SLAY, Queen!

Trigger #126: “The Necklace of Bim-Boos”

Object Class: A necklace haunted by the spirit of Mimi Palmer, a Sala U Sorority Girl who was hit by a Guinness Truck and now haunts the necklace she once wore, turning anyone who dons it into a giggly bimbo like herself. Currently in possession of SLAY agent Pvt. Demi Dancer.

Transformation Type: TG, Bimbofication.

Threat Level: Benevolent. She’s a nice enough girl, even if she’s a bit ditzy. The transformation she causes is more an effect of her infectious personality than anything.

Subject: SLAY Agent 247 Private Demi Dancer, 23, F, formerly Dean Dancer, 23, AMAB.

The following is a biographical account of events based on the subject's own testimony and several eyewitness accounts.

Risk Assessment.

That was what this position had been advertised as online.

A simple internship in the Risk Assessment department of the MOM offices. A safe, stable job for a young man as cautious and meticulous as Dean Dancer was.

Unfortunately for him, “Risk Assessment” was in actuality a code word for scouting in MOM’s Securement and Location of Arcane Yields department. For all intents and purposes, the mild mannered Dean had accidentally enlisted himself in the war against all things that go bump in the night.

Cigarette smoke wafted through the belly of the armored truck the fresh-faced scout found himself in. “You want a puff, kid?” One of the meaner looking agents teased. Dean gagged at the smell and shook his head. “No thanks. The life expectancy of smokers is 10 years shorter than non-smokers… you lose about 28 minutes a pack, on average…” Dean mumbled, not meeting his eyes. “LIFE EXPECTANCY! HA! YOU HEARIN’ THIS, CAPTAIN?! KID’S A SLAYER AND HE’S GOIN’ ON ABOUT LIFE EXPECTANCY! HAHAHA!” The veteran agent’s bellowing laughter was matched by all of his compatriots, save one. Captain Cutter was the leader of this ragtag squad of monster hunters, but was only a few years older than Dean, clearly having rose through the ranks quickly thanks to remarkable talent.

“Ease off the newbie, Johnsan,” Captain Cutter turned his attention to the clearly rattled rookie. “You heard the mission brief, Private. There’s a cult of ghouls taking refuge in the catacombs of Croft Memorial Cemetery. You know what a ghoul is by now, don’t you?” Somehow Dean could tell Cutter wasn’t asking this question to poke fun at his inexperience, so he answered.

“Ghouls are humans who get vampiric powers from drinking vampire blood. They prey on humans and vampires alike to eat and drink. They have the same powers and weaknesses as vampires, but to a lesser extent…” Dean said, having already memorized the field manual the night before.

“Exactly. They’re diet vampires, basically, junkies addicted to vampire blood that feed on human flesh. Only a threat level or two above zombies in the food chain. The perfect mission for a greenie like you to cut your teeth on,” Cutter clapped Dean on the back, who winced.

“This’ll be a cake walk,” Johnsan said, putting out his cigarette on the seat and loading a full sized gatling gun with a fresh clip of wooden stakes in lieu of bullets.

The mission was not, in fact, a cake walk. Half of the squad had been wiped out within moments of arriving at the cemetery. The ghouls had been expecting them, springing an ambush and dividing their forces for easier pickings. Dean now found himself all alone, hopelessly lost in the underground catacombs, surrounded by both death and un-death. “If I can just hold out until sunrise…” Dean muttered to himself as he tried to navigate away from the sounds of teeth hungrily ripping into recently living flesh. Rounding a corner too quickly, his shin slammed into something hard and wooden. He tripped over the coffin and landed face first into the ribcage of its long deceased occupant. He had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. The corpse’s visage was horrifying, and the smell was even more so. Yet, something caught Dean’s eye. Hanging around its neck was a golden amulet, perfectly preserved among the remains.

Something otherworldly took him over. Not greed, per se, just that the necklace seemed to be speaking to him in particular.

“Ṗ̸̭̣͕̟͘ṵ̴̻͕́̈́̕͘͝t̴͓̳͇̩̎́̋͝.̷̭͊͌ ̵͔̏̽̇̌M̶͎̌̅ͅe̴̥͔̠͇͗̀.̷̤̫̬̞̊̈́̋̕͜ ̶̧͓͙̖͐́̈͒͘Ò̶͗̿ͅn̵͈̿͝.̵͚̆͑”

His hand reached for the delicate piece of jewelry, slowly, as if moving on it’s own free will.

