Hi!!!!

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

As a recent college graduate, I’ve been thinking a lot about past regrets I had from both high school and college. Like, I wish I had been more outgoing, where I would join clubs and go out friends rather than working after school and just playing video games. It would have also been nice to be out back in high school too, especially since I’m so far behind in life experiences as a gay man.

I wish I would have done different sports in school too because maybe it could have made me more athletic and attractive rather than being a chubby nerd. It’s hard to have so many regrets in life…

Do you think there’s any way you could help me and give me a new life where I no longer had these regrets?

Life-Changing Game

Not even a few weeks after graduating from college, you come home from shopping – it had been terrible and you just wanted to get home. Some mediocre country singer had a signing in the middle of the mall and even though you had no interest in the really bad music, it playing all the time, you couldn't help but admire this man. The fact that he was topless most of the time and flexing his muscles didn't necessarily make it any better.

You stare at the autograph in your right hand as you unlock your front door with your left. And shake your head. That was stupid. Still, you can't take your eyes off the well-toned man beaming at you on glossy paper. Without noticing, you put your bought food away in the cupboards almost as if in a trance and drop yourself onto your sofa. Your hand instinctively reaches for the controller next to you and your Playstation beeps. You sigh. Then you look down at yourself. Life in college without any real sporting activity and many hours alone in the library or in front of the game console showed its traces on your body. What had been just a slight belly line after high school is now a highly visible soft mass around your midsection. Sullenly, you pick up a roll of flab and wonder how you would be living your life if you had come out of your shell more back then – if you hadn't turned down the few invitations to party or to go to the gym together, if maybe you had approached that one cute guy earlier who you knew was freshly broken up with his boyfriend and that he was a wonderful person.

The screen of your TV flashes, you see the Playstation home screen. With a slight groan, you rise from the sofa and search the game you bought today out of the bag with the munchies for tonight's game night. This new RPG was brand new to the market – a few days ago a friend from college told you about it and had been all excited. But it was already sold out online, the game store had to order it first. But today it finally arrived. You quickly enter the registration code and the game starts downloading. The autograph is lying next to you and you look at it again. And you slip it under one of the sofa cushions. Maybe you could take a closer look at it later...

Your eardrums almost explode when the theme music plays. You flinch and your controller falls to the floor with a dull thud. With a contorted face, you search between the cushions for the remote, but your fingers only hit that autograph again. "Where the hell is that stupid remote?" you mutter as the bass of the music continues to pound your ears. But after what feels like three hours and a slight feeling of numbness, you find the remote under your own butt between the sofa cushions. You hurry to turn down the volume before the cranky old neighbour next door grumbles again like always. You exhale in relief and now, for the very first time, look at the start screen of the video in bright colours.

ULTIMATE COLLEGE EXPERIENCE - FIND YOUR ROLE

"Huh? What?! That's not the game I wanted, is it?!" you say annoyed and look at the packaging. At the corner of the box, the cover slowly comes off and you start pulling it off. Underneath the cover of the game you actually wanted is revealed what almost made your ears bleed just now. "What a load of crap! Great, really great!" you exclaim, dropping into the mountain of pillows behind you. But you already know that you probably won't go back to the shop, because you feel so uncomfortable talking to the staff there. You straighten up again. It doesn't help. You bought the game and spent $30. So, you might as well play it.

You pick up the controller again and press a button. The screen flickers again and you are asked to enter a name. So, this was also something where you were supposed to create a character. At least something. What name should you choose? Your own? Nah. What was the name of that man you were thinking about earlier? You think about it harder. Then you remember. Mitchell.But you use your mother's maiden name as your last name. Glass. As you painstakingly write the name in the boxes, the tight-fitting polo shirts he used to wear come back to your mind. You clear your throat and realise that you are getting a little warm at the thought.

You quickly confirm the name. It seems more and more familiar. Mitchell Glass. You like the name. It feels good. The picture changes, the character creation continues. Now comes the appearance of the character.

You've always been a bit envious of other people in college who looked very different from and hotter than you. So, you decide to build your character the way you would like to be. After all, it's only a game and no one would see this. You are a little excited. Like every time you create a character for a game. You are fascinated by how easy it is to change all the external characteristics with one click. Maybe even a little more than other people.

You click through the categories. First the general. Age. You think about it. 21. If that's college, then at least your character shouldn't have any problems with drinking either. Height. You've always wanted to be a little taller, too. You enter 6''2'. Hair and eye colour. Dark brown. Structure of hair. Wavy. Hairstyle. Short on sides, longer on top. Other hair. Little. Physique. Muscular. Social status. Athlete. Sexuality. Gay, in a relationship, lots of experience. So, you go on and on, you fill in the strengths and weaknesses of your character, you choose special features and hobbies (partying and working out), you spend almost 10 minutes modelling the perfect face – in short, you crafted the perfect man. The man you always wanted to be. In the end, you are very satisfied and look at the very realistic-looking figure languishingly. What you would give to look like that, to have such a character, to be so cool!

One last time you are asked if you want to keep the changes to your character as they are. During the game, the attributes could no longer be changed manually. You think this is a pity, but you want to see this Adonis you have created in action. You confirm the question with yes and a loading screen appears on your TV.

Loading process - Please do not switch off the game while the player is being adjusted.

"Great, then I can quickly get something to eat - wait, the player? The player is being adjusted?", you ask yourself aloud, just as you were about to go into the kitchen, and now you are staring at the screen. A very strange feeling spreads through your body and once again the controller falls out of your hand. There are tingles and tickles everywhere as if someone had given you a few light electric shocks. Your breathing speeds up and sweat pours down your body. Something is wrong here, you think, and you want to pull the plug on the Playstation, but then your clothes suddenly flow to the floor like water and disappear into nothingness.

A little ashamed, you look down at yourself and your eyes widen as your belly, moving with your deep breaths, slowly but surely retracts into your body. In disbelief, you place your trembling hands on your shrinking belly and as your fingertips touch your skin, an incredible feeling shoots through your body. Something you haven't felt like this before. Something you might have felt once or twice, at most, when masturbating alone.

"Oh, God, what's going on here? What - ooooh," you gasp and you feel something begin to stir in your crotch. Your cock stiffens and you put your trembling, sweaty hands around it and again you moan. Everything is so much more sensitive than usual. And as you move your hands up and down, you throw your head back. It feels... indescribable and you are no longer capable of any real clear thought.

The years you spent in college with your nose in books in countless libraries seem to be falling away from you. Your skin tightens a little again, not that you've really looked any older, but with each passing second, you seem more like someone who's just started college.

"Of course, I've only just started! It just took me a little longer at school," you mumble absently, and the loading screen on your TV shows:

First improvements done. Total progress 10%.

A force from inside your body lengthens your spine. It creaks and cracks until you reach 6‘‘2‘. Your whole body structure starts changing into something different as you continue to jack off. Your arms grow thick with muscles and moderately become covered in veins. The result of perpetual lifting and training every week since you were 16 years old. Now, for the first time in your life, you had real muscles! You involuntarily flex your new arms and enjoy the feeling of the power laying inside of them. Your hands follow and grow thicker, your fingers only used to click and scroll, broaden and callouses form on your palms. The change spread to your chest.

The strange force pulls on your before slightly flabby, now bone-thin chest and pulls and pulls until a nice set of pecs protruded from your chest. They went up and down with your heavy breathing. What was happening to you, you want to ask, but you are way too filled with pleasure and enjoyment to speak. Meanwhile, unknowingly to you, the loading bar was at about 35 %.

Something flicks from the inside against your flat belly and one by one well-trained abs appear. Something inside your body pulls on your shoulders and spreads them further apart. Your back muscles strengthen drastically and stature becomes a perfect v-form. The tingling goes down your body and forges your butt into a muscular, well-trained butt and your legs into trunks of muscles if they were made out of clay. Your feet grow a little longer and bigger to support your again higher weight, but now out of pure muscle. For a brief moment, the strange tingling stopped and your head becomes clear for a short time. You look down. Everything except your head was changed into a muscular body of a young, strong man who was not you.

But then that feeling of pleasure shoots through your body again. And your cock is crying out for your hands, which you can't deny it. You gasp. An unpleasant crunch spreads across your face as your features change. Your hair grows shorter at the sides and takes on a dark brown colour. Slowly it becomes slightly wavy. At the same time every hair beneath your chin retracts back into your skin, leaving you almost smooth everywhere. Your eyes burn briefly before your irises also take on a brown colour. Your facial features become a little more angular, stronger, but it is still apparent that you are still quite young. The boyish charm is still visible in contrast to your well-trained body. You have to cough and your Adam’s apple is getting bigger. Your voice is getting stronger and a little deeper so that it can be used to roar easily across a pitch.

By now you are completely absorbed again in stroking your cock the best you can. Between your hands, it grows wider and longer, your balls flooding your body with youthful energy and hormones. You moan. The sound of your deeper voice makes you shudder and moan even more. Confidence seeps from your body, you are proud of your muscles, you know how to use them to impress other men, to flirt with them, to sleep with them. You don't even notice how your knowledge of your college days disappears from your memory and is replaced by other knowledge. Training schedules, your teammates' favourite drinks and the memory of your first date with your steady boyfriend.

The writing on the TV, which by now you don't even notice anymore, so much you enjoy the strength and endurance of your changed body, changes again.

90 % complete. Attention! Final mental changes are incoming.

But just before anything can happen there, the screen goes black. But you don't care. With a loud moan, you feel the pressure in your crotch release and you shoot your seed over your TV. With a loud flicker, the Playstation flares up again as your seed drips onto it, and your surroundings begin to change. Your flat becomes smaller, a second bed appears at the end of the room. Sports trophies, jerseys, protein powder and many other things to train with are spread around the room. Still in the afterglow, a name manifests itself more and more in your head. Mitchell. Mitchell Glass. The life of this man fills your head and with another groan, you fall onto the bed in your dorm room and lose consciousness.

When you wake up a few hours later, you see a person standing next to you, looking down at you.

"You couldn't wait for me to get home again, could you, Mitch?" you hear a voice and you open your eyes. Next to you is a man with headphones in his ears, probably about to go to the gym. You blink your eyes and your look changes from confused to cocky. You tug the other down by his shirt.

"I'm still up for a second round with my hot boyfriend," you murmur, starting to caress his exposed muscular chest. Cody.Your steady boyfriend you met at a party last year. The best relationship you've had so far. And there had been quite a few. But Cody is perfect. Hot, a cool guy and the sex is great. In two hours, your buddies would be coming over. There's a party on campus, after all, and drinks for free. And you want some alone time with your boyfriend beforehand. And even as you pinch his nipples and your mouths lock, the Playstation, with numerous sports games piled messily next to it, displays a final writing before it switches itself off.

Player 100% changed. Full College Experience is ready to start. Thank you for choosing ChangeStation Enterprises!

[occamstfs]

Zero to Hero

In a world with superpowered celebrities, how could one not long to join them. Despite discovering his own cerebral abilities, Shirong/Zero always longed for the flashier sort of strength. When he finally gets the call up to the big leagues, he’ll get just that- though not quite how he always dreamed.

Went a little crazy with this one haha! Bit different than it was on the poll and with quite a long preamble before the TF, which starts at the red 0 0 0 if you want to skip straight to the action ;) Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this story of a hero unknowingly giving up his brain for some brawn! -Occam

Everyone wants to be a superhero. You grow up your whole life watching the Hero Corps jetting around, saving lives, doing flashy photo ops. It’s no wonder every kid out there wants to follow in Mustang’s or Lady Libertas’ footsteps. 

Shirong Ling was not exempt from the sway of these heroes and heroines. Again, who could be. All his youth the young son of second generation immigrants pushed himself to his limit, toiling as hard as he can athletically to end up a bench warmer and max out his lifts at what actual athletes label a warmup. Physically, Shirong plateaued before he even began. 

In just about every other regard, the young man excelled with flying colors. Something of a tech whiz, every adult in his life keeps him on retainer for ever-needed support. He aced rigorous course loads and went above and beyond in any non-athletic extracurriculars, though despite that all he still struggles to accept he’ll never see his name in lights.

His parents longed to see him happy and worried the glitz and glamor of those oiled up superstars was doing irreparable damage to their young man’s ego. After graduating he was on the precipice of finally accepting that it’s just going to be a civilian’s life for him. And then, it happened. 

As is more often the case, Shirong just woke up one day and had superpowers. Quite the bizarre one, the information age youth found himself with the ability to access anything on the internet with his mind. Finally it all made sense to the student, just like his parents said, he had misplaced his priorities though mind now brimming with ever increasing knowledge he’s certain they were not correct in the way they intended.

In terms of the U.S. Hero Corps operations, he was a brainiac. Some superhuman with ultra-enhanced intelligence or similar mind-based paranormal powers. Indisputably useful and outright necessary for any of the hero teams bustling about the world. No team can truly function without heroes like Shirong is to be, though rarely does one have the star power or flat out endurance to make the mainstage and headline a team. 

Knowing this, as well as anything else he forces his awareness to understand, as soon as he honed his skills enough to be useful Shirong hatched a plan. Filled with the confidence of an upstart grappling with unlimited power, he knows exactly how he can be one of the greats. After a few years stateside of using his nigh-limitless knowledge to solve problems that have long plagued just about every field that he has the slightest interest in, when the USHC makes a call for new heroes the multihyphenate is quick to answer. 

Unfortunately for the young hero, he doesn’t even make it in the room, his brand simply isn’t strong enough. They already have a brainiac and Shirong doesn’t even have a logo or heroic deed to his name. Returning home to a bedroom filled wall to wall with degrees he barely lifted a finger to earn, he chides himself for not taking this seriously enough. Spending that night learning everything there is to know about the USHC and their recruitment process.

The next morning he rises a new man and broadens his horizons. Almost immediately into his research he hears that the Beijing chapter of the ZYL has an unexpected need for a new brainiac. Before the sun sets across the Atlantic, Shirong has applied with a new alias and persona. Zhihui 0, Zhìhuì Líng, literally Wisdom Zero. 

Pitching himself as a returning wayward son to that most ancient of nations, as well as a fresh new tech savvy immigrant hero, the Beijing chapter is more than happy to welcome him onboard. He masters Mandarin, Xiang, and Cantonese on the flight over. The whole thing goes as well as he had expected his application to the USHS would, not that he’s bothered. Known mononymously as Zero to his new team, he fits in swimmingly and in little time at all finds himself quickly making waves and getting heat that brainiacs seldom enjoy. 

Never pick of the litter mind, but Zero is reaching heights in Beijing that any man in the van usually struggles to do. Almost as much effort is spent spreading his name as doing good. Zero’s happy to find that the Chinese audience seems primed for a young waifish heartthrob in a way that American fans of the USHC don’t appreciate nearly as much. Faster than he even expected he’s tagging along to group events and glitzy photo shoots. 

With each bound forward and new height of his rising star, Zero never lets himself forget that this whole jaunt abroad is but a stepping stone towards American Stardom. Sure, the language and culture were truly nothing for a man with his skills to overcome and appreciate, and he does truly enjoy the opportunity to service and enjoy a city more than twice as large as NYC. But, having been SF born and bred, the need to reach those specifically American superstar heights is simply too deep.

And in reality he’s beginning to see the limits of his influence in this non-native land. I mean c’mon, the leader of his team is literally the Sun King. Some self-styled computer whiz isn’t going to displace a monkey man literally dubbed Wukong at birth. No, despite knowing he’ll only continue to burn brighter in China, checking the stories etched into his mind of heroes who settled down and grew complacent, Zero refuses to slow.

So, when there’s talk of a hero trade with the USHC, Zero is first in line to return stateside. Using every scrap of influence he has in Beijing, he arranges himself to be sent in exchange for Trailblazer, some bruiser type woman who’s sure to do some dirty work for the ZYL. Before it’s even been finalized, Zero leaves his research and tech with his actual replacement, some meek diviner named Yijing, and he books a flight back home.

Yet again, there’s not a doubt in Zero’s mind that he is soon to be the next big all star in the USHC. He can see his face on billboards now, leading the American superintel team, blazing new ground for all those little ones out who’ll never be able to go toe to toe with bruisers and their ilk. It’s been so long since he’s been, this time no one will be able to stop him. Zàijiàn Beijing, welcome back America.

0 0 0 - 0 0 0 - 0 0 0

It isn’t until his first meeting with the team leader, Mustang, that he finally learns that his dreams do not align with the USHC plans. “Now listen here Zero, ain’t all that bad y’know. Team just don’t need another brainiac right now. Higher ups, the powers that be- Well, they just think that Binary is more than enough an ace that we don’t need two of yas.”

Zero frowns, biting his tongue to not insult the man’s intelligence. Mustang has always been one of his favorite heroes, dim as he may be. Hearing that famous, simple drawl in person is almost enough to distract Zero from the acerbic words spilling from his mouth as he’s reminded that the Corps are just pawns for management to do with as they please. Pieces to play when there is something that need punching, or punching bags when they need to save face.

No, he knows he has no reason to fight with Mustang, who despite his poor job relaying the message, obviously means well with his new teammate. Who Zero doesn’t care for however, is the stoic android who has been standing motionlessly behind his hero since they entered the room. Binary, the current USHC brainiac supreme, some old tech instilled with life that masquerades as a real once-human superhero. Oft kept in the shadows where their rusty profile belongs. 

Apparently the foremost opponent in his way. Them, Zero has no qualms in attacking. ”So you’re telling me this geratic hunk of junk is just going to keep his spot on the roster forever? I’m smarter than them, faster! I mean for fucks sake surely management can see the lengthy list of pros to having an actual human being as the head of their intel department.” The android’s face remains unmoving as Zero tears into them.

Mustang scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Groaning to himself as he readjusts his immense weight, “Now hold on there littlun let’s not be too hasty. You, me, and Dupree ere’ll be a team no matter which way this shakes out. It’s just-” Mustang takes a second to adjust, unlike his two present compatriots thinking does not come naturally, “from what Binary thinks, the know-it-all biz just don’t got that high-profile pull that you’re after.”

Hearing the android’s right on the money, Zero’s eyes flicker from Mustang back to his would-be boss only to find the blank slate that must always be painted on their face. Rolling his eyes, he impetuously sighs and skips ahead in the conversation, “So what’s the other option?”

The hero smirks, “Ah! All you thinkers- Love it! So, I’m not gonna pretend to know anything bout the details, but Binary and the researchers’ve ‘pparently made this serum that’ll let any superdude and wonder gal unlock some latent powers. So, we’re thinkin’ what better way to introduce our new techie, Zeehooey Zero than by unveiling you as the first ever do-it-all supe! Ain’t that right Binary?”

The bot slowly nods, still betraying nothing of the processes ongoing behind their synthetic face. “Affirmative. Should Shirong so desire, I, we, have been allowed to grant access to the department’s notes on the program.” Without waiting for a response, Binary’s eyes flash a cold blue as he gives the new Corps member access to the proprietary notes. Immediately Zero’s mind rushes in, spreading thin to learn everything there is to know, searching for a downside, an ulterior motive, a trap.

Unfortunately for the scion of the internet, the trap was laid for him in mind. Binary’s impassive facade finally cracks as they watch him fall hook line and sinker. Highlighted to a degree that should certainly raise red flags, Zero is directed towards the most likely powers gained: super strength, endurance, enhanced reflexes and healing. Exactly the superhero cocktail that every big shot in the league has. 

The young man is so excited by the prospect he doesn’t even realize that the side effects and expectations for his case have been completely scrubbed. As Binary expected. In a microsecond their face falls flat once more and Zero returns from his brief sojourn in the notes on this mystery procedure, not even trying to hide how eager he is to get this done as soon as possible. 

He tells himself he has no choice, that it’s this or nothing. Zero pushes down the excitement quickly overtaking him, the surging theories and potentialities that lay ahead of him, and fanart of himself as a brawny, well-muscled superhero. His eyes slam shut as he forcefully stops himself from imagining the threads on various less than puritanical sites of himself well-hung and oiled up.

After a moment of resetting Zero clears his throat and nods, completely ignoring Binary, “Yeah, Shi de. I think this is something that I’d be interested in doing, sir-” Mustang lights up and promptly reaches over the desk to dap Zero up, “Fuck yeah! I mean who can resist y’know!? Just imagine, you ‘n me ripped as all get out. Brain ‘n brawn, can’t wait littlun- er, for now that is! Hah!”

Mustang gets up with a grunt, ruffling Zero’s hair as he walks by, an eager smile on his face, betraying nothing but his ignorance of whatever Binary has in store for Zero. Binary remains motionless, eyes powering down as they await the new hero to follow the commando before heading off to research where his is to ‘discover his new powers.’ The android would laugh, but that would be unbecoming. yes.

0 0 0 - 0 0 0 - 0 0 0 

Zero doesn’t quite understand the outfit they’re having him wear for the procedure. He was ready for a gown or something similar, but these are just, well, gym clothes? Obviously he read the notes and knows the whole thing is far less invasive than one would expect. But as he changes into a tank top, he can’t help but feel ridiculous. 

Pulling up shorts he hasn’t worn since high school, the young hero grimaces as he sits alone waiting in the smallest of the HQ’s operating rooms. In the meantime he does what he always does, to prepare for what’s to come, to kill time. He retreats into his mind. The whole thing is kind of insane, but from his expansive understanding that’s just how it is in the big leagues.

For a moment he considers trying to dive into the USHC’s data on Binary but is promptly denied access. Something about that bot was off. Another time. He shouldn’t let the piece of chrome get him bothered, this is a win, he’s going to be brain, brawn, and out of that brainiac’s jurisdiction. He should focus on himself.

And so he does, racing through the web past fanfic and photoshopped pictures of Zhihui Zero, shifting through long dead links on superhero fanblogs. He knows exactly what he’s looking for as he dives deep into a long abandoned forum kept running through the power of his mind alone. There he finds a post he made decades ago accompanied by a sloppy drawing of a costume that looks not too dissimilar from his current one, albeit on a much broader figure. ‘I wish I could be a superhero. I want super strength and super sped!! And to fly and be able to talk to dogs :) here’s my costume i hope you like it!’

Sitting in this room on the precipice of becoming a new type of hero, a new eidolon of man, Zero simply grins. And then grimaces as his connection slowly fades into static. Shaking his head at being dampened without warning, he returns to the meatspace and sees a doctor not much older than himself smiling with a datapad. “Oop! Sorry about that though you of course knew you were going to be disconnected during this procedure hm?”

In the end, not a world away from Binary himself, Zero performs cerebral stoicism in the face of this man whose eyes glimmer with curiosity and interest. He nods as the scientist continues, “I must say our team is so intrigued by your abilities! I mean a direct connection to a fully manmade phenomena! Well, it’s no wonder Binary wants their hands on-” 

Before he can finish the sentence his free hand flies to an earpiece and his face falls slightly, clearly being reprimanded by someone watching in. Zero turns to the visible camera and waves at what can only be the android, who must be obsessed with him he thinks with a smirk. 

Clearly more muted than he’d like to be, the doctor restates his excitement for the procedure, gets Zero to sign off on a few wavers he should’ve read closer, and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see what a bruiser we’ll make out of you!”

 Zero does a double take at this, bruiser is a very specific word in hero parlance. Bruiser, Brute, muscle without a brain. His eyes shift back to the camera which is obviously inscrutable. He’s just in his head from being disconnected. He just needs to lay back and let the doctor work. The quietly smiling man moves with some degree of melancholy in his eyes as he puts an anesthesia mask on Zero. Would’ve sworn there were people for that, anesthes- anasteesy- olo just, uh-

0 0 0 = 0 0 0 = 0 0 0

And then he’s awake. His mind humming once more with his powers returned and he lets loose a sigh of relief. Worried about nothing.  Like a computer starting up he flexes his mind and ensures he has access to everything he should, as he does every morning. Pinned like a bookmark to the front of his consciousness is the drawing of him buff and flexing. Looking down at his form, the same as ever he feels nothing but embarrassed.

Distinctly colder from the friendly face that laid him to rest, he is greeted by Binary as he awakens. “Excellent. Now time for the true test.” Still running through start-up processes, Zero simply stares. “I trust you are familiar with the novella: Jekyll and Hyde Mr. Ling. As you are aware with my superior processing power we have little need of a second Dr. Hyde, although, I do appreciate the greater understanding of your abilities which I am sure our associates will make use of down the road. You know, when I have need of a portable computer. However, at his juncture Shinrong, it is time for you to become the Jekyll.” 

For the first time, Zero sees Binary smile before they quickly turn and sidestep out of the room, leaving him alone in this clinical cell. Going to follow in their footsteps, the young man is unsurprised to find Binary locked the door behind them.

 Zero’s face burns red as his mind overheats. He forces his eyes closed as he puts all available energy within him towards overclocking his powers to find out what is going on. Was he tricked, what did he miss in the contract, how does he get out of this room. And then sharper than any headache he’s suffered in his life, Zero falls to the floor as he hits a wall in his mind that has simply never been there before. 

Gasping in shock, Zero hoists himself up on the operating table, arms struggling far more than they should for how light his form is. Hesitant to delve into the internet he checks his surroundings in reality and notices what must be a one-way mirror at the back of the OR, He scowls at his reflection, not knowing who on the other side led him down this path of being a lab rat. He wonders if Mustang was in on it, picturing his genial face, it only introduces more anger in the young man. 

Zero slams a fist down on the table with strength he didn’t know he could summon. Tools on a tray table nearby shake as he does so, no way he could’ve manifested such force. Looking down at his hand still forcefully in place, Zero gasps as he sees the slightest dent in the table. He pulls his arm up to inspect it, using his mind to summon what it should look like and comparing it to how it is now. 

Even this is more difficult than it should be. The intricate assessment should be second nature to his supermind. At present though, Zero’s unable to perform minute calculations groaning he simply goes over the big picture. New veins trail down his arm and with each slight twitch of movement they pulse thicker. Photoshopped images of his bulging biceps, burned into his subconscious as they are, burst to the front of his mind and he suddenly forgets whatever difficulties he's having with his abilities to instead inspect his arm.

