Getting a job as an "egg creator" for Easter and you think it's going to be just painting some plastic eggs or assembling some chocolate eggs but you get there and next thing you know you got a syringe in you and your next few hours has to you turning into a girl with a pussy, and a pair of bunny ears replacing your ears, and a fluffy bunny tail on your new bubble butt. But that was just the start as you feel a weight in your stomach, a growing heavy weight, as your belly expands and expands until you just have to push, a solid egg, multicolored.
You can't stop laying, one after another, its not stopping, and it feels so good. So many different sizes, each one a need good feeling. Baskets of eggs laid before you finally slow down, a job well done!
Enjoy your next few days as a reward for so many baskets of eggs, sure you're stuck as a bunny girl for the next few days, but it's a pretty cool resort.
If you want to lay some more eggs, we have some rabbits with "carrots", ready to start the whole process again. Just be warned, they do fuck like rabbits, so expect a lot of loads, and alot of friendly rabbits to make friends with!
Which of these premises has the strongest potential for a good gender swap story?
1
2
3
4
5
Remaining time: 2 days 1 hour
1.
Helena hates her fiancé because he is arrogant and treats women as inferior. To escape the arranged marriage, she asks a witch to transform her into a man. When Alistair Vance learns that his future bride has become a man, he is furious and feels publicly humiliated. He believes Helena changed her gender to escape the marriage. To restore his honor, he challenges her to a duel, but Helena, who has never held a sword, is quickly defeated. He spares her life but threatens to cancel the financial agreement, ruining her family, if she does not 'return to her true body.' Faced with this situation, her father has no choice but to send his younger daughter to marry Alistair in her place. Helena - now named Henry - feels guilty, because his sister ended up bearing that burden in his place. He trains with his friend Kael to face Alistair in a second duel to save his younger sister from the marriage. Kael is in love with Helena even after she becomes a man, but he represses his feelings and settles for being Henry's loyal friend. At one point in the story, he dies sacrificing himself for him, and Henry honors his memory by marrying Kael’s sister, vowing to always watch over her and protect her.
2.
A rich and powerful woman, recently widowed, could no longer bear her loneliness. She hired a witch to transform her devoted young servant into the physical replica of her late husband. At first, the woman had asked the witch to bring her husband back from the dead.
The witch told her that was impossible, but offered to shape a copy of him instead. The flesh, she said, can be shaped into anything - it is malleable, from her perspective.
The servant, who had been in love with her mistress for years, accepted out of devotion. She could not stand to see her sad; she wished she could make her as happy as she deserved.
After the transformation, the woman asked not to be called « madame » anymore, but by her first name. It was herself who taught her how to play the part.
She corrected her posture, her gait, the way she held her glass at dinner. She showed her which shirts he had preferred and how he knotted his tie.
The lessons were patient, meticulous, almost tender - and yet each one whispered the same unspoken truth: You are not him. But you can learn to resemble him.
The former servant knew she was only a substitute, that the woman would always prefer the original. So she tried to be a better husband than he had ever been, hoping the woman might one day love her more than she had ever loved him.
Sometimes, in secret, the woman still weeps for the man she lost. For though the shell is the same, the soul within it is not.
3.
This fantastic idea comes from @dualumina
The servant was accidentally responsible for the husband's death. A freak accident, the stairs had been recently mopped. But it was the servant who caused it, as she forgot to warn anyone not to use the stairs. No one can deny she isn't at fault.
The new widow, in her shock at the loss, gives the young servant an ultimatum - either replace the husband she just lost, or be reported to the authorities.
The servant, ridden with guilt and knowing she'd likely rot away in a prison, agrees to the transformation. And she couldn't bear to see her mistress in distress.
She's a servant, so no one asks any questions when she disappears. Maybe the widow needs the former servant to play the part for the sake of keeping both her composure and the estate.
The husband's body is quietly buried in the rose garden.
The other servants are forbidden from discussing the matter, but why would they? If the widow loses the estate they lose their jobs.
So the secret is buried as deep as the husband's body.
"That's what it all boils down to, isn't it?" The servant thinks. "This household needs his body to survive."
"Then I must become the husband this house needs."
4.
This fantastic idea comes from @xenocenecomic
Or an alternative to the third one where the servant does not tell the mistress/wife for fear of her life, instead she disposes of the body, keeps one hair for the spell/potion and asks a witch to turn her into the husband such that it seems the death had never really happened? Perhaps the mistress begins to suspect something as her “husband” becomes avoidant out of guilt, perhaps to the point of madness.
5.
A witch seizes her husband's murderer, and, instead of killing her, transforms her into an exact copy of him. She also erases all traces of this woman's past existence, definitively wiping her from collective memory. No administrative record bears her name any longer. It is as if she never was.
She teaches her to be him and threatens that if she refuses to play the role, she will turn her into a toad and boil her alive.
He has nothing left: no one, no past, no escape. Only her. His sole point of reference, his only reality. At first, he played the role to escape the pain. Now he plays it because her satisfaction has become his only worth. He cannot even completely hate her, because without her, he has nothing left.
Kara was walking around this hotel. It seemed like your normal Marriott type hotel but it held a weird magic power that could effect the people staying there in various ways.
Kara went into her room and as she went in she saw the things in her room change. Her clothing became folded up male button up shirts. Khakis. And she looked at her shoes on the ground changing into size 13 men’s shoes.
Kara was shocked but in the coming moments her body began to grow and get larger. Muscles filled out. Her breasts became pecs, as a dusty of hairs appeared on them and went down to her hardening stomach.
He felt a pulling sensation as his new cock formed between his thickening legs, as his feet began to grow and expand. The toes thickened and heels became calloused. They broke out of his small sandals, as Kara looked the mirror to see his face changing in front of his eyes.
Hank watched as his hair receded and finished changing. His face aged and changed as his features became more mature and into his 40s. His hairline receded upward, as blue trunks appeared on his legs. Hank’s mind quickly reset as he stared at himself in the mirror.
“Time to get a swim in” he said thinking about going to the hotels pool.
You go out in search of a legendary substance supposed to give one the body of their dreams. What you find isn't quite what you bargained for...
The warm orange glow of the tavern’s lights glistened on the surface of your drink as you sat in the corner of the bar. When you had left your house that night you would’ve done damn near anything if it meant not being sober; but now, having had the whole long walk here for that ache in the back of your mind to fade, you had hardly touched your drink. Still, you took small sips once in a while - if for no other reason than to wash the taste of that night’s draught out of your mouth.
“Mare’s essence” it had been called, a cure for barren wives and girls born of the wrong sex. The stuff was a closely-guarded secret, spoken of in reverent whispers by those whom it had aided. It tasted foul as sin, but it had proved effective thus far - already your skin had turned softer and your breasts grown tender.
The changes were welcome to be sure, but nowhere near enough to silence the agonizing bouts of dysphoria that came in the lonely hours of the evening, when even the sun could not keep you company.
