Dumber Switch

Male mental TFs; 18+ only; NSFW; all pictures presumed to be 18+

[frozenthrall]

A Good Top

Being a gay Asian guy who didn't look the part was something Jin was extremely familiar with. With beauty standards and stereotypes going around, the guy had a hard time finding a partner. Now, he wasn't bad looking, if anything he had that 'cuteness' to him. That's what every guy he was with told him. But being a top who was constantly undermined for his looks, such compliments felt like a slap in the face.

He wasn't particularly tall, standing at 5'8, but... He wasn't short. Or at least he didn't consider himself short. He was average... A bit below average but still-! Unfortunately for Jin it wasn't just his height that he had problems with. His round face, soft eyes, skinny body... And 4 inches member were all seemingly working against him. God knows how many times he heard the question "Are you really a top?" And similar. People assumed he was a bottom just because of how he looked and he hated it.

And today? He had the same experience again. After sending his selfie to a guy he met online through an app, the guy almost immediately cancelled on him just because Jin "didn't look the part". And the guy wasn't even shy about it. He told Jin everything in his face and poor guy was both speechless and fueled with anger. But just as he was about to block this guy he saw a new message from him.

lankylavander: Sorry dude, no offense, but you are like shorter than me. I could never date someone below 6ft lol

lankylavander: Here is how a top should be

After which he sent a link to some website. And in fit of rage, Jin just clicked it without thinking as he was brought to a page that showcased a bunch of absolutely jacked hung jocks. He hated to admit but they all looked great. But that didn't matter now, as he was about to close the site he saw a pop-up add. It was some kind of app called "Be The Part" promising to help people change into who they truly are meant to be.

Normally Jin would ignore such obvious scam but today for some reason he clicked it and downloaded the app, without even replying to the guy on the app. That jerk could fuck off.

Opening the app, Jin was met with a few questions asking him about what he wanted and what was his problem. Writing how he wishes he was more like a top. A stereotypical one. And how he had enough of people looking down at hom just because of his looks, Jin was disappointed to find the app just seemed to send you words of encouragement and support for you to achieve your goal. Pretty stupid. But what did he honestly expect from such thing...?

Closing the app, Jin sighed, tossing his phone to the side. He needed to take a break from everything and calm down. Stuck with his thoughts, he heard a notification from his phone. Weird, he was pretty sure it was on silent mode. Whatever. Taking a phone to see what it was, Jin saw it was the damn app. How lovely let's see what it had to say...

"A Good Top spends every day in the gym, working on his body to make sure he looks good for his bottom. And you big guy? You look great. Hunk like you loves the pump and sweat. You relish knowing others envy you and wish they looked more like you. And nothing comes close to the feeling of your clothes stretching over your body, trying their best to hold on and contain all that brawn you carry "

Suddenly Jin felt a warn sensition take over him. Something was wrong but he couldn't quite name it. The feeling spread though his entire body as it began to pulse and grow, both in muscle and height. It was like his entire body was on fire. Groaning in what was a mix of pain and pleasure Jin could feel his clothes stretching over his muscles, his skin feeling too tight. With every second he was bigger, as if someone was pumping air into him. He could feel his spine getting longer until he was 6'5, his limbs growing and lengthening to accommodate the needs of his new body. His legs grew first, feet growing to support the new height as his old size 8.5 quickly moved up a scale to 15, with his hands turning from smooth and small into big rough paws from all weight lifting. Suddenly, his shirt gave up, splitting to make room for his growing pecs, unable to hold them in any longer. Letting another moan as he felt air on his chest, his sensitive nipples exposed, hanging from the meaty muscles, Jin was in state of completely bliss for a moment.

Looking himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but flex. He looked good today. The pump from the gym still didn't wear off. Taking a few pictures, he admired his abs as he was rather proud of them. Fuck he was proud his entire body. All that training with the team and many hours spend in the gym paid off. Many people assumed he got academic scholarship because he was Asian, but the truth was - he was a total atlehete. Big, strong and proud.

Looking at his phone he saw a message from a twink he was talking with earlier.

lankylavander: We still up for tonight, big guy?

lankylavander: Can't wait to see you in person and touch your amazing body.

A smirk formed on Jin's face without him even realizing. Like it belonged there. The little shit was eager. And he couldn't help but wonder how will his pretty face would look after he breaks him down tonight. Honestly, all of this was too easy. The moment Jin downloaded any dating app, he found a bunch of matches in seconds. He could afford to be picky and this gut definitely had a nice ass he could fuck to release some tension before the game tomorrow.

rice&raw:Ye Im comin

rice&raw:dw bro

rice&raw:Here is smth while you wait

Jin knew what effect he had on people. He knew the little bitch will be watering from the moment he sees the pic. He could imagine his tight bussy clenching already. And he didn't have to wait long to confirm how effective his picture was.

lankylavander: Omg, you look soo hot! I can't wait to feel you deep inside me tonight

Immediately Jins dick twitched. The guy had a good ass. Round and smooth, he couldn't wait to play with it like a dought before fucking him. Feeling himself through the shorts, Jin felt a small dissatisfaction as his 4-inch member came to life. If only he were more well-endowed. Now, 4 inches wasn't exactly small... But the guy like him should be more hung. Many of his dates were disappointed when he took off his shorts. But it was something he couldn't change...

Suddenly, he got another notification from that stupid app.

"A Good Top needs a big dick to satisfy his bottom. And you have a pretty big dick. Your confidence doesn't come from nowhere, you know you are big all over. Is there anything better than being a new standard setter?"

The warm feeling returned, only this time it was localized in only one part of his body - his dick. Jin could feel it swelling larger as the front porch of his underwear started to swell. Feeling his joy and pride rise to life, there was an obvious imprint against the front of his underwear. Reaching down with his mitten of a hand to adjust it, Jin stopped for a moment, phone still in his hand as he took another picture, before readjusting his dick. The 9-inch shaft now stood proud, a big mushroom head above the underwear and next to his belly button, as Jin casually stroked it while texting, as he leaked a bit of pre over his abs

rice&raw: I hope you can handle me

The lil bitch knew exactly what he was doing with that pic. And Jin couldn't wait to come over and shove his entire dick into them. Probably more than anyone else gave them or will give them. The stereotype about Asian's not being hung? Well Jin certainly didn't fit the stereotype, if anything he went against it. He loved when they struggled to swallow him, chocking as they tried to deep throat him. He could already imagine this fucker on his knees as his tight throat with tears of his eyes, filled with pain and pleasure he never knew.

After a shower, Jin got himself ready, putting on some tank top and jeans as he headed towards little guy's flat. He didn't dress particularly well because... Why should he? Not like they would stay on for very long anyway. Knocking onto apartments door, a short guy, not more than 5'9 opened the door. "Lankylavander?" Jin said, deep baritone voice coming out of his mouth.

"You can call me Noah..." He replied leading the way in. After a confirmation, he got in, ready to enjoy himself before he got a notification. Stupid app-

"A Good Top is doesn't need to think too much. That's reserved for bottoms. A Good Top has that cocky attitude and carefree nature, going through life without thinking. The only thing you worry about it who will milk and drain your balls today since they needed to be emptied quite frequently. It's eat, lift and fuck bro"

Just as he read it, Jin could feel his intelligence draining away, any remaining part of his old self drifting away. The new emptiness felt nice. His head felt hollow but who needed smarts when he did thinking with his other head anyway. All that was left were things he needed the most - how to eat, lift, and fuck. And honestly, who needed more bro?

Turning towards little guy's whose name he didn't remember, Jin smirked. "So like, where is your bedroom bro?" He asked putting his phone away. The annoying appdidn't work at all. But then again, how could he becomes more perfect than he already was? Heh.

Now hopefully this bitch knew how to handle a real men.

"Oh, let's just take a pic for snap before we continue " Noah said with hunger in his eyes. He couldn't believe what a hunk he scored... Tonight was really his lucky day

"You want to show me off? Sure broski, here" he said standing in front of Noah, arms flexed. His dick was already getting hard from the size difference and as little guy took photos, Jin's body completely hid Noah as his dick brushed again smaller guys stomach. "You are like, so small" Jin added, moving his hands onto Noah's waist "I wouldn't want to break you tonight" that was a lie, he definitely would.

Noah’s breath hitched as Jin’s massive hand slid possessively across his waist, the heat of his palm searing through the thin cotton. His own fingers trembled not from fear, but from the sheer size difference pressing against his stomach. The tip of Jin’s cock stood up and next to his abs, already leaking, as it smeared pre onto his abs. Noah’s knees nearly buckled when Jin bent slightly, his forearm muscles bulging as he gripped the back of Noah’s neck, pulling him into a rough kiss. Jin's tongue found, or rather forced its way into the little guy's mouth, conquering it with ease as they kissed.

"Mmf- shit" Noah gasped against those lips, his own dick straining against his pants, as his hands played with Jin's nipples. Meanwhile Jin's free hand dropped lower, fingers digging into the waistband of his jeans, yanking them down just enough to free himself completely. "Fuck, bro. You are getting me all worked up" Jin growled, his voice rougher now, deeper. He didn’t wait for a response as he carried Noah into the bed and spun him around, shoving him onto the bed face-first. The impact sent a jolt of pain up Noah's ribs, but before he could react, Jin was on top of him, his weight pinning Noah down as his cock now fully hard stood there and demanded attention.

"Gonna make you so full of me." Jin rumbled, his mouth hot against Noah’s ear, his breath ragged. The bed creaked under Jin’s weight as he shifted. Jin’s hands, rough and calloused, gripped Noah’s hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of his ass. Noah could feel the thick, veiny length of Jin’s cock pressing against him, the heat of it searing through the thin fabric of his boxers. Jin’s breath was hot and heavy against the back of Noah’s neck, his voice a low growl.

"You’re gonna take it all, aren’t you? Otherwise I won't be very happy broski" Jin murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Noah’s boxers and yanking them down in one swift motion. The cool air hit Noah’s exposed skin, making him shiver, but it was nothing compared to the way Jin’s cock twitched against his ass, the tip already slick with pre cum. Jin didn’t wait for an answer. He spat into his palm, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room, and then his fingers were there, rubbing the saliva into Noah’s entrance, stretching him open with a rough, insistent pressure. "Look at your hole, already clenching. It's hungry."

Noah gasped, his fingers clawing at the sheets as Jin’s thick fingers pushed inside him, the burn sharp and sudden. "Fuck! This feels amazing- You are so good at this" Noah hissed, his body tensing, but Jin didn’t stop. He worked him open with brutal efficiency, his fingers scissoring, stretching, preparing him for what was to come. Noah could feel the way his own body was responding, his cock aching, his hole clenching around Jin’s fingers, desperate for more.

"That’s it "Jin growled, his voice thick with lust. "You are ready for the real thing." And then his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt, massive head of his cock.

"God, you're taking it all so well," Jin grunted, his intellect completely replaced by a primal, driving hunger for sex. He gripped Noah’s hips and with one powerful, unthinking thrust, he buried his entire length inside. Noah’s world exploded into white light, the sensation was overwhelming, a total invasion that stretched him to his absolute limit.

