Alex's Solar blog

Ashwini nakshatra is symbolized by a horses head and it’s Ashwini Kumaras are the main deities associated with Ashwini. It’s also considered the male counterpart in the horse pairing shared with Shatabhisha, which further emphasizes Ashwini’s connection to horses. There’s a common saying, “hold your horses”, meaning to be patient or to slow down. It’s a saying usually directed at someome acting too quickly or impulsively (advising them to slow down). Interestingly, Ashwini is categorized as a Kshipra (swift) nakshatra, which is favorable for activities involving speed or quick action (swift movement). As noted by Prash Trivedi in The Book of Nakshatras, this quality makes Ashwini, “good for all activities requiring quickness of thought and action” but not necessarily for the completion or ending of any kind (also according to Prash Trivedi, specifically on the unfavorable activities section of Ashwini). I found it such a subtle yet fascinating connection between Ashwini and this everyday phrase that I just had to share it here!

Note: I’m aware of Satabhisha being a horse yoni too but it’s categorized as a Chara (movable) nakshatra, which is favorable for activities needing movement in general. The distinction between Shatabhisha and Ashwini in this case is that Ashwini specifically being catagorized as Kshipra, meaning swift movement, rather than it being solely general movement.

P.S. I’m not a professional or doctor so please do not see me as one.

Dividers credits: @dollywons (specifically the brown sparkles, horses and bows), @plum98 (specifically the brown divider with beige horses) @legality-graphics (specifically the animated horse crazy banner)

Ashwini men have this weathered boy next door attractiveness that feels accidental. Their whole vibe is that they look like they should be serious, detached, and hard to read. They carry themselves in a way that looks dominant, but it is the kind of dominance that feels oddly inviting. They make it feel easy to be around. Ashwini men look like they should be mean or stern, yet in reality they behave like these freaky little goofballs who enjoy catching people off guard with how unbothered and unpredictable they are. They are very energetic and highly expressive, which feels wrong given their appearance.

Ashwini men tend to have sharp, angular features. Their face shape usually falls along the longer side, somewhere between a narrow oblong rectangle and a diamond. Their cheekbones are prominent without being rounded, sitting high and giving the midface that flat, sculpted look. The lower face narrows into a distinct chin, and depending on their body fat, the jawline becomes more or less noticeable. It is not their standout feature, but it clearly adds to their overall appeal. The cheeks create clean planes instead of curves, so the jaw looks like it runs straight rather than sweeping into an arc. The lower third of the face forms a diamond that makes the whole face appear even longer. It isn’t wide enough to be square tapered enough to feel delicate. Most have a rectangular base with a light taper, though some end up with a sharper, pointier chin, usually the shorter ones.

Their bone structure is very strong, but their skin seems to sit loosely over it, which is strange because it gives them a relaxed, almost casual look even when they have sharp features . It creates this contrast where they appear laid back while still looking intense. Their Princess to developing prominent frown lines and wrinkles add even more height to the face, which fits their rectangular or oblong structure and reinforces that stretched, elongated look they tend to have.

Ashwini men tend to have large foreheads in terms of height. At first glance it can look like their foreheads are wide, but this is usually because their hair creates that illusion. Their faces stay narrow looking even when they gain weight, and their hairline often appears pushed upward, which gives them an open, exposed look and makes the forehead seem even larger. They can look like they are starting to bald even when they are not, simply because of the way their hairline sits. They are prone to balding though. Their hair usually ranges from wavy to straight with a finer texture, and it has a tendency to look greasy or oily very easily. They seem to have ruddy colored hair a lot of the time, so kind of brown and kind of reddish blonde.

The brow ridge and mouth are very distinct on Ashwini men. Their brow bone makes their eyes look darker than they actually are and pushed farther back into the face than they really sit. Their lips and overall mouth shape tend to be on the smaller side, but their teeth are quite big. Their lips rest in a neutral position that tilts more toward guarded than relaxed, and the corners pull downward just enough to shift their expression toward something akin to being contemplative. This combines with the set of the brow to give them a look that feels alert and scrutinizing even when they are doing nothing at all and have their eyes half-closed.

Their brows slant downward near the outer edges, and they usually look wispy and soft rather than thick or structured. There is a curve, but it never really becomes an arch. Their eyes sit deep in the face, usually dark-looking, and the shape becomes fuller and rounder when they actually open them all the way. Most of the time they keep them very relaxed, which gives them this tired and irritated look even when they feel fine. Ashwini men with lighter features stand out sharply next to those with darker features, and the contrast is noticeable in a way that is hard to explain, but I think it might be because their light hair makes their eyebrows look thinner.

Their eyes tend to tilt neutral to slightly downward, and the distance between them runs a little closer together without crossing the line to becoming anything obvious. Their eyes give them a guarded expression, and the eyelids sit a bit heavy, which adds to their serious look. The slight hollowing under the eyes reinforces the longer vertical shape of their faces even more so.

Their noses are long and straight, sometimes sharp at the tip and bony along the bridge, especially toward the top, which fits well with their oblong or rectangular faces. The bridge is usually medium to narrow and the nostrils sit close together, so the nose adds to the overall vertical length of the face without creating extra width. This is the general pattern, though. Nose shape shifts more with overall constitution for most nakshatras, and Ashwini shows a bit of variety because of that. They are appealing either way. Their noses look masculine in a way that suits their features.

These men often have an ungroomed or unstyled feel. They may grow facial hair, but usually shave it off for important events because it is patchy and can give off a messy appearance. They have the look of someone who spends a lot of time working with their hands, carrying a relatively unpolished quality. Their skin is rough and textured, showing fine lines and deeper creases more readily, especially across the forehead and around the eyes, as I alluded to earlier.

The star of Mercury signifies:

education

writings, letters

disputation, argument style

speech, logic, reasoning, language, discourse—“the understanding of the speaker which is conveyed through speech and shared with the listener." aka how well the native is understood.

brotherhood—the finding of family or like-minded individuals

interpretation, explanation, expression, translation

the office of Herald (town crier)—in modern times this could mean news anchor, or journalist

numbers, calculations, geometry, voting

commerce

youth

play (this is the literal translation, but the word was often used to refer to sports or games)

theft, stealth, fraud, surprise

community, things you share or have in common with others

things that have common or universal qualities

messages, communication, proclamations, announcements, the news

service, profit, gains, discoveries, inventions

who you follow, how obedient you are, conformity

contest (sports, athletics), wrestling

declamation (ranting. “a type of vehement oratory or rhetorical display”)

sealing (certifying or giving your stamp of approval)

sending messages (letters) in modern times could refer to blogs or texting

weighing (decision making—the sense of weighing on thing against another)

suspense (literally. being suspended from something, or “hung up”… hanging…)

testing, scrutinizing, receiving a stamp of approval after having gone through a series of testing

hearing

versatility (this term translates literally to “many colored” and is often interpreted to refer to diversity, complexity, and variety)

He is the bestower of critical thinking and judgment (intellect, wisdom, forethought, critical thinking, judgement)

lord of brothers and of younger children

mercury is author of all things pertaining to the market and the craft of banking

he makes temple builders, modelers, sculptors, doctors:

teachers (high school/middle school/literature/english/language), scholars, secretaries, scribes, writers,

lawyers

orators, public speakers, teachers of rhetoric

philosophers

architects

musicians

diviners

sacrificers

augurs (those who practice divination via interpretation of the flight and movement of birds)

dream interpreters

braiders, weavers

those who are methodical or systematic

those who are in charge of managing wars or strategic actions

those who utilize paradoxes and craftiness in calculations or false reasoning (either those who attempt to unravel “tricky problems” or those who are themselves “tricky people”)

those who are strong performers (weight lifters or “strong players” in public games—think gladiators?)

mime-actors (when valens wrote his anthology, mime actors were more like live theater actors. some parts were silent, some were spoken, and some were sung. while mimes are far less popular in modern times, this could easily be related to modern singers, actors, and performers)

those who make their livelihood from display, while still wandering and roaming and unstable (in modern times this could literally be anything from beggars who travel from street corner to street corner, prostitutes, to actors in traveling broadway productions, ballerina’s in traveling shows, travel bloggers/vloggers who are never home, athletes/musicians/fluencers/models/celebrities who spend more time traveling than they do at home, or even nomads like reacher from the tv show who simply prefer not to be bogged down by frivolous things like a home or their own car)

those with knowledgeof the heavens or those who seek to become knowledgeable (professional astrologers, and astrology students) undertaking the marvelous work with pleasure and contentment, for the sake of the honor and benefit it brings. (those who honor astrology, or use it to get what they want from life)

For this star holds the power of many pursuits, granting occupations in accordance with the variations of the zodiacal signs or the interweavings of the different configurations of the stars;

for some it gives knowledge,

while for others, brokerage; (the skills to or a career in negotiating sales)

service for some,

while it procures trade or teaching for others;

and for some agriculture or temple-keeping (temple sweeper, temple guardian, temple warden—an important position in ancient times where someone was tasked with caring for the property of the temple. in modern times i think this would be more like an office manager, maid, housekeeper, executive assistant, security guard, or head of security)

or public < office > (someone who is elected into a public office, or has a job related to counting votes of different elections.)

moreover, for some it grants the ability to exercise authority (ceo, managers)

or leasing rentals (management companies, storage unit facilities, banks/manager over safety deposit boxes, land owners, landlords)

or labor contracting (literally the ability to hire someone to do work for you—think finish your basement, make a custom chair, paint you a picture, do a tarot reading for you—the ability to contract the labor of another person. event managers, party planners, and project managers will likely fit under this category as well)

or rhythmic performance (music conductors, choreographers, modern/interpretive dancers)

or managing public services

or even body-guarding! (i mentioned security guards above—which are those who guard buildings. body guards guard people)

or wearing the linen robes of the gods! (priestly robes. refers to priesthood)

or bestowing the pomp of powerful men.

“It brings about all the irregularities in our fortunes and many distractions from our goals, and even more so when this star is upon signs or degrees ruled by malefics, in which case things may even take a turn for the worse.”

Jupiter is known in traditional astrology to indicate and/or signify the following things:

The begetting of children

Child-birth

Desire

Love

Knowledge. Gnosis. (Gnosticism?)

Friendships with great men

Alliances, or unions with groups

The ease of doing things. Advantages. Wealth. Prosperity. Solutions.

Payments made to you. Wages. Scholarships. Allowance.

Large gifts.

An abundance of profits (metaphorical. Fruits of your labors.)

Authorities

Governments (citizenship. Political participation. Officeholding.)

Justice (righteousness)

Honors

Inheritances. Arbitration of disputes.

Confidence. Honesty. Assurance.

Faiths, belief, or trust in something.

Fidelity.