“Ļ̸̱̣̭̍̚í̴͉k̴̢̲͓̜̻̃ę̶̡̣̮̠̍,̴͓͇̩͒̀͐̄͠ ̸̬̎͝͝ǫ̴̪͕̼͋̕͘m̴͕̹̦̫̿g̷͓͂̏̎͠,̷̢͉̙̦̽͂͛̀͒ ̸̥̱̻͎̋̓̏y̴̺̝̤̘̅̀͘ȯ̷̪̃̉u̵̧̫̰̹̩̒'̴̡̭͂͘r̷̼͖̥̋ͅḛ̴̝̩̏̎̽ ̴̨͋m̴̤̜͇̀͐̒ǫ̴̭͒̌v̴̡͎̦̱̑̏i̶̱̟͑̈́̎̒n̸͈̞̪͌̔̂ĝ̸͜ ̵̨̻̲̗̓̅̏̔͝ŝ̵͎͈̟̦̣o̸̝͇̘̽͑̀ ̸̡̤͈̟̹͐f̷̫̠̮̺́u̴̦̇̓̿̾̕͜c̵̱͇̏́̈́k̴͓̳̽̋͘į̵̼͖͉̜̃̇́͘ǹ̴̘̣͔̮͔͝͝g̶̨̯̖͑͗̈́̚ ̸̢͎̲̇̐͛̈́ͅṡ̷̹̞̉l̶̛͙̗o̷̧̝̙̟̿͛̑͑̌ͅw̴̞͍͓̜̓,̸̢͙̬̩̞̑̆ ̴̛̠͚͙̤̏̆͗ͅj̷͍̞͔́͛́̆͠u̷̜͕͙̇s̶̮̉̎͋͗̀t̷̜̉͠ ̵͚̰̳͚̳́̎̾̉̚p̸̲̅͗ṷ̷͝t̶̛̛̥̻̭ ̵̨́m̴͎̈́̃͠e̵̮̥͌̚ͅ ̸̨̡̮͎̻̂o̷͎̞͕͇̙̅͆̕n̴͔͆̈̚ ̷̗͚͎̾́͠a̶̿̊͜ͅl̶̯̣̔͐̾͝r̸͙͌e̷̡͖̠̜̩͊̈́̃̒a̴̋͌̾͑̀ͅd̴̒͜y̷̭͔̠̜̎,̵͇̬̖̻̹̎̓͠ ̷͇̰̞͉͐̆̍I̴̬̣̮̗̮͑̀̃̂͝ ̴͈͖̩̒͛̿͑͜͝c̴̰̱͑̀̏̊͝ͅa̴͇̰̼͌͒̓ņ̸̨͗̎̇̓̂'̶̺̰̺͈́̽t̶̨͍͍̍͆ ̷̜͙́͊̌͘e̷̩̣̟͓͍̅̋v̶͍͎̙̐̍͆̚è̵̖͓̤ṉ̴̛̣͔̟̥̏̎̊̀!̸͚̟̹̠̊”

Steadily creeping, he raised the chain to his neck, and with an eerie finality, locked the clasp behind him.

At first, there was only silence. Then, that voice again, almost clearer than his own thoughts, rang out.

“OH EM GEE, I thought I was gonna be stuck in there like FIVE-EVER, thanks girlfriend!~”

Dean paused for a moment.

Then without hesitating, he took the necklace off and dropped it back into the casket.

