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#1: Weight Gain, Nerdification

A grail war was brewing.

Every spirit, from their demesne in the Throne of Heroes, could feel it - sense it; and on some level, sense their role in it, should they have one. Precognitions arrived in momentary sensations; feeling the hilt of a blade in one's hand, or manifesting a phantom pain.

When Mordred; the exalted Saber of Red, felt her spirit tethering itself to the material world - preparing to conjure her to take part in such a grand battle, with such bold and worthy opponents, she was elated. The thought of crossing blades and cracking skulls inspired her through her momentary trip between realms - following the guidance of that which her mortal self left behind. In the aether, Mordred reached out - and found her hand curling around the hilt of a sword. With one violent tug; the hilt remained immobile - but allowed her to pull herself into the mortal world. Light cascaded off of her as she manifested - blade in hand; as offered by a robed figure before her.

With her feet planted firmly on the ground, Mordred surveyed her surroundings. She could tell that she was in some sort of mansion; in a room enclosed by wooden walls, illuminated by candlelight, and occupied by several other hooded figures - like the one at her feet, all were kneeling; positioned around the periphery of the room. By the look of the seal drawn at her feet, carefully drawn in wax - she could tell that she wasn't summoned by a nobody. These people had to know what they were doing - and that brought a smile to her face. Lifting the blade up and away from the kneeling summoner, she looked it over - recalling it foundly as a blade she'd used in her youth.

"Looks like someone really wanted me here." she declares boldly; a cocky smirk spreading across her lips. Twisting the artifact blade around in her hand, she points it toward the figures around the room. "On your feet!" she barks. Kneeling down a little, she knocks the hilt of her sword gently against what she can presume to be the head of the one that held her sword prior. "You too. Looks like you guys really mean business - so, tell me; who among you is worthy of being my master?"

One by one, the others stand - in doing so, they shed their hoods. Whether deliberately or not; the order in which they do so guides Mordred through the generations of what she can only assume to be a family of mages. She first sees the grizzled and wizened faces of the eldest; followed by the dignified faces of their children - lastly, the young and awed faces of their children. Mordred pushes out her chest a little - allowing them to bask in her magnificence.

With most of them having revealed themselves - the only one still hiding behind their hood was the one knelt before her. There's a period of silence as they continue to linger in their position - broken by one of the older members of the congregation. "Oh, honored and heroic spirit," he begins, glaring down at the kneeling figure. "we call upon you today to represent our venerable home in an impending conflict - a battle for the holy grail, and all it may provide. In doing so, we have elected the..." He clears his throat. "Finest representative of our family to serve as your master. Her command of the arcane is unparalleled, and her mind is among the greatest, though her... Desires may not always be appropriate."

Mordred leers. Desires - what was he going on about? Taking a step forward, she reaches down and grabs her apparent master's hood - yanking it upward and evoking a hushed gasp from the mage beneath...

Quickly, Mordred learns why they'd stayed hidden. Buried beneath the robe was the rather broad and unshapely figure of a woman - who despite the ritual decorum displayed by the rest of her family, was clad in an unflattering set of sweatpants and a bright pink tee-shirt displaying a number of girls wearing frilly outfits. Her hair was brown; lacking luster and falling sloppily over her shoulders. Her uneven bangs fell over her bespectacled eyes - and Mordred could see the faintest hint of freckles upon her soft, rounded cheeks. Her mouth hung agape - in mixed awe and surprise from having been so suddenly revealed.

The elder mage cleared his throat again. "This is Katherine. You may address her as master, as you see fit."

Averting her eyes from Mordred, the chubby girl stands and takes a step back. "O-or you could ca-call me... Kay. Or Kay-chan." Mordred leered - but as she saw the luminous surface of a command seal on the back of her hand, she knew she was bound to this woman.

As bad as she seemed now - Mordred wondered how much worse this could get.

---

"You want to what!?" Morded shrieked. Before her, Kay recoils, holding her hands up defensively as the tomboyish servant glares at her.

Kay whimpers, stammering out. "I-I-u-u-uh... D-don't want to... Fight." Beyond being warbled with fear; the dumpy-looking girl's voice comes out huskily and dully. "I m-muh-mean... I don't know why they put me up to this, even if I'm... A little better..." She seems to shrink into herself. "G-grail wars are dangerous - I don't want to die!"

"So, what, ya wanna drop out - what the hell kinda attitude is that? Ya went through all the trouble of summoning me, and all ya wanna do is just..." She gestures to Kay. "Sit on your ass or somethin'?" To her immense disappointment, Kay simply nods. Mordred raises a hand to her forehead, groaning. "What the hell kinda master are you...?"

She turns away from Kay, pacing around the... Colorful room she now found herself in. Mordred felt like she'd stepped into another world when she entered Kay's room. Whereas the rest of her family's manor was rather... Refined, in its aesthetic and decor, such nuance was lost on their 'greatest' mage. Her walls were plastered with posters; cabinets lined the room, filled to the brim with figurines and replicas - all falling into a vaguely similar aesthetic to something Mordred had seen in... Contemporary Japanese art. Though Mordred had no passionate opinion on it; seeing Kay's overwhelming passion for it made her a little annoyed.

With Mordred turned away; Kay begins to mutter. "Y-you're not the only one that's disappointed..."

Snapping back toward her, Mordred growls "What was that?"

Kay seems to shrink again; hunching over with as much as she's been intimidated. "W-wuh-well... S-since I didn't want to fight, I k-kinda hoped they'd summon someone with a l-little more, um..." Kay rises up a little, a crooked smile crossing her lips. "Eyecandy. Like Gilgamesh,or Cú Chulainn..." A dull chuckle escapes her lips as she looks over to one of her posters - showcasing two men in suits, in each-others' arms.

"Tch." Mordred snorts. "They'd never stoop low enough to serve someone like you." she asserts - feeling bold as she speaks; but quickly realizing how her words could be turned against her. Her cheeks quickly reddening, she jabs a finger at Kay. "Y'know what - whatever; I don't care who you are, or what you want. You summoned me here to kick some ass - that's what I'm gonna do. I don't care if I've gotta drag ya onto the battlefield," she marches up to Kay, nearly butting heads with her as she leans closer. The brash servant jabs a finger against Kay's chest - dimpling in against her soft figure. "I'm gonna win this thing."

