#being the Totally Definitely For Sure Healthy Responsible person i am

[ineedjesusverymuch]

Diabolik lovers headcanons pt. 4

Hi! After that huge response my other post got, I decided to write more/be more active on here. I really enjoy writing my thoughts on just about anything regarding dl out and it makes me happy that so many people liked my post!

Although that big of a response was quite a shock. Seemed that I did not, in fact, yell into the void that time :).

Though I am not sure if that post did anything different, I'll continue posting on here no matter how big the response is. If I can make even one person happy with those posts, (including me) I'll keep on writing those silly headcanons of vampires that do not exist. :)

I am going to focus more on the mukamis and Yui in this post since the last one was almost only the Sakamakis.

⚠anything triggering will be marked like this: ❗trigger❗

⚠I am going to briefly discuss childhood trauma and depression.

As always, I'll try to stay at least a little bit true to the source material.

Asks are always appreciated!

This time, I rambled quite a bit about Azusa ':)

headcanons under the cut⬇

Firstly, Yui. Our dear heroine who deserves just about everything!

Really good at dancing those old, classical ballroom dances. She had a few lessons by Ayato (who spent the entire time giving his best not stomping on Yui's feet) and Reiji (whose lesson was the most horrifying experience she had ever had)

After those lessons, she refined her skills. Ayato is quite a good dancer, so she had someone to practice with.

Her best dances are waltz and rumba

Ayato is literally not physically able to stop watching her when dancing together. Never has he seen someone that beautiful (I stand by Ayato being totally besottet by Yui)

Her style is so coquetteish, old fairy tale princess, etherial soul, cottage core - genuinely dresses like a pinterest board

Really fcking pretty??? I don't get why the boys humble her all the time

Immune to pretty boys/play boys. She has seen it all.

really adores bunnies. Lionheads? She'd like a dozen of them.

Had at one point a guinea pig. It died and her father buried it and told her that a fairy had taken it to be her loyal companion. Yui believed it until she was like 16 years.

Her hair has those light curls and feels like the softest thing ever

The clasp in her hair is not the only flowery hair adornment she has, Yui loves to wear different clasps on special occasions

Definitely got gifted a hair pin with rose details from Subaru at one point

Best friends with Subaru. They like to spend quality time caring for his flowers and Yui is allowed to brush his hair on tare occasions.

Shu tried to teach her the violin once and she was horrible at it (but flute was her thing)

Has those shirts with horribly kitsch prints on them but no one says anything to her because she loves them so much

She has thought a lot about her faith since being with the Sakamakis. Read a lot about her god and the different religions.

Has though about studying theology and psychology in University

collects squishmallows

wears those light perfumes that smell like vanilla and flowers occasionally

Everyone turns their head when they first see Yui

Etherial beauty

Smells like vanilla. It's because she uses those body lotions and a lightly scented hair mist

Ayato goes mad at the smell

Ayato genuinely loves Yui. Just her, living her life. He adores her.

Also; Ayato is a himbo.

Dumb and dumber duo

Subaru teaches her material art as defense for anything coming at her

Natural at fighting

Decked Ayato in the face once as he materialized out of thin air behind her

Knocked him unconscious

Laito laughed for literal hours at the though of Ayato getting knocked out by Yui

Her dream is living in peace with eveyone she loves

Had an actual talk with Ayato at some point. They are a healthy couple now (No, I do not care about the canon. They're in love your highness)

Goes to therapy. She decided to after nightmares regarding her early days with the boys

Also, scared that Cordelia will come back at one point and take her body over completely

Yui is the nicest person ever

Will talk with you about everything you'd like

Gentle soul.

Gives great hugs?? Knows how to comfort someone who's feeling bad

She's not only good at baking but also at making those highly decorated cakes and cupcakes. Kanato begs her for themed cupcakes as soon as autumn starts and Halloween decorations appear

next, Ruki.

Eats way too much dark chocolate

We're talking about two entire bars minimum a day

Coffee junkie

Has a disproportionately large consume of anything caffeinated

Wears the same crusty, dry eyeliner since 1990

Refuses to buy a new one since "the old one still works" (it does not)

flirts with Reiji. Its so obvious that even Yuma has realized it

(Reiji is oblivious to it)

Academically speaking, really good at the natural sciences.

Fcking sucks at english though

Studies quite a lot, Ruki despises being on the same level as Reiji

Bad loser

Will be sulky after losing a game of Uno

Definitely cheats at card games

Really good at annoying Reiji. It's such a high level of annoying, he could give courses on the matter

Really good older brother

Checks on the other Mukami brothers when Ruki sees them struggeling with their pasts

Will check in every night if Azusa or Kou are plagued by nightmares

Has nightmares about the orphanage

❗sometimes wakes up scared that his brothers are actually dead and can only calm down after checking that each one is still alive

❗Definitely scared of anything happening to his brothers, he has panic attacks just thinking about that night

reads self help books

Has at least one "how to raise unruly children" book on his shelves

Culinary mastermind

But also makes the weirdest combinations of foods? Why would anyone like to taste jam with cucumbers and pepper????

now, Kou

Likes those really creepy stuffed toys

really good at drawing winged eyeliner

Has worn pink mascara and it looked so fcking good???

Hugest crush on Subaru

Flirts with him but the dear boy does not recognize romantic affection even when it slaps him in the face

Almost fainted riding the first time on Subaru's motorcycle

The scariest thing since really long

Wears really dangly, long earrings

With the weirdest motifs

Has one pair that has clams that can open. The pearls inside them glow in the dark.

his stomach is a bottomless pit. The first time he came over to spend a night at the Sakamaki's, Reiji was genuinely afraid that they had nit enough food to last to breakfast

Laito and he binged the Kardashians

Loves gossip. Knows everything about everyone

Makes rad nail art

Loves styling Azusa. Its their quality time, combined with trying those really spicy crisps

huge energy drink consumer

Helps him trough those sleepless nights were Kou stays up and chats with Laito the whole night through the phone

quite good at learning historical facts

Due to Kou's eye, he can see truths and lies in humans. But he is also really good at deciphering the human psyche.

Doesn't always use his eye. Sometimes, just Kou's knowledge of psychology is enough to recognize lies

There are some headcanons that Kou is italian. I agree with that. I can really image him enjoying the culture and the food. Also, I read a headcanon once that Kou's real name was Emilio. (If someone knows the name of the OP, please tell me)

Now, our vegetable freak: Yuma!

loves scrunchies and hair claw clips

Got one from Kanato once and uses them since

Also, I propose: Yuma with those hair claw clips in butterfly shape. Gifted by Kou as a joke

but now, he always wears them

Kanato braids his hair in really elaborate hair styles. Bridal style vibes. Kou thinks its the funniest thing ever

Shu loves toying with his hair when bored. It's just so soft and smells really good (Yuma uses Kou's shampoo on the regular. It causes quite a lot of fights)

took 1 (one) "Am I Gay" quiz. It came out a hundred percent positive. The next day, he confessed to Shu. They've been together ever since

Feeds the birds on the porch of their house every morning, together with Azusa

Actually really educated about current politics (at least the ones in Romania. But knows quite a lot about the USA and Japan, too)

Will start fights with Ruki about politics during dinner

If you ever want to hear angry romanian yelling, just go to the Mukami house during elections

Cares for every houseplant in their house

Brings at least two new plants per week at home. Ruki is on the brink of forbidding Yuma from accessing his monthly allowance

wears really shitty clothes. I'm talking thousand times stitched together trousers. They look like potatoes sacks but he refuses to get new ones

Has a toolbelt that looks atrocious

He wears it almost every day

The dirtiest shoes known to mankind

So dirty with soil and just about anything you can find in nature

Ruki gets daily aggressions about the spots on their carpet, since Yuma thinks changing shoes just for going inside is stupid

Wears the most amazing eyeliner but it is actually just old as fuck eyeshadow and mascara

He makes it look good

Has the longest lashes known to humankind

Brown skin due to being outside so much

Disneyprincess in secret

loves those huge dogs

now, Azusa!!

jesus that boy can be seductive

No, I wont elaborate

That was a lie, I will elaborate on anything with Azusa. He has the art of subtle flirting refined to mastery

Tried to flirt with Kanato. But Kanato thought he was being made fun of

Great at subtle makeup

Also; great dancer. Especially latin dances such as cha-cha-cha or salsa

He has those hips (breedable, as some folks would say)

Canonically doesn't like peppers

That doesn't apply to stuffed peppers with spices though

Great at remembering faces, not so great at remembering names

Can draw and paint and do art so good????

God of art

Not god of natural sciences though

Is doing alright at school but doesn't like the education system

Speaks not only romani and japanese but also a bit of English (and has the thickest british accent. No one knows where it is from and Azusa refuses to tell them that it is from watching Harry potter so often)

Colours his hair in a blue-black colour to give it more depth sometimes

Wears very pretty, light blue-ish glitter on the inner eye corner sometimes

So beautiful eyes??

Long, dark lashes

Likes to wear a bit of mascara

Naturally a defined jawline and straight nose

But a bit chubby cheeks

Is very pale but tans quite a but when longer outside in the summer. But dues to his sensitivity to heat, he'd rather stay inside

His eyes have a bit of an almond form, which gives them a sharp look, but still quite big

Azusa likes to wear too big clothes, especially hoodies and sweaters from Ruki and Yuma.

Also, cargo pants. The wide ones

Combat boots are a staple in his closet

Loves plateau boots and sneakers

Converse all stars are his to go shoes if no plateau boot is available

The shoes size him up quite a bit so the first time he met the Sakamakis, they all thought he was quite big. They all were surprised as they arrived at the Mukami home and Azusa just shrinked a few inches

Paints his fingernails in hope that he doesn't chew on them that much if they're pretty and colorful

Cuts his hair himself because he feels that his slow manner of speech annoys the staff in hair salons

But he likes the choppy style so its not as big of a problem for him

❗has a problem coping with what happened in his childhood. He canonically sh, but has frequent anxienty attacks too.

Due to that, he has a few weightened blankets and lots of pillows on his bed to simulate the feeling of getting hugged

Big hugger

His love language is physical touch

bug lover

Has a really cool sweater with the life cycle of a frog

That was it, actually. I rambled quite a bit about Azusa but I still hope you'll like it.

I hope I was able to make your day a bit better.

If you have any requests, just ask!

Thank you for reading all of that. I really appreciate you! I hope you'll have an amazing day/night!

[ingravinoveritas]

I mean no disrespect, but I wonder if you realise that probably all the main plot points of Staged are scripted? Including acting cues like David and Michael touching, comforting, asking who is the big spoon etc. “Georgia says we’re like a married couple” doesn’t actually mean Georgia said it, it means Simon Evans wrote this line for David.

I see in your profile that you’re on the spectrum, and I am not sure if that’s one of the reasons it’s hard for you to discern the difference maybe? (Again, no intended disrespect. Please take this as a well meaning message from a well wisher. My brother is on the spectrum and he has a tendency to do this). The show is so meta at this point, it’s understandable if it felt confusing and hopeful maybe.

But we have to keep in mind that they’re simply actors with amazing chemistry, and the entire show dynamic is playing on that. In reality, their friendship may be very different to how it is portrayed. Not to mention, the romantic components are just for show. They can play so much on it mainly because David and Michael are both men in committed heterosexual relationships. This is not coming from a homophobic place either, considering (like the rest of tumblr) I definitely ship Aziraphale and Crowley romantically. But the actors themselves, well, I don’t think it’s healthy to go there?

Anyway sorry this was very long. Please take care of yourself.

Hello, Anon.

There are a lot of things I’d like to say in response to this. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept of “benevolent ableism.” I’d like to explain it, but first it might help if I give an example of malevolent ableism.

Four years ago, I was interviewed for a movie about the first person ever officially diagnosed with autism, which is based on the best-selling book of the same name. The movie is set to premiere nationally in the U.S. on PBS next week, and they’ve begun doing promotion on social media ahead of it. In the post PBS made on Facebook the other day, someone left a comment calling autistic people “feeble-minded vermin” and insisted on the “complete and total extermination” of autistic people “on a global basis.”

This is something that we would immediately recognize as ableism. It’s hateful, it’s angry, and it calls for actual genocide against autistic people. Because in this world, this is the mentality that some people actually have toward people on the spectrum--that we are different, less, inferior. “Other.” And they are making their feelings about that difference very clear, and in no uncertain terms. Of course, this is an extreme example, and not necessarily something most of us are likely to encounter in our day to day lives.

Which, then, is where “benevolent ableism” comes into the picture. What this term tends to refer to is when neurotypical people speak or behave in ways that are hurtful and demeaning to autistic/neurodivergent people while under the pretense of being “helpful,” “kind,” or even “well-meaning.”

It’s things like telling someone “Oh, you’re too pretty to be autistic.” It’s deciding a place/situation is “too much” for an autistic person and convincing them to leave because you think you know “what’s best” for them. And in this case, it’s assuming that I must not know the difference between fiction and reality because of my autism and writing in to tell me that I am “wrong” about Staged because of it.

The common thread in all of these is something called “infantilization.” This happens when autistic adults are treated as children in big bodies and believed to not have the capacity to understand things solely on the basis of being autistic--regardless of chronological age, developmental level, or any other factors.

This is what I feel you have done here, Anon. You are talking down to me, but I am not a teenager, and I’m certainly not a child. I’m an adult woman, and if you’d spent more than five minutes on my blog, you would know that I have shipped Michael and David since 2019, long before Staged was even close to being a thing. My reasons for shipping them have nothing to do with the show or a script...but I get the sense that that doesn’t make much of a difference to you.

Because I’ve gotten plenty of hater Anons due to shipping Michael and David in the past, but this? This is by far the worst. I would rather get Anons calling me the R-word or any other of the many names I’ve been called, because at least I know where they stand. But when you use the words “well meaning” and “no disrespect” and then proceed to talk to me the way you have here...I am truly at a loss.

There are so many things I could tell you. I could tell you that I have a Masters degree. I could tell you I’ve spoken at the United Nations twice. I could tell you I’ve given a TED talk. I could tell you that I completely and wholeheartedly disagree with nearly everything you’ve said about Staged and Michael/David’s dynamic and what was scripted, and provide multiple examples and thought-out, compelling arguments explaining my rationale.

But none of it would matter, because you took one look at my blog and all you saw was “autism.”

Not me. Not Amy. Just “autism,” and everything you believe that means. And in doing so, you have insulted not only my intelligence, but my humanity.

Yet I’m supposed to believe you “mean no disrespect” (I think you did) and that you are not homophobic (I think you are). Or at least biphobic, because even though Michael and David are in straight-passing relationships, it does not automatically mean they are straight.

(Nor does it mean that is the reason they felt comfortable playing up the romantic elements of Staged 3, an argument that absolutely makes no sense to me because--and you would also know this if you’d read my blog--the last thing I think Michael or David would ever do is queer-bait or specifically play something like that as a joke.)

If only one thing comes out of me answering your Anon, I hope it’s this: I am in a place of confidence now. I know who I am. But I also know that if another autistic or ND person had gotten this message, it could have destroyed them. Your words are the words we’ve heard before--from parents, from teachers, even lovers--and they are no less dehumanizing as we get older.

I know that I don’t know you, or your brother, Anon. But if I got this feeling from your attitude, I can almost guarantee that he has gotten it, too, and that it has affected the way he sees himself. He may not say it to you, may not express it, but the things you say and the way they make him feel live in a place deep inside, and that is something that never fully goes away.

So I hope you will take this as an opportunity. An opportunity to learn, and to do better. Because I deserve more than to be seen as the sum of my limitations. I deserve to be seen as Amy, as the woman I am, of whom part, but not all, is being autistic.

 I deserve better than this. And so do all autistic people.

[khaleesiofalicante]

This was probably my favorite chapter yet. The ending was so so so good.

Like YES IRIS MY QUEEN I TOTALLY GET WHY YOU KISSED HERMES.

Leaders making sane, thoughtful and controversial decisions knowing what the consequences will be but still doing it because they know it's the right thing to do is so fuckinh hot. I think Hermes might be my favorite side character in the story. Also I love his interactions with Magnus. They're both so powerful and influential but in such a different way. I love how much they both respect eachother.

I have a theory. I'm not not sure if it will happen but maybe if Hermes dies, the person who takes over for him will be Magnus. Hermes is clearly an amazing leader who knows how to make decisions and lead but also knows when to ask for help and collaborate. And Magnus who's also incredibly smart and influential is now learning to ask people for help and reached out to Hermes. I don't know maybe I'm overthinking it but I would love to see then working together/taking over after him. I'm really excited for all the warlock stuff.

The reveal of the pandemonium entrance was very cool. I didn't gasp at it and scream 'plot twist'. It was more of a 'oh' feeling because it made a lot of sense and it made me realize just how important lance is in this story. I'm kinda glad that this kinda balanced the scale. Like now there's a reason why Lance's death should be avoided. I'm not sure how the Clave will perceive it though.

I'M SO SO SO HAPPY THAT KINNY AND JOAN ARE FRIENDS NOW. I've been looking forward to this for sooooo long. I hope their friendship grows and they can be there for eachother despite their differences.

I was kinda mad at Max when he was yelling at Arthur. It was kind of a shock to my system to see him talking to Arthur like this but I also get it. But also I really wanted to protect Arthur and give him a hug. It was kind of worse to see David's reaction to it. I'm not sure why.

When Lance finally finds out about Arcaid, all hell will break lose (literally). I cannot wait.

Thankyou for always being so amazing and keeping me on my toes.

Love, Yana

Ps. Random question. Seeing how malec are so blissfully healthy, what do you think one of them might do that would really make the other one really mad? I'm especially curious about what Magnus would do.

I love your take on Hermes' leadership style. It's quite spot on, really. This is why I prefer the Warlock Council (the structure/governance of it) rather than the Clave - which seems a little too rigid for me.

The pandemonium reveal is similar to the reveal of Lance's blindness in IALS - it's definitely 'oh' moment because it was right there all along.

Fun fact: Lance's tattoo which is the latin motto of nephilim ("the descent into hell is easy") is literally a clue about where the pandemonium is because it's written on his back - he got it ironically because he thought it's funny (What am I going to do with this boy?)

About the malec question, I'm not sure if you asked in the context of LBAF or general, but I think it could be something around:

a) putting themselves in danger (like literally sacrificing themselves). But this sound hypocritical because they both have a tendency to do this hehe

b) something to do with the kids - they were more likely to have these fights in LBAF 2 (or like TLND timeline) when the kids were younger and they were still responsible for them.

c) something to do with politics. Like in the show, you know? Magnus and Alec are two important leaders in their respective communities so if there is a warlock vs nephilim situation...Well, who is to say? 🥰

[starredforlife]

Hii I asked the question about the Allupa header. when I see the piece I am most reminded of alexandre cabanel’s Fallen Angel (mostly because of lupa’s expression) so that really informs my reading of it. I see Fallen Angel as a humanization of the devil who looks kind of petulant, vulnerable and guarded in the painting. For me, it challenges the understanding of Lucifer as a symbol of evil. I connect this to the werewolf who is traditionally a threat/abomination. Though I did not think about this before you pointed it out in your response, I can see Al as the Angel protecting or healing Lupa as the damned/maybe traumatized creature, and though Lupa’s pose is protective/possessive there is a sense of vulnerability/defensiveness just as in fallen Angel. I would literally love for you to dig into the symbolism in their relationship in the story/how their monster-types relate in-text. I find these characters and their story very intriguing! Sorry for how long this is lol

i'm gonna cry djkfkdl thank you for an artistic analysis my life goal is complete now i love u <3 <3 and no thank you so much for keeping it long

I do love your interpretation of it a lot because, like I said, it could go either way. I didn't even have Fallen Angel in mind but I can totally see that comparison!

I don't even know where to begin with them tbh there's just so much and it's all like, a jumbled board with the strings and pictures. but not all of the dots are quite connected yet, so i will try my best to surmise here. so much under the read-more, I'm so sorry

OH AND ALSO B4 YOU READ IT ALL here is their playlist it kind of answers a couple questions as well

I think for this piece it's mostly important to know that both Lupa and Al share a fatal flaw of sorts: they are both very self-sacrificing, in their own ways. There is a periods in their stories where the other feels safer literally dying for the other person than confronting their feelings for them. They have to hold to each other, metaphorically and physically, so that they don't let themselves go. It's not necessarily healthy, these kinds of stakes, and it does sort itself out eventually. But around this time, it boils down to: If I told you how much I care, it would only hurt us both.

