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@shift-change
Useful Link
I've been collecting links to all of my Tumblr stories in a single thread on the forum Changing Mirror. It functions essentially as a table of contents for my blog. If you are looking for a particular one of my stories, it might be the easiest way to track it down. Here is the link.
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Highway Royalty: A Passenger Princess Story
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Here is the story concept that was runner-up in my very first idea poll back in May. Hope you all enjoy!
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The Arizona sun was a relentlessly bright glare, baking the asphalt of the open road and making the distant mountains shimmer like they were just a mirage. It was my turn to drive, so I had the wheel, my hands comfortably positioned at ten and two, my smartphone clipped to the dash showing the navigation, while Brody, my boyfriend, handled the itinerary and curated the playlist from the passenger seat.
“Big Sur, baby,” he’d said earlier that morning as we loaded up, reaching his arm around me briefly as we both packed the last of our gear into the trunk of our trusty SUV. I gave him a quick peck on his cheek, appreciating like always the comfortable fact that we were almost the same height. “Rugged cliffs, crashing waves, and just the two of us.”
Our plan was ambitious but perfect. A ten-and-a-half-hour haul from Phoenix to the California coast, broken up by an overnight stay in Santa Monica. We’d squeeze in a morning hike at Rattlesnake Canyon before tackling the rest of the drive up the legendary Pacific Coast Highway. Our final destination was an out-of-the-way eco-lodge nestled near Garrapata State Park, which would serve as our base camp for several days of tide pooling, trail running, and generally losing ourselves in the wild, untamed beauty of it all. We were a team, partners in adventure, and I felt a thrill of freedom as the city limits of Phoenix vanished in the rearview mirror and the open desert sprawled ahead of us.
We were making good time so far, the saguaros quickly giving way to the scrubbier, flatter expanse of the high desert. After a couple of hours, the gas light predictably blinked on. Time for our first stop. “Looks like the next exit with a gas station is Tonopah,” Brody said, as I flicked my turn signal on.
I smiled and replied, “Perfect time to stretch and refuel.”
We pulled off the freeway and into the lot of a dusty gas station that looked like it hadn't changed at all since the 70s. As I hopped out the driver's side and swiped my card for the gas, I caught my reflection in the dusty side mirror. My hair was scraped back in a tight, sensible ponytail, and my face was bare of anything but a quick layer of chapstick. While the pump chugged away, I stretched my arms over my head, feeling several satisfying cracks in my spine and shoulders. “Hey, you want to take over for a bit?” I asked Brody as he emerged from the convenience store with two bottles of water.
He grinned that easy, charming smile that always made my stomach do somersaults. “Wow, Nicole, ready to step down from your post already? Eager to begin your reign as passenger princess?”
I felt a blush creep up my neck. “Shut up,” I laughed, swatting his arm playfully. “We agreed to trade off. It’s only fair.”
“I’m just messing with you,” he said, taking the keys from my hand. “Hop in, your carriage awaits, milady.”
I knew he was only teasing, but for some reason that phrase hung in the dry desert air between us. Passenger princess. I opened the passenger door and hopped in to the other seat, closing the door behind me. It was a silly, jokey term, but as I settled myself into the passenger seat, it echoed in my head. A little flutter went through me, a feeling that was warm and oddly pleasant. It felt surprisingly nice to relinquish control, to simply be a passenger.
As Brody started the newly refueled car back up and merged onto the freeway, my plans to watch the map and help navigate simply evaporated. Instead, I concentrated on scrolling through Spotify, curating the perfect vibe for the next leg of our journey. The indie rock we’d been listening to suddenly felt a bit too… intense. I queued up a playlist of breezy pop and feel-good anthems. Brody didn’t seem to notice the shift, and just tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the new beat.
The miles rolled by. I found myself less interested in the passing landscape and more focused on our little world inside the car. I organized the snack bag, handing Brody a protein bar if he asked and unwrapping a piece of bubblegum for myself. I found myself casually blowing bubbles, which was something I had never really done before. The conversation, which earlier had us focused on looking up trail routes and tide charts for our destination, shifted. I couldn't help but fill the car with chatter, gossiping about a friend’s recent engagement, dissecting the latest season of my favorite TV show, and asking Brody if he thought my hair looked okay in the harsh sunlight.
He’d glance over, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It looks great, babe. You always look great.” I preened at his praise, feeling simultaneously flattered and like it was the least he could do. It was a nice feeling, being showered with compliments.
I pulled down the vanity mirror to inspect my appearance. He was right, of course. My makeup, usually a simple swipe of mascara and some chapstick for a trip like this, looked… flawless. My skin had a soft, dewy glow, and my lashes looked both longer and fuller. I must have put in more effort this morning than I remembered. A cute, delicate gold chain I didn’t recall putting on glinted at my throat. It was adorable. The tight ponytail I’d secured that morning had somehow loosened, my brown hair now tumbling over my shoulders in soft, glossy waves that smelled faintly of coconut oil. I stroked my hair and leaned back into the plush seat—had it always been this comfortable?—and sighed contentedly. This was the life.
By the time we hit the outskirts of Los Angeles, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the smoggy sky in hues of orange and pink. Brody navigated the notorious L.A. traffic with a calm, focused intensity. His shoulders, still draped in his simple gray t-shirt, seemed broader than they had this morning, his hands firm and capable on the wheel. He was looking incredibly attractive. I felt a wave of affection wash over me. He was taking such good care of everything.
“Okay, the hotel should be just off the next exit,” he said, his voice cutting through my reverie.
I vaguely remembered booking a budget-friendly motel, something clean and convenient. But as we pulled up to the valet stand of a sleek, glass-fronted building overlooking the ocean, I knew I must have been mistaken. “The Shoreline Resort,” the sign out front read in elegant script.
“Wow, Brody,” I breathed, looking at the chic lobby through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “This is gorgeous.”
He just smiled, a confident tilt to his lips. “Only the best for my girl.” He handled the check-in and the bags while I took a few selfies with the sunset in the background, the oranges and pinks steadily fading into purples and blues. Our room was stunning, with a king-sized bed and two(!) balconies, one overlooking the Pacific, the other opening onto the swimming pool in the central courtyard. For a second, I thought I remembered again that we’d booked a dinky roadside inn, but that couldn’t be right. This felt right. This felt like us.
We had dinner at the trendy restaurant downstairs. I ordered a complicated cocktail and a sea bass entree. These were things I’d normally deem too extravagant, but Brody practically insisted. I didn't mind, I loved being pampered. He ordered a steak, rare, and told a funny story that had me giggling into my napkin. He seemed more decisive, more in charge than ever before. It was a good look on him.
Back in the room, exhausted from the day, we collapsed into bed, holding each other close. “Still up for that early hike tomorrow morning?” he murmured into my hair.
“Mmm, yeah,” I mumbled, already half-asleep. “Bright and early.”
But when I woke up, the sun was already high in the sky, streaming through the balcony doors. The thought of lacing up my hiking boots and getting sweaty and dirty felt utterly repulsive. The idea of hiking being my hobby at all… it felt like a memory from someone else’s life.