Heads of holy places (heads of temples. Important religious people)

Fellowship (charities)

Brotherhood

Adoption

Confirmation of good things

Relief from bad things (escape. Deliverance. Release)

Release from bonds (being set free after having been tied up or imprisoned)

Freedom

Entrustments (money or property entrusted to your care)

Wealth

Management of a house or family.

Husbandry. (“The care cultivation and breeding of crops and animals” or “farm management” or “conservation of resources”… THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MARRIAGE YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE OR FUTURE HUSBAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Produces runners and running in athletic contests.

According to Valens Jupiter rules the outer thighs, feet, semen, womb, liver, part of the right side of the body, and tin.

The Moon is born from the reflection of the solar light, and Valens describes it as “possessing a counterfeit light”. It is known traditionally as feminine in nature, and is the leader of the diurnal sect.

Here are some of the things the Moon signifies in a nativity:

A man's physical life.

The body.

The mother.

Conception.

Face or appearance. How others see you.

Cohabitation and/or lawful marriage.

Goddess.

Nurses. Caregivers. Nannies. Nurturers.

Older siblings.

Housekeeping.

The queen. (Mostly used to indicate the literally queen when looking at the natal chart of a country with a monarchy, or the beginning of a monarchy itself.)

Mistress of the house.

Possessions.

Fortune. (Fate).

City.

Gathering of masses… Sun “leads the masses” after the Moon has gathered them.

Gains.

Expenditures.

Home. “Ones dwelling place”, as well as their household and/or family.

Boats. (Saturn indicates people who make a living on boats or have an interest in boats. Moon indicates/rules over the boats themselves.)

People who travel or live abroad.

People who approach things in an indirect manner. Who are incapable or uncomfortable with facing matters head on.

She rules the left eye, stomach, breasts, spleen, membranes (thing that encloses the brain—dura mater), marrow (said to produce dropsy—otherwise known as edema’s), breath, glass, and silver.

The Sun is the brightest and boldest luminary in astrology, it shines the brightest spotlight on every part of a chart that it touches. While modern astrologers count it as a planet in their studies and practices, traditional or Hellenistic astrologers pair it only with the moon, and refer to the pair as luminaries. The sun is known as the masculine of these two luminaries, and is the leader of the diurnal sect.

Where the sun is placed in a chart and whether it is dignified or in detriment can tell you an awful lot about the native, including but not limited to:

The authority they have over their own life and the lives of others—along with how they choose to wield that authority.

Their biggest successes.

How renowned and/or admired they are likely to be in the eyes of others.

What their father was like and their relationship to him.

The height of their fortunes.

Their dealings with gods and propensity for consulting oracles.

Their mind, form, and motion.

Their friendships.

Whether or not they become notable figures.

Their intellect.

According to Vettius Valens the sun rules over the head, the right eye, heart, life breath or sensory movement, and the nerves.

The sun also rules over gold, wheat, and barley. Valens describes him as “the color lemon yellow, and bitter in taste”.

venus is desire, love, and pleasure. she signifies the mother and nurse.

She makes:

priesthoods

public benefactors

wearing of golden ornaments

the wearing of crowns

merriment

friendships

companionship

the acquisition of additional property

purchasing of ornaments

reconciliations for the good

marriage

refined arts

pleasant sounds, music-making, sweet singing,

beauty of form (symmetry, aesthetics)

painting, mixing of colors, embroidery, purple-dyeing (fine arts)

perfume making

both the inventors and also the masters of these professions (fine arts)

artistic or commercial works involving emeralds and precious stones

ivory-working

those who spin gold thread, or decorate with gold

haircutters

those who are fond of cleanliness and play

she brings to pass within its own bounds or degrees of the zodiacal signs.

she grants the office of market overseer

measures

weights

trades

shops

giving

receiving

laughter

rejoicing

order

she gives assistance from royal women or relatives and secures a remarkable reputation

she is associated with aquatic animals

she rules the neck, face, lips, nose, the front parts from the foot to the head, the parts of intercourse, and the lungs.

venus represents the nourishing of another who is capable of receiving.

she rules precious stones, multi-colored adornments, and olives.

(AI Generated - A tragic story of acceptance and love that transcends time. Since it's Pride Month I thought it'd be fitting!)

Emmett was a fleeting figure, his slender frame weaving through life like a shadow, unnoticed by most. At twenty-five, his low self-esteem clung to him, a quiet burden, and his social awkwardness turned every date into a clumsy waltz. A hopeless romantic, he yearned for a love that felt like a sonnet, but his heart often stumbled over the prose of modern dating. He lived in a modest apartment complex, where his neighbor, Léonore Auclair, a kind French woman in her sixties, became a beacon of warmth. Her stories, laced with nostalgia, were a refuge for Emmett’s lonely evenings.

One golden October afternoon, Léonore announced a yard sale in the courtyard, her tables spilling over with relics of her past. Emmett wandered over, drawn by the promise of distraction and her familiar smile. His fingers grazed chipped teacups and faded novels until they settled on a leather-bound photo album, its weight heavy with secrets. He opened it, and the world fell away.

There, in stark black-and-white, was a man who seemed carved from dreams. Vincent Auclair, Léonore’s uncle, gazed back with piercing green eyes that held a tempest of unspoken longing. His dark hair was styled with meticulous care, a mustache framing lips that curved with effortless seduction. His suits were immaculate, tailored to a body that radiated confidence and grace. Emmett’s breath hitched, his fingers trembling as they traced Vincent’s flawless features, captivated by a beauty that felt both eternal and forbidden.

“Mon cher, you’ve found something special, non?” Léonore’s voice broke through, her eyes softening as she noticed Emmett’s fixation.

She leaned closer, her perfume a faint whisper of lavender. “That’s my uncle Vincent. Beau, wasn’t he? So kind, always charming everyone. He’d play with me for hours when I was une petite girl.”

Emmett’s heart fluttered. “He’s… incredible,” he murmured, unable to tear his gaze from the photo. 

Léonore’s smile wavered, a shadow crossing her face. “Oui, but his story is sad. He took his own life before thirty. C’est tragique.”

“Why?” Emmett’s voice was barely a whisper, his chest tightening at the thought of such a man choosing darkness. 

Léonore sighed, her fingers brushing the album’s edge. “There were rumeurs, mon ami. They said Vincent was gay. In the 1960s, it was… difficile. Not like today. He fought dépression, especially after his famille disowned him. They caught him with un homme, and it broke his spirit. He jumped from a bridge and drowned in the Seine.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, and she pressed the album into Emmett’s hands. “Take it, s’il te plaît. You understand the struggle. Keep his mémoire alive.”

Emmett clutched the album, his throat tight. “Merci, Léonore. I’ll cherish it.” 

That night, he lay in bed, the album open beside him. Vincent’s face glowed in the lamplight, those green eyes pleading for solace. Emmett’s heart ached, his own loneliness echoing Vincent’s silent suffering. He traced the mustache, imagining the warmth of Vincent’s skin, and whispered, “I wish I could’ve been there. I’d have held you through it all.” Sleep claimed him, the photo pressed against his chest, Vincent’s image a tether to his dreams.

—

Months later, a vicious rainstorm swept through the city, its torrents unrelenting. Emmett, caught without an umbrella, hurried toward a bus stop, his coat sodden and clinging to his slight frame. Across the street, a man waved frantically, his shouts drowned by the rainpour. “Hey!” he called, his voice barely cutting through the rain.

Distracted, Emmett didn’t notice the slick cobblestone beneath his feet. His foot slipped, and he fell backward, his head striking the pavement with a sickening crack. 

The world dissolved into darkness, rain pooling around him like tears…

.....

Water surged into his lungs, a violent jolt wrenching him awake. Emmett thrashed, panic clawing at his chest as he realized he was submerged in a vast, churning river. His limbs burned with effort as he swam upward, breaking the surface with a desperate gasp. Coughing and shivering, he dragged himself to the riverbank, the cold seeping into his bones. 

A woman in a long, vintage dress rushed to his side, her French rapid and laced with worry. “Monsieur, ça va? Vous êtes blessé?” 

Emmett froze, not just at her old-fashioned attire but at the realization that he understood her perfectly. He stammered in English, “I’m okay,” shocked to hear a deep, velvety voice with a thick French accent. He tried again, this time in flawless French. “Je vais bien, merci.” 

The woman frowned, puzzled, before hurrying away, muttering, “Quel étrange homme.”

Soaked and disoriented, Emmett stumbled through the city, his surroundings a dreamlike blend of familiarity and alienness. The air was thick with the scent of fresh baguettes, and French voices filled the streets, their cadence a melody of another era. Men in tailored suits and women in elegant dresses moved with purpose, their world untouched by the neon of modernity.

His heart pounded as he passed a shop window and caught his reflection. Staring back was Vincent Auclair, his green eyes wide with shock, his mustache damp and framing lips parted in disbelief. Emmett touched his face, pinching the smooth skin, his fingers trembling.

“Putain, c’est pas possible,” he whispered, his voice Vincent’s, rich and resonant. 

A discarded newspaper caught his eye, its headline bold: Le Monde, 1967. He was in Paris, in Vincent’s body, in a time not his own.

“Vincent! Mon amour!” A voice, warm and urgent, cut through his daze. A handsome man with blond hair and bright blue eyes ran toward him, relief flooding his features. 

He pulled Emmett into a tight embrace, his hands warm against the damp fabric of Emmett’s shirt. Glancing around to ensure privacy, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Emmett’s lips. 

“I was so worried,” he murmured, his breath warm against Emmett’s cheek. “Where were you? You vanished, and I thought… merde, I thought the worst.” He tugged Emmett along, his grip firm yet tender. “Viens, let’s get you warm.”

Dazed, Emmett followed, his mind a whirlwind as they entered a small apartment, its walls alive with the scent of fresh bread and faint cologne. The man—Jerome, he soon realized—was Vincent’s lover, and this was their shared home. Jerome’s affection was immediate, his kisses fervent as he pressed himself closer.

“Mon cœur, you’re freezing,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “And you smell like the stinky Seine. Shower, now, while I make us dinner. D’accord?” 

Emmett nodded, still processing, and wandered toward what he hoped was the bathroom.

Instead, he found the bedroom, its air heavy with the musk of intimacy and French cologne. Clothes were strewn across the bed, a testament to hurried mornings or passionate nights. Photo frames lined the walls, capturing Vincent and Jerome in moments of unguarded joy—arms around each other, laughter frozen in time. On a cabinet lay an open letter, addressed to Jerome in Vincent’s elegant script. Curiosity won, and Emmett read, his heart sinking with every word.

