Cocky And Proud, By Accident

Cocky And Proud, By Accident

Greg's roommate Chris had just begun his 10 month stay in Japan as a part of a student exchange program. In the beginning Greg thought that maybe, just maybe, he would have their 2 bed dorm all to himself. Then he realized he would probably be living with a student from Japan. After all, Chris was taking part in a student exchange program.

But he didn't expect what actually happened. He was assigned a new roommate, who turned out to be Heath Richards, a jock from the football team. When Greg was informed of the administration's decision he just sighed. This was going to be a hard year.

From the moment Heath first entered Greg's room it was clear his new roommate was a textbook example of a college football bro. He was loud - screaming while watching TV, belching and burping, laughing with that dumb jock chuckle. His clothes were everywhere and he refused to pick them up no matter how often Greg would remind him. This also meant that his sweaty smell quickly filled the whole room and removing this stench seemed impossible.

Greg was stuck with a dumb football jock for a roommate and he hated every minute of it. But there was nothing he could do as there was no process to appeal the decision that put Heath in his room. He also didn't have the money to move out and rent a studio off campus. So he was stuck with Heath. And that musky, sweaty smell.

One day Greg woke up and while still groggy and half-asleep, he started looking for clothes to wear. He opened his drawer and took out the pair of boxer briefs from the top of the pile and put it on. He then moved to their small kitchen area to prepare himself some breakfast. As he mixed the oatmeal he felt as if Heath's smell was more noticeable than usual.

"broooooooo" He suddenly heard the jock's voice behind him "why you wearin' my Under Armour boxers dude?"

"What?" Greg looked down and he gasped as he realized that the underwear he was wearing was not his usual kind, but Heath's black Under Armour boxer briefs.

"Fuck, how the hell did these get into my drawer, dude?"

"dunno brah, just calm down bro" Heath just shrugged "ya can wear them dude if ya want, i don't care, i have like 20 more after signing that sweet deal" Greg was about to scream at the guy, demanding he finally take care of his clothes when a thought entered his mind. You enjoy wearing Under Armour. It was a foreign thought, almost as if someone else had planted it in Greg's mind. But it stayed there, and though he was still angry at Heath, the need to take off the boxers just disappeared.

"Ugh" he just groaned "you jocks are all the same" he muttered under his breath and finished making his oatmeal, which he then took back to his desk. He sat down and started eating. You enjoy the smell of sweat, especially after a workout. The feeling of disgust at Heath's stench disappeared instantly, replaced by a slight enjoyment of the salty smell.

Greg quickly ate his breakfast, then got ready for the day. He put on a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a hoodie, his ass still covered by Heath's UA boxer briefs. He saw the jock sitting on the couch on the other side of the room, wearing only a jockstrap, with his legs spread wide apart, looking at something on his phone. Greg rolled his eyes as he took his bag in his hand and walked up to the door.

"I hope I won't find any more of your clothes in my drawer, Heath" he barked at his roommate as he opened the door.

"yeah, yeah, calm down bruh" Heath drawled in response, then scratched his bulge. Greg sighed and left the room, ready to get through all the classes he had to attend today.

Greg was sitting on his third lecture of the day, still not the last, taking notes diligently. The professor went on and on, his charisma barely perceptible and he seemed to be the only person in the room who was still following what the older man was saying. Then, as the prof was looking at the computer, trying to change his presentations, a thought was implanted into Greg's mind. You have an IQ of 80 and don't care about academics.

He stopped taking notes and looked around. Fuck, how much longer was this lecture going to take? Greg shifted around in his seat, spreading his legs wider apart. The old dude leading the class resumed talking but he didn't really get what he was saying. It all sounded so boring.

An hour later, Greg was finally free of that old dude's ramblings. He looked at his phone and realized he still had one class left. Huhuh, nope, he was not going to suffer, not for one minute longer. And so he left the rest of his group and started walking towards the dorms. His brain needed time to relax after this mind numbing experience.

When he entered his dorm room, Heath was sitting on the couch, watching game tape on his laptop. Wait, how did he know it was game tape?

"ey dude, yer early bro" Heath commented, his eyes focused on the screen.

"Yeah..." Greg nodded, but then he didn't know what to say, he didn't have the words. You speak like a dumb jock.

"dude, lectures were so fuckin' boring bro, huhuhuh" Greg let out a dumb chuckle as he approached Heath and then sat down on the couch.