I stretched, my body feeling strangely different. Sleeping in had definitely been the right choice. My legs seemed longer, my waist narrower. My skin felt impossibly soft against the high-thread-count sheets, and my hips had taken on a gentle, rounded curve that felt entirely new. I glanced down at my hands. My nails were painted a perfect, glossy pink. Toenails, too. I definitely didn't recall making time for a mani-pedi before we left, but then again, the evidence was right in front of me, so I must have just forgotten.
Brody was already awake and up, doing push-ups on the floor of the spacious living room area of our suite. His back and shoulder muscles flexed with each movement, and I realized he seemed significantly more built than he’d been yesterday. Taller, too. Or maybe I was shorter? Whatever. He finished his set and grinned at me, his face looking more handsome, more ruggedly chiseled.
“Morning, beautiful. Ready to hit Rattlesnake Canyon?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ugh, a canyon? Seriously? It’s so beautiful out. Can’t we just go down to the beach?” I pouted a little, just for effect.
His expression softened instantly. “Whatever you want, princess. The beach it is.”
A thrill shot through me. Princess. He’d called me princess.
I rummaged through my suitcase, pushing aside my practical hiking shorts and moisture-wicking tops. Tucked inside was a tiny, shimmering bikini I could have sworn I’d never seen before, let alone packed or even purchased. It was perfect.
We spent two glorious hours on the sand, me meticulously applying tanning oil and working on my glow, Brody content to just watch me and scroll on his phone as I laid out. When it was time to check out and hit the road, he handled everything. He paid the exorbitant hotel bill without batting an eye, wrangled our luggage—which seemed to have doubled in quantity overnight, filled with various new outfits and plenty of options for shoes—and packed the car himself. The SUV looked… different. Like it had a higher trim level than I remembered. The interior was now a creamy leather, and the sound system was a clear, crisp Bose. An upgrade, I guess.
“Your throne is ready, your highness," Brody teased again, though it felt a little bit less like a joke. I was his passenger princess, after all. I always appreciated whenever he treated me like royalty.
I flashed a brilliant, white-toothed smile. “Thank you, babe," I chirped, sliding my petite frame up into the plush leather seat without having to lift a single manicured finger. Brody was sweet like that. I couldn't remember the last time I had to open my own car door.
Brody stood by the passenger door dutifully, waiting until I was fully settled and scrolling through my phone before closing it gently.
The drive up the PCH was a dream. With every winding turn that revealed another breathtaking vista of cliffs and ocean, I almost felt myself changing, blossoming. I directed Brody to pull over at every photogenic spot, posing for selfies and short videos for my Instagram story. Sometimes I just dozed without a care in the world. When I was awake, I babbled endlessly about celebrity gossip, fashion trends, all the reality shows I'd devoured lately, and how desperately I needed a new designer handbag. He listened patiently, smiling and calling me cute. My voice seemed to have acquired a higher, bubblier pitch. My nails, now longer, my manicure even more exquisite, clicked audibly against my phone screen anytime I tapped or swiped.
As we pulled out of the small lot at yet another scenic overlook I'd insisted on stopping for, Brody said, “So, Garrapata State Park is coming up. Want to stop and check out those tide pools we talked about?”
I looked down at my strappy high-heeled sandals and the cute white sundress I’d changed into sometime after the beach earlier, though I wasn't exactly sure when. I was momentarily perplexed, but I looked so hot that I felt a tingle of euphoric pleasure washing away any confusion. When I refocused on our conversation, the thought of clambering over slimy, sharp rocks just to look at gross sea creatures made me physically cringe. Tide pools? Mud? Ew.
“Babe, eww, no,” I whined, my voice dripping with disbelief. “I can’t. My shoes are totally not built for that. And my hair will get all frizzy from the sea spray.” A different idea, a much better idea, was already forming in my mind, feeling as if it had been the plan all along. “Aren’t we staying, like, in Carmel-by-the-Sea? I thought we were going to check into that amazing hotel you picked out for us, you know, the one with the spa?”
Brody’s brow furrowed for just a fraction of a second, a flicker of confusion that was gone as quickly as it appeared. His mind caught up instantly, overwriting the old reality with the new.
“You’re right, of course. Only the best for my Nikki,” he said, his voice smooth and certain. I'd always gone by Nicole, but hearing him say “Nikki” sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. It just felt right. That’s who I was; Nikki, his pampered princess. “The Highlands Resort and Spa. And I’ve got our spa reservations all booked for tomorrow morning. Couples massage first and then a premium facial for you. High-end dining, luxury accommodations... maybe we'll even spot a few celebrities.”
“Shut up, really?!” My heart soared, and I clapped my hands together, my diamond bracelet jingling. “Oh, Brody, you’re the best! I can’t wait!”
He reached over and squeezed my thigh, his palm rough and strong. “And after our massage, I think I’m gonna go hit the gym. Gotta get a good pump in.”
“Mmm, yes please,” I cooed, my eyes scanning his massive, muscular frame with raw hunger. “I love it when you get all pumped up at the gym. You look so manly.”
I ran my long, manicured nails along his forearm. He flexed his huge bicep, and I giggled.
The rugged, earthy vision of an eco-lodge vacation with the two of us wasting our mornings and afternoons on hiking trails was completely gone, replaced by a picture perfect image of five-star luxury, high-end dining, expensive boutiques, and non-stop pampering. This itinerary was much more on my level.
After one last stretch of driving where Brody focused on the road, and I preened and posed as I touched up my makeup again, we finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the resort, a stunning complex of expensive wood and crystalline glass perched on a cliff overlooking the churning waters of Carmel Bay. A young valet in a crisp uniform rushed to open my door.
Before I got out, I looked up at Brody. My man. My strong, handsome, capable man who always took care of everything. He was my protector, my provider, my king. He was looking back at me, his eyes filled with an intense, possessive adoration, drinking in the sight of me—his gorgeous, bubbly, perfectly kept princess.
He leaned across the console, his scent, a mix of expensive cologne and his own pure, raw masculinity, filling my senses. “You ready to be treated like royalty?” he murmured, his lips just inches from mine.
“I'm a princess. I was born ready,” I breathed.
He closed the distance, and our kiss was deep and steamy. We were locked in that feeling of lust and anticipation for several long, lingering moments. He eventually pulled away, his thumb brushing my cheek lovingly, as the slightly sheepish attendant dutifully waited for us. We hopped out of the car, leaving the keys with the blushing valet. Hand in hand, we walked into the opulent lobby, leaving our old selves somewhere back on a dusty road in the Arizona desert, completely forgotten and unmissed. We were finally here, and I was ready for my reign to begin.
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Hope you enjoyed the story! Here's my Ko-Fi if you'd like to leave a tip.
Asset Management
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Here is the story concept that won my very first idea poll back in May. Had a great time putting this one together - hope you all enjoy!
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Personal Journal Entry - April 9, 2026
Holy cow! I can’t believe this is finally happening! I just got out of a meeting with Tom and Jean-Luc and I’ve been handpicked to be the lead. concept. artist(!) for the protagonist of Cygnet Studios’ next major game. It’s untitled so far, but it’s apparently under development as “Project Siren” and get this; the protagonist is going to be female. I’m going to be responsible for shepherding the studio’s first female lead from concept to console! Me! Lyla Slate! No more background NPCs for me! In my wildest dreams I did not have this on my bingo card for some random Thursday. I’m so freaking excited that I decided to start this journal. I figure I can make character notes, record the process, just blue sky in general, but damn, I want to remember every moment of this process!! I’m working so hard not to think the phrase “too good to be true”.