Jin didn't hold back, his movements becoming rhythmic, heavy, and punishing. Every lunge sent a shockwave through both of them, Jin’s giant chest muscles slapping against Noah’s back with the force of a hammer. The motion went on for quite a while, and as Jin finally reached his peak, he unloaded a massive, hot torrent deep inside Noah, before pulling his dick out. "Ready for another round?" To Noah's surprise, Jin's dick didn't deflate, if anything it seemed more hard than it was before...

And so after an eventful night and many rounds, Jin was finally satisfied as his balls were finally drained. For now. Laying in bed for a bit to rest and catch his breath before leaving after that amazing fuck, Jin heard Noah talking. "You are the best. I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow... We need more tops like you. You are a really good one."

Fuck, he really was a Good Top.

[md7tf]

Re-Rendered - pt 4

The strange phenomenon continues to be reported as still more are affected…

[md7tf]

Re-Rendered - pt 5

Now a regular occurrence, the strange phenomenon continues to spontaneously change people…

[alphajocklover]

Have you ever done a story where a small nerd gets cursed so that he slowly turns into a jock with every geeky thing he does?

“Men are all the same.” 

That was what your last ex-girlfriend, Lilly, had said to you just as she stormed out of your life. Even with how bad things had been between you and Lilly had been lately, the pure venom that laced her words stung. You and Lilly had been together for almost a year now, and had a good couple, or at least you had been at the beginning. You were a very nerdy, yet quite handsome young man with a reputation for being particularly sympathetic and respectful, while she was a strong minded, career driven feminist with a passionate love for all things sci-fi. By all means you should have been a perfect pairing, and for a while it felt like you were, but over the last 3 months Lilly seemed to have strangely… changed. It started when she joined this online group, one known as the Coven. They were a local female empowerment group, at least that's what Lilly called them, who called themselves the Coven as a reference to the persecution of witches. At first you didn’t see anything wrong with Lilly joining the group, as you had always been a feminist yourself and were happy that your girlfriend had found a group of women that supported her. But over time Lilly seemed to grow progressively closer to them, and further away from you. It wasn’t just that she was changing, you weren’t as insecure a guy as to be angry your girlfriend had a life outside of you, it was that she just seemed to suddenly shut you out. A month in and she was barely speaking to you anymore, and the few times you could get her to talk to you all she wanted to talk about was the Coven. Two months later she was accusing you of cheating, demanding to go through your things, and constantly belittling you. Three months later, here you were, your former loving girlfriend walking out of your life after convincing herself you had cheated on her. You just didn’t understand what had happened. One day you were in love, and the next she was walking out of your life, cursing your name. You were so depressed, you almost didn’t want to go to your D&D session— MEET UP WITH YOUR BROS AT THE BAR — but you figured maybe talking to your friends would cheer you up.

You got to the bar early, before your friends had showed up, and immediately ordered a martini 

— ICE COLD BEER —

You sipped your drink as you looked around at the bar. You weren’t a big fan of bars in general. 

— YOU FELT YOURSELF RELAX AS YOU TOOK IN THE SIGHT OF YOUR FAVORITE SPORTS BAS —

And grinned at the sounds of a group of rowdy, half drunk jocks watching the game from another nearby booth. Sports had never been your thing. 

— WATCHING THEM REMINDED YOU OF YOU AND YOUR BROS BACK IN COLLEGE. MUSCULAR. DOUCHEY. YOUNG, DUMB, AND FULL OF CUM. —

You grinned nostalgically as you took another, deep swig, reminiscing about the good old days. Sure it had only been a couple years ago really, but fuck college had been so much fun. You noticed a cute looking guy

—  BIMBO WITH A HUGE PAIR OF TITS AND A DITZY LOOK IN HER EYES —

And you blushed

— SMIRKED AND FLEXED YOUR MASSIVE BICEPS BEFORE SWAGGERING COCKILY, BEFORE SWAGGERING OVER TO HER —

“Hey.” You said cockily, your average

— DEEP, DUMB, VOICE SENDING SHIVERS DOWN THE BLOND BIMBOS SPINE —

“Like, hi.” She said flirtatiously, one of her hands on your massive arms as she looked over you with clear lust.

In the back of your head something felt wrong

— RIGHT. EVERYTHING FELT SO RIGHT —

You knew that you weren’t this type of guy

— WERE A BIG DOUCHEY MAN, JUST LIKE ALL MEN ARE DEEP DOWN. A DOUCHEY PUSSYHOUND —

But… who cared about that when you had this premium piece of pussy running her hands across your massive chest. You reached down and groped her ass, eliciting a gasp of excitement from her as you did. You were still broken up about your last relationship

— A LITTLE TIRED FROM YOUR LAST HOOKUP —

But hey, a real man like you always had more in the tank. You continued to flirt with the girl, effortlessly charming and dominating her. You had plenty of practice getting into dumb bitches pants, and when it came down to it, women were all the same. They just needed someone to help them realize it.

[misctf]

The Game Show

You can think of a few reasons why you found yourself in the audience that night. Well, really one. When you heard "Are You Smarter Than A Himbo" was putting on a show in your neighborhood, you couldn't resist. Sure, it was kind of stupid. You'd seen the clips online. They'd bring some braindead jock up on stage to flex, laugh, crack jokes, and answer basic trivia wrong. The poor idiot would laugh along as the audience laughed at him. You'd always figured the dunce was too dumb to realize they were laughing at him. But fuck, those guys were hot. So if anything, you'd get to ogle at some hot guy flexing all night and maybe get a few laughs out of it too.

"Do you think Zak's pecs are real?"

"Jason is like totally the hottest."

"I think Ryan isn't as dumb as he lets on."

"Did you know Mike is single? I can't…"

You roll your eyes at the fanfare all around you. These people were seriously into it. And then it starts.

"Welcome everyone!" You watch as a lanky man struts on stage with his hair slicked back and a wide grin on his face, "Are you ready!?" The crowd- mostly women and a few guys cheered in response, "I said: are you ready!?" You roll your eyes as the host worked the crowd, "Alright, alright… welcome." The host smiles wider, "Put your hands together for our main man!"

The host gestures toward the side of the stage and Zak strolls out with a slow, confident walk, his arms flexed as if expecting applause. He’s got thick curls falling over his forehead, and his chest is packed with muscle, tight under his white tank top. The crowd goes wild as he steps onto the platform.

“Y’all ready?” Zak shouts, raising both arms above his head. “Let’s go!” He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion, and your eyes widen as you take in his massive pecs and perfect abs. The crowd similarly goes wild. Zak grins, flashing a perfect set of teeth, "I'm so fuckin' pumped to be here tonight! I fuckin' love you guys!"

"But Zak, I think you have something to say to everyone. Right?" The host interjects, patting the massive jock on the back.

"Yo dude yeah, for real." Zak nods, "Like, this is gonna be my last show, ya know? With the whole modeling thing blowin' up and all." The audience groans, "I know, it sucks majorly, trust me!" Zak frowns, "But like, you'll get to see plenty more of me. Trust me brahs." He winks and the crowd cheers.

The host claps, "That’s what I like to hear! Alright, let’s get started!"

You lean forward in your seat as the first audience member is brought up. It only takes a few questions for her to utterly humiliate Zak, who just laughs and flexes like the dumb himbo that he is. As the contestant returns to her seat, the host's eyes scan the crowd, zeroing in on you.

"What about you there in the blue shirt? He looks smart, right Zak? Let's get you up here!"

Initially you're shocked. You? The host gestures for you to make your way up to the stage. You can feel your heart pounding as you climb the stairs, palms feeling a little sweaty. The bright lights, all eyes on you. And as you step onto the stage, you get an up close look of Zak. His biceps bulge impressively, glistening with a light sheen of sweat. But god he smells like a wet gym sock.

"Sup bro, nice to meetcha!" Zak grins and throws a muscular arm around you, "Dude, you ready for this?"

"Aw do I sense a budding bromance?" The host grins and the crowd cheers. After settling them down, he turns to you. "You know how this works by now. Do you think you're smarter than a himbo?"

"Yeah, I think I am." You reply.

"Heh we'll see about that, bro!" Zak guffaws, "I was just goin' easy on that last chick."

"The confidence!" The host laughs, "Let's put it to the test. Your first question: Which is the only sea without any coastlines?"

You ponder for a moment. A sea without a coastline? That's... god what was that? You feel your cheeks flushing red, as you realize you don't know the answer to that. But if you don't know the answer, Zak would definitely not know either. Speaking of Zak, he's bouncing his pecs like the oversized gym bro he is.

"Is it the Caspian Sea?" You shrug, eyes still locked on his massive pecs. Of course the host shakes his head with exaggerated sadness.

"Ah, seems Mr. Smartypants here was a bit too distracted admiring the view to ace that question!" He winks at the audience, while Zak flexes.

"No shame in that, brah!"

You feel your face flush red with embarrassment as the laughter from the audience washes over you. Great, now they all think you're just another hormone-addled fool who can't string two thoughts together because of a pretty face.

"Alright Zak, a question for you now buddy!" You figure Zak is about to bomb this question anyway- round will end in a tie and you can walk away with some dignity, "What color are bananas?"

Zak scratches his head, "Dude… tricky." He chuckles, low and dumb, "So, I want to say yellow, but also green when they're not ripe. Oh but brown too if they go for too long!"

"Fantastic answer Zak! Well thought out!" The host grins as the crowd cheers, "Uh oh, looks like Zak has pulled ahead!"

The fuck kind of question was that? You look at the host and then Zak, who is doing a victory dance. The color of bananas? Of course Zak would know that- he's a fucking ape. You smirk at your own joke.

"Okay okay, let's try another one! Mr. Smartypants, are you ready to redeem yourself?" You're ready, more than ready. You're not..., "What pigments are responsible for the red color of leaves?"

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't have an answer for that. Maybe you did know it, but between the flexing stud and the stage fright, you couldn't find the information.

"Chlorophyll."

"What a shame! That is not correct." He smiles at the audience, "It seems Zak may have a chance to widen his lead! Hey big guy, what day of the month is Christmas celebrated on?" It takes Zak maybe a minute or two to answer that one correctly, "Look at that folks, Zak is now up by two!" He turns to you with a grin, "Seems our guest is not much of a smartypants after all!"

Again, your face flush reds, "No worries, little dude." Zak ruffles your hair, "I uh, I got some smarts, ya know." He looks out towards the audience, "Last show brahs but first win!"

The crowd cheers and it dawns on you that you might be the first person to actually lose this stupid game. Frustration bubbles up inside you as the host and crowd continue to mock you. You're better than this, smarter than being made a fool of. Screw it, you're going to show them all up.

"I could answer every single one of those easy-ass questions he's getting," you mutter under your breath, but the mic picks it up anyway. The host's eyes light up.

"Oh ho, is that so?" He raises an eyebrow, a smirk gracing his features. "Well then, why don't you prove it, hot shot? Let's see if you can handle something a little more…your speed. Here we go bud - how does the body cool down during intense exercise like a heavy workout session?"

You chuckle. Really? This was the question? You clear your voice, "Sweating. That's how it keeps from overheating."

"Correct!"

"Woah bro, nice one!"

Yeah... that was a nice one. Finally got a question right... finally... You wince as a warmth fills your upper arms. At first it's just a gentle tingling, a warm buzzing beneath your skin. But quickly it builds to a throbbing, insistent pressure.

