The first in a collection of Whateley Academy Fanfics.
7 AM, Friday October 10 2014 - Franks family home
PD Day! I’ve a long weekend, also a whole day I didn’t have to worry about mom being around. I unscrewed the knob on my bed post, and pulled out my bottle of pills. I quickly dry swallowed my daily androgen blocker, and put the bottle back. Even though Dad had helped me get the blockers, I had to hide them. Mom’s opinion on the entire LGBT community was worse than her opinion on mutants. Her usual rant was that mutants didn’t choose it, those with alternate sexuality did. She firmly believed that both groups should at the least be locked up away from “decent folk”, better yet “culled”.
Fortunately Dad didn’t agree with either viewpoint, but we had both learned that confrontation with Mom wasn’t worth the headache. Sooner or later it was going to come, but in a little over a year, I could legally request emancipation.
Once the pills were securely hidden again, I picked up my sketchbook, I had recently been sketching a wish fulfilment. The girl I would be if I could. I had been reading stories by ElrodW about a near magical box that people could transform themselves with. I used private browsing mode for those websites, wouldn’t be good if my mother saw what I was reading.
I would often fantasise finding one of these boxes, and I was drawing what I would turn myself into. I had been drawing this girl for a couple of months now. Many copies, refining the detail with each new iteration.
If only it were real, I think I have her perfect now, 6'2", yeah, I know really tall for a girl, but I have been cursed with only being 5'6", I hate being shorter than everyone. Long black hair with purple streaks, really long, even in a high ponytail the ends reach mid-thigh. High cheek-bones, emerald green eyes, plump kissable lips, glistening with cherry flavoured lip polish.
Breasts, you may be thinking I would draw them large, but am not some boob obsessed pile of hormones. Remember I am on androgen blockers? I admit that I tried larger breasts, and the drawing just didn’t feel right, I still have it lurking in my sketch book, no, small, firm high breasts, a large a-cup, or small b were just right. Nicely toned with some muscle definition, honey coloured skin. Skin that was completely without hair. I hadn't started shaving yet, why spoil that trend if I became a girl.
She was beautiful, but she was not the only thing I drew, dragons of various sizes, from one that would fit in the palm of your hand to ones that were jumbo-jet sized. Cats and unicorns as well, I mean what kind of girl doesn’t have unicorn pictures?
Finally I heard my mother leave, I waited a few more minutes, morning meetings with her always cast a pall on the rest of the day. Apparently I should have been more like Benjamin, my brother. I was a disappointing accident she would tell me any chance she got. The fact that he was in jail for the foreseeable future having been convicted of three counts of statutory rape. It had been pretty much an open and shut case, especially since paternity could be confirmed. The sentence had been long since he was not at all apologetic, he even seemed proud. Why you may ask did my mother think I should be more like this stain on society? Well he was a man, and she firmly believed that the three girls had seduced him. I ask, how can a 13 year old girl seduce an eighteen year old?
Enough dwelling on the insanity that was my family, I took one last longing look at the latest incarnation of my dream girl, and headed for the shower.
Showers were never the highpoint of my day, at least wearing clothes I could ignore the travesty of my male body, but in the shower I could not. What really didn’t help was the full length fog-free mirror on the wall opposite the taps. That mirror was the reason I had learned to shower with my eyes closed.
Today was no different, at least it started that way. I usually liked the water almost scaldingly hot, but I quickly felt overheated, like I was burning up. I adjusted the water colder and it gave some relief, the colder I made it, the more relief it offered. Soon I had completely shut the hot tap and still I felt like I was burning up from the inside. I don’t know how long I stood there with the cold water washing over me like a cooling balm.
Eventually the unusually fevered feeling went away so I reached for the shower door handle as I did every day. Get out of the shower before opening my eyes, and I wouldn’t have to look at the boy in the mirror. This morning something was wrong, I couldn’t find the handle, so was forced to open my eyes to find it.
There was a girl in the mirror! A girl I recognised! I should recognise her, I kept drawing her. I spun around mystified as to how she got in the shower without my noticing. As I spun my feet slid out from under me and I fell. I must have hit my head or something, because the next thing I knew I was lying on the shower floor, the cold water still streaming over me. It was no longer the cooling balm it had been before, instead it was like icepicks driving into my skin. I reached up and adjusted the water temperature, and dared to look in the mirror again. The girl was gone.
