#olympic tf

[hotmentransformed]

Team USA

The city of Paris was alive with excitement as the 2024 Olympics drew people from around the globe. Among the crowds of tourists and athletes was Jesse, an American traveler with a love for adventure. Fascinated by the event and the athleticism on display, he felt an irresistible urge to experience the Olympics from a closer perspective. He had always been a rather meek man but had envied the raw athleticism and power that these athletes embodied. After saving up since the previous games, he was finally able to afford a trip to Europe for these games. Driven by curiosity and a sense of mischief, Jesse decided to sneak into the Olympic Village, to get close to the Olympians he had admired for so long.

Knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be in proximity to his idols,  he had to make sure he made the most of this trip and didn’t fuck it up. Despite his meek statute, his confident demeanor and clever deception got him beyond the security, and he managed to enter the facility, blending into the vibrant atmosphere of the athletes' quarters. He wandered the village, soaking in the energy and marveling at the athletes he admired from afar.

Word of his entry got around, and soon guards were searching for him. As he heard French men shouting down the hall, he knew he needed to hide. Jesse twisted the nearest doorknob to him, and surprisingly, it was unlocked. Pushing it open, he threw his body inside and closed and locked the door behind him. Inside, the lights were dim. Now that he was safe from the guards, the adrenaline he had been riding was starting to wear off, and fatigue began to set in. Looking around the space, he noticed that the room was incredibly simple, with two beds with Paris 2024 sheets, a fan, and a clothes rack.

Exhausted from his adventure and his narrow escape, Jesse lay down on one of the beds to rest and regain his energy before making his daring escape. But the makeshift mattress was surprisingly comfortable, and even though the guards were still probably looking for him, Jesse quickly lulled into a deep sleep. 

As Jesse slept, a peculiar warmth spread through his body, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. His limbs felt heavy yet relaxed as if they were being gently molded by an unseen force. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. The sensation was soothing, yet beneath it was an underlying intensity, a pulsing energy that coursed through his veins.

His body began to change. His hands, once ordinary, grew larger and more defined, the fingers thickening with callouses. His arms swelled with muscle, biceps and triceps becoming well-defined, veins standing out against the skin. His shoulders widened, giving him a more powerful and athletic build.

His chest expanded, pectoral muscles firming up as his heart beat stronger and more steadily. His abdominal muscles tightened, forming a sculpted six-pack that spoke of strength and endurance. His legs, too, transformed, becoming muscular and sinewy, the calves and thighs bulging with new power.

Jesse’s jawline became more pronounced, his cheekbones higher, giving his face a more chiseled appearance. His skin, once pale from his travels, took on a healthier glow as if he had spent years training outdoors under the sun. 

When Jesse awoke, he felt a strange surge of energy and vitality coursing through him. He sat up, blinking in the morning light, and noticed the gymnast's uniform hanging neatly on a chair, adorned with the letters USA. Confused but intrigued, he stood and moved towards the mirror.

The reflection that greeted him was stunning. Jesse stared, eyes wide, at the image of a powerful, athletic man. The person in the mirror was undeniably him, yet also a stranger. His body, now sculpted and strong, moved with a grace and ease that felt both new and familiar.

As Jesse struggled to understand what had happened, the door opened, and a young man in a Team USA singlet walked in. "Hey Brody, you're up!” the man said casually as if everything was perfectly normal.

Brody blinked, trying to reconcile the confusion in his mind with the reality before him. “You’re running late! The competition starts soon… you’d better get dressed!”

 "Yeah, okay,” Brody with an unfamiliar deep voice.

The other man closed the door and Brody picked up the singlet. He pulled his now-massive thighs through the spandex and pulled the outfit over his muscular body. His bulky arms flexed as he held the singlet open for the rest of his body to enter. The spandex hugged his abdomen, displaying his six-pack through the fabric, and his pecs pushed against the top and he held the shoulder straps. 

He let go of the straps of the singlet that he had been holding. With a snap onto his broad shoulders, he remembered everything: growing up in Tennessee, waking up early every morning to work out and train, enrolling at Stanford to compete, and qualifying for the Olympics.

