This Story Is A Call Back To An Old Series I Never Completed And Need To Continue, And Since I Havent

This story is a call back to an old series I never completed and need to continue, and since I haven’t done anything military in ages, and I promised a proper military story to @armybrute​ for the help he gave me. I hope that this will suffice as a good and proper story while I ponder how to move forward with Military Daze again.

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Ten Hut

“You’ve been doing such an excellent job.” You hear the voice echoing in your ear. You’ve heard it for so long now. Even when you’re not in class, it follows you. All you have to do is look into the mirror to see how much you’ve changed. Your sweat pants cling to your trim waist, while your swollen muscles press so prominently against your shirt. Army green. It’s almost as though the two were one. “Well done, Private.”

Your parents couldn’t afford to send you to the prestigious academy, but the United Armed Forces Military Academy (UAFMA) was willing to offer you a place in their new Remote Officer program. The school website had a digital library with all the materials you would need to study in order to graduate with honors. They even had audio files to listen to on the GO ARMY.

“Thank you, Sir,” you reply. CO’s voice was kinda scary at first, but once you got used to it, really accepted the fact he was your Commanding Officer, things got easier. You weren’t a troublemaker, and he knew you weren’t a troublemaker. He knew you were there to learn, to listen, to excel.

And boy did you excel.

Hours passed in front of that computer screen like minutes. Tactics, mathematics, history, science, English. Your CO was with you every step of the way. His voice. His smile. That flat buzz cut. It was deep, soft. But it rang with authority, an authority he wasn’t afraid to use if you messed up.

Your parents expressed concern over the fitness portions of your credit. Naturally, this was a military academy. They weren’t about to overlook that necessity.

Drop and give me twenty, maggot!

You could barely manage one the first time. You weren’t sure why you kept trying. Maybe you feared expulsion. Maybe you were tired. Or maybe it was something about his voice. You just had to do what he told you.

And boy was he brutal.

Any time you showed a lack of effort or improvement, he’d be on you. You learned how to explain yourself quickly and effectively. You had to. Otherwise, he’d order you to do more exercises. Debates were encouraged when appropriate. You’d just be checking,

One, two.

One, two.

CO would respond. Back and forth, back and forth.

Got kinda hard to focus sometimes, though. especially when you talked about the pros and cons of various fitness styles. Strength training, cardio, aerobics, anaerobics, diets, supplements, all that stuff for getting buff.

And damn did it feel good to be buff.

You usually lost those debates.

Actually, you hardly even ... remember ... those....

...

What were you thinking about again?

Radio ops was some of the most fun you had in the courses. Analyzing sound waves, crossing signals, identifying codes. Nothing advanced, but it was something ... stimulating. Defending your methods when they were challenged helped to sharpen your tongue, but you didn’t really have the balls to go against your CO for a while. Not till your body really started growing, anyway.

And people noticed.

Old school bullies tried to intimidate you, but they were nothing compared to your CO. Took a good beating for that little adventure when you told them as much. That was when your curriculum changed. Nobody beats up a member of UAFMA and gets away with it.

CO had you in the gym every day. You’d lift weights, jog, squat, do burpies, whatever he wanted. And the whole while, you’d be following along. Sir, yes, Sir. Three square meals a day. Four upstart teens to teach respect. Five sets in every exercise.

Tic toc. Tic toc.

It became easier and easier to keep up the pace. 

Order and discipline became your creed. Follow the program, get the results. It’s that simple. Always is in life. Constant study made finding answers simple. You retained the pertinent tactical data. You hadn’t used your X-bo in months. You had a schedule to keep, after all. You had to build, had to defend the honor of your school.

Honor. Integrity.

Service. Duty.

Obedience. Sacrifice.

Stick to the mission. Stick to the mission.

And you had.Your six-pack was harder than steel, your biceps sculpted pistons, your chest a mighty bellows, your shoulders broader than mountains.

Combat training came at the dojo. CO would arrive personally to ensure you knew how to handle yourself. And you followed his commands to the letter.

