Roleplay commission! A group from our Tales From the Loop Campaign, in the form of a classic Graphic Novel cover (in Swedish) “The Loop Saboteurs and the Secret of the God Machine” That is a an android in the background and the dog’s name is Bucket. Because that is what you would have asked :P
I’m sick of a world that loves showing off breasts as long as they are for sexual pleasure but as soon as breastfeeding is involved it’s gross and offensive?
Nope! Everyone needs to force the world to get used to the sight of breastfeeding by breastfeeding in public as much as possible, and for those who don’t have a baby to feed, there is this top!
I have it in 4 skintones at the moment but if this thing becomes popular I will be able to bing more variation to it, in terms of more skintones and body types! You can get it from redbubble, just follow this link!
This is a new episode in my series of short stories about the magical artist Jeniffer Doe. You might want to read the first one if you haven't yet. You can find it here
I will write quite a few of these as I kind of use them to develop the world and setting they take place in, with aims at writing a novel that takes place after, or parallel to these stories. I might actually end up including them somehow in the finished work. As I have yet to start outlining the full novel, your input is welcome and if anyone wants to appear as a cameo and want to share themselves as a character feel free to comment or contact me. I can't promise you'll be included but if it fits, It might be. Please remember that I will adapt it and be inspired by it rather than simply putting you on the page, I will not use characters that someone else owns the copyright to. Enjoy!
I looked at the door that led to my next client’s apartment a good long while before ringing the bell. I had postponed this one for a while because I was nervous about this particular case but the last few weeks had been good and I had worked more than usual with fewer disasters than normal. There is a click as the door unlocks remotely mere seconds after I finally ring the bell. She’s been waiting for me. Of course she has. I reached for the handle and let myself in, knowing full well she wouldn’t come to meet me. Even knowing what to expect the sight threw me. The small apartment looked like it was covered in plastic wrap or transparent vinyl. I couldn’t roll my scooter far before I had to park in front of the shiny wall separating the hallway from my client’s actual living area.
“Ms. Sawyer?” I asked the hopeful looking woman looking back at me from the other side of the vinyl wall. She was wearing an airy summer dress with a colorful flower pattern.
“Daisy, please.” Hope brightened her pale and slim face. “And you must be Jennifer Doe? I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to meeting you! I bet you hear that all the time. I guess someone like you must be really busy!”“Yes, it’s been a lot lately.” I lied. Yes, the last few weeks had gone well but I couldn’t account for the rest of the weeks I had been avoiding Daisy. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? You did read my message about the risks?” I started setting up my easel, I wasn’t expecting her to back out now.
“Oh yes!” she nodded profusely and pointed to a small table on my side of the separator. “The money is in that envelope. It’s all there.”I picked the envelope up and put it on the basket of my scooter. I didn’t open it, there is no way she would try to trick me. I prepared my palette with various colors and paints. “Not everyone get what they… hope for. At least not in the way they expect.”
“I understand. And I accept the risks.” Daisy looked around her home at pictures of exotic locations, all seven of the famous wonders of the world. Temples, cityscapes, tourist traps. Yet I only counted one with people in it. Two adults and a young child on a beach. I figured that was the only trip she had actually been on and the other pictures were just… wishes.
I put a blank canvas on the easel and readied my paintbrush. I had to admit I was starting to get hopeful as if my client’s state of mind was contagious. “Well, no time like the present. Do you want to sit down?”
“No.” She smiled and stretched her arms out to the side, embracing the future she was hoping for, one where she could leave the country, or city or even just her apartment without risk of dying. There was no point in dragging it out any further. I relaxed and let my brush touch the canvas and immediately, almost eagerly it shot to the palette of oil paints in my left hand. It seems the brush was also feeling the enthusiasm radiated by Daisy. My hopes rose as I could sense an air of liberating freedom and a wonderful image of blue skies was taking shape before me. My client released a sigh of relief as her physical reality was starting to dissolve, numbing her discomforts and pains. The brilliant blurry sunshine almost blinded me and my stomach filled with butterflies at the orgasmic feeling of flying filled my mind. A shadow of doubt came over me though, as the brush mainly stuck to whites and greys and sure enough, fairly soon the picture on my canvas was that of a beautiful white dove in flight. My heart dropped as the haze of magic settled and the new reality took hold. I didn’t really want to but I leaned over to witness what I knew would be there. I felt it happen, her inner self had been so desperate to get out she didn't even need to see the painting. There was no human Daisy in the protected part of the apartment, just a dove standing on the floor, looking like it was just waking up. I released a deep sigh and walked to the safety gate of the enclosed area, opened it and stepped inside. Daisy the dove had started tentatively walking around, I imagined her being confused and getting to know her new physicality but if I’m honest I am not sure how to read what birds are feeling. I winced as I imagined what the future would hold for my unfortunate client, part of me wanted to bring her home and buy her a cage as I would lie awake for weeks imagining her ending up in the belly of a cat but I couldn’t do it. The one thing she wanted from meeting me was freedom and for me to have her spend the rest of her life in a cage would have been monstrous. Most clients who become animals tend to get the hang of things quite quickly, specially the smaller kind. As far as I can tell they keep most of their identity but a smaller brain limits how they shape their thoughts and express that identity. I bent down and picked her up before carrying her through the safety gate and to the nearest exposed window. She was relaxed and calm in my hands for which I am grateful. I couldn’t stand it if she was terrified or angry. With some difficulty I opened the window and held her out for a while. Surely she would get the hang of flying, right? I had to give it a chance, this was the only chance she’d have at experience the freedom she has been dreaming of most of her life.
