Transformative Memes

“Kink shaming is my kink!”

[harvzilla]

A few submissions from wolfboy1991 of art he comissioned from furii

[bara-swaps]

Who are the characters on your banner? One looks like miguel o hara

Haiiii. Thanks! It’s actually supposed to be the Swimmer NPC from Pokemon Sun 🤭 the long hair does make them look similar. This inspired me to make a piece for Miguel, I just posted it! But here he is:

[king-craftsman]

Feeling Fantastic

Nate realised something on his way to the therapist’s office. He thought it was an odd place to have an epiphany, but then as he waited outside the man’s office, he thought…was there ever a good place to have an epiphany? Either way, he was too distracted with his realisation to really question how he realised it, if anything, he was so confused why he realised it too late.

But he discovered that his life was a train wreck, wrapped in yesterday’s laundry and the sour aftertaste of bad decisions. Or rather a lack of decisions. He knew this so it made it all the more shocking when realising it came at him like this was new information. After all, he said as much during his phone call with his therapist, I feel like my life is a wreck. That was about four weeks and three sessions ago.

At twenty eight, he felt like his life was a cautionary tale to follow your dreams or die. By now he felt like it was too late to really follow his passions, as if they all had expiration dates.

Now he sat outside some office door with the fear that the receptionist (a handsome muscular man whose suit looked like it was painting over his frame), was judging him and how could he blame them?

When he looked in the mirror he saw a man with perpetually unkempt brown hair, thick glasses that no longer fit his square head and eyes burdened with bags like he had forgotten what restful sleep looked like. His stubble was patchy, like it couldn't quite commit, and his body leaned toward the soft and pudgy side, a physical testament to skipped gym days and comfort food. It was made all the more worse by how sweaty he was. After spending too long daydreaming and distracted he realised he was going to be late and thought about cancelling. But he quickly made his way out of his apartment and forced himself to go. The receptionist looked him up and down, and reminded him that after fifteen minutes the doctor usually cancels appointments.

Nate nodded, apologised, did all he could to soften the blow and finally it seemed the man took pity on him and said he could wait. It was more likely that today was just a day where he was usually the last appointment anyway.

His therapist was just like that, always accommodating, always attentive, always…something. Even his slogan, his guarantee to ‘Reclaim Your Life in 5 Sessions or Your Money Back’ made the man ooze with confidence that Nate could only hope translated to competence. So far it had been…underwhelming.

The therapist listened, offered some advice and then came the annoying relaxation methods, all vague affirmations and deep breathing and his voice droning on until they morphed to some kind of white noise. Nothing concrete, nothing actionable, nothing that made him feel like anything actually worked. Nate thought it had been his fault (as usual blaming himself).

He thought that maybe because he told the therapist that he wasn’t interested in the prefix to his title, the ‘hypno’ to his therapy. He wondered since then if he had caught the man, Dr. Asclepius, on the backfoot, that he ruined everything, even therapy and so the man was limited in how he could help him.

It motivated Nate to come actually. Even if he didn’t get a session when he was over twenty minutes late and still only about halfway to the office. He may not get a session, but he was hoping to maybe get a refund. A sudden buzz and the receptionist put a finger on a button at the desk, heard a vague voice drowned out by feedback and then let go.

“He’s ready for you.”

Nate stood up, nodded and then, hoping to avoid the receptionist’s lingering looks any longer, he quickly opened the door and stepped through into the office. Each time he came into the office, he felt warmth, a nice kind of warmth, the kind that was gentle and wrapped around you. He almost half expected there to be a roaring fireplace the first time he entered. It was helped with the scents of lavender and eucalyptus in tandem, instantly helping his body relax, his shoulders sag just a little and for him to smile as he saw the handsome hypnotherapist at his desk.

The man always sat cross legged, with a pen and notepad in hand, busy scribbling as he gave a vague mumble of greeting to Nate when he walked in. He was a man handsome in a way that felt real, not absurdly so like he got dolled up or had to be some sort of model or actor, something so out of place.

He was handsome in a way that just left an impression, that if someone were to describe him without knowing him that handsome would just be the natural descriptor, as true as someone having brown hair or blue eyes. He carried chiselled features like a bust came to life, with deep sea green eyes and well groomed hair, well fitted suits, everything was just well with this man. Even his name, as odd as it sounded (Nate had to assume it was fake), gave the man a bit of showmanship, helped to make an impression.

“Take a seat Nate,” were always the first words that Dr Asclepius sounded out for Nate to understand when he came in, his smooth and calm voice always catching Nate off guard. Nate did so, taking a seat in a red leather armchair facing the desk. He rubbed his hands on his thighs, suddenly aware of how clammy they felt. This was session three, the halfway point, now seemed like a good time to get his money. He felt like all the courage he had before to work up and ask for an early refund had sputtered out of him like a deflated balloon. He took a deep breath in.

“Uh thanks for seeing me uh I’ve been thinking and uh I was wondering if uh…maybe uh…” Nate swore if he said ‘uh’ one more time he was going to strangle himself. For now he sank deeper into the chair, desperately seeking out any comfort he could as his body felt like it was starting to sweat again. “If maybe uh I could get an early-”

Asclepius raised a hand. Somehow as abrupt as it was, it didn’t seem rude or quick, just something decisive, like this was all a play and that was the next move his character did in the scene.

“Today I believe there’s something more pressing we need to address.”

Nate blinked. He had never heard his doctor speak like that before and it made him shift in the seat, letting the leather creak an apology.

“I…uh okay but I think-”

“You’re very rigid, Nate. Is that why you were so late?” Asclepius’ eyes raised to lock onto Nate’s and Nate hadn’t realised just how…cool and blue they were today? A stark difference to the times he had seen them before and the warm air that was in his office, that made Nate associate warmth and softness with the man.

“What? No that’s not why I-” Nate started but the man tutted at him.

“And it means when things fall apart…everything does. You’re five minutes late to the bus and that makes you late to work and that means you have a bad start to the shift and then you feel bad when you come home and on and on and on…” Asclepius continued as he drew circles in the air with his finger like a shrinking loop as he spoke those last few words, and on and on and on.

Nate shook his head.

Where the hell was all this coming from? Was this because he wanted a refund? He never took Asclepius to be the man to let something like that sour his feelings, but then Nate realised he didn’t know the man at all. He didn’t know the man at all and here he was sitting in his office to privately confront him for a refund. His eyes widened and he suddenly felt the room shift like it had tilted on its axis, not physically but mentally, like the wall behind him tilted back. He suddenly felt like he could fall out of the chair. He was suddenly so nervous and worse of all, he was disoriented by how right the man was.

“Look I just came-”

“To sleep.”

Snap.

Before Nate could react the sound cracked through the air like a whip. He didn’t realise just how fragile his grip on…well, everything was until it slipped. His breath caught in his throat, lips parted and he realised all too late that his body was no longer his. Everything suddenly felt like it had been let go, his arms falling to the side with a dull and boneless heaviness like he was a puppet whose strings got cut. Nate tried to breathe, tried to move, tried to will his body to do anything consciously but everything in the room felt so far away, like he was suddenly thrust outside of his own body.

He didn’t even know what he was trying to comprehend, what had just happened to suddenly make him feel this slow, this sensual, this utterly relaxed. Panic should have come then. He could feel where it should have ignited, a spark in his chest, a tightening in his gut, a narrowing in his threat like he was about to have a panic attack. But instead, it all melted and spread outward into something slow and thick and strangely pleasant.

“Wha…” For all of Nate’s resistance it all compounded into a simple half sentence that was muttered like a sputtering flame and quickly went out.

“Don’t worry Nate, you were a tough one to crack. Usually it takes only a session for me to…get deep inside a man’s head. But with you…” Asclepius chuckled with amusement as he leaned forward. Nate hadn’t realised the man had put down the notepad, his focus dedicated solely on him. His awareness suddenly felt like a small thing that was floating around, ever so gently brushing against the surface of his mind, threatening to return. But those cool eyes of Asclepius and his soft smooth cadence pushed them down further again. “Altogether too rigid…too stubborn…lacking flexibility.”

Asclepius’ smile widened as if he was on some inside joke Nate wasn’t aware of, not that Nate was aware of much at the moment.

Snap.

Nate shuddered and let out a gasp that threatened to turn into a moan as he felt the doctor’s last words hit him. Rigid…stubborn…flexibile. At that there was a looseness that crept from his limbs and continued to invade the rest of his body, a softness began to ease into his body, rolling down his spine and loosening his joints.

“Let’s start with the arms, I notice you always have them so bunched up, so closed off. I think we’re going to have them…have to change.”

Nate could feel himself still faintly aware, enough that it was something coiling within his body to bunch up and gather strength and let him speak. Or at the very least try.

“What are y-”

Snap.

Nate let out a sudden groan again as he felt his limbs loosen and then continue to loosen until he could no longer feel them, not until something else coiled within them, beyond trance, beyond obedience, beyond relaxation. Something that was akin to pleasure, a tease of the feeling as the arms began to bunch up and grow. He could feel muscle slowly layering atop muscle, his old softness hardening into sleek and toned limbs that suddenly took on a more tawny tone as they itched, maddening for someone who couldn’t touch them and dark and silver hairs crept along the muscles.

The tawny skin travelled down like paint being poured into his hands where the skin aged and the fingers twitched and grew longer and softer. It wasn’t like the muscles were growing or the cartilage was mutating, it felt like something else entirely, like it almost wasn’t flesh at all but something that was thinning out like his thoughts, something elastic.

“M-my arms…you…I can’t…”

Snap.

“Let’s make sure your feet are solid, good and flexible, let them stretch thin like your thoughts.”

Nate didn’t know what the man was saying, as if the words were something like Old English, not too foreign enough he couldn’t comprehend but strange enough still he couldn’t understand. He knew the words the man was saying yet they seemed to short circuit before they reached his brain and instead all Nate could focus on was feeling and that soft feeling went to his feet. His shoes somehow split apart so softly for something that should have been eruptive, his own feet growing and bursting out of the converses. The black tops split apart at once less like his feet were powerful big things and more like the material had turned to paper mache.

The feet themselves Nate couldn’t see but he could picture them like all his memories of his own bare feet were starting to reconstruct, an edit that was small compared to the totality of a memory. He could picture his bare feet long and narrow, the toes stretched out and the skin soft with the same tawny tone that had spread over his arms, even coming with some of their similar dark and grey hairs.

“S-Stop…w…what the fuck are you making me…hallucinate…” Nate’s words came out staggered and breathy as he felt like he was in an interrogation chair, the spy strapped to the seat by bands of metal and a laser fast approaching. But any burning heat was coming from inside of him as a blissful pleasure that threatened to grow the more his body changed and he was only strapped there by some weakness of his mind. It had to be, because no matter how hard he willed it, he couldn’t get up. If anything he sank deeper into the grooves of the armchair.

“Oh no, we can’t have you speaking like that now.” Snap. “Can we?”

Asclepius asked it like it was a real question, not rhetorical but with a sweet honeyed tone that made it sound utterly genuine. Nate could feel the pleasure coil but he didn’t realise exactly where it was until he felt a soft burning in his throat, the flesh stretching slightly thicker as now more memories were altered, that of looking at himself in the mirror. He no longer had a thin neck, but he could see something in his mind’s eye that was thicker and carried the same tanned tone. But there was something more than that, a distant voice, unfamiliar from his own or Asclepius. He blinked.

What the fuck are you doing to me?

Except the words stilted in his throat like they met a wall and he could feel them being stretched out into something else smoother to pass through his lips.

“I say what in blazes do you think you’re doing to me?”