“My love, Jerome, Every day, I feel the weight of the world upon me. My family rejected me, their words piercing me like knives. They don't understand our love, and I fear they never will. I love you more than the stars, but I can't bear the judgment, the stares, the whispers. I dream of a life where we could be free, but here, it's impossible. Forgive me, my love, for what I must do. It will break your heart, and for that, I am sorry. Always yours, Vincent.”

Emmett’s tears fell, staining the paper as he clutched it to his chest. The river, he realized, had been Vincent’s attempt to end it all. Somehow, at the moment of death, Emmett’s consciousness had slipped into Vincent’s body, sparing him. Why or how remained a mystery, but Vincent’s pain was now his to carry. 

“Pauvre Vincent,” he whispered, folding the letter and tucking it away before continuing to the bathroom.

The mirror revealed Vincent’s beauty in full, a vision that stole Emmett’s breath. His skin was flawless, glowing under the soft light, his eyes a mesmerizing blue-green that shifted like the sea. The mustache, groomed to perfection, framed lips that begged to be kissed. Emmett’s fingers brushed the bristles, a shiver running through him at the sensation.

He unbuttoned the soaked shirt, revealing a sculpted chest, each muscle defined and warm beneath his touch. His hands lingered, tracing the smooth planes of Vincent’s body, marveling at its perfection. He shed his trousers and underwear, his gaze dropping to the long, curved cock that stirred under his gaze. It hardened, a pulse of desire that Emmett fought to ignore out of respect for the real owner. 

“C’est pas à moi,” he murmured, stepping into the shower. Hot water cascaded over his new flesh, the steam curling around him like a lover’s embrace, his arousal a persistent throb.

Dressed in one of Vincent’s crisp shirts, its fabric caressing his skin, Emmett joined Jerome in the kitchen, where a fragrant meal of coq au vin awaited. Jerome’s smile was radiant, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

“Tu es magnifique, Vincent,” he said, pouring wine. “Even after a swim in the Seine, you’re parfait.”

Emmett laughed, the sound rich and unfamiliar. “Flatteur,” he teased, surprised at how easily he slipped into Vincent’s charm. Conversation flowed like the wine, effortless in a way Emmett had never known. Jerome spoke of their plans, their dreams, his voice a melody of hope and love. 

“Tu sais,” he said, reaching for Emmett’s hand, “I couldn’t live without you. You’re my everything.”

Emmett’s heart swelled, Vincent’s body responding to Jerome’s touch with a hunger that felt both foreign and fated. “Jerome,” he said softly, testing the name, “tu es mon refuge.” 

Their eyes locked, and the air thickened with unspoken need. Jerome leaned in, his lips brushing Emmett’s in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, a spark igniting a blaze. The kiss deepened, tongues dancing, hands roaming as they stumbled to the bedroom, shedding clothes in a frenzy of desire.

Jerome pushed Emmett onto the bed, the mattress yielding under their weight. He straddled Emmett, his lips trailing a sensual path up Vincent’s abs, each kiss a brush of fire against the smooth skin. He lingered at Emmett’s nipples, teasing them with soft bites that drew gasps, before kissing his way to Emmett’s neck, sucking gently at the pulse point.

“Tu es délicieux,” Jerome whispered, his voice husky. Their mouths crashed together, a passionate dance that left them breathless, a thin string of saliva glistening between them as they parted.

Jerome’s eyes gleamed with love. “Je t’aime, Vincent,” he said, his fingers tracing Emmett’s jaw.

He slid lower, his breath hot against Emmett’s skin as he kissed the tip of Vincent’s cock, teasing it with slow, deliberate licks. His tongue traced the underside, savoring every inch, before he took it fully, his mouth a warm, wet haven. Emmett’s body, so sensitive in its newness, trembled under the onslaught. He gripped the sheets, his moans filling the room, each one a French curse that felt natural on Vincent’s tongue. 

“Putain, Jerome, Putain! C’est trop bon,” he groaned, his hips bucking.

Across the room, a mirror propped against the cabinet caught Emmett’s eye, its angle perfect to reflect the scene on the bed. It was not his own face staring back but Vincent’s—sweaty, flushed, and utterly consumed by ecstasy. The sight was intoxicating, Vincent’s perfect body a sculpted masterpiece, his muscles taut and glistening under the dim light. His green eyes, dark with lust, locked onto the reflection, the mustache framing lips parted in a silent cry. Emmett watched, mesmerized, as Vincent’s chest heaved, his abs flexing with each thrust of his hips into Jerome’s eager mouth. 

The mirror revealed every detail—the way Vincent’s cock glistened, slick with Jerome’s saliva, the way his thighs trembled with the effort to hold back. Jerome’s head bobbed rhythmically, his hands gripping Vincent’s hips, guiding him deeper. Emmett’s gaze lingered on Vincent’s face, the raw vulnerability in those sea-green eyes, the sweat beading on his flawless brow, the way his head tipped back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat.

“Mon dieu, Jerome,” Emmett gasped, his voice a low, husky growl, “you drive me crazy.”

The pleasure built, a slow crescendo that coiled tighter with every stroke of Jerome’s tongue, every gentle scrape of teeth. He watched Vincent’s reflection, the man’s beauty a revelation, his body a temple of desire that Emmett now inhabited. The mirror amplified every sensation, making him feel both participant and voyeur, lost in the erotic tableau of Vincent’s surrender. His hands tangled in Jerome’s short blond hair, urging him on, his hips rocking in a primal rhythm. The heat of Jerome’s mouth, the slick glide of his lips, the soft hum of his pleasure—it was too much, too perfect. 

Emmett’s climax surged, a tidal wave of ecstasy that crashed over him, his body arching off the bed as he came with a fierce, shuddering cry.

“Merde! Jerome!” he shouted, profanities spilling in perfect French, his release pulsing into Jerome’s mouth, wave after wave of blinding pleasure.

The mirror held Vincent’s image, his face contorted in rapture, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and red, a god in the throes of mortal bliss.

Jerome, spent and sated, licked his lips with a satisfied grin, crawling up to nuzzle against Emmett’s neck. His breath was warm, his body heavy with contentment as he murmured, “Tu es incredible, mon amour,” before drifting into sleep against Vincent’s chest.

Emmett lay awake, his body still humming with the aftershocks, his mind a tangle of wonder and doubt. The mirror reflected their entwined forms, Vincent’s arm draped protectively over Jerome, a scene of intimacy that felt both stolen and earned. Could he return to his time? Did he want to? Saving Vincent felt like a purpose, a chance to rewrite a tragedy...

He pressed a gentle kiss to Jerome’s forehead, whispering, “Bonne nuit, mon amour,” before drifting into sleep, the mirror’s gaze a silent witness to his transformation.

—

Weeks turned to months, and Emmett fully embraced his life as Vincent Auclair, stepping into the role with a confidence he’d never known. Paris became his canvas, its cobblestone streets and bustling cafés a stage for his new existence. Jerome’s love was a constant, a radiant force that healed the scars of Emmett’s old insecurities. 

“Tu es mon soleil,” Jerome would say, kissing him awake each morning, his fingers tracing the lines of Vincent’s face with reverence.

Emmett would smile, Vincent’s perfect lips curving effortlessly, and reply, “Et tu es ma lune, mon cher.” 

Their mornings were filled with lazy touches, their evenings with whispered promises, their love a quiet rebellion against the world’s judgment.

Vincent’s suits, tailored to perfection, became Emmett’s armor, each one a masterpiece that hugged his sculpted frame. He’d stand before the bedroom mirror, adjusting his tie, his reflection a vision of elegance and allure.

“Not bad, Vincent,” he’d murmur, running a hand through his dark hair, the mustache framing a smile that now felt like his own. The city noticed him—heads turned in cafés, eyes lingered on the street, whispers of “Quel bel homme” following in his wake.

For the first time, Emmett felt wanted, desired, his beauty a currency he wielded with growing ease. He’d catch his reflection in shop windows, Vincent’s green eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence, and think, “This is who I was meant to be.”

Though Vincent’s parents remained distant, their rejection a lingering sting, his uncle and aunt welcomed him with open arms. Their young daughter, Léonore, was a burst of joy, her laughter a bridge to the future Emmett had known. 

“Tonton Vincent!” she’d squeal, throwing herself into his arms, her tiny hands tugging at his mustache. He’d spin her around, her giggles filling the air, and feel a warmth that rooted him to this life. 

“Ma petite étoile,” he’d say, kissing her forehead, marveling at the loop of time that tied her to the woman who’d gifted him Vincent’s photos.

Emmett’s days were filled with purpose, his nights with passion. He and Jerome would dance in their apartment, the radio crackling with French chansons, their bodies pressed close, swaying to the rhythm of their shared heartbeat. 

“I want to grow old with you,” Jerome would whisper, his hands sliding under Vincent’s shirt, igniting sparks against his skin. 

Emmett would kiss him deeply, Vincent’s lips a perfect instrument, and reply, “And I with you, mon amour.”

Their love was a sanctuary, a world where Emmett felt whole, Vincent’s sexuality no longer a source of shame but a vibrant truth he celebrated.

—

In May 1968, Paris erupted in protests, a tidal wave of change that swept the nation. The Homosexual Front for Revolutionary Action emerged, a beacon for gay liberation. Emmett, as Vincent, joined the fight, marching with pride and purpose.

“Pour la liberté!” he shouted, his voice mingling with the crowd’s, his heart swelling with the knowledge that he was shaping history. He stood shoulder to shoulder with others like him, Vincent’s handsome face a symbol of defiance, his presence a promise of a better future. 

“Nous persévérerons,” he told Jerome, their hands clasped as they faced the chaos, their love a quiet strength amidst the storm. Emmett never imagined he’d be part of such a pivotal moment in history, but the fire in his heart burned for those who would come after, for the world he’d left behind.

His life as Vincent was a tapestry of beauty and contentment, each day a brushstroke of joy. He’d walk the river Seine at dusk, Jerome’s hand in his, the city’s lights reflecting on the water like stars. 

“C’est parfait,” he’d say, Vincent’s voice rich with emotion, and Jerome would squeeze his hand, replying, “Avec toi, it always is.”

Emmett had found his place, his purpose, his love. The mirror no longer showed a stranger but a man who had claimed his destiny, handsome, wanted, and utterly at peace.

~ Epilogue ~

Rain pelted Emmett’s face, yanking him from darkness. He gasped, coughing water from his lungs, his body sprawled on a wet street beside a bus stop. Confusion gripped him—the last thing he remembered was despair, a bridge, and the Seine’s cold embrace. Now he wore unfamiliar clothes, and the city was modern, alive with neon and noise.

A man approached, older but striking, his green eyes softened by time. He extended a hand, pulling Emmett to his feet and into a warm embrace.

“Where am I?” Emmett asked, stunned to hear his voice in perfect English. 