I mean, I got into game design in the first place because I love stories, love world-building, and I’ve always seen the potential for games to be more than just power fantasies or digital shooting galleries. That’s why I’m so ecstatic for this opportunity, especially when they told me the protagonist is going to be a woman. This is it. My chance to make a difference. To make a female character who is more than just eye candy. A character whose legacy isn’t defined by gravity-defying anatomy or painted-on armor. I want her to be multidimensional, multifaceted, a vehicle for deeper storytelling. She doesn’t even have a name yet, and I’m already so attached.
I’m just so giddy! I can barely type. I think I’m going to go brainstorm, maybe even start some initial sketches for Version 1.0.
Signing off for now, Lyla
Subject: Character Concept Initial Proposal - Project Siren Lead: Astra Date: 2026-04-27 From: Lyla Slate, Lead Concept Artist ([email protected]) To: Jean-Luc Laurent, Project Siren Director ([email protected]), Margaret Ashton, Lead Writer ([email protected]) CC: Tom Krantz, Art Director ([email protected])
Good morning everyone,
Happy Monday! Please find attached the initial concept proposal for our female protagonist for Project Siren, codenamed “Astra.”
My vision for Astra is centered around creating a truly relatable and grounded character within the action-adventure genre. I believe players are hungry for a protagonist whose challenges and reactions feel authentic, someone whose visual design complements, rather than overshadows, her internal struggles and growth.
I’ve had several meetings over the last couple of weeks to touch base with Maggie and hear what direction the writing is going in, and really work the story into the character visuals from the ground up. Based on those conversations, this is what I’ve put together so far:
Astra is a pragmatic survivor. Her design should emphasize functionality, resilience, and the wear-and-tear of navigating a difficult field. I’ve focused on realistic proportions, practical clothing suitable for movement and defense, and facial features that convey intelligence, determination, and vulnerability. Think rugged, capable, resourceful – less clean ‘heroine’ pose, more gritty ‘surviving against the odds’.
Some more specifics:
Appearance: Medium build, toned but not overly muscular. Practical, layered clothing (sturdy pants, durable jacket, decent boots). Hair tied back or cut short for practicality. Minimal to no makeup, depending on the scene. Scars/blemishes could be included in her skin texture to show her long history in the field - emphasis on experience.
Personality: Determined, intelligent, weary but hopeful, capable, relies on her wits and adaptability.
Goal: To visually support an action-adventure narrative that explores themes of survival, moral ambiguity, and the human cost of conflict.
I have to say, I’m particularly excited about the opportunity to buck the industry trend of hypersexualized female leads. Astra’s strength comes from within and from her skills and experience, not from how she looks. I believe this approach will resonate deeply with our diverse player base and greatly elevate the storytelling potential of Project Siren.
Please review the attached concept art sketches and detailed brief. I’m eager to discuss and refine this vision.
Best regards, Lyla Slate, Lead Concept Artist
Subject: RE: Character Concept Initial Proposal - Project Siren Lead: Astra Date: 2026-04-27 From: Margaret Ashton, Lead Writer ([email protected]) To: Lyla Slate, Lead Concept Artist ([email protected]) CC: Jean-Luc Laurent, Project Siren Director ([email protected]), Tom Krantz, Art Director ([email protected])
Your sketches are breathtaking, Lyla! The wear-and-tear on the jacket perfectly matches the backstory we discussed for Act 1. Can’t wait to keep moving this forward. Great start!
Maggie
Internal Chat Log - April 27th, 2026, 10am
TomKrantz: Great work on the Astra brief, Lyla. Artistically, it’s flawless. LylaSlate: Thanks boss! I can’t even begin to describe how excited I am to be working on this project. Thanks again for putting me forward for this role. TomKrantz: It was nothing, Lyla, you earned it! TomKrantz: Sounds like Jean-Luc is pulling together a meeting to discuss. Talk more soon!
Subject: RE: RE: Character Concept Initial Proposal - Project Siren Lead: Astra Date: 2026-04-27 From: Jean-Luc Laurent, Project Siren Director ([email protected]) To: Lyla Slate, Lead Concept Artist ([email protected]) CC: Margaret Ashton, Lead Writer ([email protected]), Tom Krantz, Art Director ([email protected]), Harold Emerson, Marketing Director ([email protected])
Lyla,
Thanks for sending this over. I am in agreement with Maggie, the sketches are beautiful. Knew you were the right pick for this project ! Appreciate the thought you’ve already put into our Astra. The functional aspects are noted.
We had a chat internally among directors after reviewing. That’s why I’m looping Harry into this thread. While we all respect the ‘grounded’ approach, of course, we have some commercial considerations to factor in. Market research, target demographics, visibility in promotional materials... these are all going to be key.
Frankly, the current direction feels a bit too... understated. We need our lead character to pop. To be iconic. To generate buzz. The ‘survivor’ look is fine, good even, but survivability doesn’t have to mean... drab. Or average.
Let’s explore options that enhance her appeal. What if the functionality was combined with a more striking silhouette ? Could the clothing be practical and form-fitting ? Maybe a bit more exposed skin where it makes sense contextually (e.g., hot environments ?) ? And the face – could we lean into a more conventionally attractive design ? Give her some stage presence ?
Think Lara Croft, but modern. Or maybe even something bolder than Lara. We need her on magazine covers, billboards. Remember, this is our lead, the face of the game. The current concept isn’t quite hitting that mark.
Let’s set up a meeting after you’ve had a chance to brainstorm some revisions. Come prepared with some alternatives that conserve elements of your vision but push the aesthetic towards something more... arresting.
Merci, Jean-Luc
Personal Journal Entry - April 28, 2026
Ugh. I should have known this was coming. The other shoe has dropped. I knew in my gut it was too good to be true, I just had so much hope this would be different! Of course, they want her “more appealing”. “More striking.” That’s clearly all just code for “make her hotter”! It’s barely even subtext. At least I know Tom and Maggie are on the same page as me.
It’s so frustrating! I pored over reference photos from field expeditions, thought about realistic gear, how someone actually moving through a hostile environment would dress. My Astra is supposed to be defined by her grit, her intelligence, her actions. Not by her… her cleavage. “Lara Croft, but modern”? Lara Croft is already everything that sucks about modern game marketing in a tiny tank top and short shorts, for god’s sake! That’s exactly what I wanted to avoid. “Iconic” apparently means “sexy magnet for the male gaze.”
Okay, deep breaths. It’s not personal. It’s a big studio. Big budgets. They have their marketing data, I get it. But I really believed we could do something different. Something meaningful. Not just aiming for exactly where the video game industry has been stuck for decades. And at least I’m keeping this log, you know, in case I ever need to take any of this to HR. God forbid. Hopefully it doesn’t get that bad. Look at that. One email exchange and I’ve already gone from Cloud 9 to Sexism City. Sad times.
