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Archetypes, Part 1 (Men to Stereotypical Women TG)
🕑 Added 2025-04-13 22:17:40 +0000 UTCBy FoxFaceStories
A Story Tier Prompt for TG_Sorcerer
Hana is tired of her husband always going out with his friends and ignoring their marriage. Being a secret witch, she decides to cast a spell to mess with them for a bit, turning their boy’s night into a girl’s night, and assigning each a rather stereotypical female role just to turn up the humiliation. Unfortunately, the spell wipes her own memory at casting it, leaving the poor man stranded in their new roles for good!
Archetypes, Part 1
Hana sighed as her husband called. She knew there was only one reason for Carl to call her despite the fact that he should have been home from work half an hour ago.
“You’re not coming straight home, are you?” she said, her tone flat.
“Sorry, love,” he answered, and to be fair he did sound remorseful. “I was just chatting to some of the boys and they ended up dragging me along to Poker Night. I know I said I’d be free so we could watch Downtown House together, but you know how it is.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded, tone still flat.
“I really am sorry, Hana. I shoulda said no.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“It’s just, Pete’s had a hard time of it lately. We’re trying to include him because he’s been struggling finding friends outside the office. And Donald, you know how he is: if we didn’t have poker night he’d be out there making trouble for himself and forgetting he had a lovely missus.”
“You’ve got a lovely missus too, Carl, you know.”
“I really do. She’s the best. And she’s . . . understanding when her husband makes a big idiot of himself?”
Despite her frustration, she couldn’t help but chuckle. That was the annoying thing about Carl: despite all his broken promises and far, far too much time with his buddies, he really was a loving husband. The problem was that he just couldn’t say no to anyone. He’d always been like that, to the point where their wedding budget ballooned to twice the planned costing just because he kept allowing everyone to have a plus one, or plus two, or even a plus three in a few cases! It was a good thing that she was a witch, because magic had a way of getting around monetary issues like that for the most part, so long as one wasn’t too obvious about it. Unfortunately, nothing could stop her husband from ‘spending time with the boys’ as he always did. Even knowing his wife was a witch - and God, was she glad he embraced it and loved her, uncaring about its implications - he still often went off to golf, or to drink, or to shoot the shit with his best friends.
“I am understanding,” she told him. “Up to a point, Carl. I love you, but you can’t keep brushing me off like this.”
“Last time, I promise!”
“You said that last time.”
“Then I really promise!”
“Ugh. Get home tonight. I’ll be locking the doors at nine-thirty, so I expect you home by then. And trust me, they’ll be magically sealed, honey, and there’ll be a nasty arcane surprise if you try to jam them.”
“You’re not . . . gonna make me a seal again, are you?”
“That was only because you blabbed to all your buddies about me being a witch and they mobbed me for a month asking for favours. You needed to lean how to ‘seal’ your lips. Just like you need to learn how to be present for your wife, and your buddies for their wives, instead of having childish boys nights all the time.”
“I’ll be home by ten, I promise!”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Yes, that’s what I said! Again, I’m so sorry. I really love you!”
She sighed wistfully, wishing her next response wasn’t so damn true. “I love you too, honey.”
Hana hung up and ran her hands through her long brown hair. She really did love Carl, hopeless as he was, but damn if she didn’t wish he had better, less demanding friends, or that he could just be more present for her. Ah, but you don’t get to choose who you love, she supposed. She stepped back into the living room and looked at the photograph of her with his various friends and their partners. Some of those girls were no longer in the picture - lucky them - while others were now hitched to their disappointing me.
There was Pete, the chubby balding Caucasian one who relied so much on his office friends because he lacked real ones. Maybe if he knew how to accessorise so he didn’t look so frumpy he might have more luck.
Then there was Donald, the tall African-American with a shaved head and an impressive gym body. The one who was always cheating on his wife, who stayed with him despite his disloyalty, the poor girl.
After that, there was Sting. Ohhh, she hated Sting, especially his ‘name.’ His real name was Gerald, because of course it was. But the red-haired, pale-skinned man had a real image of himself as a rockstar and ‘total player.’ She’d yet to see the receipts, but he cycled through girlfriends who seemed to barely tolerate him.
