litter his head , rendering him into nothing but jelly in the safe grip of his loving s/o.

"Please...please, Y/n" Being in a safe space after an exhausting experience always did this to Seonghwa, always covered him up in the blanket of subspace, stealing his words and only giving him a select few to use that are usually "please" , "Y/n" , "more" and a few noises and gestures he could utilise to express agreement , disagreement and his needs.

Even with this lack of self-expression, Seonghwa knew that he could trust Y/n to understand him , they always understood, a single look from him explained all his needs in immaculate detail , so he truly needn't worry. And he's not. He's the farthest thing from worried. @itsimaginetime

"My baby needs me to take care of him, hmm? Do you want me to make you feel good , mon lapin (my bunny)?"

Seonghwa shuddered at his lover's gentle voice , at the sweet nicknames that dripped like thick honey from their oh-so-kissable lips.

He nodded at the question, affirming their words, gently grabbing Y/n's dominante hand and leading it towards his plush ass , pushing their fingers in between his clothed cheeks in a nonverbal attempt at communicating his needs.

"Does my baby want my fingers?" Seonghwa hummed with a cute smile , happiness visible in his features at his love's astonishing understanding of his soundless actions.

"Okay , bébé (baby). Are you prepped?" @itsimaginetime

A nod. He prepped in the dorm's bathroom while showering before grabbing his necessities in his bag and coming straight to the apartment.

"Such a sweet boy, helping me out and preparing himself for me" Seonghwa couldn't help but purr , letting his head fall into the crook of Y/n's neck , hearing a joyful quiet giggle rumble through their body, their hands rubbing his back in the most comfortable way imaginable.

"Bedroom?" A hum filled with trust and love was all they needed before Y/n picked up their submissive man , having him cling to them like a koala as they walked over to the aforementioned bedroom. @itsimaginetime

Y/n put Seonghwa onto the mattress like one puts down a porcelain doll , kissed his forehead before moving to the bedside table, pulling out the drawer to grab gloves and lube before climbing onto the bed on top of their sweetheart and attacking his gorgeous face with pecks and kisses , resulting in the softest, prettiest smiles and giggles from the man under them.

They gently grabbed at his clothes , looking at his sweet boba eyes as he gave a tiny nod in consent. After throwing the articles of clothing who knows where, Y/n proceeded to slip their gloves on discreetly, pouring a generous amount of lube on a finger before pressing it against Seonghwa's hole. Said man breathed in at the soft touch , nodding his head and whinnying in his throat as the light of his life looked at him for conformation. @itsimaginetime

Slowly and ever-so-gently , they pushed their appendage in , only to feel Seonghwa's hand tap on their shoulder to get their attention, holding up three of his fingers with a look of desperation.

"Three at once?" And like always , Y/n understood him immediately. He hummed happily, nodding with a smile. @itsimaginetime

"D'accord, mon cœur (my heart). Tap me if you need anything"

At that , the three fingers shimmied their way inside of Seonghwa's warm walls causing him to let out a sight of relief, satisfied by the full feeling.

"Feels good?". @itsimaginetime

"Mhm, more please"

Happily, Y/n moved their fingers more , back and forth, nice and slow , making the man melt into the mattress, soft sighs and moans leaving his lips freely.

"That's my baby. Just like that , love. Oublie ton stress (Forget your stress) and just let go"

Seonghwa's head started fogging up more and more as the loving words enveloped his soul in the sweetest embrace imaginable and he let it happen. @itsimaginetime

He let himself slip into the most vulnerable part of his mind , the most unguarded part of himself , the part that made him an easy target for pain and suffering , but he knew well that no harm would ever reach him while his s/o was taking care of him.

He felt safe. He is safe.

In his muddled brain, Seonghwa didn't notice his continued and repetitive mumbling of "please" and "Y/n" as the pleasure consumed him whole , as his love kissed his cheek and pecked his lips over and over again, whispering sweet praises as they moved their fingers with a set goal in mind.

Make their star feel good. @itsimaginetime

"Aw, mon chouchou d'amour (honey bunny), how I love you. How I love when you let go for me."

The squelching of lube echoed in the bedroom alongside gentle moans and pleas and other incoherent sounds as the man making said noises bathed in the ecstasy of love and pleasure, closing in on his much needed release.

A jolt of electricity zipped through his being as the pads of Y/n's fingers pressed against his sensitive prostate, making him drool at the feeling.

"There you go, mon prince (my prince). Cum for me , sweetheart."

And as expected, Y/n read his bodily cues like an expert, encouraging him to let go even more.

And let go he did. @itsimaginetime

As if the command triggered his body to react to it , Seonghwa's back arched beautifully as he came all over his stomach and chest , the action accompanied by his chocked gasps and heady moans while thrusting back against the fingers that continued to move inside of him , putting the perfect amount of pressure on his prostate , milking him completely of his essence.

As his high finally subsided , he fell back onto the bed , shivering from the intensity he just experienced. @itsimaginetime

With practiced ease , Y/n took off their gloves and wrapped Seonghwa up into their arms before pulling a blanket over their body and his , kissing his face while whispering sweet nothings comfortingly into the air they shared.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly , Seonghwa's mind cleared up as he looked up at his love , finding that they're already looking at him with the gentlest of smiles on their faces.

"Hello , gorgeous"

Seonghwa hummed in response , a cute smile on his face, still not ready to talk yet.

"How about..." @itsimaginetime

Y/n leaned forward, pulling their love into a a breathtaking kiss that brought some of the fuzziness back to Seonghwa's head before resuming their sentence.

"...we rest for a little bit, clean up later then eat the food I made earlier..."

Another kiss. They could never get enough of those plush lips of his.

"...Sounds good?"

Forgoing a verbal response, Seonghwa was the one to initiate their next lip lock, letting his hands rest against his s/o's arms as they kissed him back with all the love and compassion they had in their heart. @itsimaginetime

That sounded amazing, but he didn't need to verbalize for Y/n to know how he felt. They'll always know.

And without a single doubt , Seonghwa felt best in his Y/n's arms.

They truly are an angel. His angel.

©@itsimaginetime (DO NOT REPOST! DO NOT TRANSLATE!)

[alloru]

I watched the spider movie last week!! :DD

and got hit by a massive burst of inspiration immediately. all the different styles incorporated into the animation, the music, the direction and just the storytelling in general were so immaculate it left me with the compulsive urge to just do. art.

it's truly a tragedy we won't get to see the ending until next year, but if it takes that time to make the finale as close to a masterpiece as we can get, I'm more than happy with it!

can I just say that the line art on this took absolute ages, I had to work on it over three consecutive days to even get the characters done!

the background was slightly less time consuming but not much easier on my energy-levels, so I'll just quickly schedule a couple of things and rest my hand for a few days til artfight. see you all soon!

[possumsandprose]

A Court of Trials and Tragedies

Hello my loves! In honour of #feysandweek2023, I've created a multi-chapter Eros and Psyche AU for them. I'm not sure how often this will be updated as my work schedule is pretty crazy, but I'll do my best. The first few chapters will be shorter, but they will bulk up once the main plot starts rolling. Read the first chapter below, or here on A03. Always open to constructive criticism, and apologies if there's any mistakes as I'm my own beta reader.