Now knowing that he earned his right to be here, Brody strutted out of his room with a newfound bravado and through the Olympic village towards the shuttle to the gymnastics complex. Within the hour, he was there, on the mats warming up to compete for the gold in front of the world.

He was representing the best country in the world. He was the best of the best, and he was going to give the world one hell of a show.

[kaontic]

That’s it, I’m continuing the meme.

Or 4 volumes hopefully.

[keozrb]

The Switch At The Olympics

During the Olympics in Paris, Australian swimmer Alex accidentally switches bodies with Mexican weightlifter Juan after trying on his singlet. As Alex transforms physically and begins to speak Spanish, he realizes he is now living Juan's life. Confused and panicked, both athletes must navigate their new identities while searching for a way to switch back. Their journey highlights themes of identity, culture, and the unexpected challenges of competition.

Alex, the Australian swimmer, was excited about his first day in Paris for the Olympics. He was settling into his dorm room, ready to meet his new roommate.

Juan, his roommate, was a heavy weight lifter from Mexico. Despite the language barrier, they managed to get along.

Alex went for his swimming practice, but he mistakenly took Juan's bag instead of his own. Intrigued, he decided to try on Juan's weight lifting singlet.

As he wore the singlet, it magically shrank to fit him. Panicking, he tried to remove it, but it was impossible. He noticed his body growing with muscle, and he couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of hunger.

Alex, now looking more like Juan, rushed back to his dorm room. He found his clothes no longer fit his new muscular body.

He looked in the mirror only to see Juan's reflection staring back at him. Alex was now Juan.

Just then, the door opened to reveal his old self, wearing an Australian speedo. It was Juan, who had become Alex.

They looked at each other, completely confused. Alex suggested they try on each other's clothes, hoping it would reverse the switch.

Alex, now in Juan's body, struggled to fit into his old speedo. They sat there, hoping the switch would reverse.

Nothing happened. They were now each other. They decided to make the best of the situation and began to adapt to their new bodies.

Despite the body switch, they competed in their respective sports. Alex, as Juan, wowed the crowd with his newfound strength in weightlifting.

Juan, as Alex, swam like never before, surprising everyone with his speed. The switch, while unexpected, had made them stronger athletes.

[syoddeye]

with liquid courage, you finally approach the handsome soldier-type at the bar. he watches you, blatantly giving you a once-over. tilts his head and smirks into his drink.

you must be nervous because the first thing out of your mouth is the world’s corniest pickup line: “nice shirt, what’s it made of? boyfriend material?” you don’t stop there. you boldly reach for and feel the fabric on his shoulder for effect, briefly pinching it between two fingers.

he swiftly corrects you. “no, it’s husband material.”

haha, you love a guy with a sense of humor, guys who go along with the bit. love it so much that you go home with him.

the morning after, you roll over and catch him on his phone. face pinched in a serious expression. what's he looking at?

"just the necessary paperwork for a courthouse wedding."

[lilyliveredlittlerichboy]

every time i see transandrophobia discourse on my dash i am soooo tempted to just turn around and leave tumblr forever. you guys have nooooo idea how tiring it is to see ppl have to justify why theyre allowed words to describe their oppression over and over and over and over and over and fucking over a fucking gain. can you use your brains for 2 fucking seconds. can you maybe find a tiny speck of solidarity. can you please just fucking stop thinking of oppression as one dimensional x oppress y and nothing else. can you maybe just shut up if your stance is that x group is talking about the way they experience oppression too much or in the wrong way. oh my god. shut UP

[celebtf]

THE OLYMPIC RECORD

Jackson had spent every waking moment of the past year preparing for the Olympics in Paris. Every run, every stretch, every pole vault had been for one goal: to compete on the world stage. He could already imagine it—his name in lights, the crowd roaring as he soared through the air, his feet clearing the bar, breaking records.

But despite his dedication, the rejection letter from the Olympic committee arrived not once, but twice. The rejection felt like a knife twisting in his gut, each time a little deeper.