So they cling to each other because they can't say anything. The circumstances of plot prevent them from getting together like a normal couple, and their own complicated past prevents them from simply kissing and telling, ykwim? Al liked Lupa first, and had to overcome a million hurdles to even admit it to herself, then Lupa got a boyfriend, then she breaks up with him and Al moves on, and then Lupa falls for Al, and at the same time they're finding out that the other person sees them, fully, as they are, and it's completely overwhelming and frustrating. But through it they hold each other. They would go through hell to make sure the other person makes it out the other side. Lupa would tear into God himself to make sure Al is safe. Al would go against her own divinity to make sure Lupa remains intact. so not to be That Person but they are Running Up That Hill (Deal with God) in essence bc I'm lame and I love that song so much

Their entire relationship is a duality in my head. A wolf and a sheep or a dog and a ram, beauty and the beast, devil and angel, the divine and the sinful, lion and lamb, healing and sickness, promises and lies. Sun and Moon! ETC ETC They are not confined to one definition, and their growth comes from being loved for what the other sees in them. Lupa and Al always dance on the line between duality. So that's why this piece is ambiguous--it's really just that they are one being, almost, in their monsterhood.

What's an angel to a werewolf? It's almost the same as an alien to us--bright, and unfathomable. It's sunlight on the night of the full moon. Their touch can burn as much as it can heal, and that's the choice of the holy to make. And Al always chooses to heal.

A werewolf to an angel is what the Earth is to anyone fond of her. A representation of the indomitable human spirit--uncontrollable to any god. Lupa's stubborn pursuit of freedom and indulgence at any means terrifies Al at first, but she grows to understand and admire why Lupa chases these things. There's a wilderness to Lupa that's just as incomprehensibly addicting as Al's proximity to godhood.

SO in terms of the art piece. The point was to make it seem like Lupa is holding back--we don't know from what. She's defensive, but restrained. Without Al there, we don't know what the image would actually be. But the even more important point is that Al doesn't appear afraid at all. You could look at this and see, at a glance, damsel in distress, and the terrible wolf that took her away. But you look at the expressions and you notice that she's calm--almost in control. And under that subversion, the wolf is the one that's tamed. Maybe Al's the wolf in sheep's clothing. Maybe Lupa protects the viewer. Maybe Al's the beating heart of a beast and Lupa's the cage around it. In the end, they are entwined, body and soul and spirit.

The colors contrast, and were chosen on purpose. Green for the ties to forest and monsters, and orange for a too-bright warmth, closer to fire than the sun. Somewhat dangerous, and a little unstable. Typically Lupa has more blues and Al has more yellows, mellowing out their appearances a bit. But in this moment they're unpredictable. So they hold each other. It all comes back to that, always. Holding and clinging tight and not letting the other go. I'm going to go fuckin nuts

There's so muchharghdvjsfk like. Al was a ghost as well. A literal spirit, detached from herself, and when she met Lupa, Lupa was extremely Herself, individualized and "confident" (traumatized to the point of projecting a tough personality). And then she loses her lycanthropy and becomes, in a sense, a ghost herself. And Al returns and she's everything she ever wanted to be--a hero, a healer. It's all !! SOO MUCH that's too much to talk abt though. you'll just have to watch the show or comic or w/ever eventually <3

BUT again thank you so much for the analysis and thoughts it truly means so so much <3 I'm so happy people like digging into my art like this it really makes me happy

[toomuchdickfort]

...this is just a vent/rant post, don’t mind it

[findingmyselfatm]

Super specific placements astro notes/rants

Usual disclaimer: take this with a grain of salt and only what resonates.

You can look at Chiron and the planets it touches to see conflicts/trauma regarding family remembers or people in general

Sun - father, masculine figures

Moon - mother, feminine figures

Mercury - siblings/cousins (not sure with this one)

Venus - feminine figures.

I want to elaborate on this one. I personally don't like assigning gender to placements, but energies. Feminine and masculine don't directly point to gender, only behavioural characteristics.

Mars - masculine figures

Jupiter - masculine/mentor figures

Saturn - authority figures (you may also look at the midheaven for this one, although its meaning is a little distorted)

That moment when you even hint at mercury-uranus, mercury-saturn, mercury-mc, mercury in the 1H/3H/6H/7H/9H/10H/11H that they are stupid 😀🔪 I am calling myself out with this one.

Mercury-uranus makes someone's intellect their pride, what makes them stand out. Mercury-saturn go through a lot of wrestling with how intelligent they are.

Mercury-mc suggests that they are known for their smarts, and they are truly pragmatic(they look up to intelligence as well).

Mercury in the 1st house makes intellect part of their core identity, meanwhile mercury in the 3rd is in its home, how can you insult something in its more comfortable place?

Mercury in the 6th may doubt their intelligence a lot, despite how logical they most likely are in their day to day life.

Mercury in the 7th brings rationality in their relationships, and its also something they are recognized for.

Mercury in the 9th, I have this one, really ties intellect to personal beliefs. Insulting their brains is like Insulting what they believe in.

Mercury in the 10th, just like mercury-mc. And mercury in the 11th house is also probably thought of as rational as well. Their friends know it, their community knows it.

Trines are lazy. These aspects give so much potential but it's so easy to lose focus with them, this is why I prefer sextiles over trines.

Your 12th house represents your dreams. Whatever you have on your 12th house can point to how your dreams are.

F.e I have moon in the 12th. My dreams tend to include lots of feminine figures and emotions. I also have capricorn on my 12th house, so routine and constant reminders of my responsibilities keep popping up

Scorpio on the 12th house may have nightmares often

Gemini/Sagittarius on rhe 12th may have very bizzare dreams.

Libra on the 12th may dream a lot about relationships

We tend to turn towards the opposite house we have our Chiron in.

9th house? The person may turn towards facts, logic and education (3rd house) to make up for their wounded beliefs (others may have said they're too drastic or simply stupid, or religious trauma etc)

1st house? We tend to turn to others (7th house)

4th house Chiron can indulge too much in their career or public image(10th house)

Not much of an astro note but, any other Libra venus in the 8th house here? I swear I could have been such a flirt if I had it in the 7th house or 9th, LMAO. 8th house venus kind of hides the venus sign's traits. Only when you get to know me I truly display the Libra qualities. Until then I am like :|

Also, talking about libra venus, I saw it get a lot of hate in the community despite it being one of the best venus placements objectively.

If anyone here has Virgo sun in the 7th, please focus more on yourself and less on what others think. It is indeed a quality to be considerate, but you also have to not lose yourself

The ascendnat doesn't only represent looks amd first impressions, but also your identity and self. I don't think ascendant aspects in synastry get a lot of credit, being shunned as superficial and simply physical attraction. I believe they are the representation of how the people involved see each other and shape their identity, what sides they bring out of each other.

I think that the best compability is shown by asteroid Juno. If someone has major or prominent sign placements as your juno sign, then you are most likely a good match (especially if it's mutual)

Mars in pisces may be passive, but don't confuse that with weakness. I noticed that most of the time these people tend to brush off or try to forget conflict, which in the end can actually be beneficial (most of the time, there are moments when confrontation is needed). While some may describe them as fickle, when developed they can be very resillient ngl.

You don't relate to the physical descriptions of your ascendant? That's totally fine! There can he multiple reasons for this, first one being that astrology cannot determine how we look, genetics do that, and second you should look at your ascendant aspects and other planets you have in the 1st house.

I have aquarius rising. Most descriptions say thay we're tall, meanwhile I'm here at 5'2, buuut I also have neptune in the 1st and ascendant conjunct chiron. I don't mean to discredit people who do these descriptions, they're actually accurate! My friend also has an aquarius rising and Uranus in the 1st and they look exactly like that--

I personally love the 5th house in astrology. Mine is empty but I've met some people with stelliums in it and my god they're so fun to be around!

5th house stelliums are naturally focused on hobbies, fun activities, children and the self (not necessarily inna selfsih way lmao). They are most likely very artistic and knowledgeable in their interests.

Many squares to the midheaven can point towards difficulty in reaching dreams, but also lots lots of potential. I've read somewhere that squares are blessings in disguise, so people with an extremely squared mc will have to go through a lot but it will definitely be worth it in the end.

Not much of a note again but I have an empty 10th house but a lot of focus on the 9th and 11th house. If anyone has these as well, are you career/project oriented but very little interested in the public eye?

If you really want to get into astrology, I recommend checking out your vedic chart. You get introduced to a bunch of new aspects and systems, but in the end I personally found the analysis I got very accurate. (You can check out @meandmypeace their blog is very insightful!)

Taurus risings are really down to earth, but I noticed they tend to space out a lot

Oh, you have a Leo venus? Let me tell you how cool you are. My bestie has this placement and my god they're one of the best people to offer comfort and affection. Their way of displaying it is very cute but also rather intense. It makes my libra venus go <3 they love attention and praise but they deserve it too lmao- when healthy they really care for the people close to them and are truly protective of them. Also side note, they may or may not pride themselves in the relationships they have

And that's it. Thanks for reading!

[kiokodoodles]

@miscneilleaneous I completely forgot to put it in my description that the inbox was closed temporarily. I’m so sorry! But you found a way 👀

Undertale

Sans’ immediate response would be “Aww jeez thanks bud.” He’s flattered by the compliment! Despite wearing a hoodie and being lazy, it felt good to have that sort of compliment directed to him.

You’re speaking his language with those words of affirmation! Papyrus would thank you and be pretty proud! Why of course he’s dashing! He’s the Great Papyrus! But internally, he’s really touched. Not a lot of people actually say that to him.

Underswap

Junior would be like “Why thank you I’m quite fast.” But in all seriousness, he’s flattered! While he’s not really affected by words of affirmation, it feels nice to be complimented like that.

Paps would blush and then chuckle before thanking you. But he would be pretty confused. Have you seen this guy? He wears hoodies and cargo shorts. How is he dashing?

Underfell

Jasper would be like “???” before going “Yeah totally am!” He’s not used to getting compliments like that at all. Jasper hardly gets any compliments on his appearance so you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

Pyre will immediately thank you and boast about it. You gave that man the biggest ego boost. Sure, you can call him handsome anytime but anything someone whips out a word that just seems so much more elegant and powerful, he will absolutely be like “Well I’m always dashing!” He will brag about it like the overconfident skeleton he is.

Swapfell

Mal would do the same as Pyre. But at first he’s startled. Not a lot of people give him that compliment because of his title. It’s nice hearing that. But once he recovers from the shock? He’s just as confident in himself as Pyre, so he will also boast about it. But will he thank you? No. He thinks that him being dashing is a fact and he will make it so. You telling him that is just an affirmation and will make you sort of regret it.

Rus’ immediate response will be “Yeah I am! Dashing from all of my problems!” He’s not used to the compliments at all and usually uses his own humor to deflect them. It’s not healthy at all but the jokes are sometimes funny.

Fellswap

Aster will be confused. Startled even. You think he’s dashing? He’ll blush right afterwards and quietly thank you. Aster is going to keep thinking about that compliment for a few days. It does give him a good confidence boost!

Cyrus will chuckle and tell you that you’re giving that compliment to the wrong person. He doesn’t have the best view on himself and will deflect any compliments like that by either vaguely putting himself down or just say something like “cool/cute of you to say”.

Horrortale

Aspen will blush and have a similar response to Sans. Though he does doubt your compliment. If you knew the things he’s done and the way he is, you wouldn’t be tossing that compliment around him so freely.

Pine will thank you but will say to you that he’s not all that dashing. He’s very self conscious about his appearance. If you told him that when he was younger, he would appreciate that and have no doubt in his mind that he is. But he’s not younger and he’s not the way he used to be.

[canadian-riddler]

Arkham Riddler has a great representation of mental illness. Edward has it bad, his doesn't even realize nor acknowledge that he has issues. His illness is THAT BAD from start as in it twists his perception of himself. That cliche of "the first step to get better is recognizing you have a problem" is real. There's helping someone who refuses to be helped. Yes lots abd lots of stuff and humiliation happenned, but Knight Riddler is consequence of Interview Riddler

He is. He just has the wrong one.

For several reasons (one of which is probably necessity), DC plays a little loose with their depictions of mental illness, but Arkhamverse Riddler in particular almost undoubtedly has narcissistic personality disorder. People with NPD, to my knowledge, are extremely difficult to treat simply because the nature of their disorder prevents them from entertaining the notion that there could possibly be anything wrong with them, and if they realise they have a problem they have to almost totally change the way they interact with and react to and even think about other people. This would require a huge change in anybody's worldview that would feel impossible to handle.

How does this pertain to fandom? You rarely see people headcanon a character as having narcissism. Why? It's not a sympathetic disorder. It can't be fixed with cuddles and cathartic tears and warm drinks. Personality, even in a mentally healthy person, takes tons of time and work to change and there is absolutely no soft and gentle resolution to be found in a person with NPD. And Riddler's NPD is backed up by the fact he actually IS genuinely very intelligent, is very often right, AND has perfect recall! I have thought about this a LOT and I have NO idea how I would deal with this in a story. It's a massive character roadblock and I find it absolutely stunning that Arkhamverse makes him more and more skilled while sending him deeper and deeper into his mental black hole.

The most interesting part about all of it is that people criticise media for not having accurate depictions of mental disorders and yet Arkhamverse Riddler actually (as far as I know) is a great depiction of NPD and yet this never gets acknowledged! In fact, his NPD often gets overwritten with a different disorder which is easier to deal with (a thing which I myself am guilty of). Fascinatingly, people who ascribe responsibility for Riddler's actions to Batman would actually make Riddler even more entrenched in his narcissism!

And yes, you are correct. Riddler is the walking definition of a person who refuses to admit they have a problem. I'm not sure he's even capable of doing so post-Arkham Knight simply because canonically at that point he actually is genuinely powerful and wealthy, alongside being very intelligent and having a flawless memory.

[pigeonp0st]

could u do nat taking care of r when r gets sick (pretty please i beg of u)? preferably lots of cuddles 🥺🥺

idk i just love soft!nat 🥺

Natasha Romanoff x Reader #5

Words: 1,689

Warnings: none?

Notes:

I didn’t really like how this one turned out but i’ve finally decided that staring at it in my drafts with disappointed isn’t gonna make it any better...so here it is. Thank you for requesting, and sorry for spelling mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

———

It started with a cold. Just a couple of sneezes, a runny nose, and a sore throat...the usual.

It started out with you trying your best to hide it. Hide the sickness. That plan went under the moment Natasha heard you sneeze during training... she had you confessing to your sins much too quickly.

Suffice to say she immediately kicked you out of the training area with demands to take some medicine.

So she was the first to realize that you were sick, and she was the first to realize you were getting worse instead of better. She’d pester you endlessly when you wouldn’t want to talk about it, and watch over you like a hawk.

It was sweet, but you also didn’t think it was necessary. You were sure you’d be fine in three or so days.

How wrong you were.

When you wake up with a 103° fever for the third day in a row it has you layed in bed for the whole day groaning about the inequalities of the world, and begging Natasha not to get a doctor for the 100th time.

You were fine. Totally fine.

Natasha watches you with a mix of amusement and concern from the corner of the room and suggests, gently, that maybe you’re not.

You peak over your covers to glare at her in something like betrayal. “I’d be fine if you’d stop pacing and come cuddle with me.”

She seems to think about her options for a long moment and right when you think she’s going to reject you she relents with a heavy sigh and gets into the bed.

She’s so blissfully cold it has you snuggling into her side immediately, both to warm her up and use her as your own personal ice pack.

“You’re burning up,” Natasha whispers, but she pulls you closer to her—like somehow if she’s close enough she can absorb some of your pain and make you feel just that little bit better. “If your fever rises even a little bit we’re going to the doctors, okay?”

She’s concerned and worried, and even though a stranger fussing over you is the last thing you want you know you have to give her this.

As soon as you nod your head in agreement some of the tension seeps out of her body, much to your relief. As ridiculous as it is, you’re worried about her worried about you—if that makes sense.

“Around 100,000 people died from the flu in 2019,” Natasha mumbles against your forehead. She adds quietly after a moment, “just in case you were wondering.”

You were not wondering. What the fuck.

“Nat...that statistic is mostly old people.”

“Yeah,” Nat agrees, “you’ll be fine.”

And despite your body's protest, and how much of a pain it is to pull away, you do, just so you can give Natasha an incredulous look so she knows just what you think about what she’s doing right now.

Her face is unexpectedly vulnerable when you see it. She isn’t trying to bother you...she’s just…she’s worrying herself crazy.

“Nat,” you sigh, ready to embark on the most comforting and articulate speech you can think of, but a sudden fit of coughs has you turning away hurriedly to muffle your face in a pillow.

When your lungs finally decide to stay in your body for now, and Natasha stops rubbing your back, you’re too tired to try and comfort her, so instead you mumble, on the verge of sleep, “if I die; just know I love you.”

Which, in hindsight, probably doesn’t help much.

But she doesn’t sound worried when she replies, just exasperated and fond. “I love you, too.”

———-

When you wake up again it’s to a bunch of kisses and beautiful red hair.

“Stop attacking me,” you grumble, trying to push her away, but you're not able to hide your smile. God, you love your badass (soft) girlfriend.

“Look who's not dead!”

Remembering your last words to her before you went to sleep has you finally opening your eyes and giving Nat a sheepish smile. Oops. “Look who really wants to get sick…”

“My immune system is stronger than yours,” Natasha scoffs, shoving both your medicine at you and a bottle of water.

“Asshole,” you mumble, moving to open the medicine bottle only to get stopped by a hand on your wrist. “What?”

“You need to eat first.”

Thus, starts the trip towards death.

————

“Oh my god, how much farther is it…”

Your fever is finally down and back to safer levels so naturally Natasha has insisted that you’re able to go to the kitchens yourself and sit outside to eat.

You need fresh air, she said.

The room is getting stuffy, she said.

It’ll be good for you, she said.

What a fucking devil.

“You’re literally the most dramatic person to ever grace this earth,” Natasha tells you for only the millionth time since the journey began. “Maybe if you stopped sliding against the wall and crawling on the floor like you got shot three times we’d get there faster.”

“Maybe if you’d help me—”

“I tried! But apparently i’m ruining your image.” She rolls her eyes when she says that, then turns away to grin like she thinks you won’t notice.

You’re a whipped idiot who's decided to make a complete full of yourself and waste what little energy you have just to get your girlfriend to laugh, and to prove to her that you’re doing better.

You’re definitely going to regret this later, but now, in the moment; This is totally worth it. No doubt.

————

Wanda is in the kitchen.

As soon as you see her you straighten up and stop leaning on the wall (and limping). Natasha laughs next to you when she notices.

“You’re doing better, Y/N?” Wanda asks, glancing over you before returning back to the soup she’s making. For you. She’s making soup for you.

You adore her. She’s your favorite person, she’s—

“Not your girlfriend,” Wanda interjects, amused, “and doing this as a concerned teammate, and because your girlfriend asked.”

“Yes, well I love you anyways. Your cooking has gotten very good,” you say, shooting her a grin while you practically bounce to the dining chair, in stark contrast to the way you were dragging yourself down the halls.

Natasha does a good job at trying to not look confused, but she clearly is. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Wanda informs her before you get the chance to.

“Favorite person for making you soup?” Natasha asks once Wanda’s done relaying your thoughts. She narrows her eyes at you then. “Not the person who has been taking care of you since you became an avenger, not the person who—”

“It’s very good soup, Nat.”

“Very,” Steve agrees from the living room.

Natasha sighs, takes a sniff of the soup, and resigns herself to the facts she’s faced with. “Yeah...it is.”

——-

“Close your mouth,” Natasha orders, tapping your chin. You listen, waiting patiently for the beep of the thermometer to signal it’s done.

When it does, Natasha pulls it back to study it. There’s a small lapse of anxious silence before Natasha reveals the results. Then...“Ninety-Nine. You’re officially a healthy woman.”

And with that, you’re finally free of the bed rest and able to walk the halls as a newly restored human being.

“I’m free,” you shout, tackling Natasha onto the bed and kissing her all over her face, completely overjoyed. “Natasha, I survived!”

You survived. It only took an exhausting week. When your fever went down a couple of days ago it spiked to 105° a bit after and you were sure you were going to suffocate in Natasha’s worry because of it. You had to go to the medical room...it was awful.

But now Nat laughs, and laughs, and then pulls you into a tight hug to stop all of the kissing. She seems to be unburdened and lighter now that she finally has the numbers she’s wanted.

“Loving you as much as I do is really just living in this constant state of worry and fear,” Natasha says when you’ve both settled down. “I do not like things being out of my control,” she admits, kissing the crown of your head. “Especially when it involves my heart.”

“Your heart,” you repeat, curious. “Is that what I am?”

“Ignoring the worry and fear part?” Natasha teases, quirking an eyebrow.

“We both know those feelings are accompanied with a multitude of good and beautiful emotions. I feel them too.”

Natasha smiles then, soft and gentle, and full of admiration. “Yes.”

You tilt your head. “Yes...what?”

“Yes, you are my heart. Or at least you feel like you are.”

At that, with a determination and seriousness that visibly shocks Natasha you say, “i’ll protect it. I’ll protect myself, and because you're mine also, I'll help protect you. Always.”

“Always,” Natasha agrees, her fingertips trailing across your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, embarrassed suddenly, “of course.”

————

“Are...are you serious?”

Natasha scowls into her tea and says nothing in response. This is fucking hilarious.