Summary: Feyre Archeron, the princess of Prythian, has suddenly begun to be worshipped as a reincarnation of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love. When Amarantha discovers this, she is furious, and sends her son Rhysand to prick her with a magical arrow to make her fall in love with a horrible beast. All goes according to plan, until...

Feyre Archeron stared out at the flat plains that stretched out beneath her castle. The grassy lands of Prythian were beautiful, and she was lucky enough to be the princess. She observed the party currently happening in the town square. There was dancing and music, food and fun, and everyone had come in celebration of her 18th birthday. Feyre knew she should be out there, dancing with some important noble. She had just come of age, and she knew her father would be soon seeking a suitable partner for her to strengthen their political alliances,

and yet here she was, hiding in a small tower, dreading when her mother would call her down and demand she present herself.

Feyre was dressed immaculately, with her hair pinned up into a bun, small stars adorning it. Her lips were painted a striking bright red colour, stained with some berry imported from a far-off land, and her eyes we line with kohl. She knew she looked like a vision, and that was why she was hiding. Her sisters were both truly stunning, and had already secured themselves rich, influential husbands. Soon it would be her turn. But Feyre knew she was more beautiful than her sisters, because since she had gone from a cute little girl to a stunning young woman, men had been throwing themselves at her, begging for her attention. Soon her sisters began to hate her, as they got less and less attention.

 It didn't matter to them that Feyre never wanted the advances of men, never wanted the wooers, constantly being in the spotlight. Suddenly she heard the sound she'd been dreading.

"Feyre! Where are you? It's almost time for you to come and present yourself to the town!"

Her mother's shrill voice cut through the air, and Feyre sighed. She knew this time would come eventually, but here she was all the same.

She stood, knowing making her mother wait for her would only lead to trouble, and looked in the mirror at her reflection. Her dress was a white gossamer piece covered in delicately sewn flowers, buckled with a gold belt, and clasps holding it to the purple shawl her father had given her this morning. She fingered the shawl, tracing its edge. Purple was so rare and expensive; she was still in awe she had received something so beautiful.

"Only the prettiest for the prettiest girl," he'd said with a smile as he presented to her.

 "Feyre! Don't make me come and get you."

 Once again, her mother called out for her, and she sighed, moving along down the corridor to where she knew her mother would be waiting to escort her out.

She approached the main gates of the castle, and there she was. Emeline Archeron, looking as beautiful and regal as she always did, her gossamer dress the same shade of periwinkle as the valerian Feyre had seen when she was visiting the temple. The temple. The temple brough back the memories she’d been fighting so hard to avoid.

She had gone to the temple of Amarantha, goddess of beauty and love, to leave an offering as was her custom. It was a lovely day, surprising considering December weather was usually horrid, but she had decided to make the most of it. Her servants had prepared all of the necessary things for sacrifices, and they were off. The trail to the temple was a representation of the goddess herself, people said, as the scenery was as lovely as she was. Flowers of every type grew in numberless bunches along it. Pale white narcissi spread their petals next to the dainty irises, whose amethyst hues stood out amongst the grass. In the lake, plump ducks swam through the water lilies that filled the air with their sweet scent. Sweeping trees that Feyre couldn’t identify waved their branches over the dirt road. The temple itself was a humble structure, made of stone, though still beautiful in its own regard. A row of columns held up a simple roof, ivy hugging tightly to each one. Grapes hung in small bunches from the vines, and Feyre knew all were invited to take some as a gift of the goddess’ bounty. Inside the temple, a large marble statue of Amarantha stood erect right at the back, with an altar directly in front. Torches burned all along the walls, and materials for burning sacrifices were laid in neat piles, ready for whoever came to make their offering. But something was off. Along with the thin layer of dust that coated every surface, there was no one there.

“Is anyone there?” Feyre called out, wondering if perhaps the priests had just slipped outside to pray, or perhaps were out of sight.

 However, no one came at the sound of her call. This was unheard of, as the temple always had at least a dozen priests and priestesses caring for it, and this level of disrepair should never have been allowed. Suddenly, a clicking noise sounded from the entrance she had just come from. Feyre turned, and an old man with a cane hobbled in.

“Chrysis! It’s so good to see you!” She rushed forward to hug the frail, bearded, limping figure that had just walked in.

Chrysis opened his arm and embraced her. He had known her since she was a baby, and she had grown up listening to his stories of gods and monsters, heroes and tyrants.

“Where is everyone? I thought the Festival of the Sun wasn’t until tomorrow,” she said in confusion, hoping her friend, the high priest of all the surrounding temples, could provide some answers.

Chrysis sighed. He looked greatly troubled, which was very strange. As long as Feyre had known him, he had always been calm and happy, but now he looked distressed.

“My princess…,” he began, which set Feyre on even higher alert than normal. He knew he never needed to call her that.

Words seemed to fail him, so he tried again.

“Lady Feyre, the priests and the people…have all gone to worship another.”

Feyre frowned. “But the priests are bound to this temple! They are free to go wherever they please when not working, and of course the people may go to all the temples, but why have they all abandoned this place?”

Chrysis clutched his stick tighter, his wrinkled hand turning white from how hard he held it.

“They do not believe they need to serve Amarantha anymore. You see, they believe she now walks the lands of Prythian in human form. The people and priests have gone to her residence to worship her instead.”

“But that’s apostasy! Amarantha will be furious. Who is this woman? She ought to deny all these claims and send everyone back to the temple,” Feyre responded angrily, trying to think through all the ladies it could have been. She certainly knew plenty of females who would love nothing more than to have people worshipping them as the reincarnation of the beauty goddess, and if Feyre had to bet, she’d place her money on Ianthe. That horrid priestess of Helion, with her fake blonde hair and her unnatural blue eyes, only played at modesty, while secretly revelling in the attention men paid her.

Feyre was snapped out of her thoughts when Chrysis looked her deep in the eyes and said, with a more solemn voice than she’d ever heard him use before,

“The woman, my lady, is you.”

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

Amarantha was fuming. She yanked her hand through her scarlet red hair as she stared down upon Prythian in an utter fury. She’d first begun to notice that her numbers of sacrifices were dwindling, so naturally she sent out an epidemic of what the mortals called “chicken pox”, which left many of the young women pock-marked and scarred. That got everyone back to worshipping her again, knowing that a curse against someone’s appearance would always be hers. Strangely, it started happening again shortly thereafter. And some of her priests had left the temple one day, never to return.

She wondered what could have happened, and decided to give one last reminder. She sent her servant out to wreak havoc amongst all the families of the earth. It was cruel, weaponizing the one she called her son against innocents, but Amarantha had never been known as a kind woman. Rhysand would be back any minute now, and shortly thereafter everyone would resume their sacrifices to her.

A smile played on her red lips. How foolish the humans were to forget her. Soon she would haunt their waking hours and their sleeping ones. However, in one small corner of her mind, a little voice nagged at her to figure out why her worship had ceased. Surely not everyone would have forgotten all at once, so why then?