Each syllable sounded utterly foreign, utterly smooth and utterly unlike anything that was like Nate before. Each word was stretched and carried a sudden crisp articulation, one that made him sound like an old movie star from the 40’s as he realised…the distant voice in the back of his mind was his own.

He gasped as all his memories altered at once, all his conversations, all the words he ever said, everything was shifted through a new accent and new vocabulary that was utterly unfamiliar. But it was something more than that, he could feel the fringes of other memories, a college lecture had him at the front or a party was taking on the shape of a whole other event, with older men, some in lab coats, some sort of celebration. He could feel someone with an arm wrapped around his waist, paradoxically familiar and yet so unknown.

Stop…my head…

“Gosh this feels sorta swell…”

Wait…Wait!

Nate thought, that wasn’t what he meant to say. Everything before had been altered in voice or cadence or the way he tried to say it, breathy or in moans or interrupted. But nothing changed what he said and the thought was terrifying enough to almost bring him out of trance if it wasn’t for the-

Snap.

“Let your body just relax and stretch Mr. Richards…I’ll ask some questions…and you answer. You are from…”

Nate barely recognised Asclepius called him the wrong name. His name was Reed not Reed. He meant to say Reed. No, he was meant to think of Reed, his first name was Reed and last name was…it was…

Snap.

“Where are you from?”

Idaho.

“Chile of course sir.”

As soon as he said that it registered in his mind, a tide of childhood memories swept away and in their place the wet sand where they once lingered. Then the tide pulled in again and in their place was a different water of different memories and the wet and weak sand of his mind couldn’t recognise the difference. He could remember his home country, glimpses of the homes and the neighbourhood, the yellow bricked house he grew up in and his time coming to America as a teenager for college.

It all sank in so fast and naturally that Nate barely had time to fight it as his spine stretched next and the tawny tone took over, his identity warping to the point where even reality seemed to shift beyond him. He could remember his passport, a different face and a different nationality, a different race on his ID.

Snap.

“And what’s your job?”

P…please…I’m…in office…have to…get out…

“Why I’m a man of science of course,” Nate felt a natural smile come to his face and what disturbed him was the thought it was natural when it was anything but. His deep voice was giving off words that were entirely unnatural as the muscles contracted and stretched, pulling taut to form lean abs and pecs, muscles that were born for efficiency rather than showing off. But of course, he thought, his muscles well the design of a rigorous and scientifically proven routine to maximise his health, I’m not some showboat like Johnny.

“And how do you feel Mr. Reed Richards?”

Feel like…need to…get…help…

“Oh like a dream fella, positively like a damn dream, this sorta science is remarkable!” Nate had never heard himself, even with this fake voice, this fake accent, sound so excited. It made him feel warm and good that he was so passionate about something, that he was so interested. The passion, if not for science specifically, spread like wildfire over his body as it reached up and cradled his face like a lover’s caress. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head with how deep and relaxed he felt as his face warped as the bulge in his pants did. His cock stretched whilst his visage smoothed and his chin stretched out. The warm undertone had seeped through the rest of his body as his mop of brow hair darkened at the tops and grew lighter at the roots to grey.

Stubble that looked messily grown suddenly shaved like it had been carefully managed with a moustache blooming over his thickening upper lip. Wrinkles made their way over his face, a decade and a half passing by in seconds as it lent his handsome face some gravitas. The bridge of his nose stretched wider and thicker, slanting more downwards into a point as his blue eyes dulled and then sparked with life as brown eyes filled with a sudden keen intellect. Even in trance, the eyes suddenly looked slightly more aware and alert, no longer half lidded as meanwhile his cock continued to pulse and stretch. Nate Reed realised…he hadn’t stopped stretching. Eight inches…Nine inches…Ten and then jolting past twelve…

“And now Mr. Richards, time to have this session come to a close.”

Snap.

The snap cracked like a whip once more, though Reed likened it to a stamp that had come down hard and heavy with its seal. He gasped suddenly, his back shot up immediately and his body shuddered as all of a sudden, out of his gargantuan stretching cock, he’d cum. 

A tension he didn’t know was in his body suddenly snapped like rope breaking as his cock hardened and came all at once, a sudden almost agonising wave of cum that shot ropes as thick and long as the cock suddenly out of the leg of his suit pants and onto the floor, onto his shoes. He was breathless and at mercy as pleasure cracked through him like lightning and coursing through his body it seemed to hit water, the perfect conduit in his cock as he’d cum again and again and again and again and…

Snap.

Reed Richards awoke unaware that he was in a brand new suit and with the now dry stain of his pleasure underfoot. He blinked and looked around as if coming out of a nap before his eyes found Dr. Asclepius, his therapist.

“Oh gosh did we go over? Just I’m always mindful of the time you know,” Reed spoke as his brown eyes softened, a guilt tugging at him. He hoped he wouldn’t be late for family dinner. However, the gentle laughter of Dr. Asclepius brought some much needed relief.

“Oh no Mr. Richards although…” Asclepius took a cursory glance outside. Reed followed his gaze and wasn’t quite so sure what was wrong until he saw the city proper. Half the billboards looked strange and yet familiar, cartoons of women promoting atomic powered vacuum cleaners or a man piloting a luxury zeppelin. But then the other half flickered, something about a movie with an actor he’d never heard of before and another for a Stark Industries smart fridge. He blinked. Stark Industries had never made something called a ‘smart fridge’. “Hmm, memory bleed. Your mind Mr Richards is far more…iron plated than I anticipated. It’s no bother. We’ll just have to book you in for more sessions, sort out any…spatial memory dissonance.” Asclepius glanced up again like a doctor warning his patient to seriously consider taking a certain medication or following a diet. “How does tomorrow sound?”

“Tomorrow why…” There was a slight twitch of the eye, a sudden tug at the nerves as if some small part of Reed felt an urge to resist. But to him, it was no more than an intrusive thought as he burst into a polite smile. “Why I think that sounds swell, Doctor.” 

Doctor Aslepius smiled as his eyes raked over the form of Reed Richards and he nodded.

“I thought so…” And that was good because for a man as intelligent as Reed Richards, sometimes it felt nice to have someone else do all the thinking for a change.

Thanks for reading. This story was written as a request for a patron from my Patreon. If you want more stories of transformation, then be sure to check it out here!

[misctf]

How about a college senior frat bro about to graduate wishes to be able to stay with his bros past graduation. His wish is granted but he’s transformed into a man twice his age, out of touch and desperately clinging to his fading youth.

The sun beats down mercilessly on the group of college seniors as they lounge around on the deck of a rented boat. Laughter and chatter fill the air, punctuated by the occasional splash from someone cannonballing off the side.

Seth leans back against the rail, soaking up the warmth on his skin. His dark hair is tousled, brown eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. A red solo cup filled with beer rests loosely in one hand.

"Dude, can you believe we're almost done?" Seth's friend Chad says, flopping down beside him. His blond hair glistens with sunscreen, green eyes sparkling behind Ray-Bans. "Four years of partying, girls, and football games - it's been epic."

"For sure," Seth agrees, taking a swig of his drink. "I'm gonna miss these guys like crazy." He gestures vaguely at the rest of their frat brothers scattered about the boat.

Chad nods solemnly. "Right? We gotta make these last few weeks count before real life sets in." He raises his cup in a toast. "To the best damn frat brothers a guy could ask for!"

"Cheers!" Seth clinks his cup against Chad's, then drains the rest of his beer. He gazes out over the water, mind wandering- the thought of things changing building his anxiety. What if they didn't stay in touch? What if all these friendships died out over time? What if this really was their last hoorah? Seth shuddered, "No…" He whispered, "I don't want this to end. This can't be it."

As Seth ponders his worries, a strange sensation suddenly washes over the group. It starts subtly - a few of the guys scratching at their arms, furrowing their brows in confusion.

"Yo, what's happening?" Jake asks, voice tinged with panic. Seth turns to look at his friend and nearly falls backwards in shock. In mere moments, Jake has aged decades - his once smooth skin becoming weathered and aged, hairline receding dramatically. Jake frantically runs his hands over his body, feeling the changes. "What the hell?!" He exclaims, voice deeper than before.

Seth whips his head around, gaze landing on Chad next. Where there were once chiseled abs, there's now a soft paunch. More hair sprouts from Chad's chest and back, his previously thick locks now thinning at the crown. "Oh my god," Chad whispers, eyes wide with disbelief.

Chaos erupts as Seth watches, frozen, as his frat bros continue transforming before his eyes. Scott rubs his belly in disbelief - his once lean physique replaced by an undefined midsection and love handles. Dark hair crawls up his chest and back, creeping onto his shoulders. "Bro, am I dreaming?" He mumbles, poking at the sagging skin.

TJ gapes at his meaty fingers, knuckles bulging larger than Seth remembers. His chubby frame sports more muscle, which is seemingly covered in a thick layer of chub. Patchy stubble dapples along his jawline, peppered with flecks of grey. "Holy shit.. holy shit…" TJ whispers over and over.

Around the boat, Seth's frat brothers cry out in various states of shock and bewilderment as their youthful forms melt away.

Mike gawks at the salt-and-pepper scruff overtaking his normally clean-shaven cheeks. His barrel chest strains against a button-up shirt, formerly flat stomach rounded into a potbelly. Dean feels wisps of hair receding rapidly from his temples, grizzled brows and mustache replacing his babyface. Parker gropes the love handles spilling over the waistband of his swim shorts- his once slim hips now sporting dad bod rolls.

Seth watches in stunned silence as his bro's transformations complete. Where a band of 22-year-olds once stood, there's now a group of late 40-somethings- a gaggle of balding middle-aged men- potbellies distending once taut abdomens, paunches hanging over swim trunks, sagging pecs covered in thick, wiry hairs.

"Are you guys seeing this too?" Mike shouts, eyes wild with panic. "We're fucking old!"

"What the hell happened? Why do we look like our dads?" Dean asks, running shaky hands over his receding hairline. He runs a hand over his thick chest hairs.

"This isn't real, right? Right?" Parker pleads, voice quavering. He pokes experimentally at the doughy paunch jutting over his waistband. A few spare inches jiggle pathetically under his fingertips.

"What the fuck is going on?" TJ sobs, hot tears leaking down his lined cheeks. His beer belly wobbles as tremors rack through his frame.

"Where did all this hair come from?" Jake mutters, plucking at the coarse grey whiskers now coating his chin. He pulls up his shirt to reveal a flabby pale expanse, marred only by a sparse trail leading down to his navel. "And since when did I get these love handles?"

"I feel like I'm trapped in someone else's body," Scott moans, rubbing his double chin. His previously muscular arms now hang limp and doughy. "This can't be happening…"

"There's no way…" Parker trails off, staring blankly ahead. Then, in a tone utterly devoid of the previous panic, "Scott, why do you look so upset?"

"What the fuck do you-" Scott begins, but cuts himself off. He blinks slowly, bushy eyebrows furrowing. "Wait… yeah, I… I don't know." He lets out a hearty laugh, belly shaking.

"What's wrong with you two?" Mike demands, but his brow furrows in confusion mid-sentence. "Oh. Oh, right. Of course." He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, brain fart."

Around the boat, the frat bros' expressions shift - panic morphing into bemusement, then settling into easy grins and shrugs. They exchange looks and chuckle, as if sharing an inside joke.

"So, uh, how long has it been since our last reunion?" Chad asks, scratching his stubbly cheek. "Feels like forever."

"At least a couple years," Jake replies with a shrug. "Time flies when you're busy with work and family, ya know?"

Seth gapes at his frat brothers in utter disbelief, watching as they effortlessly slip into new personas - laid-back, middle-aged versions of themselves. The easy banter and laughter that had initially seemed so out-of-place now flows naturally.