As I warmed up I kept turning up the water temperature, and thought back to what I had seen. There had not been anyone in the shower with me, all I had seen in the mirror was my dream girl, not me and my dream girl, just her. Had I been delirious? I looked again, still a boy. Arrg! had it been a dream, a delirium? I tried to picture her in my mind, but found myself picturing the drawing I had perfected.
Suddenly I felt different and there was a weight hanging from the back of my head. I opened my eyes again. The girl was back! More carefully this time, I checked behind me, I was the only person there. Hardly daring I looked down at my body, I was the girl. I am a girl. How?
It didn’t take long. I must be a mutant. There was no other explanation I could come up with. But why did I keep changing? Watching I pictured the boy body I was cursed with. Almost instantly, there it was again, the body I hated. Was it the just the one picture I wondered. I focused my mind on my first attempt to draw the girl I would like to become, one that was probably more realistic than my wish. No taller than me, but with much bigger breasts and shoulder length hair the same blond as my own. Again the sudden shift and I was that girl. She looked like a cheerleader, I imagined what she would look like in a cheer outfit. As I did this I felt an odd pull, not physical, more mental. Before I could wonder what it was, I was wearing the school cheerleading outfit, and it was getting very wet in the shower.
I wanted to be a girl, sure, but not a cheerleader, the property of one of the football heroes, or possibly more than one. I shuddered and with another pulling sensation the outfit vanished.
If I could be two different girls I wondered about some of the other pictures in my sketchbook. Warmer now I shut off the shower, what one should I try? Not the unicorn, I don’t think it would fit and it’s hooves might damage the floor, same problem with the dragons, perhaps the dragonling? I didn’t think it would work, it was only 6 inches long, but no harm in trying. Picturing the drawing in my mind I suddenly felt like the shower was growing around me. It was huge, or I was tiny. I couldn’t see the mirror so I tried to jump up. I then saw a dragonling hovering in the air, or actually I guess I saw myself as a dragonling hovering in the air. I flew around the shower for a bit before landing. Being a little dragon was fun, but not nearly as glorious as being the girl I had drawn. Landing on the floor I pictured her again, and no sooner thought than done, I was her again, this time with dry hair.
In fact, I was completely dry, I wondered if I could do the clothes trick again, and pictured the outfit I had drawn her in most recently. I felt the odd pull again, and clothes appeared, skin tight black leather pants, boots with a four inch heal that rose just over the knees, and a one shoulder crop top in a rich purple.
OH YEAH! I could become the girl I wanted to be, and I could make the clothes I wanted with just a thought. I jumped for joy, perhaps not the wisest move in a wet shower, but the only problem that presented itself was that skin tight leather without panties is not something you really want to try. A simple thought corrected my oversight.
(tbc)
10:30 AM, Friday October 10 2014 - Franks family home
A while later a large black SUV with the Lionheart Logo on the doors and hood pulled up to the house. Amber Fairchilde, I assume exited from the drivers side and strode up to the house. Despite her purposeful stride and the bullet-proof vest she wore, from what I could see, she would give any hollywood star or model a good run for their money.
She rang the doorbell, and I had to restrain the urge to run downstairs.
When my mother answered the door I could not hear what was being said, until the very end when my mom yelled “Take the little gene filth and dispose of it!”
I waited until Amber knocked on the door, wary of what insanity my mother might be up to I asked “Who is it?”
I heard a chuckle followed by a melodious voice, definitely not the shrill harpy-like screech of my mother. “I am Amber Fairchilde, and it seems I am here to liberate you.”
“Thank god,” I replied then unchocked, and unlocked the door, “Come in Ms. Fairchilde” I answered hefting my backpack.
“Please feel free to call me Amber.” She replied “but Hold on a second, I need you to wear this,” she said handing me a second kevlar vest.
I was a little unnerved by this, but followed her instruction, and then again hefting my pack I followed her downstairs.
My mother was standing in front of the door. “I’ve changed my mind,” she stated. “I’ve called H1, and they will collect the gene-filth. I can trust them to deal with it properly.”
“Stand aside.” Ms. Fairchilde commanded softly.
“No,” was the short terse response.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Amber calmly said flicking open and extendable baton. “But if you attempt to delay our exit, I will.”
Shaken my mother got out of the way. Keeping me close Amber checked out the door. “Run to the vehicle and get in the passenger side.”
Scared, but somehow comforted by her tone, and the vest she had made me wear, I did as instructed.