Now I have to get ready for this meeting. Brainstorm “alternatives.” How do I even do that without completely betraying the character? What will Maggie say? “Practical and form-fitting”? Ugh. That’s literally an aesthetic oxymoron. Maybe I can compromise a little. A slightly tighter top? Lose the bulk of the jacket? Show off her arms? Just a little bit?
God, I already feel wrong just thinking about it. This is the character I care about, the one I’ve been dreaming of creating. And they just want me to slap some digital makeup and a micro-skirt on her for the sake of “marketing”.
Okay, fine. I’ll brainstorm. Not like I have much of a choice. But I’ll try to keep the spirit of my original vision intact. Maybe a compromise is possible. A tiny compromise.
Grrr, Lyla
Skylar from Backyard Barbecue is back to celebrate Independence Day, maybe with another long, delicious hot dog.
(Also, it should hopefully go without saying, but I feel the impulse to clarify anytime I do anything remotely patriotic, so: fuck Trump and everything he stands for.)
Happy Fourth of July!
New stories coming very soon!
-Shift-Change
What's Coming Up in July
Hey all!
I'm hard at work finishing the Video Game Designer story idea that won my first poll back in May. I'm so excited with how it is coming together so far. It's an image-rich story, so it's taking a bit more time than anticipated to get it over the finish line, but I can't wait to share it with you all hopefully very soon. It will be the next thing I publish!
Coming soon on the heels of that story will be the other two I had next up in my queue: the 'passenger princess' story and the other one which I will still not reveal the topic of yet. Could be in either order, I don't know yet.
After those two are out, I'll turn my attention to the winner of the June poll, the 'office mistress' story idea, which won by just 2 votes. Seeing as the 'bridezilla' concept has now gotten over 60 votes in two polls, and was battling back and forth for first place the whole week, I'll go ahead and slot it in next in the to-do list after 'office mistress'. That means when I do another poll at the end of July, which I plan to do, it'll be the 'sexting' idea up against two more ideas from my backlog. Hope you're enjoying the opportunity to weigh in on these polls - I appreciate your input!
I'm still working on developing the next sequels and expansions of existing stories. Unwrapped will definitely have a follow-up in the somewhat near future, among others. I may also have a few surprises in the works in amidst these plans. I am very eager to write more, and I happen to have a fair amount of free time at the moment.
Here's the schedule, as it stands currently:
The "Video Game Designer" story
Probably the other story concept I haven't revealed yet
Probably the "Passenger Princess" story
Another story I'm working on
The "Office Mistress" story
The "Bridezilla" story
Maybe Unwrapped Part 3?
We'll see what other sexy diversions I can put together in the coming weeks. I'm excited myself, and I hope you are too.
Shift-Change
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
June Poll
I've been having a great time catching up on the stories I've been wanting to write. Hope you've been enjoying the latest chapter of Down to Earth, and the first sequel to Unwrapped. I have the next three stories I want to publish planned out. Next up will definitely include the 'video game designer' and 'passenger princess' ideas from my previous poll, and another as-yet-undisclosed idea that may slot in first, second, or third in this order, depending on which stories are ready to go first.
Now, as June is pretty far along, I'm excited to let you help me choose which story ideas should move to the top of my to-do list for July. I'm thinking I'll make this a quasi-monthly thing, time permitting. Just like last time, I'll give you three options.
From the following brief synopses, which would you like me to work on next:
A) A sweet and innocent young woman gets engaged to the love of her life, but over the course of her engagement, she transforms into a rich, bitchy bridezilla.
B) An average executive assistant is organizing her boss' calendar when she gets unexpectedly transformed into his sexretary slash mistress by an odd calendar event.
C) A young woman just met a new guy on the dating apps, and she is excited to finally exchange numbers. She is immediately put off when he asks her to sext him, but finds herself strangely becoming more and more willing to go along with it.
So, which idea should come soonest?
A) Bridezilla
B) Office Mistress
C) Sexting
Keep in mind, whichever wins won't be the very next story I put out. These will come up next after the current docket I outlined above.
Also, I am continuing to develop further sequels to Unwrapped, as well as continuations or expansions of some of my other stories, and brand new series and standalone stories are still in development as well. Hoping to make this a very productive summer!
Shift-Change
Unwrapped: Chapter 2
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
This is the second installment of my Unwrapped series. To fully follow along with this chapter, I strongly recommend reading Christina's story in Chapter 1 first, which you can find here. Hope you enjoy!
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I scoffed, scrolling through the feed on my phone. “Jeez. Spotify Wrapped is a mess this year,” I muttered, echoing the sentiment of half my timeline. Apparently, the algorithm had gone haywire, spitting out bizarre data that didn’t reflect anyone’s actual listening habits. My friends were reporting Wrapped summaries filled with genres they barely touched, artists they’d never heard of. My friend Aliyah was even freaking out because hers said she was obsessed with children’s songs, and she doesn’t even have kids!
As for me, well, you could say I was a creature of habit, musically speaking. I mean, I guess most people are. My musical repertoire revolved around the comforting grit of classic rock and the introspective melodies of singer-songwriters. What can I say? I’d grown up listening to whatever my parents played in the car as we navigated the city, so that sound simply felt like home. Comfort to me was listening to an album-oriented rock record from start to finish while trapped in gridlock. I would fully expect my Wrapped to be a love letter to Fleetwood Mac, a nod to Springsteen, and maybe a tip of the hat to Joni Mitchell. That kind of stuff. Classic music, classic me, Courtney Reid.
With a roll of my eyes, I tapped open the Spotify app to see what all the fuss was about. The splash screen shimmered, promising insights into my year in music. I clicked through, anticipation mixed with a healthy dose of cynicism. The first slide loaded, the grand reveal of my top genre.
My eyes widened, then narrowed. A warm shade of orange backed up my apparent top genre of the year: Country.
That… couldn’t be right. What the hashtags were all saying was plainly true. #SpotifyWrappedLies indeed.
I swiped, expecting to see some variety of genres listed in addition to the glitch, at least my usual Classic Rock or Singer-Songwriter stuff, and instead it fully broke down my alleged country music obsession. Niche subgenres like Country Pop, Modern Country; even Bluegrass got a shout-out. What the hell? I swiped onwards in utter disbelief.
My top artists were next. This was bound to be a laugh. A graphic in warm, autumnal tones displayed five names. Five… country music artists. I blinked. Then blinked again. “No freaking way,” I whispered. These weren’t just any country artists; they were the kind that had dominated the radio waves of country stations I wouldn’t even know how to find on an AM/FM dial. Artists like Ella Langley, Jason Aldean, Morgan Wallen, Luke Combs, and Megan Moroney. All of them looked like total posers, aggressively curating an aesthetic for the lowest common denominator of the American public. I vaguely recognized a couple of names, but I swear I’d never deliberately put music on from any of these singers. Maybe I’d recognize a song or two from background music in coffee shops or bars or even snippets overheard from Uber drivers who chose their own music. Okay, I did remember one time that I put an Ella Langley song on at a party, as a joke, just to poke fun at my friend Jesse’s dumb cowboy hat. But country music? Seriously? Me? My Spotify? It was laughable. I would never.
