#reality change

[occamstfs]

Bard Turned Barbarian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tfalpha88]

New reality part 3

The product designed by Philippe, meant to revolutionize physical performance, turned into a nightmare when it spread into the air as a red mist. This vapor radically transformed both Philippe and Director Duval, rewriting their reality: once a brilliant scientist and a respected businessman, they became arrogant gym rats, obsessed with their bodies, oozing testosterone, selfish, and sleeping with any man they came across.

In this new reality, Pierre — the former director — sold off the family pharmaceutical company to turn it into a massive fitness complex, a place dedicated to his training and new lifestyle. The lab itself was completely transformed into a gym, perfectly aligned with his new existence.

But the strange red mist didn’t just rewrite the lives of Philippe and Pierre. Once Pierre’s new identity took hold, the entire building was swallowed by the thick red fog. The facility slowly reshaped into a sports complex, altering the reality of everyone present inside. Among them were Bastien and Greg — two scientists caught in the middle of their workday.

When the mist seeped into their lab, Bastien and Greg barely had time to react. Within seconds, the air was filled with the strong scent of sweat.

The reaction was immediate: thick red smoke escaped from their mouths.

For Bastien, memories flooded back at high speed. He saw himself again in the modest apartment where he grew up, raised by loving parents who worked hard to give him a better future. Thanks to their sacrifices, he had left the tough neighborhood behind, made it into good schools, and eventually became a scientist at Duval Labs. He remembered his childhood friend — the one he had always secretly loved — whom he eventually married.

For Greg, the experience was just as brutal. He relived the bullying he endured every day at school for being gay. The mockery, the isolation, until one dark night when he tried to take his own life. His mother stopped him just in time. After they moved, he pursued his education in silence, hiding who he truly was. He graduated, joined Duval Labs, and kept his romantic life a secret.

The red smoke kept pouring from their mouths as memories continued to shift — some fading, others taking their place.

Bastien now saw himself growing up in a rough neighborhood, hanging around bad influences — the very people his parents tried so hard to keep him away from. Despite their efforts, he ended up admiring the older, tougher guys from the block. In his late teens, he eventually pulled away from that lifestyle and focused on his future. Boxing and bodybuilding helped him gain respect early on. He was still in a relationship with his childhood best friend, despite a complicated history between them.

Greg remembered the boy who bullied him relentlessly, calling him slurs. One day, in tears, he ran as far as he could. That moment felt like a release — like something inside him had been freed. Sports saved his life. Over time, he faced his abusers head-on and embraced being gay. Eventually, the bullying stopped, and people began to admire his impressive physique.

As these new memories rooted themselves, their bodies began to transform — swelling with muscle, growing more imposing by the second.

The red mist dug deeper, reshaping their past entirely.

Bastien now remembered trying to steal a car with some local thugs. His parents had failed to keep him away from trouble. He never finished school — too busy dealing and running the streets. He idolized the older guys with muscle and presence. Boxing and bodybuilding gave him that same powerful image. One day, he met Pierre Duval — a rich kid who offered him a boxing coach position at his new gym. It was the perfect opportunity: doing what he loved, well paid, in a space that matched his personality. Years of bad influences had hardened him — confident, but not someone you could easily trust. He never saw his childhood friend again; she had cut ties. When it came to relationships, he identified as bi — some of the guys he admired, he ended up sleeping with.

Greg’s past had twisted as well. He remembered that same bully, but now, he was the one who snapped. He flipped the script and became the aggressor. The other boy eventually attempted suicide. After that, Greg’s parents transferred him to another school. But Greg didn’t care — he swore he’d never be a victim again. He embraced who he was, built up his body, and earned the admiration of his peers. Years later, he ran into his old bully and learned the truth: the kid was gay too. They began seeing each other and eventually became a free couple. Greg was truly happy.

He got a job as a coach in the newly transformed sports complex — a revolutionary gym where he could meet new guys, have fun, and enjoy life with his partner’s full support.

As their new memories fully took hold, overwriting the past, their physical transformation intensified. Their features sharpened, their bodies bulked up, and their posture became naturally confident — almost cocky.

Their new reality took over completely, erasing all traces of their former lives. The red mist slowly faded, revealing a fully redesigned space: the lab had become a cutting-edge gym. Bastien and Greg were now ready to coach any man striving for the perfect body — and explore pleasures far beyond training.

The red mist had changed everyone present that day. Philippe would never know, but he had triggered it all.

And though the red cloud has vanished from sight, it hasn’t truly disappeared.

It found another way to fulfill its purpose. Quietly. Elsewhere.

[entonymwrites]

Himbo Dreams

Nick was trying to get some sleep. He had been lying on his bed, clad only in briefs, focusing on the spinning ceiling fan as if trying to lull himself into deep slumber. Nick thought he would finally join a club, go to parties, maybe even fool around with some boys. But college was just lecture after lecture, his overactive imagination already stressing about tomorrow's seminar. Goddamn. He needed to calm his mind, trying to focus on something else - that is, hot jocks.

Tall, beefy, muscular men had popped up in his brain like fleeting mirages. Somehow, Nick had ended up in a college that was a giant in every sport imaginable. From sun-kissed boys in the swimming club, to the brawny brutes of the football club. Of course, he could only watch, not do. Next to the pinnacles of fitness, Nick was just a regular unassuming guy. In a campus full of jocks he was short at 5'5", and though he worked out on occasion, his body didn't show anything impressive. The only interactions he got were accidental shoves from people walking past.

Still, an occasional glance at the hunks in his class or at the soccer team out the window helped get him through the day. He noted how each of the sport teams had their own sexy characteristics:

Down by the pool, the swimmers were lean and tanned to perfection, dripping water highlighted the grooves of their abs, carving straight to their cum gutters; brought out perfectly by tight speedos that left little to the imagination, showing off juicy curves and asses.

Full of testosterone and ego, the quarterbacks were huge. Larger than life in body and demeanor, always rowdy and loud in the field. Drawing attention with their boulder shoulders, accentuated by their shoulder pads; and tight pants that showed their meaty behinds. Unlike the smooth shaven boys in the water, the footballers were hairy and musky, pits and pubes full of sweat that could drive you crazy.

The soccer team were the complete definition of hunks, they loved to strip down on the field, showing their carved torsos in glory; the basketball players were tall and packing heat, black shorts only highlighted their lengthy members, and their stamina on the court wasn't just for show according to some rumors.

Nick could go on and on about every fantasy in his mind, hoping one of the jocks would magically ask him out, allowing him to feel up their bodies. Or even better, if he could be them. To be that muscular and commanding jock, sauntering into a room bulge first, popping his pecs in class, having a flex off with his like-minded bros. Although it was just a pipedream, it permeated his mind over and over, usually ending with him grumbling to himself and sighing deeply.

Out of all the stereotypical jocks, there was one he loved the most, the perfect combination appearing in every sport, and the final hot image in his brain - a frat bro.