She followed me, gun drawn, scanning from side to side. Once she was in the SUV and belted in, she roared out the drive-way and down the street. It was just in time, three mud encrusted 4x4 truck screeched into the driveway we had just exited.
Shortly Amber turned into a gated underground parking lot. The Lionheart logo on the gate suggested that this was their HQ. Once we parked she took off her vest and told me I could take mine off as well. It was nice to know that we were no longer likely to be shot at.
11:00 AM, Friday October 10 2014 - Lionheart HQ
We went up to a reception area and Amber started to grill me about my mutant manifestation.
“When your father gets here,” she said, “we will all go to the MCO office to get you an M.I.D. so you can travel.”
“Travel?” I asked.
“Yes, you’ll be going to Whateley Academy, a boarding school in New Hampshire for mutants. You will be safe there and will be able to learn how to use your abilities to their best.”
“What about being trans?” I asked.
She laughed. “The best place in the world for you then. But before we get ahead of ourselves, we want to make the MCO process as painless as possible.”
“How do we do that?” I asked.
“First we find out what you can do, then we decide how much of that we tell the MCO. When you get to Whateley they will do a full test.”
“Ok I guess. Can I just show you?”
“That would work,” she said.
“Is there somewhere I can get out of these clothes so I can use the ones I can control?”
Amber looked a little lost, so I demonstrated by creating a long black leather coat, taking it off, putting on a chair, and then making it vanish.”
Expressions of comprehension, and then worry crossed her face. “OK, that’s one thing you do not want to show the MCO. What you did was manifest the coat, but very few manifestors can put what they make down without it vanishing, as such they worry the MCO, and a worried MCO is a dangerous MCO.”
I nodded, “so if they ask I do it like this?” and repeated the sequence, but causing the coat to vanish as I let go of it.
“Exactly, get ‘changed’, out the door and to the left is a handicap washroom.”
It didn’t take me long and I returned in my favourite girl form, dressed the same way I chosen earlier.
“Well, I asked?”
She frowned a bit. “You’re a bit larger, they don’t like that.”
I giggled, “I can be smaller, and changed into my mini-dragon and flew around the room a couple of times before changing back.”
I am not sure what her expression was, it looked a bit like amazement mixed with fear or worry, not sure.
“DO NOT SHOW THE MCO THAT!” she yelled once she collected herself.
“Ok, I won’t. How strong is the floor?” I asked,
“Pretty strong, why?”
“Well I haven’t tried this one, because if it works, I would have gone through the floor at home.”
With that I pictured my Unicorn. I had drawn it on a photo of the Budweiser draft team so I got the scale right, and had drawn it as about ⅓ larger then the horses of the team. Before I changed I decided that it would be best if I knelt on the front legs, as the room wasn’t really tall enough. I wasn’t sure if I could do the Unicorn, and was even more unsure about changing the pose from that of the drawing.
“This may not work,” I warned her, and then concentrated hard for a bit, and then tried the shift.
It worked. It wasn’t comfortable, but he gasp of shock made it worthwhile. I quickly shifted back, and of course re-manifested my clothes.
“Really don’t do that,” she said. “To be able to do such disparate sizes would likely have them disappear you at best.”
“Can you do a form that is closer to your normal form?” she asked.
“I consider this my normal form, but I think you mean how I was before?” I said
“Yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Ok, I can, but I don’t like it much,” I said, and transformed into the cheerleader form, complete with cheer uniform. “This do?” I asked. “I don’t like it much though.”
“That’s perfect for the MCO, but I agree, it doesn’t really fit you.” she agreed.
I nodded, I could see her point.
“So remember, when we go to the MCO centre, just the two forms, this and ‘the boy’”, she instructed. “And remember not to lose contact with anything, or at least, make sure it evaporates if you do.”
“Ok, I guess, what if they find out I lied though?” I asked.
She grinned. “You must learn young grasshopper, you are not lying, you are simply not telling everything. Besides, this is for a temporary MID with the understanding that a full battery of tests will be performed at Whateley, in those you must tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
I nodded, and went to pull out my sketchbook to pass the time before Dad came.
After a few minutes of silence, Amber asked how I was able to visualise the forms I changed into so well.
“I just pull the picture I have drawn into my mind, and let it direct the shift.”
“What if you haven’t drawn it yet?” she asked.
“I tried, but I can’t shift into it.”