I decided I had to text my friend Christina. She had excellent taste in music, a total Indie fan. She’d appreciate the bizarreness of what I was seeing on my account, and I was admittedly curious what she might be seeing on hers.
I fired off a quick message. “OMG, Christina, my Wrapped is a mess. It says my top artist is some country singer I listened to once as a joke for like five minutes tops at Jesse’s party. This thing is so broken 🙄🙅♀️😩”
She texted me right back, “I’ll have to check mine out. Brb.”
I smiled. I knew I could count on Christina to unpack this weirdness with me. I set my phone aside and waited for her to text me back.
Right then, I honestly didn’t even feel like listening to any music at all. I decided to dive into some chores, doing the dishes (mostly dealing with leftover takeout containers - I rarely, if ever, cooked for myself), folding some laundry, a general tidy up of the apartment. As a city girl, born and raised, I prided myself on keeping my space tranquil and clean.
I was so engrossed in my chores, I didn’t even notice almost two hours had gone by and another text had come in from Christina.
“You were absolutely right. Completely glitched for me too,” she said.
I checked the time. That text was like half an hour ago. This I had to hear.
I quickly typed back. “So? Your Wrapped? Yours is messed up too? What did it say?”
I was expecting her to tell me her genres had gotten mixed up. Maybe she even got mislabeled as a country fan just like me?
“OMG Court!!!!! Mine is actually SO ACCURATE!!!!!! 😍😍🔥🔥🔥”
Ummm, what? She literally just said it was glitched. How could it be glitching and accurate? And since when had she ever called me Court?
Before I could even text back, another message from Christina dropped in. “It’s literally me!!! Sabrina Carpenter is my QUEEN I listened to Espresso like a million times!!!!!! We HAVE to go see her when she tours again!!!!!”
Okay, this was seriously freaky. This didn’t sound like Christina at all. Not her usual hyper-curated indie music, and certainly not her normal tone of voice. I started typing a response, deleted it, tried again. I was literally at a loss for words. Ultimately I just wrote, “…Christina? Is that you?”
In a flash, another response.
“Duh! Last I checked! Who else would I be? LOL! You were so wrong before, Spotify is totally on point this year!”
Huh. Okay. So Christina had decided it’d be more fun to prank me today. Not exactly her typical style, but I’ll allow it after the weirdness of the Spotify glitch. I mean I had just texted her talking about country music of all things, so maybe she thought I was being just as bizarre as I thought she was being.
Whatever. Spotify Wrapped wasn’t even that big a deal. I’d just leave it be. I didn’t need to drill any deeper into the stats on my supposed country music hobby.
I left the text thread, swiping my messaging app closed, and after a beat, I swiped the Spotify app closed too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One Day Later
Down to Earth: Chapter 4
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
Flash. Flash, flash.
“Seraphina, darling, chin up, just a fraction. Perfection,” the photographer coached. “You are a natural!”
I followed his direction like a pro, as usual. It was a Thursday in late spring, and we were shooting the new summer line of fashion. I knew these clothes were lucky to have me to show them off. Even in my early twenties, I was the fastest rising star in the local modeling scene, by my own estimation anyway.
The universe, it seemed, agreed with my own assessment of myself. It conspired to place me in front of cameras, on runways, and in the glossy pages of magazines where I so obviously belonged.
I was, for lack of a more humble term, a masterpiece. A singular talent. My hair wasn’t just blonde or red; it was a beautiful cascade of naturally strawberry blonde silk that caught the light like spun copper and gold. My eyes were the lucid green of new spring leaves after a rainstorm. Someone, I don’t recall who, had written that in a review of one of my ad campaigns once and I’d read it so many times I had the exact quote memorized. My lips, naturally full but perfected with a whisper of filler, were the kind of lips that sold lipstick by the truckload. My skin, subtly tanned and dewy to the point of glowing. And my body… well, my body was my ticket to stardom. Lithe yet lush, a series of elegant curves and long lines that designers fought to drape in their creations. I was on the precipice of greatness, I could feel it, the kind of fame that has a first name and no last. I could be arrogant, of course. But when you look as I good as I do, why pretend? When you’re a living work of art, humility feels like a lie.
My only real annoyance these days, the single discordant note in my crescendo of success, was Cassia.
Cassia was the shadow to my light. Where I was warmth and fire, she was cool silver and ice. We were always up for the same jobs, always bumping into each other at the same industry events, always mentioned in the same lists of the hottest new models. Frenemies, the blogs always called us. I just called her a bitch.
Of course, Cassia was working this job too. Both of us were having a moment, as the TikTok fans put it, so naturally we were both selected to model this summer line. As much as I hated breathing the same air as her, I had to admit - she did look good. There was certainly a reason she was a distant number two to my number one. But there really wasn’t room for two supermodels of my caliber on set.
I was contemplating this very conundrum during an all-important touch up session at the makeup booth, when she slid into the chair next to me, uninvited. Her expression was all sharp angles and a cutting smile.
“Seraphina,” she said, her voice smooth and cold as an iced matcha latte.
“Cassia,” I replied, not bothering to look up from my phone, where I was admiring some of the preliminary stills from the test shoot. My cheekbones were looking particularly lethal today.
“Busy weekend ahead of you?” she asked, a little too sweetly.
“Always. Obviously.”
“That’s a shame,” she purred. “I got gifted this incredible all-day package for that new spa, Down to Earth. Deluxe everything. But I just got called in for a last-minute gig in Milan. The spa package is booked for Saturday, but I won’t get back until Saturday evening.” She slid a heavy, cream-colored envelope along the counter in front of us. “It’s all paid for. I’d hate for it to go to waste.”
I finally looked at her, my green eyes narrowing. The offer was dripping with suspicion. Cassia didn’t do favors. Certainly not for me. She was more about tactical maneuvers and cutting commentary. I picked up the envelope anyway. The list of services on the card was enticing to say the least: Deluxe Manicure. Full Blowout Hair Treatment. Microdermabrasion Facial. Ninety-Minute Hot Stone Massage. I’d never even heard of Down to Earth, which was surprising. I made it my business to know every luxury spot in the city. Her taste in treatments, I had to admit, was impeccable.
“Hmm, maybe I could move some things around. But why me? Don't tell me you have no friends?” I asked, my voice flat, nonchalantly tossing the envelope back down on the counter.
She gave a perfect, practiced shrug, completely unfazed by my put-down. “Consider it an olive branch. We’re in the same world, running in the same circles. That’s not about to change. Might as well be civil.”
My arrogance won out. Of course she wanted to be on my good side. I was the one with all the momentum. Besides, turning down a free day of world-class pampering was a sin I wasn’t prepared to commit. I knew I had an evening wear shoot coming up on Monday, so a little weekend self-care almost seemed required.
“Fine,” I said, snatching the envelope and stuffing it in my Gucci handbag. “I’ll do you the favor of taking it off your hands.”
Her smile widened, a flash of confident white, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Enjoy it, Seraphina. You deserve it.”
I watched her walk away, her hips swaying. I scrutinized her with a mix of professional jealousy, skepticism, and bemusement. Down to Earth. It sounded a bit pedestrian for my tastes, but if it was as high-end as she claimed, I’d probably end up making it a weekly ritual. After all, beauty like mine required maintenance.
