atomicwedgienerd

[atomicwedgienerd]

[atomicwedgienerd]

**After School Detention**

Max trudged down the hallway of Eisenhower High, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floors. Transferring schools was tough enough, but being stuck in detention on his first day was the cherry on top of a terrible sundae. Max wore his usual attire: a letterman jacket, jeans, and a white t-shirt underneath, the epitome of a jock. He'd ended up in detention for bullying a kid in the cafeteria, a scrawny nerd with glasses that seemed too big for his face. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in trouble for that sort of thing, but this school seemed to take it more seriously.

As Max pushed open the door to Room 207, he expected to find a bunch of other troublemakers. Instead, he found a group of nerds. They all had thick, black-rimmed glasses, neatly combed hair, and a uniform of sorts: button-up shirts with sweater vests or cardigans. Max felt a twinge of unease as they looked up at him, their eyes gleaming with something he couldn’t quite place.

"Uh, hey. I'm Max," he muttered, scanning the room for an empty seat. The nerds exchanged glances and then smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile.

"Sit here," said a boy with neatly parted hair and braces, patting the seat next to him. Max reluctantly complied, feeling a growing sense of dread.

"I'm Brent," the boy continued. "So, what did you do to land in detention?"

Max shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just a misunderstanding with a kid in the cafeteria. What about you guys? Why are you all here?"

Brent's eyes twinkled with amusement. "We all have our stories. For example, I got into detention for tripping a kid on crutches in the hallway."

Another boy with red hair and freckles leaned forward. "I got caught spray-painting graffiti on the gym wall. Used to be quite the rapscallion."

Max's eyes widened. These guys didn’t seem like typical nerds—they had once been troublemakers like him. But something still felt off.

Before Max could dwell on it, the detention supervisor, Mrs. Henderson, entered. She was an older woman with a stern expression, who gave the room a quick once-over before settling at her desk with a book. The room fell silent except for the occasional rustle of paper and the ticking of the clock.

Max shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the nerds’ stares. Then, he felt something strange on his face. He reached up and found a pair of glasses resting on his nose. He hadn't been wearing glasses when he walked in.

"What the—?" Max ripped them off, but the glasses wouldn't budge. He tried harder, but they wouldn’t come off. The nerds around him chuckled softly.

"There's no use fighting it," Brent said, his tone almost soothing.

Panic set in. Max jumped up, trying to run, but the nerds were surprisingly strong. They grabbed him, forcing him back into his seat. "Let me go!" he shouted, struggling against them.

"Relax, Max. It's easier if you don't fight it," Brent said, his braces glinting in the fluorescent light.

Max felt his clothes start to change. His letterman jacket began to tighten, the sleeves shortening and transforming into a sweater vest with a diamond pattern. His white t-shirt morphed into a button-up shirt with a bow tie appearing at the collar. His jeans turned into high-waisted slacks, a belt with a polished buckle cinching them at his waist. His sneakers shifted into loafers, polished to a mirror shine.

The changes weren't just physical. Max's mind was being invaded by thoughts that weren’t his own. He felt an inexplicable love for chess and calculus, a passion for comic books and science fiction. His hair, usually messy and unkempt, slicked back neatly with a part on the side. The transformation was detailed and meticulous, down to the argyle pattern on his socks.

"No! This isn't me!" Max screamed internally, but his resistance was weakening. The nerds’ voices blended into a single, soothing chorus, coaxing him into acceptance.

As the clock ticked away, Max's protests grew weaker. His reflection in the window showed a complete transformation: from the rebellious new kid to a picture-perfect nerd. His eyes, once filled with defiance, now sparkled with curiosity and eagerness to learn.

"Welcome to the club, Max," Brent said, patting him on the back. "You're one of us now."

Max's internal conflict began to fade. The thoughts and feelings that had invaded his mind felt more natural, more like his own. The transformation was not just skin deep; it was altering who he was at his core.