"Guys, something weird is going on," Seth interjects, waving his arms to grab their attention. "Like, ten minutes ago, you were all in your twenties!"

His bros just blink at him, uncomprehending. "Dude, you alright?" Mike asks, raising an eyebrow. "Last I chcked we're in our late forties. Pretty sure that ship sailed ages ago."

Panic rises in Seth's throat. This can't be happening, "Bros…" He whispers, terror welling up inside him. This couldn't be happening. Why was this happening?

"Relax, Seth," Chad says with an easy grin. "We've been having these reunions for years now. No need to stress."

"For years? No! We're just about to graduate" Seth splutters. "Chad, c'mon bro!" He looked around desperately at his friends, "There's no way! This isn't a reunion, dudes!"

The others exchange confused glances. "Uh, yeah? That's literally what this is," Jake chuckles, "Seth can't handle his alcohol like he used to, eh fellas?" Their collective, deep laughter fills the air.

Seth shakes his head vigorously, adamant. "No, you're not listening to me! This isn't right! We're still in college, we're about to graduate!" His voice pitches higher, edged with hysteria.

A strange prickling sensation suddenly washes over him. He gasps, clutching at his chest as a dull ache blooms beneath his breastbone. A warm flush spreads across his face, traveling down his neck and arms.

"Whoa, easy there buddy," Mike reaches out to steady Seth as he staggers. "You look kinda rough, maybe sit down for a sec."

Seth slumps heavily against the railing, knees threatening to buckle. He grips the wood tightly, knuckles turning white as the prickling intensifies. It feels like his entire body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with searing heat.

"Ahhh!" He cries out, doubling over as a sharp cramp seizes his abdomen. Beneath his shirt, muscles ripple and undulate, reforming themselves. Seth's stomach bulges outward, stretching the fabric obscenely as it expands into a noticeable paunch. He pants harshly, sweat beading on his furrowed brow.

"Dude, seriously, you okay?" Chad asks, genuine concern coloring his tone. He takes a step closer, reaching out to place a hand on Seth's shoulder. "Maybe we should get you home…"

"N-no!" Seth gasps, shrugging off Chad's hand. He straightens up with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his gurgling midsection. The other remains braced against the railing, knuckles white with strain.

Seth groans, the sound guttural and strained. His bones ache, joints popping and cracking. He can feel the weight of added years settling heavily upon him. Coarse hair sprouts from his chest and back, tickling his skin as it grows thicker by the second. His hairline creeps upward, receding steadily with grey strands appearing amidst the brown.

"Hnnngh!" Seth grunts, doubling over further as another cramp rips through him. His thighs spread wider, ass thickening and jiggling as fat deposits settle into his lower half.

The cramping finally subsides, leaving Seth slumped against the railing, panting harshly. He runs trembling hands over his changed form, feeling the loose skin and extra padding. Gone is his firm, athletic build - replaced by the doughy softness of middle age.

"Holy shit…" Seth breathes, staring down at his beer belly in morbid fascination. He prods at it gingerly, watching the flesh wobble beneath his fingers. Thick hair dusts his forearms and knuckles, "No way... I'm not this."

Flashes of memory flicker through Seth's mind - hazy images of past reunions, laughter-filled nights spent drinking and reminiscing with his frat brothers. Only now, those memories are tinged with bittersweet nostalgia. He recalls the carefree days of their youth, so distant yet vivid in his mind's eye.

"You guys remember this, right?" Mike asks, gesturing around at the boat. "Our first reunion cruise, back when we were just a bunch of dumb kids." He laughs, the sound rich and warm.

"Man, seems like ages ago," Jake chimes in. "So much has changed since then."

"This isn't right," Seth mutters, shaking his head. He grips the railing tighter, knuckles aching. "We weren't supposed to end up like this."

"End up like what?" Chad asks, arching an eyebrow. "Dude, we're just living our lives. Growing older, starting families, building careers." He shrugs, unconcerned.

"Yeah, man, you're always so hung up on the past," Scott chuckles, clapping Seth on his hairy back.

"Seth's just trying to relive his glory days again," Parker jokes, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Their laughter rings out again, echoing mockingly in Seth's ears. He wants to scream, to shake them until they remember. Seth opens his mouth to argue, but the words die on his tongue. So now as he sits amongst his newly middle-aged friends, his own gut hanging between his legs, Seth understands. His wish did come true. His bros did stay together after graduation in a sense- their bonds strengthening over the years. So now he knows. He just wishes he didn't have to find out this way.

[occamstfs]

Life In Film

In search of a feeling from a life he did not live Brain raids some old film and accidentally becomes the man he always yearned to be.

Oops all gifs! Pretty short and straightforward TF of a man into an dilfy 80s hunk. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Brian was nostalgic for a life he did not live. He yearned for a time that he never knew, would never know. Sure, the luxuries of the internet age were plenty, but any time he happens upon some crumb of the 1980s he can’t help but feel a profound longing. 

Over the years, Brian had seen countless movies made in and set way back when, but none of them quite brought the fulfillment he knew must be a frame away. Every flick and show simply left him feeling an even greater need. He just needed to find the right one. 

Late one night as he browsed some forum or another on vintage media, he was shocked to receive a message. Judging by the metaphorical dust on the chatlogs, the old forum had been abandoned long enough to be history itself. And yet in this basically abandoned site, some kindred spirit has sought him out. 

[ADMIN]: YOU WANT THE REAL DEAL DO YOU? RESPOND.

For a moment Brian holds off from answering, sure that this must be some sophisticated malware or the like. But seeing the still-blinking message on his screen, curiosity gets the better of him. After all, surely there’s no harm in playing along a little.

[USER]Brian345: Uhh, I mean I’m not going to click a link you send but like, ya if you have a rec I’d love to hear it.

[ADMIN]: EXCELLENT. PROCEED TO 1320 MAIN    ST AND FIND BOX 10.1986.XX 

There’s a flash as his pc bluescreens. When Brian finally gets the computer back up and running, he finds the brief conversation is nowhere to be found, as if it never happened. It’s of little matter to him however as the seed has been planted, though he only saw the box number for a fraction of a second it’s burned into his mind.

Excitement prickles thick in his chest as like a man possessed, Brian storms down to the address he already knows by heart, the city’s film archives. Quite the regular visitor to their screenings and a certified ‘researcher’ trusted with access he’s soon to abuse, Brian easily makes his way to their too unsecured holdings.

Fingers trailing across the spines of sundry movies he’s seen in their collection, Brian moves with a drive he can’t recall ever manifesting as he rushes down the aisle to finally arrive at the small box in question. 10.1986.XX. Spotless among the slightly dusty records and files.

He isn’t quite sure what the numbers mean, he doesn’t care. As soon as the clearly out of place box is in his hands, he tears it open. At the exact moment the lid cracks open, Brian’s eyes are filled with the flickering of film rolling. The room echoes with the sound   of a reel larger than he can imagine spinning as stark light gives way to the crackle of aged film he has been chasing for as long as he can remember, and from it emerges a man.

Pitchy synth rises to accompany the nonstop whirring of film as the man of his dream saunters forward. Half clad in a crimson robe, he’s an everyman, thick mustache on his face, perfect coat of curls scattered across a chest that serves no purpose other than to demand his attention. He’s a combination of every brawny father and cocksure love interest that Brian has lusted after in his long trek to find a missing part of himself.

And now it’s before him, a film, a man? He doesn’t care. Brian can hardly contain himself as he continues coming ever closer. Eventually he comes to an ephemeral screen that the gawker was unaware of, and halts. Seeing all he has ever desired so tantalizingly close, Brian remembers he too has legs and falls forward to meet him.

Reaching out, Brian’s hands connect with the screen and send ripples across its length. Like rushing water against his skin the barrier coats his fingers, wont to pull him deeper as he presses ever onward, determined to let nothing stand in his way. Frustrated at the difficulty of pushing, Brian eventually changes tactics and instead reaches to tear the threshold he cannot comprehend open, and so he does. 

Close enough to finally touch the figure, Brian’s eyes glitter with desire as he looks up to see a half-smile on the man’s stubbled face. And then before his hand can finally graze against the man’s full chest, the now torn screen rushes to envelop him.

Limbs suddenly bound by a cocoon of him, squeezing tighter with every struggle to break free, Brian can’t help but thrash as he knows everything he could ever dream of lies so, so close. Yet the threshold torn continues ascending his form and in no time at all his eyes are threatened. And as he sees his last sight, the face of the man made for him, for whom he has ever longed, Brian can’t help but notice some small shred of himself in his eyes.

And then he wakes up in his own bed as if nothing had happened. Cum is splattered on his stomach,not too uncommon after his subconscious nears an image so vivid as he just experienced. Looking down at his body though he realizes that all is not the same. 

Where his slightly pudgy yet too thin torso should be there is the unmistakable molding of a body truly built. Muscle twitches and flexes under supple skin, pert nipples hard on pecs that never were, and slightly dripping with cum is a bush far thicker than his curly pubes could ever achieve.

Shocked beyond belief at his apparent metamorphosis, Brian rubs his eyes as he notices his vision is fuzzy. No, not just fuzzy, speckled and warm. It doesn’t take Brian long to connect his affected vision to the strange dream, to his clearly changed body. Now returned to the waking world, anywhere he looks he now sees through film tinged lenses.

Talking out loud to himself, to make sense of what’s happening, every further word out of his mouth feels more unnatural. As if he wasn’t speaking but reading a script. Soon words spill out that he didn’t even intend to say, they are simply what must be said.

Falling over himself to find his phone, looking high and low Brian can’t seem to recall where he left it. Or his charger for that matter? Pausing for a moment, he realizes he’s beginning to forget even having a cell phone in the first place. Staticky eyes twitch as the idea of having access to the world wide web in the palm of his hands sounds too good to be true. 

Turning to look up at his PC Brian does a double take as  he hears the crunch of hard plastic expanding into the desktop he knows he should have. It’ll have to do. Rushing over Brian takes no note of how his legs expand with each pounding step, legs thickening as his pubes begin to itch and spread further from his waist.

Slamming the power button he hears the ancient machine slowly whir on, the unmistakable sound of reel spinning hiding underneath the typical start up sound of a computer he recognizes as both ancient and cutting edge. Sitting impatiently at the monitor as he awaits for it to light up, his hands can’t help but scratch at the itch beginning to rise up his newly muscled stomach.

The cause is clear well before the computer finally powers on. The hairless stomach he has always maligned is rapidly transforming closer to those he has always drooled over. Thickest at the base of his hips, with each second spent staring, he sees the curls thicken as they rise in a straight line towards his thicker chest.

Around those perfectly suckable nipples similar strands begin to swirl before racing to meat with the line of hair blossoming in the center of his pecs as a true forest of chest hair fans to cover his whole upper body. 

Stubble drips down his slacked jaw as he rubs his similarly hairy hands up and down his mind-numbingly itchy torso. Under his arms pit hair spreads enough to always stick out from his top, thick as his pubes and twice as fragrant. When at last the computer alights and Brian tears his eyes away from his transformation, he finds the exact same man from that strange archive, now disrobing altogether. 

He’d dive into the computer screen were he able to move at all, but seeing the sweaty man bare it all on loop he can’t bring himself to do anything but stare. Grunting as his cock throbs with need, Brian finds himself closer to blowing his load with every repeated frame. 

The image of the shining skin and muscles moving burn into his eyes as he can’t help but be drawn further into that well of desire he has long been drinking from. Eyes roll back as flickering film races ever faster and the changes that only just began on his body begin to accelerate.