Dumb, muscular, horny, hung, himbos, every descriptor activated the right neuron in his brain. These words were on constant repeat in Nick's mind, remembering them as he drifted into horny dreams, carrying those words with a wish. But tonight, someone heard it. And soon enough, static and fuzz crept into Nick's brain, compelling him into deep sleep.

Something whispered from the dark. Granted.

A small hum of energy blew in the air, as the bed began to creak, not from Nick's tossing and turning but from an increase of weight. With a sudden pop, his legs started to rapidly stretch, causing them to hang off the bed. His torso and limbs followed along, elongating in a deep stretch and pop that elicited a groan from the sleeping Nick.

Tall. Basketball player height.

5'5" became 6" that further lengthened into 6'4", leaving him as tall as most of the basketball team. Damn, he might have to duck under some doorways every now and then. The stretch continued, perfectly proportioning his limbs, as his neck and arms grew to fit. Meanwhile, a surge of energy focused on turning his average feet and hands into gargantuan monsters. His size 7 feet became meaty size 16s, toes becoming wider; they would make an audible stomp everywhere he went now, along with an unmistakable sweaty imprint. He remembered his bros complaining about the loud stomping in the frat house. Heh. He couldn't help it, they were just marks of a man. His fingers followed, popping longer and thicker to become meaty digits. They were better suited for gripping dumbbells and protein shakes, rather than any pens or keyboards for class. Not like he used them often. English and Arts? Nah, he was only there for sports, Athletic Science or some shit, with grades at the bare minimum.

Hunk. Toned Soccer Player. Nick's body began to lean out, the frustrating belly fat that had stayed through countless 15 minute core workouts dissolved into rock hard abs. Each individual ab popped into a perfect six-pack, carving and embedding themselves into his core. His waist cinched tight as his cum gutters became visible, allowing any drops of sweat to slide and accentuate his toned and tiny waist.

But it didn't stop there. Muscular. Football team large. A warmth spread up from his feet, which made his calves swell into massive diamond shapes. His thighs piled on muscle after muscle, causing his legs to spread apart, threatening to spill off the bed. A mixture of pain and pleasure washed over Nick. Memories of brutal leg presses and squats injected themselves straight into the fibers of his massive columns. After all, bros never skipped leg day, that was how they got their signature lumbering walk. His once average ass - not wanting to lose the fight - fattened into massive globes that lifted him higher into the air, soaking his sheets with sweat. Nick’s upgraded bubble butt was huge and round, each cheek constantly bouncy and jiggly, especially when riding his frat bros. In response, Nick started gyrating on the bed as new memories flowed into him -nights of being fucked and used - the sensation sending tingles down his spine, as his hole tightened to be used for maximum pleasure. Nick's audible groans became louder as the energy surged through his chest, ballooning into mounds of firm pecs that would show through any shirt he tried on. They swelled out into hefty milkers, his nipples stretching just a little wider, big enough for his bros to play with. His shoulders followed, doubling in width as they grew along with his broad back, connecting with his traps. Giving him that strong structured look. Biceps and triceps exploded with muscle, defined by a juicy vein that ran up from his steel forearms. When flexed, they would tear sleeves to their breaking point, but it didn't matter, his wardrobe was stock full with singlets and tank tops, just like any other bro.

Smooth and hairy in all the right places.

A tingle swept over his entire body, as his old pitiful wisps of leg hair fell out and disappeared into the ether, giving him smooth and soft skin. Instead, all the hair went into his pits and pubes, fluffing them up into musk-filled bushes, hairy and dark. They would peek out in his singlets and jockstraps, enticing everyone to sniff or lick. His hair grew to a messy mop that would be paired with beanies and baseball caps. Dumb and Handsome. With a crack, Nick's face began to rearrange to model status, making him attractive while permanently affixing him with a dopey grin. His nose thickened to breathe in more musk from bushy armpits, sometimes even his own. His lips fattened; sloppy and wet for passionate kisses or blowjobs for his bros. Panting like a dog, his tongue lolled out, wide and long, a pleasure tool on its own. Eyes became clear, removing any need for glasses but also becoming vacant, an open window to the constant horniness and empty thoughts in his head. And the final pop of his enlarged Adam's apple gave him that stereotypical bro cadence. His deep and dull voice had two purposes, dumb moans in the bed and rough grunts in the gym. Hung like a horse. Heavy bull nuts. Groans and pants filled the air with heavy breaths as the warmth spread to his most sensitive area. His cock and balls. Nick's average 5 incher rose to a sizable 9 inches, barely fitting into his white briefs, its uncut head leaking pre everywhere, almost turning the fabric translucent. Still, it kept growing. 10 inches... 11 inches... Harder, thicker, longer, into a fat meaty pole that shot out of his briefs with a satisfying pop, landing with a wet smack on his abs. Now uncontained, his 12 inch monster cock was a weapon of its own, when not being bred, Nick ravaged the bedroom with his footlong size. Thick veins ran up his erect dick, overflowing with cum from his pumped up nuts. His balls had swelled along with his hefty member, dropping from regular to swinging, heavy, animal nuts. Finding underwear would be impossible for the new himbo, remembering his package bursting through buttons and briefs in the past. Luckily, jockstraps could barely contain the beast, and the tight fabric behind settled perfectly in between his cheeks, pulled taut to tease his hole throughout the day. His balls were now cum factories, capable of going endlessly in a night, churning to the brim with frat bro seed. With one final swell and thrust, Nick erupted in a loud grunt, tensing his entire body as his cock quivered with pressure, balls tightening for release. A force in the air blew, and with the gentle gust of wind caressing his cock, he exploded with mind-breaking pleasure. Spurts of cum flew out, almost reaching the ceiling, as Nick bucked his hips in mindless pleasure. Each load caused deep and heavy moans to reverberate on his bedroom walls, his thick and smelly cum landing on every surface. He continued his musky assault on his surroundings, bucking his cock in the air like fucking an invisible hole. After painting the room white in cum, and staining the air with sweat, Nick let out a rich sigh, his sleeping face dumb and exhausted. His wet dreams were fulfilled. In a sudden, it whispered. Wake up.

Nick groaned, his body was on fire. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed himself so hard at yesterday's full body workout, but he knew the pump was well worth it. He stared blankly at the empty ceiling, strange, he could have sworn he had a fan up there. Maybe that's why he was so goddamn sweaty. Nick pulled himself out of bed, making a goofy grin at his still hard cock, twitching and ready for countless rounds. His sheets were always stained with a mixture of sweat and cum, making the room reek with musk. Last night must have been super wild, he'd always get extra wet dreams if he didn't jerk off before bed, but fuck there was even cum on the floor today, though he was unable to remember what the dream was. It didn't matter though, all it took was a second for his doubt to fade away. He'd clean up the mess later, or ask a bro to do it. Heavy footsteps paved their way to the shower, an audible signal of the dumb himbo. His horsecock dripped precum all over the floor, making a light slapping sound against his thunderous thighs. After a quick rinse to get rid of the excess sweat and cum, Nick stared hungrily at his own reflection. His towel draped at just the right angle to reveal his shredded torso and give a peek of his gorgeous v-line.

