Male TF - soccer TF - arab TF - brotherhood TF
Edward stepped onto the dusty field, his sneakers crunching the loose gravel beneath. The sun beat down, and the air was thick with the dry, warm scent of earth. He hesitated, his heart thudding in his chest as he surveyed the group of men in front of him. All of them wore crisp white football jerseys, the kind that gleamed under the sun, paired with matching kufis — traditional caps that contrasted sharply with their dark skin. Their uniforms seemed out of place on this small, rundown field, giving them an almost ethereal aura. They moved fluidly together, like a well-rehearsed team, speaking to each other in Arabic, their voices low but filled with camaraderie.
Edward shifted on his feet, feeling a gnawing sense of unease. He had never been in a situation like this before. His own t-shirt and shorts felt too casual, too different. It wasn't just the way they looked or how they dressed — there was something about the ease with which they interacted that made him feel like an outsider. As if he had wandered into a world that wasn’t his.
One of the players, a tall man with broad shoulders and a warm smile, noticed him standing awkwardly at the edge of the field. He waved Edward over, the sun reflecting off the gold bracelet on his wrist.
"Hey, you must be Edward, right?" the man called, his accent thick but his English smooth. "Come on, don't be shy. We're just getting started."
Edward nodded stiffly and took a few hesitant steps forward, feeling every eye on him. His pulse quickened. What am I doing here? he wondered. But he didn’t have time to dwell on the question. The tall man extended a hand toward him.
"I'm Khalid," he introduced himself, gripping Edward's hand firmly. "Glad you could join us today."
"Yeah, thanks for having me," Edward replied, trying to sound casual. His voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Another player, a stocky guy with a neatly trimmed beard, patted Edward on the back. "Don't worry, man," he said, grinning. "We don’t bite. We’re all brothers here."
Edward forced a smile, but the word "brother" made his stomach turn. These men, despite their friendliness, felt like strangers. Something about the way they carried themselves, with quiet confidence and an unspoken bond, only made Edward more self-conscious.
"We’ve got a kit for you," Khalid said, pointing toward the locker room. "It’s in the back. Go get changed, and we’ll kick off in a few minutes."
Edward hesitated, glancing over his shoulder toward the small building that served as their locker room. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him, waiting. He forced himself to nod again and made his way across the field, the uneasy feeling lingering as he stepped inside the dimly lit room.
The locker room smelled of sweat and damp fabric, the scent clinging to the air. It was small, almost claustrophobic, with rows of old metal lockers lining the walls. Edward spotted the one left open for him and cautiously approached it. Inside, neatly folded on the bench, was a white football jersey with the number 30 printed on the back. The fabric felt smooth under his fingers, and when he held it up to examine it, he noticed that the front was adorned with swirling Arabic script.
He squinted at the writing, trying to make sense of the letters, but they were unfamiliar, a language he didn’t understand. A frown creased his brow. Why give me this? he wondered. He had his own football gear, his own shoes and jersey, waiting in his bag. But something about the uniform in front of him felt… unavoidable.
He slipped off his own t-shirt and shorts, feeling a strange pull to put on the kit they’d left for him. As he slipped the jersey over his head, it fit snugly, as though it had been tailored for him. The number 30 clung to his back, solid and firm. He bent down to pick up the cleats at the bottom of the locker. They were immaculate, polished white leather, a size too big, but surprisingly light.
“Weird,” he muttered, turning the shoes in his hands. he put them back in their place in the locker and took out clean crampons, perfectly fitted, from his bag.
And then, on the top shelf of the locker, he saw it — a white kufi, just like the ones the other players wore. It looked simple, yet it had an odd allure. Edward’s heart quickened. His instincts screamed at him to leave it where it was, to stop playing along with whatever this was. But instead, he found himself reaching for it.
The moment his fingers touched the soft fabric, a strange warmth pulsed through him, spreading from his hand to the rest of his body. It was almost soothing, yet foreign, like stepping into warm water after a chill. Without thinking, he placed the kufi on his head.
At first, everything seemed normal. He stared at his reflection in the mirror across the room — the white jersey clinging to his lean frame, the kufi perched awkwardly atop his brown hair. He looked ridiculous. Out of place. A foreigner pretending to be part of something that wasn’t his. He laughed nervously, feeling absurd.
But the warmth in his body began to intensify, growing hotter, spreading down his neck, into his chest, into his arms. Edward froze, his breath catching in his throat as the heat became almost unbearable. His skin tingled, as though it was being touched by invisible hands.
The warmth quickly became a burning heat. Edward gasped, his body stiffening as sweat began to bead on his forehead. It was as if a furnace had been lit inside him. His skin prickled and tightened, his heart thundering in his chest. He pulled at the collar of his jersey, trying to cool down, but it was no use.