"duh bro, never got why ya bothered with all that academic bullshit bro, i see yer finally seeing how dumb all that shit is" Heath paused the video on his laptop and looked at Greg. "the only reason to stay in school is fuckin sports dude, ain't no other way to get to the NFL bro" He then furrowed his brow as he looked into Greg's eyes "you play ball dude?"

Greg was surprised by the question and as his brain was processing it, another thought appeared. You are a cornerback playing for the Atlanta Golden Eagles.

"yeah bruh huhuhuhuh, am a damn cornerback" Greg let out another dumb chuckle and Heath looked at him, suddenly very confused.

"shit, i gotta get ya to coach" He put the laptop away and stood up "follow me bruh"

Coach was not thrilled when he learned what happened to Greg. When Heath brought him to his office it took a while to get the necessary context out of the dumb jock, but eventually Coach was able to understand what had occured.

His supplements which turn all his players into strong and cocky football jocks had a weird quirk - it spread through his body and entered the jock's cum. And because Heath was one nasty jock, he got off into his boxers and didn't even wash them. so when Greg put on Heath's used boxers, some of the supplement got into his system and the his transformation began.

Coach was not thrilled, but he quickly , but he quickly decided to use this whole mishap to his advantage. He activated his connections, did some work himself and got himself a new player - cornerback Greg Geralt Evans. A few rounds of Coach's supplement and Geralt would be just as muscular as his best bro Heath, ready to get on the gridiron destroy any opposing team.

And Chris would have to find himself a new place to live after coming back form Japan.

Waking Up Huge and Jocked

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story reposed with a few minor changes, previous ver. were too "explicit"

Trevor slowly woke up, sitting on his bed and opening his eyes. He immediately felt that something was wrong, but he didn't know what. He slowly walked up to the bathroom, where the only mirror in his apartment was located. Every step felt weird, his body didn't feel normal.

When he finally got to the mirror his mouth opened in shock. Then memories from the day prior flooded his mind.

Trevor joined a gym. A fairly new one that opened in his neighborhood. He decided to do that to capitalize on the gym's heavy discounts that were meant to attract new clients. And it wasn't the end - right after entering the building and registering, he was gifted with a bunch of free stuff.

Included was a few pieces of gym gear, which was very handy to Trevor, who has not worked out regularly before and did not have stuff like that.

After he came back home in the evening, Trevor decided to try out the clothes he got. Included in these was a pair of Under Armour boxer briefs that he put on alongside shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He looked a bit funny, at least according to himself, but the vibe he was giving off was actually... cool. He looked like a proper gym bro, and that gave him a... warm feeling. Wait, he was getting hot after wearing all that gear just for a few minutes, which seemed unusual.

And suddenly, it began.

As the warmth spread across his body from his lower abdominal area he clearly saw his body slowly expand. His stomach muscles became visible, his pectorals now pushing against the shirt. Shoulders expanded, biceps growing closer in size to a football. Legs now the size of tree trunks, each muscle clearly visible.

Trevor just looked, in shock and horror, as his body transformed into that of a real gym bro. He desperately tried to take off the gym gear, and while he succeeded with the shirt and shorts, the UA boxers just stayed glued to his skin the whole time. Wait a minute, was his dick getting larger as well? Shit, were these tattoos on his body? Fuckin' hell!

As the transformation came to an end Trevor was hit with a sudden and powerful feeling of tiredness. He took a few steps towards his bedroom, then collapsed on his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

And this is how he ended up here, standing in front of a mirror the next day, still with the body of a jock. After the initial shock of this not having been a dream Trevor quickly thought about the benefits of the change and started flexing his new, huge muscles.

A huge grin appeared on his face as he lifted his arms, putting them in a double biceps pose, and took in the view. He also got quite aroused by the whole experience and his now bigger bulge was clearly visible, straining against his Under Armour boxers.

He eagerly grabbed his member and started massaging it through the fabric. Afterwards he decided to go back to the gym right away. Maybe he would learn something more, maybe he would grow even more.

He quickly put on the clothes, his shorts going over the cum-stained boxers, and made his way to the gym. He didn't know what to expect, but he felt anticipation rise inside him with every step. Finally Trevor reached the building and entered the place that was the cause of his changes.

The moment he went through the door his brain slowed down to a halt. A thick, dense fog covered his mind, no thoughts now coming in or out. A dumb grin appeared on his face, and drool appeared on the corner of his mouth.

