#worlds beyond number tuesday

[bunniewaves]

The Wizard, The Witch & The Wild One (Are they in the order of the title, no but it's very cute) I'm thinking of making it into a mini print or a bookmark for myself

[porcelain-paladin]

Me anytime there's a scene is WBN with Eursulon's theme in the bg or his family

[whoopseydaisy]

On Witches, Wizards, and Wild Ones: A Conspiracy Board from the Walls of the Witch of the Wondering Path

Ahoohoo and crackle crackle!

This is an attempt of untangling some threads, stretching out their red yarn and connecting one thing to another or maybe to nothing at all. A series of notes and questions on what we know, what we may know so far, or at the very least what we have been told. The purpose is mostly to try and determine who might be behind the assassination attempt of the station of the Witch of the World’s Heart, before the Coven of Elders convenes, but also some other stuff, because these sorts of things balloon out quite quickly when one is combing through transcripts for clues. And also a dragon??

I shall analyze and speculate from what we have been told, knowing some inconsistencies may be characters concealing truths, interpreting them differently, or that some inconsistencies will be born of this beautiful improvisational medium. I will also do so knowing that Brennan is playing a long game, setting up characters and plot threads for a future he does not entirely know yet.

Settle in with your warm drinks and campfire blankets everyone, this is 12 page paper. 

THE CURSE(S)

There are several appearances of curses in both the Children’s Adventure and the first arc, often characterized by an exhalation of dark smoke. 

In the Children’s Adventure: While not confirmed as a curse, when Grandmother Wren leaves (to a meeting with friends that the wizards don’t know about, to see where the missing Eoighorain might be) to what is presumably a meeting with the Coven of Elders, she returns with a bandage tied around her forearm. But it does not look too horrifying and it is not soaked with blood. She describes the trip as eventful and necessary. (Possibly at the castle of Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars, as the conclave will be the second meeting there in a century.)

In episode 8, 2 days before Steel arrives to bring Suvi home, Grandmother Wren returns to the cottage after leaving to try and figure out why Soft and Stone have not come yet. She went to a place that they had told her was safe, and someone was there waiting to hurt her. Grandmother Wren tells Suvi “They’re gone now.”

Grandmother Wren looks ill; her hair is white and her hand is described as black and red and withered, burnt and cracking with blood streaming down from a wound that can’t set. Her breath is ragged, weak, and quick. The curse is described to Eursulon as not strong, but clever. He also learns that the curse uses her pain to keep the itself in place; that it gets stronger the more she tries to feel and deal with the pain. 

After the children work together to trap the curse and heal Grandmother Wren, Suvi recognizes the mist of wizardly teleportation magic outside. The girls just barely see Grandmother Wren’s footprints outside the door, but do not see anyone else’s, nor any other signs of entry. Suvi is able to tell that the magic is not Grandmother Wren’s. 

After investigating this caught curse, which Grandmother Wren at first believed was the work of the wizard, she determines the curse was expecting a wizard, and did not believe its origins were of this realm. She also says it should have killed her, but it didn’t, because they were expecting someone else. 

I was surprised re-listening that Grandmother Wren believed this portion of the curse expected a wizard. I think this curse may have been on an item capable of teleportation magic (no second set of footprints) perhaps meant for Soft and Stone, but when its target became Grandmother Wren, a contingent effect was triggered, or this is another curse altogether perhaps mingling with the larger curse on both her and Ame. Grandmother Wren thought Soft and Stone were spending the summer trying to find out who their true friends were - perhaps the Coven of Elders were also testing who they could trust. While “They’re gone now. Do you understand?” implies Grandma Wren whooping their ass 6 ft under the ground, she hadn’t figured out who cast it yet at that point, which leads me to believe that they were not present. The origin not being of this realm makes me think the origin of the curse is The Stranger.

In Ep 01: 

Here we discover the larger curse on both Grandmother Wren and Ame, when they realize a curse has robbed Ame of her memories and knowledge, of her station and of who she could trust and prevents Grandmother Wren from telling her about the Coven of Elders  or calling herself the Witch of the World’s Heart. Grandmother Wren breaks through the curse (but not breaking it proper) as it tries to “stop the coronation” by willing the house, and all that is hers to Ame. 

After, Brennan tells us “Grandmother Wren can no longer speak as she concentrates on magic, she has not fought off this curse”

Taro addresses the Granddaughters of Wren and tells them “The curse is powerful, but the secrets that Wren shared still live. You have been cursed too” and then, speaking of Wavebreaker, “But there is a key, a key to find where they are being kept, and a key to cut them free when found. There is a source with the power to disenchant and scry”

GrandaughterS of Wren - is Suvi afflicted by any part of the curse, or was Taro’s “you” only addressing Ame? Taro also says Wavebreaker has the power to find where the secrets are being kept, and the power to scry but this is not currently reflected in the statblock…but more on that later when we talk about the Stranger’s possible connection to Wavebreaker. 

We also learn in Episode 15, once Ame recovers her memories, that the Stranger had attacked Grandmother Wren at the Grove of the Well— a place sacred to the Coven of Elders, a month prior to her bed rest. She also tells Ame “For some time now, since you were a very little girl, in fact, he has been moving upon our world in a way that I cannot quite see.

Is part of the curse helping to obscure The Pilgrim Under the Stars, The Man in Black, The King of Night, The Stranger from Grandmother Wren? Did he start moving in such a way shortly after she took in Ame as her apprentice (which she was “cutting a bit close”) and the succession of her station was in the process of being secured, not going the way of either Scalvi, the Witch of the Watching Fire or Oruna, the Witch of the Wide Blue Sea? 

In Ep 14: 

In episode 14 when Eursulon breaks the curse on Ame we are told “Whatever entity placed this curse on Grandmother Wren and Ame put a spell so nasty that it was standing in front of successive contingent effects. That there’s like, a nested series of spells within Ame, and you’re excising all of them. But the big one that Ame was aware of was hiding some others” 

The curse afflicting Grandmother Wren at the end of summer, seems to be the larger curse affected both her and Ame. The children only excised and trapped one part of many of the curse. 

The curse is described as something sliding and clicking, liquid poison filled with a puzzle, turning from the inside, made of shadow. something that twists and rotates and expands and pierces. The curse is also holding onto something as it leaves - Ame is able to grab and safekeep the knowledge the curse attempts to steal from her on a Nat 20 wisdom save, and then collapses to the ground and expectorates black bile that smells of iron and blood, like Eoighorain, with a 9 on her constitution save. Her breathing remains strong, not ragged (unlike Grandmother Wren). We are told, through Suvi’s identify spell, that the bile is not the curse itself, but was behind the curse - something hidden there, meant to kill Ame if the curse were to be broken

Does the bile smell of Eoighorain because its a contribution he made to the curse (he is a known entity to the Coven of Elders), or a signifier of a power both he and Ame are affected by? We learn later, in Episode 16 when Steel discusses Eoighorain with Suvi, that this smell is not common amongst shapeshifter’s, but a scent she has only ever smelled from him. 

When Steel arrives she says that the longer Ame remains in her unconscious state, the more whoever created this spell would be able to track her. 

More on this in the next section- but is that why Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars was able to send a message to Ame in the Citadel so easily?

THE COVEN OF ELDERS

In Episode 23, Mr. Soup tells us that Grandmother Wren was at odds with the Coven for many years— there was a plan she did not want to go along with, and had been searching for a long time to find a way to convince her sisters to do something else. We also see glimpses of this in Episode 15 in Grandmother Wren’s conversation with Mirara, the Witch of the Waning Moon. It’s a safe guess that this disagreement has to do with Wizards and the Citadel. 

What Sly has divined regarding the upcoming Conclave (which we are told in glorious metatheatrical fashion in Episode 23 that “All things occurring as they have been seen. With perhaps one or two tricks, just to keep the story interesting.”)

That if Ame does not go to the North Pole in 3 days, the Coven will meet without her and that they will try to destroy her and in doing so the stations of Witch of the World’s Heart

One of them will make an argument that Ame’s existence threatens the nature of magic in Umora. The majority of times Ame wins that argument, it is because magically if they were to get rid of her station they would probably have to get rid of another. 

If Suvi is not there as her advisor, Ame will die

We also know from Grandmother Wren that there is much the coven can do without full unanimity (but presumably would be far less powerful to do so), and the Coven is bound by laws of mutual respect and there will be tremendous repercussions if one insinuates that any of the other stations are not incredibly significant to the nature of magic itself. 

But which of the members of the Coven of Elders might want the station of the Witch of the World’s Heart gone the most? WHO IS IN CAHOOTS? Is The Stranger involved? Is Eoighorain? Who has the most against wizards?

Marara, the Witch of the Waning Moon (Mirara? The transcripts use both spellings.)

The death of light, the end of might, the all consuming dread of night. 

This is the obvious first suspect. 

