Saw A Little Of This On Twitter. So Glad To See A Fuller Version. This Is Totally Worth The Reblog.

Saw a little of this on twitter. So glad to see a fuller version. This is totally worth the reblog.

Parasite and Girl

Totally taking this for reference. Thank you for this goldmine of information about a faith I know little about. :D

more on writing muslim characters from a hijabi muslim girl

- hijabis get really excited over pretty scarves - they also like to collect pins and brooches - we get asked a lot of questions and it can be annoying or it can be amusing, just depends on our mood and personality and how the question is phrased - common questions include: - “not even water?” (referring to fasting) - hijabis hear a lot of “do you sleep in that?” (we don’t) and “where is your hair?” (in a bun or a braid, usually) - “is it mooze-slim or mozzlem?” (the answer is neither, it’s muslim, with a soft s and accent on the first syllable) - “ee-slam or iz-lamb?” (it’s iss-laam, accent on the first syllable) - “hee-job?” (heh-jahb, accent on the second syllable)

- “kor-an?” (no. quran. say it like koor-annn, accent on the second syllable) - people tend to mess up our names really badly and you just get a sigh and a resigned nod or an awkward smile, maybe a nickname instead - long hair is easy to hide, short hair is harder to wrap up - hijab isn’t just covering hair, it’s also showing as little skin as possible with the exception of face, hands, and feet, and not wearing tight/sheer clothing - that applies to men too, people just don’t like to mention it ( i wonder why) - henna/mehendi isn’t just for special occasions, you’ll see people wearing it for fun - henna/mehendi isn’t just for muslims, either, it’s not a religious thing - henna/mehendi is not just for women, men also wear it, especially on their weddings - there are big mehendi parties in the couple of nights before eid where people (usually just women and kids) gather and do each other’s mehendi, usually just hands and feet - five daily prayers - most muslim kids can stutter through a couple verses of quran in the original arabic text by the age of seven or eight, it does not matter where they live or where they’re from or what language they speak natively - muslim families tend to have multiple copies of the quran - there are no “versions” of the quran, there has only ever been one. all muslims follow the exact same book - muslims have no concept of taking God’s name in vain, we call on God at every little inconvenience - don’t use islamic phrases if you don’t know what they mean or how to use them. we use them often, inside and outside of religious settings. in islam, it is encouraged to mention God often and we say these things very casually, but we take them very seriously - Allahu Akbar means “God is Greatest” (often said when something shocks or surprises us, or if we’re scared or daunted, or when something amazing happens, whether it be good or bad; it’s like saying “oh my god”) - Subhan Allah means “Glory be to God” (i say subhan Allah at the sky, at babies, at trees, whatever strikes me as pleasant, especially if it’s in nature) - Bismillah means “in the name of God” and it’s just something you say before you start something like eating or doing your homework - In Shaa Allah means “if God wills” (example: you’ll be famous, in shaa Allah) (it’s a reminder that the future is in God’s hands, so be humble and be hopeful)

- Astaghfirullah means “i seek forgiveness from Allah” and it’s like “god forgive me” - Alhamdulillah means “all thanks and praise belong to God” and it’s just a little bit more serious than saying “thank god” (example: i passed my exams, alhamdulillah; i made it home okay, alhamdulillah) - when i say we use them casually, i really mean it - teacher forgot to assign homework? Alhamdulillah - our version of “amen” is “ameen” - muslims greet each other with “assalamu alaikum” which just means “peace be on you” and it’s like saying hi - the proper response is “walaikum assalam” which means “and on you be peace” and it’s like saying “you too”

Pulling out the Stops (Patreon Preview)

“H-help me.”

I watched Milo as he strained at the weight machine. The man had exploded into a tower of lean, powerful muscle since the last time I’d seen him. His shorts strained against a set of thighs that were thick as tree trunks. His biceps were larger than footballs, and sweat caused the fabric of his too-tight tank to cling to his pecs and abs like a filmy sheet. I could practically see through it to the skin and weight belt that lay beneath. The bad-boy fauxhawk he used to model had been neatly trimmed down to the point where it would barely qualify as a cowlick over the patch of stubble that was now his hair. High and tight. He licked his lips desperately as he stared at me with pleading eyes.

“I tried to warn you,” I said....

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

Here’s a teaser to my latest patreon story. For as little as a dollar a month, you get first view at my transformation stories before anybody else. (It also helps pay my bills, so I can have more time to write these things.) Higher tiers give you bigger perks. Feel free to stop by and take a look. Link below.

https://www.patreon.com/omnitf

Beautiful. Totally worth the reblog.

I have been working on this comic “Undergrowth” for the past month and I’m so happy to finally be able to share it with you!! This is the reason I haven’t been posting as much art on tumblr. I was very inspired by people who depict personal growth as a potted plant, and I wanted to do my own take on that idea: I think of it more as an entire forest or ecosystem within a person.