The gym's Owner walked up to Trevor, standing still in the middle of the reception area.

"Next one, great." He grinned slightly and looked into Trevor's eyes.

"State your position, meathead." The owner gave the order, but the newly created gym bro did nothing. The older man in turn rolled his eyes. "Of course, you're a rookie." He put his hand in his pocket and took out a pair of dog tags, which he dangled in front of Trevor's face for a moment. Trevor's eyes started following the tags almost instantly.

"You will come with me, meathead." The Owner said, and started walking towards his office, Trevor following behind him. When they reached the room, the Owner ordered the new meathead to sit down in front of his desk. He then turned the monitor towards Trevor and pushed a button on the keyboard.

A video showing both muscular dudes pumpin' iron and a hypnotic spiral started playing and the Owner started talking.

"You are a dumb meathead. The only thing you do is lift and train others to lift. You are as masculine as can get... oh, also... you're gay?"

"Yeah..." Trevor drawled. Droll was flowing down from his mouth.

"Nope, you're as straight as a guy can get." The Owner stated strongly. Trevor felt tingling around his butt, as his hole tightened and closed in, making sure nothing would enter it and that he would never think about his ass in terms of pleasure again.

"You do not think of anything not related to working out. Your life is the gym. You are my employee and obey my every order." The Owner stood in front of Trevor, between him and the screen. "You are Brute. You are 32AZ, you are a dumb meathead." He then took a step to the side, allowing Brute to watch the video to the end.

"State your position, meathead." Brute heard Boss say.

"Personal trainer bruh, liftin' and pushin' guys to become men bro"

"Correct, meathead."

"Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh, yeah sir, huhuhuhuhuh" He did a mock salute, a dumb chuckle escaping his mouth.

"Now go, complete Routine 12, then come to the Reception to receive your schedule."

"Yes sir... bro huhuhuhuh."

"Good meathead. Now go."

Not In The Exhibit Brochure

It was a hot summer day and the city was filled with people coming to be a part of one of the biggest fantasy conventions in the country. Video games, board games, tabletop RPGs, LARP, movies, TV shows, theater shows, even musicals. If one fancied themselves a fan of a franchise that existed in any of these forms, they could be found spending a sunny August weekend in the convention center.

Mark meandered between countless people in the Second Pavilion, getting tired having spent the last five hours walking around the convention area, being asked for pictures and catching up with his friends. This year he came wearing a full cosplay of one of the characters from his favorite first person shooter. He put on a tactical vest, helmet with a full headset, a tactical belt with a bunch of accessories and camo pants. In his hands he was bearing a perfect replica of the most famous gun from the game.

He spent a long time perfecting the costume, both by searching for just the right gear and by spending hours in the gym. Now his broad and thick shoulders, football-sized biceps and veiny forearms were visible for all attendees, which garnered Mark a lot of attention, which he enjoyed.

It was exhausting, however. The temperature inside the convention center got uncomfortably high at times, so he decided to take a break. He fold the few friends who joined him during the day that he was leaving for a while to take in some relatively fresh air, then pushed his way through the crowds until he got to the exit.

Thanks to the fact that the center was basically in the middle of the city he didn't have to go far to get to a park and relax, then find a place to eat and just take a walk through the city.

Mark was aware that many businesses and institutions had various perks for the convention ticket holders, to keep the attendees in the city for longer and spread the economic effects of the convention. He was reminded of this fact just as he was walking by the giant building of the art museum. His curiosity was piqued and he checked if he would get a discount of a ticket. It turned out he could walk in for free, the only requirement was to show his pass at the entrance.

What Mark saw after getting through a quick but awkward security check truly amazed him. He slowly walked from one part of the building to the next, taking his time to watch every piece, all displayed in a well air-conditioned space, which was a nice bonus. The museum had a bunch of different special exhibits currently open to the public and they were all pretty stunning, each in its own way.

Finally, Mark made his way to a part of the museum furthest away from the entrance where he saw a recent collection of sculptures from a local artist. Each statue was an extremely realistic depiction of a person, and they were supposed to collectively represent modern society. There were athletes mid-run, businessmen in the middle of walking in between offices, chefs tasting their newest creations, it was all incredible to watch, every sculpture most likely taking weeks or months to complete. Mark stood in the middle of the room as he looked around and every time he managed to find a new detail in one of the statues. While his eyes were jumping from one piece to another, inspecting every curve and small detail, he was unaware of just how much time has passed since he entered this space.