“W̵̫̜͉̓͒̅̅͆a̵͇̲͓͇͋͒̎̋̀i̴̮̥̔̂ͅt̵͔̪̤̀͠,̵͔̪͊ ̷̧͚̙̲͍́̕n̴̮̍̇͗ỏ̶͇̹̰̘̙͗ô̵̈́͛͜͝o̴̬̼̖͋̇̍̚ǫ̶̼̱̘̃͘͠,̵̡̖͇̮̈́ͅ ̴͎̻̰̥̋̃̍́̅ȏ̸͇̮͙̿͛́͜ͅȟ̴̢̰̜̇ ̸͎̀͜e̸̜͗̓̏̇̈́m̶̯̟͛ ̴̳̌g̴̘̞̊͐̇̎͠e̸̛̞̥̯͂̏ͅḙ̴̺̪̪̈̌̏͜,̷͕͇̻̄̓́̕͝ ̷̖̭̖̈́̅͆́̏l̸͎̖͆į̶̼̥̭̟͗͌̌k̶̺͕̍͋̐͊̐e̵͎͕̖͓̘̿̾͑͊,̶̢͈̹̣̼̄̆͋̚͝ ̴̝̪̬̼̋̄͒͘͝ͅd̴͖̘̤̎̐̊́̈́ỏ̷̩̹̘̤̏̕͘n̵͔̭͚͐̆͂'̵̝̣̺̙̓̏̈́͗t̶͍̮̱̿͛̇̀ ̷̧̹̑̐̊͐l̸͔̖̫͗e̶͔͕̊a̸̺͖͓͑̂̽̓v̸̜͉͔̰̀͗è̵̞̲̩̜̀͜ ̵̦̗̫̖̪̿̊m̸̙̞̣̖̠͆e̵̪̅ ̴̬́h̵͍͍͒ȇ̶̮̘͈͑̈́̔̋r̴̙͈̝̋e̵̟̹̹͖̙͌̏̍̆̀,̶̼̻̇̋̃̎̆ ̸̝̋y̴͎͙͔̍͠ȭ̶̺̏͛u̶̡̿̔͘'̵͚͚̀̓ͅṙ̴̻͝ĕ̵̼̤̰͎͠ ̷̮̈́̌̾b̴̦̱̟̰̈́̒͒͜ě̷͉̞̺͓̓͂̅i̵̭̤̾̈͐̀͝n̵̠̒g̸̡̋͑̇ ̸̯͖̓̓͠s̴̲͍̩̜̼͒ŏ̶̢̢̥̞̬̀̈́̚ ̷̗̝̇͊͘͝m̷̢̺̰͐ḙ̸̛̟̙̫̃à̸̢̯̺̬̟͆̃̀̈ň̸̟́͜!̴̛̫̉͗̋ ̸̤̩̠̯͗͜P̵͓̹̲̀̿l̶̮̙̬̎̀͑̐͜͝ę̷̨͉̭̲̇̂͘a̶̖͐̿͝s̵̡̠͎̙̫̋͊͛̚ȇ̷͚̺̣̺̞̉̒̏,̷̻̫̏̋̄̓ ̴̭͇̗̈́p̴͖̊̑͋͝u̵̢͍̼̾͛́̐̅t̸͍̪̭͛͊̏̇͝ ̸͔̣͍͇́̍ḿ̷̭̿̓̓ë̸̼́͌̈́̅̾ ̵͔̲̈́̅̽̌̚b̷̻͈̙̍́̓̔a̴͔̝̘̋c̴̛̼̖̞͖̹̑̃̅k̸̙̜̬͂͆ ̷̝̜͇̈̉͊͝ỏ̸̢̫͖̀̊̽n̸͈͔̤̉̓ͅ,̴̗̲̩̰̫̒̊͒ ̴̠̥͓̝̾l̵̤̙͚̻̆̀ͅḭ̷̪̩̌͑̈́͛k̷̙̱͎̖̾e̷̖̺̭͆̒͝ ̴̯̺̩̯̈p̵̡̱̰̠̉͑r̷̻͈͐̐̓́͐e̵̦͛͐̽͜͠͠t̴̙̩̣̓̈̆̌̄t̷̺̰̝̐ý̴͓̗͝ ̴̘̯̹̦̺́p̷͕̟͚̪̌̌r̷̩̮͙͍̣̚e̵̳͊̂t̶̢̛̗̰̳͑t̵̡̩͚͙͆y̶̨̙̥̌̓̇̕͜͜ ̶̣̗̟͉̼̑̊̈p̴̗̝̙͚͆̍l̷̫͉͖̐̈͝e̸̻͉̩͛ä̴̬̠̰̟̰́̉s̷͖̙͍͙̾̓̏͠ẻ̸̬̺̪̜̹̽̔̄̕?̷̩̽͋̃!̵̠̭͈͓̳̿͂̆̚”

Dean sighed and put the necklace back on.

“That was like, soooo uncalled for, leaving me hanging like that, like, GURL!” Once again, the voice of a bubbly valley girl echo-ed vividly in Dean’s mind.

“Who the hell are you, and what the hell do you want…?” Dean asked aloud.