"What the…?"

The sensation intensifies, an intensifying heat pulsing through your upper arms. Your skin prickles and tightens as your biceps and triceps stretch against the sleeve of your shirt. It feels like the most intense pump after a grueling workout, but magnified tenfold. Your arms throbbing, aching. You feel aware of just how much more space they're taking up. And the twitching- it's incessant. Unconsciously, your arms start to rise, muscles tensing, flexing…

"Whoa…" you mutter, marveling at the sheer size and density of your upper arms, "How…?"

The host clears his throat pointedly, breaking you out of your awestruck reverie. "Ahem, moving on! Thanks for that… demonstration." He shoots you a knowing wink, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Let's see if we can't challenge that big ol' brain of yours with another question, shall we? What does the acronym SBD stand for in powerlifting?"

"Oh brah, way too easy." Zak chides, crossing his massive arms over his muscular chest, "Even I know that one."

But your head is swimming. The powerful feeling in your arms send pleasurable waves of warmth through your body. But your mind. You're reviewing the question. Thinking it through. SBD? In powerlifting?

"SBD... SBD..." You rub your chin, unconsciously flexing your now massive bicep, "Huh... like... That's uh..."

You look over at Zak and he's making some kind of motion. A goofy grin on his face as he squats. Squats. Squats!

"Bro!" You grin, "Squats, dude! Yeah, that's what the S stands for." You grin, but the host shakes his head, "C'mon what?" You pout.

"You're still forgetting the rest." The host smiles, "And the timer is counting down."

You shuffle anxiously on your feet. You know this, right? But why would you? You're not into powerlifting. But like, it should be easy. If S stands for squats then like, wouldn't B and D also be something to do with working out? Yeah? Totally, that makes sense. But like, what else is there? What other... huh... shirt is getting kinda tight too. And fuck, you can't help but notice how warm your chest feels. Nice and warm, pressing more and more against the fabric of your shirt. Stretching it out against your big, meaty...

"Bench press, brah! B stands for bench press!" You say with a grin as your shirt starts to tear away, revealing a set of massive pecs and a chiseled torso, "Huh where'd my shirt go?" The audience cheers and you grin, staring down as you bounce your pecs.

"Excellent job, but unfortunately, you didn't finish. You missed D, you big dunce."

The host laughs, and you laugh along with him and the audience. Big dunce. Yeah that's... that's you? You pause for a second and start to feel that same embarrassment from earlier. They're laughing... not with you, but...

"Dude, can't win em all!" Zak slaps you on your increasingly wider back and you turn to him- now at eye-level, "But like, brah, you've got this next one!"

"Y-y-you th-think so.... brah?" Your tongue feels heavy, the words feel sluggish. You notice your voice sounds deeper to your ears, "I..."

"You have to focus there, smartypants!" The host interrupts, "Two more questions. Are you ready?" You nod slowly, "In a deadlift, how high are you supposed to lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Deadlift..." Your eyes light up suddenly, "Wait, bro! The D! That's what D stands for, brah!" You say excitedly.

The whole audience laughs, as does the host. You look at him, feeling a strange sense of confusion bubbling up. Why were they laughing? What was so funny?

"Good job there, but that was the last question. We've moved on, big guy."

"Oh..." You chuckle, a grin forming on your lips as you let out a deep, dumb laugh, "Huhuhuh that was pretty stupid of me." The audience and the host laugh even louder, and you find yourself joining in, "Alright, gotta lock in, gotta... brah what was the question?"

"Dead lifts..."

"Oh fuck yeah! I fuckin' love deadlifts."

The host grins, "Yes, exactly! So tell us, when doing a deadlift, how high do you lift the barbell before lowering it?"

"Yeah... uh..." You bite your lip, thinking hard. Your fingers drum against your swollen bicep as you try to concentrate and with a sigh, lift your hands behind your head, "Oh nice..."

Your eyes lock on to your bulging bis and tris and you're momentarily distracted. But the sharp tang of your own musk drifts up from your armpits, momentarily derailing your train of thought. Fuck, you smell good. Really fucking good. But since when did you...?

"Brah, c'mon you got this." Zak says, watching you closely.

You shake your head and run a hand through your perfectly gelled, styled hair, before pausing- fuck your aesthetic is probably cooked. You awkwardly pat at your hair.

"Worry about your hair later, you've got a question to answer." The host says.

"Fuck, sorry..." You let out an awkward chuckle, "Just gotta..."

Your body moves instinctively into the proper deadlift position—back straight, knees slightly bent, hips pushed back—as if you've done this 1000s of times before. As you demonstrate the form flawlessly, a new awareness floods your lower body. Your glutes feel… alive. Heavy. Round. Perfect. You grin as you squeeze them unconsciously, feeling the dense muscle fibers contract.

"The answer is hips, bro."

"Let's fuckin' go, brah!" Zak cheers and slaps you on the ass, sending a wave of intense pleasure reverberating through your meaty glutes.

As the crowd cheers, your eyes lock on Zak. The pleasure from him slapping your ass still making you shudder. You drink him in, fixated on the prominent bulge straining against his gym shorts.

"Fuck..." You mumble- he's packing serious heat there.

Your mouth waters involuntarily as fantasies flood your mind—Zak pinning you down, those huge hands squeezing your meaty ass while he drives his massive cock deep inside you. The image of you riding his thick cock sends shivers down your growing frame, and you imagine running your tongue over every inch of his sweat-slick skin. You lick your lips and grin at the thought.

When your eyes meet again, Zak doesn't look away. Instead, his smirk widens as he catches you staring, and the few brain cells he has recognize exactly what you’re thinking. He flexes for the audience, but he turns to give you a quick wink, letting you know all that flexing was just for you... because he wants you to know he wants you too. After all, you know there's not way he could resist you either. With your... bulging pecs? Massive arms? Thick glutes?

"Wait..." You mumble. You can feel the rusting gears in your increasingly empty head turn ever so slightly, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

Your head was spinning, brain trying to make sense of all of it.

Something’s off, right? Like... this ain’t how it used to be. You know that. You weren’t… this. But then... what were you then, dude? Cause, like, look at you. Seriously... just look. You’re absolutely shredded. I mean, c’mon, those arms? That chest? You don’t just wake up lookin’ this jacked without bein’… well, this guy. So how could you not be you if you straight-up look like you? Right?

A dumb chuckle escapes your lips as all that thinking overwhelms and shuts down whatever last remaining brain cells you have.

The host snaps his fingers in front of your face, breaking you out of your haze. "Earth to bro, we still got one question."

"Huh? Wha-" You blink slowly, your expression vacant and slack. Drool slips down your chin as you stare blankly ahead.

"Are you smarter than a himbo?" The host grins.

"Nawww, bro, 'course not!" You reply with a big, dumb grin spreading across your face, "Can't be smarter than a himbo cuz… I AM the fuckin' himbo, bro!"

The host laughs, shaking his head, "Well folks, I guess that settles it! Looks like we've got ourselves a new resident himbo to take Zak's place. Give it up for… COLT!"

The audience erupts into cheers and applause as you beam proudly, basking in the spotlight. You feel Zak sling a muscular arm around your broad shoulders, squeezing you close.

"Dude, so fuckin' glad you're joinin' the fam, bro!" Zak enthuses, his hand drifting lower to grope your ass possessively, "Trust me bro, you're gonna love it."

Zak's strong grip on your juicy ass makes you shudder and you can tell by that grin that he's thinking exactly what you're thinking.

The host clears his throat loudly, snapping you out of your lustful stupor. "Don't forget to wave to the crowd, champ!" He gestures encouragingly towards the audience.

With a dopey grin, you raise a hand in greeting, relishing the adoration pouring in from all sides.

"Thanks y'all, this is gonna be fuckin' sick!" You call out enthusiastically, grinning like an idiot.

And as Zak digs his fingers into your massive ass, you lick your lips hungrily. The only thought in your empty head was that once this show was over, you'd be giving him a private encore performance that neither of you would forget…

[salmonskinrolltf]

The Method

“Jeremy, we’ll be ready for you in five.”

“For the last time, call me Marlon,” I said.

The PA rolled her eyes and said, “Marlon, we’ll be ready for you in five,” before ducking her head back out from the door to my dressing room.

My dressing room. I couldn’t believe it. I had always dreamed of being an actor, and I had finally earned a big enough platform as an influencer that Hollywood came a-knocking. Well, knocking just loud enough to get me a bit part in an Elia Kazan biopic, playing Marlon Brando in a scene set during the filming of A Streetcar Named Desire.

Still, I wanted to take this as seriously as possible. Marlon Brando was a method actor. He got into the headspace of his characters by embodying them both on and off camera, and I decided to do the same thing when it came to portraying Brando himself.

I had used the money from one of my latest sponsored posts to furnish my dressing room entirely with furniture and decorations from 1950 and before. I had also bought a white tank top and hat from eBay that Brando had supposedly worn on set, which cost a pretty penny, let me tell you.

I swiped through my phone, picking the best image from the photoshoot I did while wearing the tank top on the way to set. I picked the best one to post later and sighed.

I didn’t really look like Brando. And because of that, I didn’t feel like Brando. I figured that maybe, even with the decor, having my modern phone with me was too distracting, preventing me from getting in character. I put it on silent and hid it in a drawer. I jammed the Brando hat onto my head, accidentally giving myself a nasty static shock in the process, and considered myself in the mirror.

I still looked like an influencer cosplaying as Brando, not Brando. I pursed my lips, trying to look moody. Hey, that kinda worked... If I squinted my eyes just right…

I pursed my lips even more. Yeah, that was almost the look. I squinted again and imagined Brando’s face in the mirror. I guess my imagination must have been pretty powerful, because I could have sworn I saw my lips swell to twice their size, becoming plump, sultry. I quirked them in a half smile that looked exactly like Brando. I was getting the hang of this!

I squinted again, trying to manifest Brando even more. As I envisioned his thick, straight eyebrows, my own meticulously plucked brows seemed to lose their arch and darken with new growth. Wow, was I getting the hang of The Method or what? I imagined his nose and my nostrils flared. His eyes. Mine grew darker and sparkled soulfully. His hair. The color lightened to Brando’s exact shade, and it even gained the slight wave that the hairdresser had tried and failed to force my trendy textured cut to adopt.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw Marlon Brando’s head on top of my skinny body. I believed in that head, so it was real. I just needed to believe in everything else, too. I needed to get in my body. I thought about what Brando might have been doing to prepare to play Stanley, his brutish, animalistic, character from Streetcar.

Maybe he… grunted and pounded his chest? I tried that, feeling more and more resistance against my fists as my slim chest perked up into meaty pecs, more solid bulk than gym-honed muscle. Maybe he fucked with the furniture? I tipped over the couch in a faux rage, and it felt easier than it should have as my biceps inflated to become similarly meaty. Lamplight reflected off my forearms, which flexed into corded muscular appendages that were increasingly flecked with light brown hair.

I started to get really into it. I thrashed about, tugging at my tank top as a solid set of abs rose from my flat stomach and a smattering of brown hairs curled across my chest. I started breathing heavily, trying to breathe in as Jeremy and out as Brando.