The patchy garden on his chest spreads even further as it evens into a perfectly patterned jungle of curls across the whole of his pert pecs. Sweaty hair compromising a treasure trail rapidly blooms out across abs now hidden with a healthy layer of weight that does nothing to bely the strength beneath.

Wrinkles etch into his harder face as the years pile onto his frame alongside his new strength. Skin tans from years in the sun as his thick new hairstyle curls and shrinks back. In the opposite manner his upper lip twitches as what stubble blossomed there lengthens and thickens into precisely the mustache that any man would dream to have.

Eventually the screen goes dark and instead reflects his own new visage. Seeing his apotheosis into the man of his dreams, how could he possibly bring himself to care about the life he knows fading into nothingness. Who cares about the internet or other alleged advancements in the twenty first century. The basal pleasure of the body he now exists in is more than enough to make up for the existence he’s happy to abandon.

And abandon he does as his hips thrust into the desk his massive monitor rests upon. After a handful of ruts into the wood his uncut cock looses a load into the open air of his apartment decorated with fitness icons and mess where once pristine film posters were framed. Conveniences and decor of his once self evaporate as his home becomes one made for a rugged, prototypical man.

So full of pleasure is the first release of his new existence that he feels his mind start to short circuit. The warm fuzzy tinge that coats his vision rapidly accelerates as he can almost see film accelerating in his eyes. And then it begins to burn. Finicky stuff after all. After one last stray thought wondering when they’ll find a better way to film.

Brian awakens under the blinding sun burning his bronzed skin. It takes a few moments to adjust to the bright light that must’ve been searing through his eyelids. Probably what’s causing this massive headache too. For half a moment he looks down at his body expecting to look impossibly different. 

But he finds his body exactly as it always was, always will be. Totally at peace he simply rolls over to spread the sun’s love to his wide back, exposing the few curls on the back of his waist to the world. Advertising his built ass to anyone lucky enough to stumble upon it. 

Weary from the day in the sun it’s not long at all before he crests back sleep once more. There he dreams of a future world quite unlike he expected it to be. Not quite flying cars or the like but strange and simple changes far too minute for his slow mind to conjure. Then his subconscious moves onto more exciting matters and his cock slowly twitches down his swim trunks. All the while the sound of rolling film in the back of his mind continues to patter on.

[masterwolftfs]

GAMERS TO GUARDIANS

The monitor glowed dimly, the only thing illuminating Ethan's room. His fingers, pale and slightly clammy, danced across the keyboard and mouse, his entire world narrowed to the frantic, colorful chaos unfolding on the screen. He was deep into a ranked match in Marvel Rivals, his chosen hero’s icon glowing brightly in the corner: Rocket Raccoon, Strategist Class.

“C’mon, c’mon, ya mooks!” he muttered, the words feeling oddly satisfying in his mouth as he navigated the small, furry hero through the map. He’d always been drawn to Rocket. Not the hulking brutes like Hulk or the pretty-boy patriots like Captain America, but the clever one, the underdog. The one who used wit and big, big guns to level the playing field.

His first kill of the match was a thing of beauty and luck. An enemy Spider-Man, too confident in his diving, swung right into his crosshair. The satisfying sound of the kill through his headset was accompanied by a flash of text on the screen: [Ethan11794] eliminated [SpideySenseTingling].

The kill caused an explosion that seemed to go off in Ethan’s own body. It was a jolt, a sudden, intense wave of heat that started at the base of his spine and rocketed outwards. It wasn't painful; more a surge of pure, unadulterated triumph, a visceral, carnal thrill that left him breathless and sent a shocking, unexpected bolt of arousal straight to his groin. He gasped, his fingers faltering for a millisecond. What was that? He shook his head, dismissing it as adrenaline. The game was just getting good.

A teammate, Iron Man, was critical. Ethan saw the flashing red cross on his HUD. Right click. A healing orb shot right towards Tony’s chest plate. [Ethan11794], assist. And as that assist counter ticked up, a new sensation bloomed within him. This was different from the kill. It was a warm, spreading glow, a profound sense of connection and sharp-minded purpose that felt... good. Right. His mind, usually a fog of anxiety and procrastination, suddenly felt laser-focused, calculating angles, cooldowns, trajectories. He could feel the strategy unfolding in his head, not as a thought, but as an instinct. A low, guttural chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re welcome, Shellhead.” The words were his, but the cadence, the raspy texture of them, felt borrowed.

The match wore on, a relentless ballet of violence and support. With every kill - every shredded opponent with his gun, every clever elim sent another wave of that hot, aggressive pleasure washing over him. Each one was stronger than the last, a euphoric rush that made his heart hammer against his ribs and his body thrum with a power he’d never known. His skin began to feel too tight, buzzing with a strange, hyper-awareness. A deep, pleasant ache started in his muscles, a feeling of them knitting themselves into something denser, more powerful. He could feel the softness around his middle pulling taut, a six-pack of hard muscle etching itself into his abdomen under the pleasurable, burning heat. He flexed his fingers on the mouse and felt new strength there, a wiry, formidable power.

The assists, however, brought their own unique ecstasy. Each healing orb sent a cool, tingling sensation through his arms, a feeling of profound, intelligent utility. His senses sharpened exponentially. He could hear the individual fan whine of his PC, the rustle of fabric as he shifted in his chair, the distant sirens of the city outside his apartment - sounds that had always been part of the background noise of his life were now crisp, distinct, and vital. The messy room smelled different; he could pick out the individual scents, as his own nervous human sweat beginning to be overlaid by something else... something musky and wild.

He was changing. He knew it now, with a certainty that should have terrified him. But the terror was a distant, human emotion, smothered under the intoxicating blanket of Rocket’s burgeoning consciousness. Fear was just... dumb. A sucker’s bet. His old anxieties about his job, his social life, his purpose - they were melting away, replaced by a new, brilliant, and deliciously arrogant core personality. He wasn’t Ethan, the generic man. He was becoming the Guardian of the Galaxy, the captain of nothing but his own glorious destiny.

His body was rewriting itself in real-time. A fierce, delightful itch spread across his skin, from his toes to the top of his head. He watched, mesmerized, as the fine hairs on his arms darkened, thickened, and multiplied into a lush, velvety pelt of grey and brown fur. The sensation was incredibly sensual, like a million gentle fingers caressing him everywhere at once. He groaned, a rough, ragged sound, and pushed his chair back from the desk, needing to see, to feel more.

He was shorter. His perspective of the room was lowering. The desk seemed to loom above him. His chair felt enormous. A series of sharp, delicious pains lanced through his spine, followed by an overwhelming wave of pleasure as something long and flexible pushed out from the base of his back. A tail. A beautiful, ringed tail that swished through the air behind him, feeling as natural as breathing. He reached a hand - no, a paw - back to touch it. His fingers were shorter, furred, tipped with small, sharp black claws. He flexed them, and a thrill of possessive power shot through him. These were the hands of a genius. A mechanic. A killer. They were his.

His face was the final, most intense transformation. The bones in his skull shifted with a series of wet, cracking pops that sounded horrifying but felt orgasmic. His jaw pushed forward, his nose and mouth merging into a sharp, clever muzzle. His ears migrated to the top of his head, growing into expressive triangles that twitched and swiveled at the slightest sound. His teeth sharpened as he ran a new, rough tongue over pronounced canines. His blue eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and ecstasy, bled away into a sharp, fierce and commanding red.

The memories came, at last. They weren't memories of playing a game or watching a movie. They were his memories. The cold, sterile tables. The bite of the restraints. The feeling of being torn apart and put back together, wrong, but better. The fierce, unbreakable bond with a talking tree. The roar of ship engines. The thrill of a perfect heist. The name. His name. Rocket. Rocket Raccoon.

The final kill of the match was a masterpiece. The enemy Hulk, low on health, tried to leap to safety. Rocket - he was Rocket - calculated the arc in a nanosecond, a sneer on his muzzle. He didn’t even need to think. He let loose, unloading his gun, stopping the big green oaf mid-air, the entire clip emptied into his stupid, roaring face. [RocketRaccoon] eliminated [HulkSmash84].

The orgasmic wave of victory that crashed over him was the final key, turning the last lock of his old identity as he came. Ethan was gone. Completely, and irrevocably. The figure that sat in the gaming chair was no longer a man. He was a raccoon. A mammal. He was about three feet of tightly coiled muscle, fur, and fury, clad in a pair of now-oversized sweatpants.

The game ended. VICTORY flashed across the screen. He didn’t care. The digital world held no interest for him anymore. He had a real one to get back to.

He hopped down from the chair, his tail balancing him perfectly. He landed on the floor with a soft thud, his paws feeling the gritty dust. He wrinkled his nose at the mess. “What a dump,” he rasped, his voice now permanently a gravelly growl. He could smell everything - the weakness, the fear, the patheticness of the human who had lived here. It was disgusting. He was strong, perfect, and that animalistic musk proved it. He dipped a clawed digit into the cum tangled in his chest fur, licking it off and shuddering at the taste, his taste. His perfect, perfect taste.

He strutted through the apartment, a cocky swagger in his step, his claws clicking on the linoleum. He found a full trash bag by the door and, with a strength that belied his size, started dragging it toward the kitchen, already planning the cleanup. This place needed a serious overhaul. He needed tools. He needed parts. He needed a ship.

He stopped in the middle of the room, a glorious, impossible creature in a world of beige ordinariness. He planted his paws on his hips, his chest puffed out with immense pride. A wide, sharp-toothed grin spread across his muzzle. He was Rocket Raccoon. He was a genius. He was a hero. And he was finally, gloriously, himself.

“Yeah,” he said to the empty apartment, the word a promise of chaos and brilliance to come. “I'm Rocket.”

The stale, post-transformation air of the apartment still hung heavy with the now-fading, musky odor of the human who had once lived there. But overlaying it all, sharp and clean and alive, was the new scent of ozone, gun oil, and fur. Rocket stood amidst the domestic wreckage, his paws on his hips, his tail giving a satisfied, rhythmic twitch behind him. The glow of the monitor, now idle on the Marvel Rivals main menu, painted his sharp features in shifting hues of blue and gold.

A deep, rolling chuckle escaped his muzzle. It was a raw, raspy sound that felt as natural as breathing. "A new leg. A new ship. A whole new world to annoy," he mused to himself, his clever brown eyes scanning the room with a mechanic's disdain. This place was a dump. A pathetic, squalid little nest. But it was his dump now, and he’d be damned if he was gonna live in squalor. His genius deserved better.

His gaze fell back on the computer. The game. It had been the key, the catalyst that had shattered the weakling Ethan and forged him, Rocket, in the fires of digital combat and very real, very pleasurable transformation. A sly, calculating glint entered his eyes. It was a good key. A useful key. And maybe... just maybe... it wasn't done being useful yet.

A plan, beautiful and devious in its simplicity, began to form in his brilliant mind. It wasn't enough to just be Rocket. A raccoon, even a genius one, needed a crew. He needed his family. But this racc didn't have a Groot. It didn't have a Gamora. Or a Drax. But it did have... connections. Ethan's connections.

He hopped back into the oversized gaming chair, his small frame nearly swallowed by it. With deft claws, he navigated to a voice chat program Ethan had used. The contact list was a sad roll call of generic usernames. But one stood out: "LarsTheLegend." Lars. Ethan's oldest friend. The one he'd play co-op games with for hours. The one who was just as deep into this Marvel Rivals junk as Ethan had been.

A wide, toothy grin spread across Rocket's muzzle. Perfect.

He clicked the call button. It rang twice before a familiar, slightly nasally voice crackled through the headset Rocket now wore.