“Good luck Daisy.” I whispered before gently releasing her and sure enough, she immediately took flight, soaring high above the streets, circling a few times before disappearing from view. I like to imagine that it meant she was loving the freedom of flight and that she would be okay. Oh please let her be okay. I sighed as I knew I would probably never know for sure if I had released, blessed or doomed her. I might have been right to avoid her. I stirred as my phone buzzed, I was not ready for another client right now! The message on the screen came as a surprise and on most days I would have ignored it but right now I needed a pick-me-up.
I rolled my scooter into the coffee shop and looked around, it wasn’t hard to spot Jessica as she was already heading to meet me, her face beaming like a sunrise. “Jen! Hi! Is it okay if I call you Jen? I wanted to surprise you with a gift or something but your address is impossible to track down, I only had your work number, I know you probably don’t want personal messages on there but I just had to at least buy you a coffee!”
I chuckled and shook my head “I’m hard to find for a reason, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to keep contact with my clients after the job is done.”
Jessica’s face fell. “Oh… I’m sorry… I didn’t think you’d mind. I shouldn’t have…”
“No it’s okay.” I interrupted her as I started rolling my scooter towards the table she was sitting by when I arrived. It was in a very accessible part of the café, probably a conscious choice on her part. “I needed a break anyway. I’m making an exception, Jess. And yes.”
Jessica looked relieved but slightly confused. “... yes what?”
“Yes, you can call me Jen.” I stepped off of my scooter and sat down on a chair and Jessica sat down across from me. She was wearing tight fitting dark blue jeans and a black My Little Pony T-shirt that looked rather big on her. I guessed it was from before my visit. She slid two sealed cups my way. “I didn’t know if you’d prefer coffee or tea so... I ordered both. I’ll take the one you don’t pick… Oh, they both have milk in them is that okay?”
I reached for the tea and nodded “That’s fine, Jess. Calm down, you paid me, you don’t owe me anything. We’re on equal footing here.”
She shook her head “I didn’t pay anywhere near enough and.. well... I was kind of hoping to be.. you know… your friend?”
I sipped my tea and sighed. “I tend to avoid that. The universe doesn’t like it when too many reality bending forces and... unusual things come together for too long. I’m sure you’re fine, there are no lingering effects or anything I just… I don’t know.” I had to admit I was lonely and had been for most of my life. My only company right now was a pig who used to be an abusive businessman and whom I was trying to donate to a petting zoo. Jessica looked at me with compassion. “Well. I’m happy you’re making an exception. Would you like to make more exceptions for me in the future?”
I thought of different ways to let her down easy. The more she finds out about me and the horrible fates I have bestowed upon people the likelier she would be to talk too much about me and attract attention to the things I do. The words that came out of my mouth betrayed me. “I’d like that.” Jessica’s face got that sunrise shine back and she sipped her coffee. Her scrunched up face suggested that she would probably have preferred the tea. “So how are you settling in?” I asked her.
“Oh it’s great! At first I was worried, you know, with my ID and job and everything but it all kind of worked itself out. I got a new social security number, they just assumed there was a bug in the system and fixed it in the spot. HR at my job just assumed Michael got replaced with me and someone forgot the paperwork, it’s kind of freaky how easy it all was actually.”
I nodded “That’s usually the way it works. The universe doesn’t want people to pay too much attention to exceptions to the rules.” I was already feeling better, Jessica’s happiness reminded me of what I can do right and while Daisy’s fate still troubled me I was starting to feel almost at peace. “So no regrets at all?” I caught myself smiling a wider smile than I can remember ever having smiled. Jessica leaned back in her chair and felt the sides of her jeans. “I miss pockets. You know… real ones… you can put things in.”
I made a decision right then and there that this friendship thing might be worth a try after all.
do u guys understand how creepy the pledge of allegiance is though like every day when ur a kid everybody just chants how great america is every morning it’s creepy
because I asked him what the Austrian pledge of allegiance was (because he’s from Austria)
and he said “we don’t have a pledge of allegiance”
and I said “why not?”
“honey, think about what training your children to mindlessly pledge to a flag, without really knowing what they’re talking about, sounds like to Austrians”
This is a short story that may or may not be the first part of a longer story. @silvysartfulness suggested this character to me and we brainstormed some worldbuilding and I really want to tell of all we thought of through, either a series of short stories like these or a larger story which this one would be a part of. So.. enjoy and please leave feedback, this whole concept is a WORK IN PROGRESS so your feedback MIGHT affect the finished story. (unless of course it doesn't fit with world building or character design that has yet to be revealed)
Enjoy!
As I rolled my red mobility scooter out of the elevator I couldn't help but raise my eyebrows at the size of the lobby. It seems no expense was spared when designing this place which makes sense I guess, if you're going to put your wealth in other people's hands it might help you sleep at night knowing your brokers can afford the finest decor. I winced as a shiver made my shoulder hurt, I always get nervous around this kind of client but I needed this job for more reasons than one. Apart from the obvious issue of rent money, my entire body gets restless when I haven't painted for more than a few days and if much more of my, let's call them creative juices, get pent up things can get really bad. I steered over to the receptionist's desk and cleared my throat.
"Excuse me, I'm here to see Mr. McMason?"
The receptionist, a woman in her late twenties, dressed to impress clearly hoping to be noticed by her peers looked up from her paperback detective novel and leaned forward with a slight frown getting a good look at me. The desk was on a platform to place potential clients at eye height giving little old me and my scooter the disadvantage. Her eyes do the regular waltz first nothing my scooter, then my height and finally focusing on the desk in front of her quickly after noticing my crooked spine.
“McMason? umm…” she sounded surprised and checked her screen. “Oh, I see! You’re here for his… portrait? Ms. Doe?” she gave my scooter another glance noticing the collapsible easel strapped to the back of the backrest. She nodded to her left. “Go ahead. You can’t miss it.” She went back to her book with an eye-roll confirming some of my suspicions about my current client.