What's Coming Up in June
Hey everyone!
Hope you've been enjoying my latest story, Makeout Point! I had a good time writing it. It won't be the last time I explore the world of Northwood High. Senior year of high school is such a transformative time in anyone's life after all ;)
Anytime I'm exploring a cohesive narrative location (like the Down to Earth salon, The Aura salon, Evergreen U, Northwood High, etc), I try to make sure they are at least consistent within their internal continuity. So that's why detail-oriented readers might notice there are a couple of background characters connecting the plot of Makeout Point with my Guidance Counselor: Queen Bee story from back in March of last year. (Eventually, I do still plan on expanding the Guidance Counselor story into a series)
As far as what stories I am currently working on, here is my planned lineup:
Next thing to be published will be Down to Earth Chapter 4, hopefully soon. I'll keep the details a surprise, but it will obviously feature a downgrade tf motif, as that is the salon's specialty.
A sequel to Unwrapped is still in the works as well. Hoping to have that ready to go next after DtE4. I actually have ideas for a bunch of sequels to Unwrapped, since the genre of music-driven tf has a whole array of possibilities, so I'm hoping to get more than just Unwrapped 2 published this summer. In other words, don't change that dial!
The Video Game Designer story idea was the clear leader in the poll I conducted last week, so that will be the next story I will focus on finishing up.
The Passenger Princess concept also received a lot of interest in that poll, so I'm going to go ahead and put it on the calendar for after the Video Game Designer story is finished.
I have so many more ideas in the works, including a few different multi-part stories, featuring multiple transformations à la Devil You Know, and I'll start publishing those as soon as any of them is ready.
Towards the end of the month, I plan on doing another poll to give you all another opportunity to help choose which new story ideas come out soonest. The candidates will include the Bridezilla option from the previous poll, along with two new story ideas I haven't shared yet.
Oh, one more thing. I'm setting up a second Tumblr page, which I'm calling Shift-Change Shares, where I plan to reblog some of my favorite stories and posts, new and old, from other creators. I want to try to keep my main page centered on my writing and sharing updates about my writing, but I also want to shine a spotlight on stories in our community that are worth checking out, stuff that, if you like my writing, you'll probably like too. Feel free to give the new page a follow here.
Thanks to everyone for reading, liking, sharing, subscribing, and everything. Really starting to feel like I'm back in the swing of things after a very slow spring, and I can't wait to get more of my writing out there for you to enjoy.
Shift-Change
Makeout Point
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The weight of my high school physics textbook felt like it was starting to put my legs to sleep. Opposite me, at my family’s sensible dining room table, Kevin stared at the same page with the kind of vacant intensity he usually reserved for a defensive lineup. An array of flashcards lay spread out on the table between us while a mostly blank problem set packet lay in front of him.
“So,” I said, for what felt like the tenth time, “as the question tells us, the derivative of the position function gives us the velocity. If we want to find the maximum height the ball reaches, we would set the velocity to…?”
Kevin’s brow, a broad expanse of sun-tanned skin, furrowed. His mouth opened, then closed. He ran a thick-fingered hand through his sandy blond hair, a nervous habit I’d come to recognize as a sign of his complete and utter bewilderment.
“Zero?” he guessed. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. It was the right answer, but his tone sounded like he was asking me if the sky was green.
“Yes, zero. Why?”
“Because… it’s a rule?”
I sighed, sliding my glasses up slightly and pinching the bridge of my nose. “Because at the very peak of its flight, the ball literally stops moving for a split second before it starts falling back down. This is a sports example, it should be familiar. If the ball’s not moving up and it’s not moving down, its velocity is zero.”
“Huh,” Kevin processed what I said. I could practically hear the mental gears turning. Slowly. “But, it moves up and then it moves down, doesn't it? It doesn't just hang there in midair.”
“Yes, but in between the upward and downward motion, mathematically the velocity has to pass through zero.” I always did my best to maintain my patience, without sounding too patronizing. It was a challenge sometimes. “That's when it stops rising and starts falling.”
“Oh. Right. It stops.” He nodded slowly, the concept percolating through his brain with the speed of molasses in winter. “Ugh, I’m so flunking that test on Monday. So stupid.”
This was my life, three afternoons a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Allow me to introduce the variables of this equation. There was me, Tabitha, academic jill-of-all-trades, future aerospace engineering major, and high school tutor for hire. And then this was Kevin, future state college linebacker (whatever that is) and the single most Sisyphean task I’d ever taken on in my career as a science tutor. But at forty dollars an hour, in cash no less, he was also likely to be my ticket to a decent laptop for my freshman year of college. He was an idiot, sure, though a surprisingly pleasant one as far as high school jocks go. He never complained, never made crude jokes, said “thank you” at the end of every session, and always brought me a chilled bottle of water from the gas station, as if it were some kind of a sacred offering. Still, we were from different planets, orbiting the same high school Sun (I love the power of a good metaphor, especially if it’s space-themed).
Kevin was eighteen, like me, but the similarities pretty much ended there. He was all pep rallies and beach bonfires while I was all meticulous notebooks and after-school study groups. I didn’t go to parties; I wrote for the school paper. I didn’t cheer at the football games; I brushed up on debate strategies. Suffice it to say we ran in different circles. If I wasn’t his tutor, he probably wouldn’t look twice at me in the hallway, and I wouldn’t know what to do with him if he did. It worked. Over these past few months, a strange, almost comfortable rapport had developed between the two of us. He was unfailingly polite, even when I was clearly exasperated, and he tried, really tried, in our sessions even if his brain was working at dial-up speed in the age of fiber optics. We’d been able to bring his failing grade up to a D anyway, so that was… something.
At least, usually he tried. But today, something was clearly off. The typical fog of confusion in his eyes was swirled together with glimmers of genuine, frantic panic. He kept checking his phone, his leg jiggling an uneven rhythm against the table leg. None of this was normal.
“Kevin, are you even here right now?” I asked, finally snapping the textbook shut and setting it down among the scattered flashcards. “We’ve been on the same problem set for twenty minutes already and we’ve barely made any headway. If you don’t want to do this today, just say so. You know my time isn’t free.”
He looked up, his blue eyes wide and distressed. “No, no, I’m sorry, Tab. It’s just… I’m screwed. Royally screwed.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, a sliver of sympathy piercing my mercenary focus, even as I bristled internally at the unwelcome nickname.
He deflated into his chair, a mountain of muscle suddenly looking like a sad, lost puppy. “It’s prom,” he groaned. “Today was the last day to pick up tickets from ASB, and I forgot to pick mine up. And Matt—you know Matt, from the D-line?—he grabbed it for me, but I didn’t see him after school like I thought I would. And now he’s leaving. Like, right now. For a whole week. He’s touring colleges on the east coast with his parents.”
I waited for the actual problem. “Okay… so just get it from him before he leaves.”
“He’s up at Makeout Point,” Kevin mumbled, as if this were the most insurmountable obstacle in human history. “With Ashley. He just texted me before we started. His parents are picking him up from her house in like an hour tops to go to the airport. Prom’s on Saturday. If I don’t get that ticket now, I can’t go.”