Your lovely girlfriend doesn’t seem to think so because the second she sees your face struggling not to laugh she begins glaring at you. “Don’t,” Nat warns. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“I seem to recall you saying, and I quote, ‘my immune system is stronger than yours.’” You grin. “Oh how ironic this is.”

“I’m not sick—”

“Aw, but baby, the amount of tissues on the floor seem to be saying otherwise,” you gesture towards the growing pile, feeling absolutely no sympathy until Natasha glances at the pile with a sigh of defeat. She looks so small and sad covered in her pile of blankets...it simply won’t do. “Don’t fret, my love. I will take care of you, just as you took care of me,” you assure her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“First things first,” you tilt her chin up, “i’ll get Wanda to make you some soup so you can take some medicine.”

“I hate the world,” Natasha grumbles, mumbling some curses in russian.

“I love you, too.”

[iamanartichoke]

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

[alphadaddyderek]

Dude, just get out! (we both live here dumbass!) (sterek fic, smut, college au)

Stiles was initially excited to go to college. The freedom aspect of it in particular is what Stiles was the most excited about. Don’t get him wrong, he loves his dad, of course, he does. He didn’t mind living with him, he liked seeing him on a daily basis. He’s all Stiles has. Well, Stiles has Scott, but Scott is attending university in Arizona of all places. Meanwhile, Stiles is going to NYU, so, there’s not a lot of opportunities to see Scott or his father in person.

Not to fret though! Stiles was ready like Freddy to meet new people and, hopefully, make new friends along the way. That’s what college is all about. Supposedly, Stiles wouldn’t know but if all the movies are to be believed then that’s what college is all about.

He and his dad spent days driving up to NYU and then spent hours moving Stiles’ belongings into his off-campus apartment and unpacking. Stiles got a full-ride —thank god— so there’s extra money for him to be able to live in an actual, nice apartment instead of the dorms. His roommate was nowhere to be seen at the time, but that was fine with Stiles. He’d have plenty of opportunities to get to know him. Stiles’ dad left to stay in a hotel for the night because there was no way he was starting the trek back to Beacon Hills this late in the day. So, Stiles was left to his own devices in his new apartment.

Well, he was for about twenty minutes, then his roommate came back and...he’s kind of a dick.

He has a resting bitch face and he hardly likes to talk. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s because the guy doesn’t like him or if he’s just the quiet type. He’s starting to think that the guy doesn’t like him because every time Stiles starts talking he looks annoyed. The dick’s name is Derek and coincidentally, he also goes to NYU. He did tell Stiles his major, but wouldn’t tell Stiles what his favorite color was, which is just plain rude.

Anyway, Stiles isn’t going to let this Debbie downer ruin his college experience, no way!

Stiles decides the best thing to do is to just ignore him. Which is hard to do because the guy takes up so much space, like, he’s actually huge. And he always seems to be in the apartment when Stiles comes back from classes. Which is weird because, dude, don’t you have classes to go to? Nonetheless, he’s always there which means Stiles has to see him all the time and Derek can continue being an asswipe for no reason.

For example, Stiles sometimes forgets to wash the dishes —sue him!— and Derek will chew him out for it. Stiles didn’t know Derek was such a neat freak, but now that he knows he’ll leave more things laying around because Stiles can also be a dick when he wants to be. Maybe Derek should learn to be more personable, then Stiles wouldn’t have to go out of his character by doing such petty things. They’ve only been living together for about a week and a half and there’s already a turf battle going on. Stiles isn’t sure who’s going to win this battle, however, the sight of Derek tripping over one of Stiles’ shoes and the subsequent curse that flies out of his mouth makes Stiles not even care in the end.

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

After about a month, it's way more than just a battle. The turf battle has evolved into a war and now, no one is safe.

Derek continues being yucky and Stiles continues to do things to intentionally annoy him, except, now Derek is doing things to annoy Stiles. Like, eating all of Stiles’ Pop-Tarts or, and this is a cruel one, flushing the toilet while Stiles is in the shower. Unfortunately for Stiles, Derek buys gross ass healthy food for himself, and Stiles couldn’t choke down that food to save his life. So, what can one do to even the playing field?

Derek is sitting on the couch in the living room, watching some show about underwater caves. Stiles normally wouldn’t stick around because, despite what Derek might think, Stiles really doesn’t enjoy being talked down to by an abnormally grumpy man. This time though, Stiles sits down beside him. He can see Derek watching him from the corner of his eye, probably waiting to see what Stiles is going to do. Stiles likes to instill fear in Derek. Normally he acts like Stiles is nothing more than a bug he wants to squish under his overly expensive boot, but now? He’s worried. He should be. Stiles is going to pull out his ultimate weapon.

“So, whatcha watchin’?” Stiles asks, plastering a smile onto his face.

Derek gives him a suspicious look. “Why do you want to know?”

Stiles shrugs, smile still present. “I’m curious. This show seems interesting.”

Derek gives him an incredulous eyebrow raise, which is super insulting. Derek thinks all Stiles watches is Harry Potter, Star Wars, and superhero movies. Which is just wrong. But that’s okay. Stiles thinks all Derek watches are documentaries about how to be a functioning human in society, which, newsflash Derek, still needs working on.

A few minutes go by before Stiles decides to speak again. “So, you haven’t told me about your family.”

“That’s intentional.”

Stiles laughs. Derek thinks he can scare Stiles into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for Derek, Stiles has zero self-preservation skills.

“Come on Derek. We’re roommates. Don’t you want us to get along?”

Derek didn’t dignify that with a response —rude!— so Stiles speaks again.

“My dad is the sheriff of my hometown. Been that way for as long as I can remember. My best friend, his name is Scott, wants to be a vet. He goes to The University of Arizona. After that he’s not sure where he’ll go to get his DVM but he’s open to anything.”

Derek turns the volume up on the tv and Stiles bites his lip to stifle his laughter.

Ah, Derek. That won’t help.

“At first I was kinda skeptical about Scott becoming a vet. I mean, he’s a puppy himself, and I love him to death, but sometimes he’s ditzy. He’s a ditzy brunette. But after working at Deaton’s, Deaton is the town vet, for years he’s proved me wrong,” Stiles risks a glance at Derek and he’s scowling so hard Stiles is kind of afraid it’ll get stuck that way forever. “He and his girlfriend, Allison, are kind of having issues with long-distance but they’re high school sweethearts so I’m confident that they’ll work through it. They’re so cute together that it’s actually kinda nauseating. Like, sometimes their sappiness makes me sick to my stomach. I wonder when they’ll get ma-”

Derek abruptly stands up and walks out the room, slamming and locking his bedroom door, as if Stiles is the boogeyman who he’s trying to keep out.

Stiles snickers and grabs the remote to change the channel. Derek gets annoyed when Stiles talks, well, he shouldn’t have started this war then (it doesn’t matter that technically Stiles started it). Stiles has weaponized his ability to talk people’s ears off. So, Derek better watch out.

Hopefully, Derek won’t murder Stiles in his sleep.

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

Okay, so, Stiles thinks maybe this whole turf war thing is getting out of hand.

It’s been a total of 3 and a half months since they’ve been living together and Derek and Stiles are on edge around each other 24/7. Stiles has to shower around eleven o’clock at night so that Derek won’t burn him alive by flushing the toilet. Derek doesn’t have access to Stiles’ snacks anymore because Stiles hid them in the back of his closet. Derek stays in his room all day just so that Stiles won't have any opportunities to talk to him. They’re at an impasse, but Stiles has a feeling that the worst has yet to come.

A really bad feeling.

Stiles comes back from a particularly grueling day of classes to see Derek sitting on the couch...and he’s smirking.

That doesn’t bode well for Stiles.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Uh, hey dude. Why do you look like a supervillain?”

“‘Cause I have a surprise for you.”

Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound good.

“Actually, I am a-okay. I really don’t need the surprise. I appreciate it though,” Stiles tries to make his way towards his room but Derek keeps talking.

“I normally don’t snoop through people’s things, it’s really not in my character, but after you left to go out last night, I heard some weird noises coming from your room. I was trying to ignore it at first, but after a while I went to see what it was. I was going to mention it this morning but you woke up before I did and by the time I had woken up you were already in class.”

Stiles had stopped in his tracks but he still hasn’t turned around to face Derek, because if Derek is going where Stiles thinks he’s going, Stiles is going to need to be able to book it into his bedroom as soon as possible.

Derek didn’t seem too perturbed by Stiles’ silence since he continues with his story. “Imagine my surprise when I found out that it was your laptop making that noise. Now, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that porn was playing, but what I was surprised at-”

Oh god.

“-was that the video you were watching was titled ‘bear fucks twink with huge cock’. And now I can’t help but question your hatred towards me.”

Stiles’ face is burning. He’s never been so embarrassed in his life, which is really a great feat because Stiles doesn’t get embarrassed by much. It’s not that Stiles didn’t notice Derek was hot, like, come on now, Derek is gorgeous. He’s not that much taller than Stiles but the size of his biceps? They’re easily the size of Stiles’ thigh. Derek is bigger than Stiles in every aspect.

Well, he’s not sure about every aspect. Stiles has never seen Derek’s dick outright, but he’s seen him wear sweatpants, and ooh boy, that bulge gives Stiles the impression that Derek is hung like a horse.

Stiles still hates Derek because Derek still has his asshole-ish ways. Case in point: right the fuck now. But, you can hate someone and still want to fuck them, right? Hate sex exists.

Derek is patiently waiting for Stiles to respond, and Stiles has never been good at staying silent, so it’s only a matter of time.

Stiles finally turns around to face Derek and clears his throat. “That- that means nothing. People watch shit like that all the time. Plus, you hardly qualify as a bear.”

It’s a weak excuse but, hey, Stiles is grasping at straws here.

Derek tilts his head to the side in agreement. “True, but if that was the case, why do you seem so nervous?”

Stiles can’t think of a reasonable response in time and Derek knows it.

Derek smirks again and Stiles really wants to knee him in the dick.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. What the fuck is his endgame here? Why is he being such a dick?

Oh yeah, because Derek is a fucking asshole.

“Fine,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “I find you attractive. I watch porn about big, hairy men fucking twinks because I want you to fuck me. Are you happy now? Jackass.”

Stiles storms into his room and slams the door. That’s a perfect example of why people can’t be pretty and nice. It’s genetically impossible.

Stiles lets out a sigh and dumps his backpack on his bed before stripping out of his clothes and getting into the shower. He stands under the spray for ten minutes, just praying to the cosmic gods out there that a black hole will appear and suck the whole human race into nothingness. After waiting for a few more minutes, and his prayers going unanswered, he washes himself then gets out to dry off. He wraps the towel around his waist and opens the door to find Derek standing outside his bathroom door. He shrieks (a very manly shriek by the way) and covers his chest with his arms, not that that’ll hide much.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?”

Derek’s eyes do the slowest sweep in fucking existence down Stiles’ body and Stiles feels his cheeks flush. Ugh, why are the cutest guys always assholes?

“I came to apologize. I was being a dick-”

“What else is new?” Stiles interrupts. Stiles is rewarded with another smirk.

“-and I took it too far. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

Stiles looks at Derek for a second. They’ve never apologized to each other when they did shit, and even though Stiles didn’t take it as far as Derek did, Stiles can’t stand here and act like he wasn’t also an asshole.

Stiles sighs. “I’m sorry too. I was also kind of a dick. Not as much as you, but still.”

Derek laughs a little, and Jesus H. Christ, how is a laugh sexy? “Apology accepted.”

Stiles holds his hand out for a handshake. Derek puts his hand in Stiles’ and they shake on their newfound not-friendship-but-also-maybe-not-complete-dicks-to-each-other-ship.

“So,” Derek starts after they drop their hands. “wanna have sex?”

Stiles might’ve actually choked on his own fucking spit, because what?

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to have sex.”

“Where is this even coming from? You hate my guts. Every time I talk you look like you’re going in for a root canal.”

Stiles is so confused, he’s also getting hornier by the minute, but right now, the confusion is outweighing the horniness.

“I don’t hate you. Yeah you talk a lot, and it was so annoying at first, sometimes it still is, but I got used to your incessant chatter.”

Stiles knows he looks dumb, his mouth is gaping and everything. “I think maybe there was something in the water because I must be high. We’ve lived together for over 3 months and you’re telling me that you actually want to have sex with me?”

Derek shrugs. “Yeah. Just because you can be kinda annoying that doesn’t mean you’re not cute. Plus, people have sex all the time, that doesn’t mean we have to, like, date or whatever.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Derek’s so romantic, how has Stiles been able to resist jumping his bones for this long?

“You just embarrassed the hell out of me, why would I ever want to have sex with you?” Never mind the fact that Stiles definitely does want to have sex with him.

“Maybe you don’t. If not, then fine. We can just go back to how things were. If you do, then we’ll have a great time.”

Stiles is still struggling to wrap his mind around all of this. Derek wants to have sex with him? In what universe does that make sense?

Apparently in this one.

Stiles does this sort of shrug that basically portrays well, what the fuck? Okay then. “Okay. I guess this is happening then.”

Derek smirks for like the fiftieth time in thirty seconds and if Stiles was a stronger man he definitely would’ve kneed Derek in the dick, but clearly, Stiles is weak.

Very, very weak.

“My room or yours?” Derek asks.

“Mine. Since it’s right there,” Stiles points behind Derek and, lo and behold, there’s Stiles’ bed.

Grabbing Stiles’ hand in a surprisingly gentle gesture, Derek walks the three feet from the bathroom to the bed to lay Stiles down.

Derek gets on top of the bed and is sitting on his knees by Stiles’ feet. He pulls his shirt off like he’s in Magic Mike or something before throwing it onto the floor without a care in the world. Jesus, it’s like his muscles have muscles. Stiles starts feeling a little insecure about his body. He’s got muscles, but, he’s not, like, ripped like Derek is. Stiles likes to think he has somewhat of a swimmer’s body.

Looming over him like a fucking creeper, Derek stares down at Stiles. “You know, you’re very pretty.”

Stiles refuses to admit that he blushes at that because he’s not pretty. If anything he’s handsome, some may even say gorgeous.

“Can you just get on with it?” Stiles throwing a scowl in Derek’s direction.

“Bossy. I kinda like that,” he strips his sweatpants off and throws them down too. Now he’s only in a pair of gray boxer briefs and, god, Stiles wants to suck his dick so badly. Which is weird because he’s really not all that experienced with blowjobs, he’s given maybe two blowjobs in his life. Whatever, Derek has a great dick okay?

Derek tugs at the towel around Stiles’ waist. “Is this okay?”

Stiles nods and then the towel is gone, and Stiles is laid bare for Derek to gaze at his leisure. And boy does Derek gaze. He does another slow sweep down Stiles’ body, except this time it’s even more intense because now Stiles is naked.

“You’re not a virgin right?” Derek asks while rummaging through Stiles’ bedside drawer and pulling out the lube. First of all, it’s rude to go through people’s stuff! Second of all, how the hell did Derek know his lube was there? Although, where else would lube be?

“Nope. There will be no deflowering of the Stiles today. Sorry to disappoint.”

Derek shrugs before popping open the lube. “I’m not one of those weirdos who pops a boner at the thought of popping someone’s cherry.”

Stiles chuckles, like actually chuckles. Who knew Derek was even capable of being funny?

Stiles pulls his legs up and hooks his hands behind his knees. The position exposes Stiles’ hole to the extreme and it makes Stiles blush. Just because he’s not a virgin doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get nervous or embarrassed during sex.

Derek knee-walks closer to Stiles and squirts some lube onto his fingers. He puts one hand on Stiles’ right thigh while the other one gently and slowly breaches his entrance. Fuck, his fingers are thick. Thicker than Stiles’ that’s for sure. Stiles definitely isn’t shy about fingering. He fingers himself all the time, but it’s been a while since someone else’s fingers were up there. Stiles is nervous and excited about it all.

Derek doesn’t spend too much time with the one finger, quickly adding a second one and that’s when it starts feeling good. Derek’s fingers are about an inch away from his prostate and Stiles is about to curse him out until Derek presses both fingers against his prostate and Stiles has to bite his lip to stop the loud ass moan that almost escaped his mouth. Judging by the look on Derek’s face, he knows he touched Stiles’ prostate, and being the asshole that he is, he has a cocky smile on his face.

After scissoring those two fingers inside Stiles for a few minutes, Derek adds a third finger. The stretch is definitely there, but hey, Stiles likes a little pain with sex. He can be kinky sometimes.

“Okay. I’m ready, come on,” Stiles says. He was starting to get impatient. He just wants to get dicked down already, damn.

Derek gently removes his fingers and gets off the bed to pick up his sweatpants. He reaches into the pocket and retrieves a condom out. Stiles’ mouth drops.

“So you just knew I’d have sex with you?”

“I didn’t know. I just hoped.”

That smarmy little bastard.

Derek gets back in bed and, finally, removes his briefs and...

Holy mother of god.

Well, maybe not the mother of god. That’s blasphemous as fuck. But! The sentiment is the same because wow. Stiles is glad he didn’t knee him in the dick because that dick is too gorgeous to cause serious injury to. He’s not like porn star big, but it is big and long too. And it’s uncut, which Stiles has a weird sort of kink about. He loves uncut cocks. Yeah, that’s a good-looking cock right there.

Derek unwraps the condom and rolls it onto his cock. He then grabs the bottle of lube that he placed on the bed and squirts more out before slathering a generous amount onto said cock. He makes Stiles move his hands before replacing them with one of his own, the other is at the base of his cock, lining it up to Stiles’ hole.

“You ready baby?” Derek asks.

“Call me baby again and I’ll dropkick you in the throa- oh fuck.”

Of course, Derek chose when Stiles was mid-threat to start pushing his cock inside. Geez, that is seriously a big cock, even the fingering didn’t make it burn any less. Derek gently pushes his cock in deeper before pulling it out, then he pushes it in a little deeper than he did at first before pulling it back out again. He repeats that until his cock is seated all the way inside, his balls to Stiles’ ass. Then he stops and waits. There’s sweat gathering above Derek’s eyebrow and some is even rolling down his temple. Needless to say, Derek isn’t as unaffected as he’s trying to be. Which makes Stiles feel kind of great actually.

“Okay, you can move now,” Stiles informs Derek. And when Stiles says Derek goes to town, he really means that.

Derek puts his other hand behind Stiles’ left knee and pulls out all the way, not even the tip is inside, before thrusting back in. Hard.

Stiles’ breath gets forced out of him at the movement. This truly is hate sex, kinda. Derek said he didn’t hate Stiles, but he certainly doesn’t like him all that much. At least, not yet. Who knows what will stem from this. That’s something to think about when Derek isn’t pounding him into the mattress.

Derek delivers a thrust that nails Stiles’ prostate dead on and Stiles makes this super embarrassing sound, like a high-pitched keen. He knows he’s not going to live that down after this.

After that, Derek is consistent with the hard abuse on Stiles’ prostate, and Stiles is getting close to orgasm embarrassingly fast. He isn’t too sure he’ll be able to last much longer. Although, Derek doesn’t seem like he’s going to be able to either. If the grunts and groans he’s letting out are anything to go by.

“Unh, fuck. Derek-!”

“Yeah, you’re gonna come?”

Stiles frantically nods his head and grabs his own cock to start stroking himself. Derek thrusts harder if that’s even possible, and within a few seconds, Stiles is coming all over his stomach.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek groans and thrusts one, two, three more times before stopping with a deep, guttural moan. He almost sounds like an actual bear and Stiles can’t help the giggle that escapes him.

Derek gives him a weird look but his lip quirks up in a maybe sort of smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin.

And since it’s already been established that Derek is an asshole, he grinds and his cock brushes against Stiles’ oversensitive prostate causing Stiles’ whole body to convulse. He slaps Derek’s arm.

Derek pulls out and lets go of Stiles’ legs. They’re sore from being in the same position for so long but Stiles can’t even care. He’s sated and all he wants to do now is take a nap. Stiles stretches his whole body like a cat while Derek disposes of the condom.

“Okay, that was fun. If you want to annoy me, I’ll be in my room.” And with that, Derek walks out of Stiles’ room to go to his own.

Derek was definitely a dick, but Stiles could deal with him. Especially if they continue to fuck like that.

Holy (not) mother of god indeed.

[youngbeezer]

Do you Believe in Happily Ever After? | Joel Farabee

A/N: Hello again! I got such a great response to my first fic I posted which literally made me so happy, so thank you so much to anyone who gave me the time of their day to read my fic. Here is a new fic for mr. joel farabee!! This one is a little longer and I tried my best, feedback always appreciated, but I hope you enjoy :)

Warnings: Few curse words, overall just fluff

Word Count: 2160

Tagging a few people again so this doesn’t flop,,,

@ollywahlygator @joshsandersons @joelsfarabees @fratboyzegras @sorokns @butgilinsky @ricohenrique

I haven’t been to too many weddings in my life. I attended one for my uncle when I was around 10 years old but I don’t remember much from it. My mother also got remarried around 3 years ago, but up until this year, weddings weren’t a natural occurrence in my life. 