“Thank you.” I nodded in a slight bow as I steered my scooter towards a corner office. She had been right, the large double doors obviously led to the most prestigious office of the premises. I gave the door a hard a knock as I could muster and waited. Eventually, a dark-haired young man in an Armani suit peaks out before lowering his gaze towards me.
“Hey… you…” his voice meandered as he took in the sight that is me. Unlike his receptionist, he wasn’t trying to hide his disdain. “Ms. Doe? Jennifer Doe? Geez, he said you were short but he didn’t mention…” he gestured towards me with his hand.
I sighed and winced again as another tick of my wrist sent pain down my spine. This wasn’t going to be… great.
“I guess he did not think it was important. Can I come in?” I just wanted it over with.
He looked surprised but not quite offended. He had the air of a man who was used to being groveled to by the best of people and the fact a broken little thing like me was not talking to him as my better was just quirky enough to be entertaining. He opened the door and stepped backward letting me drive into his office.
“Well, as long as you can hold a brush I suppose. You come highly recommended. Very highly.”
I looked around the huge office, two walls were windows with a magnificent view of New York, there was a bar, a lounge area and his enormous desk did not have chairs facing his own. He didn’t speak to clients in this room, or anyone else it seemed.
“Oh yes? By whom, may I ask? And you have my payment, right? Cash, like I asked?”
He shook his head with a laugh, walking over to his desk, picking up and envelope only to throw it my way.
“Full upfront payment before I see the goods. You know that’s crazy right?”
I sighed as I stepped off of my scooter, reaching down to pick up the envelope. He was right though, my business model isn’t exactly conventional. Being paid in advance was often absolutely necessary for reasons I couldn’t explain to most people. I checked the envelope and the money was indeed all there. Of course, it was. As the sole heir of his father’s fortune and financial firm, Dean McMason had never had to work a day in his life.
“It was Mr. Larson, right?” I began setting up my easel, using the bar as the backdrop, I figured he would appreciate that.
“It was. And if it wasn’t for his high praise that envelope wouldn’t be full of cash I tell you. Who even uses cash anymore?” He picks up on the cue and goes to stand by his bar. “He attributes his good fortune to you. Says your portrait made him the man he is today. Exaggerated obviously but if you impressed him that much… let’s just say I expect great things.”
I nodded as I started mixing colors on my palette. Mr. Larson had been kind and in my experience, fortune often favors you if you are kind. He probably thought he was doing Dean a favor but I had my doubts. In fact, I was getting fairly certain my client wouldn’t be thrilled about my work. My arm twitched and I dropped my brush. Dean frowned and shook his head in disgust.
“Are you sure you can do this? I already paid you, this painting has better be the best damn piece you ever pissed out on a canvas.”
I groaned as I picked the brush up, suddenly feeling a bit better about myself. It helps when my clients behave badly. I take a deep breath and close my eyes and I feel the brush almost become one with my hand.. and ask me to dance.
“Just strike a pose.”
He scoffed briefly, followed by a baffled chuckle as he leaned back against the bar putting on a nonchalant yet dignified look. To be honest, he was actually a pretty good model.
My vision went hazy, as it always does but a bit more fiercely now as I haven’t painted in almost a week. the brush pulled my arm along almost violently across the canvas and I experienced less control than usual. Some clients have that effect on me, as well as my artistic… let’s call it hunger. First, a soft cloud like backdrop started to form on the canvas. I could hardly even see my client anymore, I saw straight through him into what I can only describe as an elusive three-dimensional stick-figure. I more or less just relaxed and let the brush take me where it wanted to go. I was too tired to give my work any conscious input and our sub-conscious minds were doing all the work already. Dean was, as expected, also in a trance, which tends to happen when my brush opens the gate to the soul plane.
Eventually, the vague figure on my canvas was starting to get more detailed. I nodded as what I saw was more or less what I had expected, in fact, it was one of the better outcomes I had anticipated - things could have gone much worse. On my canvas was a picture of a young child, perhaps seven years old, still dressed in the same kind of Armani suit, just smaller. I picked the painting up and showed it to my client who was just now starting to come out of the trace. As usual when I work with a canvas, as soon as I showed him the painting his true self-met with reality and all the fuzziness of the room came into focus leaving him with his true form, a spoiled child who has not yet learned the meaning of respect, responsibility and to fend for himself. The child’s jaw dropped open as he started looking around the room which now seemed enormous.
“Wh.. what the hell?” he squeaked before gasping, hearing his own young voice.
I sighed as I began packing my things away.
“My work made Mr. Larson the man he is today.” I released a sigh of relief as many of my tensions started to dissolve now that I had released some pent-up pressure. “And now it made you the boy you are today.”
Dean stomped the ground and his fear turned into fury. “How the hell did you do this? Undo.. whatever.. this is, now!”
“I don’t choose the form, you do. My art makes you who you are inside. Your true self. And I can’t undo it.”
“Bullshit you can’t!” the child shouted. “I’ll get the cops in here they’re gonna.. gonna…” Dean seemed to have a hard time reasoning the way he was used to.
I sat up on my scooter. “Look… I know you’re scared but it’s easier if you just go with it. Your staff will find you, not knowing who you are they will call the police and eventually you will end up in foster care. You’ll be a grown-up again the long way around.” Perhaps this time his inner self would grow up along with the rest of him now that he didn’t have bottomless trust funds to fall back on.
“I’ll tell them who I am! You won’t get away with this!” Dean insisted.
I shook my head. “You won’t. I doubt you even remember your phone number. You’ll remember your life but all the detailed grown-up stuff, it doesn’t sit well in a child’s brain. Besides, this universe really doesn’t like drawing attention to the changes I’ve made. I’ve seen it before, the police just accepts that Dean McMason up and disappeared and now there is a stray child to deal with. I know we didn’t get off on the right foot but I wish you luck. I do.”