No explanation, no sympathy. Just another failure.

He knew he was good—great, even. But the world didn’t care. They only wanted the best. That’s when the idea came to him: if he couldn’t compete as himself, he’d have to find another way.

He needed to be someone who could win. Someone like Armando Duplantis.

The world-class pole vaulter was everything Jackson wasn’t: fast and already a champion. If he couldn’t make it to the Olympics, why not become Armando?

Desperation led Jackson down dark paths. He spent weeks searching for a way to make his insane idea a reality. Late one night, he stumbled upon a website hidden deep within the dark web—a place where the rules of nature no longer applied. There, among the pages of cryptic text and strange symbols, he found what he was looking for.

A vial of liquid, the color of midnight. Its description was brief and almost unbelievable: "Transforms the form of anyone or anything into something new."

The price was staggering, but Jackson didn’t hesitate. He drained his savings and bought it.

When it arrived, the vial was smaller than he expected, fitting snugly into the palm of his hand. The instructions were simple: one sip to transform another, the rest for yourself. But the implications were far more complex.

Jackson held the vial between his fingers, the weight of his decision sinking in. There would be no turning back.

For days, Jackson followed Duplantis, watching his every move. He memorized the athlete's routine down to the minute. Duplantis trained hard, and each evening, when the field was empty and quiet, he stayed behind for extra practice. It was then, Jackson knew, that he would strike.

Late one evening, when the stadium was deserted, Jackson crept into the locker room. His heart pounded in his chest, and his palms were slick with sweat as he broke into Duplantis’s locker. The water bottle sat there, unassuming. With trembling hands, he uncapped the bottle and poured half the potion into it, the dark liquid swirling and then vanishing into the water.

He kept the rest for himself. His hand hovered over his pocket for a moment, feeling the weight of the remaining potion. The tension was suffocating.

Jackson hid in the shadows and waited. Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, Duplantis returned from the field. His body was glistening with sweat, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moved with a grace Jackson had always envied. Duplantis grabbed the water bottle, lifting it to his lips.

Jackson’s breath caught in his throat as Duplantis drank.

At first, nothing happened. But then, Duplantis faltered. His face twisted in confusion as his legs buckled beneath him. He groaned, dropping the bottle, clutching his stomach.

Jackson watched, both horrified and fascinated, as Duplantis’s limbs began to shift unnaturally. His arms stretched and twisted, the bones snapping and reforming in grotesque shapes. His skin paled, growing smooth and taut, like polished wood. His legs fused together, extending further, his feet melting into a single, elongated form. His spine bent backward, arching at impossible angles, his ribs collapsing inward with a sickening crunch.

Duplantis’s face was the last thing to go. His eyes wide with panic, his mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound escaped. His features smoothed, flattening until they disappeared entirely, leaving behind a sleek, flawless surface.

Where Armando Duplantis had once stood, now there was only a perfect pole—a shining, metallic pole, the kind used for vaulting. The real Duplantis was gone, his body and identity twisted into nothing more than a tool.

Jackson stepped forward, his heart racing. He ran his hand along the pole. It was cold, impossibly light, and perfectly balanced.

"Perfect," Jackson whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

With the real Duplantis now reduced to an instrument for his success, Jackson knew it was time. He pulled the remaining vial from his pocket and stared at it, his fingers trembling. Was he really about to do this? There was no turning back now.

He uncorked the vial and swallowed the rest of the potion in one quick gulp.

At first, there was nothing. But then, a burning sensation ignited in his chest, spreading like wildfire through his veins. His skin prickled, his muscles tightening as his body began to change.

His bones cracked and shifted, elongating as his arms grew leaner, his legs grew longer. Jackson gasped as his vision blurred, his face contorting, pulling and stretching like clay being molded by invisible hands. He could feel the structure of his jaw shifting, the bones reconfiguring. His nose thinned, his cheekbones sharpened, and his hair darkened, straightening into the perfect image of Duplantis.

He watched in awe as his reflection in the locker mirror changed, his own features disappearing entirely, replaced by Duplantis’s sharp, athletic face. His body rippled with newfound strength, his muscles surging beneath his skin. He felt... powerful. Light. Like he could vault into the air and never come down.