“Ours is not to reason why....”

You straightened your shoulders in response and snapped to attention. “Ours is just to do and die.”

You do. You do. You do.

You do your exercises. You do the work. You do the planning. You do the learning. You do the following. You do the obeying.

Don’t blink. Don’t think.

Do.

Do.

DO AS YOU’RE TOLD.

“Yes, Sir,” you say in your deep, deep voice. Deep, like your CO. Deeper and deeper every day. That’s what he’d said. And it happened. Because a good soldier obeys. A good soldier does as he’s told.

Seventy times seven, the bible says. Your study in numerology taught you that was meant to mean perfection. And you had to be perfect for this op. Seven times, you practiced. Seven hundred. Seven thousand.

Study. Train. Prepare. Repeat.

Eight months you worked. Eight months you slaved. Eight months, you grew into the stud you see before you now. You’re fit for service. Fit to dispense a little justice, and a little lesson in discipline.

“Are you ready, Private?” Your CO is asking you a question, and you feel the growl rising in your throat.

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

The buds are already cupped in one hand, the players in your pocket. All you need is the command.

“Report for the op.”

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The squad was professional and focused. Your fellow cadets fell in line for debriefing, which you presented flawlessly. There was no room for weakness or fear in the academy. Courage would win that battle time and again.

The fight had been a short one, in a secluded corner of town where there wouldn’t be any witnesses and no cameras to record the incident.

Nine squad members marched onto the lot. Eight cut off the exits. Seven seconds passed to get the offenders’ attention. Six more to explain the retribution to come. Five combatants stood off against each other. Four juvenile delinquents were easily defeated. Three were tied up and plugged into the players. Two leaders faced off, until one was restrained.

You watched with a cold satisfaction as the manic light fled from their gazes. Their shoulders relaxed. Their breathing deepened and steadied. Finally, they slumped forward with gaping mouths and hooded lids. A curt order had them released them from their bonds. You smiled briefly as you looked to your men and they to you. These boys were in for a rude awakening, and you were going to give them hell as their CO. You braced yourself, took a deep breath, puffed up your chest, then roared at the top of your lungs.

“TEN HUT!”

Twelve fell into line as your CO drove up in the unmarked van. You salute him and grin. A massive hand claps you on the shoulder.

“Good job, Soldier.”

The pleasure and pride were overwhelming as you straightened and clacked your heels together. “Sir, thank you, Sir!”

He chuckled, then looked at the former bullies with a wicked sneer. “Let’s get these recruits oriented. You’re about to get some new classmates.”

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!]

Freedom

I’d put in my time, followed every exercise, modified my diet, changed my schedule, altered my social life. Anything it took to get the body I wanted.

Anything.

I worked till my muscles were sore. I pressed until I was ready to drop dead. Eventually, my body just went sort of ... numb. Then I’d push it to the next limit, and my body would ache again. I learned to love that ache. I yearned for it. Whatever it took to carve my body into that perfect bodybuilder shape.

I’d look into a mirror to check my progress, and I would laugh. I used to motivate myself with speeches or the occasional affirmation. Eventually, those would shorten to a few words. Then grunts and growls. I would flex and watch the veins rise from my skin, then bare my teeth. It became about power, strength. The bigger I got, the better the high.

I wanted, needed more. I was willing to do anything.

And then I found it. You’ve heard of Fight Club. Well, this place follows the same premise. A friend, ... well, more like a packmate, really, showed me where to go. Sort of an exclusive club, he’d said. A place where we could really beast out.

I’ll tell you what, that place taught me the meaning of being a big fish from a small pond swimming to the ocean. The men there worked with only one thing on their minds, getting as big as they could possibly get. This “friend” introduced me to the system. All I had to do was work out as hard as I could and grow as big as possible. Cameras would cover everything I did, but sacrificing my privacy seemed a small price to pay for the promise of greater gains.