Snapping quickly from her fantastical reverie into fear once more, Mordred can feel Kay begin to tremble. "B-but... N-no, um..." she stammers out. She raises a hand - and with speed far exceeding what Mordred would expect from the timid girl, Kay snatches the servant's wrist. Her grip is shaky and clammy - by all accounts, something the Saber should be able to easily free herself from - but as she tries to pull away, she finds Kay's grip holding firm. Confused, she looks down to her hand - and sees the command seal tattooed upon it glowing an ominous shade of red.

"No - no you don't, c'mon-!" she begins to protest - but Kay remains undeterred.

"I-I don't wanna f-force you, but... Can't you s-s-see things my way?" With those words spoken, Mordred feels a weight come over her - like a phantom force pressing down upon her. Kay releases her - giving her a chance to stagger back; each step feeling like she's wading through molasses. The further she gets from Kay, the blurrier the room gets - her vision fogging over; distortion encroaching inward from the corner of her vision until the entire room fades into abstract shape and color...

And then, the distortion clears - so too does the weight bearing down upon the servant. With her vision clear - Mordred sees Kay holding her hands over her mouth.

"C-careful!" she chides, quickly waddling over to Mordred and nudging her aside. Turning around - Mordred could see that she was nearly an inch away from bumping into one of Kay's cabinets. "Y-you almost knocked over Hajime-chan!" Kay reaches out to a figure of a girl in a frilly outfit - one that's displayed on her shirt. A chill creeps over Mordred - a deep and insidious feeling; like avoiding a near-fatal accident.

"Sorry!" she blurts out, looking down at the figure. As that chill begins to clear, a more positive sensation wells up within her - like she's seeing an old companion. "Hajime-chan... You have good taste."

What? Mordred thinks. "What...?" Kay muses. "Y-you really think so? You..." She smiles a little. "Have you seen Mahou no Chimu Sweet, too?"

Mordred furrows her brow, shaking her head. "No," she begins - raising a hand. "I- I do mean it, but I haven't seen it, but..." She growls. "I don't know what I'm sayin'." She raises a hand to her face - but finds her fingers bumping up against something hard and firm. Carefully reaching to the bridge of her nose - Mordred finds herself pulling at... A pair of glasses. They aren't particularly stylish - bearing large, round frames. Trying to look at Kay without them was like trying to look through frosted glass. Putting them back on revealed a look upon Kay's face she hadn't seen before - excitement.

"You've gotta see it then." Her tone is... As elated as her voice could allow; still coming out as dull, but bearing a sense of passion where there had been none before. "It's a masterpiece; very underrated. Stay there, I'll get us set up."

Kay waddles over to another cabinet; lined with an array of plastic and cardboard cases. Pulling one out, she moves over to a large screen mounted on the wall opposite her bed - and soon, a shower of pink sparkles plays out across the screen, displaying the three girls emblazoned on Kay's shirt. Just looking at the title screen, Mordred was... Transfixed.

"S-some people say it only really gets good in the Lady of Unfortunate Fate and Final Death arc, but... If this is your first time, I think it'd give you a lot more context if you start from episode one! It's only about sixty episodes until that arc really begins, after all."

The fire burning in Mordred seemed to fade as she looked at the screen - though still tentative, she figured that it might behoove her to get to know her master a little. After all - maybe she could inspire her to fight if she just knew a little bit more about what she liked...? At least, that's how she justified it. "Yeah... Sure, whatever." Mordred brought a hand to her stomach - feeling a layer of softness upon her firm abs that simply wasn't there before, but... Moreover, she felt hungry. "Got any food?"

Kay plopped onto her bed and smiled. "I was feeling a little hungry too - I guess we're on the same page a little more than I thought. Don't worry - I have just the thing."

---

Mordred slurped another bunch of noodles from her styrofoam cup as she watched another episode end - she had only begun to chew by the time she and Kay began to hum the ending theme together. For a while, she stopped counting how many they'd seen together - and likewise, how many cups of ramen she'd gone through. Looking down on herself, she was distantly aware that they'd had... Something of a toll. Gone was the lithe form of the Saber of Red - an even layer of pudge had spread across her body. A rounded gut stuck out over her shorts; and flab all around formed a pronounced muffin top. It wasn't too visible from her point of view - but a dusting of blonde hair had sprung up underneath her belly.

After swallowing, Mordred opens her mouth again - a pair of metal braces glinting off of the dim light of the TV in the otherwise dark room. "I didn't think Nanako-chan would get out alive." she explains, looking over to Kay. Her voice is excited as ever - but so too has it developed a nasally quality.

"I thought the same thing when I saw it for the first time! But then, Caped Hero swooped in to save the day..." Kay sighs dreamily. "Don't you wish you had a Caped Hero in your life, Modred?"

What a ridiculous question - did she want some pretty boy hero protecting her? "Gawsh - obviously." Mordred replies. Setting down her now-emptied cup, she pats her stomach again. "Mmmh, do you have anythin' sweet lyin' around?"

As the opening theme of the next episode began to play, Kay nodded. "Of course!" She pulls out a cardboard box from between her legs, handing it over to Mordred. It's visibly warm - and a little moist - in her hands. Peering inside, she pulls out a long cookie stick; half covered in chocolate. "Ooh - I got an idea! Hand it here!"

Mordred immediately complied - offering Kay the cookie; which she snatches with her lips. Bobbing it upward, she offers the other end to Mordred. With red flushing into her cheeks, she leans forward and takes the other end between her lips.

Staring, bespectacled eye to bespectacled eye, at her master, the two inch closer to each-other on the stick. "Mh." Kay murmurs, trying to get her attention.

"Mhn?"

Speaking from the corner of her mouth, Kay murmurs "Did anyone evur tell yuh that yur freckles luk cute?"

Mordred eeps. More important than the realization that she had them - Mordred wonders if anyone had ever complimented them. She wonders if anyone had ever complimented her - and comes up blank. "N-nuh... Thanksh." she stammers out bashfully. The two grow closer - their lips nearing each-others; and the scent of ramen on each-other's breath becoming more apparent...