Just as she was considering doing something she so rarely did-leave her pristine palace, dressing in human clothes, taking on the despicable human form, and walking amongst them to discover the source of the issue-, the smell of citrus and ocean waves reached her. Amarantha frowned. He was back on time, bow slung across his shoulders, black hair swept from the wind.

“Rhysand,” she said contemptuously. She had a feeling whatever news he was bringing would not be news she liked.

“What news do you bring of the human world? Have you done all that I asked?”

Rhysand bowed stiffly, his wings jostling behind him.

“I have done as you requested, and many have fallen victim to the blight. Many will not make the week,” he said, and though this information made Amarantha cackle in evil delight, Rhysand’s scowl seemed to grow by the second.

“However, the people still will not return to worshipping you. They have found another, a human they believe to be your incarnation. All their praise and adoration is for her now,” Rhysand said, and if Amarantha had been angry before, now she was livid.

“What human DARES to present herself as me?” she screeched loudly. Whoever this wretched girl was would soon find out just what it was to slight a goddess. Her wrath would be unquenchable, and the girl would never know a day of respite until her last feeble breath squeezed out from her pathetic lungs.

“It is the human princess, Feyre Archeron. She has tried to cease the people’s worship of her, but to no avail. Already a temple is being constructed in her honour, though she has attempted to stop them at every turn,” Rhysand said, but Amarantha had tune out everything but the girl’s name. Feyre. Archeron. The fact she was a princess made this all the more fun.

She began to consider what possibilities existed for her to destroy Feyre. All her usual methods of illness and torture seemed insufficient for this task. She then turned to Rhysand, her cold eyes surveying him. Yes. That would do.

“I see,” she responded coolly, even though her mind was racing, “well my dear, I have one more task for you.”

“And what might that be, my lady?” he said, and Amarantha did not miss the hint of bitterness in his tone. Clearly, he knew what she intended to ask him, and he didn’t like it. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t care.

“I want you to go to this human while she sleeps, and pierce her with one of your magical arrows. Make her fall in love with something so hideous, so vile, so repugnant, that not only will she be shamed by her whole family, but she will disgrace her whole kingdom. No one will ever be able to say her name without spitting it, when it is done. That is your task. Do not fail me,” she stated with authority, and she could see she had won. No matter whether Rhysand liked it or not.

Heaving a heavy sigh, he said, “So be it then, my lady. I will see to it that it is done.”

With that, he vanished in a puff of smoke.

A/N: Thank you for reading! The next chapter should be up before the end of the week. Let me know if you enjoyed!

Taglist: @officialfeysandweek2023

Comment if you'd like to be added!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Ok merging responses a bit here we go

HELPPP MICROCELEB LMAOAOAOA ok but honestly every time I see someone mention me on your blog and it’s not you (jeirin) I’m like “omg my rise to fame!!” LMAO and OOO I NOTICED the part that currently says “feels like we only go backwards” right?? Actually speaking of I’ve always been kinda curious about how you chose what to put there LOL

EXACTLYY Karasu tries to walk in all manly like “this is boring and dumb I’m too good to be scared” and gets his shit rocked by the entrance staff (bonus points actually if otoya sneaks in during the same round and makes Karasu piss his pants)

NO SERISOULY SUXHEIDJ it’s fr just “mother, older sister” HELLO???? Bachira’s mom is fr the only one who gets named wait I’m actually gonna fact check the age again when I have the book in my hands again jic

That episode really did something to me he looked immaculate thank you 8bit (I’m ngl I think it’s partially because it was also a nagi and Reo episode that they put their 8bitussy into it hopefully we get a very nice Karasu scene soon…)

FRRR need to send fan mail to kaneshiro asking lowk

Latte sweater yuki is so perfect with the muted earthy tones and the cozy vibes goodbye maybe i need to sit around in cafes more

NO SERIOUSLY like what are the odds that that question gets asked??? Its so random lowk like of all questions kaneshiro fr a stalker

Also losing my mind the amount of times i accidentally click on an ad while scrolling and get launched onto a random ass webpage thank you so much tumblr

- Karasu anon

LMAOO whenever someone else mentions me in their posts especially when they don’t tag me (so i get jumpscared while scrolling through my dash) i’m always like 😱 people perceive me?? idk i think i should stop being surprised though considering how much i post about bllk and how many fics i’ve written for it i think people are probably sick of seeing my username in the tags SKDFJHS anyways yeah i get what you mean i kick my feet and giggle a bit too

YES that part!! ngl i just put song titles from my writing playlist there 😭 feels like we only go backwards is one of my favs if you haven’t heard i recommend!!

okok hear me out here…so we have karasu going on a date in a haunted house, otoya and shidou trying to scare him (otoya had to ask shidou for karasu’s schedule since he’s not on pxg anymore and shidou would only give it to him if he got to join in the shenanigans), and then for some reason AIKU AND NIKO are actually working at the haunted house (niko is the ticket seller that scared karasu because of his emo haircut and aiku is one of those actors that blows up on tik tok because everyone’s thirsting after him) truly so chaotic…oaeu creeps into everything i think about like any idea ever can ALWAYS be elevated by the addition of aiku and niko LMAOOOO

i think isagi’s parents were named in an additional time too?? but yeah other than that there’s nothing really given in terms of info about anyone’s families…in my mind karasu’s sister will always be named yayoi though like i doubt we’ll ever get more info about her (even if we get a karasu ln they’ll probably do what the barou ln did and just call her his older sister without an actual name) so in my mind her name is yayoi (bfb effect) now i need to come up with one for chigiri’s sister…hmm…maybe akane (apparently it means deep red?? which would fit with the hair and whatnot [kinda like karasu])

oh 8bit was def putting in the work because of nagi and reo those are two of their favs LMAOOO i think reo’s little sequence was the best animation besides episode one all season KSDJFHDSK but yeahhh yuki absolutely slayed and we love him for that

UGHH I WISH THERE WERE YUKIMIYAS IN THE CAFES BY MY HOUSE all i have is old people i need to move or smth because the selection where i live is dismal i’m fr going to die single if this is what i have to choose from

LITERALLY IT’S SUCH A RANDOM AND SPECIFIC QUESTION i know for a fact kaneshiro is lurking…which of my followers are you king i need to know!! and btw kaneshiro if you’re out there read my post about yukimiya and kunigami and give them proper characterizations 🙏🏻

HELPP omg tumblr has so many ads now it’s so annoying i can hardly go on the app without my music cutting off and stuff it pisses me off fr

also another unrelated thought BUT i saw an edit of karasu’s dub voice and i actually love it omg like he sounds really good?? i was hating on his dub voice last season but the english va really stepped it up this season he sounds amazing (i actually really like all of the new dub voices except otoya’s i think…otoya’s is just eh but it doesn’t fit him esp in some scenes) anyways here’s a little tt dump for you i’m sure you’ll have seen a majority of them but OH WELL you will see them again!! also if i’ve sent any of these previously i’m sorry i forget atp what i have and haven’t sent LMAOO

this is the one with his dub voice i feel like the sass translated really well??? imo he sounds a lot more smug and condescending and a bit arrogant the way he lowkey is but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying too hard if that makes sense (like it’s not that kaiser-esque “ex-fucking-cuse me” “kneel blue lock” grandiose bs it just feels like karasu really does think he’s better than the others but in a casual nonchalant way as he should)

this isn’t an edit but the way he says “go look in a mirror” also kinda has me giggling 😭 like okay karasu whatever you say king anything for you