If that’s not a witch well on the pathway to wickedness, I don’t know what is.

The Witch subclass says of The Coven of the Wicked: “Members of this coven like to paint themselves as misunderstood victims, but it’s not tragedy that turns a witch’s heart to darkness—it’s the inability to let go of their suffering. A wicked witch might claim to be an enemy to all the world, but they always have one kind of person in particular—usually related to their past self, and what soured their magic—that they despise above all else. When you become wicked, choose a virtue that is anathema to you: courage, fairness, generosity, innocence, loyalty, kindness, optimism, prudence, selflessness, or being in love. Beings that display this virtue are especially tempting targets for your ire.”

Like…you can’t have a piece of such juicy and gorgeous and cool design like the Coven of Wicked (and the rehabilitation therein) and not have a wicked witch in your story! 

Additionally, Marara’s domain is the Witch of the Waning Moon. The death of light, the end of might, the all consuming dread of night. The moon wanes as it goes from full to new. When Ame meets her on the road, to light her way to the cottage, the harbinger of her arrival is a candle on the verge of going out. 

Mirara’s domain speaks to cycles, to the fall of the mighty and to the fear of the unknown. It is also of the night, possibly putting her in natural cahoots with The King of Night who also hates wizards. The conversation he has with Eursulon and the conversation Ame sees in the water between Marara and Grandmother Wren, both in Episode 23, certainly mirror each other. 

She is also often accompanied by wind, which speaks to Indri’s domain, the Wind and Stars, another one of night.

Indri, the Witch of the Wind and Stars

Of frost and stone, of ice and throne, the ruler of the self alone.

Indri’s domain is the wind and stars, a domain that also overlaps with an appellation of the Pilgrim Under the Stars.  In the letter to Ame she tells her she knew Ame has assumed her station from how the stars aligned. She has an apprentice we know little of. She also did the most to reach out to Ame to arrange a meeting. 

Did she reach out to Ame so it was more likely she would attend the Conclave? 

The ice fairies say when they find Ame and Suvi in the bathroom, “long lancing spells and vexing hexes of old were made to pierce and plunder through the guises and guile of wizards”

Were they able to reach her because Ame was easier to track when she was unconscious under Indri’s spellwork? Is it because she does not like wizards and is practiced at secretly penetrating their defences? The ice fairies were particularly silly, one being evidently foolish. Were they perhaps sent by Indri by way of her apprentice, who is lonely and excited to meet another Great Apprentice? “Hexes of old” does imply that Indri may be practiced at getting through Citadel defences. 

Does Indri have any pull over celestial movements? When discussing that summer and Eoighorain with Suvi, Steel says “all of that changed as the celestial path shifted ever so slightly. And that slight slight shift meant that all of a sudden, you could teleport anywhere, pretty much unstoppable, very easily.” Grandma Wren also speaks of stars to Ame like they  have personalities. Could Indri have eased the way for the eras of easy teleportation? Did she ever go on long and friendly flights among the stars with Grandma Wren? Is her witchcraft more divinatory? I think Indri falls on the side of wanting to stop wizards, but something in my gut says she does not want to see Ame dead. 

Hacaea, the Witch of the Woodland Green

The holly branch, the towering oak, the limb and leaf an thorn her folk.

We know little of Hacaea so far, but I think she’s absolutely in cahoots mostly because she would have perhaps one of the greatest motives to hate wizards and want them gone, on account of the whole them turning a great forest into a huge snowy, mirror-y desert and a wizard tower who’s aerith depository is probably doing kind of fucked up stuff to the biome. We know she does not have an apprentice and I think Brennan singling her out as the one Ame could imagine hanging out with was in part was that it would hurt more when she’s in ASSASSINATION CAHOOTS. Might have sent Ame the letter on bark.

Grimoire, the Witch of the Wild Hunt

Where beasts have tread and monsters fed, the bloody fang and maw hath led. 

We also do not know much about Grimoire. We know she has an apprentice, and has so far been characterised as much more feral and concerned with catching and eating things. She might have also sent Ame a letter on bark. I think there is more with her connection to monsters and possibly to Gaothmai, and Eoighorain?? Certainly there is more to her than meets the ear. Again I think Brennan could have been trying to be tricky in his comments about her, trying to make her seem less important early on than she will be.

THE STRANGER

Who has held his breath since the dawn of time, the Pilgrim Under Stars, the Man in Black, the King of Night. Who attacked Grandmother Wren at the Grove of the Well and who has been moving across the world in a way Grandmother Wren could not see since Ame was a very little girl, who came to the cottage the moment after Grandmother Wren passed when the station was at its most vulnerable and requested entry, and who does not like wizards. 

The strings I am most interesting in detangling here, are his possible connection to Wavebreaker, and his connection to roads which we know are incredibly significant to Grandmother Wren’s wards.

In Episode 7 of Children’s Adventure after the cast each takes a turn describing a detail of Wavebreaker Brennan narrates “So you have this moment together in the hottest days of summer as this suit of armor hands you this thing”. The next scene, after taking a moment to roll some ability scores, is at night.

Suvi then rolls a 3 on a perception check, “So with a three in perception, you look and see that you were mistaken. You look deeper at the shadow and it's just a shadow. But it was a scary shape from one of the trees”

Ame investigates the spot the next day.

Taro had said back in Episode 01 “It will help you find whatever is keeping these secrets, and perhaps whoever took them.” What if that connection goes both ways for a powerful spirit with so many titles? One who has taken care to obscure himself from Grandmother Wren?

In Episode 23 once Eursulon entered the fire, eventually travelling from the Citadel to actual Gaothmai, the Stranger caught up to him enough to have a conversation real fast. 

As evidenced above (if that figure of shadow is indeed The Stranger, but the point still stands anyways) he is also connected to the motif of roads. 

The final line of Episode 01 (which as the last line from the first episode, carries extra emphasis):

From episode 21:

From episode 22:

But in speaking of roads we must remember,

The iron shoe of horses. 3 iron nails sprung out of a signpost. Could a connection to the Stranger cause Eoighorain’s blood to smell like iron?

EOIGHORAIN

In my folders of screenshots, within the one labelled conspiracy, this one is named “the unexplained Eoighorain fragment.” As I mentioned before, Brennan is playing the long game- placing pieces on the board, but he could not yet know all the ways they could move. Eoighorain is placed like a question mark, with great manoeuvrability. He could go one way or another. Too many NPCs think him untrustworthy and it makes me wonder if he is the flashy distraction of a magic trick so we don’t see what the other hand is doing. 

This one goes down a few rabbit holes. 

We learn much about Eoighorain in episode 16 from Suvi and Steel’s conversation but also, from the diagrams (which are 150 years old, made in the first 50 years of the Citadel) of garrans, which are a creature of the world of spirit. We learn that Eoighorain’s name means “Of Garran” or “Son of Garran” and that iron was always at the forefront of his smell, with the party speculating that the iron is perhaps used to bind him. 

In Episode 15 Grandmother Wren tells Ame she has doubts about how loyal Eoighorain ended up being. Steel tells Suvi in episode 16 that she discovered recently, in the weeks preceding the start of the campaign proper, that Eoighorain was alive, and this is why she sent the books including the diagrams made to smell like him to Grandmother Wren, in an act of admitting defeat and hoping she would be able to find him where she could not. 

She says she saw him at Fort Keiran, doubts herself, and then sounds sure.

Why was Eoighorain at Fort Keiran? Because the revolutionary forces of Gaothmai are fighting the Citadel? Because he is working with the Cauntaranacht now and perhaps always was? A secret third thing? Was it even him after all? Was Steel about to say that exact same scent? Was their revolution successful and so their forces hold much more power in Gaothmai now? Is that one of the reasons the war is spinning up again? 

We see Gaothmai ourselves only briefly, in Episode 23. Eursulon, after falling and landing in an unfamiliar deep forest, meets monsters caught somewhere between spirit and mortal, left to fester— simian feline monstrosities, somewhere between a baboon and a panther with diseased scaly and mottled hide. Brennan describes it like a yard with attack dogs in it, who attack because of his citadel badge and who eventually leads him to Kalaya. 

(And sidebar I think he sees a dragon?? Is the war spinning up again because of a dragon? Was part of the Coven’s plan raising a dragon to raze the Citadel and everyone else? Was that how the world burned before? I just realized now that Eursulon saw a dragon and I am spinning up about it for sure.)

But back to Eoighorain, and Steel thinking that he caused the death of Soft and Stone, who Steels tells us were prolific double agents with connections in both Rhuv and Gaothmai that pay dividends to this day. 

Grandmother Wren tells Ame in Episode 15 that Eoighorain was one of the outside members of the Citadel to alert the Acadator to the presence of agencies, jokingly referred to as the League of Whispers, which were dedicated to the downfall of the Citadel from within. She also says “When Steel came to collect Suvi at the end of that summer, the primary targets of their investigation were dead or missing.”