I blinked. Makeout Point. That was the popular kids’ nickname for Lookout Point. The place was practically a local legend, a winding, secluded road on the hill overlooking our town that everyone had apparently just been calling ‘makeout point’ for years. Maybe even generations. I was probably one of the only Northwood seniors who called it by its proper name. It was the domain of discarded letterman jackets and smeared lipstick, a place I’d only ever actually seen in passing. The thought of going up there was as foreign to me as winning the vote for Prom Queen.
“And this is a crisis… why?” I asked, unable to keep the judgment out of my voice. “It’s just a dance.”
“It’s not just a dance,” he said, his voice filled with genuine anguish. “It’s prom. It’s the dance. It’s like, the Super Bowl of senior year. Everyone’s gonna be there. It’s the last big party.”
I saw his point, in a detached, anthropological sort of way. For him (and most of the dullards in the popular crowd at Northwood High), social currency was everything. A prom night photo with his arm around some vapid girl, grinning for the camera, was probably as important as a full ride scholarship was to me. Personally, I’d basically been ignoring prom all semester. It was the exact opposite of my thing. The apogee to my perigee. The nadir to my zenith. I was planning on spending my own prom night reading a book (hopefully finishing the latest Brian Greene publication on string theory) and getting a full eight hours of sleep. Still, he looked so miserable. And, more to the point, a miserable Kevin was evidently an un-tutorable Kevin, more so than usual. I could just cancel the session, but then again, no tutoring means no forty bucks.
“I just… I don’t want to miss our session, but I gotta get that ticket.” He looked at me, a desperate plea in his eyes.
An idea, both practical and a little unconventional, sparked in my mind.
“Look,” I said, already stacking up my notecards. “Why don’t we take this session on the road. You drive, I’ll quiz you on physics formulas on the way up, we get your ticket, and I’ll review chapter sixteen with you on the way back. Deal?”
The clock is running either way, I figured.
His face lit up with such pure, simple relief that I almost felt a flicker of genuine affection for the guy. “Seriously? You’d do that?”
“I need my tutoring money, Kevin. You need your prom ticket. It’s like the waveforms of our needs forming a constructive interference pattern.”
“A constructo-what-now?”
“Just grab your keys,” I said, rolling my eyes and hoisting my heavy backpack over my shoulder.
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I’m working on some new stories (and new chapters of existing stories) but I wanted to give you all a chance to weigh in on which new story concept should come up sooner in my to-do list.
So, from the following brief synopses, which would you like me to work on next:
A) A sweet and innocent young woman gets engaged to the love of her life, but over the course of her engagement, she transforms into a rich, bitchy bridezilla.
B) A couple is embarking on a road trip, but after the boyfriend cracks a joke about his girlfriend wanting him to take the wheel, their itinerary changes as she transforms into a spoiled passenger princess.
C) A video game character designer is dealing with sexism at work, and is forced to compromise her character concepts in ways that ultimately change both her protagonist’s persona and her own.
Which idea should come soonest?
A) Bridezilla
B) Passenger Princess
C) Video Game Designer
To be clear, all three of these story ideas will happen eventually, I just want to know which of these concepts sounds the most enticing to you, and therefore which should come up first.
Also to be clear, I’m already pretty far along on the next two or three stories that I plan to post:
1) a new story set at Northwood High
2) Chapter 4 of Down to Earth
3) a sequel to Unwrapped
So whichever concept wins this poll won’t be the very next thing I write, but will slot in third or fourth from now depending on how the list above comes together in editing and image production.
Looking forward to publishing more stories for you all to enjoy!
Shift-Change
Pierced
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The air in the mall felt sterile and a little too stuffy, making my palms sweat. Or maybe that was just my nerves. Ryan held my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Hey, it’s just earrings, alright? You’ll be fine. And if you hate it, you can just take them out.”
Just earrings. The words sounded so simple, yet my stomach was doing gymnastics. Needles. Holes. My brain kept conjuring scenarios I’d seen online – infections, lopsided holes, the sheer pain of forcing metal through flesh. My fear of piercings was legendary among my friends, a quirky phobia I’d nursed since I was a kid and saw another girl cry hysterically when getting her ears done at a Claire’s kiosk. Now, at twenty-six, here I was, standing outside a place called ‘The Gilded Needle,’ trying to breathe normally.
Ryan’s thumb brushed over my knuckles. He seemed so calm, handsome in that effortless way he had, his hair falling just right over his eyes. “Ready?”
I took a shaky breath. If anyone could make me feel brave, it was him. He’d helped me prep for every single work presentation, helped calm my nerves after confronting a genuinely terrifying spider in the shower, and now, he was committed to helping me face one of my oldest fears. “Okay,” I managed, my voice a little wobbly. “Okay, let’s… let’s do this.”
The shop was surprisingly clean and bright, lots of polished wood and glass display cases filled with glittering jewelry. Not the dingy, skulls-on-the-wall place I usually imagined when I pictured a piercing studio. A friendly-looking woman with bright, kind eyes, a tiny stud in her nostril, and a few tasteful silver piercings in her ears smiled at us from behind the counter. The nametag at her immaculate work station read Vivienne. “Welcome to The Gilded Needle! First time?”
I nodded, feeling my cheeks flush. “Just… just my ears,” I mumbled.
“Wonderful!” she chirped. “I’m Vivienne, I’ll be taking care of you today. Trust me, you’re in good hands. Right this way.”
She led us to a case overflowing with options. I was instantly overwhelmed. Tiny studs, delicate hoops, clusters of gems. My eyes darted nervously over them. Ryan pointed to a few simple silver balls. “Those look pretty classic. Or maybe something small and subtle, with just a little sparkle?”
I tried to focus, my heart still thudding against my ribs. I wanted something subtle, something that wouldn’t draw too much attention, something that felt safe. After what felt like an eternity, I pointed to a pair of tiny, almost invisible silver studs. “These. Just… just these.”
Vivienne smiled warmly. “Excellent choice. Come have a seat right here.”
She motioned to a comfortable-looking chair in a private alcove. Ryan sat beside me, still holding my hand. The artist prepped my earlobes with an antiseptic wipe, explaining the process gently. It all seemed straightforward, professional. Yet, as she picked up the piercing tool, a sterile-looking gun, my fear spiked. My breath hitched.
Just before she brought the gun to my ear, my pulse started to race and the words tumbled out, raw and honest. “Oh god, I wish I didn’t find this so scary.”
For a split second, the air around us seemed to hum in the background, the bright lights in the shop seeming to flicker like an old fluorescent tube. The world seemed to warp, a brief, disorienting shiver running through the very fabric of reality.
Happy May the Fourth
Just reposting links here to the Star Wars themed story I wrote for last year's May the Fourth weekend. I have a draft of another Star Wars themed story I've been working on that I may try to finish this week, if I feel like it comes together.
Part 1: One with the Force
Part 2: The Force is with Me
May the Force be with you!