The place was run almost like a kennel or a prison yard. I’d get my own cell with a twin long bed and a connecting bathroom. A thick metal plate door provided the entrance to my own private gym for the days I wanted to work alone. The walls were lined with mirrors, so I could watch myself grow.

There were only a few rules in the place. No fighting among the builders, and make sure to be in the cells again by lock-up. Meals were provided to us, and we were instructed to finish every piece of them. Sports drink powders and formulas of every kind were available for us to use. I can still recall that incredible sensation of gulping a whole bottle full without breaking a sweat and getting back to work.

The highs I got from those pumps, the sheer power and rush of endorphins. I’d never felt anything like it.

The first few days were a struggle. I had to prove myself to the rest of the workers, show them I was serious about making the gains. It took time to get to their level, but I was determined. The music helped. They’d play things over the speakers. I’m not sure what they were, but they got me riled up every day. That music filled my ears and I was awake like that. It set my pace for morning prep. I showered to it, brushed my teeth to it, got changed to it. Then the track would change, the locks on the doors would disengage, and I would file out to join the others.

Half the time, I couldn’t even recall what food got put in front of me during my workouts. I just wolfed it down and got back to work. I became a creature of habit. I grew as large as the others, and I reveled in that fact. The thought of steroids did cross my mind, but I found no negative effects, whatsoever. No mood swings, no frailties, and best of all, no *ahem* shrinking body parts.

Someone would take my clothes and clean them for me, then return them again. It was a continuous process. I’m still not sure how the laundry crews kept everything straight, but they did. Not that it really mattered, once I shredded out of my old clothes. Once that happened, I really became one of the pack. I got my own set of gym clothes and shoes, just like the rest of the guys. And the bigger I got, the less my shirts seemed to cover. To this day, I still prefer tanktops to anything else. But can you really blame me for wanting to show all this off?

Anyway, you know that numb feeling I mentioned before with my body? Well, the brain sort of functions the same way. If you do the same thing long enough, it’s sort of gonna get bored and shut off, because there’s no stimulation for it, or at least minimal stimulation. That’s the best way I can describe what happened. My brain decided to switch off for a while. It went numb, and my muscles did all the work for me.

I don’t know how long it lasted, really. I just know that when I came to myself, I was this giant of a man with a masculine beard and a perfectly sculpted body. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. I had everything I wanted, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a different desire. I wanted to show off. I wanted to actually interact with friends, family, people.

You’d think the men at this facility should have counted, but they don’t. They didn’t. Not because I worked with them every day, but because they function on a different level. Their brains were numb, like mine had been. I still remember when I chose to leave. And you know the funny part? The door was never locked. I tested them. None of them were, not really. Maybe they were engaged just before wake-up or something, but it seemed that was all part of the training regimen.

I’d approach a cell and I’d see what, for all intents and purposes, was an animal. Some would ignore me in favor of flexing or sleep. Others would come to the door and glower at me, as if I were some sort of threat. Half the time, I felt my body want to rise to the challenge. But I didn’t want that. Not anymore.

I’d gotten what I wanted. I still remember the shock on the attendant’s face when I approached the stairs that led to the exit.

“They won’t accept you out there, you know. You’ll just be another mindless meathead to them.”

I hesitated for just a moment, but then calm took its place. I’d done my time. I’d gotten what I wanted. If hypnosis was involved in the club, then I guess my subconscious decided it had had enough. I don’t know. All I do know is I smiled at him and responded, “Then I’ll just have to prove them wrong.”

I’m not a meathead, and I’m not some dumb animal. I was once, probably, during my stay there. But I’m not anymore. I’ve worked hard to show that to everyone I meet, and I’m happy where I stand now. I’m a certified trainer with a steady income and a gym that I love, helping customers that I have great personal relationships with.

Is it hard? Of course it is. I usually work out to blow off steam and let my stress go. But I’ll tell you what, it’s worth it. Every second is worth it.

I’m not some dumb animal. I’m a human being, and I’m glad to be a properly functioning member of society.