Additionally in the Children’s Adventure:

Steel tells us in Episode 16 that the mission Soft and Stone were on the summer that they died was searching for a dangerous sorceress named Nahani. This was the first time that instead of her and Eoighorain protecting Soft and Stone, he alone was charged with their safety. When Steel returned to collect Suvi she came back with scars on her face, and a new cloak. 

Why was Steel left behind? Was she needed by the Citadel elsewhere? A matter of trust? Is she telling the truth? Did Soft and Stone leave Steel behind so she would not know they were possibly acting against the Citadel? Because they knew she would not betray it? Was she really not there, or is that a cover up? Is guilt one of the forces that pulled her to be mother to Suvi? I don’t really think she killed them but I am not discounting that possibility.

I think Steel believes this wholeheartedly, but I don’t for a second.

Stone is a very prolific abjurer, who also studied divination. Just saying.

Additionally, 

This little nugget in Gaothmai perked my ears up the first time it was said. Ket, you say? Like Suvirin Kedberiket? Like Aman Kedberiket? THAT WAS A CHOICE BRENNAN. IN A WORLD WHERE NAMES ARE VERY IMPORTANT, IN A CULTURE WHERE NAMES ARE KEPT SECRET. IN A NATION STONE WAS A DOUBLE AGENT FOR. WHO, 2 YEARS BEFORE SUVI WAS BORN, FREED A NUMBER OF SPIRITS, ONE OF WHOM WAS KALAYA, WHO THEN SETTLED DOWN IN GAOTHMAI. AND HE HAS A COLLEAGUE WHO IS THEORETICALLY A REVOLUTIONARY FROM THERE. A COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT. Anyways I think Soft is from Gaothmai. 

In conclusion: ?????????????????? I’m really excited for arc 3 because I really love witches and I don’t really know what up with Eoighorain, and I adore but do not trust Steel (but what else is new) and I do think there’s a dragon in Gaothmai apparently?? And I think The Stranger has a connection to Wavebreaker and I think Soft is from Gaothmai and I really don’t know if I can trust Indri or not but I hope we meet her apprentice and some more ice fairies. 

[thewizardthewitchandthewildone]

refreshing like an absolute insane person just to see if the new episode of beloved podcast dropped

[essektheylyss]

I'm listening to the new Worlds Beyond Number episode and I am OBSESSED with the fox trying to claim Ame planted evidence on him, I LOVE HIM. Delighted by this little bastard of a familiar.

Also delighted by Suvi's reaction to this whole situation, trying to demand answers from this poor, bewildered fox. I am in all ways but physical shaking her hand on, "I live or die in the particulars!"

[swordscleric]

I don’t even know where to begin with the latest ep, but the fact that Suvi rolled horribly, inviting catastrophe upon our merry trio, all the way until she stood with the Empire and the Citadel and ordered Eursulon and Ame brought to her is incredible dice-character harmony. There’s something about the justification machine of empire having spun up, that we have seen the horrors of the Kasov Collection and the raids on people’s homes in Haverward and yet - Suvi cannot take another slight to her Imperial authority. She’s right, the other two don’t listen to her. Why would you listen to someone who’s been on the brink of choosing the Empire over you every single time? Why would you listen to someone who is learning to balance the wonders of the Citadel with the reality of Empire?

[spacedace]

Reluctant War AU Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Everything I know about Flash and the FlashFam (& Flash enemies) comes from fandom and theflashmuseum on tiktok so fair warning on that lol

Sorry if Barry is out of character or things don't line up with canon. Canon is a stranger I think I passed in a crowded room once, I did not ask for its number lol

Anyway, time to touch a bit more on that whole Ancient of the Speedforce Elle thing yeah? Here be a sprinkle more of that and I promise there's more to come haha

Gonna start posting this on Ao3 soon, probably Monday or Tuesday, so heads up I may stop adding these parts here on tumblr once I do

---

It lived beneath his skin.

For a long time Barry had never believed in magic. His world was grounded, scientific, made of predictable rules and laws. Tools that could be used to explain everything strange or supernatural away as just another odd twist of the massive universe they all belonged to.

It took perhaps a little longer than it should have to admit that magic was as real as thermodynamics and gravity and atoms. That the world was a great deal stranger than even science - for all its own wildness at times - could account for. There were things that went bump in the night. Hells below and heavens above and things that crawled and clawed their way out from the places in between.

It was almost a little embarrassing how long it had taken him to admit to such things, when considering his relationship with the Speedforce.

A force of the universe. Like gravity or time, pushing and pulling everything along. Something that could be explained with all the familiar scientific concepts that had buoyed him along in life for so long.

Except.

Except.

Buzzing, burning, blistering. Not painful but felt. Making his hair stand on end, his fingers tingle and numb. Sliding against his veins, bouncing between scar tissue and freckles. Pressing out from the confines of his sternum, rattling against his rib cage as it shifted and moved. Twining around each and every vertebrae. Coiling over and under itself within his skull, darting along the paths of his neurons and nerves. It hummed in every cell in his body. Darted and danced in the space between the atoms that made up his very existence.

The Speedforce lived beneath his skin.

Lived.

Not existed. Not contained. Lived.

He couched it in terms of science, but science - despite his long time refusal to acknowledge it - wasn’t really able to explain the full scope of what he could feel. Not just the power of the Speedforce, but the…the identity of it. The living part that made it’s home in his body, existing in a way that was separate from him. Distant and indistinct most of the time, but…sentient.

He could feel it. Warm and excitable, delighting every time he tapped into it. Pushing him from behind urging him on and on, tugging him forward from ahead beckoning to go, faster, faster. Joyful in his victories, despairing in his loses.

It lived beneath his skin.

Until it didn’t.

He followed its joyful calls, pushed beyond what he should, what he knew was safe. Chasing that welcoming chant of faster, faster until he was there. In the Speedforce. More even, was the Speedforce.

He was everywhere. Beyond everywhere. In every possible everywhere it was possible to be. Every world, every universe, every multiverse.

To enter the Speedforce, to merge with it, was to become part of existence itself.

He couldn’t remember everything about it once he came back. He got flashes, sometimes, quick moments in dreams of places, of moments. What stuck with him most had been the feeling of it all. That had been the hardest part of returning. The sense of terrible loss, of having been surrounded by such a giddy, delighted, devoted love only to be pulled back from the heart of it. Returned to how he had been before, drifting at the edge of it all, it had been painful, agonizing even.

He…adapted, eventually. The sense of it all was still there, just distant. Something he’d come to feel he’d see again, someday.

It had been different, recently.

His powers were the same, he just as fast as ever, but…there was something…off. Changed. A sense that while his speed remained, the Speedforce had become, for lack of a better word, quiet. Distant.

He’d been having dreams, since it started. Not the quick glimpses of his time where he’d merged with the Speedforce. No, instead they were more nightmarish. Not nightmares exactly, though he felt like they should be with what they contained, but something else. Something that felt unnervingly real, left him confused and reeling when he woke with the certainty that when he opened his eyes he’d see the same as what his dreams held.

In the dream, he was in a room.

Cement and metal, hostile and brutalistic in design. He was bound in place, standing upright with feet and hands spread wide and locked in place within strange devices. Gleaming chrome and brilliant green, a painful thrum of energy surging through his body - not the Speedforce, something else, deeply unpleasant pulsing through every cell of his being and freezing him in place more firmly then the restraints did. Projectors hung from the ceiling, displaying images of landscapes, changing every ten second or so.

The sight of them made him nauseous, body shivering and spasming with the burning, agonizing need to go, but at the same time there was something distantly soothed by them too. Like a gnawing hunger abated with water and crumbs. The need for food not gone but the pangs diminished by the false feeling of being full.

In the dream he felt like he was dying.

In the dream he was afraid that maybe he couldn’t.

That he’d be trapped alive in that state forever, watching places he’d never see in person again as he was trapped in one place. His mind spiraling his Core splintering under the weight of it all, scared so scared. He wanted his brother, wanted to see the cement walls explode into dust and debris and see him there, ready to save the day like he had so many times before.

He just had to wait. His brother was looking for him, would have everyone in the Realms looking for him. He just had to hold on.

Barry didn’t have a brother. He only remembered when he woke, heart hammering in his chest fast even by his own standards, mouth tasting of bile and body aching with the need to go.

He hadn’t been sleeping much these days, even before the King of the Dead declared war.

It was having its effects, as sleep deprivation always did. His mind drifting, catching again and again on the dream, attention far away from the world around him. How many times had he been startled by someone calling his name, touching his arm? How many times had they given him a pinched, worried look that told him they’d been trying to reach him for longer than they should have before he noticed.

He was aware, distantly, of the glowering, stern faces around him. The flinty looks of his friends’ and partners’ eyes as they stared at the image of Waller’s scowling mug.

She’d declined an in-person meeting, hunkering down in some bunker somewhere trying to avoid the consequences of her latest atrocities. Or maybe just trying to avoid the very real possibility that one of the members of JL Dark might try to kill her for what she’s caused.

Or JL light, for that matter.

Bruce and Clark had their rules that they lived by, but Diana certainly wouldn’t hesitate to splatter Waller’s brains across the nearest available wall. In reviewing footage of one of the last battles - she’d been at the other one at the time, trying to contend with a ghost in the shape of an ethereal dragon - she’d recognized the spectral figures of Amazons long dead, fierce even in death as they fought with a warrior’s pride along side the rest of Phantom’s armies. They followed a figure that towered even above the Amazons, four arms and gleaming armor and a name that Barry associated with ruin and forgotten hope but who was so much more to Diana. Heroes long departed to the fields of Elysium, stepping out of their well earned rest to fight once more.

A few hadn’t survived the weapons the GIW shot them with. Barry didn’t know what that meant, for a ghost to die. If they simply returned to their afterlife or -

He tried not to think about the or.

They’d been going back and forth for awhile now. Voices faraway, muffled. The world felt as if it was underwater, blurred and cold. Clark had gotten to his feet at some point, Waller’s grip on a pen so tight on the screen he expected to see if burst at any moment. It was an important meeting, an important discussion. One he needed to be apart of, aware of, but it all escaped him. Sand held too tightly, slipping through his fingers. On the screen, Waller hit a button on the computer beside her and the image changed.

The world burned back to life in sharp relief.

The dream.

The room.

Cold cement. Projections of unreachable places on the walls. Chrome and green machinery in a configuration meant to contain.

It looked larger on the screen.

Maybe it was how small the figure held prisoner inside it was.

She was young. A child, no older than Superboy Jr. or Robin. She looked like Phantom - her father - but there were differences. Her hair was white, but it didn’t look like the spun starlight of her father’s. Instead it burned, the bright hot crackling of the plasma of a lighting bolt striking. Skin the blur of shapes caught just at the corner of the eye as you ran past, Eyes -

Looking at him.

The image had come up, a live feed - he knew it was live, knew he was looking at her where she was at that exact moment - and she’d been as he was every time he tried to sleep. Trembling and shuttering, eyes squinting against the pain, trying to stay open so as not to miss a single moment of the flat images imposed on blank cement walls. Desperate to fill the fathomless hunger burning deep down in the Core of her.

But then a shuttering breath and her eyes - the burning green of an afterimage - snapped up to the camera. Snapped up to look at him, recognition in her young face. And despite never having seen this girl before, he recognized her too.

The Speedforce lived beneath his skin.

She lived beneath his skin.

He could feel her there. Buzzing, burning, blistering. Not painful, but felt.

Not as felt as she used to be.

The image snapped back to Waller’s face, smug and self-satisfied. Talking - lying - about the how the girl was there, what the GIW’s intentions for her were. Barry was on his feet, but so was everyone else. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, could only hear static, the rush of wind, the crack of the lightning bolt. A call for help.

It was then that the alarms began to blare. On the screen someone rushed in to whisper into Waller’s ear. Bruce was running out of the room towards the Zeta tubes and Barry was right there with him and there was so much chaos around them, men in white and Gothamites and Ghosts banding together to rain terror down upon them and something massive and horrible and living towering above it all and Barry let go of that last bits of logic and thought.

Instinct, older than he was. The echo of a voice that had called him for years now, carrying him along, biding him forward:

Run.

Someone might have shouted after him as he left Gotham behind. He didn’t know.

All he knew was the pounding of his feet upon the ground, the wind in his face, the Speedforce lashing and frantic and hopeful burning and sizzling beneath his skin. Calling him further and further away until he stood in a vast, empty field staring at a single, rusted shack near ready to collapse before him.

He wasn’t alone.

Wally. Bart. Max. More still. Not just his family and friends. Eobard. Hunter. Thaddeus. Everyone touched by the Speedforce.

They didn’t speak. Bodies humming and thrumming, crackling with energy and intent.

Minds as one, they focused on the shed, the hidden hatch inside, the base hidden deep below.

The Speedforce lived beneath their skin, and no one was going to steal it away from them.

[mydearlybeloathed]

𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and zoro train together every morning, so it was only a matter of time till one of you got hurt (spoiler: it's not zoro)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: roronoa zoro x gn!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: requested, sword fighting, reader gets injured, artist!reader

The deck of the Going Merry was hot and blistering under the heat of the sun. You’d just taken a few steps outside when you turned right back around and bolted back below deck, grumbling as you found a set of shoes.

“Stupid heat,” you lamented, somewhat longing for the days you’d galivant your village barefoot without a care in the world. Now, you had a very many number of cares due to your new way of life.

Who knew piracy could be so stressful?

Certainly not you, but you wouldn’t trade any of this for the world. You may be fighting for your life every other Tuesday, but you were loved and cherished and that was something you treasured far more than the security of a home that didn’t jump on the waves.

Besides, the Going Merry was cozy once you got over the sea-sickness.

You raced back into the sunlight of daybreak, practically skipping as you headed up to the foredeck to meet the crew’s swordmans. You shouldn’t be so chipper to see him, after all he made it clear he didn’t want you intruding on his daily training. Still, you couldn’t help but admire Zoro in every sense of the word, and then some.

Nami said you were caught in the web of love. You only laughed, never once denying it, but never agreeing either. 

The swordsman was just about to begin running through his katas without you, almost daring to hope you’d slept in. He knew it was foolish when he heard your cheerful humming as you bounded up to him, and then he was daring to be relieved you hadn’t forgotten.

(He liked your presence more than he’d ever admit to anymore, and that was a very close guarded secret).

“Ready?” he said simply, always wanting to tell you so many things, aching to ask you questions so mundane they felt silly, but always settling for one word. You never minded; that much was clear from the way your smile warmed and your eyes met his unabashedly.

“Always.” You beamed as he handed you one of his swords, Yubashiri, and Zoro quickly averted his gaze. You pretended not to see right through him. “Are you?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.”

By the end of an hour, you were thoroughly exhausted, yet somehow feeling alive enough to run a marathon. You spun the sword around your wrist, a trick Zoro had taught you a while back, and giggled to yourself, drawing Zoro’s attention.

Caught offguard by the way the sun beamed down and highlighted everything he liked about you, and how your skin shimmered like glass with how you sweat now, Zoro couldn’t help but stare and pray you didn’t notice.

The gods must’ve been merciful that morning, for you turned your back to get a drink from your water bottle the next moment, only turning back around once Zoro had composed himself. Still, you must have caught the awkward stiffness in his shoulders. You tilted your head the way you did when you were concerned, like some lost puppy, and Zoro’s heart dropped. 

“You wanna stop now?” you asked without a hint of disappointment, but Zoro knew better. This was your favorite part of the day, or so you said. He hadn’t a clue as to why fighting him in the blazing sun was so memorable, but he never tried to come up with a reason why your smile was so bright every day. 

Either way, he would never cut this short himself, for reasons quite beyond him. 

“And leave it at a draw? Not a chance.”

That grin slid across your face, the one that told Zoro he’d wait for your every morning, even if you were three hours late, if sparring like this made you happy.

But then he made a mistake. He got too cocky, too comfortable—Zoro’s usually solid restraint wavered as you snickered and ducked under his sword, passing your hand over his side to tickle him. He stammered and jerked away, unable to help but smirk as he surged forward once more.

The next blow of the two swords knocked you off balance. You stumbled back, losing a solid grip, and raised the blade to parry another attack. Your sword faltered and clattered to the deck, but Zoro out too much power behind his move. The edge of his sword stabbed the air too close to your arm, and Zoro felt all the air leave his lungs.

Well, he thought it only caught the air until you inhaled sharply, fighting back a wince as he practically jumped away from you. Zoro’s sword was back in its sheath in seconds. He inched toward you, hovering a hand over your shoulder as crimson starting to spread from a slit in the material. “Shit, I—”

“It’s fine,” you said through a weak smile, rolling our your arm with a barely there laugh. “See? Just a scratch.”

“I’m—Sorry…” He searched for something better to say, eyes wide whilst you just grinned up at him, eyes all squinty. 

You knelt to pick up Yubashiri from the ground with your good arm, handing it back to Zoro as tears started to well in the ducts of your eyes. A pit formed in Zoro’s chest as he just set the sword right back down, holding you by your good shoulder. He ignored your swatting hands an delicately pulled up your sleeve, gawking at the less-than-fine gash he’d inflicted. 

His eyes darted up to meet yours suddenly; your hand was now placed over his, your gaze reassuring as you blinked swiftly. “Really, it was an accident. Don’ worry.”

Nodding, Zoro backed away silently, looking anywhere but at your face. “Should probably let Chopper look at that.”

You nodded too, waiting for him to say anything else, staying put for an awkward amount of time just watching him. You felt awful, really, even though you’re the one who got hurt. Hopefully, he wouldn’t beat himself up too much.

The next morning when you rose with the sun as you had every other day, you sauntered up to the deck with a sketchpad and pencil in hand. Zoro was leaning against the mizzenmast, idly tapping at the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji. 

“Hey,” you greeted, inwardly sighing when his eyes were instantly drawn to the bandage on your arm. You stopped short and tilted your head, a tired look in your eye. “Look. I’m fine. I know it was accident. Let’s just move on, ‘kay?”

Instead of answering directly, he nodded at the sketchpad in your hand. “What’s the book for?”

“Chopper told me to take a break until it heals over,” you said with a roll of your eyes. Confusion swarmed Zoro’s face.

“So… if you’re not training, why’re you up?” Everyone else would still be asleep by now, save for the cook if he was doing breakfast that day. 

You shrugged and nearly skipped to a barrel a few feet off, dragging it closer to where Zoro would be training and perching yourself atop it. You crossed your legs and set the pad in your lap. “I still wanna spend time with you.”

It was like you wanted to kill him, saying stuff like that. Zoro’s cheeks felt all warm all of a sudden as he cleared his throat, biting down on his lip to keep from smiling. He steeled his face with a grunt, muttering, “Back at you.”

Zoro might have shown off more than he normally would that day, and you might have ended with more sketches of him than needed. 

As the rest of the crew rose from sleep and lumbered into the kitchen, Sanji asked Nami ever so sweetly to alert you that breakfast was served, and you could stop humoring the mosshead. Nami rolled her eyes, grinning as she bounded above deck only to falter as she found the foredeck empty.

A quick search led her to the afterdeck, where she stood silently out of sight, spotting two figures in the shade of her tangerine trees. Your spoke with avid hands, holding your sketchpad up for him to see, and Zoro listened with a captivity Nami didn’t think possible of him. 

She chuckled as you leaned into him without realizing, distressing a frazzled Zoro. Eh. You two could probably do without breakfast. As strange as the pairing was, if you were happy, she was happy. 

And from the way you looked at him as if the very stars were hung in his big dumb eyes, you were very happy indeed.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s

[visceral-stories]

Inheritance

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

Ko-fi |Twitter 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh um..I just-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

POP! POP!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box— Luke’s Debut Edition

SERIES MASTERLIST

idk the dates they lived in toronto so this is my diy timeline now tysm

this seems moot now but it’s fine

TUESDAY, APRIL 11TH

yourusername

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes, and 8,643 others

yourusername tonight was a very special night for the hughes family, a family i’m proud to say has become my own. tonight, my favorite little brother, my favorite (for tonight) son, and one of my best friends whom i love so dearly had his nhl debut tonight and i couldn’t be more proud of him!

i remember sitting with you at jack’s draft and telling you, “that’ll be you next!” i sat in the stands during your games back when you were in elementary school and i remember you running straight to me after your team won post losing a few games in a row. you told me that you’d win for me next game i went to; and you did! you ran right past jim and ellen and shouted, “sissy, i told you i’d win for you!” i’m crying writing this out but it was too pure to not share during this moment. you won for me tonight, too, bubs❤️

i’ve seen you annihilate the collegiate hockey world, and now i get to watch you do the same in the nhl. it was a privilege to sit in those stands tonight and watch you take your solo rookie lap, and i hope you know how hard i cried over it. we’ve been waiting for this day since the day i met you all. i was there for quinn’s debut, i was there for jack’s, but being there for yours is a memory that beats them all. maybe it’s because i feel like a proud older sister and i’m younger than the other two, or maybe it’s because of how good our bond is. whatever it is, i will never stop being proud of you. you’re going to be golden, lukey moosey, and i hope you’re excited for it. i love you so much!

p.s. i can’t end without say congratulations to my soulmate! he best a 22 year devils record tonight with his 43rd goal! poetic, isn’t it? i’m proud of you and love you so much, jacky boy <3

with love,

sissy❤️ #RaiseHell

tagged lhughes_06

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lhughes_06 sissy, you’re going to make me cry! i love you too❤️

yourusername hurry home then and cry with me while we watch quintin!!

lhughes_06 tell your ex husband to get ready faster!

yourusername brb

dylanduke25 you DID make me cry, sissy! so proud of you luke!

yourusername i’ll let the sissy pass because it’s a special day! i miss you, duker!

dylanduke25 i miss you, too!

lhughes_06 thank you, duker!

user6 hughes curse broken…?

_alexturcotte so proud of you lil bro! you are the superior hughes! @/lhughes_06💯💯

yourusername me and ellen are the superior hughes’s but it’s lukey moosey’s night so i’ll let it slide

lhughes_06 thank you, turc! miss you!

lhughes_06 @/yourusername you really are the superior hughes

jackhughes facts

_alexturcotte facts

_quinnhughes facts

user92 the stories in the caption i can’t

jackhughes i am beyond proud of you, lukey! you’re going to do amazing things for the devils and the league! love you! (sissy, please don’t have us all crying on the couch)

lhughes_06 thanks, jacky! love you, too. (you’ve met sissy, right?)

yourusername (reminder that lukey moosey said the same thing to me after his first umich win)

jackhughes (FUCK)

_quinnhughes (i don’t cry, so don’t make me)

lhughes_06 (psa i did tell sissy i’d win for her tonight just like that game)

_quinnhughes (this is fine)

umichhockey that’s our boy!

user77 i’m crying oh my god

edwards.73 @/lhughes_06 we all watched your game together! so proud of you, bro! can’t wait to join you!

yourusername lukey’s debut already killed me don’t remind me of yours! rude head

lhughes_06 thank you, eddy! you’ll love it here!

edwards.73 @/yourusername i’m sorry…?

lhughes_06 @/edwards.73 correct

yourusername @/edwards.73 i accept your apology, child number two

user6 new lore just dropped and it’s a tear jerker😭 so proud of you, luke!

_quinnhughes i remember that game! he was excited for days after. i’m proud of you, lukey! i’ll be hiding in the stands during playoffs! i love you! @/lhughes_06

lhughes_06 i love you, too, quinny

yourusername big brother of the year alert (kinda)

jackhughes @/yourusername you can sleep outside

yourusername @/jackhughes mom would have you sleep outside before me

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes that is true

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes stone cold fact

user22 congratulations luke!

trevorzegras @/lhughes_06 i’m proud of you, bud! congratulations on your debut! go ahead and cry my girlfriend out so she runs out of tears when she comes home!

lhughes_06 thanks, z! and i’ll break out more elementary school me stories for you

trevorzegras thank you for your service🫡

yourusername @/lhughes_06 @/trevorzegras we aren’t friends/dating/siblings/mom and son for the next fifteen minutes

trevorzegras @/lhughes_06 look what you did

lhughes_06 @/trevorzegras LOOK WHAT YOU DID

user38 i might be crying harder than y/n

yourusername you can try, but you will not succeed

nicohischier proud of you, luke! can’t wait to see what you do here!

lhughes_06 thank you!

yourusername nico!!! light of my life!!! welcome to my comment section!!! i love you sm come cuddle!!

nicohischier @/yourusername i love you, too! and okay, sure

jackhughes @/nicohichier careful she clings

jamie.drysdale @/jackhughes when did she start climbing under shirts to cuddle

jackhughes @/jamie.drysdale quinn

_quinnhughes she was scared of storms when she was younger, okay! @/jackhughes @.jamie.drysdale

mackie.samo go little rockstar

lhughes_06 heading for our last fight before our worlds part

yourusername that lyric would’ve been suitable post frozen four semi finals but do your thing baby smurf

lhughes_06 i will thank you

mackie.samo he will thank you

_quinnhughes added this to their story

jackhughes added this to their story

[90-ghost]

here is a poem by polish poet Zbigniew Herbert

Report From The Besieged City

Too old to carry arms and fight like the others - they graciously gave me the inferior role of chronicler I record - I don't know for whom - the history of the siege I am supposed to be exact but I don't know when the invasion began two hundred years ago in December in September perhaps yesterday at dawn  everyone here suffers from a loss of the sense of time all we have left is the place the attachment to the place we still rule over the ruins of temples spectres of gardens and houses if we lose the ruins nothing will be left I write as I can in the rhythm of interminable weeks monday: empty storehouses a rat became the unit of currency tuesday: the mayor murdered by unknown assailants wednesday: negotiations for a cease-fire the enemy has imprisoned our messengers  we don't know where they are held that is the place of torture  thursday: after a stormy meeting a majority of voices rejected  the motion of the spice merchants for unconditional surrender  friday: the beginning of the plague saturday: our invincible defender N.N. committed suicide sunday: no more water we drove back an attack at the eastern gate called the Gate of the Alliance all of this is monotonous I know it can't move anyone I avoid any commentary I keep a tight hold on my emotions I write about the facts  only they it seems are appreciated in foreign markets  yet with a certain pride I would like to inform the world that thanks to the war we have raised a new species of children our children don’t like fairy tales they play at killing awake and asleep they dream of soup of bread and bones just like dogs and cats in the evening I like to wander near the outposts of the city along the frontier of our uncertain freedom. I look at the swarms of soldiers below their lights I listen to the noise of drums barbarian shrieks truly it is inconceivable the City is still defending itself the siege has lasted a long time the enemies must take turns nothing unites them except the desire for our extermination Goths the Tartars Swedes troops of the Emperor regiments of the Transfiguration  who can count them  the colours of their banners change like the forest on the horizon from delicate bird's yellow in spring through green through red to winter's black and so in the evening released from facts I can think  about distant ancient matters for example our friends beyond the sea I know they sincerely sympathize they send us flour lard sacks of comfort and good advice they don’t even know their fathers betrayed us our former allies at the time of the second Apocalypse their sons are blameless they deserve our gratitude therefore we are grateful they have not experienced a siege as long as eternity those struck by misfortune are always alone the defenders of the Dalai Lama the Kurds the Afghan mountaineers  now as I write these words the advocates of conciliation have won the upper hand over the party of inflexibles a normal hesitation of moods fate still hangs in the balance cemeteries grow larger the number of defenders is smaller yet the defence continues it will continue to the end and if the City falls but a single man escapes he will carry the City within himself on the roads of exile he will be the City we look in the face of hunger the face of fire face of death worst of all - the face of betrayal and only our dreams have not been humiliated

❤️❤️

[veggie9961]

The Third House

The third house is a place of action. 3 is an active number. It is often associated with activity, manifestation, connection and creativity.

When it comes to the zodiac signs, number 3 is Gemini, which can be associated with the ideas of connection and activity. We can learn a lot about the third house, the house of activity, from analyzing Gemini, the sign of activity.

Gemini is the immediate Air sign, and it's mutable. It operates on the immediate, flexible capacity of its logic and perception. It represents agility, calculation, imitation, and adaptation. This gives the third house its rulership over the mind, memory, and expression.

Ultimately, Gemini is an Air sign that wants to externalize its overthinking to be at ease with itself and with around it. The third house is how we seek ease. It operates on externalizing responses and connections. As such, it represents trains of thought, words, reading, talking, gossip, conversation.

Gemini also famously represents twins or fraternity. This symbolism illuminates the third house's connection to siblings, cousins, next-door neighbors, best friends or childhood friends, lovers, community members and comrades. These are people with whom we can find ease and escape our insecurities.

Finally, Gemini loves information. Smart, sharp, and cynical, this Mercury-ruled sign associates the third house with learning. The third house represents receiving an elementary education. All early or foundational learning experiences are here: K-12 education, training workshops, summer classes, living-learning communities and lower-division education.

Beyond the associations of Gemini, we can understand the third house by taking a look at the ancient scheme of houses.

In the ancient scheme, we are born under the earth. The fourth house represents birth or conception, home, parents, and family. It represents the comfortable, protected world of our most trusted family. Since this scheme is analyzed clockwise, the next house after the fourth house is the third house, which is quite interestingly named Goddess.

We have already discussed the third house's connections to communication, expression, intellect, and learning. The ancient scheme introduces a sense of local community. The child is born inside the safe and comfortable fourth house; her parents send her outside to play in the local community---school, friends, neighborhood. In the community, she makes friends, interacts with neighbors, and embarks and learns about the world and finds her core memories. The third house represents a child's learning about the world. Walking, eating, breathing---life's simple things. Simple activities, along with exploring the community, can make up our entire world during childhood.

But community exploration can be an adult thing too. Let's focus on the name of the third house---Goddess. Why would the Goddess (the Moon) choose this house as her temple? Well, there is naturally a divine magic to learning and information, and to the childlike experience of the world, but beyond that, there is a sense of comfort in the community which I feel appeals to the Goddess.

In the third house, there is a sense of ritual. A bus route you take every Tuesday. Walking by that bench and crossing this street to get to the bookstore. Commute and transportation on schedule. A daily scone that you grab on the way to work. Ritual in this sense, and perhaps in general, is comforting. At the weekly farmers market, people mingle at ease with the same friends and neighbors from the locality. Local vendors go about their small businesses mindlessly. People run their errands, children doodle in the grass and fly kites, queers flirt and frolic, friends grab a bite, elders walk, teens gossip. There's something really nostalgic about it all.

This idea of memory and comfort and familiarity in the community feels almost Cancerian. This is why the Moon rejoices in the third house, in the traditional scheme of planetary joys (see the diagram above). This is part of why the third house is so important. A lot of comfort can be found in a healthy locality. Recent feminist scholars in the field of urban studies have advocated for the replacement of our patriarchal view of the city with a matriarchal view. Today's cities are not loving or nurturing, they place cold, alienating, isolating, exploitative and White cis-heteropatriarchal expectations on people, upholding the system of industrial global neoliberalism. Cities need to be more localized, affordable, inclusive and comfortable for the unhoused, for the working class, and for women, queer people and racial minorities. The Moon rejoices in the local, inclusive, comforting space envisioned by the third house. Urban planners should take inspiration from that. Providing protective comfort and care along with a healthy democracy for natives, immigrants and marginalized groups (and for the environment) should be the central purpose of a city, not profit. Sorry I'm an urban planning major and I'm super passionate about this.

To sum it all up, here's a list of the indications of the third house.

action, the mind, memory, expression, thought, words, reading, talking, conversation, eating, walking, breathing, childhood, siblings, cousins, neighbors, best friends, childhood friends, community members, comrades, learning, receiving an elementary education, local community, neighborhood, sense of comfort in the community, ritual, commute, transportation, small businesses, people

At this point, I'm gonna shift over to discuss placements in the third house. Please take what resonates!

Gemini risings / Sun in the third house

you feel proud about your intellect and conversational skills

your ego is in your mind

you holistically identify with your mind and your mindset

you had a lot of fun in the early part of your life, and you continue to have the most fun with those friends or in a small circle or community

you think and speak in a way that garners you attention and validation; you are popular

Taurus risings / Moon in the third house

you're great at verbalizing or acting out your emotions; this makes you a comforting person to be around, but you can be manipulative

you feel safe equipping yourself with different perspectives--you want to see all sides of a situation intuitively

you feel comforted by small errands, commute, and activity

some of your childhood memories are comforting and deeply important to you; you continue to feel like you belong most in a smaller social circle or in a local community

you crave validation for your manner of thinking

Aries and Cancer risings / Mercury in the third house

you're a sharp thinker, a fast, dynamic conversationalist, and you learn quickly because your logic is sharp and precise

you're very present and detail-oriented in your mindset and skillset, which makes you smart and crafty, but can cause you to spiral into depression or anxiety

you were a smart student in school, and you continue to tap into your intelligence in small circles, community spaces, or with siblings and close friends

you keep your intellect and thinking to yourself, perhaps due to anxiety, but you have an affinity for expressing yourself through words

Pisces and Leo risings / Venus in the third house

you're great at balancing several different perspectives, but your mindset can uphold conventional values or standards

you think and express yourself with others in mind, with caution

you experienced luxury in your schooling, childhood, social circles, and there were expectations that came with it

you're a calm, elegant, adaptable communicator, well-received in social circles and in the community

Aquarius and Virgo risings / Mars in the third house

you strongly identify with how you instinctively learn and think; you have learned to be defensive of your thinking

your mind is raw, destructive, and powerful; it's an angry force that can feel dominating, but causes others to re-evaluate their mindsets

you are known for your fierce individuality and raw honesty within the local community or in small circles

you are fiercely loyal and protective over close friends and siblings, over your view of your childhood memories, and the community

Capricorn and Libra risings / Jupiter in the third house

you are a deep, philosophical, and wise thinker who collects information with awareness of the bigger picture

you may rely on intuition rather than acute logic when it comes to daily speaking, activity, errands

you see broadly and often have higher ideals in mind when making decisions

you were mature and expansive at a young age, and you are a figure that people know in the community or in social circles

you may present as unintelligent or dissociated at first, but people find that your mind is always expanding

Sagittarius and Scorpio risings / Saturn in the third house

you are a disciplined and innovative thinker who has the capacity to gain a unique control over your mind

you submit to your own awareness and what you carefully derive

you feel comfortable doing things on terms that you define

you may speak in a way that is unique and different in an either alluring or isolating way

you might have felt restricted, anxious, awkward, or repressed in your childhood, and you can continue to feel that way inside, with siblings, in school or community settings, or in conversation

you are highly aware of the objective truth of the things you say, or the deep ideals of obligation underlying your actions

Sagittarius risings / Uranus in the third house

your mindset, thoughts, word choices and interests are often out-of-the-box or unconventional; you might be a geek or a nerd

you were a visionary, idealist child who knew that the world could be changed, but you might feel disconnected because you've always thought differently

you have a revolutionary mindset which you can share with the community to inspire the change you want to see

Capricorn risings / Neptune in the third house

you were a mystical child, drawn to the arts, mysticism, spirituality

your thinking is deeply intuitive and actively connected to your subconscious; you struggle with feeling present and using logic when thinking, speaking, learning or doing

you reveal an intuitive, kind side of yourself with siblings, close friends, within small circles, or in the local community

Virgo risings / Pluto in the third house

you change people with your words; you invoke ideological upheaval and transformation within yourself and within others by confronting the reality of the facts

your words are deep-cutting and powerful, which gives you the control; you feel powerful inside

though you might have felt more actively in touch with your change and power during your childhood, your expression still has a quality which demands submission, especially within your closest circles

your childhood was full of massive power struggle and upheaval

as you make mistakes and learn, even if you leave destruction in your wake

Cancer risings / Chiron in the third house

you are giving with your mind and actions because of the emotional wounds you received in your childhood

you might have had traumatic incidents very early in your childhood, which caused you take on the role of a healer

you are destined to discover healing in your life through your mindset and actions, with your closest friends and siblings, and by serving your community

Virgo risings / Lilith in the third house

you engage petty fighting, manipulation, lying, twisting your words, or bullying, especially to fulfill your desires, assert your power, or get to know someone deeper

you might have had a sibling, cousin, or close friend who you were unfairly compared to in your childhood, which introduced jealousy

you have a gift for communication; your uncontrolled expression is one of your most attractive qualities, people find it very alluring

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

[CN] Victor’s Carbon Pen and Glass Bead Event (Day 1)

⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for content yet to be released on the global server! ⌚

✦ thursday || friday || saturday || sunday || monday || tuesday || wednesday

【High School Affiliated to Loveland University Second Year (Section 1) Semester Schedule - Thursday】

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈

[Tidbits]: To not break the flow, gonna put the note first– in the first dialogue, Victor’s classmates address him as “老李” (Lao Li)~ the way I hate English vocabulary at times like this LMAO the term “老” here is used as a teasing remark by his classmates to express their respect/ honor for him sarcastically given that not only he’s ahead of the crowd but he acts far too mature beyond his years as well~😂

—

[MATH]:

“Sir Vic, what answer did you get for the second-to-last question?”

“Square root of 2.”

“OK! Now, what option did you choose for the tenth question?”

“I chose option C, but I’m not sure.”

“It should be option A… P is the symmetric point with respect to the straight line x-y=0…”

For the math teacher who loves giving impromptu quizzes, getting the students to engage in discussions during the ten-minute break is also one of their “conspiracies.”

—

[BIOLOGY]:

Looking at the textbook he’s already highlighted with the key points long ago, Victor takes out a collection of competition-grade questions that are carefully sorted to align with the relevant exam topics. As he listens, he begins contemplating the problems.

—

[CHINESE]:

Everyone is on their “best behavior” during the homeroom teacher’s class. The beaming woman is speaking eloquently on the stage, while Victor looks down at a reading comprehension analysis. He finds that he understands it even better than the original writer.

There are so many incomprehensible things in this world.

—

[CHEMISTRY]:

There are less than ten minutes to go until the end of the class. Glancing from afar, Victor notices that Zheng Xi, who is seated near the front door, already seems to be in a stance ready to bolt at any moment. Victor can’t help but feel hungry as he feels himself being infected by the sight.

—

[PHYSICS]:

Is it really possible for anyone to stay alert and not feel sleepy in the first class of the afternoon?

Yes, Victor doesn’t feel sleepy in the slightest.

—

[MUSIC]:

“Aside from focusing on studies, I hope that everyone can enhance their perception of various forms of “aesthetics.” This semester in music class, the teacher aims to create a platform for self-expression, where each student can showcase their talents through musical instrument performances, singing, or dancing. Last week, several students performed exceptionally well. Now, we’ll continue with the presentations in order of student numbers. Up next is student number 23.”

“Does the vice class monitor know how to play the piano?”

“I’m not sure, I’ve never seen him playing it.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...Thank you, Victor, for your performance. Music is a form of self-expression. But, next time, perhaps you can also consider singing a song?”

—

[ENGLISH]:

Led by the arrangement of the passionate young teacher, the class is divided into multiple small groups, each assigned to perform different roles based on the textbook content. However––

With a sense of resignation, Victor touches the curly wig on his head and remains silent for a moment. Despite so, he still earnestly delivers the lines of the judge.

“I’m already a mature high school student,” he thinks to himself, feeling at a loss for words.

—

[ENGLISH]:

One of the biggest benefits of the campus activities on Thursday is that Victor can seamlessly participate in the Model United Nations (MUN) right after his English class.

Even if one practices their lines in advance, no one will raise an eyebrow. The school administration teacher is really nice.

──────

✧ next stop: Friday

─────────

[mariacallous]

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu warned of a “long war” in a recorded address on Tuesday as the country’s warplanes continued to pound the densely populated Gaza Strip. In the three weeks since Hamas’s rampage left more than 1,400 Israelis dead, the country’s top officials have maintained their intent to wipe Hamas “off the face of the earth.”

After 16 years in power, Hamas is deeply entrenched in the Gaza Strip. Regional experts have questioned Israel’s ability to dislodge the militant group in its entirety. Even if Israel were to succeed in toppling Hamas, it would leave a governance and political vacuum in its wake and a humanitarian crisis of unthinkable proportions. Already, more than 9,000 people have been killed in Gaza, according to the local health ministry, which is run by Hamas, but whose numbers have been historically reliable. Among the dead are more than 3,500 children, according to the United Nations.

But what comes after the war? Israeli officials have said little about their plans for the enclave and its 2.1 million residents. In this regard, they have evoked comparisons to the way that the United States went into Iraq and Afghanistan.

Foreign Policy spoke to almost a dozen current and former U.S. and Israeli diplomats and intelligence officials, Palestinian scholars, and regional experts about the future of Gaza. All expressed deep uncertainty, but through political, security, and diplomatic roadblocks, a set of grim scenarios begins to emerge, almost by a process of elimination.

“There’s no fantastic options here. You’re in the zone of what I would call, to put it gently, suboptimal options,” said David Makovsky, who was a senior advisor to the special envoy for Israeli-Palestinian negotiations at the U.S. State Department.

Can Israel Actually Destroy Hamas?

Projections for what is to come in Gaza start bleakly and get worse from there. A ground invasion of the enclave, a thicket of densely packed high-rise buildings, has been compared to the battle against the Islamic State in Mosul, Iraq, in 2016, which saw some of the world’s most punishing urban warfare since World War II.

Except in Gaza, it could be worse. Hamas has had years to entrench its positions in hundreds of miles of tunnels buried underground. The militant group has been known to stake out positions next to schools, hospitals, and mosques, further complicating matters for Israeli targeting. Already, the ferocity of Israel’s bombing campaign has exceeded the most intense rounds of airstrikes used in the U.S.-led coalition battle for Mosul.

“Almost by definition, the Israeli military objective can only be achieved by leveling significant parts of Gaza,” said Frank Lowenstein, a former special envoy for Israeli-Palestinian negotiations for the U.S. State Department.

The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) have repeatedly called on 1 million people to evacuate from Northern Gaza, warning that any who stay will be regarded as an “accomplice” of Hamas. Some 350,000 civilians remain, according to Israeli estimates. Some are too old or sick to be moved; others fear that they will never be allowed to return. Those who have fled to the south have still come under bombardment as Israeli airstrikes have struck throughout the Gaza Strip.

Israeli officials have set a goal of stamping out every last trace of Hamas, “not just decapitating Hamas tactically, but also crushing its ability to have any military or jurisdictional ruling capabilities in Gaza” irrespective of whether they are part of the group’s military wing, said a senior Israeli diplomat who spoke on the condition of anonymity but was not authorized to speak on the record due to Ministry of Foreign Affairs protocol. “There is no differentiation. If they are Hamas, they are Hamas,” the diplomat said.

Beyond the challenging military terrain, experts have questioned whether Israel can even eradicate Hamas in its entirety. In addition to the group’s military wing, tens of thousands of Hamas and some Palestinian Authority bureaucrats run schools, hospitals, and an ad hoc judicial system.

“We’re now talking about some 60,000 people,” said Khalil Shikaki, the director of the Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research. “They are running classes and schools, [and they are] doctors and nurses and people working in social services, people providing water and electricity. Why would Israel go after these people?” Shikaki said.

And then there is the challenge of Hamas as an idea. Founded in the late 1980s with a commitment to armed resistance and the annihilation of Israel, Hamas is the second-largest entity in Palestinian politics. “It’s an organizational embodiment of an idea,” said Aaron David Miller, a former senior U.S. State Department official who worked on Middle East peace negotiations.