I hope reading this will inspire you to keep improving as a person even though it’s a process that is so difficult and convoluted.

[commission] [ko-fi] [Please do not repost my work!]

I agree with this message, though I will go one step further and say the same can apply to all men and boys. Don’t fit yourself into a box. Choose who you want to be and work to be that. Find what’s right for you. Don’t let others choose it for you.

Champ

You know, it’s funny. I should be freaking out over all this, but I still feel absolutely calm. I have doctors looking over me while I’m typing this. Aside from having to mind how hard I type on the keys, things don’t seem to have changed all that much. Well, barring the fact I’m incredibly strong now, and I feel an intense need to lift things.

... And I have a massive increase in appetite. I suppose I should go back to the beginning. See, I’m an amateur bodybuilder looking to get into the big time. Or at least, I was. I felt like I had pretty good form and nicely sized musculature. I went to the gym on a regular basis, still do, and I made sure to maintain a proper diet for myself. When I wasn’t working on building, I would dedicate my cardio to Pokemon Go. Yes, I’m a Pokemon nerd. And there’s nothing wrong with that, no matter what other people may say. Anyway, a friend of mine knew I was about to try my first competition, so he sent me a special package with a black speedo and a very familiar belt with gold studs and a red P engraved on the top of the buckle at the front. Found this at a weird store. Made me think of you. Good luck, man. Don’t machoke on me, all right?

~Felix

I rolled my eyes at the pun, but it really was thoughtful of him to send me something that reminded me so much of my favorite pokemon. I chuckled and tried it on immediately, of course. The material hugged closely to my frame, and I smiled as I showed off the veins and striations I’d developed in my thighs, torso, and glutes. No matter the angle I took, the underwear fit perfectly. I smirked and struck a pose in front of the mirror, hunching forward as I ground my pectorals together and flexed.

“I’m not a choke. I’m a champ,” I said. I remember that well. I also remember the giddy rush I felt after the fact. I chuckled again and growled out a gravelly, “Chaaaaaaamp,” for extra measure. The belt warmed quickly, and I smiled at how comfortable it had become. The material was so light, it felt like I was wearing nothing at all as I stepped into the hall and progressed to check-in with my other posing straps and speedos for the competition. On top of height and weight, I also had to show them what else I might be wearing for future phases of the competition. On the plus side, the dope test had already been performed, and I passed with flying colors. I offered my CD and picked up the number to attach to my belt. The rest of the process was tedious, but worth it. The prejudging was nerve-wracking, but I think I did well. The faster my heart beat, the more exhilarated I felt. You see, bodybuilders have to keep at least semi-tensed during these examinations, because the judges are watching us the whole time. My research told me most judges choose the winner during this phase, rather than out on the live stage with the audience. I had to stand out with two other men and pose for the judges. With each successive pose, I felt the pump in my muscles growing stronger. Everything felt so taut and vibrant! I could hardly keep still, so I put that energy into maintaining the poses for as long as the judges required. The lat spreads and double bicep poses left me feeling positively euphoric. I swear, I wasn’t on drugs, but it sure felt like I was.

That night, the free-posing round left me even more hyped. My biceps looked like over-inflated footballs. My traps writhed behind my back, causing me to shudder each time I flexed or stretched them. I felt so big. And I reveled in that. My skin was smooth and glistened in the stage lights. I was positively ecstatic when I got called up for the posedown. Me, a rookie! The music faded. The crowd’s cheers faded. Honestly, those moments on the stage still feel more like a dream. I remember transitioning from archer to crab to chest to traps. Every pose, every flex, flowed one into the next. I heard a number, my number.

Sixty-eight. Sixty-eight. Sixty-eight!

It rang in my brain like some sort of chant.

And somehow, I just felt so confident, so powerful, so self-assured. I knew that I was going to win. I knew that I was a champion. That title was going to be mine, and I would always keep it, no matter what anyone else might say against me.

The sensation of a new set of arms growing out of your back is ... difficult to describe. As I said, my body was overriden with a sense of utter pleasure. It was, I guess like I was getting a massage, and every nudge and knead of growth sent surges of heat and pleasure down my shoulders and back, and into my swelling legs. 

That same kneading pulled at my skull as three great fins protruded out the top. I didn’t care. I don’t know if I even noticed. I just had to keep posing. Two hands clenched. Two arms writhed behind as new muscle groups knit together to support the structure of my new anatomy. By this time, the dull cry of the crowd had managed to permeate the fog. I thought I had won, that those screams were cheers.

I soon found out otherwise when I came out of the haze and saw the gaping judges. The music had long since stopped. The crowd stared at me. I stared back. I remember one of my fellow competitors asking me if I was all right, if I was still me. You know the cliche.