His stomach dances as he raises it to flex, smirking as he sees new muscle begin to grow. Stretching and twisting his right arm, he focuses on it with an intensity he hasn’t brought to the real world in years. Drinking in each shifting muscle fiber as they expand. Quickly bringing it into a flex he’s beside himself with primal joy as he sees it peak higher. He does it again, and again. Each time his stare grows hungrier as the bicep bloats larger, rises higher, like a loaf of bread. 

Usually able to keep a running awareness of his body’s processes, Zero simply feels his racing heart and sharp breaths rather than passively watching numbers shift. He forces his hand on his chest, feeling his palm spreading wider, fingers stretching longer and growing fatter across his thin chest. Zero struggles to slow his breathing. Upon his first deep breath he realizes his arms are not the only change. 

He smells the anesthesia in a medicine cabinet across the room, discarded sweat covered tissues and latex gloves in the sterilized trash. Eyes widen as he smells in real time his body odor changing. The muted rarely present stink of his old self issuing forth from his left pit at his left arm begins its rapid journey towards the powerful arm of a hero. Opposite, already changed, he feels the few hairs in his pit joined by a small garden as it now carries the musk of a man, the stink of a hero. 

Turning away from the glass, Zero’s face red from rage softens to one more pink from embarrassment. Thank god they got him in these stupid shorts and not spandex. He smells his heady musk changing with every passing second, grossing stronger as his arms hang heavier and bulge larger. Their odor is then joined by a new scent as he smells pre dripping into his suddenly strained underwear.

Desperately trying to readjust and obscure his newly bulging dick, Zero grunts as every time his clumsy fingers graze it it only becomes more unwieldy. Biting his lip, he forces down his leg, leaving a pipe more than clear in the shorts but allowing him at least a modicum of dignity. His heavier balls pulse with need and his mind that rarely leaves room for sexual fulfillment simply demands that he take in his reflection.

Zero smiles as he sees himself becoming the man he always dreamed he could be, would be. Flexing an arm briefly, letting his long pit hairs drip freely, his eyes then trail down. Past his bulge he, for the first time, notices his calves beginning to surge larger. Doing a quick calf raise, Zero nearly falls over as his whole body stretches taller in that half a moment. And so he does so again, the sound of cracking bones fills the air as his whole form lengthens.

Legs that were already struggling to put on mass to match his new bulky arms surge into overdrive as they race to become the trunks that any top heavy superheroism demands. Long toes burst free from the shoddy surgical shoes they had him in, leaving his grippers exposed as his soles widen into nigh perfect shock absorbers for the hero. He flexes his toes and feels even this awaken more strength in calves, sending shockwaves of growth through the length of his lower body. 

Completely forgetting about losing his mind, unaware that the fire wall he came across moments ago has only continued to shrink inward, one thought surges to the forefront. Zero needs to see what these bad boys can do. Stretching his longer legs to their limits, patting thighs and hearing how dense his muscle mass has grown in such a short time, Zero moans to himself as his pre leaks even more than his memory.

Eyes almost crossing as the thighs that now strain his pants leave his balls little room to breath, his cock straining them even moreso. Zero shifts one of the meaty palms clutching his thigh to instead tear off his underwear. 

This is done with ease, fabric he couldn’t tear without tools is suddenly scattered to the floor as stained boxer briefs are torn away from his form. It’s of little matter unfortunately as in no time at all his legs surge large enough to leave the athletic shorts skin tight.

Problem solved, he laughs to himself as he remembers what his next move was. He was going to see how high he could jump. Crouching down in an instant, he flings himself immediately into the heavily reinforced ceiling of the room before crashing back onto the floor. Thankfully pain was not a sense enhanced as he lies in a heap on the floor, doing something between groaning in pain and laughing at himself.

Resting his fat hand on his chest to steady his breathing once more, he feels one of the few remaining frontiers of his body begin to puff up. With each gasping breath new weight begins to pile onto his chest. Think fingers cup his forming pecs and the bulge in his pants struggles against its confines as his nipples poke into his new mitt.

Perfectly round pecs pounding larger with the beat of his powerful heart, Zero takes a moment to reflect. Why did he just jump headfirst into the ceiling? He never acts without thinking. He should’ve known he’d shoot into the reinforced tiles. It was his job to do the math on stunts like that for his team. It is his job, what he’s good at. Narrowing his eyes, he tries to see the numbers in front of him. 

At first Zero’s able to at least summon the equations in front of him. He can almost recognize the formula, what he’s supposed to do with it and what goes where, almost. Then they fade, becoming little more than spots in his vision. His mouth falls open as it now is almost always to be, bruisers being something synonymous to mouth breathers it’s no wonder that Zero is apt to join the rest of his new cohort. 

On the cold sterile floor, an ass that has yet to slow down its growth begins to send tears down his shorts. Joining veiny thighs and a veinier dick, it’s only a matter of time before Zero is truly baring it all to his colleagues. He tries to ignore the image of fans across the world staring at his ass, admiring his bulge. Feeling his cock throb, both staining and straining his shorts, Zero stays strong. No, he was going to figure it out.

Still the same stubborn man he’s always been, Zero once more tries to do the math, just to show that he can, to himself. This time he struggles to even produce the first digits of the problem. Falling back on an old trick, he uses his meaty digits to try and direct his mind. 

He hasn’t needed to do this since he was first starting out, he’s never had trouble organizing his mind. He’s taken great care to stay sharp, or rather he did? His crutch, his clumsy fingers struggle to offer any aid. Arms raised his musk is once more sent spewing into the open air causing him no small degree of distraction.

Sitting up in frustration, he slams an arm into the side of the operating table. His frustration only accelerates his growth. Raw, primal emotion numbs the mind and sharpens his massive form. Pecs form a wide overhang above abs so well sculpted they must have been crafted by hand. While his new hands lack finesse, this shortcoming is more than overshadowed by arms as powerful as thick and powerful as some of the strongest normies thighs. 

Standing to his feet with a deep, bovine groan, Zero is reunited with his reflection. He is truly unrecognizable. As he watches his face begins to change, jaw widening, eyes dulling. He motions his hand to bring up a saved image of himself, something that should be the easiest thing in the world, but fails to produce even a memory. Static fills his ears as cotton fills his mind. He just watches, breathing in through his mouth as he hungrily stares at himself, changing and growing.

Walking closer, inspecting his massive chest, he bounces his pecs. The static grows louder. The pecs grow bigger. Forgetting he was even trying to do a comparison, his mouth waters as he instead flexes every bulging muscle on his new form. Hypnotized by his massive chest as it pushes his tank to its limits. They’re like nothing he’s ever seen before, like no man he can imagine. His eyes fill with wonder as his pecs continue to inflate as if they were hooked up to an air compressor.

Standing there, staring at his own powerful body, finally being the superhero he always wanted to be. He would almost feel disdain for being the little know-it-all he once was. The scheming little runt who solved calculus problems for the real heroes, the little guy who stared longingly at alpha heroes like the brute he is now. He sneers as he imagines being such a pipsqueak. 

He would, that is, were he not on the fast track to forgetting that’s who he ever was. Hips bucking, Zero rapidly begins to forget his connection to the sum of all human knowledge. His abilities at solving mysteries and effortlessly uncovering buried answers as Zhihui Zero are rapidly wiped from his mind as his balls begin to bulge, pulsing with need.

Mouth watering at his splendor, his strength, he can’t imagine being anything but the strongest man in the room. His hips reflexively buck as he laughs at the idea that maybe he’s got supervirility too. The dumb thought only turns him on all the more. He guffaws to himself, switching poses each time his dripping cock thrusts forward, quickly breaking free of his shorts. 

Massive arms fall forward on the one-way glass that Zero recognizes as nothing but a mirror with enough force to shake the whole room. Staring at his dumb eyes reflected, seeing not a single thought behind them, Zero’s whole body twitches and contorts as he loses control. Spewing his load into the once sterile OR, his heavy breaths steam the glass as his sweaty palms send cracks across the glass simply from holding his weight against them.

His enhanced nose finds its way into his pits to smell his hormones change as he finally tastes sweet release. Fuck that’s the good stuff. Tongue out, panting like an animal, Zero becomes exactly the boorish brute that Binary intended him to be, no, even more of one. Judging by the truly immense size and strength of the USHC’s new behemoth it’s clear that Binary severely underestimated how useful the young technomage would have been. 

Before the new brute gets the wise idea to clean up the spilled cum with his tongue, the door at the far side of the room rears open and in walks Mustang and Binary. The android’s face squirms at the powerful odor of the room, kicking themselves for ever giving themself the ability to smell before turning it off. Adversely, Mustang is absolutely stoked to have another bruiser on the team, “Yeeehaw?! Zero that you dude!?” 

Apathetic to the still dripping cock, Mustang tosses his new teammate a towel and goes over for a bear hug. Zero is similarly ecstatic to see his captain and he tests his own strength on the man built well stronger than a stallion. Embracing and feeling camaraderie in strength, Zero’s cock immediately begins to stir again and Mustang laughs, “Shoo- Gonna need RnD to whip up some real ultragrade spandex to keep that pecker under control ‘ere Zero!” 

The two men laugh for a few seconds before Binary clears their robotic throat. Zero takes a step to look past his leader and is less than pleased to see the android, “Hm, what brings the old recycling bin by Cap?” Mustang pats him on the back and offers a stern look to half-reprimand him as Binary rolls their robotic eyes with a canned, “Hah Hah.” After a moment they continue, “I am simply here for the aftermath of the experiment, Zero.”

Zero’s thick brow furrows and he scratches his wiry pubes peeking above the towel, struggling to remember exactly what experiment must’ve just happened. Lucky for the boor, Binary is more than happy to explain, “Likely you do not recall, as intended, but before coming in here you were a fellow brainiac.” Zero scowls, looking down at his meaty hands he shivers performatively at the idea of being unable to lift a truck. 

“Anyway. You were able to access knowledge from the internet straight from the aether, now I perhaps underestimated the use of this judging by how drastic the counterweight transformation was.” Three sentences in, Zero is finding himself more than bored with the bot. Who cares what he used to be IF he even used to be some nerd, instead his eyes flit to Mustang’s rugged chin and meaty pecs as he wonders whose are bigger.

“Now, should you ever wish to access the power again I will have tech give you equipment to do so. You must keep in mind that any use would directly draw from your strength and form. Now-” Zero interrupts, “Boooooring- Why’d I ever wanna trade brawn for brain Binary? I mean look at me? There’s a reason me ‘n Stang are on lunch boxes. I’ll leave that nerd shit to you. Thanks.”

Slightly regretting adding another meathead to their team, Binary shifts their weight and puts a pin in this conversation, “Very well.” Mustang then seizes the floor and throws his arm around Zero, “Now bud, new powers means new identity, got any ideas kickin’ around in that thick-head o’ yours?” Pinching the bridge of their nose, Binary chimes in with, “What of Idiot Savant, I think it’s-”

They’re interrupted as they often are by their ever louder cohorts as Mustang waves his hand in an arc, “Oh how ‘bout Stud! Wouldn’t mind havin’ a real partner on the team. Stud ‘n Stang, I can see it now!” 

Zero then retreats into their mind to the long imagined image of himself as a brawny hero that remains firmly implanted in his psyche, internet access or not. “Y’know, I’d love to do my mom and pops proud, and they always liked Zero. Would it be alright if I kept the name?” The image of his shoddily sketched costume, still burning bright in his eyes. He’d need to go up more than a few sizes.

Binary and Mustang stare at each other before the captain shrugs. The android’s eyes light up as they set to work, “I’ll send it up to Marketing.” Not soulless, probably, they see the intensity in Zero’s expression and tack on, “I’m sure they’ll find the idea acceptable.” Zero pumps the air with a “fuck yeah!” and faster than Binary has a chance to react he rushes over to hug the robot. 

Patting them on the back hard enough to loosen a few screws, the android sounds winded despite lacking lungs, “for future celebrations a handshake will suffice!” Zero waves them off and after a few seconds allows them freedom from his grasp, leaving them more than a little sweat stained. 

Finally, Mustang saunters over and joins the pair. Putting a massive arm around each compatriot, he starts leading both out the door, “Now it’s about time to get those massive lats fitted for some spandex dontcha think kid?” And so the trio depart, Binary working on a report and Mustang yammering about their other teammates. Zero doesn’t quite hear as he is preoccupied imagining his new start and his first proper day as the hero he has always dreamed he could be.

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

The Risk of Curiousity

Andy still waved at his uncle as he drove away in his car. As soon as Andy was not able to see him anymore he went back into his uncle’s house and closed the door. He took off his cap and sighed. This was not exactly what he imagined how his vacation with his uncle would be.

A few months ago, his uncle Frederic, the brother of his late father, wrote him a letter and invited him to stay with him for a few days. After his brother’s death he felt responsible to care for his nephew – besides the care his sister-in-law provided to Andy of course. Andy thought it was decent of him. In his childhood they visited uncle Frederic quite often, but later as his father became ill the visits were less frequent. And now his uncle set out for an appointment in the nearest town.                        

“Whatever you want to do, just keep away from my study room, Andy, you understand?”, his uncle has said to him with a serious look on his face. “Eh, okay, um…why?”, Andy had asked him curiously with an arched eyebrow. His uncle just smiled at him and put his hands on the young man’s shoulders. “You take so much after your father when you look at me like this – it’s nothing special. It just looks inside as if it had been hit by a bomb. But that’s how some authors find their creativity”, his uncle had said winking at his nephew. “I’ll clear the room tomorrow maybe, just be patient. See you later, Andy!”

After his uncle had been away for about an hour, Andy’s stomach started rumbling. But after a big serving of Lasagna, his favourite meal, that his uncle prepared for him yesterday, he felt way much better. Thereafter he decided to take a look around inside the house.  Uncle Frederic only just owned this place for about a year and Andy had not been there since then. It was quite big for only one person to live here. But as an author his uncle maybe needed the quiet and space of this place.

Soon he had seen every room and after he wiped off the last remains of the Lasagna on his face with a napkin, he stopped next to a big door that caught his attention. Curiously he looked at the door – it was different from the other ones in the house. Much bigger, older and way fancier in its decoration with all those metal ornaments on it.

Andy asked himself what could be behind this door. He had seen every other room in this house, so… this must be the door to uncle Frederic’s study room. At first, he wanted to go back to the living room and take a little nap, but something kept him from doing this. His curiosity. A trait he shared with his beloved father. How the study room of an author might look? Filled with scribbled notes and used cups with cold coffee everywhere? Should he look inside? On the other hand, he promised his uncle to stay away from this particular room. But… maybe he could get an eyeful and after that he would go back immediately. His uncle would not be back for a few hours, Andy thought. “Whatever! “, he said and put his hand on the door knob. And he cautiously turned the door knob and the door went open. Just a quick glance, he reminded himself. Not touching anything, just looking around.

A quite old-fashioned but still very beautiful study room was in front of him. His friends would love it, he thought. Vintage furniture or something like this. And it was surprisingly tidy. Andy raised his eyebrow. Why his uncle said it would be a total chaos? Not a single thing was not in its place as far as Andy could see it.

He went over to his uncle’s desk and looked out of the window. The view was incredible, he could see the town and the street from where his uncle would come back later. This was good. He just needed to look out of the window from time to time to make sure to leave the room on tim. But at the moment his uncle was not here. So, Andy continued to look around and found, a little apart from the desk and the leather couch, a side table with quite many books on it. The green one at the very top caught his eye and he carefully picked it up.

It was an old book, at least written in the last century he guessed, and he looked at the cover. It read „Dreams and Ghosts “.  He browsed through the book and saw many pictures of silly supernatural rituals with detailed descriptions how to perform them. Andy disdainfully snorted. His uncle seemed to be interested in this nonsense. He never thought his uncle had this crazy side. As he continued to browse thorugh the book he accidentally opened a page where some strange words with big read letters were written all over the page.

Accipe me, magnum phantasma – volo tibi corpus dare. Muta me, corpus meum tibi sit.

„What’s that for strange language? “, Andy said and tried to say it correctly. Ugh, it sounded awful, he thought. But as soon as he stopped saying these strange words the floor underneath him started to glow in a bright green light and almost blinded him. Frozen in shock he dropped the book and yelped.

„Well, well, well, what have we here? A yummy new body? “, a voice said out of nowhere directly into his ear. Slowly he turned his head and jumped with fright. A human had appeared next to him. Or something that looked like a human. A transparent human, glowing in the same green light as the floor did a few seconds ago. Andy was scared to death and tried to get away but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor.  

„What… who… who are you? “, Andy asked full of fear. What the hell was going on?! The ghostly person, a quite muscular man with… no clothes on… just grinned at him and moved his hips in a very obscene way. Ashamed Andy looked away to force himself not to look at this ghostly well-equipped crotch. „Oh, how rude, young man! “, the ghost said and shook his head in disapproval. He floated around Andy and inspected him. “You’re not perfect, but yet that should work out quite nicely”, he murmured and came very close to Andy’s face. Andy looked away and of all things the ghost’s junk that the ghost was passionately stroking was the first thing his attention caught.

“Get away from me, you monster! And… stop touching yourself, man! That’s disgusting, man… or whatever you are!”, Andy shouted. The ghost’s smile dropped and he touched Andy’s face with his hand. It felt cold. It made Andy shudder. “Oh, you don’t like me touching myself? That’s very sad as I will possess your body and make it mine”, the ghost purred and stroked Andy’s chin, while he gave his ghostly cock a stroke. It stiffened. Fuck, Andy thought. What had he done? Of course, reading some strange magic words. How cliché. “But I promise you, it will be quite pleasurable… for both of us.” With these words the ghost dissolved into a green mist.

“You just need to let me in.” And after these words the mist tried to shove himself into Andy’s still open mouth. In fear and panic he pressed his lips and clenched his teeth together and put his right hand over his closed mouth and nose. This… thing would not enter his body!

“Quite stubborn, aren’t you? But I will find a good entrance”, the voice of the ghost whispered in Andy’s ears and the cold presence moved over his shoulder. It crawled down his back and… suddenly Andy heard a clicking sound. He looked down. His belt was moving on its own. The buttons of his trousers loosened and with a thud his pants fell to the ground.

“Oooooooh”, the ghost moaned and something cold began fondling Andy’s butt cheeks. “Why are you hiding this from me?” And then the cold oozed in his crack and by reflex Andy tensed up his butt. This… creature wanted to invade his body… through his anus! But he would never allow that! After a few tries the cold feeling on his butt stopped and Andy breathed again.

“Don’t be a kill-joy, man”, the ghost shouted and flowed back to Andy’s foreside. “But now you leave me no choice. Dear god, I hate to do this, it’s always so tight!” Without Andy being able to react the green mist pulled down his underwear and went directly to his cock. Andy’s eyes widened. With his hand still covering his mouth, a muttered but very shocked “No!” left his mouth. And then suddenly something started stroking his cock. Something was massaging his balls. No, he could not let go, Andy thought. But his power of resistance shrank as the touching continued. He moaned. His cock grew erect and jutted out of his crotch. Andy shuddered as abruptly the cold feeling dived directly into his cock slit and slithered into his body. Andy felt like he was in heaven!

“Phew, you’re very tight, but let’s change that”, the ghost’s voice echoed in Andy’s head and he felt the cold spreading through his body. “You’ll be the perfect vessel, love”, the ghost purred inside Andy and suddenly he felt something filling his rectum. “What…oh God… what are you… hng… doing to me?”, Andy said between his moans as he felt pure pleasure filling his body. His cock throbbed and he began jacking off. This… was so hot! Sweat broke out of his skin as precum dripped out of his cock. “I’m giving you a final ride”, the ghost laughed and continued to penetrate Andy’s ass from the inside. Everything around him was forgotten. Andy was in sheer pleasure. He grunted. And finally, something in his ass exploded. His belly swelled with ghostly cum and glowed in the same greenish light. It felt… wonderful! “OH GOD, YES!”, Andy screamed and his balls tensed and he came all over the desk with the books and coated them with his seed.

Suddenly pain rose inside his body as the coldness spread further through his trembling, sweat covered body. The greenish light radiated over his whole body until he was glowing everywhere. Andy looked at his hands. “It’s almost done. Soon we will be one.” And after these words his body started to change drastically while his shirt vanished into thin air. His body swelled with bulging muscles – veins crawled under his skin over his growing body. His bones cracked and he grew until he stood at 6 ft.2. Mighty pecs pushed themselves out of his chest as his shoulders widened and doubled their size. Abs popped to the surface while his swollen belly receded and his calves swelled to tree trunks of pure muscle. Andy felt his cock twitch again as the changes reached his crotch. With both hands he touched his cock. It felt so sensitive that the simple touch of his own finger made him moan. Inch by inch it grew simultaneously with his hands while he jacked off. Andy grunted and he could feel the ghost’s presence spreading in his body. It felt… natural having him inside of him. Natural… having… something… inside of him. Yeah… he loved that.  He started to drool as he thought about having a cock inside him. Penetrating him. Andy moaned as his balls grew thicker and dropped down, now hanging low between his muscular thighs.

Precum oozed out of his cock again and as it made contact with his hands they grew calloused and bigger. His body began to tingle while his butt tensed and swelled to a bubble butt. Andy moaned again as his cock passed the 10 inches. Hair broke through his skin everywhere on his body. Wherever there already had been some pathetic patches of dark brown hairs, they thickened and turned into a dark blond colour. His crotch became a forest of hair and a certain musk began to fill the room.

“That’s it. Embrace your masculinity, smell it”, the ghost said and used Andy’s throat. He did as he was told. He breathed in deeply and his cock twitched again. Thick bushes of hair erupted from his pits, his feet elongated as the hair spread over the toes. His voice dropped and his vocal chords changed, his Adam’s apple protruded from his thickening neck. Finally, his face rearranged itself. His pasty appearance went away and strong, virile features took its place. His dark brown hair changed to a golden blonde and grew wavier, while his patchy stubble thickened and a short beard grew over his changing chin. Panting and stroking his sweaty body he lost a few years and gained a more mature look.

The pressure was almost unbearable as Andy felt his thoughts changing. Turning him gay. Turning into an alpha man. Turning him into a sex monster. Turning into a MAN! And with a final roar the ghost’s and Andy’s mind combined and the new man came again. Gallons of seed shot out of his thick balls and coated everything in front of him and his own chest. The new man opened his eyes, heavily breathing. He was nether the pasty old Andy nor the horny ghost that changed him. He was pure man power. He was Andy the Alpha. And now… he would search for a suitable man to celebrate his second birth. The cum on his body run down to his crotch and formed a tight and revealing speedo. He gave his cock a little touch and it immediately swelled a little bit. Yes, that would be a funny life from now.

Hello tf-fans! This was a request from @itsreigningdilfs​ - I hope I did it in your suggested way! :D Thanks again for your idea! If anyone of you people have ideas for future stories - just drop me a message or a question! Have fun and stay safe!

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

A New Prince

It had been over twenty days since Merlin’s mentor in Camelot, Gaius, left for an expedition to the mountains. Of course, Merlin wanted to go with him. But as he mentioned it to Arthur, the Prince demanded that his servant had to stay inside the castle. Although the young wizard wasn’t happy about this decision he stayed at home. Maybe he could practise some magic spells he always wanted to try. Well, that was what Merlin thought he could do. In reality, Arthur barely left him alone for more than three hours during the day.

It was early in the morning as someone was knocking loudly on the door of the building where Merlin lived with Gaius. He sighed and groaned. How long did he sleep? It felt like only two hours or less. His head felt foggy and his tongue was tinder-dry.

“Come in”, Merlin said, rubbing his eyes and sat up on his bed. He studied his spell-books way past midnight. The person on the other side of the door tried to open it, but… oops. Merlin locked it double, with the key and with magic so no one could get into the room. Magic still was forbidden in this kingdom. As fast as his tired legs managed to bring him to the door he made his way and concentrated on the rusty lock. His eyes glowed for a second and the door sprung open.

One of Arthur’s personal guards came in with full armour and looked down on Merlin’s unkempt appearance. “Is something wrong?”

“No, except your need to make yourself representable so his Majesty won’t be ashamed of his favorite servant. The Prince is waiting for you to help him starting the day”, the man said and sneered at Merlin again. Merlin raised one eyebrow, but the guard silently left. “Idiot”, Merlin muttered as he quickly washed himself and put on fresh clothes. On his way to the Prince’s rooms he met a few other servants who greeted him. A few metres away from the rooms of Arthur Merlin already could hear the other very impatient man yelling for him.

“WHERE IS MERLIN?!” Arthur’s words could he heard all through the castle and Merlin rolled his eyes. Quickly he opened the door and stepped in. Arthur was sitting on his bed, half-naked and his face red from screaming. As soon as the Prince’s eyes discovered Merlin his face calmed and he almost smiled at him. “Finally, you’re late, Merlin”, Arthur said and stood up. He closed the little distance between them. “I need you to help me with a cramp in my back. My father hired a new swordsman to train me. I need to be back there in two hours”, the Prince told Merlin and showed his muscular back.

“How do you want me to help? Muscles need to relax. It’s not like I can snip my fingers and you’re perfectly fine… Sir”, Merlin said in a joking tone and quickly added the last part. Although Arthur was a douche he still was the Prince. But Arthur simply smiled.

“You and your big mouth, Merlin. I don’t care how you do it. Just do something. Don’t you have some oils from Gaius?”

Merlin thought about the masses of little jars and vials inside Gaius’ laboratory. But this was all very magical. So… this won’t be a good idea. “No, nothing”, Merlin lied and shook his head. Arthur’s face raised an eyebrow, but shrugged afterwards.

“Then use your hands to press it away. Now, Merlin”, Arthur commanded and laid on his royal bed with his seemingly hurting back visible. Merlin sighed and pulled up his sleeves. Guinevere would have loved this more than him, he thought and started massaging the Prince’s back. From time to time Arthur speaker to him, mostly something like “Ugh, your hands are cold!” or “Not this rough, I’m a prince and not some food in the kitchen”. After a few tries Merlin seems to have found the spot. The muscles beneath the skin felt like a knot under his fingers, but he could not make it go away. Maybe he needed some more power to ease Arthur’s discomfort. Carefully he closed his eyes and tried to let his magic flow into the cramped muscle. Suddenly his hands felt warmer and the hardened area beneath his hands became softer.