With that, I steered my scooter out of his former office to the loud protests of an upset child. The staff barely noticed me, they all focused on trying to find the parents who so thoughtlessly had left their child unattended in a broker’s office. I smiled to myself. I’m not proud of my smugness but this might actually end up making my client better, after all, I’ve seen far better people than him end up with fates much worse than having to start over as a little boy. At least I think he was a little boy, I didn’t exactly check the gender of Dean’s new form. Oh well, it’s not like that is any of my business and Dean would undoubtedly find out very soon on his or her own. I rolled out of the building and left my client’s fate behind me, after all, I had my evening appointment to get to.
***
It was a tall, heavy-set man in his thirties that opened the door almost immediately after I rang the bell as if he had eagerly been anticipating my arrival.
“Ms. Doe? Oh! Sorry, let me…” the moment he saw me on my scooter he quickly started moving things around in his hallway, put his shoes up on a dresser and moved a small table into a corner in order to accommodate for my scooter. He nervously glanced over his shoulder into the living room.
“No, that’s okay,” I assured him. “I can park in your hallway.”
He backed up to give me room to drive into his modest apartment. He seemed to be struggling with what to say and I got the impression he was about to offer to carry me so I hopped off the scooter and walked into the living room.
“Do you want some tea? Coffee?” he offered, and his high strung nerves lit the room up like a big neon sign. His heart beat like a drum solo.
“No I’m fine. Let’s talk.” I climbed onto a lounge chair and nodded towards a sofa. He quickly sat down and put his hands on his knees. “So, you’re Mr. Sullivan?” I begin as a formality. He started blushing.
“Oh, yes, sorry!” He stood up and extended his hand to me and I shook it, smiling soothingly. He seemed to need it. “Mike Sullivan, I should’ve introduced myself I’m just… nervous.”
“I could tell.” I replied, feeling somewhat cheeky but I think he appreciated the playfulness. “You read my email, right? You know what I do?”
Mike nodded “Of course! Yes, the upfront payment! Here!” he pulled out a folded envelope from his pocket and placed it in my hand. “You can count it, it’s all there.”
I shook my head and put the envelope on the table. It’s not that I don’t need all the money I can get but this was one of those rare clients that not only knew more about my services than most but also radiated a stronger need for them than most.
“That’s not what I meant. You know my work… changes people’s lives. And you also understand the risks?”
Mike hesitated for a moment then nodded.
“Yes… yes I do.”
Who people are is a complicated matter. There is a lot more to your identity than the shell that holds it. Many universes are rigid and can only accommodate a simple set of rules for the physical manifestation our bodies take. Our minds are different, they can exist on many planes of existence at once and our self-image is seldom an exact replica of our actual body. For some, the differences are enormous in ways we seldom anticipate, I’ve seen people who see themselves as brave only to support their own denial of being terrified or, as my previous client who saw himself as a self-reliant successful genius but in reality was nothing more than a spoiled child. In other words, there are three forms, what we are physical, what our minds are, and what we think our minds are. All three can be vastly different. My work helps people physically take the form their minds will feel the most at home in but I can do nothing for the form they think they should have, or even the one they want to have. Sure, I can sometimes influence the results to a degree as long as I am not artistically starved or I am dealing with a particularly aggressive client but for the most part, the mind is what it is, even more so than the physical body.
“And you… believe what I do is real?”
Mike hesitated again as if he was about to say yes but did not want to lie. He blushed.
“I see. You want to believe what I do is real. Is that it?”
Mike looked at me almost in shock. He started to relax as his eyes began to water. He just needed to feel like I understood him and I think I did. It is usually not wise to be too optimistic but a client who comes to me with a need rather than a want tend to have a lower chance of suffering a horrible fate. When someone aggressively pushes a self-image it is usually just a mask, a cover for the real self-image which in these cases are close to the opposite of the image they intended to project. In Mr. Sullivan however, I sensed a form that was dying to come out, perhaps literally. I took out my brush from its case.
“Well. If you are ready to give my work a chance and prepared to face the risks I suggest we get started.”
Mike gasped, getting nervous again, pulling at his shirt. “Do I need to take… my clothes off?”
I chuckled. “No, but I suppose loose fitting clothing might be more cpmfortable. Your underwear should work fine though.”
As Mike stripped down to his boxer shorts I put my bag down on the floor. I wouldn’t be needing the palette or the oils with this kind of job. I could paint directly on my client.
“Star wars fan huh?” I teased, noticing the pattern of stormtrooper helmets on Mike’s boxer shorts. He blushed.
“They were… a gift.” He squirmed trying to find a position where I could access his body but at the same time be as unnoticed as possible which was hard as his body was on the large side. It was a strange thing to behold but I understood what it meant. He was unhappy with his body in more ways than one. I approached him and climbed up on the sofa next to him.
“Alright, try to relax,” I told both him and myself. I had a good feeling about this but my gut feeling is not always right and I would feel really bad if he turned out to be one of those clients who should never have reached out to me. I touched his thigh with the brush and almost instantly we were both in that shimmering haze where reality and mind could merge. Ripples went through Mike’s body and he gasped falling into a dream-like trance. As my brush moved up and down his leg he didn’t seem to change all that much just yet, there was some redistribution of body fat but it was hard to tell just yet what it was all leading to. As my brush reached down to his left foot I did notice that the leg I had been working on did seem significantly shorter than the other leg and as I reached the foot, that too did contract and drop several shoe sizes. I moved on to the other leg, beginning with the foot this time and fairly soon it matched the first leg. The broad brush strokes send larger and larger ripples of shimmering rainbow colors. As I finished around the midsection, his hips widened testing the fabric of the stormtrooper boxer shorts as much of the redistributed fat had ended up in this area. I started using harder brushstrokes, making Mike squirm slightly and I tensed up.