*Two Weeks Later*

Max walked down the hallway, his letterman jacket now a distant memory. He wore a neat cardigan, glasses perched perfectly on his nose, and his hair styled impeccably. He greeted his fellow club members with enthusiasm as they gathered in the science lab for their weekly meeting.

"Hey, guys! Did you see the new issue of *Amazing Science Monthly*? It's the bee's knees!" Max exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine excitement.

The transformation was complete. Max, now fully embracing his new identity, was an integral part of the nerd club. He relished their activities, from solving complex equations to planning the next big science fair project.

As he settled into his seat, Max couldn’t remember why he had ever resisted. This was where he belonged, surrounded by friends who shared his passion for knowledge and discovery. The new kid had found his place, and he couldn’t be happier.

[atomicwedgienerd]

If you reblog this image, the transformation will happen to you. That’s science!

Image by Darkoshen

Into nerdification? Join us on the nerdified discord channel!

[atomicwedgienerd]

The Nerd Gene

Ferguson sat at the kitchen table sharpening his pencils, taking out his ruler and ensuring they were all the same length. One of them was a bit too long so he sharpened it precisely and laid it back down. Ah there, perfect. The doorbell buzzed and he jumped as the door camera feed appeared on his smart watch.

“H-h-hello?” Ferguson stuttered as he squinted at the image. His glasses were already so thick but his vision was just getting worse and worse.

“Fredrick, or whatever your name is,” said the voice coming from the blurry image. “It’s me Brett. I’m here for the mandatory tutoring I have to do with you.”

“It’s Ferguson actually!” the scrawny nerd said as he buzzed Brett in. “We’ve been in school together since kindergarten Brett and now we attend the same college. Surely you know my name by now!”

“Ferguson right sorry bro, guess I never noticed you really. Alright so I need, like, good grades to stay on the team. You’re gonna make sure I get good grades right? Coach says I need like at least a C+ to keep my scholarship.”

Ferguson wanted to respond. He was so humiliated that, after all these years of being made fun of by Brett, Brett didn’t even know who he was. He was humiliated that after working his patootie off in high school to get accepted to his dream university, Brett got in on a football scholarship. But he couldn’t even articulate any of that, because Ferguson was–despite his better instincts–totally distracted by the beautiful contours of Brett’s face. His perfect chiseled features, the way his hair fell in casual waves. He tried to stare discretely, but with the giant fishbowl lenses magnifying his eyes, even dense Brett noticed.

“Yo bro, you ain’t one of those faggots are you?” Brett laughed. “I mean no problem if you are, like gay rights and all that, bro, but like, no homo!”

Ferguson snapped back to reality.

“Oh gosh, please don’t use any curse words in my home,” he said, taking a puff from his inhaler. “Especially that one please. This is a no bullying zone. And just so you know, the only C+ I believe in is the programming language!” Ferguson snorted and laughed. The joke didn’t land with Brett.

“I don’t know what that is but we can hurry up? I got a hot date tonight.”

Ferguson deflated slightly. “Oh golly, sure Brett. Just grab a seat and a freshly sharpened pencil. Now I made some ants on a log if you’d like a snack and I have some diet caffeine free low-carbonation ginger ale!”

“Uhhhh yeah not gonna lie but that soda sounds terrible. I guess I’ll have one of your dork snacks though.” Brett grabbed an ant on a log and started chomping loudly.

“Ok now let’s take a look at the assignments you’re struggling with.” Ferguson hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and sat next to Brett as he opened the book. Pre-Algebra? Really? Ferguson nailed this in sixth grade. “Oh I’ll make you an expert in this in no time.”

“If you say so, bro,” Brett said with his mouth full of food. “This shit’s hard!” Ferguson bristled at the curse word but contained himself before settling in and helping Brett with the work. He tried going over the principles and explaining them, working the problems with Brett. He desperately attempted to explain what a variable was. But whatever he said, it went in one ear and out the other. Eventually Ferguson slumped down, lost in thought, pondering what to do.