The man smiled, his French accent thick but kind. “Je m’appelle Vincent Auclair,” he said, his eyes twinkling with secrets. “Viens, mon ami. We have much to catch up on.” He led Emmett away, promising a home-cooked meal by his husband, Jerome, and a new beginning. 

“Don’t worry,” Vincent said, his hand steady on the new Emmett’s shoulder. “I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”

As they walked, Emmett and Vincent felt a strange peace, as if time had woven their fates together, two souls trading places to heal each other’s wounds. The rain washed away the past, leaving only new hope in its wake.

Thank you very much for organizing it !

================================================

To @fafnir19

You sat at your desk, readying yourself for yet another soul-sucking day of office work.

You may be writing loads of stories on the internet, of people growing in and out of wealth, of demons and creatures, and most of all of transformation, but back in the real world, everything feels so much more static. Yesterday’s problems are today’s problems, and today’s problems are tomorrow’s problems. A never-ending series of crisis after crisis, which somehow always swap roots yet never swap effects. You can at least consider yourself fortunate that your pay is comfortable enough so that you can weather these, even if it means having to look in the eyes of someone who has little, and answer their request for starting something greater in the negative.

But today, there seems to be some agitation in the office. A change in the routine. Something to bring you out of the intensive mundane and the boring busyness.

So you ask the colleague with which you share desk a part in today’s gossip, and what he answers may surprise you :

“Nathaniel Nostitz has come here ! I don’t know why he’s here, but I’m sure everyone wants to bag him !”

Now, as a banker, you do keep an eye on the important fortunes in your area, and the Nostitz family is one of them – if not the most important. You know that their family comes from Silesia, but that there was recently some family drama with his son, or at least that’s what the few articles of showbiz about him that some colleague forced you to read said. You don’t actually care, but you do know that such an important family coming to see a standard local bank is quite… unusual.

But you know to keep your head down and not cause unnecessary problems. You won’t be able to convince him to do anything with you, and he may be tempted to destroy your career if you’re too annoying. Therefore, you go back on working on your computer, some case of investment account or something. Boring, but safe.

That’s why you were surprised when, suddenly, you hear a deep sultry voice speaking right next to you.

“Greetings. I think I have a proposal that may interest you.”

You look up to suddenly see a middle-aged looking blonde man, impeccably dressed and styled, sporting a bit bushy beard.

Is he… actually Mr. Nostitz ? He looks quite a bit younger than you expected… and more attractive… but it may be due to him having access to all the best treatments money can pay, after all. However, as he looks right in your eyes, you suddenly understand that the proposal – a business proposal, you guess – was aimed at you.

“Oh, er…” You stumble, not having expected this turn of events. “Greetings to you too, sir… what is that proposal about ?”

He smiles when you call him ‘sir’. Somehow, this smile seems almost… predatory ? Of some kind ?

“I’d be willing to place some of my fortune in your care… therefore in the care of this bank, if you were willing to grant me a few... favors.” He smiles, trying his hardest to look innocent while he is, in effect, holding you hostage to your company’s expectations. - I… I’ll think about it, sir…” You answer evasively, taken by surprise. - Of course, of course !” He smiles, looking even more predatory and threatening than before. He gives you a black piece of cardboard paper. “Here’s my business card, for when you’ve taken your decision.”

On that not-so-subtle order to accept, he takes his leave, leaving you confused in-between the jealous and judgy eyes of your colleagues. And as expected, you’re immediately summoned by your boss. He urges you to accept without delay, promising you a share of the high profits that a share of the Nostitz fortune will bring the bank.

And the door if you dare refuse.

That’s why you’re now here, in front of this huge manor, as ready as you can manage to be to throw yourself in the lion’s den.

The manor is very big, and very beautiful. Its fine architecture betrays its age, which shows how entrenched the Nostitz familly is, around here. A butler welcomes you inside, and leads you up to Mr. Nostitz’s office, though not without ridding you of your coat. And as you stand in front of the old wooden ebony door, you gather your courage before knocking.

“Enter.” The low and sultry voice orders.

You follow suit, opening the door, and finding Mr. Nostitz reading some files on a well-organized desk, with only a suspicious brown mallet throwing the neatness off.

“Hello, Mr. Nostitz.” You start, but as you’re about to continue, he cuts you with his authoritative voice. - Greetings. So you’re here to discuss my… proposition, are you not ? - Y-yes, sir, I am.”

He puts his files down, and stands up, towards one of the racks on the wall, looking through binder after binder.

“You see… ever since my son decided that our wealth was… problematic, I had a little project in mind. And when I saw you, I knew you were the perfect candidate for it.”

Son leaving ? Wealth problematic ? You the perfect candidate ? … it seems like the family drama you desperately wanted to know as little as you could about comes back to bite you in the ass…

“I’m sorry sir, I-” You start backing off, but he cuts you once again, his mere presence silencing you. - I want to do a little experiment on you.” He says, having found the documents he was searching for, reaching for the mallet and opening it in front of your eyes. “These… potions, you may call them, have some effects that I want to study. And you’re the perfect man for it. - Sir, I’m sorry to say that, but I don’t know if I want to risk my health with an untested substance !” You start refusing, tampering it as much as you can. - Of course, your refusal is to be expected when presented with so few information.” Somehow, this felt like a jab at you. “However, I guarantee that it is safe, it has been tested on numerous animals, and it’s been proven to be safe for humans. Besides, the papers I brought out here make me liable for any disease related to this… treatment.”

At least he was thoughtful, and didn’t ask you to jump in with full faith. However, he does ask you to jump in blind, which is more problematic.

“And, this treatment…” You interject, finding an opening in the conversation. “What does it do ? - Ah, yes, a most important query.” He comments, yet again preventing you from going further in your thought. “Let’s just say that it may trigger a few… changes in your body. Most importantly, it will make you look younger.”

Changes ? Younger ? These are two keywords that draw your attention, as they usually belong to that other part of your life… You are quite a bit more excited than you should be, but the chance to experiment with at least part of one of your oldest dreams, one that felt like it could only ever belong to fiction, clouds your judgment.

Such was Mr. Nostitz’s plan.

“I… I’m interested.” You finally manage, feeling it’s safe and enviable enough to throw the remainder of your caution to the wind. - That’s perfect. Then, I’d ask you to sign those papers, please.”

You skimp over them quickly before signing, hopefully catching anything big that would be lying in the text, but you find none. Assuming that no surprises remained, you sign. On that, Mr. Nostitz smiles maliciously, yet again looking like a predator, before reaching in the mallet and drawing a small glass flask, half-filled by an opaque cyan liquid.

“Then we should start now, don’t you say ? Please drink this.” He orders with his deep, authoritative voice. - O-okay…”

You were not expecting to start this so soon, but you’re quite weak to the strength of his voice… So you drink it. It doesn’t taste good, a bit too salty to your taste, but it’s not that bad. You know foods that tasted a lot worse. As you feel it coursing down your esophagus, you start expecting some effects, standing in silence, looking discreetly at your skin. But this just makes Mr. Nostitz elegantly laugh.

“Are you expecting instantaneous results ? You should wait until tomorrow, at the very least !”

You blush of shame from this, before deciding to cut this meeting there, since the treatment has already been administered. But before you can properly address your salutations, he stops you :

“I’m sorry, but now isn’t the time to go. See, it’s already late, so you won’t be able to go back to work.” He is correct, it is 7PM already, but you don’t understand why he’s stopping you like that. - I’m sorry, sir, but I… should really go home.” You say with the utmost care, not wanting to appear rude. - My, don’t you know you that, during the duration of the experiment, you agreed to lodging here ?”

You freeze.

You didn’t know that. Was it written in the document you signed ? Did you not notice it ? You did skimp through it, but surely such a motion would have jumped to you… However, taken in surprise, you improvise, lying to try and save face.

“Y-yes, of course, but I… need to get some things from home ! I can’t stay here with only what I have on me !” Hopefully he will buy your excuse. - Don’t worry, we have everything necessary on hand here. It might not be what you’re used to, but… everyone needs a bit of luxury in their life, if you catch what I’m saying.” He snidely smiles to you. - I’ll… see what I can do with…” You admit defeat, though surrendering to luxury isn’t the hardest thing to do. - That’s great ! The butler will lead you to your room.”

On that, the butler opens the door, and urges you to follow him. He leads you through beautiful corridor after beautiful corridor, all stinking money, until you reach another door. Inside is a spacious bedroom suite, likely bigger than your first flat, even without including the bathroom. It looks quite a bit more modern than the rest of the house, but with no less old money woody tones.

The butler leaves you alone inside, where, immediately after putting down the few things you were still carrying, you rush to the bathroom. However, you’re disappointed when you look inside the mirror and… it’s still you on the other side. Well, you expect it to still be you, but still, not seeing any change does bum you down.

This taken care of, you look around the room to get a bit more familiar with it. If it’s where you’re going to stay in the near future, you’d want to know where to find things of interest.

You start by the bathroom, finding a lot of hygiene stuff, including products for the skin and for the hair, as well as multiple bottles of expensive cologne and, weirdly enough, condoms… that are too big for your dick. Great. You move to the closet, in which you find a wealth of clothes, all fitted to your size – though they’re a bit loose on you, not by much, but noticeable enough – as if Mr. Nostitz knew you’d come. However, you’re surprised by their diversity. While there of course are the dress shirts and suits you’d expect, as well as polos, sweaters and other preppy clothes, there’s also some more young – for lack of a better word – clothes like a collection of jackets, t-shirts and even tank tops.

You close the closet back up, thinking to yourself that you’d never need this much clothes, but that you appreciate the thought. Having barely closed that piece of furniture, the butler invites you for dinner. He leads you to a grand dinner room, outfitted with a long wooden table, on which only two places were set.

You take place in front of one, while Mr. Nostitz takes place on the other side. On that follows a floury of expensive dishes, served as if you were at a high-grade restaurant. While you ate each of the courses, you entertained a lively discussion with Mr. Nostitz about investment, and about how his money would be taken care of, now that it is in your care.

That is, after all, the primary reason of your stay. Even if it got eclipsed by another.

Once the meal was finished, Mr. Nostitz waved you goodbye, and the butler accompanied you to your room. You did as usual, preparing yourself for bed, changing into your nightwear, brushing your teeth and all that. But as you were doing that, you noticed that your hair looked a bit… brighter than usual ?

It must have been the lighting, you think to yourself as you fall to sleep in the giant and extremely comfortable bed.

You are woken up by the butler at an early hour, as he tells you that breakfast will be served before you go to work. Ah… yes, right, you forgot, with how comfy the bed was, that you weren’t in holidays. So you stretch a bit, but as you enter the bathroom, something doesn’t look right…

It takes you a moment before you manage to figure it out.

Your hair was now blonde ! And curly !