Fuck, he was hot. His model face and beefy body greeted him in the morning, along with his throbbing monster cock. Nghhh. He groaned, bull balls slapping against the white sink, he almost fucked the countertop in desperation. However, it stopped him, giving three basic words that completed his transformation. Lift. Eat. Fuck. Freshly imprinted into his brain, Nick let out a long guttural moan as the command settled into his every cell. "Huhuhu." A dumb laugh followed, and like a robot, Nick was steered by the hypnotizing call. Fuck it, he would go commando today, He threw on a white tank top and black sweatpants, ones that hugged his body tight for everyone's viewing pleasure; making sure to add a gray beanie and a chain necklace that screamed douchey bro to the world. Taking a quick snap in the elevator, the new Nick cemented himself as a forever dumb, muscular himbo. With another wish granted, it murmured. Good Himbo.

*you've made it to the end! finally wrote a tf story after lurking for so long, gotta start with one of my favorite tropes, the himboooo. but wait! who was that mysterious force? maybe we'll find out one day ^^, or you could find out if you magically wake up as a himbo ;)*

[futureperfectchanges]

Beasts Gym: Part 3

Richard opened the gym door and was annoyed that no one was at the front desk. He had just finished another tedious shift at the coffee shop across the road, and had come to hand in a gym ID card that he had found whilst cleaning up. He was surprised no one had come into the shop and asked about it as the card had 'STAFF' printed on it, but guessed whoever had lost it probably had access to a spare.

Richard was about to leave the card on the front desk when decided to use this opportunity to take a look around. The gym had only opened a few weeks ago but seemed to have quickly attracted a decent amount of members and he was to curious to see what all the fuss was about.

As he walked through the gym Richard recognised some of the guys as customers he'd served in the coffee shop. Since the gym had opened the number of hot guys buying coffee had gone up noticeably, which had made Richard's job a little bit more bearable. He was sure some of them had tried flirting with him, but he had always been too nervous to flirt back. So when a guy nodded at him as he was walking past the treadmills he was surprised to find himself smiling back and giving the guy a wink.

Despite feeling surprisingly confident, Richard had also started to feel a bit conspicuous. At first he put that down to the fact he shouldn't really be there, but then he realised every other guy there had their shirt off. So wanting to blend in a bit more he instinctively took off his own shirt.

Richard looked at himself in one of the mirrors and admired his toned physique. He had kept himself in shape by doing some exercises at home, but was now wondering if he should join this gym. He had always been a bit intimidated by gyms but something about this one made him feel like he belonged here.

As Richard kept checking himself out in the mirror he started to space out, so was startled when he heard someone calling out his name. He went to look over to see who was calling him, but then remembered no one there knew his name so the call must have been for someone else.

Richard focused back on the mirror but as he stared at his lean defined body he felt like something wasn't quite right. He flexed his chest and spread his lats trying to figure out what was wrong, but was interrupted by someone grabbing his shoulder.

"Ricky, sorry to disturb your workout but can you keep an eye on the front desk for the next 10 minutes? Jon's running late again." Richard stared at the guy who was speaking to him, but was confused about what he was being asked to do.

"Oh hey, I found this card and wanted to..." Richard had started to pull the ID card from his pocket when the other guy interrupted him.

"Great you found your card, I told you it would turn up eventually."

Richard looked down at the card and stared at the name. Something about the name Ricky felt wrong, but he couldn't figure out why. That is what he had been called for as long as he could remember, so of course that is what he got printed on his staff card.

"Yeah, sure boss, i'll cover the desk, was just finishing up my routine anyway." Ricky replied before heading over to the front desk. As he sat down behind the desk and looked out at all the hot guys across the gym he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to find this job.

[jackiisonthephone]

UNIQUE JOBS TO SCRIPT

pinterest board maker

graphic design

indie film maker

comic book illustrator

video game maker

voice actor

personal shopper

item reviewer

musical set designer

ice cream taster

[fairyminnie444]

𖤐✮⋆˙♱ HOW TO ASSUME INSTANTLY ♱˙⋆✮ ✮𖤐

You assume it on knowing that it has already happened. There is no “how” because it is not an effort, it is a natural state. You simply know that you already have it. In the same way that you know your name without having to constantly reaffirm it, you know that you already have everything you want.

If you feel yourself questioning or doubting, go back to the feeling of already being the person who has it. Ask yourself: If I already had it all right now, how would I feel? How would I think? What would I do? And just embody that version of you.

Just affirm it, feel it and don't contradict it. And if you have to do something contrary or think something contrary, >know< in the exactly same way that it doesn't change anything. Accept that It's simple and easy.

[abstractvanity32]

Season 3

Wrong Hotel Room

Kara was walking around this hotel. It seemed like your normal Marriott type hotel but it held a weird magic power that could effect the people staying there in various ways.

Kara went into her room and as she went in she saw the things in her room change. Her clothing became folded up male button up shirts. Khakis. And she looked at her shoes on the ground changing into size 13 men’s shoes.

Kara was shocked but in the coming moments her body began to grow and get larger. Muscles filled out. Her breasts became pecs, as a dusty of hairs appeared on them and went down to her hardening stomach.

He felt a pulling sensation as his new cock formed between his thickening legs, as his feet began to grow and expand. The toes thickened and heels became calloused. They broke out of his small sandals, as Kara looked the mirror to see his face changing in front of his eyes.

Hank watched as his hair receded and finished changing. His face aged and changed as his features became more mature and into his 40s. His hairline receded upward, as blue trunks appeared on his legs. Hank’s mind quickly reset as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Time to get a swim in” he said thinking about going to the hotels pool.

[venusiandollz]

TONIGHT IS OUR NIGHT WE SHIFT

[reformhim]

Andrew's not really sure what motivated him to change.

He took good care of himself and took pride in his masculinity.

It started with him experimenting with colorful briefs that eventually led to thongs. Then shaving his body hair, to keeping it permanently off, to a daily full-body moisturizing routine. From there, he started focusing more on cardio and less on muscle building at the gym. He eventually began dying his hair blonde and wearing bright, flirty clothes that matched his new physique and vibe.

As he made changes, so did his body. Becoming more lean and youthful looking.

He missed being the masculine version of himself but also felt compelled to go down this path, the path of twinkification.

But, he would soon find out what brought it all on. A vengeful twink ex of his, put a hex on him, one of exchange. As Andrew changed, so did he. As Andrew stripped away his masculinity, he would gain it. And he couldn't wait to visit Andrew soon, to see the look in his eyes, to realize, then to be claimed, with no hope of ever going back.

[ilikeit-art]

Sometimes, all it takes to change is a simple move.