“Whoa… am I… high?”
He was looking straight at me. This was not a first, most of my client spend the entire process more or less unconscious, in a dream-like state but sometimes they managed to stay at least partly awake. I don’t like it when this happens, I get nervous that they might move and mess with my concentration. The process always takes them in the direction of their truest self-image but sometimes there are levels and layers and that is where I can contribute, helping them to the best version of their true self. I relaxed and went back to softer strokes.
“No… your mind is just experiencing a higher plane of existence. Relax. Please… it’s important.”
Mike nodded at me and leaned back in the sofa, looking down at my brush traveling around his belly, causing the rippling and reshaping of his flesh. His stomach did lose some mass as his sitting position shifted as the fat cells found their new home, partly in his buttocks and partly moving upwards. Most of his body hair seemed to disappear into the brush. His eyes widened as my brush moved up his torso, pressing ripples ahead of it and pulling a significant amount of redistributed body fat to his chest, forming a pair of breasts, larger than I had anticipated, even though I suspected this would happen. The weight of Mike’s new breasts made me lose my grip and let them drop with a bounce. He looked like he wanted to touch them for confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming but I quickly shook my head… and kept moving the brush up over them and then caress his neck. He laid his head back and sighed pleasantly as his neck contracted and lost a lot of its girth. I could hear the change of his voice in the sigh as this happened. I rolled my eyes and corrected myself. It was her voice. And not just now, my client had been a woman before I entered her apartment, I was just adjusting the physical plane to match that fact. Now that I was certain I had been right I felt better about myself. I quickly brushed Mike’s arms and like the legs they shortened, lost some body hair and like her feet, her hands shrunk down.
“Almost done, just relax…” I reassure her as I let my brush work her face, shrinking her head somewhat, reshaping the jawline as well the nose to form a more petite ensemble of features. I pondered for a second then decided to pull the brush through her hair as well. The hair isn’t always affected by my brush as it is more of an extension of the form than a part of it but sometimes, the self-image is strong enough to reach further. This was one of those times. Her short hair follows the brush way past its normal length and soon, Mike luxurious a huge mane of long wavy, thick brown hair, thicker than before even.
I sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath. As I relaxed the shimmering fuzzy air around the place softly went back into focus and I inspected my client. She was shorter than before but there was still a resemblance. If you saw a picture of both forms you might assume they were siblings. I had sensed in he mind that her ideal self-image had less mass to it and I had tried to steer her form that way since it is probably what she would have picked given the choice, but this was undoubtedly the form her mind felt the most at home in. And I would have to consider it close enough. I took a deep breath and smiled.
“You can open your eyes now, Ms. Sullivan. It’s done.”
My client stirred and looked at me. She had already seen her torso grow breasts but just hearing me call her Ms. made her eyes shine up with a glow that warmed the whole room. She looked down at her body and gave it a caress with her hands. She gasped and then lifted her hands to stare at them.
“Oh my god those are my hands!” her jaw dropped “And my voice! I sound like… like…” she looked at me. “I feel like I sound… like me! And I never have before! Is that weird?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. This is your voice. Reality just got it wrong all these years.”
She stared at me for a moment, tears of happiness flowing down her cheeks. Suddenly she stood up and bolted to the bathroom, I assumed to watch her reflection in the mirror.
“You have no idea how wonderful this feels!” she yells to me as I put my brush back in its case. She then comes running and kneels before me, taking my hand. “It’s like… I’ve been trapped in a tiny box my whole life! Like I am breathing now for the first time!”
I smiled and forced myself not to laugh. “I’m glad you’re satisfied with my services. May I suggest a T-shirt? That or pulling down the blinds, unless you want to give your neighbor a show.”
She stirred, then looked down at her breasts. She lifts her hands to cup them. “Oh, I’ve missed these! Somehow…”
She hurried to the bedroom and came back wearing a T-Shirt with a logo saying N7. It was seriously tight around her chest but long enough to be like a tunic. She picked up her pants and took her wallet out, pulling out all the money it had “You deserve more for this.
"No.” I held my hand up. “I only charge what we agreed and I don’t take tips.” I lied. I do take tips but not in this case. “Besides… You have quite a few sudden expenses coming up. You’re going to need a whole new wardrobe. You’re going to need that money.”
She looked down at herself then around the living room, suddenly realizing what all this would mean.
“Don’t worry.” I soothed her. “Making a new identity will be easy. I mean you obviously can’t be Mike Sullivan anymore but the universe doesn’t like people attracting attention to when it has been corrected. Police won’t be too nosey about your disappearance and reappearance as long as you put in a bit of an effort making a new life.”
She knelt down by me again and slowed down. Her tears started flowing again and she embraced me in a tight hug. It was a little awkward for my spine but it wasn’t worth ruining the moment for.
“Thank you… so much!” she sobbed “I owe you my life.”
I patted her on the back. Her gratitude did make me feel good but I got a cold feeling in my stomach as I suspected that she wasn’t exaggerating about owing me her life. I felt like I needed to change the subject so leaned back and she released me from the hug.
“So… what do you want me to call you?” I asked
She smiled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“How about… Jessica?”
***
After that last job, I felt a professional high. Jessica hadn’t paid as well as Mr. McMason but pulling someone out of such misery and into total bliss does make me feel pretty good about myself. I rolled into my apartment and was greeted by angry grunting noises.
“I’m sorry I’m late Mr. Mitchell, I had two clients today.”