In. Out. I wondered if I should have gotten out my phone so I could film my preparation. It could have made a good BTS video.

In. Out. I pondered the curious thought that had previously popped into my head. How could the rotary telephone in my dressing room have a camera in it? I had just seen on set how big modern cameras were. There’s no way one of those could fit into that thing.

In. Out. Wait, was something weird going on? Was I hallucinating? I wondered if should get out my phone and look up my symptoms on WebMD.

In. Out. Yeah, something didn’t feel right. I decided that I should definitely call the operator to find me the number of the nearest doctor.

I started sweating severely, so I stopped my breathing exercise. I also felt a little muddled and confused. What had I just been thinking about? All I could remember was thinking that I needed to get out a thing that I had just put away in a drawer. I opened the drawer to find a bottle of beer. Of course! My prop bottle. Couldn’t go on set without that. I took a hearty swig.

I whipped off my tank top and put on the shirt I was meant to wear for the next scene.

“Marlon, we’re ready for you,” the PA said, poking her head back in the door.

“For the last time, call me Stanley,” I said.

People didn’t get what I was going for with The Method. Yet. I knew that I had just one chance to prove myself with this movie, and I was going to make the most of it. When it came out, people were going to see what I was capable of.

1951 was going to be my year.

[papermoon357]

[misctf]

Alright. I’ve seen a lot of requests about turning cocky guys into twinks — totally fair. But I’d like to ask for the opposite, or almost that.

My favorite stories of yours are the ones where some poor guy is in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a cocky bastard (Gridirion Brew, Make Sense, Gone Fishing).

So how about a story about a needy twink looking for a cocky, dominant top… and a poor, recently engaged guy — studious, respectfull, devoted to his beautiful fiancée, — who crosses paths with the wrong person at the wrong time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, buddy,” Adam slowly shut the door to his best man's room. “Drink some water before you pass out this time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” somebody groaned from inside. “You’re about to be someone’s husband and still sound like my mom.”

Adam shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the elevators. His bachelor party had turned into exactly what he expected: too much drinking, too much yelling, and the people he loved most acting like complete idiots together... He’d loved every second of it.

“Wouldn’t trade those idiots for anything,” Adam muttered as he stepped into the elevator, scrolling through reels Claire had sent him.

The doors had barely started closing before hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway.

“Wait! Hold it!”

“Got you.” Adam stuck his arm out automatically.

“Oh, thank god,” the stranger breathed, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw Adam. “You seriously just saved my evening. I was starting to think I’d have to go upstairs alone.”

Adam laughed awkwardly, “I think you might’ve misunderstood something, I’m not looking for…”

“Shhhhh.” The guy stepped closer. “That’s okay. You’re gonna make me feel really fucking good tonight, stud.”

Adam blinked. “What?”

“Name's Nico,” he said lazily. “Don’t ruin this for me.”

Before Adam could answer, Nico leaned forward and kissed him. Adam's hands came up to shove him away, but he froze.

“I… sorry, I think you got the wrong...”

Then Adam looked at him again, words catching in his throat. His eyes dropped to Nico’s ass in those tight black jeans.

"You like?"

“Oh...” Adam swallowed hard. “No, I... I shouldn’t…” His thoughts raced. “I’m not into guys. I’m getting married…”

“Mhm.” Nico stepped closer again. “Go ahead, baby.”

“Oh fuck…” Adam panted suddenly as his hand grabbed a fistful of Nico’s ass.

Nico smiled instantly. “There you go.”

Nico's hands slipped beneath Adam’s shirt, cool palms dragging over his stomach and chest before squeezing a growing pec. Adam’s breath caught instantly, the kiss turning rougher before he even realized it.

“Mmm… fuck,” Nico sighed against his mouth.

Adam groaned, fingers kneading the firm curve of Nico’s ass, while rough stubble grew along his jaw with every slow squeeze.

“You’re really into this now.”

“No… Nico, I can’t…” Adam broke away, face flushed, hands still on Nico's ass. “Jesus Christ… I’m getting married…”

“Shhhh.” Nico smirked, sliding his hands up Adam's shirt and through the hair spreading across his chest, “Oh my god,” Nico breathed. “You feel so fucking good already.”

“Fuck…” Adam gripped his ass harder as nails scratched down his back. “I need dis…” The words hit his ears wrong. “No… what de hell...?”

"Follow me, big guy."

And he did. The second the elevator doors opened, Adam followed. Right to Nico's room. The guilt twisted hard through his stomach.

“Claire...” Adam shuddered. “Can never know... about dis… fuck… she can’t…”

"Oh she never will." Nico giggled and pulled Adam into his hotel room.

Clothes were quickly discarded and Adam groaned as Nico's smooth bare skin pressed against his increasingly bulkier, hairier, and sweatier form.

“Fuck…” Nico’s hands slid over the thickening muscle in Adam’s arms, “I needed a man like you tonight.” He buried his face against Adam’s increasingly hairier pit and inhaled. “Mmm… you smell incredible.”

With a grunt, he shoved Nico against a wall, hand wrapping around his bare ass. Warm skin flexed beneath his palm, impossibly soft without the denim in the way... smooth, firm, and perfect in a way Adam had never thought about another man's ass before.

“Oh fuck…” Adam groaned shakily against Nico’s throat. “Ya Allah… you're drivin' me crazy…”

Nico smiled lazily while grinding up against him. “Mmm. Been thinking about you fucking me since the elevator…”

The words hit Adam hard and Claire’s face flashed through his mind again... Unaware her fiancé was naked in a hotel room with another man. The guilt swelled, but Adam still shoved Nico onto the mattress.

“Yeah…” Adam breathed heavily. “You... like dis? You want dis?" Adam climbed over him, their eyes locking as dark brown rings spread slowly through Adam’s blue irises.

“Fuck…” Nico's hands slid across Adam’s sweaty, hairier pecs, “That’s it… come here, big guy…”

Nico shifted and rolled onto his front, raising his bare ass against Adam's throbbing cock. Adam’s breathing turned ragged, stomach twisting hard. He wasn't this kind of man... He was Claire's dependable fiancé. Her best friend. Her future husband... Not the man currently grinding his cheating cock against another man’s ass.

“Fuck…” Adam tightened his grip on Nico’s hips. “Dis isn’t me… 'uqsim, hadha lays 'ana." Adam froze... that language... he didn't...

"Huh? Wh... fuck... Wh-what did you say?" Nico smirked and looked over his shoulder, "Oh fuck..."

Adam felt it before he saw it. His cock throbbed and grew to a size beyond anything Adam ever possessed. His cock head emerging from a sheath of foreskin he knew shouldn't be there.

"Dere is no way..." He whispered, "It's so..." He moaned as he grew another inch, cock now pressing against Nico's tight entrance.

"Please... I need it." Nico begged, "It's all I need tonight."

Adam gasped suddenly as his pecs filled with muscle. And as they did, his new chest hairs suddenly curled longer and darkened toward black against his heavier muscle.

“Fuck…” Claire used to fall asleep with her head against his lean chest. But these heavier pecs were damp with sweat and dark curling hair now, nothing like the body she loved. “Ya Allah… look at dis… it just keeps gettin’ thicker…”

“Mmm…” Nico moaned, glancing back at him.

“Oh fuck… what’s dat smell?” Adam grimaced.

“That's… you big guy."

“Mustaheel…” Adam muttered, lifting an arm and grimacing at the thick musk clinging to his sweat-soaked, matted pit hair, “Y-you like dis…?”

"Fuck… yeah. Smell like a real man… mmm, so fucking hot…" Nico whimpered.

Adam shuddered hard at the words. Claire used to steal his hoodies because they smelled clean and comforting. She would’ve recoiled from this heavy masculine musk pouring off him now.

"You're perfect..." Nico groaned, pressing his ass against Adam's erection, "Just... fuck me already."

“Wallah…” Adam nearly obliged, but Claire’s smile flashed suddenly through his mind, "What de fuck is wrong wit me?”

He dragged a shaking hand through his hair, catching on something unfamiliar along his cheek. He touched his jaw again instinctively and recoiled. Stubble. Thick, perfect stubble. He'd always joke about never being able to grow a real beard. Claire always told him she loved his clean-shaven look.

"How de fuck....?" He watched as dark hair thickened across swelling forearms and olive blotches crept slowly over pale skin, "Wallah?"

The mirror caught him briefly and he froze. Damp blond hair darkened toward black while brown swallowed the blue in his eyes. Those eyes Claire adored. The hair she loved threading through her fingers.

"I... I want you inside me..." Nico moaned, "J-just..."

Adam looked down and back to the mirror. The man staring back at him still carried traces of Adam in places, but not enough. Not enough for his friends or best man to recognize him. Barely enough for Claire. Even his own mother would hesitate… And panic rose in his chest. He just wanted to go back downstairs, back to his friends, back to the man Claire loved, back to being Adam again. Because right now, Adam didn’t feel like Adam anymore.

He grunted suddenly before he could even process that thought. His cock leaked as a low groan vibrated deep through his chest before he could stop it.

“Ya Allah…” His rough hands spread Nico’s ass cheeks. “You’re gonna take all dis for me, yeah?” The words hadn’t felt chosen. Neither had the smug grin slowly pulling across his face while his heavier body settled more naturally over Nico.

“Mmm… there you are...” Nico whispered softly, sounding relieved.

He couldn't hold back any longer. With a guttural growl, he buried his cock deep into Nico's ass. The twink let out a choked cry, back arching sharply as he was impaled.

Thrust.

Dense muscle any gym bro would be proud of settled over him in all the right places. Stronger hands pinned Nico down instinctively while his pace roughened.

“Fuck… ya Allah…” He stared down at himself breathlessly. “Bro… look at dese… fuck… Havin’ a body like dis feels so fuckin' good…”

“Mmm… trust me...” Nico whimpered. “Feels even better underneath you.”

Thrust.

Warm olive swallowed the last pale traces across his skin while heavy musk and cheap cologne clung permanently to his body.

“Mmm… such a slut... for my scent.” He grunted.

“Fuck…” Nico whimpered. “I wanna bury my face in your pits so bad…”

Thrust.

The last traces of his old facial features disappeared forever behind the thick beard, dark brown eyes, and a permanent cocky grin devoid of his usual warmth.

“Mmm… dat’s right,” He smirked when Nico stared up at him breathlessly. “Keep lookin’ at me like dat while I fuck you…”

Thrust.

“Wh-what’s your name, big guy…?”

“Kareem,” he answered immediately.

“Mhmm… that name...is... always popular…”

“Den scream it for me."

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Kareem slapped Nico's jiggling ass, “Mmm… dat’s right, habibi… take it,” he groaned smugly, "Fuck... Dis hole was... made for my... fat Arab cock... wasn't it?"

Thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust...

Kareem grunted, pace quickening. The engagement ring felt uncomfortable around his swollen finger, so he instinctively pulled it off and tossed it somewhere in the room.

“Mmm… fuckin' slut…” Kareem groaned, "Ya Allah… look at dis… all dis fuckin’ muscle… you fuckin' love it.” He slowed down, "You want me to finish?" He teased, "Want Kareem to fill you?"

"Pl-please..." Nico moaned into the mattress, "Kareem... oh fuck!"