[tfalpha88]

hey, I would like to order some Red. I've heard it tastes amazing. I've always been your average small guy. I look up to everyone. I've always been one of those tech nerds. Never seeing the outdoors much

Ben was a geek, passionate about video games and new technologies. He had a YouTube channel and streamed live on Twitch. That night, he planned to stream the latest game released on PS5. He wasn’t much of an athlete—quite the opposite. He rarely went out, didn’t like sports, and was rather skinny. But, as usual, he was counting on an energy drink to keep him awake all night. In his emails, he had come across an ad for a new energy drink, designed for athletes and available in limited quantities. He figured that, like the others, it would probably help him stay awake for his stream. And sure enough, his order had just arrived.

There was a slogan printed on the back of the can: “Awaken your power, activate the RED.” Even though he knew all energy drinks were more or less the same, he was curious to see if this one would give him more energy than usual. The drink had a red berry flavor—sweet with a slightly tangy edge. He drank it to the last drop before launching his live stream.

As soon as he finished the can, the side effects began. Ben didn’t understand what was happening to him. A thick red cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, and all the memories of his life began flashing before his eyes.

He saw himself as a child, one Christmas morning, receiving his very first gaming console. It was his best memory. His parents didn’t have much money at the time, but they had saved up just to get it for him.

From that day on, he became a huge fan of video games, spending all his free time in front of his console. He had a soft spot for role-playing games—especially those with vast immersive worlds like The Witcher, Final Fantasy, Elden Ring… They were more than games to him—they were worlds where he could escape, become someone else, someone strong and powerful.

Despite his introverted side, he was a kind person who genuinely liked people. During his teenage years, he wasn’t the most popular kid, but he was still well-liked, despite being a bit of a geek. He hated PE at school. He remembered a soccer game where he took a ball to the face and became the laughingstock of the class. From that day on, he avoided sports as much as possible.

Later, he started his YouTube channel to share his love for video games and new tech. During his livestreams, he always made sure to engage with his community and answer all their questions.

But the drink kept working, and Ben felt a powerful energy surging through his body. New memories—ones that hadn’t existed before—started to appear and blend with the old ones.

He remembered that same Christmas when he received his first console… except this time, he got a soccer game with it. It wasn’t the game he had wanted, but he ended up enjoying it and became really good at it. He even became a football fan. When he wasn’t on his console, he was out playing soccer with his friends. He developed a passion for sports games, and at school, PE became his favorite subject. He was popular, and everyone loved him. Later, he created a YouTube channel dedicated to sports games, which became a big success.

As those new memories took shape, Ben struggled to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. But this new reality started to grow on him… and soon, his body began to change as well. He became more muscular, his clothes transformed, and even his overall look began to shift.

A new surge of energy—stronger than before—rushed through his body. He felt excited by this strange force. The red smoke kept pouring out of his mouth, and his memories continued to change… and then vanish.

He remembered that same Christmas again… but this time, he didn’t get a console at all. His parents couldn’t afford it. Instead, they gave him a soccer ball. He was so angry that he kicked it with all his strength—straight into a window, which shattered. Of course, he was punished. It was the worst Christmas of his life.

He never discovered his love for video games. Instead, he found his passion for sports. As a kid, he spent all his time outside, playing soccer with his friends.

He had a complicated relationship with his parents, who could never afford to give him what he truly wanted. As a teenager, he became selfish and arrogant. He was the jock in class. Some admired him, others feared him. He wasn’t exactly a good person, but he had charisma—and that made him the most popular guy in school.

He loved sports. He loved the adrenaline of training, the rush of power it gave him. He built a strong, athletic body. He knew he was attractive, and he used it to his advantage.

He launched a YouTube channel to share fitness tips. It was a massive hit. But that wasn’t all—he also created an OnlyFans account where he uploaded his workout routines… fully nude. That, too, was a huge success. He made a fortune.

Thanks to the body he had built, he could now buy everything he ever wanted. As his old memories vanished, along with the red smoke still pouring from his mouth, his new reality fully took shape. His body became even more muscular, his clothes turned into workout gear, and his bedroom morphed into a fully equipped gym—where he now filmed all his videos.

The old Ben, the geek, was gone. He had never existed. Only the athletic and arrogant Ben remained in this new reality. He was just about to start his fitness livestream, and he fully intended to talk about this new energy drink—RED—which he now found incredibly effective for training.

[occamstfs]

Man-Candle

Under the guise of a gag-gift Chad gives his bookish friend a candle based on his own b.o. Little does Stephen know, as soon as he lights the wick he sets off to join the jock in sweaty abandon.

Very musk forward Jock TF! Hope you enjoy this story of Stephen's scent-based (new)self-discovery, Best! -Occam

His ears ring with tinnitus as he opens the gift. It’s as if an explosion has gone off as he tries to process the pancake in his hands. Everything in him says to laugh, it’s clearly a gag gift, a Man-Candle? His mouth is dry and all the blood in his head rushes to its other epicenter as Stephen looks up, eyes wide, to the man who by all appearances has given him a candle of his own musk, Chad.

His cocky grin is a perfect likeness of the one on the candle’s label staring up from Stephen’s lap. Chad’s expression grows even smarmier as he winks and raises an arm to smell his pit. Stephen’s face burns red as he sees the clear patch of grey that must have been fermenting all morning, his cock bumps against the package.

Chad’s eyes shoot immediately to the sound and his smirk shifts and an eyebrow’s raised in curiosity, excited that his friend must quite like the gift. Stephen speaks up quickly, lest the two brain cells bouncing around the jock’s skull stumble across any ideas, “What the fuck?” The first volley, bounces off Chad’s steel confidence. The second “what the fuck,” causes an eye narrow as the idea that this may be a misstep finally occurs to him, the third repetition of Stephen’s new mantra apparent gets through through Chad’s thick skull.

The jock’s arm remains raised to scratch his back and Stephen’s cock is more than happy to see the grey patch return and his mind must remain focused on not staring directly at the few pit hairs sneaking above his sleeve. Chad clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean bro… Chicks are always talking about how they love, huh- y’know,” he gestures to the air around him, “my aura. Just thought, you know, uhhh- a dude like you might too?”

The jock braces as he sees Stephen’s eyes narrow as he clearly winds up to somehow lash out. Unfortunately for the twink he takes a deep breath to start and is hit with the full force of the man’s ‘aura,’ it catches him off guard and underneath the package his cock pushes again. Stephen grits his teeth and averts his eyes as he tries to hide his desire, “Chad! Those are people you’re sleeping with! I’m just- This is-” Stephen does everything in his power to quiet his lust as he finishes, “Why would I want this?” 

Chad tongues his cheek and juts his stubbled jaw. Scratching his meaty stomach in thought, Stephen can hear the hairs dragged underneath the jock’s tight shirt. Making up his mind Chad decides to speak on the elephant, or moreover the trunk, in the room. Nodding to the gift poorly hiding Stpehen’s erection, Chad shrugs “I mean bro, seems like you’re enjoying it just fine.” 