“This hurts my head, bro. Why is this shit so hard?” Brett fumed and snapped a pencil in half. “You have to make me good at Algebra!”

“Hey I just sharpened that!” Ferguson said. He pondered, thinking. There was always… his genetics project. But that hadn’t been tested.

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[atomicwedgienerd]

[atomicwedgienerd]

[atomicwedgienerd]

You finally have this date with a stud from scruff you’ve been lusting over for your years. But when he shows up at your place, he’s changed. His teeth are huge, he wears giant thick glasses, he’s dressed like a nerd, his butt is comically large. He steps in smoking a pipe and blows it in your face.

You’re horrified by what’s happened to him, but as you inhale the smoke, the horror turns to jealousy. He says “golly jeepers why don’t you crawl under my keister, <<GAHYUK>>” and you find yourself unable to resist

He traps you under his giant butt and farts on you as he fills the room with his smoke. You feel yourself rise off the ground as your butt grows as large as his. Your vision blurs and you know you’ll be stuck in thick glasses forever. You feel your teeth grow as the tension of tight metal headgear wraps around your mouth and head. Finally he lets you up.

You’re irreversibly changed. You should be furious but all you can say is “jeepers creepers, <<GAHYUK>>, can you teach me how to smoke a pipe?” The man smiles as he opens his briefcase, revealing an outfit that matches his, just for you, and a pipe just like his.

[atomicwedgienerd]

The Ghost of Barber Fred

Acquiring the property on E. Partition Street had been a coup for Chad. For years, the location had served as the shop of one Barber Fred, a barber famous for his traditional men’s cuts, with a specialty in flat tops. His #flattopfriday Instagram posts were liked by thousands of people the world over and his books were full for months on end with dozens of eager men to try the classic haircut rendered as only a true expert in his field could do. Despite his numerous tattoos and devil-may-care attitude, Barber Fred took his craft seriously and the men who came in for a cut always left happy, freshly converted to a life of brutal landing strips and crisp, boxy horseshoes. So when the shocking news of Barber Fred’s death was announced, it sent waves of grief through the entire barbering community. Except for Chad.

Ever the opportunist, Chad jumped at the chance of a lifetime. While the online tributes to the legendary barber were still being posted, Chad made an offer on the property where Barber Fred’s shop stood and snapped it right up. After all, Chad had plenty of family money to burn through and what realtor would balk at a cash offer on an expensive property such as this? Before Barber Fred was even cold in the ground, Chad had set to work on remodeling the place and reinventing it in his image.

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[atomicwedgienerd]

Your New Life

You wake up in a pool of sweat and open your eyes to a haze. Instinctively you reach for a pair of glasses on your bedside table. Thick, clunky, black frames that bring the world into focus. You don’t understand, you’ve always had perfect vision and have never needed glasses. Before you even have the chance to comprehend all of this, you start to notice your room isn’t your room. The sleek, modern minimalist design you worked so hard to perfect has been replaced with wall to wall posters with everything geeky from Star Trek to the most obscure anime. You rush to the bathroom in a panic, hoping this is still some kind of nigjtmare and splashing some water on your face will wake you up. It doesn’t. You look in the mirror and notice some severe appearance changes happening rapidly before you, it begins with your ears you notice them double in size as they stretch out, while your nose does the exact same making it so your glasses are never able to rest comfortably needing constant adjustment. Your perfectly smooth skin starts to feel oily as whiteheads and blackheads of various sizes appear. All of this happens so fast you don’t even notice your perfectly manicured eyebrows have overgrown into one long bushy unibrow. You want to cry and scream and kick as your perfectly toned muscular body starts to shrink, leaving you lanky, long, and slightly hunched. You look back in the mirror and notice your salon quality fade has split down the middle and grown out on the sides leaving you with an extremely greasy middle part and a cowlick you can’t seem to tame. You try to scream WHAT THE F%@$ but only a nasal “Jeepers Creepers” comes out. The rest of your new reality comes into focus. You awkwardly shuffle over to your closet and gasp in horror as you notice the perfectly tailored wardrobe of designer clothes and skimpy club looks have been replaced with plaid shirts, high waisted slacks, suspenders, and a wide. variety of neckties, bowties, and sweatervests. You feel compelled to get dressed and once you have secured your trusty pocket protector you once again look in the mirror and all the shock and horror faded away as you are filled with delight about your new appearance. Gone are the long days spent in gyms and long nights spent out at bars and clubs. Your eagerness only expands as you look forward to a life of D&D, stamp collecting, and translating your favorite works of classic literature in Klingon. You put on a polka record as you prepare your egg salad batch for the week. Your first accordion lesson is this evening, and you spend your day practicing chess strategies until then. You have finally embraced your true destiny and you couldn’t be happier.