Next, there was Miguel. He was a handsome Hispanic man with olive skin and Hana really had no read on him at all. He was the group’s star poker player, and it was unclear if the man even had a wife, a girlfriend - a boyfriend, maybe? - or anything. He was mysterious and cool, and tightlipped on everything. Hana could respect that, if he wasn’t often urging them to get together for more poker.
And then, last of all, in the centre of the photo, there was Carl and herself. She looking pretty in the purple dress she’d magically conjured herself (a difficult spell, actually), and him appearing as his usual down-to-earth handsome self. He had wavy blonde hair and a handsome face, and stormy grey eyes that she just loved.
“Ugh, I love them when I can see them,” she said to herself, gazing at the buddy group that seemed intent on making her husband as absent as possible. “He better be here at nine-thirty. He better.”
***
Carl was having a good game. Oh, he wasn’t winning, that honour pretty much always went to either Miguel or Donald, who were practically expert poker players by this point, but he was having a ton of fun.
“Damn, another loss!” he said, chuckling as his money pile shrank.
“Jesus, Carl, aren’t you whipped enough with that witchy wife of yours?” Donald said.
“Hey, she doesn’t whip. She only nags.”
The men chuckled as Miguel dealt out the next hand. He was sitting this one out, so there might even be a chance of a win. Pete took his cards and looked at them, sighing.
“God, I get the worst luck.”
“In women or just in general?” Sting teased.
“Both.”
“We gotta get you out there, man! Find you a sexy chubby chaser! They exist.”
“Like you’d know,” Donald said. “You’re as thin as a rake.”
Sting grinned, grabbing the collar of his leather jacket. “I’m an eighties rockstar in the modern day, dude. I’m not some bulked up douchebag. I score the ladies with my personality alone.”
“And yet these ladies never materialise,” Donald said. “Meanwhile I’ve got-”
“A loving wife already?” Carl suggested.
Donald smirked, obviously hinting at his many affairs. “And more on the side,” he said. “Pete could learn a lesson or two.”
Pete sagged. “I need you to teach me your ways. No one wants a fat, balding loser like me.”
Another pity party, but the group took it in stride. Miguel finished dealing them out.
“Talk’s over,” he said. “Game begins.”
It was the most he’d said in twenty minutes, but his tell-tale thin smile told Carl that he’d probably been enjoying the conversation, and clearly had his own hidden love affair or affairs.
“Thank God for guys nights,” Sting said as he picked up the cards. “Hard to be a man in today’s world!”
“This’ll have to be my last for a while, sadly,” Carl said. “Gotta get home. Hana wants me.”
The boys made immature sounds, though Miguel just rolled his eyes.
“Whipped!” Donald said.
“Shut up. I gotta go home now, actually. She said she’s lock the doors. Magically.”
“I’m still not convinced that magic is real,” Pete said. “I never saw it.”
“I did,” Donald said. “At least, I think I did. Could have been fake.”
“I still don’t believe the seal thing,” Miguel said, before falling silent.
“If magic is real, how come she doesn’t give herself a bigger set of tits?” Sting said, asking the important questions.
Carl sighed. “That’s . . . not how it works. Look, I really gotta go.
“No way, man! Another game!”
“Stay with us!”
“Have another drink!”
“We gotta beat Miguel, dude!”
“She’s just making up these so-called curses, man!”
Carl, as usual, felt very bad as he broke yet another promise to his wife. But the pressure was too much; he simply hated letting his friends down. It was to be the biggest mistake of his life.
“Okay,” he said, grinning. “One last round!”
***
Hana fumed. The clock read 9:44. She’d been prepared to allow her husband ten extra minutes for traffic, but her patience had rapidly expired. Another night with the boys, probably talking about girls and ignoring the actual women in their life.
“Stupid boys. So sick of their stupid guys nights!”
She paused. She had already magically locked the doors, but clearly sleeping over at Sting’s house wasn’t enough punishment for her husband, or his peer pressuring, womanising friends. Well, Pete wasn’t a womaniser, and who knew about Miguel, but still! They were part of this!