As the death toll rises and humanitarian suffering in Gaza compounds, there is a significant chance that Israel’s pursuit of security now could sow the seeds of future insecurity. “I can’t even begin to wrap my brain around the long-term humanitarian and even security implications,” said Khaled Elgindy, the director the Middle East Institute’s program on Palestine and Palestinian-Israeli affairs.

“In the same way that Israelis have this desire for revenge, we can assume that that same human impulse is going to be present on a much more massive scale among Palestinians,” he said.

The Challenge of Reconstruction

While right-wing Israeli lawmakers have floated the idea of annexing parts of the strip, where Israel dismantled its settlements in 2005, senior officials have repeatedly indicated that they have no desire to reoccupy Gaza in the wake of the war.

It’s difficult to envision a day-after scenario in which the IDF doesn’t maintain at least a short-term presence on the ground to prevent any last vestiges of Hamas from reconstituting, as well as to stabilize the immediate situation. Israeli military leaders are already laying the groundwork for an interim scenario in which they oversee security and civilian life in the strip and are already looking at transferring personnel from the Coordinator of Government Activities in the Territories, a military unit that deals with civilian issues in the West Bank, to temporary roles in Gaza, according to a report in the Israeli newspaper Haaretz.

In the immediate aftermath of an Israeli military operation, humanitarian and reconstruction needs will be gargantuan. Hospitals and mortuaries are already overwhelmed. Supplies of fuel, needed to run hospital generators and water sanitation plants, are already dwindling after three weeks of Israel’s siege.

In the slightly longer term, experts point to a possible coalition of Arab states—potentially signatories of the Abraham Accords, which Israel feels it can work with—that could serve as an interim force to fill the security and governance vacuum in Gaza with support from the United States, the European Union, and the United Nations.

“I can see Egyptian, Jordanian, and Saudi soldiers with the international community controlling the region during an interim stage, and a huge amount of money that will come from the [United Arab] Emirates and the Saudis in order to reconstruct,” said Ami Ayalon, the former chief of Israeli domestic intelligence agency Shin Bet. But the longer and bloodier that Israel’s campaign in Gaza is, the more challenging it will become to secure the cooperation of Arab states.

Then there is the monumental challenge of reconstruction, the cost of which will likely run into the billions of dollars. Amid periodic outbreaks of hostilities between Israel and Hamas over the past decade, Gaza has been in a near constant state of reconstruction. Efforts to rebuild homes and infrastructure destroyed by war have been hamstrung by unfulfilled donor pledges and complicated screening mechanisms put in place to prevent construction materials from falling into the hands of Hamas.

“Reconstruction is crucial,” said Makovsky, the former U.S. State Department advisor. “You need to produce at least the potential of progress quickly.”

Politics After Hamas

The further out that one looks, the murkier Gaza’s future becomes. If Hamas is removed after running the Gaza Strip since 2007, the most obvious candidate to fill the void would be the Palestinian Authority (PA), which runs the West Bank. The Palestinian Authority was created in the wake of the Oslo peace process in the mid-1990s, with the hopes of laying the groundwork for a future Palestinian state.

But this is not a great best-case scenario.

First, there are the optics. The PA was ousted from Gaza by Hamas in 2007 and is unlikely to embrace the idea of returning in the wake of a punishing Israeli military campaign to unseat its rival. “They don’t want to be viewed as coming in on an Israeli tank and taking over the Gaza Strip,” said Zaha Hassan, a fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, whose research focuses on Palestine-Israel peace.

And then there is the question of legitimacy. The PA hasn’t held a presidential election since 2005, when the now 87-year-old Mahmoud Abbas was first elected. An overwhelming majority of Palestinians see the PA as corrupt and inefficient, while its security cooperation with Israel in the West Bank is regarded with deep suspicion as Israeli settlers have continued to chip away at Palestinian lands.

Next comes the capacity issue. The PA has struggled to protect civilians from attacks by Israeli settlers in the West Bank, and its budgets have been stretched to breaking point as Israel has withheld millions of dollars in tax revenues gathered from Palestinians.

The very survival of the PA has come into question in recent years, let alone its ability to take 2 million Gazans under its wing in the wake of a war. For the Palestinian government to have any authority, it would take new elections, significant resources, and “a very different attitude from the Israelis,” said Lowenstein, the former U.S. special envoy. “But we’re at the other end of the spectrum on all of those issues right now,” he noted.

The last Palestinian parliamentary elections in 2006 yielded a shock victory in Gaza for Hamas, which has long sought the destruction of Israel, as a protest vote against perceived corruption in Fatah, the main party in the West Bank. New elections for the Palestinian Authority could include commitments to nonviolence as a means to prevent the election of extremist groups, Lowenstein said. But democratic elections are inherently unpredictable and could require Israel and its partners to respect results that they do not necessarily like.

“Politics is not something that you can engineer from the outside,” said Elgindy of the Middle East Institute.

While an Israeli ground invasion is likely to deal a devastating blow to Hamas’s commanders, its foot soldiers, and its arms caches, many analysts noted that the only long-term solution to address Israel’s need for security and Palestinian’s hopes for self-determination is to work toward a political solution to the conflict.

Speaking to reporters last week, U.S. President Joe Biden reiterated his support for a peace deal and the creation of a Palestinian state. Before the Hamas attacks of Oct. 7, hopes for such a deal had long since slid into the rearview mirror. Support for a two-state solution among Israelis and Palestinians has also declined precipitously in recent years, but many still see it as the only viable way to resolve the conflict.

“If we want to see the state of Israel safe and without losing our identity as a Jewish democracy, this is the only concept. Because otherwise we shall create an apartheid state, and we shall never be secure,” said Ayalon, the former Shin Bet director.

[thespoonisvictory]

I do not know how to articulate how good worlds beyond number is like truly from the bottom of my heart but to paint a picture: Every second Tuesday I put it on for my 40-minute commute home from work. Every second Tuesday I say “remember, you can save the second half of the episode for the commute tomorrow. as a treat.” And Every. Second. Tuesday. I sit in my parked car, in the driveway of my home, and listen to the rest of it right there. I don’t even get into the house.

To say this is one of my favorite pieces of media ever made feels hyperbolic and insane, because there are 11 episodes out, but like, there it is. I am not exaggerating

[copperbadge]

Radio Free Monday

Good morning everyone, welcome to Radio Free Monday! Sorry it's on Tuesday...the day off yesterday messed up my brain!

Ways to Give:

awheckery linked to a fundraiser their friend Bill has organized for burial expenses and a memorial service for Jean, a trans activist who recently passed. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

Anon linked to a fundraiser for ladyyatexel, who is currently unemployed and needs to raise $2500 to cover rent and expenses for January and February; you can read more, reblog, and support the fundraiser here.

Anon linked to a fundraiser for Hunter, who needs help paying for specialist surgical treatment for her basset hound Myrtle's severe glaucoma; they're also trying to defray costs of previous treatments. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

Anon linked to a fundraiser for sovay, whose cat recently passed from kidney disease; they're raising funds to cover treatment expenses prior to Autolycus's passing. You can read more and support the fundraiser here.

News To Know:

Anon wanted to let people know about Duck Prints Press, a small indy press that specializes in queer stories, including a lot of short fiction and anthologies published through Kickstarter; they've published queer fanworks based on Much Ado About Nothing and The Three Musketeers, among others. They're running a campaign right now called Aether Beyond the Binary, featuring nonbinary protagonists in aetherpunk (magic-tech fusion) worlds. You can read more at their site or support their Kickstarter here.

Recurring Needs:

rilee16 is raising funds to cover utilities, to afford medication and possibly an upcoming move without local support and with short paychecks; their roommate, who in the past has been physically aggressive, has destroyed some of their belongings and stolen controlled medications. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

thelastpyler is raising funds for food for the week and medication for their sister; you can read more, reblog, and find giving information here.

chingaderita's partner's family house recently caught fire and completely burned, killing his grandmother and causing extensive property loss; he has also recently lost his job due to the fire, and a number of family members have since become ill. They're raising funds to keep food on the table, and get their partner mental health aid, and now are looking at doctor's bills for medical treatment. You can read more, reblog, and support the fundraiser here.

thegeeksqueaks is a high school science teacher (who has fundraised previously for supplies and comfort items for her students, particularly her neurodivergent and queer students) who has been seeking a diagnosis for ongoing migraines, vertigo, and head pain for most of the year; she now has a diagnosis and a procedure date, but needs to raise $1.5K to cover the post-insurance payment estimate. You can read more, reblog, and find giving information here, give via Paypal here, and give via Venmo here.

And this has been Radio Free Monday! Thank you for your time. You can post items for my attention at the Radio Free Monday submissions form. If you're new to fundraising, you may want to check out my guide to fundraising here.