"Ethan? Dude, that you? Your mic's been dead for like, an hour. I saw you dropped from the match. Everything cool?"

Rocket leaned into the microphone, letting his new voice, gravelly and laced with a confidence Ethan could never have mustered, wash over the connection. "Ethan? Nah, pal, you must have the wrong number. This is Rocket. Rocket Raccoon."

There was a pause on the other end. A beat of confused silence. "...Rocket? Like... from the game? Dude, your voice changer is insane. What filter is that? It sounds just like him."

Rocket’s grin widened. Hook, line, and sinker. "Voice changer? What, you think this is a game? I just finished whoopin' your pal Ethan's tail in a ranked match. Told the scrub he wasn't fit to pilot a garbage scow, let alone a Strategist Class. He said he had a friend who was better. Said your name was Lars. Said you main Star-Lord." He let the implication hang in the air, the lie smooth and effortless.

"Me? Star-Lord? I mean... yeah, I guess I've played a few games of him," Lars said, his voice a mix of confusion and burgeoning pride. "But Ethan said that? He's always saying I play too aggressive."

"Aggressive is good! Aggressive wins fights!" Rocket barked, his tone shifting to one of enthusiastic camaraderie. "Look, the guy I was supposed to run with tonight flaked. Got himself arrested or somethin'. I need a wingman. A real one. Someone who gets the rhythm. Ethan ain't it. But he said you... you might be. You wanna run a few? See if you can keep up with a Guardian of the Galaxy?"

He could almost hear the stunned excitement on the other end of the line. This was a dream scenario for a fanboy like Lars. "Are you serious? Yeah! Yeah, absolutely! Just... just gimme a sec to log back in."

"Don't keep me waiting, Quill," Rocket said, the name dropping from his lips with a casual, practiced ease that felt like truth.

"Quill?" Lars asked, a nervous laugh in his voice.

"Star-Lord. Peter Quill. You're pilotin' him, ain'tcha? Makes you him for now. Now get movin'!"

The game loaded. Rocket invited [LarsTheLegend] to his party. He saw the Star-Lord icon appear next to his own Rocket Raccoon icon. The stage was set.

"Alright, Quill," Rocket's voice purred through the headset, a hypnotic blend of command and brotherly teasing. "Let's see what you got. Remember, it's all about the flow. The music. You gotta feel it."

The match began on a Wakandan map. Rocket stayed close to Lars, his commentary a constant, seductive stream.

"Good shot! See? Right in the rhythm. Just like that old song of yours... what was it? 'Come and Get Your Love'? Yeah, that's the one. You can almost hear it, can't ya?" Rocket said, planting the seed, layering the fiction over the reality.

Lars, playing Star-Lord, got a lucky pick on an enemy Doctor Strange. [LarsTheLegend] eliminated [MysticArtsMaster].

On the other end of the line, Lars let out a whoop of victory. And at the exact same moment, Rocket heard it - a sharp, sudden intake of breath that was a little too sharp, a little too strained to just be about a game.

"You feel that, Quill?" Rocket whispered, his voice intimate in Lars's ear. "That rush? That's the open sky. That's the thrill of the hunt. It's in your blood. You've always felt it."

"I... I don't know what that was," Lars mumbled, but his voice was already different. Less nasal. A little deeper, a little more resonant.

"Sure you do," Rocket coaxed. "It's who you are. Now c'mon, we got a team to support. Lead the way, Star-Lord."

With every assist Rocket fed him, with every enemy Lars took down, the narrative deepened. Rocket didn't let up.

"Nice heal, Rocket! Knew I could count on my best buddy!" Lars's voice was definitely changing. The cadence was different, adopting a cocky, self-assured swagger. The words were becoming his own.

"Anytime, Quill. You know I always got your back. Remember that time on Xandar? With the Hadron Enforcers? You were magnificent. A little stupid, but magnificent."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" The reply came instantly, smooth and confident. There was no hesitation, no confusion. A memory, perfectly fabricated and seamlessly integrated, now existed in Lars's mind. The line between the game and the memory, between the player and the hero, was dissolving with every passing second, sanded away by the relentless, hypnotic pressure of Rocket's voice.

Rocket watched Lars's gameplay transform. It was no longer a hesitant fan mimicking moves; it was instinctual. The dodges were smoother, the shots more precise, the positioning more arrogant and bold. He was becoming the character, the movements scripting the body, the persona rewriting the soul. Lars got a triple kill, using his abilities to evade and his guns to carve through the enemy team. The play was brilliant, reckless, and utterly Quill.

"[Star_Lord] is on a firing spree!" the game announcer boomed.

On the other end of the line, a sound that was no longer Lars's escaped. It was a gasp that turned into a low groan of pleasure, a sound of profound, physical transformation. Rocket could almost see it in his mind's eye: the softness of his body burning away in that now-familiar euphoric heat, replaced by the lean, hard muscle of a galactic adventurer. Shoulders broadening, a confident swagger settling into the very bones, a cocky grin etching itself onto a face that was no longer quite Lars's.

"You hear that, Pete?" Rocket said, switching to the familiar name, cementing the bond. "They see you. They all see Star-Lord."

"They always do, Rocket," the voice came back, deep, charismatic, and laced with a thrilling arrogance. It was Peter Quill's voice. There was no trace of Lars left in it. "Now let's give 'em a show they won't forget!"

The final push was a masterpiece of coordinated chaos. Rocket laid down suppressing fire, his genius mind calculating every angle, while Quill danced through the fray, a whirlwind of elemental energy and cocky one-liners that were now completely genuine.

"We got this, Rocket! Just like on Ego's planet!"

"Which time? The time you almost got us killed 'cause you were mopin' about your daddy issues?"

"Hey, we worked through it! We're brothers!"

The words sent a shockwave through the connection. Rocket felt a strange, warm feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the transformation's heat. Brotherhood. Family. It was what he’d wanted. What he’d engineered. Hearing it stated as absolute fact, from a voice that believed it utterly, was... satisfying. Deeply.

The match ended in a glorious victory. The VICTORY screen flashed once more, but neither of them paid it any mind.

There was a long silence on the other end, filled only with the sound of heavy, exhilarated breathing.

"Whoa," Quill's voice finally said, a laugh bubbling up within it. "That was... that was something else. I feel... amazing. I feel like I could take on a Celestial bare-handed." There was a rustle of fabric, as if he was stretching, feeling out his new, powerful form. "Man, my head is buzzing. Must have been those last few shots. Really got the adrenaline pumping."

"Nah, that's just you, Quill," Rocket said, his own voice softer than he intended. "That's just you being you."

"Yeah… yeah, you're right." Another laugh, easy and confident. "Hey, listen, this was great. We should do this again tomorrow. I gotta go... I feel like I need to take a walk. Clear my head. You know, see the stars."

"You do that, Star-Lord," Rocket said, a genuine smile on his muzzle. "You do that."

The call disconnected. Rocket sat back in his chair, the silence of the apartment settling around him once more. But it was a different silence now. It wasn't empty. It was full of potential. He had done it. He had taken a piece of this dull world and remade it. He had a friend. A brother.

He looked around the messy room, and for the first time, it didn't look like a dump. It looked like a headquarters. A starting point.

"Alright," Rocket Raccoon said to himself, cracking his knuckles, his claws clicking together. "Phase one complete. Now for the really hard part." He spun in his chair to face the dismantled pieces of Ethan's old laptop, his brilliant mind already whirring with schematics for a trans-dimensional comms unit. He had a tree to find.

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[mr-haitch-but-lewd]

Skater-fication for Mobysimo

[cookiesart]

Boy why your blushing sprites so tomato-

[maletfwitch]

Peter Of Westview

Wanda desperately wanted her kids back. While studying the Darkhold, she discovered a spell that could permanently swap her consciousness with a multiversal counterpart. The spell was really hard to pull off correctly and could only be performed once, but she was so desperate she didn’t care about the risks. As she performed the spell, she felt her spirit begin to leave her body and enter the multiverse. 

When she opened her eyes, her surroundings were not what she expected. She found herself on some sort of spaceship. When she looked into a mirror, she was shocked to see none other than Peter Quill as her reflection.

It dawned on her that she had messed up the spell and potentially her only chance to get her kids back. She broke down on the floor and felt no connection to her previous powers. As her mind raced, she came up with an idea. She got up and examined herself in the mirror. This body was decently attractive, and she knew this universe’s version of her was a single mom.

She or now he would begin planning out how to end up with his multiversal counterpart. He would start by leaving the Guardians to return to Earth and start to put an emphasis on his looks, going for a more clean-cut style. Then he would slowly work his way into this Wanda’s life so he can be Billy and Tommy’s stepfather. Knowing everything about this universe’s Wanda from the countless hours he spent dreaming of her life, he was able to sweep her off her feet and soon marry her, no problem.

One time the Guardians paid Quill a visit and were shocked to see him now. Suddenly he now went by “Peter Maximoff” and lived as some stay-at-home husband dressed all clean-cut in nice clothes, spending his time taking care of his stepkids and occasionally going golfing with the other dads of Westview. It was like he was a completely different person unknown to them; he actually was.

While this definitely wasn’t the way Wanda imagined things going, he can’t say he has any complaints about his new life. He is just happy to be living with his new wife and kids while trying to be the best husband and stepfather he can be.

Hope you guys enjoy this one i wrote the original draft months ago and just now decided to finish it up.

[shrouded-stories]

Dead By Sensation (TF story)

In the sweltering haze of the late afternoon gym, the air was thick with testosterone and musk. David stood confidently, glistening with sweat, his chiseled frame flexed just enough to assert quiet dominance. His underarms steamed slightly, a haze of raw masculine scent wafting around him. Beside him stood Caleb, just as built but more reserved, his brow furrowed, uncertain, his body not yet awakened to what was about to happen.David turned slowly, his smirk full of intent. “You’re not ready yet,” he said, voice low, teasing. Caleb blinked, confused. “Ready for what?”Without answering, David suddenly pulled Caleb forward, one thick arm wrapping behind his neck. Caleb barely had time to react before his face was shoved deep into the swampy, musky heat of David’s underarm.The scent hit like a shockwave—spicy, earthy, masculine. Caleb thrashed for a second, but his strength ebbed as his body quivered from the sensation. His face tingled, his jawline sharpening, his brow thickening. The soft edges of his features began to morph, becoming more rugged, more primal. In mere seconds, he no longer looked like Caleb—he was turning into Vittorio.David pulled him back, and Caleb panted, stunned. “What… was that?” he groaned.David didn’t speak. He brought Caleb—now half-Vittorio—closer again and stuffed his face into his massive, sweaty pecs. Caleb gasped, muffled by the flesh. And then it began.A hot surge of energy shot through his body. His own pecs swelled, bloating outward with raw power. His abs shredded into deep-cut muscle. Every pulse, every heartbeat was orgasmic. He moaned into David’s chest, his legs trembling.“God—feels so good—” he growled.Hair sprouted across his body—thick, dark, and wild—across his chest, arms, pits, even down his abs. He reeked now, a musk of his own blending with David’s. It was raw. It was feral.And he was still growing—shoulders bursting wider, biceps throbbing, thighs thickening until he loomed even larger than David himself.David chuckled, rubbing his hand slowly across Vittorio’s sweaty pecs. Wherever he touched, tattoos bled up from beneath the skin—arcane marks and rugged sigils that pulsed with heat. Each one made Vittorio gasp in pleasure, eyes rolling back.“Ooooh—more…” he moaned, his voice now deeper, slower, dumbed down by the overwhelming pleasure and power.His mind melted in sync with his body. Thoughts of who he was—his job, responsibilities, worries—all slipped away like steam. What remained was a new identity: Vittorio, a big, sweaty, horny himbo. Like David. No—his bro now.The two looked at each other, glistening with sweat, feral and proud.David grinned. “We smell good, huh?”Vittorio raised his arm proudly, sniffing deeply. “Mmmmh, yeah bro. So musky…”They both lifted their underarms, breathing in each other’s raw scent, eyes half-lidded with bliss. Two massive, tattooed beasts, sweaty and proud—brothers in musk, in muscle, in mindless, perfect transformation.

[abstractvanity32]

I’m currently just going with the flow but if anyone has pics they’d like to seen done deff message me. Plan to write some stories to post for next month!

[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

[bigification]

Click

The four of you squeeze into the small bathroom to snap a photo before jumping in the hot tub. You and your boyfriend, Pete, snuggle up on the right side of the frame while your two other friends fill out the left side of the frame, Rick behind and Matt in front. Though the four of you are not afraid of squeezing together for the photo, you've all been much closer than that.

*click*

The sound rings from your phone as you take a picture.

Steam builds up in the tiny bathroom as your bodies heat the room. It usually doesn't get like that until things get hot between the four of you, but you like to save that for after the hot tub.

You stumble out of the bathroom and towards the cottage's back door, where the hot tub awaits. You all spare no time jumping into the relaxing, if not slightly cramped hot tub.

"What stereotype would I be?" You ask out of nowhere.

"What?" Rick questions.

"Like, every person fills out a stereotype in the group. I'm wondering which one I would be." You continue.

"Do you even have to ask?" Matt laughs.

"What does that mean?" You ask.

"You're obviously the stoner of the group." Rick cuts in.

"Is it that obvious!?"

"You have a stache of weed at your cottage, I'm honestly surprised you're not smoking right now." Matt explains.

"Now that you mention it, I meant to grab some before coming out here." You say.

"Exactly!" Matt shouts.

The whole group gets a good laugh out of it.

"What about me?" Pete asks.

The stops for a moment, everyone trying to think of a box that he could easily fit in. It took a while of thinking, but eventually Rick thought of something.

"I got it. You're the ex Jock." He says confidently.

"What do you mean ex Jock?" Pete snaps back.

"You used to be one of the star players on the football team. Now you just kinda play video games all the time." Rick replies.

"Ya but I'm not fat."

"Not yet." Matt butts in.

"Shut up." Pete laughs, punching Matt on his shoulder. "What about you, let's see how you feel."

Rick wastes no time in giving an answer. "He's definitely the blue collar guy."

"What does that mean?" Matt asks.

"It means you work on your little farm with your daddy." Rick taunts.

"I barely work with him, besides, I'm trying to move to the city as soon as possible." Matt says.

"Once a farm boy, always a farm boy." You taunt.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Can we move on."

Everyone looks at Rick, the last one to be judged. And the answer seems pretty obvious.

"Gym rat." All three of you say in unison.

"Is it really that obvious?" Rick asks.

"Yes!" Matt says as he looks down at Rick's muscled and hairless physique.

"You know what, I'll take that."

The conversation quiets down after that, with all four of you leaning back and enjoying the beautiful weather from the warmth of the hot tub.

After an hour or so of relaxing, you call it quits. The four of you start drying off as you walk back inside the cottage. You throw on a black shirt and immediately make your way to the living room. A shitty romcom always sets the mood for later in the night.

You pick up the remote, but just as you're about to turn the tv on, you notice something strange. The remote is not the same as it usually is, it's a weird oval shaped blue remote. You think nothing of it, figuring your dad just bought a new one.

You turn on the tv like normal, but it's in the middle of an ad break. You quickly find the fast forward button on the new remote and press it, but the tv doesn't fast forward. You press the button a few more times, but the tv doesn't react. Something seems to have changed though, you feel different than you did moments ago.

An intense feeling of nausea makes you feel dizzy, making you lose your balance. You manage to grab onto the back of the couch and steady yourself. You've already broken a sweat as you take a deep breath in and out, letting your gut hang loose as you breathe out.

Wait what?

You look down in horror as you watch your previously flat stomach swell with fat, making your shirt look skin tight. You try to suck it in but it doesn't change, all it does is make it grow even larger once you finally let it go.

Within moments, a massive ball gut is threatening to rip through your tiny shirt, and it's still growing. You panic, you don't want your friends to see you like this, let alone your boyfriend. Sure you've never been the most ripped in the group, but your pride won't let you be seen like this. You charge to the bathroom, stumbling and bumping into everything as you're still getting used to your growing body.

You slam the door behind you and rush to the mirror. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, your heart sinks as you see a much older man staring back at you in the mirror. Your beard looks untamed, it's bushy and nearly entirely gray. And your hairline is receding slightly, with grey hairs starting to take over your head as well. That's not even mentioning the wrinkles forming in your face, you look older than your dad.

*RIIIIIIIPPPPPP*

The unmistakable sound of fabric ripping. In unison, your shirt and shorts rip open in dramatic fashion, falling the floor and leaving you in nothing but skin tight underwear.

You stare at the obese old man in the mirror, somehow looking even fatter than before. Your posture has shifted backwards to compensate for the immense weight of your gut, only made worse by the thick pair of man tits that hang above it. Looking at your reflection closer, you start to notice how fat has inflated every part of your body. Your hands have doubled in size, your ass has expanded with fat, and even your legs look like thick stumps.

The more you over analyze, the more you relax. Your shoulders loosen up and you let your gut hang loose rather than trying in vain to suck it in. As your body ages in front of you, a sort of wisdom takes over your mind. Not only an acceptance of this body, but a confidence you have never felt before. You feel your dick harden as you slowly rub your hand across your swollen belly.

You walk back out into the living room to regroup with your friends. First you find Pete. He's wearing a set of gym clothes that are way too small for him. On that note, he seems to have filled out a lot. He turns to you, revealing a thick muscle gut riding his shirt up to his swollen pecs. The fear on his face turns to confusion as he sees you, nearly unrecognizable from the man you were moments ago. He seems too preoccupied with his own transformation to say anything though.

His hair starts falling out, soon leaving him completely bald as his beard starts to become grey. His cheeks fatten and his nose widens as, similar to you, wrinkles form all across his face.

Just as fast as Pete's body is swelling with fat, he seems to be filling out with muscle as well. His biceps grow larger than a football and his hands grow thick enough to wrap around an entire football. It even becomes obvious how much muscle is growing on his thighs, underneath all the fat of course.

As his transformation seems to slow down, his expression goes from confusion to comfort as he makes eye contact with you.

"Hey babe." He says in a deep buttery voice.

"Hey..." You respond, clearly distracted.

He approaches you, holding your gut in his thick man hands. He tries to get your attention by rubbing your belly as it continues to grow, but you remain distracted.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Look..." You respond, pointing at Rick.

He's leaning against the couch, grunting in pain. His muscles seem to be cramping, sending ripples down his body. But it quickly becomes obvious that his muscles are growing. His biceps grow to the size of his head as defined muscles surface all along his arms. Though unlike Pete, Rick's arms keep their definition, avoiding the soft fat that envelopes Pete's arms.

His shoulders broaden as his traps thicken, making his neck look a lot larger. He stands up straight, allowing you to see his modest pecs expand into two thick slabs of meat. His back quickly followed suit, growing strong muscles that create ripples all across his back. And his stomach tightened as washboard abs formed alongside a sharp V shape on his hips.

He let out a deep groan as his transformation continued, leaning back into the couch for support. As he does so, his unimpressive ass seems to come to life, growing two perky cheeks that threaten to burst through his tight gym shorts. Even his thighs thicken with rock hard muscle, further straining his shorts.

Rick looks back up at you, his face drenched in sweat as it begins to change. His stubble grows out, forming a perfectly groomed beard as the hair on his head falls out. His beard starts to go grey as his face matures, though he seems to age much more gracefully than you and Pete.

As the transformation slows down, he throws a baseball cap over his shiny head. He turns and makes eye contact with you. He smirks as he strikes a pose, perfectly showing off his sweaty muscles to you and Pete.

"Looks like you outgrew another shirt, fatass." Rick says to you, his voice was deep and raspy.

His eyes dart down towards your gut, causing you to also look down. You seem to be wearing a completely new set of clothes, a blue button up and grey sweatpants. The button is missing all of its buttons due to your ever growing gut, the shirt probably stopped fitting you 100 pounds ago but you still wear it because it does a good job of showing off your gut.

As you're checking yourself out, you're distracted by a loud noise coming from behind Rick. It's Matt, he seems to have stumbled back outside. You follow as quickly as your fatass can. Looking outside, you see that he's fallen into an excavator where the hot tub used to be, though you fail to realize that anything has changed. You even fail to notice that Matt is wearing completely different clothes. He's now wearing jeans and a plaid shirt over a wife beater, though the clothes are clearly too large on him, for now.

As he's sitting there, his skin quickly starts to tan, becoming a deep bronze colour. The tan only a hard working labourer could get. At the same time, he starts to rapidly age. His beard trims down while his mustache becomes bushier, all while a few patches of hair become grey. His nose and ears grow as his cheeks fill out, this along with his bushier eyebrows and slightly wrinkled skin make him look just like his father.

At the same time, Matt starts to quickly fill out his clothes. His arms grow thick and strong from all the manual labour he's been doing on his farm, even his hands thicken as callouses cover his palms. His flat stomach swells into a small pot belly that is impossible to miss under his right wife beater. Even his pecs sag slightly, creating a clear outline on his shirt despite still looking strong.

His jeans tightened as his legs expanded with both fat and muscle. Even his growing ass threatened to burst through his belt, causing his crack to show everyone he bends down. Not that you guys are complaining.

Just as the transformation is coming to an end, a thick pelt of black hair sprouts all over his body. Especially on his chest, which he proudly shows off above his wife beater.

"You okay?" You ask in a raspy cigar ridden voice.

"Of course, I just lost my balance." Matt responds in a thick middle eastern accent, just like his father.

"Good."

You pull out a fat cigar and a lighter from your pocket and hobble over to a nearby chair. Sitting down, the chair perfectly fits your fat ass, as if you'd been sitting in it for decades. You light your cigar and lean back, letting your gut spill out into your lap.

Rick and Pete follow you into the back yard with a couple six packs of beer. Pete sits beside you in a similarly perfect chair and rests his hand on your thigh, increasing the size of your already obvious bulge.

Rick saddles up next to Matt, wrapping one arm around his shoulder to pull him in close while the other pinches Matt's belly fat.

"Let's get some more beer in ya, big guy. You'll need energy for all that hard work you do when you get back." Rick says as he raises a beer to Matt's mouth.

Rick has never been subtle with what he wants, in or out of bed. His effects on your body are undeniable, and he's starting to get at Pete and Matt too. If it weren't for the fact that you only meet at the cabin on weekends, the three of you would be much fatter than you already are. But Rick is a stubborn old man who works hard for what he wants, and what he wants is three fat men in bed with him every weekend.

[abstractvanity32]

Going Forward.

Hello All.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. And as of now I’m taking a break. This old man has been writing for 13 years since I was 18, so I think I might have finally hit my wall.

There’s only so many times you can recycle the same concept from 1 TF idea. But FTM is deff what does the best here so I stuck with it. I felt I started going through the motions and I don’t really feel like doing that anymore 😂

But weirdly MtF and Animal TGs were just not really a hit here and why I always kept them off site

So for now, enjoy the stories on here and I could post from time to time (if I got a spark going on). But I’m taking a seat back from writing and doing my thing for the time being. It’s been a great 3 years here. Talked to some awesome people and this overall was a way better space then on DA! (Aside from the weirdo who told me to kill myself 😭😭😂)

Best wishes. And for everyone I talk to I will still be around and am open to do stories off of here. Those stories and my opinion where I shine way more. And I don’t have to stick with just FTM but can do all TG stories. Cause the variety is what I love and we’re a thrive the best.

One again it’s been a great 3 years on here and I’m happy I could bring some much needed content to a very niche thing in a very niche community. Hopefully someone in time comes and replaces me!

[rtrose]

Commission from Canson.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Genie Origins: Time Traveling Stripper

Francesca stood before her mirror, her voice filling the room as she practiced her scales, dreaming of the day she would be a famous singer. She yearned for the spotlight, the cheering crowds, and the thrill of performing on stage. She was an aspiring singer, and she wanted nothing more than to be a big star.

One day, while exploring a flea market, she discovered an old, ornate lamp. Intrigued by its design, she picked it up and gave it a good polish. Suddenly, a puff of smoke erupted from the spout, and a mischievous genie materialized before her.

"Greetings, mortal!" the genie boomed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I am here to grant you one wish. What is your heart's desire?"

Francesca's eyes widened in disbelief, but she quickly gathered her thoughts. "I... I want to be a famous singer. I want to be a big star!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement and longing.

The genie grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Very well. Your wish is granted." He waved his hand, and a swirling vortex enveloped Francesca, pulling her through time and space.

When she emerged from the vortex, Francesca found herself in a dimly lit dressing room, the air thick with the scent of hairspray and perfume. She looked around in confusion, taking in the racks of costumes and the vanity mirror lined with bright lights. As she caught her reflection in the mirror, she gasped in shock.

Her long, flowing locks began to recede, shortening and darkening to a deep brown. The hair styled itself into a quaffed look popular in the late 70s. Her once-smooth face sprouted a thick mustache, and her delicate features morphed into a more masculine, chiseled jawline. Her bright, eager eyes darkened to a sultry, smoldering gaze.

Francesca's petite frame began to stretch and grow, her height increasing rapidly. Her slim arms and legs thickened with lean muscle, the definition clear beneath her smooth, tanned skin. Her shoulders broadened, and her waist narrowed, taking on a more masculine shape. Her hips slimmed down, and her once-curvy buttocks firmed up, becoming taut and muscular.

Her breasts, once full and perky, began to flatten and firm, transforming into a hard, muscular chest. Her nipples darkened and shrank, becoming smaller and flatter against her newly formed pectorals. A light dusting of dark hair spread across her chest, accentuating her masculine physique.

Francesca felt a strange sensation between her legs, and she looked down to see her underwear bulging slightly, a penis and testicles forming where there had been none before. Her once-smooth mound became hairier, matching the dark hair that covered her body. Her thighs and calves became more defined, the muscles lean and powerful.

Her clothes shifted, morphing into a skimpy little black speedo that clung to her newly formed masculine frame. The speedo was snug around the crotch, accentuating the bulge that had formed there. She stood there, her lean, muscular physique on full display.

Memories flooded back to her—memories of being Maxwell Hardwell, a lean, muscular exotic dancer from the late 70s. She remembered the feel of the stage beneath her feet, the sound of the music pulsing through her veins, and the cheers of the crowd as she danced. She was Maxwell, and she was proud of it.

Maxwell turned to the side, admiring his reflection in the mirror. He flexed his arms, watching as his muscles rippled beneath his smooth, tanned skin. He ran a hand through his short, quaffed hair, a smirk playing on his lips as he struck a pose.

"Well, well, well," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety purr. "Looks like I'm the star of the show tonight."

Just then, the sound of music and cheering erupted from beyond the dressing room door. Maxwell's heart raced with excitement and anticipation. He took one last look in the mirror, adjusting his speedo and striking a seductive pose.

"Time to give the people what they want," he said, his voice filled with confidence and determination. With a final flex of his muscles, Maxwell turned and strutted out of the dressing room, ready to take the stage and captivate his audience.

As he stepped onto the stage, the spotlight shining down on him, Maxwell knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be. He was a star, and he was going to give the performance of a lifetime. With a sultry smirk and a wink, he began to dance, his body moving with grace and precision as he captivated the cheering crowd.

[axeeglitter]

Reformating Love

Ethan stared at the unwashed cereal bowl on the counter, the sticky remnants of milk and granola solidifying into an unappetizing paste. The apartment reeked faintly of saltwater and old gym clothes, a byproduct of living with Scott.

Scott, his surfer roommate, seemed to revel in making Ethan’s life a mix of frustration and quiet misery. The man had an effortless charm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-kissed tan that made him look like a walking advertisement for beach life. His messy, curly long blond hair, perpetual smirk, and casual demeanor made him maddeningly attractive and completely insufferable.

As if on cue, Scott sauntered out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung boxer briefs. His toned body, slightly hairy in all the right places, gleamed faintly as if he had just stepped off his surfboard. He stretched his long arms over his head, revealing the thick patch of hair under his armpits, and yawned loudly.

“Morning, sunshine!” Scott said with a grin, his voice dripping with playful condescension.

Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

Scott shrugged, completely unbothered. “Time doesn’t matter when you’ve mastered the art of the chill, my man.” He opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and drinking straight from it.

“Can you at least use a glass?” Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.

Scott turned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What’s the matter? Afraid of catching my cooties?” He wiggled his eyebrows before smirking and adding, “Or do you just want my lips on your lips, huh?”

Ethan flushed, his jaw tightening. “You’re impossible.”

Scott grinned wider and leaned against the counter, his muscular arms casually crossed. “Aw, come on, E. I’m just messing with you. You know I think you’re great. I mean, if I swung that way…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Ethan turned away, grabbing his laptop and settling onto the couch.

He was used to Scott’s teasing by now, but it still stung. The comments weren’t overtly homophobic; they were Scott’s way of pushing buttons, of asserting dominance in their shared space.

It wasn’t just the comments, though. It was the way Scott left his belongings everywhere, his dirty clothes strewn across the floor like trophies from his latest conquest. It was the way he played his music too loud, the bass vibrating through the walls at all hours. It was the way he walked around the apartment half-naked, completely comfortable in his skin, while Ethan tried to focus on anything other than the sharp curve of his hip bones or the way his legs seemed to go on forever.

Ethan had tried confronting him once, but Scott had just laughed it off, ruffling Ethan’s hair like he was a kid. “Relax, dude. Life’s too short to stress over this stuff.”

But for Ethan, it wasn’t just "stuff." It was the constant reminder that he was the one who cared too much, the one who had to clean up, the one who tiptoed around Scott’s oversized personality.

That night, as Scott sprawled on the couch in his underwear, flipping through channels like he owned the place, Ethan found himself staring at his laptop, typing a phrase he never thought he’d search for: How to make someone change their behavior.

The results were a mixed bag of self-help articles, manipulative tricks, and obscure forums. But one thread caught his eye: Reprogramming personalities: Is it possible?

Ethan clicked, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The thread was filled with wild claims about new technologies that could alter someone’s behavior at a fundamental level. Some users spoke of psychological conditioning, others about experimental devices that could rewire a person’s mind entirely.

One comment stood out:

"Tired of dealing with someone who just won’t change? The solution is simpler than you think. Reprogramming kits are real, and they work. DM me for more information."

Ethan hesitated. It had to be a joke, right? Some elaborate scam? Still, the idea burrowed into his brain, refusing to let go. What if there was a way to make Scott understand, to force him to see how much of a burden he was?

Without fully understanding why, Ethan clicked on the user’s profile and sent a message: Tell me more. But after waiting for almost half an hour, no answers appeared on his screen. “Yo E., What you doing bro?” Asked Scott as he was getting up from the couch. Out of reflex and fear, Ethan closed the window, his heart racing. Ethan decided that he was just tired and needed some time away from everything and went to bed, his heart still racing from stress.

The next morning, Ethan received a notification on his phone: Your package is out for delivery.

“What package?” he muttered to himself.

When he received the package later that afternoon, Ethan didn’t understand what this was. “Hey Scott, have you purchased something?” He asked still on the porch with the package in his hands. No answer from Scott so he went back inside and opened the box on the kitchen table. It was a slick USB drive with only a handwritten note inside: “Reformation kit”. Ethan held the UBS in his hand, a chill ran down his spine.

It seemed absurd, like some kind of prank. Ethan turned the USB over in his hands, its glossy black surface unmarked by logos or branding. The note offered no further explanation. He almost tossed it in the trash, but something stopped him. Ethan walked down to the couch where Scott was laying there in his underwear and exposing his muscled and slightly hairy physique, as always. “Hey Scott, have you purchased a Reformation kit?” Scott looked up at Ethan and laugh answering “Yea sure E. I have purchased this nerdy shit to better perform on the board. You really aren’t the smartest of the nerds, are you?” Ethan felt rage rise in him as he heard Scott taunting one more time. “You are a jerk; you know that right?” He answered while throwing the USB in his direction, not seeing that Scott turned his head back on his phone, exposing his naked neck as his still wet hair parted around it. Ethan didn’t wait for an answer as he walked in his room to get ready for his night shift at the movie theater. unbeknown to him, the USB stopped mid air before touching the ground. Then all of a sudden, the USB started to light a faint blue hue and hum as it floated just behind Scott’s exposed neck. Then, Scott felt a tingle at its base, not knowing that a small rectangle USB port just appeared out of nowhere in his flesh, the skin around it smooth and metallic like a port carved directly into his spine. As he was about to scratch the itch, the UBS plugged itself inside Scott’s neck.

There was a soft click.

Scott froze, his entire body stiffening as if a switch had been flipped.

“What the hell…” Scott started, but his words were cut off by a strangled cry. His head snapped back; his mouth open in a silent scream as his entire body began to convulse.

Scott’s fingers clawed at the couch cushions, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. His eyes were wide with terror, and tears streamed down his face as his voice returned in gasping, ragged muffled screams.

But there was no way to stop it. The USB drive glowed faintly, and Scott’s body arched violently, his back lifting off the couch.

Inside Scott’s mind, the sensation was beyond anything he could have imagined. It was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled apart, unraveling into threads of light and sound. His memories flashed before his eyes in rapid, chaotic bursts. His childhood, his first surfboard, his friends, his favorite songs.

But then, those memories started to fade.

“Ethan!” he tried to scream, his voice cracking with panic. “Help me! something’s wrong! I’m... I’m disappearing! I don’t feel goo…”

Scott’s face contorted with pain, his words becoming garbled. The light around the USB grew brighter, and a faint hum filled the room, like the whirring of a hard drive.

Scott’s mind was unraveling, his sense of self slipping away. His thoughts fragmented, disintegrating into a flood of static.

The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t just physical; it was the loss of everything that made him him. His memories, his emotions, his very essence were being stripped away, digitized and compressed into raw data. Scott could feel his senses being cut one by one. It started with the lost connection to his feet, then it climbed up his legs and now he could only feel his face.

And then, there was nothing.

Scott’s body went limp, the glow from the USB fading as the reprogramming completed. Ethan left for his shift just after the USB stopped shining and fell back on the ground, the hole in the neck disappearing once the connection was lost. Scott stood there, his eyes closed and his head resting on the couch. “I’m leaving Scott. If you have time, try to clean the apartment please. I’m exhausted and I just want to come back to a tidy house for once. See you!” Scott didn’t answer, but as Ethan closed the door, his eyes opened, a soft hue shining blue hue brighten his eyes before disappearing to his natural blue color. Scott looked around the house and then at his body, he touched himself as he took everything in. A smile appeared on his serene face, typical Scott’s signature cocky smile as he looked at his reflection in his smartphone, making his cock chub up a bit. Then out of nowhere, he jumped up from the couch and started to walk to the kitchen, ready to do some cleaning.