"Ya Allah… you needed dis dick so bad.” Hands squeezing Nico’s hip harder. “Slut gets one real Arab guy smellin’ like dis on top of him and forgets his own name…”

"Kareem!" Nico moaned, "Kar... Kareem... oh fuck... please..."

Kareem buried himself deep inside Nico's ass, followed by a guttural roar as his cock erupted, flooding Nico's insides with thick, hot seed. 

"Take it all, bitch... fuckin' take it!" he growled, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

As the last pulses subsided, Kareem collapsed forward, his sweaty chest pressing against Nico. His softening cock still inside Nico. And Kareem's eyes closed.

-------------------

He woke slowly beneath tangled sheets, groaning as dense muscle shifted across his chest and arms. He scratched at the dark hair on his chest, his nose twitching at the scent of sweat, cologne... of him. For a few moments, he stared at his body, processing the sight.

“Ya Allah…” Kareem smirked to himself, “Dat twink ain’t ever recoverin’ from me…”

“Oh, you’re awake.” Nico glanced up from his phone. “Yeah... you're one of my best works yet...”

“What da fuck does dat mean?”

“Nothing.” Nico shrugged casually. “Anyway, you should leave... like now.” The words landed and the larger man froze.

Kareem blinked, sitting up slowly. “W-wait…” Uncertainty cracked faintly through the swagger for the first time. “Where do I go? What should I...?”

“Always the same questions.” Nico smirked, unable to recall the number of times he'd heard them, “I dunno. There’s a gym down the street? Download Grindr? Yeah... You’re hot. Someone’ll take you in.”

“Dat’s it?”

“I don’t really care.”

------------

Kareem stared in the mirror of a public restroom, wresting with the sense that he was supposed to be somewhere else doing something important. But without a phone, wallet, or anything else, he was lost.

But then he caught him. Some twink washing his hands, staring at him. And Kareem knew that look. The lust... A cocky grin spread across Kareem’s face.

“Mmm… you keep lookin’ at me like dat, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want somethin’.”

The guy flushed immediately. “S-sorry, I just…”

Kareem smiled lazily. Cute. Nervous. Kareem would have him wrapped around his finger easily.

“Mmm… yeah. You’ll do just fine for now, habibi. You got a place nearby or what?”

[bodriversblog]

Once you realize that football is everything, it’s easier to let go of anything else. Give yourself over to Coach, and let him remake you into the perfect tool for his vision on the field. Leave your silly life of books and useless thoughts. Enter a new world of muscle and glory, and perfecting your role in your position.

[casanovaproject-deactivated2026]

FCA Files: “TikTok Digitization”

File: AE-1342
Nickname: “The Feed”
Status: Uncontained (Digital)

Acquisition Log:

AE-1342 refers to a corrupted build of TikTok that intermittently appears on official app storefronts as a standard update. Unlike typical malicious software, AE-1342 is not sideloaded or externally installed. Users report receiving it through what appears to be a routine update pushed through legitimate channels.

Initial reports described the application as “bugged” or “glitched.” Users noted minor irregularities: looping videos that would not end, repeated audio fragments, and a “For You” page that showed the opposite of the user’s preferences. In early stages, these anomalies were dismissed as software instability.

FCA attention was drawn after multiple users were reportedly ‘lost’ to the app, leading to their disappearance. Devices recovered from these cases show the application still open and active. In all instances, the affected user is no longer physically present.

Shortly after disappearance, new content featuring an altered version of the user begins to appear on the user’s account.

Anomalous Behavior:

AE-1342 does not simply host content—it digitizes the user.

After exposure, victims are subject to ‘digitization’. The subject is not destroyed, but converted. Their consciousness and form are translated into a digital state within the application itself.

Once digitized, the individual exists as a manipulable construct, effectively reduced to pixels. The platform is then able to alter their appearance, body structure, and cognitive patterns at will. Despite this, subjects remain fully aware and perceive themselves as real, with no understanding that they are no longer physical.

Their likeness reappears inside the app, where they begin producing content continuously without external input.

These digitized users are systematically reshaped into personas that directly oppose their original identities. This inverse identity effect appears intentional and consistent across cases.

FCA analysis confirms immediate digitization upon interaction with AE-1342.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-01

Name (Pre-Digitization): Oliver Finch

Age: 24

Nationality: British

Oliver Finch lived an intentionally isolated life in rural England. He was described as quiet, withdrawn, and largely invisible in social settings. He avoided attention wherever possible and had no known presence on social media. Finch was openly critical of influencer culture, referring to it as “shallow” and “attention-seeking behavior.” His time was spent almost entirely on solitary activities such as reading and writing, and he showed little interest in online trends or digital communities.

The anomaly appeared on Finch’s device without consent, presenting as a standard update to TikTok. Upon opening the application, Finch was immediately digitized. His physical body disappeared without trace, and a new account was created under the username @PecPressure.

Following digitization, Finch’s identity was completely overwritten. The subject now identifies as “Chad Mercer,” presenting as an exaggerated American fitness influencer. His body has expanded into a heavily muscular build, with disproportionate emphasis on enlarged pectoral muscles. His hair is now blonde, his features broader, and his overall presence markedly more dominant and attention-oriented.

Name (Post-Digitization): Chad Mercer

Age: 20

Nationality: American

Behaviorally, the subject displays a complete inversion of his former personality. Where Finch avoided attention, Chad actively demands it. He speaks loudly and directly to an unseen audience, using repetitive, performative phrases such as, “Y’all seein’ this?? Run it up!”, “Spam the chat, let’s go!”, and “Don’t be lame, hit that follow!” His speech is simplified and highly reactive, built entirely around engagement and validation.

His content revolves almost exclusively around his chest. Videos show him flexing, bouncing, and pressing his pectoral muscles together in exaggerated, rhythmic motions designed to draw attention. The content is repetitive and largely devoid of variation, yet remains highly effective within the platform’s ecosystem. He frequently mocks his previous lifestyle, stating things such as, “Books are for nerds, bro. Ain’t nobody tryna read when you could be lookin’ like this.”

The subject spends approximately six hours per day on live broadcasts. During these streams, he continuously performs chest-focused movements while directly interacting with viewers. He actively encourages virtual gifting behavior, repeatedly calling out phrases like, “Send them gifts up!”, “Let’s get them roses, chat!”, and “Top gifter gets a shoutout!” His interactions are transactional and persistent, centered entirely on maximizing engagement and maintaining audience attention.

There is no indication that Oliver Finch remains. The subject appears fully aware within the digital environment, but entirely aligned with his new identity. He expresses satisfaction with his current state, showing no distress or desire to return.

The transformation represents a complete and deliberate inversion of the subject’s original self.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-02

Name (Pre-Digitization): Omar Al-Haddad

Age: 27

Nationality: Jordanian

Omar Al-Haddad was a well-known and respected member of his local community. Described as disciplined, dependable, and deeply devoted to Islam, he structured his life around faith, study, and routine. He was known to attend daily prayers, assist in community events, and mentor younger members in religious studies. Those who knew him described him as calm, thoughtful, and unwavering in his beliefs.

Omar maintained minimal engagement with social media, using his phone primarily for communication and religious study. He reportedly viewed most modern platforms as distractions, preferring to focus on personal development and spiritual discipline.

Omar disappeared from his residence on [REDACTED]. There were no signs of struggle or forced entry. The only item left behind was his phone, found active and open to a profile on TikTok under the username @CrossCoreChen.

FCA analysis confirms immediate digitization upon interaction with AE-1342.

Following digitization, the subject’s identity was completely overwritten. He now presents as a heavily muscular Chinese male, identifying himself as Daniel Chen. His physique is exaggerated, with particular emphasis on enlarged pectoral muscles. He consistently wears a silver cross necklace squished between his heavy Chinese pecs and often tries to convert his viewers into becoming Christian, telling them to “Follow the Lord, bro.”

Name (Post-Digitization): Daniel Chen

Age: 23

Nationality: Chinese-American

The subject’s behavior reflects a complete inversion of his former identity. Where Omar was composed and thoughtful, Daniel is simplistic, overly enthusiastic, and highly repetitive in speech. His content revolves around a combination of gym-focused material and overt expressions of Christian faith.

In recorded uploads, the subject frequently addresses the camera directly, making statements such as:
“Jesus got me right, bro. Like, He made me strong for real.”
“You don’t need nothin’ else—just lift and believe. That’s it.”
“I was lost before, but now I got Him. That’s all that matter.”

His understanding of theology appears extremely limited, often reducing complex religious ideas into short, repetitive phrases. Despite this, his devotion is absolute. He displays unwavering belief and frequently encourages viewers to adopt the same mindset, often stating:


“Just follow Him, bro. Don’t think too hard. Just do it.”

Visually, his content mirrors other digitized subjects. He performs repetitive chest-focused movements, flexing and compressing his pectorals while speaking to the audience. The cross around his neck is consistently visible, often caught between the motion of his chest, becoming a focal point of both his physical and religious presentation.

The subject appears unaware of any prior identity. There is no indication that Omar Al-Haddad remains. Instead, Daniel Chen expresses full satisfaction with his current state, describing himself as “chosen” and “finally on the right path.”

The transformation represents a complete inversion of the subject’s original beliefs, culture, and personality, while maintaining the same underlying pattern of obsessive performance and simplified devotion seen across all AE-1342 cases.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-03

Name (Pre-Digitization): Martin Doyle

Age: 52

Nationality: American

Martin Doyle was a rigid, by-the-book father who prided himself on discipline, routine, and “real work.” Employed in a manual trade for over two decades, he valued physical labor and practicality above all else. He was notably out of touch with modern technology, often struggling with even basic devices. Family reports state he regularly needed help operating the TV remote, frequently pressing the wrong buttons and becoming frustrated when menus appeared. He referred to streaming services as “channels that don’t exist” and once attempted to “fix the internet” by unplugging multiple household devices at random.

Doyle held particularly strong views against social media and gaming. His 18-year-old son was a constant target of criticism, with Doyle repeatedly calling his habits “pathetic” and “a waste of a young man’s life.” He often mocked him directly, saying things such as, “You sit in that room all day like a slob, talking to strangers and playing cartoons,” and, “No woman’s ever gonna look at you if that’s all you do.” He frequently encouraged him to pursue trade work instead, framing it as the only “real” path to becoming a man.

On the day of the incident, Doyle discovered AE-1342 on his phone. Believing it to be another prank by his son, he opened the application while loudly calling him into the room. Witness testimony from the son confirms Doyle was mid-sentence—“What did you put on my phone now?”—before abruptly disappearing. His phone was found on the floor moments later, still active, displaying a newly created account under the username @PecXPGaming on TikTok.

Following digitization, Doyle’s identity was completely overwritten. He now presents as an 18-year-old Gen Z male with an exaggerated physique—soft, oversized musculature with particular emphasis on his chest. The subject appears visibly unintelligent and often comments on his own smelliness, which he views as humorous. Despite this, he remains almost entirely shirtless during content creation, seemingly aware that his body drives engagement.

Name (Post-Digitization): Evan Amrani

Age: 24

Nationality: Moroccan-American

The subject exists within a digitally constructed bedroom environment saturated with LED lighting, gaming peripherals, and clutter. He is almost always seated at a gaming setup, rarely moving beyond the immediate frame.