“Jesus Christ, fucking straight men!” As unfortunately turned on as Stephen is from the gift and the hunk he has long tried to not be attracted to, at the highlighting of his out of control cock he finds the will to defend his paltry dignity. Though instead of speaking up as his mind is not running on all cylinders, his hands instead reach for anything not breakable to hurl at the man still smirking.

Pillows fly at the man as he continues to try and explain his thoughts, “Yo bro! Watch it-” he grabs one to use as a shield against the continued volley, “I mean I can take it back if you want!” Stephen’s dreams of salvaging dignity perhaps fall to the wayside as this remark causes the hardest throw yet. Chad smirks behind the pillow and finally gets to the door, “Whatever dude! I’ll see ya later! Once you’ve cooled off a bit-” 

Chad stands behind the closed door with a shit-eating grin on his face, straight men huh. Awfully dismissive of the bi jock’s identity but whatever. He listens to Stephen huff and unbox the candle through the wall, unaware that the real gift is to come when he finally lights that bad boy up. Whenever the pair get drunk enough it always devolves into Stephen wishing he’d hit the gym more and Chad begging for his friend to join him. He’d love nothing more than a gym bro he can fuck, and soon enough, unless Stephen has the strength to nip his blue balls in the bud, both wishes are to be granted.

It does not take long for already riled-up Stephen to give in to his curious urges. As soon as the scent of Chad in the air dissipates and he hears the front door of his apartment close, the countdown begins. Stephen stares at the obnoxiously smug photo of Chad on the candle and narrows his eyes, “I mean surely it’s a bit? It can’t actually smell like him specifically? Seems hm, expensive to do.” 

He bites his lip as he shakily goes to remove the lid, driven by a mind less than conscious and more than hungry. Mouth on the precipice of watering, as soon as the seal is cracked the scent washes over him like a tidal wave. Somehow more powerful, more alluring than the real thing. Rich and grimy, and indisputably the essence of Chad distilled into waxen form.

His eyes are glazed over and his mouth is now pooling with drool. It's anyone’s guess as to how the candle gets lit, but so it does. Stephen falls back onto the couch as his hands struggle to free his cock quick enough from pants that force it down at an awkward angle. It finally bounces free, flinging more pre than he’s ever produced upward. Droplets land just shy of his own face as his mouth falls wantonly open and his hands begin their gleeful work.

The creation of Eau De Chad was not light work, the boiling down of man into a single candle is quite the ask. Perhaps even more so than the transformative magic that it is to instill in Stephen. Within the candle are notes from every musky epicenter of Chad’s being, more than powerful enough to distract Stephen as he begins his journey into a musky jock’s shoes himself.

Foremost of the mind-numbing notes that the lost man is bathing himself in is perhaps the one he’s smelled the least. As strong as in his jock after a workout, sweaty pubes and dripping pre. The medley of scents from Chad’s crotch is so powerful that even without clearly even knowing the source it’s on the tip of Stephen’s tongue, much like he would dream to have on his tongue in reality.

Each breath pulling him deeper than the last, Stephen continues to paw at his cock now free to the open, musky air. With each kneading thrust his hands struggle to encompass his dick as it begins to change. Years of pushing down primal desires for his friend, the Adonis, evaporate into the air as he pictures himself working Chad’s cock. Breathing and licking the heady swear straight from the source.

He imagines working the larger man’s spit-covered cock and with each new image in his mind his own beast begins to reform. Dripping more pre than he’s produced in his life up to this point, his hips thrust into wanting hands as his dick thickens and spears high into the air. Lengthening to press against his sternum, veins bulge and criss-cross across its length as its head regrows a foreskin he never had the chance to enjoy.

When his smaller hands, unable to truly satisfy or encompass his new rod, shift down to try and cup balls bulging larger and pumping him full of masculinity, he hears them scratch against the new jungle of growing pubes. Though the jock tries to keep his chest relatively hairless, under the belt hair growth is wild enough to more than make up for it, and as Stephen begins changing into his new musky lover, he seems to be of the same persuasion.

The candle wick flickers as a new scent begins to rise in prominence. This one Stephen recognizes all too well, though usually poorly masked under cheap deodorant, the scent of Chad’s pits could never be truly hidden. His mouth waters as the scent washes through him and his whole body contorts in pleasure. When his own pits begin to itch he gasps and for the first time opens his eyes to find an impossibly large cock hanging over his thin thighs. His mouth quivers into a smile as the line between dream and reality shifts muddy.

For now though, for the pit fiend there is only one thing to do. He raises his arm and gasps as he sees his few pit hairs lengthening, while in between each one a few darker curls make themselves at home. Stephen forces his head into the sweaty spot and hungrily sniffs. Nose tickled by the growing jungle he moans as he encounters his own changing scent, currently overcoming his own, usually superfluous, deodorant it is but a pale imitation of Chad’s. Though it races to be something equivalent, no, greater. 

He continues taking deep breaths, switching between the candle burning strong and his own pit as his musk continues to heighten and shift. With each needy sniff it becomes clear that his odor is not the only part of him shifting. Previously undeveloped arms cramp as muscle begins to pile on. Veins pulse down their center as biceps that have scarcely known strain burn as muscle fibers break and reform to create an impressive peak.

Stephven’s face suddenly contracts into a smirk that he never quite understood before now as his arms force themselves into a pose. Flexing and exposing his newly hairy pits in what he now knows as a front lat spread, he almost laughs as his heady powerful musk begins to overpower the scent burning off the candle. 

Having not actually left the apartment, Chad puts an ear to the door as Stephven’s laughter and moans rise in volume and deepen in tone. He creaks open the door and is almost physically hit with the wave of musk as it pours out like a fog from Steven’s bedroom. His own brand mixing with the steam of sweat seeping from his new bros pits is almost more than he can handle. With every step his mind strains to not just give into his own hunger to pounce on his half-formed bro sitting in the chair. 

Hearing Steven’s socks fray and tear as a subtle note of foot funk rises to the top of the candle. Seeing his new partner’s legs fill his young-professional pants to their limit, bulging thighs pushing at and swiftly bursting the strained seams. Chad bites his lip almost to the point of drawing blood as he feels his own thighs cramp. He doesn’t know if he’s somehow growing as his new gym bro continues to edge larger or if he’s simply overwhelmed, if his own mind is too clouded from the hunger and musk.

Chad shambles towards Steven, mouth falling open as he sees the shimmering sweaty traps that have torn his shirt open. His eyes can’t look away from the newly heavy pecs that hang over his defined abs, he fights the urge to lean down and lap at the muscle as Steven delights in bouncing them. Sending cascading shadows across his sweaty core, and gaining more mass with every dancing flex.

 Instead, Chad leans in close to Steven’s delirium painted face. “Looks like ya liked my gift after all, huh Steve?” His breath mists across Steve’s face. Its heavy humidity barely overcomes the sweaty atmosphere but the sharp mint and undercurrent of musty breath underneath call to his nose like smelling salts. 