Looking back, I’m sure you’re wondering if I would make the same decision to leave again, if I had the chance to go back.

I don’t even have to take the time to wonder about it. I’ve had plenty of time to go over it all.

My answer is yes.

Pavel Fedorov

Please support me by donating on my Ko-fi or Patreon.

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Undo

Richard tapped frantically at the keys on his laptop. The apartment was calm and quiet. His roommates were out partying up at a D&D session, so he wouldn't have to worry about any interruptions for the next few hours. It had been like this for the last couple of weeks now. He’d either retreat to his room or work in the living room. Occasionally, he’d sneak to one of the school’s recording studios after hours. A procedure like this needed all the finesse he could conjure. Fortunately, nobody seemed to question him.

The device chirped as he slammed the enter key and ran the newest soundbite through his program to check for any errors before adding it to the track’s layers. His head whipped back around his shoulders for what had to be the thirtieth time as he turned to face the hall door behind his desk. A subtle creak of the floorboards, the heavy thump of footsteps in the apartment above, any number of noises had set him off. This time was no different. The portal yawned into the dark stillness beyond. Once again, no one was there.

It still didn’t make him feel any better. “Almost over,” he breathed in a low whisper. He shook his head and grit his teeth. “How could I be so stupid?” He reached for his water bottle and squeezed a stream of liquid down his throat. Adrenaline had dried the passage, and he found it needed almost constant lubrication if he breathed through his mouth. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself in this state. Pressure never was his thing. He gasped after satisfying his craving and worked to moderate his breathing in an attempt to calm his heart. “Just a little longer and it’ll all be over. Then you can fix this mess, undo what you did, and everything will be back the way it was.”

Richard stiffened when he felt a sudden weight clap down on his shoulders. Thick veiny hands stretched on either side of him. His throat closed to the barest hint of a passage. The lubrication he had only just applied vanished.

“Watcha workin’ on, bro?” The deep voice resonated through Richard’s chest as thick sculpted arms freshly pumped from a workout bent on either side of him. He could hear the heavy breath, smell the overpowering scent of Old Spice body wash mixed with AXE body spray. They gripped tighter than the hands and left Richard’s head spinning.

“Dick, ... I wasn’t expecting you,” he croaked, then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s been awhile. We hardly see each other anymore. I’m always working out, and you’re always nerding it up. Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be with the guys tonight, roomie?” A heavy hand slammed a music player on the table, then raised itself slowly to clap the shoulder again, this time in a companionable pat. 

“Special assignment,” Richard muttered. He eyed the player on the desk. “You been, uh, listening to your tracks?”

“On loop, bro! I can’t get enough of ‘em!” Dick’s diaphragm heaved with a deep dull laugh that left Richard’s frame bouncing like a pogo stick.

“You mean you don’t take any breaks?” Richard squeaked.

“Just when I sleep. Why should I, little bro? You know what that chick said in Hair Spray (though I think Hair Gel would’ve been a better name). You can’t stop the beat. Those tracks just leave me so fuckin’ pumped! I mean, sure, it was kinda weird at first, but now I don’t know what I’d do without ‘em! I mean, look at these guns!”

“I’m looking,” Richard said weakly. His face had gone pale.

“Seriously, though, thanks for making so many for me. I know you said it could bruise my brain and all that if the same stuff kept going all the time, so having all these different things to listen to really helps. And, I mean, variety is the spice of life, am I right?” Again, he chuckled.

Richard hunched and waited for the storm to pass. “Right....”

“So, what’s this one about?”

“I ... guess you could call it a biography of sorts? It’s a track that’s supposed to cement an identity, you know?”

“Bro, you wanna clone yourself? That’s sick! Who’s gonna be the subject?”

“I don’t know about cloning, exactly, but ... yeah, I suppose it might have a similar effect. Cementing a mind doesn’t necessarily have to involve turning it into something else, though. It could also be used to fortify a person’s subconscious and make them more confident in their current state. Think of it like an armor of sorts.”

“So, you mean like football pads?”