Until Kay whips away; snapping off her half of the stick. "Ooh! We're missing the start of the episode!" Panicked, Mordred looks away.

"Oh geez - after this one is done, can we watch it over again?"

Kay eagerly nods, reaching over to the box in Mordred's hands to pull out another cookie. "Of course!"

---

"Uuuuuugh." Kay groans as she enters her room - closing the door behind her and leaning against it; barring it from opening from the outside. "Y'know, this grail war stuff is really a drag... They keep bringing me out to tell me what's going on... Can't they just text me?" she dully whines.

With a stick of pocky sticking out of her mouth, Mordred concurs. "I'm jusht glad they're not botherin' me about it." She sits up a little and snorts - a recent quirk she'd picked up. Her nose seems to have upturned a little - providing such a quirk, and only worsening the high and whiny tone of her voice. Even when she shuts her mouth, two brace-bearing teeth stick out from her lips; a product of the underbite she's adopted.

As Kay moves closer, Mordred tries to get off of Kay's - now their shared - bed to meet her... But, as she rocks back and forward, trying to build up momentum, she can't seem to get up easily. Kay chuckles - having been in the same boat before.

Since her summoning, Mordred's figure has greatly... Evolved, from her lithe form, to one she proudly declares as... Heavyweight. Everything, from her cherubic cheeks, to her broader chest and arms, to her sagging gut and wide hips, is covered with a pronounced level of fat. Kay still fondly remembers the day she finally shred her top - having to console the panicked Saber for nearly an hour with how embarrassed she was. Of course, Kay had plenty of hand-me-downs for the servant; they were the same size, after all.

Even so; Mordred still bore her midsection in some sense. Her gut peeked out from between her new sweatpants and her Mahou no Chimu Sweet shirt - the pudgy surface of her stomach now covered with a noticeable treasure trail. "Kay-chaaaaaaaaan..." she whines. "Can I get a little help?"

Coming closer, Kay rubs her servant's head - mussing up her greasy and frazzled hair further. "No can do, Mori-chan. You've got nowhere to be but here. Besides - we've still gotta finish the Olympic arc of Free Skates!"

Mordred's eyes light up. "Oooh! Y-yeah, you're right! Ishn't thish the arc where Akihiko and Miyata..." Wheezily, she chuckles; a crooked smile forming on her lips. "Kiss?"

Kay plops down on the bed beside her - evoking a dangerous creak from it. "I'm not gonna spoil it, if that's what you're asking." With a remote in hand, she queues up the next episode - in a marathon Mordred never wants to end.

#2: Weight Gain, Chav TF, Downgrade

"Heiress Sparks Outcry!"

Casandra Mannsbury looks disgustedly down at her phone; her steely blue eyes glancing over the headline before her. Scrolling ever downward, through dozens of articles, she finds the same sentiment repeated, again and again.

"Outcry." she scoffs. "What's the world coming to when you cause an _outcry_when you speak the truth?" Turning her eyes away from her phone, she looks beside herself; through the tinted window of her car as it makes its way through the busy streets of London. Of course - she wasn't driving; rather entrusting the task to a chauffeur. Such was one of the many privileges Casandra was afforded as the heiress to the fortune of Atlas Developments.

Atlas had enjoyed an astronomic rise to power over the course of her lifetime - recalling the humble days spent amongst the middle-class before her family's fortune grew to ever-greater heights. Having been so long ago, and having spent so much time in a world beyond humility, such memories were misty and distant; frankly - she could hardly recall a time when she didn't live in a mansion. Their official business was that of real estate and development - although, public perception was that their business was gentrification. Many of their projects began in lower-class neighbourhoods; often ousting the poorer residents in favour of inviting in a wealthier population.

Her father had always addressed such concerns tactfully - but, having fallen into poor health, Cassandra had assumed the position of figurehead. Bearing a rather decorated academic background - though little in the way of work - hopes were high that she would continue her father's legacy of prosperity and decorum...

And yet, the heiress couldn't fathom why she was being raked over the coals in her first press conference. In her eyes; some nosy old hag asked her about a recent project that would replace a large amount of council housing with luxury estates - and she responded honestly.

"We're building better neighbourhoods; and an instrumental part of that is simply having better neighbours. I wouldn't invite such filth into my home, and I don't think a single one of you would either. There are still plenty of slums for the residents we're displacing to live - too many; but that's an issue we'll be resolving in the coming years."

Cassandra looked back down to her phone. 'Elitist', they called her. Classist, callous, and all other colourful names that moved Cassandra little. She didn't see them as the slurs they were being used as - perhaps if her actions were unwarranted, but she didn't think she said a single word that wasn't true. The people that lived in those council houses deserved to be ridiculed; they deserved even worse than what she said!

When her car pulled to a stop, her eyes were still peeled on her phone. She heard her driver get out - and waited patiently, as she continued to scroll, for them to open the door for her. As soon as she heard it open, she ducked out of the door - her heels clicking on the ground outside. Once she was out, the driver closed the door behind her - and she looked up from her phone.

She distinctly remembered telling her driver to take her home - and needless to say, she hadn't arrived. The ground at her feet was cracked blacktop - having been unattended for so long that weeds had begun to spring from the cracks. Before her was some sort of loading dock - part of a warehouse she now found herself beholding. Its walls were rusted - a pattern of rust casting a shadow where a sign had previously been bolted to the facility.

A chill crept over Cassandra - but her first instinct was to possessively clutch her phone. She tried to turn around - but soon, she felt a hand secure her waist; and another fall over her mouth. Before she even had a chance to cry out - a chemical scent invaded her nose and darkness crept upon her vision, guiding her quickly to sleep.

---

Cassandra's lapse of consciousness was bookended by a chemical scent - a harsh and acrid scent hitting her nostrils and rousing her back into the waking world. Her first instinct - queued from before she'd been knocked out - was to struggle...

But, as her limbs moved to flail about, she found them all restrained in some fashion. Looking downward - the first thing she saw was... Well, herself. Her body - an expanse of fair skin atop a toned body; shaven smooth and immaculately maintained over the course of her life. All of it, shockingly, was bare to see - causing her face to redden as she continued to survey herself. She seemed to be on a... Strange table. It seemed to be built to accommodate a body - having a central platform for her midsection, and extended panels for her limbs; keeping her arms and legs spread. On each of her wrists and ankles, there was a tight leather restraint - which, as she tried to struggle, didn't seem to yield at all.