I struggled with the bag of dog food I picked up on my way home and emptied it in the drawer I had taken out of a chest of drawers to make an improvisational through and the pig, Mt Mitchell waddled over and started eating without as much as the usual angry glance at me. I guessed he must have been very hungry. I went to fill the water bowl to be ready once he had finished eating otherwise there would be hell to pay.
Mr. Mitchell had been living with me for a couple of weeks ever since he had hired me to bring out the best in him. Unlike Mr. McMason he had known of my abilities and was convinced that after forty years of womanizing and adultery he could go back to his true self as the young, muscular and sexually aggressive jock he had been in college. It was not much of a surprise to find out that while trying to project himself as a perfect stud, his inner self-had always known he was just a pig.
Having learned of some of his sordid past of debauchery, some with consent, some without, I only spared a slight bit of pity for the man, but sexist pig or not, dealing with him was trickier than the former manchild, now just child Dean McMason. There are no government agencies in place to make sure stray pigs go into foster-care and as I couldn’t bring myself to have him sold to a farm where he might end up in a BLT. As far as I could figure, Mr. Mitchell still knew he used to be human and retains his main memories but a pig brain isn’t well suited for technology or even grammar so I wasn’t quite sure how simply I had to speak for him to understand me. Still, apparently kept enough intelligence to know that if he complained loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, animal control would ensure he got a much worse fate than being my pet. Besides I wasn’t going to keep a pet pig for long, I have been meaning to go around petting zoos to look for one that might take him in no questions asked but I haven’t quite had the time or the energy for it. He snorted at me as I put the water bowl down, promising me some angry grunts and glares to come as soon as he was finished drinking.
Whatever. Pigs will be pigs. He wasn’t going to bring me down from the high I was on after my gig for Jessica. I relaxed in front of the TV with a glass of apple juice and a cheese sandwich pondering what to watch.
As I tie my horse to a tall and ominous looking dead tree my heart begins to beat faster anticipating the coming struggle and, to some extent, pride in my coming heroic victory. The dark castle looms in the distance and though the dragon can't be seen at the moment, I've been told it is as gigantic as... well, a dragon and as fierce as an erupting volcano! This is what I've been training for all my life! Sure it would have been nice to relax sometimes but only the strongest, bravest knights get to rescue a princess and as the bastard son of a king, a princess is exactly what I need to get bumped up into real actual royalty! So I did what I had to, put myself through rigorous training that made my muscles feel like they were dumped in acid, stuck to ridiculous diets that felt like they made my stomach want to put me in exile all so that one day I'd reach this moment - the moment when I will slay a dragon and an undead army to rescue a princess that through marriage will solidify my claim to royalty and erase that pesky half that goes before the word half prince. It seems a little unfair really that she will also get to place her ass on a throne after I do all this work and all she had to do was, be born, enjoy luxury and score a handsome warrior (me). True, she did get captured by an evil warlock and locked in a tower guarded by a fierce dragon but as a royal captive, her imprisonment is bound to be a thousand-fold more comfortable than what any commoner would kill to experience. I flex my muscles and get myself ready, this princess better be grateful... and hot! I take my first step on my way to glory.
Who needs discretion, the bards will not sing about the hero that sneaks around back, my steps are loud and proclaim the coming of greatness! I squint at the drawbridge that is already down, either they've heard of my coming and surrendered, very wise, or their security really needs to be improved. I put my foot down on the wood of the bridge and test it's strength, after all, it could be a trap. It's not a trap. The bridge is fine and I stomp my way across, kicking a few corpses off of the edge into the moat for fun. Perhaps they have been cleaning out the bodies of the fallen heroes that came before me that fell due to their lack of resemblance to me and my prowess. I shake my head to focus, as great as I clearly am, I should not get overconfident. I put a hand on the hilt on my sword, the dragon must be near! Perhaps it's waiting for me to lower my guard, HAH! Unlike the spoiled little girl he is guarding I have never spent a day on my life with my guard lowered, that lizard is bound to pounce on me when I pretend to be distracted with the task of picking the lock to the tower door which... is... already wide open.
Huh. They are really banking everything on this one trap they are obviously planning... or is the dragon planning on attacking me after I've rescued the princess! The fiend! That would actually make this challenging, having to slay a dragon while simultaneously protecting a fair damsel in distress, although... my victory will taster all the sweeter!
"Fear not princess, your savior is here!" I shout as I run up the spiraling stairs. She better not expect me to carry her down. Oh who am I kidding, a spoiled princess who has never done a hard days work in her life will definitely demand I carry her down. At least she better swoon at my strength and the sacrifices I have had to make in order to become this great. As I reach the top of the tower I see another open door. Can this be true? Are princesses so lazy and pampered that they don't even have to close the door as she will refuse to walk down the stairs?
I barge into the cell which looks, as I suspected, quite luxurious. High ceiling, big windows with a beautiful view, a large wardrobe next to a big vanity-mirror, a gorgeous dining table, and a queen size bed that is currently being made by a strange looking servant that notices me and stands to face me.
"What is the meaning of this? Where is the princess?" I demand as I draw my sword.
The robed servant, with a neatly trimmed goatee, sighs "You're a little early I'm, afraid. Or late, depending on how you look at it."
I open my mouth to answer but I haven't finished thinking about what he said so I remain silent.
"I haven't finished setting the room for the next princess yet! The last one was rescued just last night. I also have an undead army and a dragon to resurrect."
I spend a few moments planning my next angry demand but I can't actually think of one.
"...Beg your pardon?" I must have misheard him.
The man continues making the bed "I understand the confusion, the clients tend not to inform the... younger generation. You see, I run a very important match-making service for the kingdoms of this realm. Oh sorry, where are my manners, I am known as the dark Lord Elakdum. Evil warlock by trade."
I raise my sword as I get excited again. "You're the warlock! Prepare to die!"