His jaw cracks and widens as the changes that have overtaken him finally begin their work on the final frontier. Unable to control himself Chad licks the man’s face as it prickles with stubble. Steve’s nose breaks then reforms, his brows thicken and cast a shadow over his eyes as they lose both their color and clarity. Deepening to brown as their default state becomes glazed and thoughtless.

Feeling Chad’s sticky tongue drag on his cheek, it’s like he was struck by lightning. Every new bulging muscle in Steve’s body flexes at once and he stands to his new height, able to make direct eye contact with the man staring at him, just inches away.

Steve tackles him onto the bed, knocking over the candle and sending wax flying through the air. The pair are sparingly coated in the Chad scented candle as they begin heavily exploring Steve’s new form. As their mouths that have always been left wanting find new delight, whatever shreds of the old Stephen that are left begin to vacate.

The anxieties and priorities of a small meek man who never let his id loose disappear as he positions himself over Chad. He bites his bro’s lip and thrusts downward as he pins the massive man’s hands above his head. Masked by the pleasure of true release, he doesn’t care as his old self washes away. Memories evaporate like the sweat pouring off his form. He delights in maneuvering across Chad’s form and enjoying his musk from the source.

His tongue dances across sweaty pecs that match his own as his collection of classics on a bookshelf disappear to be replaced by free weights. Steve’s nose finally shoves its way into Chad’s pits as his extensive collection of hygiene and beauty products down the hall clatter to the floor and disappear as they’re replaced by a single bar of clinical deodorant only used for special occasions. Sleeves fall off his wardrobe of cardigans and button ups as sweat stains yellow every garment. The tops throw themselves from hangers while musty shorts and jockstraps heap into a pile on the floor.

Sweat drips from his brow as with each thrust into Chad his mind gives up the ghost. Each impossible wave of pleasure erodes his old self, each drop of sweat an idea gone, each rivulet of pre dripping down his veiny cock a sign of his intelligence drained to increase the muscle mass of his new form. After all besides pleasure nothing matters to him nearly as much as his fucking hot bod.

He feels his balls pulse as every remaining aspect of Stephen’s self shoots down and is quickly converted. His eyes roll back as he cums the few specks of self remaining in a massive load onto Chad’s sweaty abs. After a few moments of total mindlessness from the jubilee of release, Steve awakens to find himself atop his bro and simply laughs, “Huhuh woah dude that’s a fuckin’ fat load huh?” He scratches at his hairy chest and grimaces as he imagines how that’s going to hide his gains.

Seeing the thoughts on his face as the two are evermore on the same wavelength Chad pauses rubbing Steve’s cum onto his abs and offers, “Lookin’ a little rough there bro, wanna go top up and then hit the gym?” Steve smirks as his bro basically reads his mind, “Yoooo totally let’s hit it!” He punches down into his bro as he stands, smirking as he watches Chad’s cock bounce before sprinting into the restroom and prepping to get pumped.

The gym starts to clear out as the pair arrive, judging by the musk already following in their wake no one dares risk having to smell what it’s like once they actually start going. Stopping in the locker room the pair stop publicly groping and sniffing each other long enough to take a pre-workout photo, tongues out as ever. When they see some poor soul who didn’t escape the gym quick enough covering his nose they eye each other up.

“Yo dude, looks like lil’ bro over there’s gotta problem with your stink.” Steve performatively sniffs his pit and shakes his head, “Nahnah bro. It’s definitely yours, check it.” They continue to talk up eachothers musk while the young man can’t help but sit there, stunned into silence. With each new statement the pair swagger closer until their sweat may as well be dripping on the man.

Gasping as he regains awareness just as the pair are almost standing over him, the sharp intake fills his lungs with their musk as a smile creeps over his face. “Looks like lil bro’s likin’ it after all Chad.” Throwing a sweaty arm over his bro, the man who can scarcely recall that his bro hasn’t always been like this laughs, “Huhuh, well obviously bro, no shot anyone’ll be able to resist us soon.” The pair help the hazy man up and begin ushering him through the ropes, eager to have another musky jock in their image and excited to see how far their little group will grow.

[wasiandude]

The trip to the beach.

A collaboration with @misctf .

Steve was the most cliché of the word "nerd" with only 5'4 tall, with pimples and with irritating little voice he was the target for the jock boys in his university. But despite being victim of sneers and bullying, he was the happiest student in college, he always smiled, helped people and was quite studious. So the mockery towards him mattered little to him. Today was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, Steve was studying hard in his room, he didn't have any plans for today and he didn't care to have one either, his parents were not home so he enjoyed being alone quietly until someone knocked on his house door.

"Who could it be?" Steve sighed, “I’m really behind on my work.” He looked at the essay he was in the midst of completing, “I should...” The second knock was louder, “Must be important.”

Steve quickly made his way to the front door. As he went to open it, he paused. He could hear the boisterous laughter from the other side, the frequent use of the word ‘bro’, and a few belches. His stomach dropped.

“What could they possibly want?” Steve thought miserably, “I should really...” He sighed. It wasn’t in his nature to just ignore someone. What if they needed help?

“Oh shit! Look who it is! What’s up lil’ bro?” Garrett laughed, emphasizing the word ‘lil’. He put his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging.

“Uh hey.” Steve stammered, “Uhm, I...I...” His mind was racing, trying not to stare. Garrett was rather good-looking- dark hair and eyes, his chiseled face framed by a well-groomed, short beard. And looking further down, it was obvious that his years on the baseball team did wonders for his body- all of which was framed nicely in his tight tank-top, “Sorry, just studying today.” Steve blushed, mentally admonishing himself for making it so obvious that he had a thing for the star pitches on the team.

"Studying?! Lil’ dude, come on.” Garrett groaned, nudging one of the other jocks, “Seriously dude, how lame. How about this? We came here to invite you to the beach.” He placed his firm rugged hand on Steve’s shoulder and grinned, “Lil’ dude, it’s gonna be fuckin’ lit. Cheerleaders, booze, you name it. When’s the last time you did something like that, huh lil’ dude?”

Hearing this, Steve raised an eyebrow. None of these things were as appealing to him as Garrett likely thought they’d be. Although, the naively optimistic part of Steve wanted to imagine this could be the start of a friendship with Garrett. Part of him yearning for closeness with the jock. But Steve shook his head before adjusting his glasses- on what planet would he ever be friends with Garrett?

"I don't want to be rude or offensive, but why are you inviting me?” Steve questioned, “Jake and Logan were just bullying me the other day.” The two jocks behind Garrett snickered, earning them a disapproving look from Garrett.

"I know... Dude, but believe me we want to make peace, me and my bros promise we won't make fun of you again!” Garrett replied, no hint of insincerity in his tone, “Besides, it's Saturday and being at home? It's boring as hell."