And then he tried to move.

Mark heard his phone buzz loudly in his pocket. It was probably one of his friends wanting to check up on him. He tried to move his hand to take the phone and answer the call, but it wouldn't move. Neither would his head. Or any part of his body. He was immediately alarmed. Mark tried as hard as he could to get any element within his human form to move even an inch, but it didn't work. His whole body was suddenly completely stationary and he could not control its movements, because he couldn't cause any movements. He started to panic and hoped someone would notice that he wasn't well. There were a lot of people at the museum so it would be just a matter of time before one of them came to this room and noticed a guy in a military cosplay was standing weirdly still.

Except this did not happen. Visitors just passed by him with no interest in the person standing frozen in the middle of the room. As Mark looked with his unmovable eyes at the tourists wandering around the space right in front of him he felt like he was losing the track of time. Was it a minute ago that he realized he couldn't move? No it mus have been almost an hour by then. Nah, it couldn't be.

Then Mark realized something horrifying. Not only was no one coming up to help him, they began to stop in front of him and just look at him, as if he was just another...

Did he turn into a fucking statue?! That terrifying thought seeped deep into his mind wreaking havoc along the way. How could this have happened? Magic? But magic wasn't real! That was impossible, this was a dream, for sure! He tried to move his body even a little bit, but again he failed every time. He desperately tried to force his hand to move so that he could pinch himself and wake up from this terrifying nightmare. But no part of his arm changed position, not even an inch.

A larger group of tourists, mostly retirees, led by a young woman slowly moved through the exhibition space and passed by Mark, who continued to struggle and try to move.

"Huh, the guide didn't say anything about this one. Did that lovely lady talk about this soldier, Harold?" An elderly couple stopped in front of Mark and they stood there and admired him for a moment.

"No, Mary, I'm pretty sure I'd remember" The man, Harold, took a step closer towards the statue.

"Harold!" The woman shouted at him. "You can't walk up too close to the sculptures dear."

"Oh, calm down" Harold responded, slightly annoyed at his wife's comment. "I'm in an art museum so don't tell me to not look at the art." The older man stood just a few steps away from Mark. "There's no plaque or rope or anything, this is a free country, Mary!" He was a few inches shorter than Mark, so he couldn't clearly see everything but it seemed he was just looking at Mark's gear.

"Look. The artist — that Gary what's-his-name — knew what he was doing with this one. I recognize all that gear this man is wearing. Nice work." Harold's tone of voice suggested he was weirdly pleased with the statue that used to be Mark. "This is what a real man's supposed to look like. Not some sissy sitting behind the desk all day."

"Of course Harold, of course" The woman walked up to her husband and put her arm around him, then started gently pushing him towards the other statues.

Mark's brain struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had really turned into a statue! People thought he was a part of the exhibit! How could this have happened? He couldn't come up with any even remotely plausible explanation for what he was experiencing. He then thought that his only hope would be his friends - they knew he was downtown, maybe some would guess that he used the opportunity to get into the art museum for free, which would lead them to the place where Mark was currently stranded.

The group of retirees came back, walked next to Mark and was about to leave the room when the tour guide looked at him and murmured to herself.

"This statue was not a part of the exhibit. How did it get here?" She grabbed her phone and quickly led her group towards the rest of the museum.

Mark again realized he couldn't tell how much time had passed since any of the recent events. It was as if his internal clock had stopped working, ran out of batteries. This whole experience was so confusing that he had issues fully registering everything. He tried counting in his head, but got lost after 20, maybe? The only thing he was sure of, for now, was that the day had not yet ended, but he could not tell what part of the day it was, as the whole museum was constantly lit with this slightly weird diffused lighting.

Three people suddenly came into view and stood some distance away from Mark, clearly looking at him. He couldn't hear the conversation they were having because of the noise from surrounding visitors, but he could clearly see that they were all agitated, talking over each other and aggressively pointing at themselves and Mark. As he looked closer he realized they were all museum employees, meaning they were probably debating what to do with a statue which has suddenly appeared within the premises of the musem they worked for, a rather uncommon occurrence.