“Like, girl, omg, you don’t have to say it out loud, you can totes just talk to me in the head or those vampire wannabes will hear us! Don’t call, just text me, lmfao!”

Who the hell are you, what the hell do you want, and WHY the hell do you keep calling me “GIRL”?! Dean thought, massaging his brow.

“Oh, SO-RRY, weren’t you in the middle of like, DYING or whateves? But I guess I SHOULD introduce myself and junk. Haaaaai, I’m Mimi! I’m your new B.F.F! Your Boo-st Friend Forever, lol! And if you like, let me possess you and junk, I can totes get us out of this mess!”

I’m not sure I like the idea of making some kind of deal with the devil, it’s too risky, Dean thought as he took cover behind the casket, the sound of shuffling ghouls drawing ever nearer.

“Hey! I’m soooo not a devil or whatevs, I’m a Sala City girl born and bred! Emphasis on bred, winky face~!”

Even so, how can I be sure you’ll give the steering wheel back after… after whatever it is you’ll do to me? How can I be sure I’ll still be me?

“Like, why would you even want that? I’m in your head, girl, I can tell you don’t like yourself very much…”

It was true, as much as Dean hated to admit it. He didn’t like himself. He’d spent his whole life weighing risks, never taking any, never really living. He had avoided any danger, sure, but his only reward was ending up miserable, and alone.

“Look, for realsies? You don’t have to do this alone. Possession, like REAL possessies, isn’t like the movies. It will still be you, just, me too! A synthe- syntho- fuck, what’s the word…?”

Synthesis?

“Yasss, queen! We’ll totes be synthe-sisters, or whateves! Just let me in, and let’s kick some ghouls in the ghoulies!”

The ghouls were getting closer now, he could tell.

He sighed, took a deep breath, and for the first time in his life, took the plunge.

“Okay. Do it.”

A cold chill ran up Dean’s spine.

And then, a warm, fizzy, bubbly feeling spread from his fingers to his toes.

The changes were quick, and drastic.

His brown hair grew long and bleached blonde. His face scrunched into an adorable feminine visage, lips plumped up in a sensual pout. Her stature drastically shortened and slimmed down. Fat pooled in hot, thick globs inside her chest, hips, thighs, and ass. And her penis deflated like a balloon, retracting into her groin and leaving behind delicately feminine folds.

The woman that was and wasn’t Dean, the woman who also was yet wasn’t Mimi, sank on wobbly knees and inspected her new form. Her uniform hung from her body like a tent sags on its poles. A swirl of memories mixed in her head like a cocktail. She was a boy, refusing to ride on a rollercoaster with her friends. She was a girl, playing spin the bottle at a house party. She was a man, refusing to go out on the town in lieu of excessive studying in case there was a pop quiz. She was a woman, enjoying her youth and banging the quarterback in the boy’s locker room.

And above all else, that same, bubbly, fizzy haze, like the pleasant buzz after your first drink, quieted all those frantic, paranoid thoughts that plagued her… or now, half of her, since childhood. Only the hard won intelligence remained, coated in something else. A thick layer of blind confidence and airy impulse.

Demi Dancer giggled to herself, flipped her hair out of her face, and stood upright. She knew exactly what she had to do.

Captain Cutter fired his last stake into one of the many ghouls surrounding him, and what was left of his squad. “I’m out,” he said, calmer than he’d expected. “Us too,” one of his three remaining compatriots echoed. Cutter slid his hunting knife from his sheathe, knowing it would be useless, but somehow he figured dying with a weapon in hand was better than dying with nothing at all. “Well, men. It was an honor serving with you…” Cutter prepared himself for what he knew from recent experience would be a prolonged and excruciating death. The ghouls stalked forward, encroaching like ravens to carrion, fangs bared, mouths drooling.

FWAPPP!

A wooden stake slammed into the chest of the closest ghoul, who stagged with a surprised croak.

FWIPP FWIIPP FWIPPP FWIPPP FWIPFWIPFWIPFWIPFWIPFWIPFWIP-!

A hail of wooden bolts showered upon the crowd, splintering the mob of undead until only the living remained.