This past year though.. I’ve attended two weddings, got an invitation in the mail today for another one, a close friend of mine just recently got engaged (so that invitation will be coming sometime in the near future), and one of my best friends’ wedding is tomorrow. Now I feel like everywhere I look, I am surrounded by love. 

Now I’m not saying that is a bad thing, but when every one of your friends are either having kids, getting married, or in serious relationships, it starts to feel a little discouraging. Is there something wrong with me? Am I the reason why I’m still single?-- No, I refuse to think like that! I could get a boyfriend if I wanted to. Maybe my friends are right though… Maybe I’m not putting myself out there enough. 

Anyway, one of my best friends, Karly, is getting married to her long-time boyfriend Travis tomorrow. I’ve met Travis, or as everyone seems to call him ‘TK’, a handful of times and I know he plays for the Philadelphia Flyers hockey team-- which is cool I guess, but other than that I don’t know much about his personal life or who he hangs out with. 

Karly and I met running into each other at a cafe once. Yeah, yeah I know it sounds like one of those cliche romantic meetings, where two people bump into each other and immediately fall in love. I mean we did hit it off almost immediately and from there we became like two peas in a pod-- just not in the way you think. I’ve always wondered though, if maybe I ran into a handsome man at a coffee shop or walking down the street, would I be having my happily ever after right now?

I snap out of my thoughts when an incoming call from- speak of the devil, the bribe to be. Before I can even say my greetings, Karly jumps right into business;

“Ok! So since you weren’t able to come to the dress rehearsal or rehearsal dinner. I’ll give you the rundown on what you need to do.”

Oh yeah, did I mention that I am one of the bridesmaids? Sadly, I was not able to attend the functions before the wedding due to not being able to get time off from work. But, Karly was super cool with it, which brings us to the reason for this call.

“Ok so basically, your dress and everything is already in the bridal suite, so everything will be ready for you when you get here tomorrow. You’ll be walking down the aisle third with one of Travis’ buddies Joel-- he plays on the team with Trav and he’s such a sweet guy he’ll definitely help you out if you need anything.. You know now that I think about it you guys would be such a cute couple-”

“Uh Karly? I don’t think now's the time to play matchmaker, when we should be preparing for your big day tomorrow.” I cut her off. 

“Alright, alright. But I will be coming back to that thought. Ok so anyway--”

After that I kind of zone out from trying to keep up with whatever Karly is spitting at me right now. While still on the phone, I pull out my laptop and search for the name ‘Joel’ with ‘Philadelphia Flyers’ next to it in search of this man who is said to be walking me down the aisle. Right away the name ‘Joel Farabee’ pops up with a wikipedia and multiple photos. Hm this guy is kinda cute. Just as I go to click view more images, Karly’s words register back in my brain;

“Ok y/n, did you get that?”

“Hm.. oh yeah! Got it. What time should I be there tomorrow?” I ask, praying that she didn’t already mention that and realize I wasn’t paying attention. 

“8 AM sharp,” she responds all giddy. 

I suddenly remember that my best friend is actually getting married tomorrow. Feeling giddy as well I reply, “Sounds good. I am so happy for you Karly and I can’t wait to see how beautiful you look tomorrow!” 

Karly does a little shriek in response and reiterates her excitement as well. We then say our goodbyes and I wish her a great last night as an unmarried woman before hanging up. I got back to what I was working on before the call and all my jumbled thoughts entered my brain, totally forgetting about a certain someone named ‘Joel’ as I exited the browser. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning I arrive at 8:17 AM at the wedding venue and as soon as I exit the Uber, I start booking it to the bridal suite. When Karly says to be somewhere at 8 AM sharp, you be there at 8 AM sharp, and I’m not particularly fond of facing her wrath today, especially on her wedding day when stress levels are through the roof. 

There’s just one problem though… Since I wasn’t able to attend the rehearsal, I have no idea where I am going. 

Trying to recall the directions Karly told me on the phone last night (when I wasn’t paying attention), I take a sharp turn around a corner looking the opposite direction and suddenly collide with a dead end. Wait- no that’s not a dead end, it’s a person. 

Immediately going to spit out an apology, I stop dead in my tracks when I make eye contact with the handsome man I bumped into. 

“Oh shit! I am so sorry. Are you alright?” I see his lips moving, which are very nice to look at by the way, but my mind doesn’t register his words as I stare dumbfoundedly at this handsome stranger. Who, now that I think about it, looks a little familiar. 

When I still don’t answer, the familiar stranger clears his throat before giving me a once over of my whole body, which does little to bring me out of my trance. If anything I now start to feel my whole face flush from noticing him obviously checking me out. 

His face then seems to light up in recognition before asking, “Wait, are you y/n?”

When he notices my look of confusion on how he knows my name he continues, “I’m Joel, Joel Farabee.” Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, I notice a slight blush coating his cheeks before he adds, “We’re paired to walk down the aisle together… Um, also I think Karly is looking for you. She was kind of freaking out a little.”

With that last sentence my whole body comes back to life realizing that I am late and Karly is going to kill me. Hurriedly I exclaim “Oh my gosh! I am so late and I have no idea where the hell I’m going.” I frantically search around for any directions to point me to the bridal suite.

Joel kindly puts his hand on my shoulder, which immediately ignites a fire on the skin he is touching, before he reassures “Hey, you’re good. Just take your first right down this hall and then it will be at the end of the corridor, you can’t miss it. Seriously. She hung up streamers and balloons everywhere with a poster on the door that says ‘Bridal Suite. NO BOYS ALLOWED’.” 

Letting out a soft snort I gently thank Joel before rushing in the direction he pointed me to. Before turning right, I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder to find Joel already glancing my way. My heart does a little flutter when we make eye contact and he gives me a little lopsided grin before going on his way. 

What just happened… 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As soon as I walk through the doors of the suite, I am immediately ambushed by the bride to be on why I was late, until she notices the deep blush covering my cheeks, which then prompts another ambush on what made me blush. 

I change the topic as quickly as I can and direct our attention on getting ready for the ceremony. Karly looks absolutely beautiful in her white gown and her hair all dolled up. She doesn’t even seem remotely nervous for today as well. Most weddings I have been to, the bride is always going batshit crazy making sure everything is perfect or worrying that her soon to be husband might back out. That just shows how happy and comfortable Karly and Travis are in their relationship. God, I wonder what it must feel like to have that kind of love that is so solid and healthy. Suddenly my mind starts drifting to what it would be like to have that type of relationship with Joel. 

Oh who am I kidding? I just met the guy. Sure, when his hand touched my shoulder my whole body felt like it was on fire. And yeah, maybe when he gave me that little lopsided grin it gave my entire stomach butterflies. Oh jeez. Today is gonna be a long day… 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ok now I feel like my whole body is going to explode. He is looking at me like I’m now the bride and he is the groom. And suddenly, I’m wishing that were the case. We are getting closer and closer to walking down the aisle together, and every step we take towards one another my stomach does a little flip. 

When we finally reach each other, he offers his arm for me to take as he speaks, “Wow… Uh yeah wow, you look gorgeous.”

Blushing, I respond with a quiet “Thank you.” 

“Guess I was the lucky one eh? In case I end up tripping and making a fool of myself, no one will even be paying attention because all eyes will be on you.” There’s that little lopsided grin of his again. 

“Well aren’t you a sweet talker.” I responded. 

He just gives me a subtle wink before we ascend through the doors and down the aisle where Travis is waiting for the big moment. He gives us both a little smirk before we part ways like he knows something we both don’t. 

…

Eventually Karly walks down the aisle looking like an absolute princess. The officiator says his whole ordeal, Karly and TK both say their vows to one another, there are lots of tears, and Joel and I can’t seem to keep our eyes off of each other. 

After the ceremony, we all head in the direction of the reception hall where the real fun begins. Don’t get me wrong, the wedding was spectacular, the way everyone expected it to be. Now as music filled the air with a giddy sort of elation, the newlyweds looking beautiful and so happy while dancing, friends and relatives chatting between one another about this and that; I can’t help but feel a little bittersweet about it. I want this. I want that giddy elation to be surrounded around me, I want to wear that beautiful white gown, I want the guy to be looking at me like I just hung the moon while we had our first dance. Where’s my happily ever after--

“You know you never properly introduced yourself?” 

Startled, I spun around to find the source. Joel. 

I give him a sweet smile before returning my gaze back to the happy couple and responding, “Y/n y/l/n.” 

He follows my gaze and lets out a little sigh before expressing “They’re perfect for each other, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah, they really are.” Before I can get another word in Joel blurts;

“Do you wanna dance? Like,” He stumbles a little with his words, “like with me?”

Letting out a soft giggle, I happily reply, “I would love to.” 

Seemingly relieved, Joel takes my hand and leads me out onto the dance floor as soon as a slow song comes on. He puts his hands respectively on my waist while I put mine around his neck inching him closer to my body. We dance with each other for a while, even after the song is over and a fast high tempo song blasts through the speakers. It’s like we are lost in each other, just savoring this ‘moment’ together. 

Eventually after the fourth song comes on and we are still dancing, Joel pulls away just a little to look me in the eye before softly whispering “Do you believe in happily ever afters?” 

Seeing that look in his eyes again, the one where it seems like he is looking at me like I just hung the moon? I answer in that same soft whisper, “Yeah… yeah I think I do.”

[carry-on-my-wayward-butt]

I just found out I'm 5 weeks after a few cycles of trying. I knew it would be rough but ur kind of scaring me now lol. I always hear mothers saying stuff like "Pregnancy was the best!" or "I miss being pregnant!" and people do it over and over again, so there must be something to love about it. Right?

Of course! there’s plenty to love about it:

many people lament the changes their body goes through during pregnancy, especially the bump growing. personally? i fucking love it. literally i’ve never loved the way my body looks more than right now, and i used to be fit as fuck. i was sleek and curvy and all sorts of hot, i look EXACTLY the opposite now and yet i LOVE it.

the dips of my stretch marks, my huge slowly rounding belly, my jiggle thighs, my muffin top hips spilling over my pants, my skin is SO fucking soft, i seriously cant keep my hands off myself. if my tits werent plagued by lymphedema i’d probably love them too, but in a sleep bra they look sooooo good in my new maternity shirts. ESPECIALLY ruffle blouses. i genuinely adore the way i look heavily pregnant, and i will absolutely miss it terribly.

i mentioned before that i hate the rolls and swishes (especially the stretches) but i LOVE kicks. seeing my belly move around is surreal and kind of freaky, but in an amazing way. kicks are so... assertive. “i’m here! i’m alright! i’m growing patiently! i’m exercising!” it’s so soothing to know they’re doing well in there, in a place i can’t reach them. i’ll poke them back and they’ll react! it’s so sweet. getting kicked in the butthole isnt so sweet, but i do think its funny tbh.

learning their routine in there is so nice in a weird way. i know what foods they react strongly to(baby loves spicy), and how they react to light. they like to settle on one side of my belly button or the other, and i can feel their head (or ass?) just hanging out there. resting. i can caress my baby through my skin. it’s gross but its so lovely.

i get to park in the expectant parking spots heehee >:3c (i already have a blue badge, but when the blue spots are full, there’s still a close space for me most of the time) i always do an evil little laugh when i pull in like im doing crimes.

my hair still falls out, but not nearly as much as it did pre-pregnancy. it gets greasy a lot slower too.

i still get pimples, but not nearly as many as i did pre-pregnancy. (T1 doesnt count. T1 was like Puberty 2. hopefully yours isnt as blegh)

i’m compelled beyond understanding to drink TONS of water. I have never drank this much daily water in my LIFE. i am extremely hydrated and feel healthy.

i’m compelled beyond understanding to get into the sunlight. i stand outside for a few moments on sunny days and feel like im photosynthesizing. i never did this before now.

im generally more optimistic rather than doomscrolling my own brain for hours a day.

i feel more responsible, i feel like the decisions i make have a future in mind rather than impulsivity. i feel purposeful. my mental health has improved drastically.

i eat so much more fruit than i used to

my sleep is plagued by nightmares sure but i sleep SO fast now. it used to take me hours to fall asleep. now it’s mere minutes. is this how the other side lives???

people are way more willing to help me, and other parents readily and eagerly answer a complete strangers random questions like “was that expensive? is it easy to use? does it fit in your car well?” that from any other person would feel upsetting and invasive. i was looking at nipple balm confusedly in target a few months ago and a total stranger called out to me and asked if i needed help, then pointed out which are vegan, which have this or that ingredient, which allergens to be aware of, which have a strong smell, which were oily or lotion-y, and when i picked one (earth mama butter) just said “great choice, you’re gonna smell so good. good luck babe!” and left with her cute toddler who was happily chanting “nip-ple, nip-ple, nip-ple,”. ideal interaction. i still think about that woman. she smelled like cheerios and strawberries.

there’s plenty to love and enjoy, just like theres plenty to hate and be miserable about.

and when it comes to people who say “pregnancy was the best! i miss it!” i personally have a feeling that if it’s not because of stigma of looking “unappreciative” of pregnancy, it is because keeping an infant alive is fucking miserable, and parenting blows chunks. i’m sure that comparatively, being extremely uncomfortable and in pain for the better part of a year might actually have been the best part for them, even if they had the roughest parts.

i’ll definitely miss the way i currently feel about my body. i’ll miss the QUIET for sure, and the idleness. and ill miss sleeping so soundly, even if there’s nightmares. i’ll miss getting to shirk chores because my body hurts, and i’ll miss having 100% of my husband’s attention, but he’ll miss having 100% of mine too so at least its fair.

but........ i won’t be doing this again :^) at least unless i have free healthcare, because my GOD the bills are OUTRAGEOUS. fuck that shit.

congrats on your success, anon. it’s a rollercoaster.

[cosplayinamerica]

Oracle (Batgirl) & Jason Todd (Prince of Gotham) // Cosplayer: smiley_hayleyy & @jay_pines / photo: @catmonkeyphotography

Batgirl has always been my favorite DC character, she's a total badass and I've always admired her intelligence and strength, not to mention her character development and the amount of hardship shes had to overcome in her lifetime. Even after she was disabled she continued to be a hero, and honestly its just inspiring. I've also always wanted to be a redhead and loved dying my hair/ wearing a wig for the part! I have cosplayed a few different versions of her and love playing around with different looks.

Since the version of oracle I cosplayed was specifically from the Arkham Knight games, not a whole lot of people knew who I was, but the seasoned batman and DC fans recognized me instantly. I got compliments on how I even included the backpack on the back of the chair and the buttons on the sweater. I think my favorite response was this one lady who was absolutely nerding out on the skytrain ride to the convention, she didn't even know there was a convention on that day but she came up to me and was like "I know this sounds weird but you seriously look like Barbara Gordon" and then when I told her I was cosplaying she got so excited haha

EDS is a rare connective tissue disorder caused by a mutation in the gene that codes for collagen, which is an important protein your body needs to hold together, joints, blood vessels, organs and skin. There are several different types of this condition, and it varies in symptoms and severity from person to person. I was born with the condition, but my symptoms were pretty random and unable to be diagnosed growing up. I discovered I had the condition a few years ago when I started to have severe organ issues, and my joints spontaneously started dislocating everytime I moved. My skin is extremely fragile too and I have to have a doctor for every one of my body parts to keep an eye out for complications.

EDS definitely affects my cosplaying, some days I need a wheelchair to move around or a cane, or a lot of supportive braces, and I try and incorporate my mobility aids into my cosplays. I get fatigued very easily and I have chronic pain all the time so I need to take a lot of breaks, and my costume has to be able to come off easily for when it gets too much or too heavy.

The fabric is very important too because my skin tears, bruises and gets irritated very easily, so I have to make sure that the fabrics I choose agree with me! As well as my spine is very unstable, so I have to be careful with helmets or anything heavy on my head, or anything irritating my neck or shoulders. My joints dislocate with light touches so I have to make sure I am very careful with what positions I pose in, and the kind of stress I put on my joints.

I think I've learned that you can't take your life for granted. I went from being fearful about trying new experiences and going outside my comfort zone, to now being unable to do 50% of the things I could do before and missing out on a lot of things. If you have the health, and the ability to do something, just do it, because you never know when that chance might be taken away.

I've now learned that I should do everything that I can to find joy and enjoy myself while I still have that capacity. I've also learnt that there isn't a doctor who can teach you how to put your own joints back in, and that's been super isolating and terrifying, staring at yourself with a dislocated shoulder, or knee, or hip and having to YouTube how to put them back in, because the hospital turns you away to go see a chiropractor. I've had to learn how to navigate my life by myself, and in a new way. 

I wish people would know that its insanely hard for people with disabilities, especially "invisible" ones to get adequate care and services in their communities. I've had to fight with all my strength even to get disability services because I'm considered "young" and "healthy enough" or because I can minimally function on some days.

Getting chewed out by old people when I sit in a disability spot on the bus, or park in a disabled parking spot. You constantly have to prove that you are disabled enough to doctors, the government, people around you, in order to qualify for services or even receive basic medical care. You never know what's going on behind the scenes for a person.

I've always been a little shy and awkward, I'd say cosplay has been a neat experience, having people come up to me ask ask for pictures, nobody had ever really asked for my photo before and it feels pretty awesome! I think its brought me out of my shell a little, and I've met some pretty talented people through it.

I started going to conventions with my dad about 7 years ago, because we both enjoyed nerding out over collectables and other peoples amazing costumes. Twice we dressed up but it was like the absolute worst home made costumes haha. Then we stopped going, but after I met my boyfriend a few years later, he introduced me to the world of cosplay, as he was already a pretty seasoned cosplayer. He started making me costumes so we could do cool photo shoots together, and I really loved doing it as a hobby with him. We've gone to conventions every year together since we've dated. Since then I've been slowly getting better at starting to make my own costumes, but have him to thank for getting me into the hobby.

https://www.instagram.com/chronicallybendy/

[birdwonder]

I just saw your body swap HCs for the Bucciarati gang, so could I request one for the Crusaders? I also heard about your computer troubles, so if it’s too long and rage inducing I apologize. (Hope you can get your computer fixed) (also found out I could use emojis thanks to you!)🃏

|| sorry for the late response ! thanks for the concern, jester/joker ( whatever shall i call you? ) btw !

Original Post + TW : comedic, very light nsfw 

Star Dust Crusaders | Bodyswap Headcanons

Jotaro Kujo

- The two of you were heading out to buy some cold beverages when you were hit with the stand attack that wasn’t even all that surprising seeing as Dio had sent non-stop, relentless attacks against you all ever since your journey had began. What was surprising was the stand’s effects however.

- When you staggered backwards, you had unfortunately hit your head against a stop street sign that hurt more than you wanted to admit. There was some shock though, as you hadn’t bashed against the pole of the sign but the actual image it displayed it’s self - something you were sure you were too short to reach. “How the hell?” You muttered to yourself while rubbing the back of your hair, pausing when you realised how freakishly different your hair felt. Not to mention, when you looked down, those were definitely not your clothes. 

- “You tell me.” A voice- Your voice responded, your own eyes glaring at you yet from a much lower angle. Shit, you were tall. Or, was this body tall? If you had to guess by your fashion, height and the fact you could see yourself and not Jotaro; well the dots were easy to connect.

- “Fuck, I’m you!” “No shit.” “Why the hell are you so god damn tall?” “That’s your issue?”

- “Ugh, suck my dick.” You groaned at his tone, already hating the situation. A guy was in your body and though you knew Jotaro wasn’t the shifty type, it was still uncomfortable to think about. 

- “Don’t you mean my dick?”

- Ah, he shouldn’t have said that. The two of you both stared at each other in awkward silence, Jotaro visibly regretting what he had let slip and you, slowly starting to laugh. Your laughter was a strange sound seeing as it sounded way deeper than your original one. This must be what Jotaro sounded like when he laughed … it was nice.

- Jokingly, you wagged your brows, “does this mean you want me to whip it out?” If it wasn’t your face, you’d die of laughter at the distraught Jotaro showed, followed with a hint of fluster.

Noriaki Kakyoin 

- “Now, don’t freak out,” Kakyoin tried to soothe, hands holding out to stop you from doing anything rash which didn’t work too well when even he was panicking internally. After all, the one he had to comfort had his face.

- “There’s no way I can’t, I’m… I’m you! You’re me!” Of all the times to be in a stand user’s way, why did it have to be this one ? And w h y did this weird strand of hair keep getting into your mouth?! Seriously, how does Kakyoin manage to look so cool with this pest in his face all the time?

- That wasn’t the only problem though, no. You just had to swap bodies with someone you not only thought of as cool and amazing, but freakishly handsome too. Yet you were convinced you were anything but that. Bending down, you took hold of the jacket on your body, one that Kakyoin’s mind was currently in. “What are you doing?” He asked with a confused look, watching you zip up the jacket which was horribly confusing since he had to watch his own hands fix a jacket that wasn’t even his own.

- “Zipping your- my jacket! Just don’t pay too much attention to me, ok? I’m such a mess,” you mumbled, fumbling with the zipper. Gah, you weren’t used to having such long and thin fingers. Kakyoin in return narrowed his brows, his temporarily smaller hands going over your’s. 