But more than anything, he felt a strange calm settle over him. His heart slowed, his mind cleared. He was no longer Jackson. He had become Duplantis.

He flexed his fingers, marveling at how they moved, so fluid, so graceful. This body—it wasn’t his, but it felt like it had always been his. There was no guilt, no hesitation. Only the overwhelming certainty that this was what he had been meant for all along.

He picked up the pole—the real Duplantis, now nothing more than an object—and headed out to the field.

The next day, Jackson, now fully transformed into Duplantis, took to the field for the Olympic trials. The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd’s energy electric.

Jackson stood at the start of the runway, the pole gripped tightly in his hands. He could feel the power thrumming through his muscles, the precision in every movement. The old Jackson would have been nervous, but now, in this body, he felt invincible.

As he sprinted down the runway, everything around him blurred. His focus narrowed to the bar above, so high it seemed impossible to clear—but not for him. He planted the pole and launched into the air, his body moving with perfect, effortless grace.

The crowd erupted as he sailed over the bar, higher than anyone had ever gone before. The record was shattered. He landed lightly on the mat, standing tall as the stadium roared in approval.

Jackson smiled, feeling the weight of victory settle on his shoulders. He had done it. He had become the best in the world.

[5516-minutes]

f1 x olympics fic where they first meet in the village but miss seeing each other at the closing ceremony, followed by stalking each other on social media/keeping tangentially in touch in the hopes that they'll see each other again in 2028

[kdsburneraccount]

Just woke up and filled with a strong disdain for the French

[archivingbarca]

_ferminlopez: ESTAMOS EN SEMIIIISSS! 🇪🇸💪🏻

(ig, 03/08/24)

[astrangeriddle]

Due to current events my for you tab has been taken over by gddamn antisemites. Like they're going full mask off n then get offended when they get called out on it too.

Guess fighting for human rights is cool and all until Jews are mentioned, then it's too much to ask to be seen as a person and not some fairy tale monster.

[kaontic]

Third-In-Command of the Decepticons vs. The Chillest of the Seekers

Megs is fragging pissed by this point, cuz if you know, you know.

Now he feels insulted, cuz Shockwave told Acid Storm to just let Soundwave have this.

Acid Storm is delighted and honored to take home the silver like the unbothered king he is. 😎

Unfortunately, Megatron does not share the same sentiment.

He’s not mad about his skills, he’s mad that Acid Storm has no sense of competition smh.

Nevertheless, if he were Starscream this would obviously be a different story.

[kellykadesperate]

this has turned into eurovision in the rain and i have no complaints

[lady-who-owns-a-sword]

parents really do be distracting me from my real cool thing (Odissey 8 translation) to watch some weird ripoff at the tv (olympics 2028 anticipation ceremony)

[gomzdrawfr]

First fireworks— mtf fireworks, at 1.40am that lasted for a goddamn hour, and tHEN— big freaking renovations with the neighbors yeeting out big stuff and throwing them on the ground RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK (they’ve been doing that since 4am)

[manu444]

I swear to fucking god if I see anyone be like "oh they bought this one too", "they're making argentina win everything" or any sort of shit like that I'm gonna light something on fire. What world do you people live in in which we are both simultaneously poor as hell AND have enough money to buy the world cup, the copa america and the olympics?? No tenemos ni para un alfajor!!

[borealopelta]

ATTENTION!

I have to speak my mind. I care so much about the Don Hume x Bobby Moch fanfics, it's so cool and fun and hot. They are obviously not just FRIENDS!

If Jack or Luke saw this, that'd probably make them feel like whatever because they're not actually Bobby and Don, they just played them in a mediocre movie. It's okay if Luke is MARRIED! AND STRAIGHT! Both of them can be! So, to all the Don x Bobby fans out there, please know I mean no hate towards the straight community (I have good straight friends myself) I just want NORMAL fanfictions about Don Hume and Bobby Moch, together, not apart, as more than friends, please.

Thanks for reading.