THIS ALSO ISN’T AN EDIT BUT THE MOST YUKIMIYA VIDEO TO EVER YUKIMIYA (the other two guys are tabieita) THE GUY EVEN LOOKS LIKE HIM IT’S SO PERF

me whenever isagi is on screen instead of nagi karasu barou or yuki fr

THIS EDIT HAS ME FUMING black beauty is MYYYY SONG why did someone edit RIN ITOSHI to it and why is it GOOD 🤬

nagi the most glorious beautiful majestic man ever he is the only one who is allowed to be edited to 99% of ldr songs (karasu barou and yuki are okay too but most of her music doesn’t really fit them imo)

speaking of nagi i need all of his haters to remember that he was the FIRST to gag rin both in terms of soccer and verbally as well as the first to score on the u20s and likely would’ve thrashed bm if he had stayed motivated…sorry not sorry but nobody’s favs are touching MY goat 🔥

okay ngl i may have sent this to you already if so i’m sorry but anyways this is one of my FAV karasu edits specifically because of the clips of his hands LSJFIDJSJ HIS HANDS ARE SO GORGEOUS AMAZING MAGICAL what i wouldn’t do for him to be real and in love with me

this song kinda cracks me up because of an insta post my ex-friend (the fanon shidou one) made as a joke a couple of years ago BUT the edit is reallyyyy good also this kinda music is what fits karasu for edits in MY MIND…to me the most karasu audio to ever karasu is asap rocky’s part in summer bummer by lana del rey (if you couldn’t tell ldr is my favorite artist) if i could edit i’d make one of him to that song too (i actually used to have an editing acct on tik tok but i rarely posted and got scared someone i knew irl would find me so i deleted it HAHA but actually in high school i was the editing queen people used to film clips at assemblies and stuff and send them to me to edit it was crazy)

this song is FR me to karasu LIKE COME HERE TABITO I WANNA BE SAVEDDDD

another miraverse curated edit but this time it’s nagi and barou instead of barou and karasu

i hate that this one is actually really good (tw kaiser)

otoya (idk what else to say it’s just him being cunty LMAAOOA)

i’m sure you’ve seen them considering how many likes they have but the way this artist draws yukimiya especially but also karasu…sigh…hey god it’s me again

UGH he’s so beautiful i love him…okay that’s all from me happy scrolling!!

[celestie0]

hiiii ellie 👋🏻

just wanna take a moment to let you know how much your writing means to me :') i'm kinda shy about doing this but fuck it, imma do it so here goes nothing lol.

for starters, i'm relatively new to this platform. i was pulled in of course by none other than satoru x reader smut... but what REALLY dialed me in was your stories.

it started with ihm, i love how you write gojo and i live for the bantering 🤭 the characters feel so real and fleshed out, you impressed me right off the bat.

so after that, i found kickoff and girl, i literally BINGE READ the entire series, staying up until like 3 am LOL. i remember laying on my couch, going through all the emotions. kicking my feet, laughing, feeling pain from the angst 😭 looked at the clock and was like oh shit, tomorrow is gonna suck but WORTH IT 🫠

and the thing is... while yes, the smut was amazing (guuuurl especially when i'm ovulating, you have fed us good 😩🤚🏻), it wasn't the main thing driving me to your stories. what really hooked me in was the way you write and how you are able to bring so much emotion to these characters. also, you are reeeeeally good at building up their relationships 😮‍💨

i've said this before but i just want to reiterate that you are the person that encouraged me to start writing on this platform. you seem like overall just a really freaking chill person too, i've always loved your vibes (also we're west coast twins i'm in socal 🫶🏻)

anyways, after starting to write i see how much hard work and effort goes into having this hobby. it really disheartens me to hear about the crap some people say, those people are really selfish and inconsiderate.

you have NO obligation to do this yet here you are, sharing your passion with us, and we are blessed for it 😇

anyways, this kind of became a side tangent... but i guess i just want you to know that the people that are sending rude shit to you and nici are on my list 😤

you are a queen, i hope you are enjoying your trip, and staying healthy. sending you lots of love 💛

hi my love omg i’m so sorry it took me so long to respond to this ask i wanted to have some proper time to respond but i read it when you sent it n it made my whole day seriously!! 🥺💕 you are so so kind

HAHAH i’m so glad you had fun binging kickoff!! that’s a lot to read in one sitting xD hope it didn’t ruin your sleep schedule TOO much skdhfksdjh

thank u sm for your kind words about my writing :”’’’) i spend a manic amt of time daydreaming about my stories n wondering ab my characters n i think i try to value character development n personalities the most so to hear that you are really feeling the emotion to my stories and characters means the world to me fr, and for you to appreciate it like aaaaaa i swear it’s what keeps me going n writing n i want to thank you for help keeping my passion alive <3 ALSO SO GLAD TO HEAR THAT ABOUT THE BUILDING RELATIONSHIPS THING BCI WORRY AB THAT A LOT SO ITS REALLY REASSURING HAHA

yaaaay fellow writer <3 i think it’s so cool how writers kinda domino off one another n we blossom into writers of our own it’s truly amazing feeling to know i inspired someone to write as well!! AND OMG SAME I AM ALSO IN SOCAL!! AAA

ugh yeah. i feel like you don’t really know how difficult it is to write until you start doing it yourself haha. i have gained SUCH large respect for my fave fanfic writers over the past year that i’ve been writing because i realize the dedication it takes, esp something done for free. i do wish some people were nicer, but alas that’s the reality i suppose. AW THANKS FOR LOOKING OUT FOR US <33

you are just SUCH an angel and i can feel the immaculate vibes from you through the screen. ty again sm for this message my love omg :’’) i really needed it. sending you SO much love as well <333

[redroseinsanity]

Fire(man calendar) Hazard - Iwaoi

Heard about a Haikyuu calendar and my brain went from calendar>fireman calendar>iwaoi AU and now we’re here

TW: mentions of fire and crowds!

Part 1 | Part 2 (Up now!)

Tooru doesn't know the man's name. 

But he knows every defined bicep and tricep in those strong arms, knows the way those flimsy looking straps skim over abs and chest. 

Tooru doesn't know how old this man is. 

But he knows this guy holds animals gently, with care, judging by the adoring expression on the dog's face. If Tooru was being held by this man, he would probably have the exact same look so he can't blame the dog. 

At least Tooru knows he's a fireman. Otherwise he wouldn't be in a fireman calendar, right? 

It had been a gag gift for Christmas. Makki had handed it to him in a nondescript brown wrapping and with a smirk on his face. 

"You like hot men, dogs and having your schedule immaculately planned out so this should be perfect for you."

They'd laughed it off, Tooru had feigned offense and he'd forgotten about it for the evening. 

But it was perfect. 

Or at least October Man was perfect. 

Tooru had flipped through on new year's eve and cooed over every dog, raised a skeptical eyebrow over some men and nodded approvingly at others. Until he got to October. 