You look out to your bedroom, but the butler isn’t here, so you look back in the mirror. God, that hair looks so healthy… You pinch yourself a few times, before you decide that you’re actually in the real world, and that this is now your hair.

A bit confused, you look in the myriad of products, and see that all the products for the hair are made for wavy or curly hair… how fortunate… So, you put some in your hair, hoping that they will make the mess that you woke up with more dignified, before continuing your morning routine as you usually do.

However, now the fact that there actually was a transformation makes you all excited for whatever comes next. You’re actually living your fantasy ! The one you thought wasn’t impossible in the real world !

Jovial, you eat, and enter the limousine, before being dropped off in front of your bank. You’re so happy about all that that you don’t even register the fact that you’re coming to work in a limousine, and sporting a healthier, curlier and blonder hairstyle than you ever had in your life. Though your colleague don’t ignore that, as you do manage to overhear people gossiping about those very things, you… really couldn’t care less. It just felt quite unimportant, really, when compared to everything else.

The day of work was over pretty quickly, and before you could even worry about going back to the manor, you see the limousine that drove you to your bank stationed in front, disturbing traffic in the meantime. You’d usually feel a bit guilty of being the reason of other’s frustrations, but somehow, you’re so happy that you just don’t care. Yet again.

As you enter, greeted by the chauffeur, it even starts feeling a bit normal, how you’re greeted with the utmost deference, how you are given privileges, how people are waiting for you…

You shake your head. This state of affairs is temporary, do not get used to the luxury. In a week, you’ll be back to your usual grind.

Arrived at destination, you enter the manor, expecting to see Mr. Nostitz, but he is nowhere to be found. That’s weird, you haven’t seen him in the whole day… you were eager to show him the golden curls you acquired… You furrow your brow at your sudden thought, finding them a bit out of character until you remember that you’re in an experiment. Of course the one responsible for holding the experiment should keep a close look on their patient.

But here you are, on your bed, not having seen him anywhere. You had the time to explore the mansion further, to write part of your next story, and relax, yet when the butler called you to go eat, you still hadn’t seen him. Taking place at the table, you also noticed that there was only one place setting. None for the elusive master of this mansion.

Adding insult to injury, before the first course, the butler comes back with a small flask, of the same kind that you took yesterday, filled in half with yesterday’s opaque cyan liquid. You sigh of frustration and take it from the butler’s hand, a bit more aggressively than you wanted to, and drink it, before unleashing your growing anger at the poor employee :

“Why isn’t Mr. Nostitz here ? He should be eating with me ! - Sir, Mr. Nostitz’s schedule is very busy, you were fortunate to have been able to share a dinner with him yesterday.” Explains calmly the butler, as if he’s seen this kind of tantrums many times. - That’s… understandable…” You answer, starting to calm down.

You eat each subsequent course in silence, trying to understand the reason of your anger. It’s not as if you really cared about Mr. Nostitz… he hosts you and runs this experiment, but you have only known each others for two days, and it’s not like it was love at first sight… After finishing your meal, you come back to your room, hoping to have a quiet evening after that feat of anger.

And as such started to create a bit of a routine for yourself.

On the morning, you checked the mirror for any change, noticing that you got taller, younger, more muscular and handsomer – for lack of a better word. You then take breakfast, ride up the limousine to your bank, slog through a workday becoming progressively boring as the days go on, and get relieved to find the limousine waiting for you in front of the building. Coming back to the mansion, you drink the flask, and then come out of your shell more and more, watching TV on the huge one in the living room, playing the latest Fifa if the urge takes you, going for a walk in the big gardens or even working out in the private gym, that seemed suspiciously new. And before sleeping, you use a progressively bigger amount of beauty products, noticing the odd few additional changes like your dick enlarging or your eyes taking on a blue color.

This life is becoming progressively comfier – not that it was painful by any means – and you feel more and more at home in the giant, faceless manor that you inhabit. Having a butler take care of you, being driven by a limousine, eating the finest foods, wearing the finest silk… all that luxury is starting to become second nature. The week flew by, and it was already time for the weekend. The last days of your experiment, the last days of a luxury that you will surely miss. And all that, without even having caught a glimpse of Mr. Nostitz.

You are now basically unrecognizable from the tired banker that came in this mansion. Now a handsome young man with blonde curls, all the fancy clothes that were bought for you fit like a glove thanks to the new muscles. As you take a last photo in front of the estate’s forest, you wonder if you should try opening an Instagram account. After all, your good looks aren’t going away, and work is just getting so boring...

But suddenly, your butler asks you to come urgently. Nonchalantly, you follow him to the mansion, where there seem to be a lot more people than usual. Is there a party of some kind happening ? You stroll in, finding Mr. Nostitz at the center of a small crowd. Finally ! He is here ! He will finally be able to see what you became !

So you hurry in his direction, drawing the ire of some of the guests. But you don’t actually care, they shouldn’t have been in your way in the first place. You are now in hearing distance from the architect of your experiment, but as you’re about to make yourself known to him, his voice overpowers you. However, it isn’t addressed to you, but rather at a guest.

“Cassandra, why must you raise this issue in a day of rejoicing !” As he told that, he looked briefly at you, noticing your presence. - Nathaniel, you cannot continue this charade ! Leandra has long passed, and even your own son agrees that you can’t continue claiming the fortune ! You are not part of our family anymore !” A well-dressed woman – Cassandra, you assume – with long curly dirty blonde hair insisted, angrily. - This son of mine isn’t able to manage our fortune, you can at least agree with me on that. Besides, I was married to Leandra, my beloved, so you know the implications. - Quit trying to act as if you’re part of our kin. We will need to see you in court, if you do not heed this last warning !” She said ominously, although it only drew Mr. Nostitz’s smile. An evil and predatory smile, as always. - If you’re talking like that… then I assume you are not acquainted with her second son.”

Second son ? You thought he only had one ! … and clearly, so did the rest of the room, who fell silent, looking at Mr. Nostitz with incredulity.

“Stop inventing excuses. If Leandra had another son, I would have been aware ! - Well, in this case, we may make introductions !”

He suddenly strides towards you, grabbing you by the arm, and as you stand there incredulous, he announces :

“I present to you my son. Leandra’s second son, and my second son. The true heir of the Nostitz family.”

A gasp of shock sleeps through the entire room, which would have included you if Mr. Nostitz hadn’t squeezed your arm at the right moment. Just what is he playing at ! Last you checked, you remember your parents, and none of them seem to belong to the Nostitz family that stands here, and you’re quite sure that Mr. Nostitz is in no way your father.

Yet, after the initial shock and denials, you hear people in attendance starting to notice similarities between you and your supposed parents. Some point out the curls like Leandra, or the blonde like Mr. Nostitz, some say your face looks like one member of the family or another, and other say you stature reminds them of Mr. Nostitz.

Out of them all, Cassandra, although she was just as shocked as the others, if not more, was the first to speak out against this assertions.

“This… is ridiculous ! You can’t just invent a new son to keep a hold of the money ! - I’m not inventing anyone. He was just… raised in another family to prevent him from being corrupted like his older brother. - This is pure and utter nonsense ! I require proof ! Irrefutable proof that he is your son, and Leandra’s son ! - All in due time, I knew you would react like that, so I prepared all the necessary prerequisites to make a paternity test. I wanted to present him to you all to continue this process.” Suddenly, he looks at you in the eyes. “Of course, my son will be enchanted to cooperate in your quest for proof, isn’t he ?”

His look was a dare. A dare to start living a life in a lie. A dare to continue living in the mansion you inhabit. Although he neglected you during your whole stay, although you have a life outside this mansion, although you have actual parents and family, you… can’t seem to be able to refuse his request.

Is it the luxury that drew you in ? Or the transformation, making you become a whole new person altogether ? Or is it Mr. Nostitz’s authority that you don’t want to defy ? Whatever the actual reason, you smirk, and cannot help but say, in the most proud and obnoxious voice that you have :

“Yes, of course, father.”

You pose, as your butler takes a picture in front of your vineyards.

You are dressed in an expensive shirt, with a luxury watch and obnoxious Gucci sunglasses. And you wouldn’t expect any less than this display of wealth. Because even though you don’t actually run those yards, your father being the one to generate all the wealth that you benefit from, you still own them. You also own a lot of other things, noteworthy between all these possessions being the Nostitz mansion.

However, now, you don’t work a day in your life. You quit you banker job as soon as the DNA test results came in, showing that you were indeed the son of Nathaniel Nostitz and Leandra Nostitz, as this life wasn’t yours anymore. Rather, you now spend your time on Instagram, modeling and throwing party after party with your new famous or otherwise wealthy friends. These activities let you earn a surprising amount of money, although it is just a drop in the ocean of all your wealth.

But you know that you are only a puppet, living a life of hedonism while your father cultivates power on your back, created with the only aim of holding on to a fortune. And you couldn’t care less. Hedonism is fun, once you give in, and it makes you happier than you have ever been. If the price for that is any sense of life achievement… then you are more than willing to pay it all.

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Sitting in the coffee shop, I see this Hipster ordering coffee at the counter. He’s not overly handsome, but has a great look to him, and I suddenly wish I was young again. He’s wearing a thick green bow tie, a vintage vest and has a killer tweed hat on, the end of his thick mustache curled perfectly on the ends above just the right amount of beard and scruff. Like I said, not overly attractive, but he has THE LOOK. He is the definition of young Hipster.

He nods at the girl at the counter and I notice his great smile and how the girl at is totally into him as he pulls his pocket watch from the front vest pocket to glance at the time. He’s put together from head to toe and I find myself wondering what it would be like to BE that guy. What would it be like to have that confidence? To know who you are completely? What it would be like to bend that barista over the counter and bang the shit out of her? I can almost feel it. I COULD totally live that life … I wish.

My head begins to hurt and I go dizzy. The world begins to blur away for a split second, and I blink through it, everything feeling strange and then … suddenly, it all comes back into focus, but I’m not sitting behind my computer anymore watching the counter. I’m standing at the counter. I’m looking into the eyes of that young barista as she smiles up at me, like she wants me.

“I’ll call you up when it’s ready.” She writes something on the ticket and hands it to me. After a second of zoning out, I take the ticket from her and notice that it’s not my hands and she’s written her phone number on the back of the ticket.

I manage to say “Thanks” before walking away. My voice is deeper, confident. I walk away, glance down at my body. I see the vest, the pocket watch, the tips of the bowtie. I feel the hair on my face and hear my polished wingtips clicking against the floor as I make my way to the men’s room.

That’s when I see my reflection. It’s not me anymore. It’s the hipster. I’m in his body … and it feels incredible. I reach up and touch my thick mustache. I straighter my bow tie and feel my thick dick getting hard. I can’t help but unzip my pants and take a look. It’s a nice cock, barely man-scaped and uncircumcised. Interesting how different it feels.