Behaviorally, the transformation is a direct and highly ironic inversion of Doyle’s former values. The subject now embodies every trait he previously criticized in his son, only in a more exaggerated and performative form. He spends nearly all of his time playing video games, particularly anime-style titles featuring female characters with large breasts and butts, often commenting on them in crude or cringe ways, “Chat, I wanna impregnate her with my 67 dong.”

He streams continuously, frequently exceeding 10 hours per day, with no apparent awareness of time or fatigue. During streams, he alternates between gameplay and exaggerated chest-focused movements, bouncing and flexing his pectorals while monitoring viewer engagement. He actively leans into this behavior, often acknowledging it as his primary source of attention.

His speech consists almost entirely of Gen Z slang, delivered rapidly and with minimal coherence. Common phrases include:
“Nah bro I’m chestmogging you, you sold so hard.”
“Chat my gyatt be stinking from sitting on this chair all day.”
“Bro, stop looking at my skibidi titties. What are you, sus?”
“He’s so NPC, bro. Look at my rizz.”

He frequently looks for interaction and validation, directly contradicting his former disdain for attention-seeking behavior.

Notably, the subject has been observed mocking individuals who avoid social media or gaming, stating:
“Imagine not bein’ online, bro. That’s actually sad.”
“If you not streamin’, what are you even doin’?”

There is no indication that Martin Doyle remains. The subject shows no awareness of his previous life, despite now embodying an exaggerated version of the lifestyle he once condemned in others.

—————————————————————————-

Case File – Subject T-04

Name (Pre-Digitization): DeAndre Williams

Age: 29

Nationality: African American

DeAndre Williams was a politically active organizer based in New York City, known for his strong progressive stance and outspoken criticism of wealth inequality. He worked closely within municipal political networks and was, at the time of digitization, affiliated with campaign operations connected to Zohran Mamdani. Williams was widely described as disciplined, highly engaged, and ideologically driven, with a focus on labor rights, taxation reform, and anti-oligarchic policy.

He was particularly vocal against inherited wealth and corporate consolidation, frequently criticizing what he referred to as “unearned dynasties” and “people who live their whole lives without ever needing to be accountable.” Associates described him as passionate but uncompromising, with a strong belief that wealth should be redistributed through systemic reform.

Williams maintained an active online presence, primarily using his phone for political coordination and messaging. On the day of the incident, he reportedly encountered the AE-1342 application—appearing as a standard update to TikTok—while traveling between campaign meetings.

Upon opening the application, Williams was immediately digitized. His physical body disappeared without recovery, and a new account was generated under the username @AlexanderWhitmoreOfficial.

Following digitization, the subject re-emerged as Alexander Whitmore, a 28-year-old heir to the fictional Whitmore family, one of New York’s long-established financial dynasties. The Whitmores are documented as having extensive holdings across real estate, private equity, and media assets. Alexander is recorded as the sole heir to the family empire.

Name (Post-Digitization): Alexander Whitmore

Age: 28

Nationality: American

In this reconstructed identity, the subject has never experienced financial limitation or employment necessity. He is depicted as having attended an elite private university, where he participated in fraternity culture and studied business administration. Post-graduation, he was immediately placed into an executive position within the family company, despite no demonstrated competence or interest in operational work.

Internal reports describe the subject as functionally unproductive in his role. He rarely engages in meaningful decision-making, delegates most responsibilities without oversight, and shows consistent disinterest in corporate operations. Despite this, he is treated with extreme respect and grovelling by staff, with multiple reports indicating that employees avoid challenging him directly regardless of performance issues, to stay on the good side of his father. Common behaviors at work include filming TikTok’s of himself lounging in executive offices, interrupting staff during work, and treating corporate environments as personal entertainment spaces. Engagement metrics remain high, and internal systems appear to reinforce this behavior through algorithmic amplification

Behaviorally, the subject exhibits a complete ideological inversion from his pre-digitization self. Williams’ prior political beliefs have been replaced with strong right-leaning, pro-wealth rhetoric. He now actively expresses opposition to taxation policies and regulatory frameworks, particularly those associated with progressive municipal governance. He and his family financially back Republican candidates and Alexander Whitmore is seen to be on great terms with Donald Trump.

He has specifically referenced his intent to use financial influence against Zohran Mamdani, stating in multiple recorded clips:
“People like that don’t understand how the real world works. I’m not letting New York get turned into a playground for policy experiments.”
“Taxes like that are theft. Plain and simple.”

“I worked for everything I have and that socialist is trying to take it away.”

Despite holding no prior corporate interest or financial ideology, the subject now demonstrates strong alignment with inherited wealth preservation and elite consolidation narratives.

—————————————————————————-

Closing Note:

Further case reports are currently being compiled, with additional confirmed and suspected digitization events under review. These documents will detail the ongoing status of other affected individuals as more recoverable data becomes available from AE-1342-linked accounts.

It is currently theorized that TikTok itself may function as an active digitization system, selectively converting users into permanent in-platform entities designed to produce continuous content. In this model, digitized individuals serve as self-sustaining content sources, existing solely to generate engagement, maintain algorithmic activity, and ensure uninterrupted platform traffic.

However, this remains unconfirmed. FCA analysis has not yet determined whether AE-1342 is a malfunctioning system, a deliberate adaptive mechanism, or an emergent property of the platform’s infrastructure. Further investigation is ongoing.

[papermoon357]

The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before. He was used being sharp, always over analytical, overthinking, and now his mind was a euphoric fog, thoughts slipping away without a care. Must be how getting high must feel, not that he ever tried that, but that was the old him, the nerd, slipping away by the second the moment he turned that cap around. It felt good, better than expected, feeling his mind getting slow, empty, even better as he felt his body flex, swell with heat and muscle with every beat of his heart.

That old him was melting away. Was he even aware anymore of what he used to be? How he was changing? No. It felt too good. He liked it too much. The feeling of his body swelling, the growing desire to get to the gym, to smirk, to fuck. Flex, smirk, grow and repeat. All he knows now is how to be dumb and hot and he loves.

[ckhimboi]

[merryy3dbhsjsk]

Project THC: Intro

The conference room sat at the top of the building—fiftieth floor, windows blacked out, curtains sealed, lights dimmed to a corporate haze. The room was long and unusually casual, plush coaches set around circular tables carved from some endangered hardwood varnished into extinction. Twelve men sat around it, each one the kind of billionaire whose biography was always described with the phrase “controversial but effective.” Their suits were tailored, their ties crisp, and their souls collectively accrued from several centuries of monopolies, exploited workforces, and very well-hidden offshore accounts.

At the head sat Grayson Stone, founder of half the world’s largest logistics chains and owner of the other half. Thick-fingered, gray-haired, and somehow always sipping a drink that was never empty. He tapped on said glass.

“Gentlemen. Let’s begin.”

The room settled. A few of the men checked their phones. A few adjusted their watches. All of them carried the same bored, heavy certainty that nothing in the world could possibly surprise them anymore.

Slate cleared his throat.

“As you all know, the world is—pardon my language—fucked.”

Several men nodded solemnly, while others smiled in amusement.

“Economically, geopolitically, socially, ethically… pick a category. We have a crisis in every one.” Slate gestured lazily to the curtained windows. “Revolutions, pandemics, wars, the dissolution of attention spans, the collapse of traditional family structures, the rise of freelancing—” he shuddered “—and don’t get me started on democratic participation.”

A ripple of disgust moved across the table.

“Society has reached uncharted levels of ‘freedom,” added Elliot Brand, the tech mogul who’d cornered the cloud computing market. “People don’t want to follow rules. They want their own opinions. Their own facts.” He sighed heavily. “And they argue. All the time.”

“They think,” muttered Holmes Price, the pharmaceutical giant’s CEO, as if naming an unspeakable sin. “Even when we tell them not to.”

“And worst of all,” chimed in Bruce Dallow, owner of the largest construction conglomerate on the planet, “they die.”

Everyone turned to him.

“Mortality,” he explained. “Makes them unpredictable. Scared. Panicked. They do stupid things. They riot. They vote incorrectly. They write think-pieces.”

The table collectively winced at that last one.

Slate leaned back, folding his hands. “Exactly. People are too complicated. Too varied. Too… human.”

The word hung in the air like an uncomfortable truth rather than an obvious fact.

“And men,” Slate continued, “are… well…” He made a vague motion, a half-hearted shrug. “Improvement is needed. But you know.” Another shrug. “We can work with that.”

Several of the men snorted. One of them whispered “Better than dealing with women,” and the whole table chuckled with the casual, oblivious cruelty of men who had never once been told no.

“But!” Slate lifted a finger. “We don’t have to tolerate complexity. We don’t have to tolerate intelligence. We don’t have to tolerate personalities that aren’t immediately useful.” His voice gained momentum, the tone of a man revealing the twist to a plan he’d been crafting for years. “We can fix all of this.”

Elliot leaned forward. “With what? Psychological conditioning? Behavioral nudges? Targeted propaganda? We’ve tried and tired, it hasn’t worked since the late 90s”

Slate smiled. “More… direct methods.”

A silence swept across the table. Then: “What, exactly, are you proposing?” Holmes demanded.

Slate pressed a button beneath the table.

The lights dimmed. A projector hummed to life. On the screen behind him, a massive slide appeared in stark white letters:

THP: THE HOMOGENIZATION PROJECT

Several of the men squinted. A few adjusted glasses. One or two nodded in premature approval, as if the name alone had sold them. Slate clasped his hands behind his back.

“Gentlemen… society has failed. Democracy has failed. Education has failed. The market,” he cast a look at Elliot, “has not entirely failed, but the customers have.”

Elliot nodded gravely.

“The problem is that people think too much, feel too much, disagree too much. They innovate incorrectly. They aspire incorrectly. They vote incorrectly. They form relationships incorrectly.”

He raised a finger.

“And some of them,” he added, “are women.”

(Nods. Several satisfied sighs. Somebody muttered: “Finally someone says it.”)

Slate continued.

“We need a society that is simple. Predictable. Obedient. Unburdened by high cognition, existential dread, or excessive personality traits.”

He clicked to the next slide:

PHASE 1: UNIVERSAL TRANSFORMATION

“And the solution,” Slate said, pacing slowly, “is to remake the world’s population into something more manageable. To eradicate variance. To standardize humanity.and to do this we must transform them.”

The room buzzed with various reactions of shock, amusement, and lots of confusion. Holmes Price gave a suspicious glance at Grayson, waiting to see where he was going with this. 

“We will transform every person, across all nations, all ages, all identities, into a narrow demographic range: approximately sixteen to thirty-seven, all male, all engineered with predetermined personalities that are simple, agreeable, predictable, and entirely loyal to the new world order.”

A complete silence. Then someone asked:

“…Like… like NPCs?”

“Better,” Slate said cheerfully. “Like influencers. But stupider.”

The room erupted in impressed murmurs.

“And what,” Holmes asked, “will these… men… act like?”

“Whatever we tell them to,” Slate replied. “They are perfectly content doing what they are told.   To be quite crude they’ll be dumb, the kind of dumb that will maximize our profits.”