Just the edges of smile tugging at plush lips and a knowing sideways glance at the camera, as though he was one hundred percent aware of how badly the person behind the camera (and Tooru) wanted to see his face and was teasing. 

Tooru had stopped flipping right there and put the calendar up immediately. Who knew what November and December looked like? Tooru didn't care, he had October Man who had a jawline that looked as if it was personally cut by god and a body that put most athletes to shame. 

Of course he wasn't a completely besotted fool, he turned back to the current month when he needed to actually figure out the date. But most of the time, the calendar was flipped to October for emotional support. 

After all, what better morale booster than to look over at his wall in the middle of a truly ghastly day and see the perfect specimen that was October Man and the fluffy mass in his arms that was possibly the cutest dog ever? 

He'd forgotten to turn it back once when Makki and Mattusun had come over for dinner. 

"What the fuck, Oikawa? It's still July, why is your calendar already in October?"

Tooru, who had been dealing with the most brainless people he had ever the misfortune of encountering all day, simply patted the photo the way some people touched religious images or items. 

"October Man makes sure that I don't set my company on fire," He murmured absently and gone to open the boxes of food on the table. 

His friends exchanged a look and several expressions in a silent conversation that more or less amounted to: why is he like this? This is your fault. He's your friend. You gave him the calendar. 

And they didn't bring it up again. 

Of course, Tooru wasn't without morals. He had inspected October Man's fingers (with only the slightest hint of heat zipping through him as he studied those strong, veiny hands) and was satisfied that there wasn't a ring on those fingers the way some other firemen had them in their photos. 

The only indication that October Man is committed is the character, Aki, peeking out from the curve of a shoulder. 

Is it a nickname of a lover? Or something else? Tooru wonders and part of him hopes it is, that October Man is somewhere out there being loved and cherished and worshipped the way he's obviously meant to be. 

Part of him selfishly hopes it's not and that October Man is single and still the perfect person for Tooru to dream of and fantasize about. 

He gets his answer on the day his office building catches fire. 

He didn't even set it on fire himself. 

Some brilliant person had thought it was a good idea to put their cup noodles in the microwave oven which might have been okay except that they didn't peel off the cover. Which was made of foil. Which sparked up the microwave oven.  

The next thing the people on that floor knew, the whole microwave oven was a blazing mess of melting parts and it was catching onto the nice, new roll of kitchen towels which fell onto the floor, unravelling as it went and lighting everything in its path on fire. 

Tooru had seen people running past his door, others carrying water bottles and some lugging the fire extinguishers. It wasn't long before the alarm sounded and people began stampeding past his door in the other direction. 

"Please evacuate, this is not a drill. There is a fire in the building. Please evacuate immediately, this is not a drill."

Tooru stares mournfully at the report he had just finished and sighs, sending it to himself before slamming his laptop shut, grabbing his phone and joining the press of people crowding the corridors. 

The unnatural warmth that pervades the air is almost as palpable as the fear that people are giving off in waves. 

Smoke makes everything look hazy and several people are already coughing, someone has an inhaler out and Tooru is relieved to see that their colleague is helping them to the staircase. 

He's pushed and pressed and all but consumed by the panicked mass of his colleagues. Even so, he hears the thump that comes from the store room door as he passes it. It's just a single sound that could have been his own imagination. The current of people push him onwards and he's almost at the stairwell when he decides to be stupid rather than doubtful and doubles back. 

It's almost impossible to go against the stream of workers all rushing to the exit, but Tooru stays close to the wall and angles his body so that he can carve the narrowest of paths back to the storage room. 

Once there, he tries the knob and it doesn't turn. 

But then the thumping begins again, this time louder, unmistakeable in the frantic rhythm of it. 

Someone is inside. 

Tooru turns, looking for, laughably, a key, or anything that can help him. 

"Hey, I think there's someone in here!" He calls, but no one even looks at him. They're afraid and focused on the way out, on getting to safety. 

A small grunt grabs his attention. It's a small sized girl who's wrestling with one of the abandoned fire extinguishers. Tooru recognizes her, she's quiet and spends most of her time with one other colleague. But she has super cute socks every day and when Tooru compliments her on it, she always smiles at him. 

She's trying to drag the fire extinguisher to him now, and Tooru realises she's the only person who's trying to help. 

He cuts through the crowd to the small space she's in and heaves the fire extinguisher up. 

"I think you can use this to just break the knob off," She pants, gesturing to the door. 

"I got it, go ahead first!" Tooru gives her a nudge into the decreasing flow of people and she dutifully trots to the stairs, turning a couple of times to shoot worried looks at Tooru. 

The heat is almost unbearable now. It seems to be a weight that compresses him, and Tooru struggles to take a proper inhale. 

With a snarl, Tooru lifts the extinguisher and smashes it down on door handle. It breaks clean off and Tooru uses his size to his advantage, barreling into the door shoulder-first. 

The door gives way with an almighty crash and Tooru staggers in as his shoulder throbs unhappily. 

He's greeted by an intern, a boy (he's so young that Tooru can't help but think he's a boy) whose wide eyes are brimming with tears. He looks like he's holding himself back from hugging Tooru but he rushes to Tooru and latches on to his arm. 

"Thank you, thank you! I thought no one would know I was in here- the door knob- I couldn't-" The kid is almost incoherent in his mixed relief and distress. 

"Yeah, the lock is faulty on this one," Tooru chokes on the last few words and opts to haul the intern with him towards the staircase instead of asking who this intern's manager is so he can soundly scold them. 

They're pounding down the stairs and Tooru is keeping an eye on the kid who seems to be coughing harder than him. It's at this point that Tooru realizes he's gasping for air himself and right when he notices this is when his legs decide to give out on him. 

The intern has staggered down quite a number of steps before he realises and he turns back in horror but Tooru waves him on. 

"Go, He orders hoarsely, "I'll catch up to you once I catch my breath."

Even so, the intern isn't convinced, starting up a few steps back to Tooru before Tooru hauls himself up onto his feet. 

"I'll be right behind you, go."

The intern seems assured and continues stumbling down the stairs. At the lower floors the heat isn't as oppressive but Tooru's head is spinning and the air he's sucking in just isn't enough. 

He bends over, desperately trying to breathe and dimly registers his knees hitting the ground, not even wincing when his bad knee makes hard contact with the cement for the second time that day. 

It's hard to see, hard to breathe, hard to stay conscious. 

"Sir, sir, can you hear me?"

Tooru's being shaken and he frowns, annoyed that someone woke him up. It's uncomfortable to be awake, his chest hurts and his eyes feel dry. He'd like to go back to sleep but as his eyelids drift shut, he's jostled awake once more. 

"Hey, stay with me, I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" The voice is urgent, but steady, assuring. Tooru leans on something firm the way he leans towards that deep voice.  

In the haze of exhaustion and discomfort, Tooru peers up and forgets to fight for his next breath. He chokes on his surprise more than the soot filling his lungs. 

Even through the smoke and the oxygen deprived stupor, Tooru knows he won't mistake that face anywhere. 

"October Man?" He coughs. 

October Man is more handsome and rugged in real life, geared up in his uniform and a rogue bead of sweat traversing his cheek to drip off his jaw. 