“I could . . . no, that was just a fun little ritual spell I made for kicks, I’d never . . .”
But the thought was already lodged in her mind now, and it was too late. Months ago, she’d distracted herself by creating a complex spell, one that challenged her arcane knowledge. It was just a thought exercise to increase her skill, but she still had all of the components and had memorised the spell.
A spell that would turn Carl’s guys night into a girls night instead.
Hana grinned to herself. Why not? It would just be a temporary spell to teach him and his friends a lesson. Most of them doubted that witches were real and that she had magic anyway. Maybe now they would respect her time and her need to spend it with her husband. Plus, it would be pretty cute to see what her hubby looked like as a housewife instead of her. All of them would become stereotypical women, in fact. That was part of the punishment. A perfect stereotype to punish them for a night, perhaps into the next day at the most, just to really teach them a lesson.
Donald the cheater.
Pete the social clown.
‘Sting’ the player.
Miguel the stoic leader.
And last of all, Carl, the husband who failed to be there.
Hana worked quickly, her excitement getting the better of her as she laid out the various trinkets and components, darkening the room where she conducted her rituals after placing down the intricate chalk lines.
“Here’s to making some female archetypes!” Hana declared. And with that, she began to chant the arcane words that sent forth magical power, her targets already selected. Pink and violet magic bloomed from her ritual casting circle, then erupted up from the floorboards and surrounded her before vanishing up into the sky beyond the ceiling. The spell had worked! Which meant it was going to be a very fun night.
“Ha!” she declared. “I can’t wait to see the look on Carol’s face when she comes running back to beg me to change her back. I mean, Carol’s face. I mean . . . wait . . .”
Something had happened, and Hana was realising it too late. The reality rewrite required of this spell was immense, but it had held together. But when such a massive rewrite occurred, even the caster could be susceptible to memory changes unless they prepared well ahead.
“Oh God!” Hana cried. “Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! I need to cast an edit to the spell before I forget . . . what I was . . . talking about?”
Something passed. Hana couldn’t quite remember what she’d been talking about. The chalk line evaporated around her feet, a common side effect of a spell cast successfully and to completion. The components were still all there, but Hana gathered them up, wondering what she had been doing.
“Need to put these in storage,” she said to herself before yawning. “I really gotta go to bed. Too tired to think. I wonder what Carol is doing tomorrow?”
She really did like her bestie. She was such a good friend, and it had been too long since they’d caught up. God, Hana wished she could find a man like Carol had, though.
“She’s so lucky,” she thought to herself.
She went to bed, all thoughts of ‘Carl’ and his ‘buddies’ gone from her mind. After all, how did you remember someone who never existed?
***
As Hana began to forget the very spell she had cast, chaos was already erupting at the guys night. The pink and violet streams of magic coursed around the five men, making them cry out in fear and shock as it surged like a whirlpool around them.
“Is this your wife’s doing!?” Donald yelled. “This is really freaky, man!”
“It’s not real! It’s not real!” Pete cried, collapsing back into his seat, which crumpled beneath his weight.
“It’s obviously real,” Miguel said. “Shit, she really is a witch.”
“This is just, like, a lot of flash, right?” Sting yelled over the sound of the magic swirling around them. “Is she pissed you didn’t go home? Typical groupie, wanting her rockstar home soon!”
“Shut the hell up, Sting!” Carl cried. “This is definitely her. God, I knew I should have kept my promise. You guys all-”
“Carl, you failed to keep your promise,” Hana’s voice declared, lips forming from a cloud of the strange arcane energy. “I’m sick of you always preferring your boys nights to the company of your wife, and the rest of the boys doing the same. So I think it’s high time your boys night became a girls night. Since you always seem to stereotype the women in your life from the few times I’ve visited your little club, I think it’s only fitting you become an archetype to experience for the next twenty four hours.
“Donald, it’s time to learn some responsibility and grow up. Since you’re already an adult man, let’s see how you feel about being a mature MOM.”