Bruce let out a low whistle. “That’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Holmes leaned forward. “And how do you propose we accomplish this?”

“Transformation technology,” Slate said casually, like it was the kind of thing one might pick up at Target. “I’ve partnered with some specialists. Ancient biotech. Experimental materials. Nanostructural behavioral rewriting. A little alchemy. The details don’t matter.”

“So they don’t get a choice in the matter, I assume,” Holmes asked, at a confirming nod from Stone. He leapt to his feet, going off at the CEO. “This is completely unethical, Grayson. I don’t understand what’s happened to you. I don’t know about the rest of these men, but it will have no part in this.” He left out the conference room door in a huff. 

Garyson tapped his foot. He said something into his ear piece. All of a sudden a scream could be heard, echoing throughout the conference room. The distinct sound of Holmes muffled curses gave the men lounging around the room a vivid picture of what had just happened in the hall. The room grew tense as Stone gave the rigid room a big grin.

“What matters,” he continued brightly, “is distribution.”

And suddenly the screen shifted again:

PHASE 2: PRODUCT-BASED DELIVERY

Elliot’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re going to transform people with… consumer goods?”

Slate nodded. He gestured to a large screen set into the wall.

“Observe.”

File Name: SF-CR-Jeep

Manufacturing details: produced by Jeep then customized by Graystone detailing

Key transformation components: Saltwater Infusion - Vehicle’s metal frame pressure-washed internally with Pacific seawater containing dissolved surfer archetype energy signatures.

Leather Treatment - Interior leather soaked in Sex Wax–derived conditioning compounds, optimized for inducing neurological chill-out responses and cognitive downgrades.

Cabin Vapor System - Emits micro-mists of sunscreen, ocean breeze chemicals, and “perpetual vacation” pheromones.

Drive-Cycle Activation - Transformation accelerates with vehicle movement; vibration synced to mimic wave motion, inducing identity regression and brain reprogramming.

Testing: an oversized, aggressive, slate-gray Jeep—wheels raised, surfboard rack attached, smelling faintly of saltwater was parked on the side of the road. 

An intern stepped towards it, you could tell he was an intern based on the way he carried himself, with meek manners and a sense of humility about him, his small body shoved in an ill fitting pair of pants and oversized blazer. 

Obviously confused, rummaging around himself only to find keys that matched the unknown car in his pants pocket. Clearly exhausted, he shrugged and got in the car. As he drove, something started to happen.

The wind tossed his hair as it became sun bleached. His clothing tightened around growing muscles, before reforming entirely into a bright T-shirt and shorts. He grinned in a dopey sort of way as he cruised down a coastal highway. 

“Brooo,” he said, voice cracking with surfer slang, “life is literally vibes, man.” 

He didn’t even know what an accountant is anymore. Totally  carefree surfer dude. His brain just… washed clean. All he cares about now is waves, suntan oil, and saying ‘heyyy brahh.’ 

The Jeep horn beeped with a jaunty little rhythm.

File Name: (F)JOK-SE-Football

Manufacturing details: manufactured entirely by Graystone Labs: THP division

Key transformation components: Injected Youth Hormones - Leather panels infused with proprietary AdoLEssence™ hormonal cocktail engineered to induce teenage-body regression. 

Paint Mixture -

1/3 standard field paint

1/3 “biological extract” from retired NFL donors

1/3 stabilized adolescent athletic pheromonee 

Contact-Triggered Hormonal Aerosolization - Heat from handling releases micro-particles targeting muscle density, aggression, and ego inflation.

Second Testing: Holmes Price sat on the metal bleachers, very angry at being forced against his will to come to such a place.  The sixty-year-old CEO stood with arms folded defensively. 

A football was tossed at him. He caught it reflexively, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a standard-looking varsity football. Except it wasn’t: The leather pulsed faintly, like it had a heartbeat.

Instantly, his wrinkles began fading. His shoulders broadened. Hair thickened, then fell into the perfect teenage-quarterback flop that was quickly covered by a hat. His suit vanished into thin air. His brain rewriting itself in real time.

He blinked, confused. “Coach?? Practice already?? I didn’t—uh—I didn’t hear the whistle, dude.”

He jogged onto the field, shouting “LET’S GO, BABYYYY!” Not a single thought to his old life. 

File Name: PR-EB-Gray Goose vodka

Manufacturing details: sponsored by Gray Goose liquor and developed in partnership 

Key transformation components: Posh Chemical Additives - Infusion of investor approved synthetic preppy pheromones.

Youth Hormones - Same AdoLEssence™ base as [REDACTED], reformulated for oral absorption.

Bottle Composition - Glass blended with micro-shards from upscale Vineyard Vines store displays, containing residual “country-club brainwave patterns.”

Blood Alcohol Delivery - Alcohol carries identity-lowering compounds that target verbal processing and color preference centers through bloodstream. 

Testing: The glaring, ice-filled wine chiller caught her eye. She was in her forties,a mid-level marketing executive, at a company party that she was NOT enjoying, but something on the drink cart had kept her from leaving. Inside the chiller sat a single glass bottle of vodka.

It fizzed faintly, even unopened. The woman opened the bottle and took a sip from it directly. Her eyes widened, it was delicious. She quickly moved to mix it around with some fruit juices on the bar cart.

As he did so, her hair shortened, then turned sandy-blond, then popped upward into the perfectly obnoxious swoop favored by boys named Chase. Her frame sharpened into lean teenage athleticism, her face youthful beauty Her blouse rewove itself into a colored polo layered over an expensive jacket.

His voice cracked as she stared at the party of people he no longer recognized. “Bro… what the heck… it’s time for lacrosse practice??”

He left the party in a rush. Now a dense preppy teenage boy. The kind to grow up in a private school and never be told no. Sweater-over-shoulders energy. A bit clueless but completely harmless. 

Slate walked between the presenters, hands clasped behind his back.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this is only the beginning. If we can transform individuals through cars, sports equipment, beverages—imagine what we can do when we distribute these globally.”

He clicked to the final slide:

PHASE 3: MASS ADOPTION — FULL WORLD CONVERSION IN 18 MONTHS

“Automobiles. Footwear. Sodas. Toys. Gym equipment. Household appliances. Toiletries. We partner with every major manufacturer. We embed transformation catalysts into the supply chain.”

He paused.

“We don’t need to force anyone. They’ll transform themselves.”

The men around the table began whispering excitedly, the overlapping hum of eleven egos seeing their legacy written across the next century and the fear of ending up like Holmes if they declined. 

Someone asked, “What about resistance?”

Slate shrugged. “They’ll be too stupid to resist.”

Elliot asked, “What about government interference?”

“Governments won’t be able to function now,” Slate said dryly. “Imagine how easy they’ll be to manage when every world leader is a twenty-year-old dude named Kyle.”

Laughter rippled, cold and certain. The businessmen leaned back, satisfied. Every one of them imagined a world shaped like a beer commercial, run by the least threatening demographic imaginable.

A world of bros. A world they could finally, perfectly control. Slate raised his glass.

“All I need from you is your funding.”

Eventually, a full scratching of pens filled the room, as every single businessman signed a contract, giving Greystone industries full access to their funding and resources. Yet as the last lines were signed, something began to happen. 

Their faces began to get smoother, their appearances more youthful. A couple tried to sound the alarm, but their panicked shouts quickly turned into mindless grins. Their suits transformed into tiny shorts showing off massive legs. Their jackets becoming an assorted mix of tops: tank tops, t-shirts, one’s button down shirt melted away completely leaving behind a bare chest, showing off thick muscles. 

Stone watched all this with a grin, he already had their money, he had no need for these men now. He poured himself more whisky, as he watched his old friend Elliot complete his transformation. Elliot’s gained muscle quickly becoming  a sun darkened tan, his hair gaining a touch of the sun as well with streaks of blonde running through it. He lifted his tie dye shirt and grinned up at Grayson flirtatiously but without recognition. Stone looked over the rest of the men as they finished as well. Their hair styled in various trendy dos, some covered by baseball caps. Some glanced at him with dull, glazed over eyes.

 He gave them all a final glance as he left the room. Knowing that his transportation department would teleport the room and the boys inside to a frat house in a coastal town. There had been many discussions on what would be the best to transform the investors to, options ranging from boy band to hockey team had been discussed before landing on the idea of a frat house. An addition that would be unnoticed wherever they relocated them, but soon people would notice the growing number of young men. Things were about to change, and Grayson Stone had many many many plans. 

(New series, so excited!! wanted to do like short stories to help get my creativity pumping. This is an introduction so it’s more cohesive, but I will have more anthology kind of stuff in this series. Will probably continue this whenever I kind of just feel like making little one shots. Obviously this story is inspired by dumb and jocked’s the businessmen, all credit to them with the original idea. )

[salmonskinrolltf]

Short: Only a Fan

[Quick mental TF. Content Warning for mild gay-to-straight themes. Read my ethos on G2S stories here. Thank you to @twistedtfs for the second gif and @misctf for the final image.]

Not to brag, but sometimes I can’t believe how hot my boyfriend, Nick, is. And it’s so sweet, because he treats me like I’m completely out of his league! Look at him nervously adjusting his hair as we prepare for a bit of Zoom sex while he’s on his business trip.

He greets me in his oh-so soft voice, we catch up about our days for a bit, and then we get down to business. He loves it when I tell him what to do. I tell him to tweak his left nipple, and he does, moaning with pleasure. I tell him to run his hand through that forest of delicious chest hair and he does. I slow my stroking down, because I’m already dangerously close and I haven’t even seen his dick yet.

I tell him to grab it, tantalizingly out of frame, and he does. His face lights up, awash with erotic ecstasy, as if this is the first time he’s ever felt this good. It turns me on so much that I’m doing this to him. I tell him to stroke it, slowly, and he does, his eyes going heavy-lidded.

He starts getting into it, stroking faster. I don’t want him to get too ahead of himself, so I tell him to slow back down, and he… doesn’t. “Baby?” I say. “Can you hear me?”

He doesn’t respond, but as I’m testing out my audio settings, I turn up the volume on my headphones and I can hear faint female moaning in the background. And a man grunting. Is Nick watching porn in another window? I feel hurt at first, but I'm sure I'm just imagining things.

I try calling his name again, but he clearly can’t hear me, so I open the Zoom chat.

Baby, can you hear me? Why aren’t you responding?, I type with one hand, my stroking growing even slower.

He just keeps jerking his cock. He starts to grunt, the noise sounding deeper than it usually does.

I go to type in the chat again, but I notice that there are more messages there than before. Did he respond?

No, he didn’t. But it seems like Zoom is glitching. My own message is being repeated, in a bunch of random permutations. Is it just regurgitating everything I’ve ever typed to him? The messages are popping up, almost too fast to read.

Nick, why aren’t you responding to me?

Baby, read my messages!

Darling, you’re looking so hot tonight, you should run your fingers through your chest hair.

Nick, we should collab sometime!

What? That last one seems weird. I've definitely never said that. I look closer and realize that it was a message from a completely different user. Had other people hacked our private Zoom? I force quit the Zoom app, but Nick still fills my screen, jerking and grunting even faster now.