“Don’t you dare stopping now, Merlin!”, Arthur said as Merlin had stopped touching the other one’s back and looked down his hands. A strange tingling spread inside of them. But it was not the first time after he used magic. So, he continued as Arthur wished. The Prince started groaning and seemed to enjoy the massage Merlin was giving him as the young wizard suddenly felt warmth rising inside his body.

Merlin looked down on his hands and… saw them changing their colour! Inch by inch his fingers took on a steadily darkening skin tone. Panic rose in the young man but he could not stop working on the other’s back. His breathing became heavier as the tan skin spread over his body. Merlin grunted. And as he looked down on Arthur’s back he could swear that his muscles were looking less trained and his skin quite paler.

“Arthur, are you okay?”, Merlin asked in fear as the veins on his hands thickened and became much more visible than before. But Arthur didn’t answer with words and just… moaned? Merlin couldn’t trust his ears, but he was very sure the man in front of him was moaning in pleasure. He again wanted to stop and let loose of the Prince but then felt something racing inside his body. Energy, pure magical energy was flowing through his widening veins. Merlin started to feel very warm and sweat was dripping down his forehead and on Arthur’s squirming and now obviously shrinking back. Without a warning, the clothes on his upper body disappeared into thin air and left his lanky body glistening with sweat. Arthur moaned again and Merlin felt this noise triggering something inside of him.

Following the way of his thinking veins Merlin’s body started to gain more weight. Wherever the tan skin had spread, the small muscles under Merlin’s skin thickened. His biceps and triceps swelled with strength. Merlin’s chest doubled in size and grew way past the mass Arthur possessed. His breaths became deeper as his lungs expanded inside his chest. Merlin looked at his still rising chest in fear. He needed to stop this, he needed to get to Gaius… but these thoughts became more quiet as thick pecs rose of his glistening chest. “O Lord”, Merlin grunted as the changes spread over his body. His neck thickened and his Adam’s apple grew more visible. Merlin’s s voice deepened and changed into something that sounded more like voice of royalty.

He looked down and gasped as he saw that the muscular, tall man in front of him shrank down to a small and thin person. Suddenly Arthur turned around and looked with lust up to Merlin who was in shock. A loud cracking sound echoed through Merlin’s body. With force his spine elongated and his bones became longer and thicker. Merlin grunted and then moaned in surprise as someone started licking on his nipples! In shock and arousal he couldn’t do anything to stop the Prince continuing.

“You’re looking so hot today, Sir”, Arthur said with a sultry voice that was much higher than usual. Merlin was about to protest but then his stomach bulged outside and cut-like abs came to the surface. And without thinking about it, he instinctively put his grown hand behind Arthur’s shrunken head and pushed him against his pecs. Eagerly Arthur sucked and licked on Merlin’s chest and made the changing man throwing back his head. Slowly Merlin’s scalp began to tingle. His short, dark-brown hair grew longer and curlier until it reached his wide shoulders. The dark colour faded into his head and left him with thick blonde locks, bouncing up and down with his movements.

The tingling spread over his whole body as every hair turned blonde. In the moment it reached his legs they grew thick with muscle too, followed by a coating of blonde hair. Merlin was lost in pleasure and was moaning against Arthur’s thinning body. With a slurping sound Arthur let loose of Merlin’s pecs and his dainty, slim fingers went down south. Merlin’s eyes glowed with magic and changed into a blue colour while Arthur’s became brown and his short blonde hair became a mousy brown mess.

Merlin could feel the other man’s hand playing with his sensitive skin above his crotch. He smiled and nodded. The smaller man reached into the black pants and took out Merlin’s cock that was starting to get harder by the second. “Now, Arthur, do it”, Merlin grunted and moaned in pure pleasure as he felt the soft, wet lips around his cock. His body began to move on its own again as he pushed his hips forward and started face-fucking the man kneeling in front of him on his bed. His bed? It was Merlin’s bed! He was the Prince of Camelot! The Prince with the beauty of an angel. As he thought this Merlin’s face sharpened. Blonde stubble appeared on his chin and his chin became stronger, manlier! His lips puffed up and bit on them as his cock swelled inside the other man’s mouth. Bit by bit it widened and became longer until it was pushing down deep into the hot welcoming throat in front of him. His average brown pubes thickened and his balls dropped lower, growing tighter between his muscular thighs. A manly scent spread through the rooms and with a deep, guttural moan Merlin, the Prince of Camelot shot his cum deep down into the throat of his personal servant. New memories built up in his mind. Growing up in the palace, training to become king in the future, having as much women and men as he wished, but most of the time he was fucking the mind out of this man in front of him.

With a relieved groan, Merlin pulled his cock out and smiled as he saw that Arthur had shot his load too. “Thank you for helping me with my cramped muscles”, Merlin said and raised his arms to his sides. Hasty his servant sprang down the bed and started cleaning his Prince with a wet towel and helped him getting his clothes on. Before he left his rooms the Prince gave his small servant a little kiss on the forehead that made him blush. “I’ll wait for you, Sir, whenever you need my assistance”, the small man said and Merlin could feel his cock already harden again. “I know”, he said and left for the breakfast with his father, King Uther. Oh, he loved being the Prince!

Hello tf-fans! This is a story based on a idea of @guytransformedforever. I hope you’ll like it! :D Thanks again for the awesome talk about potential transformations ! If anyone of you people have ideas for future stories or just want to have a little chat - drop me a message or ask a question! I’d love to hear your thoughts! Have fun and stay safe! 💜

Second note: I know I haven’t been posting very much in the last weeks, but I want to make a little experiment: one story (at least) per week. I can’t guarantee it will work, but it’s worth a try! 😄 And thank you very much for all of your fantastic submitted ideas. I hope I can answer them soon!

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

Deserved

„It‘s over, Ian - I can’t be with you anymore..“ This was two weeks ago. Ian and his boyfriend Duncan were on vacation in Central Europe. They found a very good offer for one week, everything seemed to be perfect.

But with every day they spent together, Duncan became more and more withdrawn and hardly spoke to Ian, who had actually been so looking forward to their first real holiday together. Just lying in bed together in peace, going for walks, snapping a few funny photos as a memento - but that was all cancelled. Ian had been devastated and still was.

After they had arrived back home, Duncan had packed his things and disappeared. At least he had said goodbye. At least. But that was all. For the next few days, Ian had not been able to leave his flat, where he was now all alone again. Duncan had been Ian’s dream man. Strong and tall, an infectious laugh and ready to let Ian fall asleep in his arms. But something seemed to have changed. Something Ian hadn’t noticed.

Now, a week later, when he had to go back to work at the office, he finally managed to drag himself outside. He dodged all questions about how his holiday had been. He just didn’t want to think about it anymore, about those worst days in recent memory.

Shortly after the end of his fourth working day full of demotivation and dejection, the young man made his way to his car. His other colleagues had arranged to have a barbecue in the backyard of the company on this beautiful summer day - even their boss wanted to come by and pay for the drinks. But Ian wasn’t in the mood for such a social event yet. He took out his keys, the doors of his car clicked and he was loading his briefcase into the overheated boot when he heard footsteps coming towards him.

It was his colleague Michael, whom he’d known for a few years - they’d gone to high school together before Ian moved to another state. They still had casual contact and were delighted when they found themselves in the same open-plan office three years ago. Michael was a very kind and also empathetic person who was quick to notice when someone was unwell. Ian waved tiredly at his colleague, who apparently wasn’t going to the barbecue either.

“Hey Ian, do you - do you want to maybe talk?” asked Michael the still sad Ian, leaning against Ian’s open boot lid. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… something’s bothering you, I can tell from a distance,” he added gently, poking Ian against the flat of his chest.

Ian didn’t know if he was ready to talk about everything yet. “That’s sweet, Michael, but, look, I can’t just yet, I…. might take you up on your offer later,” Ian said to his colleague, who looked surprised for a moment but then stood up and patted Ian on the shoulder.

“Sure, just get back to me when you’re ready. You’ve got my number, you can always call me, anytime. I’ll come to visit too and bring pizza or something. Take care, okay?” said Michael, saying goodbye to Ian. When the other had disappeared, Ian sat in the warm, humid air for a few more minutes, staring into space.

It was only when the smell of roasting meat from the company’s backyard reached him that he woke from his trance and closed the boot. It took him a moment to drive off, and meanwhile, of course, he got caught in another traffic jam in the city. A short ringing of a bell was heard, someone had written him a message. With a few clicks on the screen in his car, the message was read to him.

I have something to tell you, please call me when you are home and no longer in the car. Love Debby

Astonished, Ian realised that he had received a message from his former sister-in-law. Debby, his eldest brother’s ex-wife, who had separated after a short marriage but on good terms, never actually contacted him. Ian frowned. That was strange…

Fortunately, the traffic jam slowly but surely dissipated and Ian finally arrived home. There was a light on in his flat. “Shit, not burglars too,” he muttered and carefully crept to his flat door. Quietly he unlocked it. With full force, his bulging briefcase fell on his foot. “Duncan,” he breathed and had to swallow hard. There he was, his wonderful Duncan, and he seemed to have placed a box on the kitchen counter. The door slammed shut and Duncan looked up. His features immediately took on a strained look.

“Hey, man, I just wanted to drop off your stuff you had left. And your key,” Duncan said, dropping a silver front door key into the box. “That’s all I wanted, bye.”

Ian was still frozen. But the opportunity was as good as ever to perhaps learn the reason for the break-up after all. “Duncan, please… why? Did I do something wrong? Just tell me,” he pleaded, standing in front of his flat door so the other man couldn’t just walk away.

“Ian, let me go, we’re done,” Duncan said curtly, reaching for the handle. Ian braced himself against the door with all his strength, which wasn’t much, he wanted to hear an answer. “Not until you answer me, please Duncan, if it was up to me, I can change after all,” he begged the taller man and when he touched the man’s forearm Duncan simply pushed him aside and opened the door.

“You’re just a loser, Ian, a worthless loser” he said and disappeared, leaving the door open. Ian didn’t know how long he just stayed in the same place where he had been pushed to. Nor did he know if the door had closed on its own. Thick tears ran down his cheeks. What on earth had happened to deserve such a thing? The bell rang again. Someone had written him a message again. With trembling hands, Ian straightened up a little and leaned against the wall next to his flat door.

Four missed calls. One from his work colleagues. One from some unknown number, probably his package from three days ago, which he should pick up. One from Michael. One from Debby. Ian took a deep breath and removed his glasses to dry his eyes. It was almost 9 pm. He needed someone to talk to now. With shaky fingers, he tapped Michael’s name to start the call. For a few seconds, Ian heard nothing, but then he heard the call signal. And then Michael picked up.

“Hey, Michael, it’s Ian - I… ha-have you got a minute? If not, it doesn’t matter.” Ian’s voice was shaky and he felt drained. Surely Michael had been in bed long ago and Ian had woken him up too.

“Oh my god, what happened? No, wait, tell me right now - I’ll be there in 15 minutes, don’t do anything stupid, got it?”, Michael answered him and Ian didn’t know what hit him. In the background, he heard Michael talking to someone and saying that he needed to give someone mental support. “I’ll get back to you when I’m almost at your place, understand?” Ian replied in the affirmative and then hung up. He was already somewhat reassured by the prospect that Michael would be there soon. Again, the chime came from his mobile. Debby. She had sent him a longer voice message, which Ian listened to it until Michael got there.

Debby told a little about Ian’s little niece, who could now write her name, and then about her sister’s new boyfriend. The new boyfriend named Duncan Jones. The one her sister had met for the first time a month ago. She had sent him another picture of the two of them. Ian’s heart felt like it was going to burst into a thousand pieces. There he was. Duncan. And Debby’s sister. Tightly embraced, posing for a photo on Instagram.

How could this be! Ian’s breathing quickened more and more, he saw little stars before his eyes. What happened next, he couldn’t really remember, as Ian woke up on the sofa. Michael must have come in because he was sitting on the other sofa opposite. Eyeing Ian critically.

“H-hey, Michael - um, thanks for coming over, sorry, I…”, Ian stammered, and the patchwork quilt draped over him fell to the floor. He felt as if he’d been knocked out.

“That’s what friends are for - come on, I’ve already called the office, go and have a shower first, then I’ll have a surprise for you,” Michael fended off Ian’s thanks and grinned encouragingly at him. A shower, that sounded good. Still a little wobbly on his feet, Ian made his way to the bathroom and as the hot water touched his body, he also remembered last night’s conversation. How Michael had pulled him up off the floor and onto the sofa, how he had cried non-stop, how Michael had coaxed him. Whether it was because of the hot water, Ian didn’t know, but he was turning bright red. He was so embarrassed.

After a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Ian? I put some clothes out for you and made you something to eat. I have to go out for a minute to pick something up, but I’ll be right back afterwards. Call me if you need me to come right away, okay?”

“O-okay, thanks,” Ian called through the closed door, putting the water down to dry himself off. He found it incredibly difficult, but somehow managed to make himself reasonably presentable. Outside the bathroom door, however, was not what he would have expected - white compression shorts and a protein bar.

Ian frowned. What did Michael want with that? But he wouldn’t be going out today, after all, if Michael had called their office… then he might as well walk around in some weird shorts.

Duncan had almost only worn trousers like that. And they had looked so good on him. I wonder what they looked like on him, Ian thought to himself and put the garment on. The actually tight-fitting trousers sat loosely on his hips and he still had plenty of room in them, but he would never fill them out. Not like Duncan. Oh yes, Duncan could wear something like that, Ian thought, and even though he was still sick at heart, he couldn’t push the images of his ex-boyfriend out of his mind. The images showed him how hot this man was.

“Mmm, he filled out those trousers so well, with his muscular legs,” Ian said, stroking his thin thighs, which suddenly began to tingle. He closed his eyes and thought of the individual muscle fibres he had traced with his fingers in bed at night. Ian’s legs twitched and suddenly his thighs swelled. More and more muscles overlapped and filled the white shorts. Better and better the trousers fitted Ian’s growing body. He gasped briefly as his buttocks tensed and hard muscles filled his backside. His calves were growing too as if he hadn’t forgotten a single leg day. He continued to stroke his body with his hands. Wherever he touched his own skin, the skin seemed to bubble under his fingers and hard muscles appeared beneath the surface.

But Ian was far too busy thinking about his ex-boyfriend’s hot muscles and extremely attractive appearance to notice what was happening to his own body.

“The amount of protein he’s been shovelling into himself, but who wouldn’t, to look that good… those hot abs and strong pecs. Mmm, so strong, so hard,” Ian was moaning by now and his breathing was getting heavier. Beneath his slender fingers, his flat stomach expanded and a six-pack became visible. With each breath his chest grew larger, muscle fibre by muscle fibre his small pecs swelled. Ian bit his tongue. Oh, how he had loved to feel his ex-boyfriend’s strong arms around him. How the long trained upper arms closed around his shoulders. Ian’s arms began to twitch and swell. With every little movement, they grew larger and he began to stroke his body even faster. Oh, how good that felt. Suddenly his stomach began to growl and Ian’s eyes snapped open. He needed something to eat. His hungry gaze fell on the protein bar.

“Perfect,” he breathed and without much ado tore off the wrapper and wolfed down the giant bar. Ian doubled over and his bones cracked. All his limbs stretched out, his hands and feet grew bigger and stronger, his spine stretched to the point where he grew almost 25 centimetres. Ian breathed in and out deeply as the protein bar in his stomach did its work. More and more muscles pressed against his dark, tanned - wait a sec! Ian paused in the movement as his shoulders crunched and his back widened.

“Here… there’s something wrong here, what… I… I have muscles? What’s going on?!” asked Ian anxiously into the empty room, watching his skin grow darker and darker. He stared at his arms. And gasped now and then as he continued to gain more mass and strength. Mirror. Mirror! He needed a mirror!

Staggering, now that he was considerably taller, he plodded into his bathroom and let out a scream when he saw himself. “That…that’s not me, that…wait…this…this birthmark…on my belly button,” Ian stuttered, recognising this little feature. He only knew one person who had that. Duncan. Panicking, looking at his own changing and increasingly attractive looking body in the mirror, he searched for his mobile. As he leaned down, a sharp pain shot through his face. Almost blinded by pain, he tapped where he thought Michael’s name was and looked in the mirror again.

Before his eyes, his beard retreated into his skin and his hair lost its blond colour. His jaw muscles twitched and his jaws cracked as they became edgier and wider. Ian raised his free hand and grasped at his now short hair. It felt different, like… Duncan’s. He looked more closely in the mirror when Michael finally answered the phone.

“Michael? Something’s wrong, I’m… I’m changing somehow and… I’m looking more and more like Duncan!” shouted Ian into his phone in panic as he felt waves of power ripple through his body again and again.

“Ian,” Michael said, his voice suddenly sounding very different. It was still Michael, but the hairs on the back of Ian’s neck stood up as he spoke. He sounded like a very powerful being. “You’re one of the sweetest people in the world and I’ve known many for the last 2,000 years. You deserve to have a body like Duncan. He doesn’t. Consider it my contribution to ease your suffering. Farewell, my friend, with this deed I can now depart from this earth. Live your life as you have always been lovable.” Michael’s voice died and the phone fell from Ian’s hand.

By now, Ian’s skin had taken on the same tone as Duncan’s and sweat was running down his chest. Breathless, he stared into the mirror and had to close his eyes again as his face changed further. His nose widened and his light eyes turned brown, leaving no trace of his original face. Ian gasped and groaned. He opened his eyes again. And looked into the perfect copy of his ex-boyfriend who had cheated on him.

“No, no, NO! This can’t be happening, I don’t want to be Duncan! I don’t want to… have those big… Sexy muscles have… that… deep voice,” Ian gasped and had to cough. His throat thickened and his voice became deeper and clearer. “I… oh god, I… look so hot,” he croaked, unable to get enough of the sight of him. But… he wasn’t Duncan! But then came the last missing piece of the puzzle.

Ian’s cock pressed against his already tight compression shorts and pleasure flooded his body. With his strong hands, he touched the outside of his cock and felt it pressing harder and harder against the white fabric. Thickening and widening it made its way through Ian’s crotch, only limited by the balls beneath that were also swelling. Ian knew how sensitive Duncan was. How he had loved blowjobs, how he had thrown his head down his neck - and with that image in his mind, Ian freed his cock and imagined someone licking it. He groaned and grunted. He wasn’t Duncan. It was Ian. Duncan was his middle name. He was a good-hearted person and hot as hell. And with one last look at his new self, Ian came and shothis seed all over his mirror.

Breathing heavily, he tried to get his thoughts somewhat in order. After cleaning the mirror, he looked closely at himself. He looked like Duncan. Which he was. Ian Duncan. Duncan was a part of his identity now. Ian raised his arms and flexed his upper arms and couldn’t help grinning. With that, he would have no problem finding a steady boyfriend quickly.

A few hours later, Ian arrived at his office for his afternoon shift and wondered. Everyone acted as if he had always looked like this. As if he had always worn such form-fitting trousers and shirts. As if he had always been an Adonis. And no one could remember a Michael. Over the next few days, Ian tried to find out what had happened to Duncan. But he too seemed never to have existed. It still took him some time to come to terms with everything. But soon he learned to love himself with a healthy measure. He was proud of his body, but he didn’t brag about it and continued to be an extremely lovable person who was kind to those around him. And who would never cheat on his steady boyfriend, Mike, whom he met at a concert.

Hey tf fans! This story (or better: the pics and a vague plot idea) had been roaming around in my drafts for quite a long time. I hope you like it!

If anyone of you people have ideas for future stories, please tell me! I’d love to hear your thoughts! Have fun and stay safe! 💜

[occamstfs]

Masterpost !

Side Blog: Occam's Revue

Stories by Subject/Series:

Talismen:

I Beginnings ● II Gamer Grows Up ● III Sorry For The Backwash ● IV Deliverer ● V World Peace

2K Follower Writer’s Challenge:

Viral Transformation

Jock/Himbo

Most Recent: Lovers on an Island ● GOAT For A Reason ● Sun Shy ● Bike Lane ● Confidence.EXE ● Sweat It Out ● Wish Came True ● Lifter’s Apprentice ● Asked & Answered: Shame ● Epecdemic ● I Don’t Get Pit ● Coming Soon: Philter Out, Clickbaited, and Penalty Box

Bear/Dilf

Most Recent: Look Your Age ● Green Eyes Of Envy ● In The Rink: Dunks ● Slice Of Italy ● Talismen II: Gamer Grows Up ● For Sale: Dad Shoes ● Free Flag ● Barbearcue ● Topping Off ● Ancient History ● Life In Film ● VitaMen Vitamins: Bear It All

Cultural/Racial

Rosa's Cafe ● Those Holi Days ● Should've Worn Green ● Terracotta Turmoil ● Ramadan Recitations ● Anything For Extra Credit ● Actually, They're Called Tetrominoes ● Spanish Shortcuts ● K-Pop Conundrum ● One More Lap ● Ni Hao!Nyc ● Subcontinental Promotion ● Look Your Age ● Marichismo ● Change Your Tune: Alvaro ● New Fortune

Frat

No Need To Pledge, Just Drink ● Legacies Are Supposed To Change ● How Many Drinks? ● New Meaning To Hazing ● Man Of Your Dreams ● Follow Your Nose ● Tailgating ● Peace Together ● Frat Founding ● Frat Friends

Military/Cop

Wouldn't It Be Funny? ● Coast Guard Compensation ● Anchors Aweigh ● Jonny Get Your Gun ● AL:IV Everycop

Cowboy/Redneck

Ain’t No Place For A City Boy ● Country Charm ● Beau Of The Ball ● Halloween Bacchanal ● Keep On Trucking ● Community Service ● Content Farming

Role Swap

Diet Diaries ● Chauffeur Swap ● Queering The Ring ● Conjuration: The Call ●Couples Counseled: Confidence ● Couples Counseled: Care ● Twink Turnabout ● Access Denied ● Perfect For Each Other

Devolution

Pre-Homo Sapience ● Conjuration: The Call ● Evo Bio 101

Stoner

Ugh, I Hate Bongs. ● Higher Education ● Virulent Strain

Preppification

A Paragon Man ● Peace Together ● Wine Drunk ● Triumvirate ● Welcome To Apolline Grove

Surfer

Shaka-Screen ● Surfin’ The Years Away

Misc

Tarot: The Knight of Swords ● Daddy: How To Be A Father ● Twunkification: To The Ground Floor ● Temp E-Boy: Influencing Goes Both Ways ● Surfer: Shaka-Screen ● Biker: Helmet Left Behind ● Superhero: Zero to Hero ● Greaser: Bumming A Smoke ● Many Tfs: Halloween Bacchanal and The Power Of Desire

[next-gen-men]

NGM’s Advent Calendar - 2025 Master Post

When it came to holiday traditions, Ethan didn’t really think he was that big on them. Sure, his family did a couple of things here and there to celebrate, but he was never that into the festive nature. So when his boyfriend recommended that he download this new holiday calendar app for fun, Ethan did so with some reluctance.

NGM’s Advent Calendar! An interactive experience to make your festive season a bit more magical!

A strange way to promote an app, I guess, Ethan thought to himself as he browsed the new app. It was a rather simple device, with each day locked. The app boasted a big reward for completing the Advent calendar, provided he checked in every day. But other than that, there wasn’t much that he could see. It seemed simple enough, and after the app insisted that he enable his notifications, Ethan figured it was just one of those simple daily check-in apps. Well, there wasn’t much more to it, and he had some time before the app kicked in anyway. 

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out of his apartment, waving goodbye to his roommates. With finals just around the corner and his part-time barista job to get to, the grad student had more than a few things on his mind beyond a Christmas app. Soon, he’d be flying home and enjoying some time off from his studies…

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Eager to follow along with Ethan’s journey? Feel free to check in and enjoy the holiday magic!

01. - Amir 02. - Junseo 03. - Julian + Leo 04. - Ricky 05. - Devon 06. - Trevor 07. - Stephen + Angelo 08. - Marcus 09. - Aditya + Amir 10. - Nina + Jabari 11. - Isaiah 12. - Benny 13. - Benito 14. - Rome 15. - Rafael + Ronen 16. - Joko 17. - Victor 18. - Noel 19. - Henry 20. - Lucas 21. - Daniel 22. - Felipe 23. - Kyle 24. - Samir + Chayut

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

🎄 25. - Santa 🎅 26. - Samir 27. - Danny 28. - Kyle 29. - Rome + Devon 30. - Enzo + Romeo 31. - Leo + Trevor

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

🎉🎆 Jan 1. - Ethan 🎇🎉

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hiya everyone! gonna be trying out this concept for the month! i’m planning on doing something fun each day, with a new transformation trope each day. i hope i can stay on top of it this month and do a daily post, but we’ll see where it goes from here. hope people enjoy and have a great holiday season ^^

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

New Position

“What do you mean I’m not in the team anymore?!”, Harry screamed and the locker room of Puddlemere United vibrated with his loud voice. Livid with rage he threw his broom to the floor and glared at his fellow team mate. He could not believe it! HE was the youngest seeker in Quidditch history for hundred years! HE was an exceptional talent, even with almost 24 years!

“Harry, please, you need to understand… Leo here caught the snitch two seconds faster than you”, Ethan, his oldest teammate and a really good keeper, tried to persuade him to calm down. But this made Harry even angrier! Ethan became the new captain of Puddlemere after Harry came to the Quidditch club after the Battle. Harry felt like he was sold down the river. Above all he was angry. HE defeated Voldemort and now someone else stole his position! “Guess what, I DON’T understand this nonsense, Ethan”, Harry answered still very short-tempered. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he wanted to spend his future in peace. And especially with Quidditch!

„Leo, maybe you go to the pitch without me? I’ll come in a few minutes, okay? “, Ethan said to the small blonde man and waited until he left the locker room. “Listen, Harry, I understand your anger. But sometimes a team needs a fresh start… um… say, have you ever played in a different position?”, Ethan asked Harry after a short pause. “No, but Oliver Wood said I’d be a good beater as I fired one Bludger away without any Quidditch experience. But… I’m a seeker… please, Ethan, let me…”, Harry asked desperately. But it was no use, the other one shook his head.