She looked thoughtful, “Let me see your sketchbook a second.”
After I handed it to her she looked through it and posed a question. “So you could change into everything in this book?”
“I think so, I’d have to try them all, and I don’t think the big dragon would be a good idea.” I grinned, “It’ll probably be fun though.”
“What is it crouching over?”
“The plane?” I said off-handedly. “Nothing much, just a 747.”
Her eyes widened, “I want to be there when you try that.”
3:30 PM, Friday October 10 2014 - Lionheart HQ
Finally Dad arrived, I was not all that eager about going to the MCO, over the years I had heard enough to know that they did not have the best reputation vis á vie mutants. Amber’s warnings further re-enforced this.
“We have an appointment to get you an M.I.D. at 4:00,” he said, “ So we had better get moving.”
“Sure thing,” Amber said. “A couple of things first though.”
She opened a wall safe and pulled out three packages, handing one to Dad, one to me, and opening the third. I opened the packet and found what looked like a yarmulke, but with a set of three LEDs on the front. I looked questioningly at Amber.
“Psi shields, don’t lose it, it’s worth about fifty thousand bucks.” she said. “Officially, Telepaths, or those that employ them, are supposed to get verbal or written permission to probe your mind. They will ask permission, which you are not required to give, nor should you. These are just to keep them honest.”
Dad looked at her, “Are the MCO really that bad?”
Amber looked serious, “Worse,” then she handed Dad a kevlar vest, and told me to put mine back on.
He looked at it, “Is this really necessary?” he asked.
She held up a finger, then keyed her throat mike, “Confirmed, thank you.”
“Yes it is,” she addressed my dad, “We have already encountered Humanity First, and I just got notification that your wife transferred one-hundred thousand dollars from her personal account to a known H1 front, I am not sure if that was for their quick response when she called them this morning, or for further operations, most likely the later.”
“Bitch,” my father muttered, then pulled out his cell and quickly dialled. “I need to speak to Frank Chambers,” he said when it was answered. After a short pause, he continued, “Frank, those papers I signed, please date them and have a copy delivered to my wife.”
I had no idea who Frank Chambers was, or what my father was talking about.
“Yes, I am sure. Thanks,” and hung up.
Amber looked at him questioningly
“Divorce.” was his one word reply.
We then donned the yarmulke and vests, and proceeded to the MCO office.
As we drove over, Amber said “Let me do all the talking, even if they ask you a direct question. Agree to nothing. If necessary I will ask you for clarification or agreement.”
Shaken Dad agreed.
This is the first of three, or may four linked stories I am writing as Whateley Academy Fan-fiction. They do not have to be read in any particular order.
I intend to link all the stories to this title page.
Hope you enjoy.
This is the second of my Whateley Fan Fiction. It will (eventually) tie in with Danielle's Tale. I have one other story that will also tie in as well when written.
Who I am
Monday mornings, the true bane of existence. There are some who claim to like Monday mornings, they are either fools or liars, and this particular Monday was especially evil. My school had decided that detentions would be more of a punishment if they were held prior to the start of the school day. Was that because people would hate them more? Or more likely, it was because afternoon detentions would get in the way of team practice for the vaunted football team? Either way, I have to get up an hour earlier all this week.
What did I get detention for you ask? For protecting the weak. Christopher Wilkins was the school punching bag. He was a little on the small side, about 5'2" and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. A typical nerd. Biff Grove, the quarterback was attempting to stuff Chris into his locker, loudly proclaiming that "The little faggot needs to be hidden away. My crime was grabbing Biff and restraining him 'till Chris could gather his books and escape. Both Biff and I got detention for that incident, to start today and for every day this week.
In most schools the football team consists of the biggest and strongest people in the school, and for the most part they ours does. The exception was me. At fourteen I stand 6'6" and weigh in at 295 pounds, and none of it is fat. It isn’t that I work out or anything, it just is. It wasn't my parents either, Dad is 5'7" and Mom, long absent must have been about 5'4". The football coach practically begged me to play, but I’m more interested in taking additional advanced courses. I’m determined to get into a good University, my goal was to become an engineer, and ultimately support Dad. The only way I can do that is on a full ride scholarship, which I figured was more likely to get with good academic scores vice hoping for the football player track. Besides, advanced calculus was always more fun.
Biff greeted me with “Faggot. Just like your dad.”