***reposted from my twitter***

[atomicwedgienerd]

Poindextrin

This is something a little different for my nerds out there so bear with me if that's not your thing.

Every woman wants to fuck you and all men want to be you…and also fuck you.  Who can blame them?  After all, you’re Etch, a famous rockstar who can fuck anything he wants! And after yet another adrenaline-rushed concert, you need something to take the load off. Your ears are still ringing with the echoes of screaming fans, your muscles thrumming with a mix of exhaustion and sex appeal. You're sweaty, high on the thrill of it all, and you reach for a pill bottle handed to you by a zealous groupie. Hallucinogens, you think. Just a little added kaleidoscope for the night. The label reads "Poindextrin", but you shrug it off as some quirky branding.

A few minutes pass and although you’re not higher, your voice definitely is.  Midway through a laugh, it squeaks up an octave or two, emerging from your lips high-pitched and nasally. It's like the voice of a caricature of a geek from a corny 80s movie, and you're momentarily shocked, a ripple of unease breaking your post-show high.

But it doesn't end there. You feel a strange lightness spreading through your body, a shrinking sensation that's both alien and deeply uncomfortable. Your tattoos, those symbols of rebellion, dissolve into clear, untouched skin. Your pecs, your arms, the product of hours spent in the gym, deflate as if poked by an invisible needle until they're just skin and bone. Your solid abs flatten out, vanishing as if they were never there.  Instead of a gym-bound rock God, your body has become stick-thin, almost like you’ve never worked out a day in your life.

Looking for assurance that this is just some bad trip, you stare into a nearby mirror, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize what’s happening, especially when you see your wild blonde hair start to recede into your scalp, your rebellious mane getting shorter and shorter until your left with a crisp, sharp #2 buzzcut on the top of your pale white head. The reflection then blurs, your vision wavering, and you fumble around for something to clear it. You’ve always had perfect eyesight, but now you can only see a handful of colors, like a kaleidoscope, but not the type you’d planned to see tonight.  Your hand lands on a pair of glasses with lenses as thick as soda bottles. Sliding them on, you’re taken aback by how large the world appears through these comically oversized glasses.

A glance down reveals a different set of clothes than what you remember putting on. Your stylish, rebelliously worn attire has been replaced with buttoned-up shirts, high waisted pants, a neat bowtie, a plastic pocket protector crammed with pens, suspenders and a pair of the clunkiest loafer shoes known to man. It's as if you've been dropped into a different world, a world where you are not the leading man banging chicks left and right, but instead the side character getting his lunch money stolen and being dunked in the toilet.

Your usually nonchalant demeanor begins to crack, replaced by an alien neuroticism that compels you to straighten your bowtie and adjust your glasses. Your once raucous hotel room seems overly cluttered, dirty. A wave of anxiety hits you, a compulsion to clean and order things taking over.

Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, an uncontrollable urge overcomes you. The panic is momentary, but the shame that follows the realization that you've peed your pants is far more potent. This is something you’ve never experienced, but starts to feel more and more familiar, an embarrassing incontinence problem that’s marred you since you were a teenager. Just another mark against your former coolness.