I zip back up, resisting the urge to jerk one out before looking into my wallet, at his/my license. My name’s Peter Ratcliff. I’m evidently a writer. Cool. Putting my wallet away I give Peter one last look in the mirror. I remove my hat, take in my full reflection one last time before coiffing my mustache. I’m a damn handsome hipster.

---

Originally posted on 2023-06-24 by dumb-and-jocked. (Thanks again for dumb-and-jocked for all your stories!)

This story was nuked quite quickly last time, I recall. So, please reblog in effort to keep multiple copies alive.

Last thing: I am sorry this post does not have any italics/bold! I had some issues properly saving it back then. If anyone cares I'll try recover the formatting.

---

“I’m sorry Officer, but did I do something wrong?”

After a 10 hour drive with tumultuous traffic, I’d expected to get some rest in the hotel room my company had paid for when they’d sent me to Texas for a business conference. I wasn’t too far out of the Dallas-Fort Worth area, but apparently far enough for some forms of homophobia to proudly exist. When I had pulled in, I immediately noticed the front desk glare at the pride sticker on my back window. When they’d picked up the phone right after, I’d assumed the two events were unrelated. But the cop standing calmly in front of his vehicle parked beside mine told me differently.

“Nothin’ we can’t fix,” the officer replied ominously in that classic drawl.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I started politely. “But I’m very exhausted, and I’ve got some important meetings to attend first thing tomorrow. If you don’t have anything to arrest me for, then I’m going to respectfully leave.”

“Yer kind ain’t welcome in these parts.” The officer’s response was calculated. “Just cause I can’t arrest ya doesn’t mean I can’t still bring ya in.”

“Is that so?” I questioned, becoming a little agitated.

“They’re called ‘correctional facilities’ for a reason,” he added.

“So you’re gonna jail me for being gay?”

“For threatening this town’s good traditional values and lifestyle?” the officer manipulated. “Then yes, yes I sure will.”

The officer then approached me with a pair of handcuffs. I wanted to fight back, and it took everything in me not too, but I was familiar with how these things could go down. He stood fairly tall and was well-built; a classic All-American family man. I was a college runner who clocked in a few inches under 6 feet, so running could have been an option if I wanted to engage. But I’d wait it out, play the little game until my future lawsuit kicked this homophobe and his whole department to hell.

But something in the back of my mind was still flicking the panic button. All of this seemed too easy for the officer, too habitual. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he’d done this many times before. As if this wasn’t the first time this had happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

— —

The last thing I could remember was sitting down in the back of that officer’s vehicle with my hands behind my back. He opened the door for me and I followed instructions, but I couldn’t place what happened after he’d started the car. In fact, I had no idea of how I had gotten into my current situation. The old interrogation room was empty, besides the entire back wall that was lit by a projector. My clothes were gone, leaving me completely naked. And my penis was placed in some kind of tube. I tried to yank it out, but the device was not going to give it up.

“Hello!” I shouted angrily. “You can’t do this!”

There was no reply, but the projector screen did light up. Letters began to appear along the bricks, spelling out what I prayed to anyone above was not actually possible: “Protocol 69: Conversion Operationalization Activated.”

“Hey!” Desperation was beginning to show in my voice. “No, please don’t! I don’t know what is happening but don’t do this! I’ll do whatever it is you want, please!”

My cries for help were meaningless however. No one appeared to hear me or respond. Instead, the words flashed before disappearing. Something new began to boot up on the screen, an introduction video of sorts.

“Welcome to Benbrook,” a cheery male voice began as an old cartoon began to play. It looked like some educational video from the Reagan Era. “This growing Texan city welcomes you to all the finer things in the American life.”

Suddenly, the tube my dick was currently stuck in began to move. As if awakening from a great slumber, a portion of the device groggily creaked before swiveling itself around my cock. All 5 inches were rapidly on display as the tube proceeded to jack me off, twisting and pulling and turning and releasing as it gave me the most sensual action of my life. I was no virgin, but I had never felt anything like this before.

“However, if you are currently watching this video, that means you’ve come to tarnish and harm the great opportunities Benbrook can provide you with.” The cartoon placed a word across the screen that flashed as if it was a warning alarm. The “H” in “Homosexual” appeared particularly loud. “We hope you understand that the upcoming process you’re about to undergo is meant to not only protect our safety and way of life, but to enhance your own as well.”

I was trying so hard to find a way to escape, but the dazzling colors of the projector and the edging experience down below were hindering my focus. Instead of fighting back, I simply moaned as my dick underwent its electronically-sensual torture and watched as a dingy spiral came into view. My eyes centered in on the old-timey display that swirled around in circles. I couldn’t tell if the fluttering of my eyelids were due to the sexual action below or what my eyes were now hypnotized by above.

While the spiral and the tube instrument performed their jobs, I began to feel something squirting out of my cock. It wasn’t semen, precum, or even piss for that matter. Although I wasn’t able to completely look down, I could see a glittery, luminescent stream now flowing through the tube. Something was being drained out of me, but I was too distracted by the spiral and too turned on by the mechanical sucking to care. It just felt so good to give in to the spiral and not worry about anything else but being pleased. The machines were doing me a favor really. I didn’t have to think; all I had to do was watch while I was given pleasure.

The glittery flow continued out of my body, causing my breathing to hurry a bit as the progression towards ecstasy continued. Grabbing the tube to steady myself, I didn’t notice my grip expand and solidify harder across the machine. My digits expanded, my feet following suit as they too bloated across the cold metal floor. After a while, my meaty fingers were able to surround the entirety of the tube. My feet–although I didn’t bother looking at them–were now able to grasp me firmly to the ground; their Size 14 nature containing the strength meant to hold the weight of a real man.

With the spiral and pump still working their magic, I couldn’t be bothered with watching how my legs and arms were changed next. As the homosexual energy was removed from my body, my ligaments were allowed to expand. Biceps and triceps that had never existed before blew up like balloons. Calves inflated in certain areas while shrinking in others, creating legs meant less for long distance running and more for shorter sprints. The quads swelled too, now able to do so being that they were no longer needed for any track. They were now created for sports played by alphas: football, basketball, and baseball. None of that cross country or tennis pansy crap.

After the shoulders had finished broadening with an incredible lengthening to my deltoids, the glitter was able to leave my torso next. My pits filled in with curly bushes of tangled hair, matted with sweat and stinking to the high Heaven. And even with the plump pecs and removal of body fat that was happening to my expanding frame, the forests would never be able to be completely hidden. By suctioning out the energy, my abs were showcased in a more elite form. Each abdominal was now hard across my stomach, all eight leading down to a perfect treasure trail that had never been able to grow before now. My height had been extended too, now putting me well over the 6 feet I’d never reached before.

The stream was flowing steadily now, extracting my homosexuality from what I assumed had to be the most concentrated areas: my head and my cock. Being that they were the only two parts of my real self left unscathed, this next part of the process would probably be gruesome. My buttocks were first to change, clenching hard as their luxurious fat was eliminated to create muscled pillows similar to my pecs. My hole closed in on itself almost immediately after, its purpose now reduced to duties only regarding objects exiting the body. My balls ripened and plumped into a generous sack, and my hard dick sputtered an extra few inches forward. The tube was still able to manage the added girth however, all 8 inches fitting into an even tighter squeeze than before.

With a grunt and dazed gaze at the projector screen, I watched lazily as words began to flutter across the screen. Although I was in no state of mind to focus–and I certainly should have been doing it towards literally anything else–I used all of my remaining willpower to try and decipher the letters that flashed upon the screen. While doing so, the tube continued to suck out the remaining substance of my homosexuality. My chin widened into a shape so square and masculine it was almost comical. My brow popped out to create a more Neanderthal-look, pursing my eyebrows and lips basically permanently. My hair was shaped into something more typical and douche-like. I couldn’t see it, but I knew I had been created into a breeding machine.

“Boobs” was the first word I was able to decipher from the projector. I grunted and began feeding my monster cock to the tube as if I was in charge. “Pussy” came next, followed by “Clit” and “Cunt”. The tube began to let up around my dick, but I didn’t care anymore. I was so hard, so horny, and for some reason it was for the words that flashed across the brick wall. With the help of “Vagina” and the simple “Woman”, I asserted my dominance and proceeded to thrust into the machine myself, my throbbing penis shooting in and out.

The tube had stopped moving, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. I had only one thing on my mind. “Impregnate” the screen suddenly read, adding to the list of words already revolving around the screen. “Propagate” wasn’t too far behind, and neither was “Seed.” Suddenly, my horny fantasies didn’t just revolve around women. I realized I wanted to fill them, get my babies to coat their entire inner bodies. I wanted to…I wanted to… “Breed.” Yes, I wanted to breed. I wanted to multiply, make an entire generation of me. Identical to me. Same looks, same goals, same ideologies.

And before I knew it, even more words had been tossed into the mix. “Homophobia” arrived with a sting, a certain loathsome tingle erupting out around my body. “Alpha” was preceded by “Dominant,” and “Superior” was proceeded by “Traditionality.” All of these words sunk into my brain, accepting the new mindset as my ideals connected with my sexuality.

The programming gradually flickered faster, each new pulse sending a tiny bit more pressure to my dick. My thrusting grew more aggressive in response. I grabbed onto the tube with a renewed sense of strength and felt my gaze leave the projector’s trance for the first time. Allowing my eyes to roll back into my head, I released a dumb groan as the glittery stream dried up.

With one final thrust, a massive shot of my own cum was sent down the tube. The projector had finally stopped, displaying only “Thanks for watching!” in cutesy, bouncing letters before shutting off. The room went dark after that, but I blacked out before I even realized it.

— —

“Oh yeah,” I groaned as she sat on my lap, my massive schlong shoved up her tight pussy. “Ain’t that just right.”

Without saying a word, I got to work and felt my cock immediately getting ready to fire. When it came down to business, I could get my babymaker spewing fast. And being that I still had at least two other girls in town that needed to get rid of their flat stomachs before I went to work in an hour, I had to fertilize these chicks FAST!

“That’s right babygirl,” I was able to say between grunts. However, my cock immediately deflated when I noticed a sedan pull up across the street. The sedan itself was a crime–only trucks should be driven in Texas after all–but the “LGBTQIA+” sticker on the back nauseated me beyond belief. Visible disgust came over my face quickly, causing as my current conquest to ask me what was wrong. I grabbed my phone and explained I had to make a quick call to her dad. It wouldn’t take more than a minute I promised.

“Benbrook Police Department,” a sturdy, masculine voice answered.

“Yo brochacho, I’d like to report in a Protocol 69.”