The man rolls his eyes and stands up observing the rather impeccably made bed. "Really, sir? I know I did not explain everything but you did catch the part where there is no princess to rescue at the moment?"
I stagger and lower my sword ever so slightly. "Then why are you still alive?"
"It would not be a very clever business venture if every transaction required my death, now would it? I'll make this simple. My service normally works like this, a family needs to marry off their son to a royal bride, I capture one and keep her prisoner, very comfortable as you see, and my client gets to send a strapping young hero to rescue her, thus, earning the right to her hand."
I sheath my sword as I try to wrap my head around this. "Are you saying my father ordered a princess kidnapped?" I take my helmet off to scratch my head... This is confusing.
"In a manner of speaking." the warlock goes around the room adjusting little imperfections. "This is rather tedious, you see the servant spirits don't materialize until there is a princess to serve and the undead are useless at housekeeping so I have to... where was I? Oh yes after many successful business deals over the last half-century, I have had to offer variations so as to not run out of princesses." He checks the door and then closes it with him outside "And the royals of the realm your father want to have a royal bond with are just like them, no daughters, only sons." There is a click as he locks the door. I flinch... Did I just let him trap me? Why was the room getting so warm?
"What is this? Unlock the door at once you fiend, or I will slay you after I break it down!"
"You might find that difficult I'm afraid, the spell has been working on you for the last few minutes already."
I grit my teeth. The knave DID trick me into lowering my guard! I draw my heavy sword and.... damn it's heavy, it makes a loud clang as I drop it on the floor. Sweat pours into my eyes as the room feels ridiculously hot. I loosen my armor and it easily slips off and clangs to the floor as well. Odd, it shouldn't come off that easily, I normally need a squire to help pull it off. To my horror, I look at my arms and notice they have lost more than half their girth! My wonderful muscles were withering away!
"What have you done!?" I yell and my voice breaks out of fear, like that of a teenager going through puberty.
"It was rather clever actually. As you are a bastard son of the king you do have royal blood yet have no heraldry. The gods will see your royal blood and accept you as a royal bride to your soon to be royal husband. Your father just has to proclaim you as a long lost daughter and you will be accepted by the clergy as well!" his smug grin can be seen through the bars of the peephole of the door.
"Stop this right now, I am no bride!" I gasp and cover my mouth as the words I spoke sounded like they came from a soft-spoken woman! My previously diminished pectorals suddenly seem to grow back as they push against my arms and, oh wait, no those are not pectorals, they are breasts. I grab them in my hands and stare in awe as wavy golden blonde hair falls into my vision. I stare at the warlock who seems to have politely turned his gaze to the side. "This can't be! My father sent me to train for greatness!"
"Yes well, all the power in the world doesn't help if there are no appropriate princesses for you to rescue. But now, you are literally the daughter he never had. Now that the room has a princess, the servant spirits should materialize, they will make you quite comfortable until your dashing prince comes to rescue you. They aren't quite alive and can offer no conversation but they do fine work. Be well, princess."
The warlock leaves, ignoring my shouts and angry insults. I scream and bang at the door for several minutes before realizing it is pointless. I stop to catch my breath and notice my reflection in the vanity mirror. All armor and articles of clothing have fallen off apart from my briefs that are held up and stretched by my generously wide hips. I tentatively reach my hands back to feel my new round derriere and grit my teeth in annoyance after hearing myself emit a feminine voiced gasp. Did my father really send me on this path knowingly? The betrayal! The deceit! Well, he cannot stop me from telling whichever dumb brute he sends to rescue me, who would want a bride that is really a muscular, brawny man? I will just have to wait for him to arrive then we can work on getting our revenge for this outrage and force that warlock to restore me to my rightful glory!
I release the grip on my behind as a smoky figure appears in my room. It takes the shape of a kind looking elderly lady and I realize this must be one of the servant spirits I was told about. Well, I can't sit around and wait for the prince naked.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Does this look like proper attire? Get me dressed at once." I spread my arms as I make my demand for decency and the smoke lady is accompanied by two younger looking smoke ladies and they get to work fitting me with a rather comfortable pale blue dress with accompanying jewelry. Well, it was comfortable until they started lacing the corset. I am just about to tell the fools off when I notice the lacing lifting my new breasts and creating a rather stunning curve to my upper body. Oh well, I suppose some sacrifices are permissible.
***
Two days have passed and this hell is still going on. I only get to drink the finest wine, frothy beer is nowhere in sight! I cannot wait for my rescuer, I mean colleague with whom I will plot our revenge. I do not know how much longer I will be able to stand for this treatment. Oh, gods, I hate that crunch of the seed when I eat my grapes!
"I thought I was to be treated well, what is this dungeon where I am expected to eat seeds! Split all the grapes into halves and de-seed them at once! And peel them while you're at it, do you know how dreadful grape skin is when it gets stuck between my teeth?"
The smoke lady starts to follow my orders and soon hands me a tray of de-seeded peeled grape halves.
"About time." I scold her as I put one in my mouth. Oh, that is so much better. I moan and lean back as I eat another grape half and extend my hand as a servant places my goblet in it and I take a sip of the wine with a mmmm.
"Such hell is this imprisonment.." I sigh.
***
"You cannot be serious! I wore a yellow dress yesterday and today you put on another yellow dress? Meanwhile that green dress has been loitering in the wardrobe all this time! Take this rag off at once and fit me with the green one!"
A full week of captivity and these servants don't show even a hint of intuition or fashion sense! What if the prince arrives and leaves straight away before freeing me because he will not be seen with rag wearing peasant princess! I look in the mirror as the green dress is fitted on my body and I smile. I knew this could complement my eyes. What do these stupid ghost farts know anyway?