But the most distressing change comes last. Memories of rocking stages, of endless nights of passion, and the artistry of music start to blur, replaced by memories of a past that isn't yours. You remember being shoved into lockers, the stinging humiliation of public wedgies, the nights spent huddled over a Dungeons & Dragons game instead of getting head from a gaggle of groupies. The word virgin comes to mind, because that’s what you are, a virgin.  A gay virgin who’s never had the confidence to make the first move.  Thinking about such an act makes your acne-ridden cheeks heat up. 

Finally, you recall a name that is not Etch, but instead Ernest.  Ernest Bartholomew Humphries. Your hands shake as you run them through your buzzcut, wondering just how on earth you’d stayed up this late.  You need to get some rest for your new IT job tomorrow, dork.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Big Dork on Campus

Brock had never enjoyed college. To him, there was nothing more boring then spending your time in class, or studying in the library, or working on some terribly dull project or assignment. So it should come as no surprise to anyone who knew him that he dropped out after the first semester. His parents had come him off when they heard the news. No son of theirs would be a college drop out, but after a couple of months of struggling to find a way to survive, Brock began to thrive. Brock had always been a fan of bodybuilding and had recently discovered–thanks to the internet–that there was a whole community of skinny, submissive dorks who would just pay him to be their cash dom. They worshipped him just because he had a tumblr full of hot pics of himself and would trip over themselves to fill his paypal with money whenever he asked. He had even started to sell his sweaty underwear to the most desperate of them–a wimpy computer science major from his old college who he suspected had always been obsessed with him. Well now, Brock was their jock god, lording his perfect physique over these beta losers and he had no issues taking their money. After all, he was a perfect alpha male so this was the natural order of things.

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[atomicwedgienerd]

Take notes gentlemen, this life is attainable TODAY.

[atomicwedgienerd]

The quarterback had been told he needed to get his grades up but he wasn’t sure why the Dean recommended he wear a bow tie. Regardless, by the time he had it tied, it was too late. The magic was already working. His vision worsened and he found himself needing thick glasses. His features weakened and he dropped from 180 lbs of muscle to a scrawny 130 pounds. A metallic taste filled his mouth as heavy braces appeared. And finally, a hefty weight tugged at his shirt as an overloaded pocket protector appeared in his shirt pocket.

At first he was horrified, but only for a moment. Soon his terror at his transformation gave way to a sense of profound curiosity… and a desire to spend his Saturdays at the library. No longer would he wake up early for practice; instead he would be studying the classics. Of course, he had to drop off the team but he was now a straight A student in Library Sciences so he didn’t really care. And the Dean was pleased with the success. The next Monday, a bow tie would arrive on at the dorm of every male student on campus.

Aren’t you ready to get your grades up? Join the nerdification discord!

[atomicwedgienerd]

Teddy and Nate had been one of the sexiest couples in town. They went out clubbing most weekends and brought home a third… or a fourth, depending on the mood. Their hobbies included drag brunch with the rest of the muscle gays, spending time in the gym, and traveling to Puerto Vallarta so they could show off their abs.

Of course that was before they made fun of that nerd they saw on the street. Little did they know, he was a well-experienced wizard with a penchant for revenge.

Now, Theodore and Nathaniel (as they were now known) lived a very different life. Instead of going clubbing, they spent their weekends at the nearest convention. Instead of bringing home men, they brought home POP figurines (they were only a few away from a complete collection). And instead of brunching with the gays, they spent their Sunday mornings playing Dungeons and Dragons in Theodore’s parents’ basement where they lived. They would never be cool again.

[atomicwedgienerd]

Bro got hung out to dry in his whitey tighties by the repairmen when he couldn’t pay the bill 😭

[atomicwedgienerd]

[atomicwedgienerd]

No other way to be dressed. Always shirt and tie. Surrender.