Another thing she noticed was a set of tubing in her nose. She tried to dislodge it by scrunching her nose or exhaling through it - but it didn't seem to give.

"Ah - it appears our guest is awake."

A voice resounds around the room - which, by the sound of it, seemed empty beyond the table Cassandra rested upon. Bearing down upon her was a solitary spotlight - keeping everything else in shadow.

Having been granted some form of contact, Cassandra promptly lasheso ut. "Who the hell do you think you are? I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, but you let me out right _fucking_now-"

She's allowed to continue on her belligerent tyraid for a few moments longer, after which she seems to have exerted herself. The voice resumes. "We hope you found your outburst therapeutic, Ms. Mannsbury. Now, if you'll kindly allow us to explain..." The voice seems filtered somehow; its tone droning and androgynous. "Your recent... Remarks have come to the attention of those whom we represent. While some were urged to respond... Belligerently, your remakes have filled us only with pity."

Pity? From who - and why? "What the hell are you talking about?" Cassandra groans, her voice hoarse from shouting.

"Your lifestyle has taken an inexorable toll upon your moral and social wellbeing. Those who we represent are a benevolent and charitable lot; and so it has been decided that you're ripe for our unique brand of social rehabilitation. 'Walk a mile in someone else's shoes', and all that. Namely - that of the denizens of the council estates you seek to displace."

Cassandra's eyes balk. "What- you... Are you mad? Social rehabilitation; what's that supposed to mean - and what does it have to do with that filth?"

"Tut tut, Ms. Mannsbury. That's no way to speak of your new neighbours. While we would be more than happy to further explain our intent - past cases have proven that it's infinitely more effective simply to demonstrate." With that said, Cassandra can hear a mechanical whirring - watching as a pair of mechanical arms extend from the floor on either side of the table. "This will be the last you hear of us for a considerable amount of time. But, remember - we are providing you with an invaluable learning experience. I'm sure an academic like you can appreciate that - for as long as you remain an academic."

The mechanical arms lower down to Cassandra's thighs - rolling along on a track. From their heads, they extend a pair of needles - which quickly and relentlessly begin to prod at her thighs, and slowly guide their way upward.

"Hey- hey! Stop that!" she shrieks - not feeling any pain, but rather overcome by the fear of their uncompromising advance. They move up across her stomach, her breasts; and her arms - finally terminating as they poke either side of her cheeks. The arms lower for a moment - and as they do, she begins to notice an odd odor begin to strike her nostrils. It's heavy - rancid and... Smokey? Cassandra coughs - and as she does so, a small puff of smoke escapes her lips. "What the hell...?"

Drawing her attention away from the smoke was the sight of her legs - where the injections began. She gasped - drawing in more of that smokey scent - as she watched the sculpted muscular structure of her thighs begin to fade. She didn't seem to be... Swelling any; but her maintained physique seemed to be melting before her eyes - her thighs growing formless; her stomach gaining a light amount of paunch, her breasts starting to sag... But more hideously, the very tone of her skin began to change. She yelped as she watched a hideous orange tone began to overtake the previously light and tasteful tan she'd maintained.

Coughing again - another bit of smoke escaped her lips. The mechanical arms rose up again - one ending with a comb, and the other with a nozzle. "Oh no, don't you fucking da- aaah, hey, you bastard!" One of the arms began to gather her pampered blonde tresses - scraping it up into a single ponytail, which the other arm began to spray. She didn't get a good view - but it didn't seem like the color was changing much... But the very texture of her hair was changing; growing brittle, frizzy - and greasy. She didn't notice her roots beginning to darken to a muddy brown - but as she looked back down to her body and saw hair of the same shade beginning to gather beneath her arms and over her crotch, she gave a mournful bellow.

When the arms were done, they managed to secure her now cheaply-dyed ponytail with a pink scrunchie. She didn't have much time to lament the loss of her beautiful hair before the arms shifted heads again - one bearing a fine set of scissors, and the other bearing another needle. The needle prods Cassandra's lips - immediately causing them to puff up and purse outward as the other arm trimmed her eyebrows down - switching its heads amid the process to help sculpt them and guide them up into fixed arches.

Cassandra continues to cough as the arms retreat once more - and when they return, they seem to grab hold of her restraints. To her surprise, they seem to dislodge from the table - but, secured by the mechanical arms, she's still restrained. She soon hears footsteps - her heart jumps.

"Hey - hey, who the hell is that? Get me-" she coughs again. "Get me out!" Despite her protests, the figure that approaches seems rather unsympathetic. They seem clad in a white hazard suit; complete with a mask covering their face. Beside them was a cart, upon which she could make out... Clothes?

As they came closer, she tried to struggle again - but between the arms and the person applying them, Cassandra was powerless to resist. First came a rather plain set of white underwear - or, what was... Supposed to be white. In the powerful spotlight around her table, she could see a bit of discoloration, which made her skin crawl as it rose up her legs and came to rest - tightly - around her hips. Following this was a pair of gaudy pink track bottoms - as they were held up, Cassandra groaned as she saw the word 'JUICY' emblazoned upon the rear.

Cassandra nearly began to sob as she saw her stomach dimple over the waistband of the sweatpants - forming a muffin top. A pair of socks were fitted onto her feet, followed by a furry pair of boots - which were disturbingly warm around her feet. It was by then the... Second-hand nature of the clothes had become clear. The arms secured her legs to the table once more, and moved up to grab her arms - by now, she'd stopped fighting, and allowed her body to be puppeted into the rest of the outfit. Next came a bra - which was easily the most appropriate garment yet - and a track jacket above that; though the zipper being left down enough to expose a fair amount of her off-white bra and her orange-tan cleavage.

Before she was laid back to the table, however - she felt a tickling around her fingers. She groaned as she saw the immaculate polish of her previously french-tipped nails removed; and her nails clipped short and unevenly - soon to be covered by a brilliant pink set of false nails.

