Jasper Enoch Rolls - part-time writer, full-time monster. I mostly write transformation fetish stories, but I'm looking to expand my base beyond fetish and sex stuff. I'm available for commission, so hit me up if you're interested. My main blog is jasper-rolls
Hi there folks. I’m opening for commissions now, with 3 slots available. Commission details can be found at this link.
BaekSangeo
Molotoxic
Valeyard
I would like to focus on weight gain stuff this time - I feel like I’ve been pigeonholed somewhat into doing muscle growth, and while I do enjoy it, it’s not really my main passion, and my general unfamiliarity with bodybuilding makes it hard for me to write sometimes (they are the stories with which I think most frequently that I’m essentially repeating the same lines, and I hate that feeling). So I’d like to get back to what it is I really like to do this time around. Contact details are in the link, or you can message me on here if you don’t have a Discord.
Hi there. Been a bit. I’ve been doing some commissions on a small basis on FurAffinity, but I thought the people who follow me here might appreciate this story I did for @aardvarkia, based on one of the grab bag stories. It’s some age progression and weight gain, as an American university student living in England and his English roommate get a bit more in touch with the roots of the country they’re living in.
I’ll be opening for commissions shortly, so please keep an eye out if this story interested you, and you’d like more.
---
It was a night after it had been raining all day. The pavements glittered like stars in the lamplight, in lieu of the actual stars above being blotted out by light pollution. Little puddles of rainwater reflected the tall buildings surrounding them, almost beckoning to another world - the same, but different. Somewhere down the street, there was the sound of thumping bass, as one of many nightclubs began to get into full swing, but here, it was somewhat quiet, the throng of shoppers from the middle of the day long gone. It was pleasant, and if you were inclined to look at it that way, there was a certain magic in the air.
However, as a chorus of raucous masculine laughter pierced the air, reacting to a joke, it was clear none of the ‘lads’ here were currently inclined to see the beauty in peace. Their destination was the thumping bass line down the street. They were only a little bit tipsy. For them, the night had barely even begun.
Most of them were the typical English pub-crawler, 18-20 year old university students looking for a night to cut loose and go wild after a week of buckling down in lectures, but one of them was slightly removed by his accent - rather than the lout-ish bark of his English friends, he had a fairly metropolitan American accent. He could be just as loud as any of them, louder even, but it was just in a different kind of way.
Carter had spent his life up until now on the richer side of the American suburbia - not exactly super wealthy, but a comfortable lifestyle. That comfort had been boring in its own way, though, and it was that boredom that had made Carter want to reach beyond his normal boundaries when he hit the age of adulthood. After a year and a bit of jet-setting around, he’d decided to settle in London, England to take a degree in studying law. He wasn’t even really sure if law was what he wanted to do, but it would certainly look nice on that CV.
He was very much the young handsome man aunts had told him he was. A clean shaven, pleasantly angular face with some high cheekbones, and a small but slender nose between two bright blue eyes. His face was surrounded by a halo of curly blonde hair that came down to his shoulders. He had a fairly athletic form, making sure to make use of the university gym every week, in particular the pool, which had given him a loose approximation of a swimmer’s body. It wasn’t something he excelled at, but he enjoyed it all the same.
It had taken a good couple of months to him to get used to the English way of doing things, and he was still learning new things - in a lot of ways, it was a much more reserved country, and London was very much a small city to him. Carter had always been an outgoing sort though, and it hadn’t taken long for him to ingratiate himself with a group of friends. He’d been a little surprised that they could be just as rowdy as any of his friends back home, but he was glad to have the company. In particular, he’d become quite close with his roommate, Billy, a ginger-haired Birmingham born kid who was doing...something in the media, he could never quite remember. Carter mostly found himself bemused by Billy’s unusual accent, the way he stretched his vowels.
“Weren’t we gonna meet up with Liam before we went to LMNts?” Someone said, as the laughter died.
“Yeah, I’ll call him.” Carter offered, vaguely remembering the promise through a slight haze of alcohol. That was one thing to like about England - getting to drink 3 years earlier. He stuck his hand into the right pocket of his denim jeans, the one usually reserved for his phone, and felt that deep pang of anxiety, stopping in place as the others continued to walk, his hand connecting with nothing. “Fuck. Maybe I won’t.” He began patting the rest of his body in a mild panic, the pockets of his black leather jacket, the breast pocket of his turquoise blue polo shirt.
Billy was the first to turn back, a cheeky grin on his freckled face as he adjusted the blue waterproof over his own shoulders. “You lost your phone, mate?”
“I think I have.” Carter put the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Fuck. Shit, shit…” The slightly drunk joy he’d settled into was starting to descend into slightly drunk concern, and Billy picked up on this.
“Hey, hey, it’s no problem mate. Let’s just retrace our steps, alright?” Billy said, and turned back to the others as he went to Carter’s side. “You lads go on ahead, alright?” Billy yelled. “Carter’s lost his phone, we’re gonna go look for it.”
“Fair ‘nuff!” One of the others shouted back - a baseball cap wearing geordie named Connor - as they continued the way up the arcade, towards the nightclubs.
Carter and Billy began to retrace their steps down the streets they’d walked, Billy shining his own phone’s torch in a spotlight across the pavement, hoping rather impossibly to find a black smoother and sleeker among the knobbly black of the pavement, like trying to find sugar in a snowdrift. It didn’t take long before they had walked back the way they came, to the smart, clean cocktail bar they’d started the night at - Huntington’s.
The place had closed down about 10 minutes ago, but the lights were still on inside, and the workers behind the bar could be seen clearing up. Billy walked up to the window, and knocked on it, drawing the attention of one of the bartenders. Billy pointed to the door, and it was dutifully opened.
“I’m really sorry to do this.” Billy began by apologising. “But my mate lost his phone, and we think it might still be in here.”
“Umm…” The bartender who’d opened the door, a young girl in her early 20s, looked back behind her. “Sure, you can come check the lost and found.” She opened the door wide, and beckoned the two boys inside.
The atmosphere inside was a little strange - Huntington’s was hardly a place that was rocking with people all the time, but it still had a crowd, and it was strange to be on the premises while it was basically empty. The building was kept spick and span, and was hardly a place to get uproariously drunk. Glass tables, high stools to sit on, exposed brickwork, impressionist artwork hung on the walls, bright lighting...it gave a more artsy impression than the black walls and strobe lights that characterized a place like LMNts. It was the kind of place you went to pretend to be high class at a reasonable price.
Carter followed the girl towards the back of the bar, taking a moment to glance at her behind, in a manner that was perhaps less sly then he was imagining it in his slightly tipsy mind. Billy noticed this, and gave him a light punch on the arm. Carter smirked back at him, and gave him one back, as they entered into the small back room, a stark white space, where there was a cardboard box marked LOST AND FOUND.
“You’re looking for your phone, right? What kind is it?” The girl said, turning back to them, snapping them out of their jocular play-fight.
“Oh, uh, yeah...uh...it’s an iPhone 11.” Carter said, trying to pay attention. “Black. Got a pic of me on the lock screen, with my buddies.”
“Alright, give me a second.” The bartender said, turning back to the box. She rifled around inside it for a few moments, and let out a little sigh of frustration, pulling out a cane from the box. “Sorry, could you hold onto this?” She asked, holding the cane towards Carter. “It’s been in there for like a year, it’s just getting in the way. You can probably keep it, if you like.”
The cane was a fine looking thing, made of a high quality wood of some sort, carved as closely as possible into a perfectly straight line. Some black rubber sat at the bottom of the cane, and the handle was a smooth, ergonomic design, that would perfectly slot into the hand, attached to the length of the cane by a shiny golden band. Those in the know would describe it as a Derby cane - but Carter, still slightly buzzed, was definitely not in the know.
“Sure, why not.” Carter took the cane good-naturedly. “It’ll make a great replacement for a phone.
“Look at you, Mr. Fancy Lad.” Billy joked, as Carter twirled the cane around in his hand - it bopped Billy on the shoulder. “Ow, careful with that thing!”
Carter stopped spinning the cane, and putting on his best attempt at an upper crust English accent, stated, “I shall do as I like with my cane, Master William.” He gripped the cane by the handle, and placed it on the ground, leaning on it, to emphasise his point.
The universe rippled, but almost no-one noticed it.
“What the hell is that?” Billy laughed at Carter’s frankly awful accent. “Is that you trying to be Bri’ish?” He accused, doing the glottal stop on purpose this time.
Carter shrugged, holding onto the cane. “I don’t know, did it sound like it?” He asked, returning to his usual voice, trying to play it off. He tapped his foot against the floor to some unhearable rhythm, and with each tap, the trainers were starting to alter.
The bright white slowly tinged to grey, the swooshing light blue shapes that made up the brand of the shoe starting to unravel and fade. Muck and grime that had been splashed up from puddles on the sidewalk disappeared, removed by some unseen polish. The grey shifted to a shiny black, as the shoes lost extraneous unnecessary material that made them look bigger than they really were. The flat but wide white laces that bound the shoes turned black like the shoes they were attached to, and grew a lot thinner - like a plate of fettuccine pasta becoming a plate of spaghetti. The heels raised slightly, and the material hardened into a thinner but higher quality leather than the bulky trainers they had been mere seconds before.
“No, mate, it sounded like shit.” Billy giggled, giving Carter another punch on the arm, in retribution for the hit with the cane. Carter took the punch good-naturedly, but a frown flickered across his face. It was a bit rude...in all honesty, in quiet moments, Carter often thought he disliked how overtly rude some of his friendships were, under the guise of “banter”. Yeah, it was all in good fun, but it did bug him that sometimes the people he called his friends had said some incredibly mean things to him that he’d just had to...laugh about.
But admitting as such was a social death knell. He’d never say it out loud.
“Sorry, I can’t seem to find any phones in there.” The bartender said, coming out of the box, and turning around to face the boys. “That doesn’t mean it’s not here though. Do you wanna take a look around the building, see if you can find where you last left it?”
Carter turned to the young woman, putting both hands on the cane and leaning forward. His intent was to respond in the affirmative - but what came out instead was that awful mockery of an English accent. “Want to, young lady.” He said, smiling unevenly, the tipsiness apparent on his face. “Not ‘wanna’. One should always speak properly.” He reprimanded the bartender, who had raised an eyebrow at being called ‘young lady’.
“Fuck me.” Billy put a hand to his forehead. “Sorry about him, he gets like this sometimes when he’s drunk a few.” He said, and swatted at the cane to put Carter slightly off balance. “Finds a completely unfunny joke and then won’t let it go. Yeah, we can look around a bit.” He nodded.
“Where were you sitting?” The bartender asked, leading them out of the back room and into the main bar area, where a couple other workers were cleaning the tables. Carter smiled at them, feeling a weird sense of pride in seeing them work - enough to make him puff his chest out a bit. None of them seemed to notice him.
“Yeah, we were towards the back a bit, in one of the booths.” Billy said, pointing around the other side of the bar. The building was in a rather unusual U shape, with seating spaces flanking the bar at the center, before extending down the sides of the floor space. The group of friends had been sitting on the right side, at the far end.
Carter shifted his grip on the cane, holding it on one hand, gripped around the golden band, as he walked across the laminate flooring, his new shoes clicking somewhat loudly. He glanced down, noticing that Billy was also wearing oddly smart shoes for the night, but...well, he could hardly fault the man. He began to walk with a fairly wider stride, holding himself upright, mostly as part of the gag he was doing. He felt his back click silently, more used to being slightly hunched over.
With the attempt to keep his posture upright, his body reacted, and began to grow. His legs started to grow in width, his thighs developing a fair amount of muscle and mass on his limber bones. They were getting thicker, starting to fill out his jeans like meat filling the skin of a sausage, and with thicker thighs naturally came some wider hips.
There was a brief, uncomfortable ache, as his pelvis creaked, the bones stretching to suit the larger shape he was starting to grow into. His butt was filling out the seat of his pants, pressing somewhat tightly against the fabric as it grew plumper and softer. His belt strained against his wider frame, pinching his skin, but Carter ignored it for the moment, as his wide stride no longer became an act, and simply the manner in which he was best accustomed to moving around.
“This booth?” The bartender said, indicating the one they now came to, the one that was the furthest back.
“Yeah.” Billy nodded. “Come on.” He beckoned and put a knee on the seat of the booth, leaning over to search in the gap between the back of the booth’s seat and the cushions. Carter would’ve leapt into help, but he found himself at a pause, distracted by Billy leaning over, his butt pushing against the seat of his pants...Carter’s gaze lingered on it for an unusual length of time, his mind drifting. It wasn’t like he was looking at his friend as a prospect, he wasn’t...like that. He was just zoning--
“You gonna help your friend?” The bartender’s voice cut through his daydream.
Carter coughed. “Yeah. Yes. Yes.” He stammered briefly, and followed his friend, setting the can briefly to one side, leaning forward to check the other side of the booth for where his phone might have fallen. He felt his back click again, more painfully this time, and he let out a little grunt. As he leant forward, his spine stretched forward into the booth, causing him to bonk his head against the cushions, like he’d misjudged the distance. He began to dig his hands in the gaps between the cushions, trying to find the stray phone that had slipped out of its owner’s pockets.
As he bent over, stuck in a position where it would be difficult to see the rest of his body, the magic of the night seemed to take the opportunity to perform some further alterations. His butt had filled the seat of his jeans to maximum capacity - in fact, it was quite difficult to get it between the booth’s seating and the table that was nailed to the floor. It seemed large enough that it might cause damage - but then there was a shift, and suddenly, the hardy denim was being replaced, as a black wave spread from the beltline, down the legs of the jeans. A comfortable, high quality satin, perfectly cleaned, free of any blemishes, had replaced the slightly grubby jeans he’d been wearing a moment ago, a couple of sizes larger - but still tight enough to show off just how much larger his behind had become.
A grandfather had once told Carter that he had ‘piano playing fingers’ - long, slender, flexible. In truth, his hands had been used more often to play the keys of a computer keyboard than any piano he had shared a room with. However, as he focused on his fingers, hoping for them to reach out and touch something he couldn’t see, the changes that were moving through his body focused there.
The bones inside his hand creaked, as they began to grow, his palms filling out with flesh, becoming broader. His digits grew in thickness - retaining their length, but becoming much larger. Little hairs pushed out over his knuckles - in fact, underneath his clothes, body hair was growing everywhere. Small, wiry curls of hair, growing along his arms, on his chest. Just little patches for the moment, but with the promise of more to come. The only hint to Carter that he had suddenly become a bit more hirsute was a small curl of hair, poking out from under the sleeve of his jacket.
“Not finding anything on my side.” Billy remarked.
“No, I can’t seem to find anything here either…” Carter said, his voice sounding strained, like he was still trying to put on that fake voice. He frowned at himself. It was hardly the time to be joking around, he had his cellphone to find. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, and pulled back from out of the booth, with some slight difficulty. His belt was still pinching his waist, quite painfully now, like a dam holding back a raging tide.
“Are you still doing that voice?” Billy said, poking his head up as Carter unstuck himself from the booth.
“Ye-yes…” Carter said, as he straightened up, and his back popped, somewhat painfully this time. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to...stop…” His voice still just kept slipping into it. He put a hand to his mouth, and let out a rather loud cough, trying to clear his throat - there was a strangled stop, mid-cough, and as it resumed, it dipped into a lower octave. He put his hand to his chest. “Does...does that sound any better?” He asked, his voice lower, more rumbling and bassy - and still doing the upper class Englishman bit, but more successfully now. Even Billy couldn’t really fault it, rolling his eyes.
“What are your names?” The bartender asked, seeming a little fed up with them.
“Carther.” Carter said, frowning. Where had the ‘th’ come from?
“Bill.” Billy said, and Carter frowned again, turning to him. He’d never known Billy to go by Bill. He could’ve sworn he’d at least once listened to Billy talk about how much he hated Bill as an alternative version of his name.
“Alright, well...I think it’s alright to let you look around for a bit longer. Check the adjacent booths and such.” The bartender said. “But if you don’t find it, could I have your number, Bill? Write it down so we can call you if we find it.”
“Yep, alright then.” Bill nodded, and rattled off a number.
“Do you not have a mobile?” The bartender asked, writing the number down on her own phone. “This looks like a home number.”
“Oh, no ma’am.” Bill chuckled. “Don’t really like ‘em.” Carther was, again, confused by this statement. He was fairly sure Bill had a phone.
“Alright, well, I’ll leave you for a few minutes, ‘cause I have some cleaning up to do.” The bartender said. “But I think you’ll have to leave when I come back, if you haven’t found it.”
“Absolutely reasonable.” Bill nodded, politer than Carther had ever known him to be. “We’ll be out of your hair shortly.”
Carther picked up the cane again, holding onto the handle with both hands, as the bartender nodded and walked away. He looked at Bill. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked.
“I don’t know.” Bill shrugged, his own Brummie accent being twisted into his best approximation of an aristocratic type. “You’ve got me in a mood now, since you won’t let this gag go.” Carther gave a small laugh. “Shall we check the other booths?” He asked.
“Yes...probably for the best. I’d help, but I think that last one put my back out somewhat.” Carther remarked, putting his large hand gingerly against his spine. He glanced at Bill, and frowned. His eyes had fallen on his friend’s hair - or rather, one specific strand of hair that was quite a bit longer, and greyer, than the red hair it was set against.
“Bill, you’ve...your hair is turning grey.” Carther remarked, raising a hand to touch the unusual strand of hair.
“It is?” Bill replied, turning to look, and glancing at the hair in Carther’s hand. He seemed a bit confused, but shrugged it off. “Had to happen some time, didn’t it?” He remarked, smiling politely, and with that, he turned towards the next set of booths, beginning to seek for the missing smartphone amongst the cushions. Carthber? Had he misspoke?
Carther didn’t have much more time to think about it, however, as the pinching around his waist was becoming actively painful now. “Damned belt…” He grumbled under his breath, reaching for the buckle. His hand gripped the clasp, undoing it - and the dam broke.
The leather belt rapidly came undone, as his waist, free of obstruction, surged outwards in every direction. Backwards, plumping those buttocks even more, sideways, making him an even broader man, and most notably, forward. A veritable tsunami of fat had been building up behind the wall that the belt had made, and now it had been opened, his belly protruded outward. He was growing fatter and fatter on the spot, his stomach swelling almost a whole foot and a half out in front of him, screaming against the polo shirt, which somehow remained over the belly, stretched beyond the limit it had been sold to him as.
There was an immediate relief, and the belt around his waist quickly shifted to buckle itself back up, as it grew in size, a much thicker belt, cleaner looking, the simple buckle bulging and warping, as it altered from plain metal to genuine silver, shaped to look like a coat of arms, just under his belly. Carthber had had a sense that something odd was going on, but it was only now he really cottoned on that something truly unusual was happening to him - something that confused him, but simultaneously, judging by the stirring below the belt, excited part of him.
“...Would you excuse me, Will?” Carthber said, too focused on touching the new ball belly he’d been gifted to notice the change in how he referred to his friend. “I...think I need to relieve myself.”
“Of course, Master Carthber.” Will’s muffled voice said, hidden beneath the cushions. Carthber glanced up, his eyes lingering again on Will’s backside - he’d never noticed just how round it was - before turning away to hurry towards the restrooms. He didn’t need to ask where they were, he had been here enough times.
As he walked back up towards the front of the bar, he saw the people cleaning up suddenly straighten up, and work a bit harder as he approached. He still had one hand clamped to his belly, hoping to...stop this? He didn’t really understand what was going on, there was just this feeling of wrongness to everything right now, and it made him feel unwell. He couldn’t tell what was wrong...except for the belly. He knew that was wrong. The magic had pushed too far, changed too much, too fast, and it had broken the spell that kept him unaware.
He took a sharp right and bustled into the men’s toilets, finding it somewhat difficult to squeeze through the door - not only did he have to duck his head under the doorframe, but he had to move slightly sideways to squeeze his broad shoulders through it, something that wasn’t helped by this new belly of his. He remembered a time when moving through doors had not been such a trouble. It felt like a very long time ago, now. Carthber had been a big fellow for a while now, but he knew he wasn’t big like this, surely.
The bathroom was as plain as possible, plain walls, clean urinals and toilets, shiny taps and faucets - a far cry from the club he had been wanting to visit earlier. He could see it in his head, more grimy, awful, gaudy cartoon murals on the walls. It made him feel worse just thinking about it. He turned on a tap, and the water washed it out of his head as he set the cane against the side, and filled his hands with water - leaning over to reach into the bowl was a lot harder with this belly in the way - before splashing himself in the face.
He spent a few seconds more rubbing his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he would back to his normal self. Broad, yes, tall, yes, but certainly not with that...protrusion. He knew, though, that his little dream would not come true - he could feel it hanging off him, large, soft to the touch, but firm should you push - getting larger, he swore, while his eyes were closed, pushing up against the cold surface in front of him. He felt a stir down below once again, at the thought of it. He had always enjoyed being a bigger than average sort. This was just...more. But it wasn’t him! He was sure of that! A minute ago, he had not had this, and now he did! It was impossible! Men did not suddenly gain several pounds of fat on the spot, it was all wrong!
---
He was afraid to open his eyes, scared of what he would see in the mirror. He felt like this night was slipping away from him, and one could usually attribute that to the drink, of course, at which point one usually sunk into it and forgot everything after. But this was a different kind of slipping away. He tried to go back in his memories, to get a grasp on where the night had begun. It had been only a few hours ago. He had been here, with friends. Friends like Will. Younger than him. He tried to recall them. Their faces were blurred, but...they were all of a young sort. Bizarre. Why would he spend time with the university student type? That was wrong, surely?
Another image floated through his mind, like it was beckoning, a warm, comforting bed to crawl into. A room not of boys, but of men, of a similar age, bearded faces, smoking pipes, smart dress. Names came to him. Bartleby. Cornelius. Archibald Malmrose-Alverston IV. Are these not more reasonable men to spend your time with? Why would Carther waste his time with youths who had no idea how to appreciate said youth? But like a splinter, the memory of being surrounded by laughing lads stuck there. He pushed forward, trying to reach out to it, to unravel the mystery, but it seemed to be slipping further away.
He tried to look around the fading memory, to grasp some clue. To his right. Will! That was Bill! Proof this memory was a truth being hidden from him. But he was too young! No, he was too old! Which was it? His closest friend’s face seemed to vacillate rapidly between a bright eyed lad and a much older gentleman. He tried to look down, at himself, hoping for clarity, and saw the body of a young man. It confused him further. He heard himself laughing now, a boisterous, strange laugh, of a man from across the Atlantic. American! He wasn’t American? Or was he?
Carter tried to say something, ask his blurry-faced friends, ask Billy, who he was, but he looked back up, and he was in that room of smoking pipes once more. His friend’s faces were less blurry, bearded once more, chuckling sensibly, rather than guffawing, and he was chuckling too. He looked down, a hand on his round belly, that bounced as he laughed, and something far away, quiet, like a whining mosquito, screaming “Nooooo!”
The false memory disappeared into the ether, and Carther felt far more at peace, surrounded by men like him, and to his right, the most important man in his life. He looked at Bill...Will...his beautiful face, so mature, that adorable handlebar moustache under Will’s lip. He raised a hand to Will’s cheek, and pulled him in, their lips touched, their moustaches were brushing together--
---
He opened his eyes.
There he was, in the mirror, as he remembered. Tall enough for his head to go out of the mirror’s view, broad like a bull, and this belly…
He was breathing heavily, and he put a hefty hand against his chest, hoping to calm himself. With each exhale, his chest was expanding beneath his fingers. The swimmer’s form he remembered having as a child was long gone now, the flat, streamlined body lost under two hefty mounds of fat that swelled and sagged, resting pleasantly atop the flabby stomach he had been worried about. His hand drifted down, fingers briefly lingering on a large nipple. The hair on his chest rustled quietly at his touch, before his hand moved to the large curve of his belly - curious rather than panicked.
Well...this was about how he was, wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure what he’d been so distressed by. That doctor he’d visited the other week had gotten into his head for a moment. The fool was always whining about how he was overweight. Well, Carthbert had no interest in hearing it. He was a man of considerable social stature - his body simply reflected that, and he was quite proud of it, thank you very much. He leaned down slightly, to get his head in view in the mirror, to look at his curiously young face.
Curiously young it did not remain, however. The moment he caught his own eye in the reflection, the lines on his face began to deepen. Folds in the skin that had only shown themselves when he laughed, or smiled widely, or even frowned, became more prominent, becoming more permanent features of his face. But Carthbert did not focus on the wrinkles. He was more interested in how his face was filling out. His cheeks were filling out, becoming chubbier, with a rosy blush to them. His jaw was becoming softer, no longer maintaining the hard angles of youth, giving his face a softer edge to it.
That softer edge was accentuated by a burst of silver pushing through his jaw, as tight curls of hair grew along his chin, up the sides of his face into full sideburns. His upper lip wasn’t left bare for long either, as a bushy moustache developed in a matter of seconds, its ends flicking outwards into a delightful, silvery handlebar ‘stache. He smirked, admiring himself, putting a hand to his full beard, brushing the carefully groomed hair into shape - he did love how his beard felt. Something must be done about that frizzy hair atop his head, though.
No sooner had he thought it, that the sideburns linked up with the hair atop his head, and the ringlets of blonde hair slicked back, all curls and excessive length being culled almost immediately. The light blonde got even lighter, beginning to shine like the silver of his belt buckle, and his hairline began shifting back, higher and higher on his head, until it stopped midway. No, Carthbert wasn’t completely bald yet, but he was on his way - and truth be told, he was looking forward to it, in a way.
He licked his thumb, and smoothed out a cowlick. Thank god he had gotten over that frizzy phase. Curly hair was simply unbecoming of a man like him. The ghost of the young lad he once was, that thin, pallor appearance floated in his mind, in front of him, before he saw himself as he was - his ruddy cheeks, his rounded nose with a tinge of red at the tip, no doubt from all the wine he’d drank in his time.
People often said your university years were the best time of your life, but as Carthbert remembered how he had looked and felt back then, he felt confident in saying right now was his prime. He looked so much more full of life, now. You could see it in his face. Yet another stir below the belt. He smiled a bit wider. If there was one thing that hadn’t decreased as he had grown, it was his virility. He might need to have something done about that if it wasn’t going to go down, soon...
What he wasn’t quite as happy with was this clothing. Why had he gone out in this awful, cheap jacket? It was far too small for him. He could not imagine what had possessed him to put it on this evening. Another thing he would have to sort out at home. Enough self-admiration. He picked up the cane, took a moment to adjust his pants (those were fine enough, at least) to better hide the growing erection, and walked out of the restroom.
Carthbert felt himself walking a bit taller, and he could see the effect his presence was having on those who worked within the bar. They all seemed to straighten up from slouches, rubbing harder, working faster when his eyes were on them. That was what he liked to see, people doing their jobs.
As he rounded the bar, he clapped eyes on William, talking to the bartender, and there was a sting through his body - like when one bumped their elbow in the wrong place. Before him was William, but like many things tonight, he seemed different. Smarter dressed than he had ever seen him, a plain black dress jacket with long coattails, a stark white shirt, a tightly tied black bow tie. Some long grey hair, combed straight, tied back in a short ponytail, and not at all the voice he remembered, a much higher level of elocution and pronunciation than he had been expecting.
For a moment, Carthbert thought he was looking at the wrong person - whoever was there was clearly not William, William was...but as soon as he thought it, he lost grasp of what he was trying to think of. An idea of some cheeky lad from one of the lower-class suburbs of the midlands floated through his mind, but he dismissed it immediately. He’d have never hired someone like that to be his butler. Certainly, William was better dressed than he, at this moment. He had to think quite hard to stop a blush from filling his cheeks.
“Master Huntington.” William said, as Carthbert approached. “Was everything to your liking?” He asked. He made no outward exclamation at Carthbert’s leather jacket, but Carthbert knew him well enough to recognize the subtle twitch of his eyebrow when something intrigued him. Goodness, Carthbert wanted this thing off him. He tapped the cane against the floor.
“Yes, the restrooms were...acceptable.” Carthbert said, stopping to stand next to both William and the bartender. He was at least a foot and a half taller than the both of them, outdoing them both in length and width. It was hard not to smirk at the thought. He had to stand back a bit, just to see the woman he’d employed over his chest and belly.
“I’ll make sure they’re up to top standard next time.” The bartender said. “We just...didn’t expect you today, it was a bit of a surprise.”
As Carthbert listened unflinchingly to her excuses, the polo shirt that wrapped around his belly began to soften. The loud turquoise blue was draining from the garment, as the material became more snug, a sort of velvet satin. Unusually, the collar was slinging lower on his chest, the ‘v’ growing wider, revealing a ruffled white ascot that seemed to spring from his chest. Suddenly, the shirt split down the middle, but didn’t fall open, as just as quickly, two shiny black buttons pushed through the fabric and held it together. The colour had turned quite dark, but there was a curious shine to it that revealed a deep purple colour. In addition, a slight off colour was introduced, small tendrils crawling across the front, and curling into floral shapes. It gave the new brocade vest a curious shimmer in certain lights, and was a vast improvement.
“Then you misunderstand the point, Miss…” Carthbert began.
“...Susan.” The bartender said. “Susan Wells.”
“The point is that I may visit the establishment I own at any time I choose, and for that matter, so may any of my friends.” Carthbert continued. “So the establishment must always look its best.” As he expounded on the importance of looking at your best, his leather jacket now began to change, losing its bulk, growing longer, better fitting to his broad back. The hem settled around his waist, as the back began to grow into its own set of rather marvelously long coattails. The plain black was now brightening up to a considerably more rich purple, and a golden trim flourished along the edges of the new jacket, which was now of a far higher quality material, and far more becoming of him.
“Look at me.” Cathbert said. “I have only come out for a short jaunt, but I have made absolutely sure to look my best regardless. Is it too much to ask the same of the establishment that bears my name?”
Susan nodded, like it was a slightly difficult thing for her to admit. “Yes, Sir Huntington. I’ll make sure to make it to your liking next time.”
“See that you do.” Cathbert replied, snippily. “Now then, William, have you found my...my…” He trailed off, a little uncertain. They had come here to look for something as well as inspect the building, what was it…
“Your hat, Master Huntington?” William replied, producing a purple top hat, with a black band around it. “Yes, I’ve made certain it’s suffered no damage.”
“Excellent.” Cathbert replied, taking the top hat, and setting it firmly atop his head. “Send the numbers for the week to my accountant, as usual.” He said authoritatively to Susan. “And with that bit of business squared away, I shall be returning home. Good evening to you. Come along, William.”
The two older men made their way towards the exit. Cathbert pushed open the door, cane in hand, with William close behind, exiting into the dark night, a lamppost lighting up the limousine that sat waiting on the corner. Cathbert was about to turn to William, but before he could, he felt something bump very heavily into his belly.