“No, Harry, I took a decision and I won’t change it. But listen, let’s make a deal: we still need a second Beater. And if you’re good enough, you can stay in the team, okay?” With mumbling, Harry picked up his broom and a Beater’s bat and went to the Quidditch pitch. At least he could stay for now.

The game was a disaster. Harry barely hit the Bludger and still looked around all the time for the snitch. Downheartedly he sat alone in the locker room after the match. He looked down at his half-naked body. Of course, he had some muscles. But a Beater needed to be thick. Even the Weasley twins had been quite muscular if he remembered it correctly. And they had been excellent Beaters. And he had more like a runner’s build. Soon afterwards Ethan came inside with a serious face and issued an Ultimatum to Harry. Either Harry would have enough power to actually hit the ball in their next play in three months or could pack his bags forever. That hurt. Harry never felt so sad and angry at the same time. Life without playing Quidditch? No, that could not be possible! „THAT´S BLOODY AWFUL!”, he screamed and without wanting it the showerheads in the showers exploded. What a great day…

Harry did everything possible to become stronger. He stuffed himself with protein supplements he ordered in Muggle London and trained his body every day for many hours after his other part-time job. He even apparated back to Hogwarts and moved around Hagrid’s giant pumpkins without magic, he did pull-ups in the woods, he swam in the lake. He did everything! But it didn‘t work. The only things he achieved were murderous pains in his whole body and absolute exhaustion. He could not lift his arm to hit the Bludgers. So, Ethan suspended him from their training sessions until he was able to do this little thing. It would be easier for the team to win without him, he had said to Harry. That hurt very bad. Right in front of their teammates of him.

Harry immediately flew away and went for a little walk around the lake of Hogwarts after a quick and tearful shower session. How can this Ethan believe to tell him that he was a burden for the team? Without thinking he went back into the castle to clear his head and realized he stood in the corridor where the Room of Requirement used to be. Was he still working after Crabbe once set the room on fire with his curse? Why not gave it a try, Harry thought and walked up and down next to the wall where the room had been before the battle.

“I need help to become stronger. I need help to stay in the team. I need help to have more muscles”, Harry murmured. Whatever it might take he added in his mind. A rumbling sound reached Harry’s ears. A wooden door had appeared in the wall next to him. He sighed. It worked! But he was cautious and drew his wand. Carefully he opened the door and saw an empty room except for a little desk with a smoking glass on it. Harry closed the door behind him and walked over to the desk. A little sign next to it said „Muscle Growth Potion“. Harry’s eyes widened. Could that be the solution to his problems? But he was suspicious. He actually never heard of a potion like this. But… that did not have to mean anything, because he was not very good at Potions. And in this particular moment, he was desperate.

“Oh well, screw it”, he said loudly and picked up the smoking glass. The potion inside was transparent and he could not smell anything. So, Harry drank in one gulp. And… nothing happened. Harry waited a few seconds. But he still was the same scrawny ex-seeker he was before. Angrily he threw the glass to the floor. It shattered into pieces. Of course, this idea of a magical solution was idiotic!

Then, however, Harry coughed and smoke flowed out of his mouth. “What the hell?“, Harry coughed again and in the same moment, his body began to change. Muscles pushed themselves against Harry’s school uniform. Pecs grew thick on his chest while his arms swelled with muscles. His shoulders widened and gave him a perfect V-form. The seams of his clothes began to break as more mass was packed on his skinny frame. Harry grunted as his legs doubled in size and his butt became very muscular so he would never feel pain during the Quidditch games. “Yeah, that’s perfect”, Harry grunted in sheer happiness as the pain of the change subsided. He felt euphoric. Now he could stay in the team! Without thinking he ripped his already torn clothes off his body and looked at his new physique.

Harry now stood in the middle of the room and was speechless. His hands roamed over his quite massive body. This was unbelievable. It worked! Just for fun he flexed his guns and let his pecs bounce. Left, right, right, left and both at the same time. This was AWESOME! For the first time in his life, he had visible muscles and was not thin as a sheet. He traced the line of his abs and bounced his pecs again. Accidentally his hand brushed his nipples and he nearly dropped down to his knees. “Ooooooooh, that’s nice”, Harry moaned and he continued to stroke his nipples. Almost immediately his cock responded. It throbbed inside his boxers and Harry stroked it with one hand.

Suddenly he felt the same pain rising in his body as he freed his aching cock. “Oh yes…”, Harry moaned and started jacking off. His muscles swelled even larger while his spine elongated and pushed him up to 6’’1. Something hit his nose and he lifted his arms, letting go of his hard cock for a brief moment. His pits smelled like he had not showered after two days of training! But somehow… it was kind of nice. To smell the smell of working out. Harry’s pits tingled as his sparse pit hairs grew longer and thicker. The smell intensified right into Harry’s nose that was next to his right pit. Like a cannonball it hit him. For a second, he was disgusted, but as he inhaled deeply for a second time, it felt more natural. Men stank after work. Sweat began to sink out of Harry’s pores. While one hand returned to his cock, Harry licked over his sweaty biceps. And licked over every inch of skin he could reach. He put his fingers deep into his sweaty, stinky pit and rubbed it all over his body. His arms and chest prickled as tattoos made their way through his skin.

His whole body tingled as hair pushed through his skin. The first black but soon the colour seemed to vanish and they became blonde. Hair flowed over his muscular torso and coated his chest and abs with a decent layer of hair. It grew a little thicker around his nipples. Harry pumped his cock. Oh yes, he would be the Number One Beater of his team. The hair spread further downwards and soon his legs were quite hairy. Something was tickling his hand while he furiously jacked off. His pubes curled themselves and grew over the base of his shaft. It was like the hair pushed his cock forward while it enlarged between his hands. And after another moan, his balls dropped lower. Coarse blonde hair sprouted on them. His crotch started to produce the same musky odour as his pits.

Harry grunted again. His voice dropped lower and lost its quite youthful sound. He aged up and hairs pushed themselves out of his face. They grew longer and thicker and formed a full blonde beard. His scar faded and his hair trimmed itself. “Yeah, I’ll beat them all”, Harry grunted as he felt a pressure building up inside his balls. All his intelligence, his skills in practical magic disappeared out of his brain and were replaced with all-time working out. Skipping the showers as he knew his fellow teammates of Puddlemere United loved his musky smelling body. Every bit of being the Man Who Lived sank deep down into his lemon sized balls.

And finally, with one last deep moan, he bucketed his hips and sprayed his cum all over the broken pieces of the glass on the floor. His mind went blank and every muscle in his body spasmed and grew, even more, thicker while the hair in his crotch spread between his legs and coated his muscular crack with musky hairs. Harry Wolpert opened his eyes and blinked. They became dull and lost their beautiful emerald colour “Woah, bro, wha’s that?”, Harry asked and looked down at his softening cock. He chuckled dumbly and gave his pits a deep sniff. His cock twitched again and the room changed into a locker room. Harry smirked cockily. “Time to beat the shit out of the other team, bro.” He put on his skin-tight Quidditch uniform and strutted out of the locker room. He sniffed at his musky pits for the last time and sat on his broom. He was the best Beater of them all!

Hey tf-fans! This is a re-edited version of an “old” story of mine from the last year. Like I said in the last announcement I’ll go back to writing some stories with the Harry Potter fandom. As you can see Harry is clearly an adult in this story. If you have ideas for this fandom, please remember this! :D (Thx btw for the ideas you people sent it already!)

Some of you might know this story some not. Nevertheless I hope you like it! Have a wonderful weekend and stay safe!

[megachiraztfs-deactivated202201]

Becoming a Family

10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville found themselves together at a table – a former classmate of theirs had invited them to her third wedding. Funnily enough, the new spouse looked exactly like the old one, if the five of them remembered correctly. Just like last time, the bride's four siblings came forward to present something that made the whole room laugh.

Even though he laughed very heartily, Harry felt a little down at the same time. "You know, sometimes I wonder what it's like to have a family of your own like that. Siblings, brothers, something like that. However, that's not possible any more. So I'm even happier to have you all," Harry said, looking into his champagne glass before draining it in one go.

Ron and Dean looked at each other. After all, they both had more than enough siblings. "Well, that can be really annoying when two of your brothers keep trying to scare you to death because they think it's funny," Ron scowled, his ears turning slightly red. As the youngest brother, he was always overshadowed by his older brothers' achievements.

"Or you have to look after the little ones all the time and can never have any peace anywhere at home, my half siblings are still on my heels when I'm with my parents," Dean told him, pointing at his long, slender legs. "Most of the scrapes are from them, not from playing football, I swear," he added to laughter from Neville and Seamus.

"Yeah, I unterstand that, but I just never got to know it. How about you Seamus, Neville, did you ever wish you had siblings?" asked Harry of the other two who were also only children like him. "My ma always thinks I've made enough trouble," Seamus replied with a shrug. "Would have been nice, I'm sure, then my grandmother wouldn't have just picked on me. Even if she only meant well," Neville added, scratching his head.

"Well, it's cool having siblings, but sometimes it just... sucks," Ron summed it up, patting his best friend on the back. He knew how much Harry wanted a family. At least since he had seen his parents in that mirror at Hogwarts in their first year at school. Harry nodded and rested his head on his forearms. Only when later the bride insisted on dancing with him did he seem to become a little more cheerful again. As soon as Harry was on the dance floor, his friends put their heads together and thought about how they could do something good for him.

"Do you know anything that might help Harry there? Any potion or spell that can simulate that somehow? Like if Harry had siblings?" asked Neville, wondering if there were any magical plants with some hallucinogenic effects without a harmful side effect. However, he didn't want to drug Harry either, so he just dismissed that. The others also shrugged their shoulders. "I only know the Polyjuice Potion, but that only turns you into copies of a person," Dean said, loosening his tie a little. "Wasn't it? Never used it before." Ron, however, nodded, knowing this potion all too well.

"Hmm, hang on, I think my uncle once told me something about a new invention," Seamus mused. "My mother's brother is a brewmaster, he told me something about it at Christmas, I could ask him what it's all about now. But it's all quite new and so on. Should I ask him about it? Harry's birthday is coming up soon" The three other men nodded and just at that moment Harry came back, his hair stuck to his forehead and he swayed slightly from all the spinning as he danced. "Well, now I need a firewhiskey, anyone else wants one?" he asked, holding his head. The four other men laughed and together they went to the bar, hoping the whiskey wouldn't make them spill their plan or even forget it.

Over the next few weeks, Seamus did everything he could to get in touch with his uncle. This turned out to be somewhat difficult. Because these research results were still very fresh and absolutely untested. That's why they weren't ready for Harry's birthday. It was not until December that Seamus received a letter from his uncle saying that the tests were now finished and the potion could be used. With this information, they were almost ready. All they needed now was some of Harry's hair. And some details what kind of siblings Harry would want. This idea came from Neville, after all they were doing this for Harry. He should be happy.

Around the first Sunday of Advent, the five men met for a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. They had agreed that they would ask Harry something he wanted. Shortly after Madam Rosmerta had brought them all their drinks, Dean spoke up.

"Say, Harry, I don't want to press you in any way, but we talked about siblings at Lavender's wedding, remember?" asked Dean, taking a sip of his butterbeer, which was decorated with cocoa. Harry paused in his drinking motion and looked at his former classmate sceptically and then nodded slowly.

Neville made a motion with his head for Dean to continue quietly. "Anyway," Dean continued, hoping that Seamus had managed to charm the quill he'd brought along to take notes. "I was back at my mum's last week and there were my little sisters talking about how they always wanted a big sister to do little fashion shows with them. But they only have me as a big brother," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Do you have any special ideas about fictional siblings? Well, when I think of Ron's big siblings, maybe if you had four siblings? Yes, that's a good number. So, what do you think?"

Actually, Dean's sisters' story wasn't even a lie, it was just that it had been a few years since they had said that. Harry set down his butterbeer and his gaze got a little lost in the room. He seemed to be thinking. Dean nudged Seamus with his foot and they exchanged a quick smile. That was going very well.

"Hmm, I don't know, it's weird to think about," Harry said thoughtfully, scratching his head. "But, I think having four siblings like that would be cool. Maybe two older and two younger ones." Harry seemed to hear the scratching of the quill writing letters on a piece of parchment on the bench next to Seamus.

"My oldest brother would be pretty cool, a bit like Bill I think. Maybe the same year, too. Then my parents would have been a bit older, of course, but that's all in my imagination. I'm sure he would have got all the genes for height, so he'd be a tall, broad-built guy. Maybe he'd play that loud music in a band," Harry mused, and Ron understood well what his best friend meant. Surely everyone wanted a cool older brother. That Harry didn't want to be the youngest, he understood all too well.

"Do you mean metal, Harry?" asked Seamus, who actually liked to hear such things. Harry nodded. The quill added to this little bit of info. "Would you have a name for the eldest brother, too?" asked Ron. Harry raised an eyebrow. "Everyone needs a name, don't you think? Remember, it's just for fun," Harry's best friend explained himself, the explanation seeming to satisfy Harry. He didn't think twice. "Probably not such a typical magical name, guess... hmm... yeah, he'd probably be called Giles." Number 1: Giles Potter.

"That really sounds like a cool brother, like someone who would get along with Bill too, Harry! What about the one you'd come straight after?" This time Ron had asked because an image had formed in his mind that closely resembled his own brother.

"Thomas. Tom for short" This time Harry had probably had a name directly in mind. "Great name" Dean remarked with a grin, after all it was his own surname. "So what does he do?"

"Somehow I can't help thinking that Tom might not be the smartest person. More of a very stereotypical athlete. Just working out all the time. And I'm sure he's the only one who got my mother's hair colour. So he's a redhead. He's also a few years older than me, of course. Always a bit loud, such a brother, who constantly asks you when you're finally going to bring someone home and always wants to get you to train." Number 2: Thomas "Tom" Potter.

"Now that sounds like it's going to be mostly brothers? Don't you want a sister?" now Dean asked again and could definitely see the slightly tense look on the others' faces. They probably didn't feel much like being turned into a woman by the potion.

Harry thought again. Then shook his head. "Well, not to sound mean, but I'd think only brothers were kind of cool. Don't know why either," he replied. The four other men nodded. Of course, they would have done the same for Harry, but they were a little relieved.

They took a short break and ordered another round of drinks, Seamus meticulously making sure Harry didn't see anything when he went to the toilet for a moment.

"This is going very well already, but don't you think he might get suspicious? After all, the article about my uncle's potion was in the paper just the other day," Seamus whispered. But the others shook their heads. "Potions don't interest Harry. I don't think he even subscribes to the Daily Prophet any more. For well-known reasons," Ron said with a shrug. Seamus' worried expression disappeared somewhat. After all, this rag was almost unbearable. And it had only been a very small article.

The owner of the Three Broomsticks was bringing the drinks when Harry returned. The others wasted no time and continued asking.

"Oh, now they would be younger than me. Maybe one who's also as good at Quidditch as me, but started at the Ministry instead. Hmm. Oh, I bet he likes to travel around. Oh, yes, he'll be totally out of the family’s scheme, he'll end up blond – must be the same genes my cousin got," Harry said with a laugh, imagining how strange it must be if there were blond Potters. Then again, the purebloods were all related to each other. Surely there had been a Potter-Malfoy connection once. Harry shuddered a little at the thought, but that was long enough ago.

"Do you have a name there too?"

"Christopher, Chris for short," Harry replied. He thought it was a nice name. Number 3: Christopher „Chris“ Potter.

The quill next to Seamus continued to fly over the parchment, noting these details as well. "It sounds like you're going to be a very sporty family," Ron noted, and he almost felt something like a little envy at the very idea. It sounded like such a great family, although of course he loved his very much too.

"Guess my dad, but also Sirius would have been really behind it. And if it wasn't Quidditch, I'm sure Mum would have been all over that with Muggle sports. At least, that's what the people who knew my parents always said," Harry mused aloud, looking into his half-emptied glass. It was a bit strange to think about all that, wasn't it? Nevertheless, Harry also wished deep in his heart that it could be true after all.

"Then the only thing missing is the nestling, the youngest brother, what about him, Harry?" asked Seamus, fearing that the parchment would not be enough. But he couldn't add more, Harry would notice.

"I think he'd be a bit of a handful. A bit self-absorbed, maybe a bit arrogant," Harry thought of what his father had been like as a teenager. That had to come through in a child of his, after all. "And very Potter'esque in appearance again. You know, in my mind it's one of those guys who hit puberty early and shows off his beard... Dorian would fit in well with that. Little show-off Dorian..." Harry's voice was getting quieter towards the end. Number 4: Dorian Potter.

Seamus dared a cursory glance at the list, only to exhale in relief. It had all fitted on there! "But honestly, guys, you're up to something, aren't you?" suddenly came from Harry and the four men's hearts stopped for a moment. Great. They hadn't expected Harry to get suspicious. He looked at them one by one through his round glasses before laughing.

"Just kidding, just kidding, what could you do? Just don't tell Hermione or she'll want to talk to me about it for ages again. And now cheers, guys, we'll switch to something with more alcohol I suggest," Harry said, rubbing his eyes before beckoning Madam Rosmerta to order Firewhiskey. Dean, Ron, Seamus and the so far very quiet Neville were visibly relieved. The evening was a lot of fun and shortly before midnight they were kindly kicked out of the pub. Harry said goodbye, he wanted to visit Hagrid again. While they waved goodbye to Harry, Seamus pressed the information hidden under his jacket tightly to himself. Now he could get everything ready.

This was just before Christmas Eve. Seamus' uncle had sent him four portions of potion. With instructions. They still needed some of Harry's hair, though. Luckily, when Harry had visited the Weasleys, he had leaned against a spot that had a glue spell on it because that was where a picture was supposed to go. In a flash, Ron plucked the hair down and put it in a small jam jar from his mother's kitchen before anyone else noticed.

On the 24th of December, it was all going to take place. They had arranged to meet at Harry's house. For a relaxed afternoon with some drinks. The four men waited outside the front door for Harry to open it for them. "Everyone’s ready? Everyone got the vial with them?" asked Seamus, pacing nervously. They all nodded. "And that's really secure? Nothing can go wrong?" inquired Neville anxiously. "Yes, Neville, everything's okay."

Then Harry opened the door and they walked together into his living room, the small vial in each of their hands. "We have a surprise for you," Ron announced their plan to his best friend without explaining it in detail. Harry's questioning expression changed to confusion as the four men stripped down to their underpants.

Ron screwed up his face as he choked down the dark green liquid. No sooner had it reached his stomach than he felt something change in him. His already rather tall figure, compared to Harry's, stretched even further until he towered over even Dean and was taller than the living room door he was standing next to. "Shit, you're short," he gasped, swaying. He had to be over 6’5’’ tall for sure. Now Ron really was the "big" brother for once.

For a moment, he seemed almost ridiculous, looking like a long, thin stick. Then his body began to fill with mass. His whole bone structure changed fundamentally. His limbs became thicker and more stable, only to be overlaid by thick strands of muscle shortly afterwards. Ron breathed heavily and his fingers twitched as they grew longer and stronger. His fingertips went numb briefly, and then the normally sensitive skin felt much firmer – as if those fingers had been in contact with guitar strings for many years. Ron's chest expanded and he was glad he had taken off his jumper. Either that would have been torn by his new pecs or his thick biceps. It burned briefly on his upper left arm. Wide-eyed, he could see lines of green ink snaking along under his skin. He couldn't resist and tensed his muscular arm a few times. That felt great, he thought, and grinned, even though he didn't know what the design was that had now appeared under his skin.

The grin quickly stopped, though, as the changes spread further up his body. His legs matched his torso and when it came to his feet, Ron had to sway again for a moment. Even before, he hadn't had small feet, but now his toes pushed through the maroon woollen socks until they were about size 16. For a second, nothing happened and Ron just looked down at himself. Then there was a crack and a crunch in his face. He made a sound of pain as his facial features shifted. A cleft formed in his chin, which protruded further and further forward. His brows became more pronounced; his nose lost its freckles and widened a little. Everything became more angular, a little older, and more mature. A few croaking sounds came from his now strong throat, Ron's voice changed. It became stronger, more sonorous, more melodic. Ron had to cough. He looked completely different. A muscular hulk, albeit with the typical red Weasley hair. But it was only a matter of seconds before that changed. Dark pigments seeped into the red hair from every root of a hair. Ron's chin and neck were covered in small dark spots, so many, so distinct, that he would probably never get rid of them, no matter how often he shaved. The beard shadow would always remain. On the rest of his body, however, almost all the hair, with the exception of his armpits, was receding, leaving him almost hairless. With one last shake of his darkening hair, it grew longer and longer. Piece by piece, like a waterfall, they grew and only stopped at about the level of Ron's no less impressive pecs. The last thing to change was Ron's blue eyes, which turned the same emerald green as Harry's. Everyone stared at the giant.

Everyone stared at the giant who was about to open his mouth. But a small swirl of green and black surrounded the man and shortly afterwards he was dressed in a pair of black, body-hugging trousers and a dark green shirt, also quite tight, with a matching belt. His feet were in huge black boots with heavy heels. "Cool, with dressing up included," Ron said, slapping a hand over his mouth. His voice boomed in the room and then he looked at his best friend, to whom a family resemblance was now increasingly obvious. He stood in front of him, speechless.

"Giles Potter, nice to meet you, little brother – let's headbang sometime soon again," Ron/Giles said with a grin and pulled the much smaller Harry into a tight hug. When he let go, he couldn't resist stroking through his long dark hair. It felt very different from Harry's. The colour was right, but the texture was quite different; strong yes, but flowing rather than unruly. Then he saw the look Harry was giving him. Was this how Bill always felt when the others looked at him? This felt great...

"You guys are crazy. Crazy!" said Harry breathlessly, but grinning broadly, and couldn't help looking at his best friend, who now looked like his fictional eldest brother, again with awe and also a little envy. Ron/Giles had meanwhile made himself comfortable in Harry's armchair and sat there with his legs spread wide. He felt his muscles and was clearly pleased with his choice. To be the big brother, had been his dream! On his wrist he found one of those pigtail elastics and so, on a trial basis, he tied his hair back into a ponytail. "Come on, little Bro, that's what friends are for. Or family," Ron/Giles said and patted the embarrassed looking Harry on the back.

Now Dean stepped forward and drained his flask in one go. "And it gets crazier!" It tasted something like stale beer, he thought, and just like after that drink he had to burp loudly. A few times the air escaped Dean and with each time his tall, lean figure shrank a good bit until he had lost about 6 inches and stopped 5’6’’. "Oh God, what... buuuuurp... is that just... buuuuuurp?", Dean tried to say between several burps. The fact that he was suddenly as tall as Harry confused him. So this was what it all looked like from their eye level?

His skin began to tickle as if he had sat down in an anthill. Dean looked down at his hands and saw the dark colour of his skin fade. Light, white, almost rosy skin took its place.

Suddenly, Dean's muscles under the skin began to go crazy – they twitched and moved on their own. With each of these movements, they grew larger. Dean's arms swelled until his biceps were about the same size as his head. Pectoral muscles pushed forward from his slender chest, which after only a few seconds no longer allowed him to look past his chest during his deepening breaths. His shoulders widened until it was evident that he would have difficulty putting on normal shirts without them fitting tightly all over his torso. What had previously been long slender fingers were compressed and widened – perfect for lifting heavy weights. Calluses appeared in Dean's palms.

"Look at that, it's almost as thick as a quaffle," Dean said with a grin, straining both his upper arms into a double pose. He'd seen this on TV before, but now he could do it by himself! Then he arched his back as six abs rose from his stomach and his shoulders broadened a little more. He gasped a little. And had to belch again. A long belch seemed to come from an deepening throat. "Fuck man, this sucks!" His voice had changed, sounding deeper, but also somehow like someone who didn't have too much to offer intellectually. Or maybe it was just the incessant belching that escaped Dean's throat. A twitch ran through his body, swelling vessels made their way under the pale skin and Dean felt like he was in an energy rush. This energy was now flowing into his legs, which after a short time resembled giant watermelons. There was not a millimetre of space between them, and at the same time his buttocks hardened, stretching the boxers almost to their limit.

There was silence for a moment and Dean was tempted to let his pectoral muscles dance for a moment, but then thousands of ants seemed to crawl over his head. His short black hair fell out, but he didn't stay bald for long. Soon, russet hairs pushed through the skin and grew until a crew cut adorned Dean's head. The same red hairs now crept down his cheeks and covered the cracking bones that formed a pointed chin, of his face. Dean was losing more and more of his own features as his nose narrowed, his lips became a little fuller, but getting more and more of those looks that were familiar from Harry's mother. With a final hunching of his muscular, yet quite compact body, his dark brown eyes took on a hazel hue. The same swirl as before with Ron briefly enveloped the red-haired man, leaving him in a skin-tight dark T-shirt under which every contour of his strong shoulders and chest could be read even from a distance. Or rather had to, because there was hardly any room for interpretation.

Dean had to blink for a moment. The shirt felt unfamiliar, normally he preferred slightly looser clothing. But, he wasn't himself at the moment. Therefore, he tested out his new muscles and moved his arms, did a few poses and made his pecs dance. Then he turned to Harry with a slightly inane grin as he stroked his red beard. "Yo, little bro, name's Chris – thick, strong and ready for a workout. Come on, come with me, no one can look at these little noodle arms, you won't find anyone that way," Dean/Chris chuckled and gave Harry a hug now too. "Merlin, De-Chris, you stink," Harry squeezed out of the hug. Astonished, Dean/Chris seperated and raised his arms, sniffing. A good dose of body odour wafted towards him, the kind you probably had if you were a typical athlete and worked out all the time. Only now did he see that a rather thick bush of red hair was pushing its way under his arms. "Shower coming up, phew," Dean said, bringing his arms back down. He had fallen out of character for a moment. Shrugging his shoulders and flexing, he walked over to Giles/Ron and gave him a bro fist before settling down equally wide-legged on the sofa behind Harry. He admired his changed shape a little more, feeling so energetic and also a little curious as to how much he could lift now... then he had to burp again. It still tasted a bit like beer.

"I don't know whether to be amazed at what my siblings could have looked like, or disappointed because I seem to have gotten so little of all the good genes," Harry said, shaking his head and pointing at the two figures on the sofa and armchair. "Let's see, maybe you can feel a little better when you can see your first younger brother," Seamus replied, now downing the potion in his turn.