He also clearly thinks that Tooru is suffocating to the point of losing brain function and hence, spewing gibberish. 

"I got you," Is all he says as he lifts Tooru almost effortlessly, as if he's not all height and muscle. 

Oh, you definitely got me, alright, is what Tooru wants to say. But the edges of his vision are going blurry and he's trying really hard to breathe now. 

A slap of clean air smacks him in the face and has his eyes forcing open, survival instinct pushing him to drag inhale after inhale of blessed oxygen into his straining lungs. 

October Man bends, still holding onto Tooru as he lowers them both, folding himself to securely deposit Tooru into a horizontal position on a stretcher and for a hot second, they're chest to chest, nose to nose. 

Tooru cannot breathe, heck his eyes can't even open fully without watering, but this is an incredible moment and he's not about to waste it. 

"Who's Aki?" He blurts, or he tries to anyway, it comes out as a croak. 

October Man stares at him questioningly, probably wondering if Tooru's going into cardic arrest judging by the sound he just made. 

His throat is so parched that if he tries to ask again, Tooru knows he'll just end up sounding like a dying frog so he goes for the next best thing. 

Grabbing October Man's collar before he can straighten up, Tooru allows his hand to find the exact spot on October Man's shoulder where he knows the inked name is under all that fabric. 

Once there, he taps twice and looks at October Man again. 

He's going for a confused Bambi look and Tooru knows he's nailed it for sure. After all, who else would be able to pinpoint October Man's tattoo like that? 

October Man is about to say, "Nobody important." Then he'll gather Tooru into his arms and give him the kiss of life. 

"Medic!" October Man pulls himself out of Tooru's grip, "Medic! I think he needs help, quick, he's asking for assistance!"

Part 2 will be out in a few days~ Hope you had fun the way I did writing this!

[guhamun]

@paramythas said (inbox):

There's a party for the Iudex's birthday, because of course there is. Valentin attends as a matter of course, and preens and socializes his way through the evening. However, as soon as the guest of honor departs- on schedule as ever- Vali slips away like a breeze, slinking into the shadows as is second-nature. When Neuvillette's door closes, he all but materializes against it, arms crossed and eyes bright. "Forgive me the intrusion," he murmurs, though he doubts the other wasn't expecting it, arms unfolding to reach for his hands, "but I assumed it would be best to present my gifts out of the public eye, hmm?" He nods behind the Iudex, where a considerable array of romaritime flowers and lakelight lilies rest- not plucked, but nestled into a little water garden. It's not his design, but it is his consideration, though he does still nearly fumble the next part as he hands over the small, slim box to Neuvillette, eyes peering off to the side. "I know- understand- that my intentions seem, to you, quite... uncouth. And I will admit, you are not entirely wrong." Levity is the intent, even as he watches the other man open the gift with a nervous swallow. "I think we both realize at this point, however, that if that was it, I would have long since moved on." The box, such as it is, contains a thin, silvery chain, from one end of which dangles a small blue gem. It has no clasp, but glows faintly, and Vali shoves his hands into his pockets to hide his fidgeting. "So I offer you this. It can only be closed by my hand- and only be removed by yours. If you accept, then- were you to remove it, you would never be subjected to my... attentions again. I cannot deprive either of us of our companionship after all these years, Neuvillette. But I can respect a decision made. Just know," he adds, expression fond, "that if you choose to accept, I will be... quite more forward about my intentions. In private, of course." His fists clench in his pockets, and he bends to pretend to study the little makeshift garden he's had made for any issues. (He knows he won't find any. Io's work is always immaculate.) "You needn't answer tonight but... I hope this makes my intentions a bit more... palatable." Then at last he allows himself a bit more liberty (though some would say his presence in these chambers is liberty enough) and turns, head dipping down to press chastely against the Iudex's forehead. "Happy birthday, iubit."

      NEUVILLETTE HADN’T REALLY BEEN surprised by this birthday party that was thrown for him. The Melusines were terrible at hiding anything from him, but for their sake, he had pretended as if he hadn’t caught onto what they, and the others, were up to. Truly there was no need for any celebration of this kind considering he had long since ceased counting. However, he held no complaint to this, attending the celebration and acting as if he hadn’t taken note of any scurrying about. Neuvillette was not a social creature. He stayed long enough to be polite, although when given the opportunity to leave for the evening, he slipped away, returning to his office if only to grab a couple of drawing that had been left for him as birthday gifts, among other things. Door closed with a faint click, he made his way over to his desk, knowing full well that he was not alone. ❝Valentin,❞ he greeted, turning his head a little to show he acknowledged their presence, even if his gaze was currently upon the plethora of flowers awaited him. Within the dimness of his office, the lakelight lilies were even more beautiful in all their radiant light.

      He may have expected Vali’s approach, nevertheless he did not expect this. Each of the flowers even sat within their own water garden, the plants allowed to thrive rather than be plucked for his sake. How thoughtful this was. After allowing his gaze to linger upon the display a little longer, only then did he turn to fully look upon his present company, a hint of intrigue captured within his eyes that any would have been able to see. There were things that he intended on saying, words of heartfelt thanks for the effort it must have taken to design this – he did not have a chance, though, for long before he had even opened his mouth, he had known that Vali had more to say just from how uncertain he seemed. Blinking, a thin brow rose slightly, easily missed within that near darkness when a small box was presented to him.

      What was this?

      With nimble fingers he began to open it, careful and precise even as he pulled the top free and could see what lied within. He could sense the magic surrounding that seemingly simple chain easily; the soft glow illuminating where stone lay. Neuvillette listened, eyes narrowing just a little, albeit, not with displeasure. He was taken aback by this sincerity. ❝Are you attempting to court me?❞ That was such an odd thing to say when for years the Strigoi had been flirtatious and rather free with their intimacies. They were prone to whimsies and adorations rather easily, yet growing bored just as quickly when the novelty wore off. Truthfully, he assumed they would eventually grow tired of constantly pursuing him after being met with brick wall after brick wall, what desires they had for him in a more physical sense, fading away. Placing the top gently back upon the other’s gift, his expression became pensive once again.

     ‘You needn’t answer tonight.’

     No, he didn't intend to. This was something that he needed to mull over, and time was necessary for that. He could still feel the where their lips had been upon his skin; distracting, temporarily holding his attention until he could focus on more important matters. ❝I thank you for your gift – for all of what you have brought me on my birthday.❞ A pause, lingering for but a moment as he cut to the heart of the matter. ❝I ask that you await my decision patiently. You will have your answer when that day comes.❞ He didn’t give a particular time limit to himself as Neuvillette was the kind of individual who never made decisions lightly. He knew that Vali would understand, so there was no need to state anything further on that particular fact. ❝If I do accept, however, I expect you to be serious.❞ His gaze softened, so easily missed as many of his more subtle mannerisms often were to most.