“Exactly. They shield a person from an opponent trying to tackle their subconscious into submission. Do it right, and it can even reverse the effects of previous trances.”

“Damn. You’re smart, little bro.”

Richard’s shoulders started to ache. “I try. Did, uh ... you want to listen to some of what I’ve got so far?”

Dick peered at the file and whistled. “That’s a lot of layers, bro.”

“I wanted to make it iron clad. I’m not gonna make you sit through the whole thing, but here.” Richard highlighted a clip and clicked the play button, and the recording began to play over the speakers.

I am Richard. My name is Richard. Richard is my name. Richard is smart. You are smart. Richard loves hypnosis. You love hypnosis. ... Love recording ... Listen ... Deep down ... Study ... Sleep ... Repeat ...

The snippets flowed like a babbling brook with the tones that Richard had chosen, leaving only fragments, but the few that could be made out pressed a shudder through Dick that forced Richard to vibrate with him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Dick swore.

“You’re biased. You’ve already heard my voice. It’s easier to drop you in trance with it.”

“So? Bro, you were able to put me in trance, me. I mean, sure, it’s easy now, but you and I both know the first time took, like, what, uh.....?”

“Three months, approximately,” Richard supplied quickly. The soreness was spreading into his neck and a little down his biceps now. He rolled them uncomfortably. “Uh, do you mind?”

“Oh, sorry, bro. Had a killer workout. Hardly even feel anything now, ya know? I just ... lift. It’s what I do.” The weight lightened as Dick adjusted his stance and he sighed. An odd tingling spread over Richard’s shoulders as Dick’s fingers started kneading the flesh.

Richard shuddered in response. “How are you doing that?”

Dick huffed that same chuckle again. “Been taking a few classes on the side. Figured if I’ve got the bod for it, might as well learn how to use it and take care of it, right?”

Richard moaned. “Massage therapy?”

“Yup. Clients are butter in my hands.”

“I ... I really shouldn’t.”

“Relax, bro. You earned it.”

Richard’s eyes rolled as his muscles went limp. He didn’t even notice the computer chime. He smiled as he came out of the treatment to behold a snarl of anger that practically jerked him from his chair before a hand forced him back down. And then he heard it:

You are not dumb ... Work your brain ... Brawn to brain ... Nerdy Dick ... You are not a jock ... Not a dick ... Wake up ... Go back ... Go back....

Richard swallowed as the deep bass reverberated, until a heavy finger clicked forcefully on the mouse to pause the track.

“I trusted you,” Dick said in a husky voice.

“This isn’t the real you, Dick,” Richard objected.

“And whose fault was that, I wonder?” Dick roared. The wood on the desk creaked under the force of his fingers as they clenched the edge. “I gave up my friends, my major, my life for this. And just when I’m finally settling down, when I’m enjoying myself more than ever, when I’m happier than I’ve ever been, built a new life with new friends, you go and decide you can play god and tear it all down again?”

“It’s not real,” Richard said weakly.

“It is to me!” The desk leg creaked ominously under Dick’s heavy blow. “You think getting my head shaved was a dream? You think Duke isn’t real, that Travis is some kinda mirage, that Coach Sorensen didn’t offer me a place on the team? I fucking brought them to the apartment, introduced them to the guys, went out and got fucking drunk with them! Those happened. Those are real. My time in the gym was real!” He flexed his bicep and smacked the dense mound that had risen out of veiny flesh. “And this,” he said as he struck it again for emphasis, “is real.”

Richard shrank into his chair as best he could.

“You said I would have the power. You said that I would get to choose. You promised.” He jabbed his finger into Richard’s chest. “Well, I decided, bro.”

“Dick.” Richard’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Please.”

“Nah, bro. I’m in charge now. You’re done.”

Richard panted in the still air. Something was pushing against his chest. It felt so tight. “N-no,” he rasped. His voice cracked.

Dick shook his head. “Say it with me, little bro. ‘Nah, bro.’”