As with the other two, Seamus' height changed significantly, but as he was only 5’15’’ tall to begin with, a 7 inches increase in height felt quite a lot. His short stature stretched into length, much of which seemed to arrive at his legs. Soon Seamus had long, slender legs, but they would let him down again in terms of height when he sat. "Welcome to the realms of the normal-sized people," Dean/Chris called from the sofa, chuckling. "I'm taller than you now, you weirdo, let – my goodness, this feels weird," Seamus was about to reply when dark spots appeared all over his skin. Like a brush dancing across a bright canvas, a tan spread over Seamus' body that you could only get from regular sunbathing.

From his hands, visible but not so large vessels snaked along under his skin. Wherever they had passed a patch of skin, slender muscles appeared and the brown hair on Seamus' body lost its dark colour and changed to a golden hue. This was accompanied by a feeling as if Seamus had actually been lying in the sun for several hours, his skin became warm, a few grains of sand or some dried salt water appeared here and there.

Slight pockets of fat that he might have gotten from a little too much ale over the last few years disappeared, exposing a six-pack adorned by a dark blond treasure trail. What came next was quite uncomfortable for Seamus – crunching bones shifted in his body. Fingers and feet lengthened, the same blond hairs spread all over his body, but they were generally barely visible. He contorted his face, which now took on a completely different shape – what had been roundish now became elongated and slender, the chin much more accentuated, while a short goatee appeared. The blond hair crept along his cheeks and when it met his main hair, it took on the same colour, became slightly longer and unruly. To top it off, Seamu's eyes took on a blue-green-brown colour. He cleared his throat. His larynx grew a little larger, the Irish accent he had had all his life disappeared. He too disappeared into the little vortex and stood afterwards in Harry's living room dressed in flip flops, a necklace and swimming shorts, raising his hands in a double Victory sign.

"Hey, thought I'd check on my big brother after my holiday...er, ministry assignment in the Maldives, in case you forgot about me, Chris," Seamus/Chris said and he hugged Harry as well. Harry sneezed as sand trickled into his nose from Seamus/Chris' hair. "That – atchoo – didn't make it any better, but let's face it, seeing Potter hair in blonde is weird," Harry replied, sneezing, as Seamus/Chris, shrugging his shoulders, sat down next to his "brothers" and started rubbing sand off his skin and throwing it off the others. He felt very comfortable, the sand between his toes felt nice and his skin gave off a pleasant sea scent.

The last to stand was Neville, probably still a little indecisive, in front of the four men, who by the looks of them could probably all be called Potter now. Harry was still grinning, but the grin disappeared somewhat when he saw how dissatisfied Neville looked. The others noticed it too. Neville was nowhere near as shy as he used to be, but sometimes he did worry a little too much.

"Come on, we want to make this family complete - don't worry about it, come on, let Dorian show up," Ron/Giles said in his loud voice that made the room tremble a little. "Yo, Bro, you can do this," Dean/Tom followed up, giving both thumbs up, not without giving his upper arms an extra flex. Neville looked at the vial of potion, then at Harry. He had wanted to join in after all, because he wanted to please Harry. He swallowed. Nothing would go wrong, Seamus had asked his uncle after all. "All right, here we go..." he mumbled and the others clapped as he put the vial to his lips.

A taste quite similar to bad orange juice spread through Neville's mouth but quickly disappeared. Then nothing happened. He looked down at himself in wonder. Then it felt like hundreds, thousands of needles were poking through his skin. His whole body was tingling and Neville could hardly stand it. He scratched frantically everywhere he could reach bare skin. Harry looked at Seamus/Chris, but he just shrugged his shoulders in surprise, but was interrupted before he could say anything. Namely, by Neville's relieved sigh when it became apparent what was happening to him – thick, black hair erupted from his skin. It was the same colour as Ron/Giles', only it was even more curly.

"Merlin, is that a lot of hair...everywhere," Neville stammered, staring at his heaving chest. Gradually, his exposed skin disappeared and a thick carpet of black hair worked its way over the rest of his body. They sprouted upwards towards his neck, ending at the level of his collarbone and forming a small bush there that was probably always on display. Disbelievingly, Neville stroked through the thick rug and watched his armpits fill in, so that the hair was probably always visible, as his belly was covered. But that was not the end of it. Soon you could barely see anything of his legs.

"Okay, I didn't really want the genes either, Merlin's beard – no offence," Harry said, hearing a crunch as Neville's stature changed at the same time. Black hair was soon visible on his widening toes and fingers. Neville's hands still rested on his hairy chest, which was now rising. But not lowering afterwards. Like a yeast dough in a warm oven, his pecs, previously non-existent or covered by some fat, swelled and filled his hands. His arms grew stronger, made the hair of his armpits disappear somewhat. But the lower part of his body remained almost the same, only his buttocks became a little more muscular, his thighs a little more defined, but that was hardly visible under the hair anyway. It wasn't lean muscle like Seamus/Chris, but some fat remained. Before Neville could squeeze once, though, he felt the hair fill more parts of his body, like stuffing filling a pillow.

Something cracked in Neville's face, his features sharpened a little, but they didn't remain discernible for long, for the same black hairs as on his chest shot out of his face like weeds. Thicker and thicker, the skin on his face was already no longer visible, they covered his cheeks, his chin, his upper lip, until he could call a short full beard his own. Neville had to cough. His voice changed as the colour of the hair took possession of the rest of his head. His eyebrows thickened, as did the hair on his head. It grew a little longer and soon hung casually in slight curls in front of his forehead. The light eyes of Neville became the dark brown eyes of Dorian Potter. They didn't look shy, but exuded an aura of a certain self-absorption.

"Look at me, this beard, this body, I'm a gift of nature, me, Dorian Potter – I even allow my big brother Harry one hug, after all I’m way better looking than him," Neville/Dorian said and was surprised how well these words came over his lips, which usually didn't suit him at all. This time the vortex took a little longer to give the newly transformed Potter a shirt with the sleeves cut off and a simple pair of jeans. Harry's nose tickled as Neville/Dorian hugged him; the hair that peeked out at his collar and hung slightly over it was right at his face level.

No sooner had the two of them seperated and Neville/Dorian sat down on the sofa as well, than Harry turned and looked at his family. "You really are the best friends I could imagine – not everyone would turn into a fictional brother just like that for someone. I only have one question… why am I the only one who got the bad eyes, it's a mess!", Harry complained laughing out loud and the others joined in.

They spent the whole evening joking, laughing, playing their roles, sometimes being themselves again. But in the middle of a drinking game something happened. They all felt a strange sensation. It was as if heat was rising inside them. As if it were flowing through their veins. A collective groan went through the room. Something stirred in each man's crotch. Something that had been completely disregarded in this whole transformation thing. "Fuck, what's going on..." muttered Ron/Giles, noticing blood pooling in his midsection. And his cock was slowly pressing against his waistband. The others felt the same, only Harry was completely absorbed in reading the instructions of the game. They had to get out of here, something was weird here! Seamus/Chris, biting his lip, tried to give tactical signals but they could hardly concentrate. It was unbearable!

Synchronously, the friends rubbed their cocks in their trousers. They could do nothing about it. They touched their pulsating member and began to masturbate. It was the last step they knew nothing about. If they had an orgasm in their new form, they would lose their old identity. Ron/Giles' pubes were still red, but that was changing with every stroke, at the same time his balls were swelling. Potter seed replaced everything else, they were soon hanging low and he had to get them out too. The others felt the same. Their cocks grew longer, their balls heavier and fuller. Neville/Dorian's crotch and butt crack filled with black hair. They were almost there. They were close. Sweat was on all of their foreheads. They were...Harry's...fren...fr...brother...s. Their identities began to disappear to make way for the ones Harry had made up.

Ron was losing his memories of his situation as the youngest brother. Giles was the overseer, the cool overseer that his little brothers looked up to, and the one who followed his own plans. Who had become a musician. A Metal musician. Melodies rang in his head, he bobbed his head to those beats and with a shouted and guttural "YEAH!", he came.

Dean's mind seemed to shift completely into his quivering balls, his head feeling amazingly empty until that emptiness was filled with workout routines. Workout, protein shakes, workout, protein shakes, workout, occasional shower, workout. Beer. Lots of beer. Once again he belched from the depths of his throat, thrusting his pelvis forward and coming into his gym shorts with a grunt. A silly smile crept onto his face. Tom was ready for a workout!

Seamus' thoughts of the free time he so loved to spend in Ireland changed – images of beaches, palm trees, but also mountains of files from the ministry emerged. The wonderful feeling of warm sun on his skin, the smell of the sea in his nose, the countless people who always invited him for drinks. He groaned and filled his sandy swimming trunks with his seed. Chris was ready for a new adventure!

Neville's hands found his hairy chest, a desire for himself filling him. Coupled with a feeling that he was so exceedingly attractive. That he had grown a real beard so early. How sexy that made him. Neville stroked his partly visible nipples and, as he filled his trousers with his very special seed, the shy Neville became the self-absorbed Dorian who could never get enough of himself.

Harry, who had been oblivious to all this, now looked up. And wondered. Looking at the four men who were currently sitting in his living room, breathing heavily, he no longer saw his friends who had accompanied him. No. He saw his family. He saw his two older brothers talking about a new workout. How his youngest brother was looking at himself in the mirror, how his last brother was picking out a new destination for tomorrow. Brothers. He had brothers. He had... a family. But now he felt briefly out of place. But that was only briefly.

Harry's Weasley jumper burst open as his body changed too. Muscles stretched his skin, widened his slender Seeker stature. He remembered again. He went to work out with his brother Tom. He was relentless. All those push-ups. Bicep curls. Bench presses. Harry's shoulders widened, his pecs defined, his shoulder blades pushed his back apart. He remembered again. His brother Dorian had given him a cream so he could have a beard too, because he couldn't stand it anymore. Dark hair sprouted from Harry's face, spread over his chin and formed a short but shapely full beard. He remembered again. A few years ago, his brother Giles had persuaded him to let his hair grow long, too. At first, it had bothered him during training. Harry's hair lengthened and flowed over his broad shoulders where it formed a dark curtain. He lifted his hands and stroked his hair. He had got used to the feeling and now felt as cool as Giles. He remembered again. Thanks to his brother Chris, he had found a steady boyfriend on a holiday together during an impromptu photo shoot. Someone who loved the strong Potter hands. Harry's limbs grew stronger, the black hair on his body disappearing down his chest but remaining below the waistline. Oh yes, his boyfriend. Harry licked his lips, enjoying the scratchy feel of his beard, closed his eyes. His trousers were getting tighter. Before he knew it, his skin-tight boxers were filled with masses of seed in his heavy balls just waiting to be released. And as he thought of that, Harry came into his trousers, Bracelets appeared on his wrist. He opened his eyes again. There sat his brothers, holding out a glass of Firewhiskey to him. Grinning, Harry accepted it and drank it on ex. Bro time was the best time!

[occamstfs]

Philter Out

Obsessed with a man he's lucky to still get the time of day from, Xavier tries a Hail Mary love potion only to become the brainless man of Felix's dreams.

Classiccc love potion TF with a slight emphasis on Xavier's dumbing down! Hope you enjoy his obsessive trek towards a simpler, hairier life! -Occam

Workplace friends probably does a good enough job at summing up their relationship. They were the briefest of flings turned simple coworkers once more. Sure probably closer than anyone else, but as Xavier watches Felix wander around their small office making sure everyone’s cheery, he can’t help but crave something more.

If he could spend his whole life observing, talking to, being with Felix- Well, he could scarcely think of anything more preferable. He’d love to have the man under a microscope if not in bed next to him, Xavier yearns to know what makes him tick, if only to enjoy his presence all the more. 

Such intimacy is not necessary for Xavier to admit that to him, Felix is absolutely the perfect package. From the moment Xavier saw him he could hardly contain his crush. After spending time with him enough to learn that he is also charming, intelligent, and, in a more shallow vein, rich- well how could Xavier ever resist!

The only thing is, as is often the most pressing dilemma in one-sided relationships, it that the relationship is now starkly one-sided. In their brief trial relationship Felix was quick to break it off. They’re just not all that compatible, he said. Xavier told himself he’s just not enough. But given time, given resources, perhaps he could be.

Harkening back to his undergrad days, Xavier staves off sulking as he remembers his college roommate, and, more pressingly, the memory of what happened to him long repressed. Jeremy was a lifelong Longhorn Basketball fan, grew up obsessed and wanted more than anything to be on the team. Being 5’2” and asthmatic, there was never any actual possibility there and by the time he was accepted to the school any hope that he’d have a miraculous growth spurt had long since faded.

That is, until a true miracle presented itself. Thinking back, Xavier can’t believe he forgot this. All this time he couldn’t make sense why he was friends with a professional basketball player, why it took Jeremy who seemed outright made to play basketball two years to join the team. Because before Jeremy was the six four miracle for the team, he was a dweeby fanboy.

And now just in time, as if delivered into his mind when he needs it most, Xavier remembers the small hole in the wall shop Jeremy visited before his drastic change. Unable to wait even a second longer, Xavier takes an early lunch and sprints the few downtown blocks to a small hovel crammed between two bars- designed to totally escape one’s notice until it demands your entry.

Obeying his desires and ignoring the sinister crackle of air changing as he steps inside, Xavier’s mouth falls open as he inspects the strange colorful jars and arcane tchotchkes that fill the ostentatious suite. Normally he’s averse to browsing, but his curiosity burns with an intensity that’s not to be sated. Reaching for a small snowglobe, Xavier’s delighted watching its flakes spinning up as his hand nears. Just before Xavier can touch it though, he feels his neck turned for him to see what can only be described as a witch.

Small, wrinkled, and grinning, she holds forth a small bottle and without a thought Xavier sprints past incomprehensible artifacts and grabs it from her hand. The witch’s words wander into his mind without her opening her mouth. ‘Twill make ye into the perfect man for wee Felix. Put some thought inta what that means fore ye never do so ‘gian’

The sentiment just as quickly flies through his other ear as he feels himself propelled out of the store. Back on the street Xavier turns to find a blank alley wall. One brick dislodges and for a brief moment he hears the cackling voice for a final time, ‘Ai! And do take care o’ cross contamination an’ the like Ta! Ah haha ha!’

Narrowing his eyes as the brick relays itself, Xavier plans to write the whole thing off as a manic episode before he feels the small vial in his hands. Looking closely at the rosy glass he sees Philter of Longing inscribed upon it. Stowing it in his pocket, he checks his watch to see how much time has passed and, with a gasp, he starts his brisk walk back to work.

Returning to his desk, Xavier spritzes himself with cologne he always uses to fish out a compliment from Felix before sitting with a sigh. Potion burning a hole in his pocket, he can wait no longer. Wrenching it free, he ravenously pours the elixir on his tongue and swallows. So preoccupied by its strange taste, Xavier doesn’t spare a thought towards proper usage of this impossible magic, ethically or otherwise.

Mouth puckering with intense acidity, it burns as he chokes it down with a grunt. He swears he can feel it land in his empty stomach, and as soon as it does his arms bristle with goosebumps as his heart races. Suddenly on edge, he jumps out of his seat when Felix stands and leans on his cubicle.

“Hey Zayyyy~ you smell great!” Heeheehee~ Xavier struggles to stop a grin from showing as he puts his arms behind his head. Looking up at Felix peacefully smiling, he wonders if he should try and figure out what kinda hottie he’s going to become. Mind buzzing more with every passing second, subtlety isn’t an option as Xavier opens his mouth.

“Sooo, uh- I know we promised not to talk guys since- well you know.” Felix waits for the other shoe to drop, “But! But! I was just thinking there’s uhh, there’s a guy! Yeah I want to set you up with someone but I’m not sure if he’s your type.”

Despite himself, Felix blushes. Looking bashfully away, he misses the slight fistpump Xavier does to celebrate his real masterwork deception. 

“Well, I would say I don’t really have a type y’know. It’s just kinda there or it’s not if that makes sense.” Keeping as stoic an expression as he can, Xavier tries not to take that as an insult, “But I mean, if you’re twisting my arm about it~ Well who isn’t into a bit of beef, like, a himbo if you know what that is?”

Nodding slowly Xavier gets that, big muscly guys what’s not to like. Not forgetting the philtir still bubbling in his stomach he lets a smirk show, he certainly wouldn’t mind gaining a few pounds. His thin arms are completely obscured by his shirt as he flexes. “No wonder we didn’t work out then, you know I like to stay trim heh!” 

Paying his joke no mind, Felix slowly nods, “Y’know, kinda? I think it’s more of a personality thing though. I can get stuck in my head a lot so it’d be nice to be with someone who’s less of a thinker. Does that make sense?”

Felix can almost see the ellipses appear over Xavier’s head as he narrows his eyes in thought and judgement, “You wanna date an idiot?” 

“That’s- well I mean, kinda yeah? What’s the deal with your guy then?”

“My guy?”

“Ugh! Xavier! You didn’t want to set me up, you just- Whatever girl, I’m going to lunch.”

Perking up, Xavier feels somehow even more pulled to follow his work-crush than usual. “Oh sweet, I’m starvinggg can I come?” Bolting up he finds his forehead bumped by Felix’s hand as his coworker pushes him back into his office chair.

“Zay? You just got back from lunch, did you not eat?”

“Oh shit, yeah I uh, went to the uh, pharmacy? Yeah.”

“Hmmmm… Well I guess I can grab you something, even though you’re being a little ass today~” Felix’s generally touchy feely so reaching out to ruffle Xavier’s hair isn’t out of the ordinary, but as his fingers connect he can’t help but notice something feels different between them. Patting him once on the head, he briefly inspects the man staring at him a little more longingly than he’s comfortable with. 

Turning before he sends any mixed signals, out of sight Felix can’t help but think that Xavier does look a little more attractive than usual? His clothes are sitting better, almost like he’s filling them out more? Whatever, clock’s on and it’s time to go grab, for himself and Xavier apparently, something to eat. “Oh! And do finish that report if you could Zay babe, I’ll have a look when I’m back! See ya~”

And with that there’s a Felix shaped hole distracting Xavier from his work. Having begun sweating as soon as he drank the philter, sitting at his desk he feels the all-encompassing heat continuing to rise. Pulling at his collar, Xavier accidentally pops a button off sending a wafting wave of b.o. into his face. “Bwoof-”

Looking down, Xavier finds two impossible to miss stains in his pits. Wandering away from his desk to ensure their boss isn’t in, Xavier lets loose a sigh of relief as he rushes to change into something a little breathier. Yanking out a change of clothes he keeps in case he ever decides to go to the gym, Xavier feels the button up strain and he smirks. Who needs the gym.

Sure that there’s no downside as his feet are suddenly pinched by dress shoes, Xavier stumbles into the bathroom and locks the door. Squeezes his thicker arms free from his shirt, he laughs at just how much his body has changed. Checking out his sharper jaw as his hair darkens and flops longer, Xavier almost forgets where he is and reaches down to start masturbating. 

Shaking out of his most primal urge, Xavier settles on just posing in the mirror and checking out his new bod. Experiencing what it’s like to truly be proud of the man in the mirror, his excitement at bulging biceps rapidly becomes cockiness. Who can blame him, he’s already so much hotter. Time flies as he delights in the muscle amassing more onto his upper body with each grunting flex.

Kicking off his shoes as they approach two sizes larger, his eyes trail up his thicker legs. Making a note of the thicker hair beginning to coat them, Xavier rubs his burning hot thighs as they already begin to strain his new shorts. “Fucccckk~” There’s some distinct vocal fry in his voice as his fingers trail across every growing muscle.

Tickling the rows of abs carving into his stomach and grasping at pecs beginning to form, it’s unclear how long this new outfit is going to last on his growing form. Putting off further inspection of his body as he feels ass suddenly expand enough to compete with the bulge growing larger in front, Xavier leans in close to the mirror to inspect his changing face.

Obviously he knew he’d be more handsome in some vague sense but it’s truly bizarre to see his face irrevocably change. Pores shrinking as his jaw squares and his darkening hairline reclaims half an inch of forehead, Xavier feels sideburns and other stubble prickling on his cheeks and chin. Before he can truly revel in new facial hair though, he makes eye contact with his mirror-self and gasps. 

Sea blue irises lose their lustre as from the pupil outward crystalline brown speckles begin to overtake their watery blue. Drying up as they do so, Xavier can’t help but blink. By the third the blue eyes he had always adored are completely gone. Beyond the superficial color though, there’s a dullness beginning to creep in. Upper eyelids slightly droopier, his resting expressions slightly more placid. The light behind his eyes dimmer

When someone knocks on the door he clears his throat and shoots out a “One sec!” Adjusting his package as he hears his rougher voice, Xavier shoots one last pose at the mirror, apathetic to how his midriff is already exposed. Scratching pubes growing up into a treasure trail on his way out of the bathroom, the impatient accountant outside can hardly recognize him.

Scoffing at the boor abandoning dress code, when the mousy man enters the bathroom to find clothes discarded and an aura of pervasive musk he can hardly believe himself. Turning back to confront the man trodding down the hallway he finds Xavier already gone, sweaty footprints in his wake. 

The busybody’s lip twitches as he whines, “I can’t believe someone so thoughtless works here!” Already drafting a complaint to HR, when Xavier returns to his desk it is increasingly clear that tidiness shall not be his only barrier to continued employment.

“Oh Shit!” Losing track of time yet again, Xavier falls into his office chair and frantically boots up his computer. Staying strong, he ignores the sound of the chair creaking under his new weight as he takes a minute to adjust to his new palm size. Clumsier fingers eventually log in just before he’s locked out of his account for good.

Face to face with his desktop, he groans mindlessly for a moment before tabbing over to Teams and opening the report sent to him. Should be a cake walk, the easiest thing in the world. Scrolling up and down the document, Xavier can scarcely remember where to start. Eyes glaze over as he tries to read a cell. Thoughts slow as he tries to even remember what each column stands for without scrolling to the top to remind himself.

“God what’suh- Where do I..?”

Squinting, his confusion rapidly begins to grow into a headache as formulae and procedures begin to almost dissolve from his memory. The bright screen burns his darker, duller eyes as he stares blankly at the first hurdle. He knows how to do this, he swears. He’s done it hundreds, no, thousands of times. Basically the expert! Basically the fuckin’ uhhh king! Yeah!

Hands have a hard time staying on the keyboard as his throbbing bulge strains against underwear that certainly did not grow with him. Across his body whatever hair continues to flourish and prickle darkens even further as his fatter fingers play with the thickening pubes masquerading as a treasure trail.

Desperate to sneak a peak, Xavier looks away from that shitty stupid-hard report to inspect something harder. Having to actually lean to look past the new pecs still twitching larger on chest, Xavier feels his cock strain his pants even further. Stubble on his chin surges into a beard and as it scratches his neck he delights to a degree that he almost loses himself altogether.

Moaning out a “fuccckkk~” in his new baritone, Xavier sucks up drool he didn’t know he was spilling as his hips almost reflexively gyrate in his creaking seat. Reaching down, he pulls up a shirt to expose his hardening body before biting his lip at the mind numbing sight. If only Felix could see him now. The idea sends a shiver down his spine as he expands in every direction at the thought.

Rubbing his built abs with a meaty guffaw, he almost falls back in his chair when he realizes Felix can see him! He’s just gotta send a pic! Laughing at his brainfog, his smirk fades a little as he realizes how much acuity he’s losing. As if he’d possibly be able to remember what acuity even means.

Glee returns easily enough as he snaps a few thirst traps to send over to Felix. He simply can’t get over how good he looks. Staring at just how thick his bicep and pecs are, Xavier just keeps looping the live picture to see the muscle fibres twitch as he presses the button. With each repeat the eyes watching lose even more lustre. 

The already hopeless report fades from his mind as the memory of ever doing analysis of any kind becomes anathe- far too complicated for his increasingly rudimentary mind. As it stands however, the task does not simply disappear and after yet again reminding himself that he can’t just masturbate at his desk, he looks up just in time to see his monitor fade to black. His computer going to sleep,

“Fuck!” he shouts far too loudly. 

Racing back to the keyboard he slams a few keys to try and wake it up in vain. This is chill, it’s okay. He’s just gotta, he’s just gotta remember his log in. And then he’ll remember how to file or do whatever he has to do for Felix. And then Felix will be so proud of him!

The idea fills him with warmth as if it were the only thing in the world, making Felix proud. When the thought of what follows that fills him his cock finally strains his underwear to its breaking points. Clenching his jaw he barely avoids tearing off his pants. Gotta focus. For Felix.

Pastword “Ah shit, typoed” password “Wait no, that wouldn’t be my…” Xavier123 “no… not that… Oh!” Felix123! “Shit…” 

One attempt remaining.

Xavier wracks his brain, pulls out all the stops, desperately tries to remember what he could’ve possibly put as his password. Taking a few deep breaths, Xavier finds himself breathing solely through his mouth now, as if he ever knew any different. Staring at the warning message on his screen, at last the idea comes to him and he starts to enter what simply must be his password

In the end it doesn’t matter what thoroughly calculated password he summoned forth. As soon as he starts rushing to type, still unaccustomed to his heavier hands, he fatfingers the enter key trying to hit shift and is met with a damning message to contact his server administrator. Not like it matters now of course, he can’t remember who that even is, or what a server adminwhatever would even do.

Allowing the screen fade back to black once more, Xavier is met with his chiseled bearded face atop a thick neck and thicker shoulders. Seeing dense, dark curls of chest hair creeping up his neck, feeling even widespread patches race down his massive thighs and across his wide feet, Xavier sighs.

Wondering what he’s going to tell Felix upon his return, Xavier tries to get the gears rolling on an excuse. But after trying for half a second to think of a defense he throws in the towel. His pupils quiver as he realizes just how much his mind has dulled. A second longer spent thinking about it makes him wonder what he even has to make an excuse about, did Felix ask him to do something?

Feeling his chest pang as Felix returns to the forefront of his mind, he can’t find it within himself to be concerned with the increasing vacancies in his too-busy brain. With a sigh he feels the blissful veil of ignorance stretch deeper than he thought anything rightly could. Thoughtless grin on his face, the Xavier who greedily wandered into that shop for a ticket to convince Felix to date him is no more.