Down to Earth: Chapter 3
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
This is the third chapter of a story that was developed from a suggestion by a user over on the forum Changing Mirror. It's not essential to follow the story, but if you'd like to read Chapter 1 first, you can find it here, and you can find Chapter 2 here. Hope you enjoy!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The platinum card in my hand was my favorite possession. Or my favorite accomplishment? It wasn’t really my possession after all. It wasn’t my name, Genevieve Worth, embossed on the front, after all. It was Dom’s. My darling husband, and recently elected city councilman, Dominic Worth, a name that opened doors, brokered deals, and paid for absolutely everything my heart desired. And, without mincing words, my heart desired a lot. Whether he was parading me on his arm at a gala, or spoiling me rotten on a Medierranean getaway, I wanted Dom to feel like he was showing me off. What can I say? Good taste is so hard to find, but both Dom and I had it in spades. Dom had a reputation to uphold. He was literally building this city, and of course that meant I needed to maintain a certain standard of beauty.
Today, that standard definitely felt like it required some new accessories, and perhaps a new pair of Jimmy Choos, preferably bright red to match the Hermès bag I’d acquired yesterday. Red was my signature color, the same shade as my hair, a fiery cascade that I spent a small fortune maintaining. I caught my reflection in a darkened storefront window and paused, admiring the view. The silk of my emerald dress clung to every curve, my body a testament to my Pilates instructor and my dietician (and Dom’s wallet). A diamond tennis bracelet glittered on my wrist, a casual ‘just because’ gift from Dom last Tuesday. I was a masterpiece, and he was the patron. I smiled. It was a perfect arrangement. It was all thanks to him that I didn’t have to work anymore, not since we’d gotten engaged, and that of course suited me just fine. I lived to be his trophy wife, and he lived for me.
Strolling down an exclusive boutique-lined street, one of my favorite haunts, a new storefront I’d never noticed before caught my eye. It was wedged between a bespoke jeweler and a gallery of modern art, but it possessed none of their glamor. The sign above the door was simple, wooden, with letters carved in a plain, unassuming font: Down to Earth. It may have left a boring first impression, but the business was clearly some kind of salon, perhaps with some kind of a simple, organic theme. Or maybe they were just minimalists? Either way the effect was homely, almost tragic. The windows were clean but unadorned, offering a glimpse of the lobby inside painted in a muted beige. It was… drab. So far away from my usual style, and yet the clean lines and muted tones still somehow managed to draw in my eyes.
A whim, sharp and sudden, seized me. It had been nearly three weeks since my last full spa day. An eternity, for me anyway. My skin was probably crying out for a 24-karat gold facial. My nails, while perfect, could always be more perfect. I could pop in, see what services they offered, and have a good laugh with Dominic about their pathetic attempt at a rustic chic aesthetic over cocktails tonight. We had a reservation at L’Olivier after all, and it was my responsibility, as usual, to bring the dazzling conversation.
Pushing open the heavy glass door, I was met not with the scent of expensive essential oils or the bubbling of champagne, but with a faint, clean smell of lavender and something, well… earthy. Like damp soil after rain. The receptionist, a pleasant-looking woman with a kind face and an unflattering cardigan, looked up from her computer.
“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice gentle, if a bit flat.
“I’d like to see what services you have available for walk-ins,” I said, letting my gaze sweep dismissively over the room. “I have a few hours to kill.” I placed my red Birkin on the simple laminate counter, adding a much-needed splash of refined color to the salon’s sea of beige. “My husband is Dominic Worth. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? As the wife of a city councilman, he’s rather insistent I take care of myself.” I gave her a smile that was all perfect teeth and practiced charm, the kind that never failed to get me tables at booked-out restaurants.
The woman’s expression didn’t change. “Of course, Mrs. Worth. Let me see what we can do for you. Were you interested in any particular services today? Manicure, facial, perhaps a massage?”
“All of the above,” I decided. The cost didn’t matter. I glanced down at the metal card in my hand. Dominic would cover it. “And something for my hair.” I waved a hand dismissively, as if the details were beneath me. She tapped a few keys and nodded.
“We can actually take you right now. Amber will be with you for your manicure.”
Butt First Coffee
by Shift-Change
(Disclaimer: All images were generated with the help of AI tools)
The morning sun was doing its level best to be cheerful, but Alexis wasn’t having any of it. She sat at the kitchen island, her head resting on the lean muscles of her folded arms, a careless attempt at a high bun teetering dangerously on the top of her head. She looked adorable, even in her state of caffeine-deprivation.
“The canister is empty, Chase,” she groaned into her sleeves. “Just dust! There isn’t even enough for a single shot of espresso. I can’t believe I forgot to put coffee on the shopping list!”
I walked up behind her, massaging her shoulders sympathetically. Alexis was a creature of habit. Every Saturday morning began with her three-mile run, but that morning pep did not come naturally to Alexis. Every weekend run required a jumpstart in a mug. Without her coffee, she was like a sports car with no engine.
“Don’t panic, Lex,” I said, grabbing my wallet and keys. “I’m pretty sure there’s a new place that just opened up on the corner of 4th. That’s right down the road. I’ll be back in like ten minutes with a medium double-shot latte. Just... don’t move.”
“You’re a saint,” she mumbled, finally looking up. Her eyes were bleary, but she managed a small, loving smile. “Large, please. Extra foam.”
When I strolled up to the new shop, I had to do a double-take at the signage on the blush pink building. The signs were all bright pink neon in cursive writing and inexplicably read: Butt First Coffee. I stared at it, bemused for a few seconds, wondering if the sign-maker had suffered a stroke or if the owners were pushing some very specific, very off-kilter brand of humor. I could think of only one obvious connection between a coffee shop and butts, and it didn’t seem like a winning marketing strategy. I chuckled to myself as I stepped inside. With relief, I noted that the air smelled heavenly: rich, roasted coffee beans with hints of sweeter, more exotic flavors, like vanilla beans and honey.
As soon as my number was called, I grabbed the large latte and headed back home, the cup warm in my hand. When I walked back through the front door, Alexis had already started trying to pull herself together. She was standing in the living room, stretching her hamstrings, a regular part of her pre-run routine. She had changed into her workout gear: a pair of heather-grey, high-waisted compression leggings and a matching strappy sports bra. Her lithe, toned figure looked incredible, though she was still clearly sleepy, blinking like some kind of nocturnal animal caught in the beam of a flashlight.
“Mission accomplished,” I announced, holding the cup aloft.
Alexis practically lunged for it. “Oh, thank God.”
As she took the cup, she paused, squinting at the logo printed on the sleeve. A small snort escaped her. “Butt First Coffee? Are they serious?”
“That’s what the sign says,” I laughed. “I assume they meant ‘But First Coffee,’ like the meme. Someone really dropped the ball on the graphic design. Or maybe they’re just very dedicated to glute health.”
Alexis giggled, her first real laugh of the morning. “That’s so embarrassing for them. I mean, imagine catching that typo after you’ve already printed a thousand cups. It’s hilarious.”
She raised the cup and took a deep, appreciative sip, clearly savoring the aroma. Her eyes widened. “Oh… wow. Chase, this is actually like the best coffee I’ve ever had. It’s so good.”
She took another long drink, and that’s when I noticed… she’d started to change.
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Feeling especially grateful for doctors and all that they do. Happy National Doctors' Day ~~~ 💔🩺📋🩻❤️🩹 ~~~
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