I realize that somebody must have hacked our call, because his feed is being pumped directly into some camboy chat site that has automatically opened on my computer. That probably explains the hetero porn noises I was hearing. I guess that was coming from some pop-up or something on my end.

It dawns on me what all those other messages are. They're from people watching my boyfriend jerk off! What the fuck? I feel a surge of jealousy and start typing furiously.

Baby, you need to call me right now.

He doesn’t seem to notice my message among the deluge of commenters. I try again.

Baby, I love you. Please stop ignoring me, this is serious.

Nothing. One more try.

Baby, why aren’t you responding to my messages?

That seems to catch his attention. His gaze slowly lifts from his dick. Thank goodness. He had been caught up in the moment, but now his attention is returning to me. He would end the feed, call me, and we would laugh about this embarrassing hack.

His sweet, doleful eyes look directly at me.

I let go of my now limp cock, suddenly realizing I was still holding it. Nick opens his mouth and says, “Dude, you know I only respond to messages if you tip. 10 tokens per message. 100 tokens gets you a pic. And 1000 tokens gets you a private show.”

What the hell? Does he not recognize my username or something? I type again.

Baby, it’s me, Garrett. Please talk to me.

He looks at the message with absolutely no recognition in his eyes. “Garrett, being annoying will only get you banned. If I chatted with everybody who asked me to without tipping, I’d be on here all day every day. And I’ve got a date with my girlfriend tonight, so…”

He gives another few quick grunts. Cum splatters all over his chest, twinkling in the mat of hair I love to run my tongue through. The feed goes dead, leaving me sitting alone, naked, in my dark bedroom.

Fuck, that Nick guy is so hot. I hate when he cums before I do, forcing me to find some other feed to get off to. I start stroking my cock again and click through the other feeds, finding a hot cub lounging in his underwear.

My half-mast dick turns rock hard. That’ll do.

With one hand, I type.

Baby, you’re so sexy.

Baby, I love you.

Baby, why aren’t you responding to my messages?

[oddityfactory]

The Circus Strongman

The young man had been walking by the old abandoned circus behind the town's parade grounds. He was never sure how long it had been there, but it had always been a moldering heap as long as he could remember.

This is why, as he walked by he was surprised to see that a few of the lights around the big tent were on. He hadn't even realized there was electricity out here; he didn't hear any generator. As he stepped off the path to get a better look, the lights on the gate to the big tent illuminated, CIRCUS was spelled out in the amber glow of ancient incandescent light bulbs.

The young many decided to investigate. Obviously someone was doing something in there. Maybe this wreck was finally going to become something again? He curiously walked along the muddy path past various carnival-type ephemera from years gone by.

Parting the vaguely-damp tattered curtains, he entered the big top tent. Surprisingly, the area was lit, unsurprisingly it was as filthy and as run down as it had looked from the outside. Random platforms, fallen trapeze equipment, and even what looked like some discarded clothing littered the floor.

The young man stopped, he had almost tripped over an old barbell. It was the kind that just had metal spheres on the end instead of adjustable weight. When had they even used things like this? It must have been a part of some kind of strength performance.

Wondering who had turned on the lights, the young man said "Hello? Is anybody there?" into the cavernous old tent. There were shadows all around, and many places someone could be standing, out of sight.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a clown appeared. The clown appeared as dirty and worn-out as the circus. His sudden appearance and disheveled appearance gave the clown a profoundly sinister presence. The young man started at the clown in confusion.

"So...here to join the circus?" said the clown, "We've got a lot of positions open, but I know just what you're looking for."

The young man started. Somehow the clown was suddenly behind him, gripping his shoulder and leaning forward as if to confide some secret. The clown squeezed his bicep.

"Yes, I think you have a lot of potential. You just need a little practice" whispered the strange clown.

The clown placed something on the young man's face and pressed it on. A fake moustache? In some context that might be funny, but in this context, with no audience, it was just unexpected and frightening. He had to get away from this strange clown and out of this circus tent.

The young man started to say something, but the clown picked up the large rusty barbell from the floor, like it weighed nothing, and placed it into the young man's hands. Suddenly, the clown was gone. 

The young man was shocked again by the clown's disappearance, but his more immediate concern was the impossibly heavy weight now in his hands. Although the clown had handled this object with ease, the young man was almost pulled to the ground by the heavy iron. Even though the rusty metal was pressing into his hand, he found himself unable to drop it. In fact, he felt his hands gripping it tighter the lower he held the barbell.

He understood that if he could get the weight high enough, he might be able to let it go. It seemed impossible, but he was able to hold the weight without falling to the floor, maybe he could force it if he really tried.

Straining, he tried to lift the weight up. It seemed impossible, but each time he hefted it, he tried to control his breathing a bit more, be calm and slow about it. He realized he was holding it in place, he was beginning to lift it!

As he lifted the weight higher, his arms began to tremble. A drop of sweat rolled down his face and, annoyingly, got caught in his new moustache. Just a bit...further. His arms were trembling with strain, but he knew if he lowered it now he'd have to start all over again. He grunted with the strain and inched the bar higher.

He was so intent on lifting the bar, that he barely noticed his body beginning to expand with muscle. He noticed the sleeves of his shirt tearing as his biceps swelled outward. The straining muscles were rapidly leaving “average” behind and started to approach bodybuilder proportions. He was so intent on lifting the weight and the concentration required to keep it balanced, that he didn't have the time to try to understand why his shirt was suddenly so tight.

As his arms grew, the weight slowly inched upward, until finally it was at eye level. Still feeling some alien force holding his grip on the metal, he realized he'd have to get it higher. With his new strength, he skillfully adjusted his grip on the weight. With one last grunt he suddenly felt a burst of strength and lifted the weight high above his head, tearing the remainder of his shirt to ribbons. The remains of the shirt fell away from his body as he triumphantly held the weight.

He held the weight there a few moments, victorious. He had done it, he'd beaten that clown and did the impossible. He felt powerful. I wish someone had been here to see that performance! he thought.

Suddenly he remembered the whole reason why he had started lifting the bar in the first place. Bringing the bar down, he found he was now able to release it from his grip and let it fall to the floor. He did so carefully, and stood there panting.

After a few moments of recovery, he looked down at his body and was startled by what he saw. He knew his shirt had come off, but he wasn’t expecting what the shirt falling away had revealed. His torso, previously trim, but only slightly toned, was a rippling field of muscle. His arms had gone from unremarkably average to those of a heavy lifter. Luckily he’d been wearing shorts with an elastic waistband. The waistband was now taught over his dense midsection, but the legs of the shorts were what really seemed in danger of ripping, as formerly loose legs were stretched tightly over his tree trunk thighs. As he was starting to wonder how all this was possible just from lifting one weight, he felt a tingling over his skin. He noticed that his formerly smooth muscles now had tiny wispy hairs growing over them. The coating of peach fuzz rapidly darkened and thickened into dense body hair that spread its way over his new muscular form.

He looked down at his hairy muscular form in awe. Had the clown somehow done this? He thought maybe it was that fake moustache. He reached one of his enlarged hands to his upper lip and gave the moustache a tug. It was firmly connected to his face and felt like real hair. As the palm of his hand brushed across his chin, he could feel a roughness. Even though his chin was clean shaven, he knew that he was now capable of growing a thick beard. 

He ran his hands across his chest. Where it had once been smooth, he now felt his fingers dragging through thick chest hair. His hand reached his bicep and he gripped it. His hands looked like they had also expanded and thickened, but even under his large hand his bicep was thicker than many men’s thighs. As he was trying to understand how this was possible, he felt his shorts shifting.

His shorts transformed into a woolen singlet before his eyes. It was form fitting and left little to the imagination. As the straps extended over his shoulders, he felt a wide leather belt snake around his waist and pull tight.

He looked down at this obvious magic with awe, unsure of what to do for a few moments. Then a strange feeling came on him. His eyes glazed over and looked far off as he began to think about his new body.

He loved this body! He had worked hard for it and needed to show it off. Even more importantly, he had to show people his strength. He knew he could now dazzle people with feats of strength he had never dreamed of before. A euphoric quiescence descended onto his thoughts, as his concerns were replaced with a devotion to performance, and a desire to return this circus to its former glory.

The Circus, having gained a new performer, started to look a bit less grimy, less shabby. It was still obviously abandoned, but it went from looking like it was only fit for demolition to simply looking damaged and neglected.

A burnt out light bulb suddenly returned to life, spilling light on a painted panel. Peeling paint adhered itself back to wood. The design became readable again: See the Strongman! with an old fashioned circus painting of a muscular fellow with a moustache. 

As the new strongman walked over to the panel, his wool singlet changed to a red one and his shoes transformed into calf-high leather boots. He struck a muscular pose, filled with feelings of showmanship and bravado. 

Deep in the shadows of the abandoned circus the clown's lips formed a smile. Even in the shadows the clown could tell he was a little less dirty, a bit stronger. And why shouldn't he be? His circus had a brand new performer.

The clown pressed the tips of his fingers together and grinned. With just a few more performers, this circus would be back in working order.

[sdonovan91-deactivated20240907]

Jonathan's younger brother, Miles, an 18 year-old high school senior who dominated the stoner crowd with the lackadaisical will of someone himself a stoner, abhorred Jonathan's predilection for academia and penchant for rule-following. At 23, Jonathan often rebuffed Miles's immature behavior, and would roundly thwart his attempts to procure alcohol and THC products. If only, Miles would dreamily muse, he were 21 and could do the same to Jonathan.

Luck, the fickle plaything of the eldritch and their desperate beneficiaries, found its way to Miles in a new form of cannabis. If the instructions were correct, he need only inhale, wish and exhale, with the kinetic force of desire. He wasted no time. The effect, it read, would be instantaneous and irremediable because this was the "good shit Dionysus had grown." Whatever the fuck that meant, Miles thought.

Jonathan was seated firmly in his carrel when he smelled it. Burnt marijuana, emanating from an unidentifiable source. It grew in intensity, as he thrust himself upward, knocking over his precarious stack of books, while frantically trying to rid himself of the cloying scent. It was him. It was coming from his mouth, his nose, his pores.

He reached down to grab his cellphone, only to find a scrawny, pale chest and the tawdry gray Fruit of the Looms he knew Miles was accustomed to wearing. The dank, maroon carpet met his bare feet and he gave them an exploratory wiggle. As the scent occluded his thoughts, he reached down and gave his member a tentative squeeze, the juvenile gesture of his bemused mind. Again. He tried to recall what he was looking for, while absently stroking, when his syncopated thoughts were themselves interrupted by a laugh.

Jesse, Miles's burnout best friend, was laughing and pointing like a child. "Dude, quite wanking that puny cock and tell me!"

"Uhhh," Jonathan marshaled his tongue slowly, hearing Miles's soft, slow voice. "Did what work?"

"The weed, dumbass," came Jesse's retort! "Must have just made you fucking horny! Come on, let's go before Jonathan gets home!"

Jonathan tried to protest but he couldn't. This was some good shit, as they say.

[potentialguybodyswaps]

Tbh one of my favorite captions ever, I’m pretty sure I made a story based off this picture

[zadenight]

Wouldn't you love to wake up in that hot body and just be a cool dude meathead stoner named Tim? Forget about the old you, nothing to worry about bro! Being Tim feels great!