- “Don’t start with that [First Name], you’re perfect the way you are. How we look is not our biggest problem anyways, we need to find that stand user and quick.” As much as you didn’t want to say it, he was right. You couldn’t focus on this, not when you didn’t know how permanent this situation could be. Nodding, you agreed.

- Kakyoin then smiled, a hand placing it’s self on your shoulder. [He died a little inside when he realised he had to go on his tip toes to do this.] “Come on, after all this I’ll treat us to something nice.”

Joseph Joestar

- “OH MY GO-” Joseph tried to yell but stopped abruptly when he realised how horribly strange it sounded in your voice. Of all the days you both agreed to team up, this had to be the one.

- While he was panicking in your body, you were staring at yourself in a mirror’s reflection, flexing your arm with an interested look. The way his muscles tensed and relaxed was way too good not to admire, not when his short sleeves left little to the imagination. Even for his age, this man seriously looked good and you couldn’t even try to hide that thought from him; so you didn’t. With a low whistle, you found a new pose to show off the Joestar’s muscles in, “not bad, old man. Guess you don’t skip gym day even on a retirement plan.”

- Joseph had to double take at your comment. “I’m not that old, and I sure as hell am not retiring anytime soon!” He argued, huffing before storming up to you and shoving you away from the mirror. Admittedly, he was pleasantly surprised by your praise to his physique and it really did get to his head, “you can stare all you want at my body later when we’re not facing serious danger, just get a move on now!”

- Raising a brow at the comment, you smirked to yourself as you watched your own body try to push the one you were in currently. Wonder how it felt for him. The guy would probably get a kick out of it if he just let him relax like you were. “Is that a promise? ‘Cause you can have front row tickets to your own show if you really want, Mr Joestar.” You cooed, dropping a formal title as though you weren’t suggesting something incredibly personal at all. At least it got a good reaction out of him, seeing as he paused his efforts to get you moving to stare at you with surprise. This then made you laugh, a gloved finger then moving to gently press his nose to pull him out of his dazed state. “Just kidding, pervert.”

- After that, you started to walk off ahead of him as he tried to collect his thoughts, his final reaction leaving him grumbling over what a damn tease you are and that there was no way he’d settle for the treatment you had just given him.

Mohammed Avdol

- Neither of you were too panicked by the situation thankfully, but there was still an awkwardness between you. Luckily, neither of you were the type to get too handsy and experimental with your comrade’s body so there was a strong bond of trust.  

- “Doesn’t all this clothing get uncomfortable in the heat?” You questioned while on your search for the stand user, making a gesture to his body which was your’s for the time being. It was insanely hot and though you were sure you had a little bit of his endurance, the heat was agonising. “Even your stand uses fire! Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

- Avdol chuckled in response to that, his laugh not being nearly as satisfying and fun to hear as it sounded more like you than the man himself. Shaking his head, he answered casually, “I don’t mind much at all. I was raised in the heat and when you are brought up like that, you grow accustomed to it. Magician’s Red’s ability doesn’t affect me at all either, seeing as he is my stand.” He enjoyed answering your many questions you always seemed to have for him, it made him feel wise and secretly savoured every second the two of you spent alone together. Not only were you good company, but you were deeply treasured in his heart. That was something for another day however.

- “Really?” You were surprised that he could stand this at all. It was already becoming bothersome for you. Instinctively, you took a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pulled it forwards and backwards to make some air flow across your stomach and chest. While doing so, you looked down for a split second to really take in the fact that you were in a whole other person’s body and your breath hitched at the short glimpse you had of his chest. You knew this man was healthy but you had no idea he was that fit. Wasn’t he like a semi-pacifist sorta guy?!

- Your sudden silence had concerned Avdol, leading him to questioning you. “Are you alright, [First Name]?” He was too much of a sweetheart to be real. You forced a smile and nodded, humming a happy reply. The best you could do really when you were too ashamed and surprised that you had seen the body of a god. 

- “Yeah I’m alright! Just checking out the hot body I mean weather! It’s like… really hot. So let’s find the stand user soon so I can feel cool again, haha!” Totally played it off well. Avdol seemed skeptical but he moved on, nodding in agreement with a determined look. You two really did have a goal to complete and fast.

- Even so, he knew what you had done and found it incredibly adorable how worked up it had got you.

Jean Pierre Polnareff

- The moment the shock of your minds switching bodies had subsided, Polanreff’s prioritises had gotten a little jumbled. His arms wrapped around his body, which really meant your’s, caressing each curve and swayed side to side with a dreamy expression. In fairness, he did feel like he was in a dream. He was in your body! It was so soft and perfect and whooo, did he mention soft? This chest was made for loving and supporting a head, and Polnareff was seriously looking for a pillow.

- “Ma cherie, you’re just so gorgeous! You’re so wicked to have kept this from me all this time,” he exaggeratedly complained while his hands still roamed his new, greatly admired body. You on the other hand, were a blushing mess who was trying to get him to stop.

- “Polnareff, please! We need to get going,” you insisted, trying to pull his arms away as you shut your eyes tight to avoid seeing his actions. One pro side of being in his body was adopting his incredible strength. 

- “Ah, oui, we shall go! But please, I need to let you know there is no way I can pass up on admiring this.” Oh please someone stop him now. “I mean, have you seen this rump?” Almost screeching, you slapped a hand over his lips and shook your head quickly with a stressed look. You were going to die of shame before any of Dio’s henchmen or women would even get to your first.

- He stared up at you with confusion before finally letting it sink in just how crude he was being. It wasn’t like he whole heartedly meant to! He just really appreciated your appearance. “Sorry cherie, I suppose I went to far, hm? I just couldn’t help myself.”

- You, unable to stay mad at the french man for longer than even a day, sighed and waved it off, knowing he meant no real harm. “It’s alright but please, we really should try and find a way to revert to our original bodies.”

- “Of course!” He enthusiastically agreed, taking a hold of your hand before starting to march off to whatever direction he so needed to go to - meaning, a random one he picked and prayed for the best. “There’s no way I can truly engross myself with your perfections from a first person’s perspective! As soon as we’re in our bodies, you’ll be showing me everything, cherie!”

- Honestly, you were a little excited by that.

Iggy

- “AAAAAH.” “woof.” “AAAAH” “wOOF?!” “AAAAAA-” “WOOOOO-”

- mother fucker you are a dOG.

[callmecallmecrazy]

Keeping Up with Old Friends

*****

Well, it’s another odd one.  Somewhere between preppy and stodgy, old-fashioned man I guess?  This is actually brand spanking new!  If it hadn’t been for Covid, this would have been the fastest story I’d ever written!

*****

“Josh?  Is that you?”  Henley saw his old college pal, the wannabe hipster with a scruffy beard and flannel button downs ordering coffee at a Starbucks.  Except, scruffy Josh was smooth shaved with a gentle part in his hair and dressed in a tight fitting lime green polo, creased khakis, and polished loafers.  And the Josh he knew would never order from Starbucks or any corporate chain for that matter.  But the tiny polo logo on his chest suggested that had definitely changed.

“Henley!  Hey man,” his voice was still the same chipper and little high pitched.  Henley met his friend in a hug, noticing that his formerly thin arms had a plethora of veins bulging up over visible muscles.  For someone who claimed to hate pretension, he sure had gone full tilt.

“Surprised to see you here,” Henley half-joked while teasingly pressing on the polo player on Josh’s shirt.

“Ha!  Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff!  Plus, it’s close to work.”

“Where are you working now?”

“Hemplebaum Inc.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide eyed stare from Henley.  Josh was a film and lighting guy.  Last they’d talked, he’d been working on some plays downtown.  Certainly not at “evil corporation incorporated”.

“What happened to the plays?”

“Ya know, I wanted a change.” Josh shoved his hands into his pockets.  “Plus, the money sucks.  I didn’t want to share a studio my whole life.” “Aren’t they, like, totally evil?” Josh frowned, his face taking on an overly broad and exaggerated look.  Had his head grown?

“Hey man, they’re cool.  I got headhunted by a department chief.  I’m not one of those office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts.”  In response to Henley’s increasingly horrified look, Josh shrugged and laughed.   “I don’t think they do that stuff anymore either.”  

He glanced at his watch, a shiny rolex, and then back at Henley.  “Hey man, great seeing you.  Maybe we’ll hang out sometime?  I gotta get back to the office!”  Henley watched Josh walk out, noticing how well he filled out those khakis.  His buttocks had developed a shelf like quality, curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away.  

“That was so strange,” Henley said aloud.  But people change.  Josh seemed happy and healthy.  Maybe he always wanted to be a frat boy after all?  Henley got his coffee, black, and took the train downtown.  As he sipped on the scalding coffee, Henley did think about some of what Josh said.  Downtown was prohibitively expensive.  Henley paid in time what he couldn't afford in rent having to ride in everyday.  Sure, he loved life down here but he really couldn’t enjoy it as much as he’d like.  But then, Henley could never handle being some corporate drone.

-----

“Josh?  Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the drink counter, picking up a gigantic fuzzy looking drink, didn’t physically resemble Josh at all.  He was big, the Navy blazer he wore couldn’t hide the broad shoulders and his green and blue rep tie had a hard time lying flat over his bulging pecs.  And his hair, last time well groomed but still with a youthful length, was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted.  The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look extremely square.

The man looked back at Henley confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

“Henley Tator,” his voice was slower and deeper.  While Henley went in for a hug, Josh replied with a one armed side hug and pat on the back.  He practically grimaced when Henley went full hug.

“Josh!  Man, it’s been awhile.” “Yes Henley, I’ve been very busy at work.  And please, call me Joshua, it’s more professional.”

“Wow, still at Hemplebaum?”

“Yes, moving up the ladder.  What about you, Henley?”

“Oh ya know, I’m still at the art funding startup.  It’s hard but I enjoy it.”

“Pay well?” “Ha, you know it doesn’t.” “I can tell,” Joshua eyed Henley’s tattered jeans and waffle shirt with distaste.  Henley was taken aback by the outright disdain.

“Well, I’m passionate about it.” Joshua just nodded.  “You’re looking good. Gym time is really paying off.” “Yes,” Joshua’s stern demeanor dropped a touch, there a bit more levity in his voice suddenly.  “There’s a corporate gym and it’s free and they even give you an hour a day to use it - paid!”  He was practically giddy as he talked.  Henley relaxed a bit.  This was the Josh he knew, chirpy and friendly though not exceptionally outgoing.  And honestly, Josh had always been the kind of guy who dove head first into anything.  It really wasn’t shocking that he’d treat his job the same way he’d treated edibles, EDM, and frisbee golf.

“You still doing frisbee golf?  Since you’ve got the bod now,” Henley playfully slapped one of Joshua’s broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

“I’ve been doing a lot of golf!  I play with several of my coworkers and even some of the junior partners.  I’m getting my handicap down too.”

“Oh, you’re playing real golf?”

“Yes, it’s very enjoyable.  And great for business bonding.  Chance for men to talk about work, wives, sports.  Say, you watch the game last weekend?”  That was wholly unlike Josh.  But again, he was probably throwing himself into the corporate world.

“Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

“It’s football season.” He replied so directly and sincerely Henley almost fell over.  “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch your alma mater.  And our Bulls are having a great season.  4-0 in conference play.”  Joshua kept talking about football as Henley stared deep into his eyes.  Was this really Josh?  The guy hadn’t even known what sport a touchdown was part of.

“Anyway, Henley, it’s been great catching up.  Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime.  I need to return to the office.”  Joshua checked his watch, flashing the shiny gold in front of Henley.  As the muscleman walked out, Henley couldn’t help but notice the incredibly large derriere.  The vents on his suit jacket hung awkwardly over the luscious rump and it jiggled every so slight as he walked.  A stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

“Yeah, great to see you Josh-ua,” he forced out the last syllable.  It made sense to do it.  This was not the Josh he knew.  This was apparently Joshua, his friend?  Henley grabbed his coffee, black, and tried to sip on it on the train.  It was a little too hot for him and he was stuck holding it between his hands awkwardly for the whole ride.

-----

“Josh?  Is that you?  I mean, Joshua?”  Henley had avoided the coffee shop since their last encounter.  He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters creeped him out.  Joshua seemed like a totally different person.  He wasn’t sure if it was steroids, the growth seemed extremely quick, or perhaps just the makeover itself made him look different.  But he was finally caffeine deprived enough to step in, and there was Joshua.  Or at least a Joshua facsimile standing next to another man.

This Joshua wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly straining at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch.  It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button down shirt and blue and green rep tie.  His hair was the same, but his face had undergone a change.  His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.  He stood ramrod straight, sipping from his milky looking drink.  The man next to Joshua was older, but otherwise nearly identical.  He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage.  His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern.

The man stared at Henley for a moment before tapping Joshua on the shoulder.

“John Howard,” his voice was slow and deep.  “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.”  The younger man turned to look at Henley and then a faint bit of recognition crossed his face.

“Henley Tator,” the voice was practically monotone, low and deep.  He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, rough hand.  Confused, Henley accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Joshua turned to face the older man.  “This is a friend from college.  Henley Tator.  Henley, this is my boss.”  He gestured robotically between the two.  Amplebottom offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

“Nice to meet you….,” Henley sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

“And to you, Henley,” he put a very strange emphasis on the words, as though he had never said them before.  Henley turned back to his old friend.

“So, Joshua,...” he was cut off by a cough from Amplebottom.

“Please call me John Howard,” Joshua said curtly.  “Mr. Amplebottom thinks I would be better suited professionally as John Howard.”  The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving.  Henley could make out some of Josh’s features in the hulking face before him.  An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Josh he knew.  But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this corporate meathead named John Howard.

“Okay, John-”

“John Howard.”

“John Howard.  So, how is work?”

“I am very happy at Hemplebaum.  I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions under Mr. Amplebottom.  He has been a great advisor in my career.”

“That’s great.  Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom has assigned me to a downtown acquisition project.”

“Acquisition?”

“Correct, we have a potential development on 520 Porter and need to remove the building.”

“Huh, okay.  So what building are you removing?”

“Currently the future site of Hemple Housing Porter is occupied by the Cherub Theatre.” “Cherub Theatre?  You used to work there?  You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore.  And it occupies a lot with high economic potential.  It is better suited for development.”

“Josh-,”

“John Howard.”

“What the hell happened to you?”  The wide eyes suddenly narrowed sharply and almost seemed to sink back into his skull a little.

“I’m offended by your tone, Henley.  And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Henley’s dirty clothes up and down. “I grew up.  You could do with some growing.”

“You’ve grown into a soulless jerk.  We used to mock those fucking money obsessed frat boys back in college.” “I just bought a house out in Chester.  Right next door to Chadwick Statton.  You remember Chadwick?” “Oh my god, he was that Kappa Kappa Kappa asshole.”

“The KKK joke is stale.  Besides, it’s very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood.  I was fortunate to golf with him and he gave me an in with the Board.  Plus, I’m working on my country club application.  The application fee is $50,000.  Could you afford that?” “Jesus Christ! Fifty k just to fucking apply?  You’re insane.”

“And you, Henley, are a child.  But if you ever decide to grow up,” he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a thick black card and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his plaid shirt.

“John Howard,” Mr. Amplebottom suddenly interrupted the discussion.  John Howard stiffened up and faced his boss.  “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your fraternity brother, but we have wasted time.  I assume you’ll stay late to make it up?” “Of course, Mr. Amplebottom.” They turned to leave.  Henley got a good look at the pair.  Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked.  Henley laughed to himself, realizing Amplebottom really lived up to his name.

Henley grabbed the card from his pocket and examined it.  It was a thick card stock and slightly textured.  The Hemplebaum logo was obnoxiously large in one corner.  Right in the middle was John Howard Johnson, Associate.  Henley was quite sure he was going mad.  That was absolutely not his last name in college!  Had he changed his entire fucking name to fit in with these people?  Golfing with Chad, obeying his boss like some braindead goon, destroying his old workplace to build, what? Multi-use condos?  Like there isn’t enough of that?  The Cherub is a relic, in a good way.  Had Josh been putting on the entire time he was in college?  Was this who he truly was?  No, no this name changing was a deeper sign.  Maybe a psychotic break?

It occurred to him that standing in a Starbucks staring at a business card as people queued up around him made him look insane.   And he had to get to work anyway.  This whole thing had become so ridiculous he’d just ignore it.  He ordered his coffee, adding a heavy dose of cream, and went downtown.

-----

“John Howard?  Is that you?”

“You’ve reached Hemblebaum Inc acquisitions division.  How may I direct your call?” Damn, his card didn’t even list a direct number.  Henley had tossed the card around his apartment for a while, even starting to dial once or twice.  But then he’d ask himself why exactly he was doing this.  John Howard, whoever he was, wasn’t Henley’s old friend.  He wouldn’t have even spoken to Henley back in the day.  But theoretically this man was Josh or had been Josh.  And Henley couldn’t shake him from his mind.

“May I speak with John Howard Johnson?” Henley’s voice cracked a touch as he spurt out the words.

“I’ll transfer you to his desk,” replied the chipper female voice.  The line filled with static and then began ringing.  After a few rings, he was bumped back to the secretary.

“Would you like me to give Mr. Johnson a message on your behalf?” “Oh, uh, no thank you.”

“If this is a private matter, I can forward you to his personal mailbox.”

“Sure.”

“One moment.”  There wasn’t any ring, just straight to the mailbox.  He could practically see the stodgy man who produced the recording.

“You have reached the desk of John Howard Johnson.  Leave a message and I will respond.”  Damn, he was so terse and humorless.  And what exactly was he going to say?  The words came out of his mouth before he could think about them.

“Hey, John Howard.  This is Henley Tator, from college.  I was thinking about what you said when you gave me your card.  So, call me back?” He left his number and hung up.  What on earth had he been thinking?  I mean, the growing up thing had crossed his mind.  His two bedroom apartment was rough to afford even with two roommates.  It would be nice to have his own place.  And his clothes could use an update from his student days.  Of course, he wondered exactly how long he’d be waiting for a call back, which gave him far too much time to ponder his plans.

------

“This is Henley,” he wouldn’t normally answer the phone for an unknown number, but since he had no idea when John Howard would call, or from what number, Henley snagged the phone every time it rang.  Sure, he’d fielded a few calls from telemarketers, but he was going to get to the bottom of this.  Hardy Boy or something or other.

“Hello Henley, this is John Howard Johnson, I am returning your call from 2:15.” Damn, he was a total stiff.  He was probably sitting at his desk, feet flat on the floor, back ramrod straight staring straight ahead.

“Hey John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley, how may I assist you?” Straight to the point.

“Well, you know I was thinking about what you said at Starbucks.  About growing up and stuff.”

“Yes, you are quite childish.” “Can you help?”

“Of course, I think an interview with Mr. Amplebottom would be a delightful way to have a new start.  I shall arrange an 8:00 a.m. appointment tomorrow.  He’ll be expecting you.  Check in at the lobby by 7:45.  Oh, and please find more suitable attire.  This is a professional work environment.” “Great, well, that’s a lot more than I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Umm, no idea.”

“You asked for help, I am providing it.  Is something wrong?”

“No, no, no.  Thank you so much!  I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll see Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Yes, yes, of course.  Thank you, John Howard.”

“You are welcome, Henley.” Click. Well, that was brisk.  But a development.  Now of course, he’d need to find clothes.  I mean, he had a suit, just the one, in navy blue, and it got pulled out once a year or so for weddings.  A dab of cologne would top it off.  He didn’t want to be suspicious.  Of course, as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

-----

“This is Henley,” he replied to the officer checking name at the front desk.  He was a private security guard, bulky and bull necked with biceps that practically shredded his sleeves.  The stern faced man checked a list carefully.

“First name?”

“Henley.”  The officer stared at him.

“Henley Henley?”

“No, Henley Tator.” He could sense the guard sighing internally.  Henley was such an odd name, it usually was more than enough information for people to locate him.  But, judging by John Howard, this was probably an extremely by-the-books business.

“39th floor.  Please give your name to the secretary and she’ll let you in.  Tator, Henley.  Less confusion.” The man curtly directed him towards the elevator and returned to his post by the door.

Everything about the lobby, the elevator and the entry way on floor 39 was the same: wood, dark, overbearing.   Harsh fluorescent lighting easily guided the path.  The whole place was like a time capsule, the height of early 60s style.  This might as well have been a set for the early seasons of Mad Men.

The sharp ping of the elevator signalled his arrival and after a quick check-in, he was led across a sea of cubicles towards a large office in the corner. Despite the early time, the office was already alive.  He caught glimpses of suited men at some desks and a trio of buff suits standing by a water cooler.

Amplebottom’s office continued the trend.  It was big with large windows along the wall.  He had a gigantic wooden desk with an equally large chair that seemed twice as wide as normal.  Which made sense given his butt.  He glanced up as Henley entered but did not stand.

“Henley Tator,” the way he said his name was so peculiar.  He spoke so slowly that emphasis ended up on the wrong syllables, making the words sound foreign to Henley himself.

“Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley walked over in front of the desk and offered his hand.  Amblebottom leaned forward and shook it.  He’d prepared himself for the vice grip and felt the muscles in his forearm swell as he clenched back.  Once that was over, Henley pulled back a chair and began to sit.

“Before you sit down,” his thick words poured molasses over Henley’s movements. He found himself standing upright and looking at Amplebottom.  The man was a practically a hypermasculine parody, low brow, big nose, wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin.  A touch of receding hair over the temples added more dignity than age.  His clothing was similar to the other day, pale black suit and subtle tie.

“John Howard setup this interview.  I am unsure how you can contribute to Hemplebaum.”  Henley stood uncomfortably as Amplebottom stared at him.  He took a dry swallow and stared into the big man’s eyes.  They were a strange grey color, cold and severe and almost lifeless.  He also found it hard to look away, they were enrapturing.  “What do you expect from me?”  Henley was almost sure he saw the grey eyes flash.

“I guess, umm, I was just hoping for a job?”

“That sounds very convincing, son,” the droll response unnerved Henley more.

“I want to try something new.  More grown-up.” 

“Hemplebaum isn’t some urban start up with billiards and soy milk.  This is a very demanding corporation.  I expect my employees to be eager and dedicated.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” Henley found himself nodding in response.  He spread his legs a little wider and clasped his hands behind his back.  It was more comfortable than just letting them hang and it prevented fidgeting.

“This job can also be very rewarding.  Acquisitions works on a baseline salary plus commission incentives and bonuses.”

“How much could I make?” Henley honesty hadn’t thought about the actual financial potential of the job.  Sure, he’d casually looked up the cost of homes in Chester, but he hadn’t really considered the salary.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects.  Do well, and you can quickly move up.”

“Shit, seriously?”

“I am always serious Henley.”

“No, sorry, Sir,” he tacked on the honorific quickly.  The financial prospects were huge!  “That’s more than twice what I make now.”

“Yes, the corporate world has perks.”

“I’d like a job as a Junior Associate, Mr. Amplebottom.”  That caused the bigger man to smile.

“Are you willing to dedicate yourself to your job, Henley?  We do not tolerate slackers.”

“Yessir!”

“Well, I think, based on John Howard’s recommendation, that I can give you a test run.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“However, there will be a few adjustments required.  Your suit is fine, the sneakers are not.  And ties are mandatory with a collared shirt.  Human resources will give you a rundown of our policies.  I’m assuming you probably won’t have work appropriate clothing.  The company can offer you a corporate card to get yourself setup.  You’ll receive automatic payroll deductions to pay it back.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“I appreciate this new eagerness from you.  I assure you, if you work hard, you’ll find Hemplebaum the most rewarding place.”

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he said confidently to the guard.  The officer, a gruff man with visible tattoos on his hulking forearms, gave him a once over and checked his name off a list.  He said nothing as Henley headed inside towards the elevator. The glass walls of the elevator gave him a great chance to reflect on the past twenty-four hours.

The employee handbook was massive.  Something like 200 pages of rules, regulations, and suggestions mixed in with corporate speak and industry jargon.  While HR had gone over some basics of the position, personnel forms, and whatnot, the only section he’d read closely was on wardrobe since Amblebottom specifically mentioned it.  It wasn’t terribly confusing since it included not just general recommendations but pictures, stores, and tiers of items towards “building a man’s wardrobe.”

Henley followed the basic directions and found the elegant, tiny menswear shop the manual recommended. Upon hearing that he had recently gained employment at Hemplebaum, the elder employee immediately went to work, selecting an array of khakis and polos to start.  Henley had resisted the creased pleats but to his dismay the shopkeeper insisted.  He had successfully rebuffed the notion that he needed new underwear.  He was an adult, he could make private decisions on his own.  The man also said he’d begin working on a basic suit.  Henley referred to it as “black” and was politely informed that the color was “charcoal” and black suits were only for funerals.

Which is how he found himself, smooth faced from new toiletries, in a salmon polo and crisp khakis, waiting on the elevator.  He had a minor flashback to when he first ran into John Howard.  Joshua.  Josh.  Whoever he was now.  Their outfits were similar, but Henley took a moment as he brushed a lock of hair from his eyes to remind himself that he was just playing pretend.  He was figuring something out.  Capitalist finery was required.  Although his mind had already started calculating exactly when he could get his own apartment.

-----

“This is Henley Tator,” he answered as the office desk rang.  He’d quickly been put into a cubicle and signed into a company website to begin training.  Usual stuff, safety procedures, privacy policies and intellectual property, then lots and lots of company information, acquisition and retail training, even negotiating for beginners.  He had been expecting to find a diversity or harassment training, but the program, like seemingly everything else here, was highly structured and old-fashioned.  It was probably deeper in the training.  He’d swiped his new ID card when he got up for the bathroom or to get some water, the program seemed on a timer because if he dallied or got distracted the pages would time out and he’d have to start again.  On the plus side, it made the day pass extremely quickly.

“Henley Tator,” he recognized that stoic bass.  “This is John Howard Johnson.”

“Hey, John Howard, how’s it going?”

“I am well, Henley.  I will be going to the cafeteria for lunch in 15 minutes.  If you are hungry, you are welcome to come along.”

“Sure thing, John Howard!  Thanks! I am getting hun-.”

“Please meet by the elevator in ten minutes.” John Howard was not a chatter.  Never had been.  But it gave him something to look forward to so he rushed to finish a basic finances video quiz narrated by a corporate casting finance bro in a tasteful suit talking about “life at the club” and “the importance of appearances.”  Finally, he badged out of his computer for lunch.

By the elevators, in an impossibly rigid stance, legs apart, hands straight at his side, face forward, was John Howard.  The square faced muscle man was packed into a charcoal suit and shiny dress shoes.  Henley noticed the colorful tie had been replaced with a more muted one with barely noticeable muted black stripes.

“Henley Tator,” he offered his rough hand and Henley accepted.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said, half mocking but also happy to see a semi-familiar face.

“The cafeteria is on Floor 15,” John Howard said briskly as they stepped in.

“So, having a good day?”

“My day is doing well, thank you.  How is your day?”

“Good, lots of new information.  Guess I need a lot of training.”

“The gym is on the fifth floor.  It is a good source of weight training.”

“Oh awesome!  Yeah, man you look great.  I definitely should hit that up.”

“I am happy to show you.  I workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards.”

“Holy crap dude!  And you live out in Chester?  How do you find time to sleep.”

“A good night’s sleep is important for muscle growth.  I try not to waste time on silly things.”

Henley had built a small salad for himself and grabbed some water.  John Howard had taken the platter, a slab of meat in gravy, potatoes, and greens.  Combined with what appeared to be a frothy glass of milk.  He sat the two down at a table with two other men.  One was a stoic, stern faced man who looked like he could be John Howard’s brother.  The other was a much flashier man with smooth blonde hair and a plaid bowtie.

“Henley, this is Bert Anderson, accounting,” he gestured to his clone.  “And this is-” he was cut off by the flashier man.

“Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard, call me Rip.  Accounts.  So, J.H. mentioned you were his old college bro?  Bet you got up to some mischief back in the day, eh?” he gave John Howard a playful punch, and he did not react.

“I prefer John Howard.”

“I know you do, J.H.”

“So, you’re both in accounting?” Henley asked.  Bert shook his head while Rip laughed.

“No, Bert here is a number cruncher.  I manage accounts.  Management, keeping clients happy.  Happy-hours, bars, strippers, the works.  I’m the fun one.” “I’m sure your wife does not approve.”

“She approves of that pool boy I hired for her.  She approves of our second home in Mayfield Valley.  She can approve of my dalliances.”  Henley mostly stayed silent as they talked about work, wives, and sports.

-----

“Take a seat, Henley,” Mr. Amplebottom gestured to one of the extra wide chairs before his desk.  Henley hardly took up half, but he wondered if they were wide enough for Amblebottom’s ample bottom.

“Is everything alright, Sir?” Henley hadn’t seen much of his boss the past week, but he’d found himself thinking more and more fondly of his boss.  The training videos included a lot of stuff on professional behavior, and while a lot of it seemed like a pathetically antiquated throwback to worse times, it wouldn’t hurt to adopt some of the culture.  At least while he was here.

“Just doing a check-in, seeing how it’s going.”  Amplebottom made constant eye contact.  Those grey eyes were engaging, sort of hard to look away from.

“It’s good, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Enjoying the training?”

“It’s very informative.”

“Glad to hear it.  I take my employees personal development very personally.  I want you to think of me as a mentor.”

“Yes sir.”

“So, let me give you some advice.”

“Yes sir.”

“I appreciate the fraternity makeover.  Really, it’s a classic look.  But it doesn’t say corporate.  It doesn’t say rising star.  It doesn’t say money.  Does that make sense?”

“Umm, I guess so.” “Page 183 in the handbook.  Suggestions for the transition between fraternal life and entering the corporate world.”

“I wasn’t in a fraternity,” Henley laughed.

“I was under the impression that was how you know John Howard.  That you were one of his Kappa Alpha Sigma brothers?” “I, umm, no.  And I don’t think… John Howard was either?”

“You should work on speaking directly.  These umms and pauses don’t project confidence.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, you’re dismissed.”

“Thank you sir.”

One his way out, Henley took a moment to swing by John Howard’s desk.  Partially just to wish his fellow worker a good weekend, but also because that fraternity question bobbed around his head.

“John Howard?”  The stalwart man seated perfectly straight rotated his chair to face Henley.  Henley noticed that he sat on an extra wide chair and seemed to fill it well.  All those hours in the gym seemed to harden every muscle on his body except his butt.

“Henley Tator, do you need something?”

“Just wanted to say have a good weekend.” “Enjoy your weekend as well Henley.  If you’re feeling comfortable, I can show you the company gym Monday.  I workout at 7 am and 7 pm everyday.”

“Yeah, that would be great- wow you’re here a long time!”

“I take a lot of pride in my position at Hemplebaum.  I hope to become a division partner.  Legacy membership at Rolling Acres is five hundred grand.  And that’s my place.”  Henley pondered the man before him.  Honestly, there was a lot to like about John Howard.  He was honest, straightforward, and hardworking.  But there was something callous, cold, and privileged about him.  

“Hey, John Howard.  Were you in a fraternity?”

“Kappa Alpha Sigma, you know that Henley.” Did he know?  He looked like a K-Sig, the kind of former athlete who came to party hard and maybe pass a class or two.  

“Anyway, enjoy your weekend.  I need to finish up. Good night.” John Howard turned back towards his desk without another word, leaving Henley to shrug and walk to the tube and head home.

-----

Page 183 started with three pictures: a polo and khaki sporting college student, a man in trousers and blazer, and finally an old and noticeably thicker man in a conservative suit. Then it talked about the foundations of a man's future and his wardrobe.

“The navy blazer is a classic item that works for semi formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, the navy blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event.”

“Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit.  It is important to view the event and location when making a selection.  Bow ties in particular are more flamboyant in a workplace and should be considered carefully.  Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices.  Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

“Supports should be practical and supportive.  Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut.  Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage.  A traditional undershirt with sleeves is ideal, as it provides sweat protection.  Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous.  It is also compatible with tennis for those who participate in sport.”

This had to have been the third comment someone had about his choice of underwear.  It seemed a deeply intrusive thing for a company to comment on.  But a lot of other sections are good information.  It explained why men like Bert and John Howard wore ties and Rip, in a more colorful position, had the flashier bowtie.  He took some basic notes and decided he’d hit up that menswear shop.  They had a company account, he could probably just tack it on to his previous bill.

-----

“Henley Tator,” he said simply.  The guard, the same one as every other day, checked the list and let him in.  Uncharacteristically, the guard spoke to him.

“Early start?”

“I’m supposed to meet a friend at the gym.”

“Ah, good choice.  I’ve been lifting since my football days,” the guard said while flexing a bicep.  It strained the fabric of his shirt so much there was a tiny tear at the sleeve.

“Ah damn, gonna have to size up.  Sorry, please don’t report me.”  He suddenly seemed mildly afraid.

“Report you?”

“Some of the guys here are real sticklers about manners.  They don’t like cursing.” “No, man, we’re cool.  You look great!  Not sure I’d want to be that big honestly.”

“Hey, once you start, you never wanna stop.”

Henley wanted to stop.  John Howard was already changed and waiting on him, so Henley rushed to change and hit the floor.  The next hour was a diabolic hell.  John Howard started with squats.  Henley got a good look at his friend's monstrous calves and steel cut quads, surprisingly pale but doubted John Howard wore short pants much.  The most shocking feature was watching that jiggly ass clench and thrust with each repetition.  Hard muscle lurked underneath the jelly-like layer.  And it went on and on.  Big lifts, slow lifts, legs, legs, legs, he was deeply certain he would never be able to walk again.  John Howard had to help him strip down and lumber into a shower stall.

He took his time rinsing off, rubbing the corporate provided products into his aching muscles and letting the hot water relax him.  Leaning against a wall, still gasping for breath, he let himself drift off for a bit.

“You alright, Henley?” John Howard asked, cracking the curtain.

“Just, just finishing up,” he said, turning off the water and grabbing his towel.  In the locker room, he saw John Howard's muscled glory in more detail, the ravenous cuts of his back rippled as he walked.  He was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline, and most of that part of his back was covered in cotton fabric.  His legs were bare below the butt, the garganuan thighs popping through the pristine white cotton of the briefs.

While Henley got ready, John Howard went to a mirror and began applying white shaving cream to his practically smooth face, treating every exposed piece of chin and neck to the cream and razor.  Slipping back on his underwear, Henley donned a white undershirt and pulled up some pleated khakis.  Out of his locker came a white button down shirt which he began hastily buttoning.  John Howard was finishing his face with aftershave and examining himself in the mirror.  As he approached the lockers, Henley got a frontal look at him.  He hadn’t realized how high waisted these briefs were from the back.  His bellybutton was completely hidden, practically cartoonish.

Henley went to the mirror and began combing and styling his hair, working in product and brushing a part in.  His hair was getting trained for it, the strands beginning to grow a part on the right side naturally.  It looked pretty good like this.  More corporate that he had preferred, but it was a classic style for a reason.

As he returned to his locker, John Howard was pulling some trousers up his legs, hoisting them up with a pair of silk braces.  Everything about John Howard was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically Marvel comic level, that he hadn’t realized how high waisted his pants had become.  No one wore them like that nowadays.  At least no one who wasn’t LARPing or Mr. Amplebottom.  John Howard reminded Henley of Mr. Amplebottom, a lot.  The book said to copy your bosses outfits.  John Howard had taken that to heart.

Henley fashioned the gold and green tie around his neck before slipping into a navy blazer with prominent buttons.  John Howard walked towards the mirror again as he rolled up the cuffs of his shirt and adorned them with cufflinks.

“Nice man,” Henley admired.

“Thank you,” John Howard was almost bashful as he showed them to Henley.  He noted the onix black button had the letters J.H.J cut into them.

“Are they monogrammed?”

“Yes!  It’s very popular at the club.  And they were suggested by the haberdashery.” “Haberdashery?  Wow, that sounds so English.”

“These are made in America.  All the clothes recommended by Hemplebaum are.”  John Howard seemed agitated by the suggestion. “I just meant the word.”

“I don’t want people to think I’m un American.”  The stern response caused Henley to stay silent as the pair continued dressing.

-----

Henley was honestly looking forward to his weekly review meeting with Mr. Amplebottom.  He was starting to get in the swing of this whole corporate thing.  And the tantalizing prospect of his first paycheck was right around the corner.  That wasn’t the only corporate benefit he was enjoying.  His clothes were tight.  Quite tight.  At first he’d thought something was snagged, but the small strain on the buttons of his shirt was unmistakable.  As he pulled up his pants this morning, he’d heard a slight tear as a few seams in the rear snapped.  He’d have to get some things let out.  Or maybe new ones altogether.

The growth had bothered him a bit at first, it seemed to come out of nowhere.  But John Howard explained it was just the result of an effective workout and diet plan.  On John Howard’s suggestion, he’d dropped the salads and switched to the daily platter, a fuller meal for growth.  And the workouts meant he was exhausted everyday after work and went right to bed.  Which kind of went against his reason for working here in the first place.  Wait, why was he working here again?  To make money.  He wanted to enjoy more of life downtown.  Wasn’t it something about John Howard?

“Take a seat Henley.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Henley gratefully replied.  He plopped himself into the cushioned chair and did his best to keep his back tall and straight.  The men around here had impeccable posture, at least the ones in acquisitions.  Rip certainly knew how to relax.  Which gave him an idea for after the meeting.

“How has work been proceeding?”

“Very good, sir.  The trainings have been very helpful and I am eager to begin assisting with projects.”

“Good.  I am pleased with the energy you’ve devoted to your job.”

“Thank you Sir.”

“I’ve decided to assign you to the Hemple Housing Porter project under John Howard Johnson.” “I look forward to it.” “Very good.  We’ve acquired the property, but there is still concern about ‘historical value.’  You will be tasked with pricing and selling anything valuable inside.” “Yes sir… is that the Cherub theatre?”  Henley got a touch concerned.

“We refer to projects by our goals.  But the Theatre currently sits there.  Is that going to be a problem, Henley?” His grey eyes seemed to flash.

“No, Mr. Amplebottom.”

“Good.  You never struck me as the theatre type anyway, Henley.  I assumed you were into sport.”

“Not really Sir.”

“That surprises me.  Since you are friends with John Howard, you must have attended many football games with him.  And that sport is your preferred leisure activity.”  The words came out like a metronome, even paced and simple.  But they stuck in Henley’s mind.  What else would he and John Howard have done together?  He was clearly obsessed with sports and his fraternity.  And Henley was enjoying the gym, which was truly just another sport.

“Now,” Mr. Amplebottom continued.  “You will be working with some old men from assets and banking.  Really conservative types.  You should try speaking slower.  That will deepen your voice and give you more presence.”

“Yes, Mr. Amplebottom,” the words spilled out in nearly double the time. His tongue felt heavy as he spoke and every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Very good, Henley, with practice you will also be able to use a deeper, more masculine tone.  That will be very helpful in business.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Now, just one last thing, Henley,” there was a venomous glint in his eyes as he stumbled over Henley’s name.  “Henley is a very peculiar name.  Unique.  It sets you apart when you should fit in, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, Sir.” “In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression.  The men in these industries tend to be very old-fashioned.  And so much of this business is based on rubbing elbows and social connections.  You have to give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, yes Sir.”

“I know you want my advice.  I am a good mentor.”

“Yes Sir.  You are a good mentor.”

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as Henderson.”  Henley’s brain practically exploded.

“Yes Sir,” he muttered weakly.

“Try it on me.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” More brain explosions.  It felt partially like getting hit in the head and partially like taking really good meds. “Slower.”

“Hello, my name is Henderson.” A glitter bomb went off in his brain.  It felt like magic.

“Very good, Henderson.”  Hearing someone else say it, as though it always had been, made the magical glitter settle on his brain, covering it in an ashy fog.  “Well, I figure you might want this before you go for the weekend.”  He opened a drawer and pulled out a large printed piece of paper.  He handed it over to Henderson who grabbed it eagerly.  Upon seeing the amount of money on his check, Henderson’s pupils practically morphed into dollar signs.

“Associates get more than double that.”  More dollar signs flashed before his eyes.  “And it’s a fairly simple promotion.  Good work is always rewarded.”

“Yes Sir!  Thank you sir!”  The first set of words rushed out of his mouth.  He calmed himself and regained his slow speaking tempo.  He glanced down at the check and realized it said Henderson Tator.

“I don’t think I can deposit this.” “You’ll use the company banking system from now on.  You’ll find it has much better rewards for higher income brackets.  We have built in direct deposit.  But I wanted to see the look on your face the first time.” 

John Howard was hard on work when Henderson knocked.

“Henley Tator,” monotoned his deep voice.  Henderson had a flashback to Starbucks and a similar conversation, but now the shoe was on the other foot.

“Please call me Henderson, John Howard,” his thick, slow voice drawled out.  “It is more professional.

“I agree, Henderson,” Henderson could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of John Howard’s mouth.  But the stoic man’s face returned to it’s sculpted indifference immediately.  “What can I do for you?”

“I was considering asking Rip for some... herbals, for the weekend and wondered if you cared to partake.  Maybe watch a game?”  Henderson had a distinct memory of two dudes chilling out to some cheap weed and beer while watching Reefer Madness and laughing their asses off.  John Howard's face was not amused.

“No, Henderson.  You know I do not partake in such things.” “What?  You went through a whole rasta-ganja phase in college…”

“I did not,” John Howard was visibly angry even if his voice maintained its impressive monotone.  “I do not approve of illicit substances or behavior and I do not appreciate your slander.” “Woah, calm down, big guy,” not that John Howard wasn’t calm.  But Henderson knew that one punch from the dude would knock him silly.  “I was just thinking back to our college days….”

“Yes, I remember Chadwick forcing us to try the stuff during Hell Week.  As I recall, you disliked it even more than I did.”

“What?  What does Chad have to do with this?” “The only time I ever tried marjiuana,” his voice gained a hushed tone as he said the word.  “Was for a fraternity induction.  And if you continued to use it, I was unaware.  If you would like to watch the game and enjoy some beer or liquid that would be fine. But I will not associate with drug users.”  Henderson was taken aback.  This man, well maybe not this man, but this dude he might have been at one point spent nearly a semester acting like some sort of stoner God.

“I’m sorry, John Howard.”

“If you are still interested in watching the game and having a beer, I would not be opposed.”

“Yeah, totally!” Henderson swallowed awkwardly after he spoke.  Those words felt wrong.  But either way, he’d spend a little more time with Josh Howard and figure out what was going on.

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said at the gate.  The officer was the same as before, but there were a few subtle differences.  His tight uniform now had full length sleeves and he wore a cap on his even more masculine face.  “Good morning, Mr. Tator,” the man’s deep voice spoke slowly and severely.  His face had not a glimpse of recognition.  That was fine by Henderson because he was actually quite tired.  He’d ended up in Chester Saturday, bringing a small batch of beer to a football party.  It was very strange to him, meeting several of John Howard’s neighbors, though Chadwick was mercifully absent.  He had a great time, watching, drinking, and shooting the breeze.  The evening went on far later than he anticipated and despite the offer of a guest room, he had taken a late night Uber back into town.  Newfound interest in football meant he had spent Sunday watching football, drinking beer, and ordering pizza.  And now he was meeting John Howard for a workout with a beer hangover on a Monday.

The workout was much better this week.  He found himself making great strides in his max lifts which made him exceptionally proud.  John Howard gave his butt a big swat after they finished cleaning up and he felt his rump shudder within his pants.  His pants had gotten so much tighter and when he looked in the mirror, the back of his sportcoat practically lay flat from the shelf on his behind.  As he admired his form in the mirror, Henderson couldn’t help but brush the smooth shaved line of his prominent jaw.  It really stood out nowadays.

“Miss a spot?” John Howard asked, assuming Henderson was rubbing stray hairs.

“Hey John Howard, why is working out making my jaw bigger?”  John Howard stared at him curiously and shook his head.

“I don’t think I understand.” “Since, I’ve been working out with you, my face just seems bigger.  My jaw and chin in particular.” “Maybe losing some baby fat?  Or maybe your improved posture is making your face look different?”  Henderson couldn’t explain it.  He examined the reflection a few seconds more, sure that something was amiss. But he didn’t have an idea better than John Howard’s so he let it pass and went into the office.

Henderson’s job required calls, lots of calls.  Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests.  Henderson wasn’t actually supposed to do any research, simply talk to the right people to get appropriate evaluations and transportation.  He found himself mimicking John Howard’s voice, deep, slow, and disinterested.  It wasn’t exciting work, but the progress was slow and consistent.  Museums wanted some old posters, there was a buyer in Argentina for the chandelier, and several vintage stores wanted furniture pieces.  A few calls were less productive, with upset protestors yelled at him.  He’d tried being sympathetic at first, but quickly found that being stern and direct got them off the line quicker so he could return to work.

His days soon blended together.  Morning workouts, work, lunch, work, home, sleep, repeat.  He sometimes worried that he was missing out on stuff, his old friends called or texted but he rarely responded anymore.  It always seemed to happen at an inconvenient time.  Eventually, he joined John Howard for his evening workout as well, the results were great, even if he’d had to go up a size or two.  Walking around with pecs straining a dress shirt felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him.  Strangely, his buttocks were growing considerably, in strength and size.  But it accumulated a soft layer of fat that spread across, making him even wider.  He’d asked John Howard about it once, and he simply told him a big butt was better than a big gut.  And Henderson had to agree.  None of the men here had big guts.  Mr. Amplebottom had a huge butt.  And Henderson wanted to be like Mr. Amplebottom as much as possible.  More and more, Henderson felt extremely grateful towards his superior.  Not only had he hired an unqualified applicant, but he had acted like a mentor and guide and coach.  He gave Henderson more and more advice, about standing, walking, talking, and each time he came back eager to learn more.

“Stand tall, Henderson. Head up, don’t slouch.  Keep your hands at your side.  And don’t fidget.”

“A deeper voice commands attention better.  Be direct.  Contain emotions, you are better suited to appear calm and in control at all times.  There is no need to appear energetic or excited.”

“Wide steps, heel to toe.  Legs apart.”

-----

“Tator, Henderson,” he said calmly as he buzzed in.  It was old hat by now.  The security guard was probably the same one as before.  Henderson paid less attention nowadays to things like that.  He had noticed that the security uniform had slowly been replaced with something more formal.  The man wore a coat and bowtie along with his cap, looking halfway between a mobster and the world's most muscular butler.

“Good morning, Mr. Tator,” he intoned back as he let him inside.  Henderson felt the weight of his body as he walked, his chest stuck out and helped keep his chin up.  The broad shoulders made him feel like he took up the entire doorway.  And his big wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked.  He could feel the fabric of his pants tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side.  It was mildly arousing.

As he walked in, he greeted a few of his fellow coworkers as he walked to his desk.  Moments after sitting down, he received a call to head to Mr. Amplebottom’s office.

He stood at attention in front of the desk, legs apart, arms slack at his side, and staring directly into the grey eyes of his supervisor.  Amplebottom seemed to examine his employee for a moment before directing him to sit.  Henderson did, his increasingly wide and plump bottom expanding out, consuming nearly 3/4ths of the extra wide seat.  He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a large moose knuckle.

“The last sales were processed by accounts payable.  You did a good job getting every last dollar out of that disgusting building.” “Thank you, Mr. Amplebottom,” came the monotonous reply.

“How do you feel about the Theatre?”

“The Hemple Housing Porter project will be very profitable.” “Yes, but how about the Cherub Theatre.  It’s an old building.” “The lot is better suited for new development.” “Do you like theatre, Henderson.” “No Sir, I was never interested in art.” “More of a sports fellow?” “Yes Sir, I love football.” “Bet you were a big ole lineman back in the day, huh?” “No, I never played.” “I’m pretty shocked,” Amplebottom smirked.  “So, no hard feelings about tearing down a 100 year old Theatre.” “No Sir.  The development will be very profitable for Hempelbaum.”

“Good man,” Amplebottom kept his eyes focused on Henderson, maintaining steady eye contact.  “Well, looks like you’ve earned your first commission check.”  He pushed a small piece of paper forward to Henderson, who picked it up.  His eyes bulged and dollar signs flashed before his eyes.

“Holy crap!” “Don’t swear Henderson, it’s unbecoming.” “My apologies Mr. Amplebottom.  I wasn’t expecting this.” “Three percent commission can be an awful lot when you do a good job.  And your percentage goes up with promotions.  And good work like this makes me think you’ll be getting on very soon.”

Henderson thanked Mr. Amplebottom profusely and headed straight to John Howard’s desk.

“John Howard Johnson,” he said in a deep, slow voice. 

“Henderson Tator, what can I do for you?”

“I got my first commission check,” he said, flashing it for John Howard to see.

“Congratulations.  It feels nice to receive appropriate compensation.  Men like us work hard, we deserve to make money.”

“It feels great.  I could get a down payment on a house.” “Or you could apply for a membership at Rolling Acres Country Club.”

“Oh, no offense, John Howard, but I don’t think I’m country club material.”

“I think you’d like it, Henderson.  It’s very nice, and a good way to make connections with other successful men.”  John Howard flicked his wrists and displayed a set of ostentatious cufflinks engraved with the country club logo, a laurel wreath surrounding a tree with “Rolling Acres” written over it. 

“That seems flashy for you.” “I was accepted as a legacy member.  They only let legacy members purchase them.”

“They’re very shiny.” “Yes, too much for the office normally.  But I was very excited.  Oswald Laurence Carrington IV called personally to inform me.  It’s very rare to get a call specifically from the Director of the Board.”

“I’m happy for you,” Henderson said simply.

“Come golfing this weekend.  I know you will enjoy it.  I can bring guests now!” John Howard’s voice was still precise but there was just the subtle hint of mirth that made Henderson smile slightly.

“Fine, what do I need to wear?  I’m sure they have a dress code.” “Meet at my home before.  I will have appropriate clothing.”

-----

Henderson had thought a lot about Chester since his last time out here.  The spacious green lawns, gigantic homes, and expensive cars cleaned daily should have disgusted him or at least made his eyes roll.  Nowadays, he couldn’t help but imagine what life must be like out here.  There weren’t music festivals or concerts, but there weren’t smelly people vomiting on the sidewalk or polluting cabs on every corner honking loudly.  John Howard’s elegant home had a room dedicated for watching football.  It wasn’t even the media room, he said there was a room with a movie projector on the second floor!  This was just his man cave, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room.  It was bigger than the apartment Henderson was currently living in alone.  He’d kicked out his roommates a month back.  They smoked too much weed, it made him dizzy, and he could easily afford the rent on his own nowadays.

John Howard answered the door dressed exactly as he went to work.  Henderson had expected something more casual- he’d worn khakis and a pink polo himself.  Instead, his bulkier counterpart was embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits.  Henderson thought about protesting, but instead allowed himself to be turned into a Ken doll clone of his coworker, the only difference being the subtle patterns on the tie.  He asked John Howard if they were golfing like this, and he insisted they would be changing at the club.  Henderson wouldn’t imagine most people showed up dressed like this, but whatever made John Howard comfortable.

Henderson was glad he’d been made to change.  After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on.  Some of the younger lads were dressed in polo and khakis, but the acne and baby fat on their faces made him happy to not be confused with them.  They checked in and “Legacy John Howard Johnson” entered his guests name and they headed to the lockers to change.  John Howard handed him a pair of black trousers made of a stretchy and breathable material.

“You sure this one is mine?” “They’re identical.” “Oh, I’m not sure I’ll fit.” “I’m certain we’re the same size, Henderson.”  Which they were apparently.  Henderson was shocked as the pants expanded over his thighs, showing off the thick trunks he’d developed and the amble jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards.  They sat a little higher on his waist than he was comfortable with, but he didn’t want the pants to sag on the ground.  John Howard handed him a white sport polo with the clubs logo on the left breast.  Then he added a black golf cap.  Henderson had been afraid he might be wearing jodhpurs and knee socks, so the mainstream outfit was relieving.  They tidied up in the mirror, and seeing the two of them side by side, dressed exactly the same, Henderson had a bit of a shock realizing how much he looked like John Howard.  His body had filled out tremendously, broad shoulders and baseball like biceps, a thick but strong core, that overly wide ass that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats.  The biggest thing was his face.  He really could swear that his face had been almost heart shaped, but now there was a distinctly square shape to the thing.  His longish ivy league haircut gave him a more youthful appearance than his coworker, but otherwise he might have been a son or young brother.

As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Henderson could see a tall figure in the distance, seeming to greet them with a small wave.  John Howard returned the small gesture.

“Who’s that?” “Chadwick Stratton.  I invited him to play with us?” “You invited Chad?” “Chadwick, yes.  He’s been a friend since my fraternity days.  You know that Henderson.  I thought you would get on quite well.  Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people.  No one is a better connection.”  Chadwick was in stretchy salmon colored pants and a white polo exactly like the ones they were wearing.  He had a ballcap on with their college logo on the front.  Locks of blonde hair spilled under the brim.

“Hey bro,” Chadwick shook John Howard’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back.  For his part, John Howard tensed up but did not resist.  “Damn, you’re getting thicker all the time.”  He groped John Howard’s shoulders aggressively.

“Henderson, this is Chadwick Stratton.  Chadwick, this is Henderson Tator.  We work together in acquisitions at Hemplebaum.  He also attended college with us.”  Chadwick grabbed Henderson into a similar handshake to hug and Henderson felt a strange repulsion in his stomach.

“You look familiar.  Were you a brother?”

“No, I wasn’t,” Henderson replied.

“What fraternity were you in?” “I wasn’t.” “A big bro like you?  Damn, we missed you.  Would have loved to see you on our intramural teams.  Bruiser like you can definitely rough some people up huh?” He laughed playfully and punched Henderson solidly in the chest.  It didn’t hurt.  “Well, let’s play.” “Are we taking the cart?” Henderson asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts.

“Nah,” Chadwick reached out and gave both John Howard and Henderson hard butt slaps.  “Figure you two fatasses need some cardio!”  He laughed barkingly and John Howard laughed along.  “Kidding, bro.  I know dudes like you are all about that max lift.  But I still got abs and the ladies love ‘em!”  He pulled up the bottom of his shirt showing off the solid, smooth abdominals carved into his tiny waist.

Chadwick was extremely friendly and a little physical.  Upon learning that Henderson had never golfed, Chadwick took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Henderson’s butt and thrusting.  The boys all laughed at the inappropriate horseplay.

Henderson had a hard time hating Chadwick.  Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Chadwick turned into an incredibly friendly alpha.  The kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and fraternity president (all things he learned Chadwick had been).  And Henderson was just another one of his bros, dressed in expensive clothes, spending a morning on the course talking about work and finances and spouses.  He could remember specific events, Chadwick being horrible during the election season when he was campaigning for a fraternity brothers father, taunting an LGBT students group, and pissing on Tara Kissimmee’s car.  But his brain was giving each of these events a little different interpretation now: he was working hard to get Senator Mulligan elected, taunting the gay kids had been meant as a harmless prank, and he was drunk out of his mind with Tara and she never pressed charges so it wasn’t that big a deal.  Chadwick was just being a drunken frat- fraternity brother like everyone expected.

“Wife’s pregnant with the third.  I got started early!” He bragged while grabbing his crotch. “Chrissy Collop was always into you.” “Yup!  Her dad’s super rich, he’s president of the C-Group, that big currency trading operation.  Old, old money.  But how about you?” Chadwick got a mischievous glint in his eyes as he hand reached towards John Howard’s crotch and gave it a hard smack.  John Howard yelped as he grabbed his balls.

“Nut check!” Chadwick busted out laughing.  “But seriously, bro, getting those fellas ready?  Almost breeding season, boys,” he whispered to John Howard’s balls.  Henderson was kind of disturbed but John Howard was laughing and so he joined in too.

“What does that mean?”

“J.H. is getting married.  Missy Dorianger.”

“Congratulations!” Henderson said happily.

“Thank you. We’re finishing some final details.  Her Mother is very specific.  Sometimes she acts as though I’m unworthy.” “Missy can’t do better.” “She is a perfectly suitable spouse.  I am very pleased with the situation.” “Can’t wait til we can throw that bachelor party!”

“We’ll do something at the club.  I have no desire to watch you stagger around Vegas and hold your head while you vomit.” “It’s your party bro!  I’d be holding your hair for once,” Chadwick laughed.  John Howard rolled his eyes as he set up his shot and launched the ball.  He let out a whistle of appreciation.

“Good shot,” Chadwick and Henderson said simultaneously.  John Howard suppressed a grin.

“Henderson, I know it’s late notice but I hope you can at least attend the wedding.  The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.” “Thank you John Howard.  I’m sure I can make it.” “And if you get your membership before, you can enjoy all the fun!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and snagged at his nipple that pressed out firmly from the polo. The boys laughed and continued playing.

The locker room at the clubhouse was a lively place stocked with bathing supplies and also booze.  Henderson intended on just showering up and getting dressed, but John Howard and Chadwick were both sitting in their briefs (Chadwicks a traditional cut, John Howard's extremely high waisted to fit over his enormous rump) and undershirts removing the cork from a glass bottle and pouring three full glasses of amber liquid.

“Bourbon,” Chadwick said shortly as he handed Henderson a glass before taking a deep swig of his own.  Henderson was very confused about what to do.  He was standing in a towel while his two golf buddies relaxed in their unmentionables sipping on a bourbon that probably cost more than those obnoxious club cufflinks John Howard has.  He didn’t want to upset his new friends, and the financial connections they represented, so he pulled on his grey Hanes Boxer briefs (his growing buttocks had necessitated so many new underwear purchases that he was desperately searching for cheaper brands) and white undershirt and sat down.  Taking a big swig of the liquid, he did his best to relax, leaning back in the chair and spreading his legs as his friends chatted.

“You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot,” Chadwick toasted John Howard.

“You’re still better,” John Howard was already refilling his drink happily.

“Always gonna be, dude,” Chadwick laughed again.  “But keep trying.  I enjoy competition.” He held out his cup which John Howard dutifully refilled.  “Man, I’m glad you’re here, J.H..  I miss having some bros.  This club is great, but too many of the brothers moved away.  But at least I got you two!” Chadwick winked at Henderson and encouraged him to finish up as another round needed to be poured.  Despite his increasingly sturdy frame, Henderson hadn’t been drinking much lately.  He hadn’t been much other than working, but the alcohol was working its way through his golf dehydrated body quickly.

The trio continued chatting until John Howard excused himself to the toilet, leaving Henderson alone with a man he once thought of as detestable.  But this afternoon was fun.  He got a small knot in his stomach as Chadwick turned to him with a viperous grin.

“Henley?  Henley Tator?” Chadwick suddenly said, dropping his voice low.  Henderson was confused for a moment.  He hadn’t thought of himself as Henley in a while.  It was almost shocking.  But then he cautiously nodded yes.

“Please, call me Henderson, Chadwick.” “Oh, I will, Henderson,” he emphasized the name.  “You look good.  I was pretty sure I recognized you, though you look a lot better now.  Hemplebaum’s done wonders for you.” “Thank you, Chadwick.  I am very happy working at Hemplebaum Incorporated.”  Chadwick nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Henderson’s mouth.

“I like having fraternity brothers around.  It’s a real lifetime bond, ya know?” He took another deep swig.  “Something that really defines a man.  Who he is. Who he’s going to be.” He seemed to stare at Henderson curiously.  For his part, Henderson had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent.  “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother.  Of course, I knew Henley.  Not Henderson.  Not big strapping Henderson.”

“Yes,” Henderson stirred his glass and sat there.  Chadwick was slurring slightly, but Henderson wondered if he'd be able to stand up.  This drink was strong and Chadwick was pouring him a third.

“Now, Henderson.  What do you think Henderson was like in college?”

“I’m Henderson.” “Yeah, but in college you weren’t.  I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

“I wish I’d gone to football games.  I love football.” “Fuck yes dude.  Big guy like you played in high school,” it wasn’t a question.

“I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with.” “Yup, every game we had a part at the house.”  Henderson stared at him with glassy eyes.  He was confused.  It seemed like Chadwick wanted him to say something but he could only shrug.

“Would have been nice.” “I hope you apply for membership.  The club would be a good fit for you.”

“I really enjoyed myself.  It’s very expensive.  I was kind of looking into getting a new apartment.” “Where are you living nowadays?” “I have a two bedroom downtown.  It’s a heap, but I live alone.” “Thought about buying a house?” “I can’t afford a house in the city.” “What about in Chester?”

“What?! No, I haven’t, I mean, I don’t need a mansion,” Henderson sputtered as he spoke despite training himself to not.

“Not yet, but once you get a wife and some kids, plus Chester is right next to Rolling Acres.” “I’m not sure it’s right for me.” “It’s right for Henderson.  For football playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Henderson,” Chadwick smiled and let out a tiny burp as he finished another drink.  Henderson blushed, though it was hard to tell through his liquor flushed face.

“It’s hard to buy a house in Chester.” “I can set you up.” “Really?” The idea was setting itself in Henderson’s mind.  Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it embedded itself deep inside, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club.  It was always the goal.  It’s why he did what he did.

“I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” He poured two more drinks and raised his glass in a toast.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Chadwick said and stared at Henderson.  Henderson hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad.  He wanted Chadwick to like him, to be his brother, to go back and be a total frat boy in college.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long.  Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Chadwick smiled and the two chugged down their drinks.  John Howard showed up a moment later and plopped down while pouring himself another, though he was several behind now.

“What did I miss?”  The other two smirked and poured another round and the three K-Sig brothers passed another toast to their fraternity.

-----

Henderson woke up naked with a gigantic erection on the softest white sheets he’d ever felt.  HIs head throbbed like never before.  A glass of water and several ibuprofen sat next to the bed and he swallowed both without hesitation.  Looking around, he admired the pristine cleanliness and order of the room.  He was pretty sure where he must be, even if he’d never seen John Howard’s guest room before.

A white cotton robe laid over an old wooden chair, but no other clothes were about.  Wrapping the fabric tightly around himself, he opened the door and peered down an equally clean and quiet hallway.  He ducked back in the bedroom, helping himself to the toiletries in the attached bath before heading downstairs.  John Howard was dressed similarly, though the half closure of his robe meant that Henderson could see the waistband of his briefs.  He smiled weakly at Henderson and offered him a cup of coffee which he accepted happily.

“Where are my clothes?” Henderson croaked after a strong sip.

“Washing machine.  You vomited all over your suit.”

“Your suit, sorry man.”

“Quite fine Henderson,” John Howard let out a quiet laugh.  “Haven’t had a night like that in years.  Reminded me of our fraternity days.” Our fraternity days.  Henderson went to protest but found his brain muddled.  They had talked about it a lot last night, keggers, hell week, initiation, rush, all kinds of random details of fraternity life flooded his brain.  The memories seemed like his mostly, though they had a dreamy quality that he attributed to the hangover.

“Remember that party where Van Boegearden vomited after his keg stand?  And then he insisted on drinking it up again?”  Henderson laughed hoarsely and John Howard joined in. “He’s a congressman now,” John Howard added.

“Good, good.  Always knew he’d do well in politics.”  They both took large sips of their coffee.  John Howard was reading a paper but also had ESPN on, reviewing yesterday's college football.

“We missed the game!” Henderson moaned.

“We watched the game, Henderson.  At the club.” “Oh God.  They’re never going to let me join now!” “I wouldn’t be so sure.  Oswald V seemed quite amused by you.” “Which one is that again?”

“Son of the Board Chairman.  I’d commit that to memory.” “I have now.  Well, so long as he was amused.  Hopefully he can appreciate old fraternity brothers getting together.” “We’ll have to do it again soon.” “Hopefully often once I’m a Rolling acres member.” “I’m glad you’re going to apply,” John Howard smiled.

“I belong at a place like Rolling Acres,” Henderson said with a new confidence.

“Men like us need places like Rolling Acres,” John Howard replied.

“I’m going to have to call a cab,” Henderson said looking at the clock.

“I can take you.” “It’s quite a drive into town.” “I slept through church,” John Howard said, yawning.  “And I’m not feeling up to a workout today.  Besides, I thought I might take you around Chester first.  There are a few lovely homes for sale you might want to see.” “That would be delightful!”  The two men turned their attention back to the TV and their coffees, nursing the kind of hangovers they swore they’d never get again but always did.

-----

Henderson strode into the building swiftly, impossibly perfect posture, dressed in a charcoal suit and tie that he borrowed again from John Howard.  He noticed there was a new guard at the gate when he gave his name.

“Fine weather, Henderson?” the young guard, a redhead with a trace of a tattoo on his neck asked.  Henderson was appalled.  He’d ended up spending most of Sunday at the club, enjoying dinner at the men’s grill.  At the club, the staff spoke using honorifics and only used questions relative to their service.  He was deeply annoyed that this young guard spoke.  However, he buried that feeling as he hustled to the elevator.  He had a busy morning ahead.

After his workout, a grueling leg day that left him wobbly but his calves looked tremendous, Henderson asked Mr. Amplebottom’s secretary for a meeting, and his 9 a.m. was open.  So it was that he found himself standing before his boss's beautiful desk, arms at his side, staring into his eyes.

“What can I do for you, Henderson?”  Henderson had been trying to find the words to be concise but found that impossible.

“I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Amplebottom was suppressing a smug smile though Henderson didn’t notice.

“I want to be just like you.  And John Howard.  And the men at Rolling Acres.” “Enjoy the club?” “Immensely.  I belong there.  And here at Hemplebaum.  I want to become a partner.  I want to move out to Chester, in a house, not in some rubbish apartment in this squalid town,” he cast a disgusted look out the skyline of the window.  “I want money.”  That was low, deep and felt like a great truth awoke inside him.  Mr. Amplebottom smiled.

“So, Henderson, are you willing to fully commit yourself to Hemplebaum?” “I am sir,” he replied like a soldier.

“Excellent.  Well, I may say this suit is a good start.” “I’m borrowing it from John Howard.” “Yes, a good start.  You should get a dozen I think, at least.  Plus a few formal ones for special occasions.  Many ties and shoes.  New supports as well, you do look much better with your trousers at your proper waist.” “Thank you Sir.”

“A haircut.  I’m quite surprised you’ve stuck with the ivy league so long.  You are much better suited to something short.  Like mine and John Howard’s.  The part is a classic.  But I can set you up with my barber.”

“Yes Sir.” “Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your continued progression at Hemplebaum as well as your new social circle.” “What is that sir?” “Tator.  Just a gross, common name.  You agree?”  Henderson snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin.  “Personally, I’ve always been very fond of alliterative names.  It’s a nice mnemonic device socially.  And it looks so great monogrammed.” “You want me to change my last name?  To something with an H?” Henderson asked, slightly confused.

“Well, I thought you wanted to.  To succeed.” “Yes Sir.” “So you want to change your name?  To what?” “I don’t know Sir.” “So you want my help, is that what you are saying?”  The words were coming so fast and his eyes so enticing that Henderson nodded.

“Yes Sir, please tell me what my name should be.”  Amplebottom leaned back in his chair, clearly relishing in the moment even though Henderson had no idea why.

“This is my favorite part.” Henderson didn’t say anything.  His boss clearly didn’t want him to.  And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything.  “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be.  I was wrong about you Henderson.  I did not think you’d make it.  But here you are, willing and able.  And looking much better with the muscles.”  He reached into a drawer in his desk and produced something that looked like a ring box.  Ceremoniously, he pulled it open before Henderson’s eyes.  Inside were two silver and black cufflinks.  LIghtly engraved in the black was three vertical lines and one horizontal connecting them all.

“Henderson Harold Hearst. H.H.H.  Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking.  Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.  Yes, Henderson Harold Hearst, Jr.”  Amplebottom suddenly got a concerned look in his eyes and made even more intense contact with Henderson.  “You’ll insist on being called Henderson.  No nicknames or shortening it.  Certainly, not Henry.  Tell them it was Grandmama’s maiden name.  A fitting tribute.”  Amplebottom seemed deeply satisfied as he leaned back in his chair a bit.  His jacket fell a touch to the side, and Henderson caught a glimpse of his black silk bracer.  He eyed the waist of the trousers, noting the lack of wrinkles and the perfect transition from charcoal wool to starched, cotton white.  Nothing was ever out of place on his supervisor, it was probably easier when you had such a boring wardrobe, each piece fit together without thinking.

-----

Henderson had set up an appointment at Winston and Co. right after his meeting with Amplebottom. They booked him for a half day on Saturday, which seemed like a very long appointment but they had assured him that this would be a one time appointment to get a permanent account situated.  His palpable excitement made his workouts and work days fly by.  He’d reworn the suit he borrowed from John Howard three times.  It was remarkable how it made him feel, strong, manly, and also kind of plain.  He’d talk shop with other men in his department, bland conversations about work and sports and home, that he found uninteresting but comforting.  There existed very little variety among the men at acquisitions.  No one ever brought up a thoughtful or challenging conversation, the most confrontational it ever got was between rival football teams.

And so it was that Henderson showed at exactly at 8 a.m. in front of the delightfully antiquated haberdashery (as John Howard had called it) for the full treatment.  He was greeted studiously by an old man with silver hair and thick black glasses who introduced himself as Art Sebert and insisted on calling Henderson “Mr. Hearst.”  That name made his blood jump and boil.  He’d thought the concept awkward only days ago, but found himself spouting off the name with such a simple, natural cadence he might as well have been born with it.

Forced to strip down in a rather spacious dressing room fitted with a few chairs and mirrors, Art had offered him coffee which he happily accepted after adding some cream and milk.  His personal fears around nudity had decreased in the corporate locker room but it still took him a minute to feel comfortable letting Art assess his bare form.  But he measured every inch with such quiet professionalism that Henderson soon became quite comfortable.  Art rattled off small measurements as he worked, informing Henderson that he’d need custom clothing for life.  Henderson found his brain startled by that information, but an honest assessment in the mirror showed how true that statement was.  He simply wasn’t built like a normal person anymore.  His neck was thick and his shoulders cartoonishly broad.  The jutting chest gave him a permanently puffed up vibe.  Uninterested in cardio, his thick rib cage continued straight down into hard abs.  And then the true shock, his sumptuous round booty.  It looked unreal, not only were his hips and buttocks wide and strong, but somehow there was a gelatinous layer on top that wiggled and shook whenever he moved.  It was a shockingly feminine touch on an otherwise hyper masculine body.  Henderson loved his butt.  It reminded him of being a lineman in high school, it was just like John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s.  Ridiculous but masculine and prominent, it took up space, like a man should.

“Alright, Mr. Hearst, give these a try,” he handed Henderson two carefully folded white objects.  The first was an undershirt, quite stiff and recently pressed.  He pulled it on with little problem, the starchy material felt soft enough on his skin and he appreciated how there wasn’t any excess pulling or snugness.  Even better, it actually reached past his belly button, which was further than his current shirts were doing, but still seemed undesirable.  The next item was a comically cut pair of briefs, again seemingly starched and pressed, blindly white with a simple waistband with a thin blue line running halfway through.  Henderson’s mind mounted a short-lived protest that didn’t even exit his mouth.  He’d known it was coming, it was in the book, from his boss, even at the club.  It was just another way he was going to fit in with the others.  It was deceptively erotic, something overly personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in.  He pulled the cotton fabric up his body, watching the white fabric stretch perfectly across his rump.  He attempted to leave the underpants lying low, just above his hip bones, but Art stepped up and dutifully pulled them higher, keeping the undershirt tucked in as they stretched over the belly button, up the stomach, before settling just below his rib cage.  He looked like a strange sort of sausage stuffed into a bleached white packaging.  There was something about, so uniform and simple, that Henderson couldn’t stop himself from smiling broadly at his reflection.

It went significantly faster after that.  Art offered him a range of trousers of slightly different fits, making marks and eyeing alterations, seemingly finding the best base.  An overly starched, white button down slipped over his upper body.  Henderson let it hang open as he sat in his skivvies and shirt, drinking a whiskey the store offered, as a suitable pair of trousers were whipped up for the day.  Half an hour later, he was being ordered to button up his shirt, as silky black dress socks were pulled on his feet and the wool fabric of the pants began their climb.   Higher, much higher than his old pants, even seemingly than the borrowed ones, these custom trousers rose up until the very top of the pants rested just millimeters below the briefs.  The pants were already designed for braces, completely lacking belt loops, and Art adjusted them precisely, ensuring that his pants would sit at this exact height forevermore.  Henderson recognized something was being pushed out, some bits of color or variance in his lifestyle and perhaps personality as he allowed himself to be dressed like a doll, clothing cut and shaped so he wouldn’t even have an option on how to wear it, let alone what to wear.  It was a deeply comforting thought.

The process was repeated with the coat, explaining why he had been required to book hours of time with a salesman and tailor.  But they assured him, everything would be perfect afterwards.  All his measurements would be on file, new pieces would be created on a strict schedule to ensure he had neither too few nor too many pieces.  He enjoyed another libation as he waited, the old fashioned television in the room had been flipped on to college football and he delighted in sitting back and watching.  Not that he really sat back as it were, the stiff shirt and exact cut of his trousers seemed to keep him upright and tall, legs planted firmly on the ground, the crotch of his pants pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, head staring almost directly forward.  Henderson sort of laughed to himself about it, feeling slightly robotic, and enjoying the rigid pose.  It reminded him of John Howard.  And he liked John Howard.  He liked being like John Howard.

The cut of the jacket was phenomenal, even with a thick waist, his broad shoulders and bulging pecs required a fantastic V shape that made him look thick and strong and almost debonair, in a sort of boring way.  Art selected a beautiful silk tie, completely generic and tasteful, and made it taut around the neck.  He stepped back, admiring his work and checking the length of the cut of small sections as Henderson stood, militaristically straight posture, arms at his side, staring straight ahead.  Once everything seemed to be in order, he instructed Henderson to remove the tie, jacket, and oxford shirt.  He’d continue working as another man offered him a pair of house slippers and escorting him into a room that looked like an old-timey barbershop with two chairs.

The wall had four pictures on it of generic hairstyles, each numbered.  His barber pointed at number one and told him he would receive that cut unless he did not approve.  Henderson felt nothing and simply nodded.  The shearing began, his back and sides thinned and trimmed and the edges shaved smooth.  The top was reduced and thinned repeatedly, clumps of hair falling lazily to the floor.  Each time, the barber seemed to be examining something on his head, but he said nothing to Henderson, who was silent in turn.  Finally, apparently satisfied, he squirted a greasy clump of goo into his hands and began working through Henderson’s much thinner hair before combing it aggressively.  The final look should have been shocking, but Henderson seemed to have accepted it already.  His hair was now dark, short, and combed and parted within an inch of his life.  The product gave his hair of bright sheen that was the only notable trait on the otherwise generic hairstyle.  It was an exact replica of John Howard’s and Amplebottom’s and almost every man in acquisitions.  It was perfect.

The only thing left was a hot shave, which left his skin buttery smooth, and tingly once the aftershave was applied.  The barber briskly informed that all the items would be added to his order, so he’d have everything he needed to maintain his appearance.  Henderson thanked him shortly and was directed back to the dressing room.  The slippers were removed and a highly polished pair of black oxfords were slipped onto his feet.  He was redressed in shirt, tie, and jacket and Art began applying a few small touches.  First, his french cuffs were closed with shiny silver cufflinks, square, with a delightful HHH cut in them.  A white handkerchief was tucked into his breast pocket and folded ever so carefully so that the monogrammed HHH was just visible over the jacket.  A dab of cologne followed, smelling woody, leathery, and astringent.  They informed him he could leave today with undergarments, ties, and grooming products, and to return in three days to pick up a large order, twelves suits, twenty four shirts, plus two speciality suits (one in seersucker and a formal black) in addition to a tuxedo.  He shook hands with the salesmen who had helped him, feeling quite pleased with the whole experience.

-----

“Heart, Henderson,” he said curtly to the well dressed guard at the gate.  Henderson noticed that he was far less chatty than last time.  In fact, the security officer barely seemed to register Henderson as a person, and more as an item line to check off.  He marched dutifully to the elevator.  Henderson admired himself in the mirror as he waited.  Quite frankly, he embodied everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich.  Those commission checks had added up quite quickly, combined with incentives and the fact that Amplebottom had been hinting that he would be moving up to Associate very soon, so Henderson was feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, as he slipped how hands up and down the tasteful braces holding up his trousers.  Despite the fact that his clothing hardly moved an inch in any given direction, he still unconsciously attempted to pull up his pants and underwear, making sure everything was in place.  It was a big day after all.

Mr. Amplebottom took John Howard and Henderson out to a large lunch in a company car that was clean as a whistle and beyond luxurious.  As they stepped out of the Partner elevator, they were greeted by a strapping man in a full chauffeur outfit, cap, gloves, and jodhpurs.  He greeted the men properly before taking Amplebottom’s keys and practically running to fetch his car.  He held the door open militantly as each man entered.  Henderson stopped to give him a good look, there was something familiar about him.  Henderson realized this was the old door man from his side, although the corporate makeover and more servile uniform gave him a less threatening appearance, and his empty obedience was a far better look than the military scowl and tattoos that were once visible.

The car took them downtown.  Amplebottom had made casual conversation about work but the atmosphere in the car was mildly tense.  Henderson had never been invited to something like this and he wanted to make a good impression.  John Howard seemed rather himself, upright and professional, nary a mention of personal life unless questioned.  

They exited the car and Amplebottom led them into a high rise building with black reflective glass covering the outside, making it look kind of like a supervillain’s lair.  They rode the elevator up, stopping at the 6th floor.  Unfinished with not even a desk or chair in site, they ambled over to the window and looked out.  They weren’t high enough to have a great view of the city, but they did overlook one particularly small building below.  Police had cordoned off a section as a throng of protestors with signs seemed to be confronting them.  Behind the police, by the building, were construction workers.

“I thought you’d want to see the results of your hard work,” Amplebottom said slyly.  John Howard and Henderson stared down curiously as the protestors seemed to get louder.  He hadn’t been here in so long, Henderson was unsure what he was looking at.  The chintzy building was old and surrounded by expensive real estate.  His mind began wondering how much the lot was worth and who could possibly own it when John Howard spoke.

“Cherub Theatre,” his voice was different than usual, quicker and lighter.  Amplebottom smiled.

“The future site of Hemple Housing Porter,” he gloated.  “And it’s all thanks to you.”  John Howard seemed uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot.  Henderson just looked quietly.  Then something happened.  The entire building shook and collapsed.

“Well, it wasn’t very grand, I admit.  But that’s the start!” Ample said happily.  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two envelopes and handed one to each of the men.  Henderson opened his tenderly, wondering what awaited him.  It was a very formal letter, on thick paper, declaring his promotion to Associate with a new salary of 400k a year, four percent commission, and a new set of company perks.  Henderson practically came inside his briefs and when he looked at Amplebottom he was holding out his hand.  Henderson accepted the firm handshake happily.

“Wow,” John Howard spoke quietly as he read the letter.

“Surprised?” “Yes, I, thank you, Sir!” John Howard’s momentary trepidation was gone, replaced with a beaming smile and he shook both their hands with the energy of a toddler on redbull.

“You’re a little young, to be honest.  But I think you’ve demonstrated a dedication and promise that will benefit Hemplebaum for years to come.  And Hemplebaum rewards good employees, Junior Partner John Howard Johnson.” Amplebottom emphasized the last bit so Henderson understood.  J.H. had just moved into a whole new income bracket.  A whole new way of seeing the world.  There had been some trepidation, some fear, as he had looked at the theatre, but now all he saw were profit margins.

“I'm starving.  There’s a great steakhouse nearby.  I say we get some prime rib and bourbon and have a toast.”  The three fatasses business men strutted out of the building, richer and more content than ever before.

-----

Things had progressed really well for Henderson.  He was now a member in good standing at Rolling Acres Country Club, which meant he’d been bumped up from guest to groomsman at John Howard���s oversized wedding.  Apparently, everyone and their dog walker’s best friend had been invited, so long as their net worth was greater than John Howard’s.  Which is how Henderson found himself, sitting in an auxiliary dressing room with the rest of the groom’s party, in nothing but their skivvies getting toasted hours before the ceremony.  John Howard himself was maintaining a pretty stoic demeanor, but several of the groomsmen were going whole hog.

“Just brilliant, J.H.,” Rip patted John Howard on the shoulder again, his eyes were slightly unfocused.

“Careful, you’ll be unconscious before the ceremony,” came a stern warning for their co-worker Bert.

“Imma juss wishing my buddy all the damn- happiness in the world!  Hopefully, your marriage is happier than mine!”  Rip sat down clearly woozy.  Rumor around the club was that his wife did not “approve of his dalliances” like he had hoped.  He’d recently spent some time warning the college boys about the value of pre-nups.

“Have some water, Rip,” Chadwick said, forcing a tall glass of sparkling water into his hands.  Even though it was John Howard’s day, Chadwick did a great job of ensuring he was generally at the center of things.  He’d been the best man, the bachelor party planner, the one who got everyone to relive fraternity induction by sitting around half naked drinking whiskey straight on a saturday afternoon.  There was something deeply fraternal about the thing.  Henderson could recall himself and a few dozen other young freshmen in a similar situation as their pledge master and rush chair had guided them through a vow committing them to the fraternity.

“I’m ready for another, not you Rip.  You’re sitting this one out,” came a highly affected male voice.  It belonged to Oswald V, practically a guest of honor.  John Howard had been absolutely beside himself when Oz had agreed to be a groomsman.  Henderson was happy for him.  J.H. was definitely a social climber and at Rolling Acres he could not do any better.  For his part, Oz was charming and congenial, born into a life of socializing and money, he had all the natural airs of an heir apparent.  

“So, I got the bridesmaid situation worked out,” Chadwick leaned into John Howard and Henderson.  “Missy was insisting on Kitty Bell being third, but I got her to swing her down the line and swap in Millie Cashon.  Oz doesn’t like her, but fuck him, he’s married.  So, Henderson, I got you set up with the hot one.  And the single one.”  Henderson looked bashfully at the floor as the other two stared at him.

“Oh, okay,” he sort of shrugged.

“Listen, Huck,” Chadwick had taken to calling Henderson “Huck” because apparently all men needed a nickname among brothers.  “This took a LOT of work on my part.  I’m not saying you have to marry her, but if you don’t get to at least second, I will consider you a waste.  Also, I owe Missy a doubles game of tennis now,” John Howard looked horrified at the prospect.  “So, J.H. is gonna have to slip into some tiny white shorts and I’m gonna deal with a ticked off aristocrat.  So have some fun!” Chadwick slapped Henderson’s shoulder in a paternal fashion as he returned to keeping up the fun in the room.  John Howard and Henderson made awkward eye contact for a minute.

“Sorry,” Henderson said sheepishly.

“She’s hot,” J.H. appraised.  “Dad’s not worth too much, but he does have some great boats.  Might as well make the most of it.”  He tipped his glass up to Henderson who met it solidly, producing a harsh click in the room.

“Here’s to J.H.!” Rip was attempting to make a toast, seemingly recovered from his drunken daze.  

“To J.H.-John Howard!”  Henderson polished off his drink and happily accepted a refill.  Without John Howard he never would have gotten a job at Hemplebaum, he’d never been sitting in this room, drinking liquor that cost more than a cable bill, planning on making an offer on a home in Chester, and planning on how to get into Kitty Bell’s dress tonight.  Cheers to J.H. indeed.