It was one of these that had brought you to your local tavern. Alcohol was a poor excuse for a treatment, but if nothing else you needed the company. You were just about to take another sip when a snippet of conversation caught your attention.
“… It’s like I said, you talk to anyone down by those mountains and they’ll tell you - the elixir's hidden deep in the caverns, up top those ol’ rocks” It was a deep voice, not one you’d heard around here before - adventurers, if you had to guess.
“What, the elixir of life? And lemme guess, they’ll sell it to ya for only a copper?” another chortled, the group laughing boisterously in response.
“you know I wouldn’t chase an old wives tale like that” scoffed the storyteller, roughly elbowing his companion “this here’s the Sweet Nectar. Stuff of fairies, or so they say, s’posed to give you the body of your dreams if the legends are true!”
“As if!” another drunkenly laughed “whawuddat do t’ ya anyhoo? Grow yer balls t’ the size uvva pumpkin?” The group’s banter continued on like this, the drunken chatter fading back into the background once more as you finished your drink.
After that, the idea kept creeping up in the back of your mind. What if this “Sweet Nectar” really did exist? It could mean an end to the dysphoria, an end to keeping your true self behind closed doors, an end to drinking that godawful brew every night. You laughed the thought off - the only fey you knew of were tricksters at best. They were beautiful to be sure, but you doubted that beauty was something they’d so readily share.
Despite that, you just couldn’t shake the thought, what if it really was out there? The idea became more and more enticing as time went on, the promise of a better life that the nectar offered too tantalizing to ignore. It was this nagging thought that brought you to the local library a few days later. It was a grand building, a monument to an opulence long faded from the small valley town it stands in, carved mahogony scratched and warped, brass turned grey by years of patina. Still, the knowledge kept within was as valuable as the day it was erected.
After a short conversation with the librarian - a thin, nervous man who always looked as though he hadn’t gotten quite enough sleep - you were given a couple tomes to leaf through. It didn’t take long to find what you were looking for, a short book of local myths and legends with a complete description of the Sweet Nectar:
“The Sweet Nectar or Faeries Nectar is a legendary artifact said to reside somewhere in the caverns beneath the savarello mountain. It is said to grant to the drinker their ideal body, a possible explanation for the enchanting figures of the fae…”
This was perfect, you knew where the Savarello mountains were, they were only a day's trek from here. Immediately your mind began racing with the possibilities. You had long convinced yourself this was a good idea, rationalizing away every doubt that bubbled into your mind, now you had to find it.
That night you packed everything you would need for the journey, cramming all of it into an old leather backpack until you were finally ready. That night you slept restlessly, drifting between dreams and daydreams of what you would look like once you drank that elixir, how your voice would sound, how it would feel.
You woke with a start at the first light, leaping out of bed with far more energy than your meager sleep should have granted. For the first time since you could remember, you had something to really hope for, and you were going to chase it.
You made the trek to the mountain’s base with a spring in your step, making only brief stops along the well-trodden road for food and drink. Your enthusiasm died down as the evening came, doubts creeping in to fill the space the sunlight left - how would you even find the cave? Folk tales rarely included maps. Even if you did find the cave, how would you navigate it?
Your energy waning, you decided to rest for the night in the small town at the mountain’s base. The inn was a ragged old thing, the windows were gray with years of soot and grime, and the chain holding up the sign was more rust than metal. Despite that, as soon as you walked in the sound of revelry and the smell of ale hit you like a wall. The liveliness was refreshing, but you needed to conserve your energy for the trek ahead. You quickly paid for your stay, and headed up towards your room.
You were just about to turn the corner to the relatively quiet hall of rooms when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around you saw a gorgeous woman, long curly hair and soft, clear skin, her green eyes sparkling like broken glass in the dim light. She looked out of place amongst the crowd of farmhands and adventurers, a fact not helped by her belly - she looked to be at least 6 months pregnant, probably more. “she’s probably the innkeeper's daughter” you thought to yourself.
“Hi there!” She said, her voice clear and unusually chipper for the hour “You don’t look like a local, what brings you all the way out here?”
“I'm just passing through” you said, trying and failing to match her enthusiasm
“Oh!” She said “You wouldn’t be searching for the Sweet Nectar, would you?”
“y-yeah” you said, taken aback at the forwardness of her question, was it that obvious? “I doubt I’ll find it though, I don’t even know where to start looking”
“oh that’s easy!” She said, “The cave is just by the lake south of here, I don’t think anyone’s ever gone in very far though!”
“th-thanks” you stuttered, her cheerful demeanor was starting to creep you out, why was she telling you this? “Guess I’ll look there then!”
Before she could say another word you had already hurried into your room, something about that woman just didn’t sit right, why was she so cheerful? How did she know you were looking for the Nectar? You set those thoughts aside for the moment, right now you needed rest - tomorrow was a big day after all.
You woke feeling well-rested, not quite the manic energy of the day before, but you were still filled with anticipation. If you were going to find the Nectar, it would be today. You would finally be the woman you always wanted to be.
The trek up to the lake was far more difficult than that of the day before. The trail was rough and steep, more of a deer trail than a true path at times. Nonetheless you carried on, all of it would be worth it when you got that nectar.
You were so focused on the path forward that you didn’t notice the signs of fey influence at first, but as you carried on it became more and more obvious - plants curling and twisting in bizarre ways, the needles of the pines turning from green to vibrant blue. You knew the danger, but you couldn’t help but feel more hope than trepidation, this meant it had to be here.
At last, you arrived at the cave entrance. The lake just behind you would’ve been the perfect place for a rest, but rest was the furthest thing from your mind right now - not when you were this close. You took a brief moment to light your lantern before heading straight into the cave, your hurried footsteps echoing throughout the vast tunnel. Your restless pace was quickly slowed by the terrain. The passage grew smaller and the walls damper the further you went, skowing your pace to a crawl as you struggled to stay upright. The air grew warm and humid as you went deeper still, and you began to see patches of moss on the cave floor.
The cave went on like this for what felt like hours, strange flowers and twisting vines joining the moss until they covered the stone like plush, verdant skin. You swear you saw some of the larger vines twitch as you walked past. Finally, just as your legs were beginning to ache from the long journey, you saw it.
Just a few meters ahead the cave opened up into a verdant grove, strange blooms speckling the ground with dots of vibrant colour, light trickling in from somewhere out of sight. There, in the center of it all was a gargantuan bloom; it’s silky petals, each more than twice your size, spread out invitingly like a carpet, highlighting the pods of glistening golden ichor hanging from it’s stylets. This had to be it - the Sweet Nectar of legend.
You savoured the moment as you approached the bloom, the air was thick with a floral scent that made your skin flush and your mind fog, effects you chocked up to exhaustion. Slowly and surely, you walked across the thick petals. This was finally it, all you had to do was reach out and-
scrack!
A sharp, wet, snapping sound, the ill-tempered child of a whip's crack and the snapping of a branch rang out through the cavern. Before your mind could even open the memo that danger was afoot - let alone read it - the thick petals had closed around you, trapping you in a prison of slick violet foliage. In an instant your joy was replaced with sharp, animalistic panic. You clawed and punched desperately at the soft yet unyielding walls of your newfound prison, but all you got for your efforts was a bruised knuckle and a rapidly growing feeling of doom.
It was then that you heard a hissing sound. You looked up and saw the precious bulbs shrinking, the liquid within spraying out into the air as a fine mist. It couldn’t even occur to you to hold your breath, as soon as the scent hit you any thought in your mind was annihilated by the deepest, most desperate need you had ever felt. Your skin was hot and sensitive, the warm air around you suddenly felt cold and cruel as the spurning of a longtime lover. You needed to be touched, to be fucked, to be bred - each breath turned you into more and more of a leaky, panting mess - your gock straining desperately against your pants.
You began to strip as quickly as you could, desperate to sate the burning crimson need that had enveloped you. Your desperate task was quickly interrupted by a movement in the corner of your vision. You watched as thick vines, easily the size of your arm snaked out from the base of the plant’s pistil. You watched as they began to move towards you in deliberate, almost sensual motions. You knew you should've been terrified, as any rational observer would be - instead, you were ecstatic.
You let out a lascivious moan as the tendrils began to snake their way up your body, tearing off your clothes as they went. With your body like this, even the slightest touch felt incredible. You shuddered with need as they worked their way uo your chest, brushing deliciously over your sensitive nipples. Resistance didn’t even occur to you, not when your body was a bonfire of need, not when every touch felt so good.
You let out a desperate whine as the vines began to tease your most sensitive areas, leaving the gentlest, most teasing of touches at the base of your gock and around your hole. You tried to hump against them, to get any kind of friction, but the tendrils weren’t having it. They tightened around you, locking your body in place as your whines turned to all-out cries, begging for to be touched, to be filled, something.
After what felt like an eternity of torturously gentle teasing, you pleas were finally answered. You shuddered as you felt a thin, slick vine rubbing at your hole before finally, deliciously, it slipped in. The moment you felt the tendril rub against your prostate you were seeing stars, your mouth agape and gock leaking like an icicle in the spring sun as you came to your first of what would be many mind-shattering orgasms.
The vines didn’t stop - and you wouldn’t have wanted them to. Your body was still aflame with need despite your orgasm, and the feeling of finally being filled was like no other. You moaned and thrashed uselessly as the vines had their way with you. Every thrust had you crying out for more, and the vines obliged, two wrapped around your sensitive nipples, another around your gock. The onslaught of pleasure was unbelievably intense, it only took seconds before you were already about to-
And then they stopped.
You cried out in desperation at the sudden lack of sensation as the tendril that had been fucking you pulled out, tugging futilely at the vines restraining you as you cried out half-formed pleas. Your squirming stopped when you saw something snaking it’s way out of the plant’s tall pistil. It was another one of the tendrils, but this one was thicker than the others, and covered in thick ridges. It’s head was distinctly phallac as well, a large opening in the center dripping with thick, golden fluid.
You moaned at the very sight of it. This was exactly what you needed, you just knew it, nothing else could possibly satisfy you in this moment. It slipped inside you, stretching you to your absolute limits as it began to thrust. The other tentacles redoubled their efforts, and it wasn’t long before you were brought to another shuddering orgasm. It kept going. Every thrust felt divine, you could feel the ridges popping in and out, the sheer girth of it crushing against your cum button every time, and every little spurt of that golden liquid that it gave made your head swim. And then you saw them.
Bulges, thick, glowing bulges were travelling through the tentacle inside you. This thing was going to fill you with it’s seeds. Panic set in for a brief moment, but was quickly silenced by another spurt of the golden nectar. You wanted this, no - needed this. You shuddered and squirmed with anticipation as the seeds crept towards you, until finally…
Pop
The feeling of it pushing inside you was rapturous. It should've hurt, but the ichor meant that all of it registered as more pleasure as your vision went white. You came, a shaking, moaning, tidal wave of an orgasm that didn’t even have time to finish before…
Pop
Another slid in. Somehow, it felt better than the first. You came once again as it pushed deliciously past your prostate, your whole body shaking as…
Pop
Your gock is twitching uselessly now. The constant pleasure too much for it to keep up with. Any attempt at coherent thought is shattered by another orgasm when…
Pop
You don’t know how much more of this your mind can take. You’re covered in your own drool, barely anything more than a mindless fucktoy. Your whole body shaking every time it…
Pop
You never want it to end. You’re a shaking broken mess and all you want is more. It feels incredible. Your belly is stretching to accommodate all the seeds and you feel so full it’s like you're going to…
Pop
And finally, it stops. The tendrils gently lower you to the ground as darkness begins to creep in at the edges of your vision. You mutter something vaguely adjacent to thanks before you drift into an exhausted sleep.
You awaken at the entrance of the cave, the calm lake rippling gently in the morning breeze. For a moment, you think it must have all been an exhausted dream, but one look down at your swollen belly is enough to prove otherwise. Half-panicked you look at your reflection in the water, hoping to take stock of the damages. What you see brings tears of joy to your eyes.
It’s you. Not the shell you were born into, nor the approximation you made it, but you. Eyes wide and bright, cheeks round and feminine, breasts hanging gently. Exactly as you were meant to be - plus, of course, a belly full of seeds. But maybe, you think, that isn’t such a bad price to pay. The slight wetness between your legs at the thought would suggest that it isn’t a price at all.
Cameron adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and slathered a second coat of sunscreen over his pale body, trying not to let the growing irritation show on his face. The waves were small, the sand was hot, and unfortunately, two overly persistent girls from his old high school had spotted him almost immediately when he stepped onto the beach.
“Aww, Cammy! Still pretending to be into boys?” one of them teased, licking a popsicle suggestively.
“Yeah, come on. You’d look so hot with a real girl on your arm instead of—what was it, that barista guy?” the other said, flipping her long bleached hair.
Cameron tried to brush them off. He told them clearly twice, then three times, that he wasn’t interested. He even put his earbuds in. But they only got more persistent and more condescending. They talked about him like he was broken, like his whole self was all a joke or a phase.
So, when they followed him down the shoreline, to where the tide lapped gently against the shore, he finally turned and gave them a long, quiet stare. He had this magic for a reason after all, he thought to himself.
“I warned you,” he said calmly. He made a strange gesture with his fingers and clearly envisioned in his head what he wanted to happen.
The wind died for a moment. The sunlight shimmered strangely on the water. Then, very softly, things began to change.
Their names were Madison and Brittney. They’d grown up as pretty, popular girls, same old story: always the center of attention, always used to getting what they wanted. And they wanted Cameron. Or more specifically, they wanted the challenge of Cameron.
Madison was the first to feel it. She opened her mouth for another taunt, her voice cracked. Literally cracked, as she tried speaking her voice sounded too deep to be hers.
“Ughh, wha—?” she croaked, then coughed, clutching her throat and finding it to feel unusually thick and hard.
Brittney giggled or tried too. but the sound came out sharp and nasal, more like a mocking sneer. “You okay, Mads?” she asked, only to frown at her own voice. “Wait, what the—?”
Their skin began to darken under the sun, but not from a burn. Muscles began to swell beneath their collarbones, at first subtle, then sudden. Popping into place as if something alive was under their skin. Their delicate wrists thickened, and their narrow, painted fingernails curled inward, breaking off as larger hands formed, knuckles cracking and fingers broadening each with a dull thick nail.
“Cam?” Madison asked, but even she could hear the desperate, masculine rasp in her voice now.
Cameron just watched, standing a few feet away as the transformation accelerated.
The girls dropped to their knees in the wet sand, gasping, clutching their stomachs as their waists thickened and broadened. Their hips narrowed, breasts flattening into hard, meaty pecs. Pink bikini tops slipped off and hit the sand with a soft slap. What had once been sun-kissed hourglass torsos were now bulking up into V-shaped gym bros.
Brittney, who now looked about 80% frat pledge, grunted and tugged at the waistband of her bikini bottoms as something stirred beneath them, which something did , her feminine parts reformed, an above average male prostate was pushing itself out of her vigina.
“I feel—oh fuuuck, I feel weird,” she moaned, then let out a guttural laugh as her voice dropped even deeper. “No, bro, this feels good.”
“Bro?” Madison repeated, then blinked. “Wait, yeah—bro. I feel, like—fucking alive.”
Their thoughts were shifting now. You could almost see it happen in their glassy eyes, the way their brows furrowed dumbly in confusion, then eased into cocky smirks.
“Yo, is this what it’s like to be a dude?” Madison asked, flexing his arms and looking at the veins bulging beneath the skin.
“No, man,” Brittney, now mentally calling himself Brock rather than Britt, grinned and scratched his head. “Like. . . aren’t we fucking dudes though.”
Their hair had changed too. Madison’s straight blond waves curled tightly into a mop of sweaty dark curls. Brittney’s tangle of platinum strands faded into a rich, sandy brown and grew denser, more tousled, like the perfect Instagram model the former girls would have thirsted over.
Within minutes, two shirtless young men were standing in the sand where the girls had been, tan, ripped, and glistening in the sun.
And the thoughts that swirled in their newly male brains? Definitely not what they used to be.
“Damn, I need a fuckin’ beer or somethin’,” muttered Brock, tugging on his board shorts, now perfectly formed around his trim waist and generous bulge.
“No joke, bro,” said the other, who was now going by Maddox. “Also kinda feel like...I wanna hit something. Or fuck someone. Or both.”
Cameron stepped back just as they picked up their skimboards, ones that hadn’t existed a minute before. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips. Cameron stood quietly, a glimmer in his eye.
He went back under his umbrella and sat down, content with a job well done. He watched, as they jogged down the beach to go check out some “tight chicks,” Jax and Brock were now prime examples of the straight, cocky fuckbois they’d always fantasized about. Shallow, horny, and mostly brainless, with just enough confidence to make them entertaining.
He watched as Brock clumsily flirted with a volleyball player, slurring a lazy line about “how tight her spike was,” while Jax adjusted his waistband for the fifth time, smirking down at himself like it was the first time he’d seen it.
Cameron let out a slow breath and pulled his hat lower over his face. He happily picked up his book, eager to finish it in his self made peace and quiet. But as he quietly flipped pages he failed to notice the two new beach bros walking towards his set up, lust in their eyes and a determined pep in their step. Not every spell works exactly as you want it to. . .
(A magical spell, maybe, gone wrong. Anyway hope you enjoy this one! Let me know if guy have any story ideas you want to see.)
Truly wild that I've been out for over a decade! It's been such a delightful journey of transcendence ❤️
What is life but a never ending cycle of metamorphosis? I've loved getting to know myself and continuously recreating my physical form. I ran from my femininity and rejoined it again in such a radical and devine way. I love being queer, femme, and nonbinary ❤️❤️❤️
Alex does a few deliveries before meeting Nicky for lunch. His should be familiar route launches men into new lives as slobs, handymen, hairy tops, and twinks. All the while he struggles to understand the reality before him and his own changing form and his strange position in this new world.
Yowza that’s a long one, as stated it’s kind of a bunch of mini TF’s in a longer story though! In the order presented in the description :) Also I did end up including a gender change since it seemed there was some interest! Worry not, it's all very gay haha! The final poll will go up Sunday the 22nd and run for a week this time. Had quite a bit of fun writing this one, hope you all enjoy the penultimate chapter of Talismen! -Occam
Alex had just returned from another delivery to the sweet couple of bears next door when he received a text from his friend, Nicky. [Heyoo, when are you on lunch? Si’s meeting me for coffee in a bit right next to ur place if u wanna join~] Checking the time, Alex thinks he’ll probably have one more order before getting to clock off and tells Nicky as much.
Already waiting alone in the cafe, the inadvertent magus’ eyes glimmer their unnatural red as he opts to cast a spell the old fashioned way and summon his friend by ordering some rangoons for himself. What better way to get what you want than to ask for it.
Nicky smiles as he sees Alex reply [Should be good ! Zhao’ll probably have me do one more but I’ll be quick~] Getting in line the man’s fingers flex unknowingly as he whispers under his breath and winks to no one, “Yeah yeah, you’d better dude- Speed it up for me.” rather than typing this, he sends some in-joke emoji, totally unaware of the almost imperceptible red mist that falls from his mouth and shoots through the doors of the cafe towards the nearby delivery man.
It hits him just as he enters Wok’N’Talk, he shivers as it flows into him, lightning his dark brown enough to be black eyes for but a moment as the few hairs on his arm stand on end. He pauses as the bizarre staticky, pent-up sensation fills him, though not for long as he’s just as soon assailed by the owner calling him to get back to work, “小伙子! (Xiǎohuǒzǐ/Young Man!) Alex! The phone is blowing up! Can you do one more run before lunch?”
“Just one?” Alex takes in the scene as he sees Zhao nervously gulp at the still printing orders, continuing to pile up. He well knew how the older man operates and figured implicitly offering to help more would butter him up enough to at the very least get the easiest jobs left on the table, “感谢上帝 (Gǎnxiè shàngdì/Thank god) for you Alex, there are two orders very very close- Do you think you can do them at once?” Alex nods and checks the addresses before being interrupted, “Ēn- ah! I forgot one just came in and they asked for you by name Alex-” He sheepishly looks at his young employee, “Would you mind?”
Checking it to find it’s clearly from Nicky he rolls his eyes and prepares to harangue his friend for piling more work on him. For now he simply acquiesces with a deep nod and Zhao comes over with the horde of takeout he’s to deliver. Alex tries to wave off his boss as the older man pats him on the back, “What would we do without you 小伙子- (Xiǎohuǒzǐ/Young Man-) No wonder they asked for you too eh?” Alex tilts his head as he sees a dreamy look appear in the owner’s eyes as he inhales the faintest wisp of red fog. At the same time he feels the man’s arm go limp on his back. Immediately concerned, he leans in to catch the man before he trips only to hear him whisper, “You always were one of my best boys.”
The delivery boy almost flinches back as his words are joined with loud pop music descending upon the restaurant, a stark shift from the traditional instrumentals Zhao prefers. Every inch of the place is suddenly painted in a red haze as the overhead lighting tints crimson. Alex looks up to see Zhao suddenly standing at the counter, “Mr. Zhao is- what is happening!?” He sees wrinkles disappear from his face as he removes his tie, “Why, dear Alex- What do you mean? Do you not long to be one of my 肌肉 (muscle)Jirou Heroes?” Alex backs away as he sees the man reach out and a leash appears in his hands. Smirking, the owner continues, “Tell him Xian.”
Alex didn’t see his closest friend on staff standing there before now, perhaps he wasn’t. Just as off put as the delivery man, the cook looks around, equally as uncomfortable and unsure of the surroundings as the delivery man by the door. That is, before Zhao twists his hand and the leash shoots to attach itself to Xian’s shirt collar, bending its fabric into a thick black bondage collar. The red lights flash as Alex’s friend grasps at the leash before his arms fall limp and his mouth falls agog. Fear fills the delivery man as he watches Xian swiftly contort as his leash is pulled taut.
Zhao just smirks as the once cook surges taller, sleeves immediately bursting to nothing as arms perfect for their new line of work bulge into existence. Pecs made to be oiled and abs made to be rubbed punch into existence. Each distinct muscle presses larger as Xian puts his arms behind his back, standing at attention until his boss, his owner, suggests otherwise. Alex covers his mouth in horror and grimaces as his stomach turns from seeing his friend’s body contort into a titan, into pure sex appeal. He tries to ignore the desire that fills him as he can’t help but stare at Xian. The leashed man briefly looks to Zhao for permission to speak, “Why are you scared Alex, just give in.”
His voice is stone cold and deep, raspy while betraying no emotion. Alex moves his hand to cover his eyes and bring it further away from a crotch that pulses with need. He clenches his eyes shut to hide the red light that seeps in through his fingertips as his chest tightens. Skipping breaths, he swears he feels his own chest beginning to grow just like Xian’s. “No, nono-” Alex clutches at his shirt and feels his chest burning, bulging into his hand. He struggles to tug at his shirt as his biceps press awkwardly against the new chest, making it clear that they too are thicker. Totally overwhelmed he stares at hands that contort larger, fingers stretch and palms widen. He stares at hands that are not his own and then he blinks. And all is normal.
“Yo Alex, you alright dude?” He feels the fan hanging above the door blow air against dried tears on his face. Xian calls out from the window into the kitchen, “Sure you don’t need an early lunch?” looking around he’s reminded of how short-staffed they are before continues, “I mean, no one else can do it but-” While unable to compartmentalize really, he can certainly perform normalcy enough to fool a man half a dozen yards away, “Yeah no problem dude! Just uh-” he sees a flash of Xian’s face sharpening to stone and harshness of his echoing bass, Alex’s voice cracks as he continues, “just spAced out- I’ll be back after lunch!”
Forcing a smile, he grabs the delivery bags and runs as fast as he can manage into the streets. Stumbling out of eyesight he takes deep breaths of fresh air. What kind of episode was that? Knowing where the first delivery is, he starts the trip into the apartment building next door, home of all their number one customers, and a haven of normalcy that for good reason Alex is desperately craving.
Already rationalizing whatever as his being overworked the young man doesn’t take a second to look behind as the cute neon sign Zhao has kept for years tinges red as it begins to shift from Wok’N’Talk to Jirou Heroes. Just as he saw, Xian stands behind the counter, bloating and flexing as the interior of the shop corrupts from an almost stereotypical Chinese food restaurant into this new, younger Zhao’s take on a muscle cafe.
Alex is thankfully none the wiser as he keeps his nose on the grindstone to maintain at least the illusion of someone not mid-psychotic break, as anyone who sees prescient images of the future must to survive. Riding up past happy husband Rich Adam’s apartment he squirms to try and ignore the feeling that his clothes are tighter than usual. It’s in his head, he’s just stressed. And yet, were anyone there to see him they could not help but notice as the elevator continues to climb, his sleeves grow almost snug and pecs begin to give his torso profile it has never held before. Getting a little sweaty he puffs stuffy air into his shirt and swears it’s just nerves.
Frog in his throat he clears it as the elevator finally reaches the sixth floor. DING. The guys’ll offer him some water. He pauses to judge the heft of their order, weird that they’re all here today? Game day’s usually Friday, he thought. Well, he shrugs to himself- guess they’re allowed to hang out when they’re not role playing, or whatever.
Alex sighs to himself as he makes it to their apartment door. Content to finally be back in sorts, he takes a moment to himself to ensure he’s indeed all there. Smiling wide just to feel the strain on his face, clenching his teeth to feel the pressure on his jaw. He takes a deep breath and ignores how his shirt tugs just a hair more against his stomach before knocking.
Despite himself his raps on the door are quiet, he doesn’t notice as just like from Nicky, red mist falls from his mouth and slinks under the door. The humble host of this little gathering reaches for the door knob and just before turning it he freezes. Eyes flash red as just like Xian, just like Alex, he is struck with something inevitable. It then shoves past him as soon as it enters, tendrils launching out to the other occupants, to the meek miniature painter and a pair of friends having a not-quite-lovers spat about their campaign.
But first and foremost it fills Ian who after a moment that lasts forever and never happened at all he returns to his mind, shivers and opens the door. “Heyyy Alex! Didn’t know you work Wednesdays too!” Alex sheepishly smiles, laughing and follows the man in. Despite meaning something worlds different when Zhao said it, the delivery boy was indeed popular with the Wok’s customers. Alex looks down and squints as he swears he can see, almost like string, a red trail into the apartment. The red brings images back to his mind of Xian growing out of his apron and fills him with nerves that he’s about to have another episode he tries to gulp and is reminded of his thirst. Forcing his mouth into a docile smile he doesn’t even begin to try to hide the fear in his eyes as he asks, “Hey Ian could I trouble you for a glass of water?”
The host doesn’t turn to look at Alex as he answers, his own eyes already glassy and distracted, “Yeah yeah, uhh- I’ll go grab it for ya. Think I hear a leak or somethin’ in there anyway,” Alex furrows his brow as he watches the man saunter away, his upper body dragged behind legs walking with a cocky gait that Ian would never deign to perform. Alex clutches at his chest and for the second time feeling pecs that have begun to amass once more he is filled with despair, though this time he feels he can get a jump on things. He can stop the changes. Looking back at the red chain ahead he can almost see footprints that lead toward the room where Wes, the painter, works.
He has seen what happens, he couldn’t save Xian then, but surely now. Surely he can stop anyone else from changing. Maybe you’re not supposed to go along with it, and maybe it’s already too late, but fuck man he can try and help. Propelled forward with purpose alien, Alex unknowingly stomps onward precisely where glowing red footprints lie. With each step forward his feet grow to fill them as his calves and thighs stretch larger with his all-consuming desire to get there faster. His shoes change to something bulkier, more fashionable as the soles of his feet grow wider and toes stretch longer, filling them before they simply burst larger to catch up every new step. His work pants are field to the bursting with powerful thighs now laced with veins as he wills them thicker, stronger, as he wills himself to be faster.
And then he’s there, Wes is quietly working as he often is. Though Alex often delivers the party their meals on game days, rarely is he ever alone with Wes, but the man seems a quiet sort. When the painter sees the man enter he smiles and offers a miniature to look at, “Ah! Nice to see you Alex!” The thin Wes’ eyes brighten with a smile, veiling the red behind his irises, “How’s this lil guy look?” Alex struggles to quiet his heavy breathing and temper his clear overreaction, clearly nothing is actually happening, he’s being delusional. Were he to look down at his lower body to find his pants rapidly changing texture and rising to become shorts and exposing his new beefy calves he’d surely maintain the right level of fear. Instead catching his breath he leans in close to inspect Wes’ work.
“Woah huh, yeah. That looks huh, crazy good Wes!” He can’t imagine the precision required for such deliberate brush strokes. Wes must be a man of great patience. And then he blinks and there is nothing in the man’s hand. In fact that cannot be the hand of this shy artist. Instead he’s staring at a meaty paw and punching himself for losing sight of his self-assigned mission as he sees the unreal take hold of reality once more. He hears a burp tear through the air as the man in front of him guffaws, “buUURRP- Huhhuh! Sorry bruh, didn’ mean to getcha with that one huh!” He can’t tear his eyes away as the man's arms grow thick with fat and muscle in equal part as he clumsily wipes red paint on his beyond ratty shirt.
The sleeves disappear as it morphs into a sweat and paint covered cutaway. All the while the man continues oppressively laughing. He scratches at his now exposed pits and Alex stares with fear as with each stroke his fingers drag through more, thicker, darker hair. Apathetic as he simultaneously mars his sticky pits with paint and coats his ungainly fingers with a musk that now seeps through the air. His legs similarly burst free from their confines as they are covered with thick curls from his newly bulging package to his lengthening hairy toes. Wes goes to grab his paint cup and raises it to drink. Alex doesn’t even have a chance to react as it shifts into a beer can.
The paint covered slob downs whatever swill left in the can in one gulp before clumsily crushing it against his bulky thigh and tossing it to the floor, “What’s wrong fucker, look like ya’ve seen a ghost huhuh! Oh waiiit shit you got our food, ya?” Again Alex doesn't speak up or even move as the barrel chested man barrels past him to get to the Chinese food left in a heap by the entrance. Wes’ meaty hand forced on Alex’s chest leaves a sickly red stain, launching his top to begin its change from a plain uniform to more of a slutty crop top, one perfect to display Alex’s new meatier arms as they hang lower from shoulders that widen with every heaving breath. Seeing the man leave he is filled with an urgency to move himself, he needs to get out of here.
He needs to- his eyes flash from the door to Wes tearing through the delivered takeout, to the red trail bleeding towards the living room, before finally landing on the kitchen. His throat burns yet again, what a thoroughly unimportant need, but one that nonetheless must be sated. Despite the world around him, poor Alex simply needs a drink.
Unfortunately for the struggling delivery man, upon entering the kitchen he only finds more otherworldly horror. Alex is promptly torn between instincts of flight and fight as what he sees fills him with fear. Thoroughly stuck, he sees a massive man struggling to free himself from underneath the kitchen sink. Despite knowing this cannot be the case, when he stares at the cut abdomen of this figure wrenching away at a pipe he simply knows it to be Ian. Alex tries to jam his eyes shut and picture the friendly man who greeted him upon his entry.
Unfortunately, as soon as he does so the only thing his psyche can do is imagine the piecemeal conversion of his acquaintance into the pornstar posing as a handyman before him. He sees the smiling eyes of Ian go vacant as a dull, horny hunger fills him. Sifting through a lifetime lived, he sees the man pretend to stretch and reveal the lowest row of abs that now punch out of his stomach. Thick hands reaching out to massage shoulders as every soul he stands in front of seems to him nothing more than the chance for some release. In the most immediate moments of Ian’s new life, Alex sees the brute grow frustrated with adjusting his constantly throbbing package through his pants before simply tearing them off as if they were nothing.
The delivery man is then pulled back to the now. Frozen watching the man before him, grease covered forearms barely visible beside a sweat covered meaty chest. His deep, dumb voice echoing out from the cupboard, “Yeah you shoulda called me out here weeks ago dude- Gonna have to be coming out, like, uhhh, every day next week probably.” Alex fails to gulp again as he can almost hear the wanting smirk on Ian’s face in that dark crawlspace. Seeing a cup of water Ian must’ve laid out for him in his last moments of lucidity, Alex quickly downs it before responding, “Uhm, Ia-” he clears his throat as it remains itchy, only for it to resound deeper, “Ian, you- this is your apartment.”
The handyman apparent struggles to remove himself from under the counter, flexing performatively and humping the air as he ambles, bumping his head a good few times before his escape. Each time a throatier grunt ushers forth as his arms tangle and his shoulders grow unfortunately larger, almost wedging him intractably. Alex bites his lip as he is struck with an urge to help only waylaid by the concern that were he to get closer he’d accelerate the kitchen captive’s changes, or worse yet, spread them to himself. Inching closer he discovers it’s quite the former as with each sparing movement closer towards Ian, hair begins to cover him just as it did to the now-slovenly Wes.
Pubes thicken and race up his waist as a jungle of hair grows thicker underneath arms that seem to be in a state of perpetual flexing. Acne and curls dance across his meaty chest as he finally disengages from the kitchen sink. Head now in the free air Alex watches as a mustache bursts from his upper lip. The man Ian has become dully looks around the kitchen and laughs as he indeed recognizes it as his own. Alex struggles to look away from the cock that now bobs free in the open air, having finally burst free from the strained compression shorts. Watching as the man scratches his stubbly chin with his pipe grease-covered hand as he struggles to produce some wanton thought, Alex wonders what he’s even doing here.
Where once nothing but horror filled the delivery man’s mind upon seeing such transformation, now he is struck with the absurdity of the situation. Watching two friendly, thoughtful men morph into slobs beyond imagination Alex can’t help but wonder why. When Wes enters the kitchen using his paint covered mitts to fist loose fried rice into his mouth, spilling it all over the floor, Alex decides to simply wash his hands of whatever this bizarre situation is. He hears the two dullards talk in their fried voices, “duuude put some pants on we’ve got company-” “Ah it’s just Alex sure he doesn’t mind seeing my balls huhuh!”
On the way out he passes a hall mirror and for the first time sees what the workings of this impossible realm have done to him. He can’t help but grin as he sees the heavy arms now totally exposed. His thick but still soft hands trace his thin waist and play with the few hairs that make up a treasure trail. His skin burns with sensitivity as his fingers leave an unmistakable red trace as they dance on his tight stomach. He fights the urge to continue upward towards a chest that hangs clearly in between his new pistons though stays strong, in a way, and starts for the door. He has still kept his mind and surely when he leaves all will be normal. This isn’t happening and he’s not about to grope himself in a customer’s apartment.
And yet, when he hears the sounds coming from Ian’s small den he can’t help but take a look. He remembers Wes mentioning the pair had been arguing over the direction of the campaign but clearly Tyler and Chuck have worked out their differences, as it were. Alex rolls his eyes at his presumably repressed psyche having lost the plot of whatever episode this is as he sees the once dungeon master lean in to aggressively make out with the player who had long been yearning for some romance in their sessions.
Alex can’t help but allow his hands to inch towards his own wanting crotch as he stands to watch. His eyes flash red as he sees the room as it was when he entered the apartment. The argument in the living room abruptly ending as the men are struck with swaths of red mist flown in from under the doorway, light from the afternoon deepens and shifts to stage lighting as if the den was only a set. Chuck jokes about more sensual and sex-themed RPGs as he puts his arms behind his head, ignoring as his hairline rapidly disappears and sweat stains appear in his pits. Tyler licks his lips as the small crystal on a string he never leaves home without quickly thickens and grows heavy as the crystal itself shifts into a lock he hasn’t the key for.
Both men shift awkwardly as they are immediately struggling against a primal hunger that rolling dice could never satiate. They pull at their clothes soaking heavy with sweat and oil, Ty’s hair shortens into something barely longer than the new hair that begins to pattern his chest. The player gasps as his master’s new beard scratches against his own rough cheeks, when his head is forced down to the man's pillow chest he is torn between desires to lick and lavish or to bite and tear. The pair then fall onto the stained couch as Alex simply continues to watch. Unable to look away, unable to remove his own sweaty palm from a crotch that begins to strain against his shorts. From afar Alex begins to understand his place.
When his fingers catch in newly thick pubes he suddenly comes to his senses and falls away from the men moaning as they struggle to strip from clothes that are almost tight enough to act as bondage for the fucking pair. Alex stumbles backwards, grabbing the remaining orders he has left to deliver with the hand he didn’t begin to publicly masturbate with and sprints from this true hellhole of an apartment, hoping more than anything that just like at Zhao’s it was all in his head. Just an imagination that has suddenly become overactive and obsessed with transformation. He’d heard of the fetish at least, stranger things have happened, probably?
Free at last from the slobs and exhibitionists that clinging to hope are actually just friends chatting over takeout once more, Alex contemplates just turning himself in for his own safety. Surely he’s not expected to just continue doing his job in the middle of what can only be a psychotic break. At the same time, what if he is indeed some courier of change. What if he is the one doing this somehow.
Looking down he sees himself at the very least wearing suitable clothes once more, tracing up his shirt once more however he finds that his form has not been spared. His skin is warm to the touch and the muscle beneath is tight, powerful. He feels thicker hair trailing up from his pubes up decorating abs that he never spent a second working for. A chest that would require him to simply live a different life to earn.
Eyes on the ground he sees shoes a few sizes wider and pants catching on his thick thighs and powerful calves. So too does he see a path forward, laid out, inevitable. At once he understands that he is not truly acting, he is but a messenger, a deliverer, a shepard. What is happening is happening and he must be there to see it through. He is a psychopomp of the changing world and avoiding it, if that’s even an option, can only bring ill. Coming to terms with what he has seen and will see, for the first time he allows himself to grapple with the powerful, primal fulfillment that witnessing these transformations has brought him. Pleasure beyond what he thought was possible. It is no wonder the men did not fret as they were molded into their new forms, it felt, good.
When he remembers the final delivery of the day his curiosity is piqued, another couple. Jen and Rob. Through and through gay he wonders what the next situation has in store as he begins to walk down the long hallway, his footsteps silent leave a trail behind. While in Ian’s apartment he was following a path laid out for him, now that he has embraced the reality of this unreality, now that his will has aligned to get this over with, quickly, he holds the power within himself. Just as Nicky does, just as Timothy did. He steps forward precisely where his feet are supposed to land.
Before he knows it, as if he’s willed it closer, Alex stands outside the apartment. All the while he has continued to grow. His pecs inflate and traps swell and while his tee has expanded a few x’s larger to hide his bloating figure. His pants, having torn a few times over, have given up the ghost to become compression shorts that allow thighs thicker than his head and calves that could kill to remain on permanent display. Feeling his biceps strain against the sleeves of this pump cover that should be too large for any man, he toys with the idea of simply removing it.
Before knocking on the door he smirks as his mind flashes to the shitty man that lies inside, Rob won’t know what to do with himself when he sees the little prudish delivery boy has ballooned into something better than man. Feeling his package strain against his shorts as his thighs flex from the simplest movement, Alex prepares for the first time with intention, though not volition, begin a scene of transformation. He prepares to usher the couple into their new selves, his mind can’t help but skip forward and imagine some twinkish Rob being dominated. “Spoilers,” he whispers to himself grimly as he approaches the door, it opens without him even needing to beckon and he walks in with the couple’s lunch.
“Alex!” Jen cheers, her eyes alight with forced delight as she has clearly been in argument with her fiance, as he often finds them. She stands hands on the counter and her ever-frustrating partner sits on the couch playing Elden Ring, she motions for the delivery man to come in and finally her eyes land on the man who now stands a few heads taller than her. “Wha-,” her eyes flash red as her desires are more than clear to Alex, I want to be the man in the relationship. He doesn’t care all that much to explore the gender dynamics, nor does whatever power that moves through him as he sees the woman gasp and shiver as it becomes clear that she is a woman no longer. On the couch Rob complains.
“Babe what the fuck? Are you flirting with that little bitch to get a rise out of me?” At last Rob turns to inspect the pair standing in the doorway as he sees his fiancee rapidly bursting free from the tight top he whined at her, them, this morning to wear. Jen’s chest pulls inward as their upper body grows with strength they have always been discouraged to pursue, but never stopped hungering for. Hair prickles their chest as a sculpted patch bursts forth between heavy pecs and around nipples that have thankfully not decreased in size.
Below the belt it becomes clear that their, his, masculinity is not in question as Jen in the minds of every person present irrevocably becomes Jake. His hips jut forward against the kitchen counter as permanently shaved pubes race up to meet the garden of chest hair, and down to cover burgeoning balls that begin to fill his bloodstream with enough testosterone to make up for decades of hormonal imbalance. Hair growth is of course centered around a cock that would put any man to shame, the same could be said for Jake’s mind as he almost drools looking down at his new rod.
Stick thin arms become biceps that hide pits almost steaming with b.o. that a life ago she mocked Rob for having, now he simply delights in the new way to exercise his masculinity, his undeniable virility unto the world around him. Groping at his crotch Jake lets loose a deep moan as a new adams apple bulges out of a neck framed by traps still continuing to grow. Veins carrying changes through his growing form tinge red with every beat of his racing heart as for the first time pre drips from his new cock.
On the coach Rob struggles to rise as he sees his boyf- no not his, fiance? No. His eyes widen and he puffs up his chest as he struggles not to meet this obstacle like every one he has faced before now, brute force and a dim witted mind. Alex tilts his head and frowns before raising his hand and faster than anyone could possibly observe a red tendril shoots out, through Jake and into Rob, I want to be the man.
The man who has always been a man falls back and begins to writhe. Muscles barely honed begin to atrophy as the workings of the world fulfill Jake’s desires in the only way they care to. Rob’s stubbled chin begins to grow smooth and hairless as he begins his transformation into Jake’s trophy twink. His sweaty hands, sculpted to a playstation controller claw at the back of the couch as he struggles to climb up and see what is happening to Je-Jake. Fingers thin and nails shine with polish and attention. He feels his stomach contract as he gasps in desire as his, lover, has only continued to grow.
While his own chest and torso begin to suck in and smooth over, Jake’s has only continued to expand and amass power. Hair begins to pour from every pore on the new man as he bloats larger. Jake’s legs burn with power as his figure converts child bearing hips into dense powerful thighs and a waist that will allow him to keep his slutty twink bouncing for hours in bed. Meanwhile Robbie’s does precisely the opposite, waist thinning out to be easily grabbed and manhandled by his tank. Standing next Alex the man almost goes feral with the need to mount his mate as his rough hands clench the counter with a fury.
The already sparse hair on Robbie’s form sloughs off as Jake aggressively scratches at dense hair growing thicker in his pits before shifting to claw at his stubble as it becomes a thick messy beard on his face. Drool drips from his mouth as he groans with a voice that grows decibels deeper with each haphazard breath, Jake glowers at the feminine figure biting his lip as it bloats larger, moaning and posing on the couch as his hair lengthens and curls. It’s all Jake can do to avoid climbing like an animal over their kitchen island to pounce on the twink languishing on the couch, his skin softening and growing more supple by the second.
Alex watches disinterested as Rob grows thin, docile, hungry for pleasure that only Jake will be able to offer. He sees Jake become the man he always yearned to be, the man he was always going to be. In his mind's eye he sees the scene that will happen as soon as he leaves, as soon as he allows it. Furniture broken, not for the first time, as the pair fuck as if there was nothing else in the world but sexual fulfillment, perhaps there is nothing else in the world. Alex ponders the paths that the world may go down if this is to be the case, he searches for futures that don’t go down this route and struggles to find one.
Hearing Jake chomping at the bit, struggling with the urges of a new powerful pair of blue balls, and seeing Robbie’s mouth reflexively hang open with lustful abandon he understands that his work here is done. He nods at the new beast and Jake as he has always wanted jumps his fiance. Robbie is all too happy to be put in his place by a man who is more than he ever could be. Alex watches for a moment but despite his embrace, if not understanding, of his role in this tapestry, he knows he has work yet to do as his own form begins to ephemerally change.
He turns to leave and shuts the door behind him, barely dulling the sound of shattering glasses and fervent moans behind him. Down the hall he hears the festivities he set forth earlier have not stopped, in fact it sounds as if the neighbors to the apartment have joined in on the fun. Alex is sullen as he looks down the hallway, seeing tendrils launching forth from his footprints into each and every apartment passed. Masculine moans abound, deepening in some and rising higher in others. Flashes of cowboys getting creative with lasso, smoke seeping under door frames as once powerful executives try to hotbox their suite, pajamas shifting into uniforms before being removed with haste. Men fighting against their own changing lusts and bodies, and others who are more than happy to give into them. And Alex can do nothing but deliver, accelerate, and watch.
Something of a unique figure in this situation thanks to Nicky, Alex maintains his wits despite his urges to join in on the ‘fun’. Work yet to do, he flexes to simply use some of the energy building within him and his form graciously expands once more. His shorts turn to briefs which leave little at all to the imagination. Sighing, the melancholy psychopomp is nevertheless pleased with what an impressive figure he has become. Holding one final delivery in hand he sets off to the place he has all along said he would. Holding but a small package of rangoons with Nicky’s name on the receipt he takes the elevator down to the ground floor.
Alex pointedly doesn’t look towards Jirou Heroes as he exits onto the street, bestowed with whatever power Nicky unwittingly did, he is well aware of what he would see if he were to look anyway. With the solemnity of the reaper which he is, Alex walks into the cafe to see Simon has arrived ahead and broken the news less than gracefully. His beefy arms are around the catatonic haphazard spellcaster as Simon, kind but incable, tries to make right the impossible. Explain the incoherent, make Nicky aware of what is going on so they may work all of it out together. Alex purses his lips and hesitates before smiling morosely at his friend and offers forth the smallest bit of levity, “Rangoons for Nicky?”
To say his eyes fall is not accurate, his hands cover his mouth as he sees the direct handiwork of his twisted words. Where his irises should be there are only deep red pits, “This isn’t what I wanted. Why would I want any of this.” The Talisman he never truly asked for glows red enough to be seen through his shirt, Alex and Simon both see it and instantly understand that this is the true source of what happened at the gym, what is happening next door, what is happening in the cafe around them had they the bandwidth to notice.
In the eye of a hurricane of change, Simon grabs Nicky’s hand and squeezes, Alex puts his new meaty palm on his dear friend’s shoulder. Understanding there is no time to waste, Nicky bucks up and with the support of these two men he has irrevocably changed, opens his eyes and grabs at the talisman. Though not at all knowing what he should do, he knows and Alex assures him that it must be done right now. His hands tremble and his eyes tear up from the pressure, red tears dripping down his cheeks. And then he does what must be done.
Potentialities:
Ah poor poor Nicky, lotta pressure on the guy let’s see what he ends up doing! While the others have primarily been choosing between transformations these last lot are choosing the ending, all will hold transformations galore of course!
Post’ll go up on Sunday as usual but it’ll last a week as I’m probably going to take the week of Christmas off haha!
World Peace - 47.2%
Well now, is it not the real responsible thing when granted unlimited power to ensure that all problems are solved? What could go wrong when something already twisting desires and morphing every living being it can get its hands on receives explicit permission to work globally. Nothing untoward I’m sure.
Self-Sacrifice 26.7%
No time to think, alas the guilt ridden and noble Nicky says take me instead. Instantly we return to the mystical non-place where this all started. After a bit of chat, gambling, and discussion of what a big ask it is to not only end but undo the changes. The man who gave him the power to change it all decides what, or whom, his sacrifice is worth.
Pass the Buck 26.1%
Alex and Simon are here aren’t they? Surely a man already morosely writing off the world and another whose mind has been described as ‘gears barely turning’ a half-dozen times can figure something out.