I responded in what I thought was perfect English. The step back he took from me indicated otherwise. So, I opted to give him the only sign I could, a thumbs-up.

Only, I did it with my two right hands.

I think that’s when the shock set in properly. Go on, you can say it. I know you’re thinking it. MACHAMP IS CONFUSED!

And I was. My whole body was literally coursing with power and energy, but it wasn’t my body anymore. My legs still moved fine, and I was grateful for that. But I now only had two massive toes. My feet had widened with my stance to make up for all the extra weight on my top and help carry it. I fell the first few times I tried walking. Too easy to lose my balance. But the thing is, it didn’t hurt. I mean, seriously, no pain. Not even a scratch. It was just ... I don’t know, a light tap?

Yes, I know. MACHAMP HURT ITSELF IN ITS CONFUSION. You don’t have to rub it in. Though, like I said before, my fall(s) didn’t really hurt. The audience was speechless. So was I. I mean, what do you say when you spontaneously turn into a pokemon? Other than your name, I mean, obviously. I see you trolls out there! Don’t get any ideas. This is one builder you do not want to mess with. I had to motion for pen and paper. Fortunately, my hands were still just as capable of writing. Machamp is mostly humanoid, barring the weird feet and extra arms. And the whole head fins thing.

On the plus side, I don’t have to worry about shampoo and conditioner anymore. But anyway, yeah, I wrote I was okay, still me, and requested that someone call a doctor, and maybe the police. I had to file a statement, after all, and better to get my name and face out there as soon as possible, rather than give anyone in the government the chance to hush it up and haul me off somewhere for experimentation.

I have been approached asking for consent to that effect, by the way. Being a super strong entity that has superhuman endurance and is capable of taking most any blows, which I assume would include bullets, given the fact my new species can literally take a beam of pure solar fire shot from the blossoms of plant monsters, kinda makes me a hot commodity from a military standpoint. I could be an asset, if I were to consent to serving my country.

Yes, an asset they’d send in as a tank in warfare to be blown up or watch others he cares about get blown to bits in a pointless conflict. No, thank you, Mister President or whatever shadowy aspect of the government is asking. I mean, seriously, it’s not like I could be some sort of super spy with this body and mug. I am literally one of a kind.

And if any foreign actors happen to get any ideas, they should know that I can break out of any prison they try to put me into. I am highly resistant to drugs and poisons, and I don’t give in to blackmail. In short, I’m not going to tolerate any shenanigans, but I’m not going to be a threat to anyone either, except in my capacity as being inexperienced with this body, which is why I am typing this up now as I work out my other arms under careful observation.

I didn’t agree to be the military’s property, but a coalition of biologists and scientists were very anxious to learn about what happened to cause the change, and how my genetics have been altered. They’ve been very helpful, providing me with a synthesizer I can type into to speak for me. It’s designed to fit around my wrist like a brace, and it doubles as a monitor for other readings. Yes, I am still only capable of speaking in what has been dubbed Pokespeak. It sounds normal when it comes out of my mouth, but no human can understand me.

That being said, I’ve made some demands of these scientists, as well as of the nations that are concerned about me as a potential threat. I am to be allowed to see any phase in the experiments, and we are to have round-the-clock security composed of a coalition from each of the nations who are concerned about my “welfare.” There is also going to be an interior security team composed of UN forces to keep the peace. Any blood or tissue samples are never to leave this facility, and are to be destroyed after the tests have been carried out to ensure no one can get hold of my genetic structure to attempt anything.

I’ve already broken several of their measuring machines in regards to testing the strength of my punches. And I found, much to my surprise, that I really can rain a flurry of blows at a pace that’s almost faster than the eye can see. They had to use a slow cam to show the individual strikes. So, that means I’m probably going to have to be registered as a lethal weapon and act accordingly. That’s to be expected, I suppose.

At least I still have my rights as a US citizen, and the UN has offered me proper protections with my visa as I stay here in Switzerland. Overall, it’s turned out a lot better than it could have. Naturally, as a large part of this research, I am allowed to speak with whomever I wish and text, call, video chat, etc. accordingly. It’s not like they can stop me from leaving a session, anyway, if I really want to do something else.

I’ve put in a few more failsafes, just in case anyone tries anything like falsifying videos of me or voice messages. It’s about all I can do for now. Anyway, yeah, that’s where I stand. I guess I really did become a champ, though I don’t think I’ll be able to compete in bodybuilding anymore. On the plus side, with strength like this, I can be my own moving crew or warehouse worker. Just don’t ask me to do any fine tuning. I’m still learning how to coordinate for the more delicate tasks.

The government, naturally, interviewed Felix about the mysterious store and its proprietor, but there was no sign of either. I get the feeling this is one of those things that will likely wind up in the X-files. But hey, gotta look on the bright sight, right? At least I’m still me.

And honestly, I can’t wait to get back to my normal life again.