In his place is a half-dressed, sweaty, hairy man struggling to get too-tight socks off as he hears Felix return to the office. Turning around like a leaf to the sun, Xavier’s eyes alight with simple ecstasy. “Felix~ You’re back~” His baritone dances even more than it did when he was a tenor, his joy apparent with every crest and fall.

Looking upon the brute of a man getting his sweat all over Xavier’s chair, Felix is of two minds. The first and most reasonable telling him to call security regarding the half-nude intruder. But, staring in shock at the man, seeing the innocence in his eyes, how he hangs on to Felix’s every movement, Felix blushes as he realizes just how predominant Id is within one’s mind.

“Hey, hi, uhm sir? Have you seen someone named Xavier around?”

Nodding and rushing over, Xavier’s face somehow lights up even more, “Yeah! Felix, it’s me! I’m better, you like me now, right?!”

Mind going a mile a minute, Felix can’t make heads or tails, and the cock growing harder in his pants is doing nothing to help. It can’t be him, right? Taking a deep breath to think, Felix’s lungs are flooded with a fraction of the musk radiating off Xavier. Head so close to the man’s pits, it’s a wonder he’s still standing.

Eyes nearly as glazed over as Xavier’s now always are, Felix puts all conscious thought on hold as his mouth falls ajar, wanting more than anything to feel Xavier’s lips on his own. Needier than ever, he’s happy to comply. Leaning down he kisses Felix and feels more pleasure than he can fathom. 

Half-cumming already, he rears back as an echo resounds in his empty skull, magically dumbed down for his simpler mind ‘careful about yer cooties ye plonker!’ Xavier isn’t quite sure what a plonker is but looking down at Felix he quickly wipes his lips on his glistening arm. Too little too late as the witch’s spell has consequences well beyond what she’d intended.

Tail suddenly between his legs, Xavier starts to whine out an explanation of the second hand dose Felix must have just received. Racing through his increasingly spotty memory of the last hour in a bit, struggling often due to his still-shrinking vocab and faculties, Xavier leaves Felix agog and stunned. After a bit he looks up tilting his head, “Well I mean if it just makes me your perfect match, then I shouldn’t change all that much right?”

Nodding excitedly, gladder than anything that Felix is exercising grace regarding trying to manipulate him with magic. Dread fills his eyes as Felix’s sun-kissed blond begins to darken and his jaw begins to shadow with stubble. “What? Something on my face?”

At the sound of shirt sleeves struggling to contain his biceps, Felix realizes what’s going on and takes control of the situation. Ushering his apparent perfect lover out the door and into his car, he has Xavier draft an email to their boss which he must rewrite from scratch, even as his body creaks and cracks amassing strength.

Racing home, often having to adjust his hands on the wheel due to lengthening arms and spasming biceps, Felix ushers Xavier in to inspect his apparently new body. Suffice to say, he’s certainly not disappointed by his wider chest and heavier package. Turning to Xavier whose eyes have scarce left Felix since he returned from lunch, well Felix can scarcely think of a better test run for his new robust self.

It doesn’t take long for the pair to settle into their new bodies, their new lives. Xavier is ever content as long as he’s by Felix’s side, it’s what he was made for after all. For his part Felix is quite pleased with his new muscular form, clearly influenced by Xavier getting off on his own changes under the effects of the Philter of Longing.

Speaking of, Felix bears no ill will to his new liver, it was after all an action taken by a different man, one not nearly to his taste as his new brainless eye-candy. Checking himself out in the mirror, as he does often, Felix can’t imagine things turning out any better.

[mr-haitch-but-lewd]

Aron isn't having a great time at camp until he's claimed and finds that other boys should be dumb strong meatheads just like him. Anonymous Commission

[occamstfs]

Zero to Hero

In a world with superpowered celebrities, how could one not long to join them. Despite discovering his own cerebral abilities, Shirong/Zero always longed for the flashier sort of strength. When he finally gets the call up to the big leagues, he’ll get just that- though not quite how he always dreamed.

Went a little crazy with this one haha! Bit different than it was on the poll and with quite a long preamble before the TF, which starts at the red 0 0 0 if you want to skip straight to the action ;) Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this story of a hero unknowingly giving up his brain for some brawn! -Occam

Everyone wants to be a superhero. You grow up your whole life watching the Hero Corps jetting around, saving lives, doing flashy photo ops. It’s no wonder every kid out there wants to follow in Mustang’s or Lady Libertas’ footsteps. 

Shirong Ling was not exempt from the sway of these heroes and heroines. Again, who could be. All his youth the young son of second generation immigrants pushed himself to his limit, toiling as hard as he can athletically to end up a bench warmer and max out his lifts at what actual athletes label a warmup. Physically, Shirong plateaued before he even began. 

In just about every other regard, the young man excelled with flying colors. Something of a tech whiz, every adult in his life keeps him on retainer for ever-needed support. He aced rigorous course loads and went above and beyond in any non-athletic extracurriculars, though despite that all he still struggles to accept he’ll never see his name in lights.

His parents longed to see him happy and worried the glitz and glamor of those oiled up superstars was doing irreparable damage to their young man’s ego. After graduating he was on the precipice of finally accepting that it’s just going to be a civilian’s life for him. And then, it happened. 

As is more often the case, Shirong just woke up one day and had superpowers. Quite the bizarre one, the information age youth found himself with the ability to access anything on the internet with his mind. Finally it all made sense to the student, just like his parents said, he had misplaced his priorities though mind now brimming with ever increasing knowledge he’s certain they were not correct in the way they intended.

In terms of the U.S. Hero Corps operations, he was a brainiac. Some superhuman with ultra-enhanced intelligence or similar mind-based paranormal powers. Indisputably useful and outright necessary for any of the hero teams bustling about the world. No team can truly function without heroes like Shirong is to be, though rarely does one have the star power or flat out endurance to make the mainstage and headline a team. 

Knowing this, as well as anything else he forces his awareness to understand, as soon as he honed his skills enough to be useful Shirong hatched a plan. Filled with the confidence of an upstart grappling with unlimited power, he knows exactly how he can be one of the greats. After a few years stateside of using his nigh-limitless knowledge to solve problems that have long plagued just about every field that he has the slightest interest in, when the USHC makes a call for new heroes the multihyphenate is quick to answer. 

Unfortunately for the young hero, he doesn’t even make it in the room, his brand simply isn’t strong enough. They already have a brainiac and Shirong doesn’t even have a logo or heroic deed to his name. Returning home to a bedroom filled wall to wall with degrees he barely lifted a finger to earn, he chides himself for not taking this seriously enough. Spending that night learning everything there is to know about the USHC and their recruitment process.

The next morning he rises a new man and broadens his horizons. Almost immediately into his research he hears that the Beijing chapter of the ZYL has an unexpected need for a new brainiac. Before the sun sets across the Atlantic, Shirong has applied with a new alias and persona. Zhihui 0, Zhìhuì Líng, literally Wisdom Zero. 

Pitching himself as a returning wayward son to that most ancient of nations, as well as a fresh new tech savvy immigrant hero, the Beijing chapter is more than happy to welcome him onboard. He masters Mandarin, Xiang, and Cantonese on the flight over. The whole thing goes as well as he had expected his application to the USHS would, not that he’s bothered. Known mononymously as Zero to his new team, he fits in swimmingly and in little time at all finds himself quickly making waves and getting heat that brainiacs seldom enjoy. 

Never pick of the litter mind, but Zero is reaching heights in Beijing that any man in the van usually struggles to do. Almost as much effort is spent spreading his name as doing good. Zero’s happy to find that the Chinese audience seems primed for a young waifish heartthrob in a way that American fans of the USHC don’t appreciate nearly as much. Faster than he even expected he’s tagging along to group events and glitzy photo shoots. 

With each bound forward and new height of his rising star, Zero never lets himself forget that this whole jaunt abroad is but a stepping stone towards American Stardom. Sure, the language and culture were truly nothing for a man with his skills to overcome and appreciate, and he does truly enjoy the opportunity to service and enjoy a city more than twice as large as NYC. But, having been SF born and bred, the need to reach those specifically American superstar heights is simply too deep.

And in reality he’s beginning to see the limits of his influence in this non-native land. I mean c’mon, the leader of his team is literally the Sun King. Some self-styled computer whiz isn’t going to displace a monkey man literally dubbed Wukong at birth. No, despite knowing he’ll only continue to burn brighter in China, checking the stories etched into his mind of heroes who settled down and grew complacent, Zero refuses to slow.

So, when there’s talk of a hero trade with the USHC, Zero is first in line to return stateside. Using every scrap of influence he has in Beijing, he arranges himself to be sent in exchange for Trailblazer, some bruiser type woman who’s sure to do some dirty work for the ZYL. Before it’s even been finalized, Zero leaves his research and tech with his actual replacement, some meek diviner named Yijing, and he books a flight back home.

Yet again, there’s not a doubt in Zero’s mind that he is soon to be the next big all star in the USHC. He can see his face on billboards now, leading the American superintel team, blazing new ground for all those little ones out who’ll never be able to go toe to toe with bruisers and their ilk. It’s been so long since he’s been, this time no one will be able to stop him. Zàijiàn Beijing, welcome back America.

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It isn’t until his first meeting with the team leader, Mustang, that he finally learns that his dreams do not align with the USHC plans. “Now listen here Zero, ain’t all that bad y’know. Team just don’t need another brainiac right now. Higher ups, the powers that be- Well, they just think that Binary is more than enough an ace that we don’t need two of yas.”

Zero frowns, biting his tongue to not insult the man’s intelligence. Mustang has always been one of his favorite heroes, dim as he may be. Hearing that famous, simple drawl in person is almost enough to distract Zero from the acerbic words spilling from his mouth as he’s reminded that the Corps are just pawns for management to do with as they please. Pieces to play when there is something that need punching, or punching bags when they need to save face.

No, he knows he has no reason to fight with Mustang, who despite his poor job relaying the message, obviously means well with his new teammate. Who Zero doesn’t care for however, is the stoic android who has been standing motionlessly behind his hero since they entered the room. Binary, the current USHC brainiac supreme, some old tech instilled with life that masquerades as a real once-human superhero. Oft kept in the shadows where their rusty profile belongs. 

Apparently the foremost opponent in his way. Them, Zero has no qualms in attacking. ”So you’re telling me this geratic hunk of junk is just going to keep his spot on the roster forever? I’m smarter than them, faster! I mean for fucks sake surely management can see the lengthy list of pros to having an actual human being as the head of their intel department.” The android’s face remains unmoving as Zero tears into them.

Mustang scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Groaning to himself as he readjusts his immense weight, “Now hold on there littlun let’s not be too hasty. You, me, and Dupree ere’ll be a team no matter which way this shakes out. It’s just-” Mustang takes a second to adjust, unlike his two present compatriots thinking does not come naturally, “from what Binary thinks, the know-it-all biz just don’t got that high-profile pull that you’re after.”

Hearing the android’s right on the money, Zero’s eyes flicker from Mustang back to his would-be boss only to find the blank slate that must always be painted on their face. Rolling his eyes, he impetuously sighs and skips ahead in the conversation, “So what’s the other option?”

The hero smirks, “Ah! All you thinkers- Love it! So, I’m not gonna pretend to know anything bout the details, but Binary and the researchers’ve ‘pparently made this serum that’ll let any superdude and wonder gal unlock some latent powers. So, we’re thinkin’ what better way to introduce our new techie, Zeehooey Zero than by unveiling you as the first ever do-it-all supe! Ain’t that right Binary?”

The bot slowly nods, still betraying nothing of the processes ongoing behind their synthetic face. “Affirmative. Should Shirong so desire, I, we, have been allowed to grant access to the department’s notes on the program.” Without waiting for a response, Binary’s eyes flash a cold blue as he gives the new Corps member access to the proprietary notes. Immediately Zero’s mind rushes in, spreading thin to learn everything there is to know, searching for a downside, an ulterior motive, a trap.

Unfortunately for the scion of the internet, the trap was laid for him in mind. Binary’s impassive facade finally cracks as they watch him fall hook line and sinker. Highlighted to a degree that should certainly raise red flags, Zero is directed towards the most likely powers gained: super strength, endurance, enhanced reflexes and healing. Exactly the superhero cocktail that every big shot in the league has. 

The young man is so excited by the prospect he doesn’t even realize that the side effects and expectations for his case have been completely scrubbed. As Binary expected. In a microsecond their face falls flat once more and Zero returns from his brief sojourn in the notes on this mystery procedure, not even trying to hide how eager he is to get this done as soon as possible. 

He tells himself he has no choice, that it’s this or nothing. Zero pushes down the excitement quickly overtaking him, the surging theories and potentialities that lay ahead of him, and fanart of himself as a brawny, well-muscled superhero. His eyes slam shut as he forcefully stops himself from imagining the threads on various less than puritanical sites of himself well-hung and oiled up.

After a moment of resetting Zero clears his throat and nods, completely ignoring Binary, “Yeah, Shi de. I think this is something that I’d be interested in doing, sir-” Mustang lights up and promptly reaches over the desk to dap Zero up, “Fuck yeah! I mean who can resist y’know!? Just imagine, you ‘n me ripped as all get out. Brain ‘n brawn, can’t wait littlun- er, for now that is! Hah!”

Mustang gets up with a grunt, ruffling Zero’s hair as he walks by, an eager smile on his face, betraying nothing but his ignorance of whatever Binary has in store for Zero. Binary remains motionless, eyes powering down as they await the new hero to follow the commando before heading off to research where his is to ‘discover his new powers.’ The android would laugh, but that would be unbecoming. yes.

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Zero doesn’t quite understand the outfit they’re having him wear for the procedure. He was ready for a gown or something similar, but these are just, well, gym clothes? Obviously he read the notes and knows the whole thing is far less invasive than one would expect. But as he changes into a tank top, he can’t help but feel ridiculous. 

Pulling up shorts he hasn’t worn since high school, the young hero grimaces as he sits alone waiting in the smallest of the HQ’s operating rooms. In the meantime he does what he always does, to prepare for what’s to come, to kill time. He retreats into his mind. The whole thing is kind of insane, but from his expansive understanding that’s just how it is in the big leagues.

For a moment he considers trying to dive into the USHC’s data on Binary but is promptly denied access. Something about that bot was off. Another time. He shouldn’t let the piece of chrome get him bothered, this is a win, he’s going to be brain, brawn, and out of that brainiac’s jurisdiction. He should focus on himself.

And so he does, racing through the web past fanfic and photoshopped pictures of Zhihui Zero, shifting through long dead links on superhero fanblogs. He knows exactly what he’s looking for as he dives deep into a long abandoned forum kept running through the power of his mind alone. There he finds a post he made decades ago accompanied by a sloppy drawing of a costume that looks not too dissimilar from his current one, albeit on a much broader figure. ‘I wish I could be a superhero. I want super strength and super sped!! And to fly and be able to talk to dogs :) here’s my costume i hope you like it!’

Sitting in this room on the precipice of becoming a new type of hero, a new eidolon of man, Zero simply grins. And then grimaces as his connection slowly fades into static. Shaking his head at being dampened without warning, he returns to the meatspace and sees a doctor not much older than himself smiling with a datapad. “Oop! Sorry about that though you of course knew you were going to be disconnected during this procedure hm?”

In the end, not a world away from Binary himself, Zero performs cerebral stoicism in the face of this man whose eyes glimmer with curiosity and interest. He nods as the scientist continues, “I must say our team is so intrigued by your abilities! I mean a direct connection to a fully manmade phenomena! Well, it’s no wonder Binary wants their hands on-” 

Before he can finish the sentence his free hand flies to an earpiece and his face falls slightly, clearly being reprimanded by someone watching in. Zero turns to the visible camera and waves at what can only be the android, who must be obsessed with him he thinks with a smirk. 

Clearly more muted than he’d like to be, the doctor restates his excitement for the procedure, gets Zero to sign off on a few wavers he should’ve read closer, and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see what a bruiser we’ll make out of you!”

 Zero does a double take at this, bruiser is a very specific word in hero parlance. Bruiser, Brute, muscle without a brain. His eyes shift back to the camera which is obviously inscrutable. He’s just in his head from being disconnected. He just needs to lay back and let the doctor work. The quietly smiling man moves with some degree of melancholy in his eyes as he puts an anesthesia mask on Zero. Would’ve sworn there were people for that, anesthes- anasteesy- olo just, uh-

0 0 0 = 0 0 0 = 0 0 0

And then he’s awake. His mind humming once more with his powers returned and he lets loose a sigh of relief. Worried about nothing.  Like a computer starting up he flexes his mind and ensures he has access to everything he should, as he does every morning. Pinned like a bookmark to the front of his consciousness is the drawing of him buff and flexing. Looking down at his form, the same as ever he feels nothing but embarrassed.

Distinctly colder from the friendly face that laid him to rest, he is greeted by Binary as he awakens. “Excellent. Now time for the true test.” Still running through start-up processes, Zero simply stares. “I trust you are familiar with the novella: Jekyll and Hyde Mr. Ling. As you are aware with my superior processing power we have little need of a second Dr. Hyde, although, I do appreciate the greater understanding of your abilities which I am sure our associates will make use of down the road. You know, when I have need of a portable computer. However, at his juncture Shinrong, it is time for you to become the Jekyll.” 

For the first time, Zero sees Binary smile before they quickly turn and sidestep out of the room, leaving him alone in this clinical cell. Going to follow in their footsteps, the young man is unsurprised to find Binary locked the door behind them.

 Zero’s face burns red as his mind overheats. He forces his eyes closed as he puts all available energy within him towards overclocking his powers to find out what is going on. Was he tricked, what did he miss in the contract, how does he get out of this room. And then sharper than any headache he’s suffered in his life, Zero falls to the floor as he hits a wall in his mind that has simply never been there before. 

Gasping in shock, Zero hoists himself up on the operating table, arms struggling far more than they should for how light his form is. Hesitant to delve into the internet he checks his surroundings in reality and notices what must be a one-way mirror at the back of the OR, He scowls at his reflection, not knowing who on the other side led him down this path of being a lab rat. He wonders if Mustang was in on it, picturing his genial face, it only introduces more anger in the young man. 

Zero slams a fist down on the table with strength he didn’t know he could summon. Tools on a tray table nearby shake as he does so, no way he could’ve manifested such force. Looking down at his hand still forcefully in place, Zero gasps as he sees the slightest dent in the table. He pulls his arm up to inspect it, using his mind to summon what it should look like and comparing it to how it is now. 

Even this is more difficult than it should be. The intricate assessment should be second nature to his supermind. At present though, Zero’s unable to perform minute calculations groaning he simply goes over the big picture. New veins trail down his arm and with each slight twitch of movement they pulse thicker. Photoshopped images of his bulging biceps, burned into his subconscious as they are, burst to the front of his mind and he suddenly forgets whatever difficulties he's having with his abilities to instead inspect his arm.

His stomach dances as he raises it to flex, smirking as he sees new muscle begin to grow. Stretching and twisting his right arm, he focuses on it with an intensity he hasn’t brought to the real world in years. Drinking in each shifting muscle fiber as they expand. Quickly bringing it into a flex he’s beside himself with primal joy as he sees it peak higher. He does it again, and again. Each time his stare grows hungrier as the bicep bloats larger, rises higher, like a loaf of bread. 

Usually able to keep a running awareness of his body’s processes, Zero simply feels his racing heart and sharp breaths rather than passively watching numbers shift. He forces his hand on his chest, feeling his palm spreading wider, fingers stretching longer and growing fatter across his thin chest. Zero struggles to slow his breathing. Upon his first deep breath he realizes his arms are not the only change. 

He smells the anesthesia in a medicine cabinet across the room, discarded sweat covered tissues and latex gloves in the sterilized trash. Eyes widen as he smells in real time his body odor changing. The muted rarely present stink of his old self issuing forth from his left pit at his left arm begins its rapid journey towards the powerful arm of a hero. Opposite, already changed, he feels the few hairs in his pit joined by a small garden as it now carries the musk of a man, the stink of a hero. 

Turning away from the glass, Zero’s face red from rage softens to one more pink from embarrassment. Thank god they got him in these stupid shorts and not spandex. He smells his heady musk changing with every passing second, grossing stronger as his arms hang heavier and bulge larger. Their odor is then joined by a new scent as he smells pre dripping into his suddenly strained underwear.

Desperately trying to readjust and obscure his newly bulging dick, Zero grunts as every time his clumsy fingers graze it it only becomes more unwieldy. Biting his lip, he forces down his leg, leaving a pipe more than clear in the shorts but allowing him at least a modicum of dignity. His heavier balls pulse with need and his mind that rarely leaves room for sexual fulfillment simply demands that he take in his reflection.

Zero smiles as he sees himself becoming the man he always dreamed he could be, would be. Flexing an arm briefly, letting his long pit hairs drip freely, his eyes then trail down. Past his bulge he, for the first time, notices his calves beginning to surge larger. Doing a quick calf raise, Zero nearly falls over as his whole body stretches taller in that half a moment. And so he does so again, the sound of cracking bones fills the air as his whole form lengthens.

Legs that were already struggling to put on mass to match his new bulky arms surge into overdrive as they race to become the trunks that any top heavy superheroism demands. Long toes burst free from the shoddy surgical shoes they had him in, leaving his grippers exposed as his soles widen into nigh perfect shock absorbers for the hero. He flexes his toes and feels even this awaken more strength in calves, sending shockwaves of growth through the length of his lower body. 

Completely forgetting about losing his mind, unaware that the fire wall he came across moments ago has only continued to shrink inward, one thought surges to the forefront. Zero needs to see what these bad boys can do. Stretching his longer legs to their limits, patting thighs and hearing how dense his muscle mass has grown in such a short time, Zero moans to himself as his pre leaks even more than his memory.

Eyes almost crossing as the thighs that now strain his pants leave his balls little room to breath, his cock straining them even moreso. Zero shifts one of the meaty palms clutching his thigh to instead tear off his underwear. 

This is done with ease, fabric he couldn’t tear without tools is suddenly scattered to the floor as stained boxer briefs are torn away from his form. It’s of little matter unfortunately as in no time at all his legs surge large enough to leave the athletic shorts skin tight.

Problem solved, he laughs to himself as he remembers what his next move was. He was going to see how high he could jump. Crouching down in an instant, he flings himself immediately into the heavily reinforced ceiling of the room before crashing back onto the floor. Thankfully pain was not a sense enhanced as he lies in a heap on the floor, doing something between groaning in pain and laughing at himself.

Resting his fat hand on his chest to steady his breathing once more, he feels one of the few remaining frontiers of his body begin to puff up. With each gasping breath new weight begins to pile onto his chest. Think fingers cup his forming pecs and the bulge in his pants struggles against its confines as his nipples poke into his new mitt.

Perfectly round pecs pounding larger with the beat of his powerful heart, Zero takes a moment to reflect. Why did he just jump headfirst into the ceiling? He never acts without thinking. He should’ve known he’d shoot into the reinforced tiles. It was his job to do the math on stunts like that for his team. It is his job, what he’s good at. Narrowing his eyes, he tries to see the numbers in front of him. 

At first Zero’s able to at least summon the equations in front of him. He can almost recognize the formula, what he’s supposed to do with it and what goes where, almost. Then they fade, becoming little more than spots in his vision. His mouth falls open as it now is almost always to be, bruisers being something synonymous to mouth breathers it’s no wonder that Zero is apt to join the rest of his new cohort. 

On the cold sterile floor, an ass that has yet to slow down its growth begins to send tears down his shorts. Joining veiny thighs and a veinier dick, it’s only a matter of time before Zero is truly baring it all to his colleagues. He tries to ignore the image of fans across the world staring at his ass, admiring his bulge. Feeling his cock throb, both staining and straining his shorts, Zero stays strong. No, he was going to figure it out.

Still the same stubborn man he’s always been, Zero once more tries to do the math, just to show that he can, to himself. This time he struggles to even produce the first digits of the problem. Falling back on an old trick, he uses his meaty digits to try and direct his mind. 

He hasn’t needed to do this since he was first starting out, he’s never had trouble organizing his mind. He’s taken great care to stay sharp, or rather he did? His crutch, his clumsy fingers struggle to offer any aid. Arms raised his musk is once more sent spewing into the open air causing him no small degree of distraction.

Sitting up in frustration, he slams an arm into the side of the operating table. His frustration only accelerates his growth. Raw, primal emotion numbs the mind and sharpens his massive form. Pecs form a wide overhang above abs so well sculpted they must have been crafted by hand. While his new hands lack finesse, this shortcoming is more than overshadowed by arms as powerful as thick and powerful as some of the strongest normies thighs. 

Standing to his feet with a deep, bovine groan, Zero is reunited with his reflection. He is truly unrecognizable. As he watches his face begins to change, jaw widening, eyes dulling. He motions his hand to bring up a saved image of himself, something that should be the easiest thing in the world, but fails to produce even a memory. Static fills his ears as cotton fills his mind. He just watches, breathing in through his mouth as he hungrily stares at himself, changing and growing.

Walking closer, inspecting his massive chest, he bounces his pecs. The static grows louder. The pecs grow bigger. Forgetting he was even trying to do a comparison, his mouth waters as he instead flexes every bulging muscle on his new form. Hypnotized by his massive chest as it pushes his tank to its limits. They’re like nothing he’s ever seen before, like no man he can imagine. His eyes fill with wonder as his pecs continue to inflate as if they were hooked up to an air compressor.

Standing there, staring at his own powerful body, finally being the superhero he always wanted to be. He would almost feel disdain for being the little know-it-all he once was. The scheming little runt who solved calculus problems for the real heroes, the little guy who stared longingly at alpha heroes like the brute he is now. He sneers as he imagines being such a pipsqueak. 

He would, that is, were he not on the fast track to forgetting that’s who he ever was. Hips bucking, Zero rapidly begins to forget his connection to the sum of all human knowledge. His abilities at solving mysteries and effortlessly uncovering buried answers as Zhihui Zero are rapidly wiped from his mind as his balls begin to bulge, pulsing with need.