"Wait. Why is my hair covering the emeralds? Do you do this to torment me?" I flick my hair around a little. "I don't actually want the prince to fall in love with me, I have other plans, I refuse to have my hair flowing around freely like some harlot! Put my hair up right this minute! Elegantly!"
The servants sit me down and get to work. The braiding and the binding of the buns tear at my scalp, but this is the kind of torture I will have to endure. I smile approvingly in the mirror as my new style actually does look quite elegant. I guess there is one thing they can do right.
***
I get into the warm foamy water of the bathtub and relax. The life of a prisoner is hard but I will endure. A full month now and still no savior. I could kiss the man who lets me out to ride a noble steed once again. Well not kiss, of course, it's just a figure of speech, unless of course, he was... well never mind. I I let my hands stroke my body and pause to give my breasts a light squeeze. I sigh and drops my hands into the water as the sensation does nothing for me. The one upside of being trapped in this body would be the easy access to a pair of jugs like these but apparently, they lose all their appeal when they are your own. The cruel irony makes me groan and sink down into the water, letting my feet stick up over the edge of the tub.
"Well? Why is nobody rubbing my feet?! Get to it you lazy incompetent specters!"
Finally, I get to relax with a nice foot rub.
***
"Not that song again, I heard it yesterday!"
A whole six weeks before I realized the servants could actually play smoky instruments. They can't sing of course so I have to do that if I want to hear a song. It is exhausting to sing for too long with my delicate vocal chords but again, sacrifices must be made if I am to alleviate the dreary existence of captivity. I guess it does help that my new voice is very pleasant to listen to. After I change back I need to find myself a princess that can sing like... well, me. I sigh and sit by the window.
"Enough music for now! My throat is tired. Get me my after-song cup of tea and don't be stingy with the milk and honey. And hurry up this time, how long can it take to make water boil when you have a dragon?"
I sigh and sit by the window, looking at the horizon.
"What's this!?"
I stand and lean out the window at the sudden sound of giant wing strokes. The dragon has taken off! And there, in the distance... a knight! This is it, I am finally to be rescued after three long months! I squint to make him out as he rides towards the castle. How wasteful, he risks his steed so he doesn't have to walk. At least I tied my... oh gosh my steed must have starved by now!
"Sorry..." I blush as I whisper in case any horse ghosts are listening before I continue to observe the progress of my savior. He is actually fighting the dragon now. He has good form, he dodges slashes of the claws with ease and even manages to escape gulfs of fire from the dragon's maw. He is almost as good as I am... was.. planned to be. His sword is almost as broad as mine yet he swings it like a rapier, damn those arms must be ripped! I bet he could lift me with just one arm! That is if that's what I wanted. Which I don't.
I gasp and cover my mouth as the dragon knocks the prince onto his back and is about to bite him, then clap my hands with excitement as he rolls out of the way and climbs up onto the dragon's back. The dragon takes off and flies out of view from this window. I fan myself as I can hear my very heartbeats getting louder and I run to the window that faces the courtyard. I see the dragon crash land and the knight roll off of him in a cloud of dust. The dragon isn't moving, he actually did it! A swarm of undead soldiers surround the prince and charge at him.
"Look out!" I can't help but shout and the prince seems to quickly glance my way before tending to the enemy combatants. He jumps, dodges and slashes like it was a dance and with very little difficulty the battlefield is soon his. I feel sweaty now, almost as if I was fighting there with him. I fan myself even more as I watch him take his helmet off to wipe the sweat off his brow. Some of his messy pitch black hair falls to partly cover one of his eyes before he flicks his head to throw it back. Oh my gosh, he looks amazing! Strong regal jaw, dark eyebrows, and a thick brawny neck, yet kind looking eyes! He is too far away to make out the color of his eyes, I can't wait to see him up close! He glances up at me and flashes a glistening white smile and a wink before going out of view from my window and I feel my knees go weak. I suddenly gasp and stand up, spreading my arms.
"Hurry up and change my clothes! I need the blue dress with the low cut and silver lining! Hurry!"
I glance at the door and bite my lower lip.
"...and let my hair down." I wet my lips, letting my servants do their work as I await the arrival of my handsome, dashing prince.
A few moons every hundred years, magic lilies will grow in that pond, and they grant wishes. She has a crush on her friend who is a prince... unfortunately she was born a prince.
they are both princes from neighboring prides that DO want to join their families in a royal bond but the plan is for each of these are to marry the other's, future sisters...
She has been hunting myths as long as he can remember and he has come along, finding it fun but not believing in them...
Well.. she finally found a myth that was true and the Lilly granted her wish to become the princess she's always been in all ways but the physical...
(it is from roleplaying)
So if I write something here will anyone actually read it? anyone who cares? Will anyone respond or will it be a monologue? Can I be honest? Am I safe? I know nothing about Tumblr. What is this strange place I find myself in? Can it be any worse than all the other places? Dare I hope it might be better? Whoever reads this are you friend or Foe? Should I despair, rejoice or run for my life? Or should I just shut up and go to bed?
I love the subversion in this piece, where the woman is the powerful figure and the men are just there for decoration. I particularly love how the woman’s drawn to be big and bulky in the way that typical male knights are depicted. And we’ve got a boob and butt pose on the boy on the left. Nice.
The overall piece has good color and value contrast, with the eye immediately being drawn to the heroic knight. The fact that her armor doesn’t hint at her body shape at all really works for me. I feel like if the armor was more body-hugging and curvy, it wouldn’t work as well with the overall shapes. I want this as a poster on my wall.
I also recommend checking out the artist’s gallery. They have a lot of interesting character concepts and illustrations.
Kinda need to hear some things good about the world.. dunno if anyone even gets to read this.. total tumblr noob.. but.. in a pretty dark place atm.. brigthen it up somehow pl0x?
I have a tumblr now!? @purris - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