Only then was she secured back onto the table, sighing deeply - by now, the smokey scent failed to phase her. Before the person in the white suit left - they placed an odd, bulky headset over her eyes; securing it around the back of her head, and put a pair of headphones over her ears. The world around her was muffled - in sight and in sound, leaving her in darkness for a few minutes.

"Hello again, Ms. Mannsbury." the voice from before chimed.

"You- what the hell have you done; what is all- what is any of this?" she challenges

"We would advise you not to ask questions; as this is a prerecorded message."

Cassandra screams in fury.

"Furthermore, we will no longer be referring to you by your prior name. Ms. Mannsbury was a powerful and exceptionally prejudiced heiress to the Mannsbury family. Such is the person you were, and such is the person you will grow beyond, with our help. You were Ms. Mannsbury. You are not Ms. Mannsbury."

Cassandra furrows her brow.

"Ms. Mannsbury was likewise an academic, with an extensive education. You _were_Ms. Mannsbury. You are not Ms. Mannsbury."

She... What?

"Her knowledge will not serve you. Allow yourself to forget. Savor the scent of cigarette smoke we have provided for you. The scent of smoke will help you forget. Ms. Mannsbury hated smoking. You are not Ms. Mannsbury. "

She... Wasn't... Isn't...?

"Your name is Kasey Martin."

She... Is?

"You are Kasey Martin."

She is Cas... Kasey Martin.

"Kasey Martin never completed her secondary education. Kasey Martin is an aggressive woman. She possesses an affinity toward tobacco and liquor. Kasey Martin is a woman of no great fortune or pedigree. You are Kasey Martin."

She is Kasey Martin.

"You were Ms. Mannsbury. Allow her memory to serve as the model of that which you never again become."

By now, Kasey had ceased trying to rationalize the information - rather absorbing it; allowing it to pass into her mind and cement itself. As she did, her plump lips parted - prompting her to drool a little.

"Now, allow us to begin with Kasey's history, starting with her ex-lovers. Number one of fifty: Miriam Brooks."

---

Kasey snorts as she wakes up - reflexively reaching up to wipe drool off of her cheeks. Smacking her lips, she looks around - finding her surroundings... Much like she remembered them.

Kasey lived in a cramped loft - it wasn't an absolute slum, but god help her if she didn't treat it like one. The walls were... Supposed to be white, but as much as she smoked indoors, they'd begun to turn into more of a yellowish cream color. The scent of stale smoke played at her nose - simply existing as an omnipresent feature of her domicile. Reaching down to a glass table before her - careful to avoid one of the chipped edges - she picks up a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter, quickly lighting it and putting it between her lips. After a quick puff, she takes it out - spotting a bit of pink lipstick sitting on the end. Now, when did she put that on...?

Eh, she couldn't remember. Her memories were still a blur from her... Eh... Re-something? When they brought her to wherever-the-hell and did whatever-the-fuck. "Fack wit' my head, they did." she grunts out as she rises from her couch, staggering into her kitchen. Her memories were soupy - recalling two lives. The lower-class life she now lived was the clearest - but so too did she remember that of Ms. Mannsfield. She could hardly remember her old name - but she remembered what her life was like. Living in a mansion, having maids, having nice clothes... God, she thinks; she really had it all.

The arseholes that did this to her promised her that she was pretty fucked-up from all of it, though; but she couldn't say she remembered how, or that she would've been particularly inconvenienced. At the very least, she probably wouldn't have to eat out her landlord just to keep a roof over her head...

A crooked smile spreads across her lips. Not like she didn't enjoy that part.

Throwing open the door of her cabinet, she grabs a bottle of beer, slamming the cap against the edge of her counter - which was already chipped from having done so innumerable times - to remove it. It takes another try, but eventually it pops off, and she takes a hearty swig from the bottle.

Returning to her prior seat, she plops down and spreads her legs, turning on the telly- or, trying to, then smacking the remote a couple times until it does. Before her eyes become glued to the screen, she looks out her window - seeing skyscrapers in the distance. In that moment, there were a million places the former heiress wanted to be...

But, taking another drag of her cigarette, she bitterly told herself that this was the only place she was allowed.

#3: Implied Weight Gain, Slob, Feminization, Canon Crossover

Janna could feel her body tensing up as she surveyed the mansion before her - past the gold-plated gates she found herself barred by. The expansive demesne stretched well beyond her field of vision; and the land upon which it sat was populated by more facilities than just the house itself - she could see a tennis court, a stable; she wouldn't be surprised if there was a pool somewhere on the other side of the mansion... Nor if there was a pool _inside_that pool. This place oozed wealth from every corner...

And it was the last place she wanted to be. Her eyes falling upon the golden E built into the gates, she easily recalls the event that led her to this accursed place. Star had invited her to a ritzy red-carpet event - the likes of which she'd never have been caught dead visiting, but... She supposed if Star was there, it couldn't have been half-bad. Truth be told - it wasn't... All until one visitor in particular arrived.

Elodie, her name was. Star seemed to have a bit more familiarity than Janna had - all she managed to discern for herself, from the gossip preceding her arrival, was that she was some rich, snooty gal that did some sort of fighting. Of course, when she arrived... Elodie seemed to defy everybody's exceptions.

She arrived in a purple sequin dress stretched damn-near to its limits. The flash of cameras illuminated a thick and greasy sheen across her skin - and highlighted the folds of caramel-toned flab that erupted across her hefty form. She waddled down the red carpet with bold confidence... And with a half-eaten hoagie in hand. By all accounts; she seemed to have put on an astounding amount of weight - so much so that when the snapping of shutters finally stopped, everybody had grown silent; at a loss of words...

All except Janna.

Even now, she winces at her own stupidity - she was so dumbfounded that she didn't even realize that she'd said anything until Elodie's eyes locked onto her.

"Geez," she'd begun to Star. "you said she was a big deal, but you made it sound like she's half the gal she is now."

It wasn't immediately clear how Elodie was offended - due in no small part that the first thing that came out of her mouth was a harsh belch. Of course, after she waddled over to Janna - bringing with her the savory scent of sweat and whatever she'd eaten in the past hour - it became clear she didn't quite understand what Janna was remarking on.