Not long after they left Mark's view and he was once again stuck in this feeling ot timelessness. Tourists stopped in front of him every now and then, looked at him for a moment and moved on, while he stood still, holding the gun in his hands as if ready to fight, and yet incapable of it because of some indescribable force.

The employees from before came back, one of them holding in their hands a metal stand of come kind. It had something written on it at the top, but Mark couldn't see what it was. What he could see was the employee putting the stand in front of him and them all looking at it.

"That will have to do for now" One of them said. This time they were standing closer and Mark was able to hear what they were saying.

"Yeah, I won't be able to make a proper one until tomorrow."

"Okay, but it has to be there by Monday afternoon, otherwise we're fucked. Jesus Christ, still'can't believe this happened."

"No time for moaning, Jacob. We have work to do." Another one replied. They all nodded their heads, took one last look at the stand and quickly left the scene.

Mark thought about what he had just witnessed, and it took him a moment to understand - this was a stand with information about the statue, which meant him. It was the same kind as dozens more throughout the museum that visitors could look at for further information that was meant to enrich their experiences. This was meant to hide the fact that he was not here just mere hours, or minutes, or days, or-- he was certainly not here when the exhibition was opened. That fact was probably what had made them so angry and confused before - from their perspective a random statue of a soldier randomly appeared in the museum.

His mind immediately asked one question - I wonder what did they write on there? What was his title, his author, his artistic description or statement? Wait, his author? That was a strange line of thought, Mark realized.

I am Uncontrolled Power.

Wait, what was that? Who said that? Where was that deep voice coming from?

I was created by Greg Duchaime Arreman.

Was there someone standing behind him?

I am meant to represent unchecked aggression and power of the Military Industrial Complex.

Wait a second, what this voice inside his head?

I am the physical manifestation of toxic masculinity and bravado.

Holy fuck, this was a voice inside his head. Was this... what they had written about him on this stand?

Fuck yeah, I'm an alpha who follows orders and crushes any sign of disloyalty.

The voice was talking to Mark. Shit, the voice was talking to him! What the fuck?

You scum, get ready to experience the primal, animalistic force of a toxic man! I'm gonna crush you!

Mark wanted to sigh loudly, but of course he couldn't. Great, the museum employees with their great art wisdom made him a stereotypical aggressive soldier. Obedient muscle. The armored tool of American imperialism. And this soldier character seemed to have appeared inside his head.

I am here to blindly follow orders, enforce them and show everyone what masculinity really means!

If Mark could have rolled his eyes, he would. He was stuck, like an NPC frozen mid-frame, standing in the middle of an art museum, possibly forever. And from now on he would represent toxic masculinity, aggression and military prowess.

Whoever stands in my way will be violently crushed with the power of the American Military and my primal force! Toxic and proud, that's who I am!

Big Bro's Job

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The role of Big Bro is one of the most important in the gym.

Big bros run the gym on behalf of their Owner.

Big bros recruit more bros for the gym.

Big bros are the best personal trainers any bro has ever seen.

Big bros train lil bros to be the best bros they can me.

They make sure all bros are completely focused on working out.

They make sure all bros' brains are turned off inside the gym.

They make sure someone is always flexing in the gym.

They make sure all bros' holes are tightly closed, as real bros only fuck.

And they have to keep their bulk in prime condition, and a dumb expression on their faces at all times. And a backwards cap and some chains, of course.

It's hard being a big bro.

Would you like to try, bro?

Guarding The Base

Craig paused the game and opened the inventory. He had just finished a mission and wanted to organize all the new gear he had gained. He changed his weapon for a more powerful one and threw out the basic gun he had with him since the very beginning of this campaign. He then changed his gear for one with better stats, giving him more HP and allowing his character to withstand more damage from certain weapons.

After he was done with that, Craig used some of the experience points he'd gathered to customize these items, choosing different colors and adding two more badges to his profile. He took a moment to look at the avatar standing proudly with his gun in the middle of the screen after all these changes. Damn, he looked badass, Craig thought. He didn't expect to become this invested in this game, but just as his friend said, he was hooked form the start.

He clicked the escape button to exit the inventory view and continue the campaign, but the game didn't react. Craig didn't panic though, his gaming rig didn't have the newest or the most powerful components, so he was used to his computer needing a bit more time to process certain commands.

Then he noticed his helmet turned dark green. Craig leaned in to look closer at what happened, expecting this to be a momentary visual glitch. But it wasn't. And this wasn't even his helmet in a different color, it was a compleletly different one. That annoyed him a little bit, the game just glitched and robbed him of one of his items! He clicked on it to try and get back to his custom helmet but the game didn't react. Of course, it was still processing the command to exit the inventory. Craig groaned loudly. He needed to invest in a better PC - this helmet had such good stats! And it looked cool!

He breathed in, then breathed out. This was just a helmet, noting major that would hinder his progress-- his tactical vest glitched and turned into a different item. What the hell? Craig looked at his compter screen with disbelief. Another part of his character's gear just changed into somethign completely different. He clicked on his avatar to try to revert that change but again, the game did not react.

And it only got worse. One by one, elements of his character's equipment changed from his custom ones into a set of dark green tactical gear he did not recognize, which was weird as he spent a lot of time in the game's item shop. He was absolutely horrified by this sight. After just a minute or two his character was unrecognizable. Gone was his badass soldier, and in his place Craig saw a heavily armed police officer. And it seemed like his avatar was now a bit more muscular?

His screen flashed suddenly and Craig was surrounded by white light. He could not see anything beyond this blank void. He tried blinking quickly but this apparent visual phenomenon did not subside. His eyes were betraying him.

He blinked once more and the bright light disappeared, replaced with a view of a different location form the game than the one where he finished his last mission. Then something dawned on him. He wasn't looking at a screen, he was inside the game! He turned his head and instead of his room he saw the game world turn around him. What was happening? It seemed his mind was playing with him.

Just as Craig began to comprehend what had just happened to him, his body started moving involountarily. He turned towards a path leading to where he was standing and he could now see that he stood next to an entrance to some sort of hidden base. Hidden base? Oh, right, he was transported to Part II of the campaign, he remembered walking alongside this road. Entering the base tiggered a cutscene that led to the player unlocking a few important side quests. Why did the game put him here and why did it seem like he was transported into the game itself?

When Craig tried to turn his head he realized he couldn't. His body was now locked in his current position, holding his gun in both hands in front of him, ready to point it at any opponent in the blink of an eye. He was stuck in some sort of loop, first leaning to the side, then straightning out and checking his gun, then leaning slightly to the side again, and so on.

Suddenly, he saw movement. He couldn't react physically in any way so he just watched as a dark dot appeared on the horizon, then got closer and turned into a soldier running towards the entrance of the base. When he saw the entire figure he realized, based on the look of the soldier's gear, that he was looking at a player. He tried to say something to him but he couldn't. And then the player got really close and Craig felt a weird sting inside his head.

The player came even closer and #GRD0933F automatically moved to block him in his way, initiating a preplanned conversation.

"Stop or I'll shoot" the NPC barked in his low, growling voice. The player stood silent for a moment, giving himself a moment to choose one of a few possible responses.

"I have orders from Agent Dark Wolf" the player said, his avatar standing idly as #GRD0933F replayed his cutscene amination in a loop, his gun pointed at the player.

"Why should I believe you?" was the NPC's response. The player didn't choose to continue the conversation. Instead he clicked on an option to show the NPC an item from an earlier part of the game. The guard switched to another animation, putting down his gun and stepping aside to his previous position.

"Enter now, soldier" #GRD0933F showed the player to move along with his gun and both caracters left coversation mode. The player walked into the base and the NPC was back in his idling loop. Leaning to the side, then straightning out and checking his gun, then leaning slightly to the side again. As a very minor character his programming was very bare bones. He did not have many speaking lines, other than the short conversation with the player and a few grunts. He had only a few animaton loops avaliable to him, the most he could do was to flex his arm if the player chose the most friendly dialog options. No congitive capacity was left for the guard, and thus no real thought crossed his mind as he stood like a statue, making sure the secret base was secure.

Another player came up to the guard NPC, triggering the cutscene.

"Stop or I'll shoot" the NPC barked in his low, growling voice. The player stood silent for a moment, giving himself a moment to choose one of a few possible responses.

Give this bro some love and attention everone

Blog update

Hi everyone!

First of all, thanks for the insane amount of likes and reblogs on my first story! As a new writer, it's really motivating to see!

Now, for the actual announcement:

I am going to be doing a slight blog rebrand.

I will keep reposting hot stories that I managed to archive/find,

However, any (new) original stories you will on my side-blog:

-> Derek's TFs

Hope to see you will all follow me there as well.

Thanks again for all the support