“N-nnnnnnnahhhh....”

Richard clenched his teeth. The room spun. His shoulders felt cold. Something brushed his scalp.

“You’re just a big Dick,” the deep bass said in a cocky tone of smug superiority.

The retort rose hotly in his chest, before he had time to stop it. It blew out from his diaphragm with the force of a conflagration, but it flowed smoothly, naturally from his lips, as if he’d been saying it for years. “Nah, bro.”

A vapid grin pulled at his lips as he opened his eyes. The small chair creaked under its owner’s bulk. That dull, familiar ache coursed like a drug through his arms, chest, and sides. Today was upper body training, and it had felt so good. He took a shuddering breath and moaned at the feeling of fabric brushing up a perfect set of well-carved abdominals. The tight hug of his black tank top complemented the familiar brush of rough fabric from his snapback. Thick arms as broad if not larger than footballs rested lightly on the wooden desk. He took his time to admire the masculine appendages, the huge mitts that his hands had become, the prominence of his veins against the muscle he’d worked so long and hard to grow beneath.

“I’m me.” He laughed exultantly. “I’m fucking me!” He whooped as if he’d just seen the school team score the winning touchdown. “I’m big fucking Dick!” He pumped his arm and danced in the chair. Then the computer monitor caught his eye. The program was still open. He reached for the lid and rested his massive palm on the now-familiar indent where he had laid it so many times before during his transformation. He loved sports. He loved weights. And he loved dominance. And now he’d just come off the ultimate domination by asserting himself against his old personality. He could leave it at that, delete the file, close the program, never think of it again.

“Or....” A smirk pulled at his lips as he looked over the laptop’s files. He still had the old copies of the recordings from his metamorphosis. It wouldn’t be that hard to record over the pieces that needed changing, and the walls were thin. He should be able to mix a few tracks. After all, even jocks and meatheads had fun with programs like garage band. The smirk turned into a sneer as he pulled out the mic and finished recording the beginnings of a new track. “Wuddup, Bro? Welcome to Jock School, where meatheads rule and bein’ a jock is fuckin’ cool. Huhuhuhuh....”

You seem like a really nice person but your blog scares me... I guess for assurance, can you explain your fixation?

Well, to answer your question, I write those stories because I enjoy the fantasy. I can’t ever achieve that kind of fitness because of personal medical issues. I admit I also wonder about the hypno/mc aspect and mental draining. Again, I fantasize about it from time to time, but I am not the kind of person who would ever want to hypnotize someone to change them like that IRL. (I admit the arousal I get when I write those scenes is likely a contributing factor to why I enjoy this niche so much. Escapism was a large part of my youth, and while I have outgrown it, I do still indulge in it from time to time with these sorts of fantasies/scenarios that come to my mind.) So, yeah, namely because I like the idea of the possibility of such a change, though to make it a reality would scare the crud out of me, too. I’m not even a certified hypnotist, which is why I tell anyone who asks me to help them with tfing into their ideal state of jock or whatever that I don’t feel comfortable doing so. It’s been a while since people have asked, but yeah, I’m not some creepy pervert or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about.

Another reason why I write these is because my mind is able to home in on these worlds and see legitimate characters and scenarios unfold for me to record and share with people.

However, I do have a strict policy with my writing, due to my religious background. I will never write sexually graphic material of any kind. In short, no adult/NSFW content. However, I will go mature with my works.

I don’t know if this all answers your question properly. And if it doesn’t, feel free to message me privately, so we can pursue the discussion further. I want to lay your fears to rest.

This is an AMAZING CONCEPT! This needs to become a real anime!

Killer Vintage Cartoon Characters Story Concept

It’s been a while since I made mock anime concepts. I was watching creepy vintage cartoons in the background as I was making commissions and rewards so I got inspired!

Summary: A timid cartoon/anime nerd wakes up in a world different from his own teams up with a badass cartoon character to fight against rogue cartoons out to get him as he’s trying to get aboard a phantom train.

Concept Sketches