"Half? Half!? I'll have you know I'm ten times the- h-huuuuurp- woman you think I am!"

Still shocked - Janna couldn't help but blurt out "I'll say."

"What a cruel thing to say; here, of all places! I'd have you jailed for such slander!" Elodie stomped one foot - nearly shattering the delicate heel of her footwear; and causing her flab to quake across the surface of her body.

Finally stupefied to the point that she had no words to offer the assertive woman, Janna remained silent - but Star interjected in her stead. "Th-there's no need for that! My friend here - she'll, um... Make it up to you? However you want!"

Elodie sneered; turning her nose up. "Hmph! She'd better!" Turning away - and stifling another heavy belch - Elodie asserted "Have her visit my mansion tomorrow. I'll deal with her then. After I'm done with her... I'll decide what I'll be doing to you."

Janna was left with those ominous words until today - and even having time to properly digest the absurdity of it all... Star seemed rather assertive that it was better to placate the demanding woman than simply to ignore it.

Janna moved over to an intercom set beside the gate; holding it down and introducing herself. "Hhhhi. This is Janna, from the party last night?" she begins. There was a warbled response - sounding like static and gurgling, in lieu of any audible words. As the gates remained shut, Janna hit the button again. "I was the one that called you fat?"

Immediately, the gates begin to part, allowing her entry. A harsh voice on the other end snaps "Get in here." - followed by a low, bassy roar... Or, another outburst of gas. Through the tiny speaker, Janna couldn't tell.

Janna made her way up the expansive driveway and up to the mansion's front door - pulling it open, she immediately found herself recoiling; beset by a rush of warm, humid air. The sensation of it - hot and sticky - struck her first, and then came the smell. It was... Rather familiar - bringing her mind quickly to her first... Exposure to Elodie the night before. Janna quickly bunched up her shirt, pulling it over her nose - but it simply refused to be denied.

Stepping inside, she found herself struggling through every breath - and, surreally, she found the air... Visibly tainted. It was muddled - tinged with the faintest shade of pink. Swirls of the color danced in the air as she broke the stale and stagnant haze. Wincing, she closes the door behind her - trapping herself within.

Janna heard another low rumble in the distance - and, lacking any proper guidance, followed it. She crossed through a number of halls, following the occasional belch - the sound getting closer and stench getting worse. The sheer sensation of the fouled air made her skin crawl - warm as it was, she couldn't tell if she'd begun to sweat, or if it was just... The grossness around her clinging to her skin. Looking down at her arm - she could swear there was something different about it - a... Glittery tone upon her flesh.

Eventually - she rounds the corner into what she presumes to be a living room - there were a number of couches and chairs centered around a table... Which seemed littered with emptied plates. Seemingly adhered to one of the couches was Elodie herself. Gone was the glamorous dress she'd worn the night prior - rather; lazily bunched-up in one of the other seats. She was clad in little more than an off-white, deeply-stained top and a pair of... Were those bloomers?

Janna's confusion was interrupted by a harsh, low rumble of gas coming from Elodie. "Finally!" she barks. "I thought you'd never get here. Come over here!" She slaps one of her chunky thighs - and Janna begrudgingly obeys.

"What do-" She pauses to gag. "You even want with me?"

Elodie snorts. "Do you know how much work it is to get food from the kitchen? It's two rooms away!" Theatrically, she rolls her eyes. "I've decided that you're going to be providing food service for me, until I'm satisfied with your performance."

Janna leers. As many plates as there were on the table, she doubted that 'd be an easy task. "No offense, but... I don't think you're the type to be easily satisfied." She points to Elodie - and notices something odd about her hand. She wasn't the type to paint her nails; but upon each finger, there was a glossy, glittery coat of pink polish. "Wait-, what the-"

Elodie claps her hands, and Janna's attention snaps to her. "Come. Here." she orders - and Janna reflexively approaches. The closer she got, the stronger the smell was. She rounds the plate-littered table until she's standing before the flabby fighter. "I'm not easily satisfied - especially not with a... Graceless little thing like you. I'd never settle for someone with no concept of fashion or grace serving me!" She reaches up and snatches Janna's hat, tossing it onto one of the nearby seats.

"Hey-" Janna protests, only to be cut off by Elodie reaching for her chin. She feels almost frozen by the touch of the woman's greasy hand - paralyzed as Elodie guides her down, until they're locked eye-to-eye...

And after a moment of straining, Elodie belches in her face. The hot, moist air rolls across her like a wave, blowing her hair back - spittle splats against her cheeks, and it comes with such force that it feels like not even her body stops it - passing through her and washing over her very bones.

When the belch ends, Janna is left stunned - her hair falls back down onto her shoulders; the coarse and unstyled strands having grown neater; wavier and... Dyed - a bright, pastel shade of pink now gracing the tips. Any look of resistance seems to have exited her face - as rings of pink begin to dance about her eyes.

"Hmph. How weak-willed." Elodie notes. She releases Janna - who seems to stand... Shakily, swaying from side to side. With a grunt - and a heavy fart - Elodie stands up from her couch, pointing down to the damp indentation left by her flabby cheeks. "There - lie down." she orders.

Entranced, Janna kneels down before the couch, lying back until her head lies on the cushion, and she stares upward. She slowly finds her vision eclipsed by Elodie's rear-end - looming over her, consuming the light and fresh air until it heavily and unceremoniously comes to rest on her face.

Janna finds her face almost adhered to the sweaty, cellulite-ridden cheeks of the woman above her; the rancid scent of her ass searing at her nostrils and burning away at her thoughts. Her already hazy mind grows dizzier and dizzier - between the cloying effects of Elodie's stench and simply due to the lack of oxygen.

Chuckling darkly, Elodie taunts "Now, let's get you up to my standards..." With a grunt, she forces out a low, rumbling fart - washing over Janna's face and rolling across her entire form. Elodie can feel her form twisting beneath her - in reflexive resistance, and as the gas works its magic.

Janna's hands reach up to the chunky thighs trapping her - and Elodie can feel her pink nails growing longer and longer; her grip weaker and hands smoother and more delicate. The sound of shredding fabric fills the air as her body stretches out - growing taller, curvier, and more supple.