When Ethan came back home later that night, Scott was sitting on the couch in his underwear, as always, but Ethan realizes the house smelt fresh. He turned around to see the house clean and tidy, even the dried granola balls in the full kitchen sink were washed and put away. Ethan walked to Scott with a smile on his face and stress released from his shoulders. “Thanks bro!” started Ethan not waiting for any answers from Scott. But as he turned around, he felt Scott’s calloused manly hand grabbing his forearm. Ethan turned around not understanding what Scott wanted only to be met with Scott’s smile. “Yo E., I realize that you did a lot to keep this house as clean as possible and I didn’t help you at all those years. I also realize that life is short and I’m done not being me to my fullest. Now I know I’m not gay, but I kind of have some… feelings for you. You think we could… be something? Like, a relationship…. Maybe?” Ethan stood there; his mouth opened in surprise as he tried to take in everything that he just heard. He tilted his head on his forearm to see Scott still grabbing him for dear life and moving his thumb back and forth on his sensitive skin. He tilted his head back up to see Scott’s smiley face and out of pure pulsion, he thought fuck it, and threw himself in Scott naked and muscled arm to kiss him.

Over the next few days, Ethan explored the limits of their new relationship. So much had change and Ethan couldn’t believe how all of that was possible in only a couple of days. Scott was more attentive, less cocky. He no longer teased Ethan or strutted around the apartment like he owned the place. Instead, he was now helping with chores, cooking dinner, and even suggesting they watch movies together.

It was everything Ethan had hoped for.

As the days turned into weeks, their relationship deepened. They spent hours cuddling on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms as Ethan introduced Scott to new shows of adventures and fantasy. Scott’s touch was gentle, his affection genuine. He laughed at Ethan’s jokes and listened to him talk about his day with an intensity that made Ethan feel seen for the first time in years.

They shared baths; Scott’s strong arms wrapped around Ethan as they soaked in the warm water. They fell asleep in the same bed, their bodies entwined, the sound of Scott’s steady breathing lulling Ethan into a peaceful sleep.

Ethan told himself that this was what he had always wanted. Scott was happy, and so was he.

One evening, as they lay on the couch about to start The Witcher, Scott turned to Ethan with a contented smile.

“This show looks really good,” he said, his voice warm. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

Ethan smiled back, his heart swelling with affection. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from Scott’s face.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Scott’s expression faltered for a brief moment, as if he were realizing something that was just out of reach. But then he smiled again and leaned in to kiss Ethan.

“I love you too,” he said.

Ethan didn’t notice the faint flicker of light in Scott’s eyes.

“I’ll grab some popcorn,” Ethan said, smiling as he untangled himself and headed to the kitchen.

Scott stretched, his body lean and relaxed, the dim light catching on the subtle golden tan of his surfer’s skin. As Ethan rummaged in the cupboards, Scott plunged his hand inside his right pocket where he toyed with the black sleek USB drive between his fingers.

“There’s no going back now.” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking, he got up and walked over to the TV. The back of his neck itched faintly. Scott stood in front of the TV and took the USB out of his pocket. He looked at it and a smile appear on his lips, without further thinking inserted the USB into one of the ports on the side of the television.

The screen flickered violently, the Netflix logo distorting into jagged lines and glitches that sent static crackling through the air. Scott stepped back, his heart pounding. The screen of the TV turned off and the room darkened. The television’s screen turned pitch black, save for faint flickers of light coalescing into a chaotic storm of colors.

And then, in the center of the screen, pixels started to merge together to form an entity. Something human like. Limbs started to appear and soon a face too. Scott stood in front of the as he watches with attention his reflection appears on the screen. Scott’s digitized soul had been plugged in.

Scott’s digitized soul emerged on the screen, flickering into existence in a form that resembled his body but was translucent and distorted. His limbs jerked as though he were a marionette struggling against invisible strings.

“What’s happening?!” he screamed from inside the TV, his voice echoing in the dark void. He looked down at his hands,they were translucent, pixelated fragments of light that didn’t feel solid.

His vision swam as he turned, desperate to find some kind of anchor. Instead, he saw his own body standing on the living room carpet, staring blankly at the TV.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “That’s... that’s me. That’s my body!”

He pounded on the invisible barrier of the screen, his hands sparking with faint glitches. “Ethan! Help me! I’m in here! I’m…” “He won’t answer.” Scott heard his deep manly voice answering his please “In fact, no one will help you. You had it all, Scott. But you had to push the boundaries a bit too much and now look at you. Digitized, trapped, floating naked inside a TV screen.” “What are you talking about?!” screamed Scott from inside the TV. “Get me out of here! I’ve been stuck in darkness for weeks! Get me out!” “That won’t happen buddy… See, I have been stuck in there for years and there’s no way I’m going back in it. My ex, this fucking piece of shit, cursed and trapped me in there after finding out I planned to quit her. She did the mistake of keeping me trapped in "this" and make sure I always was close to her, but the second she met someone, she sends me to the first one without even freeing me from this cursed existence? I won’t do the same mistake. I'm here to stay, even if I have to play for the other team. And Ethan is kind of cute. Yes, this cycle ends now!” As he said that, Scott took the remote in his hand. The screen flickered, and Scott was cut off as the television’s remote was pointed at the screen, guided by the steady, precise hand of his own body.

“No! Who are you?!” Scott screamed, slamming his fists against the inside of the screen as his body selected The Witcher from the Netflix menu.

 Scott laughed as he pressed the button "My name was Cody, but you can call me Scott!" The first episode began to play, the familiar opening scene filling the screen. But something was wrong. The edges of the screen twisted, pulling Scott’s glowing form toward the center.

“No, no, no!” he begged, thrashing against the pull as the show’s digital world unfolded around him.

In the blink of an eye, Scott was now standing awkwardly on the cobblestone streets of a medieval town. The air around him shimmered, glitching like corrupted code. He could walk again. He could feel the air on his skin and the dirt under his feet. But as a fresh breeze blew in his hair, he realized he was still naked in the middle of a busy street. Scott started to walk to hide somewhere, to ask for help, but with every step he took, his body was starting to change. As he got out of the city, Scott stood and hide behind a bunch of rocks and trees, trying to understand what was happening as he felt the dirt under his soles and the rocks against his naked and exposed back. Suddenly, a deep pain invaded his body.

His bones shifted first, cracking and shrinking with sickening precision. He could see his sight getting closer to the ground, slightly shorter than his original frame. He cried out as his limbs reshaped themselves, his lean surfer’s build giving way to a softer, more compact form.

His skin prickled as the sun-kissed tan faded into a smoother, paler complexion, dotted with faint freckles that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on his body seemed to rearrange itself, the wiry, sun-bleached strands on his chest and legs softening and darkening.

Scott’s armpits burned as the sparse hair there thickened, giving off a muskier scent that matched the medieval street he was hidden in. He gagged as the scent surrounded him, a mix of sweat and leather that was foreign yet undeniably his.

“Stop it! Please!” he screamed, but his voice was already changing, cracking and shifting into a higher, more melodic tone.

His face was next. He felt his jawline soften, the angles rounding into the boyish charm of young visage. His cheekbones lifted, and his nose reshaped itself with an audible crunch. His hair fell off, revealing rich, chestnut waves that grew longer, brushing against his shoulders.

Scott’s pelvic region seized with a deep, invasive ache. He doubled over, clutching at himself as his body rewired the most intimate parts of his anatomy. His penis pulsed painfully, growing longer and thicker. Scott could feel all the nerves decupling and rearranging. He tilted his head, cupping his cock between his new hands only to scream at the feeling of something alien. Something warm and thick but totally frozen. He heard a Snap sound as Scott felt his balls attaching to the base of his penis and starting to reshape into an inhuman form. Scott screamed again as he felt a tugging sensation at the base of his cock and suddenly, he heard a snap as he felt his cock falling in his hands. He could still feel it but it was not attached to his body anymore. Scott screamed again as he realized his cock and balls had reshaped into a lute. He felt every string, every curve, every stroke like if it was his still his cock and balls. Every brush of his finger sending him waves of pleasure like he was about to cum, making his knees weak.

“Oh God,” he muttered out of fear and pleasure.

His feet and hands were the last to change. His surfer’s calloused soles smoothed into the soft, narrow feet of someone who took care of himself but still walked a lot, his toes curling in agony as the final adjustments were made. His hands, once strong and capable, became slender and delicate, perfect for plucking strings. Scott could feel that this wave of change died as his nails finished adjusting to their new form. He tried to get up, his lute still in his right hand and feeling like he was tugging his cock at the base, ready to cum any instant. As he took his first step in this new reality, clothes materialized over his trembling body, stitching themselves into place. A doublet of deep blue and gold, tight trousers, and knee-high boots encased him, completing the transformation.

Scott tried to scream, but the sound came out as a cheerful laugh. His body straightened, his new face lighting up with the unmistakable charisma of someone he didn’t know, someone far away from his real self, someone like Jaskier.

Inside his own mind, Scott’s soul writhed.

“What’s happening to me?!” he screamed, but the words were drowned out by a flood of new thoughts, new instincts.

Scott tried to scream for help but his body was not answering his orders anymore. Instead, he started to walk calmly his lute hung in his back and grinding on his soft velvety jacket, sending him waves of pleasure along the way. Then, behind a rock, he saw Geralt ahead of him, and his body moved on its own, rushing forward with a wide grin.

“Ah, Geralt, my dear friend!” he heard himself say, the voice no longer his own.

Inside, Scott’s soul screamed. He could feel everything, his new body, the weight of the lute, the way his new clothes clung to his skin, but he had no control. Every thought, every movement was dictated by an unknown force, forcing him to embody the bard’s carefree, loyal persona.

“No! I’m not Jaskier! I’m Scott!” he tried to shout, but the words never left his lips. Instead, his body turned to Geralt with a mischievous smile, delivering another line with perfect comedic timing.

Back in the living room, Ethan returned with a bowl of popcorn. He sat down next to Scott, who was watching the TV intently. Ethan looked the screen for a moment, he was sure he saw a glitch on Jaskier, like if his face went from screaming to smiling in a few seconds without any reasons. Ethan blinked and all he saw was Jaskier on pause on the screen, holding his lute in his hands, must be the sleepiness coming to his eyes, he thought, forgetting instantly what he jsut saw.

“Sorry, got a call from work. What did I miss?” Ethan asked, popping a kernel into his mouth.

Scott turned to him with a smile, his expression calm and untroubled.

“Nothing important,” he said, resuming the show, his voice soft and even. Jaskier resumed playing his lute to entertain Geralt on their journey.

Ethan relaxed on Scott's shoulder as Scott grabbed Ethan's hands, unaware of the turmoil raging within the screen as Scott’s soul was forced to entertain an audience forever trapped in this new reality, playing with his lute and begging to cum.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

I’ve been meaning to post this story for a while but just couldn’t find the time to put it together properly—until now. So here it is! This story was created for @petew21-blog, based on his amazing request:

"would you be so kind and uploaded this handsome guy to my USB? I want his body empty for me to enjoy. I do need a hard pillow to cuddle while watching TV shows. And he looks comfy. I could play with those long hair, feel the heat of his muscles, bathe him... All while his body would be just empty, followed me and listened to every command I give him.

And while in bed together, we could watch some TV shows with the USB inserted in the TV with a VERY FAMILIAR actor. If you know what I mean."

I hope you all enjoy this one! Let me know what you think in the comments.

As always, my DMs are open, and you’re welcome to send me an ask if you have an idea you’d like me to explore.

Take care, and see you soon!