     ❝That would be all I wish of you.❞

[legacygirlingreen]

17, 23 and 28 please ♡

Of course love💚

17. Most frequently worn pair of shoes

That can vary a tad depending on season and phase of my life a tad… I used to be a religious chuck taylor high tops girl (classic black high tops) but over time having a partner who works at vans and skateboarding a lot to get around in college I slowly shifted into being a vans girl. My most worn pair of shoes (I actively have 3 in various stages of worn/nice depending on where I’m going) are the black slip-on perf leather. I wear them just walking around, I have a worn pair when I wanna skate or am going somewhere they will get dirty and I have a pair I only wear when I want to look nice or teaching. I swear they are the most comfortable pair of shoes ever and look immaculate.

23. strange habits?

Not sure how “strange” this may be but I am oddly organized in some areas of my life and extremely messy in others. Like my car, absolutely trashed. My bedroom can also get cluttered with the amount of books and random scraps of paper but overall is pretty clean. My office is cluttered with work and decorations but is very well organized. I have color coded systems of schedules, files, etc. My creative spaces tend to get messy however my actual storage of supplies ✨ pristine ✨ I have a label maker and it’s all separated by type of supply, color, etc. Any file on my computer, immaculately organized. I truly have no rhyme or reason why some things get the massive over organization and proper storage and others look like a disaster zone. I have my records for my record player all mixed together but my books are alphabetical. I have perfectly wrapped cables for my cameras and guitars but my closet is a mess. My partner finds it strange why some things are overly organized and others are a perfect mess. And why there’s no in between either 🤷‍♀️

28. five songs to describe you?

“Seven seas of rhye” by queen

This one my best friend and roommate from college SWEARS fits me in both the chaotic energy and the line about destroying men who abuse trust… so 😅

“I’m Shipping up to Boston” by dropkick Murphy’s

This one is very nostalgic… when my family immigrated to the US from Ireland, the Boston area is where they settled. My mom used to take us back so often to visit family. Growing up going to Red Sox and bruins games this was such a big part of my childhood so this song has a special place in my heart. Especially since so many people know me for my connection to Boston sports.

“Always” by Panic at the Disco

I have a lot of self destructive tendencies and my number one always seems to be trying to take care of others first. this song I have always felt fits so much of who I am at my core. Growing up I felt very alone, isolated and responsible for so much. This song just hits so many notes for me.

“Carolina” Taylor swift

Honestly there’s so much of Taylor’s discography that could fit who i am… but ever since she dropped the Carolina single… so much of my life has been spent living in North Carolina (setting for the book the song is based on) and this just hits such a special place in my soul. Living in the backroads of Carolina this just… is so similar to waking up in that misty morning air.

“She’s like the wind” Patrick Swayze

I asked my partner since I was struggling with this a tad… he swears this song really captures how he felt when we were first falling into love instead of being just friends. I showed him dirty dancing for the first time and.. idk he stands by most of this song being a very good depiction of me 😭 perhaps it’s leading to my independent nature… I don’t take compliments well so 😅

[beastautoexperts]

Unlock the Secret to a Showroom Shine: The Benefits of Ceramic Coating

Imagine your car gleaming like it just rolled off the showroom floor—every day. Learn how ceramic coating can make this dream a reality!

For car enthusiasts and everyday drivers alike, achieving and maintaining that pristine showroom shine can seem like a never-ending challenge. Traditional waxing and polishing often fall short, requiring frequent reapplication and offering limited protection. Enter ceramic coating—a groundbreaking solution that delivers exceptional shine and long-lasting protection. Let’s delve into the science behind ceramic coatings and discover how they can keep your vehicle looking immaculate day in and day out.

The Science Behind Ceramic Coatings

Ceramic coatings are liquid polymers that chemically bond with your car’s paint, creating a durable protective layer. Here’s how they work:

1. Chemical Bonding: Unlike traditional waxes or sealants that sit on top of the paint, ceramic coatings bond at a molecular level. This forms a strong, hydrophobic layer that repels water and contaminants.

2. UV Protection: Ceramic coatings provide a shield against harmful UV rays, preventing oxidation and fading. This helps maintain your vehicle’s vibrant color and glossy finish for years.

3. Scratch Resistance: The hardness of the ceramic coating adds a layer of protection against minor scratches and swirl marks. While it doesn’t make your car impervious to damage, it significantly reduces the likelihood of superficial blemishes.

4. Easy Maintenance: The hydrophobic properties of ceramic coatings make washing your car easier. Dirt and grime slide off more easily, reducing the frequency of washes and making cleaning a breeze.

Before-and-After Transformation

To truly appreciate the impact of ceramic coating, consider the following transformation:

Before: A car exposed to the elements without protection often shows signs of wear and tear—faded paint, water spots, and surface scratches.

After: With ceramic coating applied, the same vehicle showcases a dazzling shine, enhanced color depth, and a smooth, glass-like finish. Water beads off effortlessly, and contaminants have a harder time sticking to the surface.

See the stunning before-and-after photos below to witness the remarkable difference ceramic coating can make!

Real-Life Success Stories

Many car owners have experienced the magic of ceramic coating firsthand. Take Jessica, for example, who applied ceramic coating to her new sedan. She was thrilled to see her car maintain a showroom-like appearance even after months of daily driving. “Ceramic coating has truly transformed my vehicle. It looks as good as new, and cleaning is so much easier!” Jessica enthuses.

Or consider Mike, who applied ceramic coating to his classic sports car. The coating preserved the car’s original shine and offered protection against environmental hazards. “I couldn’t be happier with the results. The ceramic coating has kept my car looking like it just came off the production line,” Mike shares.

Book Your Ceramic Coating Service Today!

Unlock the secret to a showroom shine and enjoy the numerous benefits of ceramic coating for your vehicle. Whether you’re protecting a brand-new car or rejuvenating an older model, ceramic coating provides unparalleled gloss and protection.

Special Discount: To help you get started, we’re offering an exclusive discount on your first ceramic coating service!

Contact us today to schedule your appointment and experience the transformation for yourself. Let your car gleam with the brilliance of a showroom finish every single day with the power of ceramic coating.

Don’t miss out—book now and drive with pride knowing your vehicle is protected and shining bright!

Click here to know more: https://beastautoexperts.com

[carservice]

Logan Airport Limo Service | UnitedLimo

Traveling can be a stressful experience, but it doesn't have to be. UnitedLimo's Logan Airport Limo Service is here to transform your journey into one of comfort, luxury, and ease. Whether you're a business traveler looking to maximize productivity or a vacationer eager to start your trip in style, our limousine service is designed to meet all your transportation needs.

Why Choose UnitedLimo for Logan Airport Transportation?

Unparalleled Comfort Our fleet of luxury limousines is equipped with the latest amenities to ensure your ride is as comfortable as possible. From plush seating and climate control to advanced entertainment systems, every detail is designed to make your journey enjoyable.

Professional Chauffeurs Our chauffeurs are more than just drivers; they are trained professionals committed to providing the highest level of service. Punctual, courteous, and knowledgeable about the Boston area, they ensure you reach your destination safely and on time.

Efficiency and Reliability With UnitedLimo, you can count on timely pickups and drop-offs. We use advanced tracking systems to monitor your flight status, ensuring that we are there when you need us, regardless of delays or changes in your schedule.

Competitive Pricing Luxury doesn't have to come with a hefty price tag. UnitedLimo offers competitive rates without compromising on quality. Our transparent pricing means no hidden fees – just exceptional service at a fair price.