After she feels Janna's hands fall away from her thighs, Elodie finally stands up again. Looking down to the unconscious woman in her seat, she finds that the last of Janna's dark hair has finally been blasted away under a vibrant shade of pink. Lipstick and eyeshadow of the same shade had been plastered thickly on her face.

Elodie claps twice, barking "Get up!" With a start, Janna's eyes snap open - two shifting pools of swirling pink.

"Yes mistress!" she yelps, her voice soft and airy. Though shakily, she stands up and at attention, tilting her head. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Smirking, Elodie jabs a finger against the twisted woman's chest. "First, you can get rid of those rags. There's a wardrobe upstairs, and there should be something that'll fit you. After that..." Her stomach grumbles dangerously. "I'm gonna need a meal. Or two! Actually - make it three. And make it good, got it?"

The pink-haired woman nods cheerfully. "Yes, mistress!"

Taking delicate and mincing steps away, Elodie's servant makes her way upstairs - the remnants of her torn and sweat-soaked clothes falling away. The impatient mistress of the manor drops herself onto her couch again - and not thirty minutes later, her thrall returns.

Clad in a glossy pink dress, the pink-haired woman balances a pair of platters in each hand - and likewise balances expertly on a pair of tall, pink heels. "Your food, mistress!" she chimes, carefully clearing a space on the table for the newest plates. "Would you like to eat," she begins, before taking a knife and skewering a sausage on one of the plates. "or would you like to be fed?"

Chuckling - and then belching - Elodie orders "Feed me. You're going to have to get used to that, from now on."

The pink-haired servant chuckles. Offering a soft "Yes, mistress.", she offers the sausage to Elodie - who hungrily and viciously snatches it. Fetching another one, she repeats the process - again and again, until the meal is finished...

And then prepares to do it again.

#4: Alien TF, Tardigrade/Grub TF

Sweat rolled down Catalina's brow as she looked over the holo-map of the VSC Steadfast.

The Steadfast had effectively been her home for the past three years - a starship on a xenobiological research endeavor; one Catalina herself was commissioned by the Coalition to take part in. She was one of many xenobiologists aboard, but at the moment, she was the sole occupant of the lab...

And, grimly, she worried that she was the last one alive.

When the shipboard AI announced an "impending celestial event", it sounded so nice. Catalina wouldn't be surprised if half the crew ignored the following warning to brace for impact. The 'event' turned out to be a migrant field of asteroids - careening headlong into the path of the Steadfast. The ship wasn't among the fastest in the Coalition's fleet -and more damningly, their shields didn't offer any protection against physical impact. Catalina could recall that she felt like she'd been upended when the first asteroid struck - but now, she was reeling for a different reason.

Despite the holo-map clearly stating the damage to the research vessel, Catalina was in disbelief that it was anywhere near as extensive as it displayed. The bridge was breached, the starboard side was missing sizable chunks, and hallways were voided all throughout the ship. Breached areas walled her in on every side - cutting off her path to EVA storage on one side, and cutting off her path to the escape pods on the other. She had no protection, and no escape. Worse still - she had no food, and no way to contact any rescue party...

But, that wasn't to say she was doomed.

Part of their research involved taking genetic samples of native species of planets they visited; and synthesizing them with mutagens in order to introduce their genetic quirks on other species. Understandably, most samples she had on hand wouldn't do anybody any good - but, as she sat despairing over her fate, one species in particular came to mind.

Residents of the plague planet Sternguard Lambda, the Vekk were a species famed for their resilience. The mere act of survival on their blighted homeworld was a monumental feat; but beyond that, their unique biology allowed them to survive in any environment. Extreme heat, cold, high pressure - or no pressure. Though she knew it wasn't indefinite... She recalled an anecdote of Vekk surviving prolonged exposure to vacuum.

And yet, for all that, their bodies were...

A sharp ping broke Catalina's train of thought, directing her to a bevy of machinery beside her. Pushing aside a metal panel, Catalina withdrew a roughly-triangular device - bowing out on one side; and hollow on the other. A number of tubes extended from the hollow side, which she regarded with distaste... But with a resigned sense of resolve.

It went against a dozen guidelines of a xenobiologist of her position to experiment on herself, but... In this situation, introducing Vekk genes into her system was the closest thing she had to a way out.

Even then, she realized, it wasn't a guarantee. If one of the senior xenobiologists were here; perhaps she'd have a little more faith, but... Her experience with synthesizing mutagens, especially as far as narrowing the desired effects down to just what she wanted, was... Somewhat lacking. As far as she knew, she'd get everything but their extremophilic tendencies...

But, bitterly, she understood that even in the worst case scenario, she was choosing a quick death over a slow one.

Catalina raised the device to her face - covering her nose down to her chin. She maneuvers the tubing into each nostril; then the last into her mouth. Her teeth come to rest on a small mouthpiece - the trigger for the device. Getting rid of everything in her lungs, Catalina exhales; holding her breath for a moment longer...

Then, biting down on the mouthpiece, she harshly and quickly inhales. A sharp hiss from the device precedes the arrival of an... Oily quality to the air she's breathing in - thick and greasy and almost tangibly rolling down her nose and throat. When the hissing stops, she drops the device, starting to cough.

Amid her coughing fit, she can't help but longingly think of how else she could've gone about this process - with a hypo-needle, or drinking it as syrup, but aerosolizing it put the mutagen in her lungs - where she needed it, for her most desired effect. She can feel a tingling in her core - a warmth radiating out from her lungs into her chest. Her coughing grows wetter - more phlegmatic, as she staggers over to a table.

Out of breath, Catalina wheezily inhales - feeling her chest inflate... And feeling her clothes strain. As with every other member of the science team, Catalina wore a white jumpsuit with a green band around the collar and arms. It rested tightly against her slim body, even on a normal day - but as she feels that warmth reach as far as the surface of her skin, she can feel the suit begin to stretch further.

"Uh-" Catalina grunts, grasping at her throat. Her mouth hangs open - and be it the irritation of the mutagen or her coughing fit, it feels noticeably more... Wet. She can feel something drooling over her teeth - but as she tries to raise her tongue to touch it; she finds something holding her tongue fast to the bottom of her mouth. An ineloquent "A-ah?" escapes her as she feels her teeth make contact despite her lips hanging agog - a sensation that doesn't just remain, but compounds as she makes her way over to a nearby table.

Picking up an aluminum tray, she carelessly dumps the tools resting upon it onto the table, holding it up to her face as a makeshift mirror. A pallor has crept across her skin - something she doesn't know whether to prescribe to the mutagen or the shock of what has become of her face. Her cheeks are visibly bulged out; and her lips seem to have thinned - growing paler still as they simply ring the off-white orifice her mouth has become. Despite hanging agape, she tries to open her mouth further, and...

Her cheeks begin to tear - exposing two stiff, brown structures now liberated from the inside of her mouth. Catalina drops the tray tries to scream - but all that escapes her is a wild, warbling sound. Stretching her mouth open again, the new structures extend to occupy the space her cheeks once had - settling in as a curved set of mandibles. Following her screech, she takes a deep breath again - but rather than feel constrained by her jumpsuit, she feels the pressure building inside of it... Release.

Looking down, she quickly discovers why.

With another warbled chitter, she finds herself staring at a curvy roll of flab extending from a tear in the rubbery material of her clothes. Like the skin of her face, the exposed flesh now forming a smooth fold around her midsection was pale - a ghastly shade of bloodless off-white. Placing a hand upon it, even the texture feels off - smooth, hairless - by the time her eyes fall upon it, she watches her navel swell out and smooth over into an uninterrupted expanse of rotundity.

Another deep breath heralds the tear working its way upward - running along the zipper of her jumpsuit as the fabric yields way to another roll of flab... But one that seemed oddly defined from its predecessor. Brushing the shredded material out of the way, her hand runs from the soft, doughy flesh to that which sits between it and the next roll - halfway through; the texture grows stiffer, and a shade darker - something growing harder for her to discern as she continues to swell outward.

This was... Easily the least desirable side-effect she could have asked for - but one she can't say she hadn't anticipated. Such as the Vekk were famed for their resilience, so too were they known for their... Considerable girth. The subject she'd extracted her sample from was as much as four feet wide - and as the last material tethering the lower half of her jumpsuit to the upper half finally snaps, Catalina can't help but dread that she'll end up similarly.

The odd pattern of... Separation between softer sections of skin seems to continue across her legs - Catalina can feel a firm pressure as her skin twists and hardens to divide sections of her thigh into two soft, eggshell-toned sections; then watches as they swell to the point of eclipsing the divide.

Looking down at herself, Catalina flinches as she sees something roll past her shoulder and onto the floor. At first, she tries to bend down; but the... Stacked folds of fat make that an impossibility. She steps back, trying to maneuver her gut out of the way - but as she does, something else begins to fall. Though her movements have grown sluggish, she manages to catch it - and, in the paling palm of her hand, she sees a lock of her own hair.

Chittering nervously, she reaches up to her scalp - at first, she can feel hair still resting upon it... But as she pulls her hand away, she feels the hair come with her. Catalina gives a phlegmatic bellow as she looks down at her raven locks in her hand... And gives another as she watches her hands begin to deform.

It began as a twitch at the base of each finger - forcing them to tense. Already the segmented softness had reached her wrist; and her palm had begun to swell up further. She was surprised to see the tone of her fingers darken; as her flesh stiffened into something of a shell. Her nails seemed to stretch further out - bowing downward. The border between it and the rest of her fingertip disappeared - and before long, she found herself with a chitinous set of claws on each soft hand.

Though she made an attempt to look down at her feet...

Admittedly, she couldn't quite seem them past her stomach. What she did see, however, was her breasts - having finally liberated themselves from the remnants of her jumpsuit's upper half. With the way the rest of her body was forming, she feared that they'd amass into a solitary unit, but... Mercifully, each one was left defined from the other. They sloped slightly under their weight - and as she hefts one upward, she discovers that her nipples had disappeared from their surface.

A loss she laments with a soft chitter.

She tries to close her eyes - but finds her muscles straining to do so. Her mandibles click together nervously as she approaches the aluminum tray once more - and finds an alien creature staring back at her.

By now, only a few strands of hair were left on her head - which, like the rest of her, was a soft, rounded expanse of off-white. Two slit nostrils rested over her mandibles - and her eyes seem to have shifted into a pair of chitinous black beads set on either side of her head. Again, she tries to blink - but this time, finds the muscles to do so entirely gone.

By all accounts, she was as close to a Vekk as any subjects she'd studied over the years.

Once more, Catalina takes a deep breath - but doesn't find herself swelling any further. While she didn't want to tempt fate - she could only assume the mutagen had run its course.

Swollen, mutated, and practically nude... Catalina takes a nervous step toward the lab's doorway. It parts with a soft hiss, allowing her out into the hall - and over to the shut airlock. Through a reinforced window, she can see the breach in the hall on the other side - a melon-sized hole bored into the outer hull of the ship.

Once she hears the lab's door shut behind her - Catalina reaches for the airlock's release - gripping it as tightly as she was able with her chitinous fingers. Unable to shut her eyes or wince away, she yanks the release handle - and as soon as the door parts, she can feel the air rushing against her bare skin. Pressure vacates her half of the hall with violent force - tearing away the last scraps of fabric and hair resting on her smooth form. She can feel herself sliding forward - closer to the door, but as she impacts it, her sheer girth keeps her from being pulled out further. With as slowly as the door opens, it isn't long before the last of the wind stops, and Catalina feels...

Tingly?

The airlock finally opens up into the voided hall - and despite her exposure, all Catalina can feel is a gentle tingling across her doughy skin. She takes a step inward - then lurches. She feels something drop in the pit of her stomach; and for a moment, she prepares for a violent bout of decompression sickness, but... As soon as it happens, it stops.

Deep in her core, she can still feel herself... Breathing; but not in a way she'd ever experienced. Her chest still heaved, but she didn't exhale any. Scratching her head with her chitinous fingers, she makes her way down the hall, feeling disproportionately pleasant.

The bridge was still a long ways off - but, as far as she knew, she had time to get there. Idly, she wondered if the navigation system was still intact. As much as she'd love to book a ticket back into the Sol system...

For some reason she couldn't quite place, Sternguard Lambda sounded positively homey.