Mouth watering at his splendor, his strength, he can’t imagine being anything but the strongest man in the room. His hips reflexively buck as he laughs at the idea that maybe he’s got supervirility too. The dumb thought only turns him on all the more. He guffaws to himself, switching poses each time his dripping cock thrusts forward, quickly breaking free of his shorts. 

Massive arms fall forward on the one-way glass that Zero recognizes as nothing but a mirror with enough force to shake the whole room. Staring at his dumb eyes reflected, seeing not a single thought behind them, Zero’s whole body twitches and contorts as he loses control. Spewing his load into the once sterile OR, his heavy breaths steam the glass as his sweaty palms send cracks across the glass simply from holding his weight against them.

His enhanced nose finds its way into his pits to smell his hormones change as he finally tastes sweet release. Fuck that’s the good stuff. Tongue out, panting like an animal, Zero becomes exactly the boorish brute that Binary intended him to be, no, even more of one. Judging by the truly immense size and strength of the USHC’s new behemoth it’s clear that Binary severely underestimated how useful the young technomage would have been. 

Before the new brute gets the wise idea to clean up the spilled cum with his tongue, the door at the far side of the room rears open and in walks Mustang and Binary. The android’s face squirms at the powerful odor of the room, kicking themselves for ever giving themself the ability to smell before turning it off. Adversely, Mustang is absolutely stoked to have another bruiser on the team, “Yeeehaw?! Zero that you dude!?” 

Apathetic to the still dripping cock, Mustang tosses his new teammate a towel and goes over for a bear hug. Zero is similarly ecstatic to see his captain and he tests his own strength on the man built well stronger than a stallion. Embracing and feeling camaraderie in strength, Zero’s cock immediately begins to stir again and Mustang laughs, “Shoo- Gonna need RnD to whip up some real ultragrade spandex to keep that pecker under control ‘ere Zero!” 

The two men laugh for a few seconds before Binary clears their robotic throat. Zero takes a step to look past his leader and is less than pleased to see the android, “Hm, what brings the old recycling bin by Cap?” Mustang pats him on the back and offers a stern look to half-reprimand him as Binary rolls their robotic eyes with a canned, “Hah Hah.” After a moment they continue, “I am simply here for the aftermath of the experiment, Zero.”

Zero’s thick brow furrows and he scratches his wiry pubes peeking above the towel, struggling to remember exactly what experiment must’ve just happened. Lucky for the boor, Binary is more than happy to explain, “Likely you do not recall, as intended, but before coming in here you were a fellow brainiac.” Zero scowls, looking down at his meaty hands he shivers performatively at the idea of being unable to lift a truck. 

“Anyway. You were able to access knowledge from the internet straight from the aether, now I perhaps underestimated the use of this judging by how drastic the counterweight transformation was.” Three sentences in, Zero is finding himself more than bored with the bot. Who cares what he used to be IF he even used to be some nerd, instead his eyes flit to Mustang’s rugged chin and meaty pecs as he wonders whose are bigger.

“Now, should you ever wish to access the power again I will have tech give you equipment to do so. You must keep in mind that any use would directly draw from your strength and form. Now-” Zero interrupts, “Boooooring- Why’d I ever wanna trade brawn for brain Binary? I mean look at me? There’s a reason me ‘n Stang are on lunch boxes. I’ll leave that nerd shit to you. Thanks.”

Slightly regretting adding another meathead to their team, Binary shifts their weight and puts a pin in this conversation, “Very well.” Mustang then seizes the floor and throws his arm around Zero, “Now bud, new powers means new identity, got any ideas kickin’ around in that thick-head o’ yours?” Pinching the bridge of their nose, Binary chimes in with, “What of Idiot Savant, I think it’s-”

They’re interrupted as they often are by their ever louder cohorts as Mustang waves his hand in an arc, “Oh how ‘bout Stud! Wouldn’t mind havin’ a real partner on the team. Stud ‘n Stang, I can see it now!” 

Zero then retreats into their mind to the long imagined image of himself as a brawny hero that remains firmly implanted in his psyche, internet access or not. “Y’know, I’d love to do my mom and pops proud, and they always liked Zero. Would it be alright if I kept the name?” The image of his shoddily sketched costume, still burning bright in his eyes. He’d need to go up more than a few sizes.

Binary and Mustang stare at each other before the captain shrugs. The android’s eyes light up as they set to work, “I’ll send it up to Marketing.” Not soulless, probably, they see the intensity in Zero’s expression and tack on, “I’m sure they’ll find the idea acceptable.” Zero pumps the air with a “fuck yeah!” and faster than Binary has a chance to react he rushes over to hug the robot. 

Patting them on the back hard enough to loosen a few screws, the android sounds winded despite lacking lungs, “for future celebrations a handshake will suffice!” Zero waves them off and after a few seconds allows them freedom from his grasp, leaving them more than a little sweat stained. 

Finally, Mustang saunters over and joins the pair. Putting a massive arm around each compatriot, he starts leading both out the door, “Now it’s about time to get those massive lats fitted for some spandex dontcha think kid?” And so the trio depart, Binary working on a report and Mustang yammering about their other teammates. Zero doesn’t quite hear as he is preoccupied imagining his new start and his first proper day as the hero he has always dreamed he could be.

[the-craftsman-deactivated201901]

Tom Holland stumbled into his hotel room, stripping out of his shirt and bow tie after possibly the worst film premiere he’s ever had to endure. As an actor, he was used to sometimes being valued just by his looks. But he never thought he’d run into the director of the next Spider Man film or worse, that he’d ever meet such a critical director.

The new director told him he needed to “grow” more, to “stop being so lean” and that he thought Tom “would look better” for the next film.

Apparently when they mean Peter is older in this one, they also mean he’s suddenly a bodybuilder, Tom thought to himself.

But he sighed, ever since that meeting the thought of going to the gym didn’t seem too bad. But there was no way that he was going to be able to do. He flopped down onto his couch after a tired day, rubbing his eyes.

“God, I don’t understand, my body is fine,” muttered Tom in frustration. “No reason for my body to be bigger, I don’t need to grow.” Tom’s pupils dilated as his lips quivered. He wanted to say or do something else but he couldn’t as he suddenly felt a warm energy burning away at him. The photographer’s words echoed in his head:

Grow.

And with it, Tom couldn’t stop the hot feeling surging throughout his feet, where he still had his socks on, he could begin to feel his feet feeling uncomfortably tight within their stretchy confines. The white socks began to bulge and shred slightly as Tom’s own feet started to feel thicker and thicker with every moment. He wanted to get up, to try and see what was going on, or even run away.

“What the hell is-” But as Tom stood up, all those thoughts suddenly erased as he felt an innumerable amount of pleasure from just letting his body be supporting by his behemoth feet, feeling the strength and power that they provide.

His soles continued to lengthen on and on to the point where they tore apart his socks leaving his large and bare size sixteen feet flopping on the ground. Tom panicked, looking down as he tried to move but as soon as he lifted one foot, it fell down. It felt so heavy…so hard to move.

“Oh god. Oh god, what’s happening to me?”

Grow.

“Sto-” Tom’s voice caught in a moan as he heard the deep echoing voice of the photographer reverberate through his mind. As he wondered if he could somehow get out of his, he watched as his own feet started to walk automatically towards his bathroom.

But with every step, a throbbing pleasure filled him as he could start to see his own jeans being pushed to their limit. His calves were growing meticulously thick, bigger and bigger to the point where Tom heard a rip and felt ultimate pleasure flood towards his cock at the feeling of being so big he could rip his clothes. His eyes widened.

“N-No stop- My body-”

Tom grunted as he could feel his thighs receiving the same treatment, growing so large and thick that the two of them almost touched with the way the muscles churned and added to his great hulking legs. His jeans now torn to shreds as his feet forced him to walk to the bathroom where he laid eyes on his own reflection, seeing his hulking body.

“Oh- Oh fuck at least my a-”

Grow.

Tom couldn’t even remember what he was going to say as he felt the next wave of pleasure hitting him, his cock was rock hard now as his own ass inflated and burst through his underwear. His abs that he took so much credit for began to grow deeper as they belonged to a much broader and taller chest. 

His entire back seemed to grow setting him on a new height entirely and to match his massive muscular legs. As his pectorals pushed forward, Tom felt a weight on the front of his chest, both hands falling over towards the bathroom counter as he could see his mirror.

“Fucking feels so fucking good!” grunted Tom as his own arms felt the next wave of growth, much like his own legs, his once thin arms began to bulk up gaining so much mass that it looked like he had been working out for years. “God…please…more!” Tom grunted, his voice deepening all the while as his hands sprawled over the counter, the fingers thickening and lengthening.

Grow.

Tom watched as his own face started to grow slightly, of course it was hard for his already chiselled face to somehow “grow muscular”, but he basked in the feeling of his own face growing larger. His own hair seemed lighter whilst he aged to his thirties, facial hair grew in and seemed to be a regular thing as his features grew even more handsome over his weather beaten skin. But that wasn’t the best part.

His seven inch cock was hard and throbbing as he looked down at it, unable to touch.

Grow.

Tom moaned as he watched his cock begin growing, inch after inch as it lengthened to the point where it grew to be ten inches long and throbbing.

Grow.

Tom felt his cock thickening, girth being added to his already long cock which began to thicken.

Grow.

Tom watched his cock throb and continue to hulk out.

Grow.

Tom wanted to cum.

Grow

He continued to moan.

Grow.

He came.

Ribbon after ribbon of cum shot out of Tom Holland’s suddenly large cock as he felt himself losing his love and desire for acting, his prowess fading away as he began to feel dumber and dumber. Thoughts of the gym and workouts trickled in where everything else faded away and Tom now knew he belonged in a gym.

Much later, sitting down in the locker room he chugged down his protein shake enjoying the cool taste after he had a hard workout. But then he heard two voices.

“Yeah I think he’s in here.”

“Why would he be in here?”

“I don’t know, they just said Tom came out of his room and went to some gym he looked so-”

The two men froze as they stared as the new dumb muscular Adonis of Tom Holland, hardly believing themselves as Tom looked at the two skinny men who stared at him. He only smiled as his deep voice resounded around the room.

“Grow.”

He continued drinking as he heard and watched the two men groan and grow out of their clothes.

Tom Holland certainly enjoyed being bigger and he knew plenty of other men would soon enjoy it too.

[anonymous1233211]

Credit to Zachzaps for picture. https://www.furaffinity.net/view/55074837/#cid:180539373

[alternate-real-ities]

Small problem here. At my university more and more of my friends and classmates are supposedly dropping out! But more and more Asian jocks keep taking their place! I may just be a theatre major, but there has to be something I can do right? Before they fully mess up the spring musical that is.

The Big Play

One day, as you're walking across campus lost in thought about these changes, you suddenly feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and find yourself face to face with two muscular Asian guys who could be mistaken for twins - the spitting image of the type that seems to be taking over your university. One was wearing a blue compression shirt, while the other wore a matching tank top, seeming to belong to some kind of athletic team or group. Maybe they were from your university's football team?

"Hey there", the taller one says, his deep voice confident and friendly. "We're new here. You're doing the theatre major thing, right? Us too, bro! Mind showing us around?" You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Why would these stereotypical-looking jocks want to join your theatre classes? But then again, they seem friendly enough, and you don't want to be rude. "Hmmm, sure, I can show you around." you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "I'm heading to the theatre building if you want to come along."

You start walking towards the theatre building, the two muscular Asian guys falling into step beside you. As you walk, you can't help but notice how sweaty they are - beads of sweat trickle down their chiselled faces and dampen their shirts.

"Thanks for showing us around, bro." - the taller one says. As he speaks, he brushes up against you, leaving a smear of sweat on your arm, but you try not to let it bother you.

"No problem", you mumble, leading them into the theatre building. Throughout the tour, the two guys seem fascinated by everything, asking questions and nodding along. But every so often, one of them brushes up against you - an elbow here, a hip there. At first, you think it's just because they're so muscular and not used to navigating tight spaces. But as it happens more and more, you start to wonder if it might be on purpose.

Inside the dimly lit hallway of the theatre building, their musky scent seems to grow stronger, filling your nostrils with every breath. They brush up against you again as they look at posters on the wall, their sweaty skin leaving faint damp marks on your clothes. You feel your face flush; their musk is strong - a heady mix of sweat, testosterone, and something else you can't quite place. It's not unpleasant, but it's intense.

Finally, after showing them the auditorium and dressing rooms, the tour comes to an end. You breathe a sigh of relief as you step back outside into the fresh air. "Thanks again for the tour bro!" - the taller one says, clapping you on the shoulder hard enough to make you stumble slightly. "We'll definitely see you around dude. We have to get to the gym now, but we really appreciate it."

You nod, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. "No worries, feel free to hit me up if you need anything else." you manage to say. They grin weirdly at you, their eyes seemingly dull, as if nothing much was going inside their heads. With that, they jog off towards the gym, leaving you standing there, still carrying their scent and feeling a bit dazed by the whole encounter.

You head back to your dorm, still feeling a bit flustered. The encounter with those two jocks has left you feeling strange. Why were there so many more Asian dudes around campus lately? And there's no way in hell that those 2 guys were theatre majors. You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Maybe you just need to get some rest.

That night, you wake up drenched in sweat, your sheets tangled around your legs. Your body feels like it's on fire, a high fever burning through you. You groan and roll over, trying to find a cooler spot on the mattress, but it's no use. In your fevered state, you swear you can still smell the intense musk of those two jocks from before. Their scent penetrates your sickly mind, making you feel even more feverish. You just wish this was over already.

As dawn breaks, you finally drift into a restless sleep, only to be jolted awake a few hours later by the loud ring of your alarm. For a moment, you're disoriented, your body aching and your head pounding. A sudden surge of energy courses through you though, chasing away the last vestiges of fatigue and fever.

You throw on some clothes and head out for a run, uncharacteristic for you. As you jog past the gym, you see a familiar face - one of the jocks from your theatre class. He does a double take as he sees you, his eyes widening appreciatively. "Looking good, bro!" he calls out, his voice deep and rich. "You should come work out with us sometime!"

You thank him for the compliment, but keep running and go on your way. While you feel flattered, there's no way a guy like you could keep up with that guy at the gym.

Later that day in one of your theatre practical classes, one of the many Asian bros in your theatre class suggests skipping rehearsal to play some football instead. "Come on bro," he says, clapping you on the shoulder. "It'll be a good bonding experience for us. We'll be getting in sync for the play!"

You hesitate for a moment, feeling uncomfortable with his suggestion to skip rehearsal for football. But as they insist, you find yourself agreeing against your better judgment. "Okay, sure. Let's play some football." - you hear yourself say, a slight excitement creeping into your voice.

You all gather in the backstage, where a makeshift football field has been set up. As you start tossing the ball around, you're surprised by how naturally your body moves, dribbling the ball and passing it to your classmates. The other guys are all laughing and joking, their energy infectious. You find yourself laughing along with them, feeling a sense of belonging that you haven't felt in a long time.

The game intensifies, sweat pouring down your faces as you run and jump, your heart racing with adrenaline. You can feel your muscles burning, but in a good way - like they're being awakened for the first time. Your skin starts to tingle, and you can feel the heat radiating off your body.

As the game winds down, you're all panting and glistening with sweat. The air is thick with the musky scent of a bunch of aroused young men, their hormones raging after the intense physical exertion. You look at your arms and notice they seem more defined than before, veins lightly tracing their contours. And is that a tan? Maybe that run this morning was more effective than you thought.

Your two jock buddies from yesterday come up to you, grinning widely. "Man, you're a natural!" one of them says, clapping you hard on the back. You can feel the sweat from his hand mixing with yours, but it doesn't bother you as much as it did before. In fact, it feels kind of nice.

"Yeah, we'll make a real player out of you bro." the other chimes in, playfully punching your shoulder. You laugh along with them, feeling a strange sense of belonging despite the odd circumstances. As you head back home, you can still feel the heat of their hands on your skin, and the scent of their musk lingers in your nostrils. You can't help but smile at the thought of spending more time with them.

The week went by, and you found it harder to focus on pretty much anything. Your once-sharp mind felt fuzzy, thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind whenever you tried to concentrate on something for too long. Theatre scripts that used to dance off the page now seemed boring and pointless compared to the thrill of spending time with your new jock friends.

Your body was changing rapidly too, but you were too distracted and dim-witted to really notice or care. Each morning, you'd stumble out of bed, your ever-growing massive cock already semi-hard and leaking pre-cum, making a mess of your sheets. But all you could think about was hanging out with your new bros, and how good it felt working up a sweat.

Even as your IQ dropped, and your cock grew bigger and more insistent, you remained blissfully unaware of the true reason behind your changes. The Asian flu had wormed its way into your brain, rewiring it to crave power, pleasure, and the approving gazes of your Asian bros. It also amplified your extroversion by a tenfold, making you eager to spread this new way of being.

Each passing day brought more changes to your body. Muscles erupted across your frame, rippling beneath your skin as they grew denser and larger. Your skin tone deepened to a rich, lustrous brown that seemed to glow under the lights. And there was an insistent throbbing between your legs now, a heavy ache that demanded attention.

One morning, you finally caught sight of yourself in the mirror - and saw nothing wrong with the Adonis staring back at you. Gone was the scrawny theatre major; instead, a towering, dark-skinned Asian god grinned in the reflection.

As you stared at your transformed reflection, the urge to touch yourself became overwhelming. You stumbled back onto your bed, stroking your massive, throbbing cock until thick ropes of cum erupted from the tip, painting your face a pearly white. Panting heavily, you gazed at your reflection in the mirror across from your bed, admiring how the sight of your cum-covered face only enhanced your new god-like appearance. With a deep, satisfied grunt, you licked some of your essence off your fingers, savouring the taste as you prepared to go to classes.

Except, you didn't go to classes. Instead, you found yourself drawn to the weight room, eager to pump more iron and feel your muscles swell. Your Asian bros were already there, their chiselled bodies glistening with sweat as they grunted and strained against the heavy weights.

"Yo, bro! We've been thinking… why waste our time on that lame theatre shit any more?" one of them called out, a wicked grin spreading across his handsome face. "We need a beast like you out there on the field. You should join the team!"

Your hesitation lasted only a split second before you nodded eagerly, a wide grin spreading across your handsome face. "Fuck yeah! Theatre is boring as hell anyway," you declared, your voice deeper and more confident than it had ever been before. The only plays you'd be doing from now on were on the field.

The other jocks cheered and high-fived you as you joined them at the weight bench. After the intense workout, you hit the showers together, steam filling the room as hot water cascaded over your glistening skin. Hands roamed and groped, laughter echoed off the tiles. It felt natural, right. Your cock throbbed constantly now, always hungry for more stimulation.

The Asian flu had taken hold completely now, rewriting your mind and body to crave the company of other infected males. But you were too far gone to realise it. All you knew was that you felt amazing - strong, confident, horny all the time. And you wanted everyone else to feel this way too.

As you strode out of the locker room with your new bros, you couldn't help but notice more guys on campus looking different… bigger, buffer, their skin tones richer. The infection was spreading, turning more men into dumb, horny Asian jock bros like yourself. It made you grin for some reason - this was definitely wrong, but it felt so right…

[occamstfs]

Bard Turned Barbarian

After critically failing a roll, Darius' DM forces a reclass on him and for the first time the IRL musician feels true rage. Won’t be the last time either as every step thereafter leads to him truly embodying a mindless barbarian.

Mostly out of game TF of a musician into someone who couldn't dream to read sheet music, not that he'd care anyway- got a body to build. Hope you enjoy this musk filled, mind numbing TF! -Occam

“Roll a con save.” Darius could plainly see the smug grin on his 

Mike’s face as he issued the command. Obviously he has no grounds to protest the forever DM, nor would he get a straight answer if he asked what the save is for. The only recourse available is simply to roll

The eyes of everyone else in the party look to his little box on Discord and await for him to announce what number comes up. With a sigh his themed d20 clatters into his small dice tray, as soon as it leaves his hand he’s filled with grim certainty that it’s going to be a critical failure. There is no surprise when it indeed lands face up on a one. Clenching his jaw, Darius opts to keep that card close to his chest, a fail’s a fail. Michael doesn’t need to know.

“Ugh, yeah that’s definitely not gonna do it. What happens to Derry?” Mike’s eyes light up and his expression twitches into a smirk, “Failed how? What was the total? It wasn’t a nat one was it!?” Crossing his arms, obviously not thrilled by how excited the DM is at his rolling a natural one, Darius squirms in his seat before owning up to the critical failure. 

Mike laughs a little too long after getting the confirmation given the generally cooperative nature of their game. After he catches his breath, and an awkward second of him cuing up some dramatic lute music that usually accompanies the Eloquence Bard’s big moments, the DM steeples his fingers. Changing the backlighting, Michael clears his throat and begins his monologue.

“Derry. You see Nerizath the Consumer tap his Staff of the Magi on the ground as he stretches out a hand, pointing a gnarled finger straight at you. There is no chance for you to react. Everyone watches as a noxious ray shoots from his stretched hand and hits you straight in the chest. You try to stand firm, cast counterspell or cutting words, anything, but it’s too late. Nerizath clenches his hand into a fist and all at once the plumes of smoke enveloping Derry fly back at once. Everyone roll a perception check.”

Interrupting his dramatic moment, Mike waits for a success from one of their party before continuing, “Lorna, you see as the wave of energy retreats from Derry, there are some gold strings embedded in it. You can almost hear the sound of Derry’s lute fading as it seems some kind of spell energy is drained from your bard.” 

Turning back to Derry he finally explains the effect of Nerizath’s action, “Darius, as of right now, Derry loses access to all his class features. No bardics, no spells, no silver tongue. Derry is no longer a bard.” Darius’ mouth falls open as he feels his face burn red from anger faster than he thought possible. He tries to speak up but as it turns out Mike has server-muted him in preparation that he’d have some, obviously earned, complaints. Almost as if he were trying to rile his player up, as if he was trying to enrage him. 

Mike waves him off before letting him speak again, telling him that there’s an upside, though the same glimmer of laughter that hid under his speech when he heard Darius roll a nat one remains. The DM has Nerizath teleport away as soon as he does this and the session goes straight into a long rest afterwards. 

All his party members try to comfort him both in game, and moreover his friends try to do so IRL, though all are obviously relieved that it happened to the poor bard rather than themselves. Hoping against hope that Michael’s little scheme has ended he has Derry try to play a Song of Rest for his party before being interrupted by an ‘um actually’ from his DM. “Speaking of, Derry, as you try to play your lute, it’s almost like your fingers are clumsier on the strings. You try to strum one of the first songs you learned on the instrument, and instead you fully snap a string.” 

Jack of all trades, he goes for the flute and shawm in his bag and is promptly told the same, and in fact Mike reminds him he is no longer a jack of any trades. With every word that spills from his DM’s mouth, Darius just finds himself getting angier, and angier. 

Derry had always been something of a self-insert character for Darius, as the name implies. Something of a virtuoso musician and song writer himself, when his friend group started up a DND campaign he was more than happy to simply live his real life fantasies to the extreme. Truly change the world with the power of his music. And now that’s been taken away. 

Mike ends the session shortly after, reminding everyone that the next session will be in person. The party drop like flies from the discord call, all clearly able to tell that Darius wants a word with their DM. Before he can find said words, the usually articulate player stumbles and is swiftly interrupted as Mike tells him to chill, it’s just a game, just wait until next session. And then he hangs up.

Darius is vibrating with irritation. Blood running hot with anger the likes of which he’s never felt. He can almost feel the throbbing rage in his head, but then he takes a deep breath. It is just a game. Bullshit as the session was, it’s not like it affects him personally. Just a game. Looking down at his smooth, shaky hands Darius calms down as much as he’s able before he realizes that he can instead use this rage.

Bumping into his desk as he stands too quickly, he pays no mind to Derry’s character sheet as it flitters to the floor, stamped into the ground as he rushes to his makeshift studio. While life offers its fair share of petty annoyances and trivial inconvenience, the anger he feels at Michael’s overreach is something else altogether. Something more primal. 

At first he goes for his guitar, searching for some chord that calls for him, one he’ll know when he hears it. Usually he’ll be humming along a melody and strumming out rhythms at the same time, easily finding it all in one go. Music flows through him as naturally as the blood through his veins.

 At present however, it’s as if his guitar is fighting him? His pick gets caught on strings or he flubs his hand position, simple mistakes plague him like a novice. Never does he get close to jamming, even as his hands brute force find their way his strokes and progressions are juvenile, sloppy. And with each misstep he feels that anger, that rage only just pushed down, beginning to pulse once more.

“This is stupid.” He drops his guitar to the floor with no affection, hearing it clatter he just sneers. It’s his backup, whatever. He’ll just work on lyrics instead. This was a great mistake. If melodies were slow-coming, at least they were coming at all. Staring at his blank journal, it was as if the empty lines were taunting him. 

He’s had writer’s block before, but this was something far worse. The pathetic rhymes he was able to scrawl could scarcely begin to capture the complexity of how he feels. Like a child’s poem. Absolutely unusable. Every scratched out line only makes it all the worse. Heightening his frustration. Every shitty attempted verse made it all the more difficult for him to truly write. Every half-formed idea a worse go at explaining just how intense his anger is. How rage more than he can understand burns within him.

There’s no decision made as he hurls his notebook across the room. It is simply something that has now happened. Stumbling through crumpled up balls of its pages, Darius kicks it to the side as he wanders to his bedroom. He’ll just sleep it off. In the morning he’ll be fine. In the morning he’ll just text Michael, like an adult, and he won’t be angry anymore. 

He flops on the bed and in spite of his troubled mind sleep comes easy. Far too easy. Living alone, no one hears as his usual light breathing gives way to unbecoming snores. Drool drips onto his bedspread as he curls into a ball. He’s always been quite an active dreamer, but the images that find him tonight are vivid enough as to be real.

He is Derry. Looking around he sees his adventuring party, it’s not the first time he’s dreamed about DND, in fact it’s quite a common well for his subconscious to draw from. Happy to find creative reprieve here at least, the bard reaches for the lute on his back. Then the world shudders. Looking down, his enchanted instrument is broken at his feet. Realer than anything he feels the splinters in his hand from tearing the instrument asunder himself.