“Oh, fuck.” A geordie voice said, clearly drunk. “Sorry mate, didn’t see you there.” It mumbled Cathbert turned. There was a young man with one of those...American baseball caps atop his head, his gormless face confirming the drunkenness his voice suggested. A flicker of recognition lit up in Cathbert’s mind, but was quickly swallowed by indignance - he was trying to look in the window!
“You seen my mates in there?” The lout asked. “Brummie lad, ginger hair, blonde American guy?”
Cathbert’s face twisted in disgust, like he’d smelled something bad - indeed, he could smell the cheap alcohol floating off this fellow’s breath. He drew himself a little higher, and tapped the cane against the ground with authority. “No, young man.” He said, using his diaphragm to project his voice, as he’d been taught. “And if they’re anything like you, I should hope to never see them, let alone allow them to enter my establishment.” He turned his back, heading towards the limousine, not bothering to bid the boy farewell. People like that didn’t deserve any more effort than that.
He could hear the boy beginning to spout off unnecessary insults and rude epithets, but he could see in his mind’s eye William behind him, giving the lad a withering look - and indeed, the shouts stopped as soon as they’d begun. Another reason he appreciated the butler so much. He smiled, as William caught up to his side.
“You can call me Cuthbert, you know.” He said quietly to his butler.
“In public, Master Huntington? I would never be so rude.” William replied, just as quietly. “If we are being so candid, however, I have noticed an issue that I believe needs attending to before we reach home.”
“Ah, noticed that, did you?” Cuthbert said, reaching around his belly to unbuckle the clasp of his belt, as William opened the back door of the limousine for him, and they both climbed inside, Cuthbert sitting down in the plush interior as William closed the door behind them.
“Of course.” William said, louder now they were in the soundproofed interior. “I wouldn’t be much of a servant if I wasn’t able to notice my master’s requirements without being told.”
Cuthbert had already undone his fly, and saw once again that twitch in William’s brow, as he looked below Cuthbert’s belly. William knelt down, out of Cuthbert’s view. It was all touch now. The fabric being peeled away from the erection that had been raging since he’d left the bathroom. The touch of William’s hands, upon that most sensitive of organs, and then the wet warmth of William’s mouth enclosing it.
Cuthbert let out a low sigh of satisfaction, a slow exhalation. He reached his free hand around as far as he could manage, to touch the hair on the back of William’s head, a touch of reassurance. The tongue was licking all sides of his shaft, William’s hands tenderly touching the plump testicles that hung below, round as a pair of ripe oranges. The tongue pushed under the foreskin - a strange sensation that seemed simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. For some reason, he thought he had been circumcised. Oh, it had been a strange evening. He didn’t care to think about it any more. He sat back in the seat, pushing his hips forward, his cock thrusting deeper into William’s mouth.
Even though they could be as loud as they liked, the two men were largely silent. Years of sneaking around, trying and succeeding at not being caught had allowed the two to perfect the art of a quiet passion. The only noises they made were barely hearable - soft little moans and sighs. In the early years, it had been a matter of practicality. These days, it was like a little ritual, a quiet secret only for them to know, and that made it feel all the better.
Cuthbert let out a louder sigh than usual, his hand suddenly gripping tighter on Wiliam’s hair, feeling his cock tense up, as he ejaculated down William’s throat, a couple of powerful ropes that made him open his eyes in surprise. It had never felt quite that good before, he thought...another few quiet moments past between them. He could feel William’s tongue again, licking off that which still dribbled out, as his cock pulsed a couple more times, slightly weaker, before settling down.
William finally pulled away and stood up, looking as unflappable as ever. Consummate professional, he had swallowed it all, and left not a single speck of mess. Satisfied, Cuthbert placed his genitals back in his underwear, and did up the fly, rebuckling the belt. “Delicious as ever, Master Huntington.” William remarked, as though he were commenting on the flavour of a common fruit.
“What did I say, William?” Cuthbert replied.
William gave a wry smile. It was a level of casual reference he was still not yet accustomed to - Master Huntington had only recently hit upon this concept of referring to him by first name, and it still felt alien to William. But if his Master insisted…”Thank you, Cuthbert.” He said, with some amount of difficulty.
Cuthbert took William’s hand, leading him to sit at his side - on the way, William reached out, below Cuthbert’s chin, and took a moment to fix the ascot that had come slightly askew as Cuthbert had shifted around prior. Cuthbert brought William to sit next to him, and leaned in, to kiss him on the lips. “What would I do without you, William?” He asked, smiling.
“I imagine I would be quite lost without you too...Cuthbert.” William smiled back.
They shared a quiet moment, taking in each other’s handsome features, before Cuthbert turned away, and lifted his cane to tap the black window that separated the driver from the passengers. The limousine began to hum, as it pulled away from the curb, to return to the Huntington Estate.
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If you enjoyed this story, please consider giving me a tip on Ko-Fi.
Maybe it’s the season, maybe it’s a particularly bad bout of depression. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve been fighting against myself to write something and I couldn’t manage to write anything. My brain and my body didn’t want to do anything, so I didn’t do anything.
I don’t know that I’m completely out of the funk yet, but I’m trying. This is me trying to get out. A Discord Server I’m on posted a image of a fat guy covered in tattoos, and I felt inspired to do something warm and positive, about breaking free of constraints and being yourself.
Hopefully you’ll enjoy.
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Jason had never been one for rebellion. His parents had been as strict and stern with him as they had with all 5 of his siblings. Honour thy father and thy mother, the 5th commandment said, and for many years of his life, Jason had followed that commandment as closely as he had followed the other nine. He hadn't strayed from the path set out so carefully by his parents, followed dutifully by his 3 brothers and 2 sisters, and now him. His carefully curated and managed life had let him grow up into a handsome young man. Swimming lessons had given him a thin, toned body with muscle that made girls smile flirtily at him, his face was clean shaven and carefully looked after, with not a pimple or zit to be seen and a strong jaw and straight, slim nose giving him an attractive look, assisted by his blue eyes. His bright blonde hair was neatly cut, carefully trimmed and combed every day to look its best. The Lord's path had never steered him wrong, and he'd never strayed, under the watchful eye of his parents.
But now, in his early 20s, he was at university. Away from home, away from family, he had expected to a certain amount that he would come across people who did not believe the same things he held dear. He believed he was ready for it - but the first few weeks had seen his faith tested harder than he could have ever imagined. The roommates he had liked to go out drinking in bars, seemed to have premarital sex with astonishing frequency that revolted him to hear through the walls of their freshman dorm apartment, and he was certain one of them smoked marijuana. His faith had been tested - and now, at 4 in the morning, in a room illuminated only by the blue light on his PC, curled up in the corner of his bed, knees held close to him, he was horrified that he had failed the test.
Hindsight was 20/20, and now he knew he'd made a horrible mistake, but at the time it had just seemed like a silly laugh. Had his mind been addled by the marijuana coming from his friend? He had no idea what had compelled him, but now he was trapped with the mistake he'd made for life. To be fair, it was a fairly small mistake, and not a bad looking one, by any means. Discrete, easy to hide. Really, no-one would ever need to know, but the shame was something else. A burning, indelible guilt he felt like he'd never be able to escape as long as the ink remained on his wrist. He had marked his body, permanently.
He'd gotten a tattoo.
It was just under the sleeve of his white long-sleeved shirt, on his right wrist, a simple black ink drawing of a rose. As mentioned, it wasn't a big or even unpleasant looking mistake, but he still felt a horrible sickness in his stomach whenever he saw it or thought about it, which right now was constantly. He felt like he’d contracted a terrible illness - all these years of always doing as he’d been told, doing right, and then one night had been all it took and now he felt like he was doomed. He tightly grasped the denim of his slim blue jeans.
The fact that it was easily hidden somehow made it worse. Now it was a horrible secret he had to hide from his family, a dark shame hidden just under his sleeve, burning into his skin. None of them ever had to know - and it just made the guilt hurt all the more. Had his brothers and sisters faced trials and tribulations like this? They must have. Which made it all the more sickening that they had stayed the course while he had failed. His parents would disown him. God would have him cast into hell. All for some ink. It felt like it would never end, the crushing guilt of his failure weighing on his chest, like an anchor pulling him down into the Earth. He just wanted it to be over. He just wanted to be free of it.
The rose unfurled quietly under the sleeve, beginning to blossom.
Jason blinked, tears springing from his eyes - but he didn’t feel sad. It was a difficult feeling to describe. It was like he had been drowning, something had been holding him under the surface of the water, and then it had stopped. He was still in the darkness. Acid was still churning in his stomach at the thought of the tattoo, there was still that unexplainable weight in his chest, but he didn’t feel like it was inescapable, all of a sudden. He felt the tears trickling down his face, but they felt alien. Maybe a tattoo wasn’t the end of the world.
There was laser removal. It’d probably cost a lot, but he’d always been a good person. Everyone strays from the path sometimes, even the most devout, has a moment of weakness. His parents would understand, surely. Might even spot him the money for it, considering the many years he’d been good and loyal. It would still be a lot of money, though…
The anchor shifted. Around the wrist, a circlet of ink, a crisscross pattern connected to itself. His stomach was beginning to settle, and in place of sickness, a warmth was beginning to grow. It was soft and pleasant, and it comforted him slightly. His stomach expanded a little as he breathed out slowly - but did not contract as much when he breathed in.
He uncurled his body a little, coming out of the fetal position slightly. In the meantime, there was always...being a man, he didn’t know much about makeup, but he’d heard about it...they had things for covering up blemishes in the skin, didn’t they? He could just use one of those, cover it up, so no-one saw it. And then he could save up for the removal sessions. And it would be like it had never happened. The only person who really needed to know was God.
From beneath the bracelet of ink, an intricate fretwork of lines was being drawn by an invisible artist, slowly travelling up his wrist. No clear imagery, just abstraction. His body was changing. The warmth in his stomach was making his torso slowly expand with each exhalation. With every breath, the slight six pack he’d put all that effort into was slowly disappearing, the muscles slacking, as fat took its place, his stomach becoming more smooth and soft. His slender fingers were filling out, becoming rounder, his palms swelling, a little like he’d been stung by a bee, but all over. The few fat cells that were in his body were multiplying, splitting apart but becoming more in the process.
Jason slowly sat up, looking around the dark room. The weight was lifting from his chest. He wiped his eyes, clearing his vision. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed. He’d just made a mistake, was all. He could move past it. There were a lot of ways to deal with this - and one interesting one came into his mind. He reached up and slid the sleeve of his shirt down, revealing the tattoo encircling his wrist, the lines of ink travelling up his arm. He stared at it, frowning a little. It felt like something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Well, of course it was off. He’d gotten a tattoo there. It’d take a bit of work to cover it all, but…
Did he really need to cover it?
Could it not be a sign of his faith? It would require a bit of a stretch - he couldn’t remember any specific bible verses about roses off-hand, or any of this fretwork stuff...but maybe it could be a personal symbol, a reminder of God marked on his wrist. The ink continued to spread up his arm, the lines becoming less abstract, taking form. Every layer seemed to be something different - one divided into small segments, like reptilian scales, another continued the intricate mandala-esque design it had begun as, another layer began to curl and flick upwards, like black flames. It surprised Jason how much the tattoo artist had managed in just an hour or so.
He pulled the sleeve up further, watching the design grow across his arm. There was no fear or concern. What had, maybe a couple of minutes ago, filled his stomach with revulsion was becoming enchanting, and hypnotic. His jaw slackened, his mouth open slightly, as he watched in a trance, seeing the different designs weave in and out of each other, distinctly different but strangely unified despite their contrast. His arm was expanding, filling out with fat that made his arms flabby, but firm in spite of the fat, allowing for a bigger, more complex design that was being drawn from nothing. Jason slowly ran a fatter finger from his left arm along what had already been drawn. It was embedded in his skin, faded slightly, markings much older than a few hours ago.
This was not a concern to Jason. All he thought of was how beautiful it all looked, how beautiful it was making him look. His body was becoming a canvas for something amazing. He had come to this place as a business major, but as the ink rose over his shoulder and began crossing over towards his chest and back, he was beginning to realize what those weird kids at the art building meant when they were saying anything could be art. His body could be art. And it was all for…
Well, it could be for him. Why did it need to be for God? Or any God? Couldn’t it just be for him. Because he liked it? Because it made him feel beautiful? This was his body. He owned it, and he could devote it how he liked, couldn’t he? This was what he wanted. It had been scary at first, but as the ink blossomed across his body, he was realizing how incredible it really was. The artistry, the effort, the talent. The more he thought about it, he was realizing he didn’t need the rules that had been laid out for him, the path that had been so dutifully forced upon him. He was not straying now - he was intentionally stepping away, and realizing that there were so many paths in life, just as there were many lines of ink on his body. And he could choose which one he wanted to take.
He grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up, and as he did, his growing stomach flopped out, no longer constrained by the soft cotton. He pulled it over his head, struggling a little to pull his head through the hole, but the ink didn’t stop for his temporary blindness. It continued to develop across his chest, which was bloating outwards above his belly, his previously muscled pectorals filling out with fat. Just above his right nipple, the ink seemed to be making a gap in the design, the layers curving as something considerably less abstract appeared in the space. Sharp teeth, flared nostrils, fierce, inhuman eyes. The ink travelled down lower across his chest, as the design formed the head of a chinese dragon, roaring with fire spilling out of its mouth. His pecs were swelling and sagging, becoming a pair of plump moobs, settling atop a belly that was only getting bigger.
It was bloating outwards and hanging down, spilling into his lap, which was getting pretty big in itself. The muscles that had propelled him through water with speed were losing their power, as fat multiplied rapidly, making his thigh thick and flabby, the size of tree trunks that were quickly tearing up his slim jeans. The sides went first, the seams splitting apart, threads being ripped open. Before long the jeans were no better than useless scraps hanging loosely off of his thickening frame, the waistline getting trapped beneath his fattening belly.
Despite this, his white briefs seemed to hold on, expanding to hold in the absolutely gigantic pair of buttocks he was gaining. The fabric was stretched to its limit, leaving little to the imagination about the size of Jason’s new titanic ass. They clung snugly to his cock, which didn’t seem to have quite the incredible growth as the rest of him. Rather, it remained roughly the same size, perhaps getting slightly smaller, becoming buried in a fat pad from which it would be something of a struggle for him to reach in future. This thought seemed to arouse him as it stirred, stiffening under the briefs.
Jason reached down, pulling the remains of the jeans out from the underside of his belly, but didn’t even really notice he was doing it, absorbed in the spectacle of the ink spreading across his body. It flowed over across to his left moob, where another gap opened up, for another dragon head, the twin of the one on the right, breathing flame down towards his stomach. The ink was crossing his left shoulder, now flowing down his left arm, which had already received a plentiful amount of fat, plenty of room for a mirrored design.
There was a tingling along his back, and it was much stronger than any kind of sensation he’d ever felt across his back before, mainly because its width had practically tripled to support the increase in weight. A dumbfounded smile crossed Jason’s face. He wished he could see what was on the back right now, but he’d need two mirrors for that, and he doubted either would be wide enough. Still, he could imagine it clearly enough. The long bodies of the dragons, sweeping over his shoulders and entwining behind his back in a strange circle that made it hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
Jason smiled, and his face fattened with the smile, his cheeks filling out, becoming chubbier. His jaw was becoming softer, rounder, as the increasing fat diminished the strong chin he’d developed over years, being lost under a swelling of fat - and now hair, as the jawline he’d taken so much effort to keep clean shaven was growing hair at an incredible rate. Across his lips, along the jaw, down towards the neck, a straggly, unkempt beard of black hair was growing.
Sideburns grew out along the side of his face, growing up towards the blonde hair atop his head. The second the two colours connected, the blonde was overtaken by the black. Hair grew out and down, cascading over his shoulders. He brought an arm to sweep the new hair back, as his face broadened, his nose flattening but becoming wider. His dimples became deeper, giving him a jolly expression. The warmth that had started in his stomach was flowing through his entire body.
His attention was brought back to his belly, as the twin plumes of flame flowed down across his chest towards the center of his belly, where they met. Over his belly button, a figure was drawn in, a man with dark emerald skin, wreathed in flame, holding a sword in his right hand, staring outward with fierce eyes. Jason ran his flabby fingers over the artwork that adorned his body, fascinated by it. It was amazing. He was amazing. He loved it, and he loved himself, in a way that he never had before.
And now, his memory was changing. The broad details were still the same - strict parents, strict Christian upbringing, 5 siblings all showing him the way, but now he was seeing himself rejecting it. Turning away. The path they’d laid out for him wasn’t a guide, but a prison of personality. They had wanted him to be a good, straight, perfect boy, just like his siblings. And he didn’t want it. He had never wanted it. He was his own person.
His first tattoo at fifteen. He vividly remembered horror on his mother’s face when she saw. He’d been ‘grounded’ for a year for the act of rebellion, but he’d stopped paying attention to their rules by then. He was going to live his own life, a life of happiness and love on his own terms, not on the terms of their restrictive religion.
And despite his rebellious attitude, he was hardly an idiot. He had worked hard in school despite them, done well in his exams. Of course, they had utterly refused to support him in any way, and he’d had to scrape together the money for community college by himself, working every shift he could get at the pub he worked at, but he’d managed it, and he was here, studying art, making art, being art. He was a work of art, and he loved himself. He felt like he was finally free.
There was a knock on the door, and it opened. Jason looked up to see his roommate, Conrad. Conrad’s brown shoulder length hair, covered by a beanie, glowed slightly in the light coming from the hallway. A too big Nine Inch Nails shirt adorned his lanky body, and a pair of briefs covered up anything unsightly - but not very well. A lit blunt hung loosely from his lips, the smell of weed beginning to permeate the room. His eyes were glazed over. He smiled.
Jason thought he looked kind of like an angel, if an angel was a stoner.
Conrad approached. “Heard you movin’ around, babe. You alright?” He mumbled, in that way he did when he was high - which was often. What minutes ago would’ve earned a sneer from Jason brought a smile to his already happy face. Conrad walked over to the bed, leaned down, taking the self-rolled blunt out of his mouth, and kissed Jason on the lips. Jason kissed him back without hesitating, his cock stirring slightly as he felt Conrad’s arms slide around his flabby body. Being touched in such a tender way always made him feel a little aroused. Part of him felt a bit of hypothetical schadenfreude at the thought of his parents knowing that on top of going to community college rather than university, he was gay too! But for the most part, he was just happy to be in love.
They broke the kiss, and looked into each others eyes. “Yeah, I was just...uh...admirin’ my tatts.” Jason explained, giggling a little.
Conrad looked down, running slender fingers over Jason’s massive belly. “Hell yeah, dude. Fuckin’ sick is what they are.” He said quietly, but enthusiastically, placing the blunt back in his mouth. “Any reason why now, though?” He asked, sliding to Jason’s side and leaning against him, pressing his head against Jason’s belly.
“I dunno...they’re just special to me is all. The first tattoo I got…” Jason raised his right wrist, showing the rose on it. “It was like...the first time I really rebelled against my parents. It was the start of my liberation from their laws. I’d always been kind of a brat with attitude but that was like the first time I was really like...I won’t be held down by your rules. And now, I have so many tatts, all over my body, and...it reminds me that I’m free of them. That I’m free to...to do what I want and love who I love...and…
“Just...realizing...I’m finally free to be me.”
“Right on, man.” Conrad smiled, and hugged Jason’s belly tight. “God, you’re soft, dude. You mind if I sleep with you tonight? You’re way more comfy than my pillow.”
“No prob, man. If you don’t mind sharing that blunt, of course.” Jason said, lying back on the bed.
As of yet, none of my posts have been flagged as NSFW, since written erotica is considered acceptable under the new guidelines. However, this is Tumblr, so whatever they do on the 17th, I expect it to be executed in the most damaging and ridiculous way possible.
In either case, all of my writing is available on my FurAffinity and my DeviantArt - I upload a lot more stuff there - alongside transformation art I’ve previously commissioned for myself. If you care particularly about me as a person, I’m still on here with a more regular blog, @jasper-rolls, which I will continue to use until Tumblr becomes an absolutely unusable piece of code, and I have a Twitter which I use equally as often.
That’s pretty much it. I’ll continue to upload writing I feel my following on here likes as and when I write it. You probably don’t have to worry about me going anywhere, I seem to have a knack for flying under the radar when things like this happen. Just in case I don’t, however, here’s this post.
I always forget to post on this blog too...a simple weight gain commission for MysteriesOfMe.
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Bodies like oceans. Undulating, swaying, flowing. Rolling waves, swelling and breaking, crashing on the shores. Vast, untameable, raw, powerful, and always beautiful, no matter what anyone says. This is our tribute to hedonism, to corpulence, and unconventional beauty. One man’s trash is another’s treasure, and there is so much to treasure. This is our Ode to Fat.
A nice sentiment, to be sure, and a lot classier than the usual kind of thing you’d expect from a site like this. The text was in a nice, not too hard to read but smart looking font, coloured grey on a pure black background. Underneath it was a button to enter the site, and Merlin dutifully clicked it.
Ode to Fat (odetofat.me) was, from what Merlin had heard, a relatively new site for plus sized modelling and nudes. He’d seen mention of the place on a Discord server for appreciation of bear-ish people, and he had to say he did like its style so far. As Merlin watched the slick loading screen (a grey circular bar, looping around as it filled to 100), he put his chin in his hand, the the bristles of his unshaven chin pressing against the palm as he waited. The last rays of the sun were coming in through the window, the darkness setting in, and he looked around the room, noticing that it was quite dark inside and he hadn’t even noticed.
Standing up, he walked over to the light switch near the door, turning on the light, which took a moment to flicker into full brightness. He blinked, the light hurting his eyes, and he let them adjust before he moved over to the window to close the blinds. He was dressed kind of lazily today. He wore a regular cornflower blue shirt that was a loose enough fit to not cling too tightly to the slight pudge he had on his body, and some grey sweatpants. No socks or shoes, nothing like that. It had been a lazy day in general.
He pulled the blinds over the window and looked back at the computer, seeing that it had loaded and the site was now displaying a number of different models available to look at. They were all dressed up in various looks but the focus seemed to be mostly on class - nice suits and tuxedos. Merlin clicked on the first one that caught his eye, a blond-haired guy with a light, scruffy beard and a black bow tie ensemble.
The portfolio of chubby men was whisked away, and a full screen image of the man Merlin had clicked on appeared. He was sitting on a chair, leaning back into it, smiling naturally at the camera. A jaunty black square appeared and filled with a bio, identifying the man in question as Caleb.
The biography was, refreshingly, focused on Caleb as a person rather than as a necessarily sexual prospect. It detailed the kind of person he was, his interests, and some of his personal beliefs about what it was like being a fat person in society, and what that meant to him. Merlin scrolled down, and the pages shifted to show Caleb’s gallery of pictures and videos. As he scrolled down, the pictures seemed to progress from clothed to various states of undress, but after about 20 pictures, a lock symbol appeared.
Subscribe to gain unlimited access to Caleb’s gallery - and every other gallery on Ode to Fat.
Merlin stroked his chin. Maybe. Not yet. The site hadn’t quite won him over into thinking it was worth it. He backed out of Caleb’s profile, back to the main page, and clicked between a few of the other models available. They were all broadly similar in style - a bio about themselves, pictures of themselves getting progressively undressed, the most lewd ones locked off for subscribers only. There was a decent range of diversity in the men available, of various ethnicities and ages, clean shaven, big beards, some scruffier than others. Of note was the fact that they all seemed quite...comfortable. They were all quite nice looking too, of course. Merlin glanced up at the top of the screen, seeing an “About” tab, and clicked on it. Maybe this would elucidate his feelings about the site - understanding what exactly it was about.
Fat is beautiful. That is our belief. We reject the modern notions of conventional attraction - to be fat is not shameful, to be fat is not a sin. To be fat is to be just as worthy of love and happiness as any other person in the world. Thus, we created this website, our Ode to Fat, to spread our message that fat means there’s just more of a person to love.
This is not a place of degradation, of mocking and scorn. It is a place of appreciation. Our models have presented themselves exactly how they wanted to be presented, revealing as much as they want to reveal. Their gallery is what their fatness means to them, and you can appreciate it along with us.
Merlin’s brow furrowed. Interesting take. A refreshing one. A lot of sites for this kind of thing had this...mode of talking that he didn’t really like, talking about how disgustingly fat and piggish their models were, how they were such big hogs who couldn’t stop eating...on and on...sometimes there was a mood for that, but more often than not Merlin just wanted to sincerely appreciate the beauty in something that most might not find so beautiful, and that seemed to be the tone this group were going for.
He clicked to the next tab, subscriptions. It seemed to be a monthly model of varying tiers. $5 a month got you access to the galleries, and then increased price values allowed you to see bonus videos or photos, you could subscribe to a particular model and get updates specifically for them...there were a lot of options, certainly. There was also an option to sign up to become a model, but Merlin didn’t really look at it. He was chubby, but he wasn’t the kind of chubby these guys were. Seriously, some of these guys were like, real big.
He’d have to think about the subscription service. He was intrigued by what was available, but he didn’t know if he wanted to commit to paying a monthly service just yet. At the very least, he’d heard a couple of people say they were very happy with their subscriptions. 5 dollars, that was...what, £3? Wasn’t that bad a price to get access to the full galleries. Merlin tapped his desk as he thought. He could shell out that much a month, right? It was less than paying Netflix monthly, certainly. If he felt like he wasn’t happy with what he was getting he could pull out after a month. Only a little bit out of pocket. It wouldn’t be the biggest loss of money in the world.
He clicked on the button for the $5 subscription. It seemed the most reasonable, since he’d get pretty much what he wanted out of the site. He diligently went through the process of putting in his card information to set up the recurring payment. A few button clicks, and he was finished. He had access, an e-mail notification popped up in the corner of the screen to inform him his card had been charged. A little bit extra for the conversion charge, but not enough to make him think this might be a bad idea.
Might as well see what his subscription had gotten him. He clicked back to the main page, and went back to the first guy he’d taken a look at, Caleb. The profile loaded up in a couple of seconds, and he scrolled down to see what he’d been missing before. A bunch more pictures had opened up for viewing, and he clicked to examine them in closer detail.
He found himself breathing a sort of tiny sigh of relief, as the pictures all seemed to be of a tasteful sort, even with the increased nudity. There had been a part of him that had felt kind of...suspicious? Like once he’d hit the subscribe button it would’ve reverted to the same sort of degradation kind of thing a lot of sites followed, as some sort of subversion - build ‘em up and knock ‘em down, that sort of thing. He needn’t have worried, it seemed.
He looked closely at an image he’d brought up to full size on the screen. It was black and white. Caleb was looking out a window, no clothing on, a small smile playing on his lips. The camera was at a low angle, and there was a high contrast between the shadow and the light. There was something about the interplay between the two opposites that really just highlighted how big this guy was. His belly was satisfyingly round, coming out quite a ways before him, sagging down a little but pleasantly plump. His chest rested on the belly - he was slightly turned away from the camera, so only one nipple was showing, but the areola was pretty big making it stand out. The shadow slightly covered the curve of his buttock, but it could still be made out, and from what he could see it was a pretty big one, smooth and round, a bit like a beach ball, and he imagined the rest of the guy’s butt was much the same.
Merlin smiled a little wistfully. What a look. He wish he looked like that. He’d made a bit of an effort before, but getting to that level of fat was like a full time job - or at least, that was how it was for him. When he’d seen other guys talking about how they’d gotten so fat, it was a range of experience from a dedicated gaining diet, to “idk i just kind of ate a lot and ended up fat lol”. Some guys got all the luck. He’d ended up slightly chubby, but nowhere near the weight someone like Caleb was at.
Although, it seemed like this would not be the case for much longer.
Within Merlin’s body, something was happening, something had been activated on a biological level. Things like mitosis and cytokinesis, where cells divide into multiples of themselves, are a just a regular part of human and animal biology, but something had changed - it was happening faster, or maybe the mass had changed. It was unclear how, or why this had happened, but the broad stroke of it was this - the cells of fat that had made Merlin kind of chubby were suddenly multiplying, slowly at first, but then quickly picking up the pace. There wasn’t an immediate outward effect at first, but it would take a minute - a minute which Merlin had to continue looking around the site.
He’d clicked out of the picture he was admiring, and was now browsing around the other models, seeing who else he liked. His attention was mostly drawn to the more hirsute guys. They had a tendency to be pretty big in form, even compared against most fat guys, and he had always loved big beards. These guys had some pretty big beards, full and curly, some with some grey streaks to give them a feeling of maturity. It was a very attractive feature to Merlin.
As he browsed around, the division of cells was starting to take an effect upon his body. The fat was settling where it could, and it began with a fairly appropriate place - the belly. Bit by bit, second by second, his waistline slowly began to increase in width. Little streaks of discoloration began to appear across his stomach, stretch marks being drawn in as his skin realized that he was starting to increase in size, and stretching to accommodate the increasing mass. Merlin was yet to notice, focused as he was on the site, but it was only a matter of time.
Next, it was beginning to settle around his thighs. His legs were getting thicker, the fat starting to close the gap between his legs, while on the outside it was beginning to press against the arms of the chair he sat on. Merlin shifted, feeling a little uncomfortable. As he briefly pushed himself off the chair, his buttocks began to bloat, each cheek swelling in size, slowly at first, but then picking up speed, quickly beginning to fill out with fat, so that when he sat his butt back down in the seat, it pushed tightly against the back and sides, squeezing out through any gaps. It was something Merlin could not help but notice, and when he looked down to investigate the problem, it was a bit too late to do anything about it - not that he could have, if he wanted to.
The whole process was something like a stone rolling down a snowy hill - slow at first, and not making much progress, but picking up momentum and mass along the way, until it was unstoppable. In this overplayed metaphor, Merlin had already reached terminal velocity, and all there was left to do was ride it out and see what happened. There was a second or two of shock and surprise as Merlin stared down at his body, seeing it grow before his eyes. His shirt was pulled up as his belly flopped out, his belly button looking rather deep with the added fat. He placed a hand on the gut, feeling the doughy flesh give way rather easily, and feeling his hands increase in size a little, filling out with fat as well.
He blinked and came to his senses, trying to get out of the chair, but his growing thighs and buttocks had wedged him in it, and it was going to take a bit of effort to get him out. He’d need to be quick. He was only getting fatter as the seconds passed, and it would only get more difficult the longer he left it. He placed his hands on the armrests, and pushed, trying to lift his body out of the chair. He could hear it creaking as his weight increased. He had no way of telling, but his guess was that he was probably past the 300lb mark by this point.