Tailored Services Whether you need transportation for a corporate event, a wedding, or a night out in the city, we provide customized solutions to meet your specific needs. Our team works with you to plan the perfect itinerary, ensuring a seamless experience from start to finish.

How It Works Easy Booking Booking your limo service with UnitedLimo is straightforward and hassle-free. Simply visit our website or give us a call, and our friendly customer service team will assist you in arranging your transportation.

Confirmation and Follow-Up Once your booking is confirmed, you'll receive all the necessary details, including your chauffeur's information and pickup instructions. We follow up with reminders and updates to keep you informed every step of the way.

Enjoy the Ride On the day of your travel, your chauffeur will arrive promptly at your specified location, ready to assist with your luggage and ensure a smooth journey to Logan Airport. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride in one of our luxurious limousines.

Client Testimonials "UnitedLimo made my business trip to Boston seamless and stress-free. The limo was immaculate, and the chauffeur was incredibly professional. I will definitely be using their services again." – Sarah M., Corporate Executive

"We booked UnitedLimo for our wedding day, and it was the best decision we made. The limo was stunning, and the service was top-notch. It truly added a touch of elegance to our special day." – James and Emily P., Newlyweds

Book Your Logan Airport Limo Service Today Experience the difference with UnitedLimo's Logan Airport Limo Service. Whether you're heading to the airport or need a stylish ride for a special occasion, we are here to provide exceptional service that exceeds your expectations. Book your limo today and travel in style with UnitedLimo.

Book Now :https://unitedlimogroup.com/ Call us :+1(800) 875 0485

[girltomboy]

Sober days

I've been sober for a little less than 2 weeks now, and I mean sober from everything except for caffeine. No smoking, drinking, or getting stoned. I don't feel much of a difference to be honest, maybe I don't get out of breath as much while walking uphill to my apartment? Lol but I wasn't smoking that much to begin with anyway. I mean I've never been a regular smoker or drinker. I don't miss getting high, because lately to be honest it wasn't doing it for me, it had just become a weekend habit. As for drinking and smoking cigarettes, those were social activities for me, I never drank or smoked by myself. Well this indefinite break is most welcome now. I don't consider myself addicted to anything, which is why sobriety is not something I want to be strict about. I'm also prone to obsessing over my habits and this feels like the perfect fuel for that danger. Unfortunately I've been really lazy about working out, and that includes yoga as well. I keep saying I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow, but when tomorrow comes I feel way too depleted of energy to actually stick to my word and be active. However, I've been walking a decent amount lately, I feel like that counts for something. My Health app informs me that I'm walking way less than I was last year this time, which makes sense because my bf used to live in this city back then, and we'd go out almost every day, and visited our friends almost every weekend. I miss when he was here.

This Friday my work friend and I have taken the day off and scheduled appointments to pick up our university diplomas early in the morning. Afterwards we might go get breakfast, go day drinking, and maybe go to a sex shop lmao. These are just some plans we randomly cooked up, but knowing us we might not stick to the script. I kind of want to buy a magazine, but I don't know which magazines still exist. We might go to the park, or the botanical garden, or hang out on campus at her university. Towards the evening, I might drop by my own university to leave some books there, and maybe check out the free books shelf to see if there's anything worth taking home.

I finished the third season of Six Feet Under and I just knew something weird and devastating was cooking when I saw how the season began, just like that. And I was right, but it's incredible how even at its most depressing this show manages to feel oddly hopeful. It's truly a masterpiece and I'm dreading reaching the end of it.

Yesterday I watched Immaculate with my work friend. Mostly she was just horny for Sydney Sweeney, but the movie was unexpectedly good. I mean she's a great actress, but we were mostly expecting some low quality The Nun ripoff (not that The Nun is high quality to begin with). My friend thought it was gonna be a ghost/demon/possession/supernatural kind of horror, but it was actually an insane people kind (the scariest ones imo, because. Well. Evil people are realer than ghosts). I specifically loved the soundtrack, it's one of those rare OSTs that you look up after the movie is over. I also super enjoyed the ENDING where she smashes that thing.

[thomasjaffe]

Wedding transportation Beaufort SC

Are you in search of the perfect wedding transportation solution in Beaufort, SC, that promises to add a touch of elegance and reliability to your special day? Look no further than Palmetto Car Service, the premier provider of wedding transportation in Beaufort, SC.

With Palmetto Car Service, you're choosing more than just a ride to and from your wedding venue; you're selecting a luxurious experience that ensures timely arrivals and serene comfort for the bride, groom, and their cherished guests. Known for their exceptional service, Palmetto Car Service offers a fleet of immaculate vehicles that cater to every wedding style and party size.

From classic sedans for intimate affairs to larger, opulent limos for grand celebrations, they have the versatility in their lineup to make every wedding transport uniquely memorable. The professional chauffeurs at Palmetto Car Service are thoroughly trained and dedicated to providing a smooth, stress-free experience. They understand the nuances of wedding transportation in Beaufort, SC, ensuring that every couple receives the red-carpet treatment they deserve on their nuptial day.

Safety and comfort are also a top priority for Palmetto Car Service. Each vehicle is meticulously maintained to the highest industry standards, ensuring peace of mind as you travel through scenic Beaufort to your wedding destinations. The added touches of luxury, like spotless interiors and customer-controlled climate settings, make all the difference in creating an ambiance that's truly suitable for a matrimonial celebration.

For those planning their upcoming nuptials, wedding transportation in Beaufort, SC, is a critical piece of the puzzle. By choosing Palmetto Car Service, you're ensuring that every detail is handled with finesse. Offering flexible scheduling, transparent pricing, and exceptional care, they stand out as the superior choice for couples who demand the best for their wedding day.In summary, choosing Palmetto Car Service for your wedding transportation in Beaufort, SC, means entrusting a significant aspect of your wedding to a company that prides itself on delivering a truly exceptional and refined service. With their unwavering commitment to excellence, they'll ensure that your transportation is as seamless and beautiful as every other aspect of your dream wedding.

Map: https://maps.app.goo.gl/Wo5BBPzvQzmPcMGv8 Google Site: https://sites.google.com/view/palmettocarservicellc/ Google My Map: https://www.google.com/maps/d/edit?mid=1-b2I1cz_705TuKtPe5CxyV7mh7JHX8o&usp=sharing Google Sheet: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/10_8X88vWQVbykerRa9b2Q7qBVxSACdsbtyKsggxiaVE/edit?usp=sharing Google Docs: https://docs.google.com/document/d/16gmDS7QC-p0yf4kYe_SvyCAr9kxVWrFimmukL3kwrWA/edit?usp=sharing Google Form: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSedAJq043txahXH0OP67FK3244XDGSsUngmn9qNoFriVnK1fA/viewform?usp=sharing Google Drawing: https://docs.google.com/drawings/d/1euQ6XafOgYC0irsCcCYq4YCNmLNVkeAwq-aZh0yktOk/edit?usp=sharing Google Slide: https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1ke6wPZAnsVQmsEn45xRe3vwr-5Tm1ZM15vkF190fKc0/edit?usp=sharing