Donald groaned as the magic entered into him. His form twisted, his muscles deflating, his height shrinking away. He squealed like a girl, and he was rapidly becoming one too, because a pair of large, matronly breasts burst from his chest while his hips stretched wide. His waist thickened but lost much of his muscles, and his bald head sprouted thick, curly hair that fell down to his shoulders. Even his clothing changed, leaving him in a housewife dress that disguised some of his cures, but could not hide all of them.
“What the hell!?” the new woman screeched. She was clearly older now, no longer about thirty but instead at least eight years older.
“Pete, you’re always struggling to socialise outside the office, depending on your work buddies too much and dragging my husband away. Time to learn how to work your image and actually be a crowd pleaser!”
Pete stammered, nothing coherent escaping his mouth as his body, too, changed. His fat dissolved away in seconds, and his bald head erupted with long brown hair that instantly became a stylish series of curls. His entire figure became petite, albeit with long legs and a perfectly trim stomach. He groaned in despair as his face became that of a supermodel’s, his breasts small but lovely B-cups, and soon he too was wearing an incredibly stylish and expensive looking ruffled black blouse and a set of form fitting white jeans that were spotless. On his feet appeared high heels to complete the effect.
“Oh God! I’m like a supermodel!” she squealed, her voice a valley girl drawl.
“Sting, I really hate that name. Always the player. Always degrading women down to sex objects. Well, for a night you can enjoy being a slutty bimbo instead!”
Sting’s eyes went wide. He cried out, begging Hana to not go through with this, but it was already far too late, because two very large breasts practically exploded from his chest, erupting like two ripe balloons, easily G-cups or larger, both approximately the size of his own head. He salivated as he touched them, horrified by their sensitivity, and he barely noticed the other changes until long red hair fell over his face and his penis slithered back into his body. In moments he had become a busty blonde bimbo type with big tits and wide hips, a body that couldn’t quit wrapped inside a tight pink crop top and matching pink booty shorts.
“Like, this totally sucks!” she screeched. “These boobs are super huge!”
“Miguel, I could never figure you out. You keep everything close to your chest, and yet in many ways I suspect it’s your expertise that keeps this poker group going. Perhaps being a total gossip girl will help you?”
Miguel’s eyes went wide, and he displayed more emotion than usual as his body warped. His hips expanded particularly wide, and he ended up with quite the dump truck, and breasts that while not huge, were still impressive palm-filling C-cups.
“Oh my God!” the pear-shaped latina lass said. “This is absurd! This is so absurd! This is just like last Saturday when Donald couldn’t help but get with that girl at the club and told me not to tell anyone! Or when Pete got angry at the office and dumped his coffee over Carl’s computer.”
Carl spluttered. “That was you, Pete!?”
But that revelation from the new gossipy woman was short-lived, because Hana’s voice continued.
“And last of all, my loving husband. I do love you, Carl. I really do. But you have got to stop being such a doormat and be more loyal. Maybe spending some time as a totally submissive housewife will remind you of how far this can go, as well as what true loyalty is!”
Carl winced, clenching his eyes shut as his body transformed too. His breasts became a sizeable D-cup, and his figure a lovely hourglass much like Donald’s new form as well as Sting’s. His member pulled back into his body, and a really cute fifties-style housewife dress suddenly appeared over his body, his male clothing gone, a set of lingerie beneath the dress. His hair was gorgeously curled in an old-timey style, and the red lipstick made him appear like the classic housewife.
“Oh God!” the new woman cried. “Someone help me! I need a man to save me!”
The magic dissipated, leaving each of the new archetypes gaping in horror at one another. Their bodies were changed, their minds were changed, and already the compulsions were descending upon them. For the next twenty four hours, they would have roles to play.
Well, it sounded like it would be just twenty four hours.
But in reality, Donald the MILF, Pete the fashionista, Sting the bimbo, Miguel the gossip girl, and Carl the loyal housewife would be caught up in their new lives . . . permanently.
To Be Continued . . .
Comments
Zaydin
Kind of depressing to me TBH.
Zeddsgurl
Really excited to see this continued.
Fox Face
Jokes on you, the actual content is just a treatise on the Australian taxation system.
Matt Sampson
Just from the description, before reading a single word, an absolute unqualified YES.