In front of Cutter stood the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Cascading blonde hair parted like waves around an adorable face with a frighteningly lackadaisical expression. Her eyes were an otherworldly blue, shining like beacons in the dead of the night. Her breasts, as much as Cutter tried and failed to be a gentleman and look away from, were pendulous orbs hung precariously in a tightly wound tank top. The shirt was ripped to tatters, one breast swinging lazily out of it’s confinement. Similarly ragged army fatigues hung off of wide, womanly hips, a tear in her crotch leaving her steaming hot sex exposed to the cold night air.

And in her arms, she easily carried Johnson’s abandoned Gatling Gun, with an inhuman strength that betrayed her seemingly diminutive stature.

“Like, oh em gee, these ghoulies are sooooo fucking annoying. I had to slay, like, a bajillion of them just to get back here! Are you boys okay?” she asked with the same nonchalance someone asks if they’d like something from the grocery store.

“Uhm… yeah? Who are you exactly…? I don’t remember calling for reinforcements…” Cutter managed after a noticeably stunned silence.

“Awww, don’t you recognize me, Captain Cutie? I know I’m the new girl and everything, but I was hoping this pretty little face would leave an impression or whateves…” she feigned a hurt little pout, winking, before turning around and point blank executing a crawling ghoul whose heart she had missed. Cutter was even more confused, until he noticed the ID badge hanging loosely from her belt. “Holy fucking shit… Dean?! Is that you?!”

“Yuppers~! Gold star, capt’n! Although this old ID photo is soooo embarrassing! Gonna need to get it fixed after we deal with the Dracula Fan Club over here. Also, I go by Demi now! Dean is like, soooo two thousand late!”

“Right… Demi… not to sound ungrateful, but are you sure you’re okay…?” Cutter warily eyed the ancient pendant prominently hanging from her even more prominent chest.

“Like, Captain? My eyes are up here, lol,” Demi lightly chastised her commanding officer. “And like, I feel better than ever, tbh! Like, getting possessed SOUNDS bad, but Mimi said consent is SUUUUper important and junk, so she didn’t do anything I didn’t want her to! I’m still me, just, like, even more me-y. Does that make sense?” Demi tilted her head and tapped a manicured finger to her bottom lip ponderously.

One of the other soldiers’ hand creeped towards his radio. “Uh, shouldn’t we call this one in, Cap?”

Cutter remembered hearing about the agents from the Kitsune Incident a few years back, how they were poked and prodded for months as scientists studied their possession. And how Agent O’Sullivan had been similarly rewarded for his dutiful service by being locked in a glass cage and disappearing without a trace after his possession by some snake God.

“On second thought, let’s say we just let this one… live and let live, huh? Who needs the extra paperwork, am I right?” Cutter easily dismissed the soldier's concern.

 “Yay! Now that that’s settled, I’m like, exhausted with a capital X. My back is KILLING me from carrying all your sorry asses tonight,” Demi whined with a stretch.

Among other things, Cutter couldn’t help but think to himself as his subordinate’s generous chest was on full display.

“Like, I’m all traumatized and junk, so you’re totes gonna take care of me tonight, yeah?” Demi purred as she sidled up to Cutter and pressed said voluptuous chest up against his. The advance was so unexpected Cutter couldn’t do anything but turn a rosier shade of red in the cheeks.

“OOOoooh, Captain, is that a stake in there, or are you just happy to see me?” Demi winked as she pressed her palm against the rock hard cock tenting in his fatigues, lightly squeezing.

This woman was so far removed from the Private Dancer Cutter had come to know just a few days earlier. She was so confident and powerful that he couldn’t help but wonder who was REALLY in command here.

And most importantly, he couldn’t help but fall completely head over heels in love with this woman.

“Uhh, s-sure. I’ll… treat you to a steak dinner or something…” was the best Cutter could manage as Demi mercifully unhanded his manhood.

“Ha, STAKE DINNER. Good one, Cap!” Demi giggled to herself and sashayed her way back towards the exit. “Oh, and if one of you could carry this back to the car for me, that’d be great, thankssss!” With a noticeably loud thud, she dropped the heavy machine gun to the ground. One of the other soldiers tried to collect it for her, and obviously struggled with its weight where she clearly hadn’t.

“Well… this is certainly going to be interesting…” Cutter thought to himself as he followed behind in the blonde Valkyrie's wake.

From the desk of

Mira Alcott

Head-Mistress of Transformations

(Special thanks to Vtsparks for the suggestion, to my Test Readers, to VioletVelvet and Zoey for editing and to all of my Patrons for your support!)