He stumbled back, bracing himself against the cold metal of the locker behind him. The sensation was overwhelming, like fire coursing through his veins. And then, he saw it — his skin, once pale, was darkening before his eyes.
“No, no, no!” Edward cried, staring in disbelief as the pale flesh of his arms shifted to a deep, olive-brown hue. His hands trembled, and he wiped frantically at his arms as if the color would rub off, but it only continued to spread.
Panic surged through him as he looked down at his legs. They were darkening too, the skin turning the same rich shade. He felt a sudden surge of heat behind his eyes, and his reflection in the mirror blurred momentarily before coming back into focus.
"This can’t be real!" he shouted.
Edward’s breath came in ragged gasps as he forced himself to look in the mirror. What he saw made his stomach drop. His face… it wasn’t his face anymore.
His once sharp, angular features had softened into a rounder, fuller visage. His nose had grown more prominent, his cheekbones less defined, and his jaw had shifted to a broader shape. His hair, once a sandy brown, had darkened considerably, taking on a deep brown hue. The stranger in the mirror wore Edward's uniform, but his body, his face… belonged to someone else.
“I… I don’t recognize myself…” Edward whispered, his voice trembling with fear and confusion. He touched his face with shaking fingers, tracing the unfamiliar contours of his nose, his jawline, his brow. The skin beneath his touch felt real, warm and alive. But it wasn’t his.
The man staring back at him had the features of an Arab man. His brown eyes — no, Edward’s eyes — stared back with shock and horror, yet they looked entirely different. His breath hitched, and he clutched the edge of the sink to steady himself, blinking rapidly to clear the dizzying sense of unreality. But the reflection stayed the same.
Suddenly, an excruciating pain shot through his feet, pulling his attention away from his transformed face.
The pain in his feet became unbearable, as though his bones were being forcibly stretched. He groaned and collapsed onto the bench, frantically tearing at the laces of the cleats. The shoes had become impossibly tight, squeezing his feet as if they were trapped in a vice.
With a desperate tug, he yanked them off, gasping as the pressure released. But his relief was short-lived. His feet were swelling, growing right before his eyes. His toes lengthened, his heels widened, and his arches stretched unnaturally.
“What the hell is happening to me?” Edward groaned, clutching his feet as they expanded into broad, muscular shapes. His once narrow feet, which had fit perfectly into his own cleats just moments ago, had transformed into large, powerful limbs that no longer resembled his own.
He tried to stand, but the pain in his legs was growing now, shooting up from his feet into his calves and thighs.
Edward stumbled to his feet, but the pain only intensified. He clutched his arms, feeling the muscles beneath his skin swell and harden. His biceps, once lean and unremarkable, began to throb as they ballooned outward, stretching the fabric of his jersey tight around his arms. His forearms thickened, the veins pulsing visibly under his darkened skin.
He gasped as his shoulders broadened, his chest expanding with each labored breath. His jersey, once loose and comfortable, now clung to him like a second skin, stretched tight across his growing frame.
He gritted his teeth as the pain spread further. His forearms looked thick, powerful, his veins standing out like ropes beneath his skin. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strength in them, the weight of his own limbs.
But the transformation wasn’t done. Edward felt the ache begin to settle in his back, low and insistent. He doubled over, gripping the bench for support as his spine stretched, his body lengthening. His torso grew longer, his legs more muscular, and his thighs thickened, filling the space in his shorts to their limit.
His calves, too, became solid and defined, muscles rippling under his now bronzed skin. Edward felt like a stranger in his own body, the limbs before him belonging to someone else — someone stronger, taller, more imposing.
He tried to catch his breath, his mind racing, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his body wasn’t his anymore. The sensation of strength and power was overwhelming, but so was the sense of loss, the creeping realization that he was becoming someone else entirely.
The ache in Edward’s back grew unbearable, as if his spine was being stretched beyond its natural limit. He let out a groan and collapsed onto the floor, his body convulsing as the pain surged down his spine. His torso lengthened, his bones cracking and reshaping. His muscles stretched and bulged, making him taller, more powerful. His legs, already muscular, grew even longer, and his thighs thickened with cords of muscle.
His shorts strained against the sheer size of his thighs, the fabric barely holding on as they expanded, taking on the strength and mass of a professional athlete. The sensation of his legs elongating, becoming more solid and powerful, was dizzying. Edward couldn’t tell where the pain ended and the strength began. His calves bulged, sculpted and firm, carrying the weight of his new body as his feet finally found their balance.
Edward staggered to his feet, panting, his entire body tingling with newfound power. His legs felt foreign yet undeniably strong, and his back, now straightened and stretched, stood taller than ever before. He had to be at least six inches taller than he’d been when he walked into the locker room. Every movement felt alien — his limbs moving with an effortless strength that felt unnatural to him. But the transformation wasn’t over yet.
A new pain erupted below his waist, sharp and insistent, unlike anything he’d felt before.
Edward's breath hitched as a sharp, almost electric pain shot through his groin. His hands instinctively went to his crotch, but his fingers trembled as they met a horrifying reality — his genitals were changing, growing.
He gasped, his heart pounding as he felt his penis lengthen, thickening in his grasp. The sensation was both agonizing and terrifyingly surreal. His testicles swelled as well, becoming heavy and large, straining against the tightness of his shorts. The pain was intense, his groin throbbing with the pressure of the transformation, his mind overwhelmed by the sensation.
“What… what is this…?” Edward muttered through gritted teeth, his voice shaking. He was no longer just watching his body change — he was feeling it from within, the undeniable growth and expansion of his manhood turning his entire body into something else, someone else.
The pain in his groin began to subside, leaving a dull throb, but the weight of his new anatomy remained. His shorts were painfully tight now, barely containing his enlarged genitals. He felt the pressure ease as the waistband loosened slightly, stretching to accommodate his new size. It was an overwhelming sensation, the physical manifestation of his change reaching its final stage.
But the transformation wasn’t only physical. Edward’s head began to throb as a new wave of pain surged through his mind.
A violent migraine struck Edward, sending him crashing to his knees. He clutched his head as images, words, and sensations flooded his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the intense rush of foreign thoughts and memories.
The Arabic script on his jersey… it was suddenly clear. Ayman, it read. His name was Ayman. He could read the letters effortlessly now, as if they had always been familiar. The language, the writing — they all made sense.
As the pain in his head began to settle, more strange thoughts and emotions flooded in, reshaping the very fabric of who Edward had been. He suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of fraternity with the men waiting for him outside — his brothers, the team. There was a deep bond between them, a connection forged not just through sport but through something much greater.
Fragments of religious understanding began to fill his mind. The fundamentals of Islam, prayers, beliefs, rituals — all of it became crystal clear in an instant. Words and phrases in Arabic, once incomprehensible, now flowed naturally in his thoughts. He understood them instinctively, as if he had always known them. La ilaha illallah, Muhammadur rasulullah — the central declaration of faith, familiar and comforting, now part of his very soul.
His worldview was shifting, his sense of self dissolving. His thoughts, once scattered and fearful, grew focused and clear. He saw purpose where there had been confusion. His posture changed, more upright and confident, his movements more deliberate, with a newfound grace and strength. His whole being felt reoriented, aligned with a new reality.
Edward — or was it Ayman now? — no longer felt the frantic panic of transformation. Instead, there was clarity, calmness, as if he had always been this person. This man.
The pain finally ebbed, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread across his entire body. Ayman stood there, breathing deeply, feeling the lingering heat dissipate, leaving behind only a deep sense of strength and well-being. His muscles, once foreign and terrifying, now felt natural, as if he had always been this strong, this powerful. He looked down at his newly transformed body, flexing his arms, feeling the solid weight of his biceps, the firmness of his chest.
A broad smile spread across his face as he ran his hands over his abs, feeling the smooth, defined muscles beneath his shirt. His torso had grown broad, sturdy, and strong, his arms thick and muscular. He chuckled softly, his voice deeper now, more resonant. There was no fear left, only a strange sense of satisfaction. He wasn’t Edward anymore. Not really. He was Ayman.
His reflection in the mirror no longer felt foreign. It felt right. The tall, dark-skinned man staring back at him — that was who he was now. His lean, weak frame was gone, replaced by a towering, muscular physique. His kufi rested snugly on his head, completing the transformation.
He laughed again, the sound rich and full, echoing in the small locker room. The laughter surprised him, but it felt good. He was someone new, someone different. And it felt… right.
Just then, the door to the locker room swung open, and his teammates — his brothers — stepped inside, applauding and cheering.
“Ayman!” they called out, clapping him on the back, grinning at him with wide smiles. They gathered around him, their eyes filled with pride.
Khalid, stepped forward and placed a hand on Ayman’s shoulder. “Welcome, brother,” he said, his voice deep with sincerity. “You are part of us now. You are part of something greater.”
Ayman smiled, feeling the weight of the words settle within him. His transformation wasn’t just physical — it was spiritual, mental. He wasn’t alone anymore. He was part of the brotherhood, a fraternity bound by something far more powerful than the game they played.
“The ummah is rising,” Khalid said, his eyes gleaming with conviction. “And now, Ayman, you stand with us. The Arab supremacy is in motion, and you, our brother, have joined our ranks.”
Ayman nodded, the name "Edward" already fading from his mind. He was Ayman now, in body, in spirit, and in purpose. And as his brothers cheered around him, he couldn’t help but smile — for the first time in his life, he felt like he truly belonged.