I ignored him. I wasn’t gay, my dad was, and was used to jeers from the moron crowd, Biff definitely qualified, to him a C- was a good grade. On the contrary, I liked girls, I liked them so much I wanted to be one.
I’ve known I wanted to be a girl for as long as I remember. My body betrayed me though. I’ve always been big, and at my present size dressing just made me look ridiculous. Not that it completely stopped me, I always wore studs in my ears, and conditioned and styled my hair in a slightly more feminine way. Continuing to ignore my fellow detainee, I hunkered down and worked ahead in my physics book. I was trying to improve on my A grade. The more A+’s I got the better.
Besides there was more room to work here. Dad and I lived in what’s laughingly referred to as “An Efficiency.” Efficient for the landlord I guess. The kitchen was big enough for one counter, a small sink and a two-burner cooktop. The microwave had to sit in the breakfast nook. That leave just enough space for a small table. The entire rest of the apartment consists of a small alcove that’s supposed to be a bedroom, and a bathroom I can hardly turn around in. I sleep in the bed, Dad on the couch.
It was all we can afford, Dad works as a Janitor for minimum wage, and wouldn’t let me get a job. He knows what I want to do, and insists that school came before anything else. Hell, if I work that’ll reduce the welfare we get. Between that and food banks we survived.
The rest of the week went by normally and every day Biff would try to get a rise out of me, every day I ignored him and studied and he goofed off. Friday seemed to drag by, if I didn’t know better I could have sworn the clock was running backwards. I felt out of sorts all day, achy and cramping.
I trudged home after school, Dad was working late tonight so it was up to me to make supper for the both of us. Preferably something he could just heat up when he got home. I looked in the cupboards and fridge to see what we had. Score! A can of cream of mushroom soup, a can of corn, some leftover sour cream, frozen perogies and half a pound of ground chuck. All of it goes into a big saucepan with garlic, oregano and basil. I call it perogie stew. It’s tasty, filling, and is easy to re-heat. Best of all, it's cheap and fast. Half an hour to cook with only one pot, can't be beat.
While supper cooked I exchanged my stud earrings for large dangly hoops and tried to work on my history homework, but I just couldn't focus and my eyes kept closing on me. I gave up, and checked on how the perogie stew was coming along. It was ready so I ladled a healthy serving into an bowl and turned off the burner.
I devoured my supper, enjoying the rich creamy flavours which complemented the cheesy potato filled pastry triangles. That's what perogies are for the uneducated. A full belly made me even sleepier, so I put the rest of the stew in the fridge for Dad, brushed my teeth and stumbled into bed.
Ding, I'm a Girl
The ding the microwave made when Dad finished heating his supper woke me. Still half asleep I stumbled to the bathroom. Washing my hands at the sink I finally started to wake. Something was different, blinking to clear my eyes, I looked in the mirror. Gone was my strong manly jaw, my hair was no longer a sandy brown, but was instead a deep rich red, and much longer. But these changes were minor, my body was that of a slim girl, and checking between my legs I no longer had ridiculous and ugly external genitalia, merely a slightly puffy slit.
“Err, dad.” I said as I exited the bathroom. “Tell me I am not dreaming, but I look like a girl.”
Dad wearily lifted his head, confusion on his face. When he saw me, the weariness was gone, but the confusion was not. If anything it was worse. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Dad, it me, Kevin.” I responded in a sweet soprano pitched voice. “I woke up like this.”
Dad shook his head and collected his thoughts. “Well it looks like you got your wish.”
“Huh?”
He chuckled. “I’m your dad, I know things, like I knew you always felt you should be a girl, but were trapped in the wrong body.”
I blushed, I had never told him this, always a little afraid of how he might react. Stupid I know, he was not the most conventional man, father, out there. “Yeah, I did.” I admitted.
“Unless we are both dreaming,” he said, “based on what has been happening, I’d guess you are a mutant. I mean, there are tales that a lot of the mutants change sex when they manifest.”
“You think so?” I asked excitedly.
“Don’t know for sure, but it seems likely.” He responded. “But lets not get to ahead of ourselves. It’s late, and I’m to tired to do anything about it. Go back to bed, we’ll both sleep on it and see how things look in the morning.”
I nodded, and headed back to bed, it was hard to go to sleep, my mind spinning from thought to thought. Was this real? What would I do? How did it happen? Eventually I fell asleep, hoping as I drifted off that this was not a fevered dream.