Seeing this reignites his anger. As he stirs in bed, Derry begins to hyperventilate in the dream. His leather armor is too tight, falling to his knees he pounds the earth. Each reckless swing leaves a deeper indentation into the packed dirt. Turning his gaze upward, he looses a bloodcurdling scream into the sky, the world around him shrinks into nothing as every inch of his form burns, like he’s bursting from his skin.

And then Darius wakes, panting and lying in a pool of his own sweat. Bolting up he gags at just how musky it smells, like he’s just run a marathon. His eyes flicker around the room as he feels on the edge of an anxiety attack- or no, that’s not it, he’s just filled with energy. Jumping to his feet, Darius almost reflexively begins jogging in place. 

Ignoring the unmade, sweatstained bed, he feels a desperate pang in his stomach as its rumblings demand his attention. Man he shouldn’t skip dinner if he’s trying to bulk. There’s no chance for him to acknowledge how strange the thought of him bulking is as it’s dispatched by another powerful grumble from his stomach.

Carelessly yanking open his fridge, his mouth waters like a dog’s as he grabs every ingredient he can find to throw into an omelet. Usually he’d keep it light to start the day but now the idea isn’t even humored. He’s lucky to have a pan large enough to handle the six eggs he scrambles in with barely enough patience to keep out eggshells. Probably what leaves him with no bandwidth to actually cook an omelet. 

Just as soon as he begins, Darius finds the process not worth the effort and instead throws everything he’s set aside into the pan to instead make a scramble. As he watches bacon and sausage cook at totally different rates, he realizes how brash he’s being, how he’s not acting like himself. I mean, even after skipping a meal this is far too much food for him- but when the scent wafts into his nose he forgets himself once more.

Impatient foot tapping, it’s not long at all before he deems the mess in front of him edible enough for consumption. Too quick he goes for a test bite and severely burns the roof of his mouth. One would assume that would prevent him from immediately trying again, but a second bite earns a pound on the table as he powers through a bite of burning egg and meat. 

After devouring more calories than his usual daily consumption, he fights back a burp and somehow finds himself with even more energy than before despite the hearty meal. Faced with a fresh day ahead he wonders how he shall spend it. Standing still for half a second his body acts for him as he falls onto his hands, thankfully not throwing out his back as he almost reflexively starts doing push ups.

He hadn’t even tried to do a single push up in years, but as he hits the ground and does his first, why, he may as well do another. In no time he’s more than doubled his previous record of twenty. The burning strain in his arms only drives him further. Up and down. Up and down. Sweat that had barely dried from his unpleasant waking drips freely once more, coursing onto the floor beneath him and almost covering the scent of his fragrant breakfast with heady musk.

After losing count he hears his phone chime and goes to check it. Despite never doing a single one before now, his body automatically tries to shift into one-hand pushups causing Darius to slip into his still-building sweat puddle with an uncharacteristic “Fuck!” Seeing that the message is from Michael does little to soothe his ire.

Heyyy so I was chatting with the rest of the crew and they thot you might be a little upset about the game-

Darius made it exactly this far into the wall of a morning after text sent by his DM before seeing red. The white knuckles of his sweatstained hand clench hard enough to send searing pain into his wrist. It takes serious effort to not simply throw the thing across the room, as is seemingly becoming his default reaction. Staying his breathing after a moment he finishes reading the appeal and merely tosses the phone aside. 

He is not going to be playing a barbarian. It’s not him! Grinding his teeth and stamping his foot, Darius tells himself he doesn’t even get angry. He doesn’t like being angry. God! And yet each appeal to himself only causes his blood to boil more. Looking down the hall to his impromptu studio, he longs to return, to write. Music always helps him blow off some steam. He takes the first few steps towards the room before his mind flickers back to last night. 

It has also always come naturally. Recalling how awkward his instruments felt in his hands seems like reopening a wound. His skin itches with the anxiety of experiencing that wretched discomfort once more. All the while his heart continues to race, energy within him continues to build. His legs begin to drive him towards the door before a stray thought even suggests that he go for a run to burn off some of his energy.

Haphazard hands grab for a heavy gym bag that Darius wouldn’t remember having at all, let alone packing.  Venturing outdoors in the same outfit he has drenched in sweat twice over now, anxieties only just quieted prickle up once more before his mind forcefully derails that train of thought. Something within him demands all focus instead hone in on his body and how he moves rather than these hypothetical, pathetic fears.

Focus instead on the beat of his feet on the pavement, as they speed past a jog and into a sprint. No direction in mind, none needed. The whooshing of the wind in his ears soothes his spirit as he gives into the mindless thrill of physical labor. Every so often he catches a whiff of his musk and rather than concern and embarrassment that should fill him at producing such an overpowering stink, he instead longs for another whiff. 

He imagines what passersby might think after smelling such a strong man, such a virile- His sprinting feet come to a halt as he finally realizes that his thoughts have been increasingly been edged out by these strange ideas that are not his own. I mean, he’s always been the more soft sensitive type?

Looking down at his arms, his body needs no convincing to fall into a flex. His face already red from the effort of his sprint blushes further as he sees his biceps dance under tight skin. There isn’t even strain from his push ups earlier… Before he can even fight the rising urge to fall to the ground and do push ups to failure, Darius takes in his surroundings and finds himself standing at the entrance to an outdoor gym.

Smirking as he wanders in, new neurons fire as some of his most frequented pathways shut down ever more. He quips some half-formed lughead joke to himself that he doesn’t even hear as the clanging of weights inundates his thoughtless mind like a balm. 

Every stray thought in his mind is ignored as Darius’ entire focus is on ensuring perfect technique on these machines, with these weights. Lying back on a bench he produces weights he didn’t even know he was running with before doing dumbbell flyes and presses like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Eyes closed, just lifting weights up and down. Up and down. Creative roadblocks and fumbled fingerings are nothing to him. This is the only rhythm that matters. With each repetition, with every laborious measured breath, he begins to give into this mindless new self. And his body begins to grow.

In no time his biceps that had already peaked higher than ever before post-push ups surge larger. Transforming from sticks with some muscle to nigh-footballs of meat that would put envy in the heart of any man who is starting out at the gym. Between his built new arms a chest that truly never held any strength puffs up like a muffin.

Barely disguised by a his sleepshirt that has morphed into a stringer, pecs pound larger on his chest as nipples round out into half-dollars that bring He-Man to mind. Beyond the sheer increasing strength however, so too do other aspects of his masculinity begin to increase as barely perceptible pit hair thickens in his pits, giving his musk even more staying power. 

When some vaguely athletic man wanders close to the park, Darius can’t quite stop himself from looking down on him. Despite the man being clearly bigger than Darius was when he woke up this morning, as he only continues to grow he feels an urge to show this man intruding on his work out who’s in charge.

Lucky for both men, he takes one look at the brute mean-mugging him and reconsiders staying. When the wind shifts and the newcomer smells how the barbaric bro seems to be more musk than man he leaves even quicker than he came, almost gagging at the scent. Darius’ scowl then shifts to something far more sinister at the idea that he overpowered a fellow man with nothing more than presence alone. 

He won. It felt right, good. More him than he’d felt since, uhh? He can’t really remember? Perhaps more pressing than a trip into an increasingly foggy memory lane, at so thoroughly dominating that man he feels the most true show of his masculinity begins to demand attention in his pants.  

Already struggling for room between his two bloated thighs, his ‘little’ Derry has surged into an unmistakable bulge. It twitches as he looks down and Darius can clearly see a vein through his shorts. Biting his lip and crossing his eyes as more stubble coats his strong chin with every throb, Darius knows he’s gotta get home. Obviously not caring enough to wipe down the used equipment, Darius begins sprinting home.

While his strained shorts and tank have grown enough to at least hug his form, not long at all into his return trip do his feet sting with pain as his tennis shoes are pushed to their limits. Seeing red as blisters almost instantly begin to form, barely altering his stride he tears them off his feet and immediately gets back to his sprint. 

Darius laughs to himself as his bare feet patter on the pavement, each one leaving a slightly larger sweat stain than the one that came before. His guffaws leave no impression other than that of a brute. His massive chest bounces almost as much as the package that is clearly free-balling in his too-tight shorts. 

Finally returning home, Darius struggles to remove what is barely a shirt covering his suddenly bulging upper body. Taking a deliberate moment to force his head into his pit for a deep sniff, he sighs as his thick musk brings him comfort. Further emptying his now neglected mind. His own pheromones encourage his descent into thick, simple mindlessness as a sweat-covered strand of pit hairs tickles him enough to elicit a bovine guffaw.

He goes to the fridge and pulls out a massive pre-made protein shake from a line of its brethren. Throwing his head back he downs the shake as if it were nothing before releasing a glass shaking burp for the ages. Burrrrrrrp- Scratching his glistening abs as his fingers play with a new treasure trail, he takes a beat before laughing at the burp and patting his stomach.

Looking around at his home, which itself is at some half-state between that of an artsy songwriter he can scarcely recognize and the barbaric gym bro he can’t tell he’s becoming. On the edge of revelation, he looks around at his possessions in their transient forms. Finding this shred of resolve, he hones in on some scrawled sheet music next to a fitness magazine. 

Something is out of place and his wide hands go for both, first his eyes fall on the muscled pecs of some fitness influencer. Everything within him demands he compare himself with this dude, this chump. Bouncing his pecs he smirks as he remembers he doesn’t need to. He knows he’s better than that preening sellout.

As he asserts this, knows this- every inch of him surges larger. Tears race down every piece of clothing that remains hugging his form as pecs balloon to create an unmissable overhang above his build abs. Stretchmarks are painted down his back and across his shoulders as his body expands quicker than the blink of an eye as traps bulge larger and his biceps grow to a size that may never be covered by sleeves again.

Feeling the burn of years, decades of growth in an instant his mind begins to depart for good. But then he hears the faintest melody and looks down to find that shred of sheet music still clutched in his heavy hand. Mouth lolling open he tries to read it, he could read this right? Darius’ eyes begin to glaze over and he sets the sheet down as frustration begins to give to anger.

As soon as it’s out of sight however, it is evermore out of mind. Looking around as he has the faintest idea he was doing something. Scratching his sweaty hair like an ape in the hopes it’ll jog his memory, it allows him to appreciate his noxious musk once more. Smiling, he then feels a burp begin to rise as his protein shake sends its regards again Buurrrrrup, huhuh- His thicker brow lowers as he feels like he shouldn’t be laughing at his own burps. But burps are like, funny?

Clear as day he remembers being out with his nerdy friends and chugging a beer before burping out some song or another. Right? Mouth ajar, as it now almost always is, Darius vaguely remembers that he wanted to write a song or something about last night’s DND session. His mouth squirms as the idea is resoundingly alien to him. But he’s no bitch. Popping his now calloused hands, he wanders back to his little studio and immediately fills the room with his presence. 

His little piano bench creaks under his weight as he thoughtlessly leans back onto the keyboard before picking up his guitar, shockingly small in his hands. Sweat drips onto the spotless plastic of his Yamaha as he takes a deep breath and starts warming up. Oh so quickly do things begin to fly off the rails.

Off reflex alone, he falls into singing the same song he always warms up on. He knows it better than the alphabet. His voice cracks immediately as he struggles to even find the key. “We alWAYs- Ugh? Ahem, wE Al- fuck!” He clears his throat a few times to no avail, each one only making his voice rougher, deeper. Notes that he could hit in his sleep are now totally unreachable. His jaw widens as he clenches it in irritation. Clearly he’s just got a cold or something. Yeah.

Turning his attention to the instrument, only then does he notice that his struggling vocals were the least of his concerns. Only just now does he notice that his hands are arbitrarily thrust on the guitar. He tries to adjust to how he naturally holds it but the position is uncomfortable. His biceps can’t quite reach, his chest is in the way, his fingers are unable to fall into place as should be their second nature.

And with each readjustment, each irritated sigh, that anger he forgot begins to return. Now so well accustomed to general vacant mindlessness, his anger has new depth, or rather, lack thereof. Every mistake his chest holds more tension, his breathing strains. As veins throb and he begins to see red, Darius for the first time in his life is overcome with what can only be described as a mindless rage. 

What the fuck is he doing!? He doesn’t know how to play this stupid thing- His hands clench the neck with enough fury to send splinters into his rougher skin as the body produces an uncomfortable twang from the snapping of its frets. He doesn’t hear it though. The only thing Darius hears is the overpowering sound of blood rushing in his ears as his massive back heaves from primal breaths. And he raises it to swing.

Drool drips from his jaw as he for half a moment tries to find any recourse to calm down, to not do what he’s about to do. But this is what he’s good for, this is who he is. Faced with a problem that he cannot overcome, Darius does what he does to all problems. What a barbarian is good for. He beats it into submission. 

Screaming enough to render the soundproofing of his little suite absolutely useless, Darius flies into a rage. The guitar in his hands is almost evaporated as he swings it into a music stand nearby. The bench that so valiantly held up his massive weight snaps in two as his monstrous foot slams on top of it. One meaty palm grabs each side of the keyboard and he bends its hard plastic with an ease that seems impossible, individual knobs ping off as shards of its black shell and plastic ivories shatter and scratch against his arms.

Darius revels in the destruction of this place that was once his sanctum against the world, this place that was him. Was. Now he is this, something far greater. Primal man itself. Scars and stretchmarks decorate his powerful form as with each instrument destroyed he inches closer towards his final self. The barbarian he is to become. 

After minutes of destruction, his veins throb  with exertion as his rampage finally slows to a halt. Heaving breaths, he looks down and flexes for himself as is his prerogative at nearly every juncture. This causes his cock to throb as it adds to the pre-stain that already decorates his dripping gym shorts. After a moment pawing his cock and rubbing his burning abs, he turns to leave the room destroyed.

Looking at his new home, messy and barely decorated, he wonders why he’s so beat. Scratching his pit and sniffing his hand as he thinks as well as he’s now able. He guffaws once as he realizes that he’s literally walking out of his home gym, turning back to look in he sees equipment scattered, mirrors steamed from his sweat alone, and the hole in the wall from where he punched it most recently.

 At the edge of his mind something tries to call his attention, some shred of the past begging him to remember. Some forgotten medley or crumb of some unassertive self. But as he stretches and feels that soothing burn accompanied with the heavy, well-earned workout musk he sighs and his mind goes blank. 

Then an alarm goes off and he remembers he has a meeting with a client this morning, rushing to his computer he flexes at his reflection before hopping on a call with one of his many proteges. He laughs and apologizes for being a little late, taking care to show off his own bicep and watch as his trainees eyes can’t help but be glued to it. Fuckkk that’s what it’s all about.

Underneath it all though, there is a glimmer of something else. While countless young men follow his footsteps, trail behind him on the path towards barbarism- he can’t quite feel as if he’s not finished. He knows there’s always more room to grow.

One week later, it’s time for the next session. The first hosted at Michael’s in quite some time! The DM is only slightly on edge as Darius has been a tad stand-offish since last session, if not completely out of sorts? But he’s sure the player’s over it, he needed a break from Derry anyway, try some actual roleplaying for once. In the meantime he’s taken care to make him a new character sheet, sure, maybe Darius wouldn’t have sunk so many points into strength, but that’s what barbarians are all about. 

Never could he expect to meet the behemoth he had crafted. 

Darius fists pound on his door like a hammer to an anvil, causing the DM to flinch despite being two rooms over. Half-wondering if this is a break in, he sheepishly wanders over to the peephole and almost falls over in shock at the beast he sees. Michael’s hands scramble to let him in with haste, desperately needing to see the whole picture, “D- Darius?! Is that you?”

Having only continued to grow in the lead up to this session he doesn’t quite remember scheduling, Darius nods at the little punk that greets him and wanders past him into the kitchen. Doesn’t matter where he is, it’s time to eat if he wants to stay massive. On the way he flexes in every reflective surface that he passes. Finally asserting himself over the man who wronged him, his body begins its final metamorphosis. 

Michael chases after him, face burning with blush from being in the sheer presence of the man. He doesn’t notice as the character sheet in his hand continues to change, strength continuing to rise as intelligence and wisdom continue to decrease. He watches as the man’s brutish back widens enough to render the strained tank top obsolete as a few dense curls begin to creep up his back. 

Hearing some lesser approach, Darius turns to take in the worship. Over a foot taller than he was since they last met, his pecs hang over Michael’s head as he bounces them with a sly smirk. At the same time they’re coated in a blanket of curls as his defined abs begin to push into a gut built for strength over aesthetics.

The dungeon master stammers as he watches the man grow, almost drooling as he sees stubble push out into a beard on the barbarian’s face. Apathetic to whatever the little man says, Darius tilts his head playfully as he’s able and readjusts the massive rod in his pants. His voice rumbles enough to vibrate Michael’s chest as he looks down at him, “Speak up little dude.”

Clearing his throat, the DM mutters something about a character sheet which Darius can almost recognize, “Ohhhhh- that what I’m doin here huh?” He scratches his jaw, not even noticing that he’s sporting a beard. Man as he is stubble’ll burst onto his face if he goes five minutes without shaving. 

Downing half a protein shake that seemed to appear in his hand he pats Michael on his back, taking care to do it with the hand slightly sweaty from playing with his crotch, “Sure sure little man, I’m game.” Michael stays behind to reboot, mind desperately trying to understand what happened to his friend. Though something deeper within him is even more desperate to discover what this new brute can do.

Darius’ musk announces his presence to the rest of his party well before he makes it into the living room where they are to play. DND all but wiped from his mind now almost solely focused on putting on more meat and increasing his brute strength, he instead looks at the mousy crew before him. No one can avoid staring at the behemoth that enters.

Taking time to appraise each one of them, he sees them adjusting their own pants as they can’t help but be swayed in their way by his simply standing before them. He certainly can’t blame them. Smirking he offers only half a bicep flex and sees every one of them twitch from need. Taking in their small frames and baggy clothing, Darius wonder what they’d look like if they spent a little less time reading or playing these games, and instead joined him on the path towards strength.  

There’s a faint sound of pencil scratching in the room as every  class is suddenly written over with Barbarian. Darius smirks as instantly he sees their demeanor begin to change, he smells their nervous sweat shift to something more primal, something more powerful. He still isn’t quite sure whatever he was doing here, but all of a sudden he knows this’ll be a session for the ages.

[forthegaze123]

Bro-tein Mocha

Bima let out a tired sigh, the sound of a low, rumbling groan in the quiet hum of the new coffee shop. He leaned back in the sleek, minimalist chair, the hard metal digging slightly into his lower back, and watched as Ryan, his best friend and accounting-desk rival, scrolled through his phone.

“Man, I’m so over those spreadsheet,” Bima muttered, taking another long, chilled sip of his iced coffee. The mix of espresso, milk, and something creamy-sweet slid down his throat, a delicious shock of coolness against the day's stagnant heat. “I swear, if I have to look at one more line of debits and credits, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

He felt a low thrum of energy, an odd, buzzing sensation that he chalked up to a potent caffeine kick, but it felt... different.

Ryan chuckled, not looking up from his screen.

“Tell me about it. We’re literally the most exciting people on the planet. ‘Oh, look, a negative balance! So scandalous!’” He finally pocketed his phone, his gaze lifting to Bima’s glass, which was beaded with condensation. “That looks sick, man. What is that? A dirty chai or something?”

“Nah, it’s called a ‘Bro-tein Mocha,’” Bima said with a sly smirk. “The barista was a real gym bro type and said it has some sort of protein-infused shot in it. I was like, what the hell, why not? Needed a pick-me-up.”

The buzzing sensation in his chest intensified, a sort of pleasant, tingly warmth that spread through his torso and out into his arms. His pecs felt like they were inflating, stretching the fabric of his maroon patterned shirt just a little tighter.

It felt… nice.

He couldn’t help but flex slightly, a subconscious movement he’d never done before. A low, gravelly groan escaped his lips, a soft, involuntary sound of pure, raw contentment.

“A ‘Bro-tein Mocha,’ are you serious?” Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “That’s so lame, but hey, if it works. I think I’ll get a regular iced latte. My brain can’t handle any more ‘Bro-tein’ right now.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “I’ll be right back. Don’t get too pumped up just from that coffee.”

Bima gave him a lazy wave, a wide, confident grin spreading across his face.

“No promises, man.” He watched Ryan's back as he walked toward the counter, the movement of his jeans-clad ass making Bima’s pupils dilate.

A sudden, unexpected throb of desire pulsed in his lower belly, a hot, liquid warmth that pooled in his groin.

“Ohh! What the…”

He’d never felt anything like that before, not with Ryan, not with anyone. The very thought of it, the heat and the ache, sent a fresh wave of pleasure through him, a soft, delicious moan escaping his lips. He shifted in his seat, his hips grinding against the cool metal, the sudden friction sending a jolt of energy down his spine. His fingers, which had been loosely clasped in his lap, twitched, wanting to touch something, anything, to ground this bizarre, wonderful feeling.

As Ryan’s back disappeared into the short line, the strange sensation that had been building in Bima’s body suddenly surged. It felt like a rushing tide of hot, thick liquid pouring through his veins, making his skin prickle and his muscles seize.

His arms, resting on his thighs, felt like they were getting wider, their circumference expanding, a slow, silent, thrilling process. His biceps bulged, pressing against the short, tailored sleeves of his shirt. He felt the fabric strain, the cotton fibers protesting with a soft, audible tiiiing as a thread snapped.

“ARghhHHhh!” A deep, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction. He liked this feeling. He liked the tightness, the press of his own swollen muscles against his skin.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, blurring the clean lines of the coffee shop, making the tables and chairs swim in his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, the world tilting precariously. When he opened them again, the memories of tax returns, spreadsheets, and Ryan as his best friend felt distant, like a dream he had just woken from. They were fading, dissolving into a pleasant fog, replaced by new thoughts, new desires, and a new identity.

He wasn't an accountant.

No.

He was something else.

Someone else.

His mind was a blank slate, and new, more important information was being scribbled on it. Getting swole. Looking good. Being admired. Being desired. The dizzy spell subsided, leaving behind a sharp, clear focus on one thing: his body.

The growth wasn’t just confined to his arms. His chest was swelling, his pecs pushing outward with an incredible, straining pressure. He could feel the muscle fibers tearing and reforming, a deep, satisfying grrrnnnch and thrummmm beneath his skin. His spine elongated, and he felt his shoulders broaden, a low, pop-pop-popping sound echoing in his ears as his bones shifted and his frame expanded. The sensation was orgasmic, a full-body climax that made his hips buck in the chair, a guttural groan ripping from his throat.

His torso was a canvas of pure, growing man-flesh, and he could feel the fabric of his shirt stretching, giving way, and finally, with a loud, tearing RIIIIIIIIP! sound, the seam gave out across his chest. The buttons flew off and clattered onto the concrete floor like little hail pellets. He was free.

“Haaaa-ngghhhh yeahhh…”

A deep, primal sensation, like a warm, moist tendril of pleasure, began to tickle his chest, making him arch his back. He looked down and gasped, not in surprise, but in a sudden, deep-seated thrill.

Dark, coarse hair was sprouting from the center of his chest, a soft forest of it creeping outward, covering his pecs and tracing a line down his abs. Each new follicle that emerged was a tiny, delicious needle-prick of sensation. A musky, earthy scent, like raw power and lust, bloomed around him, a smell that was uniquely his and utterly intoxicating. It filled his senses, a raw, horny aroma that made his nostrils flare. He sniffed deeply, inhaling his own scent, and it was a heady, erotic experience.

His abs, which had been soft and undefined just moments ago, were now slabs of rippling muscle, hard and defined. He ran a hand over them, his fingers tracing the chiseled lines, a low moan vibrating in his throat.

This new Bima wasn't an accountant. He was an alpha. A jock. And he was in the middle of a date with a cute, sweet twink he'd met online.

“Oh yeahhhhh!” he can't resist flexing his guns.

He looked up, his eyes now hard and hungry, just in time to see Ryan walking back, a tray with an iced latte in his hands. Ryan's eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open at the sight of Bima, half-naked, muscles rippling and glistening with a light sheen of sweat in the coffee shop's fluorescent light. The torn shirt on the floor was a tattered flag of his transformation.

A rush of pure, raw horniness washed over Bima, making his cock stir and swell in his pants.

The memory of his job was gone, replaced by a single, burning thought: Ryan. His date. His twink. He needed him. He wanted him. All of him. He needed to get his hands on that boy, to feel those soft, pale fingers on his hard, new muscles.

"Bima? W-WOAHHHH what... what the hell?" Ryan whispered, his voice a disbelieving squeak. The tray rattled in his hands, nearly spilling his drink.

Bima just smirked, a predatory, possessive look in his eyes. His voice, when it came out, was deeper, raspier, a low growl that sent a shiver down Ryan's spine.

"Hey, babe," he purred, the word sliding off his tongue like melted chocolate. He ran a hand over his chest, his fingers stroking the new hair with a smug, possessive pride. He could feel his hard nipple bead and pucker beneath his touch, a sweet, erotic thrill. He shifted in his seat, the leather of his pants groaning against the metal chair.

"I hope you don't mind the new look. I told you I wasn't making any promises." His eyes, dark and hungry, dropped to Ryan's mouth, and a new wave of desire slammed into him, a thick, pulsating heat that made his groin ache.

He licked his lips slowly, a low, guttural purr rumbling deep in his chest. "Come on, sweetie. Don't just stand there with your mouth open. You look so cute when you're surprised."

He reached a hand out, his arm a massive, corded thing of muscle, and gestured to the empty chair beside him. He wanted Ryan close, wanted to feel his skin against his. The thought of it, of touching him, made his cock pulse and his balls tighten, a deep, throbbing ache that was almost unbearable.

"Come on, Ryan," he purred, his voice a low, horny whisper that was only for Ryan's ears. "Don't you want a better look? Don't you want to feel?" He grinned, a flash of pure, unadulterated lust in his eyes, and his hand reached down, his fingers tracing the hard line of his own rippling abs, a slow, sensual caress.

“Hmmmhhghhhhhh…” He moaned, a soft, delicious sound of pleasure, his pupils dilating as he watched Ryan’s eyes fix on his hand, his mouth going even drier.

This was definitely so much better than accounting.

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Bonus pic: