Update And WARNING!

Update and WARNING!

So, I conferred with a professional friend of mine, and he confirmed that YES, it was TREY who tried to put me under, assuming I’d been hypnotized before and could easily be triggered again. Obviously, he did not succeed. But be warned, guys. That’s a new name he tried making now. The tumblr account was deactivated, but it’s clear he’s still up to his old tricks. I repeat. Beware of Trey. BEWARE Alphapuphypnous or whatever other pseudonyms he’s taken on. He is a manipulator, an opportunist, and a selfish minor with no morals. Or it’s possible he may now be legally an adult. Either way, BEWARE OF HIM! DO NOT LET HIM HYPNOTIZE YOU. If someone sends you a hypno gif immediately in a message, don’t let it get to you. Type as fast as you can and get it out of your message box feed so you’re not staring at it. Then call him or whatever other person may be on the other end out. Be hypnotized on your own terms, not someone else’s. And don’t let a hypnotist change you any farther than you yourself wanted to be changed in the first place. Hypnosis is a great tool, but it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Trance responsibly.

A Well-tuned Machine

“On your way to the gym?” The young man looked down at you as you approached and pushed the button to call the elevator. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. “Nah,” he responded. I’ve been pushing sups for the last six hours in a cramped booth. It’s time to get back to my room and unwind with a little me time.” “You can have me time at the gym, too, though, can’t you?” “It’s not the same.” He shook his head. “Of course it is. I’ve seen you there loads of times!” “You must be mistaken.” “No, I’m quite positive. Sounds like somebody needs a tuneup.” The light faded from the man’s eyes as his shoulders slumped and he stared ahead. “Muscle Machine 624 awaiting orders,” he said in a dim monotone. “Initiate maintenance tuneup protocol.” The man raised an arm and replicated a mechanical whirr with his mouth as he flexed it, showing off the many veins that stood out over the taut and ballooning muscle. Soon the second rose to join its sibling and he posed rigidly in place. “624, you will go the gym today and you will enjoy it. The gym is relaxing and exciting and fun. You love the gym. You will never miss the chance to go to the gym and keep earning more gains. Because that is your purpose as a muscle machine.” “New programming acknowledged. 624 will execute command prompt.” He nodded slightly and the doors opened with their usual chimes. “Come along, 624. Time to go. I’ll load you with programming on the way to the gym.” “Yes. I am a muscle machine. I obey....”

The Word

Amazing, isn’t it, the power that a jumble of letters can carry? It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. But it is what the pen creates that is so compelling. Words have held power and sway over the minds of men and women from the very beginning. If scripture is to believed, before there was anything else, there was The Word. In short, words have existed from before this world ever was. Words give voice to thoughts, shape to ideas and emotions. In short, words, much like an artist, have the power to create, to destroy, to mold, all at their creator’s whim. In politics the use of The Word is called propaganda. In journalism, it is called truth, though whose truth is a matter of intense debate. As for me, well, I’ve discovered my own manipulation of The Word. No, I am no novelist or journalist, no politician, though as you can see, I am a wordsmith of a sort. No, in this case, I have learned how to tap into the primal essence of The Word. In short, I am what you might call a wizard, a witch, a magician, a sorcerer. There are many names that seem to apply to what I am, though I don’t know how accurate they all are. It’s proven a most useful gift for me. I can do almost anything, provided I can put it to words. I could fly, breathe underwater, travel through time. Oh, the possibilities are far too vast for me to explain in one sitting, but I believe you get what I’m trying to say. As such, I’ve dedicated much of my life to the understanding of names and words. There’s a reason why they say power over the name is power over the thing itself. Take my neighbor over there. He asked if he could borrow some of my power tools for a big project of his. Naturally, I agreed, but doubtless, you can see how ... unfit he is for the task. Forgive the pun. Obviously, being that pale and overweight would make this endeavor exceptionally difficult for him. As such, being the kindly neighbor that I am, I decided it would be best to give him a little hand.  You’ll note that I only use some of the best products. I particularly enjoy this brand of jackhammer for its choice of wording. Now, watch. You see how difficult it is for him to wield at first. His whole body is shaking from the effort. Now keep watching. Note how his shirt is starting to droop. His biceps and pectorals are inflating. Surprised? I thought you might be. He’s becoming quite ... jacked, wouldn’t you say? Forgive the pun. It seemed appropriate at the time. You’ll note how his complexion is changing. His skin is gaining more color Dirt and dust are flying all over his shoes and pants. Ah, and there it is. See how the material shifts. No more sneakers for this worker. Thick, sturdy construction boots are the way to go. Steel toes glinting dully under the coat of dust. Ah, and there go the features. His jaw really is shaping up now, wouldn’t you say? So ... rugged. Ah, forgive me. It seems I may have crossed wires. Ah well. It plays into the role he’s taking, anyways, so it’s no true loss. Yes, that’s at least a month’s worth of beard growing in at once. What more did you expect? Ah, and there goes the shirt now. Note how it’s paling more and more, getting so tight against his skin. Ah, but it’s such a hot day, isn’t it? Why would a hard laborer burden himself with such long sleeves, especially when they’re so constricting on his arms? And there we go. The shirt is gone now, and much the better for it. I see you gaping now. Or is that perhaps a bit of drool? I’ll hail him, if you like. Just wait till you see how he reacts. Hey, Brute! Ah, and there it is, my favorite part. Look at that smile. See that bicep tense and swell as he flexes for us. He knows what he is now, and he revels in it. A worn snapback, some protective goggles, a pair of earmuffs to dampen the noise, and he’s finished. Tell me, do you like what you see? Do you enjoy his burly frame? Did you enjoy watching him change? I thought you might have. *Chuckle* Just wait until he starts it up again....

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/635700023353622528/credit-goes-to-musclecorps-is-for-this-image

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181232201117/endemic-evolution-chapter-4-there-you-see-its

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Endemic Evolution Chapter 3

Doctor Lee Chen Barton blew out his mouth like a whale as he surfaced from his breast stroke. They had studied the subjects for the last month with little success in isolating the disease. On top of this, a certain degree of worry gnawed at him. He peered over at the poolside, where Doctor Rante Simmons was just finishing another round of drawing blood samples. A pair of swim trunks hung somewhat loosely against his trimmer frame. The man’s eyes remained rigidly fixed on the vials, but Lee could see how Simmons would pass his gaze over the other men’s rapidly increasing musculature. His hands would squeeze and caress a little longer than necessary, and a bulge began to tent in the man’s crotch, pressing against the fabric. Lee knew what needed to be done. He waded confidently through the pool’s waters, heedless of the splashes that sounded behind as others bellyflopped or otherwise disturbed the waters. The air was heavy with the scent of chlorine and the humidity of the warmer waters. The resistance against his thighs was almost electric as he waded through the shallows and finally mounted the stairs. “Doctor Simmons, I can take over for now. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool? You look like you could use one.” Simmons blinked owlishly and gaped a moment, as if he’d only just noticed his colleague. “Sorry, what?” he finally managed to ask. Lee laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The pool. You should take a dip. Cool off.” He looked pointedly down at Simmons’ crotch. The man at least had enough decorum to blush. “I’ll finish the samples and get them ready for shipping.” Simmons nodded and cleared his throat. “Right. Call me if you need me. I’ll be just over there.” He strode purposefully toward the pool’s steps and winced as he got up to his thighs in the water. Then he arced under and was lost beneath the surface. Lee sighed and looked up at his next patient, a more recent addition to the ranks. Kyle Lambridge was a former staff member under Malloy’s employ. The young man had been careful to avoid contact with the other men, and Lee had been hopeful the boy could be cleared to leave in due course, perhaps even prove to be a source for an inoculation to cure the disease. Unfortunately, Kyle had proven to the contrary. His reaction when he finally manifested symptoms had been so violent that he practically jettisoned into the Gym Rat stage. As a member of his staff, Malloy had taken full “responsibility” for the boy and now watched over him like a mother bear. He trained him in the weights section. He pushed him to eat more than his peers. And his mental faculties, well.... Lee had managed to catch the two of them chatting in the locker room once.

“It’s not that bad, really, once you get used to it,” Malloy had said. “You just have to sort of accept it, ya know?” “But I--”

“No buts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “But I don’t want to....” “Bullshit. Your body wants to, so you want to. It’s natural.” “... Natural....” Lee’s breath had begun to take on a labored tone. “Does it feel bad to you?” “N-no, but--” “What did I say about buts?” “S-sorry, Sir.” “Now listen to me. Your meat’s trying to talk to you. Listen to it.” “I--” “Don’t think. Just do.” A low moan escaped Kyle’s lips. “Just ... do....” “That’s right, bro. Do it.” “Fuck,” Kyle hissed. He grunted and his voice deepened. “Oh, fuck.” “Told ya, lil’bro. Best feeling in the world, except maybe for a good pump.” Kyle chuckled. His voice deepened with every husky guffaw. “Fuck yeah, it is.” “So, you scared about it anymore?” “Fuck no! Huhuhuh....” “That’s a good bro. Finish up. We’ve got a lot of reps to do today.” “Yes, Sir....” He grunted again and chuckled. “Dunno why I was so scared before. I’m such a dumbass. Mmm ... yeah, just a big, burly dumbass....”

Lee had been quick to make his escape. He didn’t want to see what had just transpired, though he could guess only too well the lesson Malloy had taught his new protege. The fact the boy’s body and privates had both experienced a growth spurt less than twenty-four hours later only helped to strengthen those suspicions. He would be remiss not to admit the discussion had caused a certain amount of arousal. That was part of his reasons for spending so much time in the pool. The cooler water helped to shock his more carnal nature and left him clear-headed to focus on their work. Malloy soon approached. A confident easy-going grin was plastered over his face. He quickly wrapped a burly arm around Kyle’s shoulders as Lee finished the last of the bandaging. “Doc,” he acknowledged. “I see you’re doing well today.” He glanced down at Lee’s trunks and the grin widened as knowing eyes gave his expression just a hint of a sneer. “I like the look.” Lee shrugged. “I like to balance modesty with sex appeal,” he said bluntly. “The time we’ve spent here studying you has given me plenty of time to make my body more ... presentable for these.” “Oh, sure. Sure,” Malloy agreed amicably. “What are you up to now, anyway, a hundred pounds?” Lee grit his teeth as the familiar tingle rose in his crotch. “One twenty, if you must know.” “Not bad,” Malloy approved. “Keep at it and you might be as strong as me one day.” Lee nodded as he attended to the next patient. “Perhaps. But then again, I thought a man of your stature didn’t like competition.” “I don’t.” He wrapped an arm around Lee’s shoulders and smirked. “But I always make exceptions for friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Doctor Barton? Or should I call you...?” “Lee.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even think, and a sense of vertigo suddenly assaulted his senses. He grunted as he shouldered the extra weight Malloy forced on him. The man had quite literally become a block head. Every aspect of his jaw and features had become sharpened by angles to mutate into a bizarre parody of a polyhedron. His bristly beard scratched against the side of Lee’s head as he breathed heavily into the doctor’s ear. “Lee, huh? I like that name.” He released his deadly press and choke hold, then turned to Kyle and sneered. “Come on, kid. Time for your protein shake.” He laid a guiding hand on Kyle’s back and steered him away, even as the boy began to bounce his pectorals, just for the sake of the spectacle. Malloy stopped only long enough to turn around and offer his last farewell. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, Lee. Much more of you.” He sneered openly. “See you around, stud.” Lee couldn’t tell if it was a compliment, tease, or insult. Then again, it might have been some of all three. He subtly cupped his package on the sly. The effects of his dive in the pool had worn off. “Damn it,” he swore. It had only been a few minutes, after all. He peered over at the pool. Simmons had taken a seat on the edge at the deep end. The water glistened on his dark skin and he rubbed a hand absently over his torso as he watched a trio of Meatheads pose and flex by the hot tub. The desiccated remains of large plastic bags and the red dye on the labels indicated what had once dwelled within those coils. That and the small chunks of ice that had been thrust out of their makeshift ice bath to rest on the floor. He was too far away to tell, but Lee was almost certain his colleague’s crotch was bulging. No more joking. No more mocking. No more mimicry. After the way Malloy had treated him, it was time to face facts. Somehow, some way, they had become infected.

Desserts

Hey, guys. This here is a quick story I came up with on the fly for a story exchange between a user named Casualpatrolperfection and myself. I refined the content a little from the initial draft that I wrote in our chat room and am now ready to transfer it on to here for others to read. I hope you all enjoy it!

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. One minute, you were cringing back from some douchebag bullies. The next, Devon Capernick, Cap for short, was sitting next to you at the principal's office, while the bullies were being treated at the nurse's office. The Senior towered over you as he smiled reassuringly. The chair creaked under his weight, and you could practically hear the thick wooden arms splintering against his broad frame. 

"It's all good," he assured you. "Everything'll be fine." His face darkened. "And if they come after you again...." You could practically hear the splinters crying in pain as he clenched the edges. "I hate bullies."

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. You're sitting at the jocks' table, surrounded by behemoths of muscle chowing and joking with each other, even wrestling from time to time. Nothing serious enough to get in trouble with the aides, but enough for them to get their messages across. You note how they all keep smirking or grinning, despite the pain or humiliation that might be involved.

 Devon is smiling down at you as he watches his friends and cheers them on. He takes the time to introduce you to everyone on the team, tells them you'll be hanging with them for lunch from now on. You half expected them to want to pummel you. Instead, they grin and welcome you with hearty smacks to the back that almost burst your chest.

 You want to object to the treatment, say you're not worth it. Devon won't hear of it. He won't even let you address him formally.

 "It's Cap, bro." He huffed a deep guffaw of a chuckle. "Just think like you're calling me your captain, all right?"

 It wasn't like you could argue with him, so you did.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Your gym teacher stared across at you from his desk. Cap is grinning as he lays a heavy hand on your shoulder from his place next to you.

 "You're sure about this, Devon?"

 "You bet, Coach. Lil'bro's got spark, and he's super smart."

 "I'll have to set it up with the rest of the school, but I don't see why he can't tutor you boys, if you need it." He smiled. "And maybe you can teach him a thing or two, while you're at it."

 "That's the plan." He laughed again.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Hard music thumped over the speakers of the weight room. While the rest of the football team worked on their exercises, you worked with each of them on the bits of homework they didn't understand on shifts.

 Breakthroughs were heralded with, "Oh, now I get it," or, "Dude, that's so fuckin' simple. Why didn't I see that?"

 Their enthusiastic thanks and effusive praises left you feeling warm and happy. Sure, they had a few problems with school work, but they weren't the jerks the stereotype made them out to be. They were almost like a family. It was ... nice, to be able to see that, and experience maybe just a little part of it.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Sweat beaded your brow, and your lungs felt like they were ready to explode. Everything felt so heavy and swollen. Your arms trembled as you struggled to hold them in place. Cap beamed encouragingly at you from above.

 "C'mon, lil'bro. You can do it." His strong hands grasped the bar that hovered dangerously over your chest. Together, you lifted it. He didn't make it easy, but he made it bearable. Cap, ... really was a great guy.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Practice was over, like usual. Since the team had to perform outdoor exercises, you cycled through teammates as they finished a certain number of practice runs. On scrimmages, you watched them scramble and play against each other, hard walls of muscle colliding like savage beasts.

 Now you found yourself surrounded by your friends as Cap wrapped a sweaty arm around your shoulders. You enter the locker room and pass the lockers in favor of the door marked STRATEGY.

 The chairs are soft and form-fitting. You try to decline, but Cap pushes you down into the chair.

 "You helped us with school, so I figure you can help us here, too."

 You couldn't resist his grin, even if you could break out of his grip. Still, the room struck you as oddly equipped for a strategy debriefing. Why make it so comfortable? Why the soundproofing boards? Why stack the chairs with adjustable controls to ensure everyone could see the front?

 Coach gave his usual spiel of the need to pay attention and focus on the video. Then he stepped aside and a familiar whirring sounded. Someone must have been adjusting their chair.