“Hmm,” the other side mumbled disapprovingly. “Location of the illegitimate?”

“’The Real Man’s Tools’.” I followed my answer with a dumb chuckle. I always forgot how clever the hardware store’s motto was: “…besides a woman that is!”

“Car make and model?”

“You’ll know it, bro.”

“Not American-made?”

The babe still riding my cock shoved a finger in my mouth, signaling she wanted to continue.

“Are they…evuh?” The words were barely able to escape my mouth. The officer laughed in response on the other end as she began sliding up and down my dick slowly, getting us back to where we had left off.

“Thanks for the report,” the officer replied. “Please continue yer civil duties.”

“Will do, dude.”

The line hung up on itself, which was probably for the best with my hands already being wrapped back around my current score. I felt my load tense up as it began to prepare itself for semination. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see an officer’s cruiser pull up alongside the homo’s vehicle. Looks like we were both about to bring a straight, Texan, alpha male into the world.

--- Originally posted on 2023-12-08 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Welcome back to Totally Normal, the online show where we narrow down the one thing that makes us all meet that standard!”

The host then hit a button on his laptop, releasing an audio for an uproarious round of applause. With his entire audience streaming in live, he had to make due with tracks. He didn’t mind it though; he could always predict what his viewers were thinking. It was like they shared the same mind.

“My name’s DJ, and before you ask, yes I have a side gig in music.” A laugh track obnoxiously inserted itself. “I don’t dabble in the typical jazz; I remix these men back to the tunes they oughta be singing.”

Another fake round of applause. The host smirked before continuing forward with the rules.

“The point of the game is simple: Figure out that one thing that makes someone totally normal. Through a series of questions, I’m going to chisel away at our contestants until we get to the base. For every wrong answer, a vibration will be sent out to their device until they head back on the right track. We want to find out that one thing that solidifies them as an average joe, but we don't exactly know what that thing is."

The host then took a scripted pause. "Well, *I *know what that thing is.”

Another laugh track entered before the host silenced his imaginary audience. “So, let’s get down to it. We have our men here, but ARE THEY NORMAL?”

The last three words were all enunciated with the typical gameshow pazazz. The host even had an accompanying audio that made it seem like there was an audience chanting it with him.

On cue, the livestream booted up a panel of the three contestants. The first was a shy young man, who by his age looked to be in college but by his height possibly younger. The second was the typical corporate homosexual, the breed who was already happily married and wore tight, designer clothing. And last but not least, the third looked just a little older than the first with an office that displayed the inner workings of a minor start-up.

“Help me welcome our first contestant, coming from the cool waves of Cali, here comes Cody!”

Corey opened his mouth to kindly correct the host, but was immediately silenced by the massive track of applause. A small and nervous 20-year-old, Corey was an academically-fine student at a state school. He worked as an IT intern, helping others work through their issues in a manner where he didn’t have to fully engage. Yet he knew he would probably have to work through this introvert problem if he ever truly wanted to make a loyal boyfriend from the crop of surfers across the street.

“Up next is our cowboy-tootin’, bullet-firin’ family man, Norman!”

Nolan made a face of disgust, but he too didn’t stand a chance against the fake cheers. He’d settled down with his husband just about 10 years ago in the suburbs. Working for a Fortune 500 company, he had everything a man of his caliber could want. Great company, great style, great pets instead of real children. Nolan loved his little metropolitan life.

“And finally, the privileged heir to the corporate throne, it’s Asher!”

Aaron rolled his eyes as the artificial eruption burst through his speakers. He assumed that this narcissistic jock host had gotten all of the contestants names wrong. Aaron had built his own business up from the ground, an independent hard-worker with no one tying him down. It wasn’t that Aaron didn’t want a boyfriend, he just needed to focus on himself. That’s why he was keeping it casual, hooking up with boys a little younger and less responsible. He absentmindedly pawed at his crotch a little as the douchebag DJ started the game.

“Now,” the host cracked his knuckles dramatically. “Let’s start off with some easy questions, just to make sure those devices are working after all. Cody, you’re looking comfortable out on that beach!”

Corey looked around the library he was sitting in confusedly, neither comfortable nor on a beach.

“I think you’re mistaking me for the surfers across the street,” Corey tried to joke, but his feeble demeanor spoiled the comeback.

“Men…you all ought to be where all the other guys of your kind are at.”

All three of them put on bewildered faces.

“Cody, what’s holding you back from embracing that Cali life?” the host asked.

“I…I mean there’s the obvious fact that they aren’t keen on ga-”

BZZT

“Ah!” Corey ripped his hand away, the "vibration" more of a literal sting.

“Cody, what’s holding you back?” the host asked again.

“Dude,” Corey uncharacteristically responded. “I don’t know if they will accept me, man.”

“Bro, what’s there NOT to accept?” the host chuckled. “You fit right in!”

Corey looked over his short frame, his pale skin, his shrimpy figure. He appeared better fit for the library than the bea-

BZZT

“You’re right DJ! I'm a gnarly guy like them brahs! They’ll totally accept me!”

Corey looked over his tall frame, his tanned skin, his toned figure. He appeared better fit for the beach than the library–that’s why he was on the beach after all!

“Alright alright,” the host nodded with approval. “Now Norman, let’s talk about your life in the countryside.”

‪‘Country side’?” Nolan interjected. “Do you consider Houston-”

BZZT

Nolan flung his hand back, “HOWARDWICK the countryside? You bet! Population 402, the two being me and my husband.”

“And what massive land you got behind you, I’m assuming you and your male fling built that together.”

“My what?” Nolan peered behind him, noticing his garden he’d built with his hus-

BZZT

-the ranch he’d built with his hustle. Well, not technically–this land had been managed through the traditional good ole ways of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. He’d just been fixing it up here and there.

Nolan stretched his thickening fingers, hoping to desensitize them from the pain. “W…What in tarnation is goin' on ‘ere?”

The host continued on, mocking the Southern accent he’d implanted onto the second contestant. “A place fittin' for a cowpoke like y’all’s self! Ain’t no city folk allowed; you don’t want nothin’ queer intrudin' your property, right?”

Queer?!” Nolan spat back. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’-“

BZZT

“Darn tootin’ straight! Ain’t nothin’ strange gonna be happenin’ on this ‘ere land.”

With the second contestant’s location rightfully reoriented, the host moved onto the third.

“And onto our Ivy League, let’s discuss ascension…I mean, ‘climbing the corporate ladder’.”

Aaron shot the host a dirty look through the screen. “You don’t think I worked hard to earn this position?”

“Well, you certainly didn’t do it all yourself.”

Aaron held his breath. He was a decently attractive man with his slim figure and responsible will, and even his anger made him appear wiser than his years. But Aaron's best feature was his independence, and he wasn’t going to let anyone taint his name over that.

“What, do you think my current boyfri-”

BZZT

“-my dating his-”

BZZT

“-my friends with benefits were involved?”

Aaron’s fingers tingled with energy. His body tingled with fury.

“Well,” the host snickered. “If by benefits, you mean…”

“What’s all this!” Aaron flipped. “This is simply…p…preposterous!”

“What are you talking about?” the host egged on. “It's simply normal for a man with your caliber to have such an ‘inheritance’.”

The other two contestants watched on with intrigue.

“I…I may have a b…benefactor,” Aaron suddenly revealed, as if something had just been placed upon his chest. But he was still independent, right? “But that has nothing to do with it!”

“Benefactor? Do you mean your DADDY?”

The fake audience suddenly burst into a chorus of shocked “Ooooohhhh”s. Aaron’s usual calm nature was flatlining, being replaced by a more quickly-agitated behavior.

“We may be really closely acquainted!” Aaron backpedaled. “But it’s nothing of that kind of sort!”

The other two contestants smirked as the growingly-pompous bastard was taken down a peg.

“Sounds pretty queer to me, man,” Corey interjected confidently, scratching at his defining abs.

“Yeah, Ah reckon that fellas a little less normal than us folks,” Nolan added, adjusting the large hat that had secured itself upon his head.

“SHUT UP SWINE!” Aaron spat, his face gaining back a little of his baby fat as he absorbed more child-like aggression. “I'm perfectly normal!”

The two men laughed alongside an obnoxious laughter track.

“He’s right folks, we men are on the right side of history.” The host knew he needed to move on, the show only had so much time of course, but he was having fun. “Surely that father-figure is just some kind of…relative?”

“Just a relative, brah?” Corey asked as his trim cut bloomed out into luscious blond waves.

“Seems closer than that, partner.” Nolan quipped as a graying stubble crawled upon his widening jaw.

“A….A relative?” Aaron stammered, a higher youthful pitch lightening his tenor as this benefactor became clearer in his head. “He’s…he’s someone who I f-“

BZZT

“Father! He’s my father: Asher Osvald the Third!” Aaron screamed, his blond locks gelling up into a refined style that didn’t match his own personality. “And you all better remember it when you see our company in the headlines!”

Both Corey and Nolan took their respectful back-offs, but the host could only smirk with pride. After a moment of self-congratulation, he noticed some slight hesitation from the first candidate.

“Dude…” Corey started. “Can’t you just see he’s messin’ with us, man? Don’t you guys feel kinda strange-“

“Aren’t you supposed to chill, dude?” The host immediately cut him off.

Corey’s mouth went flat, his chin taking the opportunity to curve out a little further. “How can I chill with-“

BZZT

“Without the support from my brosettes across the screen, duuuuude!”

The host watched on with glee as the female portion of the livestream burst into a flurry. Lots of hearts and kisses and even some eggplant emojis were flooding the chat. And the comments were getting suggestive too. One chick wanted to know why he was wearing a dorky button-up, and she was soon exposed to his lean bod and treasure trail. Another suggested he should flex for the camera, and Corey was happy to oblige, each of his muscles pumping larger as he did so.

“Now, Cody,” the host coyly asked. “I’m sure the fans would like to know what you do for work.”

“I uh…I work with coding.”

“You are studying IT?” the host replied, incredulous. “Sounds complicated man.”

Corey beamed at the compliment, an excited fever entering his voice. “Yeah, but I sort of have a gift for-“

BZZT

“IT...like as in ‘it’ man...not ‘eye-tee’ or whatever.”

“But it has something to do with a code, right?”

“Well…yeah man…” Corey’s lifeless vocal fry responded. “But it's not that nerdy crap…something more…uhhh…”

The host graciously provided the answer, “Manly?”

“Yeah man….’it’ is the uh…bro-code brah.” Corey fiddled with the cross necklace that had materialized around his neck, trying to structure his thoughts. Corey felt like his head was spinning in a light vertigo, but not out of stress. Rather, a pleasurable confusion. Cali dudes don’t think that much right? They just go with the flow, so why shouldn’t he man? Wasn’t that what was normal?