He pushed down hard on the armrests, and as he did so, his upper body was gaining fat as well. His chest swelled, what would’ve been pecs on a muscular man becoming flabby and plump. They would’ve sagged down were it not for the enormous belly he’d already grown, instead settling softly atop the belly. His arms grew in size, fat, hanging off them, wobbling as he strained to pull himself out of the chair that a minute go, he had considered as perhaps slightly too big for him.
His fat thighs pulled against the plastic armrests, the bottom of the chair being pulled up with him as he stood on his feet, which had also grown in size to support his new pear-shaped body. He let off for a second, and then pushed down again with renewed strength, straining to pull his flabby body out of the chair. It was like a cartoon, the way his body popped out, making the chair clunk against the ground and causing him to stumble forward. Not used to his body’s new size, he fell forward with an extremely heavy thump.
He groaned a little, and placed a fat hand on the carpeted floor, pushing to attempt to roll himself over. It took a couple of tries, with how big he was, and the feeling of all his fat rolling with him as he did so was a very new sensation. His shirt pinged up, cleaving tightly to his chest, leaving his belly on full display. He was glad he was wearing sweatpants. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened had he been wearing a less flexible kind of pants.
For the moment, his spontaneous growth seemed to have halted, and he had a second to look himself over. Pushing himself into an upright position, and with a clearer mind, he slowly began to realize exactly how he looked, and he couldn’t help but have a feeling of awe. He was...mountainous was the word that came to mind. It might not be a bad estimate to say he’d tripled in size. He felt his own belly with both his hands - indeed, it was as soft and doughy as it had been before, giving way easily underneath his palms. He was so utterly huge it was a little scary, but Merlin couldn’t say he was unhappy about this sudden development. What was more an immediate concern for him was how this had even happened. Blowing up like this was something that happened in fantasies of his. But this...seemed like it was for real.
Before he had much more time to contemplate this, however, his transformation received a second wind. The focus here was on his head and face. Merlin had already been pretty chubby, as previously stated, but the fat was starting to fill his face out, making his cheeks rounder, and his nose became a little bit bigger. His face was gaining a sort of ruddy complexion, becoming redder, making him look a bit more jolly.
It wasn’t just fat that was increasing this time, though. He was getting a boost of testosterone, and then a subsequent conversion into DHT that was giving him a sudden growth of facial hair. Hair was pushing out on his upper lip, across his jaw, up the side of his face. A beard was growing in a matter of seconds, filling out to the kind of length that took many months to achieve. It quickly straightened out, full of volume, as its length reached down to just above his chest.
He was getting hair all over his body too, quickly becoming more hirsute moment by moment. A light dusting of little pushed out across his arms, his chest, his belly - actually, it was a little more than a light dusting on the chest, the hairs increasing in length, forming quite a thick carpet across his chest. Merlin pulled on the collar of his shirt to get a glance at it, and his beard slipped down into the gap he’d opened up. He laughed a little, pulling the beard out and letting the shirt ping back into place. God, this was...all very new, and all very agreeable, as far as he was concerned.
He stroked his new beard, closing his eyes and smiling. It felt very good to touch, smooth and silky. He didn’t even really want to question how this had happened any more. He just wanted to enjoy it. There was a deep satisfaction for him in being so big he could feel it. He was taking up so much space just sitting here on the floor. He might have almost found being stuck in the chair a little hot if it hadn’t been something of a pain. For a few minutes, he just sat there, feeling himself over, his hairy body, his thick and full beard, his flabby body, revelling in his size.
Eventually, he had to stand up and do something, however. Doing so was a little tough. His fat got in the way of the usual forms of standing up, and he had to do a combinations of rolling and leverage from the nearby bed before he was able to stand up on his feet. He had a new clarity of mind, and now that he had a second to think, his mind redirected towards the most obvious question - how?
The most obvious answer was what he had done seconds earlier. He had subscribed to the website, but Merlin couldn’t really see why or how doing such a thing would trigger such a spontaneous growth in him. He waddled - he chuckled to himself a little, he had to waddle now - back towards the computer. He was about to sit in the chair, but thought better of it. Either it would break under his weight, or he’d get even more stuck than he had been the first time. Neither sounded like the best option. He’d have to shell out some money for a bigger chair.
He looked at the site - it was where he’d left it, the gallery of an older guy called Solomon. Merlin looked down at himself briefly, noting he didn’t look all that different from the man on the screen any more. He moved the mouse around, clicking through the site, trying to find any indication of what had just happened, but there didn’t seem to be any. Was it a coincidence? Or was this what his friends had meant when they said the subscription was worth it…? Man, if this was what $5 did, what would the higher subscriptions do?
Merlin scratched his hair, his hand tracing down his sideburns. A lot of things about his life would have to change if this wasn’t just a temporary thing. He wondered how he’d pay for all the new stuff he’d have to buy to accommodate his new body. His eyes drifted towards the top right of the screen.
“Become a Model”
Merlin looked down at himself again. Now...that might not be such a bad idea.
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Hi there. Commissions are finally open again - I’ve changed the prices a little so please make sure to check out the new information in this Google Document. My queue will now be listed on my Trello as well. If you’re interested, feel free to send me a message.
Hi there. Commissions are finally open again - I’ve changed the prices a little so please make sure to check out the new information in this Google Document. My queue will now be listed on my Trello as well. If you’re interested, feel free to send me a message.
A grab bag commission for a friend of mine, who is also responsible for the art in the thumbnail. Very fun, I enjoyed this one a lot.
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The ice lolly was cool and refreshing, a much needed salve from the heat of the midday. It had a sort of sparkle to it, a sensation not unlike something fizzing in your mouth, but in a very pleasant way, like a bottle of soda. Not exactly surprising - the wrapper did say it tasted like lemonade. Ithan quietly sucked on the lolly, letting it rest in his mouth as he sat on one of the benches in the shade, watching the people go by. The bumper cars crashed noisily behind him, people yelling and whooping as they bumped into each other. Some distance away, rave music played as the waltzer ride started up again, the seats spinning around so fast Ithan had to wonder how much time they had to spend cleaning up vomit from people who weren’t so used to the ride.
He pulled the lolly out of his mouth, and licked it. Probably best not to think about vomit while he was eating.
The local carnival was in full swing. Ithan had decided to take advantage of the opportunity and spend a day at the fair - unfortunately, it seemed like he had inadvertently chosen the hottest day of the damn year to have his little outing. It was absolutely boiling, even within the shade, and it seemed like there wasn’t a single person who wasn’t having trouble with the heat - tired-looking women with crying babies resting on their hips, overweight dads, burned lobster-red by the sun and drenched in sweat. The workers seemed okay, with their stalls being air conditioned, but everyone else was overheating.
Ithan felt something cool and wet drip down his hand, and he looked down at it - his lolly was melting! He’d better finish it up quick. He quickly put it back in his mouth, biting down on the flavoured ice, and chewing it in his mouth. It was soft, but pleasantly crunchy, and it cooled his head down a little bit, but he felt like he would either need to eat a lot more ice cream, or get out of the sun entirely to avoid dying from heat exhaustion. The second one seemed like the least expensive option.
He stood up, looking around for somewhere he could go inside and get out of the sun proper, which was a little difficult. Almost everything in the carnival seemed to be outside - their main rollercoaster, the ferris wheel, all the rides and stalls seemed to be outside. Unfortunately, it seemed Ithan would have to move from his little cove of shade beside the bumper car ride, and start moving around the carnival.
As he moved out of the shadows and into the light of the sun, one could better see his appearance. He didn’t exactly have an impressive amount of height - hardly an unusual size for his age, 5’5”, but it didn’t make him stand out much. Ithan kind of liked it that way. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of a being a noticeable person, he was happier to blend into the background, and the rest of his appearance spoke to that. His dark hair was cut pretty short, coming down to the nape of his neck at most. The silver steel, square glasses he wore gave him a little bit of style, bringing out his dark brown eyes a little bit.
His outfit for today was pretty casual - it had to be, with all the heat. A plain white t-shirt, with a little red logo on the breast - he couldn’t remember what brand it was for, he didn’t really care all that much about who was what in clothing brands. It didn’t cling too tightly to him, his kind of skinny shape allowing the shirt to hang a little loosely, so air could flow through it - if there was air to flow. Part of why it was so hot today was because of the lack of wind. His pants were light blue, loose and comfortable, held on by a brown leather belt - he’d thought about wearing jeans, but it was probably a good thing he hadn’t, considering the heat. Shorts probably would’ve been better, though. At least the brown sandals had been a good choice. Wearing trainers in this heat would’ve been a nightmare.
As he wandered the carnival, nothing looked particularly appealing just yet. The rides all seemed a bit too intense for his level of excitement - maybe later in the day he’d enjoy them, but right now, he just wanted to take it slow. Build it up slowly, really get into it before he started the stuff that rolled and pitched you every which way. Something where he could just sit down, and take in a spectacle. They had to have some sort of chilled out show he could watch, didn’t they?
His eye was drawn towards the big top arena that was the centerpiece of the carnival. It was sort of inevitable - everything about the layout of the venue was intentionally designed to lead the customer’s eye towards it. The lanes of stalls and rides all lead towards the big top, and it was the biggest structure in the area, its spire towering above anything else - except the rollercoaster, but that was far enough away that it didn’t detract from the big top’s height. It was a pretty stereotypical peppermint colour, the vertical stripes of red and white leading the eye up to the spire, but Ithan knew from previous experience that night time was when it really came alive. The whole thing would be lit up with spotlights, and fireworks would go off, letting everyone know it was time for the biggest show to begin.
It would probably be pretty cool in there. Problem was, he wasn’t sure if it was really open to the public yet. He’d certainly never seen anyone going in during the day, that he could remember, but then he’d hardly spent his entire day watching. Maybe they had smaller stuff going on during the day? It wouldn’t hurt to check. He began walking down the lane, towards the large tent.
He tried to keep to the side of the lane that was in the most shadow, but it didn’t really do much to keep the heat off his back. The sun was still high in the sky, almost blazing directly down on everyone. He could feel his shirt starting to get stained by the sweat, and the lolly he was still working on was only melting quicker and quicker. Screw it, Ithan thought to himself, biting up the rest of it and chewing it in his mouth, leaving only the stick. As he passed by a bin, he tossed the stick in, and rushed as fast as he could will his body to go in the humidity of the day.
Before long enough, though, he was approaching the big top, and it was dawning on him, again, just how big the damn thing was. Even the low entrance seemed to tower above the visitors to the carnival, that it would take 5 men standing on each other’s shoulders to reach up to it. Ithan looked into the entranceway. It was certainly open, and there wasn’t any sign up saying that he couldn’t enter, but still...with the way the lights inside were turned off, it was hard to really see anything past the entrance, and no-one really seemed to be going in. Ithan looked around, trying to see if there was anyone…official-looking around, but he couldn’t really see anyone.
A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead, and fell in his eye. He blinked, lifting his glasses up to wipe it out. That was it. He didn’t care if he was trespassing. He needed to get out of this heat, even if it was just for a minute. He walked forward with determination across the grass, and entered the shade of the big top. The noise of the carnival seemed to fade as he entered the shade. Ithan immediately felt a lot cooler, reasoning they must have something to air condition the place. It was a nice, relaxing coolness, and he took a moment to stand still and appreciate it.
Now that he was actually inside, he could see that the lights were on, but they were rather low. Ithan assumed they didn’t want to use too much power before the show tonight. The arena looked strange, without all the people filling it’s seats, and the center being largely devoid of activity. There were a few random props strewn about around the edge of the arna - little platforms, hoops, a small car, an old style barbell. The disarray with which the props were placed gave Ithan the feeling he shouldn’t really be here. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, feeling like he was glowing from the heat he’d taken in from the sun outside. He’d wait in here a bit until he felt cool enough, then go back outside.
He crossed his arms, holding them by the elbows like he was hugging himself, as he walked a little further in to the arena. His shoes scuffed up the dirt, echoing around, making it clear that he was the only person in here. He stuck to the edge of the arena’s circle, wandering around it. It was weird, this place somehow seemed a lot bigger without people in it. Not that it didn’t look big with people in, but him being the only one in there was sort of overwhelming. The almost oppressive silence of the place, almost completely drowning out any of the noise from the carnival outside, made him feel anxious.
As he came near the props bundled up against the side, the feeling of trespassing was only deepening. He definitely wasn’t meant to be here - although they’d just left the entrance completely open...could they hardly blame him if he wanted to come in for some shade? He put a foot against the bar of the barbell, and kicked forward slightly. It rolled forward slightly, but then stopped, and rolled back to where it sat.
His anxiety was briefly replaced by curiosity. He wondered if this barbell was really as heavy as it looked. As previously mentioned, it was a classic style barbell - rather than the discs of modern barbells, on the end were two large, metallic balls - or at least, they could be assumed to be metallic given how they looked. It could just as easily be a trick, however - made of papier-mâché, and the guy lifting it just making a big show of how heavy it was, when really, anyone could lift it.
He knelt down, bringing his hands down to grab the bar. The second his hands grasped it, he kind of knew in his head already that it was exactly as heavy as it looked, but it was that kind of thing where his body was racing ahead of his mind. He pulled, and the strain on his body was great and immediate. He tried in vain to pull the barbell up for a few second, but let go pretty much immediately. His arms were starting to hurt, and his hands were a little bit red from the effort. It was absolutely a feat of great strength to lift this thing.
“Looking to become a strongman?” said a voice, right in his ear, and Ithan jumped a mile, tripping over the barbell and falling to the dirt floor of the arena. He rolled over, and looked to see that behind him, what looked like the ringleader of the carnival had appeared.
He certainly looked the part, at least. He was a big guy, tall, definitely beating out Ithan by a foot, with a round, rotund belly, and thick legs and arms. He wore a large, red, caped velvet jacket, with golden accents, that sweeped around his knees, some very tight white pants that looked like they’d just come out of the wash, shiny and new, along with a pair of thigh-high shiny black boots, somehow completely untouched by the dirt he was standing on. A red bowtie was around his neck, and a black top hat atop his head, underneath which was a shock of somewhat spiky ginger hair, cut short to come around his shoulders. His face was weirdly chubby and slender at the same time. He had fat cheeks, suggesting some kind of jolliness, but the expression on his face, and his features (a kind of long, slender nose, squinting eyes, thinner lips) made him look like he was scheming something. He was leaning forward, looking at Ithan with a glint in his...were those eyes red? Ithan blinked, and they were a slate grey.
What surprised Ithan was how he hadn’t heard the man coming at all. Those elephantine legs surely would have made some sort of sound, but it was like this guy had just teleported behind him.
“H...How di--” Ithan began, but was cut off.
“Our previous one had to leave due to complications.” The ringleader continued. “We could certainly do with another.”
“I...what?” Ithan was stumbling over himself. Was this guy…? He pushed himself up off the ground, dusting off his knees. “I...I’m sorry, I was just coming in here to get out of the heat. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed in here or not. I’ll leave now.”
“Leave?” The ringleader said, standing up straight, his belly protruding outwards. “I’m offering you a job, young man. My name is Algernon Vantucci. Ringleader of this carnival.” A mischievous looking smirk spread across his face.
“As a strongman? Uh...no, I’m good.” Ithan scratched his head. “Y-you saw how bad I was. Couldn’t even lift it off the ground.”
“That’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a little practice.” Algernon said, approaching Ithan with somewhat surprising speed, and bringing an arm around his shoulder. “You can do anything, if you put your mind to it!”
Ithan felt kind of uncomfortable with this strange man touching him. He raised a hand and moved Algernon’s arm off his shoulder. “I appreciate the, uh...confidence, you have in me, but I doubt I’d be ready to perform any time soon.”
“Don’t be so down on yourself, Ithan.” Algernon replied, leaning forward so their eyelines were level. “It’s the carnival. Anything and everything could happen here! Why don’t you give it another try? I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the results. They’re really not as heavy as they seem.” He brought his arm back around Ithan, and sort of hustled him back towards the barbell. He had a very confident, grand bluster, a motormouth of compelling, manipulative speaking that made Ithan somewhat miss the fact that he had not told this man his name.
“It’s just a matter of motivation!” Algernon continued. “Of mindset! The little engine that could, no? If you resign yourself to assuming you can’t perform a feat, of course you never will! Give it another go, but this time, remove all your preconceptions about this. Get rid of your thoughts about you being weak, about just being a boy. There is only you, and the barbell.”
Ithan was really baffled now, but he was getting the feeling this was a guy who you couldn’t argue against, because he just wouldn’t listen. He might as well go along with it, just to prove he couldn’t, and get this dude out of his hair. He knelt down, grabbed the barbell, and pulled. The same result - too heavy, not even slightly lifting off the ground. He gave it a couple of seconds of pulling, then let go.
“See? Just not possible.” Ithan said, shrugging. “I’m gonna--”
“I know you weren’t trying.” Algernon said, with a knowing smile, wagging his finger. “You didn’t follow my advice. You came into it, having already decided you wouldn’t achieve it. I’m teaching you a lesson, young man. Do it properly this time, and you’ll be glad that you did.”
“Fuckin’...alright…” Ithan muttered.
He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind like Algernon had suggested. He tried to forget about the fact that he’d never worked out consistently in his life, that he’d mostly subconsciously resigned himself to admiring muscular physique rather than ever hoping to have it. Which, was like, not a necessarily bad thing but...preconceptions. It was just him and the barbell.
“Don’t think about the weight of it. It could be any weight at all. You could have any kind of strength. You don’t know, until you pick it up.” Algernon’s voice said behind him.
Ithan opened his eyes, knelt down, putting his hands around the bar, and pulled, and…
Well, if you had been expecting he’d suddenly found incredible strength and could lift the barbell over his head, you’d be disappointed. The barbell remained the same weight, and it hardly came off the ground. He pulled on it, straining his body, and the weights at either end lifted off the ground ever so slightly - but he couldn’t do it. He let go, and the weights fell heavily to the ground, despite the short distance which they had been raised.
“See? I can’t do it! Can barely even lift them!” Ithan exclaimed.
“True, true.” Algernon acknowledged, nodding, with his hand raised to his chin. Then he looked to Ithan. “But...you did lift them.”
“What?” Ithan turned to look at Algernon.
“You lifted it. It was slight, it was small, barely even off the ground...but you lifted it. You felt it, didn’t you? The strain of gravity as you defied it’s pull, the bounce as you let go of them and they fell to the ground. It can’t have fallen if it was never lifted in the first place...you must have lifted it.”
“I...I guess, but--”
“If I may make a suggestion”, Algernon continued, “Try pulling with your palms under the barbell, rather than over. It’s a more natural way to pull. I’m sure you’ll see the results immediately.”
Ithan was getting kind of irritated now. “Look, dude, I’m not gonna suddenly be crazy strong, alright? Just...let it be.” He snapped.
Algernon looked a little offended, but then he smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, my friend. I was just trying to give you a little motivation. I work very hard to bring joy and happiness to others. When I saw you, I tried to think of a way I could help you as well, bring you the happiness you seek.” He said.
Ithan felt kind of bad for snapping at him. He did seem like he wanted to help, even if he’d gotten the wrong end of the stick about Ithan messing with the barbell. “Alright…” He said, also with a tone of apology to his voice. “I guess I’ll give it another go.”
“Splendid!” Algernon clapped happily. “I’m sure you can do this! I have a very good eye for this sort of thing.”
Ithan didn’t know what he was talking about, but he dutifully turned back to the barbell. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to follow this guy’s instructions. He guessed he just felt awkward about sneaking into somewhere he wasn’t meant to be, then chewing him out. He knelt down again, turning his hands so they came under the barbell, like Algernon had told him. Setting his legs apart slightly this time, he pulled tightly on the barbell one more time, and as he pulled, something began to change.
Algernon’s eyes began to sparkle, as he looked closely at Ithan’s arms, which were straining heavily, and as they were, he could see them starting to grow. Ithan’s forearms were developing muscle at a surprising rate considering he’d only attempted to lift the barbell three times. The muscles began to strain against his skin, veins being pushed to the surface, as a crop of hair suddenly burst forth from his arms.
As he pulled, the barbell started to lift from the ground, but this was no mere fraction-of-an-inch lift. It was starting to come up properly, an inch, then two, and then his arms bent at the elbow, and his upper arms began to feel the strain. His biceps and triceps bulged outward with muscle, as he managed to lift the barbell to just the height of his knees...before it became too much, and he dropped it on the ground again, panting heavily.
“Holy shit!” Ithan cried, falling back onto his butt. “My arms feel like they’re on fire!”
“That just means you’ve been working hard!” Algernon said, looking excitedly at Ithan. “Did you see how high you lifted it? Look at how strong you are!” He knelt down next to Ithan, taking one of Ithan’s arms in his hand and lifting it. Ithan blinked. Where had...where had those muscles come from? He hadn’t…he’d lifted it, hadn’t he? That was...but where?
“They’re developing nicely, aren’t they?” Algernon said, before Ithan could question too far. “Try again! I bet you can get it even higher this time!”
Ithan felt like something was wrong here, but the rush of adrenaline of actually pulling it off was making his head kind of hazy, and it seemed like it would be easiest to just do what Algernon said. He pushed himself up, dusted his hands off, and knelt down again, grasping the barbell with more confidence this time, his hands growing thicker, as hairs grew out across his knuckles.
He began lifting again, and this time it was quicker, the barbells quickly getting to the height of his knees, just as he’d had them before. His arm muscles bulged outwards again, quickly beginning to look strange on his small body, but as he began to lift it past his knees, and he began to move his posture up, his body began to change in tandem. His torso was getting thicker, his core becoming stronger, as powerful muscle began to develop there.
There was a sound of tearing, as the sleeves of his shirt tore open around his enlarging shoulders, but Ithan didn’t hear it, so focused he was on lifting the barbell. His eyes were closed, his teeth gritted painfully, but, no pain, no gain, right? If he could just get to standing up straight...it was like pushing a heavy rock up a hill, where he felt like if he could just get it on to the next flat step, he’d be able to hold it there. His legs were thickening to hold the weight, his thighs growing, pressing tightly against his pants. Underneath his clothes, hair was growing all over his body, across his arms, along his stomach, which was bulging with a little bit of fat over the muscle underneath, on his legs. Testosterone was coursing through his body at an unnatural rate, making him grow more hair in seconds than he ever had in a single day prior.
With a sudden boost in power, Ithan pulled himself up straight, his spine popping as he spontaneously grew in height, now a few inches higher, approaching 6 feet tall. His arms hung down, holding the barbell at his waist, and he was breathing heavily through his nose, the effort he was exerting to lift this weight showing on his strained face. He opened his eyes, and saw Algernon standing in front of him.
“Oh, wonderful!” Algernon cried. “It’s all going so perfectly! You’ll be ready for the show before you know it!”
“What are...you talking about?” Ithan managed to say between breaths, his struggle showing even in his voice, which sounded slightly strangled, as he struggled to hold on to the barbell.
“Look at you, those rippling muscles! That powerful core!” Algernon leaned close, admiring Ithan’s body, which Ithan only just noticed. He found himself concerned - but he was struggling to understand why. Had he not always been like this? He’d worked on his muscles for a while now...why did he have this sensation like it was the first time he’d ever seen them?
“You’re going to be incredible, I know it! Keep going! Up to the chest!!”
Ithan nodded. He shouldn’t be concerned. He trusted Algernon. The man always had his interests at heart. He began trying to lift the barbell further.
As the barbell was raised higher above his waist, he began to feel the strain on his chest, and to compensate, his pecs suddenly bulged out with powerful muscle, becoming thick and prominent - and causing the collar of his shirt to rip open, inadvertently making it a v-neck, revealing an extremely hairy chest that made him look older, look...manlier. Powerful, and strong. He arched his back, growing taller again, taller than Algernon, as he lifted the barbell so it was against his chest, almost completely over his head.
He moved his feet to better support his weight, ignoring the fact that his sandals were breaking open as his ankles and feet grew in size, hair growing along the feet just as it had everywhere else. He let out a groan of exertion, and as he did, his neck thickened, making his vocal chords stretch, his voice getting deeper.
“Amazing! Wonderful!” Algernon cried with utter delight. “Come on, Gustav! Just a little bit more!”
Ithan creaked open an eye. “Wh...who’s...Gustav…?” He spoke between breaths, his voice with rasping with a distinct Eastern-European accent, completely unlike the American one he’d had seconds before.
Algernon laughed, a light, pleasant laugh. “Ohoho, Gustav, you get so wrapped up in your lifting you even forget your own name!” He chuckled.
“Gustav…” he repeated. That...wasn’t his name...he was pretty sure, but, come to think of it, he couldn’t...think of anything else it could be. He felt like he’d had a grasp of something a second ago, but he’d lost it now…
As he pondered the name, his skin was darkening ever so slightly, the tan deepening, becoming more of an ashen brown, the hair continuing to grow on his body - and his strained clothes were beginning to shift. His shirt was connecting with his pants, as his legs thickened again, and the pants ripped above his knees, just barely clinging to his thighs. The two articles of clothing were merging together, clinging tightly to his body. The lights of the arena began to reflect off them, the material changing to tight lycra as the colour began to change, stripes of red being painted horizontally across his body, making his clothes into a tight singlet that cleaved closely to his rippling muscles. The leather belt he’d been wearing held strong, expanding slightly, the buckle becoming thicker, settling beneath his belly, squeezing it upwards to make it stick out a little bit more.
Gustav...Gustav...he couldn’t think of any other name he could possibly have...Algernon must be right. His name was Gustav. He smirked a little. He could always trust Algernon. Algernon was always right. It wasn’t Gustav’s job to be smart anyway. He just had to be strong.
“Come on, Gustav! Just a little bit more! Bring it over your head!” he heard Algernon cry.
Of course! What was he doing, wasting time like this? He’d come here to do something. He grinned, and pushed the barbell upwards, higher and higher. As he did, his eyebrows thickened with hair, heavier on his brow, which was pushing forward, as his nose became square and prominent on his face. On his upper lip, he was growing a mustache that was quickly becoming full and bushy, growing into a thick handlebar moustache that covered his mouth.
While he was growing all this hair, however, it seemed he was losing the hair atop his head, the short locks of his dark hair falling away, floating to the floor - he was having a rapid attack of male pattern baldness, almost as if to make up for all the hair he’d grown on his body and face, and before long, there wasn’t a single hair on his head, all of it having fallen to the dirt, leaving him as bald as a newborn baby.
With a final groan of exertion, he lifted the barbell completely over his head, and straightened his back, now standing at a grand 7 feet tall, towering over Algernon. There was a slight nip at his right ear, as a gold earring clipped itself into it from nowhere, and as a final touch, ink was drawn onto the skin of his right shoulder, creating the shape of an anchor.
Gustav held the barbell over his head for a few seconds, then, turning to the side, over-exerted, he tossed the barbell to the ground, it crashing heavily against the floor. His arms relaxed, his entire body burning from the strain of lifting the immense weight. He bent over for a second, hands on his knees, breathing heavily, then he looked at Algernon with a grin.
“Is good to be strong, da?” He asked, rhetorically.
“Oh, indeed it is, Gustav!” Algernon clapped again. “Absolutely perfect! Tonight’s going to be a show the audience will not forget! Take a moment to rest in your trailer so you’re ready for it. They’re going to love you!”
“Da, boss. I vill do zat.” Gustav nodded, and turned to leave. He could always count on Algernon to tell him what was best for him.
As he exited the big top into the sunshine, he glanced around at the carnival, still in full swing, and smiled to himself. He loved working at the carnival. He’d done it ever since he was a child, starting as simply a helper for the carnies, then beginning to take on his own position as a strongman. It perhaps wasn’t the most glamorous job, and in the modern day, with all the computers and TV shows, he understood that simple entertainment like his probably didn’t have the same thrill as it might once have, but it was something he loved to do, especially to see young children, who were always the most excited by his abilities. He didn’t know much English - he’d never needed to, with Algernon mostly speaking for him, but fun was a universal language, and he loved to see children having fun, the joy on their faces as they rushed from ride to ride, and the awe they’d have later on, when they saw him perform his feats of strength. It was something that filled his own heart with happiness every time.
Best do what Algernon said, and rest up. He had a big night tonight. But then, it was a big night every night, at the big top.
A commission for gogetyourverb - Dr. Oswald Mode returns! This time the subject is getting more chubby than muscly - and a little bit furry, too.
--------------------------------------
The car slowly rolled to a stop as Jeremy found an open spot on the side of the road. It was a bit of an awkward spot to get into - parallel parking was always kind of finicky - but he managed to slip his little gold sedan into the spot rather comfortably nestled between two others. He pulled up the handbrake, and turned the key. The radio clicked off, the hum of the engine stopped. It was just him, sitting in the car now. He was afraid. He wasn’t really sure why.
It wasn’t like there was anything to really be scared of. Just a one-hour session, and then he could get on with the rest of his day, probably feeling a bit better overall. He looked out of the window, across the sidewalk, at the building he’d stopped here for, looking mainly at the plaque next to the door.
Dr. Oswald Mode - Hypnotherapist
Hypnotherapy. He’d heard good and bad things about it. He supposed that was why he was scared. He felt unsure about it. If it was fake, then it was kind of a waste of his money, and his time, although he supposed it wasn’t exactly a huge waste of either. If it wasn’t fake, though...that was part of what really scared him. If this guy was a hypnotist for real, then...he could do anything to Jeremy while he was under. He seemed to have good reviews, and there wasn’t any indication that he’d do such a thing, but...it was the fear of relinquishing control over his own mind that worried Jeremy.
In a sense, however, that was kind of why he was here. His mind was almost too controlling for him. He needed some way to let go and be loose. It would be more of a waste of time if he didn’t go in in the first place, anyway. He had set this up, he did have the money, he’d driven out into town to do this. He’d just be wasting the gas money if he stumbled at the last hurdle. Besides, now that the engine was off, the AC wasn’t running anymore, and in this heat, the car was going to turn into a sauna real fast. He pulled the key out of its slot, and stepped out of the car.
It was a hot day. Not the hottest day, still some clouds in the sky, but pretty sweltering, regardless. Jeremy could feel the heat on the metal of the car as he shut the door. He’d gone with a sky blue shirt and some grey shorts today, and some sandals on his feet. A good day for going outside, doing something. Maybe if he felt particularly good after the session, he’d go down the pool or something. Crossing the sidewalk, Jeremy walked towards the little building, and pushed open the door into the unassuming clinic.
At the very least, it was cool inside. He didn’t have much to say about the room’s boring interior. It was a doctor’s office, interior design wasn’t really their thing. The muted green and brown...it was about what Jeremy expected from the place. The woman behind the desk, clicking around on the computer that looked like it had come straight from the late 90s seemed like she fit right in as well - the black suit, the red hair, the horn-rimmed glasses. Stuffy as the place she was in, it seemed.