 Images flashed over the screen. The whirring became more pronounced. You felt a little dizzy, sort of like the room was moving. But ... no, not the room. You were. Up and down and side to side and spinning and SIDESTEP! DASH! CATCH! RECEIVE! RUN! TOUCHDOWN!

 "Fuck yeah!" the room screams. You're panting in the rollercoaster, the heady excitement of it all. What … what just...?

 And then you feel a familiar hand squeezing your arm reassuringly. "Just watch, lil'bro." He grins. That same grin. And then that chuckle. The whole room is filled with it.

 And suddenly, you're laughing, too. And it feels ... good. Words like BIG, BUFF, MUSCLE, SWOLE, and GROW, echo over the whirling sea. The churning increases, and you find it harder to focus.

 "Just a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK. Want to be a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK for coach. Gonna be a BIG, DUMB FOOTBALL JOCK for coach."

 The words are like a mantra. You hear the familiar husky chuckle, and something inside just ... sort of snaps. Your mouth widens into a grin. Your teeth are bared. You laugh as everything fades into the darkness, and Cap is laughing right beside you. And it's RIGHT.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. The crowd roared around you as you hunched down and called out the secret code every quarterback seemed to know for their teammates to notify the play and run down the clock at the same time. Besides, sometimes, the lugs had to be reminded.

 You take the snap. You spot the opening. The receiver is open! You crank your arm back and throw for all it's worth. The ball hurls like a bullet. You know immediately that he's caught it. He's running. Nobody can touch him. Dodge. Sidestep. Lunge. Dash. TOUCHDOWN!

 You roar with your fellow teammates, and rush up to join your bros at the end zone. You all just scored the game-winning touchdown. Chestbumps, shoulder smacks, dances, everything breaks out in the pandemonium that follows. You turn and see Cap's familiar grin through the face guard of your helmet. He's standing on the sidelines next to coach, cheering you on. Sucked you couldn't play with him in his last season, but at least he came to cheer his lil'bro on. That's what mattered.

 Yeah....

 And you were a good lil'bro.

You weren't sure what you did to deserve this. Your thick muscular frame towers as you pose in front of the mirror. Your slab-like pecs glisten with the sweat from your hard-earned victory. You gape at it, almost in awe, but ... that's not quite the right word.

 ...

 Whatever. S'not important. Your compression pants hug tightly to the thick pistons that your legs have become through had work and intense sessions with your teammates. Big bro helped a lot with that. Then your eyes rest on the bulge at your crotch, and your gaping turns to a cocky sneer. Big bro had nothin' to do with that, though.

 You turn to the side and flex one of your pythons. You watch the bicep swell into a thick, powerful globe of solid muscle. You whisper a dull, "Fuck, yeah," at the rush of endorphins and adrenaline from the victory. A low echo reverberates through the locker room as your teammates follow the ritual in front of their own mirrors. Doesn't matter if it's creepy. You're a team. Teammates act as one unit. 'Course you're gonna do the same stuff. Your bleached hair shines in the dim lights. Your new short style helps to accent the edges of your masculine square jaw as glassy eyes stare dully back at you.

They are empty, unthinking. Just as they should be.

 “Just a big, dumb meathead,” you mutter to yourself. You chuckle and flex again. “And proud of it.”

 You grin and turn to the scrawny form of the new freshman water boy. You wrap your arm around him the same way your big bro did for you. "C'mon, lil'bro. Time to listen to Coach." The numbness in your head increases as the room starts to spin and you swagger along to compensate, like a good DUMB JOCK. Because that is what you are now. You weren't sure what you did to deserve this, but as you settle into Cap’s old chair and the STRATEGY room starts to dim, a last thought plays over your head. You’re a BIG DUMB JOCK BRO now. And even if you could, you wouldn't change a thing.

Here's an idea for an inanimate TF story. A guy being 'recruited' by a bucket of green army men, slowly turning into plastic, shrinking, and become another indistinguishable soldier in the platoon, a loyal toy soldier in the end.

It certainly has possibilities. I’ll put that under my stockpile of maybes. I have a lot of other things that I’m writing/working on at the moment, so it’ll take time before I can work on this idea. I do have a potential inanimate transformation in mind for the future, though.