Steve sighed, mulling over the offer. Would it be nice not to be bullied by these meatheads? Yeah. Would it be nice to spend time with Garrett? Yeah. Did he really think they’d make peace after this? Steve sighed again- the rational part of him saying to shut the door. The other saying to give these bros a chance.

"Okay, okay... I’ll go.” Steve said, the uncertainty of his choice evident in his voice.

“Oh sick lil’ bruh, but like, don’t sound too disappointed.” Garrett laughed, slapping him on the back and knocking the wind out of his small frame.

“But really, I’m doing this to make peace.” Steve insisted, “No funny business.” He tried to sound confident and stern. Garrett smiled and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, “Oh and..." Steve bit his lip, “This is so embarrassing but it’s been so long since I’ve been to the beach. I don’t really have any appropriate swimwear.”

"That shouldn't worry you bro! Give me a second." Garret grinned, “You’re just in luck, lil’ dude.” Garrett seemed way too excited, “Check out these!” His bro reached into a bag and handed him some green shorts with a bit of blue and gave them to Steve. "Here! These shorts belonged to one of our bros. Well former bro. He went on to bigger and better things.” Garrett sighed, “Internship or some shit. Brains and brawn, can you believe it?” The other jocks snickered.

Steve looked at the shorts and made a face of disgust. Did Garrett and his bros really think he would wear someone else’s shorts? Why did they seem to have them ready too? Steve awkwardly grabbed the shorts, and looked back over at the group of jocks.

"Garrett... I uh." Steve could see the look of excitement in Garrett’s eyes. Like he was proud of something, “I don’t really feel comfortable wearing another guy’s shorts. And besides, these aren’t going to fit me."

“And why not, lil bro? I wear my bro’s stuff all the time.” Garrett grinned, “I understand that you don't have the same muscle mass as us, but they’re shorts, shorts look good on everyone."

"Yes... but..." Steve sighed- how was he going to make these oafs understand his discomfort when they clearly had no shame?

"Dude, just get changed. We’ll wait here for you." Garrett grinned, “Come on bros, I’ll get the car started. I got a bomb playlist.”

Steve watched as they walked back to their car, all chuckling and talking about their beach plans. And before long, loud obnoxious music filled the air. Steve cringed, worrying what his neighbors might think of the loud music.

“The faster I get this on, the faster we get out of here.” Steve figured, walking back to his room.

Once there, he quickly undressed and examined himself in the mirror. He frowned as he examined his short and lanky frame- his skin pale from the hours spent indoors studying. His brown hair a curly mess atop his head. Nothing compared to the healthy tans and meaty muscles Garrett and his bros sported. Steve shook his head, ignoring these negative thoughts. Instead, he turned his attention to the pair of shorts in his hand.

"This is so disgusting...” Steve mumbled, taking a whiff of them, “Oh god, did they even wash this?” Steve was instantly teleported back to his high school locker room- the smell wafting from these shorts an unpleasant reminder of his days in gym class, “What have I gotten myself into?”

He grimaced as he slowly pulled the shorts up his skinny legs, where they rested over his Marvel boxer briefs. Yet despite his initial disgust, he was surprised to see how well they fit. He figured he owed Garrett some credit- shorts do look good on anyone. Steve walked over to his closet, rummaging around until he found on of his old discarded tank-tops. After placing that over his skinny frame, he smiled.

“Okay, I kind of look the part.” He commented, flexing his skinny arm, “Almost.” He laughed, thinking how ridiculous he must’ve looked.

And as he turned away from the mirror, he felt a wave of vertigo wash over him. He stumbled forward, catching himself against a wall. Steve groaned and wiped some sweat from his forehead, trying to make sense of the sudden dizziness. But as quickly as it had come on, it had passed. And Steve awkwardly walked to the front door, each step feeling somewhat heavier and requiring more focus.

“Oh lil’ dude, you look great!” Garrett said, approaching him, “You’re more than ready for the beach.” He raised an eyebrow, “Ah wait, lil’ dude you forgot your shoes. Logan! Grab ‘em a pair from the trunk.”

Steve only nodded, not really paying all that much attention. His mind felt foggy, his body heavier. When Logan threw the pair of worn-out sandals at his feet, Steve just slid them on. They were clearly too large for him, but he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to make a comment.

“Lookin’ good on ya!” Garrett grinned, putting an arm around Steve’s shoulder and leading him to the car, “God, you reek, lil’ dude.”

Steve shook his head, “No... it’s... it’s the shorts.” He replied, “They smell...”

“Sure, sure lil’ dude.” Garrett chuckled.

Steve wanted to say something in response, but he felt a slight achiness in his feet. And when he looked down, he could have sworn that they looked bigger and now sporting tufts of hair. In that moment, Steve could’ve also sworn that his nostrils were being invaded by an increasingly intense odor- reminiscent of the locker room but somehow worse. Sour and musky, all at once.

“Alrighty lil’ dude, get in.” Garrett said, "Let's go!"

Steve could barely focus. The smells, the boisterous laughter, and the blaring laughter from the bros around him. He grimaced as a can of beer rolled around in the backseat, hitting his foot. He watched as Logan reached down and smirked, before shot gunning the can of beer while his bros cheered.

“Lil’ bro, why don’t you try one?” Garrett asked from the driver’s seat, “Pregame for me, since I’m drivin’ and shit.”

“I’m good.” Steve replied, clearing his throat. His voice sounded off, “I’m not feeling too...”

A beer was thrust against his skinny chest and he looked over at Logan, who had a wide grin on his face. Steve held the beer, staring at it closely. And with his meatier hands, cracked it open. Steve never drank- it wasn’t his thing. But as he cracked open the can, he felt compelled. He was gonna chug it. And as the bros cheered him on, Steve did just that. As he did, he couldn’t possibly realize the bulge in his shorts was growing. His member growing in size, going from a measly 5 centimeters to an astonishing 14 centimeters, a dense forest of pubes sprouting around his new member.

“Buuuuuuuurrrrrppppppppp.” Steve grinned slightly as he crushed the can in his hand as his bros cheered, “That wasn’t so bad.”

“Fuck yeah lil’ dude!” Garrett cheered from the front.

“That was sick bruh!” Logan playfully punched Steve’s arm.

Steve looked down at where Logan punched him and his eyes widened. His arms... his skinny arms... they looked bigger? More defined. Muscles Steve knew he had but never saw were suddenly becoming quite obvious to the naked eye. He looked up at Logan and then up to Garrett.

“Hey somethin’s...” Steve froze. That baritone voice couldn’t possibly be...

But no one paid him any attention. They were going on about the cheerleaders, although Steve noticed Garrett was oddly quiet during the conversation. Occasionally glancing at Steve through the mirror. Steve stirred uncomfortably as Garrett stole glances at him. Why did he keep looking at him? He blushed slightly, trying to appear smaller, but his growing pecs and widening frame made that difficult. He was taking up more space now, becoming uncomfortably close to Logan.

“Dude, can you...”