The woman glanced up at Jeremy, then back at the computer. “Jeremy?” she asked.
“Uh...that’d be me.” Jeremy replied.
“Alright.” The woman nodded, sternly. “You’re on time. He’s with another client but he should be finished in a minute. Take a seat.” She gestured behind Jeremy, and he turned to look, seeing a dark brown leather couch.
“Um. Thanks.” Jeremy said meekly, walking over to the couch and sitting down on it. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, kind of lumpy and awkward to sit on. The pillows felt like they hadn’t been fluffed up in a while. He shifted around a bit, trying to get into a good position, before deciding that what he had was probably as good as it got, and settling down.
There was that awkward silence common in doctor’s offices, as Jeremy waited on the couch for the prior client to be finished. There wasn’t much to look at, and the magazines on the coffee table didn’t terribly excite Jeremy. Before long, he’d pulled out his phone and started playing one of the games he had on it - one of those mindless Bejeweled clones, just for something to do. The coloured shapes popped and exploded silently on the screen, as the woman behind the desk tapped away on her keyboard.
After what felt like an age, but was really only something like 5 or 10 minutes, Jeremy’s attention was brought to the ceiling above him, as there was the sound of something hitting the carpet very heavily above. The rhythmic pace with which it was happening, and the movement of the sound, away from him and towards the stairs, suggested it was someone walking - but the thumping made them sound like a dump truck.
There was the sound of a door above opening, and then a smooth, deep voice, with a classy English accent said, “If you need anything else, you know my number.” The door shut again, and the stairs creaked heavily as the person leaving made their way down them, squealing in pain as they valiantly held up the weight. The person who turned the corner and came down the other flight of stairs…was…
The phrase “mountain of a man” is generally used to refer to someone who is large in stature due to their muscular attributes. This was not the case for this guy, but it was hard to think of another phrase to describe him, because he was genuinely massive. The guy was horrendously obese, completely filling the staircase with how wide he was. His body quivered with every step down the stairs he took, belly jiggling, the jowls of his cheeks flopping a little bit every time, short brown hair, becoming lost in the flesh folds of his face.
The only thing that stopped him looking like a complete mess was his clothing. For all his weight, he was decked out rather finely, in an expensive looking suit - clearly custom-made, for nothing off the rack was ever going to fit this guy. The golden rings stuck on his chubby fingers made it obvious he had quite expensive tastes. Regardless of this, the guy was somewhat disgusting to look at, as far as Jeremy was concerned. Not that being fat was a bad thing, but this guy just took it to the limit. He waddled past Jeremy on the couch and the receptionist’s desk, before...somehow squeezing out of the door.
“You can go up.” The receptionist said, without looking away from the computer.
Jeremy stood up, feeling rather awkward, and moved towards the stairs, taking them one at a time. They didn’t creak nearly as much with his weight, which he supposed was something he was a little thankful for. He hoped hypnotherapy wouldn’t make him as fat as that guy...although he guessed there was no reason for it to do that. It wasn’t like he was about to ask to eat more, or anything.
He turned the corner, going up the second flight, towards the door at the end of the hallway. It was quite a small hallway - he kind of wondered how the fat man had even managed to get through here. At the end, he came up to the door, and knocked on it.
“Come in”, the English voice called out again. Jeremy opened the door, entering the slightly nicer looking room that was the office of Dr. Mode.
The man himself was already standing up, looking at Jeremy as he came in the room. He made quite an impression - the round body shape, the thick black beard and hair, the cosmic, spacy tattoos on his arms. The guy looked pretty professional in spite of those tattoos, but they gave Jeremy a little bit of pause. It looked a bit...new-agey. He hoped this guy wasn’t a quack after all. Dr. Mode extended a hand, and Jeremy walked over, extending his own to shake it.
“It’s good to meet you. I’m Dr. Oswald Mode. You must be Jeremy?” Oswald asked.
“Uh, yep, that’s right.” Jeremy said, hand clasped by Oswald’s tougher hand. The guy had a very firm handshake.
“Please, Jeremy, take a seat.” Oswald indicated the chairs placed next to the window, and Jeremy sat down in one. It was much comfier than the sofa downstairs - he guessed the money for this gig must have gone into the actual experience of the therapy, which made sense. Oswald walked around his desk, settling into the chair across from Jeremy, and smiled at him. “From what you told me on the phone, you’ve been having some...anxiety problems, correct?” He asked.
“Um...something like that.” Jeremy replied. “I just...I feel like I’ve become kind of a recluse. There’s some...stuff that’s happened to me, and it sort of took a hit to my confidence. I feel like I need to start getting out there again, but I’m...I mean, I was afraid to even come out here.” He explained, as Oswald nodded along to what he was saying. “I feel like I need to let go of my inhibitions but...it’s hard to do...and...I guess that’s why I’m here.”
Oswald smiled. “Well, releasing inhibitions is what I do best, if I say so myself. Now, I’m sure you know this part, but I am required to mention that undertaking this therapy will result in a certain amount of alteration to your mind. That is the nature of this kind of therapy, and if you feel at any time that you’re not comfortable with how it’s turning out, you reserve the right to end the session when you like. Do you understand?”
“Uh...yeah.” Jeremy nodded “Yeah, you told me this on the phone.”
“I know I did”, Oswald replied, “but I like to make sure that people are willing and understanding of what they’re going into. If you’re still feeling anxious about it, it might be a bit tougher to help you.”
“No, yeah, I get it.” Jeremy nodded again. “I’m...I’m fine with it.”
“Perfect!” Oswald said, giving him another warm smile. “Now, SLEEP.”
Like a light being turned off at the flip of a switch, Jeremy was asleep.
---
“They’re always so vague with what they want.” Oswald chuckled to himself, looking at the zonked human before him. “It’s like writing a blank cheque. Alright, let’s see what we can do...getting rid of inhibitions is easy, Jeremy. They’re fragile, easily defeated. They do a good job of looking scary, but it’s just a facade. Like a cardboard stand of a zombie in a hokey ghost house. You just crumple them up like a little piece of paper, and they’re gone.” As if to demonstrate, Oswald leaned behind him, grabbing a piece of blank paper off his desk, crumpling it up, and tossing it in the bin in the corner of the room.
“Now...how about you give it a go?” Oswald said, leaning back to grab another piece of paper, this time handing it to Jeremy, who took it gently in his hands, staring blankly ahead. “Just imagine all your insecurities, all your anxieties, all your...inhibitions, are sitting on that piece of paper. And then just...crumple it up. Throw it away. Go on.”
Following the instructions, Jeremy mindlessly started scrunching up the paper, but his slow, entranced movements weren’t really making much of an effort.
“Go on, harder than that. Like I did.” Oswald encouraged, and Jeremy tried again in earnest, crunching up the paper into a small ball. “And now throw it away.” Oswald said, and Jeremy did so, tossing the paper to the side. It bounced against the carpet.
“Well, that was easy enough, wasn’t it?” Oswald asked.
“Yeah…” Jeremy said vacantly. “Easy…”
“But that’s not enough for you, Jeremy. Getting rid of what holds you back is great, but you haven’t really taken advantage of that, have you? Such a meek little body. If you’d stopped caring about what people wanted you to be much earlier...well, you’d look very different, wouldn’t you?” Oswald suggested. “I can see it there. So many times you’ve wanted to let loose, but held it in…Burgers and steaks, meals you’ve internally salivated over but resisted…I wonder how you would look, if you’d eaten everything your heart desired.”
At Oswald’s words, Jeremy’s body was starting to grow. It was like the mental image Oswald had conjured was imprinting itself on reality, as fat started to develop, making his belly bigger. It was slow at first, his body gaining some slight pudge, little fat rolls and love handles, but as the thought of all the things he’d wanted but never had filled his mind at Oswald’s suggestion, it was like he was eating them for real.
His belly kept growing, starting to pool in his lap, resting heavily on his knees, which were starting to fatten as well. His vest pinged up off his stomach, starting to cling to his chest, which was itself gaining fat. The chest was starting to push outward too, sagging down to rest on his burgeoning gut, becoming a set of plump, squeezable moobs.
His butt was fattening, starting to fill the seat, buttocks quickly doubling in size, his legs not far behind, the thighs thickening quickly to support the larger rear end. The chair creaked as the fat from all those imagined meals quickly piled on to his body, no longer becoming so imaginary. His thighs were pressing against the arm-rests of the chair, struggling to be contained by it.
There was a popping sound, and the button on his shorts pinged off, hitting the wall, unable to hold in his quickly expanding waistline. The circumference of his body was only getting larger by the second, and the clothes he wore just didn’t fit him any more. The vest clung tightly to his moobs, perfectly outlining them and leaving little to the imagination, the shorts were barely containing his ass, which was starting to become almost gargantuan in size, each buttock practically the size of a desk globe. His sandals snapped open, as his feet fattened. Instinctively, he wiggled his toes, each of which was getting rounder and chubbier alongside the soles of his feet.
It was probably a good thing he wasn’t wearing a shirt, as fat began to hang off his arms, his shoulders increasing in size. His neck was fattening too, getting thicker, which made the vocal cords within his throat shift slightly, forcing his voice to get deeper. The skin bunched up around his neck, giving him a double chin, almost a triple chin, as his cheeks became chubbier, a slight rose blush appearing, giving him something of a ruddy look. His nose swelled a little bit, becoming wider and a little flatter.
Oswald nodded, quite pleased with how this had turned out so far. “That’s what I love about this...I’m not really changing you, am I? I’m just making you how you’ve always wanted to be, isn’t that right? Bringing out the you you’ve imagined yourself to be, but never let yourself be.”
Jeremy nodded. The person before Oswald had clearly led a very different kind of life, one freed from inhibition, and fear of what others thought of him. His gut was testament enough to that, a large mound of flabby flesh that would’ve only been gained through a lifetime of hedonistic, gluttonous indulgence.
“I have to wonder, though…” Oswald sat back in his chair. “It’d be a very different life you’d lead. It’s more than just letting go of your inhibitions...it’s a lifestyle. A lifestyle...you’ve been on your own for a long time, haven’t you, Jeremy? You don’t have many friends...not in your line of work.”
“My...line of work?” Jeremy asked blankly.
“Yes, the kind of work that’s allowed you to be as big as you want, live the kind of life that you want, because no-one can tell you what to do with yourself. Sedentary, but well-travelled. What kind of work would that be, I wonder…?”
If Jeremy had the presence of mind to look out of the window, he would look down to see his little gold sedan parked outside the building start to expand. The front of the car rose up, the grill expanding as the hood became higher than most people’s heads. The back of the car became taller, to compensate, the front two seats being boosted upwards to look over the hood. The back seat seemed to sink into the metal, disappearing entirely, leaving only the front two seats. The wheels doubled in size, for lifting heavier loads, as the gold paint darkened, turning to a more vibrant colour - a bright, brilliant red that glinted in the sunlight. Jeremy’s sedan had become a heavy truck cab.
Jeremy himself wasn’t exempt from these changes. His sky blue shirt was starting to lighten, losing its colour, being bleached by the sun coming in through the windows at rapid speed. It had already taken on a sort of vest-like quality, due to being bunched up by his thicker shoulders and burgeoning belly, but now, it really was becoming a vest. The material became a bit thicker, a little more akin to a sweater, but still thin, as it expanded to become more fitting to his body, the lower hem sliding back down his belly, covering it up - but not all the way, still leaving a gap to expose his belly button.
Meanwhile, his shorts, which were so strained against the fat he’d gained that if he moved even an inch they’d tear, were starting to change too. The legs were extending down, sliding down over his knees, then lower, lower, as the material started to expand. A new gold button grew out and clipped itself back together, as a thick leather belt snaked out from nowhere, pulling tight against his waist. The material thickened as it turned from grey towards a light blue, then a darker, ocean-y blue, becoming a pair of denim jeans. Bigger than what he’d been wearing, but still just ever slightly too small, clinging tightly to his globular rear end and thick, tree trunk thighs.
A bead of sweat was breaking out on his forehead, his chair catching the sun exactly - and as if to protect him from this, something fell from the ceiling, landing directly on his head - a dark blue baseball cap, with a large red C emblazoned on the front. It fit rather snugly onto his head. Meanwhile, down below, his sandals were reforming - and then changing too. The material thickened, and expanded, turning white, forming over his feet, building up into cuffs around his ankles, white laces threading and tying themselves up to complete a pair of brand new trainers.
For a moment, Jeremy looked quite spick and span despite his size - but that didn't seem to last for long. As time passed, his clothes were starting to look older...look worse. Grime, dirt and dust started to appear on the shoes, from walking in all kinds of places - desertous areas like Las Vegas, muddy forests in the midwest. Marks began to appear on his jeans, threads becoming loose from being mindlessly picked at. Grease and sweat stains began to appear on his vest, from long drives across the country sat in a boiling truck cabin, and sloppy takeaways eaten overnight at gas stations.
What Oswald was drawn to, however, was the baseball cap that had been given to Jeremy. Any baseball fan would recognize that red C - it was the logo of the Chicago Cubs, and the thought of cubs gave Oswald a rather interesting idea. It would be a difficult one to pull off, because it didn’t mean just changing this guy’s life. It would mean changing a rather fundamental element of the world - and that would definitely bring him some unwanted attention.
He put a finger to his chin, regarding the flabby trucker before him. He could just call it quits here, and no-one would be any the wiser. But...it was lacking something. He did always like to give his creations a fun little twist, and this would be the perfect one, but...it was definitely going to raise some eyebrows. But...he was finding it hard to help himself.
A demon of lust was a slave, even to his own desire in the end.
He stood up, looking out the window at Jeremy’s truck. His eyes flashed red, the sclera turning black.
“Lilith”, he said, his voice sounding more guttural, more evil, more...demonic. As he opened his mouth to speak the words, his lips revealed a set of sharp, terrifying teeth. “We’re going to be getting a visit soon, probably from Bartholomew, or someone like that. Be ready.”
---
Downstairs, the receptionist took up a pen, and started writing something down.
---
Oswald turned back towards Jeremy, sitting back down in the chair - his eyes were blue again, his teeth blunt and normal, his voice returning to that kind, English accent. “Sorry about that. Just needed to sort out some business. As I was saying, of course, you’d like the Chicago Cubs, wouldn’t you, even though you come from Texas.”
“I...come from Texas?” Jeremy asked blankly, as his vocal chords shifted, his voice starting to gain a twang from the east of Texas, taking over his speech, a far cry from his milder accent seconds earlier.
“Yes. A classic redneck, you are. And yet your team is the Chicago Cubs. Because that name speaks to you on a bit of a personal level. You used to be a cub too, after all.”
“Cub…” Jeremy repeated. Hair was starting to grow on his arms, on his chest, across his belly, lots of thin little strands of chestnut brown hair pushing out of his skin. Which was a bit weird, considering his hair was ginger.
“Yes...a cub, when you were a young ‘un. But not now. Now, you’re all grown up.”
The hair was growing quickly, more and more of it developing across his skin so quick it was starting to cover the soft, pink flesh up, more and more brown hairs, growing across him like...like fur, because that’s what it was. Fine, sleek brown fur, growing across his body, covering his arms, his belly, his chest, crawling down his legs, encircling his neck.
Jeremy lifted a hand, watching blankly as it was covered with fur - and then began to shift, the palms pushing out into paw pads, his nails lengthening, growing into sharp, hooked claws, the fingers shortening but coming closer together, like bear paws - with a thumb, to allow him to keep some control. He needed it, for driving on the road, after all.
The fur was slipping down his ankles, covering his feet, which grew to match his hands, big heavy paws, big that one might worry his new/old trainers would break, but they grew a little, and managed to keep the paws contained. Up top, the fur was climbing around his face. It connected with his hair, and it was like a wave flowing across sand, as the ginger was quickly overtaken by brown fur.
The fur covered his cheeks, flowed around his eyes, and as it did, his jaw clicked, extending forward. His nose was pushing forward too, as it turned black, and wet. A long tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked it, before sliding back into the newly forming muzzle, running along teeth that were becoming sharper, growing into powerful fangs designed for ripping apart a nice steak. Before long, he was no longer a human, but…
“You’re a full grown bear now, Barry. That’s why you like the Cubs. The only team that really represents you, aren’t they?” Oswald asked.
“Yeah.” Barry said, pulling on his vest, to cover his furry belly a little more. “Gotta...gotta support my fellow bears...y’know...even if they’re not really bears...blood of the covenant’s thicker than the water of the womb, they say…”
“They do indeed...I’m surprised you know the full phrase, Barry.” Oswald nodded.
“Hey...just ‘cause I’m a redneck trucker, ain’t mean I’m all stupid.” Barry smirked, baring his teeth. He pulled on the cap, bringing it lower, making it hard to see his black, beady eyes.
“Of course. One shouldn’t be too quick to judge.” Oswald replied. Barry nodded in confirmation. “Well...I think that’s all we have time for, isn’t it? Is there anything else you needed?” Oswald asked.
“Nah, I’m good. Gotta get on the road again. Gotta deliver some clothes to New York.” Barry replied, looking down with admiration at his truck. He was feeling a desire to get back in it again as soon as possible, to feel the seat rumble beneath him as he cruised down the highway.
“Of course. Shouldn’t keep them waiting. I’ll let you go.” Oswald smiled.
Barry stood up, the chair creaking with relief as the weight was lifted. He began to make his own way towards the door, and Oswald followed behind, looking a little bit meek in comparison to the burly bear-man he had created. Barry stomped heavily down the stairs, the steps creaking in anguish again at his weight - although not as much as the fat cat he’d seen when he’d come in. Now that guy had really let himself go, but he could appreciate that.
He began to cross the lobby, when he heard Oswald’s voice again, standing at the top of the stairs. “If you need anything, you know the number to call, right?” Oswald said.
Barry paused, turning to look back at Oswald, and chuckled. “No offense, doc, but...ah, don’t think I’ll be needin’ to come here again. I feel much better than I did.”
“They do say I’m very effective.” Oswald said wryly. “But just in case, alright? I hope the highway treats you well.”
Barry nodded, and tipped his cap, strolling the rest of the way across the lobby, towards the exit. He could feel the receptionist’s eyes on his back. As he stepped back out into the sunlight, he made a beeline for his truck. He dug into his pocket to find a set of keys. Not even looking, just rubbing his fingers along the keys, he found the one for the truck by touch alone. Doing a little jump to unlock and pull open the door and climb into the cab, he slid back into the driver’s seat, like he’d done a million times before. Adjusting the Cubs cap he wore and moving the mirror to get a good look behind him, he couldn’t help but give himself a cocky grin.
He looked good. He felt good. There was nothing better than the life he led. One of solitude, where he was free to express himself as he felt fit, and if anyone had a problem with it, they’d have to put their money where their mouth was, considering the kind of strength his bloated body gave him.
He jammed the key into the ignition, and turned it, and the truck roared to life beneath him, the seat humming with anticipation to get back out on the road - just like he was. It had only been a couple of hours and already he was jonesing for it. The way other people needed their coffee, he needed the road, as it was the only place where he truly felt like himself.
Parking brake off. Gear shift into 1, pull away. It wouldn’t be long before he was back where he belonged.
---
There was an awkward silence in the clinic, as both Oswald and the receptionist, Lilith, stared as Barry left the building.
Lilith clicked her tongue. “You know the man upstairs isn’t going to be happy, right?”
“I can see that. That’s why you told me we’d get a visit from Bartholomew?” Lilith said, looking at Oswald.
“It might be Bartholomew.” Oswald replied. “Chances are they just send one of the more random saints, the ones only the French care about. Let’s just lie low for a bit. Nothing crazy for the next month or so.”
Lilith just tutted, returning to what she was doing on her computer.
“You have to admit though…” Oswald smirked at her. “That one was definitely worth it.”
---------------------
Hi there, thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this story, consider sending me a tip on Ko-Fi, every little bit helps.
A grab bag commission for creatively-bankrupt, and an idea I’ve had in my head for about 2 years, I think. Had fun doing it - just hope I did it justice. A journalist for a wrestling magazine gets to interview his wrestling idol, but they both learn they have a deeper connection than they previously thought.
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There are some people in the world who say they feel out of place in the universe.They believe that whatever powers may be, they made a mistake, and this person was born in the wrong era, or the wrong country, or the wrong family. For many, they get over it, realize it was a phase and that they’re perfectly happy with the life they have now.
However, for some people, that feeling never truly goes away. There’s always a sense of implicit wrong-ness in their being, that wherever they are now is not where they are meant to be - and where they are meant to be feels that gap too. That absence is noticeable on a subconscious level, to those who are there to bear witness to it.
Sometimes, the universe truly does make mistakes, and when it does, it tries to fix them, one way or another.
***
The warm, Miami evening was drawing in, the setting sun still blazing brilliantly across the sky, streaks of warm red and orange piercing the darkness, as the city began to light up, neon pinpricks colouring the skyscrapers. People were going out, gearing up for parties, ready to have some real fun. Summer was finally here, but Conrad wasn’t here for that. He had a job to do, and he definitely didn’t want to screw this one up. He’d been working towards it for his entire career.
He handed the Lyft driver the cash for his ride, and then stepped out of the little car onto the pavement. He’d already been looking at the building as they pulled up, but it was only now, his view unobstructed by the constraints of the car, that he realized how tall this building was. It absolutely dwarfed him, reaching up scarily high. It was hardly the tallest building he’d ever seen, but there was a certain extravagance to it that scared him a little. He had Googled the building beforehand, seeing how much the penthouse apartments in this place went for. Anywhere between 16 million and 40 million. It almost made you feel a little sick. He’d never see that much in his bank account, let alone enough to spend that much as a frivolous purchase.
That feeling was quickly overridden by a practical maelstrom of other emotions. At the top of this building was a man he’d spent his entire life dreaming he could meet in person. He’d seen them from a distance, at the back of a packed crowd, as he strutted his stuff on his stage, but now he was going to be up close and personal with the man who had basically defined Conrad’s life, even if he had no idea it had. This man was why Conrad was even in this town in the first place.
Enough gawking like a brain dead idiot. He brought his vision back down to ground level, and began making his way across the very immaculately looked after yard that separated the skyscraping apartment building from the sidewalk. He was dressed lightly for the evening - a dark green shirt underneath a black hoodie, both of which hung slightly loose on his thin frame. His slim jeans hewed closely to his long legs, and he’d brought some new trainers for this. He’d had his hair cut just yesterday, the light brown carefully combed in a sweep across his head, making him look even more boyish, despite his age. Even though he was just a journalist, he was trying to look his best, without...looking like he was trying too hard. This was obviously a very hard balancing act, and he wasn’t even sure he’d got it right, still feeling anxiety over it as he walked up to the front door of the building.
The automatic doors hissed open as he stepped into the lobby. If the size of the building wasn’t enough, the lobby was adding to the intimidation he already felt. He could not be more out of place. The inside was slick and impressive. Glass with trimmings of gold seemed to be the general theme. The building’s name was printed in block letters across the front desk - “Sunny Isles Beach Apartments”. Conrad approached, pulling on the lanyard around his neck to show the press badge he had to the lady behind the desk.
“Conrad Eames.” Conrad explained. “I’m the journalist sent by Wrestling Confidential, here to talk to Javier Rosales?” His pronunciation of the name was as good as you could expect. A surprising amount of people just didn’t know how to say names within the Hispanic sphere at all, but Conrad had been taking the time to make sure he was saying it properly since he was in 2nd grade.
“Oh, yes.” The woman behind the desk said. “The magazine phoned ahead. I’ll just find out where he is for you.” Her clear intonation matched well with her carefully managed appearance - short, combed chestnut brown hair, subtle makeup, plain white shirt underneath a smart black jacket that didn’t really give much away, but made her look smart, and respectable. Conrad wasn’t interested in women in that way, but he had an appreciation for how good they could look.
“Seventy-second floor, penthouse apartment.” The woman said. “Take a right out of the elevator when you get up there, and it’s at the end of the hall. I’ll phone up to let him know you’re coming.” Conrad nodded, and began making his way towards the elevators at the back of the spacious lobby. He pressed the button, and waited. Hopefully not too many people were using it.
The number above the elevator doors said “55”. He glanced at the other elevator. “78”. This might be a while. In the meantime, he found himself reflecting on how he had come to this point.
It was a late evening in the summer of 1998 when Conrad had seen Rosales for the first time. His parents had gone out for the evening, and his older sister was doing the bare minimum job of babysitting him. His Game Boy had run out of batteries, and back then, the house only had one computer - and no-one was allowed to use it without Dad’s permission. The only thing Conrad could think to do for entertainment was watch VHS tapes.
Taping was something of a hobby for Conrad’s father. At 5 years old, Conrad didn’t really understand why his father felt the need to buy tons of blank tapes and record things he was watching. All he really knew was that there was a room at the top of the house filled to the brim with VHS tapes, and he didn’t like anything that was playing on the television at the moment, so tapes it was. His dad had an organization system, but young Conrad wasn’t much of one to pay attention to it. He just picked a tape at random.
When Conrad thought back to this period of his life, one thing he particularly remembered was how it felt to put a tape into the slot of a VHS player - the clunk as you set it into the slot, the slight resistance as you pushed it in, and then the whir as the machine accepted your offering, and automatically slid it out of your hands. The flickering, off-black of the screen as it read the tape, the juddery image as it was rewinded to the beginning. It all seemed so quaint now.
Yet, it was through this flickery, juddery image that Conrad saw him for the first time. The man who would define his life. The tape he’d chosen was a recording of a big pro-wrestling event that had happened locally a couple of years ago. He was immediately taken, drawn by the exciting drama and the powerful fights - it was like a soap opera, but instead of boring people having boring arguments, these people put their money where their mouth was and fought it out. It was captivating, and most captivating of all was Javier Rosales.
The Mexican luchador stole the spotlight almost every time he appeared. To Conrad, he was the undoubtedly the star of the show. Large, rippling muscles of bronze skin which he wasn’t afraid to show off, an incredible looking jet black beard. Clad in a mask and long wrestling pants coloured a deep scarlet, accented by black, and some powerful black boots, with red laces. Confident, brilliant, romantic, larger than life. Conrad wanted to be him, then, later, when he figured out a few things about himself, he wanted to be with Javier.
That summer night in 1998 was also the beginning of a lifelong love of professional wrestling. It was trashy, silly, over the top, but that was exactly what made him love it. He didn’t just want pro-wrestling to be a hobby, he wanted to be a part of that world. He gave up on being an actual wrestler somewhere in his late teens, realizing he was happier to be on the periphery. He had a talent for writing, he went into journalism, studying it at a higher level, and ended up working first for a few local papers, before moving between various wrestling magazines as a freelancer for a couple of years, then settling down at Wrestling Confidential.
He eventually got over his crush on Javier - while he still heavily admired the man, he realized, as all kids do, that it was ridiculous to expect any kind of real fulfillment from a one-sided relationship. Still, he had dreamed of meeting this man properly for a full 20 years, and now he finally had the chance. He kind of couldn’t believe the editor had entrusted him with an interview of this magnitude. He was only 25! However, he had worked overtime the second he heard the interview was coming up to make sure he was absolutely the one to be chosen for it, so maybe it wasn’t that big a surprise.
Conrad was broken from his reverie by the elevator doors opening, and a group of young, well-dressed socialites tumbling out of it, ready for a night of partying. He stepped to the side to let them pass. They were chatting loudly with no real concern for the world outside of them. He couldn’t really blame them. When you had so much money you could make your problems disappear, it was hard to give a shit about anything outside yourself. He slipped past them into the elevator. It was one of those ones on the side of the building, with a glass wall that looked out onto the beach behind the tower. He pressed the button for the 72nd floor, and let it take him up.
It was a silent ride, no muzak playing in the elevator. There didn’t need to be any. The view was more than enough to take up Conrad’s attention. It was beautiful. Even as the sun disappeared over the horizon, the beaches still looked as compelling as ever, and the lights of the city in the distance were dazzling. As the elevator continued to climb, Conrad started to get a sensation of vertigo. He turned away from the view. His attention was brought to the number above the door, indicating what floor he was at - it was ticking up with surprising speed. It almost made him feel as dizzy as looking out the window, but it would be over, soon. There was a ding. The number above the door showed “72”, and the doors smoothly slid open. Conrad stepped out.
The hallway was silent. Which way was it the lady had said? To the right, and at the end of the hall. He turned, and began walking that way. It was a bit like a fancy hotel, a plush carpet floor, with a full window to his right looking out onto the beach far below. He’d calmed down a bit now. It wasn’t that he was afraid of heights...it was just the experience of physically watching himself go higher that put the fear in him. Now that he was up here and had stopped moving upwards, it was fine. He was able to really appreciate the fantastic view...but he didn’t have time to stop and stare. He had a job to do, after all.
It was a long hallway, but there weren’t many doors. Conrad’s assumption was that the apartments behind the doors were very large, and he was about to come to the largest one, which took up the entire eastern side of that floor. The door to it was quite unassuming, as things went; just a simple, grey door with the word “Penthouse” on it. Conrad knocked on the door.
The nervousness in his chest starting to swell. This was it. This was the moment. In a few seconds, the man who had inadvertently defined his life would open it, and he would see him, and they would talk. They would...holy fuck. He couldn’t do this. He was going to explode on the spot. Why had he asked for this, why had he fought for it? It was going to be a disaster! He had to leave now, he couldn’t, he couldn’t--
The door opened, and there he was. In the flesh. After all this time. He was…It was like Conrad was in high school all over again. All those old feelings brought back to the surface. He was head over heels in love. Again.
Javier...he was...just so damn sexy. The masculine jaw, the finely combed, but full, bushy black beard, the handsome brow, prominent but straight nose. He looked like the love interest in a cheesy romance novel written and read by 40 year old women frustrated by their marriage. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that the man was only wearing a white towel around his waist, rivulets of water dripping across his bulging bronze pecs, his short black hair a little spiky and frizzy from the water, but somehow making him look even more handsome. His skin...he looked like a god. It was the only way Conrad could describe him. A perfect ideal of masculinity.
Conrad was lost for words. So was Javier. There was a moment of awkward silence between them. Conrad, pale, shocked, staring in awe at the Adonis-like example of perfection before him, and Javier, a look of confusion painted across his face, wondering who this man at his door was.
Conrad remembered himself, and hastily scrambled to show Javier his press badge. “C-Conrad Eames. I’m the journalist from Wrestling Confidential.” he stammered out.
Javier’s eyes turned up, his mouth stretching into a warm smile that made Conrad’s heart flutter. “Ah, of course! I was just in the middle of getting ready for you…” He replied, his Mexican accent smooth and as romantic as it had ever been.
“Didn’t the reception desk call up? They said they would.” Conrad asked.
“They may have, but as I mentioned, I was busy getting ready for you…” Javier said, water dripping off his body still. For you. Conrad died a little inside. “I have just gotten out of the shower, as you can probably see. I’ll need a few more moments, but you can sit in the lounge if you wish.” He stepped to the side, holding open the door, and beckoned Conrad in with a smile. Conrad had become like a ball of stress. He just quietly nodded, and slowly stepped into the apartment.
If the man standing behind him wasn’t enough, Conrad was bowled over again by the decadence of the apartment. A luxurious lounge, with the comfiest sofa he’d ever seen, and a gigantic TV to watch while sitting on it. There was an aquarium against the wall, filled with all kinds of colourful fish, more than a few glass cases showcasing the various trophies Javier had won over the years.
The view was even more impressive, directly facing the city now, the window facing out on to what looked like a massive balcony. There was a hot tub out there, and what looked like an infinity pool off to the right, facing the sea, as well as a grill if the owner ever felt like having a barbeque.
As Conrad looked to the left, back inside the apartment, he saw what looked like a games and relaxation area. There was table tennis, darts, a pool table, some beanbags and throw pillows around and an arcade cabinet of Dance Dance Revolution. It certainly looked like a fun place to be, although Conrad didn’t know if he’d really have the time to enjoy any of it.
The whole thing was upholstered beautifully. It seemed the architect that had designed the apartment had been going for a minimalist theme, but over the years that Javier had lived here, he had filled it with his own style and culture. Where it would have been sleek and white, like the inside of a marshmallow, Javier had brought colour and brightness, with luxurious carpets, throw pillows, posters - there was even an abstract mural he’d had painted directly on the wall, jagged lines and colours, somewhat reminiscent of a comic book.
“Take a seat anywhere, Conrad.” Javier said. “I’ve still got quite a bit to do, so it’ll take me a minute...if you wish to play one of the games, feel free.” He flashed a grin at Conrad. If Conrad’s heart kept fluttering at the rate it was he was pretty sure he’d end up having a heart problem. It seemed like everything Javier did made him fall in love all over again. This was embarrassing.
Javier turned away, walking back towards another door - Conrad presumed it was the shower. God, the way his back muscles moved. He wanted to just look at the guy for hours. Not that it wasn’t something he hadn’t already done, but...not like this, not in the flesh. He wanted to be held in those arms just once. Why was he like this? Holy fuck. He needed to stop being so horny, he had a job to do. He tried to look around the apartment again to get his mind off of Javier, but considering it was the man’s apartment, that might be hard to do.
He wandered around the apartment for a couple of minutes, glancing at what was there. The many trophies and awards Javier had won. A smile crossed Conrad’s face - among them, he could spot trophies the man had won all the way back from his years in primary school and secondary school, alongside his more recent accolades. It was cute, endearing, that he still valued those achievements.
For a couple of minutes he played DDR, although he wasn’t very good at it. Javier had had it set up so you didn’t need to feed it coins to play it, so he could have taken some time with it, but he didn’t feel like getting thrashed at something he clearly knew nothing about. He’d never played video games all that much - the ones he had played were usually ones about WWE.
He spent some time looking out at the view - he didn’t go out onto the balcony as it was probably cold out there, but he did wish he could spend time in that pool over there. It was probably heated, thinking about it, but...he didn’t want to presume Javier would be okay with that.
Finally, his attention was drawn to the glass cases again - but one he hadn’t really made a proper note of before. It was rather simple compared to its counterparts. Just a small, glass cube, the only thing inside was a bust of a person - a rather nondescript face, its intention being more function over form. The main draw was what the bust wore. It was a luchador mask, just like Javier’s - in fact, it was almost exactly Javier’s in shape and design. It covered the top of the head, opening up to give room for the nose and mouth - and the beard, should the wearer have one. It was the same, except for one key part. Where Javier’s mask was a beautiful scarlet, this mask was a deep, dark persian blue.
Conrad looked at the mask, weirdly, inexorably drawn to it. He didn’t really understand why it was here, why Javier would have this, but there was...something about it. About that colour, the colour of a beautiful, expensive gem, the colour of the deepest ocean. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at it, a bit slack jawed. He found himself wondering what it would be like to--
“Would you like to wear it?” Javier’s voice said from behind him, and he jumped.
“M-Mr. Rosales! I’m sorry, I was just…” Conrad stammered again, turning around to face his host - and was brought face to chest once again. Javier was in his wrestling gear - the red mask, the red pants, the big, black boots. How had Conrad not heard the mountain of muscle that Javier was coming up behind him? Surely he would’ve heard those boots thumping against the floor?
“It’s quite alright, Conrad.” Javier chuckled. “Admiring the spare mask? There certainly is something about it.”
“Uh, yeah...although, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it…” Conrad said, looking back at the mask.
“Yes, it wasn’t really for me to wear.” Javier explained. “A few years after my debut, the writers had thought up this idea of having me have a long lost brother who would wear a blue version of my outfit, and we’d become a tag team, but they couldn’t find anyone they liked for the role, so it got scrapped. This mask was all that was left of the idea.”
“Oh…” Connor said. “That’s a shame. That would’ve been nice, I think.”
“Yes...I often think so too.” Javier replied. “I don’t know why, but...I feel a strange sense of melancholy whenever I look at it. I do have friends of course, but...I would’ve appreciated someone I could have a closer bond with. I have been in tag teams since of course, but...I always felt like I missed out on something great, when they scrapped it.”
“When was it that they were trying it out?”
“Oh...it would’ve been the late 90s...97, 98.” Javier unlocked a latch on the case, opening it up, and took the blue mask off the bust, holding it in his hands, looking down at it strangely. It was quiet between them for a moment, Conrad unsure what to do. Should he...pat Javier? Javier looked down at him now.
“Would you like to try it on?” Javier asked.
“Oh, uh, aheh…” Conrad laughed nervously. “I dunno, I mean...haha, there’s a reason I’m a journalist rather than a wrestler, y’know?”
“Yes, of course, but it’s all in good fun.” Javier said. “Don’t worry, I won’t fight you, if you don’t want. Try it.”
Before Conrad could protest much further, Javier was already bringing the mask down on his head. All was dark for a second, then light returned, as the eyeholes slid down to fit over his eyes. He felt Javier tying the mask behind his head, the laces being pulled tight, and then the man stepped away. He nodded at Conrad.
“Take a look for yourself.” Javier said, guiding Conrad towards a full length mirror on the wall. Conrad laughed a little, seeing himself. He looked kind of goofy really, especially with Javier towering behind him. Javier laughed loudly, but it didn’t seem like a mean laugh. “Not bad!” Javier exclaimed. “Although, if I’m honest, I don’t think anyone will be mistaking us for brothers.” He said, kneeling slightly, and putting his meaty, muscular arm around Conrad’s shoulder. Conrad felt his cheeks warm up as he blushed. They both turned to look at each other.
He was so close. Javier was touching him. Those lips of his were so...invitingly close. He wanted more than anything to kiss them, but...he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t believe he was acting like an overexcitable schoolgirl. God, but those sparkling, diamond blue eyes, though, so much more dazzling than his own, boring brown ones. It felt like they were piercing into his soul.
Javier breathed some air out of his nose, and smiled again. “You wear your feelings on your sleeve, don’t you?”
“U-Uh...wh…”
Javier stood up to his full height, resting his hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Don’t be ashamed, Conrad. I’ve seen the look in your eyes many times before.”
Oh, god, he knew. Of course he knew. Conrad wanted to die. He put his head in his hands.
“I...god, I’m sorry, Mr. Rosales.” He said, his words coming out muffled between his hands, his fingers feeling the silky fabric of his mask. “I thought I’d gotten over this in high school...” he mumbled to himself. He felt himself twisted around, as Javier turned Conrad to face him, and knelt down next to him again.
“Conrad, look at me, please.”
Conrad looked up. He was face to face with Javier now. He didn’t know if he could handle this...but Javier didn’t seem to be angry with him.
“Being open and honest is a good thing to be.” Javier said. “You don’t need to be ashamed that you feel this way. Everyone has someone they feel this way about. You just got lucky enough to meet him, eh?” Conrad laughed at that, despite himself.
“Please, don’t worry that you’re upsetting me. You worked hard to get this chance, didn’t you?” Javier asked.
Conrad nodded. “Hardest I’ve ever worked in my life. You...you’re why I even have this job in the first place. If I hadn’t seen you on TV as a kid, I think my life might have been completely different.”
“Are you happy with where you are?” Javier asked.
“So happy.”
“Then, I’m glad I got to be a part of that happiness.” Javier said, his smile big and warm. “Would you like a hug, my friend?”
Conrad felt like crying a little. “I-I mean...if you...if it’s okay…” he began, but before he could properly finish his sentence, Javier was already pulling him into those big arms. He was pressed up against that powerful, firm chest, those muscular arms holding him tightly. It was everything he’d imagined and more. After a moment of paralysis, he returned the hug, feeling his hands rest on Javier’s back. He sunk his head a little into the crook of Javier’s neck. They hugged silently, Conrad simply enjoying the feeling of being in the arms of the man of his dreams. The world around them had disappeared - all that mattered was being held by Javier. So taken up he was, he didn’t even notice the itching feeling across his chin. Slowly, they let go of each other, although Conrad couldn’t help but have his hands linger a little as he pulled them away from Javier’s body.
“God...I...I’m really sorry about that.” Conrad apologized. “Not much of a professional, am I?”
“Of course you are!” Javier smiled. “You worked hard to get to this place, did you not? I have confidence in you. Would you like to take some pictures first? That is why I put my…” he trailed off, doubletaking at Conrad.
“Sure.” Conrad said, reaching around behind his head. “I should probably get this mask off, though.”
“Ah...yes, but…” Javier stopped. “Did you shave this morning, Conrad?”
Conrad stopped. “Uh...yeah. I never let my facial hair grow out.” He said, taken off guard by the strange question.
“Are you sure?” Javier replied. “I think I must have missed it before, but you seem to have quite the 5 o’clock shadow there.” He reached a hand out, stroking Conrad’s chin - and Conrad could feel something quite different to before. He turned back to the mirror.
Javier was right. On his upper lip and across his chin were noticeable strips of stubble pushing through his skin. Conrad brought his hands up in shock. Had he forgotten to shave? He can’t have, he distinctly remembered doing it! He never let a beard or a moustache grow out, he hated how it looked on him, and yet here he was, looking like he hadn’t shaved for three or four days.
“I have...this can’t be right, I never let it grow this long...” Conrad said, mostly to himself. He held his own chin in his hand, feeling the weirdly long stubble. This was a completely new sensation to him.
Behind him, Javier seemed similarly perplexed. “I...I could’ve sworn you were clean-shaven, when I first saw you.” He said.
“I was. I definitely was.” Conrad replied. “I remember shaving…” He was stroking his chin still, but when he stopped, he noticed something that was definitely wrong. The hairs on his chin...they weren’t just sitting there, as if they always had been there. They were pushing against his hands. It was ever so slight, but he could feel them growing, pushing down and curling up against the underside of his hands.
He pulled the hands away, and now the pair of them saw what was happening properly. Somehow, Conrad’s facial hair was growing at an impossible speed before their naked eyes. The hairs both on his lip and chin were getting longer, growing out, becoming thicker as they filled out into a rather luxurious beard - but rather than the same light brown of the hair on Conrad’s head, it was jet black.
Conrad didn’t know what to say. Javier looked away from the mirror, directly at Conrad. “Is this some...talent of yours?” He asked.
“N-No!” Conrad cried. “I don’t know what’s happening!” He reached up a hand on the beard, tugging on it, to confirm it was real. “How the hell…”
“That’s...it’s like my beard!” Javier said. He was right. The beard Conrad had spontaneously grown was almost identical in style to Javier’s - short, but full of volume, carefully styled and combed. Conrad looked between himself and Javier, lost for words.
Then, he felt a white hot heat scorch through his body, and he doubled over in pain. He stumbled forward, slumping against the mirror. It felt like he was burning up, his face flushed with heat, his body torturously hot. Javier stepped forward, bringing his hands up to Conrad’s back. “Are you alright?” he said, but as he touched Conrad’s body, he could feel how hot the man felt through his clothes. “Dios Mío…” he murmured. “You’re on fire!”
Javier twisted Conrad’s body around, and set him down so he was sitting against the mirror. “I’m going to take off your hoodie and shirt, alright?” He explained. “It can’t be good for you.”
Conrad let him, his eyes half closed, as he breathed heavily. He suddenly felt incredibly weak. It was something of a blessed relief to feel the hoodie being removed and his shirt, which was quickly becoming stained by sweat, being peeled off of his skin, exposing his comparatively frail chest, next to Javier’s muscular chest. The mirror felt cool against his back. He kept breathing heavily.
“I’ll open the door to the balcony for you, let some air through…” Javier said, “And...then...I think I should call for some assistance.” He didn’t really understand what was going on, but he knew he wasn’t really equipped to deal with it. What exactly was he going to say? Conrad had spontaneously grown a beard and gone into a fever? He was tempted to believe he was hallucinating himself. He stood up, and began to walk quickly across the apartment.
As Javier left him behind, Conrad kept breathing heavily, his chest pushing out in time with his breaths. He felt hot and cold at the same time, his head feeling fuzzy and his vision blurred. Weirdly, all he could think about was how terrible this interview was going. He’d interrupted Javier in the middle of his shower, had a breakdown, and now he’d gotten a fever somehow...was his nervousness getting to him more than he had thought it would? What a disaster…
With each breath, his chest was pushing in and out - but it was starting to push outwards more than it was coming back in. Slowly, bit by bit, his chest was growing, his pecs starting to fill out with muscle - they had barely been defined before, but now they were growing, becoming meatier, more powerful. If Conrad had been in a position to be aware of himself, he’d notice that he couldn’t see over them now. They were growing bigger and bigger, he was getting more and more muscular, and the rest of his body didn’t seem to want to be left behind.
The slight flab around his stomach was evaporating, as his core muscles were tightening, becoming more powerful. Slowly, his abdominals were pushing out - two-pack, four-pack, eight-pack abs lined his torso, as he grew in size. His spine was becoming longer, he could feel it pop as it stretched out. Next to Javier, he’d only come up to the man’s chest, but now he was starting to match Javier’s height.
Speaking of Javier, he was returning - and the change was immediately noticeable to him. “Conrad…” he murmured. “What is happening to you?”
Conrad brought his head down, feeling his beard rest on his mountainous pecs, as he looked directly at Javier. “I...don’t know…” He said. His voice was deeper, and there was a slight twinge to it neither of them could quite identify.
“You’re growing muscles, my friend…” Javier said, a little awed, as he reached out and touched Conrad’s newly grown pectorals. “They’re incredible. Almost as good as mine.”
Conrad looked down, bringing his hands up again. He was stunned. He was becoming so...thick! His arms were bulging with even more muscle, his biceps and triceps pulsing with power. The fever was starting to slough off of him, and the weakness from before had gone. Now he was feeling strength, a powerful, impossible strength. He groped his own pecs, and felt his pants stiffen. He was...getting turned on by himself. He turned over, putting his thicker hands to the ground to push himself up to his knees.
“I...think I’m feeling alright...actually…” He said. His voice had definitely changed - gone was the New Yorker accent, now it was coming out as a deep, thick Mexican one, as pronounced as Javier’s. The muscles on his back pulsed, and as Javier watched, he could see the man physically growing bigger by the second. Conrad put a hand up against the mirror, and looked at himself. His face was changing too, his jaw becoming squarer, more pronounced, better suiting the beard he’d grown, his brow coming forward, his nose becoming larger, more prominent. By the second, he was looking more and more like Javier.
He brought his leg forward, and as he stepped his foot on the ground, the trainers he wore seemed to fall apart about his feet, the elastic and fabric snapping, as his feet became too big for them. Then, they started fixing themselves. The white plastic came back up, wrapping over his toes, stiffening up as they turned darker, becoming greyer. The cuffs came back and started rising around his ankles, sliding up his calves, as the laces became thicker, turning the same blue as the mask he wore. They came up to about halfway up his shins, having transformed into a pair of thick, black wrestling boots, just like Javier’s.
His legs were growing in muscle too, his calves becoming thick and powerful, his upper legs just as muscular. His jeans were cleaving tightly to his growing legs, and as they did, they were getting thinner. The blue of the denim was becoming brighter, as the threads seemed to fade and their texture changed, becoming smooth and tight, turning to spandex that left no room for imagination - especially as the bulge of his groin was growing longer, pressing tightly against the spandex. The back half of the spandex turned black, while the front became the same dark persian blue of the mask. The design, as with so many other things about Conrad, were identical to Javier’s.
Finally his skin was becoming darker, the pale tone deepening, becoming more orange, like he’d spent many day in the sun, before turning towards the same bronze as Javier’s own skin. Conrad took a long, deep breath in through his nose, tracing a hand down his chest, feeling himself. He felt...amazing. Beautiful. Incredible. He looked like the spitting image of Javier, but in blue.
“...Conrado…” Javier said.
“What?” Conrad asked.
“I...Conrado Rosales.” Javier said, simply, unable to believe what was happening. “It’s you. It’s been you all along.”
Conrad turned towards Javier. “What are you saying, Javier?” He replied, enjoying the smooth, dulcet tones of his new voice.
“You’re my brother, Conrado!” Javier said, a smile of disbelief crossing his face. “I mean, you aren’t literally my brother, but...they made you my brother, in kayfabe! It’s...you!”
Suddenly, Conrad’s mind was starting to unravel, like a reel of film unspooling in his head, as he flashed back slowly through his life, and it was changing before his eyes. No longer was he watching that fight in 1998 through a flickery recording on an old TV screen - he was in it. Young, handsome, fighting alongside Javier, the two brothers - but it went further than that.
He wasn’t Conrad - that was just a name they’d made up, Conrado Rosales. They had decided Javier should have a brother, and Cortez Estrada had been perfect for the role. With some taming done to his beard and a similar outfit, they’d looked like the spitting image of each other. The mask had covered up most of the differences with their faces. Cortez’s nose was a bit smaller, his lips a bit fuller, a scar across his cheek from a particularly bad accident he’d had as a child - god, as a child! Because he’d been in his 20s in the 90s, and he’d been a child…in the 70s, two entire decades of his life appearing before him.
A young childhood in Guadalajara, idolizing the luchador, putting his all into gym classes, setbacks and successes, moving to America, taking on legitimate wrestling, then being drawn to the glitz and glamour of professional wrestling, the WWE, they’d teamed him up with Javier, and he and Javier, they had spent...so many years together, working together, making their way up the ladder, that perhaps, in a way, it was kind of inevitable that they should…
“Javier…” Cortez said, like he was saying it for the first time, and simultaneously saying it for the millionth time.
“Cortez, I…” Javier replied, tears coming to his eyes, although he wasn’t sure why.
They both stumbled forward into each other's arms, their minds unsure of what they were doing but their bodies seeming to intrinsically know. They held each other, each feeling safe and comforted in their muscular arms, pecs pressed tightly together.
“What is...happening to me?” Cortez asked. “What is happening to us? I was...I was someone else a second ago, but all these memories, they tell me I’m wrong, that I was never some American boy...that I’ve always been this.”
“I don’t know…” Javier replied, just as confused. “But, I...I feel this burning in my heart, that I’ve never felt before...and yet I feel like I know it deeply, intimately, like I know you.”
“Was this meant to be?” Cortez asked. “Did something go wrong, and it has only now been made right?”
“I don’t know…” Javier said, like he was in a trance. “I don’t think it is for us to know...all I know is that...I want to kiss those lips of yours more than anything in the world.”
“Then let us not waste time.” Cortez replied, smiling handsomely. Javier’s heart fluttered. They leaned forward, and locked lips together.
As their tongues pierced each others lips, wrapping around each other, clinging tightly to each other, it was like it finally clicked in Cortez’s mind. The memories made sense now. Everything made sense now, everything was right. Whatever power that was, it had made a mistake, and his entire, previous life up until that moment had been an effort to make it right, to bring these two souls together, in the way that they were meant to be.
A subconscious shockwave radiated from them, as they kissed and held each other, changing the world. It started in the apartment - posters changed, no longer depicting only Javier, but both of them, new trophies appeared in the glass case with the name Cortez Estrada upon them. It kept going, names in ledgers, in databases, on the backs of DVDs and in the letters of press releases changed, websites amended, minds around the world subtly altered. It was no longer Javier Rosales, it was Javier and Conrado, the Rose Brothers, to everyone.
They pulled away from each other together, looking at each other, their eyes endlessly familiar to each other.
“What...what does this mean?” Javier asked.
“I don’t know…” Cortez replied. “That there is something greater than us...that it chose to smile upon us on this day. That we were meant to be. I don’t know, but...I feel right. I feel like I am exactly where I am meant to be.” He smiled at Javier. “And I have you to thank for it, in every way.”
“Well…” Javier said, stroking his beard, a rather mischievous smile crossing his face. “You could thank me for it like this…” He reached a hand forward, placing his hand lightly on the bulge in Cortez’s wrestling pants. Cortez gasped a little, a blush coming to his face. “In a certain way, we’ve never done this before.” He stepped forward, bringing his arms around to stroke Cortez’s perfect bubble butt, which the spandex clung tightly to. “I am...excited to rediscover these feelings.”
“As am I.” Cortez smiled back. A flame of powerful passion burned brightly in both of their hearts. There was no way, after all this time waiting, that they would let it be doused by anything.
--------------------------------------
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EDIT: Closed now, forgot to update this.
Hey there. I have been doing a lot of writing work, but I feel like a lot of it doesn’t really appeal to most of the people who follow me on this Tumblr, so I haven’t been posting it here. However, there is this story, commissioned by creatively-bankrupt. A re-write of Venom’s origin story to be a little bit more horny - although not too much. If you already know how Venom came to be, it probably hits a lot of the same beats, but I tried to go a bit more abstract with it as far as Eddie’s mental corruption goes. The chrysalis moment is inspired by Resident Evil 6, which is the best Resident Evil game and you can’t change my mind.
That new Venom movie sure doesn’t want to hide Tom Hardy’s face, huh?
They say the smell of blood attracts sharks, but when you think about it, blood doesn’t really smell of anything. It has a taste though. Horrible, metallic but warm. Eddie could taste it now. It was dribbling into his mouth. He’d spit it out if he had the energy, but all the wind had been taken out of him seconds earlier with that swift kick to the stomach. It felt like a rib had been broken.
There was another thump, and his brain buzzed again, his vision blurring. He had to rely on his other senses. Touch...cold. It was cold, he could feel the gravelly street beneath his legs, his back against a hard brick wall. Smell...trash. The garbage truck hadn’t been. It stunk to high heaven. Taste was just blood, and hearing, sound, what could he hear? Cars in the distance, and a muffled voice saying something to him. He tried to focus on that. He couldn’t make out any words. Just a rough, bark of a sound, yelping urgently at him. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he could figure out the meaning. “Wallet”, a gruff voice said at him. He felt something hard and metal being pushed against his head.
Right. That was it. He was being mugged. He could feel his wallet in the right pocket of his jeans, and he slowly went to grab it. Something pushed further, rocking his head slightly. “Don’t fuck around”, a voice said. It was a gun. That was what was being pointed at his head right now, pressed to his temple, through his short, blonde hair, matted with blood, ready to blow his brains out at any second.
“In my pocket…” Eddie croaked out. He moved slowly, his hands sliding around the wallet - a simple, black, no frills kind of wallet. He pulled it out, his vision still blurry, and held it out to whoever was there. Someone grabbed it out of his hand. He tried to see his attackers, but he couldn’t make out their appearance. Not like it would help. Their heads were vague black shapes - wearing masks. He could hear the sound of plastic hitting the ground beside him - any cards they didn’t need were being tossed. His head rolled back, and he saw something black above him - a fire escape, attached to the building he was being slammed against
There were a couple more seconds and then he felt something hit his stomach - the wallet had been tossed back to him, all its valuables removed - and then something hit his head, much harder, making the world buzz once again. There was a dull, aching pain in his face. They must have broken his nose. They were feeling in his pockets for themselves. Grabbed his phone, he could feel that much. Taking anything he had on him that might be valuable.
Where the fuck was Spiderman when you needed him?
Now they were walking away, leaving Eddie lying there in the dirt, blood dribbling down his face, filling his mouth and nose. He slumped to the right, the wallet falling off his body, his head hitting the ground as he closed his ice-blue eyes. He couldn’t focus on anything. His brain hurt. Rest was all he could think about. Didn’t matter that the tarmac was messing up his jeans or his black leather jacket, that the ground was cold. He needed a second.
Blood dripped from his mouth, painting the ground beneath him. Why was he here? He’d...gone out, to get food from a nearby corner store. He’d been trying to be frugal since he’d lost his job at the Daily Globe, but...well, that didn’t mean shit now, did it? He’d just lost all his money, and he felt too winded to even get up, go after them. They’d taken his phone too, so it wasn’t like he could call the police or anything.
He opened his eyes, and saw what the thugs had left behind. Driving license, insurance card...a gift voucher for Amazon he’d already used and forgotten to remove from his wallet. He closed his eyes again, tears welling up. A final indignity - all he could do was cry. What kind of a man was he supposed to be? Fucking...waste of goddamn time, trying to save every penny, only for it to all be gone in seconds because a pair of assholes decided he was their target.
Perhaps the worst part was that they hadn’t even mocked him for it. It had been all business. The damage, the gun, the demands, and then they were gone. They had spoken so little - probably intentionally, so he couldn’t place their voices. Something about the situation made his gut twist up - aside from it having been kicked about half a minute earlier. He curled up in a fetal position. He just wanted to waste away right there. This was the last straw. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to feel anymore. Didn’t want to live. His only desire was to relinquish all control, and sink into a comforting darkness.
***
Emotions have an energy to them, an aura. Most people can get a sense of it, a sensation that you know or understand how another person is feeling. Some people don’t get it at all, and some people revel in it, but as a whole, a human’s ability to detect and determine the emotions of people and creatures around them is fairly limited. Not so for some other creatures. Some creatures can detect emotion on a heightened level. They can smell fear, hear excitement, touch ecstacy, see anger. Taste pain.
Some creatures thrive on emotions - particularly negative ones. They are drawn to them like a moth to a flame, and feed on them. And for one creature in particular, it seemed to have just hit the jackpot with the young man, lying in the gutter. Anger, sadness, pain, this person was practically radiant with negative emotion - not just because of what had just happened to him, but because of so much more. It could taste the repressed emotion - enough to live off for years.
It descended.
***
He didn’t know really how long he’d been lying there. It felt like hours had passed, blood continuing to drip, slowly now, the wound clotting. There was still that pain in his gut, his rib cracked inside his body, stabbing him from the inside. He still felt weak, but his head was clearer. He blinked away the tears that had welled up. He wanted to move on now. He’d had his moment of complaining that life was unfair. All he could do now was get up, and carry on.
It was then that he felt something cold on his shoulder. At first, he thought it might be one of those chills you sometimes got for no reason - a violent shiver through your body, that’s gone as quickly as it arrived. This notion was quickly dismissed, however, as not only did the strange chill settle on his shoulder, it was beginning to spread. Eddie shifted up, trying to sit up straight - a sharp, stab of pain pierced through his gut, and he let out a moan, stopping halfway up the wall. He turned his head, to see what was causing this cold sensation, but he couldn’t really see anything. Just the black of his leather jacket, but as he looked closer, he could see something shifting. It was...moving along his shoulder. Little strands of a black, shiny...something, crawling over his arm like a spider. His mind was frozen in shock for a second - and then he reacted.
“Oh, fuck!” Eddie cried, trying to jerk his body away from whatever was on him, with no luck. His rib sparked pain inside him again, and he tried to reach over with his right hand to get whatever this thing was, off of him. His hand sunk into this, sticky, rubber...thing - and then it started to cover the hand. He tried to pull away, but his hand stuck fast, like a fly trapped in a spider web. It was crawling up his other arm now, more visible against his pale skin, then clinging to his jacket, and climbing. He pulled again, and his right hand came free from his shoulder, but it was too late anyway. It was on both hands now.
He tried to get to his feet, pushing up off the ground, ignoring the stabbing pain in his gut. He didn’t know what he was meant to do - how could he pull off something that was stuck to his hands already? As it finished covering his arms and went along his chest, he decided he might as well try, bringing his hands in to pull it off his chest. He found purchase, and pulled - at first, it seemed to be working, as he was tearing this thing off his chest. Then he felt the strands snap, pinging back against his chest, clinging ever tighter.
Eddie tried a few more times in vain, but as the weird, sticky material covered his body, winding around his back, crawling down his legs, it became clear, to his horror, that he couldn’t do anything about this. This...thing was going to cover him, whether he liked it or not. He could feel it, not just crawling all over his clothes but underneath the clothes. It was slipping under the sleeves, crawling between buttons, and it was...cold. He felt it slip under the boxer shorts he was wearing underneath the jeans, and couldn’t help but yell out in surprise as it touched his cock, slipped under his taint...was it...going to...no, okay, it wasn’t going inside him, but god, it still felt cold, and horrible.
As it continued to cover him, it was tearing apart his jacket, his jeans, his shirt, destroying them...eating them? Absorbing them? Whatever it was doing, it was removing all his clothes. Exactly why was unclear, since it was already covering his skin anyway, but it was doing it regardless, getting rid of any barriers between itself and Eddie’s skin.
It had kind of paused on his chest, while it was busy coating his legs, but now that it had finished down there, it renewed its efforts up top. It was climbing up his neck. He took a deep breath, and closed his mouth and eyes, hoping it wouldn’t...force its way inside. It seemed unlikely that this thing was going to show any kind of mercy, but...well, it had held back from going inside...down there, right?
He could feel it, climbing the sides of his face...then it was swarming all over it, pushing his already short hair flat against his skull, crawling over his cheeks, over his nose, which clicked. It had covered him completely now. He could still move his body, but he could still feel it squirming, wrapping over itself...was it going to cocoon him or something? As soon as he thought that, the thing stopped dead, no longer squirming.
And then, the voice. Loud, deep, guttural, terrible. Evil. Blaring, right inside his mind.
“EDWARD BROCK.”
Eddie immediately doubled over, trying to cover his ears, but of course it was useless, when the thing was covering his ears. It said his name again, worse the second time. “What?!” He cried out in confusion.
“I AM HERE TO HELP.”
Eddie fell to the floor, his broken rib stabbing him again, desperate to block out the voice, despite knowing it was impossible. “Doesn’t feel like it…” he said, through clenched teeth.
“ARE YOU SURE?”
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Eddies asked.
“YOUR NOSE WAS BROKEN. I HAVE FIXED IT.”
“Wha…” Eddie stammered, reaching up and touching his nose. The thing was right. It had reset his nose - now he remembered the click he had felt as it had climbed over his face. “Wh...why? What are you? How do you know my name?”
“I AM HERE TO HELP.” The voice repeated.
“What is that meant to mean?” Eddie asked again.
“YOUR PAIN. YOUR RAGE. YOUR FEAR. I SEE IT. I HEAR IT, I FEEL IT. I AM HERE TO HELP, EDWARD BROCK.”
“How do you kn--” Eddie began.
“YOU HAVE SEEN HOW I HAVE HEALED YOU. YOU HAVE BROKEN A RIB. IF YOU LET ME IN, I CAN HEAL THAT TOO. BUT I CAN HEAL MORE THAN PHYSICAL PAIN.”
Eddie stumbled back against the wall, holding his head, still feeling that stabbing pain in his gut. This was the fucking...weirdest thing. He didn’t know how to react.
“YOU HAVE BEEN PUT DOWN, TRODDEN ON, ABUSED AND DISCARDED YOUR WHOLE LIFE. YOUR RESENTMENT AT THIS WORLD FLOWS OUT FROM YOU. IT MAKES YOU A BEACON.” The thing explained. “I CAN HELP YOU. THAT PAIN AND RAGE AND FEAR. I WILL TAKE IT, AND TURN IT INTO POWER. POWER THAT WILL ALLOW YOU TO DESTROY THAT WHICH HAS KEPT YOU CHAINED.”
Visions of Eddie’s life flashed before his eyes. His father’s abuse. The blame he’d received, for killing the mother he never knew, when she died giving birth to him. The photos of her in his home, staring judgmentally down at him, as if to say, “I’d be here if it weren’t for you”. How he’d been bullied all throughout school, how he’d tried so hard to do well, but it was never good enough, never good enough for his father, no matter how much he tried, no matter his achievements.
He’d done journalism at college, for god’s sake, had passed with some of the best grades, but it still hadn’t been good enough for his father. He’d tried so hard, he’d been on the story of a lifetime with the Sin-Eater story, but then...fucking...Spiderman! That asshole had to go and ruin it all, the same fucking day the Globe had run the story, no less, and he’d lost his job. Now he was just here, in this alley, with a broken rib and no money, and Spiderman hadn’t even shown up to help or anything. The world had taken everything from him. This...This was a chance to get it back. Or at the very least, to take it away from everyone else, too.
The black substance began shifting again in excitement.
“THIS WORLD, THIS SOCIETY. IT IS PAPER THIN, EDWARD, MADE OF CARDBOARD, KEPT ONLY IN PLACE BY A SYSTEM OF IMPLICIT TRUST IN YOUR FELLOW MAN - A FELLOW MAN WHO STABS YOU IN THE BACK WHILE SAYING NOTHING CAN BE DONE.”
Eddie’s face was grim, beneath the cocoon. This thing...whatever it was, it was right. He wasn’t going to take this garbage any more. All his life, he’d been bending over backwards to suit everyone else. No more.
“WE CAN TEAR IT ALL DOWN, EDWARD.”
“Yeah.” Eddie replied. “Let’s do this. Although…First, tell me who you are.”
The substance paused again, as if considering his question - like it hadn’t even decided on a name itself until it had been asked. Then finally, that voice rung out in his mind once more - no longer scary to Eddie, but like an old friend.
“WE ARE VENOM.”
And it began.
***
The first thing he felt was...violated. All the orifices, openings in his body that the substance, this...Venom, had left untouched, were suddenly filled. First, it swarmed inside his ears, the ink black rubber rooting its way through his ear canal, inside his head. Immediately after it was flowing up his nostrils, climbing inside his mouth, forcing its way down his throat - he wanted to choke, but he couldn’t, it was filling him up. He couldn’t even breathe.
By pure instinct, his eyes began to open up - and the microsecond the eyelids cracked open, Venom took it’s opportunity there too, flowing across his eyes and slipping into the eye sockets. His head bent forward, unable to do anything, even gag, as it found its way into the inside of his head - he swore he could feel it connecting up with his mind, the blackness, the darkness, seeping into the very wrinkles of his brain.
It was finding other entrances, one Eddie didn’t even think could be entrances - it dug underneath his fingernails, rippling under his skin. It was breaking through the wound on his head, every pore on his skin was an entrance, the substance shrinking down to a microscopic level and flowing in, spreading through his veins like blood. Everything was an opening, a way for Venom to invade his body. Nothing was safe, not even the most sensitive parts of Eddie’s body.
He felt it flowing into his ass, and if he could speak, he would’ve moaned, unsure if it was a moan of pain or pleasure. It was tearing him open, slipping through his innards - there was a click inside his gut, and the pain he’d felt was gone. Venom had fulfilled its promise of fixing his rib, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know how. Besides, it was hard to think about anything - it was using anything for an entrance - shooting underneath his foreskin, down through the urethra, digging under his toenails. He couldn’t even move to react, now - it had control of his nervous system, his muscles. Any motor control belonged to Venom.
For a second, he thought of resistance, that maybe he had made a mistake in accepting this offer, but it was quickly quashed. Venom was inside his mind now - not just inside, it was part of his mind, it was...him. The line between Eddie and Venom was becoming increasingly blurred in his brain - he was seeing alien landscapes, a clutch of eggs in a cavern. Was Venom showing him memories, or was he remembering them? What was the difference? He was locked in place, unable to understand who he was. Was he human? Was he this symbiote? Had he always been this way?
He felt like he was falling through nothing. No ground beneath his feet, no sky above him, nothing to tell him where he was in relation to anything, just floating endlessly in blackness. He didn’t know his name anymore. He didn’t know who he was. All those memories of his life were lost on the zephyr, just the faintest wisps hinting that they were ever there in the first place. All there was, was black. Stripped of identity, he had no form, nothing to hold onto and grasp, to understand as himself. He was pure thought - that was all that was holding him together, and it could just as easily be blown away, as the rest of him had been.
Then, in the darkness, a light. A bright, shining, white light, opening before him. An eye. Another eye. A mouth. They looked inviting. Comforting. He felt himself going towards them. He didn’t know if he was being pulled toward it, or if he was making his way toward it himself. The mouth opened into a smile. He was picking up speed, racing towards it at an unstoppable pace. A strange euphoria filled him.
And then, the smile became a cruel grin, the eyes turning malevolent. Euphoria replaced by terror. But it was too late to stop.
The maw opened wide, and swallowed him whole.
***
For a minute, all that was there was a strange, void black statue, standing in the middle of the alley, looking like a bizarre modern art project you’d see in the Guggenheim. The symbiote had melted over the human, turning them into a chrysalis and making them unrecognizable to anyone who might know them. It was just a vaguely humanoid figure lurking menacingly in the alleyway, scaring away passers-by.
Then, it began to move, but if it was the human’s will or the symbiote’s, neither of them could tell. Perhaps it was both, perhaps they were one and the same now. The voice spoke again - it was coming from the human’s own throat now, the words being spoken from their own mouth.
“WE HAVE FIXED YOU.”
“NOW WE WILL MAKE YOU BETTER.”
Eddie took in a deep breath, suddenly returned to consciousness, just in time for his improvements. If this thing could cling any tighter to his body than it already was, it was doing it now. He felt himself constricted, the symbiote cleaving tightly to every part of him. He could feel it doing the same inside of him, pulling close to every muscle in his body - and then it began its work in earnest.
It was pulling on his muscles, tightening and then relaxing them, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed. He was mostly standing still, but his legs were getting the equivalent of several years of intense gym workouts in a matter of seconds. His calf muscles growing, his hamstrings pumping outward, becoming veritable tree trunks of muscle and power, and the symbiote wasn’t stopping with his legs.
Now it was working around his groin and rear, his glutes getting toned, his buttocks becoming more pert, smoother. He could feel it working its magic on his cock too, getting thicker, longer - Eddie had just been rather average before but this thing was sending him into full on, meat-bat territory - it was hard to make any kind of precise measurement, with everything that had happened and was happening to him, but it had to be at least a foot long, right? At least, that was how it felt. He let out a moan, and this time it was definitely one of pleasure. Not only did it feel good, it felt right. His whole life, he’d been walking in a half-asleep haze, and now he was finally waking up - to his potential, to his latent power, and he was no longer afraid of using it.
He reached down to stroke his cock, but blinked and looked down as he felt nothing but a smooth, flat area - still sensitive, but not what he was expecting.
“LATER”, the voice reprimanded. Eddie nodded, smiling underneath the symbiote. They had things to do - finishing this change, first and foremost.
It was working on his midsection now - his hips becoming wider, his abdominal muscles tightening in much a similar way as his legs had. The baby fat he had was being burned away, being replaced by a rock-hard six pack and a tight, powerful core he couldn’t wait to start using. It kept flowing up, his chest ballooning outwards, pecs bursting with power, bulging forward with strength. He brought his hands up to feel them - they were meaty, powerful, his. His back muscles were growing just the same, traps and lateral muscles becoming more powerful, more resilient - this was an inhuman strength he was gaining, far beyond anything he could have ever managed on his own.
His neck muscles were growing now, getting thicker, and his arms were shortly after - the deltoids on his shoulders blew up, his biceps and triceps doubled, perhaps even tripled in size. It was insane to even feel this strong, this powerful, but it was happening to him, and he was absolutely enjoying it - any fears that this had been the wrong decision were completely gone now. He had been right to accept this offer.
His hands were becoming thicker too, the palms broadening, the fingers becoming longer and larger. Veins pushed out against his skin, as his fingers became more inhuman - the fingernails grew out into sharp, thick, black claws. He traced them lightly across his chest, feeling the power within them even then. These were claws made for tearing, for shredding, ripping flesh and bone.
He stuck out his tongue - and then he felt it swell in his mouth. The tongue was a muscle too, and as far as the symbiote was concerned, it was one that could be made better as well. It was growing, becoming longer. At the back, inside his throat, it was becoming thicker, starting to practically fill up his throat, until his throat was shifted to better accommodate it. Further along, it was snaking out of his mouth, becoming triple its previous length. Excitedly he twisted it over itself. It was practically prehensile, the amount of flexibility and strength it had - and it was sensitive too. Not so much in a painful way, but his sense of taste was much more vivid, much more alive. He could taste so many sensations - most notable, his teeth.
The teeth were changing as well, the exposed bone shifting. He could feel them breaking up, splitting into more and more teeth, growing longer, sharpening, each individual tooth becoming a terrible fang - and there were what felt like hundreds of them in his mouth. His jaw unhinged and cracked open, revealing a large, fleshy maw, from which he released a low, guttural hiss.
“WE ARE ALMOST COMPLETE”, the symbiote said, speaking from his own mouth. “DO YOU FEEL IT?”
“Yeah. Keep it going”, Eddie replied with the same mouth. The pair of them grinned, and licked their lips.
His eyes were widening, pushing through the sockets that held them in place, becoming bigger and bigger. The pupils, the ice-blue irises faded, leaving the eyes a pure white - just sclera, blank, devoid of emotion or humanity, just a pair of monstrous, large white eyes, printed on his blackened skull.
And then, one final touch - neither of them were sure where it came from, but it just seemed to flow naturally. Across his chest, more white appeared - geometric lines, wrapping under his arms, around his sides, coming together in the center of his chest as a circle, with two horns - or mandibles you might say, and extending down towards his abs - a dark, twisted variation on the design that was emblazoned across New York’s local spider themed superhero.
The two were tightly bonded now, as if they had always been this way. They were no longer a human and a symbiote - they had combined, in body, mind, and perhaps soul. Whatever they were now, they realized the prescience of the symbiote referring to itself as “we”, at the start of all this. It wasn’t a royal “we”, it didn’t have delusions of grandeur - it didn’t need to have such things when it was already this powerful. It was simply stating facts. It on its own, it was not Venom, just as the human wasn’t Venom by themself. It was the conjoining of them, the confluence of their minds, that made Venom.
They were better, more powerful, more strong together than they had ever been alone. Venom couldn’t wait to test out its newfound strength - and it knew exactly who would be its first test subjects. It sniffed, trying to catch the scent of the muggers that had attacked Eddie. The tongue flicked out, tasted the air. They weren’t far - only a few blocks away.
Venom leaped towards the nearby building, its body crashing against the wall heavily - but it held on. Its hands were sticking to the wall, and it began crawling up brickwork with rapid speed, clawed hands digging into and cracking the stone and cement. It was like being Spiderman - but Venom could only presume, better. Stronger. Nothing holding it back. It climbed to the top of the building, began pounding across the roof with a speed that simultaneously did and did not surprise it - it had never run this fast before, but of course it could run this fast. Its feet came down so heavily with each step it left marks in the roof.
Another leap, this time across the entire street, to the next building - if Venom still had hair, it would feel wind whipping through it, but as it was, it simply felt the night air on its new, black skin. It landed on the other side, turning around to see where it had just come from. A vague memory floated through its head. Something about a movie where a guy did that. If Venom’s grin could get wider, it did.
It kept jumping from building to building, chasing the scent of the muggers with an animalistic lust. It wanted to inflict the same pain these pathetic men had chosen to inflict on it. But they would hardly be the end of it. There was so much, so much in this world that had hurt Eddie Brock, so much in this universe that had hurt the symbiote, and it was going to make everything pay for what it had done to it.
But first, these two.
It spotted the pair from a distance further than Eddie could have ever managed before. The muggers were walking now, casually, like they thought they had gotten away with their act of crime. Venom licked its lips again, tasting the confidence of the two on the air. Oh, they would be swallowing that swagger soon enough.
In about a quarter of a minute, it was already above them, glaring down at the muggers from the top of the building. If just one of them had looked up, they would’ve seen Venom framed against the moonlight, ready to strike - but even if they had, it wouldn’t have saved them. They were just a bunch of two bit punks, the lowest kind of scum, without nary a thought to what they were doing or who they were doing it to. Their prey were those weaker, more innocent than them. They weren’t prepared for this in the slightest.
Venom jumped, high into the air, aiming itself down with rather perfect precision to land a few feet in front of them with a heavy, loud thump - just close enough to scare, but far away enough to let them think they could get away. That would make the fear taste all the sweeter. The two muggers stumbled to a stop, unable to believe what they were seeing. Venom opened its mouth, to speak.
“GENTLEMEN. I BELIEVE WE HAVE SOME UNFINISHED BUSINESS.”
Hello - been a bit since I posted on here, I tend to post my writing stuff more on FurAffinity and DeviantART. I’m opening for commissions. All the info you need is here - please make sure to read it. I’ll know if you haven’t. If you’re interested please contact me either through Tumblr’s chat system, or add me on Discord - Jasper Rolls#9192
I’m working on commissions slowly but surely. Had a bit of a rough period in my life that killed my creativity, but I’m working it back up. Here’s a story done for creatively-bankrupt. I had a little trouble starting it because he didn’t really have a plot in mind, just a start and end point for the main character. But then I had that most wonderful of things - a kinky dream, in which I was hypnotized into becoming a chubby cowboy-esque fellow. From that was born Dr. Oswald Mode - a hypno-therapist who isn’t all he seems, and he seemed perfect for this tale of a young man learning about his truest desires. His appearance is fairly heavily based on the fat, beardy fellows you’d see drawn by Vetrowolf.
If you’re wondering, those are my glasses in the image. Didn’t want to pay for a stock photo of something I could easily accomplish in real life.
----------------
It was a rather unassuming little building, sandwiched between an off-brand sushi bar and an antique store. Unlike the locations surrounding it, the sign wasn’t in big neon letters. Just a small, black plaque, stating rather simply who owned the building, and what it was there for.
Dr. Oswald Mode - Hypnotherapist
Hypnotherapy...even now, as he stood in front of the building, Stanley was having second thoughts. It still sounded like a thing quacks did to make a quick buck off of gullible idiots. But then this guy in particular had been recommended by someone he trusted, and he’d gone through all the effort to set up an appointment...he could just try it for one session and quit if he thought the guy was trying to cheat him.
He stood on the sidewalk for a bit, still, still unsure about whether he should go in. His brown eyes stared at the plaque, through his strawberry blonde hair, which he hadn’t had cut in a while. Did he really feel so insecure as to go for this kind of solution? He needed to do something...then a chilly wind blew, right in his clean-shaven face, making him shiver in the raincoat that was about a size too big for his thin body, and he decided he’d better get inside, at least to get out of the cold if nothing else. He stepped forward, grabbed the handle, and opened the door.
Stan had never particularly thought he’d needed therapy before, but in recent years, his life had hit something of a standstill. Not that it was bad. It was quite a comfortable kind of rut - he had a job that paid well enough to keep a roof over his head, and there wasn’t anything terribly wrong that had happened to him. But...over the last couple of years, he’d found himself becoming something of a hermit. Where he would have leapt at the chance before to have a night on the town with friends, he’d started saying no to outings, finding reasons not to go.
It had been small at first, but after a couple of years, he’d woken up one day and realized people didn’t call him any more asking to go out. They didn’t expect him to. He’d lost contact with a lot of people he’d considered friends - and that had shaken him. It was a realization that had made him afraid to strike out on his own. It wasn’t like his confidence had been shattered so much as it had been...eroded. Without even realizing it had happened, he found himself feeling very small and lonely. At this point, a quick-fix like hypnotherapy seemed rational to him.
Now inside, he closed the door behind him - weird, seemed like the wind was picking up, practically pushing him inside - and looked around the building he found himself in. Much like the outside, it was small, unassuming, and...very green. Not a pleasant grassy green, either. It was the kind of depressing, dark-but-not-quite green of an unpleasant looking vegetable. There was a dark brown leather couch that seemed like it hadn’t been sat on in some time. There was a cheap looking black desk, with an old computer on it - one of those big box monitors, not the modern flat screens most people had these days. And behind the desk was a woman, filing her nails.
She was the spot of colour in the otherwise drab surroundings. She was fairly thin, might have been attractive if she didn’t have her red hair in a beehive style, and took off those horn-rimmed glasses. Her lips were a cherry red, pursed together in a pout as she focused on her nails. Her black suit outlined her figure fairly well, but her body language said very clearly she didn’t want to be bothered.
There was an awkward few seconds as the woman went on filing her nails without taking notice of the man who had just entered. Then, she finished up, and took a moment to admire her work, and looked up expectantly. She glanced briefly at Stan’s face, looked at the computer beside her, then back at Stan.
“Stanley, right?” she said, her voice somewhat low, but pleasant to listen to. “Go right up. He’s waiting for you.” she concluded, and pointed to her left, where Stan could see a stairwell. Stan nodded, and mumbled a thanks, walking past her as she went back to filing her nails almost immediately.
Stan climbed the stairs, his feet thumping softly against the green carpet. It seemed weird that he should get to meet this supposed doctor so quickly. That woman had picked him out of the list so quickly...well, maybe they hadn’t had many clients today so it was easy to guess? He couldn’t presume to know everything about this place, considering he’d only been inside it for half a minute.
At the top of the stairs was a wooden door. He stopped before it, unsure about whether to enter. The woman said the doctor had been waiting for him, but...probably polite to knock, so he did.
“Come in”, a deep voice said from behind the door.
Stan opened the door, and stepped into a room that was warmer in more ways than one. For a start it was more colourful - red and white wallpaper, with a cream coloured carpet. It was smaller, small enough that a bookshelf completely took up one wall of the room. The window looked out onto the street, which looked wet, rainy, and even colder from up here, in the beating heart of this little house. At the center of it, however was the man Stan had come to see. Dr. Mode himself.
He was sat back on a chair, behind a rather ornate looking wooden desk. Portly was perhaps a word you might use to describe Oswald Mode. A less kind word would be fat, or obese, but Oswald considered those compliments, personally. He was a rotund kind of man, and he clearly enjoyed being so. His dark blue sweater vest was just big enough to fit him, neatly outlining his round shape, and he wore a white shirt underneath - the sleeves were rolled up, revealing, rather surprisingly, a set of coloured tattoos, inked to look like a cosmos, with swooping, shooting stars, and trails of aurora.
Like his assistant downstairs, he too wore glasses, but these were circle rims, and made him look somewhat kind, which was helped by his large black beard - large enough to rest on his rather inflated chest. The beard had a few streaks of grey, but it seemed like he had combed it to accentuate the grey rather than hide it - like he was proud of getting older. He still had a full head of hair, although his hairline was starting to pull back - he’d probably be bald on top within 10 or so years.
In his hand was a book, which he was reading. Stan glanced at the cover - John Milton’s Paradise Lost, which Stan had to admit he’d never read. It was quickly closed and set down, though, as Dr. Mode stood up and extended his free hand to Stan.
“Stanley, I presume?” he asked. He had a deep, bassy voice that filled the room, but was smooth and pleasant to listen to - helped by his British English accent. Whoever he was, he’d clearly picked the right profession, at least.
“Uh, yeah.” Stan replied.
“It’s nice to meet you. You’ve probably already gathered that I’m Dr. Mode, but there’s no need for such formalities here.” he said. His beard mostly covered his lips, but Stan could tell he was smiling warmly. “You can just call me Oswald. Please, sit.” He gestured to a set of chairs by the window, and Stan took one, grateful to sit after walking for quite a while to get here. Oswald walked around the desk, and took the seat opposite him.
“I’m not going to waste too much of your time, Stanley.” Oswald began. “I think you’ve told us plenty already about why you’ve decided to ask for my services, so I’m not going to go over things we both already know. Shaken confidence, social anxiety...that sort of thing, right?”
“Yeah…I mean, it’s not that I don’t know how to talk to people…” Stanley began. “Just, like...I used to, and then I forgot? And I guess I want to bring back that...knowledge. I wanna be confident, like I used to be. Maybe more confident. I don’t wanna be scared of...going out anymore.”
Oswald smiled. A kind smile. Or…
“Well, I’m certain I can help with that, Stanley.” he said. “Now, I must warn you, before we get started, that by the nature of this kind of therapy, I will be...altering your mind somewhat. It’s nothing too serious, but I just want to confirm that you’re okay with this. In case you’re concerned that I’m doing something horrible to you in secret, I record all my sessions, and I can give you a copy of the recording if you so wish, once we’re done.”
Stanley thought on it a moment. It seemed fair enough. “Alright. I would like a copy, if that’s okay.”
“That’s perfectly fine, Stanley. Now then, shall we get started?”
“Uh...alright, sure. What are you going to do? Is it gonna be a swinging pocket watch kinda deal?” Stanley asked.
Oswald let out a loud laugh, that went on for...a bit longer than necessary. “Ohohoho, Stanley, no. It’s not like in the movies. I don’t use methods so...crude, if you will.” He sat up straight, and looked directly at Stan. “No, no, all I need you to do is look into my eyes, Stanley, and listen to my voice.”
Stan looked at Oswald’s pear green eyes, feeling a little uncomfortable. “Are you sure?” he asked, nervously.
“I’m sure, Stanley. Just look...and…”
Oswald’s eyes flashed red.
“Sleep.”
And then Stanley was asleep.
---
Oswald smirked, as Stan slumped in his chair, staring gormlessly at the large man who had hypnotized him so effortlessly.
“Humans. Honestly, you’re so simple…” he muttered to himself. “...whatever. Don’t worry Stanley. I’m going to fix a lot more than your confidence, boy. Let’s see what you’re keeping locked up in that head of yours.”
He reached out his hand, and clasped it around Stan’s temple, his thumb resting on Stan’s forehead, while his entranced captive simply let him. There was a moment of silence, as Oswald focused, then he pulled away.
“Oh, well, classic denial, isn’t it?” he began, talking to his unresponsive patient. “There’s a lot you’re keeping locked away in there, a lot more than you know, but...again. Humans. You’re a simple lot, so picking the locks is child’s play, but bringing it to the surface, that’s a very different kind of job. To be the kind of person you truly want to be, Stanley, you’d have to have lived a very different life than the one you have been living...luckily for you, that’s exactly what I’m here to fix. So, let’s start from the top, and go back, shall we?
“The confidence is easy, you’ve done it before, you can do it again. Fairly recently, too...relatively speaking. That’s a slight enough adjustment. No need to worry about your friends being confused by your absence, because you were never absent, were you, Stanley?”
Stan spoke out for the first time since being put into a trance. “No…” he said, absentmindedly.
“All those long nights on your own, Netflix binges, long naps, they didn’t happen, because you were out with your friends. Do you even know what goes on in Game of Thrones anymore?”
“Nah…” Stan said, settling into his relaxed posture. “People say it’s really good but...I haven’t had time to watch it…”
“Of course, of course”, Oswald continued. “You’ve been focused on more fulfilling activities, haven’t you, spending time with your friends.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stan said, sitting up, but still zonked. “I love it. We go pub crawling every week.”
Oswald put a finger to his bearded lips. “Hm...wrong direction”, he muttered to himself, then leaned forward. “No, Stanley, I don’t think so...I’ve not really pegged you as a drunkard. You don’t really go to bars, do you?”
“Uh...yeah...I, uh, don’t really like alcohol”, Stan corrected himself. “I don’t have a problem with it, but…”
“That’s fine.” Oswald cut across. “It’s your choice, Stanley. You don’t have to go to bars to have friends. You have a different kind of friend group, from what I can tell.”
“I...do?”
“Yes. I can tell by your body. You keep yourself in shape, don’t you?”
Before, Oswald’s words had simply been altering Stan’s mind, but with his last sentence, they were beginning to alter his body. It was a small change, barely noticeable, but Stan had gained a bit of muscle over his body - his arms were slightly bulkier, his legs slightly thicker, he had some barely defined abs...small things, but it was more than he’d had before.
“Yeah, yeah…” Stan nodded along. “I go to the gym, sometimes. After work.”
“Mmm...are you sure, Stanley?” Oswald tilted his head, looking at Stanley sideways. “It looks to me like you go a bit more often than…‘sometimes’.”
“Every week?”
“A bit more.”
“Twice a week?”
Oswald rolled his eyes. Honestly, they could be stubborn when they wanted. It was having the desired effect, though. As the frequency that was suggested increased, muscle continued to grow on Stan’s body. He was getting gradually buffer, his biceps becoming more defined, pressing against the shirt he wore underneath the raincoat.
“Do you want to take that off?” Oswald suggested. “You must be feeling warm.”
“Yeah...kinda hot in here…” Stan mumbled, slowly unzipping the raincoat and shrugging it off, revealing a light blue polo shirt beneath, that was starting to get stretched by the muscle he’d gained over the last minute or so. It still fit him, for now, but it was starting to feel a bit of strain. Around his wrist was a cheap looking golden watch - an analogue one, quietly ticking away the hour. Stan pushed the raincoat to the floor, not able to care about it in his entranced state.
“Anyway, back to the gym…” Oswald continued. “Just judging by your body, I’d say you go...hmm...almost every day that you could, wouldn’t you? I think they call people like that ‘gym bunnies’, or am I wrong?”
“Something like that…” Stan murmured, mostly to himself. His body continued to get bigger, his pecs starting to press harder against his shirt, his abs becoming tighter. There was definitely a six-pack there now, a bigger body held up by a pair of strong, powerful legs. The new Stan had never skipped a day of gym in his life, not if he could help it.
“And you’ve been going, almost every day, for a long time, haven’t you?” Oswald asked, already knowing the answers. “I’d say since you were 18, certainly. Perhaps even before then. You were always good about your diet, weren’t you, Stanley?”
“Yeah...can’t...can’t stand...fast food.”
“Right from the start, you knew the kind of person you wanted to be. The kind of person the world admired. Survival of the fittest. The people who are strong and powerful, that’s the kind of person you wanted to be like.”
Stan kept growing, his polo shirt and jeans really starting to struggle against keeping his newfound muscle covered. They clung tightly to his body, outlining every part of his musculature. His sleeves slid up, pulling back, unable to stay around his enlarged shoulders.
Of the odder changes was his watch. It expanded around his thickening wrist, the gold painted metal turning to a black plastic, while the face of the watch changed - cogs and gears becomes wires and chips, the clock hands became numbers, the glass became a screen, and before long, Stan was now wearing a Fitbit, with all his personal details already loaded up on it.
Oswald was quiet for a moment, pleased with how Stan was coming along...but it wasn’t quite there yet. It was close, but...there was a desire in Stan’s heart, and “roided up, slick gym bunny” wasn’t it. Oswald was going to bring it out, but it was going to require quite a bit more...bending of reality.
“Yes, yes...you’ve been going at it for quite some time, trying to achieve that body you desire.” he continued. “But it’s about more than just the body, isn’t it? It’s an ideal, a belief, about what it is that makes a man, that defines masculinity...that’s what drives you. Your body, it’s...a sculpture, to you. An ode, to being a man. That’s why you don’t shave much, for example.”
With that simple phrase, Stan was clean-shaven no more. Almost instantly a crop of stubble sprouted on a face that had been shaved only that morning, but the growth wasn’t limited only to his face. A small dusting of light hairs pushed out over forearms, some over his chest...but you had to be in the right light to properly see them.
“After all, that’s what testosterone does to a body, doesn't it? Makes it grow hair, so what’s more manly than a body with hair on?” Oswald asked rhetorically. “Oh, people noticed, when you first started getting the hint of moustache hairs on your upper lip, maybe they nagged you to shave, but that was just proof, wasn’t it, to you? Proof you were becoming a man. So you encouraged it.
“But the kind of look you want, a thick beard, a veritable carpet of body hair, muscles so big you can’t even walk properly...that’s not something that just grows overnight, is it? That’s something that can take a lifetime of work, Stanley, more than some twenty something can manage.”
Oswald sat back. “So then”, he said, “I suppose it’s good for you that you’ve had an extra 20 years to work on it, hm?”
This was a very hard shift, significantly opposed to Stan’s view of himself. If Oswald wasn’t careful, it might fall apart - but then, Oswald had been doing this for a long time. A very long time. He knew how to handle it by now. Even so, Stan suddenly struggled in his chair, as if he was about to jump up.
“It’s not that hard to believe, Stanley.” Oswald reassured him. “You’re such a big man, after all. Look at you...positively bulging with muscle. That’s not something you just get in a matter of days, is it?”
It was like all the mass he’d accumulated with Oswald’s nudging was now being doubled. His pecs pushed out, and the polo shirt he wore, already struggling to handle him, was near enough obliterated, ripped open at the collar as his chest became huge, huge enough to stop him looking down at himself. It tore around his shoulders, his back becoming mountainous, his biceps becoming large and powerful, triceps too. His forearms thickened even further, his hands grew in size, the Fitbit around his wrist snapped and fell to the floor.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Oswald said, laying his own, chubby hand on Stan’s muscular one, which was gripping the armchair tightly. “You don’t need it. You never did. Stats and figures, they don’t prove anything. Your manliness is obvious by your very presence. Those years, they’ve been very kind to your face, I think.”
Finally, Stan’s face was managing to catch up with his body. Aside from the stubble, it hadn’t been touched much by the dramatic changes of his body, but now it seemed like his very skull was reforming. His brow pushed forward, giving him a somewhat permanent frown. His eyebrows thickened, becoming large and bushy. His jaw squared off, the lower part pushing forward a little, becoming very masculine indeed...before it was covered, by a fast growing beard.
The stubble grew in length, becoming a thick, bushy beard that covered his lips and chin. It grew up the side of his face, sideburns connecting to the rest of his hair. Despite its bushiness, however, it remained tightly trimmed, well looked after, cut perfectly to match the shape of his much more masculine jaw.
Oswald smirked a little. “I suppose that’s a matter of opinion, but…” he muttered.
His eyes turned a darker brown, and his skin became more leathery, but tough. He was definitely getting older now, although unlike the portly man across from him, there were no hints of grey hair. Indeed, it seemed like his hair was only getting darker, as hair pushed out across his back, becoming thicker, his chest becoming fluffy with what could be practically described as fur. His spine popped, as it grew in length, and he grew in height - he had been slightly under 6 feet before, but now he was pushing past it.
His jeans were no longer able to take the strain either, the button snapping open as his waist became too wide for it to handle. The bottom of the jeans were being torn up by his enormous legs muscles, ripping open and exposing some very hairy, but very muscular, beefy legs. His trainers were quickly destroyed too, his feet growing several sizes, forcing the laces to snap open and set them free.
Oswald pulled his hand away, and sat back once more. Stan seemed to be accepting it. Now for a bit more of the mind mending...this was a simple but fun one - especially when the subject was repressing it.
“And at the core of all that manliness, well...Stanley, I ask you, what is more manly than loving your fellow man?” Oswald suggested. “You don’t need a woman, Stanley, you never did. All you need is the presence of your fellow gym goers, and you can be a kind and loving man, can’t you? But there’s a part of you that seeks competition, that seeks, above all else, to prove that you are better than your fellows. That you are stronger, more powerful than them…so you seek to dominate them, do you not? Not simply in the physical form, but a literal domination.
“Nothing makes you feel better than subjugating another, Stanley. It is not enough to be confident. It is not enough to win. Others must lose, they must be humiliated by you.”
The words were definitely having an effect on Stan. The zip of his pants was lowered, revealing a jockstrap he hadn’t put on that morning, and something inside of it was growing.
Stan let go of the arms of the chair he sat in, and reached down towards his groin - it was a little difficult for him, his biceps pushing against his inflated chest, but he was able reach inside the jockstrap, pulling it down, and revealing a cock that was getting bigger, not just because he was becoming aroused by Oswald’s talk of domination, but because it was literally growing in size. Stan stroked it, coaxing it to grow himself, as his face moved from a look passive acceptance to a hardened, mean-looking sneer.
“Yes, that’s right.” Oswald encouraged. “Oh, nothing gets you more excited than the thought of taking one of your pals, and destroying him so thoroughly, that he thinks only of you for months afterwards. He might try to get away, but he’ll always come back to you...his big, hairy daddy, for another round of domination.”
Stan continued to stroke himself, mumbling pleasurably to himself. He glanced across at Oswald. “Mmf...yeah...I’d dominate you in a heartbeat, big guy.” he said.
Oswald’s face lost its smile for a brief moment, and his eyes flashed again. “Don’t get ideas above your station, Stanley. Although...that is a promising move, I will say…” he was somewhat surprised. It had been quite a bit easier to grease the wheels of this one. Of course, all he was doing was bringing out what the person really wanted to be, but they could be surprisingly resistant to that in some cases. Stan, for his part, seemed very ready to become his “true” self.
There was a moment of relative silence, as the hypnotized Stan continued to jerk himself off, letting out little grunts of pleasure, his cock a good 9 inches long now. His voice was deeper, his grunts almost bestial in nature. Oswald quietly considered how to move forward. There wasn’t much left, but these would be some fairly dramatic changes. He was going to be changing the very core of who Stan was...and that could be very difficult sometimes.
Best to start small, move to the big stuff. “Either way, though, you don’t mind letting the world around you know that you’re dominant, do you?” Oswald began. “What reason have you to be ashamed of any of it? Who would dare say anything against a man as big as you?” Stan let out a gasp of pain, as a pair of metal rings pierced his exposed nipples, shining against the furry carpet of his chest hair. Simultaneously, a drop of blood dribbled out of his nose, as a horseshoe piercing appeared, forcing its way through his septum. None of it stopped him from pleasuring himself - he was too caught up in the throes of a passion the likes of which he’d never felt before.
“Yes, yes...looking like quite the bull there.” Oswald smirked. They could always go one better though. “The piercings...and the leather too. You’re a regular leather daddy dom, Stanley, isn’t that right?”
“Ungh...fuck yeah…” Stan replied, his eyes closed as he kept pleasuring himself. It wasn’t far off, an explosion was welling up inside him, but it...wouldn’t come out, for some reason. He pumped more furiously, frustrated by his apparent inability to cum.
As he worked himself, the scraps of the shirt that had torn around his body began reforming themselves, wrapping around his shoulders, pulling tightly across his chest. The material turned from thin cotton to hard leather, darkening to black. A metal ring appeared at the center of his chest, and the leather wrapped itself around the ring, swooping back around his body, bringing all the attention to his hairy pecs. His shirt had become a set of leather straps - no good for covering the body, but then, that wasn’t the point.
A similar process was affecting the clothes on his lower body, too. His jeans were turning into the same shiny black leather as the straps his shirt had become, fixing themselves, becoming big enough to fit around his enormous, tree-trunk legs, but not so big that they didn’t cling tightly, showing off just how muscular he was on every part of his body. The jockstrap turned to leather too, a zipper running down the front as it connected to the trousers, and gaps opened up around the inside of his thighs, turning the trousers into leather chaps. His trainers, destroyed by his expanding feet, reformed themselves too, but as the soles that sat beneath his feet pumped up, it was clear they were becoming a very different type of shoe - the hard leather climbed up around his ankles, then went further, ascending to just around his shins, turning his boring, white trainers into a pair of hard, leather boots.
Stan bucked his hips, trying to make himself cum, but it just didn’t seem to be happening. His wrist was starting to ache a bit, and he tried to ease off a little...which was good, because the next part was going to be very important.
“At the heart of it all, though, Stanley,”, Oswald’s smooth British voice snaked its way into his ear, “I find myself asking of you a very simple question. Why? Why be like this? Not that it’s a bad thing, but...it’s important to understand why you feel the way you feel...and for you, I think it goes back to your childhood, as so many things in our lives do.
“You’ve always felt repressed, haven’t you? Frustrated. Constrained. Like a wild animal, in chains. Ever since you were a child, a beast has been inside you, crying out to be set free, and the adults around you pinned it down and told you to be ashamed of it. That’s all religion is good for, isn’t it?” Oswald paused. This might be a hard sell. The original Stan wasn’t religious. He might find some connection in the repression, and that might be enough...and it seemed like it was.
“Y-yeah…” Stan breathed out, going slower now. “T-that God shit...j-just locks you up…”
“Ah, but it wouldn’t be that, where you come from, would it?” Oswald replied. “You have a different name for the...ah…‘big man’, don’t you?” he said, with just a hint of distaste in his voice. He hoped Stan would make the connection himself - it would make the rest easier.
“No...yeah...yes…” Stan said, and Oswald smiled. He could already hear the change, the slight inflection of accent knocking on Stan’s American. “Allah...they called him...but what does it...FUCKING matter...different name, same shit.” His English was becoming slightly stilted - he was clearly fluent, but his accent was getting thicker with every word, and he was taking his time to enunciate each word as best he could...while he jerked off.
His skin was changing - he had started at a pale white, but as he had grown in muscle it had become more bronzed...and now it was turning to a tanned brown, a tan gained not by working out in the sun, but through years and years of genetics. He was gaining an entirely new history, not just of his life, but of several lives around him and before him.
This was why Oswald started small - the big stuff could be REALLY big, but the small stuff shifted the goalposts just enough, that the big stuff was believable...and that was all it needed to be. The subject’s mind did the rest.
“At the heart, it’s an act of rebellion, isn’t it...ah...Tariq?” Oswald asked. The name was such a small thing at this point he didn’t really have to bother trying. “For all those years the elders and your parents kept you locked away, not letting you reach your true potential. It’s why you left home, why you worked so hard to have the powerful body you do, why you fuck and dominate the men around you. It’s the ultimate rebellion, the ultimate ‘fuck you’, isn’t it?”
“Yes…!” Tariq replied. “Fuck them! All the...people who...held me back...gahh!!” He yelled in frustration, desperate to cum now.
“They wanted a good little Muslim boy, didn’t they?” Oswald goaded him, practically grinning. He was almost finished. “But that’s not what they got, and you’ve dedicated your whole life to proving that. That you’re better than that.”
“Yes, yes, yes…” Tariq was lost in it now, he just needed one final push.
“You’re strong, Tariq. You’re powerful. You’re dominant. You’re one hot, Arab, leather muscle daddy. It’s what you were always meant to be, and nothing...not even a higher power, is going to stop you!”
Tariq didn’t even respond properly - he just let out a guttural, almost beast-like yell, as the switch finally flipped, and a powerful spurt of cum came forth from his cock. But that wasn’t all - the final, eventual release was like the opening of floodgates, as his muscles increased in size once more, his biceps, triceps, his back and shoulders, his pecs and abs all blowing up more, to a size that seemed like it should be impossible. His cock grew in length once more, gaining another couple of inches - it might almost be a foot long, now. His balls swelled, churning as he let loose with more of his seed, the seed of a thoroughly changed man. The hair on his head and his beard turned black, the same black hair that covered his body all over - on his chest, his back, his arms, his legs. Hair grew out of his wizened but powerful knuckles, as cum rained onto his chest, the hair growing long enough to pull on. He grew in size once more, now coming close to a 7 feet tall, his spine popping once again with the strain. Everything about him was so much bigger...so much better.
A man named Stanley had entered, and now, sitting there, panting in the afterglow of the best orgasm of his life, was the man Stanley had always wanted to be. Tariq had been somewhere deep inside him, and Oswald had coaxed him out, slowly at first, but with a finale that satisfied.
Oswald sat back, mysteriously having avoided being hit by the jet of cum that had been let loose from Tariq’s cock. Tariq himself was not so…“lucky”, but it was all a matter of perspective. Strings of cum dripped down his furry body, and he licked his lips.
“Well...I think that’s all I needed to do.” Oswald snapped his fingers, and Tariq awoke. In the blink of an eye, the room was clean, and Tariq’s cock was back in his leather chaps...but it pressed tightly against them, leaving nothing to the imagination.
Tariq sat up straight slowly, holding his head, like he had just woken after a long sleep. “Where...am I?” He asked slowly, his accent even thicker now.
“You’re in my clinic, my good man.” Oswald replied. “We found you, passed out outside. I’m not exactly a medical doctor, but I supposed it probably was best not to have you be outside in the cold rain.”
Tariq nodded, coming back to the world. It surprised him that he was still in his leather gear. It was probably weirding this guy out...although it wasn’t like that mattered to Tariq. People could stare all they liked. He liked it when they did, after all. “Uh...well...thank you, I suppose. I think I should…”
“Going?” Oswald finished for him. “Just down the stairs and out the front door. Do you want a coat?”
Tariq scoffed, as he stood up. His confidence was coming back to him. “You think a man like me needs a coat? Let the rain beat me all she likes.” He curled an arm, and flexed at Oswald, although found it a little difficult, thanks to the respective sizes of both his bicep and his pec. “I can take it...and I can give it even harder.” He leaned forward, towering over Oswald who remained sat in his chair, but seemed rather unaffected by the display. “Would you like me to give it to you, piggy?”
“No, no,” Oswald replied good-naturedly. “This little piggy’s done all the porking he cares to. But if you take the second right down…” he glanced out of the window and pointed behind Tariq, “...that way, you’ll find plenty of gentleman happy to take my place.”
Tariq scrunched up his face a little, annoyed at being denied, but something...made him want to comply. Any other guy would’ve been on their knees begging to be allowed to lick his feet, but this fat little doctor seemed weirdly immune. “Alright.” he accepted. “But don’t think I won’t be back for you, piggy.”
Oswald gave a non-committal hum, as Tariq stood up straight and headed for the door. He stopped for a moment - he was a bit too big to fit through the doorway straight on. After a second of contemplation, he turned sideways, bent his head down, and shuffled through the door. His leather boots thumped loudly against the carpet, shaking the building, as he waddled down the stairs, his thighs too big to allow him to walk normally. He stalked through the reception, ignoring the woman behind the desk, who also seemed perfectly happy to ignore him, despite his imposing presence, pulled open the front door, and pushed his way out into the street.
The second he got out onto the street, feeling the cold wind blow roughly against him, he recognized where he was, and remembered the bar the doctor had mentioned. He went there every so often - not to drink, you understand. That was a holdover from his Muslim childhood he couldn’t quite let go of - alcohol had never tasted good to him. No, he went there to find new men to conquer. Twinks and chubby bears were fine enough, but what really thrilled him was dominating a man just as muscular as he was, which was disappointingly hard to find these days. Maybe he’d get lucky tonight, though. At the very least, he’d get something. Men fell over themselves to serve Tariq. He began lumbering off in the direction of the bar, carving a path through the people on the street, as they gave way for him. Getting in his way was a very bad idea, after all.
---
Oswald hadn’t moved from his chair, but quietly watched the bull of a man he’d created stomp off down the street. He smiled. A job well done. Although, what was it about the dominant ones? They always thought they could take him on. It was laughable.
Frankly, he was kind of surprised that he hadn’t been found out yet. He’d figured someone like Bartholomew, or Hell, even Peter might have come down by now to send him running, but he supposed part of it to do was with the nature of the service he was providing. He was making people happy, in the end. Reaching into their hearts and bringing forth their true desires. Sure, they were a bit raunchy, but what were you to expect from a person like Oswald? And really, people only came into the clinic if it was what they wanted. They invented reasons to rationalise why they would suddenly see a building that hadn’t been there before - a friend recommended it, for example - but they saw it because they desired to become the person they were always meant to be. It was a valuable service. Dr. Mode was happy to provide it.
Really, the name was the most disgustingly transparent part of it. Oswald Mode. As-mode-us. He thought people would’ve caught on sooner. But then, he was the demon of lust and desire...and those things tended to make humans a bit stupider than usual.
Vague title/image ahoy. A bodybuilder TF for popo1307. NSFW.
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Eli had only been trying to body build for a year or so. He knew that this kind of work took a long time, and you had to work hard at it, but it was hard not to be disappointed by the lack of progress despite how much time he'd been putting into getting bigger. People around him in his daily life had commented that he was looking trimmer, getting a bit more muscular, but it was kind of pathetic compared to the kind of people he looked up to.
He'd been admiring the community from afar for a good few years since before he'd started actually taking part. He'd discovered it as a teenager, around the same time he discovered he wasn't exactly into girls. He'd kept his admiration of the male form under wraps around his very conservative parents - luckily for him, they had never really understood modern technology, so it wasn't hard. He worked hard, saved his money, and as soon as he turned 18 he'd pretty much hightailed it out of there, ready to enjoy a more liberated life away from the confines of a heavily religious upbringing.
Now, it was a couple of years later. He'd just turned 22, and he'd been saving his money once more, this time for a fitness themed convention in New York, and now he was finally here, and...
On the one hand, it was kind of like a dream come true. All the muscle he could ever want to look at, and he kept spotting various models he followed on Instagram around - people who he admired, who had eventually inspired him to dive into the pool and start getting gains himself. But on the other hand, it just sort of drove in how little progress he'd made. A year and a half of going to the gym, carefully managing his diet, and he was still kind of weedy. It made him wonder how he could ever compare, ever come close to being like the veritable pack of Adonises (Adoni? Was there a plural word for a proper noun?) that surrounded him right now.
The contrast was significant, to be sure. Eli was about 5 feet, 7 inches, while the guys around him tended to push towards 7 feet tall. He also didn't have much to show for all his effort. His muscles didn't bulge out against his shirt or anything. He was a bit buffer than maybe the average guy, his arms and legs filling out his dark green shirt and dark blue jeans a bit more than most, but it didn't amount to much around people like this. With his short cut red hair, clean shaven face, pale skin and glasses, he felt like a nerd at high school again, about to get picked on by a jock who played football too much.
He was trying not to get too torn up about it though. After all, as he kept reminding himself, it took many years of hard work to look like the people he admired, and he'd actually started earlier than a couple of them - some of these guys had only started working out in their 30s, so there was definitely hope for him. Besides, it was great to just...look at some of these guys. He kind of wanted to go and feel their muscles as well, but he didn't want to come across as a creeper, so he was just standing next to an unmanned booth at the moment, people watching.
He hadn't really paid attention to what the booth was for - seemed to be some kind of new company making protein supplements. Eli had held off on taking things specifically to help with gaining, like supplements or steroids - he liked the idea of being able to say that his muscles were all natural when he got them, but the slow speed of his gains had made him reconsider. He was in the perfect state of mind, of "maybe I should..." that an enterprising marketer could take advantage of. Which was just what was about to happen, as the person manning the stall came back.
"Haha, thanks for watchin' the stall", a deep voice said from Eli's left. He turned and saw yet another muscular man to his left, giving him a big grin. The guy was bald, and had slightly tanned skin, although not a whole lot of it could be seen, since he was wearing what looked like a suit tailored for him. He was a full foot taller than Eli, and the sight of the guy smiling at him made Eli blush.
"Oh, haha, shit, uhhh..." Eli stammered. "I didn't realize, I was just..."
"Taking in the view?" The suited man replied confidently. His accent identified him as a New Yorker. "Wouldn't blame ya. Some very sweet eye candy to take in this year." He held out his hand for Eli to shake. "Caleb", he said, very simply.
"E-Eli." Eli replied, and took the hand. His blush only became more intense as Caleb took Eli's small hand in his own, large bulky one, and shook it firmly. Letting go, Caleb walked around behind the booth's table, and patted the lid of one of the supplement bottles.
"So, you interested in our supplements, or were you just lookin' for a place to stand?" Caleb said.
"Uh...the second one, I guess, but..." Eli responded, but he felt rude saying that, so... "I guess I wouldn't mind taking a look."
"Good to hear!" Caleb said. "From the looks of you, I'd say...you started workin' out in the last year or so?"
"Yeah", Eli admitted. "I started out like...I didn't want to do supplements or anything, but so many of the guys I follow on Instagram do them, and..."
"And you're gettin' frustrated that you aren't gettin' those big gains, huh?" Caleb said, giving him a bit of a cheeky grin again. "I know that feelin'. I'd say almost every guy here knows that feelin'. I was kinda nervous about doin' this kinda stuff myself but...look, there's nothin' wrong with gettin' a little help, is there?"
"I guess not." Eli replied. "I mean, so many of the guys I know...uh...follow, I guess, they do it..."
"Yeah, see what I mean? No-one's gonna criticize you for it", Caleb continued. "This supplement, it's made with guys like you in mind. Guys who are just startin' out, cuz, ah, we're kinda just startin' out too, y'know what I mean?"
"I dunno, still..." Eli pondered. He hadn't heard of this company before. Skydriver. He guessed they must be new on the market.
"Alright, alright. How about this, 'cause I like you." Caleb said. "I'll give you a free bottle. Don't tell the business guys alright? Just take a bit of the whey like you usually would, use one-a the gyms around for your usual set, and then...end of the day, see how it turns out. If you don't like the results, you won't lose out, alright?" He picked up a bottle as he talked, a smaller pack, and held it out to Eli.
Eli considered. He'd be kinda breaking his own mini-promise, but...well, he'd been basically planning to anyway. And he was getting it for free. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth they said.
"...alright." Eli relinquished, taking the offered bottle. "I'll give it a shot."
"Good to hear, my man." Caleb said, giving him another sparkling white grin. "Come back, let me know how you feel about it."
"Sure." Eli said, nodding and smiling back, before turning and walking away. He looked down at the bottle in his hand, and turned it over to look at the instructions. Mix 20mg of whey with water, and consume 15-20 minutes prior to your workout, then once more 20 minutes after. Seemed simple enough. He dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone - it was getting towards 1pm, which was about the time he did his workout anyway, so it wouldn't hurt to try the supplement out as he did it.
The good thing about this convention was that it knew its audience - it was being held in a hotel that also had a fairly extensive gym. He'd heard someone say that the place specifically outfitted the gym for these events, which was encouraging to hear. Eli had taken the liberty of saving up to also get a room at the hotel, and it seemed like there wasn't going to be a better time than right now to get to work.
---------
The whey hadn't exactly been anything to write home about taste-wise, but that wasn't really the point of it, was it? It was about what it did for his body, and after an initial sample, doing his workout, and then taking the second dose, he had to say that...he at least felt a little bulkier, even if he didn't really look it.
Eli was in his hotel room, and it had been about half an hour of an hour since he'd done his workout. He was resting up a bit before going back to the con, but he'd decided to take the opportunity to take a look at himself, even though it was really only setting himself up for disappointment. Supplements were hardly miracle powders, and it showed - he didn't really look all that different to how he had about two or three hours earlier.
He lifted up an arm and tried to flex a little. His bicep pushed against the sleeve of his t-shirt that he set aside for workouts, but it was hardly impressive. The point of supplements was promoting growth and preventing breakdown of the muscles, so there must have been some kind of effect below the surface...well, maybe he'd give it a bit. He still wasn't totally sold on the effects, but he had enough to last him for a while after the convention, so...who knew what would happen?
Who knew indeed.
Well, enough of that. He needed a proper shower. He'd had a quick one in the locker room showers provided by the hotel after leaving the gym, but he felt like he needed another, longer one after the workout. He headed to the en-suite bathroom (he'd saved up quite a bit for these luxuries, and stripped off, exposing his lithe body. Eli tried to avoid looking in the mirror too much, since it was just rubbing in how little he'd changed. Even his skin was embarrassingly pale. A lot of the guys he admired either spent a lot of time in the sun or were from countries where one was just generally more likely to have dark skin. He'd like to be nice and tanned himself - maybe some chest hair too, he was so clean shaven - but gains came first in his mind.
The shower was kind of luxurious - the hotel was a four star after all, so the whole thing was very nice. He'd had a pretty comfortable sleep before, and as he turned on the shower, it kicked into gear and was already at the perfect heat without him having to twist the dials or anything. He closed the shower door, and for a moment, just let the water wash over his aching body. He tipped his head back, and closed his eyes.
For Eli, there was simply a sensation of relief, but it was like something in his body was being activated by the water of the shower. It was all over his body - subtle enough for Eli not to notice immediately, but significant enough to be seen from the outside. He grabbed some soap, and began massaging it into his chest, and it grew as he did. His pecs grew a little, packing on some muscle, becoming just a bit more prominent. The suds generated by the soap ran down the centre of his chest, between his two pecs, a central divide that was becoming more prominent. His abs were becoming more defined - he'd had just a 4-pack before, but it was starting to become a 6-pack. The muscles in his arms and legs grew, his biceps bulking out just a bit, his legs lengthening, becoming stronger, his feet increasing in size, his hands too. All these changes individually were small, but its the little things that add up. If someone were around to watch, they would be able to see Eli becoming taller, his body swelling up, only a little, but enough to be noticable.
Eli himself was in a different postion, however. He was just enjoying the relaxing feeling of water rushing over his body, relaxing his tired muscles, almost...invigorating them. He was beginning to feel like he was filling up with energy. He washed himself over, enjoying the feeling, but unaware exactly of what it meant. After another couple of minutes of this, he shut off the shower, stepped out, and grabbed a towel, rubbing himself down.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, and found himself a little surprised. Hm. He looked pretty alright, all things considered. He'd been beating himself up a lot lately about his lack of growth but...when he thought about it, about how he'd looked at the start of his journey, he'd definitely changed, in a positive direction too. It wasn't much, but there was a difference - he wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it before. He curled his arm around, making his bicep bulge a little - and the funny thing was, it did actually bulge out a bit more, gaining a bit more muscle than it had just a second ago. Eli smiled, and looked at his face - and noticed he had a bit of stubble.
He came closer to the mirror, still holding the towel, and rubbed his face. When had he grown that? He didn't really remember having stubble this morning...or at all really, he'd always shaved. He must have forgotten to do it yesterday or something. He'd never really grown a beard, but as he stroked his chin, he smiled at the prickly sensation. It felt kinda nice. Maybe he should grow a beard. Some of the guys he followed had some nice beards. He turned away from the mirror to hang the towel up, and as he did, the hairs on his chin and upper lip pushed out more, growing by the second.
Eli walked out of the bathroom, still naked. Usually he was eager to put his clothes back on, since he was cold after coming out of the shower, but...he felt a bit more confident. Well, that wasn't saying much, considering no-one else was around, but he just felt a bit more comfortable in his own body. He walked in front of the full length mirror on the closet where he'd put his clothes and stopped to look at himself again.
The stubble was hard to miss now, considering it had grown a bit in the few seconds since he'd last seen it. He cocked an eyebrow, and raised his hand again, stroking it. It definitely...felt a bit bushier than it had been a couple of seconds earlier. Was he imagining things? He stopped, holding his hand still against his chin, simply letting his fingers rest against the hairs...were they...growing, as he held them? He stood still, simply looking at himself, keeping his hand where it was. For a good half of a minute, he was half convinced he must just be imagining it, but as the time ticked past quietly, he SWORE he could feel the hairs shifting underneath his fingers, as they grew out.
Breaking out of his reverie, he looked himself over. He felt...weird. Different. Not unpleasant, but it was strange. It was like...like he couldn't see himself properly. Or maybe he hadn't been seeing himself properly, and his eyes were cleared. He looked at his face again. It felt like something was missing. What was it? He reached his right hand up to his right pec and felt it...didn't feel much different. It was infuriating. He knew something was missing, he was looking right at it, but he couldn't see it. He looked at himself in the eyes. What was he--
His glasses. His glasses. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but he could see perfectly, as if he was wearing them. He'd taken them off and set them down on the bedside counter...he turned around to where he remembered putting them, and felt a strange pang in his chest as he saw they weren't there.
And then his chest...ballooned.
Well, maybe that was the wrong word, but that was how it felt to Eli. He was still holding his hand to his pec, when he suddenly felt it grow underneath his hand. He looked down in shock, and saw his pec beginning to pile on muscle in earnest. The thoughts of his growing beard and his missing glasses completely left his head, as he began to bulk out in mass. His back muscles were growing to keep up with his inflating pecs, that were growing at such a rate that it was starting to become difficult to see over his chest.
"Oh, shit..." Elim muttered, feeling his fingers getting splayed out by his expanding pecs, while his hands seemed to grow on top of that. His body felt like it was on fire all of a sudden, and he turned back around to the mirror to witness his growth. His biceps were pumping up, his triceps now, his forearms, he was getting thicker with more and more muscle, the kind of muscle he'd only dreamed of, admired on other people. Was this a dream? It didn't feel like it.
His torso was bulking out to match up with his watermelon sized pecs, the six pack becoming an eight pack. All the crunches he'd done during his workout, the bicep curls and deadlifts, it was like it was being multiplied tenfold in seconds. It made no sense. It was scary. It was unreal. It was...exciting. Elim smiled at his growing body, and a quick glance at his head put him in no uncertain terms - that beard was definitely growing as well, growing well beyond anything he'd ever expected to grow - and the strange part was that the beard was black, in direct contrast to the red hair atop his head. He felt a twinge below the belt, as the beard continued to grow. Within seconds, he was at full mast - was he longer, even down there? He barely had time to think about it, because the need to indulge his body's desire was suddenly overpowering everything.
He stumbled backwards, his legs bulking in size with each step, until the back of his legs touched the cloth of his bed, and he fell backwards onto it. He wrapped a hand around his engorged cock, reached the other up to that tantalising beard, and began to stroke both. Everything was happening so fast, his mind was a haze of lust and desire mixed with a feeling of growing strength and power. His nipples pushed out, becoming hard in the cold air of the hotel room. He stroked his beard, pulling at the hairs, encouraging them to grow further - and they did. He pulled, and the beard grew down. He closed his eyes in pleasure, jerking his cock hard and fast. He could feel the beard touching his chest, and as it did, a sudden carpet of body hair burst forth across his pecs. At the same time, he could feel his cock lengthening in the tight grip of his hand, his balls hanging lower as they grew too, swelling with cum.
At the same time, the black from the beard was rising up the sides of his chin, up his jaw, connecting with the red hair atop his head. Elima moaned, his voice dropping a couple of octaves as his neck muscles thickened, and the black colour of the beard, suddenly swept across the hair atop his head, every single red hair turning to a dark black. His face in general was becoming even more masculine, his jaw getting squarer, his nose becoming larger...and a feature he would appreciate if he opened his eyes to see it was that he was getting that tan he dreamed of too.
But it definitely wasn't a tanning booth tan, or a 'I spent two weeks in Majorca' tan - this was...a natural tan, the kind of tan you had to be born with. Elimal's pale white skin turned olive, and as he moaned again, there was definitely a change in his voice - not just in its tone, but in its accent. The American was draining out of him, and it was being replaced by...something, heavily accented. It was hard to tell what it was exactly just yet, but it was middle-eastern in origin. The man lying on the bed, furiously pumping his own cock, his muscles continuing to grow, was, to any outsider, definitely of Persian descent, rather than some weedy young man from the Bible Belt.
Elmail felt pre-cum drip between his fingers - god, he needed to cum now! He pumped harder, his body just swelling out to complete the final touches. His forearms began to get their own coverings of hair, his knuckles popping as they grew in size, his spine popping too as he grew in height. His butt was growing too, resting on the mattress, become toned, but swelling out into a booty that would never be contained, no matter what he wore from that moment on. He was about to burst - it was the most insane, erotic experience of his life, and he was on the cusp of the most incredible climax in the world.
"Come on, come on..." Elmail groaned out, in an unmistakably Iranian accent. He was going as hard as he could, but it wouldn't quite...come on...get there...almost...he needed something, an extra twist...his lust driven mind did the first thing that it could think of, he reached a hand up, grabbed his nipple, twisted--and it was like valve on a fire hose released.
Esmail let out a loud, joy filled yell, as his cock spurted forth with the hardest orgasm he'd ever had in his life. Streams of cum rocketed out, falling across his hairy pecs and the hand that laid atop them, some falling into his beard. His cock was pulsing harder than he'd ever felt it, ropes shooting through his fingers, falling onto him and the bed next to him. "Hoooohhlllyyy..." he moaned, as the orgasm began to subside.
For a minute or two, Esmail lay there, breathing heavily. His mind was completely buzzed, and he was just enjoying the moment. But as his mind eventually returned, he was forced to face the reality of what had just happened to him. Which was...clearly impossible, and yet...
He sat up, cum still dripping out of his cock as he looked at his changed self in the mirror. This was the body he'd dreamed of. Maybe not the whole, black hair, beard, the..."Is this...me?" he said out loud, and noticed his deep, rumbling, heavily accented voice. He'd become someone else entirely. He hadn't been calling himself 'Esmail' a minute earlier, but he couldn't even remember what he HAD been calling himself. He knew he'd been white, an American, no real muscle to speak of and now he was...Iranian. Packed with muscles. The kind of muscle you got from several years of hard work, not just one and some supplements. Looking at the bedside counter, he spotted his wallet atop it, and opened it up, pulling out a driving licence. 'Esmail Nariman', the card said. Year of birth, 1982. He'd gotten older. But it felt right. Sounded right. He knew he was someone else before, but whoever that was was fading from the world.
There was a knock on the door, and a voice. A familiar voice. A familiar New Yorker accent. "You all done in there?" it said.
Esmail stood up, still in a state of wonder, that he didn't even think to put on clothes, as he walked over to the door and opened it up. Caleb was standing there, looking away for a second, before turning to face Esmail again.
"Oooh, shit. You turned out nice." Caleb said.
"C-Caleb", Esmail said, hardly believing anything that was happening. "How..."
"Don't ask me." Caleb replied. "I don't make the stuff, I just sell it."
"But how did you know that...it's me?"
Caleb smirked. "'Cause forty-eight hours ago, I was eighteen, straight, never worked out a day in my life, and I was from...Texas, I think."
Esmail stumbled away from the door, and Caleb walked in, closing it behind him. "H-how..." Esmail stammered out again.
"Look, I don't know how it does it." Caleb said "I didn't expect it to turn you middle-eastern, that's for sure. But, the way I see it...why would you wanna question it? Look at me. Look at you! We're fuckin' muscle gods, y'know? Why would anyone say no to this? The only thing I know for sure is that, for a while after you take it..."
Caleb let there be a pregnant pause, as he reached up, and popped open a couple of buttons on his shirt, exposing his pecs ever so slightly...
"You're really, REALLY, horny."
Esmail felt another twinge in his cock.
"So..." Caleb said, shrugging off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. "What's your name, sweetcheeks?" He stepped forward, reaching his hands around to grope Esmail's buttocks. Esmail let him.
"Es...Esmail Nariman", he breathed out huskily, a smirk playing on his lips.
"That's right, babe..." Caleb said, and went in for the kiss.
---------
"You still up for another go?" Caleb asked. The two men were lying on the bed, both naked. Caleb's suit lay crumpled up on the floor. They were both breathing heavily.
"No...I think I got it out of my system", Esmail replied between breaths.
It had been a couple of hours since Caleb had entered the room, and...well, Esmail had lost count of how many times they'd gone at it, how many times both he and Caleb had covered the sheets with cum. It was the best sex he'd ever had - he'd never had much experience beforehand, but he got the feeling he wouldn't be wanting for them any longer. Not when he looked like this.
Caleb chuckled. "Lucky...when it happened to me I was stuck in my room the rest of the day. Fuckin'...just jerkin' off for hours. Shit was ridiculous."
Esmail turned over, smirking at him. "Perhaps because you didn't have anyone to help you?"
"Maybe."
"Do you know where this...came from?" Esmail asked, returning to the line of questioning about the mysterious supplement that had changed their lives.
"Like I said, I just sell it." Caleb said.
"Well, surely you can remember something from before you became like this?" Esmail asked.
"I dunno...the longer I'm goin' like this, the more I'm forgettin'." Caleb said, although he didn't seem too torn up about the concept. "I think...I think I was with a family or somethin'...I think I just stole a bottle 'cause I saw no-one was there, then...next thing I know, I'm wakin' up in a hotel room I didn't have before, and I've got this suit, with this badge that says I'm sellin' these Skydriver products, and it's like it's all already there. It's all already in my head. Do you know what I mean?"
"I...think I might..." Esmail murmured, and slowly got up off the bed, walking over to the closet he remembered storing his clothes in when he'd arrived at the hotel as someone else entirely. He couldn't remember what clothes he'd packed back then, but opening the closet, he found something he definitely couldn't have had before - a tailored suit. He turned it on the coathanger, and saw a badge attached to it. Esmail Nariman - Skydriver PR.
"Seems I'm in the same boat as you, Caleb." Esmail remarked, closing the closet door, and looking at himself in the mirror. He saw Caleb come up behind him - Caleb was slightly taller, and brought his arms around Esmail's chest, giving one of his pecs a squeeze.
"Not a bad boat to be in, I'd say." Caleb remarked, giving Esmail a kiss on the cheek.
"Mmm..." Esmail hummed in agreement. "Especially when you're sharing it with someone who looks as good as I do."
"Hey, someone's gettin' cocky." Caleb said with a chuckle. "Should we, ah...get back to work, then?"
"After a shower", Esmail said, nodding. "It's big enough for two...even two as big as us."
Esmail felt himself brimming with joy and confidence - a feeling he knew he'd never quite felt as whatever he had been before. He felt like maybe he should be troubled that he was losing who he was previously, but he had the feeling that even whoever that was wouldn't consider it a great loss. In the span of a few hours, everything about his life had changed - and he couldn't be happier that it had.
((Enjoyed this story? Consider sending me a tip on Ko-fi, or, if you want one for yourself, you can commission me.))
Hey there! Commissions are open again, although I’m going to be more loose this time - they’re going to be sort of semi-permanently open and I’ll take work as it comes. All the details are here, so if you’re interested send me a message, and you can check the current order of commissions on my Trello.
A Goron TF, done for gogetyourverb on deviantArt. A lot of fun to do - I do love the chubby Gorons, especially when Twilight Princess introduced them doing sumo.
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Goron City was not a comfortable place for a Hylian to be.
Its proximity to Death Mountain meant the place was always warm, and while that was just fine for the Gorons, it meant that Jeremy always felt like taking off his clothes whenever he was there. He'd long since figured out in during his many visits that light clothes were best, the kind of stuff you'd need to go through the desert, long and flowing, airy. The problem was, in a place like the desert, the air was flowing, even if it was harsh. In Goron City, the air was still and stifling.
Sometimes Jeremy wished he could just take off his clothes and wear a loincloth or something, like the Gorons did, but he was too modest for that. He kind of wished he felt that free. It was a trait he admired in the Gorons. They seemed to care little for appearances, preferring to get to know the person behind the face - certainly, it was a trait he had noticed in his best friend, Doga.
Their meeting some years ago had been something of a coincidence. He had been journeying to Kakariko, and had awoken after a night's rest to discover himself surrounded by Moblins, who were already making off with his stuff. Moblins were usually dumb as rocks, but these ones had the sense to take his weapon, a short sword, first, leaving him effectively defenseless. They were ready to slit his throat when he'd heard a loud yell from behind him, and turned around in time to see one of his attackers launched about 20 feet in the air by a powerful Goron fist. Okay, maybe it wasn't that high. But it felt like it.
Doga was something to behold in combat. It was clear to anyone with a knowledge of Goron culture that he had been practicing sumo since a young age, but he didn't let the restrictions of sumo hold him back from letting loose on opponents. The other part of what made him such a sight was that Doga had let his snowy white hair grow out, into a long tangled mane of white hair that reached down towards the middle of his rocky back, tied at the end with a little twine of rope. The way his hair flowed behind him with his hard, heavy punches was almost mesmerising.
He'd been scary as he fought off the invaders, but when he turned to Jeremy on that first day, his wide face, clean-shaven face (Goron's often had beards - Doga elected not to) immediately turned into a kind, warm smile, as he helped Jeremy find his stuff that had been scattered on the plain. His bright red eyes might suggest someone meaner, but as Jeremy would find out, Doga was as kind as they came.
As it turned out, Doga had at the time just been running an errand for his father. It surprised Jeremy to find out the two were basically the same age - Doga was way bigger than Jeremy, a 7 foot tall brute of a Goron, but that was to be expected of Gorons, really. Doga had just been running an errand, but the young Goron had a deep-seated sense of justice in him. About a year after they had met, Doga confided in Jeremy that he harbored dreams of being a travelling warrior, a Goron that would be written about in legend and remembered for years to come.
Jeremy had laughed and given him a bit of ribbing about it, but he'd admired Doga's direction in life. It was something Jeremy felt he was missing. He'd just been travelling on the plains for a few years now, doing odd jobs to keep himself afloat, but he'd lost all sense of direction in his life. In a way, meeting Doga had saved his life in more ways than one. While he still hadn't found the direction he was looking for, he felt like he was closer to figuring out what that direction was.
In the meantime, Goron City had become something of a home to Jeremy. Doga had invited him to his own home and after that it was kind of like Jeremy never left. He still travelled around, but he always ended up coming back to Doga's place, and he'd gained something of a rapport with the other Gorons in the city. Some of them even called him brother sometimes, although it seemed more like a slip of the tongue than anything else.
But that was enough of taking a trip down memory lane. Right now, Jeremy was returning to Goron City after a good couple of months away. He'd travelled out quite a distance, but he'd come back when he had received a letter from Doga, asking Jeremy to return. The letter was excited, but vague - Doga had something he wanted to give to Jeremy, a "commemoration" of something, but whatever this thing was, Doga hadn't said. So Jeremy had returned, and now here he was, back in Goron City, back to sweltering heat.
He was wearing some pretty light, airy clothing - a shirt coloured a sort of ethereal light blue, which hung loosely off his somewhat thin body, and some kind of baggy black pants. Apparently, they were of Gerudo design, which had kind of made Jeremy a little awkward about wearing them at first - weren't all Gerudos female? - but that had been a few years ago, and Jeremy had learned that they were the best kind of clothing for Goron City, and that Gorons didn't really care what you wore. After all, they didn't wear a whole lot themselves
He wiped some sweat off his brow, shifting his short brown hair a little. Coming back to Goron City always reminded him how much he admired the appearance of the Gorons - their long flowing hair, magnificent beards, big muscles. He'd considered growing his own hair out like Doga's, maybe growing a beard to differentiate them, but for now he was happy the way he was, with his short hair and clean face. His pale skin was flushing red with the heat, but Doga usually had some way to cool down in his home. All Jeremy had to do was get there, which he did easily enough.
He knocked against the door of Doga's home and waited. After a couple of seconds, the door opened, and there was Doga, whose red eyes immediately lit up at the sight of his friend.
"Jeremy!!" he yelled happily, and quickly swept up the Hylian into a tight Goron hug. He'd learned to be a bit more careful about hugging Hylians, since if he went in with full strength, he'd break Jeremy like a twig, but that didn't mean the hug wasn't still a little painful. Jeremy didn't mind too much himself though - he'd gotten stronger and more used to it. They held the hug for a few seconds, Doga nuzzling Jeremy a little, before letting go.
"Oh my...you don't know how glad I am you came back", Doga said excitedly. "You got my letter, didn't you?"
"Yeah, you said you had something for me?" Jeremy replied.
Doga grinned. "Oh yeah. I've got something real good. But first...come in, come on. Tell me about where you've been! I love hearing your travelling stories." Doga stepped to the side, letting Jeremy enter his home once more.
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"...and, man that minstrel was something else, I'll tell you. I wish there was some way of...I don't know, repeating it, exactly as it was", Jeremy was saying.
"You could always learn the accordion yourself." Doga suggested, grinning.
"No, no, this is...I dunno how to describe it", Jeremy replied. "Even if I did learn, I wouldn't be able to replicate it. You really just have to be there."
The pair were sitting around a table, Doga listening intently to Jeremy's stories. Everything in Doga's home was made of metal, including the chairs, since if they used wood, it would just burn up from the sheer heat of the nearby volcano. Doga was munching on a rock as he listened - he'd offered some to Jeremy, but Jeremy had politely declined.
"You said he was a travelling minstrel?" Doga asked. "Perhaps I'll run into the fellow myself."
"I hope you do. It's a unique experience." Jeremy replied. "Well, I think that's pretty much everything that happened while I was away. How have you been, Doga?"
"Pretty good, brother!" Doga said. Jeremy smiled at the name. Doga seemed to be the only Goron who used the 'brother' term for him with any sort of sincerity. "In fact, very good. Something I've been waiting a long time has finally come to fruition."
"Oh, really? How long have you been waiting?" Jeremy asked.
Doga scratched his chin. "Hmm, a year, perhaps two", he estimated.
"Two?" Jeremy said, incredulously. "Must be something very important for you to be willing to wait that long."
"Yes, it's not something that's...given very frequently."
"Well, don't dance around it", Jeremy said. "Tell me!"
"I..." Doga faltered. He seemed worried now. "It's...ah, perhaps it was a bad idea."
"Doga, I know you don't do things without thinking about them a lot, so I'd definitely say it's not a bad idea, whatever it is." Jeremy reached out a hand and patted Doga's shoulder, trying to reassure him.
"It has something to do with why I called you back here", Doga said, then reconsidered. "No, no, it has everything to do with why I called you back. It IS why I called you back."
Jeremy looked quietly at his friend, not sure what to think.
"You, of course, know about the nature of brotherhood between Gorons", Doga began. "How could you not, having spent so much time with us?" He chuckled. "But...well, you probably have heard that brotherhood can be extended - we can share brotherhood with those who are not necessarily Gorons."
"Well, they said the King was considered an honorary Goron brother, didn't they?" Jeremy replied.
"Yes, yes...well, people know that about Gorons. And I think you would know that I would consider you a brother, don't you?" Doga continued. Jeremy nodded. "I feel like...perhaps you feel I've failed you a little. We have been friends this long, and I have not put you forward to be considered a brother by the rest of the tribe."
Jeremy shook his head. "I don't mind at all, Doga. It's not up to me to question how Gorons do things."
"What I'm trying to say is..." Doga faltered again. "The reason that...I have not done such a thing is because...well, in a way, I have been trying. But...in a different way.
"It does not happen very often, but very...very occasionally, there have been times when the Gorons have considered a non-Goron a brother, but...they have felt that the non-Goron being only an honorary brother is...it's not good enough. It does not truly describe the bond between them. They feel the only way that brotherhood can be expressed is by...accepting their friend fully, and...that. That is what I have been trying to obtain for these past couple of years."
"Doga, what are you..." Jeremy said, but the Goron cut him off. He seemed solemn.
"I do want you to be a brother, I do want you to be considered a brother by the tribe. I want all the people of Goron City to see you and say to themselves, 'yes, that is my brother'. But being an honorary brother is not enough for you.
"You mean far more than that to me." Doga said, looking up at Jeremy, his red eyes looking right into Jeremy's own.
"What are you saying, Doga?" Jeremy asked.
"I'm saying, that...I want you to be a Goron...brother." Doga said.
Jeremy tried to parse the sentence. Was that pause intentional? Was he...
"Is...is the...brother part...separate from the Goron part?" he asked.
"...Yes and no."
"I don't..."
"I want to make you a brother of the Gorons. But being an honorary brother is not enough. You deserve...I see it in your eyes, when you are here. You belong here. But not as a Hylian."
"...as a Goron?"
"Yes." Doga stared down at Jeremy, awaiting his response. Jeremy was quiet. What could he say?
"But...how would that even be possible?" he started.
"You of all people should know that there is magic in this world. Is it really so impossible to believe?" Doga replied.
"I guess, but...is this really what you are asking of me? To...make me one of your own?" Jeremy said.
"The moment I met you, I knew you were lost in this world." Doga said. "You have made your way on improvisation, on taking things as they come, but you have never found your place. Except for here. When I see you here, I know you belong here. I know in my heart, that you belong with us. But as you are, you cannot survive here. So, when I went to the elders, I asked not that you simply be an honorary brother, but a true brother, a Goron, just like me.
"It has been a long couple of years, and all this time you have been watched. I wanted to show them what I saw in you, and finally, after all this time...they have agreed. They too now believe that you could be one of us. All that remains...is you.
"They have given their blessing, but the final decision lies with you." Doga said. "I know it is...a lot to ask of you, but I would not be doing this if I didn't think...that it was something you wanted too, so...I suppose all that really remains to ask is...would you want this? Do you want to be a Goron, brother?"
There was a long silence as Jeremy considered what was being presented to him. Doga was right in a way. Jeremy certainly did feel more at home in Goron City than he did anywhere else. And sometimes, he had felt a little resentment towards Doga for not asking him to be a brother beforehand, but that was before he knew that what Doga had been fighting for, in private all this time, was this opportunity.
"Would there be no going back?" Jeremy asked, although he wasn't sure the answer would have any effect on his decision.
"What is done through magic can be undone, certainly..." Doga said, "So in a sense, no. But it would not be a limited change. Once it is done, you would be a Goron permanently, until another magic were to change you once more...am I making sense?"
"Yeah, yeah, I..." Jeremy considered. He...he did want this. But at the same time, to cast off...everything he was before...but then, what was he before? Some aimless Hylian, wandering to and fro, no direction in his life. Doga was right. He had been lost since he'd entered this world, and the only true home he'd found was amongst the Gorons. If there was a way to be closer to that, then why would he ever deny that chance? He would regret it for the rest of his life.
"I'll do it." Jeremy said, resolve in his voice.
"You will?" Doga said, his mouth opening into a grin. Jeremy nodded, smiling back. "Oh, you will!" Doga exclaimed with excitement, and stood up, sweeping Jeremy into another hug. "I cannot tell you how long I have waited for this moment!"
"O...kay...okay...Doga..." Jeremy said in pain, feeling the breath being crushed out of him. "You can...give me...a proper hug...once it's done!"
Doga let Jeremy go, a blush on his face as he scratched the back of his head. "Ahaha, I'm sorry, my brother. I was just excited. Let us not delay! Come with me!" He walked past Jeremy, heading towards the bedroom. Jeremy turned, following after, and found that the room had been changed quite a bit since he had last been in it - the most noticeable difference being that there were no beds.
"Where are the--" Jeremy began.
"Out back." Doga responded. "This was the only space I had for the ritual, so they had to be moved."
The bedroom was darkened compared to the rest of Doga's home, the only light coming from the walls that glowed slightly, pulsing red like magma, and some candles set on a low rock shelf. On the floor was a carpet with the symbol of the Gorons on it - the kite shape with three triangles coming away from it, looking like a claw. Next to the candles was a piece of white cloth that looked like a Goron loincloth, not dissimilar to that which Doga was wearing. Doga took up the discarded cloth.
"You'll need to put this on." He said. "And, ah, take off your other clothes."
"That's not a...previously used one is it?" Jeremy asked.
"Haha", Doga chuckled. "No, no. I made it for you. It's part of the ritual."
"Alright..." Jeremy murmured, not quite believing this was happening. Was it a joke on Doga's part? But he wasn't really the type to play jokes...Jeremy began slowly undoing the latches on his clothing, unwrapping them from his body, undoing the sash around his waist. He slowly took the clothes off, feeling exposed as they revealed his lithe frame. He blushed at the thought, at the sensation of letting Doga see him like this.
"Is everything okay?" Doga asked. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah, I am, it's just...a little embarrassing." Jeremy said.
"Hahaha! That feeling will be washed away when you are a Goron!" Doga flexed an arm, grinning. "We are proud of our bodies, and you will be too. I can tell you will make a fine Goron already!"
Jeremy smiled. He finished taking off his clothes, and Doga handed the loincloth to him. Jeremy attempted to wrap it around himself, but very quickly there was a problem.
"It's...too big for me." He said. He held the loincloth up with his hands, holding around his waist.
"Well, of course it is!" Doga said. "You're about to be much bigger! If I made it for you as you are now, there would be no point, you'd just tear it apart."
Jeremy nodded, but he felt a little stupid standing there in the middle of the room, with only a too big loincloth to cover himself up. He had to admit he felt the heat less with his clothes off, though.
"Okay, now stand on the carpet. Right in the centre." Doga said, and Jeremy did so, standing directly over the Goron symbol. "I'll just set up everything else..." he began taking the candles and placing them around the carpet, in a circle around Jeremy. As the candles lit up the floor brighter, Jeremy saw a red circle had been painted on the floor, which he hadn't noticed before due to the darkness of the room - Doga was placing the candles on marked spots on the floor.
"Is this safe?" Jeremy asked.
"As far as I know." Doga said. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No, I just...what if one of us kicks over a candle by mistake? It might set the carpet on fire." Jeremy said.
"Well, then we won't do that, will we?" the Goron said, grinning. Jeremy rolled his eyes.
After a few more moments of preparation, it seemed like things were ready. The last thing to happen was Doga taking up a piece of parchment from the shelf, on which had been written some words.
"Now, I just need to say this, and...I think it should begin. Are you ready to become a Goron, brother?" Doga asked.
"Yeah. Definitely. Make it happen." Jeremy said. He felt anticipation in his chest. He couldn't wait now. He knew he needed this more than anything now.
"Then I'll get started." Doga said, and began reading off the parchment. His voice was low, murmuring words Jeremy didn't recognise. He couldn't understand what was being said, but he had the feeling that these were powerful words, and his thoughts were confirmed as the circle the candles were stood atop began to glow with a bright red light that hurt a little to look directly at. Jeremy felt things get hotter, beads of sweat beginning to break on his forehead once again.
Doga kept talking, and the candles seemed to burn brighter with the circle below them glowing. Jeremy looked down at the carpet underneath his bare feet, and saw that the Goron symbol on it was starting to glow a bright white, with a blue edge as it reacted to Doga's words. Doga kept reciting whatever was on the parchment for a while, about half a minute, until he came to an end, and looked up at Jeremy.
"Be prepared, brother. Everything is about to change." He said, simply.
And change it did.
It started in his feet - there was the sensation of a crack in the centre of his foot, and Jeremy looked down to see his feet starting to grow. His soles were getting wider, and a little bit longer. He could feel them hardening already, getting tough, more able to withstand the sharp rocks that made up Goron City and the nearby mountain. His toes were getting bigger to match as well, the toenails thickening. His ankles were starting to swell a little with fat. It was small steps, but Jeremy felt excited already - then it felt like his legs buckled.
There was a weird, but not really painful sensation as his legs seemed to shorten underneath him. His thighs were getting thicker, but his legs were losing their length, the bones under his skin compressing down. "I thought Gorons were meant to be tall..." Jeremy said, a little out of breath.
"Our height is not in our legs, brother, you should know that." Doga responded. "Give it a moment."
His hips were widening as they lowered, and his legs were forced apart, making him stand somewhat rigidly. As his hips increased in width, Jeremy slowly took his hands away from the loincloth, and was happy to see that the cloth in question was now held up by his widened hips, so he didn't need to hold onto it any more.
As his body had begun changing, a change of colour was sweeping up his legs, although it was difficult to see in the dark room. The pink skin on his body was getting redder, like it was getting hotter, differing from the tan colour that the Gorons usually had, although a Goron with red skin wasn't unheard of. Just rarer than usual. Jeremy lifted a leg and shook the foot, experimenting a little with the changed limbs, but he didn't have long to experiment, as the big changes were about to kick in. After all, his hips had widened for a reason.
A grumble emitted from his stomach, and Jeremy instinctively lowered his hands towards it - and then began to feel it grow. It was like his body was exhaling, as his stomach began to swell outwards, musculature and fat growing underneath the skin. His belly button was beginning to stretch, as his torso bloated outwards. He felt his spine pop, as the height he had mentioned was beginning to grow in, his torso getting longer, the spine getting stronger - and it would need to. His torso was bloating out into a magnificent belly, and Jeremy grinned as he felt his gut swell beneath his fingers. The red colour swept up over his belly - and when it touched his hand, the colour spread to his hands.
Jeremy lifted his hands away, smiling as he watched these become larger as well. His fingers were getting fatter, thicker, his palms were becoming broader, his hands were doubling, no, they were tripling in size! His nails thickened like his toenails, yellowing a little, as he felt his hands becoming more powerful, and it was a feeling that only increased as the changes continued up his arms. Doga had been grinning quietly at the spectacle before him, but he had finally noticed the changing Hylian's skin tone.
"Oh my, a red Goron! How exotic!" He exclaimed.
"Ha, that's...exotic to you?" Jeremy said, grinning back.
"Well, most Gorons are here are just tan...it's nice to have a bit more colour around." Doga replied.
Jeremy felt his forearms growing, getting stronger, his biceps and triceps not far behind. He raised his arms up, flexing - and as he did, his muscles swelled before his eyes, thickening to support his gigantic hands. "Haha!" Jeremy said, feeling more confident by the second. "I hope you're ready for a proper Goron hug after this!"
"Absolutely!" Doga said, not bothering to contain his excitement. His red eyes were sparkling in the candlelight.
Jeremy's spine continued to pop as he kept growing taller. The loss of height in his legs was definitely being made up as he rose up towards Doga's height, and as he did, his chest was growing outwards to match his massive belly. It sagged down a little as fat swelled in his chest, becoming a pair of undeniable moobs. Jeremy reached a hand back down to touch one. Was it possible to be more happy than he already was? He squeezed, and felt it resist a little - it wasn't all fat under there - he definitely had muscle to spare. His belly was similarly tough.
His back, meanwhile, was hardening in an altogether different manner. His skin was being pierced, splitting open as hard rocks pushed through. Jeremy winced in pain, but it felt like his threshold was higher, as brown, spiky rocks broke through his skin. Blood trickled between the spikes, a few drips falling to the floor, but Jeremy wasn't in much pain. His spine popped a bit more, bringing him to eye level with Doga. He was almost done - it was a little amusing, seeing the weedy Hylian's head atop a large Goron body, but that was about to change.
His neck was thickening, and Jeremy found himself inexplicably coughing - as he did, both he and Doga heard his voice lowering, getting deeper, causing a rumble in his chest. As Jeremy got over his impromptu coughing fit, he rubbed his thickening neck with a massive hand. "Oh my..." he said - and jumped at his own voice. It was definitely deeper, smoother even, like melted chocolate. As he said that, he felt his jaw crack - and begin to widen. His whole face was starting to get wider, his cheeks swelling a little with fat, as the red colour flowed up his face.
As it crossed his chin, hairs pushed out of his jaw. A beard was growing at rapid speed. Jeremy slid the hand that had been rubbing his neck up the underside of his jaw to feel the beard that was growing in. He pulled at the hairs, coaxing them to grow longer with his thickened hands, while more grew across his upper lip, creating a bushy goatee around his mouth. It quickly became apparent that the hairs were a pure, snowy white, and the white was rising up around his cheeks, connecting with his hair...which was growing longer. It wasn't crawling down his back like Doga's did, but was rather growing outwards into a wild, slightly tangled mess that framed his widening face. The hairs atop his head were losing their colour, the white from the beard 'infecting' the hair, until his hair and beard created a magnificent white mane, not unlike a Lynel.
His lips were getting thicker, his mouth widening to match up with his bigger head. His nose sunk into his face a bit, and the tip rose up, creating a little pig-like nose. His eyebrows became bushier, turning as white as his hair and beard. He blinked a couple of times, and suddenly his eyes had turned a deep, oceanic blue. His body felt warm, something building up inside him, before it suddenly released, and he felt a strange sense of relief...and an overwhelming sense of contentment.
The change had ended, and where had stood a Hylian, there was now a red skinned Goron, with a grin on his face and a fire in his belly. He looked proudly at Doga, and opened his arms wide for a hug.
"How do I look, brother?" he asked.
"Magnificent!" Doga exclaimed. "I knew you would make a fantastic Goron, but I didn't think it would be this incredible! You should see yourself!" He rushed forward, pulling Jeremy into a tight, powerful hug, definitely stronger than any hug he had given Jeremy as a Hylian - but now Jeremy was able to withstand it, and for the first time he returned the hug with just as much power and force as his friend.
After a tight, close hug, the two pulled away from each other, and Doga reached out to give Jeremy's beard a single stroke. "Hmm..." he pondered. "Perhaps I too should grow a beard. It certainly looks good on you, brother Jeremy!"
Jeremy screwed up his face a little, hearing his own name.
"Is something wrong?" Doga asked. "You're not unhappy, are you?"
"No, no, I'm definitely happy, brother, but...that name. 'Jeremy'. It...sounds wrong, now." Jeremy stroked his own beard. It didn't feel like his name any more, because he wasn't that person any more.
"Ah, I see." Doga said, nodding. "It certainly doesn't ring as true as it once did. You should choose your own name."
The newly-changed Goron looked closely at Doga, considering what his new name should be. He wanted something simple, but powerful, memorable like Doga's. Doga...D, something beginning with a D. Do, de, di, da, du...Dadu? No, not quite. Sounded like something a baby learning to speak would say, but the vowels were right. It was just that third letter that needed changing...
"Damu?" he said out loud. He'd meant it merely as a suggestion, but the moment it left his lips, he immediately knew it was his name. The smile on Doga's face only deepened that feeling, as it was clear his old friend approved greatly.
"Damu! A fine name, brother! It fits you perfectly!" He said happily.
"Damu it is, then." Damu said, smiling back. He slung an arm around Doga's shoulder, feeling a sense of camaraderie and joy. Doga was right, as he often had been. Damu had been lost as a Hylian, but now, transformed into a Goron, he knew more than ever that he belonged right here, alongside his true brothers. It was like something in the universe had righted itself, and the world was clearer and more beautiful than ever.
"Before we do anything else, though, I have a couple more gifts for you." Doga said.
"Already?" Damu replied with surprise. "What greater gift could you have than what you have already done for me?"
Doga chuckled. "Haha, it's nothing as grand as that, my brother", he said. "Just a few extra things, to help you acclimatize to our lifestyle." He headed over to the corner of the room, where a metal cabinet sat, and opened up the doors, revealing a couple of items - a pair of large, metallic gauntlets, and a large chain.
"I had one of the smiths make these up for you, although I didn't say that it was for you at the time, since I was not sure that you would agree to this", he said, lifting the items out of the cabinet and presenting them to Damu. Damu took them in his own hands - they were certainly heavy, and if he had still been human, he would've barely been able to lift a single gauntlet. But his changed form, with its increased strength, made carrying all of them at once no harder than holding an apple.
"I assure you, brother, they will not go to waste", Damu said, touched by Doga's forward thinking. His old friend had been doing so much for him, all this time, and he had not been aware. Truly, he deserved the title of brother, just as much as he felt Damu did. Damu strapped the heavy gauntlets tightly to his arms, and lifted the chain over his head, resting it on his shoulder like a sash. Adjusting the chain, it felt strangely warm in his hands.
"They're perfect, Doga", Damu said happily. "I cannot thank you enough."
"Thank me later, brother! For you, it is time to see the elders!" Doga said. "There is a lot you will have to learn about being a Goron that only they can teach you."
"I look forward to it!" Damu replied, enjoying the smooth rumble of his own voice. Together, the pair left the darkened room, and went out into the light, to discover a new life, and a new family.
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