While Corey processed his internal dilemma, the host reconnected with the second contestant, noticing he too was becoming a little self-aware.

“Hey Norman, you’re really rocking that fit.”

Nolan was honestly surprised at the comment. He knew he looked good in his tight, patterned three-piece, but he didn’t think the ultra-straight host would notice that too.

“Those shoes must be great for the ranch.”

Nolan laughed. “These ole’ things? They’re Prada from last season-“

BZZT

“Uhh…Ah mean these boots are from that one brand-”

BZZT

“Ah’ve had these kickers for years, fella!”

The host observed quietly as the rest of the second contestant’s clothes altered. The suit jacket and vest disappeared completely. The pants grew out into a straight pair of jeans that had been worn continuously for many seasons. The shirt rolled it sleeves and loosened some buttons, darkening to a dusty black that was meant for hauling hay rather than implying gay. But as the outfit masculinized, there was one item that stubbornly fought back, unlike the man who wore it.

“And that belt, how long have you had that?”

Nolan evaluated the expensive snake leather. “Oh yeah, this ‘ere was a gift-“

BZZT

“What in TARNATION was that for?!” Nolan yelled, the vibration noticeably more painful than the previous blasts. The material of his belt quickly grew cheaper, a massive longhorn buckle blooming forth above his blooming pouch.

“S…Sorry y’all,” Nolan collected himself. “Ah don’t know what’s gotten ovah me, or why Ah’m speakin’ so-“

“Enough apologies,” the host gagged. “You are a man, are you not?”

“Yessiree, but that doesn’t mean we men ain’t got to be sens-”

BZZT

“Ah reckon yer right there, partner!” Nolan puffed out his chest, carrying his emerging muscle gut with him. “We men oughta be tough! The MAN of the household.”

The host snickered, his eyes meandering around the second contestant’s body as additional muscle and bulk was piled onto his frame. “And men like you ought to have a body like that, don’t they?”

The cowboy huffed, his torso heavy with Southern pride. Nolan had worked his muscular frame up over all these long years, from sunrise to sundown. At 6’4, his big hearty body was always devouring meat to stretch out everything from his big strong biceps to his huge Size 15 clompers!

With the first and second contestants almost there, it was time for the host to catch his third man up to speed. He had already advanced mighty far, his skin having cleared up a bit and a few arrogant gold trophies having appeared in the office background, but the host had some additional notches yet to secure before the final round.

“Now Asher, let’s get real here.” The host put on his classic douchebag smile for the audience. “Any ladies tickling that fancy lately?”

“What?” Aaron scoffed. “Are you dense? I'm into g-”

BZZT

“Girls…no…wait what?” Aaron felt strange. Why did the host ask if he liked…girls? And why was the thought of girls suddenly something he…liked?

“Listen ere’, partner,” Nolan suddenly interjected. “Yer talkin’ 'bout women like they’re nothin’!”

The host, displeased, fought back. “Aren’t you married to one, partner?”

Nolan couldn’t believe the disrespect. “Me? Married to a woman? Yeah right-”

BZZT

“-Ah am! Ah’ve been married to my lovely wife for darn straight twenty years! Ain’t nothing QUEER happenin' on this ‘ere normal ranch. I got youngins to raise after all!”

As Nolan became bombarded by memories of his new flock of children, the satisfied host switched back to his third contestant.

“Look, I think we should respect women.” Aaron tried his best to sound mature, now finding it extremely difficult to maintain. “In fact, I think we should respect all others appropriately-“

BZZT

“And by appropriately, I am referring to overlooking these swines of colleagues who cannot afford a top notch education adjacent to my own.”

The host queued up a laugh track for his next one-liner. “They weren’t kidding when they said someone with your prestige had everything handed down to you, including bad manners.”

Aaron felt his anger rising once again, it easily filling his shortening body as he squared out to an average 5’9.

“Well excuseeee me! I am my own person with-“

BZZT

“My father is a reputable man who would wish to-”

BZZT

“DADDY!”

Aaron stomped his foot, bewildered at this idiocracy. Why was he continuously interrupted? Why was he not given the required recognition? He was captain of the country club’s golf team, rowing team, youth league, and the youngest member on the executive board for Christ’s sake! He studied at an Ivy League! He was everything!

As Aaron tried to understand why none of these other men appreciated the absolute honors of his merit–which he refused to ever admit weren’t even his own–a small alarm went off from the host’s computer.

“Like what was that, mannnn?” Corey’s face furrowed into an all-too-natural look of dumbfoundment.

“Yeah,” Nolan reared. “What's y'all gonna do next?”

“I demand to know it this instant!” The host was surprised at the third contestant jumping in, but he assumed it was just his way of trying to maintain his (nonexisting) position on top. “Or else I’ll tell my father about this-!”

An insane uproar of artificial laughter echoed throughout their ears, startling and silencing them.

“Alright folks, you know what that sound means!” the host grinned. “It’s almost time to wrap up our show, and because our contestants still haven’t figured out what makes them 'Totally Normal', we’re going to have to speed things up!”

“But can’t there only be one winner?” Aaron whined.

“Technically, no,” the host responded honestly. “All of you can be winners if you find out what makes you totally normal.”

For the first time since the game had started, all three of the contestants fell silent.

“I mean, let’s look at our surfer stud Cody,” the host started. “You are almost there, but you gotta loosen that one thing that’s still pent-up, man.”

“Brah…” Corey complained. “What else is there?”

As if by some subconscious command from the host, Corey began dumbly palming himself, a light drool dripping from the edge of his lips. The constant cycle of tits and feminine bits in his mind bombarding all over thoughts.

“A totally gnarly surfer focuses on working out, banging chicks, and chillin’ dude.”

Corey guffawed with a stupid relaxed expression, casually groping as the host moved on.

“And Norman, you’ve worked hard for your position in life, haven’t you?”

The Texan father nodded in cold agreement.

“So what would pride a totally traditional cowboy more than his ranch, his woman, and his legacy?”

Nolan groaned as he instantly unbuckled the massive lock hiding his mighty steed. Huffing loudly, the Southern Baptist’s lil’ pony was wrangled into a full-fledged stallion, the kind that was built to produce offspring. And the kind that got worked up over anything that could threaten the generational uniformity his family, religion, and nation he swore to protect.

“And you, Asher,” the host swiped over to the final contestant. “What’s stopping you from becoming the total Harvard bastard?”

Asher’s face went red and his cock went hard.

“I’m talking complete corruption, pure privilege, Daddy’s little-”

The host was suddenly cut off by a loud holler, the exclaim like the crashing waves of the ocean. Immediately, the comment section blew up as the host, players, and audience watched the surfer jock release a blast of his sea salt spray.

But before the host could congratulate the first winner, the southern father turned around the corner. With one hand whipping his meat and the other held tightly onto his hat, it was only mere moments until the inevitable:

“YEEHAW!”

Once again, the audience burst into merriment over the propagating blast. It was then that Aaron’s anger truly took the best of him. He couldn’t be beaten by two no-names! He was the top of his class, an heir to a Fortune 500 company, and a totally normal man for Christ’s sake! Gripping his pecker and shining it furiously, Aaron accepted his heterosexual rage and vowed that he would win and please his…please his…!

“F…FAAAAATHERR!”

A loud, pretentious yell echoed out of the Harvard student, an endless splurge of funds dumping out of his mighty account. It was just one of the many things his heritage’s estate had granted him.

The host didn’t try to hide his devious sneer as the viewers erupted once more. He’d loved his job because everyone won every time. And now, seeing all the new stereotypical straights he’d created, the host couldn’t help but feel his own massive sausage chub. But he laughed the feeling off, knowing beating off over these other men wouldn’t have been “totally normal.”

“And it looks like with just a minute left on the clock, all three of our contestants will be going home as winners today!” The host then added his artificial rounds of applause. “So, did you three ever figure out what makes you ‘Totally Normal’?”

“Isn’t it obvious, brah?” Cody replied, the typical airhead more sure of himself now than when he had dropped out of high school. “It’s that we’re straight, mannnn…”

“He’s right, partner!” Norman added, his fatherly conviction always strong and steady. “Ain’t none of us are them faggots. If Ah do say so myself, we are all what the mighty Lord named men.”

“Well, if that is what common plebians such as yourself are called, then you shall address me as ‘I-V’,” Asher Osvald IV’s voice was doused in entitlement and a lack of understanding for anyone but himself. A pair of offscreen hands adjusted his tie just to prove his privilege. “After all, I do attend Harvard. I guess you could say I was destined for greatness since birth.”

“Yes, Asher, everyone here knows you are a prick.” The host immediately followed up his quip with a laugh track. “But that’s all we have for today’s show. Signing off, this is Host DJ!”

“Hang ten and surfs up, dudes!”

“The biggest rodeo’s the family and kids y’all!”

“I’m probably way richer than you vagrants, so don’t bother.”

“And don’t forget to ask yourself,” the host winked before adding in the final audio. “ARE YOU NORMAL?”

He’s one of the most political Gods in the pantheon. He’s an authorizer of colonizer quests/new communities. He’s a patron of new settlements. He’s a guide on an ephebic journey/maturity trials and one of the few Gods overlooking legitimizing of young men as citizens and adoption into the phratria. He establishes oracles, thus stretching the political importance of his cult. Many of his cult sites became economic and political centers.

in an attempt to share what i’ve learned but not compromise chris brennan’s hard work, i’ve decided to just share my outlines from his book. i’m going to be careful not to share material from his course that isn’t in the book. because this is an outline, if you want the really juicy, detailed version, then please purchase it! it’s called hellenistic astrology and serves as a textbook for the history and basic concepts within the tradition. it’s definitely worth the read, and even though it’s $35, it’s a thick book with lots of incredible information. even better, if you have the money, he has an entire course you can take if you’d like to be certified in having learned hellenistic astrology. 

this “outline project” is to serve as a way to convey basic concepts i have learned and to also allow other astrology students to decide whether or not they’d like to pick up a copy of chris’ work. 

mesopotamian astrology 

mesopotamians believed that astrology worked via omens which were divine communications for the gods

around the 5th century bce, we see the first instances of astrology used for individuals (natal astrology)

around this time, we can also see the distinguish of benefic (jupiter and venus) and malefic (mars and saturn)

the precursors of the triplicities arose during this time but weren’t associated with elements yet

heavily focused on the ecliptic and the movement of the planets through the zodiac

egyptian astrology

used a 360 day calendar which allowed for the advent of the 36 decans, separated into 10 degrees each

each decan had a name and deity association, and this served as the precursor to the house system

focused more on diurnal movement, which was the movement of fixed stars through the decans

in 500 bce, mundane mesopotamian astrology moved into egypt

in 300 bce, the 12 sign zodiac was imported into egypt