“Not my fault this car’s so fuckin’ small.” Steve’s eyes widened. He would never talk like that, “What the fuck?” The fogginess in his mind was starting to dissipate. He was becoming acutely aware of his newly massive frame, enlarging pecs, and arms that looked more like tree-trunks than sticks.

Garrett turned to look at him and smiled. "What's wrong bro? You look good.”

“I... don’t... fuckin’...” Steve groaned as his tank-top ripped and he tossed the ruined fabric into the trunk.

He grunted as his muscles pulsed again and again. His frame expanding larger and larger, while Logan just grinned, despite losing more room in the back of the car. Steve gasped as small blond hairs erupted from his massive arms and traveled up. And when they finished coating his massive forearms, the hair in his pits exploded into a dense, musky forest. He grimaced at the smell wafting from them, yet at time went on, the smell was becoming familiar. Somewhat nice actually. He brought his hands to his head as his head started pounding. And in the car’s mirror, he saw that his hair was becoming blond. His curly locks reshaping into a sporty cut. His face becoming sharp and defined, his lips puffing up and forming into a permanent smirk.

“Eric, bruh, you good?” Garrett asked.

Steve let out a baritone groan, “Nah bruh, who the fuck’s Eric?” He grabbed his head again, “That’s... not... my... name...”

As he made eye contact with Garrett, he could feel it. A set of memories. Gym sessions with Garrett. Going to sporting events. Playing videogames. Waking up in each other’s arms... tearing each other’s clothes off... fucking... Steve realized in that moment. Garrett and Eric. They were more than frat bros... they were... A small smile formed on Steve’s lips as he felt Eric’s personality and mind overtake his. And in that moment, he came. The climax so intense that he passed out in the back seat.

“Took him long enough.” Logan chuckled, “You happy Garrett?”

Garrett nodded and parked the car, “Alright bros, give him some time to rest.” Garrett smiled at his sleeping boyfriend, “I’ll be right behind you all.”

As his bros started walking to the beach, Garrett opened backseat door and smiled at his hunk of a boyfriend. He ran a hand down his jaw and gave him a quick kiss, before grabbing his cum-soaked shorts.

“Was hoping you’d save that for me.” Garrett smirked, “But all good, bruh.” He kissed him on the cheek, before quietly shutting the door. He’d let Eric get some rest- besides, they had a long night ahead of them.

[bigwishes]

Bulked Up

Ryan sat in the sauna listening to his stomach grumbling once again.

He had been cutting just under 2 months and it was starting to become unbearable, His abs were starting to look incredible and the veins on his arms made him look like a giant however his constant grumbling stomach made him question if he even wanted to stick to it.

Once again his stomach grumbled and Ryan moaned out of discomfort.

"fuck dude, I wish I could be full and not starving all the time, just get to fucking eat"

Ryan's could feel what he thought was a large bubble rising up in his gut, he didn't know what the sensation was but, he slowly stopped feeling like he was starving and started to feel more content.

---

Later that night Ryan was sitting on his bed, he expected to feel like he was starving to death by now but nothing, if anything he felt ever so slightly bloated, as if he ate too much for breakfast.

His body dysmorphia began to creep back in as he saw his abs starting to slack, looking like when they were only just starting to show at the start of his cut.

Ryan stood up and wandered over to the bathroom to brush his teeth before going to bed. He looked in the mirror noticing a few extra pounds and it was only confirmed as he pinched the side of his waste to see his finder tips fill with a grip of bulk season fat.

"err, i swear I was leaner by now"

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPP

A massive belch suddenly blasted out from Ryan's mouth.

---

The next morning Ryan woke up and slowly rolled out of bed, something was weird, he was feeling, stuffed, like he had eaten 3 family dinners to himself, but his mind quickly faded from those thoughts when he saw himself in the mirror.

His abs were almost entirely gone at this point, his gut and muscled were bulked up and he looked like he had taken a bear mode bulk too far for over a year.

"What the fuck, how come I'm getting bigger, Ive hardly eaten anything!" Ryan's gut let out a loud grumble and his grabbed it with both hands gritting his teeth. His stomach slowly started to expand and his barely visible abs completely disappeared under his muscle gut. His muscles slowly got bigger and bigger too, although covered in a slight layer of winter weight. a pound of muscle for half a pound of fat. Bigger and bigger, Ryan had no idea what was happening to him, he wanted it to stop, months of work to see his abs again vanished in an instant.

By the end of it, he was a giant beast, you still knew he was a bodybuilder but it looked like he was on the ass end of a 3 year bulk.

He felt so heavy, he was the biggest he had ever been. You could still see his powerful muscles and core underneath the bearish meat and the moment he flexed there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was a bodybuilder, even his abs powerfully poked out on the sides.

Ryan groaned as he rubbed his stomach, feeling totally stuffed. As he walked across the room to get a closer look his his new bigger body in the mirror he couldn't help but grab a protein bar from the box on top of his dresser and start eating it.

He flexed in the mirror, unable to even process he was chowing down on his 2nd protein bar within 50 seconds, all he really knew was he was big, and was so full he thought he'd never need to eat again.

As he swallowed another mouthful of double choc protein he felt it struggle to get to his stomach, like he was too full for anything.

"fuck, wish I could get rid of some of this pressure"

-uuuurrppp

Ryan chuckled, at the perfect timing of his words when he suddenly let out another ridiculous belch.

"uughh"

Ryan stumbled backwards sitting on his bed leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked up at the mirror and his mouth cocked open UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!

a titanic belch echoed out of Ryan's mouth.

"fuck" he muttered as he mindlessly bit off another chunk of the chewy protein bar. Almost the instant he swallowed he let out another beast like burp.

---

Poor Ryan couldn't figure out the power his words had, he didn't know some guardian angle was following him granting his wishes to make his life easier and more enjoyable, but hopefully he works it out soon as the beast only had one wish left...

[fairyminnie444]

ACCEPT that it is simple, ACCEPT that it is easy

You are just struggling to find something because you don't accept that you have already found it and that it is already done.

The moment you accept that

> you don't need to affirm

> you don't need to believe

> you don't need to impress your subconscious

> you don't need methods

> you don't need more knowledge about

> you don't need to have another click

You only need the I AM (your consciousness) that is you, that is inside you. You only need to want and decide.

But how to decide? How to assume?

Live FROM it. and not for it.

What do you want? Decide.

Sp? Create your logical basis.

I AM perfect, I AM loved. Why? Because I exist. Because I want. Because I say so.

The basis is ready. STICK TO IT. And he/she has no choice but to correspond to that.

Why? Because you decided.

Money? create the logical basis.

I am worthy. I am abundant. I am valuable. Why? Because I exist. My existence is worth millions.

The basis is ready. STICK TO IT. And money has no choice but to come to you.

Why? Because you decided.

ACCEPT THAT IT IS SIMPLE AND EASY LIKE THIS, there are no "buts" and no "what ifs". Once you decided, in your imagination, created a basis logic for your ego ITS DONE. Let the magic of the law happens, but allow it.